(Gennio e'Dux, Naval Base, Estantum)

"It's war then?" Gennio asked, stroking his goatee. The halfing nodded, still kneeling. Gennio chuckled, bringing a worried look to the messenger's face. "Good, incredible even, we're at war, we've got a chance to reunify our country. Send a letter to the human king, tell him that the navy will be proceeding in an invasion of On'hino and his support would be much obliged, make me sound humble or some other darcada, the dici humano will have to prepare themselves, we'll fight them a little bit, then we'll run away, make it look like we can't do it alone, humble the proud ones, then we'll join with the humans and lead them to victory, bringing unity and power to the great Duumvirate of Benaduza."

The messenger nodded and left the room immediately, not wishing to waste another moment in case the king's impatience manifested. The king however, was busy thinking on his plan.

"The halflings must lose, but the humans can't get too powerful, we must both lose but still have enough force to defeat the enemy when combined..."

"If I may sir," one of the halfling nobles approached the king. "Perhaps after our defeat, we cast off our flags, and when the humans attempt to invade On'hino alone, we attack, sink the flagship, kill the king. With their king dead, they'll retreat without losing another man, then the humans will be fighting even harder when we join with them, they'll be attacking with the force of revenge pushing them onwards," he spoke, hands behind his back. The king thought on his plan, it was a good one, but it did have a large margin for error... he didn't exactly have anything better leaping out at him, he knew he could pull it off, he was the best naval mind of his generation, he couldn't fail. He had to succeed, for Benaduza.

The king nodded and approached the noble.

"Your ideas are well-thought, lord..."

"Er, Pelionis e'Oranth, your highness."

"Pelionis e'Oranth, I hereby deputize you as my personal advisor on matters of war, now come, we have much to discuss." The king left, moving at speed, Lord Pelionis stared at where the king once was for a long time. He suddenly realized how far the king had gone, chasing after without a second wasted.

Rögdûl the Black (Main), Outskirts of the Northern Hills near Gloria, Prealium

Fire swells into the chilling air, the flame provides sparse light for the entire encampment. At the crown of the fortess stands Rögdûl who peers into the vast black of the Northern plain; a disparaged place in the daylight--an abandoned catacomb in the night. Behind him are the soft clanks of wooden sticks from orc children feigning battle with one another,

"Undur kurv!" shouted the chubbier of the kids.

"Watch your mouth."

After rubbing his head, the chubby orc child (dubbed "the Fat" by the older orc juveniles) waddled off.

Rögdûl returns to watching over the Northern Hills, his mind rife with the rumors carried to and fro from the other bandit tribes who had heard of the turmoil happening just over hills where the savage lands end: Praelium had been bested by some random group of starkok. Typically, a bandit raid on Praelium meant nothing for the tribes surrounding its Northern border than that Praelium would bolster Gloria's fortress and make it even harder for the barbarians to poach. . . but this was different. If Praelium had lost to unorganized, distasteful brutes, it is a fright to imagine what may happen if they were to face an enemy who was organized.

Rögdûl shuttered at the thought. If Praelium fell, it meant that whomever it fell to had access to some of the finest weapons in the land--and that meant death for the Red Claw. That couldn't happen, not on his watch. Beside him whisked his tribal flag--his history, his father's legacy, and he'd be damned if some starkok took that away from him. Tomorrow, he and Nehrakghu rode to to Praelium.

(Claudius Ker'Rak(Side), Paline's War Room, Praelium)

"Refuge?" Claudius thought for a moment, then nodded his head. "Things could be arranged. Since you've already mentioned being ready to assist us, we can make you a citizen of Praelium after you join our military."

Claudius arose from his chair and motioned for Holden to arise from his own. The dragonborn rarely showed emotion towards others, and kept his stoic manner. His mind was turning focus towards the inevitable war with the On'Hinians. Should they mount an assault now? Or stay on the defensive? Perhaps the border at Benaduza could be loosened? Maybe a deal could be brokered with the Consortium. As the possible tactics flowed through his mind, he completely forgot Holden was there. As he pushed open the door to look back in room to make sure everything was still in order, the sight of the man reminded him of his presence.

Claudius coughed and turned to Holden, bowing his head to the man.

"Due to your previous war experience, I will talk to the Tyrannus about receiving your own battalion." Claudius said. "Carver will talk to you personally about it soon enough, perhaps tomorrow. He is meeting with the House of Dominus today."

(Rögdûl the Black, Mid-Day, Fortress of Gloria on the Outskirts of Praelium)

Both warhorses stopped; the thick, black Orc armor hugged the Chief's otherworldly muscular body tight. On his back was Shakatrog, the tribal warsword. From head-to-toe, Rögdûl resembled a massive Roman centurion, though his armor left few soft spots and was thick enough that any sword which attempted to get past its defenses would be rebuffed, miserably. In the black armor, the Chief looked as though he stood seven feet instead of the mere 6'9 he actually was.
Next to him was Nehrakghu, clad in little else but some brown robes and a quirky pointed hat that made him look like Gandalf. Both men departed their warhoses, who were also clad in heavy black orcish armor, though the horses themselves looked abnormal--they were twice the size of normal horses and didn't seem to be slowed down by all the armor they wore. Everything about the orcs and the horses was different.
Rögdûl made his approach to the edge of the fortress, where he waited and expected to be met by some liason--or a hail of arrows, whichever came first.

(Darlien Garandinar(Main), Artis Port, Praelium)

Darlien yawned as he walked away from the port. He hadn't set it on fire, restraint if he'd ever seen it, but the corpses were a statement enough. His blade entered a man's spine, the basket he was carrying clattering to the ground as he entered shock. Darlien tugged his blade loose, allowing the man to collapse to the ground in a heap. This devastation would be a good herald for the On'hinian invasion.

Now that he knew that Praelium was in as much danger as it was, he could let loose, when the invasion force arrived, he'd simply fade away into it, savoring the chaos as it gripped the barbarians and their poor nation. He would, however, be the one to slay the Tyrannis. It was what his father would have wanted, revenge for himself and his wife. After the Tyrannis would come the Dominus, the ones who had killed his father, took his head from his shoulders and tossed his body into the sea, Darlien would burn their homes to the ground. Then... hmm, Darlien had never thought of what to do after, perhaps wander the lands, see what he could see, help those in need, he'd be a hero, one who brought down the world's worst regime, he could see the love he would get from the people now.

While he was thinking these things, he cleaved a town guard's arm in two and executed him with a blast of magic flame to the face. These men had no chance against a mage of his caliber, the best they could do was come within four feet of touching him. He smiled as the guards formed a shield-wall and planted their pikes. He had no clue what they were thinking, of course they were all ex-military, it was hard to find a Praelian who wasn't, so obviously this tactic worked against normal opponents.

It wouldn't work against a mage.

With a wave of his hand, a wall of flame enveloped their shield wall, their screams shaking the air, citizens watching, terrified as their last defense burned away in front of them. Darlien's hand however, began stinging horribly, enough to bring him to grunt. Removing his glove, he noted that his hand had turned shiny and red, with small patches of crimson all over. His nails had turned yellow, and when he touched one, it simply fell away, tapping against the ground and lying there. There was no blood flowing from the ruined mess where his nail had once been due to the burning. As the fire dissipated, so did the pain, but the wound remained, horrific and hard to look at. With a grimace, Darlien put his glove back on.

It will be fine, I know it will, I'm the greatest mage of this generation, I cannot let a little burn worry me.

He entered the main streets, while they had been bustling when he had first arrived, now they were eerily quiet, the many buildings standing motionless and alone. Darlien almost felt like they were watching him, staring down at him like giants, gods even, judging his actions against those whose patronage they had.

Gods don't exist, Darlien reaffirmed to himself, but in the corner of his vision, he swore he could see one of them move. They had eyes, massive judging eyes, blue, brown, grey, they were alive, they were human. They screamed at him, their voices like wind, whistling and dampening with every moment.

"YOu mUrderer^killer theY'RE Alive^alive, yOu'rE onE OF theM. ^Praelian."

"Praelian"

"They're murderers, savages, I'm not one of them!"

"LIAr, Praaelian lIAr"

"Stop it!"

"Murderer" "Stop!" Savage, trAitor "Stop this NOW!" BaStard "ENOUGH, PLEASE!" Neever stop, we are you.

There was a scream, and then there was flame.

(Yasoul Howe, Insignificant, & Jun Mantan, Insignificant Manning a Balista in Fortress Gloria, Praelium)

"What do you think it will be today, Yasoul? Sand elves? The naked bugbears? Perhaps silt runners try their luck, only to be obliterated?" Jun sighed and looked upward to the sky, bored out of his mind. "You know, I could probably do something as great as the Tyrannus too, if all the desert tribes wouldn't perish before they reached to wall. There was never a war hero that came from an enemy that couldn't put up a fight."

Yasoul groaned and turned away from his more talkative companion. Unlike him, Yasoul didn't want to be a war hero. He wanted to serve his time then get out and return home to his lovely girlfriend and run his father's market. He was more concerned about catching up on sleep, as the night before he may have had one or two too many.

"Nothing happens on this side, anyway." Yasoul grumbled. "I hear Carver counted all the grains in the desert twice before he found his opportunity. Get started on that."

"And I'm sure you would be glad to do that instead of fighting for glory on the battlefield," The other scoffed. Yasoul was used to this, mostly because it was true. "That's why you man the ballista, right? Rarely ever used, and I'm sure your glad too. Bet you couldn't hit one soul if a horde of dragon born was right in front of you."

"Hey, I'm not useless," Yasoul said, sitting up and glaring at the other. "They put me here because I know how this thing works AND my shots are accurate."

Jun was about to retort, but he caught something in his peripheral. He quickly turned and saw a group of Orcs, clad in impressive armor and riding horseback.

"Enemies! We have enemies!" Jun shot straight up and began ringing a bell, alerting nearby foot soldiers to mobilize. The soldier turned to Yasoul as he vigorously rung the bell, who stood there frozen.

"Do something!" Jun snarled, and Yasoul stumbled to stand upwards and hobbled over to the ballista. His adrenaline was pumping throughout his body. This would be his first kill. The thought terrified and excited him. He would have a story to tell back home to his family. Perhaps he would stay in the army.

Ballista master... I like the sound of that! The hefty man turned the ballista at the orcs, and let out a might cry.

"Take this, you Northern bastard!"

Yasoul fired the ballista and it let out and resounding WHOOSH and sailed straight towards the orcs!

... feet. The ballista arrow was undershot, failing to connect with any of the intended targets. Yasoul looked at the pitiful ballista arrow sunken in the sand with his mouth agape. Even with the thousands of bells ringing throughout Gloria, it felt as if he was completely isolated, except with the failed ballista arrow.

A low whistle brought him out of that isolation.

"Literally, one job, Yasoul."

Yasoul remained silent for a moment.

"Fuck off, Jun."

I can't wait to get back to the market...

(Holden d’Alnharte, Paline’s War room, Praelium)

Holden stood up, and nodded to Claudius. “Do what you feel is necessary, though if I may offer some advice…” He approached the dragonborn, and lowered his voice. “If the General-Kings have Praelium on their plate, they’re going to make swell friends with Benaduza.” It was not the first time such a strategy was employed by the On’hinian military. A war with two fronts was a war with no victory, after all.

“Be it by diplomacy or by force, Benaduza should not remain a threat for the On’hinians to use.” With that, he bowed to Claudius. “I’ll make my way to the training grounds. A dull soldier is far more dangerous than a sharp one.” Holden left the war room, motioning for the scrawny soldier to follow him. “Take me to the yard, that I may practice for the battles to come.” He looked out, and was glad to see there was still some daylight left. While he was confident that he stood a significant notch above a common soldier, he wanted to work on his swordsmanship. Surely, the Praelians had tactics and maneuvers that his military experience had not prepared him for.

(Claudius Ker'Rak, Paline’s War room, Praelium)

“If the General-Kings have Praelium on their plate, they’re going to make swell friends with Benaduza. Be it by diplomacy or by force, Benaduza should not remain a threat for the On’hinians to use.”

Claudius's stone stature was broken for a third time that day.

"We're fighting on three fronts now if they side with Benaduza." Claudius replied. "Hopefully Carver finds success in this alliance business, though I wish other Tyranusses had done so sooner."

Holden bowed to Claudius, seeming to understand the Dragonborn's stress. He made his way out of the war room, and Claudius took a moment to breath.

First Dominus, then Oh'Hinians, and now Benaduza. Next thing I'll hear will probably be another village burning down.

The scrawny soldier jumped a little as Holden burst through the war room door, as he had nodded off a bit waiting outside. Holden motioned for him and requested him to take him to the yard.

"Yes sir, of course." The soldier said, leading the way towards the training grounds.

"And give him a Major's bow!" Claudius called from the war room. "Tell the quartermaster that the order came from Claudius himself!"

The soldier jumped again at the booming dragonborn's voice, but called back with a quick "Affirmative!" This was the first direct order he had gotten from someone this high up in Praelium government, and he was not going to blow it.

---

(Dominus (Side), Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Hm, I expected more.

The hooded figure observed Darlien from above, sitting cross legged on a rooftop. This was the man who burned down the village? It seemed he picked out easy targets, going for retired military instead of active. Unsuspecting town instead of guarded ones. Still, he displayed a great potential for magic. It was a shame that he was squandering it on a petty revenge quest.

The rogue mage began his walk down the streets of Artis Port confidently, proud that he killed the mercenary crew. Praelium’s guards were all military, but Darlien did not know this. Still, the fate of the guards would have practically been the same, except there would have been more of them. And Darlien might have ended up restrained and detained at the very last, albiet it probably would’ve have been a short while. Praelium’s military wasn’t well equipped to fight against mages, and Darlien was taking quite the advantage of this.
The mage’s strut began to crumbled, turned into more of a panicked walk. He started to look around at the buildings frantically. He was clearly mentally bothered by something, probably his own demons. Eventually the man stopped in his tracks and screamed, shooting out flames wildly at his unseen attackers.

Ah, that’s my queue.

Almost with lightning like agility, Dominus scaled down the house they sat atop of and stood about 20 feet in front of the distracted Darlien.

“Impressive work with the mercenaries. But allow me to show you what a little practice does.”

Using Darlien’s confusion to their advantage, Dominus cast a lightning bolt down from the sky, barreling at the speed of light towards Darlien.

The crack of the Balista shot caused Rögdûl to raise an arm up to his face; he had expected as such, and soon his arm lazed back to his side. He figured shouting would only be seen as an act of aggression--and it wasn't like they could hear him over the blare of the alarum bells clanging in unison. Rögdûl rubbed his temples; it was going to be a long day.

"We should have sent the crows first; you know they don't like our kind around here!" Nerakghu shouted as best he could above the screaming chime of the warbells.

A grunt, a sigh. "Did you bring the torches?"

"No."

"Bubhosh!

Since it takes a moment to reload a ballista, Rögdûl moved past the lodged ballista arrow and toward the fortress gates, and that is when Nerhrakgu spoke up again,

"The arrow."
"What?"
"Send your request through the arrow."
"They'll think we want a fight!"
"You do not have another option. In a few seconds, there will be more than some incompetent artillery men descending upon us. Send the arrow."
"Fine! If this doesn't work, you owe me Dushut."

Rögdûl plucked the ballista arrow out of the desert sand. Nehrakghu stripped the pouch from his robes; he kept various diplomacy tools in those wizardly looking robes: pens, parchment, paper, ink. He removed the pen and paper from his robings and wrote: peace. He wrapped the small strip of paper around the ballista arrow. Rögdûl grabbed the ballista arrow around its midsection and drew his arm back to toss the ballista arrow as one would a spear--he launched in an arc; its parabola steep enough to ensure that it went up, up, up. . .

(Various Praelium Soldiers, Gloria, Outskirts of Praelium)

Several soldiers let out war cries as they flooded out from Gloria's gates. They were all ready for battle and feared nothing. They outnumbered the orcs 10:1, 5:1 if you included horses. One of them, dressed with the most ornate armor was scribbling something down on a piece of parchment, using the ballista as a writing surface.

"I doubt this is the time for poetry!" A Orc soldier laughed at the other. "You can write your stories in hell! Give us a real battle until then!"

Suddenly, the Orc secured the parchment to the arrow and bent down on the ground lifting the ballista arrow that was embedded in the sand and flung it up towards it's point of origin. The feat was superhuman, something that none of them thought was possible. That arrow had to weigh at least 500 pounds, and the Orc was able to throw it up and back to where it came from.

The missle came crashing down in behind Yasoul, who was trying to load up another shot. He did not expect this in the slightest. His failure had come back to haunt him, it seemed.

"Holy shit!" Jun yelled, running up to the missile. "How the hell did they do that?"

Yasoul did not move, but simply turned his head to look in awe at the Orc who just tossed up the ballista shot back upwards. Jun's eye caught sight of the piece of paper wrapped around the missile and grabbed it, at fist confused from the simple message.

"I... I think they don't want a battle..." Jun said, pausing and looking over at Yasoul. "Do you think it's true."

"I think we would need a lot more men to fight that Orc..." Yasoul said, eyes still looked to the orc who threw the missile. "And if he wanted a fight, I think they would have attacked already."

Jun immediately ran over to the edge of the tower wall and began to yell.

"Don't attack! Repeat: Don't attack! They wish for peace!" Jun wildly waved the piece of paper from the Orcs around to show proof.

The group of soldiers let out an inner breath of relief, glad that they did not have to fight the monster that stood before them. They approached the Orcs slowly, weapons drawn. The leader of the group called out to them.

"If you truly come in peace, lay down your weapons!" He commanded. "Off your horses and lay down on the ground! We will restrain you, for safety precautions!"

[Rögdûl the Red Chief, Gates of Fortress Gloria, Praelium).

The Chief removed the tribal blade from his back and layed it on the back of the massive armored warhorse. With two pats on the horse's hind, he sent the horse back North to the foothills of the Red Claw encampment. Then Rögdûl turned to the shouting soldier who appeared to be the leader of the group. A smirk curled across his face; Rögdûl's massive arms hung idle at his side, his pitch black iris' scanned the entire group. He could slaughter most of them with his bare hands--he nestled in such a thought for a moment before his daydream ceased and he returned to reality.

If you truly come in peace, lay down your weapons! Off your horses and lay on the ground! We will restrain you, for safety precautions!

Rögdûl let out a boisterous laugh! "a-ha. . . aha. . . Aha. . . AHAHAHAHA! With what? Your (mockingly) 'handcuffs!'? Bubhosh!"

But of course, he did not want to cause more problems than necessary. He did not, however, lie on the ground--that was weakness, and he would not display weakness no matter how many soldiers they brought. He curled up his thick, armor-covered fists and held them forward to be "restrained." His laughter fades into a lull. A smile still draped over his thick, leaf green lips and tough, sharp jawline.

Nerakghu followed suit.

"Let's get this over with."

(Holden d’Alnharte, Training Yard, Paline, Praelium)

Motions honed to perfection by over a decade of constant usage sent plumed messengers of death across the range; the arrowheads piercing the red of a bullseye. Where one landed, another joined in tight grouping. If the archery range was the forests, jungles and deserts Holden was accustomed to, the targets would have been the patrols he took by surprise. The first arrow always took the rear guard; the second the point man. The Exile would have ducked into obscurity, as the enemies would scramble for cover. However, this was not the ambushes that costs countless soldiers their lives. This was simple target practice.

“Were it that the targets could move,” Holden muttered, before examining his bow. The grip was not too foreign to him, but it would take some time before his hand adjusted. A thought crossed his mind, and he looked to the soldier – who had taken to accompanying him around the training yard. “My knife,” he said, patting his empty sheath. “Where is the man who I gave it to?”

Holden set his bow against the wall, as he motioned for the soldier to follow him. He had not bothered to learn the greenhorn’s name. It was not out of disregard, but his experience in the various conflicts he was thrown in. The more names he knew, the more it hurt to see them lost. He approached the target, studying his handiwork. While he was greatful that his marksmanship had not been ruined by his time in the dungeons, he would not give anyone the satisfaction of his glee. “Find the Sergeant. Tell him to meet me for sparring.” He drew Yusil, and ran his thumb across the flat of the blade; eliciting a soft, pleasant ring. When was the last time he engaged in a duel? A fight was common enough, but a fair fight was rare. He looked at the soldier, and gestured for him to go. “Go on. I’ll find my way there.”

(Alon d’Trilith, Waters of Daradium, Territory of Benaduza)

A meaty thunk mixed with the flavor of wood elicited cheers from the Sea Tigers manning the Spectre. The headsman kicked the small, headless body into the waters, before turning to Alon. “Lieutenant, are you sure you don’t want any part in this?”

“I’m sure. Get back to work.” The Lieutenant glanced at the next Benaduzan they captured during the swift attack. Of course, the defenses around Daradium still stood, and it would not be long before reinforcements came. Or so he had hoped. The human had steel hooks through both of his lips; a crude device designed by the pirates to keep prisoners from running or struggling, and to let the heads drift behind the ship as they sailed across the seas. Part of him was appalled, but he knew better than to protest it. These men were not just following orders. They were fueled with rage.

He turned to look at Daradium, and the smoke stacks surrounding it. With minimal casualties, they had taken the shoreline. The sounds of battle carried out across the waters, competing with the ever-strong winds of the open waters. “I hope the General-Kings know what they’re doing,” he muttered. This was a strong declaration of war; one that left a good portion of Erelith open to invasion by smaller nations. Change was heavy in the air; what terrified him was the uncertainty of the outcome.

(Various Praelium Soldiers, Gloria, Outskirts of Praelium)

The Orc laughed at the soldier's requested, making fun of their demands to restrain him. However, his laughter was not without reasoning. The ropes that they would provide would be merely for show, a symbolic restraint rather than an actual one. The orc still held his hands out, and the soldiers approached the Orc, quickly tying his hands. The group quickly surrounded the Orc, swords drawn and ready to strike at a moments notice. Another thirty some soldiers poured out of Fort Gloria and did the same to the other Orc. The captain of the first squad stood in front of the behemoth of the creature, but like that creature he also showed no sign of fear.

"I'm surprised anyone from the northern desert can write," The captain said, voice stone cold. "Let alone ask for peace. We don't see many orcs from the north, so what are you? Passerbys? A minority from a smaller tribe?"

The captain looked at the Orc for a second, studying his armor. He scratched his chin and shook his head.

"No. Your armor has too much refinement to be from any I've encountered here before. Perhaps there are civilized groups among the desert tribes." The captain nodded, reaffirmed by listening to himself talk. "Right. So, you've demonstrated that you're not just out for blood. And that note even suggest you wish to engage with politics instead of warfare. Out with it, then."

The captain stared the Orc in his eyes, keeping his chest out and head held high. Whilst his demeanor in the beginning was antagonizing, it slowly shifted to a semi-professional tone, although it was still condescending.

---

(Jameson Telluth(Insignificant), Sergeant Officer of Praelium, Inside the Fort of Paline, Praelium)

Ah, this day is finally coming to a close... The veteran was relaxed and on his way to the mess hall. Today was quite eventful, after he found that strong Holden character he found a small group of outsiders within Paline's walls. These were not as friendly as Holden, and he ended up having to engage in combat, killing them swiftly. They were clearly scouts, Jameson could not tell from where, but they did not look Benaduzian.

Not my job... The veteran was at the tail end of his service, and simply wanted to retire now. Although he was still in his prime, his body began to ache more at night and wounds didn't seem to heal quite as fast. He was simply tired, but he was ok with that. He did not blame Praelium, he more so blamed the curse of mortality and the strain that war puts on an individual.

"Sir! Sir!" A voice called and Jameson turned, it was the newest recruit to his platoon.

"Yes soldier?" Jameson asked, clearly not in the mood for whatever antics was in store for him.

"Holden wishes to spar with you, sir." The wiry one said. "He also requests for his knife back."

Jameson's heart began to pump. A duel? It had been ages since he fought a worthy opponent, and that Holden seemed like the type. Jameson felt revitilzed, as if he was back to when he was posted at Gloria. He smiled, something he hadn't done in awhile.

"Sir?" Jameson has been day dreaming and lost track of time, but he quickly snapped back into it.

"Ah, yes of course." Jameson said, shoving the boy out of his way. "I'll tell him myself. Thanks, Private Tuckett. You can have the rest of the day off."

"Thank you sir!" Tuckett responded, smiling and heading towards the mess hall. Halfway to the door though, he paused, and turned around. He had to see this newcomer fight. His skill in the training grounds was masterful, and he wished to see that talent in full action.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After about fifteen minutes or so from Holden sending the wiry guard after the Sergeant, Jameson appeared with two short swords in hand and a backpack slung across his back. He was moving quickly, and not too far behind him was Tuckett.

"Holden!" Jameson bellowed, his personality quite different from their first encounter. "Terribly sorry about your knife. It's been one hell of a day."

Jameson sheathed his swords and opened his back pack, handing Holden a leather pouch embroidered on it was the flag of Praelium.

"Claudius gave me the pouch to give to you, your knife is inside." Jameson said. "Consider it a token of thanks. Use it as a coin purse, or however you please."

Jameson tossed the backpack that was previously holding the leather pouch to the side and drew his sword with his free hand.

"Now, Tuckett told me something about a sparring match?" Jameson grinned, eager for his response.

(Holden d’Alnharte, Fort Paline, Praelium)

“I was worried that you would turn down my invitation,” Holden remarked with a grin. He raised Yusil, but its shining glory was stifled by the leather guard around its edge. He set the leather pouch on the ground, stepped away from it. He would have time to fix it to his belt after a bit of fun. “Would it make the match fair if I used my offhand?” the Exile mused. Of course, he was not planning on doing any such thing. The Sergeant deserved a fair shot at him without a handicap.

“Tell me, Sergeant; would you rather bash heads in a courtyard, or see me in real combat?” Chuckling, he offered his hand. “I feel like I cheated you out of an interesting afternoon, earlier. I wouldn’t think of it as anything more than what you deserve if we hunt for trouble.” It would give Holden the chance to observe the caliber of soldier that Claudius suggested he would lead, after all. “It’s your call. Should you choose to duel…” Holden patted his own chest with a smirk.

Negotiation was not Rögdûl's strongsuit, his temper quick to flare should he feel his reputation or his ability called into question. The silence beckoned Nerakghu to step forward and handle talk.

(Nerakghu (SIDE), Advisor to the Red Chief, Outskirts of Praelium)

"Gentlemen."

Nerakghu's filmy eyes lacked the youth and vigor of his younger company, but they had seen far more--much like the crowd of human soldiers over whom his eyes fell as he spoke.

"Word travels far, Gajutar. Your country cries."

Dry Northern desert winds shuffled overhead, whipping Nerakghu's greying locks with the direction of the wind. His cold grey pupils trailed along the axis of his neck as he turned his head behind him to the barren rocky plains that lead back to the Northern hills. After a moment of reflection (and nonverbal conversational transition) he turned back to the officer who led the small defense force.

"The crows awake. Carrion from the North smell your defeat, and they are gathering. They lie low even beneath the sands of the foothills, and wait for. . . them to join the feast."

To any Praelium general's ears, it is clear who the Elder orc references.

"We, the Red Claw--and our High Chieftan--have come to offer you protection from the starkok, on the condition that you give us something in return."

A pause.

"Free passage into Praelium, and a small supply of weapons. Swords, bows and arrows, clubs. You do this, and you may consider your fine fortress forever free from the Northern pesks; and more important, you may consider the Red Claw an ally of yours till the Ends of the Ulragim."

(Darlien Garandinar, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium.)

"Burn! ALL OF YOU WILL BURN!"

Darlien hadn't exactly expected this to happen, overuse of magic did cause mental degeneration along with the physical damage, but he had expected that to manifest in old age, rather than right in the middle of the prime of his life. Not that he was exactly thinking about that much right now. He hadn't even heard the approaching figure talk by the time he spotted them. They said something about "Experience" that Darlien didn't hear, and then it was all white, and painful.

His body shook and burned, his head screamed at him as his limbs stopped listening, instead shaking out of control as the electricity ran its way through him, brutalizing anything that it touched. He felt no pain in his hands, not so surprisingly, they were already burned enough that he had no nerve endings left to feel with. Finally, the flash dampened, and he collapsed with a cry of pain. Smoke rose from his body, and he tasted something horrifically bitter. There was an awful smell in the air. For a long time he just laid there, his muscles spasming out of his control.

Finally, the spasms subsided, and with a loud groan Darlien forced himself to his feet, testing them unsteadily. He looked over at his masked attacker, snarling with as much hate as he could muster.

"Praelian scum! How dare you attack me?!" He yelled, picking his dropped blade up from off the ground. "You... you're... a Dominus, aren't you?

Darlien's face suddenly went stark white. He hadn't expected a mage, but this was a Dominus, he'd heard of them from some of his tutors back in Benaduza, legendary mage chasers, near-unkillable and with some of the most powerful magics ever invented in their pockets. His father was the only person he'd heard of able to even wound one, never mind kill two. Darlien doubted he was even close to his father's level yet, but he believed he could handle another mage, even if it was a Dominus. Though he still had a massive pit in his stomach.

Taking a deep breath and spinning forwards, he suddenly became very aware of the multiple burns he had suffered as a result of that first attack. He could fight through it, but it would be more difficult.

Time to focus. He decided, as he finished his spin and dropped to one knee, blade pointed towards the Dominus. He was intimidating them, they would now know of his superior skills.

"Well, I don't care who you are," he lied, still just as worried. Because I'll kill you just the same!" Darlien yelled, with another cry his left hand lit up in flame, and from it flew a stream of flame, barreling towards the unnamed Dominus.

---

(Gennio e'Dux, Ascencion Islands)

"Sir!" A messenger barged in, nearly tackling Lord Pelionis and leaving him grasping his foot from a poorly-placed step. "The On'hinians have attacked Daradium!" A moment passed, tension evident in the silent room.

Suddenly, a snicker. Then a chuckle, then a snort, then a full laugh. Crackling coming from his throat in disbelief, the messenger stared at the king as he howled with laughter, smacking his thigh and pounding his chest as his cackle became a cacophonic howl. Then, just as quick as it had began, it stopped.

As the other two stared at him, Gennio raised an eyebrow.

"What are you staring at? Go to the barracks, raise the sailors! Move!" He chased the messenger at a brisk walk, clapping as he did. Pelionis stared at the back of his king in utter dumbfounded silence, before shaking his head and following.

"My king, what are your orders?"

"Follow behind and watch, I'm going to lose us a battle."

"Now?"

"Do you have a better idea or are you wasting time, Lord Pelionis?"

"...The latter."

"As I expected, now keep up, we sail for Daradium and prepare for battle, don't expect a victory,
because we're not getting one." The king finished, before rushing ahead, leaving Pelionis huffing and puffing, unable to keep up.

"Hali Benaduza." He cursed before attempting to pursue.

(Jameson Telluth, Fort Paline Praelium)

The sergeant laughed at Holden's taunts, and drew his other sword. His grip on both weapons tightened as Jameson made his way towards a clearing within the fort.

"Let's hope your wit is as sharp as your technique," Jameson grinned. "As for our duels in Praelium, we fight until the other would clearly be killed. It's the only way to truly test your skills."

The sergeant was at the other side of the clearing now and gestured Holden to the opposite end. He was ready to battle, crossing his two blades in front of him, a common Praelian parry stance. He smile had not faltered and he had his eyes locked with Holden's.

"Ready whenever you are," Jameson said. "Just step towards your end of the circle, and we can begin our fight."

---

(Various soldiers, Fort Gloria, Outskirts of Praelium)

The captain waited, facial expression never changing, posture never faltering. The orc spoke as if Praelium was some dying creature, bleeding out from some recently inflicted gash. He must have been talking about the burned village.

News travels rather quickly, even to the North. The captain thought quietly to himself. Didn't think the desert tribes knew anything about what went on in Praelium.

"Free passage into Praelium, and a small supply of weapons. Swords, bows and arrows, clubs. You do this, and you may consider your fine fortress forever free from the Northern pesks; and more important, you may consider the Red Claw an ally of yours till the Ends of the Ulragim."

Now that caught the captain's attention. An alliance with a desert tribe? That was something that no Praelium citizen had ever imagine. If the orc who threw the missile represented the general population of their tribe, they would indeed be a powerful ally. However, this was not the captain’s call. This was something that would definitely go up to the Tyrannus.

“While I think you overestimate the damage that was done to us and underestimate how well we can handle desert tribes,” The captain began, “an alliance is something our Tyrannus might be able to consider. However, I am not the Tyrannus.”

The captain stepped away and turned around from the orcs, pondering over something. He quickly turned around, nodding to himself again.

“But what is within my power, is that I can contact him, and we can arrange a meeting. Come back tomorrow, but this time bring a white flag so we know you aren’t hostile.” The captain whistled, and the guards swiftly returned to the captain’s side. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll come here himself.”

---

(Dominus, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

The lightning bolt struck true to the mage’s intended target, and Darlien laid on the ground, spasming and screaming. Dominus sighed and shook their head.

Not even a warding spell? Does he only know destruction?

Darlien screams ceased and he wobbled his way to his feet. He snarled and yelled at his foe.

"Praelian scum! How dare you attack me?!"

However, his confidence faded quickly. He seemed to recognize the Dominus robes that the mage wore. His face turned pale.

Aw, a little scared you face someone competent?

"You... you're... a Dominus, aren't you?”

He pointed his blade at the mage, and they responded with a chuckle. The Dominus mage couldn't help it. A mere cheese knife? This young one definitely needed to catch up on their learning.

"Well, I don't care who you are," The man’s voice dripped with fear. “Because I'll kill you just the same!"

Darlien conjered a fireball from his left hand and hurled it at the Dominus mage. The fireball went screeching towards them, it was sure to strike iit’s intended target.

Hm, surprisingly still accurate.

The mage quickly brought up their forearm and a translucent circle appeared, absorbing the fireball. The mage quickly dispelled the warding spell after Darlien’s spell expired.

“You have a lot more to learn about magic, boy.”

The Dominus slammed their hand against the ground, sending an ground-bound arc of lightning towards Darlien. Although they had to kneel, their eyes were still locked onto their target.

(Darlien Garandinar, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Darlien watched his blast travel ever closer to the Dominus, and get absorbed by a warding spell. He had neglected to learn any more than the basic forms of warding, he could negate weak spells but was unable to do any more than dampen the power of stronger ones. His sword was enchanted though, and with its help, he could block more spells.

The dominus spoke, their voice less... evil than he expected, though the fact that it was being used to patronize him definitely made Darlien less likely to pay heed to its surprising normality. Then the mage sent out an arc of lightning. Darlien smiled, lightning looked nice and moved fast, but even the weakest warrior with a brain could still block it, all it took was something to ground it or absorb it, and Darlien's sword was just that.

Watching as the lightning closed, he held his blade tight, careful not to touch a metal part. With a cry, he placed the sword into the ground, right in the path of the arc, watching as it entered the blade and visibly sparked as the metal heated, before dispelling into the ground, into nothing. With an offhand swing, he turned himself towards the dominus, his confidence beginning to re-assert itself, but he couldn't get complacent, this was still a dominus, and a powerful mage indeed.

"I bet you think I'm some stupid kid, he snarked. "But I'm more than that,
I've learned about the world, I've studied the world and all the laws that hold our planet together, and one of the forces that's the same every time is electricity, you can generate it, you can control it, but it's not your tool, it does what it wants." He smiled

"Like fire, like water, like magic itself. Yes, I still have much to learn, but I am no boy,
I am a man!" He flicked his sword and flipped forwards. "I dare you to prove me wrong!" He yelled, taking off into a run. He used his magic to manipulate the winds, throwing him into the air towards the dominus. He then twisted through the air, forming a fist as he did.

Magic was hard to use, it was even harder to use more than one element, but Darlien was unique, he could learn how to cast a spell within a few minutes, and it was added to his arsenal with a few hours of further training. He had known other mages who could do similar, but it had taken them far longer than him. And yet he still hadn't surpassed his father, he knew that. It would take him years to reach that level, but he didn't want to wait, he wanted it to happen now, he wanted to be strong, strong enough to defeat an empire, and yet here he was, struggling to beat a single man... how he had failed achieved his goals, perhaps those goals were too far... no, he just wasn't trying hard enough, he was one of the best mages in the world, he could sever a continent with just a little more magic... just a little more... just a little more time, but he wanted it now!

He roared and punched downwards, the ground under him rupturing and practically exploding, sending rocks flying in every direction.

(Holden d’Alnharte, Fort Paline, Praelium)

With an exaggerated bow, Holden then stepped to his end of the circle, and brandished his blade; during which the leather guard slid off. His hips sank, and his cordial demeanor melted off. With each breath, a dozen thoughts came and went through his mind. The grip on his blade tightened as his arms grew limber. His heartbeat remained steady as he began to circle Jameson.

“Where I come from,” Holden began, “we sparred until our officer pulled us apart. There’s a scar across the palm of my hand, where I pushed my partner’s blade to her own throat.” The wind tugged at his cloak, threatening to steal it. While he waited for the Sergeant to make the first move, his mind let go of the current situations weighing him down. He was not a criminal, nor a refugee; he was a warrior, dancing an aeons-old duet with steel and vigor.

Then, without warning he lunged into his strike. Aiming low, he brought his blade into the motion of an uppercut, but carved through the ground itself; flicking up dust before he brought the flat Yusil's steel towards the Sergeant's gut. While he was not aiming to kill, he certainly was not going to be gentle about it.

(Dominus, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Darlien's cocky smile returned as he backhanded the lightning arc that the Dominus mage sent out with ease. So he did know how to play defensively. Perhaps this was simply the first time he was really met with a challenge. This was good for the Dominus, they would get a greater test of their skills. Maybe even learn a thing or two from the rogue mage.

"I bet you think I'm some stupid kid," he snarked. "But I'm more than that, I've learned about the world, I've studied the world and all the..."

He seems to like to hear himself talk. The Dominus thought to themself. I wonder if vanity is in his genes? Maybe it was taught to him by Benaduza.

Dominus mused over the origin of Darlien's confidence, but their concentration was broken by a roar from Darlien, which was followed by a powerful slam to ground, causing a shockwave. The Dominus was at the epicenter of this shockwave and did not have time to dodge the telegraphed attack due to their wandering mind. The move slightly, but took the brunt of the blow. The mage went flying, slamming into the side of a nearby building.

"Damnnit..." They moaned, clutching their arm. "Can't let my mind wander..." The stood back up, brushing themselves up. They turned their still hood covered face to Darlein. Their focus was now narrowed, their sole thought process was to end the rogue mage's tyranny against Praelium.

"I didn't call you boy just because of your inexperience," The Dominus mage called back, voice in monotone. "Your errand is also a fools."

The Dominus mage's hands sparkled with magic, one with with electricity and the other with a unique purple glow. They shot themselves forward with the purple glowing hand towards Darlien, and with the other shot out a continous stream of electricity.

---

(Jameson Telluth, Fort Paline, Praelium)

The Sergeant groaned and faltered a bit, the flat blade of Holden's dagger to his gut. His parrying stance had failed, the man moved irregularly and with grace, something his parry stance could not account for. However, even with the wind knocked out of him, the Sergeant was not ready to give up. Sure, the blow to the stomach would have been a deadly blow, but now that Jameson was more prepared with his opponents tactics, he wouldn't be as easy as a foe.

"Well, round one goes to you with that," Jameson said, jumping back from Holden and reaching the other side of the circle. "I suppose round two will start immediately now."

Jameson rushed Holden, jabbing at him quickly with the left sword.

[Hopefully this was is to leave Holden's other side free.

Jameson came crashing down with his right sword, blunt side aiming right for Holden's neck. Like Holden, he wasn't aiming to hurt, but he hoped the blow from the sword would feel hard enough that Holden would know the Sergeant's strength.