Two weeks have now passed since the Mad King and his followers destroyed the combined armies of the realm and rose an ancient power. In the days that followed, the mortal realm has started to spiral downward into a frenzy of desperate civilians fleeing the horde and a shadow of hopelessness to fall over the people. All across the long edge of the demonic army, the lands of the Human, Elven, and Dwarven civilizations burn. Villages, too numerous to count, have been razed to the ground while massive cities have found themselves under siege while slowly losing their grip on their defenses. Ahead of this coming darkness, a number of villages and cities have begun to evacuate; with countless of their citizens running to the fabled walls of the Castle Estel.

The Castle Estel was the oldest castle found in the entire realm, with legends talking of it being constructed by the gods themselves as the last beacon of survival. Perched on steep cliffs in the center of the Chasm of Reckoning, the long divide that neatly bisects the western and eastern parts of the continent, overlooking the deep canyon from the singular and lonely mountain. Surrounded on all sides by the deep canyon, and with only the two long bridges of fate running in and out from the east and the west, the Castle had become a logical fallback option for them. The walls have never been breached by any assaulting forces, and the legends go this is where the Goddess Roffella ascended to the Goddess well-known throughout the realm.

The actual story is often stranger than the myths, however.

Time has a funny way of perverting the truth, or so Mulad says. In his countless years of service as a Grand Wizard Mulad has read all the books in the Grand Library; from the tale of Roffella and her rise to the fall of the First Imperium of Man some two thousand years ago. In his studies, Mulad had found time and time alone to be the great equalizer of all. Yet Mulad knows that these stories have more parts fabricated than not, with essential pieces of information lost through time through translation errors or downright sloppy work. What isn't perverted by time quite yet is the threat Mulad and his would be heros face. The darkness that spreads throughout the realm has taken notice of their plans; with a hastily put together and sloppy execution of Mulads call to arms noticed by those who would do them harm. Even now, dark forces work in concert with the beasts on the ground to intercept and destroy the group. The culprit for the enemey knowing their plans, one may ask? None other than the various posters and letters sent out in the wake of the defeat, calling on all who are able and willing to join this Grand Wizard as he adventured to retrieve a long forgotten artifact of great power. Even now, as those who chose to respond march on the meeting point, dark forces stalk their moves and wait for their chance to strike.

Mulad had chosen a place to distract those who gathered of that fact.

Mulad had decided that the first meeting of this group would be in a place that is perpetually happy, one where he could reveal his grand plan to fix the world and at the same time earn the trust of those who he would eventually learn to count on for his life. As Mulad approached the location from the south a memory began to flicker in his mind, and Mulad let himself fall into it and he began to relive his first experience at the Six Corners as he walked, eyes closed as he did.

- - -

"Can I interest you in a trinket – turn around and watch the magic – increase your male vigor – I thought you were dead – I am not lying, this weapon killed a dragon – are you sure it cost that much to– look at my wares – what do you have for sale – the Dark Crusade shall soon end – I'm walking here - you sold me junk – I'll give you half and still that be – when this is over – guards are so – he looks like fun– I am a healer – I am not interested – do you know of – that food smells amazing – this place is amazing."

The familiar sounds of the Six Corners and its fabled trade bazaar, the finest such place to buy a bit of everything and all of anything in the Firen empire, filled the ears of Mulad and a smile began to slowly creep across his face. The six corners stood where the six long Roads of the King intersected at their only common location; and in the years since the massive undertaking required to construct this massive transportation network, a massive trading outpost had sprung into existence. The would be adventure could find anything they needed here for whatever journey they found themselves on; weapons, armor, potions, fancy colorful cloaks, and much more.

Not only known for the supplies, the local food had as much draw for the adventurer as did the trading with a local tavern called the Crossroads Inn being home to the realm famous Chef Mincy; a Firen woman who had once cooked for the King himself before she left with his blessing to bring her cooking skills to the world; and oh could she cook. You name it; roasted chicken, boiled pork, lizard tail, rat skewers, poultry and whole fish placed between a sliced loaf of bread were just some of the many unique and somehow delicious food that had a home in her tavern. The building itself was four stories tall with an open center design that allowed those sitting on even the highest floor a clear view of the bands playing their music below. The walls of the tavern were covered in various pieces of artwork, all of which were donated by the happy patrons that had become regulars in their travels. From a personal portrait of the King himself to an artist's rendition of the Battle of a Hundred Nations, so many paintings in fact that the walls have come to resemble a museum more than a tavern. The furniture was well carved with rich tapestry's covering the comfortable chairs and barstools. The outside of the tavern was adorned with many different unique and artistic engravings on the many poles that supported the building; the local artisans donated their work for weeks of free food and grog and much celebrations were had in response.

Mulad smile widened as the memory took him back to when he first visited the place.

Though, even as though he was an admirer of the arts, Mulad did not approach the tavern to view the decals or did he enter it to see the artwork inside; rather it was a smell, one carried on the winds, which brought him in. At first, it was subtle and teasing in nature; with each passing breeze bringing with it the sweet promise of succulent food. As he moved closer to the tavern doors, the aroma became over powering. The sweet smell of cooked chicken seasoned to perfection permeated through the air outside the doors; a smell so good that it pierced through the smell of urine, bad hygiene, and various other nefarious smells before it reached his nose. The sweet smell of the nectar of dragon root, paired nicely with a dash of pepper and salt, grabbed him by the nose and forced him through the door and into the establishment. Once inside, Mulad could hardly hear himself think over the roar of the crowd.

"I love you wench – how about a song in honor of – this food is amazing – you are full of it - I swear I killed a dragon – I once saw the King in – the last time we were here – Mincy this food is – three more drinks – how about a song about – you want to take this – I love this place – where are we-"

Oh, how the crowd was alive that night. Each person was as drunk as the one next to them, with many men wrestling each other over who took home the prettiest wench and much more drinking to the various victories their friends had in battle. Some were boasting of their own victories; some far-fetched while others hitting home the chaos of battle. In-between swigs of their grog each and every patron would dig into the plates of food that seemed taller than the average Good Folk themselves to the hungry eyes before them. The food never stood a chance. Seasoned to perfection, and paired with all sorts of different vegetables, the plates were devoured in minutes as the patrons spared no bean or lavors leaf as they quickly devoured all in front of them. The plates, clean as a whistle, were returned to the bar top where they were cleaned a second time, loaded with food, and dished out to yet another hungry patron.

Mulad quickly became intoxicated in the atmosphere, and after many drinks blacked out amongst many new friends. As Mulad fell deeper into this memory, his smile spread further across his face. He remembers the faces of those new friends, the taste of that sweet food, and how alive the crowd was that night.

As Mulad opened his eyes, with a wide smile that crossed from one corner of his face to the other, the memory of the Crossroads faded away and reality came crashing down around him. The sight of the Six Corners had changed. Gone were the colorful, vibrant people and their market stalls; replaced instead with over a hundred dead bodies which littered the streets. The sight of broken and burned out market stalls replaced the various colorful hues that once adorned this place. The sweet aroma of fresh food had been extinguished, and now the smell of death and ash was all that Mulad could smell. The smile dropped quickly from the face as his eyebrows crunched together while the corners of his lips dipped downward. The place had been destroyed with not a single house left untouched by the vicious assault that had fallen on this place.

His eyes, wide and open, stared at the remains of the tavern; a ruined shadow of what was once great. Mulad stood there for a moment, hands clenched into a fist, as he looked. After a brief moment had passed, his body quickly lurched forward towards the tavern. Quickly making his way up the few steps and he soon found himself near what remained of the door. He paused as he reached the door.

"Who did this to you, Mincy," Mulad asked the silence as his eyes quickly darted into the ruined building as a look of longing fell upon his face.

"I ask that the spirits of the departed to reveal the perpetrator of this crime," Mulad started to spin a spell deep within his body, channeling his magic as he spoke each word. He felt his inner magic slowly flow forth from his core, through his left arm, and finally into his left hand; which he slammed on the ground in front of him. "Let me hear your final words, reveal to me the architects of your demise," Mulad continued as he released his magic into the area, "so I may yet bring them to suffer for their sins." As Mulad finished the spell thin, bright blue, bands of fogs began to rise slowly from the ground next to his hand before they shot out into the area; the bands danced around the bodies of the dead before the silence that was once deafening was drowned out by the wailing and cries of fear of those departed souls that haunted the area.

"Why are you – oh my god – please stop – why is this –someone help me – run for the – I have three children – tell my family - not my daughter – where is my – someone help me – take it, take it – please stop – have mercy – someone help me- where did they- what is happening – why me- cultist are – they're everywhere -"

Mulad poured more of his magic into the spell, releasing an additional two additional seekers while his mind focused on one word in particular; cultist.

"Cultist are- there – watch – cultist are everywhere – from the west -"

"Cultist," Mulad spoke as he summoned the wisps back to him with all four falling into his hand before he clenched his fist and thus breaking the spell. "This attack was recent enough, they came from the west and swept through this town like the plague," Mulad continued as he pulled himself off the knee and turned around, facing his body towards the west, "the west, the west is still very safe, no demons nor have there been reports of cultist activity that way unless," Mulad paused and scanned the area. His eyes drifted from the north to the south while keeping parts of vision towards the west. "Of course," Mulad muttered as he walked himself over to one of the few benches that remained unbroken and sat down with a heavy thud. Those that had heard his call for adventure would soon be arriving at the six corners, expecting to hear the plan to save the world over a hearty feast of the best food they ever had. Mulad raised his right hand and placed it on his forehead, covering his right eye, and shook his head from side to side. He did not know who he could expect to head the call of adventure. Thousands would receive, read, or hear details of the quest through word of mouth, yet there was no way for Mulad to know who would answer his call.

"So much for that," he spoke to the silence once again as he sat on the bench, rubbing his forehead and thinking of what to tell the group when they arrived. The group of adventurers was coming from numerous different directions, and within half an hour they would arrive at the Six Corners, or at least what remained of it. From this now dark place they will begin their quest.

---

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Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Blood runs thick when it ask naught be spilled.

Or so concluded then a young knight, eyes ablaze with life, with fear. Those very same orbs marveling upon the sight before them, their knight brother lay as a sack upon the wooded battlement. That moment froze the man as it would to any green as he, sense took him again, and that squire grown dropped all the same, lest he wish a similar fate. A bolt of grotesque length driven through between the eyes held dear, no armour would stand for it.

Alarums raised, so say they a score insurmountable marching upon that Lavasian fortress-town. Cacophony played out in the ears of every man, woman, child, and beast before those paltry walls. Frantic boot-falls of the mustering brigades, both watchmen, militia, and knights as he. Calls of father to mother and mother to son, begging to quit this place 'fore the Sun sunk beyond the hills. Rhythmic, constant beating of metal upon metal, as belfrys rung of utmost intent. And yet all but one sound fell deaf to the novice's ears.

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Consumed by stupor did so he watch, watch the crimson life of a dear comrade eek as sap through bark. Pooling as slow syrup that snuck at agonizing pace through the cracks and nooks of boards below, trickling to be the first of many stains upon the mail of men in their maneuvers.

Knew not the knight was the length at which his back settled against the palisade, dare he cared not either, save until storied words of Lord Maleagant wandered in memorium, 'Be it not blade nor beast, nor terror nor rashness as the bane of man; Inaction would you find as allied black. To do naught is to be shorn deepest, is to be harrowed to the bone. . .'

Still yet quivering under the coming duress, no spectator who had witness he then would assume Glamhoth blood. Despite the man's countenance, he was no battle-forged barbarian, and indeed it showed. Still, revitalized, legs carried without abandon for held within was the resolve that required the toking of memory. So it was. So it was. Even that night, and the countless nights thereafter amidst the Dark Crusade, paled when held aloft to the certain desolation that lay before the knight-proper now.

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

The elder man-at-arms squeezed firm the final drops of his water-skein into his awaiting mouth. From atop the man's mount those sunken eyes took tally of the sanguine murk just beyond a cobbled-road's horizon. A calm, practiced breath drew in through flared nostrils just above greying bristles, the air following soon outward in a sigh. Just as swift with it, the mighted man swung down from the burden of his beast, whom chortled in response.

Laborious steps took the giant all about the saddled horse, from between lips came a light and gentle whistle. A tune both he and the beast took delight and measure in. Slowly, slowly he unclasped belt and hook, bar and reign, throwing each item aside with nary a care. The sight perhaps, were there the living to behold it, would be in no mere contrast to the black mire that lay but a few steps more. A mask, for the horse's sake, or so would the man convince himself.

At last a horse free, the wild-haired knight stepped live to meet its visage. Whispered had he through that ever gruff, yet compassionate tone.

" Of what may beleaguer us upon the path ahead I cannot say, know however this Artur, 'Tis no place for even the stoutest of horses. Dare not protest as I know you would, turn about my steed, my friend. . . Turn about and live a life grand as only an animal could in this age."

With that, the knight too wheels around, his destination in sight. Yet he cannot help but cast a few more words to the beast behind.

"Think not toward fleeing again to Lavas, the wilds are of greater circumspect now. . . Until again we meet Artur. . . Pray it long and storied from now."

Only the hesitant clop of hooves fading away had comforted that steady advance, until even they were lost to him, hung over and left were only the profane silence of the dead whom choked the streets. The light hung low in the sky now, and even so it appeared unable to pierce the veil of miasma that lingered amidst the shattered bazaar. Ruin to ruin, husk to husk, finished he then the words of his master, ". . . Yield not your spirit to uncertainty, waylay not under duress, for even the deepest of the dark cannot overcome a man steadfast in will."

Carried the knight had the meaning to the very center of the Six Corners, what green and good there lay left gasped for life, strangling under the weight of innocent blood. 'Could spirit, could resolve alone saved these folk. . ? Nay, could it even ere madness' blade in slight?' Gerhard huffed upon his own musings, rather than elect to sop through that bog, he'd instead navigate the sea of mort flesh before him, for he could see it now, the ruinous carcass of a once grand shrine to ale.

Without allowing his oft' wandering mind to stagnate too long upon the potential of a ruse, the well-built man stole within at gentle pace. Without the wherewithal to draw the blade from its sheath, Gerhard delves into the ashen remains, to which the first sight of life comforts those weary bones. A moment there spent in silence, squinted eyes gauging the seated, younger man. However, before the other could speak, the knight made to cast his cape of blue abaft, gesturing an arm below the chest in a bow, as the proper folk are aught to do. And with it, a cascade of his soft-spoken accent.

"Deign we to meet under such gloom, see I that neither feast nor rest are to avail us this day. Nevertheless, before you now, Ser Brandt of the Lavasian order, under charge of knight-commander Maleagant. Assume you just as ignorant as I to this tragedy fresh?"

The grim stoicism of this circumstance certainly does not escape from the elder man's demeanor, yet still, upon that worn down face remains the warmth he ever casts. Knew not he, what fate would befall him that day, nor the days soon after. . .

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Mulad, still sitting on the bench outside the tavern, found himself staring at one body some fifteen feet away from where he sat. The woman herself was an unknown person to him, but she reminded him of someone; someone once very close to him. The dead woman lay in the middle of the street, without a second body near her, with her face looking sideways as the rest of her body faced downward with her chest pressed against the cobblestone street. The woman was wealthy, as the makeup on her face showed; her cheeks a rosy pink color while a vibrant black color found itself coloring in the underside of her eyes. Her hair was long in style with a natural brunette color but it had long since been covered in dirt and blood; a result of the attack no doubt. Her eyes a dark blue color, much like Mulad's own, and they were staring out with a glossy finish over to the bench where Mulad sat.

"I will be seeing you soon, my old friend," Mulad spoke to the dead body. Sure, it wasn't her that lay there in the street but the visage of the woman none the less sparked a memory in Mulad's mind; one which Mulad willingly fell into once again.



"Mulad," his friend spoke as she entered the war tent; resting her long spear with its massive blade on the side of a table near the entrance. Surrounding an oak table that had small clay figures, either a blue or a red color to denote the forces allegiance on top, Mulad and three of his Purifiers sat planning the upcoming battle with a Firen commander. The commander was in full battle gear while Mulad and his Purifiers were still in their common clothes. The war tent was lit well by multiple candles placed strategically to fill the tent as a whole with as much light as possible. It was also spacious, with the massive war table placed in the direct center with enough room on all sides for any and all to move about freely and without hindrance. "I observed the enemy lines as ordered and what I saw suggests that the enemy will use the cover of dark tonight to sally forth and assault."

Mulad turned his head from the war table to face his female companion. "Aster," Mulad spoke as he beckoned his second in command to his side, "your report is well received and it is as we expected," Mulad paused, "we have bolstered our lines here, here, and here," with each 'here' which Mulad spoke did he point to a specific portion of the front-line, "with hidden poles that should be strong enough to withstand the charge of that damned Demonic Hound and give our mages clear shots, while we have also hidden our War Mages here, here, and also here," again pointing out the positions on the map, "to counter any and all Minoutaurs that have aligned themselves with the demons."

"Do we have enough soldiers to hold the line?" Aster asked as she placed her hands on the table, transferring most her weight in the process. "This defense needs to hold if a larger conflict is to be prevented."

"What we lack in numbers we make up for it with skill, miss," the commander of the Firen Shock Troopers said as he himself moved over to the war table, pointing to the center of the blue clay figures. "My best troops will make up the center lines, and we will hold them back; our flanks are bolstered by a few units of our newer soldiers and the militia you guys somehow convinced to fight; we will take a weak-center and encourage the beasts to charge us head on, and we will win," the commander finished as a smile crossed his face.

"What do you think, Aster?" Mulad asked with a smile.

Aster turned her attention towards Mulad and pulled herself from the table, crossing her arms as she did. She paused for a second, but she began to speak once again. "Deign we to meet under such gloom," Aster responded but the voice was not her own; gone was the sweet and gentle rhythm of her speech and instead replaced by the coarse voice of an elder and with enough bass that suggested a man was now speaking to him. As Mulad realized someone, in reality, was with him, the illusion of the memory fractured and Mulad found himself being pulled out of the memory and firmly back in the ruined Six Corners. In front of him stood a mountain, and the mountain talked.



Mulad quickly stood up, and gave the dead woman one last look before he turned his full attention towards the towering Sir Brandt; who had a head and a half on Mulads height or so it seemed. Mulad did not expect to see such a man respond to his call. Mulad eyes quickly scanned his face before sizing up his build. "Much too strong to be Lavas by birth, and much too big as well," he quickly thought, "maybe a tribesman, most likely Glamhoth," he finished the thought with a smile. The man before him, although old, had much strength left in him.

"Sir Brandt, you are a most welcome sight amongst this chaos," Mulad said as he stood up and gave the Knight a slight bow, "while I wish I was the ignorant fool who just stumbled upon the mess we find ourselves surrounded by, I cannot claim ignorance as to what happened here," he paused as he looked around the area, eyes resting on the dead woman with another 'last glance', "the dead can still talk for those who know how to listen, and they told me everything we need to know," Mulad paused as he turned his attention back up to the Knight, "Let us make our way inside the tavern, I think-"

"Human, I have arrived," snarled a monster from down the road.

Mulad shot his head over, preparing a spell as he did. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened, with his body weight shifting backwards as he took in the sight of the creature which stood even taller than Sir Brant and with a visage so fierce it forced Mulad to question how the patrolling soldiers had not mistaken it for a hell beast. "Tall, collects trophies of its kills, smart enough to craft and use weapons and armor," Mulad thought, "of course!" After a brief second had passed, Mulad let the magic within him return to his core and allowed a slight smile to cross his face. "Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine a Gnoll answering my call, but here you stand." While the statement was delivered with the articulation and annunciation of a well-versed scholar, inside his mind his thoughts were more like a teenage woman's after meeting the man of her dreams; yes, yes and yes drowned out everything else as the smile slowly crept further and further across his face. "Monsters shall come for us in our journey, Gnoll, but they shall learn to regret the day they did when they meet your blade" he finished as he turned his attention back to the Knight, and in turn back to the Gnoll, "Let us make our way inside the tavern, all of us, I think-"

Click – Clack – Clop - Click – Clack – Click – Clack

Mulad turned his head around completely, pulling his body along with it, to face the complete other side as the sound of a single horse slowly moving its way towards the center of the town began to fill the air.

Click – Clack – Click – Clack – Click – Clack -

Mulad struggled to get a clean look at the rider as he swayed from side to side. Mulad channeled his inner magic once again before he turned and faced the rider. "I am Mulad," he shouted down the road towards the individual, "Grand Wizard of the Court and the one who had sent out the call for heroes to join me," Mulad again paused as he watched the man slowly move down the street towards them, "we were just about to enter the Tavern as we await any individuals who are yet to arrive. Let us all make our way inside the tavern, I think our upcoming discussions could use a drink or two to stomach." Mulad's eyes scanned over the man, and he let his magic yet again return to his core. The man was neither demon nor cultist, the eyes told him as much, and most likely he was responding to the call. Mulad motioned, giving Sir Brandt a long look as he did, for the small assembly to follow him inside with Sir Brandt and the Gnoll following him first and soon followed there after by the cloaked rider. Mulad knew the man wasn't a cultist, he did not reak of demonic influences, but a particular smell had caught his attention and it had given him cause for concern; grave dirt.

Inside the Tavern, the scene before Mulad was reminiscent of the war-torn streets outside. Smashed tables, broken chairs, shards of glass covering the ground at every possible location and a few bodies to boot that took away from the polished and, albeit charred, beautiful interior of the bar. There were signs a fire had started in the tavern; black soot marks danced up many of the sides of the inside, yet it seemed something, or someone had put them out. His eyes started on the back left most corner from the door, where he noticed three dead bodies, two of which were hanging from the wall with the wooden shafts of a spear protruding from their chests. As his eyes moved more towards the far middle corner of the room, he noticed a strange sight. On the wall by the corner there was a large pool of blood that started from a hole in the wall that was chest level with Mulad without a body to provide it; with lines of blood being forced along in a line towards the door.

"Seems the drunks fought back in here," Mulad spoke as he pointed out the area on the wall, "someone over there managed to drive a spear through one of the attackers," he paused as his head quickly scanned the room once again, counting all the bodies he could see in the process, "let's not be too picky, grab a seat wherever you please and I'll see about getting us some drinks," Mulad spoke as he diverted his attention away from the group and over behind the bar, "we may not be alone here after all."

Creeeeeeeeak

Mulad quickly turned his body once again and faced it towards the door, where a tall creature stood in the doorway with an ominous wooden mask adorning his face. Mulad, understanding the random appearances of those who responded to his call now did not channel his inner magic; instead, he faced the stranger with a smile on his face.

“So, there is someone here. Is one of you a Grand Wizard by the name of Mulad, perchance?”

Mulad relaxed as the man took off his wooden mask, revealing the sun kissed face of a well-travelled and aging elf. "One of us is, assuredly," Mulad said as he gave the elf a slight bow, "you arrived at a good time, we were about to discuss the quest," Mulad paused as he moved behind the bar counter, "this is Sir Brandt of the Lavasian order before you," he spoke as he motioned towards the giant of a man, "I know not the names of our Gnoll friend and the other human over there, but I'm sure they'd tell you if you'd only ask." Mulad finished as he returned his attention to the bar and began to look for any poison he could drink to ease the burden. After a few seconds of rummaging, Mulad rose up and placed three bottles up on top of the bar and grabbed a few clean looking glasses, at least they weren't broken and placed them next to the bottles. "We have brandy," Mulad spoke as he placed his hand on one of the bottles, "brandy," he said as he placed his hand on a second bottle, "and to mix it up we also have Brandy," Mulad finished as he pointed towards the final bottle. His eyes looked underneath one of the bottles, and much to his dismay he had placed one in a pool of blood. Quickly grabbing a rag, Mulad quickly started to wipe up the blood.

"So. You got any pie back there?" Asked a new face that had slid through the door unnoticed by Mulad and had crept up to the bar top.

"I do not," Mulad responded after a quick glance, smirking as he did, "and it breaks my heart to tell you that pie will be in short supply as we adventure further North." As Mulad finished, a knock was heard coming from the doorframe. In the doorway stood one of his purifiers, unmasked, with his guide in tow.

"Our party is mostly complete now, I suspect we have a few more to join us lurking in the shadows outside, let them know it is safe to make their way to us here," Mulad spoke in a raised voice, "you are free to put your armor on again as well," he finished as he motioned for his Purifier to leave with a wave of his right hand. The Purifier tapped his chest twice with a closed fist, before turning around and leaving the establishment. "Mardion, I assume, come on inside we don't bite," Mulad started as he began to pour some of the brandy into a cup; leaving it on the table for whoever wanted the first drink. "Your father had been a most useful scout for me in years past; if he could not make it I pray he is in good health and is as good a teacher as he was a scout," Mulad said as he finished pouring another drink.

His Purifier, upon exiting the tavern, reached into the front right pocket of his jacket and pulled out a trinket. The trinket was something remarkable to look at; it had a golden color to it and was round in nature, engravings bordering the edge in a mysterious language and it had a solid blue gem in the center. With force, the Purifier slammed the trinket into his chest. Immediately, the blue gem began to project a soft blue light. In a second the trinket began to expand across his body; first covering his chest in a solid, golden plate armor before it spread downward with his legs getting similar plate armor and finally it spread upward, covering the head of the Purifier with a winged helmet.

Now in armor, The Purifier quickly went to work. He looked around for one second before he started off down one of the roads, locating Kestrel on top of her horse within a minute. "You're late, Mulad is in the ruined Tavern," the Purifier said in a condescending tone as he moved away from the girl, shaking his head, and returned back to the crossroads. He then turned down the second street and began to down it for two minutes before running into Andin and Gala. "You're both late, Mulad is in the ruined Tavern," he again spat out in a condescending tone, shaking his head as he did once again. He then turned around and left the pair behind him as he again made his way back to the crossroads. He paused for a brief second before he again turned down a separate road and began to walk. After three minutes, he managed to approach Nimue and stopped a few steps ahead of her. "My dear, it appears you are running late to the meeting," The Purifer said in a soft, comforting voice, "Mulad awaits your arrival in the tavern; do hurry now!" As he finished, he gave the woman a slight bow before he moved passed her and down the road and began his journey westward.

A few minutes passed as Mulad poured out eleven shots of Brandy into the various glasses and waited. Soon enough, the rest of the group soon entered the tavern and found their way in and sat down across the room.

"As some of you are aware, my name is Mulad and as darkness fell all across our land did I put out a call for heroes," Mulad started as he leaned his body against the bar, "the hour draws late on all the mortal races and we are faced with a choice;" Mulad paused as he gave everyone who had arrived a long look, "we either make it to the Canyon of the Gods and retrieve the Staff of the Gods itself," he paused as he adopted a grim look on his face, "or we let everything we hold dear fall into ruin. All around us are the signs of the times; this one bazaar, far from conflict, serves as a reminder of what will happen to every city, every town, and every person if I do not make it to that staff," he paused as he let his voice echo off the far wall, "My time in the Court has granted me a unique perspective, one fueled by a combination of magical ability and by mental intellect. I have discovered how to activate the power of the staff, once used to quell the First Imperium of Man, and with it;" he paused to let the gravity of his words fall on the now assembled group, "and with it we stand a chance of ending this blight on our world, lock away the dragon once again, and banish the Mad King himself to the realm he so loves." He moved from behind the and quickly made his way to the front of the bar; stepping over one of the many dead bodies as he did. He leaned his back against the bar, crossed his arms, and looked out once again.

"Each of you is a key cog in the machine of war that I am building," he looked over to Sir Brandt, "You are its conviction," he then his head towards the Gnoll, "you are its ferocity," turning his head once more towards the robed figure in the background, "you are its focus," he paused as he looked at those remaining, "and the rest of you are key cogs in the scholar and the mage that is I," he paused and turned his head now to the priestess, "I have my faith," he paused as he looked towards Mardion, "I have my guide," pausing again as he looked over the remaining few, "and I have my hope, bolstered by strong individuals like yourselves." Mulad uncrossed his arms as he looked around the room once more, "I ask you to follow me, through lands filled with monstrous creatures to the very Canyon where-"

Mulad quickly paused his speech, which had started to drag on in all honesty, as his eyes shot to the back of the room. The dead bodies pinned to the wall had started to twitch, and Mulad began to feel the presence of Dark Magic filtering into the tavern and all around the Six Corners as a whole.

"Bold move," Mulad muttered in a low voice as a frown spread across his face and he began to make his way towards the bodies, "my friends, it seems we find ourselves under a cultist assault," Mulad spoke as he walked in front of the body, now moving more fluidly although their arms and heads jolted about in a janky fashion, "for the undead go for the head, either separate it from their body or destroy it by whatever means you can," he again paused as he began to draw his magic up to his hands and extended his right hand, clenched into a fist, towards the face of the creature. Electricity began to arch off his hand and started to scorch the face of the undead creature, which began to writhe around as it opened its mouth and began to moan as all undead creatures did, "for the cultist, attack in groups and overwhelm them but beware of their magic," Mulad added as the undead creature quickly turned its head towards the Priestess Nimue and began clawing at the air in her direction; Mulad quickly opened his fist, blasting the face of the undead creature with a bright white blast that obliterated the head of the monster, while the creature itself stopped it's moving and fell dead once again. Mulad pulled his magic from his hand, causing the bright white light to fade, and turned his attention towards the group.

"Get ready for a fight."

All around the Tavern, the dead bodies began to twitch and move around. Hundreds of dead bodies began to pull themselves off the ground, slowly as they did, as a group of five cultist, four mages and one summoner, began to walk into the six corners from the North. The battle was upon the group, if they took things slowly and carefully they would survive unscathed; on the flip side over aggressive attacks could prove costly. Time would tell how the group responds.

Turned neither eye nor nose to the wizard addled in memorium, Gerhard merely gazed with that certain aged understanding of his so dear. Deep-set somewhere firm within those fleeting orbs of the younger of two men something laid-bare in brief. For specifics, the knight could not well say, even so, Mulad no doubt held his own share of remembrances stolen away, just as any in this age. And that thought, perhaps as macabre as it could be, comforted Ser Brandt. A wizard so grand may he be, yet a man just so.

With such a thought, the Glamhoth could do no less than return the kindly smile, a strange thing to be had upon dirt-laden paths from which to mistake as deep-shaded clay would be a fault of any onlooker.

A brow most bushy first raised at the magus' discussion of corpse-words, yet before a retort leapt from the tongue an assault feigning foul drove upon either's ear, words snarled 'twixt ivories most sharp. Much as Mulad, the knight wheeled in swift, cape a-flutter to meet the offending speech. A fist near plunged direct for the hilt at the man's hip, and just so! Stayed however was it by temperament practiced and sure.

'Such a beast. . .'

Mouthed he, deflating from readied caution as the wizard made his thoughts obvious to any. Never before 'midst the ser knight's life had a creature such as 'Irrak', as they would come to know, appeared. Relived so Gerhard was of course, to see aggression naught through the monstrous Gnoll, to best a beast as so even with an empowered mage at the side? Doubt cast at the very least.

And so even as a fourth joined in tandem, the small party strode forth through the swamp dire, for the splintered taphouse from which mortals the world over would soon converge. No more gruesome than the blooded bazaar, each man merely took it in stride, yet still the knight could not help but to sigh, even the sacred places such as these were not untouched. Of course it were not so, such wishful thinking in the days following crusades black were as seeds un-watered.

"Nary the place for a drink proper. . ."

Gerhard spoke, half in response to the fervent caster, half to respect those fallen among the rubble. Despite reservations in spades, the man forged inward alongside future companions, electing to stand just 'fore what remained of the bar. Seemed it all but right to sit and even think to make merry within a site desecrated so.

Another form made its appearance along with the eking of the threshold, more mundane, that of elven sort to join the four now, and most welcome indeed, respect of course was shown as Ser Brandt ever had, repeating the bow as before by introduction fair.

Then another of the same make, and another still, little more than a boy, little more to tug at the gentle knight's heartstrings. With time passed, three souls more found themselves within the ruined halls, without fail so, each and every one would find their greetings in Gerhard.

Thus were they so, eleven in all 'neath hollow skies.

---

A knight most of merit,
Elf of life disparate,
A hunter most perplexed,
Little man of life vexed,
A young smith of skills inherit,
Beast of strength declare it,
A merc of sweets apexed,
Girl amidst sacred text,
A dwelf fringed and errant,
Young boy a scout ere it,
An angel appearing next,
Under mage the very best.

---

Twelve 'heroes' of tragedy, know not they the fates that twined and twisted, know not they what lied beyond their mortal perception, know not they the harrows of the future, lest this journey would never have begun. . . So listened they then, the ten, to the twelfth's words, learning of which the part they had all to play in scheme.

Alas, just as it was, rest most certainly did avail they them all.

Those more readied of the party swirled by intensity, burst in action, the graveyard from which each foot lie stirred and quaked of unearthly sighs. Dead men walk not of their own volition, those unaware learned so this day. Ser Brandt of all, veteran among the Dark Crusades had seen sights as these all too often, never an end to it all, so seemed.

"These walls a death-trap as good as any, we make for beyond them, open ground wouldst deliver us all of surprise!"

Gerhard's voice boomed as he weaved beyond the middling heighted half-dwarf as a gust, the large knight stroke forth through the portal into a realm which appeared wholly different than the morbid peace of the mass grave he first had come upon.

Stood there didst he, just 'fore the wooded threshold of their fortress, naught but hellscape therein lie greet. Festering carcass, sundered man and child, the still embering mort of women. All and more rose to their straps and feet and corroded boots to shamble for livened flesh. Yet the site more dreadful, the very skies a-blood, seemed they to weep and peel to crimson shade, every shadow deepened, every dark most umbral encroaching closer and closer still.

Perhaps at once the sudden comeuppance was all too much for even the most stalwart, the Lavasian knight's weary lids shut a moment fore, relative, the darkness that blankets the future on is even more so bleak. Crushing the dread, Ser Brandt unsheathes his blade of length from its side, taking the hilt in hands both, with a mighty stamp and cry he drives unease ever further.

" 'Tis naught a bed of flowers pure under morn's peace of first light, thus we cannot fall here or ever until then! Those of arms with me in form I ask! Stray not far, to be surrounded is to be as they."

Hoping his gruff voice breaks to each companion, the man drives a few steps forward, only a score in eight from the desecrated alehouse, with mercurial thrust, his steel enters and vacates a single gnawing skull in but a fluid motion, before peddling back toward the formation in his head.

Tired though he may be, to find the elder man ready to quit at the very beginning of darkness' fall, would be as to cleave the mightiest mountain. . .