‘’South away! South away now!
March! One two! Left right left right!’’

At break of day, grey legions of many thousand spears will be bringing the fight to the south. Leaving the night of Uudhin behind, a vast legion of Ghûls have emerged from the Udeyean Gates and are on the move through Azagôdean occupied fields of Somnus. It is the most recent conquest of the vile monsters.
First sunlight is caught in the sombre black patterns of the banners of Uudhin, banners depicting the Emblem of the Spirit of Ashes. The banner in question is best described as a pitch black field with an abstract white-coloured winged man, angel, or phantom at the centre. The Ashlord’s Mark. This winged creature represents the ominous Red God himself.
From the Western Lands to the Deep South, rumours have sparked of His possible involvement in the catastrophes of the North-East. News of the Ghûl conquest of Kadulum has spread rampant across Avara. Rumours of the return of The One. The Demon known by many names, but most commonly the name Axohaan.
The noise of the stampeding Ghûl legions tremble through the valleys of the North-East. Beckoning doom for the souls close enough to hear them roar against the world. They are led by the Silver Viceroy in own person, who proudly rides at the head of the army on a large tusked rat-fiend-creature-thing. And surrounding him are various Ghûl commissars carrying pistols and whips, shouting orders behind to keep up the pace; or else!
As for the Viceroy’s mount; it is something unlike Avara has seen thus far. It appears Axohaan and his Court have been busy creating new monsters and servants in the dark smithies of Uudhin. The creature’s given name is likely something strange sounding and difficult to pronounce, a trending habit amongst the followers of the Ashlord.

The clamouring of the Ghûl march is immense and resound over the valleys. Some blast on shoddy metal trumpets while others beat savagely on drums, making so much noise that they’d be impossible to ignore. From perhaps hundreds of miles away one can tell they are coming, for their march is truly deafening.
In fact, the Ghûls only seem to make so much noise because they deliberately want the nearby humans to know that they are there, and coming to get them!
Eventually the chaotic rambling, cursing and roaring of the Ghûls begins to find harmony with each other, creating a marching hymn going a bit as follows:

‘’ Grab them! Skewer them! Maim them! Crunch them! Raaaaaaahhhh! And again!’’

Ghûls can’t actually sing, but even they have a sense for melody as much as any other race.
Amidst the grunting and chanting of the Ghûls; the Viceroy suddenly cries out, and the legionnaires instinctively fall silent:

‘’Today; we claim the green valleys of this despairing Imperium of pretenders! Ahead are the fertile plains of Ironmarch. …Azagôde wants them for the Ashlord’s appetite! And ever so his foes shall fall!’’

The Ghûls respond in a hoarse, ominous choir. Not quite with cheers of enthusiasm for their mighty general as how normal armies would respond. The warriors of Uudhin don’t appear too happy with any news or order regardless which reaches them. A merry Ghûl is seldom heard of, if ever. Win or lose; it doesn’t matter when you fight the Red God’s war.

Slowly moving towards the southern lands of Somnus, tremors of an encroaching hundred thousand Ghûls can be felt, dawning on the Somnus successor state of Ironmarch…

Meanwhile; somewhere remote in northern Uudhin

‘’Kadulum. It’s called Kadulum.’’

Ceci speaks disdainfully.
‘’Sorry, my duchess... But word from the outer realms has it that everyone seems to know it as Uudhin already. Even our own sages are saying it; ‘the Nameless One has stricken from the skies so that Phiore forever in ruins lies!’
A demon from the Red Pantheon, apparently. And his coming heralds damnation for the northern tribes… especially those who held high the banner of the Lunar Princess.’’

The last remaining prince to lead Phiore left is Ceci, or Cecivale. A young (by Moonlander standards anyway) Phiorafate princess, elegant, graceful and wise as you’d expect from a female Phiorafate. Despite her heritage being that of a mere branch family, she has always been a senior figure amongst the princes and princesses of Phiore. Yaroval was proud; brave but foolish. His character was a true stereotype of Moonlander gallantry, and look where is he now? Well. Missing in Action. But dead (or worse) as Ceci is convinced.
She and the remaining Phiorafates defiant enough to remain in Kadulum have gone into hiding, far into the northlands; lands so far unstained by the toxic fumes of Azagôde.
Their sanctuary is kept hidden between the heavenly pines and under a curtain of invisibility, away from the prying thralls sent from the Forlorn Peaks. A spell of the Phiorafate Sages. However, this curtain is not infallible. More accurately it’s just a magically enhanced camouflage for Phiore’s last hold of Moonlander resistance.
The Scout who appeared just minutes ago before Ceci continues to share what he knows.

‘’These Ghûls… they’re not their familiar selves. Never before have they been this fervent and ferocious. And with numbers this vast. And.. They say that the monsters are led by a Red God… A demon from ancient legends from the Deep South , shaped anew. The Bringer of Ash, the Anti-Yuwan, the Nameless One.’’

‘’Axohaan…’’

‘’So you already know of his doing?’’

‘’…I suspected. Every Orthodox follower of Yuwan knows the story. And his demise at the Moon’s Throat. May his name be blot out. But it puzzles me that his return is this far from Archeos… How can it be the same Axohaan? Why did he come all the way here? Why Phiore? I can’t believe it.’’

‘’Well. Believe it or not, all is now against us. We don’t even have a place anymore in the crazed from pain lands of Kadulum. The sky bleeds, the land is grey. All of Kadulum is grey. And no one in the neighbouring lands will hear of our plight… At best perhaps Yaroval’s friends in the South, but they are too far away and occupied with the Dream Plague to come to our aid.
It’s over Cecivale. The age of Phiore is done, no one really believes in the future anymore. Yes. I think deadly the night will reign into evermore…’’

Her voice trembles with anger, but also with a certain degree of fright she tries to hide. Ceci can’t stand the despairing and snivelling of her fellow Phiorafates. But anger kills as surely as a blade. Deep down, she knows they are right…
‘’What happened to Yaroval? Where is Voi? And what of Mil? And Zhisnobud!?’’

‘’We haven’t heard anything from the Starkeep since the Ghûl assault, but I fear the worst. The fates of Yaroval and Voi are of yet unheard. And Mil faded away into the southwest. It’s being said he departed from Dolva with a force of several hundred Phiorafates at his back, to relieve the Ancestral halls of King Yaro.’’
The scout sighs. By the sorrowful expression in his eyes you can tell he isn’t planning on sharing any positive news.
‘’…This was a week ago. And we haven’t heard of him since.’’

Ceci doesn’t bother responding anymore. The fire inside her seems extinguished. She just stares blankly at the scout who casually continues his briefing.

‘’…As for Zhisnobud, that one also seems to have vanished. I think he retreated to the ‘ancient temple complex’ in Nevelwold forest. Said something about ‘retrieving a lost heirloom’. He’s a strange one, that one.

So. Maybe it's best if we lay low for a while.''

Vaelan, Aeieal - An Aristo, Iso, Paper, Spleen Collab

The air was filled with a clamor and the chaos of a big city in the prime of life. The entire city seemed to bob and sway in a way that would make someone who was not used to it queasy and the docks swarmed with activity as herds of thrulls overseen by Vaelie performed maintenance and worked the docks, unloading cargo, loading cargo, and generally performing every task imaginable. There were almost no whip cracks, the thrulls had no thought of independence or revolt and such tension spoiled the meat. It was a grand sight, but the most stunning part was probably the people themselves. The bestial thrulls contrasted with the angelic creatures that commanded them, figures who drew the eye and fogged the mind with their beauty.

As the ship docked one of the Vaelie, a woman dressed in ornate clothing made from many strips of wrapped cloth, approached it. Behind her trailed a number of thrulls in working smocks and a pair of Vaelie wearing suits of armor. She came to a stop before the boat and waited, clearly expecting those within to make their presence known.

"Ling never been southern lands" The Otnemarcasan commented, staring over the ship's side at the dock below. "Heard stories of petty.... pretty...? Yes, pretty girls though. Ling wish he knew southern tongue..."

Petarch moved up to look out and responded in Otnemarcasan, “Aye, I passed through this country from the south once before. Be wary of them Ling, their beauty is as much physical as it is a sickness that seeps into your veins.”

Choi waved his crew around the deck of the vessel, directing them in preparation to dock. The slaves below deck followed the commands of the signal drum, easing the ship into place with strokes of their oars, procedures long since drilled into muscle memory. Topside, the Hokksulgugae crew flung out mooring lines onto the berth, where they were secured into place by thrull slaves.

"Ho there!" the Hokksulgugae yelled with a wave of his arm. He climbed to the side of the ship where the expectant Vaelie and her attendants stood. "I am captain of this vessel, Lord Seung Choi." He sincerely hoped the woman understood some Hokksulgugae at least - he'd had his share of headaches listening to his companions on the water. Just in case, he repeated himself in the common tongue, used by the Dominion, Somnus and other more mundane human realms. It was the only other language aside from his own he had mastery over.

The Vaelie woman spread her arms wide and gestured to the expanse of the city and the sea of human and inhuman beings that dwelt inside of it, a motion that also showed off certain attributes before she replied with a voice that rang out like music. "Welcome Lord Seung Choi to Vaelan." As she spoke her arms lowered again and she bowed her head slightly, her golden tresses swinging in the gentle breeze in an entrancing fashion.

"Before you may disembark, I ask that you state the purpose of your visit to our city for these are dark times."

Choi gave a hesitant look at his allies before giving a simple reply of "We're just passing through. My friends and I are explorers, you see. Aeiael is our first stop before we head deeper into the mainland." The noble fidgeted with his hand, tapping on the wooden monster head of the ship's prow. "Once we unload the ship, we'll be resting and making last-minute preparations. I'll need to entrust her to your care until our return."

Choi was bothered by two things; the first being his abandoning of the vessel and the second by the form and attire of the Vaelie on the dock. The strands of silver-trimmed fabric draped over her figure complimented it well. Patches of bare skin dotted their way across the Vaelie's body, and Choi found it hard to focus. He'd met their kind before on just two occasions, and never got used to the lust that seemingly exuded from their being. He forced himself to tear his eyes away, watching the ripple of the water against the dock to escape the carnal thoughts that danced in his head.

"You are welcome to enjoy our hospitality as long as you wish Lord Seung Choi." The Vaelie's musical voice sounded again as she replied. "I trust you will find our land pleasant." There was a slightly odd element to her voice as she said that last part. "But you will need to offer payment for the docking space when you return." As she finished her words the Vaelie turned away and gestured to the thrulls in a fluid motion.

The herd broke up with no task to perform and the woman turned back to the ship. "This land is beautiful, but outsiders often fall prey to misfortune when they wander alone outside of the cities. You may wish to find a guide." There was something strangely predatory about her gaze in the long moment after she had finished speaking before she turned away again and walked away with her two guards following. The ornate but revealing clothing left little to the imagination as she left, leaving the ship full of explorers alone once more.

Petarch was unsettled as he always was in these parts. For most he could declare himself above the temptations of flesh, but the creatures of this land were another thing altogether. Calm composure and hiding whatever feelings might surface had never been his strong suit before he journeyed through this country all those years ago, but it was a skill he learned quickly once he did.

Taking his mind off it Petarch flicked the back of Chois head, “when dealing with those folk perhaps focus on more than the breasts? You might find a face less erotic, maybe even be able to keep your wits about you.” Petarch looked out and added more seriously, “be careful Choi.”

The Hokksulgugae swatted Petarch's hand away, letting a grunt escape his nose. "It's these darned Vaelie," he grumbled. "Can't look one of them in the eye without loosing some semblance of focus. Whatever god planted them on the earth must have had a sense of humor."

"Ling remember one time... friend stared at pretty lady's breast too much. She broke his nose." He shook his head, his face a few shades more red then it had been before they had left the ship. "Good times."

Later...

The trip to the inn had been relatively uneventful even if the city was certainly breathtaking and unique. The beautiful beings who populated it were omnipresent and their many auras overlapped in a layer of presence that was difficult to ignore at the best of times. The trip had included sights like the thrull market where those same beautiful beings had been seen buying and selling the omnipresent slaves, and if the garbled translations of their language were right, many of the slaves were being auctioned off as food.

But there was beauty too, the buildings were mastercrafted, many street corners featured musicians and other entertainers who all seemed to be skilled. And at one point the throngs in the city had parted and the travelers had been forced to do so as well. A procession passed by carrying beings that even put the other Vaelie too shame, they lounged atop great platforms carried by the thrulls, clad in clothing of similar style the woman who had greeted the travelers at the dock but far more ornate and shot through with gold as well as silver and crimson.

The Inn wasn't a place that would seem too strange in any other nation, there were people of many races and nations gathered there and the smell was mostly the familiar reek of alcohol and poorly washed masses. But like the rest of the city there was a faint odor that was similar to the scent of roasting pork, but different, and those Vaelie within the inn who were dining fed on a meat that was difficult to identify.

"(Petarch, my friend)" By the time the group had found a seat Ling's face was a deep crimson. His eyes remained glued to either the floor or the table directly in front of him, essentially the only places one could look without seeing a scantily clad woman. "(Would you mind ordering me a drink? Something strong? I would do it myself but.... well I obviously can't speak the language.)"

Petarch was wary of the natives, but if Ling wanted a strong drink he would end up getting one. Better to have him drink something Petarch was fairly sure wouldn't send him into a coma. Probably. With that in mind he called out in Hokksulgugae, “Inn keep! My friend here wants... Err, get him some Seros Ale if you have it.”

After the innkeep took the order Petarch laughed as he turned to Choi, “Bets on how long till Ling's under the table then? I'd wager two drinks! Never knew what they used to make that drink but first time I had it it didn't take much.”

Switching back to Otnemarcasan and still smiling he looked to Ling, “Think you'll enjoy this one Ling, be careful though. We still need you with some semblance of intelligence.”

It was only a few moments before one of the serving girls approached the table carrying a rather small seeming tankard of ale. Though it was unlikely to be the tankard of ale that drew the looks as she threaded her way through the throng of people. If the travelers had found the normal Aeiaelan attire to be revealing and provacative it was likely this should be even more so.

The many strips of crimson cloth that made up her clothing left little to imagination. Generous amounts of silver skin showed through the holes between the strips and her golden hair was long and coiled into several braids that hung down over her shoulders. She had a smile on her face as she reach the table and looked at the three men. "Which of you ordered the Seros Ale?" She asked in her musical voice speaking the Hokksulgugae language, smiling at each of the three in turn.

"Ling did" Ling made a point of not shifting his gaze from the table. Only after his drink was placed before him did he shift his gaze, at which point it locked on to the Seros Ale. He grabbed the drink and in one swift motion brought it up to his mouth and tipped it back, not placing it back down until after the tankard was empty. He winced before saying "Ling would be... gracious for another."

"Of course." The woman bowed her head slightly at Ling, perhaps a bit taken aback by the speed at which he had downed the drink. "Do you desire anything further? Do any of you?" She looked at the others again as she said the last part, her smile still etched on her face as she picked up the empty tankard again.

Petarch eyed Ling and just stated, "I think he'll be drinking enough for us all tonight, a lighter ale will be fine for me."

Choi waved his hand to earn the girl's attention. He pointed to another table on the far side of the room, occupied by a few locals. In front of one of them sat a brutish-looking skull, which had the top hollowed out and the gaps plugged shut so it could serve as a vessel. "A Vaelie Death's Head!" he croaked, relishing the novelty of the drink. Hokksulgug's tastes for exotic pleasures and new sensations played a great role in the goods it imported, and Choi had been privy to many Vaelie concoctions at parties beforehand. He shot his companions a vulpine smirk as the serving girl noted his order.

For a moment the girl seemed taken aback and her eyes flickered over to the table Choi had pointed too. But the momentary expression of surprised quickly faded and with the practiced smile still on her face that girl nodded. "Of course. I will bring those to you right away." With her musical words fading the girl turned away and walked, threading her way back through the crowd in a motion that was likely enchanting to watch.

A moment later she returned, setting down the two tankards first and then placing a large hollowed skull before the man from Hokksulgug. Inside the skull swished a hot red liquid that steamed as she slid it over to Choi.

"Will there be anything else? Any other services that I can provide?" The girl spoke again.

"Services?" Ling and Choi cooed in unison. Ling downed his second tankard as fast as the first. He leaned towards Choi, his eyes narrowing as he gazed into the... concotion before the Hokksulgugae.
"Blood, booze and bones," the nobleman laughed, tapping the skull chalice. The ensemble took both hands to lift, and Choi threw it back, letting a gulp of its contents rush down his throat. He waved a hand to the Vaelie, indicating to lean in for a whisper.

The girl obliged, leaning in across the table in a way that even Ling who kept trying to look elsewhere likely had to see. Her ear eventually ended up close to Choi's mouth, waiting for him to speak. The Hokksulgugae hissed behind the back of his hand, maintaining whatever his words were at a volume low enough to keep his companions guessing.

The sudden introduction of a skull filled with blood alcohol, and Choi preparing for what would obviously be a night of... Vigorous exercise had Petarch conflicted between nauseous and exasperated. With little to say as Choi promptly disregarded his advice Petarch simply rested his forehead on his hand and sighed.

The girl drew back across the table and flashed her winsome smile at the group against, this time her gaze lingered on Choi and Ling for a long moment as something other than the desire to serve flickered onto her features but then she just nodded it was gone. "Of course. I should be free to accommodate you in an hour. Will your friend require an additional companion or will I suffice?"

"I'm sure Ling here can handle his own," Choi replied, giving the Otnemarcasan a flash of his teeth. "And I never liked sharing anyways!" He threw back another mouthful of the ichor.

"If I can be of any further assistance call for me again." The serving girl said with a smile and then walked away from the table once more, stopping at several others on her way back to the bar.

The Academy of Krax was a large building that wrapped it’s grey stone exterior around a green courtyard filled with wild flowers and planted flowers imported from the orient. Here the Master Paladin Franx Jerril performed his studies on combating the plague as well as coordinating the inquisition against cultists and the infected. This area of study and learning had quickly turned into the plague fighting capital of the country, and possibly in all of east Avara, if not the world.

The building was not plain, and was decorated with many banners and flags as if it was a standing reminder that here the Paladins of Krax reigned supreme. Inside the building was a hive of many rooms, studies and separate facilities. Paladins and students of Franx hurried around the endless white halls and passed through the heavy oaken doors, all in a frenzy to get their assignments completed and duties fulfilled. The halls echoed with mutterings, occasional shouts, and the pounds of books being accidently dropped.

On the top floor the walls were gilded with bronze, and statues of historical and mythological figures and events crowded the area. Murals lightened the already well sunlit room up with painted emotions of great feats and lowly sorrows worthy of recognition. This was the personal chambers of Franx Jerril in place of a manor, but did not fall short of all the accommodations of one. Maids chased dust in their black and dreary outfits while upright postured butlers cared to the whim of the guests. Here the guests were Derrix, Morinth, and the newest member of the strange alliance, Aristal.

Aristal stood dripping as the dirt and grime of her long exile into the plaguelands slowly formed rivulets and waterfalled down her slender bare body. She was clean. While powerful horror and hatred still polluted her mind as an acrid miasma, for the first time in ages she felt clean. She looked down to her feet and watched the droplets fall to the floor, brown and brackish. Slowly her dirt covered skin revealed her beauty, one which was seemingly forgotten and long lost. A brief red lipped smile crescented on her fair face as she stepped on top of a fur mat and collected some fresh clothes from a shelf, today she was reborn, today she was clean.

She stared at a brass mirror as she changed into the clothes, sadly all Franx had to offer was clothes of his own, so she was stuck in a loose fitting white shirt and leather doublet as well as some old trousers. Still her vague smile didn’t fade as she examine herself in the mirror, her once clumped and dirty hair now tamed and falling just above her feminine shoulders neatly. She was pulled out of her admiration and quickly reminded of where she was as a loud thud sounded in the room next to the one she was in, with a faint and muffled apology sounding like Derrix following, an apology probably not for his own actions but rather one of his companions, specifically Morinth.

She slipped on her old rugged boots, which stood out when compared to her new finely kept clothes and with a new spring in her step, trotted out of the bathroom and through a few doors until she bursted in a little louder than she had hoped into the study.

The study was exactly what one would expect in the head of the inquisitions house, full of books this way and that. Various subjects printed on the spines of the books, such as theology, medicine, and history. The walls were shelves for baubles and trinkets, and there even was a hanging skeleton in the corner marked with medical information. The sun was ever present in the colorful room as the wooden desk was backed by a great bow window, it’s crimson curtains pulled back.

The shafts of sunlight fell upon the loose papers of the desk and shelves as well as the trio who jumped at Aristals sudden entry. Among the trio was the older gentleman, Franx, a grey mustachioed man who wore fine blue silks and was both feared and revered for his immense knowledge and power. Of course next to the tall stiff postured man was Derrix, rugged, broad, and relaxed, or as relaxed as Derrix seems to get. He was wearing simple civilian clothes of a pale green. His shirt was cut short at the sleeves, revealing his spiderweb of scars from his face traveled further even down to his fingertips.

Next to Derrix was Morinth whom was wearing her leather armor. Even though she had hung up her long coat, she still felt out of place as few had any combat outfit on, Granted, in a place of giants there was no real option for alternate garb other than going in the rough. And, worse so is the fact that her spare set of clothing had been stretched and ripped by some giant monster woman. Oh how she felt out of place. The looks she got all through the countryside, Even with her hood up the entire time, those who got a glimpse of her darker skin would give confused looks. That’s if they could get over her vertically challenged stature in comparison to her new found friends.

Things seemed to go well for her inside the structure though as she looked around while still trying to pay attention to the two men with her but the decorations were so damned attractive and even though she was a cold hearted death dealer, she had an eye for fashion. She was eager to learn about what they were doing in the first place.. “Ok, so. I’m kind of sorry about your tablet. I mean, it was necessary but shit happens.” after a small chuckle she continued, “In all seriousness, what is it?”

Franx twirled his moustache as he watched Aristal walk in, only turning back to the conversation as Morinth questioned the newly recovered tablet. He looked at her for a few seconds without responding, as if soaking in her question. He shook his head slightly at himself more than anything and spoke in a very noble voice, thick with a Charlinite accent of long pounding vowels and sharp consonants, “Forgive me, I forget the tablets are not very well known in the west.”

“It bears the ancient tenets of honor on it, and possibly more,” He eyed Derrix as he finished his sentence.

Derrix’s face kept a similar tone to the one he wore in the plaguelands, “more you say?”

“Um, yes,” Franx said almost absentmindedly, “however we have to discuss a few things before that.”

“Firstly, how long do you plan on keeping your two lovely friends by your side,” Franx questioned, almost challenging Derrix’s choices in companions.

The voice of Aristal intercepted the question, it was softer and held more life to it than before as she answered, “I am honor bound to stay with Derrix.”

The older gentleman stroked his chin, eyeing the woman with his usual suspicious gaze. He motioned towards Morinth, “right, well what about you.”

Derrix cut in, “Well she is here because she wished to-”

Before Derrix could finish, Morinth rose her hand slightly and stepped between them. She made sure to wear her winning smile, trying to impress this new fellow, whom had far more emotion than her new grim faced friend, Derrix. “Hi, I’m Morinth. I came here because I found your tablet!” She tapped Derrix side, seeing as she couldn’t reach much higher, “Mr Derrix here was nice enough to let me come along.”

“Well then,” Franx said with a grumble that befit his appearance, “if Master Paladin Derrix wishes he can take you two with him in his next mission.”

“Wait, Master Paladin,” Derrix questioned, his eyes narrowing.

“Indeed, Master Paladin,” Franx concluded, “Marc Galenon personally wanted to congratulate you jumping right to the top, but he had me do it instead.”

“How,” the new Master Paladin pressed, “or rather why?”

“Master Paladin Edvin has lost his position, and it has been handed over to you for your great service record, and well,” Franx traced Derrix’s scars in the air with his finger, “that.”

Derrix simply nodded, not wanting to go into further detail in this and rather just accepting his new rank with dignity, “thank you, and thank the Grandmaster.”

“I’d say thank him yourself but it seems there is no rest for you Nightbane,” Franx jeered, “you are being deployed again.”

“With and why?”

“Your choice, Master Paladin, and here,” Franx handed Derrix a small folded piece of paper, “this is the letter from Marc, read it over, then toss it in the fire, I will send for you around dinner time, but for now I have things to attend to. This inquisition won’t run itself.”

Derrix nodded his head with a serious expression and slapped his chest in a salute before walking off. Aristal silently hurried after the Master Paladin, with Morinth in tow.

The trio eventually found themselves in the guest chambers, a large room just as decorated as the others. In it laid a large cushioned bed with two smaller beds that were clearly put up with haste as the announcement of three guests. The room was just as bright as the last, holding a similar bow window that the study had, lighting up the light wood of the room and bouncing beams of sun off the gilded walls and white plaster. Small candles added their own ambient light to the room but were lit for the purpose of spouting the sweet scent of hazelnut, which lightly flavored the room with every breath.

Derrix plopped himself heavily onto the large bed, sitting up with the white paper unfolded and seemingly glowing against the sunlight. His stalwart gaze scanned left and right the Charlinite symbols that were written in the black ink hand of the Grandmaster. When he finished reading the letter he looked around the room absently, then bounced his eyes back to the letter and began reading again.

Morinth was disappointed once she got in the room. mostly at Derrix for taking the enormous bed but she quickly got over it and made her way to one of the beds. She looked around the room, seeing all the decorations in the room, like the last. Morinth looked down at her hands which of course had a ray of light on them as well. “Alright, is this much light really necessary?” She stood before her new bed and stretched before walking out to “get a book or something.”

She was pretty quick outside of the room, eager to not be surrounded by giants any more, especially without a safety like Derrix beside her. People might think her a pest, well.. her attitude aside. She went for the closest book case she could find and in it was some sort of book on the Charlin Paladin order. “Who would’ve thought, books to honor themselves.. oh well.” she said before returning to the room. Morinth laid the book down on the bed and pulled her boots off. She leaned back and took a deep breath before opening the book.

Aristal collapsed into the soft embrace of one the of the beds, her ever hiding smile bursting from her face as her muscles groaned with delight at the comforting cushions, relaxing for the first time in a long while. Her back popped as it reset itself and released tension and she yelped quite embarrassingly. However no one seemed to pay her any mind as Derrix was still entranced by his paper and Morinth sneering at a book.

“Aristal,” Derrix grumbled from behind his letter, “you are bound to serve me, by your honor.”

Aristal turned over onto her side and looked at the stern man, “Yes, of course.”

“Then I want you and your blade to accompany me on my next mission, but you must do as I say, and follow my command.,” Derrix vast years as a commander was clearly showing in his words and tone. Aristal simply nodded at his eruption unsure of what she was agreeing to, but whatever it was, it was better than her exile, “of course.”

“Good,” the man trailed off as he lowered the paper to his lap and began to crumple it in his fist. He scanned the room silently before his eyes snagged on the vision of Morinth, her nose in her book, whether or not she was actually reading was up for debate.

As she poured over the text in the book, trying to grasp the story or even care, she could feel his stare. Morinth slowly closed the book and slowly and dramatically turned her gaze upon him. “Hey buddy.” she said with a smile. before slowly turning away and staring at the wall as the book no longer interested her.

Derrix thought to himself as she turned to him. This was the woman he threatened to kill, this was the woman who he regretted ever bringing with him. She was the one who was the sole cause of every headache he has had since the plaguelands, and one he had always silently prayed would go far far away. Yet, despite all this, he knew what he was going to say, and he already felt the regret, although strange desire to ask.

“Morinth,” he said almost at a whisper, the word piercing his head with an oncoming headache. She didn’t turn to face him but her long ears could hear everything he said.

Derrix shook his head and whistled sharply, “Pssst.”

As Morinth turned slightly, giving him a plain look, Derrix reached into his pocket and procured a small stone, which he then tossed to Morinth. A smile almost broke on his face.

“Want to go find more rocks?”

. A smile from ear to ear crossed her face, she couldn’t believe what he had said. It didn’t feel like him but it was clear that he was getting a slight bit comfortable around her. She show any sarcasm at all when she answered, “Well, Paladin Nightbane Derrix, I’d be more than happy to accompany you to find more rocks.” She chuckled a bit but knew it was unlikely to get an exciting response from the man, and she was dead right.

The look of a commander reconquered the mans face, and his usual authoritative voice drowned out any tone of playfulness “great, our mission is simple, we must recover a number of tablets for the order, Franx has all the details and the leads to be discussed at dinner, until then, we have the entire academy at our whim.”

He then looked down at the bed he was sitting on, and his leader nature took ahold of his simpler thoughts, it wasn’t good practice in his mind to feel above those he commands, whether it was his troops or just some people he managed to get stuck with on his own accord, “either one of you can claim this bed for the night, I won’t be needing it.”

Morinth pictured in her head, sleeping in a huge bed that seemed to stretch in all directions. If it was anything like the one she was currently sitting on, it likely wouldn’t be very comfortable. “Thank you but i’m fine here.” she said before opening the book that was still sitting in her lap. The sight would’ve been funny, a giant book laid out across her lap that to a Charlin would likely be read with one hand. “This is just too much.” she thought before closing the book and looking towards the door.

“Understood,” Derrix said with his usual authoritative voice, however a tinge of casual tones betrayed it as he continued, studying how much larger the bed is compared to her own stature, “afraid of drowning in a sea of cotton?”

Before Morinth could do more than make a face and before Aristal could finish her soft chuckling, there was a knock on the door.

“Dinner.”

The dining room did not betray the excessive decor of the rest of the Academy. From the carpet, to the ceiling it was finely crafted and decorated. Even the massive table that was the paramount if the room was exquisitely dressed with white silks and bronze threading making it contrast and sparkle. The savory aroma of venison and onion swirled around the room as a single open window let in a soft warm breeze. The faint scent of some sausage tickled the noses of the group as they sat together near the head of the table, where Franx himself sat with his fingers folded and his stomach ready to eat.

It was a subtle custom, but a custom none the less to remain quiet and contemplative at the dinner table until the food is served, in which the Carlinite would throw subtle out the window and began discussions and ferociously eat the delicious food. Derrix and Franx sat comfortably, staring at each other in silence, as if beginning the conversation without words. Aristal fidgeted in her seat, trying to get comfortable in the mens trousers she was wearing, cursing Franx’s smaller man hips while simultaneously trying to shake off the intense amount of uncomfortable awkwardness she was feeling as she sat at a proper table, seemingly as an honorable woman.

Morinth was last to sit down, making sure to watch their customs before sitting herself.
She had sat herself beside Aristal, she gazed around the room, eyeing the decor in its entirety. “pretty.. pretty damned ugly! hehehe” she said softly while slightly nudging Aristal with her elbow. She wasn’t sure what smell had came over her when the smell of onions crossed her nose. She pinched her nostrils shut, “Oh my god, what the fuck is that?” The gentle breeze and pleasant odor of the other dishes helped to mitigate it but it just pierced her to the core, that smell.

Morinth was trying to get comfortable in her chair which was just a tad too big for her liking, So she did what she did best, make conversation, for better or worse that is. “So, Uh.. Aristal, Where ya from?”

Aristal bit her lip as she looked at Morinth. It was clear she wanted to enjoy a conversation but she also didn’t want to disrupt the flow of the tradition of silence. She squinted at Morinth with suspense as she tried to convey her message silently. Luckily the chef burst through the door and began announcing the dishes. The woman let out a sigh of relief and nodded at Morinth, “Rinswald, I’m from Rinswald.”

She scanned the table as Derrix and Franx discussed the delicious venison happily and stabbed the meat as they cut juicy chunks to bring to their white plates. Potatoes, mushroom and sauteed onions were smothered on top of the meat by the hungry men, and the warm blood and juices of the animal that was collected into a small cauldron was spooned into small bowls were the crispy buttery bread was dipped into and gnawed on with gusto.

Aristals eyes were as wide as saucers as she practically dove to collect the best and finest food she has seen in ages while simultaneously muttering back to Morinth, “and you?”

Morinth was flattered, someone actually replied to her with some respect, granted, with all of her prior comments, respect wasn’t necessarily earned by her other peers. Regardless of this, she turned to Aristal, “Well, I don't know where to start. Oh wait, yeah I do!” She turned to her plate which nearly disgusted her, “I am from the west, Used to live in the Dominion but kind of migrated out east. Met your new master on my way east. Great guy.” She was doing her best to hold a legitimate conversation without turning a person away with excessive sarcasm.

Before Aristal could reply, the two great doors into the dining hall suddenly swept open and thudded before creaking a bit as if in announcement of the new arrival, interrupting the conversation. He stood for a moment as if he was fully taking in the entire room in one quick scan. He was certainly tall by western standards, but held a leanness to him that was rather unlike the bulking mass of Derrix. The man was more compact, hinting at a slimmer build. Though the muscles of his right arm— as his jerkin and tunic were sleeveless— revealed an impressive physique.

He wore a single shoulder cape like a cloak that hid the left side of his body, but a discerning eye would note it's design allowed him easy flexibility with the unencumbered right arm. A more perceptive person might even have noted the hilt of two swords resting on his left hip under his cloak before they vanished under it. He wore a simple leather jerkin over a dark grey tunic made of silk swathes and loose pantaloons covering his feet of similar color.

The rest of the strangers garb consisted of loose, billowy clothing— the kind one might wear to keep cool or keep out the ash of the eastern deserts. A scarf and hood hid the stranger's face, all but for his dark eyes which seemed to never be still for more than a moment as they danced about the room absorbing it’s details. The stranger stood silent for a time, before entering proper, the sandals of his feet making light muffled sounds upon the thin carpeted floor.

Stopping before the head of the table the man pulled down his hood, as well as his scarf enough to reveal a young face with a trimmed beard. The man’s skin was as black as pitch, not unlike the Jahun-ka of Karkarth, yet the man lacked the slightly parietal eyes of those people. Instead possessing eyes not unlike the Charlins themselves. More so he seemed darker in some places, most notably around his head and arms, revealing that his skin had been a lighter shade at one point.

The man moved his right hand over his chest making a fist and bowing slightly, “A thousand pardons,” He began, an easy smile on his lips that caused his eyes to sparkle like that of a childs, hinting at some hidden mischief yet unseen. “Valji of Rihad- or Black Wind in some circles, but you may just call this one Valji.” He chuckled a little at that as if it were a joke. “I was invited by good Master Franx,”

Franx stroked his whimsical mustache as he took in the sight of his guest, a broad smile of acceptance broke from his face, “ah yes, the great pit fighting champion. It’s a pleasure, please take a seat, try some of the food.”

The clang of a fresh platter being served onto the table interrupted the conversation and Franx gestured towards the new platter of sizzling sausages that were erupting with a meaty aroma. The mustached man perked up “Oh! Try the sausage.”

Derrix looked at the darker man, “Valji, yes I’ve heard of you from some of my recent recruits. I’d like to say I was a fan but I haven’t had time to watch any fights since I was a boy.”

Vlaji smiled at that as he straightened and made his way around to his seat. Taking his place beside Derrix which placed him across from Aristal. Sitting comfortably a servant stepped in close to pour him a glass of wine— at least Valji assumed it was wine, or hoped so at least, the road gave one few chances to partake— while he took the chance to fill his own plate. He didn’t miss the chance to get a few pieces of the sausage of course. It would be a crime not to partake of Charlin sausage when given the chance.

To Derrix he said, “Glad to see there are those in Charlin who still enjoy the games, If you ever find time and interest again in the arena, I can certainly point you to the best fighting pits in Karkarth. Competition in the games has only grown tougher in the past few years."

“Of course,” Franx interjected, raising a glass of what was indeed wine, “a good fight is always a nice way to spice up the day.”

Aristal seemed to recede at the statement while Derrix simply nodded at the man, withholding a few words better left unsaid to the man who rarely sees battle.

Morinth had seen this Valji on one of her ‘operations’ a while back so she immediately had respect for him. She was quiet about it though through most of the conversation. It was the first time she had heard him speak and with the general belief that the Jahun-ka are ruthless in general, it made things somewhat awkward. After hearing him talk and seeing him as not really a prick, she eased up a bit and finally spoke, “So ‘Valji’ “.. “Why so dark?”

Valji raised an eyebrow at that, his charming smile not wavering. "Why so blue?" He asked in turn almost playfully.

“What is this? Humor? in this room from other than me?!” Morinth said before looking directly at Derrix, “See? you could learn a thing or two here!” She turned her attention back to Valji, “So, Where are you from Valji? You are a pit fighter or some such right?”

Valji chuckled a bit at that as he took a sip of the wine offered before saying, "some such indeed, I am what is known as a bevi-tobor in the East. How you say, a Pit fighter in the common tongue. I've spent most of my life upon the sands and it has proven a life most suited for me. The rush of danger, the heart pounding uncertainty of it all...never knowing what the next moment will bring..." Valji smiled as he cast his gaze downward as if recalling a fond memory. "I wouldn't trade it for anything. I can't imagine living life only for fine comforts and coin, the life of an aristocrat would probably drive me to madness."

Vlaji shook his head at that before turning his attention back to Morinth. "And you? I must admit I have not met many Jonite before. Mind wanders toward how one might find themselves in Charlin. Seemingly so far from home?"

Morinth smiled a bit, “Some of us do not want to spend forever in the great mountains of the west. I did some fighting myself a while back and I love the rush too, maybe that is what drew me here...” She took a deep breath then spoke, “Though, sometimes one can get homesick but its just the politics, it doesn’t exist out here. Straightforward.. something I like, things to be orderly, So many reasons to not go back.”

She almost sounded sad but was quick to recover from it and returning to her bubbly attitude. “Well, Derrix, Looks like we got our muscle right? Not saying that you aren’t strong or some shit, you know.”

Derrix folded his fingers as he leaned over his empty plate, a satisfied full look was sketched on his face. He looked at Franx, “assuming he is joining the party?”

“Yes, straight from Karkarth, he was recruited by the organization,” Franx offered.”

“Organization?” Aristal seemed confused at the vague situation presented.

“Right,” Franx continued, "you see, there is an enigmatic and ancient group that has contacted us through Marc Galenon. They claim that there are special tablets brought to the world by their ancient dragon goddess, and we are going to reclaim them. We suspect the recently recovered tablet of Krax is secretly one such dragon tablets. However that would leave four more to collect, that is your mission.”

Franx threw his handkerchief down onto his unfinished plate of a half eaten sausage and leaned back in his chair, “Master Paladin Derrix has been appointed head of the operation as he was already on a recovery mission when we were contacted. Valji, if you would not mind, I would request you go under his chain of command. ”

Valji nodded. "Aye, I have been used to working alone, but given the gravity of our mission. I shall gladly follow Master Derrix lead on this. I assume every member is present?" He added the latter before biting into a specially juicy sausage.

Morinth turned to Aristal and jokingly added, “Have you tried the sausages?” and began giggling softly, managing to get a small chuckle out of Aristal. Morinth’s plate was still full of food and she hadn’t touched any of it. She was hungry but really felt awkward eating around all these giant folks.

“Well,” Franx interrupted, “not every member, as the organization said they were going to find us some more help, and then the one Boyar who wanted to help ended up getting himself killed down in Lrev, something about a western boat or something, I don’t know.”

The mustached man seemed to shake his head out of disappointment, “ For now however this will have to do, I’m also granting a small company of paladins to assist, Derrix can hand pick that later though.”

Morinth perked up upon hearing of the western boat. Her gaze sharpened a bit, “Where was this boat from exactly?” She had went from a bubbly attitude to a very serious one. So serious that it might even rival Derrix himself.

Derrix raised a brow at his companions new found seriousness. A smirk broke on his face, savoring the moment. He was cut out of his small victory by Franx jumbling to recall the story about the boat. Franx waved his hand as if dismissing the situation,
“uh, Dominion I think.”

Morinth snapped out of her serious demeanor and went back to her plate with a small smile barely visible. She looked over to Derrix and just nodded a bit, “Well, lets hear about where we are going.”

Franx sighed, “well, the organization didn’t quite specify, so we were hoping-”

“The tablet of Krax might hold a clue,” Derrix finished Franx’s sentence.

Franx simply nodded while gesturing at an older maid in the corner, who quickly scurried out of the dining room. After a few moments of silence and confused glances, the woman reemerged through the large double door with creak. The grey slab covered in ancient Charlin writing was held in her shaking arms as she scuffled across the carpet towards her mustached master.

The carpet scrunched up under her toes as she roughly glided towards the table. With a yelp the woman tripped over the sudden bump in the floor, shooting her arms out to catch something to break her fall and sending the tablet flying.

Her fingers caught a handful of the back of Derrix’s shirt, breaking her fall while barely moving the stagnant man from his seat other than his own arm shooting out of his own accord to help the woman back to her feet.

Before anything could be said the tablet smashed into the table with a loud clanging bang. The sudden impact sent drinking glasses and plates flying and shattering, showering Morinth in warm sausages, and drenching the rest of the party in water and wine. There was a laughing jeer from Aristal as the group looked at the kaleidoscope of foods and shattered glass that sullied the table.

Morinth shot up with her hands raised, flinging the little plump meats in all directions. “What the fuck!” she yelped, giving the maid quite possibly the dirtiest look she had ever received or seen. “Why couldn’t it had been water. Who did I piss off for this to happen to me.” she said softly before starting to wipe her self off with a cloth napkin.

A small deep voiced laugh stole its way from Derrix as he sat drenched in sticky wine, amused at Morinth’s misfortune. The two shot each other a mix of menacing and amused looks, and the occasional flung sausage, but were interrupted by the soft sputtering of the water soaked tablet. The strange sounds quelled everyone’s reaction to the mess, even lightening Franx’s red angry face as he was silenced in the middle of scolding the maid. Everyones attention was quietly brought to the drenched tablet.

A warm ray of sausage began to engulf the tablet as it slowly seemed to hum to life. Valji stood up carefully as he cautiously approached the glowing tablet hoping it had not broken, and what he saw truly surprised him. New runes seemed to be writing themselves into existence in bright azure blue. Runes Valji distinctly recognized as Old Draconic. Near the bottom of the tablet, the runes stopped appearing and instead something else was revealing itself. Intricate lines ran across the stone surface as if written by an unseen finger.

"The rest of you might want to see this," Valji said in a tone of disbelief. Glowing outward from the stone surface looked to be a perfect map of Avara. Valji had seen enough maps in Karkarth used by traders to recognize the eastern coastline. From the rest of the design, he theorized was a rough sketch of Avara. However, it was the single bright white dot on this bizarrely real map that caught the pit fighters attention. A dot that seemed to rest right on the edge of the southern coast of Avara, specifically where Zar Dratha would undoubtedly be located.

Derrix leaned over the tablet next to Valji. He simply looked at everyone else, the message was clear despite his ignorance of Old Draconic. Hs piercing golden eyes examined everyone else's reactions before he spoke, “We need a boat.”

Morinth spoke up, “Didn’t you say Lrev had a port? Perhaps we could pick one up there?”

Derrix looked over to his sausage scented friend, “my thoughts exactly.”

Laona, Royal Palace
Present Day
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Warm light filtered through the large clear glass windows of the palace dining room where it illuminated king Tetan Serin and the small feast he was having for lunch. Standing beside the king was the Spymaster, cloaked in intricate robes and wearing an almost comical red satin hat which blended in perfectly with the rooms velvet red carpet and managed to bolster his height by nearly a solid foot. It was not unneeded for the diminutive man.

Within the room Tetan stared down at his plate and calmly asked, “repeat that please.”

The spymaster having clearly been unnerved by the simple question replied cautiously, “Well... Sir there are reports, nothing verified, but a Dominion ship may have docked in Charlin and created quite a ruckus, that is what our informants tell me.”

Tetan posed the question, “Is it his?”

The spymaster adjusted his head nervously and replied, “We think so.”

It took very little really, but the anger that built on Tetans face was beyond obvious. Suddenly he slammed his hand into the plate causing shards of porcelain and food to fly across the room as he screamed, “You said this would be easy! Charlin? You call that easy you useless worm!?”

Tetan moved on the spymaster and grabbed him by the collar as he slammed the smaller man into the wall, “You understand what this means fool? I can do nothing now! We signed the treaty not a week ago! Worse yet if those Justinian bastards find out the child’s identity...”

Tetan just dropped the spymaster who grasped his throat and gasped, finally able to breath. How could this happen? He had been assured a simple captain running off would be no problem... Two years, two years and nothing. Now not only did he not have his own son, by Yuwan if the mages were right the only son he would ever have, he had lost him to the Justinians. Tetan began pacing along the table, taking out the occasional angry thought on whatever morsel of food was nearest by flinging it into a wall and cursing.

The spymaster now recovered and nearly cowering suggested hesitantly, “The senates assassin is still-”

Tetan didn't let him finish, “The senates! Senates! As much as I might need the fools I would never trust a situation like this to them, royal families have been unseated before you blithering idiot! I followed your advice and killed the whore to keep this quiet and look what has happened!”

Ceasing his pacing Tetan moved in on the spymaster and cast an accusing finger towards him, “This is all your fault isn't it? If I hadn't followed your advice I would have my boy and the senate would be none the wiser of his origins! You!”

A smile creased his face and Tetan yelled, “guards!” Not a moment later they burst in, their gazing following Tetans outstretched arm to the mortified spymaster quivering in the corner.

With a laugh he just declared, “Take this man, this traitor away! I want his head for crimes against this Dominion and Yuwan herself!”

Being dragged out the door the unfortunate soul didn't ever manage to mutter a single word, still struck with disbelief. Falling against the wall and sitting on the floor Tetan sighed, how could it have come to this? His father wanted him to be king, him who was the wiser of his siblings, him who was king even though it cost him one of the few siblings he had left. Surely he was the wisest of them? The Strongest? How was it then that he was unable even to protect his own child?

He had to get the child back, not only for his own honour but for his nation. The living terror that his foolish younger brother would bring about should he and his monster of a wife come to bear the royal heir was not something to take lightly. No matter the cost he had to get the child back, and he had to do it quietly.

All of that not even to mention the blasted ring, the same ring that had not found any real use in more than a thousand years. Ironic that everyone, Tetan included, had been trying so hard to get it back now despite not even looking at the thing in near their entire lives. Tetan simply let out an exasperated sigh, everything had become such a mess and removing the worm that started it had hardly made him feel better.

Still, he needed to get the boy and the ring back before the senate. Oh yes their Morinth was an effective weapon, it was why he liked her. A shame that he had to stop her or risk everything, well everyone makes sacrifices. He had his own assassins.

Settle the matter at hand first then, remove Morinth and then find a way to get what he needed. Tetan stood and exited the food plastered dining room, making his way to the royal office. It would take a few letters and more than a little gold, but it would work this time, it had to.

Still, nothing ever did seem to work, best to hire foreigners then.

Zar Dratha
Two Days Later
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He glided through the noonday sunshine’s oppressive heat, moving as if always cloaked in shadows, though the place had few, and as if even the ever present dust could not touch him. The open market was crowded— it was always crowded— with yelling merchants and customers bargaining for every copper piece, every Drathan tooth. Thieves were positioning themselves in all the best and busiest places, where they might cut a purse string without ever being noticed, or if they were discovered, where they could melt away into a swirling crowd of bright colors and flowing robes. Dazar noted the thieves clearly.

He could tell with a glance who was there to shop and who was there to steal, and he didn’t avoid the latter group. He, in fact, purposely set his course to bring him right by every thief he could find, and he pushed back one side of his dark cloak, revealing his ample purse——revealing, too, the jewel-decorated dagger of pure enchanted ebonsteel that kept his purse and his person perfectly safe. The dagger was his trademark weapon, one of the most feared blades on all of Zar Dratha’s dangerous streets. Dazar enjoyed the respect the young thieves offered him, and more than that, he demanded it. He had spent years earning his reputation as the finest assassin in Zar Dratha, but he was getting older. He was losing, perhaps, that fine edge of brilliance. Thus, he came out brazenly— more so than he ever would have in his younger days— daring them, any of them, to make a try for him.

He crossed the busy avenue, heading for a small outdoor tavern that had many round tables set under a great awning as shade from the sun. The place was bustling, but Dazar immediately spotted his contact, a man from the north, the Dominion specifically. With a single glance he knew the man was alone, instincts honed from several years of his chosen trade had honed within him a near sixth sense about such things. Still one could never be too careful.

He moved toward the table and sat down in one smooth motion; so gracefully and quickly the contact nearly jumped from his seat when he turned his gaze before him. Dazar said nothing to the other man, resting his chin on his left fist as he toyed with a Drathan coin in his right hand idly. Not even looking up at the other man from under his black wide brimmed hat.

"The desert falcon knows little of winter's bite," He said cryptically. Using the pass code they had agreed on.

Calmed down from the near fright the man replied as he was directed to do, “But does not fear the summers wind.”

Dazar said nothing for a time, juggling his coin between his fingers. Spinning that same coin about skillfully in his hand before flicking it upwards and catching it he said at last, "Well then, you have my ear. Just what task would the king of kings require from a foreign blade, hmm?"

The man took a cautious look around the room before he began, “A certain agent of the Senate has become problematic.”

He opened a small bag and pulled out a rough drawing, “Morinth, if you know her. She has acted in any number of roles for the senate over as many years and I warn you not to take her lightly if this is the first you have heard the name. She will need to be ‘handled’ and it will have to be quickly. Our last reports put her in Charlin, Krax to be precise. How long she’ll stay there we cannot say.”

Reaching back into the back the man pulled out a small featureless leather bag and dropped it to the table, “We’re sure we can count on your discretion and prompt action, the rest will follow once you bring some evidence the job is done.”

Dazar had remained quiet during the explanation, but at the mention of Morinth’s name his coin play stopped. His features betraying a keener interest than before. He had indeed heard of this Morinth before, though by reputation only. Often the most well known of his craft did not hold up to their rumored skills. However, something told Dazar caution would be the watchword on this specific mission. Perhaps this is what he needed? Dazar was as masterful at his craft as any could hope to be, more so in many respects given the dangerous city he lived in. No matter how wise you were, how strong, how quick, or skilled. There was always one enemy that prevailed over all foes one day.

Time.

Dazar had heard the whispers among some of the more brazen of the cities thieves. They were starting to think his golden years were behind him. They thought him a relic of a passing age, one who would be forgotten in the sands of time. No, he could not allow that to happen. Perhaps he become slower than in days of his youth, perhaps he had lost a bit of that edge. Yet, even so he had gained wisdom and experience, born from years of working for the dangerous archwizards of his city. He was the hunter of some of the most dangerous, the most clever, of beings on Avara and he was far from fading into obscurity. This opportunity might be the very thing he needed to show the others, the world. Dazar The Black Scorpion was far from dulled. As the saying often was in the Union, wisdom was the sharpest blade of all.

Dazar looked down at the coin in his hand and studied it with a cold unreadable gaze. "You hunt big game then." he said at last. His tone dry, almost bored or tired. The faintest shadow of a smile played on his lips as he added. "Very well. I will fix this problem for you. Just be sure you benefactor pays what is owed when the deed is done." He spun the coin in his hand about his fingers nimbly before it seemingly vanished before the other man's eyes. "We will speak again when I have done my, part." He stood up then and looked up fully into the contacts eyes from under his wide brimmed hat. Two black orbs of blackest night looked down upon him, seemingly to look through the man entirely. "You will not have to wait long."

Dazar dipped his head and turned again, seemingly to vanish in the coward of bodies as if he had never been there at all.

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The boat ride across the Sea of Night had been uneventful and boring while seeming to last forever to the oft-times feral senses of Kayun. They had been forced to of course, use a merchant ship, this one made completely of wood as opposed to chitin and other composite materials often used by Karkarth, and when the last leg of the journey had come they had stowed away in large barrels along with other supplies to be placed within a warehouse owned by House Orlious.

Eighth wide barrels for each man apart of the secret force meant to open the gates. All they could risk in one trade run. Everyren’s sister city further along the coast would have its own infiltrators, but it was much smaller and less secure a place then Everyren. It had been almost complete darkness within his little wooden prison for Kayun, and the big man was glad he possessed no great fear of enclosed spaces. At least he had thought so at first. Time within that barrel had seemed even more gruelingly long than the boat ride itself somehow. When he had finally been set down within the warehouse (The men with the misfortune of carrying him cursing all the while, much to his secret amusement) then was certain they were alone. He had wasted little time in pushing the top open and kicking himself free.

Try as he might he still made quite a bit of noise, but it seemed it had not attracted unwanted attention. Once clear he was glad to see the others had escaped their own coffins as well. The convenient aspect of being a part of a trading vessel from Karkarth was that their weapons came with them easy enough. One of his men was already cracking open a crate, peeling the lid free and removing straw to reveal weapons of Karkarthian make of all types.

There was no Karkarth plate sadly though they could hardly remain inconspicuous while kitted in full battle plate. Flexing tired muscles and cracking stiff joints, Kayun walked toward the weapon crate. He peered within and smiled; pulling forth two riliw style waraxes, these possessing not the gleam of normal steel, but an eerie glow about them. Fang and Claw. Kayun’s trusted and beloved axes had been his favored tools for a long time he had to admit. He cherished them as closely as he would a dear friend. They had been forged with skyshards long ago by one of the most talented blacksmith he had ever known. His own lover of old no less. They existed as the last memories of her he possessed. Jahun-ka rarely forged long relationships but Kayun had shared something special with Tamaye.

Hefting each axe in his arms he spun them periodically to get feeling back into his hands. He made his way over to his most interesting companion on this risky yet vital mission. His trademark grin plastered on his face, the kind which made his larger than normal canines quite visible on his thickly bearded face.

"Well met Vrox, Good to see your barrel ride favored you more than I, hahahaha!" His laugh was strong and from his belly. He shook his head so the braids of his beard swing lightly. “Best we make haste then, the rest here will split off into pairs until night. When the guards are just about to shift and they’re at their weakest. You’ll be with me.”

“Very good,” The inconspicuously dressed king reciprocated the laugh with his own, “I have a good feeling about this.”

The king seized the hilt of an old regal longsword from the crate and removed it, with a smile he mused, “Karkarthian make, we can’t lose.”

The last lights of sunset were already vanishing from the horizon as Kayun settled against an ally wall. The roads had turned out to be much more patrolled then they would have liked. In fact, it made approaching the gate house unseen nigh impossible. Men did not wonder about at this hour unless they had ill intent. As it happened, such was the case. Hooded and robed in a dirty old cloak, Kayun tapped the hilt of his axe hidden under his robes and waited.

It had been Gruthga’s idea for a slight change of plans, a diversion of sorts once they had learned just how difficult their task would turn out to be. Getting in now seemed like the easy part indeed. The cool night breeze wafted up from the coast and could be felt even this far from the coast. Kayun fidgeted with a hand as he gripped the hilt of his axe impatiently.

What was taking them so long?

Then it happened, he could smell it before he saw the reaction of the men around the main gatehouse, one fellow was running toward them in what seemed to be a panic. In minutes, a group had peeled off down the road, Kayun shifted back into the shadow slightly more as they ran by. No doubt his comrades had done their part. A small fire to occupy the guards until the gate was open, by the looks of things it had worked, leaving only a fraction of the men who had been there previously, as well as any nearby patrols now no doubt busy elsewhere. A few fires should spread enough confusion to suit their needs. Still, what guards remained still outnumbered Kayun, Vrox and their comrades.

Once more the guards were well armed, and unlike his fellows, better armored in chain mail equipped with crossbows on the high walls. It seemed a fair fight to Kayun. He smiled. He looked back at his five brothers and sisters. Vrox was right behind him, and Kayun still marveled at the fact a King would take on so dangerous a mission. Indeed, Jahun-ka of old had not misplaced their trust in their compact with their Charlin allies.

Not a speck of doubt was found in the eyes of Vrox, and his face lit with not a kingly glow but the look of a humble warrior fighting for his country. Vrox gave Kayun a smirk and a nod, signaling a suggested advance.

Kayun gave a nod to his comrades, their eyes steely with resolve. They knew what needed to be done. Kayun backed from the alleyways entrance and another of his fellows moved up, Villanie had a hand crossbow cranked and ready. A scaled down version of the more powerful and frightening Karkarth Steel Crossbows, the device was still useful and deadly in the right hands. The man took aim, then fire his first shot at a guard on high walking the walls battlements. It pierced the side of his neck causing him to fall to his knees clutching the wound as he drowned in blood. Villanie was already setting another bolt to his crossbow before he let fly the next, catching the next guard upon the side of the head, piercing his leather skull cap.

He then moved on to the guard in the southern watch tower, but the range was much further away, and his first shot was a near miss, striking the stone pillar behind the sentinel that supported the towers roof. The noise alerted the man, who spun about for the source of the noise. He saw the dark figure leaning out of the alleyway below just before a bolt found his chest. It punctured but did not pierce completely at this range through the man’s armor, thus he fell back screaming in pain. The sounded of course alerted his fellows down at the gates entrance way.

Kayun cursed, still two out of three would have to do. There still remained the guard in the other tower, but given their approach was from the south up toward and along the wall, and the guard tower was on the north side. They may very well be out of the crossbowman's line of sight. With a an action Kayun was already throwing off his robes, as much a command as was needed for his kin. Who each followed suit as they charged out of the alley way, sprinting a beeline for the gate house.

The guards were still looking up in confusion when one spotted the small group heading toward them and shouted a warning. They had never heard of Warsword Kayun Vervesh. They didn't know that death was upon them.

The first guard to fall to Kayun had his face caved in with mighty across and upward swing with Fang. The man fell backward dead before he hit the ground. The contact had caused Fang to then ignite into flame, it’s in born magic coming to light. The next man was more prepared than the last, as he managed to clear his short sword first, he parried Kayun’s waraxe Claw. Which proved to be a fatal mistake, as the man’s sword then froze over, baffling the poor sod. Kayun rode the momentum of the man's parry and came down with Fang on the now frozen over short sword. The impact and sudden shift from cold to hot proved enough to break it in one strike.

Stepping into the other small mans guard, Kayun shoved forward using his shoulder like a batter ram. The blow dislocated the man's jaw, broke his nose, and knocked the wind out of him as he was launched onto his backside.

A feral almost beast like growl escaped Kayun’s lips, his draconic eyes almost cat like now, his canines seeming to grow and sharpen. All around him his men were fighting through guards, knowing they had no time to waste, if that gate didn’t open soon, they would be swarmed when more guards came to investigate the source of this noise. Two more militia came toward Kayun, both armed with spears. Quicker than a man his almost outrages size had any right to be, Kayun bolted to his right, directly toward the closes guardsmen. He danced low to one side at the last moment, just avoiding the spears tip, before sweeping across with Claw, biting into the wood and freezing it upon impact; joining both weapons momentarily. Before the man could pull his weapon away and backpedal to a safer distance, Kayun used the now frozen contact to suddenly pull the man forward instead.

He spun out of the way just as the guard at his back charged forward hoping to catch the large Jahun-ka from behind. What he skewered instead was his fellow guardsmen who inadvertently stumbled forward into his comrades weapon. Both wore shocked expressions on their face, even as Kayun’s axe found the back of the un-impaled guardsman's neck. He tore it free with a savage twist and turned to the gate, just as he heard a cry of pain from behind him. It sounded like Rajen, which meant that the crossbowmen on the northern tower had better line of sight and aim that Kayun had hoped for. He hoped to the goddess it wasn't too terrible, but he forced such thoughts from mind. Falling more deeply into the red haze of the Bloodclaw.

As the smell of blood greeted his nose, his senses seemed to gradually grew sharper. Now the path was clear to the Gate’s tower which held the mechanism to open it...only it wasn’t. Where there had been no such man when Kayun had first spied the main gate from afar earlier. There now stood what even to his blood hazed mind as distinctly….different. If he had not known any better in fact, he might have thought a paladin of Charlin was baring his path. Kayun only paused a moment to absorb this new information before he concluded that could not be the cause. His mind could not grasp anything at this point aside from the fact this man stood between him and his goal. Kayun crouched low into a Tiger Claw stance, both axes glowing their respective elements open wide to either side of him. Kayun was a warmaster of his respective discipline, however, his opponent as armored and equipped with a shield paired with a sword he clearly knew how to use.

Perhaps this task would not be as easy as he had first thought?

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There was no doubt the might of Vrox’s Jahun-ka comrade as the great man finished off his prey with the vigor of a wild beast. However the king did not have enough time to congratulate his partner as the remaining contingent of the guards rushed him hesitantly, clearly low in morale after the stunning defeat of their men at arms.

The air smelt of fire and of blood, and as Vrox bore his large long sword in an offensive stance he was determined to eliminate the smell of fire. With a flash of his blade he swung low, driving his swords sharp bite into the exposed knee of a charging guard, sending him to the ground.

The king slammed his booted foot onto the screaming and bloodied man’s hand, causing him to release his own blade in pain. Another opponent quickly ran to the fallen guards aid, charging spear first. After a quick side step the king let his sword down in a low arc on top of the spear, ripping it from the guards hands.

Vrox quickly grabbed the back of the disarmed mans neck and forced him down on top of his screaming comrade, who was now bleeding profusely from his leg. With a quick shout of his own the king drove the tip of his blade down with all his strength, ripping through both mens necks and impaling them together into a single gruesome work of war.

The victorious man smirked at his masterpiece and brought his sword up to his shoulders, ready to strike at any who dared to oppose him. Back and forth he swung his blade, ripping flesh and chain as he struck down man after man. Thrust, slash, hack, blood flew through the air, the acrid smell of the dead started to drown out the smell of fire, and the grunts and screams of defeat overpowered the cackles of fire and clashes in the distance.

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“It was a clever trick Jahun-ka, very clever, but not the most original plan. I’ve seen it too many times to fall for it again. Convenient fire burns down part of the city, just so happens to distract part of the garrison. Isolates the wall guards from the city guards, cuts line of communication… leaves the gate defenceless. It has been done before”. The man standing before Kayun was grim and frantic with maddened eyes. While nothing in scale or fury to Kayun’s strength and animal rage, the man in his bent and marked armour with a heavily scarred face contorted into pure disgust and hatred was resolute, standing before him, sword pointing outwards and back towards the gate lever.

“You will not take this city, animal. There will be no more High Sepulchrave’s today”. He spat. “I, Urian Phebosius, knight-crusader and defender of the Imperium, stand before Justinian, grant me victory today against the monster and animal spawned by-!” he shouted

Kayun spat to the side and eyed the man with a narrowed gaze before becoming a blur of motion. The supposed knight never quite got to finish his prayer before Kayun was upon him. One great bounding stride followed by a war cry that sounded more like the roar of a lion, and Kayun leapt into the air and lifted his weapons high overhead. Using the arc downward, and his considerable weight and momentum to lend bonecrushing force to his attack. However, as Kayun's practised warrior eye had predicted, this man was no novice of battle.

Phebosius rolled to Kayun's right side at the last moment, allowing Kayun to crash down and sweep both Claw and Fang through empty air. The backlash created a gout of flames to flash backward to the Warmasters right side that held Fang, and a twin stream of cold icy air in Claws wake to his left that held Claw. With a howling battle cry of his own, though not quite as feral, Phebosius sprung to his feet as the weapon in his hand crackled with energy. The Jahun-ka quickly spun Fang about and upward to parry Urian's sword to the right as Kayun rose and turned. He quickly followed up with a stab toward the paladins now unprotected gut with the spiked tipped edge of Claw in one smooth motion. The energy within the knights sword chose then to detonate in a burst of light that stung Kayun's now light sensitive eyes.

It was only a moment's lapse but it lasted long enough for Urian to avoid the waraxes spike tip as it came just short of his gut while he tucked in his stomach in a backward leap. Urian brought his sword back across again, only now the energy from before was gone. It swept Kayun's left hand axe away, allowing Urian to adjust his grip and stab forward with all his might. Kayun sent his left foot back behind his right and narrowly avoided the weapons sharp edge as it scythed through the air just before his chest as he sidestepped it.

Kayun used the moment the knight was off balance to turn Fang spiked tip down, and brought up the waraxes curved fang like edge. Using it as a hook to catch the knights sword, turning it up and binding both weapons together as Kayun quickly closed the gap. Too close now for eithers weapon to be of use, Kayun adopted the sophisticated and advanced maneuver of a well placed headbutt against the smaller man's skull. Followed by a second brutal headbutt, then a third.

With a bleeding forehead Phebosius responded by letting his sword go and pulling back just in time to avoid another meeting of the Jahun-ka's tough head. Instead, he introduced his shield to the larger man's skull as it came in for another strike. Kayun fell back suddenly as his senses were knocked loose, leaving with a probably broken nose to boot. Phebosius charged shield first, seizing the initiative, knocking the brute to his back and some feet away where he landed heavily. He ducked low and retrieved his sword, which had dropped earlier, and swung down with all his strength. Kayun snapped his twin waraxes upward just in time to block the blow. The clang of steel on steel echoing amidst the fighting before the gate.

On pure adrenaline and instinct, Kayun responded quickly by kicking his leg into the side of the knights knee. He buckled from the blow, causing him to fall to one bent leg. Bending his other leg back, Kayun kicked forward and knocked the man onto his back. The Knights armor and padding had saved him from a broken or dislocated shoulder, but it gave Kayun the time he needed to roll to his feet as the Knight followed suit. Both on their feet they circled one another with a new appreciation for the others skill.

Their pacing was only interrupted when the sound of the gate slow screeching was heard. Kayun spared only the briefest flicker of his gaze to the gates top. One of his men was at the gate, turning the gates wheel slowly. Just in time as the sounds of whistles further in the city suggested that the militia was on to their scheme. He had to end this quickly. With the roar of a wild beast, Kayun threw himself back into the fray. His weapons were little more than a blur as he hacked at his foe with feral speed. Trailing icy mist and fiery fire, Kayun was a whirlwind of motion. Phebosius was put on the defensive quickly as the Jahun-ka came on with renewed fury. His shield was battered a dozen times, every strike he parried felt like his sword had almost been torn from his grasp. He blocked another strike from Fang, fire bathing the surface of his shield. He swept his sword in a tight horizontal arc to parry Claw.

Kayun jumped back suddenly, and Phebosius believed it might mean he could catch a breather as surely his enemy was growing tired. Not so, as Kayun sprung back in no time, shifting now fully. His eyes truly catlike, the fingernails of his hands claw-like. His face and wild black hair gave him the look of a great black lion. Kayun was now foaming at the mouth and scream of rage bellowed forth as he made a powerful attack against Phebosius once more. He had set aside all thoughts of defense as he lunged forward, completely catching the knight off guard with his raw savagery. Down came not Fang or Claw but both waraxes which Phebosius just barely had time to block with his shield raised high. The hit combined with the instant freezing and burning heat added with Kayun's considerable strength finally sundered the shield entirely. Specks of wood flew outward like an explosion metal and steam.

Phebosius granted in pain his left arm dropping low as he stumbled backward nearly falling. He barely kept himself on his feet as he cradled his now surely broken arm. Kayun stood tall as he strode forward confidently, spinning Claw and Fang about easily in each hand. He swept both weapons around in another pass and brought them both down in another strike, one Phebosius blocked again with his longsword. Kayun brought his axes up then down again, hooking the sword with his own fanged axe blades and kneeing Phebosius in the face hard. The knight fell back knocked senseless. He tried to rise, but Kayun's foot slammed down on his chest. He looked up with hate and anger in his eyes. Kayun's however was neutral, and stoic.

"You fought well." Then brought Claw across in a savage backhand with the flat of the weapons blade against the knights skull.

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As Vrox heard the screaming of the gate slowly being opened, he reached to his belt to procure his cavalry horn, signaling the siege. Before his hand could even touch the horn a voice boomed from behind him paired with the scratching of a blade escaping it’s hilt, “Stand and face your demise, cultist.”

Vrox spun around, catching the blade of his new opponent mid swing in his crossguard. The two locked eyes, and Vrox was staring clearly staring at a paladin of sorts, shorter than a Charlin, and deemed a definite enemy. Vrox growled at the man, “I am no cultist.”

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the paladin looked up at Vrox and pushed their blades apart. The paladin had an arming sword, large shield and plated armor, while the king merely stood with only his very long sword and padded clothes, but after a brief second spent sizing up his shorter opponent, Vrox dismissed the disadvantage and charged.

He swung his far reaching sword, but the seasoned paladin stepped into the swing, knocking it aside with his shield as he stepped forward, and jutting out his sword arm like a piston. The king quickly sidestepped, causing the sword to only graze his padded thigh, but during the juke the paladin managed to bring his shield up and around, as to bash the king.

With quick reflexes Vrox managed to reel back entirely, saving him from the impending beating. The king this time swung his weapon from a distance, seemingly mimicking his first stroke of the battle. The paladin was confused at the folly but answered the swing with a quick raise of his shield to deflect the blow, but as the longsword hit the shield, Vrox let go instead of following through, and with renewed vigor he grabbed the hand of the paladin that shot out to stab with the arming sword and with a inside shove of his shoulders, ripped the sword out of the paladins hand and sent him stumbling back.

The paladin had no time to recuperate as Vrox quickly followed up with quick and powerful swings. Each one pounded heavily on the paladin's shield as he was slowly forced further backwards from the ferocity of the onslaught. Despite the attacker trying to slice and stab through openings in the paladins defense, the man was always quick to reposition his shield. Eventually the defenders arm began to buckle under the weight of each clanging and smashing hit and eventually he was forced to his knee. With a desperate roar the paladin rolled out of the danger and swung his battered shield, knocking the kings knee with a crack.

The king squatted with a grunt as his knee flooded with pain. Blood fury filled the eye of the king and he lunged towards the recovering enemy with his good leg shooting off the ground, leaving speckles of crimson where he was hit.

Vrox landed flat against the shield, thrusting the arming sword deep in between the plates that flexed over the knights own knee and biting deep into his flesh. Blood began to gush from the wound as the knight hollered in pain. The king released the impaled arming sword in favor of a more brutish attack. His fingers curled around the edges of the shield and he pushed with all his might, sending the duo to the ground, and trapping the bloody and crippled paladin under his own shield once more.

The king bore his teeth in anger as his knee began to seep blood through his pants, and planted it on top of the shield, keeping all his weight on the paladin. Vrox dug his thumbs under the lips of the struggling paladins helmet and forced it off, revealing the man's coiffed head and startled face.

With furious eyes the king gripped the helmet so tight his knuckles turned white with strain as he brought the helm down onto the paladins face with a slam, and then again, and then again. Soon the motion turned into a blur of metal and blood as the king enacted his revenge on the squirming knight, until finally, the paladin laid still.

With his knee still on his dead enemies body, Vrox tore his horn off his belt and raised it to his lips. After a mighty heft on the mouth of the cavalry horn it bellowed and seemingly shook the immediate area, the dull clicks of the gate latching into it’s fully open position seemed to harmonize with loud boom.

The harmony was soon drowned out as the fierce pounding of massive hooves clashed and clapped. Those by the now open gate were thrown back in awe as a blinding light bursted into the city. The light galloped powerfully into the city under siege, and on its back sat a large angel with wings of golden light flapping behind the charging creature. A lance like a lightening bolt was held at the side, couched under the arms of the angel, Marc Galenon. The long piercing spear punched clean through even plate as the heavenly combination shot by at amazing speeds.

Those who were spared the lance of Marc were soon trampled or impaled by a handful of Charlinite paladins galloping behind with menacing lances of their own. Some paladins wore faint wings of light on their backs as they stampeded through the gates, while others substituted the light bending wings with buzzing wings of eagle feathers glued on a wooden wing frames giving the impression of heaven itself invading the city. Quickly the golden heavenly light was embroidered with fluid ribbons of crimson and the angels valiantly pierced the heart of the cities resistance.

Soon after a flood of armored knights and archers stormed the gates, yells calling for them to secure the walls bounced along with the screams of the fallen and the desperate.

The sound of heavy feet was heard faintly as the paladins charged in, along with responding horn calls from outside the city. Drums beat and grew steadily louder with the marching step of what sounded like a legion. As The Charlins had charged in like a fountain of silver light, those who came after them arrived like a black storm of dark steel and smoking fires. Torches held aloft in-place of banners as the Men of Kark entered the city proper. The initial charge of cavalry down the main thoroughfare road had thrown the defenders into a confused panic. The iron curtain that followed brought forth the last nail in Everyren's coffin. The Jahun-ka infiltrators on the walls cheered as their army entered the city.

Swift death followed those who resisted, a tidal wave of blood and steel as the hosts of House Dracon and Vervesh went about their work. Kayun rested against the wall right beside the still open gateway as Karkarthians poured in. He watched the city fall in a steady tide as defenders were pushed back. Some surrendering as they throw down their weapons in the face of certain defeat.

A clicking hiss beside him broke him from his enthrallment, looking up to see Fire Prince Kelnzo astride a mighty Craver. The great reptile salivating as it shifted its feet anxiously. No doubt smelling the blood in the air.

"We have done it Kayun! The city will soon be ours," the princes voice muffled slightly by his helmet. Only his eyes revealing his smile.

"Aye," Kayun nodded, sounding almost tired. "So it has... it has truly begun then..."

Vrox limped next to Kayun’s side, a smile plastered on his red speckled face, “victory is ours.”

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The hosts of House Dracon had gathered together; their banners blowing in the wind and the blazing river fires of the Ash Wastes gleaming off their midnight black plate. The light of the sun blocked out by the great ash clouds overhead which even now were crackling with bolts of lightning. In prefect ordered and spaced columns the hosts stayed respectfully back as they had been instructed by their respective spiritual leaders. Some of the unruly younger valartin nearest to the front whispered among themselves and bullied for position that they might witness the miraculous event. While the majority of the host remained stock still as if fashioned statues of ebon stone. All gathered in their respective hunken.

Kiha was among them, taking up the center rear guard of the assembled host positioned on slightly raised ground. She had heard of the coming ceremony spoken of before. Mostly in tales and stories; the last great war Karkarth had fought had followed such a ceremony. As had every war since the founding— or more refounding— of Karkarth well over nine hundred years ago.

As tradition dictated, before the assembled Host was raised a great square podium of carven stone, the steps to reach it built in a pyramidal like fashion, with each corner supporting a spire-like pillar. This was the Hallowed Sanctum on the very edge of the Ash Wastes, south of Djerad Thymar. Kiha had only ever come here once long ago, passing it on an errand into Charlin.

The sound of drums echoed— knocking Kiah from her musing— a rumbling steady tune as the chants of painted dancers followed the rising rhythm; they’re movements matching the music with cunning grace near the foot of the pyramidal platform of stone. Thunder sounded from on high as the rainless storm overhead picked up strength, lighting the heavens in great flashes of light.

Kiha spotted Grand Archon Shurdan begin ascending the steps with a torch in both hands, flanked by pairs of fellow priestess each carrying their own fires. She was adorned in pure crimson robes with gold flames patterned across the garments. Her fellow priestess similarly garbed though lacking the golden flames upon their own robes. Unlike most of her race Shurdan possessed great sweeping horns, each with a gold band around it, the points of which curled over her head following the curve of her skull and ending just under her ears. Not so unlike Kiha’s own draconic horns she thought, minus the golden bands.

Finally upon the platform High Priestess Shurdan stood before a large brazier near the center of the platform, one which held within it a single sword sheathed within the coals and began to slowly turn around in short circles. In response, those priestesses who had followed her then circled the brazier also began to move slowly around the perimeter of the stone monuments top, each turning small circles within the march. Gradually Shurdan began to increase the pace of her turn, and those around and below similarly began to move faster, both in their own circles and in their larger march. That march became more animated with each step, becoming more of a dance. Torches bobbed and swayed erratically as they chanted in unison.

It went on for many minutes, the priestesses not seeming to tire in the least— and that alone told perceptive Kiha that there was some magic afoot. Finally, Shurdan stopped all of a sudden, and those around her stopped at precisely the same moment, simply freezing in place. With the synchronicity of a practiced dance team the group swayed and rotated, gradually coming to stand straight, torches held high and steady. The priestesses then moved forward toward the yet unlit brazier and added their torches to it, igniting it in a blazing flash of red and orange flames. At that moment, thunder seemed to shake the very earth as strike of lightning sounded right above them.

And Tiberius Dracon appeared ascending the pyramid. As one, the crowd of the younger warriors who had never seen the sacrament performed, Kiha included, gasped. The Jahun-ka Vanquisher was naked, his muscular frame painted in bright colors; red, silvery white, and black. His eyes had been lined in white, exaggerating them so that it seemed to every onlooker as if Tiberius was scrutinizing him specifically, and the crowd reflexively shrank back. The warpaint also serving the purpose of hiding his burn and scar marks.

As she collected her wits about her, Kiha realized how extraordinary the ceremony truly was, for Tiberius was not wearing his magnificent masterwork armor. The Vanquisher had allowed himself to be vulnerable though he hardly appeared helpless. His torso rippled with every stride, and his limbs seemed almost as if his muscles were stretched too tightly, the sinewy cords standing taut and straight. In many ways, the powerful Jahun-ka seemed every bit as imposing as if he had been fully armed and armored. His face stoic as stone and just as cold but revealed a force of will that seemed almost palpable, as his intensity heightened so that it seemed as if his mortal coil could not contain it.

As Tiberius walked into the center of the stone platform he fell down to his knees slowly, his back to the brazier of flames. His head bowed and hands clasped together in an almost meditative stance. Priestesses moved toward him then, long staves of ashwood— the same wood often used in Jahun-ka spears and javelins— in hand as if they had materialized from thin air. As they made a circle about him they raised their respective clubs, and then immediately set about striking Tiberius from every side. They avoided only his head and groin, but everywhere else was fair game.

This more than anything else so far shocked Kiha the most.

“They seek to remove all impurities before we march to war,” Came a voice from behind. Kiha whirled her head about to see Thurirl’ve— Master and teacher of Fire Prince Kelnzo— standing with arms crossed and staring dead ahead. Kiha had not even realized the man had returned to the capital.

“Like any metal they seek to make him stronger by removing that which makes him weak.” He continued to explain as if reading her thoughts. “It is more than a simple ceremony of symbolism.”

Kiha stared at the old warrior not knowing what to say to that. She turned back to the ceremony and watched in fascination. The priestess seemed to be hitting with full force, and these being Jahun-ka no doubt made these blows quite formidable. Tiberius resultantly absorbed the hits, never crying out once nor reacting in any visible way. After what seemed forever they stopped and stepped away. From the looks of it at least a few of them were tired.

The High Priestess moved forward with languid grace while another priestess followed in toe with a golden bowl in hand. She dipped her hand into the bowl and began to chant under her breath as she anointed Tiberius’s forehead with ash and oil. She traced lines along his face and arms in a seemingly intricate pattern. Done her task she stepped back and cast her hand over Tiberius’s head in a mystical pattern. At last Tiberius rose to his feet, but showed none of the expected pain or bruises. In fact, he seemed to stand even taller than before, a surety to his posture that belied his near savage beating.

He turned and strode toward the burning brazier, facing the flames unflinchingly. He then reached into the very flames as the sky was light up again by lightening. The beat of drums sped up as Tiberius pulled forth the still flaming sword in one smooth move. Turning about to face the assembled army.

He suddenly raised the flaming sword into the air, “yth re wer ixen!”

“Yth re wer ixen!” The army roared in response.
“It is time Karkarth reminds the world why we should be feared!” his voice seeming to resonant across the assembled masses. “March with me and see our enemies reduced to ash in the name of our Goddess, for the glory of Takataren!"

“Ra! Ra!” They shouted back. Beating the butt of their spears into the earth, kicking up dust and stomping their feet.

Tiberius rose his sword higher, “What is burned may never die!”

“What is burned may never die!”

Kiha watched on in fascination as she felt it hit her like a runaway stallion. Just what it was she could not describe in words. All that she knew for sure was that this elation she suddenly felt was dampened only by the knowledge she would not have the honor of marching alongside her brother and father.

She squeezed her hands into a fist until the nails of her hand began to bite into her palms. Her time would come.


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"You're a coward."

"You're a fool."

Blades rang from their scabbards with the shrill sound of anger, and only the large hands of the Black Host Telsword kept blood off the dusty field of the forts main courtyard.

"Stand down! Both of you!" the commander roared. His black slitted eyes bored into the unruly troopers, and the two scrappers slowly resheathed their weapons. He crossed his large arms across his chest. "I've got six Fistratats to organize, soldiers, and I can't waste time babysitting yours. Get your arses in gear! Five years you've been fighting like this. Kill each other already, or stop wasting my time!"

Blade Captain Dahika Splitvein Vervesh's fists clenched. She snarled in barely controlled obedience. "Fine. But if this sniveling, slack-jawed weakling tries to tell me what to do one more time..."

"If I don't tell you and you blunder into an ambush, then it's on your head." The other Jahun-ka, a smaller male of the Ash Host, rolled his hands over the hilts of his white-handled daggers. "You and your Black Host Fistratat will be turned into branded monsters or slaves of Axohaan— assuming the Ghûls don’t just kill you," he sneered. "Then again, being corrupted by a Red God might actually make you more pleasant, Dahika."

Dahika raged forward again, but the Telsword still stood in her way. "Uncalled for, Kaloy!" The Telsword, a great bear of a Jahun-ka named Khanda, pushed them both back. "Back off!" Jabbing a thick finger into the black-garbed scout's chest, the Telsword said viciously, "Your duty, Ash trash, is to escort this warband through Blain Expanse to Kinar fields. If you can't do that, then get me someone that can!"

Kaloy Greyhide Turannun growled low in his throat and let go of his weapons. "Fine. I promise I'll see them through the Marchlands— just keep that lunatic off my back."

"Fine." Dahika echoed. "Show me the path. Then stay out of my way."

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A storm raged in the March. Lightning flashed here and there, illuminating slithering, beast-like things roaming the corrupted plains. A lone Jahun-ka warband marched across the shifting sand, boots treading over ground too treacherous and constantly changing to map.

Kaloy paused, holding up one fist to signal a silent halt. The Fistratat instantly froze in place as they crouched and took cover behind the natural rocks around them, before Kaloy took point vanishing over a rocky crest of stone. Dahika smelled the air, catching no more than a faint hint of danger. After a moment, the scout slunk back to them, crawling over the broken rocks to whisper, "Hostiles up ahead. Looks like trouble." He sketched a quick map in the sand, indicating location, distance, and number. "They've already got our scent."

"Then it's killin' time." Dahika's eyes narrowed. She glanced back at her warband, friends since childhood. Their faces were drawn and stiff with the flashes of lightening gleaming off their scale armor, as an advanced forward warband they lacked the heavy mail of the Uskdos. Still everyone of them were hardened veterans of the Bulwark, they knew the danger. The flatland ahead was solid. Even. It would make an excellent place to fight. "Prepare assault. Two on the rear, the rest with me. At my signal..."

Suddenly the high neighing of a horse could be heard over the storm. Then they say it, or more him as it were. A single man riding a white steed, both the rider and horse looked worn and caked with dirt of travel. Even from here Dahika could see that the man was wounded, his right hand clutching the reins as his left one limped at his side as he slumped dangerously forward.

The sound of hooting and hollering could be heard in the distance, along with the savage howls not unlike that of dire scale wolves of the western Karkarth swamps. As the single rider neared it became obvious he was no beastling. As well as it seemed he was no doubt the target of their ire. She could see that he wore the armor of a knight, though it was much thinner than Charlin or Karkathian styles.

One detail of the man stood out above all the others, however, for as the rider neared Dahika could clearly see the pair of horns adorning his head. Not rigged and curved like a Jahun-ka’s but elegant and jutting forwards like a deers.

As the rider neared the bottom of the hill, the calls became louder as massive creatures crested the hill in pursuit. They were hideous, twisted by the energies of the March or some foul magic. Judging by their malformed skulls and huge, clawed paws, the monstrosities might once have been bears or mountain-cats. Now they were nothing but twisted shells filled with a Red God’s murderous hatred. Atop them were cruel looking Ghûls in salvaged armored plates and wicked looking improvised weapons, mostly bone clubs and spears.

“Down now!” She hissed to her warband. They responded quickly falling onto their stomachs using the stones as camouflage. They had not been seen, for the Ghûls seemed intent on only one thing. The single rider and his mad eyed horse beating a steady retreat. The strange mounts of the Ghûls’ might not have normally been able to match the horses speed, but it was obvious it was reaching the end of it’s endurance in a flight who knew how long. While the creatures that chased it were fueled by magic no doubt.

The Ghûls riders fanned out in a rough reverse v formation around the single Moonlander horseman. The center Ghûl of the formation was spinning a three pronged rope over his head with practiced ease, a bolas by the looks of it. He released it and it’s flight ended with the weighted rocks tying up the hindlegs of the horse.

The miserable animal lurched forward violently; throwing the rider from the saddle in a long rolling landing. Dahika unconsciously grimaced at the sight of the fall, which had likely led to fatal injury or likely death of the rider. Hoots of pleasure followed as the other Ghûls circled and raised their weapons into the air in triumph. The pulled in closer, a few even dismounting while his beast wasted little time in making it’s way over to the downed horse, it’s front leg broken and bent with the white of bone jutting out.

It neighed in pain as it kicked impotently while on its side. The beast charged it and tore at the horses throat. The others soon followed ripping the horse to pieces in a blood bath of gore and savagery. The Ghûls then went about their own work while their beast fed on the still live horse. Pleased looks painted on their ugly faces as they came cautiously forward. One Ghûls poked the corpse of the Moonlander with the butt end of his spear.

The rider was no dead however, for as the Ghûls attempted to roll him over with his spears end he soon fell back screaming in pain. He gripped his wrist, now a bloody bleeding stump, and tried in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. The other Ghûls only laughed derisively at their comrades pain. Seemingly enjoying his suffering.

The Moonlander grimaced in pain himself as he managed to roll to a crouch on one knee. A now blood stained blade of pure silvery metal shining in his gauntleted right hand. His left arm cradled close to his chest, probably broken the Ghûls assumed. The look he gave them promised swift death. Despite the show of defiance, they were hardly afraid, they are many, and they had their creatures to send in if he still showed resistance.

One produced a whip from his belt and spun it around to its full length with a crack. The other Ghûls smiled all the wider at the sight. The Ghûl with the whip tested it a few times, sending it smacking against the sands around the moonlander. He didn't so much as blink once. Angry at the mans lack of fear, that same Ghûl, possibly the groups captain, sent the whip forward with a skilled controlled crack that smacked across the moonlanders left shoulder. He wore light armored plate, yet the iron tipped edge of the whip flicked across the men's left cheek, cutting a gash there which caused him to cry out. Other Ghûls soon joined in with their own whips, and set about striking at him from all sides. Stabbing forward with spears at any opening they could find. The moonlander struggled valiantly.

He managed to duck under one whip blow, before catching it with his sword and cutting a good portion of it off. Another Ghûls to his right charged in with a spear, in response the Moonlander turned that same swing flicking around in a perfect backhand. The cutting edge parried the spears tip to one side. He sprung forward from his crouch enough to attack with another weapon the Ghûl would not have expected. The edge of his antler bit into the Ghûls face and it fell back as a protrusion of horn stabbed into an eye bursting the optical organ wide open.

Another attack at his back had him turning, but he could not turn about in time. A broken rib among other injuries slowing his reaction. A Ghûls whacked a bone club across the back of his head. Knocking free his helmet clean off his head and causing him to stumble forward. The Ghûls roared with glee at the sight, especially the one who had managed to land the blow.

As he rose to a crouch again, his dark red locks of hair spilled out over his deceivingly delicate features and milk white skin. Eyes the color of crimson gold, shaded like a dark orange, peered out in object hatred. The Ghûls still seemed none too afraid, elated in fact at the prospect of a long afternoon of fun with their recent catch.

Suddenly their laughs of glee were cut out by a cry of pain. They quickly shot around to the source of the noise. In time to see one of their dread mounts keeled over with a bolt in it’s throat. The others were still tearing away at the now dead horse. Another cry of pain, another dead beast. Then two more!

The larger Ghûl captain barked out in his cruel tongue, to his fellows in warning. The beasts themselves now seemed to be aware something was amiss.

"Wer caexi di wer Jahun-ka, wer Jahun-ka re acht wux!" Came the unexpected warcry.

The Ghûl had no time to prepare themselves as nine Jahun-ka fell upon them in a storm of blood and flashing swords. A strike of lightening heralding their coming. A whirl of blades and fire tore through the creatures. Body parts flew apart like training dummies as ebon steel cut through them like paper. Swords were striking emaciated foes faster than the moonlanders eyes could follow.

He thought to add his sword to the fray but stumbled to his knees as he coughed up blood. He was injured worse than he thought. In any case it seemed unnecessary. A javelin pierced the throat of one riderless beast mount, while the waraxe of another Jahun-ka hacked the arm off of another Ghûl before that same Jahun-ka picked him off the ground by his throat and tossed him into his fellows.

Montu swords and riliw waraxes thumped against dusty shields and sliced through flesh raining crimson blood to mix with the falling rain. Jahun-ka swords cut through the surprised Ghûls with frightening speed. The Moonlander flinched as he was struck on the arm by a disembodied Ghûl head, the face still locked in a mockery of stunned surprise. It fell to the floor near its decapitated body as it rolled before the Moonlander. Flashes of the battle were played out in mock still images, as the lightning revealed all the combatants in one moment then hide them in darkness again the next.

The carnage was over before the Moonlander could fully grasp what had happened. Still on his knees, barely able to keep conscious, he was finally approached by one of the Jahun-ka, a tall female with her hair worn in two war braids that flowed down either side of her head. A male with two blood daggers in her wake. His supposed rescuers he decided.

“Svaust re wux?” the women asked.

The Moonlander had no idea what she had said, but he recognized High Draconic from what he had heard from exiled Jahun-ka in the north.

He grimaced as he took a steady breath before speaking in the Common tongue of the west. “I am Zvezdan Lenart of Phiore… I..I…” suddenly darkness edged into the side of his vision and he knew no more.

The palace that dominated the uptown district of Curlow shot wildly into the sky with tall stone spires that sat securely on top of the older thick brick fortress that the palace was built out of. Built brick by brick by Roland and his companions all those years ago the fortress palace underwent countless renovations and additions by nearly every king since it was erected, giving it a vague mismatched visage, but held enough decor in statue, fountains, and stone murals crafted by both nameless and master artists that most didn’t notice at the first glance.

Inside the palace of Curlow the interior architecture and continuous decoration scheme completely contradicted it’s exterior jumbled form. The walls were an explosion of color and emotion, boasting a neverending mural depicting Charlins greatest moments and tragic histories. Every so often a tall rectangular window intersected the mural with soft beams of moonlight and the dark scenery of the sleeping city.

Despite the relaxed state of the capital, the palace was still very much awake as a few visiting Boyars and minor nobility chatted idly in large circular lounging room. The door was washed with the light of the stars through windows that dominated the richly muraled walls. An acute smell of flowery perfume occasionally wafted and swirled around the senses, but was quickly dissipated by the serene night breeze that whispered through a few open windows.

The rich governors and aristocrats reclined on cushioned backless couches while they persuaded each other on how to go about politics in this day and age while others spewed gossip inbetween mighty chomps of sandwiches and chunked cheeses, or sips of milk and wine. Benoroux himself sat reclined on one of the couches as Stephan sat himself in a large cushioned chair that seemingly engulfed him in it’s cotton and large size right next to the newly appointed boyar.

It was from that vantage point Stephan pondered the series of events that had led him there. To any rational observer he wagered it would have been absurd, a captain who had fought a war against Justinianism sitting in the palace of the religions largest supporter. Not only that but for the moment Stephan was quite unrepentant, he was a Yuwanist and he had done his duty. Benoroux had shown him the wars of the past may have never been needed, that Justinians were not indoctrinated fools. Yet Stephan still believed that for whatever had led him here, he was once a soldier and he had followed his orders when he was, that he had no regrets about.

Truly a curious thing then, for him to be where he was since he defied orders. Often Stephan found himself questioning his own actions, but for the moment he almost found a logic in it all. If he hadn’t taken Ricken his sisters death would have been meaningless, if he had kept running he would have died and in doing so taken Ricken with him. Perhaps the storm which shoved him to Charlin bay was a blessing, perhaps he was always to end up in Charlin eventually.

Beyond Stephans musings the two remained silent as they listened idly to the conversations of others and thought on their day at the festival. Occasionally a stare would reach one or the other from some of the nobles, but so far their short relaxation came uninterrupted by the prying gazes of the others. Eventually however, this pattern was broken when the Boyar of Zintine, a castle to the far south, spoke up, “where is Dernov?”

A uncomfortable chill clawed at Benoroux, causing his ears to perk at the question. His face remained stoic and unaffected by it though, and he gave his answer almost condescendingly, “dead.”

“Why?” by now a few more nobles had turned their heads towards the conversation, pulled in by their curiosities they refused to bring up earlier out of nervousness.

“He was without honor, and killed by my hand in righteous duel,” Benoroux glared at the man, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.

The boyar of Zintine, Trensxil Monirov, was a younger man, perhaps half Benoroux’s age. He wasn’t the most handsome man but was well known in battle as well as in politics. Although Benoroux personally chalked up the younger nobles fanatic fundamentalism and over confidence to his spoiled upbringings and age. Whatever reason propelled the young boyar to his frustrating nosey attitude seemed to jerk and shake him into action, despite Benorouxs glares as well as some of the more intelligent and understanding boyars small grumbles of discontent at the whole business.

“I heard he was protecting Justinians name from a boat of Yuwanist bastards, and you saw fit to cut him down,” Trensxil muttered, almost completely to himself, but just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Most of the boyars started to criticize Trensxil’s sharp accusations, advising him to keep to himself. Some even rebuttled by bringing up Trensxils naive policies. However, there were some who agreed with Trensxil, and they in turn debated with those who defended Benoroux. Soon the entire room went from idle whispers to rumbling arguments and poking fingers.

Trensxil seemed to glow at the scene, his face lighting up with content as he sat in the flood of arguments, his eyes not breaking from Benoroux.

“How could you,” He hissed, “After all those years of progress in the wars, kill a Justinian over a bunch of Yuwan criminals.”

A croaking laugh sprang from Benoroux, interrupting all of the debates but the most furious and ignorant. Benoroux leaned on his arm, propping himself up from his couch, “Progress? You forget yourself boy, I was there, you were not. I fought by the side of now long dead Justinians, and I felled my share of Yuwanists. I did so not because of their faith, but for Charlin and duty, just as on the day I killed Dernov!”

All eyes turned to Benoroux as his voice lifted and his finger jutt out towards Trensxil, “just as on the day I killed my nephew, I did it not for faith or ideals, but for Charlin, and my duty as an honorable son of Roland!”

Trensxil seemed physically hit by the old mans unexpected speech, withdrawing himself from the debates with a pouting indignity. Those who supported Benoroux seemed rallied and simply cheered at the words of Ben, while those who didn’t were too ashamed to admit it now, except for the most ignorant.

Benoroux turned his old face to Stephan, his ancient ears drowning out the jeers and cheers of the other boyars as he mumbled under his breath for only Stephan to hear, “politics, can you blame me for refusing the position when my brother died?”

Stephan had kept silent to minimize his presence in the arguments but at Benoroux’s comment he replied with an equally hushed voice, “Not at all, should I ever have to partake in the game of politics I wager it would not be long before I slipped off into the night and ran with little more than the shirt on my back.”

Now looking around Stephan remembered Benoroux’s speech, he said he had fought didn’t he? Of course Stephan had suspected that, a man of Benoroux’s age and position would surely have fought. Curious, that after so many years Stephan would call a man he might once have killed a friend. The thought brought back memories of when he was second on his old mans ship, of battles and triumphs and of that eventual, inevitable, defeat.

He looked back to Benoroux. Yes Stephan had lost a father then, perhaps it was fate that Ricken might gain a man worthy of such a title now. Of course the thought faded and Stephan set his gaze back to the room only to find that little had changed in his period of reflection. Politics indeed.

The soft wooden door to the chamber creaked over slightly and a small black cat darted into the room silently. It’s paws made neither a sound or scuffle, but when it leapt onto the horderve table, it sent a few empty plates clinking to the ground. Shortly after, the wide eyed cat froze with it’s large yellow eyes focused on the door as little Ricken came trotting in with his arms outstretched and a big mischievous smile on his face.

A few of the boyars chuckled at the sight while others questioned the origins of the random toddler. All whispers and chuckles were silenced as the door now swung open and princess Rachox Galenon came scurrying in, nearly tripping on her long slender lavender dress as she was bent low with her hands ready to scoop up young Ricken. She arrested the young toddler and swung him gently onto her hip, scanning the room with her big green eyes.
The nobles all gave some formal greetings, standing up from their chairs and couches until she too took a seat with the little boy on her lap. The cat slyly leaped onto her lap as well, where Ricken babbled almost sensical Charlinite words while wrestling the cats fluffy tail.

“Did my boy get out of the wifes hands, fair princess?” Benoroux chucked, leaning towards Stephan and whispering, “or maybe she already nagged him into running away.”

“No,” the princess confessed with her dazzling smile and soft voice, “I was visiting when this little charmer swept me off my feet and convinced me to play, only to leave me for the kitchens cat.”

She faked a frown and began to run her fingers through the boys hair, roughing it up.

Stephan took a moment just looking at the boy, he seemed so different now. Perhaps it was a real family, perhaps it was just company. Whatever it was he seemed happy now and was speaking, two things Stephan had hardly seen on that long trip. Still, the fondness of cats wasn’t anything new, the ships cat on the Empty Horizons has spent many an unwilling hour being mauled before. Stephan did wonder what happened to that cat, was it deported too? The thought of a cat in tiny shackles brought on a hearty smile and small chuckle.

Still, it was best his, and the boys, origins remained a question in the minds of most and Stephan opted only to nod to Benoroux and give Ricken a small wave.

{center] --------------------------- [/center]

Eventually the duo made their way back to Benoroux’s private temporary quarters, with the princess trailing along happily next to Ricken. The room matched the rest of the palace interior perfectly, with wide spacious rooms, and a dominating bed that rested by a large rectangular window.

A foreign Otnemarcas stick of incense burned slowly by the glass. The soft lily smell tickled the nostrils of the group as they opened entered the room. Benoroux scratched his nose at the smell.

“My wife always enjoyed foreign culture,” Benoroux idly mentioned as he waved the others to come in.

A larger woman entered the room from another door that lead to the bedroom, cheeks flushed and hair grey.

“Talking about me again are you,” the wrinkled woman accused, a sharp tone took to her words, a tone that made Ben cringe.

“Yep,” Benoroux said while rubbing his temples. Ricken and the princess slipped playfully by Benoroux as the older man walked over to a chair by the bed and plopped into it was a thud, “everyone, this is my wife, Xerella.”

For all the responsibility he had shoved upon the woman it dawned on Stephan that between the long days of work and business of recent days he hadn’t said more than a curt hello to her in all the time he had been in Lrev. It was with justified apprehension, given her reputation, that Stephan dared to speak a proper greeting, “Hello Xerella, I hope the boy has treated you well yes?”

“Of course he has,” the woman scoffed, seemingly more at Benoroux than the question, “I only wish my husband brought him sooner, I love having the little ball of energy running around.”

The princess chuckled from the corner of the floor while little Ricken tugged on her hands, “oh I can see why.”

The woman folded her legs under herself as she leaned against the wall, with Ricken playing with her long black hair. Neither the words regal, or the words formal described the princess or the scene. While Xerella scolded Ricken for messing up Rachox’s hair, Benoroux scolded Xerella for scolding the boy for having fun, and eventually the two lovers bickered among themselves while Ricken continued messing up the laughing princess’ hair.

Rachox pointed at Stephan, her hair fanning behind her as the boy held it high above his own head, giving her the look of some strange foreign queen, she flashed her usual friendly smile as she spoke, “you there, where are you from?”

Stephan pulled on his collar nervously and replied as politely as he could, “Well, the Dominion, Princess. The south, Ka’lae specifically.”

For all it was Stephan wondered why telling strange people on the street was an easier task than telling a princess. He thought on it and quickly decided it was because people on the street had significantly fewer armed guards.

The princess snickered as the boy dropped her hair into her own face. Ricken lifted her hair above her face again and her green eyes dug into Stephan, and her voice was a low hiss “you know, Dominion citizens aren’t taken to very nicely around Charlin.”

“I bet you’re a yuwanist too,” she said furrowing her thin brow as if she was upset, and a small smirk curling the corner of her lips in secret, “and you didn’t even call me by my full royal title!”

Stephan was beginning to get more nervous then, while the lack of armed guards nearby did put him at ease he cast an uncertain gaze on Benoroux before refocusing and stammering, “Well you, well yes, I- I’m quite sorry for that.”

Rachox’s hiss turned into a playful laughter as she tried to gather her hair from the young boy and her green eyes flashed with her bright smile, “I’m just kidding. You seemed nervous, and I couldn’t resist.”

A long sigh of relief broke from Benoroux as well as Stephan. Reasonably assured he would keep his head firmly attached to the rest of him Stephan replied, “Ah, I see. You don’t seem particularly surprised though, most seem to be considerably more… Startled?”

“My dad and my uncle would probably be,” Rachox confessed, “along with most of Charlin.”

“I don’t go around places very often,” She scrunched her lips up in thought as she tickled Ricken who found a comfy spot on her lap.

“I suppose that makes me… naive?”

“Optimistic and fair,” Benoroux corrected the princess, “forgive my interjection your highness, but I just saw it differently.”

“It’s okay, Benoroux. I find you a fresh breeze among stagnant and stale old people who hate everyone,” the princess said, destroying whatever poetic saying she was going for by conceding to whatever came to mind first.

Stephan chuckled at that, though really he had no right to. His own hair was almost entirely grey by this point and he had the nagging feeling that old referred to him now. Regardless he replied smiling, “He’s right though, too many people are too quick to harsh judgment these days. Among a great many I have met since coming here you Princess are perhaps the least trying.”

“Thank you,” Rachox smiled, “unless that was a hidden lazy joke!”

Her finger pointed in accusation as she raised a brow, only for the young Ricken to grow jealous and cover her eyes with his own little hands as he giggled.

She groaned, “what time do you sleep!”
Ricken just laughed at the lady and plopped back into her lap. Rachox just shook her head at the little one.

“What brings you to Charlin, not the hospitality I hope,” the princess questioned Stephan. Benoroux glanced over at the Dominion sailer with calm eyes and a reassuring nod, as if to dispel any bars that the two would normally hold on such questioning. The princess was trustworthy, and honest Benoroux knew that.

Stephan acknowledged the nod, but he was still. apprehensive. He knew it was going to come out to the royalty of Charlin soon enough and he knew it was best the Princess was the one it would come out to, yet it had been a very long time and even Benoroux knew long held secrets liked to remain so. With a deep breath Stephan started, “Not the hospitality indeed. The truth of the matter is sitting on your lap Princess, it is the boy. While the explanation as to how it all happened may be a matter for another time I can tell you that while I may be his true uncle, the real father is Tetan Serin.”

It was Rachox’s turn to stammer as she combed her finger though the boys hair , “T-Tetan, king of the Dominion?”

Benoroux nodded at the shocked princess, “now my adopted son, by the wishes of the honorable uncle.”

“You see your highness,” Benoroux continued, a sense of duty seemed to saturate the old mans words, “that boy is now a Charlinite, and I would hope he is free to live a full life as one, as long as he chooses.”

The princess looked down at Ricken, crescenting a smile “of course he is free to do so, the little charmer.”

“But I want his protection as well,” Ben said, a serious tone in his voice as he nodded at Stephan, “with your agreement he is to be kept unknown to the Boyars as long as possible, and by your grace I wish him to be recognized under my name legally and purely in the eyes of the royal blood.”

Stephan nodded his agreement and added, “It should be known there are other concerns too. Tetan is not the man he pretends to be, I have no doubts some agent is working to locate me and the boy at this very moment. The law of Charlin might be binding here but I doubt Tetan will be so accommodating.”

The princess rubbed her temples and closed her eyes tight. Her face looked stressed and in thought as Ricken tried reclaiming one of her hands.

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly, ‘this sounds like a big issue and I’m not sure where I play into this.”

“Excuse my boldness, but you are the Regent,” Benoroux offered, cringing at his own words, knowing the stress they were causing.

Rachox groaned and leaned her head back against the wall, “take Ricken as your son, I don’t know what to say past that. Damn politics and all that. Perhaps you can talk to father when he gets home?”

Benoroux shot a wrinkled smile, knowing this is where it was going to end as far as the princess was concerned, “of course, your highness.”

The sea was rough; the cold wind stung skin where ever it made contact. The mainland was far away now, ocean as far as one could see to the left, right, and behind. In front rested a small island with more islands dominating the space behind it. These were wild lands, untamed by the hands of man. As of yet at least.

“We have almost arrived Lady Kau” A young priestess said. Lady Kau gave her subordinate a curt nod, without turning her gaze from the island. That island, she knew, was the future. She had fought long and hard to see these isles colonized. Battles involving steel where a specialty of hers, but those that had taken place in palaces and courts had taken her over five years to see even a hint of victory. And yet victory was hers now. She had managed to make an arrangement between her homeland, specifically the Kingdom of Kunland, and the Kingdom of Hokksulgug in which the two countries would work together to colonize these wild lands. Perhaps it made little sense in the short term, as Kunland lacked the resources to take on the endeavor on its own, but in the long term it would benefit the Ithicists in the empire immensely.

Lady Kau Rong let a small smile spread across her face as her ship neared the Hokksulgugae port. They had done a good job and developing the island thus far. Normally she wouldn’t have left Kunlad, she was the second highest ranked priestess in the land, but she had felt that her presence was a formality needed for this occasion. She was also quite interested in seeing the island and fortifications herself.

“What was that?” She asked as the ship rocked under her feet. The rocking was far too violent for what she would have expected given that they were practically docked. Her eyes widened as she heard the groan of overburdened wood. Someone nearby screamed and she felt droplets of water fall on her head. She didn’t even have to notice the massive shadow looming over her to know that those droplets weren’t caused by rain. Suddenly the ship was moving towards the port quickly. Too quickly. She heard wood breaking and cries of pain as all went dark around her.

A clamor of feet pounding against the floor heralded the appearance of an out-of-breath guardsman at Gim Ki-joon's doorway. The nobleman stirred, looking up from his work at the man bracing himself against the length of his hooked polearm. His response was a curt, "What's the matter?" paired with a cocked eyebrow.

"Sir! There's trouble!" the soldier rasped. He raised a finger in the direction of the shore, clearing his throat before trying to form words again. "Lady Kau Rong's ship has arrived, but it's under attack!"

"Attack? What is the meaning of this?" Ki-joon pushed himself up from his desk with a reluctant groan, pulling his ivory robe around his shoulders and following the soldier into the garrison's corridor. His left sleeve hung limply, without an arm to fill it. "Don't tell me the Sibyttes have caught on to this?"

"No sir. It's a monster! I saw it rise up from the water and peel the boat apart like paper!"

Ki-Joon's stride skipped a pace momentarily and he gave the man a quizzical look. "A monster? Am I hearing you right?"

"Yes!" the soldier nodded his head firmly. "Please, hurry!"

The pair jumped into a sprint at the ear-grinding sound of a primal howl too bassy and guttural to belong to any normal creature. Several more men joined them as they flew from the garrison into the open air. Ki-joon cast his attention to the docks and felt a pang of dismay somewhere in his gut as his eyes traced the body of the thing thrashing in the sea.

"I need the entire garrison," he bellowed, eyes still locked onto that unnatural form. "Crossbows, guns! Protect that ship!"

Before he turned back to the soldiers that were gathering around, a sour-sweet aroma filled his nostrils, and he grimaced at the tang with a knotted face. "No, not here!" he hissed. The air seemed to stand still and wisps of pulsing color danced around the garrison lawn. "On me!" the noble commanded. He drew his blade from its scabbard with his last remaining arm and steeled himself for the inevitable.

The colorful wisps had turned into tendrils of raw power, flailing at the material world through invisible portals. The air around them turned to black, permeating the area in darkness before a series of implosions rocked the senses of the soldiers. In the wake of the detonations, pockets of the material had collapsed, shedding rows of multi-limbed horrors in their wake. The daemonic legionaries brayed, holding aloft gnarled, obsidian blades. The air around them coursed with trails of spectral matter, fighting with the material world to stay whole.

At the sight of the abhorrent army, Ki-joon's men fidgeted, some shrinking a step back. "Hold steady!" he commanded, amplifying his voice across the grounds. He needed to steel his men’s' resolve, but inside, he was just as dumbfounded. Why here, on this lonely island? And how the daemons materialized so many at a time?

The fiends began to advance, cawing and bashing their weapons against their armor. Their unnatural gaits carried them at speed across the courtyard and onto the Hokksulgugae arrayed before them. Pitch-black weapons came down, smashing into armor and bone. The Hokksulgugae responded in kind, thrusting their spears into the ranks of immaterial soldiers. Wounds that would have been mortal for any man caused the entities to writhe and vanish in strands of black vapor; hurled back to the abyssal realm where their physical bodies would undergo the slow process of regeneration. From the garrison towers, arrows and shot raked the horde, banishing their marks to long, dreary cycles of rebirth.

Ki-joon struggled with an adversary a head taller, with a face like a lion and a crown of antlers atop its maned head. Its midnight-shod axe flew at his temple, but was diverted with a parry from his sword. The Hokksulgugae turned the blade around and whipped it across the daemon's throat. It gurgled a roar in defiance while it spasmed and then disappeared from sight.

After a time, the fighting had been pushed outside the garrison walls, the Hokksulgugae ranks making progress in thinning the tide of reckless, crimson-clad brutes. Though many of their number had fallen, the remainder of the garrison fought bitterly, rallying around their commander. The glistening of the waves along the coast reminded Ki-joon of the creature that had drawn them out in the first place, and he struggled to get a look at the water. He could not make out what had become of its crew amidst the clash of weapons and the sea monster had vanished from sight. "Fight to the docks!" he yelled over the din. Steadily, they carved their way through the assault, nearing the wreckage of the Ithicist vessel.

Whatever had been in the waters near the port must have been truly massive, for it had utterly wrecked the Ithicist vessel. Half of the vessel's twisted remains could be seen slowly sinking into the water, the other half had been forced onto dry land. Fragments of the ship had been thrown all over the place alongside supplies and the bodies of the vessel's crew. It would have been a miracle for any to have survived the devastation and yet some apparently had as the wind carried with it sounds of battle.

As the Hokksulgugae ranks neared the port a desperate battle came into view. Men screamed as they were thrown to the ground. The lucky ones suffered a stab to the chest or blade across the throat, ending their suffering. Those who were not so lucky could be heard screaming as their foes bore down on them, rows of sharp teeth tearing into soft skin. Ten odd soldiers fought desperately against their ghastly foes as twice that number laid unmoving on the ground. And at the center of it all stood a group of five women. Whereas the soldiers seemed to be on the verge of panic, the women had an aura of calmness about them. Wherever their naginatas swung out with deadly accuracy a monstrosity ceased to exist.

And at the center of it all stood a woman garbed in white hanfu, soiled by both blood and black ichor. A trickle of blood ran down her face from a wound on her forehead and one might have thought her eyes to have been injured during the crash as she wore a blindfold over her eyes. The blindfold, however, was too ornate for that purpose and obviously had some sort of decorative or ritualistic purpose. Either way it became apparent that the woman was either not blind or had incredibly sharp senses, as her naginata slipped past the face of another woman and found purchase in the chest of a monstrosity that had been about to end her life. The woman then charged forward spinning her hand reaching out towards a pair of demons as she neared them. The demons suddenly froze as if a giant invisible hand gripped each one. The woman spun her polearm over her head before bringing it down on both of the horrid creatures in a single swip.

Despite the show of skill on the woman's part it obviously wasn't enough to turn the tide of battle. Even as she dispatched those two demons five more of her soldiers fell in battle, leaving the Ithicists to a mere ten fighters.

As the fighting neared the docks, Ki-joon finally made out the survivors of the initial attack. Very few remained, and their number was dwindling without the ability to form a cohesive battle-formation. He spurred his men to their aid, wincing as a man to his left caught a daemonic pike through his shoulder and slumped to the earth.

When the Hokksulgugae had reached their allies, they positioned themselves into a circle, protecting the priestess and her entourage. After witnessing firsthand her ability with her weapon, however, Ki-joon wagered she'd benefit less than her men from the protective ring. During the preliminary meetings with the Ithicists, the priestess showed little sign of her martial ability, which came to him now as a great surprise.

"Lady Kau!" He edged closer to her between the ranks of spearmen, trying to verify whether she had been injured by the monster's sudden attack. At the sight of her bloodied garments, he jumped forward, forgetting that the arm he held out to her had long been gone. "Lady Kau, are you quite alright?"

Kau turned to look at the man even as her naginata shot forward, finding a home in the chest of a centipede-like creature. She gave him a curt nod as she pushed forward on the naginata, shoving the still thrashing creature away from her put losing her grip on the weapon in return. She grimaced as the creature snapped the naginata in half and started scuttling forward, her hands drifting to where a pair of kukris rested on the back of her waist.

"My lady!" A war maiden cried as she rushed forward, lodging her own naginata into the creature's head. It squirmed for a moment before turning to a dark mist. "Yunru found your chain-jian" She gestured towards one of the other war maidens with her head before presenting the weapon in question to Kau Rong. The chain-jian was an interesting weapon, a jian, known in other cultures as a short sword, with a chain and steel ball attached to the bottom of its hilt. Rong took the weapon before whispering something into the war maiden's ear.

"Lady Kau would like to thank you for your timely rescue" The war maiden conveyed, "and would like to recommend we return to your fortification as quickly as possible." Even as the war maiden finished the statement several more Ithicist soldiers fell screaming, their insides torn out be massive canine demons.

"Yes, I fully agree," Ki-joon replied to the woman. He had almost forgotten the etiquette due priestesses of Kau's stature; that she would need to speak to him through intermediaries. "Please make ready to move with my men to the garrison!" He relayed orders to the Hokksulgugae to maneuver their turtle formation back to the safety of the walls.

The daemons were unrelenting in their attempt to break the spearwall, throwing themselves upon the pikes, and then upon each other in effort to clamber over. The mist which popped as their physical forms died choked Ki-joon momentarily, and he rubbed his eyes clear of the stuff. An exceptionally large ape with a tail like a scorpions barreled into several of his men, shattering bone as he slammed through. Ki-joon stared the abomination down, holding his blade ready. With a cry, it launched itself at the Hokksulgugae, twirling a flail with three, spiked ends. Ki-joon rolled, dodging the arc of the weapon, and lashed out with his own as he climbed to his feet. The blade severed a deep gash in the daemon's wrist, causing it to loose grip of its infernal tool. It leaped again, hurling the weight of its body at the noble. The thing's jaws were outstretched, threatening to bury rows of dagger-like canines in him flesh. Ki-joon stumbled to the left, avoiding the tackle, but landing clumsily. He hadn't expected the daemon to attack so suddenly after its injury. Making up for his folly, he cleared the ground between him and his adversary, biting the cutting edge of his sword into its collar. Another whip of the wrist sent it across its esophagus, and it vanished into threads of black.

The battle was calming, finally, and the core of Ki-joon's men were backing into the garrison's portal with the Ithicists in tow. When the last had entered, several braced themselves against the great doors, pushing against the daemons that shoved against the other side. "Heave!" Ki-joon rammed the shoulder of his long-gone arm against the wood, struggling along with his soldiers. It lurched back and forth, like a game of reverse tug-of-war. After a minute of struggling, Ki-joon pulled himself from the gate, sheathing his weapon. He'd have to exert himself to risky levels to save the garrison.

The Hokksulgugae relaxed for a moment, stilling his breathing and holding his last arm outstretched, as if to grab a jar from a shelf. His lips danced a pattern of an ancient tongue as he recited the proper verse. Upon the last word, he exhaled every trace of oxygen from his lungs, straining the muscles in his chest. And then, his mouth gaped inwards. He drew his hand towards his mouth, slowly, as if pulling a great deal of energy towards himself. His palm sealed itself against his lips and then with a great shout, he finished the sorcery. It could not be seen, but felt, as a tremendous gust hammered the door shut, Ki-joon's men falling against it as it slammed to a close. Quickly, the boards fell into place, sealing it from the inside. The nobleman coughed as reality turned to normal, and he collapsed into a squat on the ground.

"Are you alright?" The war maiden previously referred to as Yunru asked. Beside her stood Kau Rong, whispering in her ear. "Lady Kau would like to know if you had left other men in your fortress when you had come out to rescue us."

Ki-joon pressed a fist to his lips, clearing his throat as he turned to look up at the Ithicists. "There were men shooting from the walls," he answered, before another coughing fit stole his words.

"That is unfortunate. Lady Kau says she can't... sense?" The war maiden's questioning look was answered by a reassuring nod from Rong. "Any other presences in this fortress. She fears those men are no longer among the living."

"Good soldiers, all of them. To have fought like that against the legions of the abyss." Ki-joon slumped a little more as he finished his sentence. A weary gaze at the remaining men, still gathering themselves at the gateway, told him that he'd lost well over three-fifths of the original expeditionary garrison. "I regret we had to meet again this way, Lady Kau," he said. "Without your ship, I'm afraid we'll be stuck on this forsaken island."

"The gods will protect us" Yunru said without prompting, earning her a thin lipped smile from Kau Rong. The priestess whispered something into her ear before leaning down towards Ki-joon and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Lady Kau believes this is the work of a....corrupted deity" Yunru relayed. "Normally such an endeavor wouldn't be taken lightly and we would have a larger collection of priestess to deal with the deity, but Lady Kau believes we may be able to... handle this situation on our own." Yunru shrugged as she continued "I suppose we couldn't have found a better priestess to be with in our current situation, besides the archpriestess of course."

Rong removed her hand from Ki-joon's shoulder as she stood up straight, looking at all those who were left. Only two Ithicist soldiers and two war maidens left out of almost a hundred. Would there be none left by the time this whole ordeal was over?

"Hopefully the deities will help us off this island once we have delt with the corrupted deity" Yunru continued. Rong nodded in agreement.

"Corrupted?" Ki-joon echoed. He steadied himself back up, regaining his composure. "What do you suppose could have done that? These islands are untouched, as far as we've been aware." Ki-joon straightened out his robe and picked up a Hokksulgugae banner that had fallen during the fighting. The pervasive eye of Koguchyeol stared back at him, fluttering gently.

"From the teachings of Ithicism we know there are two types of corruption" Yunru relayed, "those stemming from earthly or heavenly corruption." The war maiden's eyes narrowed as she listened to what Kau Rong had to say. "I uh... honestly don't understand half of what you are saying" She said just loudly enough for Ki-joon to overhear. Rong shot the other woman a glare before whispering something else into her hear. "Lady Kau says she can feel a... lack of wholeness? Here... Something else is pushing its will onto this deity, changing it. Perhaps another deity. It is hard to say."

Ki-joon grunted in acknowledgement. Hokksulgug's peninsula was a well-known weak point between the planes and rogue spirits weren't uncommon. But the gravity of this daemonic insurrection had trumped any one common instance he'd ever seen. Perhaps without a guardian entity like Koguchyeol to watch over the land, it had fallen to the control of more bellicose caretakers.

"You mentioned it'd be possible for us to stop it," Ki-joon said. He surveyed the remaining soldiers, less than eighty, and gave the women a bemused look. "Are you sure we're capable of such a thing, given what just happened?"

Rong shrugged as Yunru said "Soldiers will not help us in this. Martial ability may hold back the lesser demons, but when confronted by the corrupted deity those skills usefulness will be negligible. It will be magic, not might, that brings this deity down." Rong leaned in and whispered something into Yunru's ear, the woman's eyes widening as she processed what she was hearing.

"As I mentioned before," She continued, "normally this would be done by a group of priestesses. Lady Kau believes that she may be able to do this task on her own, but her success will come only at a great cost."

An exhausted sigh left Ji-koon's lips. "What will it take? While we're both stuck here, I may as well help however I can."

"She will..." Yunru paused as Rong shot her a look, "have to summon a powerful deity and have it possess her, channeling its energy to deal with the corrupted deity. It will be... far too much power for her body to withstand. She would tell you otherwise, but I fear that death is an almost certainty for her."

Ki-joon opened his mouth to reply, but the same sickly-sweet odor tickled his nostrils and his face contorted with unsuppressed rage. "NO!" His men were stirring at the edges of the garrison yard, uneasily feeling for their weapons. The light seemed to evaporate from the center of the fort, and the same tendrils whistled through the air, although with greater ferocity. Unlike before, there was but one, large mass of abyssal matter.

The Hokksulgugae reached for his sword hilt, but a powerful force threw him, and the rest of the garrison's occupants to the dirt. His mouth was agape as an ear-shattering shriek rocked the fabric of reality. His men struggled and writhed in the dust, and he gasped in anguish as he saw the blood start to empty from their bodies at sporadic wounds. The streams of ichor wound their way from the bodies to the core of the unlight, hovering over the garrison. As a tendril of abyssal matter stretched his way, he leapt into action, grabbing hold of the priestess.

"I need you to trust me!" he roared over the awful noise. "Grab onto me!" He waved the stub of the limb as best he could. He couldn't hold onto the woman himself and invoke the proper spell at once. The high priestess closed her arm around the Hokksulgugae without a word. Ki-joon used his thumb to push the blade from its scabbard just a few inches, and drew a thin cut from the appendage. He bekoned Kau to do the same, a deadly serious mask plastered on his features. She slid a finger over the edge, drawing blood. Ki-joon dabbed his index finger onto their wounds, collecting the substance from both sources. With an utterance of the Dark Tongue, he traced a pattern in the air before them, and the blood hovered where he drew. Once the sigil was complete, he pressed a palm to the inscription, where it stopped, like he was touching an invisible wall. "You too!" The high priestess followed his example with a curt nod.

The tendril of shadow whipped at the pair, but it slammed into the barrier and dissolved before reconstituting itself and trying again. Ki-joon prayed the sorcery would hold. All around, the Ithicists and his men were being drained of their essence by the thing above, and he could only watch them die.

Minutes passed, and the bodies slumped back to the ground, lifeless. The blackness had taken in its fill and the air around it warped, pulsing like a giant, formless heart. A blast of unmatter railed Ki-joon's ears, and when he lifted his gaze to the center of the courtyard, the thing standing there stared back.

Rong's face twisted into a mask of grief and hatred as her gaze shifted between the fallen Ithicists around her, expressions of pain and fear painted across their now unmoving faces. She slowly turned her gaze to the corrupted deity, but before she could so much as move a muscle towards it it faded away like a mirage. Nothing, except the bodies of its victims, remained as evidence of its passing.

For a moment she clenched her hands into fists. Finally she flicked some blood from the hand she had cut onto the ground and gestured for Ki-joon to look at the small pool. The small amount of blood seemed to flow together, first forming a small pool before dividing itself into tangible words. "I failed them, but I will not fail you. I ask only that you remember our agreement" the bloody words spelled out.

Ki-joon read the blood-script, a somber look in his eyes. "I swear it," he spoke. His voice was tinged with drips of poison. The garrison never had a chance from the outset and it occured to him briefly that they never should have come in the first place. A moment of reflection later, and he looked into the high priestesses eyes. "We'll avenge them," he said, an assurance meant for himself, as much as it was for her. "We can defeat it, right? Without loosing you." He gave her an expectant gaze, voice trembling. "I've seen too much death today."

She simply shook her head. With a snap of her fingers the blood-script was moving, changing into new words and meanings. "This is a regional deity, one that has gorged itself on the souls of intelligent beings. I will have to use a greater deity to combat it, but doing so will put enormous strain on my body. I will certainly lose something if not my life. Perhaps my sight or the ability to speak. Perhaps I will lose the use of my legs. Of course those are on the more optimistic side of things. All things considered my life is quite the bargin given the amount of power I would be asking for."

The Hokksulgugae frowned, eyes glued to the shifting characters on the ground. "Perhaps its possible to share that burden? If it's too great for one of us, then splitting the difference may pose less of a threat on your life." Ki-joon was unsure of the nature of Ithicist sorcery the priestess intended to employ. Hokksulgugae magic was his obvious strength, and though summoning extraplanar entities was its prime function, he'd hardly needed to pay with his own life, in whole or in part. Maybe he just had a lucky set of patrons.

Rong shook her head, snapping her fingers again. "I COULD ask a deity to possess you, but I wouldn't know how powerful of one you could handle. You could die immediately or it could take you over. Even if it did work we could both end up with shattered bodies anyways. You would be better served praying that Ahimatsu directly intervened."

"At least that way, I'd be able to see my men again," the noble replied, just above a whisper."I am not afraid of leaving this plane. As long as we're trapped here, there's little to lose."

"I would have you live," the blood-script spelled out after another snap of Rong's fingers. "Without this agreement I fear for my people's long term survival. I will not allow you to endanger yourself when I have the capacity and will to end this." She turned her back on him, her voice just barely audible, the very fact that he could hear it at all obviously unintentional. "Lady Ahimatsu, Lady Narai, grant me the strength to see this through. Please aid me in whatever way you may." Her voice had a singsong quality to it, rising and falling almost in a musical way, despite being so quiet.

She then took a deep breath before walking towards where they had last seen the corrupted deity. Her hands clenched tight against the chain-jian her now deceased servant had brought her earlier.

The Hokksulgugae trailed after her, stepping past the bodies of the slain. He had taken the banner he set upright earlier, affixing the stave over his back like a sashimono. "At least allow me to accompany you," he called after her. "What else can I do? Sit here until the daemons come for me again?" He stopped at her side, shifting the weight back and forth on his feet. "I owe to them." He nodded at the corpses around the garrison. "And well, if you do fall... there'll be someone to bring your body back to Kunland." Ki-joon ended his sentence with a weight of finality.

By this point Rong had reached the point that had previously been occupied by the corrupted deity. She spun around to look at Ki-joon and, after a few seconds of silence, gave him a tight lipped smile. "Thank you" She mouthed before turning around again and heading towards a door, seemingly at random.

The moment she was out of sight things seemed to become weird. There was a presence now that had not been there mere seconds ago. A presence so powerful that even those with not a hint of magic in them could sense it. It was so powerful that it made the corrupted deity seem... insignificant. Unworthy of note.And yet at the same time it was not overbearing, but soothing instead. It was the warmth of the sun on one's skin during an otherwise chilly day.

And then a shape leapt before the Hokksulgugae, putting sight to sense. A massive fox, one with vibrant golden fur, the size of a horse now stood between Ki-joon and the doorway that Kau Rong had disappeared through. The fox seemed to regard the Hokksulgugae with the eyes of an immensely intelligent being. Of the priestess there was no sign. She had either not sensed the fox's coming or had decided to not reveal herself. Either that or she could no longer come back.

Ki-joon couldn't help but stare, perplexed by the appiration before him. Was it truly an apparition? Or was the creature as real as he? Was it even proper just to call it a creature? The warmth of the space around him tickled his skin, and he felt at ease. Not knowing what else to do, he stepped a pace closer, arm at ease. "Do you want me to follow?" was all he could think of saying.

"Your death lies beyond this doorway. Both your's and the priestess's." A woman's voice seemed to echo in Ki-joon's head. It was both maturnal and yet youthful, caring and questioning. "Why do you seek death so readily?"

The Hokksulgugae shrugged, feeling a hint of shame before it was replaced with a steady conviction. He'd tasted the pleasures of Hokksulgug and the earth. He'd indulged in bloodshed and in intimacy, the former costing him an arm. He'd sat at the courts and made merry with his peers, celebrating victory and Koguchyeol's lordship over their country. Yet, there was an emptiness that these things could not fill. He knew it when he saw his soldiers die, when the Ithicists fought to the bitter last. When the priestess had resigned herself to the task of vanquishing the spirit.

"Honestly, I do not wish for it," he said at last. "But more so, I would wish the priestess not to die alone." The words lingered in his head for a moment and he pondered the implication of his answer.

"You would make her sacrifice be for naught?" The fox inquired. "Do not be silly." The fox's voice became stern, shedding some of its previous warmth. "She has asked something of you, something that you cannot do if you cease to be. Turn around, son of man. Turn around and head back to the waters. In due time you will be rescued. Of that I promise you."

The absolutism of the fox's words stung him, but Ki-joon allowed his head to slump in resignation. "Very well," he sighed. He allowed himself to turn towards the garrison's gate, but stopped after several paces. "Your name is Narai, isn't it?" The noble recalled the tomes he'd been expected to read to ease the barrier of diplomacy. Narai was the Ithicist patron of foxes, and if he remembered right, also of miracles.

"She prayed to you," Ki-joon said. "After the spirit vanished, she asked you for aid." The noble had turned himself fully around to face the fox once again. "Then, I will do the same. Help me, Narai, to save her from this end. And I will see to it that this place will flourish; for her and her kin." Ki-joon had not realized it, but he was bent at the waist, humbling himself before the fox.

"And what does her life matter? She is little more than a business partner to you, is she not? I have already guaranteed your survival should you but turn around and leave. Son of man," The voice now came from beside Ki-joon, where a woman with Kau Rong's face, but a beauty somehow far greater, now stood. Her hair and eyes, which were uncovered, were both a golden hue that could only be described as the gold of sunlight. "If I didn't know better I would think you wanted HER for yourself." Narai slowly shook her head "What makes you think I'd allow a heathen to have a servant of mine?" Despite the words she spoke her voice remained warm, caring.

The Hokksulgugae could not control the smile that ran across his face. The irony of the god's tone, coupled with the splendor of the vision before him stirred a humor inside him, beguiling the scenes of death that lay across the garrison. "I see," he whispered, mostly to himself. "And if that heathen consigned himself to your care?" Ki-joon lifted his head higher, resolute. "Would my allegiance then matter to you?"

"That is like music to my ears" A genuine smile spread across the face that was Kau Rong's and yet not Kau Rong's. "I presume you would wish for more than simply having her in exchange for your allegiance. Speak son of man. Let me hear your desires."

Ki-joon's mind swam with possibilities. He thought of great victories, of rich foods, limitless sorcery. He was reminded of the grandeur of his home country, and how good it felt to enjoy what it had to offer. Visions of himself at the head of of an enormous host swirled. His soldiers were raising their spears, chanting his name. Gim Ki-joon! Gim Ki-joon! He lingered on a vision of Kam Haennon's throne, of himself sitting in its embrace, flanked by loyal attendants and voluptuous slave girls.

"Is it richest you want?" Narai whispered into his ear. "Wealth so great you need never labor again? Or perhaps you would like a crown of your own? These islands are up for grabs. Who says they can't be yours? Perhaps you would rather have a harem of your own? A different girl for everyday of the year, just like the emperors of Otnemarcas once had." She let her voice trail off for a moment before continuing "Maybe a weapon belonging in the legends of old is of more interest to you. Imagine the power you could have."

Ki-joon could not tell if the thoughts that permeated his head were even his own. They seemed so vivid, real and enticing. However, they lacked that feeling of fulfillment which drove him to follow the priestess. Realistic as they were, Ki-joon foresaw no conclusion to the dreams. There was pleasure, but no closure; Stuck in a state of reverse-numbness. Although the endless want gave way to the desire to feel… free. The parties, the delicacies, the skinship, the glory – all of it was to be found without divine intervention. Truly, Hokksulgug was capable of providing such wanton needs without the offering of a god.

Ki-joon allowed himself a feeling of satisfaction as he answered. “I am content to walk by Lady Kau's side,” he said. “I will not ask for that which is attainable through mundane means. But I will ask simply for the power with which I can protect her."

"Is it a sword, so strike down your enemies, that you want? A shield so you may shield her and yourself from harm? Perhaps armor so that you can always stand between her and danger. Or do you want something else? What is it you want, son of man?"

The Hokksulgugae shrugged, considering the deity's propositions. "No material construct could hope to be enough," he said. "Lend me your mastery of the arcane. That alone will suffice to keep her safe."

"Very well son of man" Narai said, placing her hand over his Ki-joon's eyes.

As his eyelids slid closed, Ki-joon felt a radiant sensation over his face, and then everything went black. An invigorating heat washed through his veins before he slipped out of consciousness, and then reality buckled around him.

"I shall give you a piece of my divinity" Narai said. "A sliver. Certainly not enough to turn you into a god, but enough to make you powerful. Just remember not to burn yourself out."

Ki-joon awoke with a start, fumbling as he grasped for his sword. He was sitting in the garrison courtyard, among the broken bodies of his subordinates and the Ithicist entourage that had sailed to the island. He blinked, regaining a sense of orientation. He remembered the fox, Narai, and the vision of Kau Rong, both of which had all but disappeared. There was no trace of either, and the warmth that had permeated the air was gone, replaced by a still cold.

The Hokksulgugae pulled himself up to his feet and took a deep breath. He felt different somehow. Renewed? He looked down at his one remaining hand and flexed his digits. It was certainly his own. Yet he concentrated, and a tingle of vigor seemed to seep through his veins as his heart pumped. This must be what the fragment of divinity feels like. His sight was different too; things had a greater spectacularity to them in a way he could not put into words.

The door Lady Kau had vanished through was ajar, and Ki-joon drew his sword, readying himself to catch up to the priestess. The steel of the blade caught his reflection, and he paused, leering into the face that stared back at him. He recognized his own features, but they felt different somehow... like he was more substantial? Solid? He wasn't sure what the right words were.

When he'd finished his moment of vanity, Ki-joon strode across the lawn and through the garrison's portal. The hall led down into the armory, and he followed its route, passing weapon racks and stacks of equipment. Ki-joon wondered why, of all the places to go, Kau had chosen to venture into the structure to pursue the rogue spirit.

"Lady Kau?" he called. The hallway carried his voice down its length, and he leaned in as if expecting it to talk back. There was no immediate answer to greet him. "Lady Kau!" he added volume to his voice, but again there was silence. Though his words had been met with the still of the keep, somehow he had sensed an all-too familiar presence, two in fact. One was fair and pure, the other everything that the former wasn't; polluted and unnatural. He cursed, trudging around a corner that directed him to the main foyer.

There he was greeted with the sight of the corrupted deity. At one point it might have been described simply as "a giant turtle", but that was before it had been corrupted. Its once mighty shell was now shattered, long jagged cracks could be seen running up and down its length. These cracks seem to pulse and glow as if a fire was lite underneath the deity's shell. In addition to its normal legs was three sets of arms that might have been human-like except they were far too long and skinny, ending in clawed digits instead of human fingers. These arms rested on the deity's sides in a fashion similar to a the legs of a spider. From its lower jaw protruded two long tusks from which some sort of foul fluid dripped from.

And before this creature was Kau Rong, her body swaying in motion as she swung the chain of her chain-jian over her head. The creature let out a low grow before hurling itself towards her with astonishing speed. Kau Rong flipped over one of the deity's arms, landing in a forward split with another of the deity's clawed appendages sailing just inches over her head. She spun her jian about, the deity crying as one of its clawed hands fell to the floor.

Kau Rong quickly rose back to her feet, the chain once again swinging over her head. The two foes seemed to eye each other for a moment, both looking for a sign of weakness. Both making minute changes to their stance in search of an advantage. As the deity inched forward ever so slightly Kau Rong found such a weakness. She lashed out with her point, the weighted end wrapping around one of the deity's forward arms. She then darted towards the opposite side, pulling on the chain as she did so. The effect was almost comical in how she basically hit the deity in the face with its own arm. More importantly it temporarily blocked its view, allowing her to step in close enough and sever another clawed appendage before the deity even knew what was happening.

Letting out a screech of anger the deity charged her. She flipped forwards, over the deity's head, landing on its broken shell. She then charged towards its rear end, keeping a firm grasp on her chain. The sound of broken bone could be heard as she reached the opposite end of the deity, the arm that Kau Rong had caught in her chain was now little more than a mangled mess.

And then the corrupted deity did something unexpected. Black mist flowed out of its mouth towards its injured limbs. For a moment the mist seemed to over around the injuries, but then it quickly became more substantial and in a matter of seconds the mist was completely gone, the deity's limbs no longer showing any sign of being injured in exchange.

"Lady Kau!" Ki-joon hissed under his breath, and watched the Ithicist and the reptilian spirit perform their deadly dance. As the monster reconstituted its damaged limbs, Ki-joon emerged from his corner, stepping from the dark of the hall into the open space where the pair did battle.

"What are you doing here?" Kau Rong mouthed. She seemed to regard Ki-joon for a moment before mouthing "Oh" and shifting her attention back towards the corrupted deity.

The turtle entity turned towards the Hokksulgugae, belching a challenge to its newest adversary. The thing stooped low to the ground, gathering leverage for its next move. The next moment, it was upon him, pouncing from the floor with its array of legs.

Ki-joon skated around the deity's jaws, which snapped at the air in attempt to catch its new enemy. A flash of Ki-joon's sword left a deep gash in its shoulder, though he knew mere physical woulds would not impair the thing for too long. The maneuver landed him a few feet away from the priestess, and he tossed her a glance in recognition.

Kau Rong jerked her head towards a doorway that led from the foyer to the courtyard. Pausing only a moment to ensure that Ki-joon realized she wanted him to follow before dashing away. The corrupted deity was right behind them, snapping its jaws and trying to gore them with its tusks the entire time. The priestess grimaced, putting an extra burst of speed so that she could reach the doorway before Ki-joon, throwing the entryway open and keeping it open for Ki-joon before darting through herself. The corrupted deity, not one for subtlety, simply smashed its way through the way, throwing stone and broken wood all over the courtyard.

Kau Rong took a deep breath as she set her chain to swing over her head again. Shifting to the left she swung the chain towards the deity, the weighted ball falling just short of the deity's face. It roared as she shifted further to the left and shifted its stance to keep its front to her, putting Ki-joon to its side and slightly behind it. The corrupted deity roared again as its swiped at Kau Rong with one of its clawed hands. She flipped over the arm, her jian flashing out towards the appendage, and she landed at about the same time as the severed hand. She swung her chain at the deity again, this time striking it in the face with the weighted end. The deity staggered to the side as if it had been struck with a warhammer instead of a small ball of steel.

As Kau Rong kept the beast occupied, Ki-joon approached its rear. His eyes lingered on the fissures along its shell; a throbbing, _ glow radiated from within. An idea materialized, and he leapt onto the thing's broken back. Ki-joon steadied himself as it lurched about, catching his footing along the grooves of the bony plate.

Without a second thought, he plunged his sword into one of the gaps in the shell, driving the blade into the glowing matter. The entity's eyed bulged and it coughed an anguished squawk. Ki-joon dragged his weapon down the length of the fissure, carving into whatever was beneath.

The rows of arms at either side of the turtle-thing thrashed, rocking it from side to side. Ki-joon held onto the hilt of his sword as tightly as his grip allowed, struggling to stay perched atop the fiend. It took off into a sprint, aiming to smash its weight against the garrison wall and unhorse its assailant.

Ki-joon looked up from his butcher's work to see the stone surface fly towards him, and he grimaced, yanking his weapon from the monster and leaping off before it collided with the enclosure. He rolled to his feet, landing less gracefully than he could have done with two arms. When Ki-joon looked back to the entity, he saw it had rolled on its side, taking a section of the wall with it. A grey-green mist seeped from the wounds in its back he'd inflicted.

The shook its head as it regained its footing, but it would not be given a moment's rest. Kau Rong had been right behind it when it had thrown itself into the wall and she now hurled herself at it like a hurricane, a hurricane consisting of blades and chains. Her jian flashed out, constantly connecting with one of the arms or the other. Her chain was in motion except when it wrapped itself around an arm and was securing it for the jian to come flashing in. Her blade move back and forth, shards of metal, shell, and bone seemed to fly wherever she struck. Whenever an arm moved to strike her it was either met with her jian, wrapped up in her chain, or simply found that the space where she had once been was no only occupied by air. As the seconds ticked away she showed no signs of fatigue, in fact she seemed to be moving faster. Her strikes seemed to hold more power even as the corrupted deity started to move slower. And as she moved faster her hair started to change, growing pale. Even as Ki-joon watched Kau Rong's hair seemed to change into the golden hue of Narai's fur.

Her jian flashed towards an incoming arm, the two having passed each other almost quicker than the eye could follow. The arm swung back towards Kau Rong even as half of her jian clattered against stone several feet away. The woman simply dropped the broken chain-jian as she rolled under the corrupted deity's arm, drawing her two kukris as she rose. She stepped in towards the deity's head and stabbed down into its neck with both of the kukris. Then, as it flung two arms at her, she swung herself up over the deity's head, coming to a rest while handstanding on her kukris. She waited there for a moment, before flipping herself forward onto the deity's back, pulling the kukris out in the process.

As the deity cried out she held one Kukri towards the sky. A whole seemed to open up in the clouds, allowing a ray of light to shine down on both Kau Rong and the corrupted deity. The deity's screams were beyond imagination as the ray of sunlight shone down on it. It thrashed, and as it did Kau Rong spun about on its back, slicing limbs in a dance of light, blades, and ichor.

Ki-joon marveled at the rays of light bathing the priestess and her foe, the latter of whom seemed to be succumbing to the grievous wounds inflicted upon it. He noticed that as the light shone down on it, its limbs refused to regenerate. It was now close to immobilized, and it rolled back and forth on its belly.

With the priestess holding the thing in place, the Hokksulgugae determined the final blow was to be delivered. He sheathed his sword, to which the priestess gave him an almost disconcerted look. He answered her gaze with a simple smile and positioned himself before the face of the deity, closing his eyelids and relaxing his muscles. The color of the immediate space surrounding the Hokksulgugae flared with saturation and reality seemed to flicker and dance; not unlike the refraction of a hot, desert horizon. A great energy was building around the noble, and the entity seemed to become more panicked, its great eyes bulging open.

When Ki-joon opened his eyes again, they flared like light bulbs. His hand was outstretched, from the center of which burned a ball of sunlight. The arm connecting it to his body was wreathed in a golden flame, and thought it burned fiercely, it refrained from searing his garments. Ki-joon drew himself into a crouch, then leapt up at the enormous face, hurling his arm, grasping the dazzling orb, overhead.

For a brief second, a form engulfed Ki-joon's body, a translucent front-half of a golden fox. Its jaws were agape, barring rows of sword-teeth. As his weight came down above the grotesque head, a howl escaped Ki-joon's lungs that was not his own. He swung his fist forwards, crashing the power gathered in his palm into the bony crown. Ki-joon's arm broke through the skin, burrowing itself into the skull with a tremendous roar of raw might. The luminescence from Ki-joon's hand burst from its eyes and orifices like a jack 'o lantern, and the fox vision clamped its jaws shut around the bulbous head. The light pulsed once and then an explosion from within bathed the entire garrison in a blanket of white luminosity.

When the light receeded, the body of the entity had dissipated, strands of greenish-black vapor trailing through the air. Kau Rong fell to the ground as the solid form at her feet gave way. Ki-joon was left standing where he landed, fist outstretched. The fox vision had vanished with the blast.

Throwing the tattered remains of her kukris to either side, Kau Rong walked over to Ki-joon and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her blindfold was now where in sight, having been lost sometime during the battle, and now she looked directly at him with piercing grey eyes. They now seemed to look at him, through him, seeing more than what physically was. Her eyes showed no question in that he had a sliver of divinity in him, but seemed to ask how it came to be. She reached up to her head wound and flicked some of her blood onto the ground.

"Very rarely do men receive so much power directly from an Ithicist deity. You need to be careful." Her blood formed the words.

Ki-joon nodded with a roll of his shoulder. "I'll take your word for it," he replied. As Ki-joon read the blood-script, the bodies of those who had fallen seemed to evaporate into thin air, leaving no trace of the corrupted deity's passing, with the exception of the damage to the garrison and the lack of soldiers present. "The soldiers- What's become of them?" His only answer was a silent shrug.

Kau Rong opened her mouth as if to say something, but halted as her eyes locked onto something behind Ki-joon. As he turned around to look at what she saw the form of a small, brown-furred fox came into sight. It was a small thing really, small even for a fox. One would have to describe it as normal in everyway. Normal, except for the eyes that is. Eyes that held an intelligence the likes found in humans.

The fox stared at the two for a moment before bounding away in the direction of the docks. Kau Rong followed without a moment's hesitation and Ki-joon soon found himself moving alongside her. The couple would occasional lose sight of the fox, only to turn a corner and see it waiting for them. Soon they found themselves standing on the docks, the fox no where to be found.

It was when they were about to give up the search and head back to the garrison that Ki-joon spotted a ship on the horizon. Within the hour the ship, a small transport junk from Otnemarcas, was slipping into port. A small party of Otnemarcasans, priestesses, war maidens, soldiers, and even some merchants, spilled off of the ship and moved towards Kau Rong and Ki-joon with intent.

"I'm glad you're alright" a priestess said as the party came within earshot. "The archpriestess sent us after having a premonition."

"So what happens now?" Ki-joon asked. He stepped forwards, resuming the role of Hokksulgug's Bangwudo Administrator.

"We'll leave a small garrison here before returning to Kunland. The archpriestess was quite specific in that she wanted us to get underway as soon as possible." The priestess responded. "She wants to see you both." Kau Rong stepped forward and whispered something into the junior priestess's ear. "No" the priestess answered. "I know only that she wanted us to get the two of you and disembark from the island as quickly as possible."

Ki-joon raised a hand to interject and asked, "The Daekuang will want a report of what happened here. Must I be at Kunland so soon? There are still duties I must fulfill."

"I'm afraid the archpriestess was most insistent. I'm sure you can compose your report on the voyage to Kunland and then have it sent to your homeland from there." The priestess put her hand on Ki-joon's shoulder and started to steer him towards the ship. "Now I know this is... irregular, but the archpriestess mentioned something about Irochi's wrath and, to be perfectly honest, I don't want to be out here any longer than necessary if Lord Irochi is pissed off."

"I suppose there's no helping it. I'll inform my lord when I have the opportunity." Ki-joon sighed and allowed the priestess to guide him onboard. He wrapped his robe tightly around his shoulders and turned around to help Kau Rong over the vessel's edge. As she climbed onboard, Ki-joon caught a glimpse of the garrison, likely the last he'd have in a long time. Mere minutes later and the island was shrinking in the distance.

---

The priestess's fears towards Irochi's wrath were well placed. A storm descended on the ship as it left port, throwing it off course and ending any hope that it would return to the embrace of Kunland's shores.

Moments before the Immolation...

it was an alleyway, a dark one as they always seem to be in Somnus cities. Despite it being a sunny morning, no light passed through into these narrow pathways between buildings. Remas had no idea how he got here, his memory restricted to the moment he saw the women in front of him. The strange white haired and faintly blue skinned women was inspecting a box; his box, looking over small glass vials and metal containers within with scrutiny, trying to keep her obvious fascination at a minimal level of fascination.

“So, is this what you call…. uh, the Grindebault right?” the women said, looking eagerly at a small white root, which when combined with certain ingredients through mortar and pestle and then burned becomes a cloudy dust and smoke which is both irritable to skin and dense enough to become a smokescreen, favourable to all assassins and thieves alike. Just like the woman in front of Remas. He knew what she was, they had been having these little alleyway meetings for some time.

“Indeed. As promised, I have constructed two devices using the Grindebault. I will construct a proper batch the next time we meet. I assume you have it, the item?” Remas inquired cautiously, this individual inspiring Remas to act quiet and restrained unlike his usual bombastic and sarcastic self.

“I have it, but I must say you are a strange man Justinanus. I offer you the death of anyone or any object in the world, and you have me steal… a box filled with a branch from some tree. I figure this is of some great use that you would have me bust into the Alchemical society of the Dominion’s headquarters. So what, does it give immortality or something?” the woman states while taking a small box out from under her cloak.

“I assure you, the Uloyidasi is one of the most valuable alchemical plants in existence” Remas promised.

“Never heard of it”. the woman responded nonchalantly while opening the box, looking at the strange silver-like metallic branch.

“Then how about… The flesheater solution?”

“Uh-huh, some kind of acid then?.” The woman picked up the small branch, waving it around like a twig.

“ Justinian damned Yuwanists… how about…” Remas thought, until realizing that as an assassin from the Dominion, this individual would know the flesheater by another, more colloquial and by a far more infamous name.

“Dread of the Moon” Remas whispered, attempting to scare the woman. It worked. Not in the obvious sense, but the women dropped the plant within less than a heartbeat. Her face was perfectly calm, but Remas knew he had genuinely frightened her. She looked directly at him, her eyes telling him she was in disbelief.

“This… this is seriously Dread of the Moon? Are you insane? Why would you need the Dread?” She was still getting her head around the fact that inside that small box, that something as innocent as that piece of plant was the dread… no wonder the security was so damn high she thought.

Her shock and fear suddenly disappeared when she realized something. This man had not only got her to steal something like the Dread but had it in its apparent original form… meaning this man could make the Dread. Boy did she get lucky four years ago when that target just happened to be attempting to kill some random Somnus plague doctor.

“Well Doctor Justinanus, I think we may have to make a new, better trade off” The women spoke, implying she wanted the Dread,in its weaponized form.

“Well, Morinth, you see I am contact with a certain Drathan that--” Remas stopped. The women wasn’t looking at him anymore, but frantically looking back and forth.

“Remas! Get up! The City is on fire!” She screamed.

Confused, Remas looked around and saw that the city was perfectly fine. “What on Avara are you screaming about you crazy Yuwanist bitc---” Remas was immediately interrupted when she spoke again, yelling instead of screaming… yelling in a very deep, very masculine voice.

“GET UP YOU IDIOT, THE FUCKING CITY IS UNDER ATTACK!” Morinth yelled at him before suddenly her face and then body turned into Phebosius. Oh crap, I’m dreaming he thought with sudden realization.



With a startle he rose out of his horrible tavern bed, Phebosius next to him preparing to pull him out. “Wait, wait, I’m up” Remas barked, looking around to see the group was pacing around frantically. Through the window Remas could see red light and embers, so indeed the city was at least on fire.

“Phebosius, you remember Sistiastium and Septimopolis, the dream cultists, they have finally come!” Bosk yelled from the other side of the tavern. It took a while, but Remas finally put together what this all meant.
“Oh shit” Remas sighed. Where the hell was Morinth when he needed her? Why did the council have to send him to a city about to be destroyed by the plague? He was just supposed to get some Justinian damned Tendrilweed. Remas looked around inside the Tavern. Aurelius was writing on a piece of parchment with a quil, a Somnite Imperial Eagle out of its cage and ready to send a message back to the Council in High Ironmarch. Mananimos was in the middle of the tavern meditating, Saathen was pacing in nothing but a sleeping gown and Phebosius was busy putting the last of his armour on.

Bosk entered the room in full paladin armour, the man looking like a walking hunk of gold. Despite his almost comical appearance, the man was stern and gave off an aura of knowing unlike his usual dimwittedness. Remas knew they had seen this happen before, just like the old days during the Fall. Phebosius went on about it every day after all.

“I will take the gate, Pheb, in case the worse has come to pass and it has already been opened. You know what to do”. Bosk then turned to the kid, Odev, just waking up and walking into the room half asleep. “Boy, we need to warn the city what is really going on. Go and run to the castle immediately” he ordered patiently. The boy simply nodded and walked out of the room again.

“What do we do?” Remas asked now, glad he wore his plague doctor mask even while sleeping, as it hid his almost stupid facial expression.

Phebosius looked around as the room was filling up with the twenty other members of the party, the men being mostly sergeants. They too were gearing up for battle. He looked at Remas with an expression suggesting the answer was obvious.

“Right, right, don’t die. I’ll get ready then” Remas muttered, standing up and beginning to put his plague doctor robes and cloak over his sleeping robes. Phebosius and Bosk left then, rushing off to save the city from certain doom, obviously they thought the rest of the party would take too long to prepare for them to go with them, the cocky bastards. Saathen strangely was very quiet however, having yet yelled or made any remarks concerning his intelligence or manhood. The room became very quiet after Bosk and Pheb’s sudden leave, leaving Aurelius’ scrawling on paper as the primary source of noise.

Remas, after finishing getting dressed begun to walk out of the tavern with the now ready party. He didn’t know if Bosk and Phebosius were alive, but it would be in poor taste to abandon them. His run down the street towards the gate was stop short by the sudden blast of a horn, a horn Remas knew sounded very much like a Charlinite horn…

The ground shook. The rest of the party stopped moving.

Light, blinding light. Remas flinched, putting his hand in front of eyes before turning away from the gate. Justinian save them. The rest of the party was muttering anxiously, backstepping towards the tavern. Remas simply walked, deceptively calm.

Yells, cheers, clangs of steel on steel. Screams. Justinian save them, Everyren was not being overthrown from within by cultists.

“We are being invaded!” Remas yelled back at the others, now running back into the tavern. he rushed up the stairs and into the storage room. His medical box was within, much larger than all those years ago when he spoke to Morinth as in that dream. he opened his box using the key around his neck, revealing potions, smaller boxes and parchment covered in his messy writing. He threw this all on the ground. He took the fake bottom out, and unlocked the second layer. Within was his personal arsenal of alchemical warfare.

The Charlin bastards thought they could just invade Somnus because they were tired of fighting the Moonlanders, or the plague, or the ghuls, or the Drathans or the damn Dominion. Remas wasn’t all too religious, perhaps even a heretic the servitors would say, if they knew about his little dealings with Morinth or his other plans… but Justinian damn it he knew where his loyalties lied in the end. The easterners always thought the north was weak and needed guidance and protection like some child, so damn condescending.

And honestly, he was sick of all these Paladins and Charlinophiles. Orev wouldn’t shut up about honour this and honour that. He was sick of being considered the weaker member of the party, sick of the Jahun-ka and Paladins mistaking his intellectual pursuits for cowardice. Sick of them and their cultural postering. Deep down, perhaps he just wanted to use this invasion as an excuse to show off, but he quickly vanquished this thought with a torrent of forced patriotic fervour and annoyance at Paladins.

He begun by taking out a metal cauldron, running over to set it above the tavern fireplace. Mananimos was still there, sitting and meditating. Such an annoying man Remas thought. The others below had started making loud banging noises. It seemed they were barricading the Tavern door as Charlin soldiers started closing in on the street.

Remas returned to his box, taking out three clay orbs, placing them and a sling next to a window. He then got a row of six wooden pipes, the size of the sticks the old nobles used to beat horses and pages with and placed them next to the orbs. He took out two metal contraptions, like gauntlets but only covering the forearms, leaving the hands covered by leather, chemical coated gloves worn by plague doctors, like the ones Remas wore now. Connected to one of said gauntlet-devices was an interesting mechanism which when a metal trigger is pulled, a flint is struck, causing sparks, functioning much like a match. The other gauntlet is a specialized plague doctors device originally created for medical purposes. A pipe made of leather made of an Otnemarcasan beast and coated in a protective chemical runs across the gauntlet to a glass bottle filled with air and a glass bottle filled with, normally, a herbal mixture, both strapped to the back. Used to spray infected at a distance, alchemists in the north have refitted this device for military purposes.

Remas placed both next to the other pieces of equipment and begun placing numerous boxes and vials by the window as well. He took out his mortar and pestle and carefully took a bunch of spiky, vibrantly coloured, rainbow-like Sybasus flowers and placed them within the mortar. He begun grinding them into a toxic and lethal poisonous mush, before mixing it with water and filling the empty glass bottle connected to the gauntlet.

He took the wooden pipes and placed them in knots on his outer robe. He tied two of the clay orbs on wraps around him waist. He strapped the gauntlets onto his arms. Two boxes remained of the ones he decided to use for this event. One contained his guns. All single shot pistols, four Somnus Blackstone matchlocks and a single Dominion doglock, a piece of art and gun he acquired from Morinth in exchange for a single drop of Dread of the Moon.

Speaking of the Dread, Remas opened the second box, holding within a single silver twig of the abominable Uloyidasi tree, a metallic and extremely magical flora only found in secret oasis’ and underground jungle-caverns in the Union. As Remas carefully took the plant out and moved towards the cauldron, the old Dryadicist sage finally made an expression beyond smiling, and it, like Morinth before him, was shock and fear.

“The Uloyidasi is it? A frightful weapon to be using. You would use it against your fellow Justinians?” The old man asked, narrowing his eyes. Remas dropped the twig into the cauldron, watching it wither and begin to glow in the heat.

“I need to test my theories one way or another old man, and the Charlinites have revealed themselves as willing test subjects” Remas replied, watching as the twig deformed into a puddle of glowing, clumpy silver liquid. Dread of the Moon while a colloquial term used by assassins and rogue’s was once a far more refined term restricted to the highest and most secret circles of Drathan wizards. A concoction invented by a wizard commonly rumoured to be in direct communication with Yuwan herself, the substance was devised as a torture device. Due to the extreme danger in its handling, and the incredible longevity of the substance on all other physical elements, the Dread was banned by a council and henceforth only became used by certain wizards to guard their tombs, coating the near everlasting Dread on surfaces for unwitting victims to touch. Later, after war-orientated alchemy became a mainstream concept, the Dread of the Moon was rediscovered and used in high profile and incredibly brutal assassinations since then, prized as an extremely rare and valuable death dealer.

As legend has it, the Dread of the Moon has not yet be refined to its final form. As an advocate of this theory, Remas originally had Morinth acquire the Dread so he could experiment with it in an attempt at refining it to this mythic final form. While talking with the Drathan defector, Dosazes daz Vosazastivis he discovered that the current refined form may in fact be its penultimate state. This final form may in fact actually exist. The final form, dubbed the “Sword of Yuwan” by Dosazes is believed to be alchemy’s most diabolical, if theoretical, invention. A weapon of unprecedented scale and destructive power, the final form would be a gaseous, air-borne Dread, capable of decimating an entire country and eradicating millions of people and billions to trillions of living things down to the maggots within Avara’s soil within but days. Remas’ mission was simple. Create the ultimate weapon known to all mankind and bring an end to the Plague once and for all, by eradicating all life within the afflicted area of the world.

“Perhaps Morinth was right, perhaps I am insane” Remas whispered to himself before grinning maliciously, watching as the clumpy silver liquid refined into a perfectly smooth, shiny metallic liquid as he added other ingredients to the mix in perfect pre-set quantities and with absolute precision and timing. If he one day succeeded, he figured the irony of a Justinian using the Sword of Yuwan to obliterate the dreaming plague might cause the world to stop functioning correctly. Still, today was not that day and instead he would be using the dread for, though innovative, far more mundane purposes.

He took the completed “Flesheater Solution” and with utmost care, slowly moved it onto a table. He took a single bullet and with tweezers dipped it into the solution, giving the bullet a shining, chrome like coating. He carefully placed the bullet inside one of the matchlock pistols, he dared not use the doglock for this, as the pistol would have to be discarded carefully after use. He then put the tweezers inside a vial, filling it with a few drops and then throwing it inside a box filled with various objects, some years old, that still had older forms of the solution coating them. The box would need to be bury deep, or thrown into the ocean soon. It might even be wiser to go to Karkarth and throw it into one of the volcanos there.

Remas begun entering a state of total focus as he took great care to place the pistol back onto his coat and vial alongside the other vials inside his cloak. Mananimos voice faded away as did the Charlinites attempts at bashing down the taverns door. he took one last object out of the box, a Grindebault grenade, lit it with a few cracks of the automatic flint and threw it out the window.

As the small object fell down with a tail of smoke behind it, Remas walked down the stairs, directly towards the door being knocked down by angry Charlinites. Saathen yelled at him, but her voice was muffled and distant, even as she tried to grab his shoulder.

The door fell, and Remas walked directly towards the Charlinites rushing in. Raising one arm, he sprayed a torrent of toxic mist at them, the soldiers within the mist slowing down as the poison begun slowing down their hearts and dulling their minds as the throbbing pain locked their muscles down. Casually walking through the door and into the cloud of skin-irritating smoke, Remas took one of the clay orbs out of the band around his waist and put it into a sling he was holding. Lighting the fuse on the clay bomb he charged out of the cloud of smoke, appearing before a cluster of around thirty Charlin soldiers. Swinging the sling around, Remas released the clay bomb, flinging it directly into a cart next to the Charlinites, causing a great explosive eruption, launching metal, piece’s of wood and body parts into the air and across the street. The explosion despite its fury too was muffled and distant, Remas ignoring everything as he took a second clay bomb and lighting the fuse. He flung this bomb at a building, the explosion launching stones and wood across the street and obstructing access for the Charlinites horses. after a full minute after the building fell and the Charlinites reforming, they crossed on foot, climbing over the debris and charging forward.

No long standing alone, the Charlinite knights clashed with the twenty odd companions of the Ironmarch. Remas stepped back, allowing Saathen to charge forward and bash a Charlinite knight aside with her kite shield. Using the Ironmarcher Jahun-ka as a wall, Remas loaded the third and final clay bomb into the sling, aiming behind them and throwing down debris on the other side of the street. The battlefield was successfully enclosed, sealing it off from cavalry charges and mass human waves. A fight worthy of a last stand.

Saathen of No House was shaking things up for the Charlinites it seemed, clearly, the were not prepared to face a Jahun-ka in the Somnus Imperium. After cleaving her sword through a fifth mans helmet, the Charlinites begun to take the fight more seriously, waiting until more of them climbed over the debris until charging into the fray again. Aurelius too, was doing surprisingly well, holding his own despite being significantly smaller than his opponents, mostly through parrying blows and sidestepping them. So long as the debris obstructed access to the battlefield and the party kept up its efforts, they should be able to hold off a superior force for some, if short, time.

Sadly, this did not last as the Charlinites seemed to have quickly adapted by placing a wooden ramp over the debris allowing numerous knights to run up in rapid succession. They were being surrounded now, the Charlinites encircling them and cutting them off from the tavern. Mananimos was still within, likely having already surrendered due to being a pacifist. Another wave of Charlinites crossed over the ramp, pushing back the party further away from the tavern, the first of their number now dying. Shocking Remas and temporarily taking him out of him battle trance, a Karkarthian Jahun-ka warrior appeared leading the force. So that explains the Charlinites surprise with fighting Saathen Remas thought, realizing that the Karkarthian’s were also in on this little excursion into Somnus. The Jahun-ka was a huge man, even compared to Saathen. He possessed horns, and a huge tower shield. He was probably of someone of note, though it wasn’t like Remas had any knowledge of Karkarthian culture or standards.

Remas took one of the wooden pipes out of the knots and lit its fuse. Throwing it at the Jahun-ka, the explosive fell short of its target and landed in front of the Charlinite charge, causing them to vacant the area and brace for an explosion… that never came. The explosive fizzled out without any reaction. A Justinian damned dud. The Charlin knights rushed past the stick and engaged the remaining party. Remas took out the first pistol and lit its match. firing, he completely missed his target and hit nothing. Cursing, he had to remind himself that he was did have an appalling aim with guns. He looked to his right to see Saathen fighting five men at once, to his right Aurelius was duelling, badly, against three Charlins at once. He drew out his second pistol, crossing over the bodies of dead party members and Charlin knights alike, firing again and missing.

The party was now back to back, twelve of them left. Remas was waiting for the Jahun-Ka, who was now walking towards them. Firing his third pistol at the Jahun-ka and missing completely, Remas succeeded in drawing his attention. Walking back now, as the Jahun-ka slowly walked towards him, Remas drew Morinth’s gifted doglock and fired it randomly to the side, unknown to him hitting a Charlinite knight in the head. There were now over one hundred enemies in the street, circling the party of eight, mostly being held together by Saathen’s indomitable defence, now surrounded by a small pile of corpses. Aurelius was kneeling on the ground, gash through his thigh and six swords aimed at his throat and chest.

Mananimos was walking out of the tavern with swords pointing at him in all directions. The fighting stopped briefly as the party members realized there was only three of them left standing. Remas, facing off against the Jahun-ka now standing in front of him glaring, Saathen, ready to collapse with fatigue and numerous wounds and an apparently random sergeant named the unsightly yet oddly common Gregory, the man refusing to die, clubbing an already dead knights head in repeatedly with a polearm.

Remas pulled out the pistol with the Flesheater round, knowing now was the moment he was waiting for. He only knew the theoretical effects of the Dread on a person, and could only hypothesize the effectiveness of a bullet dumped in the Dread of the Moon, but he knew this was going to work on all matters concerning alchemy, preparation and mechanical, the problem was delivery. He was truly a horrible aim. The Jahun-ka, understanding Remas’ desire for a duel continued moving forward. Saathen fell over then, exhausted. Gregory was now punching the dead mans helmet with bloodied hands. The battle was over now, and so the experiment would begin.

The Jahun-ka wasn’t a fool, and even watching Remas’ horrible aim knew to defend himself, placing his shield in front of him. Remas knew he had to get rid of that shield, so took out another of the wooden pipes, hoping beyond hope that they were not all duds. Remas struggling the light the fuse with the automatic flint, the Jahun-ka drew closer, now flourishing his sword.

After successfully lighting the shorter fuse of this explosive, Remas chucked it into the general direction of the Jahun-ka, his incredible throwing accuracy hitting the shield perfectly, the explosive detonating and sending shards of molten copper, shrapnel and burning oil across the shield. The Jahun-ka threw the shield away and shouted out, sadly, in battle rage and excitement as he now sprinted head on towards Remas.

Almost in slow motion, Remas watched as the huge warrior charged, raising the pistol up in the general direction of the charging giant, Remas fired his pistol, not even bothering to aim. The pistol flashed a bright shining light and spat out a shower of silver sparks and almost glittering smoke. Remas looked at his pistol almost absently then looking at the Janhun-Ka who had stopped and looking at him questioningly and back at the pistol.

The Jahun-ka begun laughing, barking at him in his foreign tongue. Remas was about to explode into a ranting tirade when the Jahun-ka stopped laughing and looked at one his finger, which had been shot off.

Where the missing finger once was, now was a stump of flesh with molten silver sparks dripping off it.

“It worked…” was all Remas was able to say as the Jahun-ka watched in horror as his hand begun to heat and steam, his gauntlet turning red hot. Remas couldn’t see what was going on underneath the red-hot gauntlet, but the Jahun-ka was now screaming, genuinely screaming. Skin and flesh, now mushy and glue-like was falling between the armour plates of his gauntlet, blood now lighting on fire. Remas walked towards to warrior, now kneeling on the ground frantically grasping his arm as it begun falling apart, the armour platings lighting on fire now too.

In a futile attempt to stop the caustic Dread, the Jahun-ka chopped off his own arm, however by this point his entire body was now melting and imitating a dying candle, his flesh melting into wax-like glue as his upper torso was lit on fire. As his eyeballs begun melting into liquid and flowing down his face and his screams died out in a bubbling gurgle, the small army of Charlinite and Karkarthian knights surrounded Remas, the sole fighter still standing. A wall of shields gradually and very, very cautiously marched towards Remas, stopping just in front of the flaming, melting pile of semi-metallic, semi-flesh like wax, which was now melting an already dead corpse next to the once-Jahun-ka.

Remas looked around, still too focused on the results of his experiment to care about the army surrounding him.

“Haha, so, uh, I surrender?” Remas joked. Before he could say any more, a strong sensation of pain struck through the back of his head, and there was darkness.

Call of Immolation!
"Lo, the Dread and Roland mountain call
To the eye of sunrise
Karkarth and Charlin wake
Spirits from the earthen grave
Five Fathers, gilded strength
Loyal sons and daughters
Fearless warriors born to bear
Gifts of heart by laud and heir..

Faithfully by Justinian's prayer
Fortresses of Eastern Lands
Night Sea crossing
Battles fought and victories won
At the sides of nobleman
From the mines of Djerad Thymar
Too the fields of Krax’s hold
Hear now the horns are calling
Masters of fine ore and stone
Kings of fields and horses
Legends be they ever known
Stand now against the dregs of men.” -War Hymn


Part 2

The city of Everyren was eerily quiet for a city of this size given the time of day. This was not due to no small amount of foot traffic on the streets, however, as fistratats patrolled the city in double file formations. They carried high the banner of the crusaders, a stylized phoenix of ebon black on a background of crimson surrounded by gold flames. Many of the city's denizens stayed in doors unless they had urgent business. Doors were locked, windows shut and bolted where possible. Even the taverns were closed.

Fire Prince Kelnzo watched from the governor's palace balcony at the silent city with an unreadable expression. So little time had been had to himself that he was still dressed in his armor; only the cape and helm that revealed his statues were gone. He leaned forward on the rail and breathed in sharply. Taking time to enjoy his surroundings, which had once been the office of the previous marquis before they had detained him and imprisoned him in his own dungeon.

They had done it, the first step in a long journey that would lead eventually to victory. He rubbed his chin, noting that he had not shaved in some days now. The dreadlocks of his head splayed down his back, blow gently in the wind. Kelzno had been raised for war most of all his life, studying and training. Yet, this would be his first true war, his first test to see if he was worthy of his father's position. He had longed for the day he could prove himself, a day he might finally bury the image of a unseasoned boy behind forever.

His head lacked the war beads that revealed a Jahun-ka’s victoires. In this war, on this campaign, he would see that amended. He would have his laurels and accolades; glory would yet be his for the taking by this war's end. He would have it no other way. That window for what he wished was a narrow one however. Sure they had won the city today, but it had not been his victory, nor his plan.

It had been his fathers, always his fathers. Well, now no more. Now was the time for Kelzno Dracon to see proper respect be paid to him. A quick knock on the door startled him from his private mushing. He voiced permission for entry and a young Swordcaptain walked in, helmet tucked under one arm. He was surprisingly young for his position, yet he had joined the charge in some of the tougher fitting in taking the city.

Even when the defences had been breached the militia had put up fierce resistance. They had beaten the fight out of them before dawn all the same. Most of Kelzno’s officers were nearly equally as young, as Kelzno had made certain of as he had handpicked some of them many veterans of the bulwark but still green by Jahun-ka standards.

“Report captain,” Kelzno requested as he looked back across the city.

“Sir, King Vrox Galenon, Warmaster Kayun of House Vervesh, Grandmaster Paladin Marc Galenon along with Oversword Umari Redmark of House Dracon are await in the main dining hall.”

Kelzno nodded once his understanding to which the man slammed both his feet together and brought a fist to his chest in salute before leaving. Kelzno flexed his shoulder trying to work out a cramp before sighing and making to leave as well. He had hardly slept since half a day ago. But, plans for organizing the defences and quickly capitalizing on their early success still needed to be done. He could only imagine how much worse off Kayun and Vrox would be.

He moved down a finely decorated hall complete with portraits and works of art that the men of Somnus so enjoyed. He found the oakwood doors to the dining hall— now a repurposed chamber of campaigns— and pushed them open. Inside he found most seated around a small oval shaped table with numerous maps, scout reports, scrolls, supply manifest and a wine jug in the center of a few glasses; some empty a few half empty.

Kayun was lounging in a large couch putting his feet up on a stool, a large keg of something close at hand. He sat up straighter when Kelzno entered, a large grin spreading across his face as he finished draining a large cup. Kelzno could only guess where he had found the keg of what he assumed as ale.

“Kelzno! Good on’ya to join us,” he flashed a smile that showed off his sharp teeth. “Lets rip this up shall we? I got another keg of ale with my name on it. Just got’ta find it first.”He winked.

Kelzno nodded a greeting to everyone assembled then sat down heavily in an empty seat. “Just so,” He began, “Shall we begin then? How do we stand on rations?” He looked to Umari as he asked, knowing the women had almost a picture perfect memory about such things.

Umari Redmark tapped a finger on the table as her eyes seemed to gaze at nothing for a moment as she recalled to memory their last shipment. "The ships from Karkarth just came in, 200 pounds of dried beef, 400 pounds of grain, some odd 34,000 so waterskins, with an assortment of equipment varying from replacement horseshoes and leather straps. Much of the foodstuffs are in thanks to our Charlin allies," She nodded to Vrox and Marc in turn, "All in all, combined with what we expect from the next shipment and what we carried so far. Not to mention anything we might supplement from the city or along the way. We have enough rations and supplies to last us a month, a month and a half if we're careful. Assuming of course we stray far from Everyren of course."

“Any news on any enemy movements?” Vrox questioned, his fingers wrapped tightly around a tall glass of ale. The dimming alcohol draining the stinging pain in his stitched up knee to a comfortable numbness.

“The scouts report nothing so far, any escapees won’t be able to reach another major settlement before the threat of the main force looms south of here. Small insurrections from the denizens of the city seem to be doused with simple glares, so it is beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Marc paused as Vrox took a sip from his drink, continuing with his glowing stare and serious visage, “Everyren is ours. We simply hit too fast for any real resistance to show up for a while.”

Vrox smiled as he kissed the lip of his cup, draining the rest of the bitter sweet ale, “glory to us then.”

Kayun lifted a cup, "Ha! Didn't know what hit'em!"

Kelzno was glad to hear it as it seemed they're attack had been more effective than anticipated. Still they would need to act quickly to capitalise on their advantage. "Good, now that gives us a limited free window of opportunity. Our advanced scouts on the countryside have confirmed the information we managed to squeeze out of the Marquis. After he learned we weren't invaders and we only wanted to remove the rebel leaders from power, he quickly gave us something quite useful."

He pulled closer a map on the table revealing the local region of Eastern Somnus. He then pointed to a point on the map some odd 59 miles south-west of Everyren to a spot called Castle Leopal. "This. This is apparently where the so called 'Emperor Sicarius' is holding court with some of his most trusted advisors, nobles, lord-commanders."

He traced a winding trail that eventually lead to Everyren. "Reports have it there is a road we can take north then west, before heading south. The cover of the woods and hills between the main road and their current position would offer us enough cover until we closed in," He then tapped Castle Leopal again. "We could be within sight of the castle before they even knew what hit them. Sicarius keeps court this close within his borders because he thinks he is safe from his foes. And in fact he is... but only because he thinks he still holds Everyren. He's likely to have the castle lightly defended; a token force at most. It would be no great effort if we-"

Kayun was however already shaking his head and interrupted. "Wait now, ye sayin we should march out? All at once? We would still be far from our main force, your father gave specific instructions to-"

"I'm seizing an opportunity! If we take Sicarius now we can nurture the east and win almost half the battle before the war even truly starts!"

"Ah, true but we would need to cross close to Justinanus border. She's the power in the north of Somnus, if our intelligence is to be believed she holds almost twice as many men as Sicarius. We be'riskin a fight we can't win just yet."

"One I doubt would happen, as Justinanus already contends with beastmen from the east. She will be too worried about attacks from the north to have sizable force to challenge us so quickly."

Umari seemed torn, on one side she trusted Kelzno judgment. They had been long friends ever since Kelzno had requested her adopting into House Dracon. A rare honor indeed. Still her first loyalty and concern was the safety of the men and women under her command. "If we hope to take Sicarius off guard and get a force to him quickly enough before he can escape us, it would need to be small, not our entire force to be sure." Kelzno nodded. He had imagined that much. "But if speed is our concern and we wish to catch him if he does make a run for it... Charlin horses will be essential."

This Kelzno knew as well, any attempt on Sicarius demanded a joint force of Karkarth and Charlin. He looked to his Charlin counterparts. "It will be chance we cannot afford to lose." He began. "I ask humbly that you support me in this. The lives we might spare with such early success far outweigh the potential risk."

And think of the glory that could be had, he silently thought.

Vrox was grinning ear to ear as he stared at the map with a fire in his ale warmed belly, “it’s too perfect to be true!”

The king tapped the map, his eyes wide with potential glory “there lies the golden egg to win this war before it even starts, I agree with Kelzno’s judgement.”

Marc rubbed his bearded chin as his gold blazing eyes hovered over the map, “no, it isn’t perfect.”

Vrox looked up at his younger brother, a man much bigger than him, and ever so bold to bluntly spit his opinions. The great general paladin continued to stare while his mind seemed to tumble over a few thoughts. Vrox new this face well, the face of a strategist. When Vrox looked closely at Marcs stoic face he could see the man biting the inside of his own cheek, a habit the Grandmaster had since they were kids together, a habit signalling the finalization of an idea. Sure enough, with in seconds, Marc opened his mouth again.

“We would risk severing our forces. While no one knows of Everyren, once that castle is sieged they could cut us from the forest, and with heavy infantry, that wouldn’t fare well. The only way to go about this is either go around the forest with a large fast force, heading south of it and hooking up, or indeed sending a small force through the forest as suggested, with risk,” Marc leaned in closer to the map and began chewing his cheek again.

“We already severed their forces by taking this city and having the main army march north. If we waited, it would not be foolish. However, this castle is enticing to say the least,” Marc glanced up at the group before him, “how many men of war would you suspect this castle to hold, and how honorable is the Marquis’ word?”




Kelzno frowned as he stared back at the map. "Its an old aristocrats summer retreat if the marquis was not lying— and I doubt he was given his greedy gleam, he no doubts hopes we will award him after all's said and done, he'd be a fool to lead us to a trap in any case, as he'd still be in our custody and holds no great love for any of the pretenders— now the castle itself has been extended and fortified since the civil war; most castles have in Somnus if they haven't been torn down altogether. The castle itself could hold no more than 600 men, 800 if put in a tough spot, with three ballistae in three towers and four cannons built into the central keep each facing a different direction. The latter number of men would mean a quick starvation at least in our favor. Scouts have also reported an encampment about two miles south of the castle, however, the size and number of cooking fires suggest 12,000 at most. As I said a token force given his relatively safe position, the nearest army that could challenge us is four or eight days away on the borders. He’s surely outnumbered and outgunned"

"And our main force is a week or more at the quickest." Kayun warned. “I’d say we wait for better odds.”

"By which point the Pretender Emperor will have moved on, and heard of our taking of his eastern coast if we march or not. He'd have his full force and we would have ours. What advantage would we have gained in the mean time?"

"Your father has a plan Kelzno, he always does." Kayun said in a low tone. As if warning a child of danger.

Kelzno clenched his jaw baring his teeth at the large man. "Perhaps, but we would be fools to not take this chance while we have it, we must move now, before opportunity flees from grasp."

Vrox seemed to nod in agreement with Kelzno while Marc took a more silent approach as he chewed his cheek. The silent paladin leaned over the map, his hands splayed across the table. If his eyes were so bright with blessed energy, one might be able to make out his pupils darting back and forth as he chewed his cheek until the faint metallic taste of his mouth polluted his tongue.

“Kayun’s warnings hold stock,” Marc said without moving his eyes from the map, “however, either way the pretender will flee. He would either flee south to his main encampment, or take a portcullis route to the north into the forest. While I agree our forces must remain stagnant until we meet with Tiberius, it is best we have control over our opponents next move.”

Marc scratched his chin, “if you spook the southern army, they will report to the pretender, if you spook the pretender he will report to his southern army, if you spook both at the same time, they will separate, so long as you scare the pretender from the south and provoke the army from the south. The space inbetween the two entities give us plenty of options, plenty of options that are executable without a real army.”

Both Kelzno and Vrox stared at the Paladin as if he was speaking gibberish before mouthing, “what?” in unison.

Marc shook his head, “under the black of the night, get some people just south of the castle, out of cannon range. Set up scarecrows, and equip them each with two torches, the castle will see an amazing army of tens of thousands that already pounded through his forces, and flee to the north, east, or west. Have scouts in every corner of that forest as a net to catch the spooked squirrel. The southern army would be none the wiser, unknowing it was presumed defeated by a bunch of dummies. At least that would be one layer of the strategy. If he digs his heels, then we would need a back up. I am unwilling to sacrifice our vanguard for the mission, considering our promise to Tiberius, so we would need a damned good plan B.”

Kayun scratched his beard, "and if they don't flee but seek a fight instead?"

Vrox started to laugh to himself, his warm belly sloshing around inside him, “I would like to see six hundred valiant soldiers fight an army of dummies.”

Kelzno sat back as he absorbed this plan. "Once more how would he make sure they only seem the torches once one of them have been lit?"

Umari spoke up at that as she downed a glass of wine. "Well, that one might not be so hard." She said as the put the glass back down as eyes turned to her. "Priestesses Tarak could see the bushes lit with prayers of fire once the signal is given. A imagine an army springing up almost out of nowhere all at once would catch them off guard for sure. Panic breeds panic after all.

Kelzno had almost forgotten about the priestesses, he had not been told their arrival until they had all but landed. It was one headache after this meeting he would have to deal with. The hardest part he knew would be getting them to help at all.

Marc was cynical towards his own plan as he gathered the feedback, chewing his cheek again as he spoke, regaining authority, “definitely flawed, but if you then use a light cavalry force to lure out the southern army away from the castle while this happens, you can send in a small siege force from the forest to the north of the castle, effectively scattering reinforcements, panicking the defenders and focusing fire on the south while ladder troops can take the north walls and even turn their own cannons inwards without much resistance.”

A strategists smile crept its way on the mans face, “If we are lucky, we could even scatter their army into following our riders straight to the vanguard that we kept here as per your fathers request.”

Kelzno was nodded as he listened to Marcs’ plan tapping the table while deep in thought. “That could work… in fact that might be perfect. With the southern force gone we could have our best men join in that northern wall assault as the defenders are preoccupied. Timing will be crucial in this. I already know the perfect assault force and the Telsword for the job of keeping the castle busy...”

Umari was grinding her teeth in thought, a habit of hers when thinking of a solution to a problem. She nodded. “I assume you're thinking. The dos we carried in just in case the gates weren't open when we attacked the city.”

Kelzno noded. “It would last just long enough for the southern besiegers running distraction.”

Marc seemed perplexed at the sudden suggestion, although Vrox seemed even more curious because he beat him to questioning it, “what is a Dos?”

“Ah, forgive me, I suppose the closes thing for it in common would be something akin to a Cat used for sieges before the onset of cannons made them mostly obsolete .” Kelzno explained. “ Instead of wood, a smith named Graden created his own version… made of alloys using bloodstone. Most in his Chamber of Making called it a massive waste of a rare mineral. Once more it’s never been tested. Still something is better than nothing.”

Kayun was pouring himself another mug of ale as he spoke. “Rather not be stadin in front’of cannon fire at all if ya ask me. Dos or no dos that assault best get to those cannons quick.”

Kelzno nodded in agreement. “That is why I shall be leading the force myself. Umari will lead a relieving force within the woods in case that southern force comes back before we can breach the castle defences.”

“Hmm, and where does that leave me?” Kayun asked before he took another shallow from his mug.

“You will remain with the main force in Everyren, you proved vital in taking this city and should they chase the light cavalry far enough east, I want you to be ready to meet them. Besides which, I want someone capable leading the defences should something unforeseen happen.” Besides, Kelzno thought, it would be one less person to share the victory with. Kelzno turned to Marc and Vrox. “I’ll leave the organizing of your forces to you. I’d advise the swiftest steeds you have for that decoy force. In fact, have the riders wear the somnus armor from the cities armoury, dye the color to another faction. Make them think it’s a deep raiding force by a rival pretender.” He smiled at his own devious idea.

“We will refit the armor accordingly, “Vrox said, eager to launch the plan.

“I would volunteer myself for the cavalry decoy,” Marc began, his eyes unwavering from his older brothers face, “but I feel as though the King wishes to honor the charge himself.”

The glory seeking Vrox smiled at Marc, “I do, but I wish for you to join me.”

Marc shook his head, “While it pains me to decline, one of us needs to stay with the vanguard, just don’t mistake me for a coward,” his final words seemed playfully directed at Vrox, as if nudging at an old memory the pair shared.

Vrox nodded with a nostalgic gleam in his eye, “I never would.”

Marc smiled at his brother and nodded towards the others, “Then the plan is settled, if we cannot scare him out, we will beat him out, all the while remaining here for honorable Tiberius.”

"Very good, then all will be made ready. By tomorrow midmorning, we shall move upon Sicarius," with that Kelzno clasped his fist to his chest concluding the meeting.

Kayun nodded seemingly happy at this turnout. "Well then, there still remains enough time for drink!" He jumped to his feet his smile broad as he walked to Vrox and slapped a hand onto the back of the man's shoulder. "When you have made preparations, come raise drink with me! A fine way to celebrate past victories! We shall also see if you hold your liquor as well as you fight!" Kayun bellowed with soft laughter.

“I will be there,” Vrox said with a smile, “here’s hoping you will still be standing when I get there.”

Marc laughed at the two while he lifted his first glass of wine to his lips, with the meeting finished, he figured why not.

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

Green Toad Tavern

"Vulsh!"

Roared the tavern all at once as Kayun and a number of his fellow Jahun-ka— among them a good many Charlinits— and mostly those who had risked their lives in opening the cities gates, drank back their flagons of ale in a toast of victory. All around the tavern there was shouting, laughing, bellowing, and music played by bard who was glad to learn this gathering would be paying him for the pleasure of his songs. Coin out of Kayun's own pouch, but it was well worth it. The tavern keeper thankfully knew Kayun well and had offered almost all his kegs of ale and wine at a generous discount. Kayun would have none of it and paid for them in full.

Kayun wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after he drained his flagon in one go. Smacking his lips, he beamed as he bellowed out for another. All around he was pleased to see that Charlin and Jahun-ka alike had gathered in the large room— the tavern thankfully was the third largest in the city— and were having a joyous time riding the waves of their first victory. Men and women alike laughed as they partook of drink, food, and entertainment. There was good-natured joking, and banter, even a few smacks across the rear end of the unwary.

Kayun laughed at the sight, not regretting one second the Somnus coins spent on this little event. He hardly could use the coins in his homeland in any case. So why not! One move sure to boost morale while giving old allies a chance to bond before they bled for one another once more in battle. Kayun was sure even the ever brooding Tiberius would welcome the benefits of increased cohesion among the brother realms. Speaking of allies he turned his smile to the good King Vrox who sat across from him at the bar on his own stool. Neither were drunk yet, but the evening was still young.

"Ha! I have to say friend," Kayun said as he poured himself another flagon full of ale. "That ya' southerners know how to have good time better than I gave'ya credit for! HAHAHA!" He's great mane of hair and braided locks shook with his laughter as he shook his head from side to side.

Vrox wiped the suds of a fresh ale off from his curved lips and spoke through his smile, “you know, Kayun my friend, the tenets speak of taking consequence for your work. The way I see it is we won a city filled with good ale and cheer, so consequently…”

The king trailed off as his swung his flagon upside down and guzzled the rest of his drink. He raised his mug in a salute to Kayun, “well, you get the picture.”

Kayun roared with laughter at that and slammed a hand down on the bar. Sending a few drinks jumping up from the impact as if they had been startled. “Your one of a kind King Vrox!” Kayun took a mouthful of his drink then sighed with happily content. “Now Tiberius might be a great general, perhaps among the best I’ve known, and I'd be damned if I know a man better with a sword. But he was never one much for heavy drink or grand festivities like these." He waved his hand to indicate the tavern around them. "Still men respect reservation I suppose, time and season and all that. But I'd settle for a soul who knows how to loosen up now and again!"



The corners of Vrox’s eyes crinkled as he started to laugh with Kayun. The kings cheeks turned beet red from laughter as he attempted to drain some more ale from his renewed flagon his recieved from a passing barmaid. Vrox had watched her leave for a few seconds before turning his gaze back on Kayun, a small amount of seriousness touched his visage at Kayun’s words.

“I could say the same for Marc, he keeps to himself, but he was always like that; A brilliant fighter, and tactician. My brother could best the greatest in combat, but he couldn’t ever quite match the cheer of festivities,” Vrox looked down into his cup at the little brown bubbly reflection of himself, “I suppose when we were kids he could, but he grew serious and thoughtful, while I kept my youth and vigor despite an elder age,” Vrox took a long pull from his drink.

“You though,” Vrox said with a waving finger and a matching smirk, “you are definitely my kind of spirit to have around in the tavern and on the field.”

"Aha! What can I say? We Jahun-ka like to work hard, fight harder, and play harder still!! HO," Kayun roared before throwing back a mouthful of ale. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he continued. "But that does bring me back to better days, seven brothers I had once upon a time; those of my Fistratat as it were. Not by blood but by bonds born of trust and war. All are gone now."

Kayun added solemnly, for the first time revealing a tone of regret, or perhaps sadness, in his voice. "All but one that is, he's a master of his own Dojo now. Heh, he was always going on about starting his own school and training his own students. Thurirl’ver of House Vervesh, is his name, and Master of prince Kelzno as it happens. Still I outlived most of my battle brothers. Seems only like yonder morn we were but young men in our kihdas, dreaming of becoming patriarchs or warmasters of a High House."

Kayun shook his head as his nostalgia slowly lifted. He offered a half smile to Vrox and raised his mug. "To brothers, both in arms and of blood."

“Through honor, blood, and valor,” Vrox added a little louder as he toasted with his unending smile, warm belly and a near empty glass. The tavern roared back at the two between drunken slurs of their toast and outright gibberish.

Vrox let out a laugh as Kayun’s story sank into his lightened mind, “seems our recollections passed enough time for the others to get ahead of us.”
He lifted his mug, the brown liquid sloshing over the edges, “perhaps we should catch up.”

Kayun smiled. "Indeed, let's show them how it's done eh?"

With that, his grin widened all the more as he stood up and hefted a nearby keg of ale right off the ground. With a classic "AH HO!" he tipped the keg over into his waiting maw, gulping down great mouthfuls of ale as almost as much ran down his great black beard and chin.

Shouts and cheers came from all around at the sight, many stouter of the lot downing their own bottles a few even venturing forth to have their comrades pour their own kegs of ale into waiting mouths with mixed results of success. None though proved to have an iron a stomach as Kayun, who nearly finished what ale was left in the keg on his first pitch.

When he was done he lifted the keg over his head and roared a challenge. "Go big or go home!"

Laughs erupted from around the tavern, as drinking contests sprouted up between Charlins and Jahun-ka alike.

Kayun sat back down at his sit with his smile still in place, only showing a slight wozzines to his movements. “Hmph, they don’t make kegs here as endowed as those in Charlin and Karkarth I fear,” then nodded his head over at the barmaid working her rounds, one that happened to be a Vaelie by the looks of her, he added. “Speaking of well endowed...” Kayun winked at Vrox before laughing.

Vrox raised his brows and let out a whistle before joining Kayun in a laugh, only interrupting his chuckle with massive gulps of booze. A small stream of golden liquid escaped his lips as he shook his head and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“The women are shorter here,” Vrox said, his face turning serious, “So you best take two or three with you to make up for lost skin.”

"Aha!" Kayun exclaimed and as he slapped a hand on Vrox's back, "Now that might be the most sensible stratagem I have heard all day! No offense to Kelzno or Marcs!"

Kayun noticed some ale was left in his mug and downed it, "well then we best get to thoroughly exploring what these westerners are made of; just leave the one with gold locks, I've always had a mind to see what the fuss is with these Volie, or is it Vaelins? Vaelias? Valets? Bah,"

Kayun whistled for the barmaid, who made a beeline for the King and Warmaster. A few whispered words later and a giggle from the Vaelie, whose golden eyes twinkled with mischief, and then a few moments later Kayun was carrying a girl over each broad shoulder and Vrox in toe with more, all the while they were followed up the stairs by many a bawdy comment from the tavern occupants.

What a long journey that has brought us here, Benoroux carelessly thought. The aging man leaned against one of the cold wooden pillars of his home. Winter was starting to break autumn’s glow with sprinkles of white, and inside his own humble manor, the chill had managed to leak through the weakening walls and crawl up his bare arms.

The room he stood in was lit with a central fire that fought bravely against the coming night shivers, and its orange glow splashed across the rest of the room. Bits and bobbles from Otnemarcas adorned the shelves just as Xerella liked it, and newly added paintings native to the Dominion covered cracks in the walls. Stephan himself requested the paintings some months into his stay, a pit of home-sickness twisting his stomach, but thankfully the help of the paintings and seeing Ricken blossom into a tough little boy calmed the storms in his gut.

The smell of Xerella’s Charlin styled sausages slithered into the room from the kitchen, and a slight drool was visible on Stephan’s face as he sat comfy in a plushy chair fit for a king. Benoroux smirked when he noticed his friends eager hunger.

“It’s been a long two years, my friend,” Benoroux stated, his voice haven gathered a more gravelly tone between stress, age, and clear charlinite liquors.

“Somedays it feels like just yesterday I was sitting white faced in the chairs of the dock prisons with some strange old man to judge me and my life,” Stephan looked over to the Boyar.

“Seems like yesterday-” Benoroux agreed, “as you creep towards my age, you’ll find that term to be your opener for most conversations. Perhaps too much.” He looked towards the door to the kitchen, and shivered.

“Cold?” Stephan pointed to one of the many hanging fur cloaks that adorned the back of the entrance.

“Oh no.. just thinking,” Benoroux nodded politely.

“About your wife again, eh?” Stephan chuckled.

Benoroux smiled, stifling a laugh as Xerella’s cooking lullabies began to pierce the air with their own voice.

Suddenly a swirl of wind entered the room, battling the flames as a young Ricken came stomping in, snow coloring his dark fur cloak a spotted white. In very clear Charlinite, the young boy screamed with excitement, “Uncle Stephan, Uncle Ben! I saw a bear-rabbit!”

Not sharing their nephew’s excitement, the two men quickly leapt to their feet, “WHAT!?”

“OH! Is Auntie cooking sausages!?” Ricken ignored their reactions and clumsily ran off towards the kitchen, a snowy wind following him.

“By the sword of King Roland,” Benoroux swore, “that better be one of his mighty tales.”


TO BE CONTINUED… (eventually)