Ester stared at the lavish feast before her eyes. It was all wasted on her considering she had no need to eat food, though it'd be a welcome sight to the other knights. Ester scrunched up her nose and looked at the letter that had been sent to her by crow. "Knights... How pretentious." She pocketed the letter and took a look around the inside of the dining room. The castle was certainly fancy, but she wasn't very impressed, she'd seen all manner of architecture during her life and was painfully jaded.

She took a chair from the table and sat it against a wall. There was nothing to do but wait for the moment, which left her time to think about why she decided to come here in the first place. Lancelot, whoever he was she had quite a few things to say to him. She'd seen some destructive conquerors before, but this man seemed intent on besting every one of them. The country, no the world was in chaos thanks to him, and here he had the nerve to invite her to join his cause. Citizens being slaughtered by beasts and entire villages being razed was quite... inconvenient. Her research suffered as a result, equipment and funds grew further and further from her grasp.

She didn't want revenge, and she had no intention of taking his place, but what she did want was order in the world. She might as well do what she could to steer this growing monarchy towards an efficient path.

Camilla

---

A young girl walked through the path in the forest, eyes wide with fright, looking as if she was to collapse after each trembling step she took.

But the blonde haired girl marched on regardless, reaching the manor, and crossing over the drawbridge, all the while visibly stifling the urge to break down and cry. The room she entered looked magnificent to her, with a feast beyond her imagination laid out upon the table. But so too was the people inside the room; there was a suit of armor that gave her a strange feeling, one pale woman with a sort of ethereal beauty to her, and another, beautiful in another way, wearing a fine robe of silver. Every inch of her body, every bit of her heart, every fiber of her being screamed of danger, screamed that she did not belong here, but still she moved, walking directly towards one of the chairs.

Just before she reached the chair, a pale hand emerged from her chest, splitting open her flesh and dress, though no blood came out. With a horrified look upon her face, she crumpled to the ground in a limp mess, as Camilla stepped out and smoothed down her clothes.

"That was an interesting ride." She grinned widely before gathering up the puddle of a village girl into a ball. A head balanced on a ball of flesh to be more accurate. "To stumble upon such a specimen in the woods. Such luck."

Plopping the horrified girl's head onto the table, Camilla sidled up towards the pale woman. "Good evening."

It was not a move made on a whim, but a move made through an interest in the pale woman. Instinct told her the pale woman wasn't normal. To be as pale as death, there was the possibility that she a vampire. Or she could just be a really pale woman. But Camilla preferred to believe she was a vampire. Who knows what she could do if she could actually decode a vampire's flesh? Perhaps her research would advance by leaps and bounds, perhaps it won't. Perhaps Camilla could even turn into a vampire herself, or even negate their weakness altogether. Whatever happens, the vampire was unknown, and that excites her. All she needed was a small glob of flesh to examine, though examining the vampire herself would be most appreciated as well.

Or she'd end up examining a normal woman, but examining a variety of flesh from different people was alright too.

Mustering all her diplomatic skills, Camilla spoke clearly.

"Please let me stick my hand in you."

Perhaps not the right words Camilla was looking for.

"Hmm. Examine. Yes. Please let me examine you."

Ester watched wide eyed as the seemingly normal girl that just walked in opened up like a split sack. A different girl walked out of the now lifeless pile, Ester tilted her head. From the girls words she had come across the body in the woods? But that point was not of particular interest to her. That body had been split open with not a drop of blood spilled, and now she was molding it as if it were clay. Was it an elaborate trick intended to put the others on edge? Or perhaps it was a form of magic that she had never seen before.

Ester pondered numerous magics and techniques, but nothing she knew could explain it. While lost in thought, she almost missed the girl's request. Ester looked the girl up and down. It looked like she'd met her first insane compatriot.

"Curious, are we?" Ester stood from her seat, their height difference becoming clear. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh. She made little effort to hide the fact that she was a vampire these days, people tended to have bigger things to worry about. She did not expect that fact to so soon be made a point of interest. "I would appreciate it if you would enlighten me as to who you are. You may call me Ester." She said, scanning the girl one more. "And I would be willing to allow you to examine me, only should you explain to me the nature of your... Magic, is it?"

"I'm Camilla," she replied brightly. "Proficient in both machinaries and mechanics of the body. I can manipulate bodies at will, living or dead."

Eager to examine Ester quickly, Camilla answered simply, holding out a hand, as if for a handshake. A simple gesture, but one that would confirm Ester's consent to examination, if she accepted it.

"Can I begin the examination now?"

Ester shook Camilla's hand, only realizing once she had that it was the first time in many years that she'd shook someone's hand. She'd always wondered if this practice would fade away over the years, it never did. "Now?" She asked, letting Camilla's hand go. She looked at the grotesque flesh on the table. "I am not sure this is the right place for examinations, but..." Her eyes slouched down. She just couldn't bother to care that the dinning mood was quickly being ruined. "Our host has yet to arrive anyhow, proceed as you wish." She wouldn't admit it, but her own morbid curiosity was also a factor here. The chance to experience the unknown was something she always rushed towards.

Camilla's grin widened.

A rare opportunity. One that common folks could not possibly understand the significance of. Vampires were strong and proud creatures, at least to her understanding. They also weren't exactly easy to find. To find one, that wasn't hostile, or unwilling was akin to all the stars aligning in a straight line for her. An event that warranted a blue moon.

Putting a hand gently on Ester's hip, Camilla put her other hand up her shirt, feeling the coolness of her taut belly, before pushing into her stomach. With stunning ease her hand simply pushed through into Ester's stomach, though it did not tear open her flesh, nor was it painful. It simply sank into her flesh as if her stomach had the consistensy of pudding. There was that feeling that Camilla so liked, that odd feeling of excitement as she analyzed what she could from being connected to her flesh. Pushing in deeper, she touched the nerve, that ropey bundle back in the spine, connecting them together brieftly. Even in that brief moment, Ester should be able to feel Camilla's rising heat, her excitement, and that flash of desire.

For sure this wasn't quite the place for her to examine anyone fully, but even this short look at her body was enough. For now. Camilla would have to lure Ester into a properly set up workshop for her to examine her fully.

Suppressing her desire to go further, Camilla sighed, and pulled her hand out, leaving no mark where her hand entered Ester's body.

"I have a gist of how you are made of. It will help should you be injured." Her grin had a mischievious quality to it. "Of course, I could not examine you fully without all the tools and privacy of my workshop, so perhaps I can bother you for another examination when we are unburdened by duty."

Ester had watched as Camilla performed her examination, and was only left with more questions than answers. It was hard to describe the feeling of having one's flesh act as if it were the same consistency of a gelatinous dessert. It was as if Camilla were tampering with the very makeup of the human body, as if she knew something that had opened up a door no one knew existed.

"I believe I should be able to heal myself should the need arise, but I will keep that in mind. As for a future examination, I would be happy to oblige should you let me know your methods." She didn't want to be quick to accept another probing unless she got something in return, the look on the girl's face and the warming of her body did not go unnoticed. Carnal pleasures were not something she wished to engage in, especially under such macabre circumstances.

---

From afar it could be seen, like an encroaching sea of fire. The torches of five hundred men and women marched towards the lake which at one time was the famed city of Camelot. Leading the approach were two horse mounted riders; one a mountain of a man clad in foreign armor, the other a woman adorned in a tone as black as night with a thick veil covering all but her lips. As they reached the beginning of the bridge the outlanders halted their advance, awaiting a new order.

"Have our people make camp near the bridge, hopefully our new allies appreciate our watch over the bridge", the woman spoke with an air of eerie calmness before dismounting her horse. As she examined the bridge and the castle ahead she could see the souls of all who once called this flooded crater home. Through her eyes she'd see an ethereal overlay of the city of Camelot, the citizens whose lives were cut short by this new king.

Bartuc nodded his understanding, offering a simple solute before turning his horse around to address the cultist soldiers brought along as escort. Evelyns safety was his number one priority so if securing the bridge from suspicious activity was her command then so be it.

"You lot. Spread out, I want a dozen soldiers on either side with spears at the ready. If must needs, construct a temporary roadblock. The rest of the soldiers will stay with arrows at the ready. Unless they are one of the known knights you will show them away."

Orders given, Bartuc turned to Sunderland and made his way to her side again before she could go to the meeting alone and unguarded. Even here amidst supposed allies he had not an ounce of trust to give, all of those gathered here being murderers and usurpurs. Blood boiled in his veins at the anticipation of slaughtering the lot of them.

All he needed was a nod from the Master.

"My Qu-" Catching himself before uttering of the ladies past. "Prophet. Please allow me the right to be at your side through the meeting. We cannot risk harm to you."

It was less of a request and more of a statement than anything. The fanaticism of her second in command was staggering even in the face of the religious cultists that had gathered to the mistresses banner. Every moment was dedicated to her commands, but if it meant her protection above everything else Bartuc was known to disobey.

"You're quite welcome to, but I do not think this king would invite us here simply to kill me. Should that be the case, our army is close by and we have contingencies in place", Evelyn peered over the side of the bridge, just below the water's surface were the faces of the long dead staring back at her. Her lips displayed feelings of disappointment, it was such a waste. "Besides, he assured me that we would be safe. For now at least", she said as she turned back to her loyal second before beginning the walk across the bridge.

Beyond the portcullis lay a rather barren courtyard, memories of a childhood spent training in a yard more lively than this were quickly erased from thought before the two entered the castle. Making their way into the dining hall, Evelyn took a moment to view those who had already arrived. To her surprise, two of the already present "knights" had already begun getting further acquainted. "Curious", the veiled mother thought as she made her way to an open seat. Making sure they were at a decent distance from the others, purely to ease Bartuc's mind, Evelyn began carefully pick from the assorted foods placed across the table before her. "Would you care to join me, Bartuc?", she asked right before trying a strange fruit she'd never seen before. "Oh you must try this, I've never tasted something quite like this on the islands"

Bartuc shook his head politely. Removing his helmet would open up his face to a more precise attack and eating now would lower his guard. From the way his hand grasped the hilt of Furore on his hip his intentions were crystal clear.

"No thank you, your holiness. I will take rest and food when you are safely returned to our encampment. For now, please make yourself comfortable and enjoy.

With a slight smirk to signal her understanding, Evelyn turned her attention towards the other members of the hall. The first two that she had laid eyes upon had concluded their...examination? Another clad in armor seemed to stare with an unliving stillness to him, perhaps one unlikely to carry conversation. Lastly she noticed a woman, silver of hair and dressed in a manner that would make many harbor lustful thoughts. It would be rude to c9nverse solely with her companion so the ashen beauty would have to suffice. "Have you ever been to Tyrvald? The local legends tell of silver haired women who are capable of blessing fields with a bountiful harvest. If you dabble in the arcane you'd have the people eating out of your hand"

---

Crouched in the thick woodland surrounding the lake, the Wildhorn watched and waited. It was difficult for a hulking monster like Nraz'gagr to hide anywhere, but in the woods it was almost as if he was a natural part of the forest. His dark brown fur was matted with mud and the long braids of his beard were stained red with the blood of his last meal. But today he cared little for his appearance or impressions. The only thing he cared about was what lied across the bridge over the pale water, what lied within Moonlake Keep.

The letter had been vague, ominous, questionable. It was written by human hand, on human paper, so small were the words that he needed a lesser beast to read it aloud to him. It was not the content that interested him, obscure talk of an order of Knights. But the name Lancelot thrown into the mess of words changed everything. It didn't matter how powerful you were; Lancelot was more so. The former Knight of the Round Table had destroyed Camelot almost singlehandedly, and now this towering keep had sprung up from its ruin. How Lancelot had found him, and why he had summoned him, had brought the Wildhorn to the table more than the actual summons.

The Hordefather had dragged his men across the land, a journey spanning a week and a half, marching across lands both rich and ruined, plundering and raiding as they went. They had been here for a day already. Nraz'gagr had sent bands of his kin to set up camps in the woodland around the lake, encircling it, concealed in the forest and reporting anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Nraz'gagr had personally camped a few hundred metres from the bridge, in a densely surrounded clearing, with a few dozen of his fiercest warriors, using the gifts of his lord Ghadur to hide his men from sight. They had watched since arrival, but it was only in the last few hours that anyone had begun arriving.

The first was a woman. In fact, most of the new arrivals were. It was difficult to see from this distance, but her hair was black and her clothes red. To Nraz'gagr all humans were small, but this one was not noticeably tiny or large. The second was exceptionally short, silver of hair, an odd colour for humans, Nraz'gagr thought. At least until he saw the next one, also bearing long, silvery hair. Three women in a row lead the Wildhorn to question. In his experience, from the ones he'd slaughtered, the men fought, and the women ran. But clearly these were no ordinary women. If Lancelot had sought them out, clearly they had skills and powers he desired. Heavy armour plating covered the fourth, apparently male from the shape of him, but from this distance it could easily have been either. And two more, travelling together, a small woman and a tall armoured man, apparently some kind of bodyguard. They had left a small band of men by the bridge, a move the Wildhorn respected.

He had seen enough. Six humans had entered the Keep already, and the Wildhorn grew impatient. He stood, branches snapping as his enormous frame pushed up through them. He grunted, a signal to his men to assemble, before uttering in the beast tongue for them to remain here and protect the encampment. He wandered out from the brush, his hooved feet thudding against the ground as he walked. Emerging from the trees towards the start of the bridge, he had his concerns about whether the bridge would support his considerable weight. The men at the bridge did not stand in his way; their faces a gallery of emotions ranging from horror to extreme discomfort to utter bewilderment. The bridge was long, lit by hundreds of tiny flickering torches. He shifted his shoulders to feel the weight of his axe on his back, reassurance that he was armed and ready should this be a trap after all.

He could see the hall at the end. A long stretching table, laden with food and dimly lit. Readying himself for the worst, the Wildhorn ducked slightly under the arched doorway, making sure that his long, spiked horns would not catch on the stone and make him look clumsy or oafish, and into a spacious hall. The six humans he had already seen were present. Some sitting and some standing, apparently wrapped up in trivial conversation. His tiny beast eyes scanned the room, observing the patterned windows, the carved table, the strange people. The armoured figure from earlier was indeed a man now that he could see up close, and all of them looked even smaller when he stood at around double their size. He bared his teeth, showing the maw of sharp, needle like teeth as a maybe not-so-subtle warning, before trudging around the table. His hooves made a noise like thunder when he brought them down on the floor. The Hordefather examined the table, looking for anything to eat. It was all human-sized, less than bite sized snacks to a creature of his size, but that didn't stop him from helping himself. He grunted, uncaring if the others were watching him, before tucking into the feast, wondering when Lancelot would show himself.

“Here we are.”

Valen stopped short on a nearby hillock, eyes tracing the wooden bridge that led across the lake. The cool night air was easy on his skin, but he still couldn’t shake the buzzing of magic in the air. It felt like the calm before the storm. Absentmindedly, he reached up to adjust the collar of his doublet, inhaling sharply. The fabric felt too heavy and coarse on him; the young lord was unused to the ceremonial outfits of the royal knights of his house. Along with the red and black doublets and matching tassets, the outfit also featured outlines of gold and decorative silver plates around his chest, forearms and belt bucklers. There were simply too many layers, and it felt stuffy. Even the cool night air could not help.

And the soldiers stationed around the bridge most certainly did not.

Frustrated, he let out another sigh, before turning to his companion.

“Well? Shall we?”

”We shall, Lord Valen,” a teasing voice chimed in, the bright and easy sound of it jarring in such a gloomy place. Star slid carefully off his horse, the winding path having become impassable for a carriage several bells ago. The insides of his thighs screamed pain up and down his body with the movement, but he ignored the lingering effects of the brand. He couldn’t falter now.

Couldn’t falter, perhaps, but certainly could stand still for far too long waiting for the rush of burning agony to pass. He shouldn’t have dismounted so quickly.

“You…shouldn’t call me that.” -A frown creased Valen’s brows as he adjusted the sword strapped to his belt, the gesture obviously neurotic. He kept his voice low -”You’re Lord Valen now. I am your knight.”

”Mm, but we’re not with company right now,” the smaller figure of Star Misch had finally recovered from the burst of pain and the mirthful lilt was back in his voice, even if marginally strained. Lord Valen’s personal concubine was dressed to impress in the rich textures and soft fabrics of the nobility, the thick tunic and trousers designed for travel, but retaining the etchings of careful silver and gold that set it apart from the attire of a regular traveler. Any sharp eye would notice the impeccable embroidery across the cloth—florals and lines juxtaposing for a carefully rendered aesthetic only those with overflowing coffers could afford.

Aching from both the residual pain across his thighs and the fatigue of travel, Star stretched slowly, arching his back and raising his interlocked fingers to the dreary sky, palms up.

”Maybe we shouldn’t set such a formal precedent. Let me be an eccentric lord, what do you say?”

Valen just let out a long suffering sigh, turning his gaze toward the looming castle and the armed men stationed at the bridge.

“It’s…Lancelot did mention in his letter that I am to be his diplomat. Be eccentric all you want, Star, but we need to appear at least competent and dependable.”

”Of course, but…I hate these stiff meetings, you know that. Carry me inside?”

“That does not contribute to a respectable image.”

”Neither does falling over. My legs hurt. I’d rather be pampered and made to look less than humiliate myself in front of those hyenas.”

Valen’s frown only deepened. But he obliged.

“Remember Star, you are a lord now. Act like I told you.” -He talked as he walked forward, eyeing the guards in the distance cautiously.

”I know, I know, but it’s not insane for a lord to demand his servant carry him in case his legs hurt. I think. It makes sense to me.”

“True. But…I have to deal with the welcome party first.”

With that said, Valen placed Star back down, then stepped forward and retrieved the letter from his pocket.

“Lord Valen Astor of Aldebaran stands before you.” -He emulated the booming bellow of the knights from his court, holding the letter up and placing a hand on the pommel of his sword. -”Make way.”

As requested, the men indeed stepped aside, though they kept their weapons unsheathed. Which spoke a lot about Lancelot’s hospitality.

Valen hoped it would not be a trend.

“After you, my lord.” -He inclined his head at Star, waiting for him to take the lead.

”The ride here was long and tiring. My legs ache. Sky, carry me.” Star had shifted his weight and corrected his usual lazy posture, looking every inch the petulant, spoiled lord as he emulated a whining tone. The act wasn’t too far off his norm, though, especially where Valen was concerned.

“As you wish, my lord.” -Valen had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Then again, it was his idea. Lancelot’s motives were…questionable, to say the least. He would prefer to see the man show his hand first, before Valen showed his.

Keeping up the act of the loyal servant, he lifted Star into his arms and began his slow trek into the castle.

The main room was not hard to find, and the doors were already wide open, revealing a feast in session. Valen placed Star down near one of the empty chairs, then pulling it out to help him sit. Just like how a servant in his court would.

But not a knight. Valen noticed that little detail a bit too late.

His worry was unfounded, as all of the faces in the room were not familiar to him. None of them was a local lord in his land. And so that would make this farce much easier to keep up. But many of them were not…human, though, and that might complicate things.

Still deep in thoughts, Valen took to stand behind Star’s seat, keeping his face blank as he subtly observed the assembled knights.

Star took his offered seat without question, sighing dramatically as he leaned back into the chair. The urge to curl up on Valen’s lap was strong and he had to suppress his usual habit of pestering his lord for his particular style of affection. Instead he stared blankly out the nearest window, doing his best to ignore the wide array of beings already present in the room. Nearby a beast wolfed down food while others conversed quietly and it took Star every ounce of self-control he had not to complain to Valen that he disliked the drab, underkempt castle filled with all manner of the supernatural that he had so persistently managed to avoid for much of his life. It was enough trouble just being a changeling, and then living with what Valen had become—and accepting the situation for what it was.

The two of them had barely found stable footing in the tempestuous relationship they had and instead of working slowly at it, they were here, in some godforsaken palace where the word “decor” was apparently an alien species and the invited seemed less concerned with stable, diplomatic relations and more interested in open warfare. A haziness around the suit of armor in the corner quirked at the edge of Star’s vision and he focused sharply on the window, his usual method when a particularly irritating fae would pester him. It was best to ignore them until they openly attacked, given the wide variety of fae abilites, though avoiding that sort of encounter in the first place was ideal.

Dislike worked its way slowly across his face before he remembered to school it back into neutrality.

”What sort of tea do you think they serve here, Sky? Maybe a cup of aged cinderblock sprinkled with cobwebs and the crumbs of broken twigs?” he joked, looking to levity for some respite from the stress.

“I’m sure our host is far more generous than that, my lord.” -Valen replied diplomatically, grey eyes lingered just a beat too long on the beastman. Apparently, the name ‘Knights of Evil’ rang true, if the reputation of beastmen was anything to go by. All the more reason for them to tread lightly. -”He has prepared a feast, after all.” -He made a vague gesture toward the food.

”Always so serious, my knight. But that’s why you’re my favorite,” the concubine smiled, the look mischievous and very much directed at Valen. ”When the formalities are over, I’ll be sure to reiterate in several different ways how much I appreciate you coming so far with me.

Valen gave a light cough at that, fighting the urge that threatened to crease his brows.

“Your favor has already honored me, my lord.”

Star laughed, turning back to the food with renewed interest after seeing just the barest hint of furrowed brows. It took many nights and days with a poker face like Valen to discern any appreciable amounts of emotion, but Star was a master of this craft by now.

Instead he had other fun things in mind.

”My arms are tired from holding the reins, Sky. Feed me.”

The urge to frown was there again, but Valen only heaved out a soft sigh instead. This was his idea.

“As you wish, my lord.” -He reached for a bunch of grapes, dutifully taking it apart and feeding them to Star.

The changeling ate them with a big grin on his face, and Valen was worried that he always withdrew his fingers a bit too hasty everytime.

Over the Horizon coming from the distant mountain peaks a small army of goblins march with a dense trail of smoke following them. Steam tanks and zeppelins lazily making their way to the keep. Grolik stands on the prow of one of his zeppelins wind buffeting him with an unnatural chill. He could look down and see his forces, the meager lot he brought with him. The whole of his army was currently engaged in a protracted siege of some human fortress in the mountains. The last city that needed to fall before he would be free to raid and burn as he pleased without fear of harassment.

There was a loud thump behind Grolik, one of the engines was out again. It would stall the Zeppelin for a couple of hours while the crew carefully landed the huge machine and repaired the engine. He would ride in on his spider in stead he decided, it would still be grand and terrifying, though he wanted the tanks and zeppelins to prove his might.

The keep was well within sight but he knew Lancelot would be uneasy with a force of goblins camped out at the foot of his keep. So he ordered his forces to halt, and make camp. There where several hundred goblins to keep busy, and if left to their own devices there would be some raiding and pillaging. Grolik wouldn't mind the raiding so much but he expected Lancelot would be rather upset that some of his power base was ablaze. So he set his small army to task, they where to build a wooden fort with prepared fortifications to accept cannons and allow tanks and zeppelins to be housed there. It was a simple design, a circular wall to encompass a basic warcamp, with barracks and a mess. However Grolik instructed that there was to be a tower built in the center of the fort, to dock the floating zeppelin.

Once the captains understood their job and began organizing the construction only then did Grolik finish his journey to the keep. A spider of titanic proportions lumbered across the field to the keep. Grolik had a small gang (12) of "big 'uns" Though everyone else knew they where orcs, each larger than Grolik by at least a foot and stronger than most men. A pair of Shaman accompanied Grolik as well, a spider priest to look after the Arachnarok, and a "doom sayah" who acts as a magical artillery piece more than anything else. The whole group riding on the wood and steel platform built on the Arachnarok.

Grolik, his orcs, and the doom sayah entered the keep with only one pair of guards being savagely threatened. As Grolik neared the chamber that he was supposed to meet he asked his Big 'Uns to make the entrance for him. Who promptly shouldered the doors open with a crash, hard enough to shake the chandelier above.

"Grolik! Da Chief Gobbo, Da Rabble Rouser, Da High Tyrant, Da Steam Lord, Da Tanker, Da Dwarf Killah, Mountain Shaker, Black Powder Baron, Supreme Despot, Chief Oppressor, Keg Drainer, Baby Stompah and Da Lord King Boss of Da Goblins Has arrived!" shouted one of the orcs in a booming voice that resonated in the hall, who had to take several breaths on the way through because there where too many titles. Grolik stood beyond the door while the required titles where read before he walked into the hall and began to observe those who had already arrived.

The wrenching wheels of a rickety old cart sent a hideous screech into the air, echoing through the mist as the cart continued to roll. A child-like whimper was let out by the guider of the cart, limping piteously as he pulled the cart behind him. His moans filled the air as his body continued forwards, almost against his will. His howls distorted by the mutilated remnants of what was once his face, covered in pus-filled growths and turned a horrific orange tint, his eyes empty of all brightness or intelligence. His silhouette cut through the moonlight as the cart approached the drawbridge of Lancelot's castle, the babbling of the water around them seemingly calming his groans, and he simply stared over the moonlit water with a series of rattling breaths, he ignored any others on the bridge, and it seemed as if he managed to avoid drawing too much attention to himself..

The door of the cart slid open with a soft sound, a hand grasping the top of the roof from within. A simply boot struck the ground as a man began climbing out. Purple eyes scanned the area intently, darting around the area at inhuman speeds. The man chuckled heartily.

"Yes, this is lovely!" Denuubim yelled out to the empty water, a gleeful smile resting upon his face. He leapt from the hideous wooden cart and skipped over to his driver, who stood motionless. Denuubim grasped him by the wrists and skipped in a circle around him, dragging the creature along with him. With a final flourish, he finished his dance and leapt one last time in front of the thing that was once a man.

"This is perfect, delightful even!" he yelled to himself as he kicked the creature in the chest, sending it tumbling off the drawbridge and into the water below. He'd be fine, dead things float. Sure enough, his servant re-emerged, floating on his back and growling softly. "Thanks for the ride, but daddy doesn't need you anymore, float back to shore," he ordered with a wave of his hand as he turned to walk into the building for the first time. To his credit, his servant pitifully attempted to pull his way to shore through the water.

Denuubim couldn't help but wonder who would be there, some odd creature of the night much like he? Or just a bunch of boring humans without an interesting bone in their body, and he knew that for a fact, he'd seen all their bones and not one interested him. He let out a breath, the ride had been long and boring, and he really had to wonder if he was going to be disappointed. He probably was.

He pulled the letter, crumpled into a ball, from his pocket and pulled it open, staring intently at it. Looking up, he saw the main hall, a soft bustle from conservation reaching his ears. He pursed his lips, crumpled the paper, and tossed it to the side.

Thankfully it didn't seem as if he had been seen, the room had a well-lit ambiance so it would be hard to sneak in, but challenge only made it more alluring, he really had no reason to, but it would be fun, and that was all that mattered to him. His legs split apart as they took their true forms, sliding across the ground, still colored as if they were human clothing as he had yet to dispel the glamour. He had to get under the table and hope no-one noticed, a tough proposition, considering the fact that replacing his human legs with their original tendril forms had given him a number of extra feet in height. That could easily be avoided by crawling, but a massive creature speeding along the ground as if it were a bug was sure to raise a few eyebrows, oh well, if he was noticed, it only added to the fun.

Slinking to the ground, he placed his right hand upon the ground in front of him, preparing himself for the scramble ahead. He'd have to go fast, thankfully he was more than capable of doing that. He breathed deeply, and then took off, skittering across the ground at speeds not unlike that of an insect. He shot his way under the table, hiding all of his limbs beneath.

How fun, I hope one of them caught a glimpse, it will make this all the more fun.

His hand shot up from under the table, grabbing at an empty spot and silencing the room with the pounding noise it made. A high-pitched chuckle made its way from his mouth and bounced around the room as he began pushing himself upwards, into visible space. He emerged with a fanatical smile plastered on his face, his tongue hanging loose over his lower jaw, far too long for any normal human's.

"I'm usually far less theatrical than this," he admitted just as his eyes cleared the edge of the table. "But I'm among friends now," he stated as his head fully cleared the table.

"Hello, you're all gorgeous."

The lycan was shrouded in his black robe and hunched as he approached the castle and the encampment of soldiers guarding it. He had spent the last several weeks of his journey south in this state, a hunched cloaked figure was less likely to draw any attention to himself. As he found himself face to face with the soldiers guarding the bridge, one of the soldiers guarding the bridge went to approach him, likely to warn him off. A forgivable mistake; he had concealed himself well and the voidcaller doubted these guards were expecting a 'knight' to have his current stature. Val'vath removed his hood and rose to his full height, the sound of arthritic bone creaking and moving to support his weight was audible as he did. "I have been summoned here by Lancelot. Now let me pass" he said to the guard. After the guard removed himself from his path he continued on his way, snapping at one of the more uneasy men as he passed them.

After a painfully slow journey across the bridge and through the castle, Val'vath found his way to the chamber he was to meet his new allies, with a quiet grunt of effort he pushed the doors open to reveal the chamber. The first thing the lycan noticed was the feast laid out on the table, he had been feeding off the blistered, uncooked corpses of the creatures he had killed over the past several weeks so real food was a delight to see. The old lycan found a seat quickly and shuffled to it, conveniently close to a large selection of meat. He grabbed what he could only assume to be a chicken wing and devoured it in several bites, bone and all. He reasoned it was only polite to eat some of what had been offered...and the lycan had not had any decent food in weeks.

After eating his quick meal, the lycan examined his new associates. Obviously there was no shortage of humans, they seemed to be everywhere down south, although the variety intrigued him; he had not seen a human child before journeying south so to see one at the table was odd to him. Then there were the other races; a goblin flanked by several orcs had arrived shortly before him and seemed to be inspecting the room as he had, he also noted the large beast helping himself to the feast. The lycan decided he would do the same, albeit to a lesser degree, and begin picking at the various meats around him with rather shaky clawed hands. He watched the room with curiosity as he did; no doubt the Gods had a purpose to serve in their grand plan, whether they knew it or not.

---

A thundering clunk can be heard as it takes its first step upon the old wooden bridge that leads to the ominous castle beyond the great mist. The armored man looks up with his glowing cold blue eyes as he stands silently for a minute. The infamous Jakorion Fraustous had indeed travelled far in order to reach here. He comes from the far north, where the snow falls all year round, where the tundra never seems to melt, and where the biggest, baddest, and brutish warriors push their mettle to battle against the elements. This is the realm of Glacienda, and Jakorion rules that very land with an iron fist. He had trekked hundreds of miles through the harsh ever-winter conditions and even through the dreary wastelands of where the once rich and lustrous countryside had turned bleak and grey after Camelot fell.

The letter that the cold-hearted barbarian received was an... interesting one at best. At first, he didn't trust the letter and even then he was never fond of making new friends and allies. Of course, his god, Morlinda, basically forced him to go, simply for the fact that maybe having some allies wouldn't quite kill him. And now he's right at Camelot's doorstep, a once bustling city of order now reduced to a simple town conquered by fierce discord and chaos...

Just the way he likes it.

Jakorion begins walking across the bridge all the way until he reaches the front doors. Opening them with a heavy heave, the clanging of hard wood across the rocky cobblestone walls can be heard all the way to the dining hall, where everyone was at. Clearly the brutish warrior wasn't the biggest fan of polite manners, at least as a first impression. As he approaches the table, he takes a quick look at his surroundings. The castle is rather large and looked almost church-like. This place must've looked disgustingly bright during Camelot's golden ages but now that they've fallen, it looks darker and more glum. Perhaps it looks better this way, in the case of representing the harsh life of the world today, or the fact that fanciness to him was almost meaningless to him.

As the large warrior approaches one of the seats at the long table, he sees a lavish feast laid down upon him. While the concept of fancy architecture bores him, fancy and rich food on the other hand was a completely different story. After all, food like this can keep one's stomach full for days, maybe even weeks. Personally, Jakorion doesn't eat that much, at least since being resurrected by Morlinda, but there are times where a man like him has got to eat. It's only then when he realizes the rest of the people in the room. There's indeed variety in here, while most being humans, there are some persons that looked rather different-looking, from a lycan mage, to a short-stack goblin, to even a giant beastkin. But being the anti-social warrior that he is, he simply says nothing as he takes his seat and waits for the host to arrive and give them the goods.

Enzoyo didn't come through the front bridge, like so many he saw before him. He went the more, scenic route. Walking from the side through the water. He didn't feel like dealing with the Guards or whatever that was going to halt him. He was busy, and not entirely sure what this meeting was. The true meaning at least. To do a little scouting out, he leaped high on the tallest tower. Watching some very peculiar figures enter the Bastion. Nothing too crazy just yet. He did sense another Demon, maybe one of his fallen kin? Probably not. If he had to take a guess it was just some spawn from some individual that had risen to godhood. What a lucky fellow.

Enzoyo leapt down to the main keep, his clothes shuffling loudly through the air, attracting the attention of a few guards, but after his touchdown he put his palm facing towards them, stopping any movement they were about to make. The message was clear enough and they returned back to their statue like pose. As he entered the Dining room, he saw the mass of food. He also noticed a large cow eating all of it and then the little goblins that were mucking about. There were others there, none of them seem to mind the beasts, they must of been one of the few invited here and not some vermin. Enzoyo smiled seeing all the Mortals before him. It was Humorous, he assumed some would actually be in the same level as himself. Maybe they were, just in disguise. Probably not.

After staring at the group for a few seconds he spoke out in his high pitched amused tone. "Where are my manners? Hello one and all! It will be a pleasure seeing all of you fal- Ugh, die- No... Ugh... Seeing you all here! The name is Enzoyo, don't hurt yourselves trying to remember it. My actions will be enough to ingrain it into your tiny brains. Maybe even your souls..."

---

Evelyn moved to sit beside Alysse, taking cup in hand she swirled the wine within her cup before taking a short sip. "Once I possessed many titles, much like that goblin and his guard. Now I have only one and I doubt you would care to call me by it. I am Evelyn, my less conversational friend here is Bartuc, the only man I trust in this foreign land", taking another sip Evelyn's eyes quickly searched the room from beneath the veil. At the same time a familiar voice whispered inside her head, one which would sound unsettling and hostile to anyone else if they could hear it.

"They are not your allies...future threats to your rule..."

Those faint words were met with a warm smile before speaking her reply within her mind, "I am aware, I do not act simply out of attempted friendship"

Bartuc merely nodded at the mention of his name. As always, wherever Evelyn went he was in towering behind her like a loyal hound should. If he felt threatened by all the varied strange powers gathered in this room he didn't show it. For now his attention was focused purely on the one conversing with the master politely.
When the master heard its words there was no way of knowing, not to an outsider, but the big man could feel the subtle change in her demeanor. She had the Obscures blessing, if such a creature existed, and the strong arm of her soldier.

They would find no trouble here.

"You will have your titles, my Prophet." He left out the part where it meant killing off the heretical stealer of the throne and reclaiming Dustorne as her own again. They both knew it.

Alyssa did not sip the wine, she merely swirled it and listened. Watched and smiled. There was a better drink in the throats of men, but that wine was more commonly the fare of vampires and the like. Her sister and herself did however partake from time to time. "A pleasure, for I am Alyssa Blackwater." She raised a slight brow had roses as she listenedlistened to the veiled woman. " Ah, Titles. And one is prophet, another hails from Tyrvald. Now, you have lost them." Alyssa set the wine goblet down, folding her hands in her lap. "And perchance I know someone good at finding things others have lost?" She purred in amusement. This was a interesting woman, and man.

Evelyn turned away towards Bartuc, from beneath the veil a faint glow could be seen as she transferred her thoughts to her protector. "Our Lord provides the way", she whispered into his mind before turning her attention back to Alyssa. "I would be in your debt, which will be paid in full once I've regained what has been lost", Evelyn gave a soft smile but within the privacy of her mind plans began to manifest. It had become clear that out of everyone here, at least two would be a threat to her throne once her work with Lancelot had ended. Tyrvald had many skilled warriors but it would not be enough. This alliance under Lancelot will not last and she needed to have the odds in her favor.

---

He had been there when Camelot fell to the destruction that the Dark King wrought. The sheer number of deaths that had happened in such a short amount of time hadn’t gone unseen to the eyes of the Apostles of Death, and as such the Guide had been dispatched to the devastated land to assess the situation. For a while, the semblance of the legendary Reaper had been guiding the lost souls back to their rightful place, for the calamity that had happened upon this kingdom had left so many scattered across the land.

That was until Lancelot met the Apostle personally. But that story was known only by the Dark Lord and his newly made Knight on that fateful day. Ever since, Par’Sath had taken residence in Moonlake Keep, awaiting the arrival of what would become Lancelot’s personal elite. His time spent at the castle was brief, for the Guide always had a duty to uphold as a Spiritual Guide to accomplish. Until many souls had begun gathering at Moonlake.

Finally, the time had come…

---

Among the varied decorations that glorified the eerie beauty of the castle’s hall, there stood a peculiar set of armor and robes that depicted what maybe would have been a battlemage. The armor looked clean, as if it had been recently used but never suffered from the signs of battle. It stood in the corner of the room, overlooking the dinner and its new arrivals, unmoved and silent. For, in the end, it was but another mundane piece of equipment, without its wearer anyway.

In contrast, floating high above the table, slowly creeping unseen upon the scene that was the gathering of the dark knights, the immaterial form of the Deathless One graced the hall of his unknown presence. Par’Sath Eth’Etherax, known by very few as the Guide of the Damned, took his time scrutinizing the souls that had gathered in this place.

No soul, only energy residing into the body of a pure-blooded immortal.
A strong soul attuned with the world of magic.
A soul with an ever-changing body.
A soul bound to the cursed fate of the undeath.
A faithful soul strongly attuned to the energy of an otherworldly existence.
A soul faithful only to its duty.
The unmistakable soul of one that leads a pack of tribal beastkin.
The bright soul of a fragile but vivid creature that did not originally belonged to this mortal shell.
Something wrong. Something with no soul, but no presence felt at all. A void that hungered for more.
The soul of a conqueror of its small but ingenious kin.
An otherworldly energy born from chaotic energies.
A soul attuned to the world of emptiness.
A frostborn soul brought back in the body of undeath.
The demonic presence of one attuned with destruction and primordial elements.

Lancelot had picked a peculiar choice of Knights for his project. The call that beckoned many different being around this table had been sent to many, with promises of safety, glory, destruction, hefty rewards, treaties, and unspoken deals. It would be an overstatement to say that this was an interesting situation for the Apostle, but it was a case that had drawn the spiritual being into collaborating with this gathering of souls.

Now that most of the invited had arrived and been analyzed, Par’Sath returned to the world of the living, his spirit slowly drifting back towards the set of armor that had been standing still in the corner of the room long before the Knights entered the hall. Binding himself to the piece of equipment, a pair of ethereal ghostly wings appeared on the back of the imposing set of robed armor plates, much like an Angel of Death that had manifested itself.

With slow and light steps, the Apostle walked towards the group of Knights that were feasting and interacting with each other, until he reached an impersonal but sufficient distance to meet with the gathering.

“Hail, Knights.“ a deep whisper with sufficient power to reach the ears of all despite the silence emanating from his being.

And now, with the introduction done, the Deathless One awaited a sign of the Dark Lord to unite this group of souls into the purpose they had been gathered for.

'Is meeting the other knights really necessary?'

The thought was sharp, much more so than her footsteps. Though Liv was of a slight frame, the half dragon's gait was marked with both weight and purpose--some would have called it pride or arrogance, but those concepts were beyond the girl. A Surt always knew why they were doing something, it was simply a matter of how they would go about doing it. It took effort for her to put enough weight in each forward step--closer to a march than a true walk--to make a resounding clack despite the metal present on her boots. Clad in her usual scale armor with her own letter slightly crumpled in her grip, Liv did what any self-respecting Surt would do at a meeting of many people: she walked through the front.

'Ooooh, would you look at these folks? Quite the little band of misfits we have here!'

The voice came about three seconds after they had walked in the door and looked around. Vitus, as usual, was taking in every single thing that Liv was seeing, including the people who also apparently been called to arms. They were...interesting folk to say the least.

'We probably won't see half of them outside of these damn gatherings,' Liv grumbled to the "guest" that shared her body. 'At least we've got some food for our troubles.' Noting the feast laid out on the table, the Surt didn't let her steps falter as she moved toward an open seat, turquoise eyes drifting over those already present, an instinctive, greedy hunger threatening to draw her in. Surely a number of them had some sort of soul, ripe for the picking. Surely at least one of them had a soul that could be a fine blade in her hand. The corner of Liv's mouth twitched up by the faintest amount at the thought.

But they were probably off limits. What a waste.

Instead, she took the last few strides to her destination, purpose returning back to her initial thoughts. Food. It was always a pleasure to eat, and it provided the body with nutrients that it would--wait. A flicker of confusion in the back of her head.

'Do we actually still need to eat?''

'Eh...' Vitus mentally shrugged. 'I'm pretty sure it's easier to piece us back together with some sort of base to draw from, other than the little collection we tote around. But hell, I dunno. It's not an exact science.'

'You should mind your wandering eyes, Liv; you seem to be craving a little more than a nice meal - I doubt our 'oh so important lord and master' would appreciate a brawl here in his dining room.'. If a disembodied voice could smirk, one would have certainly followed.

'Hmph, he chose to employ a Surt for a battlemage. He should expect fights.' The words were largely true, though Liv suspected that there were a number of individuals that any other Surt would have chosen not to challenge. While it wasn't wrong to say that many Surt got reckless and arrogant while seeking strength, they were also picky about what type of strength they brought with them. Always with the designation in mind.

Despite her best efforts, a wry laugh filled her head.

'Though I suppose I do owe this Lancelot at least one gathering of these...knights--' the word escaped in a tone somewhere between sarcasm and disdain--'without trying to kill or rekill anyone.' Without thinking, the tips of her fingers traced the small bulge beneath her armor, just over the heart. Her heart. Both their hearts. It was a fraction of its full potential, but it was hers. Reluctantly, grudgingly, she drew her hand away. 'I'm digging in. Maybe this time try to warn me before I eat anything that might poison me?'

'You know we're already dead, right? What exactly do you think poison is going to do to a corpse? Kill it more?'

'Well most of it doesn't taste as good at it looks, damn idiot.' On her face, a somewhat wicked shadow of a smirk began to form as she reached for a spiny, aquatic animal that smelled more appetizing than it looked. 'Well, this looks tasty.' For her.

'Hey hey HEY.' Vitus's voice echoed in her head. If there was one thing in this world he hated more than anything else, it was seafood. Unfortunate for him, because if there was one thing Liv loved, it was also seafood. An unfortunate circumstance, considering they both shared the same tongue.

'That is definitely poisoned. One-hundred percent. Anti-zombie poison, I can see it from here.'

'What was it you said? What exactly do you think poison is going to do to a corpse?'

'Trust me, I know my magic - that will definitely melt us into a pile of goo. And I can't fix goo pile, Liv.'

'You are a terrible liar,' Liv sneered while deftly portioning some of the fish to her plate for her own benefit. Well, no, he wasn't as bad a liar as all that, but it was hard to hide anything when one shared a corporeal form with another. Sending a glance around the room once more, Liv was surprised to see so few taking advantage of the meal. She supposed the beings that gathered took food for granted. 'Well their loss.'

WIth that thought, Liv fumbled briefly with the utensils--'Goddamn it all, I should just eat with my hands.'--before managing to separate a portion of fish to bring to her mouth.

Normally Vitus would have protested more, but there was something that caught his attention when Liv glanced around the room again.

'Woah. Hang on. Look back up again. Over in the corner.' Vitus demanded, his voice suddenly taking on a far more surprised tone.

Liv's eyes darted up, searching for the spot Vitus had mentioned. It was always a struggle to try and get her to look where he wanted to - like trying to give directions to a blind person.

'Nono, left. More left. MORE LEFT. Now you've gone too far left! Little more. THE CORNER, LIV; GODDAMMIT.'

'Give BETTER DIRECTIONS, YOU TWIT.'

Finally, they were both looking at the same thing. The set of armor in the corner, eerily unmoving, yet strangely unnerving.

'That's not...?' Vitus murmered, despite the fact he already knew the answer.

'Bad news.' Liv responded, most of the muscles in her body tensing in preparation for a fight or flight response, her fork silently placed on the plate, fish still speared at the end. 'Any bright ideas now?'

'Assuming 'going out the nearest window' isn't a valid plan? Ignore him and hope he does the same?'

---

Just as the barbaric brute takes a seat, he sees the arrival of another knight. Yet this knight looked very... alien. It was a being unlike anything Jakorion has ever seen. What realm did he come from? Before he tries answering that question, a deep whisper echoes through the hall. The Grand Lich slowly turns from his chair to see a new knight enter the dining room. Darkness almost seem to shroud his entire figure as he takes a seat among the table. Jakorion's eyes glared at him for a few seconds before turning his attention to another figure approaching the table in the form of a young green-haired women. She was a slightly odd fellow, despite her gorgeous beauty and underlining innocence perhaps, but regardless he otherwise pays little attention. He glares at her for a few seconds as well, not muttering a sound, before shifting his soulless eyes towards the wall across him. He didn't even bother to look at

Several minutes pass before the man who summoned them swirled from the shadows. The fabled Lancelot, as he is called, revealed himself as the one who brought Camelot to her knees and an up-and-coming 'dark lord of this realm'. Standing at seven feet tall and wearing a suit of unholy armor, he was a daunting character to behold while wielding his so-called 'black magic'. Yet Jakorion wasn't frightened or quite impressed with his employer, however he still remained silent and continued listening to him. Perhaps he's tougher than he looks, for he must be in order to behead such a powerful order, a kingdom having stood triumphant as the king of all realms in the entire world.

The employer continues, mentioning that everyone here is working for him to gain power for his rule. As the frozen brute begins to silently scowl about being a 'team player', Lancelot addresses that very notion and 'accepts' it rather well. As long as they don't halt his progress and jeopardize any of the missions they are sent to, as well as not to simply kill any of the others here because they 'may not like the look of someone else', some may eventually rise of the ranks. For Jakorion, this was fair enough. As long as he and everyone else here respects him as a powerful fighter and adversary, he won't get in anybody's way either. Of course, if someone does, there's no promise in him ripping the aggressor's limbs piece by piece until they are nothing but a head attached to a limbless torso.

Lancelot mentions a mission coming up in two days and while not mentioning any specifics, he does mention that the knights will be split into two groups. Again the Lich hates to work with anyone outside his own tribe, but forces himself to deal with the situation at hand. Then after a few mentions of other miscellaneous things, he simply vanishes, leaving him and the others alone in the dining room. Jakorion remains silent as he looks at the food in front of him. Yet before he considers eating, another man approaches them, an old darkened figure emerges from a recently uncovered staircase and asks if there are any questions.

The Lich had nothing.

He silently proceeds to feast on the food before him.

Camilla

---

Could she be blamed?

Camilla had her eye on the odd monster, and that large beast man next, planning to examine them as soon as she could. But as soon as she walked in, her attention was fully on her. That scaled tail, could that girl be... . First a vampire, now this. If that girl was what Camilla thought she was, then even a single strand of hair would be like gold to her.

Before Camilla could act on her impulse, Lancelot finally arrived.

It was a good spiel to be sure, but she was distracted by thoughts of that girl, as well as the thoughts of all the other opportunity for more examinations. While Lancelot spoke, she absentmindedly teased the village girl, now just a head on a blob of flesh, with some of the food on the table. The blonde girl, from both Camilla's time playing with her body and from simple observation, seemed to be malnourished for quite some time. Her body seemed to lack fat, and she was thinner than she should be when Camilla chanced upon her. Not at all surprising considering the current state of the land. It made teasing her that much more satisfying, especially that look of desperation. She only gave the girl mercy once Lancelot stopped speaking, forming small pincers for the girl to grab food from Camilla's plate.

Acting entirely on impulse, Camilla walked up to Liv's back as if in a trance, before grabbing her tail firmly by the base.

Could she really be blamed, to want to grab that scaly tail?

@Chasers115