It had taken Selzona’s expedition 3 days to over the ground the sargent had covered in one and in the interim the devastation had spread. On their way the group passed several small groups of refugees and from which they discovered that 2 villages of the main road had also been destroyed. From personally interviewing the peasantry Selzona acquired a slightly better understanding of their quarry and was beginning to suspect that the rumors of a monster where true. While this spooked their human cavalrymen, most of the dryads where getting worked up at the news, thinking of the glory and thrill of fighting something no-one had faced before. Selzona herself tried to avoid being caught up in their excitement, as the leader she needed to stay level headed, but their emotions swirling around the Dreaming got to everyone, somewhat to the annoyance of the Ents who were supporting the Psychic link.

They arrived in the village which Vertrestin’s group had last been seen in, located next to a river crossing, and set up camp for the night just outside near a small patch of trees. While the Dryads did not need to sleep per say, their night vision was as poor as a humans and they also welcomed the chance to rest, eat and socialize. Through the night, while the humans and Ents slept, the Dryads made plans, using a small number of glowing chunks of enchanted artificial amber as a lightsource. Using a cloth map dotted with stones placed to represent rough locations of the destroyed villages and areas of supposed sightings they managed to work out roughly what their quarry’s path had been over the past few days and in doing so make a guess as to what area it was in now.

Once the dawn came the expedition briefly stopped by the village to underpay some villagers to cook them breakfast and recruiting the local militia. Because of the closeness of the village to one of the estuaries they were better trained and equipped than the average town maitia due to the threat of raiders, but that did not mean many had seen battle before. Roughly 2 hours after sun up the small army set off.

It was just past noon when beast was found, lurking in a hilly area near Loch Finray. After reaching the area Selzona had split their forces into 5 smaller groups, each accompanied by an ent who keeped them all in a psychic link despite the distances between them. It was through this connection that first felt battle adjoined, the relative calm and boredom of part of the dreaming flared up suddenly, excitement and fear burning brightly in their place.

_{Report! Do not engage!}

Selzona tried to push commands though to the group, but even with the ent assisting, her thoughts were drowned out as party engaged whatever they had run into. Bursts of pain, fury and exileration drowned out any attempts to communicate. Instead she was forced to do it the human way, shouting down to the ⅕ of the expedition directly under her command at the moment and ordering them all to assist their kin. Then she drew a bronze bugle horn and sounded it as a signal to attack that would be able to reach the other three groups. Turing to where the engaged group was supposed to be the small number of dryads raced off up the intervening hills, hammers and maces drawn. The ent Selzona was riding, waw slower to react but subsequently caught up with the dryad its long strides. The human militia brought up the rear, encouraged to follow by one of the deer riders who was acting as their captain screaming bloody murder at them.

As her ent crested the final hill she saw their foe for the first time, a truly titanic hydra that looked like it was rotting, its scales had fallen off in may places and a grey ooze leaked from the exposed flesh. It certainly smelled like a corpse, the valley that the monster was in was suffused with a heavy stench into which Selzona and her reinforcements descended. The monster was at the center of a vague ring of about 10 dryads who where doing little more than hold its attention as they barely avoided its 3 snapping jaws. As the reinforcements arrived one was snapped up by a head, the massive fangs of the hydra punching clean through his armor and body as he was carried screaming to the sky before being swallowed whole.

Wrapped in the massive tail of the beast, being slowly crushed, was the first group’s ent. The forest giant, standing 40 feet tall, was rendered helpless as it strained against the coils of the hydra, the wretched grey puss leaking from the hydra’s body soiling the ent’s bark as it attempted to break free and retrieve its sword that had fallen to the ground when it had been ensnared. Of the humans that had accompanied the group, few remained. Some had taken one look at the monster and flead. Judging by the blood and discarded weapons, some had suffered the same fate as the dryad male just had. Those that remained had regrouped up on the opposite side from Selzona, rallied by the captain half of who’s face had been badly burned by a spray of boiling hydra blood.

Selzona ordered the humans with her to go group up with the captain’s lot and then, grabbing a rope hanging from one of the ent’s branches, slid down it to the ground. From there she began to giver orders. The ent she had been riding was sent to try and free it’s fellow, while 3 dryads scrambled up the rope Selzona had just descended from. The rest were sent to join the ones already engaged, where they stopped the 3 heads from delivering a finishing blow on the large ent, shooting the hissing heads with arrows or trying to get in at its legs to smash them. Slezona herself meanwhile began to mutter a spell from her position on the valley slopes, the simple chant was not however the main part of the spell. Anyone who could feel the dreaming would see the complex pattern being twisted within it around selzona, pulsating web of ideas and power woven around her. As the power built the air around her chilled, ice forming on the grass surrounding her feet that began to grow until it formed a jagged ring of knife sized icicles.

As the ent from selzona’s group closed with the hydra its leftmost head ceased its chasing of the nimble Dryads and raised up, hissing menacingly at the large threat and rearing back in preparation to strike. It was then that selzona unleashed her spell, the 24 newly formed frozen blades firing off in machine gun succession, streaming up towards the monsters head and plunging into the side of it. Despite this barrage, the hydra stills struck, its many fanged mouth closing around an arm the ent raised to protect itself. The drayads riding the ent retailated, 2 leaped from it in an attempt to get on the hydra's back. One suckseaded, jamming two long kives into an exposed area of flesh and them climbing up, the other fell short and plummeted to the ground, breaking both her legs on impact with the ground. The third ran along the ent’s arm and delivered a two handed hammer blow to the hydra's eye, causing it to release the arm as it related back screaming. The central head came to the aid of the left, forcing the ent to back off and leaving the larger ent still trapped in the constricting tail. The dryads around the hydra took advantage of two of the heads being distracted to launch attacks on the legs, several being kicked or clawed for their efforts.

It was then that the rest of the expedition began to arrive, a 10 ft tall beastial ent in the shape of a wolf came bounding across one of the hills, the archers riding on its back immediately opening fire on the hydra, their enchanted shortbows perrering the rightmost head with arrows. The second group to arrive contained an ent sporting long vicious claws instead of a weapon and most of the expeditions enchanters, who hurried over to join her. The third had the smallest ent, only 8 ft tall but also sported the other mage of the expedition, Festar the parliament, who rode up to Sezona riding atop an owlbear, with two owcilots perched atop his shoulders. Accompanying all the groups where dryad food soldiers and militia troops who joined in the fray. With all her troops now on the battlefield Selzona began a plan to actually kill the beast.

Working in tandem the 2 mages worked to try and bind the heads of the hydra, vines erupted from the earth, lashing around the central head while chains of ice extended from the ice knives down to the ground. With every flail of the heads, more bindings broke, but hey where replaced too quickly for the beast to truly escape the spells, the enchanters offering up the mana in their items to help the mages continue their magic. The rightmost head was then tackled by the bitten, clawd, wolf and small ent, who all wrested with it to keep it occupied. While the three heads attempted to break free the sargent lead a charge of the human militia, who, having learned from the sargent’s wounds, stopped short of the distracted hydra and hurled their spears at the tail and legs of the beast, before hastily retreating from the resulting spurts of boiling blood. The dryads harassed the legs of the hydra using their heavy blunt weapons whenever they set down, breaking toe bones and bruising ankles. Panicked by its entrapment and the wounds it was receiving the hydra un-coiled its tail from the great ent and tried to use thrashing it to help it escape. With lethargic speed, the now freed ent picked up its massive sword, hefted it, and then swung the 20 ft long blade at the hydra’s necks.

---

It was approaching even by the time the decapitated hydra's body stopped twitching, and for the pool of blood it had collapsed into to cooled down enough for it to be safe to go anywhere close to the corpse. Most of the surviving expedition had moved, or been moved, out of the valley to avoid the smell of the thing, which was now worse than ever. One of the remaining deer riders had been sent back north with an initial report of the incident, but for the time being the rest of the force would remain near the site while Selzona and Festar conducted an investigation of the hydra in an attempt to work out why it had already looked like a corpse before it had been killed.

Volksingen Proper, Vlaanburg Electorates

Olov looked down at the broken body beneath him. Blood pooled into the crevices of the stones at his feet, softly reflecting the light of the dim torch on the wall. Olov could hear his shallow breathing. The man yet lived, although the flesh had been torn from his body in places, and a crimson gash ran from his lips to either ear. If he screamed from the pain, he’d tear his cheeks apart. His treatment had evidently not been gentle.
At the other side of the room a tall figure organized and cleaned blades over a small table.

“What did you learn?” the Elector asked.

“Nothing of value,” the man answered, looking up from his work. His head was shaved to the scalp, and like Olov, his features were gaunt, predatory.
“Says he was given a few grams of mithril powder. Used it to outfit his little company.”

“By whom? Nobody just gives mithril away, Vroz.” Olov said with dissatisfaction. Vroz shrugged and turned away from his tools, leaning against the cell bars.

“That’s the problem. Wouldn’t - or couldn’t say a name. Tried everything I knew to get it out of him. He said the donation was given by an anonymous party. Didn’t know who they were, but they were none too fond of the Archon, either. Foreigners, probably.”

“Who’s the bigger fool?” Olov asked, “The man who funds a hopeless revolt or the one who leads it?” After a pause, “Not a very substantial report to take to the Archon.”

“I extracted what I could,” Vroz replied with a wave of his hand. “This man was an idiot with grand ideas, rushing into a situation he didn’t understand. That’s how I see it.” The tall vampire slid the last of his implements into a leather sheath.

“Very well,” Olov sighed. “Do with him what you wish. But this mithril business doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll contact the minister of finance. See if he can dig up a trail. Make yourself available in the meantime. I might need you again soon.”

“As you command,” Vroz said with a nod of his head. Olov gathered his robes and existed the cell. As he retreated down the corridor, he could hear a nauseating tearing sound and the flow of fluid behind him.

----

A collab with @Goldeagle1221

Bergen Proper, Vlaanburg Electorates

“My Archon,” a steward declared, voice fluttering with embellished syllables, “the representative of Princess Abigail d'Montigue, Duchess of Kamwell, and soon to be Queen of Lynnfaire.” Archon Vorren nodded to the Lynnfarish emissary, gesturing the man closer to the throne. Vorren sat regally, clad in rich silk robes with a golden band atop his head. He looked more an emperor than he did an elected official. From the ceiling hung banners of previous Archons, a long line of Primordial-blooded vampires. Vorren’s attendants and other members of Vlaanburg’s court sat at attendance, all gaunt, pale-skinned figures that flashed rows of fangs as they whispered amongst themselves.

Luis swallowed hard as he stepped forward; this was not the court he was used to. Not the court of normal people with rosy cheeks. Nevertheless, he stepped with a steady gait befitting his station and bent in a measured bow before the vampire seated before him.

“His Archon of Vlaanburg,” Luis addressed the intimidating figure before him, “I bring the favor of Queen Abigail with me, and an offer of marriage.”

His message was short, but every word caused his heart to leap, each with resting importance that could alter the very world. He bowed his head, “a marriage between his Archon of Vlaanburg and Her Majesty of Lynnfaire.”

Hushed whispers befell the hall, but a wave of the Archon’s hand silenced them. Vorren raised an eyebrow. “A marriage?” he echoed. “Between Her Majesty and myself? I… trust that this is strictly political?”

“Of course, his Archon, purely of politics. It has been many a century since the treaty of eternal peace, it is only her wish to finally cement the sisters Lynnfaire and Vlaanburg in perpetual alliance and care. Her Majesty is in no need of an heir or sire, but wishes herself a marriage to promote only unity.” Luis bowed his head humbly.

“Of course,” Vorren said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It would mean a great deal to me to solidify the alliance between our nations in this manner.” He turned his attention to those in attendance. “Speak. What say you of this marriage?” A moment passed before a well-groomed vampire stood, straightening his coat and raising a palm to Luis.

“I love a good wedding,” he sang, “but what of the succession crisis in Lynnfaire? I do not call Princess Abigail’s motives into question, but is she not busy subduing Duke William?” A few voices chorused in agreement.

“Where does Vlaanburg stand in this?” another voice asked. “Does Her Majesty expect us to fight on her behalf?”

“Certainly not,” Luis answered respectfully, “with a diet called, William without Rylea and the possibility of joining the kingdoms in unity, Abigail is nigh guaranteed succession to late King Edward, may he have found the mist.”

More whispers. Another palm from the Archon quelled them. “It does my heart good to hear such news,” Vorren said cheerfully. “Extend my best wishes to Her Majesty at the diet. As for the matter of marriage…” Vorren tapped his fingers together. “I see no reason to decline. I'm sure all of us wish to cement the bond between the Electorates and the Kingdom of Lynnfaire,” he said, glancing at the court. Heads nodded, voices muttered.

“She wishes for it to be as soon as possible, and she also wishes to discuss the matter of inheritance and longevity personally. Let it be known though that her stance is to keep the two kingdoms as they are geographically and that there will be no encroaching on the other's holdings through the bond. Strictly, well, political.” Luis bowed his head, “a symbol of bond.”

“Excellent. We will be wed at Her Majesty’s convenience. Strictly politically,” he said with a fanged smirk.

Abigail let her forehead fall onto the cold stone wall. She was alone in the small library of the castle of Olmsbridge. All around her were book filled shelves and decorative suits of armor and parade weapons of yore. Her eyes were not focused on the all too familiar decorations of a Lynnfairish castle however, as she stared blankly in thought.

Anxiety curled her stomach and she propped herself from the wall. Her mind swarmed with every possibility, both good and bad but they always fell onto the same fact: Henry was dead. In one single day she lost all that had brought her to where she was today, and she couldn’t help but mourn in her own silent way. Grief choked in her throat, grief for her long lost friends, grief for all she had built, and not without their aid.

She turned and paced along the shelves, scanning titles for no other reason than the chance it might spur a different thought, a different scenario: she was alone, and she knew it. Rage danced with her sorrow and her fists clenched as she continued her repetitive journey among the tomes, every step bringing the image of a laughing William, a bleeding Henry, a dead Lynnfaire.

She passed many books, too many recounting the tales and exploits of monarchs past, how they held Lynnfaire together, how they saved it from this or that, and she couldn't help but feel as if she was not one of them. She rallied the resistance against William, she drove the progressive nature of the unheard masses to the heart of Lynnfaire, and she provided a face of a new chance, but she did not act, or at least not entirely. Her fists clenched again and she began pulling books from the shelves, flipping them without reading, hoping to catch a word to stop her, to bring her to a conclusion, to center her whirlwind of thought.

She grunted and slapped the last book closed, tossing it with anger. The book dinged against a suit of armor, knocking a prized arming sword from the loose grip of the stand and sent it clattering to the floor. Guilt rose in her stomach, guilt for the book, guilt for the history of the armor and blade, but then -- an idea. A sharp light opened in her mind as she looked at the mess she had caused. It is not true that she did not act, she knew this, but there was something more she could have done, should have -- will do.

She walked over to the book and blade, and picked both of them up. The hilt felt at home in her left and the book at home in her right. She placed the book on a shelf, not bothering to return it to it’s nook. She stared at the blade in awe. It was about time she brought both sides of leading into her hands, both the diplomacy and strength of voice, and the power and tact of arms.

She swung the blade -- albeit clumsily. It made a whooshing sound in the air and caused her to smile. She turned the blade slightly in her hand and swung it again and instead of a whoosh, it made a sharp whistle. Her eyes focused on the edge, she swung again, another whoosh and she cursed silently. Again, the sharp whistle, again, another whistle. She had no real idea what she was doing, but it felt right. She could feel the blade sink through the air without a tug and finally every swing granted her that satisfying whistle of a perfect angle.

“You wish to swing swords now?” A woman’s voice echoed and Abigail turned to Edith, Abigail’s cheeks red with embarrassment. Abigail straightened herself, “I feel it is only necessary if I am to be a leader, I know what every order I give entails.”

Edith cocked her head, “Well it sounds as if you already know how to angle it.”

“It is hardly a difficult thing,” Abigail replied humbly, “I cannot see any reason weapon-craft was ever withheld from me.”

Edith nodded silently, “It was b-”

“Because I am a woman,” Abigail finished Edith’s sentence, her eyes focused on the tip of the ornate blade, “but I am not just a woman, I am a leader -- and one who needs to take things into her own hands.”

Edith bowed her head, “your words are strong… perhaps we get you a real blade, I can show you what I know.”

Mountains, as far as the eye could see. Jagged edges of the earth itself, with valleys so deep, Lee couldn’t quite believe it. Where he was born, the highest place were the western cliffs. But they paled in comparison with this. “Okay, lets keep going.” He told himself more than the others. Old man Ittain, mumbling and fumbling around walked with him. The old man had always unnerved the young Truth-Seeker. It was like he saw less of the world and more of another. Never the less, to have him with them would be invaluable.

“We’re reaching the outpost.” Said one of the mercenaries. They hired five, one for each Truth-Seeker in the expedition. Lee, under the guise of Mr. Rossiere, still did not trust them. Not for being mercenaries, but for being Serenists. But for now he knew he needed them. Finally they came around the mountain, with the outpost in sight.

It was rather underwhelming, having journied so far and having heard such ominous tellings of what awaited them in the ill-reputed Empire. A mere watchtower, not even walled, wth several tents pitched around it and a small stable at its base. The curious barbed and three-pronged emblem of Imperial Matathran flew high atop the structure - though as soon as the seekers lay eye upon it, the billowing fabric was obscured by a cloud of thick, brown and earthen dust that hung and flew through the air like a dirty raincloud - dominating their view of the distant horizon were several massive clouds of dust, kicked up by unseen but faintly heard armies on the move, their marching a constant rumble in the air.

As expected, the border itself was clear of any kind of barriers or patrols, as far as the seekers could see - the watchtower and its meager garrison of soldiers was, for all intents and purposes, all that stood between them and Matathran. The temptation to simply stray off the road and bypass the small checkpoint itself was considerable...

But ultimately not worth the risk. At least here at the sea of slate, even given the uneven and rough terrain, the Empire had little need of walls or ever-vigilant squads, when they had entire armies out on patrol. That, and the consequences of being caught within the borders without having first visited the checkpoint did not bear mentioning.

Lee took a deep breath. Getting into the Vlaanburg Electorates was demanding enough. The rumors around had reached the good ‘Independent Traders’ about their vampiric overlords. Even now Lee expected one to descend upon them to suck out their blood. Matathran was a whole different kind of beast though. The hate of the Primordials hanging in the air, he swore he could feel it. The billowing dust, blown up by entire armies marching, did little to put him at ease. “Ah…yes.” Muttered Lord Ittain next to him. “Do you feel it, young Truth-Seeker?” the soft voiced elder asked.

“I feel fear.” He admitted. “Are you sure you want to come with us, Lord? The road will be no less perilous. And Matathran is a bad place for you to be.” Lee had grown somewhat attached to the old during their travels. Besides, he was one of the greatest of House Ulstur. Lee knew his own death, while significant, would not impact Vallenguin as much as the death of Ittain. It was the first time, death seemed very real and uncomfortably close. If their covered dropped, they were dead. Or worse, they would become traitors of vallenguin. He shook his head, it wouldn’t serve him well to ponder on such things, not so close to their goal now.

Lord Ittain had watched him for a moment and then grinned .”Oh but my foolish youngling. I should be here. I should, I should. Don’t you hear it, Lee? Don’t you hear the voices? The Primordials are calling, yes. They are calling.” Without any delay, the old man began to walk up to one of the soldiers guarding the outpost. “Hello there! Yes, yes, hello!”

The old man had moved before Lee could realize it, already engaging the strange and foreign warriors of the north. With his common eccentric greetings, waving his arm around. Lee dashed next to the man, hoping his behavior wouldn’t be frowned upon. “Greetings, we’re simple pilgrims, asking to enter Matathran, good sirs.” Lee did his best to sound as polite as possible. Even though he disliked the groveling intensely.

"First prospective entrants today." The soldier in question sat just outside the watchtower's stable. The man was clearly of lesser breeding, having a sickly palor and with hints of a distended gut beneath his chainplate hauberk and leather cuirass - but he was otherwise more altogether and seemly than some of the pikemen the seekers had seen in the electorates, where each man was expected to buy their own equipment. From their preliminary investigations into Matathran, the seekers knew that every footman was outright given their arms and equipment, and as indicated by the distant swirling clouds of dust, nearly all of them had a fair amount of training. Meaning even this bedraggled man before them, who would not be worthy of even the lowest of untouchable castes in the Heavenly Sphere, might have posed a significant threat to the seekers on his own - and he was the least of the soldiery they could expect to find in the Empire. He gestured errantly with a free hand while masking a yawn with the other, giving the seekers and their bodyguards a brief, sweeping examination. "I must say, you seem awfully well arranged for pilgrims...and rather well protected." As he spoke, several other soldiers approached from the nearby tents, approaching each member of the assembled party in turn, pointing and muttering instructions as they went so they coudl examine the group's belongings.

Ittain, first looked rather admirably at the foreigner, suddenly turned around and wandered a few steps away. As if something else caught his blind interest. Lee on the other hand tried to laugh off the comment: “Oh… well we prefer to be well protected everywhere we go.” He tried to shrug off. “Just a safety measure I suppose.” Lee was clearly nervous, even though he had his mercenaries in tow. His eyes followed the other guards, carrying out the examinations. They didn’t carry anything of illegal nature. Well, unless the guards found the strange glyphic drawings of Lord Ittain’s book, who freely handed it over while watching a butterfly, were offensive. “I hope our goods are all in order.” Lee said, before he heard the old man yelling.

“No! Don’t you dare deface that! No! No!” the man kept yelling as the examination guard was about to pour hot wax for a stamp on the book. “It’s very essence is invaluable! Worth a thousand times a thousand peasants wages! You’ll ruin it! Ruin it.” The frail old man tried to get a grip on the book, trying to pull it back. But the guard was obviously stronger than a frail, grey old man.

"Compose yourself, foreigner." The offending guard said ruefully. "The stamp is temporary, and you will thank us for it - without it or a receipt, you might receive a citation for any tomes in your possession. If you cannot abide it being stamped, you had best either discard it or else turn back."

“A thousand times a thousand wages, I tell you!” Ittain kept screaming, as if he didn’t even hear the guard. Eventually Lee, helped by a mercenary close enough, dragged Ittain off the book. Still, the old man kept kicking and screaming. Another mercenary took over from Lee. Both were required to keep the old man away and down. “Apologies for my grandfather. He is… disturbed sometimes. Please, stamp the book.” From the distance Ittain finally settled down. But more in defeat than calm as the stamp was put down on the book. Meekly he returned, taking the book from Lee who handed it back. He then turned back to the first guard. “I’ll assume everything is in order and we can continue on?”

The soldier stared past Ittain for a long while in contemplation, seeming to mull the idea over as the remaining guards withdrew. Out from the stable came two ill-kempt but finely dressed scribes wearing dyed robes, both carrying thin stacks of pocket-sized parchment pages.

"You are the first prospective visitors today. The Invigilator has not even risen from his bedrest yet. Now, if he were presiding over this process, he would insist on a discretionary citation for all of you just to make sure you keep your noses clean, what with all this ruckus you have caused and with the number of armed men you have with you. But it would be a shame to have to wake him. If you like, there is a convenience fee you could pay to..." He paused and turned briefly to one of the scribes, gesturing faintly in prompt.

"Expedite." The scribe provided helpfully.

"That. A modest fee to expedite your processing, if you will." The soldier gave Lee an unpleasant smile filled with browned teeth.

Lee knew this would happen, sooner or later. He just wished it would’ve happened later. Lee hadn’t hired the veteran Vlaanburgers just for showmanship. A discretionary citation would make their expedition ever so harder. Throwing Ittain, who was now feverishly reading his book somewhere on a rock, an evil eye, Lee conjured up his coin sack. “I suppose expediting the process would work in our favor. Two silvers, to be put to good use.” He held up the two silver coins with a neutral face. Hoping it would be enough to just get cleared and move on.

"Your generosity is noted." The soldier remarked jovially as he tucked the proferred coins away in a small purse hanging from his belt. "A few words of warning for your cooperation. First, your coin is fine here down South. The further North you go, the less it is going to do for you. Folk up North aren't as generous as I am. And of course, with the armies out on manuevers, you are probably going to be stopped a few more times on the way to Cruoix, or wherever it is you are headed. If you want to avoid having to...expedite more inspections, you might want to head Northwest, around the mountains, rather than heading directly for Cruoix. The route will be harder on your feet, but lighter on your purse."

“We thank you for your…generosity and your advice.” Lee made a small bow, a habit from back in Vallenguin. He took the papers he required and went on his way. Contemplating their root. He knew his purse was heavier than most pilgrims’. But at the same time, every search increased them being uncovered. And Ittain himself would become a problem as he was far too unpredictable. But on the other side, they needed more up to date maps and as the North was apparently not so keen on foreigners, he believed it to be best to go for Cruoix. Besides, they were honorable pilgrims. Not there to cause much trouble. Maybe they wouldn’t be stopped as often? And so, the group of Truth-Seekers marched for Cruoix.

Much to Lee's dismay, they were stopped twice on their journey - and both times, rather than having the fortune of dealing with a mere footman, Lee found himself bowing before stern officers with helms adorned with brass engravings and filigree, signifying their rank as Invigilators. They were much more brusque than the soldier at the watchtower had been, and while they did not ask many questions, they few they did had been forboding. At first, the seekers were relieved when the first patrol they ran across let them be without any trouble...

But when the second patrol stopped them, one of the soldiers took a keen interest in the silver seashell necklace that Lee wore. He had kept it tucked beneath the folds of his robe to prevent it from being spotted, but during the inspection the soldier had evidently spotted its chain.

"This curio is being requisitioned." The soldier declared, twisting the chain around Lee's neck so as to undo the clasp. The Invigilator frowned, but made no effort to stop the man.

“No wait!” Lee yelled as his necklace was taken. The silver seashell was important. It allowed him to detect the faintest amount of magic in his surroundings. Invaluable on an expedition like these. He almost tried to grab it back, but then realized that it would endanger the expedition. “What kind of backward place is this?” he muttered half-defeated to himself. Back at Vallenguin, not even a Decksnake bastard would have the guts to take something from a Truth-Seeker. The punishment for that was death. Slaves tried it, thinking valuables could buy their freedom. On them that very rule was enforced. But here, in Matathran, it would look that those tasked with the protection and enforcement of the law were simple thieves themselves. He turned to the Invigilator and said: “You would just allow this!? Simple thievery?”

"You will be given a receipt for the item. You may exchange it for its fair value in marks at any Imperial Demesne." The Invigilator said simply, even as one of his men finished marking a slip of parchment. Scribbled almost incoherently upon it below infintesimal scripture were the words 'shiny ribbed necklace.'

"The nearest one is located in the city of Cruoix, you may ask any of the officers you see there for directions." He started as a drum-beat blared in the distance, and signaled his men to form up again. "I do not have time for this. Move along, foreigner."

Lee had to watch on for a moment as the soldiers moved on. It was as if stealing was made legal. He just couldn’t believe it. Looking at the receipt, he nor the Vlaanburger mercenaries could read it. “That’s going to earn you one copper keychain.” On of the mercenaries joked. But Lee wasn’t in the mood for jokes. The necklace was invaluable for the operation. While not rare on itself, it was an artifact made in Vallenguin. The young Truth-Seeker was concerned. He would never live down the shame of being a traitor of Vallenguin.

“Worry not, youngling.” The old man, Ittain came standing next to him. “No mage, wizard, witch or something beyond will trace the magic back.” Surprised, Lee looked down at Ittain. Normally the man was as unfocused on the outside world as ever. But right now, his book was closed and even though he was blind, it was as if his eyes followed the men.

Eventually the expedition reached Cruoix. The Truth-Seekers checked in at an inn, while Lee went out on the street to look for a mapper. Inquiring with another brass-helmed Invigilator as to where he might find a map, he was answered with a contemptuous smile.

"Oh, you will find maps have their own little quarter in the market by the main gates. You will know them when you see them."

The Invigilator had spoken truthfully, and the meaning behind his levity became immediately evident. Hearing a call in the markets proclaiming maps and cartographical charts for sale, Lee ventured forth - only to find, to his horror, an entire plaza packed to the brim with map vendors, ranging from near-beggars seated on reed mats to stall-men and women to mysterious, cloaked figures in ornate carriages. Hundreds, thousands of parchments with insriptions and detailing hung from racks and were bound together in bundles, strewn across the ground or hanging from lengths of rope - each allegedly a map of Imperial Matathran, and each completely and entirely different in a dozen or more ways.

"Legendary maps! Untold and unfound secrets of ancient yore, found only here and herein mine works! A silver mark each, to service destiny is price enough..."

"Maps for the cautious wanderer, every Agate burrow and funnel-web that ever was or will be! Path your way around the Aeolian harp! Walk the unseen whisper ways of the old world...!"

"You there, foreigner! You need a map?"

That last comment was all it took. Lee found himself besieged by more than a dozen map peddlers and vendors of dubious quality, their clamoring inaudible altogether as they shoved ragged and torn pieces of parchment in his face, some of which were barely passable as the scrawlings of a child.

What was supposed to be Lee’s version of heaven, quickly became his hell. As he was almost assailed from all sides by maps and vendors, he could only see flashes. But the flashes were enough to make him shudder. “How do you mess up west and north!?” he yelled at one as the map’s compass was clearly flawed. “No thanks you. I don’t- No I don’t want to meet my destiny! No-No let me trough. Let me through. No I don’t care about your stupid harp!” he yelled, finally getting free and practically fleeing off the plaza in a side street, with his sole bodyguard soon to follow.

“I’ve seen skirmishes less chaotic than that.” He remarked to Lee, who had to take a moment to catch his breath. “How am I going to buy a new map in that chaos?” he asked himself. It was then that a stroke of genius hit him. Reinvigorated he went up on the plaza again. He approached one of map-vendors. He looked shabby but had a cart, so Lee assumed he was doing something right. “Hey, you there! No, No I don’t care about those mountain passage maps. Listen, I need a map of Matathran with its cities, roads, rivers and holy sites. If you can show me a vendor with the right map, you get three silver coins.”

"That knowledge is worth more than every map I have here! Ten silver!" The merchant shot back in a hush voice. "And keep it down."

Lee asked himself why a vendor would want to keep a hushed noise. But Lee lowered his voice. “I’m paying you seven, tops. Take it or leave it but I’m sure there are enough of you here that can help me out for less.” Lee wasn’t that expertise in haggling, but ten felt a little steep. How was any real pilgrim or merchant ever find his way around Matathran!?

"You're not the first foreigner with half a brain, ten silver is already half as much as anybody else will ask. But silver in my pocket is better than theirs - make it eight silver."

“Fine, eight. Now go find me that map.” Lee was becoming rather impatient. The very place felt somehow wrong. It felt somehow dirty and shadowy. He couldn’t remember the last time buying a map felt like this. But in Cruoix, they succeeded in that.

"Absolutely none of the maps here are what you want." The vendor said without any hint of shame once he had snatched the coins from Lee's hand. "Just go to the Imperial Demesne and ask after the cartographer there, they'll get you an official map. For a price. This place out here is just for yokels, vainglorious idiots, and less intelligent foreigners."

Lee handed him his silver. But with a fairly stunned look on his face. He turned to the mercenary. “Did… that just…” And then it dawned on him. The Invigilator. The man had sent him completely the wrong way. At that moment, Lee wanted nothing but to yell, kick and scream. These people, protectors of the people, were straight up bastards. Less than freemen! Angry he stomped off, going out to find the Imperial Demesne. Eventually he did find it. But his friendly demeanor had vanished. Instead of polite greetings and curt bows, he almost snapped off the clerk there. He paid the price for his chart, but Lee’s patience was wearing thin already.

And here goes another amazing post of Elizabeth flipping off bandits

An hour before the dawn of the day of the Vitium invasion the various Calid scouts who had creeped round the rear of the border forest decamped from their hiding places in the marshes and villages to go meet their destinies.

At the heart of the forest into which the scouts where to venture where two great fortresses, bastions of the dreaming forest made of many Trees that had grown together, forming a hub or focal point for the Dreamscape that bound the forest together. At the center of these fortresses, in the most secure place in the forest, where two small Trees that was not their own individuals. Instead these two trees where branches of the Great Tree Yaval, head of the emerald empire, that had been transported from their homeland and planted to forge a psychic link, leading all the way back to their distant home.

It was towards one of these fortresses that Severo and what remained of his Calid Cohort slowly crept as dawn crested the horizon. Despite being so close to the fortification and surrounding settlement, the terrain was still as heavily forested and overgrown as it had been on the way in. Barring a large clearing some way off that featured a single building at its center, from which smoke could be seen emerging, the rest of the settlement had more or less been built around the existing vegetation. The some of the loose knit series of structures used living trees as their central supports, while in others snaked their way in and around the trees, carefully avoiding disturbing them. None of the buildings appeared to be used for housing, but rather they were storehouses, armories, libraries, workshops, meeting halls, markets and so on. The kind of urban housing sprawl that would normally fill the gaps between these buildings was entirely absent, in their place the Dryads seemed perfectly willing to simply hang around outdoors while not working. Standing in groups or sitting up in the branches of trees or on rooftops, the wooden people added to the uncanny feeling the place gave off. A mimicry of the familiar lacking several vital features that left everything strange.

Getting here had not been easy Severo thought to himself, they had lost many to the attrition of the forest’s dangers. Jos had never even rached the forest, a leech like thing, twice the size of a man and covered in spiny armor, had ambushed him while they were traversing the freezing cold swamps behind the forest. When Niene had tried to save him, one of the spikes on the leech’s head had shot out and pierced through her shoulder. She had dropped dead minutes, killed by a combination of severe poisoning and blood loss. Widreth, Burwena and Eerik where tore apart as they walked through a flower bed near the entrance of the forest when small plants with snapping jaws and lashing thorny vines had popped out of the ground without warning to attack them. Asmo and Petra had been stung to death by several giant bees who dive bombed them with drill shaped stingers. Villi had been knocked over by a flying rabbit and subsequently cracked her skull open on a rock, moments after she told Severo about a weird 4 eyed deer she had seen. Putrael, frioc, Rosenwyn and Gurci simply hadn't re-joined the others after they had to split up to hide from a Dryad patrol. Severo was pretty sure they had deserted, but couldn’t be entirely certain. He couldn’t blame them if they had. Only a few minutes earlier Amalia, Cuarto and Nerita had been impaled on the branches of a seemingly mundane tree that had come to life as they passed by.

In the end only Servero, Oto, Patrik, Narella and Saba had made it this far, but now that they were here, all they had to do was pick a good few spots for their arson and then get the hell out while avoiding the dryads bustling about in the settlement.
Those same said dryads where getting rather agitated. There had been a feeling swirling around the dreaming since just before dawn, a feeling that something was wrong that had been building over the past half hour. Atop the battlements, or canopy, of the fortress proper Lord Enzar, (the jury was still out on whether “Lord” was a valid name or not, some suggested Enzear the Lord would be more in line with tradition, Enzar claimed that the “the” was superfluous in this instance) passed to and fro restlessly. The dryad, 8 feet of (literally) sculpted muscle topped with flowing grassy hair that went down to his shoulders, had already responded to the feeling by sending out additional patrols and psychically asking the Trees for guidance. So far neither of the these had yielded results. He was about to try mentally shouting at the Trees again when there was a sudden sense of pressure in the dreaming that welled up from the center of the fortress, a presence so vast and ancient it was almost physical.

Awaken children of the forest! Vitium has sent its torchbearers into our lands to bring death and destruction in an act of war! All leave is hereby suspended! Prepare for battle with ember and animal alike! I am assuming direct command of operations in this area till the Vitiums are made to pay for their desecration!

The messages was clear as day in the minds of all those in the forest, from sapling to ancient colossus, they all heard it, and they all obeyed without question. As Enzar received more specific, and thankfully less deafening, instructions from Yaval the settlement became abuzz with activity. Personal projects were carefully set aside as armories where thrown open, armor donned and weapons retrieved. The children of autumn join their brethren of spring in preparation to do what they were where all built to do. In an around the settlement, sleeping eyes cracked open as the ents awoke from their slumber. Right behind Servero a seemingly innocuous tree began to move, its branches becoming arms, its leaves wings, its once ridgid trunk a serpentine body. As Nyranda The Serpent awoke her body slammed down behind the scouts, powerful arms supporting her weight as she withdrew her roots from the earth, the tendrils coiling them together to form a long tail. In the dreaming, meaning and power twisted and danced together as she flexed her magic. Despite her blindness she could sense them all clearly, the intruders, bearing tools of flame.
In response to the cacophonous sound behind them the Candid scouts turned to find a humongous wyvern of bark and moss where moments earlier there had moments before only been forest.

“Firepots!” Servero screamed while reaching down, grabbing, lighting and then hurling his own at the monster in a single, swift, practiced motion. But it was too late. Amber lines of power flared all along the surface of Nyranda’s bark and the winds responded to her call. The flames intended to ignite the fiery weapons were snuffed out in an instant, while the pots themselves hung suspended in the air between the scouts and the Ent. There was a quiet moment of awe before the scouts tried to scatter, only to be hauled skyward like the firepots. Servero tried to scream, but the air had already been forcibly torn from his lungs.

---

From her position in the north eastern foothills of the frozen cliffs Queen Rosabella, riding at the head of her small army of loyal humans, allied harpies, foreign adventurers and well paid mercenaries, could see that the Matharanian plan has succeeded despite the brutal attrition the forest had inflicted. In the north several areas at the periphery of the forest could be seen either ablaze or smoldering. In the south, where the colder climate seeping down from the frozen cliffs which left the vegetation dryer and the inhabitants more sluggish, several fires had been lit deeper in the woods. The Calid scouts there had also had the opportunity to gathered information from local royalists and poachers who lived in land loyal to the Kingdom of Shenra, which had helped them navigate the strange and deadly woods much more effectively, leading to several successful escapes by entire southern Calid Cohorts post firestarting.

Yet the woods where awake now, and the initial individual attempts at firefighting rapidly became coordinated on a forest wide scale. Enchanters worked together, using specially made magic items to douse the flames with torrents of water. Ents used massive swords to cut down mundane trees and then dragged them away to deprive the fires of fuel to spread. The one of the Emerald Empire’s only fire mage, Saberath the mad, started a counter fire around one of the larger edge fires, leaving a semicircle of smoldering wasteland in the south but preventing the fire from reaching deeper to Fort Cher. Other Trees that were threatened by encroaching flame or fires started at their bases activated tiny amber trinkets tied to their branches which acted like a magical sprinkler system, sparing them while the wood around them was consumed. Other fires where smothered, starved of oxygen by wind mages. The battle against their most ancient foe was not without casualties but roughly 20 min after Yaval had begun the forest wide response most of the fires had been extinguished.

---

As the armies of the emerald empire amassed to respond to the inevitable invasion by Vitium army, two ravens flew out of the forest baring messages. One was a declaration of war headed for the Vitium encampment, a force that had been watched by dryads from the forest's edge and by creatures whose minds had been bound to the will of enchanters and mages. The other few onwards, seaking out a tiny encampment hidden in a rocky outcropping somewhere behind the enemy encampment. After passing by the cave entrance and the ring of swords stabbed into the earth and stone therein the bird, a well kept creature sporting a collar which had an amber gemstone as its centerpiece, found only one of of the people it was expecting. Standing at 6 and a half feet tall, the Ent know as Yarvost the Bold was incredibly small, both for his species and age. He wore a rune covered mask sporting 4 red glowing eyes and, somewhat oddly for an ent, a thick padded robe with a belt sporting 13 scabbards The raven landed on his shoulder and, after a short delay during which the distant mage controlling the raven cast another spell, asked: “Where is Xuna?”
The Ent carefully put away the sword it had been sharpening and then pointed back behind himself at the cavern wall. The raven cocked its head to one side in confusion before deducting. “She's in the vale again?” Yarvost noded. “I will never understand how you or the animals can cope without the dreaming” the Ent shrugged “Can’t be trusted to do their duty, the Dreamless. She was supposed to be here for when Vitium made their first move”

“Don’t get your feathers all ruffled, I’ll be here when the time comes” said a young human woman who walked in past the warding ring. The raven fluttered in alarm at the sight of the intruder before the woman touched a hand to her face, revealing the human form to be an illusion, and that she was in fact Xuna the Brave. The 4 ft tall dryad, whose face was obscured by a matching rune marked horned mask who’s two eyes glowed a deep red, was one of the oldest dryads in the entire world. She pointedly refused to act her age.
“That time is now Xuna!”

“And here I am like I said I would be.” she spread her arms wide as if to present herself “You should be more trusting of us ‘Dreamless’ bird brain. Plus I think you'll find my little excursion will serve us all well in this latest war”

“I don't really care what you dug up out of the vale, just get moving already. Yaval’s instructions stand as they where given”
“We’re going. We’re going. Can’t disappoint family after all!”

The raven simply rolled its eyes as Yarvost silently stood and began to march out of the cave. As he passed by the entrance several vines snaked out from behind is back, each grasping one of the 12 unique enchanted blades ringing the entrance, pulling them all free simultaneously and sheathing them all in their respective sheaths. Xuna followed after, carefully stringing her ancient bow with its newly acquired bowstring, a hidden smile on her lips.

Esreth- Holy Capitol of Utrye.

In the holy city, life went on fairly similarly to those of other nations. Town guards patrolled, watching for law breakers or counting clouds. Children ran themselves in circles in a sea of innocent laughter, and people in the many marketplaces enjoyed hunting for that special bargain. All was well in this part of the world.

Further into the city sat the keep itself. Among its many wings and ornate spires, one room in particular did blue birds love to perch. The main chambers of Marcelles, highest priest of the Argent church. The birds melody seemed to brighten many peoples hearts, helping to alleviate their sorrows of working day after day.

To many a people's sorrow, the birds took off in panic as the main door to Marcelles chambers slammed open, revealing a very ill-tempered Elise. "Did you know about this?" she shouted before storming towards Marcelles desk. Elise noticed her chair was faced away, which only fueled her frustrations.

Elise never bothered to sit down but rather slammed a small piece of parchment onto her desk. "From the holy throne if King Louis IV, Utrye has taken the official stance as to recognize Princess Abigale d'Montigue as the rightful ruler of Lynnfaire. All official matters of state between Utrye and Lynnfaire will be through Queen Abigale or her appointed delegates." she took a deep breath. "Signed King Louis IV."

"Did you know? The only thing here to recognize is that they are Infidels! Why do we pander to these swine." Elise balled her fists, "Tell me!"

Nearly a minute went by before a soft, calm voice replied. "Are you asking me? Or ordering me?" Marcelles replied, slowly rising from her chair to face Elise.

Elise's voice grew shaky as Marcelles form became apparent. "I-I meant no offense."

"I suppose your comments missed their mark then." Marcelles replied dryly. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts before circling her desk to meet Elise face to face. "I shall.. Humor your question. Times are changing Elise, you have to understand that."

Elise frowned, "Times are changing? Advancing time means we can forsake our ideals?"

"You presume too much." Marcelles snapped. "The way things work. Crusades alone cannot accomplish as much as before. Politics, military posturing, trade embargoes, all are the new tools of war in these times."

"Military posturing? If we call a crusade, the prophetess will protect us, we will have justice on our side." Elise replied confidently.

Marcelles shook her head, "You have to put yourself in the prophetess position. if you were her, what wou-"

"Blasphemy!" Elise shouted, "How could anyone, especially you compare yourself to a god!" before she could continue though, a massive force of unseen energy burst forth from Marcelles now outstretched arm. Elise flew backwards into the chambers door, where she found herself unable to move. Pain began to fill her mind as Mercelles, still holding her hand out, walked closer.

"Elise! I've warned you before! A firm.. Yet just hand. That's what you must deliver. But all you deliver is pain." Marcelles shouted, before pushing Elise into the wall even harder, drawing screams that echoed through the room. "Our own people afraid! You're too heavy handed Elise!"

Marcelles got as close as she could and with her free hand, withdrew a bracelet from her cloak. She shoved the bracelet onto Elise's left hand and with a gentle wave of her hand, the bracelet shrunk down to Elise's wrist width, firmly settling on. After a few moments, Marcelles let up on Elise entirely, watching her tired body slide onto the ground.

"Submit Elise, There's no reason to continue this path. Be the inquisitor you were born to be." Marcelles said proudly, staring right into Elise's now wide eyes.

With her head now bowed in defeat, Elise examined the bracelet, "What is this?" She said calmly, with the clear intent to not provoke Marcelles again.

"It is a tool to remind you of your service to Utrye and Argenism." Marcelles answered.

Elise slowly began twisting her wrist, as if to try and adjust the bracelet.

"Don't bother." Marcelles said, watching every move. "That will be on until you have regained the trust of the inquisitors."

"What must I do." Elise said dryly, followed by a long sigh.

"Hmmm." Marcelles turned her back to Elise and moved towards a nearby window. Outside she saw the rolling green hills before her. "There is a situation that only a true inquisitor could solve, this will be your test. There has been an affront to the gods in the south. The land itself seems to have been torn asunder, Like a god had cleft through it with malice."

"It will be done." Elise said simply.

Marcelles turned to her and took a stern tone, "No. Not as you are." Elise stood up and gazed about the room.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Remove your armor and surrender your sword." Marcelles said, motioning towards her desk.

Elise didn't question it, though her confusion was beyond apparent. After a few moments of silence and the degradation of nearly fully undressing in front of another, Elise stood with only a faded blue loose fitting belly-cropped shirt, and worn beige breeches.

Some pity did fill Marcelles mind as she watched Elise place her armor upon Marcelles desk, "You may keep your knife." Elise turned to Marcelles who then continued. "Help yourself to those sandals, and take that map next to your armor. Take your leave, earn your position back."

Elise was quick to leave, and promptly left the city walls. All the while, Marcelles watched from her high window. As Elise crested a hill and disappeared from sight, King Louis walked in. "Is she gone?"

Marcelles smirked, "Yes, that problem has taken care of itself." She chuckled a bit before returning to her chair. "Your problem in the south will likely be dealt with as well. Two problems gone at once."

Louis frowned. "Is getting rid of her really wise? Her power is..." He rubbed his chin, "Intense."

"To say the least." Marcelles added, "It took everything I had to hold her in place. She was barely resisting and I had to put my all to... just maintain control. It's too dangerous. She is a woman out of time. Imagine her glory when Utrye was first born."

"You seem to envy her." Louis said, moving in to examine Elise's armor.

Marcelles shrugged, "I only envy her ability to wildly tip scales in what ever she believes in. Soon the prophetess will embrace her, and welcome her into the silver legion. It will bring her glory, a peaceful end."

"Making excuses to ease your conscience. Though, I cannot argue with it." Louis replied before turning to the door and taking a few steps. He stopped and turned his head for a moment, "I just hope... this works like you hope it does."

"As do I."

---------------
Days later, in the south.

Elise's heavy steps and nearly fixed furrowed brow had done wonders keeping both bandits and citizens from socializing with her. Even the wild animals seemed to have no desire to interact with her as she strode through the country side, stopping only to eat, drink, and relieve herself.

Upon finally entering her target village, she saw a crowd near the town square where men were telling of the crags. The Inquisitor in her wanted to detour, harass the locals about the situation, but something in her, a pure focus brought on by near rage sent her straight by the group of people.

Instead, she found herself at the house that the map had described. She went to the front, seeing the door swung open. Something didn't feel right, a feeling that caused an natural reaction to draw her knife. "Hello? Anyone inside?" She said softly, but clearly into the door.

-

The numerous candles kept the room lit, the generally blue color and the dim lighting to be received from such sources did create a melancholic mood in most times if not now. Various maps had hung around the walls, the Northern coast, the Western cities, the Southern coastline of Olira, as well as various navigational charts. All now strewn around the large table, accumulating in various corners as matters are decided. Sitting a Merchant Lord, a Grand Admiral, a Magus, and the High King and Queen.

“...Not even those who pay for their own security have been spared. These ‘Pirates’ do appear to have Mages on every ship, from the current reports. And especially of the issue are the so-called ‘Red Junks’ which, as you know, are a threat to any civilized conduct over the waves. All good people of Freishann demand action.” The Merchant Lord sat down having conducted his speech to the four other members of the room.

“In any case we need to call in the Emeralds.” The Woman in Freishannese admiralty garb stated plainly. “A few of their Living ships could deal with quite a number of these pirates. I’d feel a lot more comfortable tackling these unknowns with them, especially since they were able to call in such able magical support.”

“Yes, the mages are a concern to the Collegiums as well.” An older man, in his lower sixties, added. “I must thank both of you Grand Admiral Helestrái and Honorable Sir Pelíoros, such reliable reports are hard to come by.”

“Speaking of Mages,” Admiral Helestrái interceded, “How exactly can the Magi assist in this matter, Grand Magus?”

“Well there are few Magi who do study the art of combat, they could serve on some of your vessels to combat the opposition.”

“Surely some of the others could use their diverse talents to assist in some way? After all, what is the point of training these skills if not to use them?”

“Admiral, you must be aware that most the Magi are not trained in a fighting situation. We are talking about educators and researchers in their own fields for the truly talented of course. I do not believe they would of much use.” He said before forestalling the Admiral, “However I believe that quite a number of the older Numeric Magi could be spared for such duties, sufficient to support the Combat Magi in any case.”

“It decided then, appropriate numbers of the Magi shall support the fleet, and Admiral you can lead the anti-piracy efforts. I do want to have an explanation of where exactly all these ships came from at some point, capturing for information would be a good first step.” High King Melaníonn continued as the Admiral made a gesture of acceptance. “As well I want those Magi on the Open seas fleet, they’ll be of less utility for the coastal patrols. Although I would like to see a pirate try to face down a proper squadron of galleys…”

“It would be wise to raise the readiness of the coastal troops. The last thing we need is raiders at a time when our fleet is less able to repel them.” High Queen Káhesh interrupted her husband’s musing.

Waving to acknowledge and accede to the idea the High King continued, “Now what was that report that you had Pelíoros?”

“As you wished for your Majesty. Here I have the report from Trader Oslarelúrd of the description of the Heavenly Sphere ships of the Southern seas, pertaining primarily to structural similarities that are apparent in the more detailed accounts of the Pirate vessels...”

@Serpentine88


Capitol city of Mígōng-

Deep inside the city a crowd gathered around the most central government building. Glass and splintered wood laid about, directly underneath a rather large hole in the structure. A trail of splinters and glass bits flanked by human footprints led casually towards a central pillar, that had been defaced with the calm writings of a professional,

"My name is Li, a humble man from a place far from this city. We all hold things dear, and in my possession is an item to help set us all free. You see, many believe the Sphere should open up to the world, become one with the community of friends this world has to offer. Perhaps this is a bad thing that I have done what I have done, but I'm a businessman. So in the pursuit of fairness, I'm going to send an offer to you, to purchase what I have in my possession.

There is a tree in Lynnfaire near the biggest Serene church, and a Large barrow in Matathran near the Utrye border. At each of these places, I want a large sum, one thousand pure gold coins left at each location in unmarked boxes. I'll leave both halves my this objects at those two locations upon payment.

Do not mistake my charity for complacency. I will be watching carefully, and if I do not recieve this payment within three weeks, I'll reach out to Matathran, Lynnfaire, Vlaanburg, and others to purchase what I have.

-Li"

At the base of the pillar there was a symbol of the authenticity of this mans intent, A corner of a very detailed map of the Heavenly Sphere, a map that had locations of garrisons, wall details... The keys to bypassing the Heavenly Sphere's defenses.

==============



@Ekreture@Commodore



"Father!! Hurry!!" A young boy cried, grasping a rope as hard as possible. All around him was sound and fury, water splashed into his boat, rocking it violently left, then right. He shouted again as loud as a waterlogged child could. His body began to shake from fear as there was no reply from his father. Above him, a large sail tore from its mast, pulled the rope from his hands. "Help!!" He shouted as if the storm were listening.

Fear gaveway to acceptance as he fell to his back, staring to the heavens. It was a beautiful sight, purple and white hues flanked by dark greys and in some areas dark black clouds against a barely visible blue sky. In the distance, further west, all he could see was near pitch black clouds and water. He was barely on the cusp of this massive storm, and it was moving fast.

His only regret was never getting to say good bye to his mother, who herself stood on the shores, staring into the heart of the storm.

==============



@DracoLunaris



Deep in the northern most forests a young human female sat on the porch of her humble abode. It was a simple day like most others up until the singing caught her ears. It was a strange sound that seemed to guide her body into the trees.

"Can.. I help myself?" She said, unable to control her own body. As she traversed the trees, a strange stave caught her eyes, sticking out from an old rock. "What is this?" She said, regaining control of her body. Her curiocty piqued as whispers caught her attention. It called to her, "Do not fear." It whispered, in a strange deep voice. The Imposing weapon, at least three meters in length, shined with a solid gold frame with dark red symbols. As she grasped it, the rock cracked in half, easily allowing her to remove it.

It was strange, everywhere she stepped, the grass turned bright green, as if it were now bristling with life. Her first thought, blessing her crops that after a few moments near the weapon, had flourished into a glorious bounty. Her next thought, travelling to the nearest military post to turn it in. "It's the right thing to do." She said, mimicing what she kept hearing in her head..

"The right thing to do."

===========================

A collab with @Goldeagle1221



Swords clanged, a bright spark ricocheting off the dancing blades. Edith swung her blade again, dancing around Abigail, targeting her back. The blade hissed through the air, only to be caught by Abigail's blade, her arm reaching over her shoulder to parry. In a swift stroke, Abigail spun to face Edith and the blades, the pommel of her sword popping out of the parry to strike the flat of Edith's blade, knocking the point of her blade to the floor, Abigail’s boot stepping on it, snapping the sword from Edith's grasp, as her own sword rested under Edith's chin, the dulled practice tip pressed onto her skin.

Edith huffed, exhausted. She wiped sweat that was forming on her forehead and smiled, adopting a casual stance, "I'm afraid..." she gulped air, "I have nothing left to teach you today."

Abigail seemed hardly half as tired as Edith, a vigor electrifying her eyes, her fingers shaking with energy, "nonsense!"

"No," Edith waved her hand, "Never before have I met someone so quick to learn, but I am honored to have been the teacher of that person."

"Honored?" Abigail juggled the hilt of her blade to and fro from each hand idly, "we can't be done just yet, it has merely been two days."

"Don't worry" Edith walked over to the far side of the indoor gymnasium, finding a bowl of cool water left out by the servants, "we can pick up again tomorrow, not that I see much point, I feel as though you are my equal."

"Then call it sparring," Abigail shrugged, making her way to the weapon stands, "if you don't want to call it lessons, either way, I don't want to stop."

"Nor do I think you should," Edith splashed her face, "not with your natural talent."

There was a knock on the door and both women turned to it, Abigail calling out, "Hello?"

"Archon Vorren is here for his appointment with her Majesty," an elderly voice called out, and Abigail paled, "I forgot," she mouthed at Edith who shrugged.

"Uh... yes!" Abigail called back out, "Have him meet me in the west tea room! I'll be there shortly."

"and if he asks what keeps her Majesty?" The voice called back, old, almost lecturing. Abigail twisted her face, "don't worry about that, just let him know, I'll be there shortly."



The west tea room was quant. Bright woods covered the stonework of the castle, and large open windows overlooked a courtyard some stories below. Comfy and plush chairs sat on short stubby legs, circling a low sitting table, a wooden pattern burned onto it and painted with an oil to maintain a glossy look. Drapes covered the bare walls, held to part by golden ropes and revealing various marble busts and small murals painted onto the wood. The glass windows were cranked open by some well-made mechanism, letting in a crisp spring breeze that carried the green scent of grass and buttercups.

On one chair Vorren made himself at home, at the request of an old servant, with the words that Abigail would be with him shortly. He toyed with his tea, swirling it around the rim of the porcelain, but not hard enough to spill over the edge. He thought about the fiery woman who defied Duke William and claimed the throne of Lynnfaire. He didn't really know her, not like he did his own Electors. Everything he did know had been relayed by word of mouth or by written word. It remained to be seen just what kind of woman she was in private, beyond the 'warrior princess with a stiff upper lip.'

On the other hand, did it really matter? The marriage was political, and Abigail had already secured herself an heir. So long as she and Vorren could sit in the same room without incident, there was nothing more asked of them. Yet, that felt so - unsatisfying. Even if the union was symbolic, he hoped they wouldn't have to merely pretend they liked each other. The Archon frowned as he swirled his cup too hard, a drop sneaking over the rim and hurling itself to the floor. He set the cup down on its saucer - probably for the best - and his attention was turned to the sound of the patter of heels on stone outside. He straightened in his seat and looked to the door.

The footfalls stopped outside the door and it swung open, a wrinkly hand on the knob as the elder servant let Abigail in. Abigail stepped through the portal and into the room, dawning a welcoming smile. Her golden hair was pulled up and held by a simple pin, studded with some foreign blue stone, and her face was clear of any make-up often seen in Lynnfaire nobility, wielding only her natural look. A keen eye could notice the hasty wardrobe she had put together. Vorren bowed respectfully as she entered and was surprised to see, from his hunched perspective, a pair of black leather sparring boots poking out from under from her cobalt blue and silver-lined dress. Also evident were the hems of padded pants meant for combat.

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness," Vorren said as he returned to eye-level.

"Likewise-" Abigail cocked her head, "would I call you first-among-equals?"

The vampire laughed. "Merely 'Archon' will do. I claim no titles other than my name and station."

Finding a seat opposite of Vorren, Abigail sat, pulling discretely at her dress, as if to hide as much of her boots as possible, "Archon it is then." Vorren returned to his seat in turn.

The servant handed Abigail a tiny saucer and cup of steaming tea, bowing deeply. Abigail nodded her thanks and the man left the room. Abigail took a sip, more to test the temperature than taste, before setting the saucer down on the table.

"So," Abigail continued, "it would be obvious to say that you got my message, and I, yours."

"Obviously," Vorren said lightheartedly. "And it would be just as obvious to say you look more prepared for a fencing session than a diplomatic talk." Abigail grasped at her dress, her attempt at illusion squashed, but Vorren held up a hand. "What school does Your Highness practice?"

"I practice with the sword, both arming and long," Abigail answered, pride returning to her voice at the question, "but I'm partial to the hand and a half."

"I can only assume you know swords as well?" Abigail seemed intent on the topic, her gaze unwavering.

"I've trained in a number of styles. Traditional Lynndian, Tarkiman sword and shield, Utyrian longsword, to name a few. The longevity of my kind provides an opportunity to try many things in one lifetime." With a chuckle, he added, "Maybe not as diligently as I should."

"Then you will have to spar with me sometime soon, I fear I have exhausted my military advisor already," Abigail leaned forward in her seat, "bring all your styles, I want to see them."

"It would be an honor. This advisor is the same one responsible for putting Duke William in his place so many times over the course of the war?"

"Edith," Abigail nodded, "yes, she is from the Electorates, even."

"All the more reason I'm glad she's on your side. Last I heard, there was to be a diet to resolve the matter of succession?"

The glint in Abigail's eye turned into a look of seriousness, often seen on a politician, "yes, I leave in the morning for Rownstetaine, and then hopefully return the following day with the civil war behind me and peace ahead."

"Which also involves our arrangement," Abigail ceded, "our marriage will bond Vlaanburg and Lynnfaire closer than it has ever been barring ancient history, the nobles of this realm can't afford not to back it. With cousins in Osetina, and ourselves bonded in matrimony, this region of Askor would be politically solid and stable, more so than it has been for quite some time... but I'm sure you thought of this long before you arrived here. Admittedly, it may also be a deciding factor for some in the diet, to that of which I am selfish to use you for my own politics."

"Selfish and smart are synonyms, depending who you ask," Vorren said with a shrug. "I'm just as excited as you to see our lands bonded together. When all is said and done, I pray others reconsider any designs they might have on either Lynnfaire or Vlaanburg. It's no secret, as I'm sure you know, that the Electorates have been in its neighbors' sights for some time. Even the renown of our pikes can't dissuade them forever."

"I am aware," Abigail fell back into her chair, but keeping a straight back, "I find it despicable to say the least. I do not hold the same fiery hatred as others do, such as my cousin William, and I do not hold the people responsible, but if I may speak freely on this, I do find the administration coarse and alien. I do not see why they would think driving a wedge between Vlaanburg and Lynnfaire would be a task to ponder, but at least with their ample warning we know what to expect. If you really want to hear an earful on that you should talk to the Archbishop d'Kamwell."

"It's my hope Lynnfaire doesn’t fall into another war right after winning one. But nevertheless - let's talk of other things. Unions should be happy times, be they for love or for politics." Vorren sipped at his tea, his eyebrows lurching up as the liquid entered his mouth. "Goodness, that's sweet," he blurted.

Abigail snickered, "honey in everything, it is the Lynnfaire way." She paused, "that's nearly a euphemism for optimism, I like it." She shook her head, skipping back onto topic "was there anything regarding the marriage that I could help you with? With our different governments, I feel like there will be plenty of contracts and treaties to keep all the details in order."

"As you know, Vlaanburg is hardly one country. Were I an Elector, this marriage might only concern Lynnfaire and the canton of Bergen. Although none of my peers objected to the union, I can't claim to speak for every one of them personally." Vorren took another swig and continued, "Although, being Archon, I maintain a degree of authority by example. I'm curious what Lynnfairish nobles think of their queen marrying... well, a vampire."

Abigail stopped mid sip, raising a brow and placing the cup back on its saucer, "well, it is only just starting to circulate the nobility, but I think our close proximity for so long has softened many of our nobles to the idea. The act is rather new, but the concept of a Lynnfairish lady marrying into a vampyric family is hardly a recent thought." Abigail shook her head, "although those stories are usually of greed, lust and love, and not politics or the greater good."

She tapped her chin for a moment, "while I doubt there will be much backlash, with their eyes more focused on your title than your being, I personally... well." She stopped and went back to her tea. Hiding her mouth with her cup she uttered before a sip, "don't know what to expect."

Vorren eyed her for a moment as she disappeared behind her tea. Then asked, "'Expect' from the nobility, or 'expect' from me, Your Highness?"

Abigail sipped again, her eyes slowly drifting to the ceiling in thought as she drained the rest of the tea, the liquid running lukewarm. Gingerly she placed the empty cup down and smiled, "in general, I suppose."

"You are..." She pondered her words, "significantly older than I am, and of different experience. I do not know what to expect from our partnership or what impression it will leave when I fade to age and ultimately the grave. You will be going strong when my son is an active and well-aged king."

Vorren nodded. He'd expected the matter of age to arise, from Abigail if not by his own choosing. "I'll have you know, that in vampire years, I'm merely thirty-two," he said with a grin. "But I understand your concern. I wish there was an easy answer, but in truth, I think we'll both have to find out together."

Abigail's eyes widened, "I'm thirty-two as well! Er, well... human thirty-two."

"You see," Vorren exclaimed, leaning back, "we have more in common than we don't!" Then, in a softer voice, "I understand the political nature of this marriage. I, too, believe in the 'greater good' it will usher into the east. Even so, it's my hope that you won't find a lifetime with my vampyric nature a burden. So long as you will it, I wish for us to make the best of this in the time we're allotted."

Abigial nodded, "yes, but let's not talk about it as if it will pass in seconds. I realize I brought it up, but it just hit me we are talking about my entire life on this realm." An existential look passed on her face. "Needless to say, I do not expect a burden... but I do ask you be patient with me, I do not even know the true nature of vampyrism or all that it entails."

"'Patient?' Of course, Your Highness - I have all the time in the world!"

"Good," Abigail smiled, "and while we are alone you may call me by my birth name, as is custom of married nobles."

"Oh, but we aren't married yet," Vorren said with a fanged smile. "How scandalous!"

"I think you will fit into Lynnfairish high society just fine," Abigail snickered.

Northeast of Chalice, Cradle's Throat

The map was clear - the Totem of Lucrore was near, and the awful presence of the City of Chalice had faded over the horizon at last. Though everyone was still on edge from the monster attack they had witnessed, the destination of their journey being so near had renewed some of their excitement.

“You think we’ll find answers there?” Lee asked his mentor. Over the course of their journey his views had changed. “Maybe… but that’s not what we truly need, is it?” answered Ittain. “We need the right questions first. Yes, the questions. Those are important. Why open a peasant’s footlocker, when you could find a king’s vault? It are the questions, my young… prodigy. Those are important. You can answer a billion questions and not learn a thing, or you can make one inquiry that changes your world. And it doesn’t even need to be answered.” As always, Lee’s mentor spoke in half-riddles. Though instead of rejecting them downright, he began to ponder on them. Though his concentration was broken quickly. “It’s not for. According to the map we’re barely half an hour away from it.” Said one of the Seekers.

The remaining journey was somehow more remarkable than the way to Chalice had been, despite the similarities. There were fewer farmsteads and small dwellings here. The occasional remnant seemed more untouched and less weathered, the plains themselves seemed more wild and untamed. Eventually, after climbing a particularly steep hill just as the sun began to set, basking in the twilight sat a ruin which had to be what they were looking for.

The ruins had a much larger area than many they had seen before. Rows of weathered columns surrounding the overgrown gardens of what once must have been a handsome path leading within the ruined main structure, still barely supported by surrounding buttresses. Within, they could see the remains of what had clearly once been a large atrium-styled hall, and the beginnings of a chipped but still largely intact mural lain out along the floor. The massive twin doors that had once led into the chamber had both fallen, and whatever structure had once existed above - a spire, or a dome perhaps - was long gone, leaving towering but still exposed awning above the place, leaving the interior open to the heavens.

That was not all the group saw. A single figure had been sitting watchfully on the fallen monoliths that had been the twin doors. Whoever it had been - their details had been hard to make out, as they were fully cloaked in dark robes - they had spotted the group, as they leapt to their feet and ran within the interior. A lookout.

“Stop.” Lee said. He had learned from his time in the north. They weren’t welcome here. The three other Seekers huddled together, grabbing their knives. The mercenaries, better equipped to handle trouble, formed a circle around their customers. Lee, with just a bit of combat experience, had prepared for this possibilities since they entered Matathran. They’d go in slow, expecting the ambush. The books said he should try to surround it. But he had far too many people on his side to do that. Though all sense of tactics were thrown out of the gate when he saw that Ittain was not amongst the other Seekers. Instead, the blind madman had closed his book and walked up to the collapsed door, whistling. “What is he doing!?” Lee yelled. The entire group began to run towards the old man. Who inexplicably got so close to the ruin and managed to enter before everyone else. "Hello there! Hello!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the massive structure.

Nobody answered him, and if not for having seen the lookout run inside, the place would have seem abandoned. The interior chamber, though visibly weathered and flooded in several parts, still retained much of its grandiose nature. It was a long hall, most ot the floorspace dedicated to a long mural made of multicolored shards and chips of stone and slate, which had deteriorated in many places or lost its coloration where not covered in water, but the imagery was still clear - shining figures with gleaming auras surrounded a fallen figure, but one amongst their number - an individual garbed in brilliant red raiments with filigree of gold and turquoise - lay a hand shrouded in white flames upon the fallen figure. Above them, as the walkway and mural reached the end of the hall, a rising impression of the same fallen figure, now wreathed in resplendent light, was depicted rising over a depiction of what had likely once been a stylized overhead map of Askor.

At the very rear of the chamber was a raised dais of marble, surrounded by a rotunda of walls with faded, painted imagery surrounding it - most of them far too damaged by rain and wear to make out, but one of them depicted a woman holding a babe, kneeling at the dais' foot. Atop the dais itself-

The Totem.

It was the one element of the ruin that still retained its wholeness, both in form and power. It stood nearly four meters tall, its structure made of some rough, gleaming red crystaline substance that had been formed in chunks, traced through with lines of brilliant turquoise. It rose as a column to support a prong that rose near the top, with notable alcoves near the prong's base and near the ends of each prong, each one shelled with rippling silver and housing a faint, hovering light within. Hung and drapped down from the central prong was a rich red tapestry of silk, rimmed with gold and depicting a circle of white flame around a nucleus of a soft orange sphere of light.

As tempting as it might have been to rush out into the open, the entire hall was lined with columns that cast adjoining areas and passages in darkness - the lookout or any number of other individuals could have been lurking therein, waiting.

Ittain remained at the entrace, looking wid- eyed inside. The mosaic at his feet telling stories he had read about time and time again. Eventually, Lee and the group could catch up. Realizing Ittain was just Ittain, he didn't say anything but tried to get the old man in the protection of the mercenaries he hired. Yet the old man moved Lee aside and wandered on, into the room, looking everywhere around. "Come out now, come out. We're all here in this holy house together. Come out." He motioned the mercenaries to lower their weapons. Who wisely disobeyed the order.

"He's mad." One said. "He'll doom us all if he walks in too deep. There are thieves in here." Lee took a note of the merc's suspicion, but still ushered the group to follow a far too comfortable Ittain.

They had advanced not even halfway down the hall, Ittain perhaps three quarters down, when cloaked figures emerged from the darkness of the adjacent pillars - just as the twilight above faded, and the first stars began to shine. The only light in the room now came faintly from above, from the torches the mercenaries had thought to bring, and the totem - and so the cloaked figures seemed as wraiths as they cautiously approached. There were perhaps a thirteen or fourteen of them in total -

A fifteenth of the hooded figures emerged from a passage near the rear of the chamber, and strode confidently past the totem itself towards Ittain.

"You called this place a holy site. Prithee, are you a Primordial Worshiper, mayhaps? From where do you hail?" His voice had a booming quality to it, easily heard by the seekers and mercenaries behind Ittain, but at the same time seemed measured and collected in its intonation - the man sounded...intrigued.

"We can't move further." the officer of the mercenaries said, holding the whole group up. "Why not! He's all alone there!" Lee shouted. "If we get in any more, nobody here makes a chance to run out of here." Lee bit his teeth and held his drawn dagger close. When the worst came to be, he'd weave some illusion of a monster barging in.

"Oh from far! I've come from so far. I've sailed over waves. Dove in the deepest caves." Ittain's enthusiasm seemed to be blinding him from the obvious truth. "But where I come from, there aren't any of those... magnificent things." he said, pointing at the Totem. "With such a powerful and mighty sign of Their power, you must have felt power so grand. Oh I almost envy you. I envy your faith. To sleep in such a forgotten but beautiful place. You must all be great worshippers. Tell me your names, please. I beg you, brothers."

His inquiry was met by laughter and scathing chuckles from the surrounding shrouded figures as they stepped ever-closer to the group of seekers and mercenaries behind him, some of them moving to block the pathway out. Their leader - still advancing towards Ittain from the totem itself - alone answered.

"Oh yes, this place, the totem, its power - the power of Lucrore - is self-evident. One would have to be blind in more ways than one not to recognize it...to be in awe of it." His voice was exultant as he spoke. "It drew us all here with a common purpose. We are the Fraternity of the Empyrean Flame. You may call me...Pedagogue Ormoneric. I am the foremost teacher and...disciple here, you might say. But tell me, who are you, and what is your purpose here? I would know if our ends would be harmonious with one another..." An implicit threat hung from the last of his words like a poised dagger.

"Why else would we be here, if not to ask the questions that demand to be asked for years now? And to ponder upon them, of course. Oh but my prodigy told me to speak in clear terms. Forgive me, brothers. We are here to learn from Lucrore and glean his insight on rebirth."

"Fool!" The words echoed through the hall. Lee was no longer scared or calculating. He was angry now. "Do you not see that these people are threatening us!?" A purple light shone in Lee's hand, he was ready to cast the spell. But his task just got a lot harder. These robbers were no longer allowed to survive.

Ittain, in the meantime, turned back to the man claiming ot be Ormoneric. "Is this true.. Pedagogue Ormoneric?" He sounded sad, instead of angry.

"Perhaps had you been of lesser ilk...but your desires meet ours." Ormoneric said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "You have come to learn of Lucrore, to glean insight on rebirth...That is our goal as well, you see. Forgive us our...temptations towards dispute. It is not everday we receive such enlightened guests such as yourself. This land is swarming with indolent, vagrant pedants who know not the potential of what remains here." He raised his hands and drew back his hood, revealing a tall face, long raven hair, and sparkling eyes set against bronze skin and pointed ears - a sun elf, albeit likely a half-breed given the coloration of his hair.

"Come, brothers, we are amongst friends - there is no need for such hostility...is there?" He looked past Ittain to Lee as he posed the question, his eyebrows raised. The surrounding members of his 'fraternity' stood poised at a distance immediately around the seekers and their guards.

"How do we know you're speaking the truth so we drop our guard?" Lee asked, still very much critical of what was happening and with the spell still ready. "Your people have not been kind to the Primordials. Your queen slaughtered the very one whose temple we now stand in. Why should I trust you?" he asked. Ittain looked down upon the ground, pondering the question. Letting Ormoneric answer.

"Empress." Ormoneric replied simply.

"That is no answer." Lee became ever more stand-offish. If this was Vallenguin, he would have the Seeker's vault summoned. If this was Vallenguin, Mist Mages and Sea Fangs would've surrounded the elves already. But this was not Vallenguin. "Why should I trust you?"

Ormoneric raised a single finger and wagged it admonishingly.

"Andromache is an Empress. Not a queen." He said neutrally. "It is important to keep the truth of the story straight in order to discern the truth of this place as it is now - and however much some may not like it, it is the height of delusion and folly not to recognize Andromache's status as it is. I shall recite...and you, boy, will listen, learn, and come to understand."

He snapped his fingers.

A brilliant, gleaming silver flame erupted at his fingertips, tracing its way along his body. The lights within the totem surged, and along the entire length of the hall, sconces of fire erupted with light, thin and pale flames dancing within as the interior was illuminated, casting the robes figures in greater detail. Many of them pulled back their hoods, their looks expectant as they turned their attention to Ormoneric.

Ittain smiled and sat down in between Ormoneric and Lee. "Listen to him, my Prodigy. This man knows what you want. If it makes you feel any safer, I will protect you." But Ittain did not move. He merely sat. Ready to listen. The Seekers looked at eachother. The first one slowly sat down, then another and finally all Seekers sat, except for Lee. Who remained defiant with the purple light in his hand. But not so defiant as to not listen to Ittain. "Fine, talk."

"Decades ago, an orphaned girl of fourteen found herself abandoned in the Cradle's Throat." Ormoneric began, his voice steady, if somewhat theatrical. "Left to fend for herself in the vale, replete only with monstrosities and terror, she came to this place seeking shelter, and seeking to despil it - herein, she took offerings left in praise of Lucrore for her own sustenance...and then, a miracle occurred..." He gestured behind the totem, to an empty alcove set in the wall of the rotunda surrounding it, where an empty and massive sarcophagus was raised against the wall. "The Primordial Lucrore, in the flesh, arose in this very chamber, when for thousands of years no other Primordial has been seen or heard from...! Now, the first question I pose to you, boy...Why would a Primordial, or even the Primordial Lucrore himself, have arisen at that specific moment...? Answer." His tone was firm and demanding.

Lee was not a fool. The obvious question, the one religion would dictate, was that Lucrore returned so the others could too. But Fate had its tendrils everywhere. "He returned for... Andromache?" It was an answer and a question and Ittain smiled. It didn't make sense. Why would he return just to be killed? Why not return now, when he would be amongst those faithful?

"Possibly, perhaps...your answer is adequate. Not the best I have ever heard, but the question is a difficult one - you see, there was nothing special about the movement and position of the celestial spheres above. It was not a particularly fortuitous moment in the season. It was a day far from that of any of the Primordial Holidays celebrated in any culture, at least as far as I am aware. The date past the year when the Primordials vanished was odd and unusual. The foolish would say he rose to punish her for despoiling his shrine and resting place, but that was not the first time such had occurred - and so the natural conclusion is that, whatever quality caused him to awake, Andromache's presence was sufficient for that purpose - or else, the quality is unknown and beyond our knowing." Ormoneric's smile became apologetic. "I apologize if that answer seems unsatisfactory - we are but mortals, grasping at straws in the wind, to understand the mind and motives of a god."

Lee, frustrated, threw his dagger against the ground. A loud clang rang through the hall. "That's not good enough! We came here with a mission. And I am not leaving until I get the answers I want." But then Ittain rose up. "Be silent, child." his voice was far from how it once sounded. The grandfatherly warmth was replaced with an ethereal greatness. The words lingered longer than they should and Lee looked on, shaken to his core. Never had he seen Ittain like this. For the first time, a power oozed from him. But then it stopped. His warmth returned with a soft smile. "I have told you to ask the right questions."

Lee took a deep breath. "Ormoneric. We have come here in a bid to return the Primordials. On the whole of Askor, only here did a Primordial return." He took another deep breath. Trying to stay calm. "You clearly... have an influence on this place." Finally, Lee dropped to one knee. "If nothing else, grant us your knowledge." Finally, he had dropped on both knees, looking down in a combination of shame and sadness.

"Your prostration is unnecessary. Continue to listen - and by the break of dawn, you too, might wield the Empyrean Flame...or more. Perhaps the last key to solving this mystery has been a...foreign perspective or peoples." Ormoneric indicated slyly. "All will be revealed...but you must listen."

He turned and began to pace in front of the totem as he carried on with his story.

"Now of course, the Primordial Lucrore rose, and due in part to the Empress' own recalcitrant nature, the exact details of their encounter remains uncertain and vague. Only through years of study, not only of these ruins, but of biographies of the Empress' companions, questioning of those who overheard her speak at opportune times, bribery in the right places, and the procurement of secret Imperial papers, have we been able to begin to glimpse what transpired. You see, Lucrore was already dying when he returned. Whether it was due to whatever happened to the other Primordials, or whether his condition was incidental, is unknown - merely that in a personal bid to defy death, he had preserved himself in slumber, here, for thousands of years - until Andromache came. And of course, Lucrore himself, as I suspect you well know, was the Primordial of Rebirth." He turned once more to Lee. "There was an altercation between the two. Now, this is the critical detail - as far as I have been able to discern, the Totem itself activated - but it was activated by Andromache's presence, not by Lucrore's evocation. Of course, Andromache then slew him, and now she possesses powers beyond mortal reckoning...So boy, I pose to you two more questions." He splayed his hands wide.

"What was the Primordial Lucrore's intent upon awakening, and what is the purpose of his totem?"

"She got the power to slay a Primordial." he recited to himself. "And it was Andromache who managed to activate the Totem." Lee rose and walked up towards the Totem. This very action made the robed figures advance a step, and Ormoneric raised a hand of warning.

"No." he said harshly. "You are wrong. Think, boy. Why would an artifact made by Lucrore grant a mortal power necessary to slay him just as he awakens? I will remind you, the Primordials were gods, but even gods can die to mortal hands - the story and blade of Halwende alone are proof enough of that. Lucrore was already dying when he arose, Andromache being able to slay him at that time, while still incred-" "Andromache is Lucrore reborn." There was no lack of arrogance in Lee's voice. He stated it like a fact. Like it was obvious.

Ormoneric raised a hand to his face is disbelief, and a number of exasperated groans arose from the assembled figures.

"...That answer is obvious, and the common pitfall of those who come to study this place." Ormoneric seethed as he lowered his hand. "False! Evidently false! Andromache is not a Primordial. While it was difficult to do, she left many samples of her body where it could be acquired by my own means - spilled blood, strings of hair, nail clippings - I studied them extensively for some time, and have witnessed some of her potential first-hand. She is no Primordial. She is no Primordial reborn. A true Primordial would eclipse Andromache in every facet of being. Your answer, while foolish, does have one implicit connotation that is accurate however." Ormoneric gestured to the totem.

"The totem was intended to be the mechanism of Lucrore's rebirth. And as demonstrated, the only requisite for its activation was a quality which Andromache's presence was sufficient to fulfill. The Fraternity of the Empyrean Flame has spent decades trying to recreate that event, oh, you cannot fathom the troubles we have gone to..." He pointed at two of the robed figures in turn. "You two. Fetch the chattel." The nodded in understanding and hurried off to a nearby side passage.

"The timing of your arrival is most fortuitous - you see, we think we have finally acquired the qualities necessary to activate the totem once more. We have only come this close once more before...and we failed...but with you here, perhaps with your foreign ways, and faith, and knowledge...perhaps..." He trailed off, staring at Lee. His eyes had gone dark, his expression one of cold calculation.

Lee remained silent. He felt as if his honor was harmed. Though in fact it was his ego. He was a prodigy back at Vallenguin. One of the youngest to be allowed outside the borders. He had found hundreds of texts. Combed through languages some would never see in their entire lives. Yet here, he was treated like a common pupil. And a foolish one at that. "It's not fair." He muttered. "They have years of research here, here. By Arreantis, if I had the time they had-"

"Your arrogance is blinding." Ittain said. "You say you do not have enough knowledge. Well then ask. Ask and ask again. Or think and think again." Lee's annoyance was evident. He did not expect to be schooled here. "You talk like you have the answers already." But Ittain just laughed. "Me? oh no, no. I know as much as you do." Strangely enough though, that was not so comforting to Lee. Who just waited for the chattel to arrive, all the while ponder the words of Ormoneric. Lucrore was weakend, but Andromache was but a child. The Totem activated because of her. What was it that made a fourteen-year-old girl do such things?

The two robes figures returned...escorting with them two bound, young girls, completely naked, neither of them older than sixteen summers. Both of them had long red hair.

"These two were...very difficult to procure, Pedagogue." One of them murmured as he shoved one of the girls to the ground at Ormoneric's feet. "As dictated, one is a virgin, one is not."

Ormoneric frowned. "I thought they were both virgins?"

"They were when we brought them here." The cultist indicated blithely.

"Ah. Of course. In any case..." He turned his gaze back to the seekers and their bodyguards.

"It only became apparent when I found the most secret of pages...thought to have been destroyed, it was only a copy perchance made by an apprentice practicing their writing found in a nameless village I was able to procure, but it gave us the answer we needed...Andromache's scar, the fact that she is barren..." He looked down at the two girls with a grim smile. "Yes...tonight is the night, I can feel it." He bent down and grasped one of the girls by the chin, examining her face.

"She's not terrified." He stated calmly. He turned back to Ittain and Lee. "To recreate the scene as accurately as possible, we have been cycling through various emotional states...terror, in hindsight, should have been obvious, but did not occur to us." Without even breaking tone, he backhanded the girl across the face, and then kicked her solidly in the side before grasping her by the hair and dragging her as she started to scream up the stairs of the dais to the base of the totem.

"Boy, come here." He indicated to Lee with a crook of his finger. "Your foolishness aside, you may be what we need - you shall be our instrument in tonight's Divine Revel."

Lee has been many things. Arrogant. Foolish. Curious. Impatient. But never was he cruel. He never had to be. Lee did not know if he had the capacity for it, when he walked towards the dias. "If the road was easy, everyone would walk it." Ittain whispered as Lee passed him. "Knowledge... requires... sacrifice." Ittain may have whispered, but it was not in his voice. It was in the voice of a ghost, or a creature not human. The old man pointed at his eyes, and a shudder went through Lee. "It was a choice?" he whispered back in disbelief. But Ittain did not answer. Lee continued to walk up the dias.Two more cultists approached with him, both of them grasping at the girl and holding her up against the totem.

Ormoneric muttered something under his breath, tracing a hand across his brow, and his form was illuminated with silver flame. "Undress." He muttered to Lee, touching his brow in turn - and Lee felt the silvery flames cross from Ormoneric's fingers to alight his own body.

He felt suffused with power - the world seemed to become smaller, darker, sharper in relief as the white flames filled his own eyes.

Looking upon the girl, he swallowed hard. He never did anything like this. He looked back to Ittain, for a moment. Fear clear across his face. "Sacrifices." the old man merely whispered.

"Madness! Barbarism!" The mercenary's officer yelled, pushing a Seeker out of the way. The cultists surrounding him started in surprise, not moving. Two others joined their superior, once again drawing weapons. "Free the girls." he ordered. The merely nodded and marched forward. They almost reached the dias, until Ittain rose and blocked their path. "My friends. Let us not soil this holy moment."

"Freaking Primordial worshiping pigs." One shouted, raising his blade. But Ittain raised his own hand. His attackers eyes burst in blue flames as strange lines of glyphs snaked out of the fire. All the while, the soldier screamed and screamed, dropping to his knees and then on his side. But he kept screaming. The cultists finally overcame their surprise and drew daggers, all of them rushing the three mercenary soldiers with snarls and looks of contempt. The soldier took his sword and tried to stab Ittain. Yet the old man simply motioned as to stop the man, and he could not move a muscle. Before the cultists could even reach Ittain's victim, he pressed his thumb on his forehead. A burning mark remained, filled with purple embers. He too dropped down and the other one finally stopped screaming. The glyphs on his body remained for a moment, before retreating into the burned out eyes. Just behind them, their officer swung his sword in menacing arcs, trying to keep the cultists at bay - but he was one, and they were many. Two of them lunged for his exposed back, slashing through his armpits and repeatedly stabbing him in the neck and back - he groaned and fell to his knees, and the rest fell upon him, their bloody work done with in a moment of rising and falling wrists, daggers glinting in the starlight as they descended, and rising with crimson dappling their lengths.

Ormoneric pushed Lee away, a faint look of disgust on his face as he watched the spectacle. "Well, this is...most ill. There will be no revel tonight. Nobody else died here that day. We shall try again at a later time." He motioned to the two cultists holding the red-haired girl down, who dragged her sobbing form away, along with the other girl, who simply continued to stare at the floor with an empty expression as she was guided back through a passage behind the pillars. As they left, Lee felt the strength of the silver flames depart his body.

Ormoneric narrowed his eyes as the cultists surrounded and starting muttering angry accusation at the two remaining mercenaries.

"You brought them into this place. You will dispose of the rest." He said icily to Ittain. "I care not how, but those two must not remain here come daybreak." He clapped his hands, and the cultists surrounding the two surviving mercenaries retreated, grudgingly.

"Wait!" Lee yelled. Clarity returning to his mind. "They must live. We will... dispose of them. And the others will be gone by daybreak." Lee marched up towards the mercenaries. Taking them both by the shoulder and walking out of the temple. He needed them to get back. They saw too much, that was true enough. He'd have to kill them, probably. But not now. No, not now.

Ittain looked upon the bodies being dragged outside by the Seekers. "Most unfortunate. Lesser religions these days. They have no insight." He offhandedly said, as if he didn't just kill two people in a manner unseen for nearly five-hundred years. Though he did turn to Ormoneric. "I'm afraid my young prodigy will demand we leave by daybreak as well. You see, we are not guests in your country. But it would seem that we do have the same goal."

"If you are worried about your documentation, some of our brothers can procure more suitable dockets for you. You are free to remain as long as you need." Ormoneric said offhandedly - though his eyes were looking through Ittain, still calculating some untold thought.

"Much obliged." Ittain said, after which he pulled out a slate of clay. Where he got it, nobody could tell. It bore no seal. On it he drew a glyph. "My prodigy, for now, will be satisfied with knowledge about Lucrore and the Empyrean Flame. So will my country and my kin." he begun. As he kept drawing the strange, glyphic circle now. "However. I am not so easily satisfied. Something had to happen here, today and that did not happen. You blame us, no doubt. And we will blame you for not telling us. Petty grievances really. But still a grievance." He handed Ormoneric the slate. "This rune will allow you to contact me. Maybe a week after it's activation. Maybe a day. Who really knows." The old man said with a comforting smile. "When you carry out your ritual, I would very much like to know how it ended." And with that the old man just wandered the hall, staying away from the Totem. Ormoneric looked between the glyph and Ittain with something approaching disappointment on his face before sighing and heading for one of the side passages. As he left, the pale flames in the sconces along the walls flickered out. In their dying light, he gazed upon the glyph once more - it appeared...hauntingly familiar. Like something, he had seen ages ago and forgotten - though he could not put his finger on it...

He shrugged as the light went out. Perhaps he would study it later when his mind was not so preoccupied.

Enzar fled west along with the recovering Ruzan, carrying the tale that had already traveled all across the Empire’s holdings thanks to Yaval’s offshoots. Opinion on Enzar himself was mixed, as was what people were calling him. A treekins title,( the Keen, the Swift, the Serpent, etc. ) was a vital part of their identity, and a naming convention that predated their adoption of actual names. When the children of the Trees was young and fighting for their kind’s very survival, titles were ideas rather than words, a mental picture of what a treekin had done/could do that awarded them a degree of individuality among their mass produced peers. As time had passed, all those who survived or where later planted gained names in the adopted human tradition, yet the acquisition of a title the closest their kind had to a rite of adulthood. Names changed however, Enzar forsaking of his own in the face of  the destroyer was a prominent example. Appropriates its loss was, for he was now lord of none but the dead, it had left a notable gap that had been filed by many new ones as he was discussed. The coward, the traitor, the forsaker, the messenger, the herald, the spared, the lone swordsman, the sane, the mad, the possessed. Some even called him the brave for his lone charge, though as with Xuna it was just as used to mean foolhardy. For the time being he went simply by Enzar, his state of bing influx till he found a new purpose.

Enzar and Ruzan passed through the town of Emway as the border forest fire, the smoke and light of which could be seen throughout the southern province, died down. The former border Forest becoming subsequently known as the wall of ash. The two finally arrived in the Dreaming grove that was located in between lake Sem and Fenreforst on the day Merken Froze solid.

The next day he, Ruzan the keen, Letiana The Swift and Parabella the Intuitive sat in the foothills overlooking Lake Sem, having traveled along with others through a pass in Sems low hills. Letiana was composer of the wind dancers art, who had grown up in the same grove as Enzar, the two had fond memories of each other from that time, but had not met in person in years. While Enzar had, through courageous deeds and displays of wisdom, become an elected official, Letiana had spent her time free from service traveling distant lands much Xuna and Yarvost had, only to return one day to teach her new style of combat to those willing to listen. Parabella meanwhile was an enchanter from the Fridgit bay Grove, a child of autumn who had traveled to Cher to learn from the now deceased Lestarn The Magnificent and while there had gotten to know Enzar after she had asked to inspect his blade due to her interest in foreign artifacts. She had survived thanks to being on healing duty within the forest itself rather than on the front lines and had arrived along with a group of survivors earlier today.

From their perch on the hill they could see what remained of the Grove between Sem and Merken floating down into the lake, the Trees having ordered their own near blasphemous uprooting or felling in order to try and escape. A few Dryads stood on the trunks of the great trees with long oars or barge polles in hand, paddling and steering the trees across the lake to the river that would take them down towards the sea.

Across from them, on the opposite shore of the lake, where the 3 wide, deep, rivers that fed Lake Sem and beyond the misty marshes they flowed through to reach the lake from their source up in the distant Frozen cliffs. The cliffs themselves were hidden by mist and clouds, the day seeming to be one that threatened rain. Through the marsh ran a single long narrow road. Built atop an artificial half meter tall embankment of gravel and stone the ancient road was seldom used. Most of the Empires trade was done via sea rather than over land and when the border forest still lived access for human traders to Vitium had rendered the journey not unprofitable and dangerous. The when sending troops and supplies to the border forces the Dreaming Forest had preferred to take either a boat ride up-river from lake Sem or to traverse the natural woods round behind lake Sem up to Fenreforst. As a result the road was poorly maintained, overgrown and crawling with dangers large and small.

The four where not alone, blow them at the water's edge a number of Living ship where docked, providing with a conduit for the Dreaming, something the survivors was glad to have returned to after their lonely flight. Between the 4 on the hill and the ship a number of Letiana’s student practiced their art, watched by the crews of the ships and other assembled warriors. The sight was a strange merging of ballet performance, Country dance and material training, the lightly dressed dancers wielded greatswords and warhammers single handedly as they gracefully pared against one another, their movements looking like they where all insync with an unheard song. They claimed to dance to the song the wind played that none but they could hear. It was this that gave the group their almost cult like status among the Dreaming Forest. Through the Dreaming the others could feel the belief and certainty behind their words, yet those who did not join the dance could not share whatever it was they experienced.

The three survivors had been telling Letiana about their personal perspectives of the battle. Once they had finished she told them:

“Some of them want me to face her you know. That my speed and grace could succeed where Nyranda’s blunt strength failed”

A heavy silence followed this declaration until Ruzan spoke up with a forced chipper

“There's also the plan to do the opposite right? To Ignore her, attack her followers till she stands alone.”

“That’s what these raids are for after all” Parabella added. Indeed, that is what they were assembled for, waiting to board the small ships to carry them upstream to the marshes. Other expeditions had already moved out before Nerjeb gad even frozen, Dryads stalking through the marshes during the subsequent night to prepare traps and ambushes along the long thin road leading west to Emway. Despite having both held power in the border forest Ruzan and Enzar where now naught but regular soldiers in the line of duty rather than leaders of the expedition, overall command had been placed by vote in the hands of a Dryad from the north Fenreforst grove called Sunrost the Eagle and a south Fenreforst Dryad called Masilta the Red, who had retained her position after the congregation of various forces in her home grove.

“They will slow her, but they won’t stop her. In the end, someone will have to face Andromache”

“How about we talk about something else” Ruzan tired “did you hear about the massive hydra up north? 4 times as big as normal, and made of rotting flesh.”  

“Selzona The Cold thinks it was done with some new kind of golem magic we’ve never seen before.” Parabella Interjected informatively

“Or those mysterious black and red sailed pirate ships raiding up near Freishann and Olira?”

“More enemies”

“Um. Well, there was that ghost ship that people saw on the Sea of lights” “Ghost ship. Now your just making stuff up to distract us” “I’m telling you, the there humans said they could see right through it like it was made of glass or something“ ”humans, of course it was only humans that saw it” ”Sailed right up to one of these lights in the sea at night, shrouded in mist, then sailed into a dead end cove near the frozen cliffs and just vanished”

Eyes were rolled at Ruzan’s tall tale, but it had lifted the mood. Parabella Jump on the silence that followed to told her own story. “Have you hear the story about the woman and the mysterious staff up north? Right before dawn this woman shows up in front of Norfort leaving a trail of verdant life in her wake. She’s carrying this massive 3 meter long staff, that she says she had to hand over to them as, in her own words, ‘The right thing to do” ”that is suspicious” ”as is the staff, when Selzona studied it she found it covered in strange unknown blood colored symbols. When questioned the woman told them she had been compelled to go find it, then compelled to bring it to the fort” “like I said. suspicious.”  “but also really interesting, we didn’t know that was possible till now. If Selzona can figure out how it was done, or find who did it, then the possibilities are mesmerizing.” “think that and the hydra are connected?” “Se;zona does, she’s already sent out patrols to go hunt for whoever is responsible”

“You really like Selzona huh” “it’s a coincidence, a lot of weird stuff just happens to be going on up there. Though I have to admit she was my second choice after. Um.”

And thus they were all brought back to the present by the reminder of the dead ent mage. They were saved from another silence by the arrival of a small group of human carpenters escorting a large amount of timber, who where who they had all been waiting on to arrive “We best be going” Ruzan said, pushing himself to his feet and sprinting down to join the dancers and crew. Parabella rushed after him, but Enzen and Letiana where slower.

“I don’t want you to face that monster alone” “I appreciate the sentiment, but we already know you don’t stand a chance. You were too slow and will just get in the way of the dance” “then in what little time we have I will need to learn match your speed”

She turned to him, surprised, then smiled. “It is not speed you need to learn, only how to listen” “I’m all ears” “hmm. No. Not yet. But your ears will have to do for now. I’ll do what i can for you as we travel, but for now we best be off before we cause delays”

---

While Yaval’s network had carried the situation to all the places their mind touched, the living shis carried it furthur. The Emerald Empire was not so arrogant that it did not see it needed help. While Vitium had done an excellent job at alienating everyone, even its supposed religious allies, the Dreaming forest had spread its roots far and wide since it sprouted onto the world stage. On the south end of the bay that Andromache wanted to capture part off was the northern tip of the Empire of Lynn-Naraksh, ruled by the armor clad Broodlords. The primordial blooded humans in many ways shared more in common with the Dreaming forest than they did with the humans both empires ruled over and the two groups had found forming positive relations rather easy. The buffer Kingdom of Shenra also helped in that matter, preventing border friction between the two empires. A small party of Dryads and small monstrous ents made the short trip across the bay of lights and then began the hard ride through the foothills of the Frozen cliffs, towards the seat of the Lynn-Naraksh Emperor.

In the south ships set out form the moon shaped island of Gweldgale, a colony of the empire, heading for the singular city open to outsiders: Huángjin Di. There they hoped to glean information from reports of the empires failed attempts at assassinating the empress. While the trade city was known for its mercenaries the trip back home would be far to long for any hired to be useful, information and guidance where all they could hope for from the ancient nation.

Ships from the tiny island of Fostern set out for Freishann to make good on their defensive alliance, only to run straight into messages summoning them to discuss the junk pirates plaguing the region. The ship bearing Tenzin the Discerning docked sailed up the river linking the Freishann capital to a southern bay 2 days after the invasion began, docking there at noon among a number of currently civilian Emerald vessels of autumn. As the ships traded stories through the dreaming the diplomat and his small entourage entered the city proper.

Finally a few ships from the evergreen isles themselves sailed up the coast to to cold and brutal land of Tarkima. There they intended to seek out their recently acquired allies, Clan Brakor, in order to hire the services of some of their warriors to bolster their own military. They carried with them gifts and the promise that greater rewards, glory and plunder could be won in the defence of Emerald land.

Across the Vitium plains strode 2 final messengers, these sent not by Yaval’s will but by their own. They seek to bring others to the side of the forest, people who will not find out who they truly serve till it is much too late.

---

As the small fleet sailed up the west most Sem river, born by sail and living oars, Enzar tried to learn. He had expected sparring sessions, but instead Letiana had spent the trip talking. They sat near the stern of the ship, while behind them varios Dryads, small ents and the occasional human, clad in thick outfits to protect them from the biting insects that plagued the marshes in springtime, milled about impatiently among the supplies the ship was carrying. Ruzan and Parabella sat gossiping with a few of the others. Enzar tried to ignore their chatter and focus on what Letiana was saying. But she was not making it easy.

“You have to learn to listen” “ I am listening” “but you listen like a human listents, with an imitation of ears when we have none of the things in your head that make them work without mana. We were made in their image, but we are still closer to our progenitors than we ever will be to the Dreamless animals.” “That kind of superiority talk isn't polite when they are around” “Stop thinking like a politician please, and Listen. It’s not about what is better, it’s about not trying to be something other than what we are. When I was traveling the world the last place I stopped was at Yaval’s island. I climbed to the top of of their branches, ate their fruit and. Don’t look at me like that, it is was an honor, even if it tasted just as bland as all the rest. When I was up there i meditated, and then I asked to see the world as they see it” “and what did you see?” “everything. Or that  is what it felt like anyway. Their entire being, the island, the sea around it, the life that lived there and then far flung places across the empire. I shouldn’t have been able to process it all, and yet I could.” “the fact that our parents see the world as a blurry haze probably helped” “true, but that is because they can take in so much, and their minds are vast, deep and” “slow” “stop being curt with me if you want my help” “I apologies, I am just frustrated. How can I learn to fight like you by sitting here.” “because first you must see the world like I do, hear the world, like I do. Like how our progenitors do. To not use these faximalies of eyes and ears we have been given by the Trees, but to instead know the world as they do, as our primordial creator wanted us to.” “you can’t claim to know... No. I said i would listen. Go on” “you must see not with your senses, but with your mind. To experience everything around you rather than what is just in front of you. To feel the rhythm of life, how it ebbs and flows, to listen to the music of reality. To know your part, to be in the right place at the right time in tune with the beat. “I” “open your mind for me. Open your mind to the truth and I will show you the world”

Enzar reached out through the Dreaming, and Letiana drew him in, closer to her mind than he should ever have gon. Into an abyss of sensation. Most would have recoiled. Fled. Blocked the ordeal from their minds. Most did. Enzar did not. It was strange, terrifying, overwhelming, he felt like he was spiraling down a pit of insanity for an eternity before he finally saw the light at the end.

“Tell me. What do you feel”

“Way to many fucking bugs.”

At that Letiana busts out laughing, breaking the tension and serenity of his moment of revelation. It was a welcome break however. “Ah ha ha, oh I’m so sorry. Normally I do this somewhere much more scenic” “there wasn’t time.” “True, but none the less, you feel it now, don’t you. The music” “yes”

And he would never be able to stop.

“Then you are ready to learn how to dance”

Rains fell hard and winds blew rough as the forces of the sea pummeled the land, but the Yara clung tight to a bending tree, for he had weathered storms before. His red body stood out in the dense moisture that had constricted his forest, while his large, suctioned hand reached up for the only fruit this tree had left to pluck, when through the howling wind and rain he could hear the shallow breathing and the beating heart of a human child.

Ignore it, he thought, it is a trap. He thought nothing of it as he clasped onto the dampened fruit, and, after picking his meal, he scuttled down the tree to the forest floor. He heard the heartbeat quicken and the child grunt as he struggled to survive. The child was alone and trapped, and out of sheer curiosity, he hid himself from human gaze, making his way towards where he could sense it was.

The child was stuck under a fallen log. Nearby lay the corpse of a young lamb, who the child was likely there trying to rescue. By now it had fallen unconscious, but the Yara could feel its heart beat, and moved closer, examining the young of his adversaries. Its hair was a sandy blond, and seemed to be a male. It looked like The Boy.

---

Mother gave him a grass-sewn sack of nuts and berries picked from the forest's highest trees, and slung it around Wadju's back, much like his younger brother was clasped tight to her own. "You will be safe, Wadjunei?" It was a hot and sunny day in the forest of the Unna, but the hollow base of the Sognu tree kept the young Yara sheltered from the sun's rays.

The child chucked with mischief illuminating his black eyes, the wide grin against his red, rounded head making him look like a tomato. "Yes, Annei, do not be worried, I shall be back before the sun has set." He moved for the tree's entrance when Mother held him back. "Wait, Wadju, your father is going with you."

Wadju stood shocked, as the elderly chief fell from the treetop and stood before his son. "Come, Agnei, we should move." Knowing he could not protest, Wadju and The Chief walked through the forest side by side towards the birch where he would meet The Boy. Walking silently until the Unna village had fallen behind them, Wadju spoke up.

"I do not understand why you are coming with me." The Chief remained silent to the ears of a child, but his posture and stoic features would have spoken clearly to someone of greater experience. "Could you not hear me Adnei? I usually meet him alone." Still without response, Wadju fixed his gaze to the forest ahead, frustration stirring inside of him, when the Chief spoke up.

"The Guoda have been attacked by humans."

---

Excited flames danced along the walls of the Sognu to a song that had been long forgotten. The Yara squatted near the fire with a stick in his hand as he carefully placed a root into the clay pot that was erected above it, when the human child coughed into consciousness. The Yara remained silent. The child sat up, and began to take note of his surroundings, when he saw the fiend sat before him.

"Y-you are the Old Yara of Unna Forest!" He remained silent to the child's realization, stirring the pot while carefully avoiding the flames licking its underside. The human sat bewildered, eyes affixed to the red legend while the storm still raged outside. "You know...I wouldn't taste good!" At this, the Yara briefly looked at the young boy, confused, before turning turning back to the pot. "I know you like to eat children...but I wouldn't taste good. Like...dirt, or-or vegetables!"

Herbs fell from the Yara's hand into the pot. One missed its marker, and fell into the fire below, filling the hollow with a bitter scent. The child layed back, dissatisfied with his captor's response, and looked at the walls of the tree. They were adorned with markings and artwork, going up as far as he could see. "Did you make these paintings?"

"No," The Yara responded. The child was bewildered by the response, as well as the deep croak emitted from the small creature's body, and turned to face him.

"Are there others like you here?" The child asked inquisitively.

"No." Sniffing the smoke of the pot, the Yara was satisfied, and took it by the handle, walking over to the human. As the red being grew closer, fear welled up in the human boy's eyes, when the pot was handed to him. "Eat," said the Yara, but the child held it hesitantly. Gesturing for him to drink it, the child slowly brought it to his face, taking a sip, when he grimaced at the acrid taste. "You must eat. You are getting sick." The child began consuming the concoction, but his face remained unchanged.

---

Wadju approached the Boy by the birch they always meet at, and unslung the sack from his back. "Hey Fean!" The boy responded with a wide grin, and sat up from the ground.

"Wadju!" He ran to his friend, and took the sack, placing it by the crate of eggs he brought with him, before he picked up a couple of wooden swords. "Look at what my Father got for us!" the little prince exclaimed, handing the young Yara one of the oaken blades. Wadju took it, and felt it in his hands. They had played with wooden swords before, which usually ended up broken by the day's end, but this time he felt the sword had a different weight. "What's wrong?" asked Fean.

"Nothing...my father is watching us today...I do not think we can play as long." Fean nodded, somewhat saddened, the knowledge that the Chief of the Unna was somewhere watching, hidden from human sight somewhat dampening their day. "He says some Yara Ma got hurt by humans, so he is being careful."

"Oh." An awkward silence hung in the air. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know!" The two of them sat down with the swords placed on the ground, and sat looking at the human settlement that stood beyond; Fean's home, and the place Wadju had been forbidden to go. As a strange understanding of things crept up on them, the Boy stood up and stopped it.

"Bet you can't catch me!" he shouted before bolting off towards the medow at the edge of the woods, and Wadju laughed as he chased after him.

---

The clay pot was half empty on the floor, the child having eaten as much as he was going to, and the Yara was sat watching the downpour outside, nibbling at the fruit he had picked. As the young human stood up, his fingers touching a Yara painting, Old Yara shouted, "Do not touch that!" The child pulled his hand back fearfully, shocked at the Yara's senses, and sat back down.

"You don't have to be so grumpy!" he retorted, to which the Yara only grunted. The sandy-haired child began tearing up, and lay down facing the tree wall. The Yara sighed.

"You should not say I eat children. It is not true." The human turned his body to face him, confused.

"But my papa said-"

"Your father is wrong." The child was silent, realizing he had been mean.

"Did you see a lamb when you found me? She's why I came into the forest," the child asked, looking at the Yara's back.

"She-" He stopped himself. "No. I did not see a lamb." They were silent for a little while longer, the Yara finishing his fruit and throwing the peel to the storm.

"My name is Albar," the child said. "What is yours?" The Yara sat quiet for a moment, contemplating how to respond.

"Wadju," He said. "I am Wadju."

That evening, the wind was blowing from the east. Zenre, the locals called it, the black wind, for it was the ash that flew and lay down to smother the snow. It was unusual for the season, and usually a sign that the weather would be good the day after. As good as it could be in Koresta, that was. Even in the milder months, these lands, nested in an ungainly corner between the ever icy fangs of northern Naraksh and the dark plains at the heart of the Empire, were torn between the white shroud that crept down from the nearby hills, refusing to melt even when it grew to cover the edges of the ever-scalding wastes, and the choking plumes of cinder that rose in gusts from luridly lit crevices. The malice of the elder horrors that lurked in dread myths remembered when night fell seemed to live still in what they were fabled to have wrought, animating the wretched elements themselves to mock and torment those who would brave their domain. It would take, it appeared, incredibly stubborn or just as incredibly desperate folk to make their home here.

Yet those who dwelt in Torkhane and the few other villages scattered throughout the Demesne were no more desperate than any who walked the earth, and no more stubborn than any of their compatriots. Whatever cruel will might once have driven their forebears to settle that ravaged soil, they had chosen well in laying its foundations. It stood near the all-too-clear boundary between the two realms, yet not quite upon it, where it would have been torn even as the land itself. Rather, it crouched by the edge of the black expanse, at the mouth of a descending ravine, split just near the divide and running further up into the hills beyond it. The gulch's ridges loomed darkly over the huts in their midst, steeping them into a gloom deeper even than what was usual for Naraksh, but they were as good as walls to hold out frigid winds and swirling ashes alike.

At the very edge of the village was a wooden building larger, and, for an eye who had known only the coarsely sturdy shacks that were its ilk, comelier than most. Before its door there stood a bench just as rough and unpolished, and on the bench there sat an old man with a weather-beaten, leathery face and a crude smoking pipe between his parched lips. Now and then, he took it out of his mouth, blew out small clouds of foul-smelling smoke, eerily similar to the ash plumes that could even then be seen rising over the plains in the distance, and took a swig from one of the two tankards that stood near him. With a smoothly practised motion, perfected over years of sitting before the tavern with a pipe in one hand and ale in another, he swung his fingers to blow the smoke over the second keg. It didn't help the ale's taste, of course, but it kept the waste gnats away. Awful things, those. You let one touch your drink, and next thing you knew 'uns maggots were eating you from the inside. That's the way it was.

But it seemed the old man would not have to keep the gnats at bay for much longer. A loose troop of dark figures was approaching from eastwards, where the ash fields lay. Some carried tools over their shoulders, while a few others led along sickly mottled donkeys with sagging sides. Behind them hurried children with empty sacks, at times stumbling in their oversized bast shoes or over the rags wrapped around their feet. Most did not so much as look up as they passed by. A few nodded or raised a hand, and the elder nodded back.

One of the men turned from the path into the village and came towards the bench. As he approached, sideways to the setting sun, more and more details about him became visible. His grimy, patched clothes, woven for a larger frame, hung somewhat loosely over his body, though it was not thinner than was healthy. His hands were dirty with soot, and his face was covered up to the eyes with a cloth held in place by his hat. These rags could become furnaces on hot days, especially if the fabric was not loose enough, but most people could not afford a proper mask, and no one wanted to keel over at twenty years with blackened lungs.

The newcomer reached the tavern's doorstep, flexed his right arm, waving the gnats away as he did, and sank onto the bench with a grunt. He took the tankard the old man held up to him in his left hand, and raised the right to sweep hat and rag away from his head. The face beneath the cloth was only slightly younger than that of the old man, and even more wrinkled around the eyes. His grey-streaked beard was, despite the protection, stained with ash, and he wiped it with the hat before laying it down to his side. While those signs could, in the eyes of some, have marked him as no longer fit for the fields in the eyes of some, they had far less meaning in Naraksh than in most other place. It was a common jest that the hair of people here was grey as soon as it grew, and there was just enough truth in that for it to sometimes still raise a chuckle despite being older than the Blood Lords.

The younger man raised the keg to his mouth and drank. The dark liquor was bitter, as most things were around there, and tasted of burned cheap smoking herbs more than it did of mead, but this was the one best moment of the entire day. His friend stared pensively into the distance, mulling over the last dregs of his own beverage and absently rapping his pipe against the bench to dislodge the ash from it. Ash, more ash. It was everywhere, here.

He set down the keg, spat out a lump he had caught in the brew, and reached under his coat, producing his own gnarled pipe, a fire striker and something wrapped in a dirty cloth. Holding up a corner of the rag, he deftly gathered up some of its contents with two fingers, rolled them together and stuffed them into the pipe's mouth. He then held up the wrap and half-turned towards the elder. The latter took a pinch, smelled it and looked up curiously. "What's this one?"

"New. Trader came round while we were working." The other replied. "Looked like an easterner. 'en said this comes from Ultevrer. Also said it's pure, but ya know how's that."

The old man picked some more of the dried herb and filled his pipe. His companion, who was already puffing at his share, struck a spark into it, and for a while both sat smoking in silence.

"'s't good." The elder was the first to speak up. "Bit sweet, and has this strange taste tha' lingers, but good."

"Uhurm." A nod. "Nezhden also got few other things off him. Some of 'erm dried spiny fruit, nukre, pot of barkback for next month. An' a skin of nukre root brew." He winked, though that could have been just some smoke from the pipe going into his eye. "We'll have some this evening if ya come over."

"Always for it, ya know." The old man briefly flashed a smile of sparse yellow teeth. Suddenly, he sat up from his slouching posture and frowned, turning his squinted eyes to the horizon.

"What's that? Wurm?" There almost never were any about at that time of year, even in zenre weather, but one could never be sure with the wretched beasts.

"Don't look like it. But..."

Both men stood up and moved a few steps towards the mouth of the ravine. There was something moving over the plains, not too far away - no, several things. Some could not have been much larger than a human, but others were clearly imposing despite the distance, and their forms were something out of the savage wilderness. They moved ahead slowly, yet steadily. One could almost swear the creaking of fleshless limbs could be heard from the tavern.

"Woodkin." The younger of the two bit on his pipe, mild bewilderment written over his face. "What're 'urn doing here? Now?"

"I'en'no. Never see 'erm here, that's for sure." His fellow blew out smoke, blinking when the wind carried it back into his eyes. "Weren't they goin' to war with them of Mat'thran?"

"Heard so. If they's goin' to war, this's wrong way. This way, ya go..." In spite of himself, he felt his heart sink as his words trailed away. He could barely bring himself to finish the sentence. "...ya go to the Throne."

"Mrm." The old man was about to add something, but stopped. It was clear what the other's lapse meant. If they had gone to war, and now were going to the Throne, it wouldn't be to share the spoils. They would ask the Emperor for help. And the Emperor would not refuse. The Blood Lords always wanted more of everything. "We don't know erm's goin' that way yet."

"Na, we don't." The other did not seem convinced. "But I can't think of no other. If we get called to go... We're behind on'na tillin', and us old folk inn' enough. And..." He wiped the ash that had gathered around his mouth with his sleeve. "Dragna's expectin' her third, and Nezhden's as fit as ya can have 'erm. 'en gets taken, and it'll be the four o' us left. 'un'd be easier to just sell ourselves to the master." He forced a smile, not very convincingly.

"Me and Zlaibna i'll help, ya know that." The amicable blow to the shoulder that followed must have betrayed just what that help could possibly amount to, because he added, in a laughingly apologetic tone, "Not like we used to."

"'sa never gets worse." A spell of silence, as the last of the pipe-herbs smouldered in the quickly falling darkness. It was already impossible to distinguish ash from sky. The distant figures had faded into the dusk. "But ya'rs right, we don't know that yet. And it's night already. Let's, or they won't warm the nukre brew."

The two, themselves little more than gaunt, spectral shapes between the ridges, turned back and vanished into the shadows of the gulch. Ahead of them, the village was already opening its many narrow, glimmering eyes of fire. Yet not as many as there would have been had the snow lain over the ash. Tomorrow would be a good day.

The orders were given and the group split up. The two mercenaries accompanied two Seekers back towards the World-Hauler with all the knowledge they got from the Totem of Lucrore. But not before Lee brought the fear of the Gods into these men's hearts. Should any of the Seekers not return, Ittain would search for them. Ittain would find them and he would kill them in the same, horrible manner as he killed their compagnons. Should they succeed though, their mates' shares would be theirs. The group remained united until they were nearing Chalice and then they split.

Lee, Ittain and one more Seeker headed for Hyperion's Way. A strange place nested in the mountains. Several myths and half-truths gleaned from talks at the inns down south spoke of a flower that somehow brought forth a weapon. Ittain seemed to mumble something about the Flower of Stars. Lee had grown to respect the man but also fear him. He wasn't just a mere old man. Still, the promise of this the Celestial Flower (as later merchants named it) was too great to pass on. So they marched on, into the mountains.

The trek was somewhat arduous - though there was a foot-path leading up to their destination, it was poorly maintained, and near the top Lee was stopped by Ittain just in time to prevent him from setting off a tripwire snare that would have set off a rockfall trap had he broken it - they would have company more disreputable than last time, it would seem.

When they finally reached the plateau set in the mountainside, the site which the map labeled as Hyperion's Way became apparent - it was modest, by the standards of the vale. A round plaza made of weathered bricks, with a single stone slab in the middle inscribed with ancient, unrecognizable text - and, set into the side of the mountain was a single natural cavern passage.

More recent additions to the area were present in the form of two tents, a few racks, a campfire, and a number of leather parcels lain out in stacks - along with three individuals, armed, and unlikely to be Matathran officials.

"Well, look who got past the rockfall snare." One of them declared nonchalantly as all three men rose, drawing their weapons - crude, improvised blades that looked as though they had been made from the remnants of plows. "If you came to take the trial, you came just in time. Come noon, the last piece of meat will either succeed or fail - and you'll be next." His expression was jovial, and his eyes filled with greed as he slowly approached, his two companions circling around to flank Ittain and Lee.

“Ittain, maybe it’s time you show them that blue flames spell of yours again.” Lee said rather tentatively to his master. While he and the other Seeker pulled their much sharper blades. But Ittain turned to Lee and said: “Oh, even I don’t know what spell that was.” He said as if it was just to mention it like a small detail. But it was the fact Lee had counted on. With their official protection gone, he thought Ittain could just blast them away. “Wait so… you can’t protect us?” Lee asked surprised, if not a little frightened. “Oh… suppose I can. I think. Maybe I should sit down and think about that spell. It could pop up again. It had blue flames you say?” Ittain said as if the group of bandits were standing in front of them. “Damn, now is not the time!” Lee said, pointing his dagger at the one who spoke. Ittain turned to them, showing his bandaged eyes.

“Oh, that little trap? A nice work really. Using your environment. Saves a lot of time I’d imagine. Trial? Oh look, Lee, they’re already performing a Trial! Wait, what Trial?” Ittain just spoke as if nothing was wrong. Lee on the other hand: “Are you not seeing those damned blades!? They’re going to kill us!” Meanwhile he held his left hand behind his back, forming an illusion spell with it.

"Oh no, we won't kill you. Not unless you you make it inconvenient for us. No, I imagine it will be the wasps what kill you." The bandit's leader chortled as all three of them began to encroach on the seekers. "Now, put down your blades, or we'll kill the gibbering old fool first - slowly."

“Excuse me did you just call me a fool?” Ittain asked, as if he only took offense of that fool. “Listen, you drop your weapons and we promise you can just go away with your lives. Think about it man. Our blades are clearly a lot better than yours.” Still, maybe they had trained with theirs? It was something Lee though only briefly about as in his mind he was shaping the giant serpent for the spell. It was almost done.

"You only have daggers, and from the looks of your clothes you are all some of those weird blood-caste foreigners. You've probably never had to use them a day in your life." The bandit leader said, his smile finally vanishing even as he took another two steps forward - just inside of lunging distance. "Last chance. Drop 'em, or else there will barely be anything left for the wasps."

Lee didn’t answer. Instead he held up his left hand high and let a purple flash fill the area. He hoped the illusion was convincing enough. He had woven quite a few of them already in the past. But never under stress like this. In the leader's eyes, a giant snake would burst out of the rocks behind the group of bandits, showing it’s giant fangs before it rushed towards them. It couldn’t hurt them. It wasn’t even real. The falling stones from the serpent bursting out couldn’t even touch them. They just weren’t there. The illusion though, wasn’t flawless. Some rocks falling had no sound and on parts of the serpents body scales were missing. Still, people of lesser wit could believe it was a real monster.

The illusion worked, in part - the bandit leader and one of the other two did not even hear the illusion with its inconsistent sounds - but the third did, causing him to turn back in surprise and subsequently panic. The man screamed in terror, jumping backwards awkwardly directly into Lee and his waiting knife as the bandit leader recoiled in shock at his comrade's action. The third, turning to look at what had spooked the first, saw the illusion and also fell for it - albeit, with unexpected bravery, charged headlong as the serpent with a roar and a swipe of their blade, only to fall flat on their face for their effort.

“Oh, Dire Serpent. A little inconsistent though.” Ittain said. “Is now really the right moment to criticize me!?” Lee rebutted. “Well whenever else?” Ittain returned. “When we aren’t threatened by someone with cold hard iron!” Lee was getting fed up. But Ittain barely realized in what situation he was. Lee barely understood the inner workings of the old man. In fact, he shouldn’t even be able to see the Dire Serpent. “Oh him? He’s no-one. Look at him, holding a sharpened shovel like it’s a weapon. Now you be careful sir. That’s a very dangerous object you’re holding. Now, if you would be so kind, maybe you could be our guide into this cave. There are coming all sorts of interesting energies from it.”

The bandit leader did not comply, instead snarling and lunging for Lee with his crude weapon out-thrust, even as the third bandit behind him began to get back up on their feet.

Lee could dodge the attacks, but in the act the leader passed Ittain. “Well that is just rude.” In the meanwhile, Lee was fighting. He was barely able to say: “Would you help me here!?” The action almost cost him his ear. Ittain just sighed. “Very well, I suppose I will.” He held out his hand out towards the nearest rock wall. A red-hot glow burned a strange, glyphic circle in it. From it, a pitch black portal appeared and out came a large, black, human like arm with claws on its fingers. It grabbed the leader and pulled him back into the black portal. Above the bandit that was just getting up another glyphic circle formed in red-hot lines drawn in the very air. From it another black portal appeared, dropping the bandit leader on his mate. Both black portals then closed themselves. On the rock only a handful of glyphs remained burned into the rock. Ittain walked up to the two bandits, saying: “Now that we have that little, petty skirmish out of the way, how about you tell us a little about this place?”

The bandit leader simply swore, and with a surge, leapt to his feet and fled back down the mountain trail, having lost his blade in the portal. His compatriot, stunned from having the hefty man dropped on him out of nowhere, was groaning and rolling over onto his side, his own blade abandoned by his side. He did not seem inclined to speak up.

"What's all the comm...o...tion..." A fourth bandit started as they emerged from the cavern passage, seeing the three seekers standing over the bodies of two of his companions. His face blanched, and without a word, he turned and ran back into the depths of the cavern passage.

“Really just all so rude.” Ittain complained. Lee on the other hand was quite out of breath from everything that just happened. “That one isn’t going to talk.” He said looking at the groaning bandit. “Guess we’ll have to ask the one who ran inside.” And so Ittain and Lee went into the cave. “Hello? Young man! We’re not here to hurt you. We’re pilgrims.” Ittain yelled through the cave, as Jacob held his hand up and cast a light spell to brighten the cave up.

The cavern passage went on a ways, and while unlit beyond the magical light Jacob had cast, its length was even, the walls generously proportioned, and the ground level. They shortly came to a tight curve in the passage, and turning it, they found the chamber of Hyperion's Way.

They stood on a perilously short ledge overlooking what, for all intents and purposes, might well have been a sheer drop for a bottomless chasm. There was a single hole in the ceiling of the cave through which the sun's light shone, but even with the addition of Jacob's light the dark depths remained veiled in shadow. The pit was filled with the sound of a distant humming, like a vast swarm of flying insects. Around the walls of the room were carved alcoves of stone recessed into the cavern's structure, inaccessible by foot, each containing an exquisite marble statue of an ancient figure, looking into the chamber with passive, stoic expressions. Many of them wielded implements of various natures, instruments, weapons, tools - some wore crowns and robes, whilst more were naked or armored. Their proportions and features were apart and alien from any species of hominid, so it stood to reason that most of the statues represented Primordial figures. Above them, the cavern roof formed a hemispherical dome, with a single aperture at the top where a ray of daylight shone through.

A number of pillars rose from the darkness below - most of them thin, and supporting seemingly randomly proportioned stepping-stones that could have been chosen from amongst any of the large rocks that had lined the mountain trail on the way up, all of them leading to the larger, central pillar, which supported a large stone plinth - a vessel, filled with earth, upon which coward a single naked and decrepit figure covered in oozing sores and lesions, strips of their flesh having fallen away, signs of their waste and their rotting flesh scattered across the top of the plinth. The bandit they had seen retreating into the cave was hopping hastily across the stepping stones towards the central plinth.

“Well this looks interesting.” Ittain just looked into the distance, at the statues. Finding them much more worthy of his attention than the bandit. Lee hated the situation he was in, but he couldn't ignore the single light, the stepping stones, the wrecked victim in the middle of it all. It all just formed a greater whole. “Hey, you there! Stop!” He yelled to the bandit. Though not daring to get on the stepping stones himself.

The bandit set foot on the plinth then turned back to face the seekers. "No! All of you lot had better throw your weapons down into the pit here and then leave, or else I'll be putting this sad heap out of their misery!" He called out at the seekers - his face had gone stark-white, he was trembling all over, and his fists, which were clenched tightly, were trembling. The prone form of the figure behind him only curled further in upon itself in response to the bandit's intrusion upon the pedestal.

Lee really didn’t want to drop his weapon. Though he knew that in the end, he had the upper hand. But he didn’t want the upper hand. He wanted information. Then it reached him. He pulled out one of his coin purses and held it up, shaking it slightly. “See this? It’s all yours if you tell us about these Trials.”

"How about fuck you?!?!" The bandit shouted back, drawing his own plowshard sword and gesturing it at the prone, rancid heap of flesh behind him. "You heard me! Weapons in the pit, then back out! No more words, just get!"

“Well you’re just a terrible guide really. We’re offering you good gold here just for you to open your mouth and in return, you’re threatening some poor sap.” Ittain said from the side. “Besides, we don’t really care for that guy. He ain’t with us so why should we care if you kill him?” Lee added, keeping the coin purse out and in sight. “You don’t really stand to win anything no matter what you do.”

"Shut up! Just shut up!" The bandit pressed the tip of his sword into the quivering figure behind him. He paused abruptly, his face contorting in fear and anger as the sound of the humming swarms below started to slowly grow in intensity.

“Ittain, maybe you should cast the spell again.” Lee told his master. Who was still distracted. “What spell?” the old man asked confused. “The arm and the black portals!?” But Ittain just looked confused. Until he finally got it. “Oh right! No. That wasn’t the spell.” He began to speak to himself, pondering upon it. “Was it the… no, no that one has irridiscent portals. Maybe it was.. No that doesn’t work with the moon as it is.” Lee just groaned and put the coins back away. “I’m done. Kill him.” He just said, being rather tired. What did he care if some random guy died? He would probably die of his wounds anyway. “But eventually you need to come off that pedestal as well and then I’m going to kill you. So either you come off it now and tell us what we want to know. Or you eventually come off it and we kill you. Either way I’m done with this.” Lee was getting really done with Matathran.

It was then that flickering lights began to dance within the darkness of the pit below. The approaching hum of innumerable insects grew even closer - the bandit peered with a terrified expression over the lip of the plinth and then, making a decision, yelled at Lee at the top of his breath and started charging across the stepping-stones towards the truth-seekers, his plowshard sword raised as he quickly leapt from stone to stone. Then, just as he reached the stepping stone right in front of the ledge the truth-seekers stood on, the horde arrived.

Untold hundreds of thousands of wasps filled the entire charmber, their wings a glittering, dark iridescent shade that blazed with glimmering light when they flew underneath the centermost column of light. Most of the swarm focused on the wounded figure still prone at the center of the chamber - but many of them swarmed around the truth-seekers, sensing their presence as a potential threat -

And then, with another roar, the bandit threw himself from the last stepping stone at Lee, having deliberately timed his charge to take advantage of the swarm's appearance and take the seeker off-guard. Even as he flung himself across the abyss, hundreds of the iridescent wasps angrily reacted to the bandit's erratic movements and began to rapidly sting him - but he was already flying through the air, and they could not stop his momentum.

Lee was too late to evade the man. Though it appeared that the numerous stings were more important than trying to stab Lee. Who crawled from under the idiot. Eventually kicking him off the ledge down into the abyss. “Run!” He yelled to Ittain, who finally realized that the insect’s were forming a beautiful colored piece of art. They both got out, Ittain suspiciously free of stings. While Lee had a few scabs and wounds on his arms. “What happened?” the Seeker outside, guarding the last bandit asked. “I don’t know, a swarm just appeared. Gods that did not look good.” Lee felt exhausted. But Ittain was strangely calm. “So when do you think the buzzing will stop?”

Nearly a minute passed, and then finally, the sound of the thronging swarms within the cavern subsided, no longer audible from without.

When the buzzing stopped, Lee slowly walked back in the cave. The bandit and the wasps were gone. In the middle sat the same guy though. “Oh look, he’s still alive.” Said Ittain. As if he was just pleasantly surprised. “You alright!?” Yelled Lee. Suddenly the unimportant victim became their single, last source of information. So Lee decided to just play it friendly now. Even though he admitted that he didn’t care for the guy’s life mere minutes ago.

The victim - seemed no more damaged than before the swarm had risen from the depths. They still huddled, prone, in the center of the plinth - though now, fresh blood, pus, and phlegm flowed freely from the sores and lesions upon their back, arms, and head. They were trembling faintly, but did not move in response to Lee's inquiry.

Lee looked back at Ittain, who once again was entranced by the many statues far away from them. With a heavy sigh he began his journey over the stepping stones, dreading the deep abyss below him even more now. Once halfway he repeated his question: "You alright?" The answer was obvious though. Whoever it was, they looked far from healthy and Lee was not trained in any healing arts. They could hear their heavy, ragged breathing from halfway across the gap. As Lee stepped onto the plinth, the figure visibly flinched away from them, scrambling towards the edge of the platform - revealing what their hunched form had been concealing.

A flower. A beautiful, gleaming flower with white petals, glowing beneath the sunlight, shimmering black lines dappling across its surface. Its stem seemed crystalline in nature, and its five drooping stamen seemed to be holding aloft between them a sparkling cloud of pollen. Lee, with his years of studying the most ancient of manuscripts and texts, took a moment to recognize exactly what it was. An Astral Flower - thought to have been extinct for thousands of years, and pollinated by a species of Iridescent Wasps.

A gasp left his lips. In the scriptures it was said the Flowers were destroyed. All of them, for they brought forth a weapon too powerful to exist. Yet here it was and within it, the weapon. Whatever it was. Legend would tell him. The myths would speak. It would become another powerful relic for the vaults of Vallenguin. He reached out, towards the flower. His fingers carefully going to the cloud. Exhiliartion was replaced with dread as he felt nothing. Shocked, mad and confused he shot right up again. Looking down at the flower as if it had betrayed him. Or had something much more conscious stolen it?

He turned to look at the victim, trembling as they lay on the ground just by the edge of the plinth. Their body and features were so heavily damaged by wounds from constant stinging, too lathered with sweat, blood, and vitriolic fluids, that Lee could not even determine what gender they were. Their hair had all fallen out some time ago it seemed, and every part of their body was swollen with ruddy and pulsating blue hues just beneath the surface of their skin. Looking to their hands, Lee could see - one was open, lain flat against the ground. The other - their other hand was clenched, as if grasping something, even as blood soaked through their fingers. The extremity lay right beside the open pit.

"Now that is an interesting thing." Ittain said, having somehow appeared behind Lee. "Who would have thought the Gods would allow those things to exist?" the old man followed up. Lee, on the other hand, was in no mood for cryptic texts. The thing, the still-living-corpse before him held what he wanted. "Open your palm, hand it over." he said with a stern voice. The voice he used against slaves back home.

The gruesome figure shuddered, drawing their form up somewhat, their hands coming together beneath their prone body as they rocked lightly back and forth on their heels, right by the edge of the drop. _{"Everything..."} They whispered.

"Easy now. Just hand it over." Lee extended his hand, though kept another on his dagger should the man try anything. He was too weak though. Everyone could see that. He wouldn't live until dusk. That didn't bother Lee all that much now. He had a craving for the weapon the flower had spawned. "Just hand it over and we'll make it quick." Lee added, letting the cold steel of his dagger reflect in the sunlight.

_{"'He wasps..."} The victim's hoarse voice was barely intelligible. _{"They 'ook...ebbery'hing bah you bid no'...all for wha'...?"}

"You wouldn't understand." Lee argued. Obviously, this was a lesser man. Someone of little wit. A farmer no doubt. Someone who had few cares about the land beyond his own. "Maybe he would." Ittain interjected. Lee let out a deep sigh. "For what, you ask? For greatness. For something beyond petty human lives. It's for something greater than one man or even a group of men. It's for a greatness that eclipses a city! Power so dreaded that dared to rise up against the insects. Power that made people despair so hard that they burned those beautiful flowers. Hand over whatever the flower produced and maybe your name might just live on in the history books." Lee held his hand open once more.

The man stretched his clenched hand out over the abyss, the thronging Iridescent wasps below still audible - and open his hand, palm-up. Resting in the center of the victim's hand - was a pearl. What must have been a pearl - there was no other way to describe it. Approximately the size of a man's eye, it strained Lee's ocular senses, gleaming with impossible coloration and an iridescent sheen. The victim turned their face up to Lee -

Their visage was nightmarishly grotesque. Their lips were twisted in a crooked line, blending in with that jagged wounds criss-crossing their face, all of them oozing mortal fluid. Their eyes were but faint shining lines of a sickly grey above the prtruding lump in the center of their face. It was possible they were partially or entirely blind, and was just following the sound of Lee's voice as they turned their head to look at him.

_{"...All 'or greed and lus'?"} They choked out.

Suddenly Ittain took a step towards the man. In his eyes there was a shine Lee had not yet seen. "It... should not be..." the old man whispered. "The Impossible Color." The fact that this tiny object could entrance Ittain did not comfort Lee. Who held the man back. "You are holding something beautiful, my boy. This place of trial, it has weighted you. Please, I beg of you. You're holding something so beautiful yet you cannot see it. You cannot sense it. Please, let me show you. Through my eyes. So you may at least die knowing you have seen something that might just have been worth it all." Ittain spoke softly. With the common grandfatherly tone filled with genuine care.

_{"I habve seen enough."} The ruined figure's cracking voice managed to nonetheless convey a sense of finality. _{"...Jus' anober bauble. Jus' anodder preddy 'ing. Jus' anodder remnan' ob primordials."} Their ruined voice was barely comprehensible, though the gist of it got through.

"No no, please. I beg of you. Your pain, I understand it. You are dying, please. Let me make it worth something. Let me make it worthy. I can help you." Ittain maintained, as he slowly approached the man.

_{"'Hab's your..."} The figure slurred something neither Lee or Ittain could make out. _{"...nodding wert id. Nodding."} Their whole body began to shake. Their hand, still clutching the impossible grandeur of the pearl, trembleded dangerously over the pit. They raised their other arm as if to shield themselves from Ittain as the man approached.

There was a pained look on Ittain. "You will forgive me." He outstretched one hand, almost touching the man as Ittain turned his vision towards the pearl. Sending the sensations towards the man. Sending him visions of what Ittain saw.

The entirety of the world was shadowed and dusken-hued. The plinth that the three all stood upon was nothing but a collection if writhing shadows. Lee had been reduced to a pale shade, barely perceptible but for the suggestion of his silhouette. The statues along the rim of the chamber were all blurred, waxy in structure and inchoate. But the pearl -

In the victim's hand, the Ammacre Pearl was a tiny star, emannating deep, rippling waves of iridescent and impossible light. Its brilliance was beyond what the mortal senses could withstand - the thing was more brilliant than the sun, but its light was not harsh, and to look at it was to feel an overwhelming sense of profound clarity, as though the entire rest of the start world were less real than the tiny, immaculate pearl clutched in the victim's hand. In the center of the glow, the pearl itself was like the spark of life, seen only in the eyes of others, incomprehensible but beautiful despite its intangible nature - an ineffable sense of wonder and promise.

_"Oh." Was all the victim said.

Without another word, strength fled them. Their arm slipped through Ittain's grasp like leaves in the wind or powdered snow, the fluids from their injuries making it impossible to keep hold.

They fell into the depths below, carrying the grandeur of the pearl with them. Neither Lee or ittain heard them reach the bottom - though as they looked down they could barely see, between the flickering, shadowed darting forms of innumerable iridescent wasps in the darkness, a small patch of something blurry and indistinct, a shade of nothing that could not be - and now that they looked...

The pit was full of them. Full of corpses. Full of a multitude of pearls of impossible color. All decomposing in the darkness, hidden from the world, watched over only by the apathetic iridescent swarms, blind to the tragedy of one and the brilliance of the other.

"No!" It was ittain who screamed when the Pearl was lost. Almost reaching over the edge before Lee got a hold of him. "Let it go old man! Let it go!" the youngling screamed. Knowing full well Ittain would jump if not stopped. The two struggled on the plinth. Lee holding the old man down, Ittain trying to get down. But eventually sanity returned to the old man. Who just went numb. Lee and Ittain walked out, somehow a little more broken than when they entered. "We will return. I swear it to you. Even if I have to sit on that plinth myself, we will get us a Pearl." Lee rarely swore, but the words he spoke then could as well have been written in blood.

Rownstetaine was a city built upon itself. From the days of Lynnde to the times of now, stone structures of impossible size and built stood strong, marking the border between Rylea and Jannerton in the south. While it wasn’t a particularly expansive city, it was tall, with many buildings turning into spires, compartments built on compartments throughout time, leaving the stonework in such a way that each stratum represented a different age the city had seen.

A great wall ringed the city in typical Lynnfairish fashion, and despite its impressive thickness and aesthetic architecture, it was the center castle of the city that garnered the most praise. The castle was renovated during the Blooming Rose era of Lynnfaire, during the Halwendian dynasty, and such it held impressive curtain walls, spires, and enough architectural compartments and decoration to serve as its own miniature city, a jewel sought by the late Richard d’Jannerton to replace his own capital of Olmsbridge with.

Inside one of the many towers of the castle was the room, circular andwell decorated. Windows of clear glass paned every wall save the East, where a great door marked the beginning of the spiral stairwell. William d’Montigue’s back was to the door, himself in a velvet covered seat of imported wood from some far away tropic. To his left and to his right sat his noble supporters, their side swords tied to their scabbards out of respect for the diet, William’s own longsword resting against his chair, a double knot keeping it sheathed.

He sat facing a round table, and across the way sat Abigail d’Montigue, her support to her right and left, all blades tied away, and a pair of guards behind them, velvet wrapping their swords from grip, and a servant girl serving cut cheese from a silver platter, the edges of her knife dull. The only blades present and untied being the one on the hip of Archbishop d’Kamwell. The blade was of ancient design, it’s pommel a dusky metal, as was its crucifix crossguard. Light blue wrappings covered the hilt, and the polished engravings of Halwende identified on the exposed chappe, the rest of the blade hidden in a sheath of pure gold, stamped with a sapphire. As the ruling regent during the civil war, it was only natural the badge of office, the Sword of Halwende, sat with the Archbishop, who in turn, sat to the right of Abigail.

The nobles were in a murmur, the diet just starting. Those under William laughed and goaded the other nobles about the great victory (or defeat) at Pralean and the loss of General Harry. Each remark was quickly shut down with reminders of Raymond’s demise, his daughter, the new duchess sitting by the Queen’s left. Few mentioned the capture of Edgard d’Montigue, be it out of fairness, or to avoid the anger of his father William. The Archbishop d’Drouschester sat by William, whispering into his ear, William aggravatingly hissing back.

“...Further more!” A count from Drouschester argued, “without the aid of General Harry d’Yarlene or the more militant supporters of the princess’ claim, Abigail d’Montigue is but lost in the art of war, and is unable to continue the battle against her superior in politics and war, William d’Montigue.”

The diet roared back, be it in defense or aggression towards the statement, “what of the Ravenlord?” some asked, “even so, could we rely on the princess herself should the occasion arise?” some retorted. William sat smug, his wolf-like eyes digging into Abigail.

“Can Abigail hope to protect her subjects, or is she simply lost when forced to be alone to rule?” William added to the fire, “if she cannot defeat me, can she defend you?”

The room broke into further arguments, until the hand of Abigail rose. Slowly the room quieted and Abigail stood from her chair. She wore the dress of a noble lady as was customary, but her face was that of a determined warrior, her stance strong.

“I will say this,” her voice vibrated with authority, “that should any break the law of Lynnfaire, or endanger her people, I will bring justice and force to them quickly, be it with or without a general, a sword in my own hand.”

Her eyes dug into William as she continued, “and so far as the law is being broken, I will administer righteous fury to the criminals.”

Abigail’s supporters murmured with excitement, covering the grumbles of William’s nobles.

“You speak of law!” William shot to his feet, his tone like that of a wolf bearing down on its prey, “yet you yourself stand in opposition of Lynnfaire’s very own tradition, refusing to allocate the crown to the rightful heir!”

“I am the lawful heir!” Abigail responded, “by your tradition you break the law! And by law I will fight. How selfish are you, so that you will tear apart our nation to serve your own socialite propulsion through the ranks of nobility. How selfish are you that you find a massacre of your own brethren a victory, the death of a family friend a success, just so long as it gets you closer to stealing the throne out from under the Late King Edward’s heir, his own flesh and blood daughter.” A small wisp of blue mist escaped Abigail’s mouth as she spoke, her voice growing in power.

“How dare you?” Abigail continued, the Duke backing into his chair, “How dare you pit brothers against brothers so you may retain your crime and rename it tradition. How foolish to think destroying a nation is a better option than having a Queen. How irreconcilably stupid are you to think that by force you will sway the hearts of man to look at you as loyal subjects, when those you control are simply you but as imps, clawing at the scraps of what flesh you manage to tear from the monarchy. Where is the kingdom you intend to build on lies, crime and selfishness, because it is not Lynnfaire, it is not here, and it is not in my… and our kingdom!” Abigail shouted at the duke, tendrils of mist pouring from her nose as she did, the diet silent.

The Duke stared in silence, his eyes ablaze with fury, some of his support sinking in their chairs, while others whispered about the Serene One favoring the princess, and others still on her own blasphemy against the one true king. Abigail swept a hand over the diet, “I have majority, the Late Raymond d’Rylea has fallen to the bidding of the Serene One and has been replaced by his sensable first born, Duchess Maria d’Rylea.”

The Duchess nodded her head and Abigail continued, “I ask the diet to see the truth of law, the truth of the Duke’s selfish deeds and to pass verdict on who shall rule Lynnfaire.”

The diet members quietly discussed with each other, William’s support avoiding Abigail’s, until finally the words of vote were voiced. Slowly those by the door announced William’s name, but as the voting progressed away from the Duke, Abigail’s name was shouted one by one, noble by noble, until a sea of supporters had voted for the princess. The Archbishop d’Kamwell stood, “by majority,” William’s eyes narrowed at the Archbishop’s words and he stood up, “By tradition!” He shouted at the Archbishop.

“I will remind you,” the Archbishop snapped, “this is a diet, and further still, your own son resides in the custody of the Princess.”

William seemed hurt by the mention of his son, but his eyes narrowed, “I have the hammer and the anvil to make another.”

“Then prove your selfishness, your narrow minded and ruthless ambition,” The Archbishop challenged, “you began this war without thought and while I admit you originally only struck where need be, you would now rip apart your own flesh and blood to get what isn’t yours, let this be a lesson to what you may do should a nation fall in your grasp.”

“Silence!” William yanked his longsword from the side of his chair, the knot coming undone, having been tampered with, his blade shimmering out of the sheath as he rounded the table towards the priest.

“By majority!” The Archbishop defied William, as the nobles scrambled to their feet, fidgeting with their own knots. William was bearing down on the Archbishop now, “Princess Abigail d’Montigue is to be coronated Queen of all Lynnfaire!” He shouted as William suddenly swung his blade down.

The sword of Halwende screamed as it was torn from it’s gold scabbard, the white steel blade reflecting the azure of the outside sky as Abigail brought it to intercept William. Her stroke caught William’s blade, snapping it away from the Archbishop, the new Queen now standing between him and the priest.

“You think yourself a man?” William gritted his teeth.

“I think myself a Queen,” Abigail growled, smacking William’s blade away.

The nobles stared in awe, yet the scene did not last, as suddenly William brought his blade back down, Abigail responding, then again, and again, and again until the two were engaged in a flurry of sparking clashes and risky parries followed by ripostes not often seen. William danced around Abigail’s strokes, while the Queen found her dress cumbersome, messing with her footwork.

While she started out strong, Abigail quickly found herself being overwhelmed by the ferocity and timing of William’s hurricane of strokes, pushing her back. She had no chance to riposte anymore, her own movements defensive as William advanced, her support still fiddling with their weapons as the guards hastily worked on unwrapping their blades. Finally William suddenly spun, his right hand disappearing from his sword grip, only to reappear as Abigail parried the strike, her ribs exposed as the deft and stealthy hand of William punched forth with a rondel dagger, the long blade sinking into her side. Abigail seized at the sudden stabbing pain and pushed away from the dagger before it went too deep, her body buckling in shock as warm blood began to rush out.

William brought his longsword to bear, but before the final blow could be struck, a sharp pain shot from his leg. He turned in fury to see the small servant girl, her silver knife in his thigh. He reached to hit her, but soon noticed the crowd of armed and angry nobles bearing down on him, their weapons freed. William backed up. The guards stared at him like bears, and the nobles were foaming with fury, all but the ones by William’s side still, though the numbers were few, they were powerful individuals.

William backed to the door, and as soon as it was opened, the nobles and guards charged him. William turned tail and began to make quick work out of the spiraling stairs, his support sprinting behind him. The guards were hollering for aide as the room emptied into the stairwell, the chase of William heated.

Abigail lay on the floor still, a soft blue mist rising from her mouth and pooling by her wound as the Archbishop slowly propped her onto his robed lap. In her grip she held the sword of Halwende tightly, her eyes staring up blankly at the old man who basically raised her alongside her own father and mother.

A guard burst back into the room, “he got away.”

“How?” The archbishop demanded.

“Payed men in the guard, planned getaway, I don’t know but he knew what he was doing,” The guard responded, exasperated.

d’Kamwell looked down at Abigail, “your orders my Queen?”

Abigail shifted, her would slowly closing, the blood stemming under the mist, she responded, her voice rasp with lingering pain, “get a blacksmith.”

“Your majesty?”

“I’m going to need plate and mail,” Abigail gave the Archbishop a steely look, “I will see justice delivered.”



During the Diet...

The door to Edith’s room came bursting off its hinges, the wood flying everywhere. Edith quickly turned from her mirror, snatching an arming sword leaning by the wall. But by time she turned, Sir Thompson had already charged her, his own blade smacking hers away before she had a chance to use it.

His armored form knocked into Edith, sending the surprised woman flying backwards into the wall mounted mirror, the glass shattering as her body rebounded off it and back at Thompson. The man quickly met the rebounding Edith with a gruesome headbutt, his forehead cracking over her face, her body crumbing to the floor almost immediately, blood pouring from her nose.

Four other Rownstetaine guards came rushing in. Thompson pointed at Edith, “bind her and put her in the crate, let’s go.

-

Collab between Sigma and Ekreture.


Life bustled within the shelter of Svawad castle, as both the Black Band and the entirety of Svawad Village had found shelter from the storm withing walls and halls of the castle. Thus was the deal between the Band and the village; the village would feed the Band so long as they protected the villagers, both from forces of man and nature. Children played and scurried around while the soldiers parried swords, and village mothers fed the men of war while keeping watchful eyes on their daughters.

Though the newcomers' training schedule had been...dampened...training still went on, and, as the early training for the Black Band was, the newcomers were currently scrubbing the floors within the castle halls, while a Formorian sergeant looked on. Before the storm had arrived, the grueling training had taken its tole on them; many of them quit, and currently, only five of the recruits remain.

Kormor was less then enthused with cleaning duty, however, it a least was a far better alternative to his old life in the slums, a purpose and drive like none before driving him to impress his superiors, although in this case, he'll forgive himself for a less then perfect job done.

The sergeant snarled, kicking Kormor lightly in the back. "Pick it up, halfbreed! I want the floor spotless!" Seadne, still somehow sticking through the training, sighed and rolled his eyes, causing the sergeant to bend down and stare him in the face. "The fuck was that, shepherd?"

"Nothing, sir," Seadne replied, continuing his cleaning. He had actually turned out to be well suited to these initial weeks of training, surpassing his peers often, and his demeanor and physique had both began to seem more...soldierly.

"That's what I thought, now faster!" The sergeant spat back. Suddenly, the formorian stood at attention, as Gultar and Sula walked past briskly, engaged in an argument.

"It's too dangerous, general, just wait for the storm to be over!" Sula said loudly, her limp making it hard to keep up with Gultar, whose broad stature caused one of the trainees to fall over.

"It might not be there when the storms over." Suddenly, he stopped. "Do you forget our duty, Sula?" The general had been...frustrated...to say the least since the hurricane had begun. While he had of course allowed the villagers to seek refuge in his castle, it had begun to disrupt the pristine structure of the Black Band, as the children dirtied the halls, and the young women had begun to dirty his mens' minds. But despite his usual frustration, today seemed different; something was up.

Kormor scrubbed briskly as the sergeant's bloodthirsty sights had been set on him and Seadne, luckily, the General's arrival proved to be a good save for the both of them, as he was about to stand at attention, Kormor was knocked over as Gultar and Sula passed by. "Sorry, sir!" He apologized in haste.

Gultar didn't seem to notice the apology. "Look, Sula, you don't have to go, but it is my duty." The lieutenant stopped, her one eye closing as she sighed.

"Okay, just...be safe." With no response, Gultar strode out into the central room, and blew on his horn. Suddenly, all the voices ceased their chatter. Waiting for the room's attention to be on him, which it very soon was, Gultar began speaking.

"A magus has informed me that tomorrow there should be clearer weather. There is business i must attend to, but, being over the course of a few days, the storm will likely pick up again. I will need a few attendants to come with me. There will be danger, although I am not planning on a fight. This is a good chance to prove yourself, so if you would like to, come speak to me." He waited for a moment, and the room full of soldiers and villagers was silent for a while, before turning their attentions back to their conversations. "Fucking disgraces," Gultar muttered, as he shook his head and marched back towards the direction he came. Sula said nothing as he passed by.

Although the time to act was very short, Kormor pondered for that brief moment, and without much hesitation, Kormor spoke up loud and clear. "I..I volunteer, sir!" This could his moment to shine, to get the General's good graces and prove himself to the others, and as Gultar said, the possibly of any combat is low, which, especially with the current weather and whatever else is thrown at them, is a blessing. "I'll join you. "He repeated himself.

Seeing his friend volunteer, Seadne also shot up. "Me too...sir! I will go." Gultar turned around to see the two of them. The sergeant grimaced at them to sit down, but Gultar still surveyed them.

"Okay," he responded, "Meet me in the courtyard, tomorrow at dawn." He then turned, and walked away.

Kormor turned to face Seadne with a smirk on his face. "Should be simple enough a task, right?"

The next morning, Gultar stood waiting in the courtyard with three of his men; Seadne and three human veterans, as well as an ox who was pulling a cart loaded with wood, canvas, rope, and a locked chest. While the magus was not wrong, with there being little to no wind this day, there was still a slight downpour, and the cart had been covered by a black sheet to protect what was underneath.

Kormor approached the group, his blade and a small sack by his hips, the blade ready to be drawn just in case and the sack filled with small rations. Kormor scanned the skies, the weather seeming "calm" at the moment, but hurricanes can be such deceitful beasts of nature and can strike at any moments notice.

Gultar watched the half blood approach. "You're late," He said. Sighing, he turned and began walking. "Come, it's time we leave."

Seadne excitedly approached Kormor. "You know, we should really be honored. Not everybody is allowed to shelter the Shrine of the Seven." He was certainly not dressed for battle, looking much more ready for a long hike than for battle. His sling was tied as a belt around his tunic, and he carried no other supplies, evidently relying on those provided by the Band.

Kormor nodded in agreement. "Should be a good sight to see." Kormor has heard passingly of the Shrine of the Seven, but of course hasn't a full grasps of it, and of course has never seen it directly himself, this mission should provide an exxlcent opportunity to see it for himself. "Let's hurry on. " Kormor said. "General seems to be in a foul mood."

As they passed under the gate, Seadne nodded in agreement. "Aye, I think the state of the castle reflects the state of his mind. But he's like this a lot from what I've heard. I think during recruitment we caught him on a good day." As the party moved forward, they came upon the overlook above the village of Svawad, the group stopped in shock.

Much of the village lay in ruin, the storm having devastated the many houses and inns of the once thriving town. Dogs were running about, sniffing at the wreckage of the flooded buildings, and the few villagers who stayed to protect the houses were seen trying to sift through the rubble of where their houses once were.

Kormor stared in awe of the storm's power with the destruction it wrought , Ardirum was never hit this bad, although it doesn't help their on an island. With some concerns rising up within, Kormor spoke up. "Ugh, General." He paused for a moment out of fear. "How far is our destination?"

Barely taking the wreckage into account, Gultar didn't even look back at Kormor. "We should be there either tomorrow or in two days. Come, we can't stop," the general said as he motioned for the band to move on down the hill. "We bear north to Sciadire." As he started to move, the rest of the group didn't seem to follow, their feet stuck in the muddy ground with faces flushed in fear. Seadne took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"You heard the orders. We have to move." Hesitantly, the rest of the group started to follow.

Kormor struggled as he dragged himself through the muddy ground, every step a march in its own right as he struggled to pull a foot free with every strenuous step he took.

The day was dank and long, and as the group of soldiers marched on the woods, already strewn with fallen trees and debris, became more and more sparse with the north, and cobblestones of the road became misplaced on broken highways. The general seemed unfazed though, stalwart on the mission at hand.

As the already impeded sun fell farther to its western burial, the mercenaries came upon a group of men; around a dozen or so who surrounded the road. They carried shields and a variety of weapons, but had faces left malnourished and sickly bodies. These were clearly not professional fighters. The members of the Black Band started to slow down, when Gultar ordered, "Keep marching."

When the mercenaries came closer, one of the militia men carrying a cudgel stepped forward. "Oi, pigface! You're stepping in Sciadire now. Your kind ain't welcome." A couple more of their men stepped to his side, when he added on, "'Least without proper payment."

"Of course we're bound to run into trouble..." Kormor thought to himself as he followed orders and kept marching, paying no mind to the militia men. No doubt however, a fight was bound to occur, luckily however, these men were clearly outmatched compared to the Black Band, and Kormor would gladly put his training to use on these men.

Finally, Gultar raised his hand, ordering the men to stop, before he spoke up. "Is that so? Under who's captaincy do you serve?"

The highwaymen began laughing, and their apparent leader said, "Looks like the beast is gettin' fancy, 'ey?" He took another step forwards towards Gultar. "Capn' None-Of-Your-Fucking-Business, that's who!"

Unfazed, the pig-faced general quickly grabbed the man by the throat, as the rest of the highwaymen readied their weapons, and he turned to them. "I am General Gultar of the Black Band. We are to protect and restore the Shrine of the Seven. You will let us pass."

There was tension in the air for a while, their leader's facing turning purple as he chocked. Finally, one of the highwaymen spoke up. "Shrine of the Seven?"

"Aye."

"You think you can you can offer my sword to Siad?" The bandit politely requested. After a moment, Gultar nodded, and the militiaman trepidatiously stepped forward, offering the general his blade, and, after throwing down their leader, he accepted it, before the bandit nodded and stepped back into rank.

The highwaymen's leader was panting and cough on the ground, before he regained his footing and composure, and said, "Look...heh-we don't want to mess with Black Band. Just-be going now." Nodding, Gultar motioned for the rest of the group to keep walking, handing the bandit's blade to a soldier for to place in their car, before he started to move further down the path.

Kormor was quick to catch up, passing by th highwaymen and was met with glares and snarled looks, followed by one of the men spitting on him, Kormor paused for a brief moment, turning away and met the group with his own death glare, he felt that urge to just end them all right here and now, but that probably would reflect poorly on him to his superiors and of course, the General.

As they marched on, Seadne playing a slow tune on a flute of his, one of the soldiers approached Kormor. "Half blood...general wants 'a talk to you. Don't know 'bout what."

Kormor complied, and moved ahead of the others, eventually moving along by the General's side, "You wanted to speak with me General?" He asked, curious what Gultar could want from him.

Not looking at the trainee, Gultar said, "Yes." Waiting for a moment, he began, "Wind is picking up. Storm should hit hard tonight. We'll find shelter soon." It seemed for a moment all the general wanted was a pleasant chat about the weather. That was unlikely the case, and he spoke up again after another pause. "How have you found your time in the Band so far, er...what was your name again?"

"It's Kormor, sir." He replied. "And...it's an odd feeling, but I've adjusted to it,and found a sense of belong, sir. "Kormor paused for a moment, stroking his beard. "Life among us thieving street rats was more...unpredictable and deadly. Here though, I've seen true brotherhood, I think."

"Hm." It seemed that for someone of his position, Gultar's sentences were often short and far between. "I have been to Tarkima but once. Clan Ardir, in fact. Guarded a merchant ship, before I founded the Band. It was cold. But the Grogars were different, not like Formoriin." He let out a slow grunt. "Have you been to Formor yet?" There was a tinge of malice in these words.

Kormor shacked his head. "Haven't been." He replied. "Why ask, General?" This little conversation made Kormor all the more curious on where this is leading to.

There was a strange sadness in Gultar's eyes. "Ah. Nothing, nothing." Searching for reason, he added, "Most ships from Tarkima go to Formor, that is all." He began searching for words. "I...you did well...back there. With the bandits."

"...Thank you, sir." Kormor said, meeting Gultar with a small smile, but in truth, he was caught off guard with this moment, seeing a sort of "softer" side of the General that he's barely seen before, it was odd, yet, not unwelcome. "I've grown used to it, but I certainly won't let it slide every now and then."

Gultar grunted in response. There was another short silence as a cool wind blew through the land. "You know, the man was right back there. Our kind isn't allowed in Sciadire. In fact, were it not for the grace of the storm, we'd be hanging from a tree." They keep walking for a bit. "Once had a job here before the Band, not too far from here in fact." He smirked. "Yeah, in a village just over yonder," he said, pointing in the direction of the village.

"Bunyip had taken residence in the local resevoir. Don't know if you've seen a Bunyip...nasty creatures. Usually local hunters take care of beasts but...Bunyips are different. And this one was big. So the villagers put together some money and hire a captain to find some Taisafirin. Me and Sula, we were staying at an inn in Talnoc at the time, and Sciadire was having a...minor conflict with Shasur, so all the local Taisas were indisposed. Captain had to cross over to Talnoc, and he finds us and a couple other men, takes us to the reservoir and gives us some pikes." He chuckles. "Was a mean beast...lost one of the men...hell, Sula broke her damn arm," he said, sighing before continuing, "But we killed it. Had to drag the body all the way to village. 'Course, villagers see my ugly face and they chase me all the way to the border. Never got payed." Contemplating his memory for a second, he finished the story by saying, "I could have fought them. Made them pay be. Or killed them and took their money by force. Sula would've helped. Other mercs too." He finally looked squarely at Kormor.

"But you know, you can do whatever you want to a man's body. But you can't change their mind." A silence hung in the air, Kormor not sure of what to say. Suddenly the General spoke up again. "What do you know of the task we are performing?"

"Don't know too much, General." Kormor replied. "All I know is we're heading for this Shrine."

"Aye, the Shrine of the Seven," Gultar began. "In the days following the war between the humans and Formorrin, there was lawlessness that ruled the new kingdom, and, despite the newly pronounced unification of the islands, conflict still remained in the hearts of bandits and rebels. It was because of this that the Taisafirin began; so that the most common of men may still find protection outside of their kings." As he spoke of the history of his profession, Gultar's back straightened, and his eyes spoke of wisdom and pride.

"There was one group of bandits that was composed of a hundred or so men, who would camp near the villages of Sciadire and Shasur, and slowly sap them of their recourses, and, once they had dried them of all they could, would still destroy the village in the end. As they came upon another village, Seamuq, the villagers sought to escape the same fate that had befallen all the other villages, but, depleted of all their money, they could only offer food and housing to the Taisafirin. A veteran captain who had fought in the Great War, Almunqai, accepted the job, and went to gather his men, but could only find six others of both worthy skill and agreeable to the terms of employment. And yet, despite their small numbers, the Seven Taisafirin trained the village to fight, and destroyed the bandit army."

"Four of the Seven died in battle, and were buried on a hill overlooking the village. The other three were buried there after they had passed. Today, they serve as a beacon to what our profession should embody, and Taisafirin from around the country regularly make pilgrimages to the Shrine. Due to this storm, I would like to make sure that there is minimal damage to the Shrine, and to build a shelter protecting it."

Kormor simply listened as Gultar explained the history of the Shrine, once he was finished, Kormor was at first, silent, taking in the information. Clearly showing the Shrines deep importance to Gultar, to the Black Band as a whole and now to Kormor. "I...see." He said, almost speechless and a bit overwhelmed. "Then we best move with haste, General. We wouldn't want to tarnish the Black Band, and the Taisafirin."

Almost on cue, the wind started to pick up with haste, and the downpour began to fall harder. The group was coming upon a tavern on the side of the road, which, while seemingly undamaged, had obviously been abandoned in the wake of the coming storm. "Tomorrow, yes," Gultar said, "But tonight, we must rest!" He hurriedly made way for the tavern, as did the rest of the group, awkwardly forcing the ox into the building for the night.

The next day, weather was much like the day before, and, after a quick breakfast, the group hastily began marching with haste. By midday, they had made it to Seamuq, and the Shrine was clearly in sight. As they approached it, it became clear that the graves were relatively undamaged, as if some greater being had protected it.

The Shrine was made up of seven graves on the hill, each grave bearing a unique totem for each warrior. Small repairs were made to the totem, and the gear from the oxcart was unloaded. When the chest that was inside was opened, it was revealed to be filled with food, jewels, weapons and armor. The soldiers began placing them at various shrines and falling to their knees, where they closed their eyes and began muttering to themselves, seemingly in prayer. Gultar gave Seadne the highwayman's sword, who brought it to a totem that was a post covered in arrows, where the shepherd began to pray.

While five of the seven graves were in a single row, there were two graves in front of all the others. One of them was clearly the grave of the Captain, Almunqai, where Gultar had knelt in prayer, clutching to a Primordialist necklace around his neck. The other in front, Kormor found himself strangely drawn to. This one's totem was a statue of a strange creature, with a wolve's tail, ears, face, and front paws, but a ram's horns, back hooves, and woolen body. It sat upright, eyes seemingly glaring at Kormor.

Almost by impulse, and without hesitation, Kormor walked up to the strange totem, and slowly knelt down to ir, clasping his hands together as he engaged in silent prayer to the Totem. As he touched it, he suddenly felt his eyes shut and his mind go blank.

When his eyes once again opened, he was walking on a grassy field that seemed to go on forever. By his side, a wolf was walking, as if it were his own hound.

Kormor didn't question it, his mind seemingly at ease despite the strangeness of all this, he kept on aimlessly walking through the grassy fields alongside his new companion, no idea on his destination, he simply just moved ahead. After walking for a while, before them appeared a flock of sheep, passively grazing at the field. On the ground was a shepherd's crook, old and covered in notches. Kormor knelled down and picked up the crook, and turned his gaze upon the grazing sheep, once again, on impulse, Kormor walked up to the sheep, he and his wolf companion herding them until the sheep moved along with the pair as well, joining them on their aimless journey.

After what seemed like days of walking, the wolf looked up to Kormor, and in a low growl he said, "Do not blink, for the world you know may change in an instant" which was followed almost immediately by Kormor blinking. Suddenly, their journey was thrown into chaos, and the flock of sheep was being attacked by what seemed to be demons made of flame. The wolf was apparently gone, but now a ram was charging at the demons and keeping them at bay. It looked over to Kormor, and shouted out in the same voice as the wolf, "Fight not to stop change! Fight for it!"

Kormor charged in, using the crook as a makeshift weapon and swung it at one of the flame demons, the wooden stick somehow cutting through the flames, albeit the crook itself was slow catching flame, but remained intact, needless to say, Kormor kept on with his attack as the demons charged towards him, he and the ram happy to meet the creatures in pitched combat.

The ram thrust through several of the beasts, extinguishing their flames for good, Kormor continued to swing the crook as it, and Kormor, were both slowly being engulfed by the flames with every swing. Nearly all of the creatures had been vanished, Kormor taking one last swing as the he felled the beast, but the cost was dearly, Kormor was now engulfed in flame, his own screams shaking him out of this dream-like state as he yelped and fell on his back away from the Totem.

At Kormor's scream, Gultar shot to his feet and looked over to him. "What happened?" He asked, hand on the sword in his belt. He pointed at the strange totem, his arms shaking from the experience. "It drew me in...and I touched it and..." He paused. "I was walking through endless grass lands, there was a wolf.. then a ram, and fire demons, I fought them...and then I was consumed by flame.."

"Hm," Gultar grunted, nodding. "This is the shrine of Batjoch Wulfram." He walked over to it, carefully placing a hand on the totem. "He's considered the greatest hero of the Seven, apart from Almunqai." Turning back to Kormor, he continued. "You see, the other Taisafirin, they did not want Batjoch to come with them. You see, his mother was human. His father...a Grogar."

"He followed the six warriors still, and was abrasive, having lived a life of rejection, and proved to be of little use in training the peasants. But when the fighting began, he fought valiantly." He looked to the village before continuing. "On the last day of fighting, the Bandit Chief came atop this very hill with the last of his men, all armed with bows and arrows set ablaze. They sought to burn the village to the ground, and all the Seven were too cowardly to charge the Chief." He paused. "All except for Batjoch."

"The halfblooded-" He flinched. "Forgive me. The warrior charged up the hill, greatsword in hand, and by the time he reached the chief his body had been set ablaze. But still he charged, and, swinging his blade down and slicing the chief in half." He looked back to Kormor. "The beast of the Formorrin is the wolf. The beast of men is the ram. It is often said that a warrior of...your ancestry could only have the heart of half of one of these beasts. Batjoch proved he had the heart of both. And because of this, we call him Wulfram."

"Wulfram..." Kormor said, the fact one of the seven was a Halfbreed like him instilled a sense of pride in him, but at the same time, he still felt shaken and overwhelmed by this vision, it was a bit much to take in. With his own sheer determination, Kormor forced himself up with a wide grin on his face. "I'm all better, no worries." He said. "This was an...enlightening experience, I thank you for allowing me to escort you, General."

The rest of the group looked at Kormor with a mixture of suspicion and awe. Gultar nodded. In the time Kormor was having his vision, the shelter around the Shrine had already been built, and Gultar motioned for the group to move down to the village below, far less damaged than Svawad, where they would spend the night. As they moved down the hill, they didn't seem to notice a coat hanging on a branch. It was a mixture of fleece and fur, and overall a fine, fine coat. Not something someone would just leave out there, even with the storms.

Kormor paused as he took notice of the coat, to his confusion, no one seemed to take notice of it, he shrugged and walked over to take the coat for himself, better under his care then to be left at the storm's mercy, he folded it and held on to it as he caught up with his fellows.