(Darlien Garandinar, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Darlien pushed himself up with shock in his eyes, he'd hit! And they looked hurt! He pulled himself out of the mess he'd created with his attack and watched as the Dominus stood. He shook off his dazed expression and gave a focused glare. He had to stay focused, he took one eye off them and he would take another brutal attack. They spoke to him again, clarifying her earlier statement, calling his mission a fool's errand. He glared at them in response, he didn't care what they thought, he would do his duty to his parents, he knew that well enough.

Then they shot forth, one hand glowing purple, the other shooting lightning. They really liked lightning, didn't they? Not his favorite, but it was effective, he guessed. He really didn't want any part of either, so he leapt back, leaping his way over the impact crater and landing on the other side, where he would have more time to see her coming, and react accordingly.

He flashed his blade and spun it in his hand, holding his other in front of his face.

"You think it's so simple?" He snickered. "You Praelians are rather simple folk aren't you? I don't care how foolish my errand seems, I already know it will succeed," he clenched his fist, allowing it to be consumed in flame.

He flourished and pointed his sword at the dominus.

"I am Darlien Garandinar, son of Decus Garandinar, he who killed two of your mages alone," he pounded his chest. "And I will avenge my father, and my mother, no matter how many Praelians I have to kill!" He screamed, still spinning his blade, though now it was more out of anger than boredom. The Dominus could strike in an instant, and he watched them carefully for any movements.

He was in danger no matter where he was, one wrong move and he could be dead. But he still had to do something, he couldn't just sit there and wait for them to kill him. He decided to make his move now.

"Are you scared? Dominus? Can you feel fear? Are you just some puppet of flesh for the Tyrannis to control? To do his dirty work?" He taunted. Hopefully he could drive the dominus into frustration or anger, either would perhaps lead to a sloppier attack... or an incredibly powerful one that he'd be hard pressed to dodge, but sometimes you had to take gambles.

"Do you bleed? Or is it some fluid constructed in a lab made of my father's ground up bones?! I bet you've so many scars you look like a toy under those robes, are they to hide your deformities? Or just to hide the souls you hold captive, ready to be harnessed to forge another identical one of you? Show me your face, dog! If you even have one! You smell like death if she slept with pestilence, and you walk like your leg has been torn from your body and reattached with string! As I'm sure it has, more times than you remember. Do you even remember your name? Do you have a name? Or do you have a number? Because that's all you are to them, a number, replaceable, like my father!" He roared, his fist subconsciously becoming consumed in flame.

(Dominus, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Darlien leap back, barely escaping the electricity that came from their hands. The Dominus grunted, disappointed that their attack was so easily dodged. He was proving to be more slippery than intended, something that the Dominus had not observed while stalking their target.

Well, to be fair, most of his "fights" were more so just slaughters.

"You think it's so simple?" He snickered. "You Praelians are rather simple folk aren't you? I don't care how foolish my errand seems, I already know it will succeed,"

The Dominus snickered back at Darlien's comment. Calling them Praelian? They were no more Praelian than the Twin Goddesses were from the Consortium. Darlien's fist turned to flame, and he continued to speak.

"I am Darlien Garandinar, son of Decus Garandinar, he who killed two of your mages alone," he pounded his chest. "And I will avenge my father, and my mother, no matter how many Praelians I have to kill!"

The Dominus snickering stopped, their fist began to clench as well at the mention to the two other mages. Their fist began to arc with lightning, similar how Darlien's fist turned to flame. If their focus was narrowed before, it was laser like now.

"Are you scared? Dominus? Can you feel fear? Are you just some puppet of flesh for the Tyrannis to control? To do his dirty work?" Darlien continued to talk. "Do you bleed? Or is it some fluid constructed in a lab made of my father's ground up bones?! I bet you've so many scars you look like a toy under those robes, are they to hide your deformities? Or just to hide the..."

Is... Is he trying to taunt me? The Dominus realized the mage's shift in tactic. He... He really hasn't fought against anyone of true skill before.

Most of the taunts fell on deaf ears. One caught the Dominus mage's attention, something about their apperance, but they were confident in their figure beneath the hood. As the man prattled on the Dominus mage hummed and the arcing on their hands grew larger and sparked with more intensity. They figure it was polite to let the man finish his tirade before they cast their spell. That, and they had more time to charge the power of their spell.

"...that's all you are to them, a number, replaceable, like my father!"

Ah finally finished...

"One, learn more about our politics," The Dominus began. "Two, monolouges. Never a good idea in a battle."

The Dominus mage shot their hands out and arcs of lightning leap from their hands, connecting at the place Holden was standing. The spell was so powerful, the Dominus couldn't keep their focus on the illusion spell keeping their face obscured and hood on. The hood flipped back, revealing the Dominus' face.



Shit... I need to make sure this will cause a concussion...

They didn't intend to stop their spell, especially if it were to hit Holden. They would hold it until the man crumpled to the ground, then probably find something to cause blunt force trauma to make them forget seeing their face.

(The power of the spell caused the Dominus to lose control of the "passive" spell she was keeping up, thus causing the hood to fall backwards. He enhanced agility is gone now as well.)

(Teyla Ethergate Davison Main, Outside of the Consortium Capital, Jagilish, the Emerald Fortress.)

Teyla was taking a break from the constant workload the Council had because there was many requests and laws being made. She had a gentle smile on her face and she could see her twin sister on a bench right outside of the building. She walked towards her twin sister. ”Fiona, are you taking a break like me?” Teyla asked, kindly.

Fiona looked up at her twin sister and smiled back, and wearing a similar dress as her twin but slightly darker. ”Yeah, Teyla I feel like it is needed for the constant stuff we have to do,” Fiona said, kindly. She scooted a bit so her twin sister could take a break on the bench. ”My sister is so sweet but she’s into the opposite sex unlike me,” Fiona thought to herself. She was lost in thought for a bit.

Teyla noticed her twin sister scoot on the bench and sit down besides her. ”Want to grab something to eat?” Teyla asked, curiously. She hadn’t really thought of food until now but they enjoy the same foods. She was embarrassed because her stomach rumbled right as soon as she asked that question.

Fiona heard her sister ask that question and was happy. ”Yeah I am starving and had not thought of it either,” Fiona said, kindly. She looked at her sister’s blushing face and giggled at it. ”Forgetfulness happens all the time,” Fiona said. She got up from her seat and slowly walked towards the large emerald door. She noticed the two Elite guards that protect her and her twin. ”Oh hello, how are you doing?”

Teyla heard her sister’s words and it made her happy to know that Fiona was hungry too. She heard her sister giggle at her but she ignored it. She got up when her twin got up and walked towards the door. She noticed the two Elite Guards that protect her and her twin. ”What was your names again?” Teyla asked, curiously. She always forgets the armor has nameplates on it.

The Elite Guards were wearing heavy armor and it was colored in the same way as the Consortium’s Flag with a nameplate on it. The nameplate of each Elite Guard were apart of a well known bodyguard family by the name of Carin-Debra Draconian Family of White Dragons. The one to the left is named Benton and the other is named Rachel. “You are very funny Teyla, all you have to do is look at our nameplates on our armor but my brother is less talkative than I am,” Rachel said. Rachel looked at her brother with a slight annoyance.

Brenton looked at his sister and sighed. “You should have asked one of the chefs within the Capital to make you a glorious meal,” Brenton said, annoyed slightly at Rachel. He had an air of honor and duty to him when talking to any council member for the Jagilish Council. “As well, we are doing okay Fiona,” Brenton said.

Teyla smiled at Brenton and Rachel’s quick responses to what they were doing. ”I keep on forgetting about that small detail Rachel. Thank you Brenton and what is the special today?” Teyla asked, curiously towards the one who spoke with honor.

Brenton smiled towards Teyla’s question. “It is a dish out of your mother’s famous cookbook, Teyla, Maria before she became the Grand Admiral of Consortium’s Navy she was a great cook,” Brenton said, proudly.

Teyla smiled and she instantly knew what dish, it was because she had it last night. ”Oh my… I love that dish, it has my favorite vegetable on it. It is called Maria’s Bented Salmon with seasoned olives and green beans and zucchinis,” Teyla said, happy. She was drooling somewhat when she talked about the zucchinis.

Fiona smiled and sighed a bit. ”Sister don’t work yourself up on Zucchinis even though It is my favorite vegetable to,” Fiona said.

The Door opened up by raising up like a Fortress door would do. Because of the knowledge of what is being made for lunch is extremely heartwarming. Teyla, Fiona, Brenton and Rachel walked into the Fortress and it closed behind them. They walked towards the tavern part of the Fortress because that is where the food is usually being made. The Cookbooks are legendary in the Consortium and all the foods are healthy to the point of shared knowledge.

The two Davison twins sit down at a emerald table, the tavern had many tables within it but they are magically enchanted to never break. ”I should have ate a snack before coming here,” Teyla said, annoyed at herself.

Fiona looked at her sister and smiled. ”How much salmon is on the plate again sister?” Fiona asked.

Teyla looked at her sister and smiled. ”It is called a Bented Salmon for a reason,” Teyla said.

The Tavern owner saw the two Davisons and their Elite Guards walk in first and smiled and walked up to them. The Tavern owner is a female by the name of Nadia and she is the only child for the Dinmar family. “Hello, what do you want today? We have many things to eat and we are always cooking up stuff for the Jagilish Council,” Nadia said, happily and welcoming.

Teyla smiled at Nadia. ”Me and my sister wants the special, Nadia,” Teyla said, happily in response to Nadia’s welcoming nature.

Nadia looked at the two and is happy to hear that. “That’s good the Bented Salmon with seasoned olives, green beans and zucchinis. Is close to finished my father is making it Mr. Dinmar himself and he knows you always ask for two plates of the special anyway,” Nadia said, happily.

Fiona looked at her sister for a moment. ”Nadia, how much Bented Salmon is on the plate?” Fiona asked, curiously.

Nadia looked at Fiona for a moment and giggled. “It will be better for you to see for yourself, I guess you haven’t tried this dish?” Nadia asked, curiously.

Fiona nodded her head on the question and waited to see what it is because she had never heard of Bented Salmon before she usually eats soup most of the time at home. She looked at her sister, who had a strange smirk on her face.

Teyla smirked and giggled at her sister for not trying her mother’s Consortium Famous meal like ever. ”Mother will be happy to hear you are eating something besides Zucchini soup with tea,” Teyla said. She looked at Nadia for a second. "I will enjoy some tea as well, the tea from the Naesandoral family please," Teyla said, kindly.

Nadia knows what Fiona usually drinks for tea but this request is rare indeed the only people who order the tea from the Naesandoral family are members of that family. "Sure, I will prepare it right now, want the green or blue variant?" Nadia asked, curiously.

Teyla looked at Nadia a bit confused. "I would like to try the blue variant it sounds different because I usually drink green tea most of the time," Teyla said, confused and a bit curious.

Nadia nodded to Teyla. She walked away from the table.

The Two Elite Guards were sitting down in their heavy armor at a table made of Sapphire and were curious in how Teyla would enjoy it. "Something tells me she should've stuck to Green Tea," Rachel thought to herself, curious about Teyla's reaction to the tea.

( The Consortium has many family cookbooks that don’t really follow guidelines. However, the healthiest of these cookbooks are the Permanent families and all the lesser families are slightly different in their cookbook. )

(Holden d’Alnharte, Fort Paline, Praelium)

Holden clashed swords with Jameson, and his eyes flicked to his right blade. There was no way to stop both. Stepping in, he twisted his torso and slammed his shoulder into the Sergeant’s chest. As they both hit the ground, Holden pinned one of the Sergeant’s arms to the ground with his shoulder, occupied the other by locking steel once more. He froze as the a crackling BOOM resounded across the open skies.

The scout got up, and offered his hand to the Sergeant. Within that instant, the mood changed. No longer was it a light afternoon.

“Not a drop of rain,” he said, listening for the sound again. Was it thunder? Explosions? “I don’t think this fort is under attack,” he muttered to himself, “but where else?” He sheathed Yusil, and picked up his bow. “Once again, Sergeant, I apologize. But if the On’hinians have made a point of it to attack today, then I must stop their assault.” Or, at least die trying. It was the least he could do, after all.

“You can consider that a victory by my resignation.” He grabbed the leather bag that the Sergeant had brought him before, and tucked it under his belt. With a salute – by a palm to over his heart – to Jameson, he made his way towards the gates. Stopping at the stalls beside them, he untied a horse before hurrying towards the nearby port. While there was no way for him to pin point the origin of the noise, it was pretty clear that the only other clear target in nearby would be the lightly defended port of Artis.

(Holden's coming to join the blunderfuck!)

(Darlien Garandinar, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Darlien laughed at the Praelian's response to his taunting. But that laugh quickly turned into a scream of horror as he failed to notice the lightning in time. He managed to get his blade up just in time to block, but it was barely any help. His entire body seethed and burned as the electricity tore into him. He screamed as his footing became less and less secure, his mind racing to find a way out.

I can get out of this, I just need to be smart, I came in too cocky, I realize that now, but this is just an atta- he screamed as his sword flew to the side and he took the full force of the blast.

Darlien, despite his body screaming in agony, managed to secure his footing, beginning to cast a spell, but being cut off as the blast again shook his whole body. He couldn't see, he couldn't smell, all he could do was feel, and all he could feel was agony. His chest suddenly lost all feeling with a bang, and a flying chunk of flesh solved that riddle for him.

He stopped thinking, he stopped breathing, and he stopped fighting.

Darlien was thrown back by the force of the spell. His body horrifically mangled by the lightning. His eyes were fried by the lightning, and he could no longer see, but for some reason, he could see clearer than ever. The flames surrounding him, the bright flash driving itself into his chest, the cloud of smoke forming in the air from the buildings and his body, the... female face of the Dominus... if he wasn't dying, it would have been prime joke fodder.

Perhaps he had been too cocky, too youthful, too quick to move. He should have waited, curse his impatience.

....

Huh? Darlien swore he heard something, other than his liver detonating into a mess of chunks and gore.

^{the fuck were you thinking?}

Okay, he definitely heard something that time.

"Hey, uh, Darlien? It's dad... hey son... wha-..." The phantom that seemed to be an etherial form of his father sighed exasperatedly.

Dad?

"Yeah, uh, it's dad, so... I was a powerful enough mage that I could look into the future a little bit and send you this when I died... might be black magic. Well, anyways... I just... what in god's name were you thinking?"

I-I was avenging you, I was getting revenge for your death, like a good son would.

"I didn't need... Listen, if there is an afterlife I'll talk to you there."

There won't be.

"Eugh." He half-grunted-half-sighed. Then, he was gone. Just in time for Darlien to crash through the wall of a burning barn, which then proceeded to collapse on top of him. Only an arm managed to poke its way out of the rubble, which stopped burning, as the source of the flame finally expired.

"Damn."

(Dominus, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

The Dominus mage lowered their hands, lightning ceasing to flow once their target flew and crashed into a nearby barn. They smirked under their hood, casually making their way towards Darlien. The boy way finally put in his place. Now he would learn to hold off on the monologues. There was hope for him yet, even if his ego was massive.

Maybe I can convince them he boy has too much potential...

A hand reached from the rubble of the barn, flickering with flames for a moment, before going out entirely.

Or perhaps a pike will do.

The Dominus mage sighed. It was truly a pity for him to die. They knew if they brought Darlien back to the House alive, they would face severe punishment for not following orders. They could have even been executed for not killing him outright. But that was a risk they were willing to take, simply due to the amazing potential. They would fight for their lives, eventually fleeing the House with Darlien, teaching him as their protege, and who knows? They could have taken Praelium together.

He was easy on the eyes as well. Ah, oh well. Perhaps it is better this way.

They pushed the rubble off of the corpse in the barn, body burnt, crushed, and contorted. The Dominus mage sighed as they reached in their pocket to pull out a tiny bag. Their hand then glowed faintly, and the bag grew to the size of Darlien. They began removing more rubble off the body, hoping that it would still be in one singular piece.

---

(Jameson Telluth, Fort Paline, Praelium)

Holden seemed to leave in a flash and Jameson barely had anytime to react to him leaving. He got up to his feet, coughing from the blow that Holden inflicted on him. As the man became a speck in the distance, Jameson called after him.

"Come back, you hear! It's first to three victories!"

"But sir," Tuckett interrupted, "It's usually best of two, isn't it?"

"Fuck off, Tuckett," Jameson growled. "We all know who really won that one. I want a full set with this man."

(Insignificant, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium.)

The man had been hiding for quite some time, watching the mage, he hadn't expected it to be as easy as sitting and waiting. He stroked his short beard, longcoat billowing in the wind. He had been with the mage since he first attacked Praelium, he was the perfect subject, skilled and powerful, yet youthful and arrogant, he would have been easy to kill if it had been necessary. Thankfully, the Praelians had seen fit to make it easy on him, now all he had to do was retrieve the body and begin the procedure. The others in Omem would be fascinated, and in awe, he could see them now.

But first, he had to get rid of the Praelian. He removed himself from his cover, hands behind his back and with chin raised. Holding his hand out as if he had a glass of wine within, he began to channel a spell, his hand covered in a misty white aura. He chuckled to get the mage's attention, both as a method of intimidation and a bit out of jubilant glee, he had been waiting, waiting for his chance, and now he had it, his chance at living forever in the minds of Erelith's people.

His laugh turned into a cackle, but he never dismissed his spell, it was too important to just let it go.

"Hello, Dominus," he spoke, his voice like stone sliding across a floor. "You've impressed me, but it is not you who I am here for." He looked at the pile of rubble where the young man's corpse lay, presumably burned beyond recognition, not that aesthetics were necessary, all he needed was a body.

"Now, I'll spare you the pleasantries and simply skip to the demands," his voice suddenly shifted, becoming even deeper and less contained. "The body, the mage's body, the one you just killed for me. I will be taking it now, and if that's a problem, then I assure you that we can work something..." a soft sound came from behind him as one of his fingers twitched.

He smiled and held out his hand, a soft frosty mist fell from it and coalesced on the ground as his hand ever so slightly twisted and turned, with noise again coming from behind him. He snapped his fingers, and a deep fog descended over the town. Then a silhouette... two... three... four... a rattling noise echoing through the air, the clanging of metal and the sound of a woman's voice, singing softly as if to a child.

"Though, I promise no compromises."

He grunted, utilizing such a powerful magic was difficult, but it was all necessary.

Give it to me.

A whisper echoed through the air.

Give it to me.

It repeated, this time sung by a woman's voice. A groan rended the air, and was answered by a chorus of similar groans.

"Give it, mage."

(Rögdûl the Red Chief, Middle of the Northern Hills, Wasteland)

---

Shakatrog cleaved off the desert pirate's head. Crimson decorates the coarse sand, a sharp gust slapped the side of Rögdûl's face, the matte black Orc armor shone and reflected golden sun. Screams and gurdles are muffled underneath the crisp wind: the wind passes, screeches ring across the barren desert land, far along the rocks and hills and into the edges of civilization. Metal crushes bone, spikes cleave tendons, arrows javelin hearts. The Red Claw were out in full force; every desert pirate was dead, all twenty of them sprawled across the site of the raid.

"Gather the starkok and feed them to the crows. Take everything you can and load up the horses. Aylob. . ."

"Yes, my lord?" the Hand spoke. Her voice was soft but carried with it a predatory deluge. Her frame was thinner than her male equerry but true to typical female Orc warriors; agile, sturdy, powerful thighs and core muscles. She was far quicker and dexterous than her larger, brooding brother.

"Send word to Nerakghu, tell him to ready the messenger crows. It'll be time to meet with their leader soon enough."

Ayrob bowed and readied her horse; she let out a boisterous warcry before she rode off. Sometimes, I think she was dropped on her head as a child. Rögdûl thought. As she departed, Rögdûl picked up the pirate bandit leader's head and curled a sadistic smirk along his face--then he crushed it in both hands.

---

(Aylob, Chief's Hand, SIDE. Red Claw Encampment, Northern Hills)

The gargantuan warhorse's hooves beat along the gravel and sand of the desert 'til mid-morning. Aylob halted the abnormally sized beast outside of the camp gates where two smaller orcs armed with bows, arrows, and hoods stood. They swung open the wooden gates and Aylob plodded past both into the heart of the camp. A fire burned and arrows whizzed at targets as archers practiced their craft at the far end of the circular stronghold. Near the back of the base was a medium size tent that was purposefully built without structure so it was easier to take down; in the tent stood Nehrakgu, dressed in silver robes and his wizard hat.

"Is it time?" Nehrakgu broke from his ponder.
"Our timorshai konduuk says send them." Aylob infused a series of chuckles after her retort.
"Your brother is no dog, child."
"You're right--I said he was a great dog. The greatest of them all!" Her chuckling submitted to full laughter.
"Enough." Nerakghu sizzled back a hammering imperative.

Aylob shut up.

Nerakghu moved his hands from his pocket and lay the parchment on the table. Days old ink had settled in and made the eloquent cursive more legible and its words succint: "There will be no fight. We come in the night." He folded up the rustic brown parchment and wrapped it in some linen. As if he had delivered a silent command, one of several black crows flew to Nerakghu's shoulder where it found momentary rest. He put the wrapped up parchment in the bird's beak and it flew off. By mid-day, the crow had reached Fortress Gloria, where he landed next to the ballista battlements. From its beak it dropped the wrapped up parchment before it turned to fly away. The insignia of the Red Claw (a red circle with a talon etched in the middle) was imprinted on the linen.

A cackle interrupted the Domnius mage’s corpse retrieval. They sighed, slowly getting up from the body of the fallen Darlien.

“Just let me have my spoils, will you?” They began. “I really don’t want to deal with any more annoy-”

Their words were cut off by a bone chilling voice.

"Hello, Dominus.” The voice said, sending shivers down their spine. “You've impressed me, but it is not you who I am here for."

How the hell does everyone know who I am? It’s not like we have matching uniforms.

The Dominus mage looked up to see another hooded figure. Their beard managed to poke out slightly from underneath, but their face was obscured. Their hands were covered in a white misty glow.

Another mage? The Dominus’ hands began to spark in response. What would they want with this body?

"Now, I'll spare you the pleasantries and simply skip to the demands.” The voice was eerie before, but now it borderlined sadistic. "The body, the mage's body, the one you just killed for me. I will be taking it now, and if that's a problem, then I assure you that we can work something..."

Before the Dominus mage could respond, the misty glow seeped from the man’s hand and covered the village almost instantly, obscuring the Dominus mage’s vision.

”Give it to me.”

The command was faint on the Dominus mage’s ear, but firm.

”Give it to me.”

This one was pained, and followed by a chorus of a hundred more.

”Give it, mage.”

The Dominus was on the verge of panicking, but kept their composure calm for now. This magic was extremely powerful, rivaling even some of the heads of the House of Dominus. It was far beyond their ability, and they would be damned to try and fight back. Options raced through their head.

He is dead. The Dominus mage looked at the burnt corpse that was Darlien. That should be enough. However...

The Dominus took a deep breath, and grabbed the sword from Darlien’s charred hand. As quickly as they retrieved it, they swung down on his neck, severing the head from the body.

“Sorry,” Their voice quivered a little bit as they spoke. The weren’t as confident to fight this mage as they were Darlien, were they to attack them “I had to relieve some anger. If you saw us fight, he was quite the proverbial asshole. Hope that didn’t ruin anything.”

---

(Carver Pentaghast & Claudius Ker’Rak, Outside Fort Gloria, Outskirts of Praelium)

“You sure they want peace?” Claudius asked the captain of the guard through his helmet. He wore a fine scale helmet and shield, as the metal would cause him to overheat in this rough desert climate. His spear maintained it’s meta tip, however. The guard nodded back in reassurance.

“They wrote it on a ballista. Only came with three, so they were definitely risking something by coming here.”

"You reassigned the previous operator, correct?”

“He’s kitchen duty now.”

“Well, if their intentions are true, this will be a momentous opportunity for Praelium.” Carver said, containing his glee. “An ally to the north! Finally, some good news.”

Carver’s enchanted breastplate shined in the sun. The enchantment was merely to keep him from overheating, but it was useful nonetheless. The rest of his armor was enchanted to, courtesy of the House of Dominus. They created such magical weapons for each Tyrannus. However, Carver’s usual face shield was removed, as he wanted the Orcs to see his face when they made a deal with him.

Carver stood in front of thrice as many guards as there were the other day, with plenty more within the barracks of the Fort, ready to strike at any moment. Twice as many ballistas and archers were there than usually, ready to let loose a missile or an arrow (respectively) were the potential allies to turn hostile.

“They should show up anytime now, Tyrannus.” The guard said.

“Excellent,” Carver grinned, sword sheathed and shield strapped. “Let’s meet this Red Claw tribe then, shall we?”

(Holden d’Alnharte, Port of Artis, Praelium)

Fog. Damned fog.

Holden dismounted from his borrowed horse, and ran on foot. His instincts screamed to do anything except run towards what was likely an early grave. Where men and women with the ability to twist nature did battle, he would arrive with a bow, a blade, and his mortality. It reminded him of an old saying that spread through the Royal Army like wildfire.

Arrows fly faster than spells.

While he wanted to believe it was true, his past experiences proved that it was not always true. And while daggers, arrows and blades alarmed him, none of them sent the hair on the back of his neck on end. Not like that voice did.

Was it too late to return to Paline?

He stopped as silhouettes formed in the fog. As the dying light cast a rose-stained light through the air, it offered the sight of a ruined barn. Yet, there was a particular lack of smoke in the air. This was not an On’hinian attack. There would have been plenty of soldiers greeting him by now with the glint of steel. The robed figures only confirmed his suspicions – if nothing else had.

On’hinians had a specific distaste for magic in any form. They would rather perish than utilize magic in their armies.

The Exile moved towards a tree and hid. He had to pick his timing just right. Sliding an arrow from his quiver, he peered around the trunk and observed the two. He was too far to make out their conversation, though the way they acted told of the tension. Neither broke the other’s line of sight.

He smirked.

Maybe one will kill off the other. Would make my job all the more easy.

(Insignificant, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium.)

The man cringed when the Dominus decapitated the mage's corpse, it would make the ritual much harder to perform successfully, of course all he truly needed was the head, but the whole corpse was better. He muttered to himself in frustration but calmed quickly, he held up his fist, shaking under the burden of the powerful spells he was using.

"You're so quick to desecrate the dead, if only they could fight back," he hissed. "Now you've had your fun, you've cleared your head, exorcised the demons as it were. Now you will do as I have asked," he was beginning to grow impatient, and his body was beginning to grow tired due to the spells and the stress they put on his body. He ran a hand over his mouth, collecting any spit that had begun to condensate in the corners due to his stressing.

Enough of the fear tactics, he decided, holding up his hand. With a wave the fog departed, revealing that he had been joined by three others, all horrifically wounded with vacant stares and unsteady footing, they hissed and howled, their eyes locking onto the Dominus hungrily.

"Death comes to all, you are no exception. You may prolong your suffering and life if you wish, or you may die at the hands of the fallen. All it takes is a choice, give me the body, or die," he growled. He then held out his hand, and the dead began to stumble towards them, two armed with boards and one armored and brandishing a sword. Another gesture, and another corpse emerged from one of the flame-damaged homes, burnt to the bone and missing an arm.

The power of necromancy, banned due to the fear it brought into the hearts of men and mage alike, they were right to fear it, the power to conquer death was not one to be taken lightly. Ghouls devoured whatever they found without care, unbound by a mage's power, while his creations were subservient and brainless. The more powerful creations had the minds of men, but their power was too great to allow their creation, it was far too dangerous they said, it could be the death of them all. Of course he knew death was conquerable, so there was nothing to fear.

The corpses began to close on the dominus with a chorus of howls and snarls. The man closed his fist just before they arrived and they all halted as if a chain was locked around their throats. The form of a woman in a white dress darted above. The man smiled.

"Hand them the body, or they will kill you. And you will give me the whole body, or they will kill you the same as if you hadn't given anything."

The dead snarled and snapped their jaws like snakes attempting to feed. The man scowled and tightened his fist, and they stood completely still. He was in control here, and he would get what he was owed.

(Dominus, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Shit. Necromancers.

Necromancers in the House of Dominus were feared and secluded due the the nature of their field of magic. It didn't matter to most that they were still a part of the house, creating thrall from the former living was just... unsettling. Even for the great mages of Dominus. The Dominus mage's heart instinctively began to speed up, the sight of all the undead causing them to be set at further unease. With a deep breath and a little magic, they calmed themselves and prepared to speak again.

"It's... it's yours?" The Dominus mage said, more confused now than frightened as they were before. "Like I said, sorry about the desecration, it was merely a catalyst for my anger. I assume you're going to raise our friend here? May I be as bold to ask why?"

Their gaze returned to the corpse of the rogue mage. Whatever pain the Dominus mage had inflicted upon Darlien would feel like a simple tap on the wrist to the torture he was about to receive. They had been told necromancy was a painful process for the subjects being resurrected, the tearing from their soul from their body and binding themselves to the will of the necromancer. They felt bad for just a second, but the feeling fleeted as they recalled the pure ass-etry that was Darlien.

(Insignificant, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

The necromancer's body tightened as he noticed the Dominus calming, he'd dealt with many a fight in his life, and when an opponent calmed it usually meant they were planning something. When the Dominus proceeded to ask a question rather than launch an assault he too calmed, it seemed as if they didn't want to fight. He gestured at one of the undead, and it moved towards the corpse, snapping ineffectively at the Dominus as it passed.

"Have you heard of the Withered Beacon? The clan of mages who rebelled against the judgement of their betters and chose instead to forge their own path?" He questioned with a much more calm voice and demeanor. A phantom approached the Dominus and placed her hand upon their shoulder, breathing heavily. With a thrust of his palm, the necromancer forced her away. The more powerful beasts were hard to control, but he would not allow an attack without his express order.

"There are some among them who believe this world is flawed, that there needs to be... a change," he glowered at his hand, still glowing a pale white. "Death comes to all, it destroys and tears apart the love and affection we all share as people. We are conquerors of death, and my aim is to create a being that need not fear death in the first place," he rose his hand and one of the undead twisted and growled in agony, its body morphing and changing until it was a horrific, rotted mess.

"This beast is now free of rot, and as a result, it will live forever, unless..." he thrusted his palm and the beast disintegrated into a few leathery chunks of skin. "It is destroyed. What if there was an intelligent being that need not fear destruction. If there is one, there can be many, and if there is many, the human race has transcended its need for procreation and lineage, like the Elves of the north and west. My attempts require the body of a powerful mage, and if my ritual succeeds, I will create a being that has existed before, but more powerful than its predecessors. If this one immortal being exists, with power incredible, then immortality and magical power can be shared to all who desire it."

He tittered and held a finger up to his chin.

"Do you not wish to be immortal?" He asked with a grin. "Is life not beautiful? Is death not a horrific thing?" He again queried, with a bend to his voice like an old grandfather telling a tale.

"The mages seek to rob us of this bliss," he scoffed. "How selfish."

The undead locked Darlien's head in its teeth and began hoisting the headless body onto its shoulder. It stared blankly into the distance like something had been taken from it.

(Dominus, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

"I'm... comfortable with my own mortality." The Dominus mage said, slyly looking for a possible escape route. Things were not looking good for them, even with their compliance the necromancer did not seem to let them go. Maybe that was never the plan for the necromancers. They would kill them, and simply add to their horde of undead.

"Do you believe Darlien will be compliant with what you want? He seems to be a bit of a free spirit." Were Darlien to be immortal, there would be very little in his way to destroy Praelium, save a complete annihilation of his body. "He was pretty set on destroying Praelium. Or is that also part of your agenda?"

The Dominus' eyes caught a path to escape. There were two zombies who were far apart and ill equipped; their weaponry consist of a shard from a broken pot and a broom. There was little the thrall could do to stop the Dominus mage, were they to try and make an escape. They kept this in mind if things started to get too hairy.

(Rögdûl the Red Chief, Fortress Gloria, Nightfall.)

Upon the horizon they came, when daylight was dim and night loomed overhead. The Red Chief, his advisor, and his Hand, guided along dusty sands by horse hooves. Clatter gave way to neighs and the straddling of reigns as the Chief drew his warhorse--which was even larger than the other abnormally massive beats--to a stop. He was the fist to dismount, followed by his sister and Warchief, Aylob. She was dressed in lighter armor, but equipped with a variant of ranged weaponry and plated armor that covered the joints where arrows can easily pierce and cause significant joint damage. Nehrakgu wore his typical wizard robes.

Up to the gates Rögdûl went, and it is there he stood. He and his company were surrounded by some hundred men, and the Chief gave a sneer to all of them, though not one befitting aggression or fear--one that told them he could rip limbs from arms faster than they could draw sword or knock bow. All in jest, of course. He folded his elephantine arms across his box-square chest, and waited for the Tyrannus to speak first. He was, after all, a long way from home and didn't quite feel like fighting his way through a swarm of soldiers to get back. Not to mention the arrows and shivs he'd have to pull out; such an image made him shutter from annoyance rather than real worry.

"We have come. You know what we request."

The Chief fell silent--he had all the time in the world.

(Claudius Ker’Rak & Carver Pentaghast, Outside Fort Gloria, Outskirts of Praelium)

"Here they come, Tyrannus." Claudius said, readying his spear. Although he wished that the orcs truly wanted allegiance, he doubted they did. Why would they want peace now? When Praelium could potentially be under attack from all sides? Maybe this was an elaborate set up, where the Red Claw would infiltrate and destroy Praelium from the inside. As the orcs made their way over the horizon, Claudius could count four. He knew the power of one Orc, but with the guards and siege equipment they had set up, he was confident they could handle such a force.

Besides, an Orc is no much fiercer than a Dragonborn.

The massive orc dismounted from his warhorse. He towered over Carver, who wasn't a small man to begin with. His mere presence was intimidating, but it did not shake Carver. He had killed many a Orc in his day. They key was to outwit them, not to overpower them. They were generally easy to provoke into an avoidable attack, to which he could follow up with a deadly blow. Decapitation was among his favorite methods.

The orcs crossed his arms and stared at Carver. For awhile, there was silence, as if he was awaiting for the Tyrannus to speak. Then, the orc spoke, his voice as deep as his Orcish accent was strong.

"We have come. You know what we request."

Again, there was a brief pause. The air was still, the soldiers of Praelium eager to hear how their Tyrannus would react. He essentially became a Tyrannus due to his slaughter of a great proportion to the northern desert tribes. Now he was face to face with a leader, who asked for peace?

"Carver Pentaghast," Carver said, smiling and holding out his hand. "Lord Tyrannus of Praelium, and one hell of a general, as I assume most desert tribes know."

Claudius looked over to Carver like he was a madman. Now of all times was not the time to be lighthearted.

"I know of your demands. A small supply of weapons and free passage into Praelium, in exchange for allegiance. Tch. You could have asked for a lot more." Carver winked at the Orc, and Claudius foamed at the mouth. He was going to kill Carve after this, if he made it out alive.

"You offer a lot to Praelium. To be rid of the desert tribes would be a great relief to Praelium. So instead, I offer you this." Carver took a deep breath as if he was preparing for something big. Then, his smile returned. "All the supplies you need. Rations, weapons, hell, even siege equipment. And, half the forces of Fort Gloria fight with you, to make the northern desert the sovereign state of the Red Claw."

This man is mad! Claudius yelled in his head. You're opening up too much of Praelium to them! We don't even know if these Orcs have honor!

Sheid emerged from the hull of his personal ship, the bright sun scorched his eyes and brought sweat from his brow, he'd never been this far south before. The ship was a ways off from the port but it could be seen just over the horizon, a seagull crowed, Sheid brought himself up to the front of the ship and leaned over the side to view the blue sea. The ocean in Saldome was full of ice and felt uninviting whereas the sea here seems welcoming, almost pulling Sheid in.
"Ser, we should arrive in a moment, take the time to get dressed and I'll ready the horse." a young man had said from behind, Sheid pulled himself up and pulled his arm up to block the sun.
"yeah, alright."

A crewman pulled a plank over the side of the ship and Sheid stomped down into the port, his horse close behind, a squad of lightly geared knights followed close behind with their own mounts, one sniffed the air and spat.
"It reeks of beast, my piss smells better.", Sheid surveyed the area, the populace was eyeing them. A knight revealed a banner which he placed in a pouch on his belt, sticking it in the air, he red and black blot out the Praelian sun making the populace cringe.
"get over it, you'll be smelling more of it later when we find an inn.", the sun began to set as the nine men stumbled through the streets, still tired from the sea, no inn would take them, either saying they were full or blatantly saying they didn't serve Saldomans. Then, like at the docks, the knight sniffed and spat.
"I smell the dead...", ahead were two figures, one seemingly holding a body on his shoulder, around them were a few more figures, armed, and reeked of death.

(Insignificant, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

The man chuckled at the Dominus' reply. It was naive, they obviously had no understanding of the world's truths. The necromancer grinned as the undead dropped the corpse next to him, pulling the head from its teeth and dropping it as well. He had all he needed, he could leave anytime he wanted, but he just wished for one more opportunity to perhaps change this fool's mind.

He slashed his right hand outwards, disintegrating a mass of the undead, he no longer had a need for them, he bore them no threat and he was attempting to show that.

"You're naive is what you are, mortality is conquerable, simply accepting it shows a lack of ambition," he spoke before realizing something just afterwards. "Oh, of course you lack ambition, you're a Dominus, your purpose is to protect your country. Admirable, not that it will save you," he growled with a grin cutting across his face.

"Darlien's nature is known to me, I will take the proper precautions to ensure that he obeys me. He is a youth, and yet to reach his full potential, if all goes according to plan, he will still have much to learn," he explained matter-of-factly. "Of course, you know what they say about best laid plans. I have prepared for every eventuality, in the worst case, I seize control of his body and complete my plan alone," he said arrogantly.

"If you wish for immortality, you will accept my demands when I return, if you remain a fool, I will force it upon you," he warned as he rose a hand. He threw it downwards and the city was covered in the same dense fog as when he had first appeared, he grabbed the corpse and fled into the fog.

(Holden d’Alnharte, Streets of Artis Port, Praelium)

Holden did everything short of outright snarling at the sight. While his vision was not perfect with the current weather, he was no fool. The stench of death and twisted fate hang heavy in the air. It was the work of necromancy. He stood up, and looked for a viable target. It was not the first time he had dealt with the Withered Beacon, but this would prove to be one of the most dangerous encounters yet. There was more than a few cultists; those who commanded death itself were here.

The pieces were too scattered for him to understand everything. Who was an ally remained a mystery to him. However, to stand and do nothing would prove to be a fruitless choice.

The commanding of the undead took no small amount of concentration. If that concentration were to be broken…

The Exile took a deep breath, and took aim at the speaker for the necromancers. Perhaps he could break the focus enough for the third party to make an escape. With his exhale, his arrow whistled through the air. It narrowly missed the necromancer as he ran off with his prize. Though, seeing the undead fall in an instant fueled him with hope to make a difference. To dismiss the undead was one thing, but to resurrect them them would take more than just a gesture, after all.

“Run!” he yelled, reaching for another arrow. He cursed under his breath, the fog being too thick to make any impression with a bow. Tossing it aside, he drew Yusil and moved into the thick fog. He listened for necromancer’s footsteps, but to no avail. He was not planning on going empty-handed, though.

“On the authority of Praelium,” he shouted, “you’re under arrest for… err, destruction!” When he reached the Dominus mage, one of his hands left his blade’s handle, and slide the knife from his belt. “Tell me you’re not going to try and kill me,” he muttered, shaking his head. Of course, he knew nothing of Praelium’s workings; of the legal system, or of House Dominus. “What did those necromancers want?”