The only light in that small room was a waning candle that sat next to the parchment he scribbled frantically on. It was a short message, to the point, he only wished it could be longer. But as the room shook again the man sighed, he was tired from the fighting, from the war. They thought they had started to gain ground again, but it was just a ruse. Somehow those mindless monsters had thought to give them a false sense of hope, and it worked. The room shook again, and the man put on his crown. A knock at the door came then and captain Obrien rushed inside promptly.

"Mi'lord Lucius, they've broken through, we can't hold them any longer. What do we do?" The captain said gruffly.

Lucius grabbed his letter, and sealed it with wax. He then handed the letter to Obrien. "Take this letter to my father, get the wounded out and back to Dramon with haste. I will by you as much time as I can. Do I make myself clear?" he said sternly.

Obrien's face was full of sorrow but he shook his head.

"Good, then go! Get that letter to Emperor." Lucius said again.

Obrien stood tall, bowed then left in a hurry. Lucius slumped ever so slightly, but he grabbed his sword and left he room in the opposite direction. Westgate shook again, and in the distance he could hear men screaming. Men dying. And the creatures bestial wails that followed. One never truly got used to them, they were just so unnatural. Lucius exited the building overlooking the courtyard, a mass of green things scurried through the gaping hole where the gates used to be. His men put up a defiant stand all around him.

He began to shout a rallying cry as he walked down those stone steps towards the chaos, "TO ME MEN! WE SHALL FIGHT ONE LAST TIME! FOR HOME! FOR COUNTRY! FOR SURVIVAL! NOW FIGHT! FIGHT!" As Lucius jumped into the fray with the honorable men and women of the Sol Protectorate, he smiled. They would be home a little more time. And then he was struck, and everything faded.



Val held his head high as he strode into the throne room. Today was the day, Emperor Darsun the third had hand picked him to lead the mission to the Ebony Mountain. He wasn't sure why, but Val thought it was probably how well he distinguished himself over the years. All of his feats had not gone unnoticed, plus he would never refuse the call for the Empire. The Scorned would pay for what they did to the Sol Protectorate, and for Prince Lucius. He had only met the prince once, at a ball no doubt, but he left a good impression on him. Granted, he was only guarding the perimeter and the prince had gone out for some fresh air with his wife, Collette. The Prince nodded in passing and that was when he was first starting out years ago.

Val was on far better terms with the Emperor, he had even received an official resignation of his duties once. He hadn't been to Dramon in what felt like years, and walking through the throne room brought back a wave of nostalgia. Once the Scorn arrived, the Templar of Arcanum were tasked with going behind enemy lines and studying it. No easy task, especially when the damn things wailed and alerted more to your presence. They had lost a lot of good people over those two years, and things were only getting worse. Val had just returned from the Scorned zone, as the Templar's called it. It was a shock to find that Westgate had fallen, but that was why he had been sent, to see why the enemy were withdrawing. He should have noticed the trap, but they all had thought the creatures were mindless. This new information was concerning, for if the Scorned showed intelligence, then they were killing them all because they wanted to.

He arrived at the throne itself, empty of course, he had arrived early as he usually did to such important meetings. Val admired the simple beauty of the throne from his helmeted gaze. It was silver, etched with gold and small rubies but still large enough to demand respect. Dramoria himself sat upon it, and his line ever since the unification of the Empire. Truly it was a site to behold.

Large doors on the right of the throne opened then, and through them came the Emperor followed by attendants and scribes. Val took a knee and bowed his head as the Emperor took to the throne. Then he spoke, "Ever dutiful the Templar's, always arriving early, even before we Emperors. You may rise Valson."

Val stood up, the Emperor wore a soft smile but his eyes were full of sorrow. He could not imagine what the man was going through, with the loss of his son and Empire loosing the war. He answered him in a reverent tone, "Thank you, my lord. It is a great honor to be here, and lead this mission." Val shifted slightly as he finished, there were questions he had, but it was not his place to ask them. Like why in fact were they recruiting adventurers? The letter he received made mention of this, and the means by which they would fight the Scorn.

The Emperor looked at him with a distant expression. "And I thank you for being here, my loyal Templar. I'm sure you have questions but they will have to wait until everyone arrives. It will be... Easier for me to address any concerns then. Come now, stand next to me and let us await our arrivals. If any of them try anything, which I doubt will be the case, I will feel safer."

Val said nothing as he walked up the thrones steps and took his place. He fidgeted a bit before calming himself, he was anxious for things to get under way. They had a war to win.

@Sola@Zetsuko@Burger@Leotamer@jdh97@Rithy@AdvancedJ3lly@Aristo@Ghost Shadow

The sun was setting in the courtyard, a hazy blot above the thatched roof. Underneath a purple and red sky, children clapped and stomped. Some danced. Some adults joined in with them. Chickens clucked and pecked at the dirt. A young woman with a lute weaved a melody growing ever faster as Kean juggled more and more eggs, and stones, and even a knife. The arc grew until his hands became a blur. The song swelled. Feet became thunder.

And then a man in royal colours stepped into the courtyard.

For a moment, one off-beat, Kean faltered. That was all it took. It all came tumbling down. Eggs smashed, stones flew off into the distance. The knife clattered at Kean’s feet. Children screamed and squealed, covering their heads. All that, from one tiny moment of hesitation, one minute mistake.

At the time, Kean had been furious, and apologised to the crowd, mostly refugees he had escorted to a host family that could take care of them until something else was arranged further from the conflict’s front. But then again, at the time Kean didn’t know why the courier was there. The letter was a huge relief; he’d have hated to have to kill another man. In fact, the letter was more than just a relief, it was an omen, a calling; he’d been praying for an end to all this, and it had just been shown to him.

And so here he was: hobbling down halls that disappeared upwards to a lofty ceiling, flanked by two guards.

Getting to the palace had taken a week of hard riding from that remote farm, and it was hard; he’d gone through three horses and every muscle ached for much forgone rest. Entering the city was agony. It felt like he was sticking his hand in a hornet’s nest. For so long he had been careful to avoid bastions of imperial fervour, and now here he was going willingly and unhidden into one. Nobody seemed to recognise him, and he supposed that was fair; he had been using a different name back then, and he was much younger, and the last attempt to bring him in was over two years ago, but even still, he was on edge. The size of it all left him in awe, but the familiarities: soothsayers and beggars, they kept him grounded in reality.

The letter bore the Emperor’s seal, as the courier had told him, and waving it at the guards had granted him an escort directly to the palace. Rather lucky they recognised it, since he reeked, and must have appeared like one of the homeless.

But yes, the now. The guards opened a door and eased him forward at the shoulder.

Kean almost keeled over, disgusted. He bit back the bile surging up his throat. The blatant excess that decorated the throne room could feed all the starving in Dramon and beyond. A dark grimace painted itself over Kean’s features as the guards announced his arrival and fell to their knees. He limped further in, stopping in front of the throne.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Kean said, with an exaggerated bow, ending it with another unnecessary flourish. He looked around the room, his eyes sliding over the lapdog Templar. “Am I the first?” He asked, holding a finger to his chest.

Early afternoon had begun to set on the Charred Bog. Orange-yellow sunbeams glowed through gaps in the trees and foliage like a kaleidoscope of light, casting discordant patterns on the still, fetid water, teeming with fish and insects alike.

Not far from a modest, if teeming village of huts and bonfires was a small pocket of dry land, surrounded by the murky shallows. Sat cross-legged upon the ground was the tribe chieftain and his son. The chieftain was a younger man, no older than 30 or so, of slender frame and middling height; but broader in the shoulders and taller than some of the other men in the tribe. His shoulder-length chestnut-brown hair was styled back, modestly decorated by a single knot at the end, and two locks on either side of his face adorned with hand-carved beads. The chief's face was long and pointed, with gaunt cheeks and ice-blue eyes set in narrow sockets. His garb was heavy layered furs, pelts, and fabrics, adorned with random bits of metal decoration scavenged from lost adventurers in the swamp. A twisted circlet 'crown' of molded antler sat atop his head, signifying his status. Despite his youth, the chief appeared wearied and burdened, no doubt by the weight of his responsibility, not only as chieftain, but father and teacher. Yet he hid these anxieties as well as he could with a soft, poignant smile to his young son, who looked upon his father with the eager, insatiable eyes of curiosity.

"Now, then, Brennen," the Chief began, "the first, and arguably most important lesson of pyromancy, is to find your Inner Fire." The Chief outstretched a thin hand, letting a single finger press against his son's chest. "Here."

"My Inner Fire." The young Brennen replied, echoing the words as though they were holy scripture. "What's that?"

The Chief let out a small, warm laugh at the boy's antics before continuing. "Have you ever played a game with your friends, say, hide or seek or tag? And you feel that sensation in your chest, that desire to win? To excel?" At Brennen's rapid nodding, the chief elaborated. "That feeling within you, that drive and desire to succeed is your Inner Fire. Ambition, self-assurance, and motivation are some of the ways we stoke our Inner Flame to conjure fire." At this, the Chief receded his hand, holding it out palm-up. After closing his eyes for a mere moment, a ball of fire appeared in his hand, held slightly aloft in the air, its warmth radiating towards Brennen.

"I wanna try!" The boy proclaimed, immediately holding out his own, smaller arm and focusing a glare of concentration upon his palm, as if he were trying to will the flame to appear.

"Brennen." The Chief called patiently, a few moments passing before his son's expression lightened and turned back to his father. "First, you must focus on that Inner Fire, draw on your drive and motivation; let your mind wander back to that game you played, try to imagine that desire, the welling feeling in your chest."

At this, Brennen closed his eyes, his face once more adopting a look of concentration. But this was different, not the concentration of domination or control, but of serene equilibrium with himself.

"Do you feel it?" The Chief asked. Taking his son's silence as affirmation, he continued. "Now, direct that feeling towards the palm of your hand--yes, that's right--do not try to control it; you are the flame's humble guide, not its master. Now... keep focusing, look for a tingling in your fingertips. Breathe, deeply, now, yes. Now... Open your eyes."

Brennen opened his eyes, blinking a few times to readjust to the light before looking at his palm. There, hovering above, was a small tongue of flame, flickering and unsteady, but there all the same.

Brennen's face seemed to explode into joy, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear as he beamed at his own success. "I did it! I did it! Ididit!" He proclaimed excitedly, looking at his father for that look of proud affirmation.

But, in his lapse of concentration, the tongue of flame dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. The boy's excitement melted away like snow in the midday son, replaced by a look of defeat, downcast eyes locked on his hand, where the small flame had been moments before.

But the Chief placed a reassuring hand on Brennen's shoulder, squeezing it lightly, prompting the boy to once more look up at him. "You've done excellently. Far more excellently than I ever could have at your age." The Chief commended softly. "Mastering the art of fire requires years of training and practice. One day, conjuring a flame like this will come as naturally to you as breathing or speaking - I promise."

Brennen sat alone at his humble campsite, cross-legged before his roaring campfire. The road to Dramon was a long and arduous one - especially when one chose to walk. It had been a week of travel, at least, and Brennen, despite his familiarity with walking long and treacherous trails was feeling the effects of his journey. But he'd take sore legs over riding a horse any day. Such creatures were rarely, if ever found (alive, that was) in the Charred Bog. The idea of mounting some strange beast and letting it take you somewhere seemed strange and uncomfortable, so Brennen would rely on his own two feet.

Lost in focus, Brennen kept his spirits up by remembering old memories of his childhood in the swamp, his foundational lessons of pyromancy. As if to emphasize the contrasts between his childhood and present self, Brennen looked down at his hand, bandaged in strips of cloth for protection. Without thinking, a large flame appeared, hovering above his fingers, lapping the air for anything to consume, feeding off its master's energy. Closing his fingers, the fire disappeared instantly, leaving Brennen with a small, almost mocking smile. How insurmountable the task had seemed in youth, to simply conjure fire, let alone use it as a tool and s weapon. But his father's words echoed in his mind, assurances that training and practice would make them natural, intrinsic to his nature. Brennen's Inner Fire, stoked and stirred as it had ever been before, was burning with bitterness and resentment. All that the Scorned had taken from him. Even the roads farther from the larger settlements were unsafe. Brennen was constantly on the move, lucky to get a full night's rest before suspicion and destiny pushed him forward. For so long he had been without purpose, wandering aimlessly, unsure of where the road would take him and why. But the Emperor's letter had found him, carried by a tenacious courier. Brennen was unsure how the messenger was able to track him, let alone find and give him the summons, but that kind of persistence could challenge even the most skilled of hunters.

Slowly rising to his feet, Brennen felt the road calling to him. Dramon was only a few miles out. Should his feet be swift and the trail welcoming, he would be there in only a couple hours.

Grabbing a bucket of water collected from a river about a mile-and-a-half away, Brennen doused his campfire and scattered the ashes, collecting his meager, one-man tent and bedroll, securing them to a weather-beaten knapsack. He tied a rope from his pack through the handles of a battered iron shield, and shrugged the pack over his shoulders, grounding his feet to restore balance with the extra weight. At the pack's side was Brennen' only physical weapon, a simple hand-axe, slightly chipped and rusted from use, but still sharp enough to cleave a Scorned or bandit or two.

A few hours had passed by the time Brennen reached the city gates. The guards looked at him suspiciously. A man garbed in tattered robes bearing potions was either a wizard or a snake-oil salesman, perhaps both. But one quick flash of the Emperor's royal seal was enough to turn the guard into an escort, leading Brennen through the crowds of busybodies and sycophants, gruffly muttering something about another adventurer having arrived earlier.

Met with strange looks ranging from the curious to the distrustful, Brennen ignored them, soon pushed into the royal palace itself, hit instantly with the gaudy regal air that could only be found in places such as this. Shiny floors of marble, tile, and stone; ornate glass windows set in decorative, custom-smelted panes; tapestries of silk and other expensive fabrics; paintings; statues; shields; armor-and-weapon-racks; and other such showy declarations of wealth, culminating in the silver-gold-and-ruby throne of Dramon itself, seated by the Emperor, himself. At his side was a fully-clad knight, dressed in ornate, silver-and-gold plate armor and mail, visage hidden by an eagle-shaped helm

"Your Majesty, Brennen, Pyromancer of the Swamp." The guard introduced him in formal address before turning on his heel and leaving out the large doors.

Brennen stepped forward, towards the only other individual before the throne: a small, scruffy sort garbed in simple adventurer's clothes, a shaggy mane of dark hair and beard covered his head. Brennen had arrived just in time to hear, but not see what had come beforehand. A voice, one most likely belonging to this man, addressing the Emperor in a tone that dripped of scorn.

Turning his gaze upon the Emperor, himself, Brennen merely bowed his head. "Your name is not familiar to us in the Charred Bog, Your Majesty. But I answer your summons."

The room was pitch-black. Footsteps echoed through out the room and a quite chanting was just barely audible. In a long dead language, the chant translates to "Mother of Night, May I never fear the darkness". The chanting and footsteps starting together, and ended together in almost prefect sync.

The sound of someone sitting down on a stone floor followed shortly, as a second sound of metal being placed on stone followed that. A second chant could be heard in the same dead language, that translates to "Mother of Night, May I know the light." As he chanted, four impossible shadows, areas that where somehow darker than pitch-dark, darted in each direction before stopping. Where the shadows stopped, panes flipped over and suddenly the room was cast in twilight as a light from underneath the floor shined through enchanted mirrors.

This revealed a man sitting cross-legged in black robes sitting in the middle of the room, and the origin point of the four strange shadows that retreated back to him when the light started to flow into the room. He started the final chant, except this time he said it only once in the common language, "Mother of Night, May I have guidance"

At that, the door to the room abruptly opened and a younger man, no older than seventeen, rushed into the room holding a letter. The man in the center of the room looked at the room looked at the other man annoyed, and considered chastising the other priest but decided that this was not the time. The young man reached the center of the room, holding the letter out, panting, "Brother Neil, Brother Neil, this letter. It is marked by the imperial seal."

Neil slowly picked up the amulet from in front of him and put it around his neck, "The content of the letter have been revealed to me. Show Father Zachary the notice, and ask him if he would arrange for transport while I finish my prayers. And please, you do well to respect the traditions of this holy ground."
~ ~ ~ ~

In the chamber of the emperor followed shortly by the fire-bearer was the shadow. The guard announced him, "Your Majesty, Neil, Last Heir of House Aurum." To this, Neil merely looked at the guard with killer intent. The guard stuttered, "I am sorry my liege, I mean Neil, Disciple of Luna"

Neil walked slightly behind the other two who have arrived before him, and without a word bowed.

---

---

---

---

The gardens boasted an unnatural calm whilst the moonlight shone; a stark contrast to the earlier tenseness afflicting Fae and soldier alike.

Whereas Mynx had stood firsthand against the dreaded beasts known as the Scorned, yet now she found herself deeply entranced within a tranquil mediation. The dojo stood all but empty outside the master herself, for the days of childish laughter and aspiring students had been a memory long gone. Mynx sought an answer that refused to appear, seeking through mind and soul for an answer that would solve everything. An answer to the Scorned, an answer to revitalization, and most importantly, an answer to avoid such a catastrophic event from happening once more in the far-flung future.

A knock. Then twice. Then thrice.

Mynx snapped back to reality, her legs pushing herself up from the sitting position she had taken on the ground. Words were not needed to be said, nor did Mynx need to gaze in the direction of the knock. Mynx had been searching for an answer to all, and it had come. A letter--a summons to the capital, emblazoned with the seal of the Emperor himself. The Fae monk never fancied herself as a promising hero worthy of such ancient artifacts, finding the wording rather convoluted and needlessly elaborate, perhaps in an attempt to woo brave adventurers to his cause. A thought graced the monk's thoughts as if to any of these heroes had faced the Scorned as she had.

Nonetheless, Mynx understood what she must do. With one--perhaps truly--final gaze towards the dojo, Mynx set off to the seat of the Empire.


Days later, the Semper Fae found herself in the heartland of the Empire, far from the gardens she called home for over half a millennium. Mynx stood at the forefront of one of the largest pinnacles of society, yet she had not been wowed as much as she felt out of place. Those within the capital were secluded, far from the Scorned and the Fae, greeting Mynx with odd stares and glances. Children cowered behind their mothers' skirts, perhaps intimidated by the stories their parents told them of the Scorned to get them to listen. How could Mynx blame them? The soldiers they sent had been routed by vicious vine-like creatures, and there stood someone of a similar nature.

Still, Mynx wasn't here to play the part of the boogeyman, nor did she have the slightest intention to do so. The Fae had received a summons from the Emperor himself, and she knew it would not be worthwhile to ignore such a call for reason mostly only known by herself. Finding the palace with relatively ease, for it had been massive and impossible to miss, Mynx soon arrived to her destination. A guard stepped forward from the gates, asking the monk to state her business, to which Mynx brought forth the letter that had been addressed to her. A quick glance over, and Mynx was brought to the inner chambers, where a number of "adventurers-to-be" had already arrived.

"Mynx Jes-Tereth," Mynx spoke, curtsying. "I have come as you requested, your majesty."

"Are we there yet?!"

"No!"

"Are we there yet?"

"No I said!"

"How long till we're there?!"

"I just told you five minutes ago!"

"How long is it now then?!"

"Ughhh... "

Marcus, the chubby Imperial tax collector sighed, wiping his sweaty brow with his purple silk cloak as he looked over to the Soldier riding the wagon next to him. Above each their shoulder was the wide eyed, green face of Zina, the Semper Fae looking eagerly to each one of them; her green, dark eyes fixing on the driver holding the wagon's reins.

"Hey! Could I try to drive too?!"

For the sixtieth time, the soldier did not answer. His eyes simply deadpanned the road ahead from the shadow cast by his nasal helmet. Marcus let out another sigh.

"If I wanted to kill us all by driving off us off the nearest cliff, I could do that myself. I don't need your help! Now stay quiet, Fae!"

Zina continued to look around, taking in every last bit of the landscape as she continued to shuffle from either side of the wagon to get a better view; causing the soldiers sitting in the back to jump aside to avoid her. Their wagon was part of the annual treasure caravan, bringing back tithes and taxes to Dramon.

"It's so big!"

Zina exclaimed with excitement as Dramon came within vision as they crested their caravan crested the ridge, and they came into the lowlands around Dramon.
All the way to the city, Zina was hanging dangerously out of the side of the wagon as she waved at the citizenry of Dramon, the reactions she gained being a mix of surprise, fear, astonishment and even terror when Zina tried to reach down and pat one of the human saplings, only for a larger female to pull the little human back.

"It's soooo many people... !" Zina awed as they finally stopped and dismounted the caravon outside of the main keep, the Fae about to walk off in a random direction when one of the guards grabbed her by her arms and faced her towards the entrance of the keep instead; causing said guard to yelp in pain and pull his hands back when when he realized he had just buried his hands in a layer of nestle and thorns!

*

Minutes later, a 7,3ft tall Fae would be pushed into the throne room by a pair of guards wearing thick, protective leather gloves; as a small, hunchback scribe tied down by half a dozen heavy books in chairs made a bow; gesturing towards Zina.

"My Emperor, pardon my intrusion... let me present Zina Withervine, the greatest sorceress of the Fae of the Brightwood Grove." The bleary-eyed, overwork scribe motioned at Zina. The Fae looked around the room with wide eyes of awe, before her eyes fixed on The Emperor, passing over Mynx, Neil and Kean. Zina's poison green face beamed with a smile and she raised a hand to wave.

"Hi!"

It had been a few days since the Emperor's letter arrived at the Thrace estate, Keenan had been en route to the capitol on the same day the letter arrived. He'd spent almost the entire journey so far inside the coach, sitting silently, imagining the empire's fall and dwelling on memories of his sister. The ancient oppression of his family not being enough the Empire had decided to take her from him as well, as far as he was concerned the Scorn was the punishment this empire deserved.

He was eventually broken from his thoughts when the stagecoach came to a sudden halt and some voices argued outside. After a few moment he decided to step out to see what the problem was. Walking up toward the from of the coach he spoke out toward the driver "What's going on here?" The driver looked to Keenan when he appeared and bowed his head "Apologies, Lord Thrace" he then gestured toward a robed figure in front of the coach "This vagrant dares to hitch a ride as if this were some common carriage wagon". Just then the figure took a step toward Keenan and spoke "I simply seek passage to Dramon"

Keenan looked the figure up and down, one hand rested on the hilt of one of his swords "and what business could you have there?"

"I've heard the emperor is gathering adventurers to face the scorn in the west. I wish to join them" the figure held out a hand, revealing jewelry and pretty trinkets "I can pay plenty for the trouble"

Keenan had the immediate thought that he should strike down this man now, whether he was truthful or not, it would be one less potential threat to his true mission but he was soon distracted from such thoughts by the treasures the figure offered. They were of Elvkiin make "And where did you find those?" he was almost hoping this was an assassin, hired by underworld elements to end the emperor for some reason. Instead the figure lowered it's hood to show the face of one of the former denizens of the northern forests, surprising both Keenan and the driver.

After a short heavy silence, Keenan began to chuckle.

---

When they arrived at the palace they were greeted with the side of guard leading a Fae into the throne room. It seemed they had arrived at about the same time as many of the rest of their party. What providence.

Following into the throne room shortly after the Fae his arrival was announced after he short greeting, the guard calling out "Lord Keenan Thrace of the Twin Fangs!" He hesitated for one step, hearing the announcement for once not including his beloved sibling. He carried on into the room, the elvkiin following behind him until they were toward the front of the gathered adventurers. He put a fist to his chest and tipped his head for a bow "Your Majesty" lifting his head up he continued "My brother sends his greetings, he prays that this endeavor be a successful one" he caste a quick glance at the others and relaxed his posture "My lord, if I may, I have brought a traveler that sought an audience with you, one I believe you may want to hear" with that he gestured toward his companion.

Without waiting the figure stepped forward and lowered his hood, again revealing his elvkiin features, he then bowed with one arm across his chest "your majesty. My name is Lothian Dimaethor, warrior to what remains of the elvkiin. my people have already suffered from the plague and I would not see what is left snuffed out by this scorn. I ask that you let me join this quest, that I may add my skill to ending it's corruption" as he finished Lothian maintained his bow, awaiting the emperor's response.

Val stood as a statue, breathing calmly and eyeing everyone who entered the throne for potential threats. He was also judging them as they came, for he had a bad habit of doing so ever since the Academy. An insufferable place that he endured only to better himself, and it had worked after all. Not anyone got the chance to stand next the Emperor, to lead such dangerous missions behind enemy territory. He smirked from underneath his helmet, hopefully the others would be able to earn their invitation.

The first one that had come was a disheveled fellow, Val almost thought of him lost but sadly knew better. Val already didn't like him. The way he presented himself to the Emperor, their Lord and ruler, was laced with sarcasm. He would be delightful, Val was sure.

The next was a man dressed in tattered, burned rags. Or tunics and cloaks, Val was not sure. He introduced himself as Brennen, one from the swamps. He had never been there himself, out of official Imperial jurisdiction after all, but the rumors said of pyromancers who inhabited the Charred Bog, fitting he supposed.

The third was a disciple of Luna, a scrawny looking figure in dark robes. Wonderful, just what they needed, one of those people. Everyone knew Luna of course, but Solus was worshiped most throughout the empire. Lunans were a special group, shrouded by darkness, and guided by the moon. He hoped this Neil Aurum wouldn't slow them down, traveling in the day and all.

The fourth was a Fae. It wasn't an odd sight by any means, he had expected at least one to be in attendance. And this one even looked like she knew how to handle herself, which was welcome considering the lot that had arrived before her. Val thought he recognized the name, bit it escaped him.

Next came another Fae, this one much taller and more plant looking. She was announced as a sorceress, and the greatest one at that. Hopefully she knew what she was doing, it was a relief to have two seasoned Fae with them. They would have experience he was sure, skills that would be useful in a pinch. Plus magical abilities were always a plus.

Then came a Thrace, Keenan to be exact. One of the "Twin Fangs" or the One fang now he supposed. Everyone of the upper class and nobility knew who they were, his sister and him. They were a devout family to the Emperor, and the Templar had taken an interest in them until Katia had died. He wasn't sure why his superiors lost interest but having a Thrace here bolstered his confidence on the success of the mission. Val was fortunate enough to witness them fighting once, his skills would be extremely useful.

Another suprising development, an Elvkiin had accompanied Keenan to the throne room. He had never met an Elvkiin, but he had heard other Templar's talk of them from time to time. Val grew to only pity them, to be wiped out by a plague must have been devastating for the survivors. Whatever this one possessed would come in handy.



As Val silently judged those that arrived, the Emperor greeted each individual after one another. Then after it looked like no one else might show, he spoke to all of them aloud.

"I thank you all for coming here this day, on such a short notice. The letter told you why you were required, and here you are, I admire that." He paused for a moment then continued, "I will spare you unnecessary details and get straight to the point. You wouldn't be here otherwise unless you meant to continue, but if not, leave now and I will think nothing less of you. The danger on this adventure is very real, some of you might die and I cannot order you to do so. Make no mistake, Westgate has fallen, my son killed, and the enemy advances closer to Dramon everyday. So I say again, if you don't want to be here, then leave now. Go and be with your families while you can."

The Emperor waited for a moment, looking at the gathered group. Not one of them moved, "Good, I thought not." The Emperor then pointed to Val, "This is Templar Valson, he will be overseeing this mission. He has traveled into Scorned territory many a time and lived to tell the tale. His insight will be invaluable to its success. You will be traveling to the Ebony Mountain on horse and foot if need be, destroy the source of this corruption and save not just the Empire, but all living beings."

"I talked of payment, and Dramoria's artifacts in the letter. You all must realize the gravity of the situation? Not once in the history of the Empire have the artifacts been used since Dramoria's unification. These are truly dire circumstances. Each of you shall pick an artifact to use. I would give you more but we still need some of them when the fighting starts here. Also note that if you decide to run off with an artifact, I will send the Vaults guardians after you. And they are not kind creatures." The Emperor's tone darkened at the last sentence.

He then continued once more, "Coin will also be provided for you and a horse each. Now are there any questions?"

@Zetsuko@Rithy@Sola@Leotamer@Ghost Shadow@jdh97

One by one those who answered the emperor’s call were announced as they entered the throne room, until the final pair. Shrinking towards the back of the room, Kean watched them with a carefully blank face, and took special notice of their names. Names were important. Some he even recognised, though Zina Withervine was… different to how he had imagined her. Still, she was an impressive figure, looming over most others. But that was the trouble, looks could often tell lies and half-truths, fickle things as they were, and so far, that was all he had to go on, really. That, and the assumption that the people here were summoned for good reason, likely based on rumour and reputation. Yet even with a trail that obvious, the messengers must have been truly tenacious to even try and seek out some of these. How many had failed? How many had never got their summons? How many had refused? Regardless, it meant they probably didn’t know who he was, way back when he was using his given name, if it was based off the news and repute of his current exploits. Probably.

Kean found himself staring into the eyeless void of the lapdog’s visor. He was a statue. An indoctrinated idol of the Emperor's will. How much do you know? He mused.

When the Emperor spoke, there was a reverent hush, and his voice seemed to fill the hard room. He had been cordial and pleasant during their greetings, even to Kean, but now his tone seemed somewhat sombre. The news of Westgate falling was a genuine shock to Kean; he had spent too long on the fringes, helping those abandoned by the empire, too far and few to be worth the investment. Gathering prolific figures from the lands inside and out the empire’s reach was starting to make more sense in these dire times. Somewhat mollified, Kean glanced from the emperor to the others, his stony features ground softer. The weight of it all was setting in. It was crushing. Were they really a last-ditch attempt? The only hope to stop the Scorned? Maybe. A gaping chasm fell downwards in the pit of his stomach. Kean blinked hard.

However, then the Templar was announced as their leader and Kean barked a laugh. Immediately he shoved a clenched fist over his mouth and forced his eyes to the floor. Already having pushed his luck, Kean did not want to test it too far, not now he had seen the calibre of his peers. He felt somewhat outclassed. Redundant. Best not to see if that were true.

With no questions of his own springing to mind, Kean would stay towards the back of the room still, watching, waiting for the others to ask, hoping to gleam some insight into what the people he could very well die next to were thinking.

He rubbed the bags under his eyes.
 

Pale was late.

An ordinary person wouldn't dare to arrive late for an audience with the king. However, Pale was not ordinary. On her travels to the throne room, she had managed to stumble upon a crypt - one with no signs of being explored. While it was her duty to meet The Emperor, it was also her duty to delve into each and every grave in search of treasures. After seconds of deliberation, she had decided to explore it. After all, what if it was some undiscovered vault of extremely powerful weapons? It would be her duty to acquire powerful items to defeat the scourge that had afflicted the land, after all. She salivated at the thought of some sort of powerful superweapon being hidden inside of an unmarked tomb, hidden away from humanity.

Of course, the tomb had nothing inside of it. Nothing except for a solitary skeleton, at least. Still considering her spoils of war, Pale took the dead man's skull. After all, her effort was worth at least something, right? Alas, her little diversion had wasted some time. No matter, the throne would make sure to at least most people had arrive, right? What were the odds that all of the adventurers would arrive at the same time?

The answer to that, as Pale had discovered, was actually very likely. Her arrival, while escorted by a guard, had not been announced. After all, which poor guard wanted to ever be the one to interrupt the emperor? Despite this silent entry, Pale still seemed to get the attention of others. Being a swashbuckling archeologist wearing bright and ornate clothing seemed to always do that to a room. Pale listened to the Emperor intently. Well, she did so to the best of her ability. Occasionally, she would forget that she was listening and would instead focus on the other future heroes meant to be her companions. A righteous knight, a thin mage, a knife-ear, some plant girls, and two raggedy boys. Well, Pale was certainly one to judge on appearances. None of them really appeared like Pale did - except, of course, for the fae. Already, she liked the two of them.

Before she knew it, the Emperor had finished his little speech and asked for questions. Of course, Pale had a question. A question that didn't quite pertain to the situation. Opening her mouth, she began to speak.

"What hap-"

Just as impulsively as she spoke, she shut her mouth. Her question, of course, was incredibly distasteful. While she wasn't afraid to ask the emperor face to face, being flanked by a bunch of guards made the question difficult to ask. She pinched her fingers and dragged them across where her mouth should be, signalling that she should shut up.

Brennen felt the wind being knocked from his lungs as he fell back against the harsh, unforgiving ground of the swamp, wincing in pain as his back spasmed from contact with a rather large tree root. Looming above him, surrounded by a small group of fellow children was Kipper. Pug-nosed, narrow-eyed, and broadly built with a head of thick dark hair, Kipper was the son of one of the tribe's most unrelenting warriors, inheriting his father's intensity, propensity for violence, and militaristic way of thinking. The boy demanded respect, and chafed under Brennen's indifference. The two had come to blows before in the past - fickle disputes that often resolved themselves sooner or later, resulting in tentative alliance, but this was not one of those cases. In fact, neither of them would have likely been able to explain what started the fight in the first place, but that was no matter here.

Recovering his breath, Brennen slowly rose to his feet, anchoring himself in the spongy ground in preparation for another blow. Brennen's heart flared, incensed at whatever-had-presumably caused the dispute, no doubt a disagreement of some sort, marked by physical coercion. But there was something different this time, something from within. Brennen could feel it in his Inner Fire, his anger, his rage gave him strength and intensity. Not just the desire to retaliate, but to hurt, to maim. The familiar tingling in his fingertips, twitching with the desire to lash out.

And then it happened.

Kipper swung a meaty fist, his form and power unrefined but marked by brute strength that granted him the advantage. On instinct, Brennen swerved out of the way, his fury made tangible as a small ball of fire lashed out and hit the ground between them, prompting Kipper in his flimsy stance to fall back, the few lingering flames lashing, stinging at his ankles. The gaggle of others with him could only look upon Brennen with mouths agape, unsure of what to do or say.

The larger boy's smugness turned to fear, he could only ask, "Fire? H-how do you know fire!?" Before his question could be answered, another called out, their tone sharp as a steel blade being drawn from the scabbard: "Brennen!"

The Chief's voice was unmistakable, prompting all to quickly look to him. His normally-gentle features were contorted with anger as he stepped towards the children, prompting Kipper and the others to scurry away like rats, leaving only Brennen behind.

The Chief grabbed his son forcefully by the arm, dragging him away from the scene to the chieftain's hut near the center of the village. Shoving him inside, the Chief gave a quick left-and-right to ensure they were unseen before following in behind.

There was initially silence, Brennen sat huddled in the back of the hut, worriedness clear upon his features. His father rarely got angry, but when he did, few were foolish enough to stay in his way. "Did I just see what I think I saw?" The Chief asked, narrowing his eyes at Brennen as if trying to read his answer before he was able to speak. "Did you try and attack that boy with fire?"

"He...he pushed me." Brennen responded, meekly. As the rage that guided him to act was burning away, he began to see just how flimsy his reasoning - and response - was.

"He pushed you." The Chief repeated, internally trying to process what had taken place. Taking a deep breath, the Chief closed his eyes for a moment or two before speaking. "I took a great risk teaching you pyromancy when I did. Tradition dictates we wait until a child is twelve before we begin even the simplest instruction, to ensure the child is old enough to understand the responsibility and danger involved with it. I thought you were ready, I thought you understood well enough the power you are dealing with and the great stakes involved with using it. But I see now that my position as a father has blinded my duty as chief."

"No! No!" Brennen tried to protest, desperation clear in his voice. The Chief held up a single hand to silence him, letting quiet fall between them before speaking again, this time his tone softer.

"Brennen. We may live in tribes, away from the rest of civilization, but we are not savages or barbarians. We're not to use our powers to harm one another. And especially...we are not to let anger and fear control us. That's what caused this, didn't it? You were angry at Kipper, you wanted to hurt him back - is that right?"

Brennen nodded solemnly, turning his head away as though ashamed to look his father in the eyes.

"Many pyromancers both great and small have taken the quick-and-easy path to mastery. Drive and passion is easily substituted by rage. Some even claim their pyromancy is stronger when fueled by anger. But this perverts the very nature of our gift. We are humble guides of Valaista's fire. We honor her with every use of our gift - and sometimes that means utilizing it in combat to defend ourselves and those under our care. But when driven by rage, we no longer guide our Inner Fire, but dominate it, control it for our own selfish desire. And in nearly all those cases, those pyromancers, in their fury, destroyed everything they cared for - including themselves."

Taking another deep breath, the Chief rose to his feet, moving towards the hut entrance. "Tomorrow we'll begin on self-control and discipline. Every experience is a lesson to be learned. And this is a very important one."

As the other adventurers arrived at the palace, one after the other, Brennen said nothing, merely eyeing them as they came in, picking up distinguishing features as he did so. The Emperor's call had reached all across Eon, attracting Human, Semper Fae, even an Elvkiin. This one, this 'Lothian' was a remnant of that past, experiencing firsthand the death of his people, his tribe. This, Brennen sympathized with. Whether by plague or Scorned, to lose tribe was to lose history, to lose identity and the culture that defines it.

The one who had come before him, Kean, as he was called, bore the look of a man fully understanding the gravity of the situation - the risks they were all facing. Brennen agreed in his mind. Though adventurers and fortune-seekers they were, they may as well be counted among the Damned. Survival wasn't guaranteed or expected; this meeting was simply a reading of last rites.

A disciple of Luna followed shortly after Brennen, himself, did, white-haired and pallid, dressed in simple robes that Brennen presumed were sign of his discipleship. In the two years he had spent wandering the rest of Eon, he had heard the name Luna, but put little stock in it. At the very least, he was aware that her worship was enigmatic, oft-misunderstood and rife with rumor. Regardless, Valaista would be the flame to light through even the darkest of shadows.

The first of the Semper Fae was next: Mynx Jes-Tereth. She looked, to Brennen, more Human than he was expecting from a Fae, the only indication of her true race being the subtle tint of green of her skin and the wilting green color of her hair. The Fae always intrigued Brennen. Few were ever spotted in the Charred Bog, and certainly none in Brennen's lifetime. Some of the tribal campfire tales spoke of the occasional Fae who was spotted and communed with by pyromancers of old. Brennen wasn't surprised by their absence in the bog. Swamps were where beautiful flora came to die. It was a dark place, one no Fae would likely enjoy visiting, let alone settling.

Another Fae followed suit minutes later, this one absolutely gigantic, with Brennen barely reaching her midsection. She was introduced as the 'greatest sorceress' of the Brightwood Grove, a title that held no meaning to Brennen. She bore the look of a child seeing a parade for the first time, eyes full of awe and curiosity. Truly, could one of such apparent naive innocence be capable of wielding magic? Perhaps time would tell.

With the Elvkiin was one called Keenan Thrace of the Twin Fangs. Brennen had heard the name before during his travels in the smaller settlements of Eon, a warrior duo, a house name for tournaments and contests that many paid more than they could afford to go see. Yet only one of the Fangs was here.

Finally, the Emperor himself addressed the crowd of adventurers, greeting them all by name before leading into an address. 'Here it was,' Brennen thought, 'the beginning of the end.'

Brennen felt a pang of bitterness in his chest when the Emperor made the offer for any who wished to return home to their families. It only cemented further just how alone the pyromancer was now, all that he bore upon his shoulders. There was nowhere left to go except to wander, to waste time until death took him. At least here, at least now he had purpose. And if that purpose killed him, then he would die as his tribe would have wanted him to - as his father had.

The Emperor declared that the Templar beside him would lead the group - the man seemed not to react. The Templars in Eon were shrouded in mystery to Brennen, more like a force or unseen power than a physical organization. Rumors abounded, of course, whether they were men at all. What lay hidden beneath that helm? What thoughts did he think, if any at all? Brennen's own thinking was interrupted by a small guffaw by Kean, prompting Brennen to turn his direction, that short bark of a laugh echoing off the old walls of the palace. Regardless of its propriety, Brennen found the outburst at least somewhat comforting. Candor was in short supply these days, words weren't the only way to express honesty.

Once more, the reverent silence was interrupted, this time by the last-minute entrance of one more adventurer, an eccentrically-dressed woman (as Brennen later deduced from her voiced) garbed in an outrageous assortment of reds and purples, face hidden behind an iron mask. No introduction followed this one, but Brennen presumed that a woman like this didn't need one - her actions would speak for themselves.

Now, with seemingly everyone there, Brennen turned his gaze back to the Emperor, who had finished discussing payment and transportation. It was cursed gold, cursed gold signed to corpses. The money wouldn't hurt, of course, but Brennen didn't find himself tempted by it. All the gold in the world wouldn't bring back what he lost, but he would try as he could. The Scorned would give him back his past, whatever the cost.

Elodia had never imagined she would step foot in the capital city of the Empire. She had heard of Dramon before in passing, from the occasional traveler or merchant, but never had been able to picture it in her mind. Cities were little more than a distant concept to her, a place strange people claim to be going to or coming from, and little else. Whatever she had thought it might be like was nothing like the reality. It was all so overwhelming, the labyrinth of stone buildings, paved roads, narrow alleys, colorful markets, endless crowds surging through it all. It was so different from the village she had been raised in or the silent, peaceful forests that she now called her home.

Her escorts kept her from being swept away in the crowds or becoming lost. The had nearly turned her away at first, until she handed them the letter. That had changed their attitudes almost as quickly as it had the street vendor she had asked for directions an hour earlier. Her eyes wandered as they walked, taking in the new sights, the people. There were so many, more than she had ever seen in one place before, perhaps more than she had ever seen in any place at all. Many of them were refugees, like herself, shuffling about with somber, defeated expressions. She felt a pang of sadness at that realization and looked away, focusing on the path ahead.

The trip through the city did little to prepare her for the palace itself. It reminded her of the old stone temple she had visited once as a child with her mother, though only in the most rudimentary way. While that small church had been constructed of rough grey bricks and dark stained glass, this place was crafted of perfectly smooth marble and brilliant colors, with enough space that it might have been built for giants to roam its halls. She smiled at the fantasy for a moment, picturing how someone the height of two men might be around the next corner or through the next massive doorway, going about his normal business. What might a giant's normal business be, running an Empire?

Then she passed through another portal and found herself in a chamber greater than the others. A handful of others stood around her now, people like herself that didn't belong, standing before a man that Elodia assumed was the Emperor or someone of equal importance, based on his throne and attire. He was speaking, but her attention was immediately drawn elsewhere. Her eyes settled on the green-skinned woman that stood a full two heads above all else in attendance and she froze in surprise for a moment. Maybe giants ruling this place wasn't such a ridiculous idea...

"Coin will also be provided for you and a horse each. Now are there any questions?" The man said, pulling her out of her imagination again.

She looked over all of the others, lingering on the tall woman for a moment longer than the rest, and waited for someone to speak up.

Neil stepped forward once the emperor was finished with his speech, and while he stood in front of him, he did not stand directly in front of him. The more observant persons would see that he positioned himself so his shadow was cast away from the ruler. He once again bowed, and offered the prayer, "May the tower's shadow be lifted from your house."

Shadows are very prominent in the lore of the moon, and hold many different meanings depending on array of different factors which most people outside of the Lunan church would be clueless of, however most people would recognize the tower's shadow from old wives tales or ghost stories as an ill-omen, though most would belief it to either be metaphorical or superstitious.

He stood before the king, and paused carefully picking out the words he wished to use, however it is was likely the king already knew what he was going to say. The Church of Luna made it no secret that they believed the moon shield Serenity was by all rights the property of the church, and that it was a most sacred relic. "I have no need for wealth for this task. The signs have shown me I am unlikely to survive this ordeal, and even if I did, I have given up the gold of the nobility and it is not something I miss. I ask that when my task is complete, the holy relic Serenity will be returned to the Church of the Moon."

As the Emperor spoke, Zina found her gaze trailing off to the various sights and scenery all around them; the Fae still struggling to take in all the details of the great hall and lavish decorations of the imperial palace, as her head was in constant movement and causing the long, green leaf ponytail behind her head to swish back and forth.

Yet the fellow adventurers in the hall gained no small amount of curiosity from the tall Fae as well, as Zina's green eyes scanned over them; taking in every detail!

First there were those who had already been present in the room when Zina had entered. One was a scruffy looking human who looked like he had been dragged out from under a bridge somewhere and not slept straight for half a year. He struck Zina as a rather shy individual. Maybe he was just embarrassed of his appearance! The other person, Brennan, looked little better than Kean; with singed clothes and robes that made it look like he had barely escaped a house fire earlier that day. This puzzled Zina. There was a big contrast between the two humans in their rags and the ornamental flamboyance and opulence of the rest of the people in the imperial keep. Was this how dress-code worked for humans?

The third person to grab Zina's attention was a very Fae looking human,- no wait, it actually was a Fae! Zina had to correct herself as she watched Mynx. This Fae looked remarkably human-like in both attire and appearance, making Zina assume she came from some of the groves that lived deeper in the Empire lands. That said, Mynx was for all Zina could tell just as aloof and distant looking as some of the elders from her own grove, so there was that in common!

Yet more were to arrive after Zina however. First there was an Elvkiin, Lothian. Compared to her knowledge of Elvkiin, Zina's knowledge of humans was immense. And that was saying a lot given how little she knew about the latter! As far as she had been able to figure, Elvkiin were like humans, except smaller and prettier. Zina briefly entertained the prospect of reaching forward to try to try to pat Lothian's hair as he was giving his introduction, but her attention would soon be taken by a rather flamboyantly dressed figure that entered the hall. Despite its odd behavior, Zina found her attention more taken to Pale's outrageous outfit; the bright red shirt and blue cloak, all crowned by a giant hat many times wider than Pale herself! This immediately spawned a million questions in Zina's mind, most of which revolved around how she could acquire a hat like that as well!

It kept Zina distracted for long enough that she barely even noticed the lingering look of a small human, Elodia. Upon finally noticing, Zina immediately did not hesitate to make eye contact and smile as she waved at the smaller being!

This did not last long however, when suddenly Neil stepped forward, and Zina suddenly realized she had not even noticed the small wiry figure; assuming him to have been part of the background dressing until the moment he had stepped forward to speak to the Emperor to reject the promise of coin.

"He's rejecting free coin? Obviously he has never seen some of the menu prices in some of the Inns along the way to this place!"

Zina thought. It was probably a long way to their destination, so she figured having a few coins could come in handy along the way!

Finally, Zina's attention was drawn from the details of the room and the people to focus on the events that were actually going on. Westgate had fallen, and they were apparently to destroy the corruption in the Ebony Mountains. She didn't know much about Westgate, she had never been there, but given how seriously everyone seemed to be talking about it Zina assumed it was important somehow and went with it. Of another question was the corruption...

"What does the source of this corruption look like?" Zina went on to ask, turning a curious face directly towards the Emperor.

"Do we have to destroy the entire mountain?"

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"Coin will also be provided for you and a horse each. Now, are there any questions?"

The Emperor spoke straight to the point, refusing to sweeten his words to the still growing crowd. First, another Fae appeared, then an Elvkiin and some more humans. Eventually, an orc had stumbled in, just as tardy as the others that had arrived late. Mynx was not of the judging folk, yet she still held her reservations towards this ever growing group of "adventurers." There were the chipper ones, such as Zina, whom Mynx thought had never battled against the Scorned, and there were also those who supposedly took the place of another, like Adra. Even more so, the fact that several of them had been fashionably late worried Mynx, whom appeared to be one of the few battle hardened against the Scorned.

Still, before Mynx found her thoughts wandering off, she returned her attention to the Emperor and the rest of the adventurers. Crossing her arms and shifting her weight to another foot, Mynx waited to hear her newfound companions' questions first before she spoke up. Surprisingly, Mynx had expected more to speak rather than the few that did. Those that spoke did so--one issuing his own style of a bargain for his services, and the other clearly energetic to learn. The fact that little was asked of their mission worried Mynx even further, whom found her eyes resting on the Templar beside the Emperor. Mynx hoped he knew what he was doing, or that he would explain more later on.

Turning her attention towards the gathered group, Mynx had seen no one else attempt to speak. Believing so, Mynx then approached the Emperor, answering his question with words of her own. "Your Majesty," Mynx spoke, addressing the Emperor himself. Whilst Mynx had a fire brewing inside, she was still a Fae, and only a Fae would know what they do best. Continuing to speak, Mynx adopted a more confrontational, yet hopefully persuasive tone. "We Fae have been fighting alongside your soldiers since the arrival of the Scorned, and I can only assume that you would be grateful for our help on this mission, yet like the man before, I do have one request."

Then came the clincher, the stinger, the bite, and sanguinely, the undoing. "That is, if we are to throw our lot under a potentially deadly and perhaps impossible task, then we should be rewarded in kind. However, I do not speak of shiny coins or bountiful lands or fancy titles. I speak of those who have given their all for an unjust cause: the slaves. We are given the choice of expending our blood, toil, tears, and sweat, whereas they have not. Give me your word that you will work to outlaw slavery, and then you will have my full support for your cause." Mynx finished, allowing the Emperor a chance to consider her words.

It was only a matter of seeing if the Emperor would take the bait in order to kill two birds with one stone.

When the emperor finished his greetings and asked if there were any questions Keenan subtly turned his attention to the rest of the adventurers. He already knew everything he needed to about their mission and instead wanted to gauge the caliber of his soon-to-be companions and, eventually, adversaries.

He little scrutiny to those that were already there, staring would hardy give him much, and looked to some of the latecomers first since their introductions could still be heard...for one of them at least, the page seemed to have gotten lazy in the past few minutes, but the one he did hear had amused him. The mixup between Lord Garthan and this Adra brought a slight smirk to his face, he silently wondered whether it was the emperor himself that had sent the letter to a dead orc or if that task had been delegated to scribes.

Keenan was brought back as a few of the assembled party actually responded to the emperor. The disciple had requested an artifact, serenity, for his church and the Fae asking for something that was perhaps greater: the outlawing of slavery within the empire. They would both likely get a promise of fulfillment, or at least not an outright denial, no matter how hollow the promise was. Serenity especially seemed like it would cause trouble in the aftermath, if they made it that far, as the throne was unlikely to give up any of the artifacts of it's power. But of course they needed people now, failure meant the end of the known world as far as most were concerned.

Not that Keenan had much care for what the answers would be. He just scoffed and turned toward the emperor, acting like he was waiting for his response in order to hide the contempt in his eyes. These were the kind of people that killed his sister.

---

Lothian, for his part, remained largely quiet after his own introduction, uncomfortable in this setting as he was. He merely glanced at the others, looking over the motley crew. It was a varied enough set of skills between them to give the Elvkiin some confidence that they might have a chance of actually pulling this off, the feeling brought a small smile to his lips.

Though he had not received a letter, as almost no one among the empire had even know he existed, most of the details of this mission had been explained to him by Keenan on the ride here. This left him with only one question left "your majesty, forgive me, but just what are these artifacts?"

Some sort of argument has been persisting just outside of the throne room for a long time now, but it was only recently that the volume took a sharp increase - then silence for a few moments. The doors swung open. There were two guards to introduce the newest and latest arrival. They were apprehensive and stood close to her, fists clenched in frustration. “Your majesty,” called out the guard on the left. “Sue has arrived.” Compared to the rest of the arrivals, Sue was nondescript to the point of nigh-invisibility.She was wearing a beige-grey robe with a linen apron and sturdy leather boots. Her face was grimy with work and her hair was a dark blonde. She looked almost stereotypically like a peasant and were it not for the thunderous expression and her long, furious strides she could have easily blended into a crowd. Once she got even remotely close to the Emperor himself, several guards stood in her path. There was no need, however; once she got close enough to see the Emperor her expression changed. Her brows furrowed.

“Darsun…” Sue sighed, peering at him warily. “I heard about your son, but is this really the right way to go about this?” She raised an arm and gestured vaguely towards the line of misfits behind her. “You’re expecting a bunch of strangers to do the impossible and win where an army and a prince failed? I owe you more than enough to justify going with them, but I want you to see reason before you lose another handful of heroes to this-...thing.”

“Please, Darsun,” Sue folded her arms. “Explain to me why you think this is even a remotely good idea, and I’ll follow your lead one last time.”

The Emperor first addressed Neil, "And may the Sun light your path." The Emperor gave his own prayer for Neil in the faith of Solus. "Serenity, it would be a worthy gift would it not? I shall say this, if you survive and return to me with it, then it shall be your churches. But you must guarantee it not be used in violence, or used against those who do not believe in your faith. If that is ever broken, I will take it back."

The Emperor then turned to the tall Fae Zina. "My dear, I wish I knew what it looked like. I wish I could tell you all that what you are going up against his something known, but I would be lying. It is unknown to me." The Emperor paused, sighed, then spoke again, "But there are rumors. Ten years ago near the Ebony Mountain, a strange creature was reported to be attacking livestock, leaving behind... growths on the corpses. Could this be something related to the Scorned? I do not know. But if I were to guess, it won't require the mountain to topple. At least I hope not."

The Emperor was then about to speak again, but the doors opened once more and announced was an Orc, but not the one who he had thought. As she approached him, Darsun saw that she looked more than capable for this mission. Plus, he had wanted all races in attendance for such a mission. He spoke to her softly, "You have my condolences, I am sure Garthan was a great warrior. A great friend, Orc's usually are after all. You may take his place, Adra Son Sauhl. We would be lucky to have you."

Then the other Fae spoke, asking for something that he knew would have to be brought to light one day. What better day then now?

"The Fae hold a dear place in my heart for all the sacrifices that been made so far, that have to keep being made. I know your people shy away from violence and repression. I agree with you, Mynx. Slavery must end, and if not in my lifetime, then my... Granddaughter's life time." The Emperor paused for a moment, looking distant again. He came back with renewed confidence, "Yes, I shall honor your request, as soon as you are victorious, and war is gone from the lands."

Finally, the Elvkiin spoke and asked of the artifacts, and to that Emperor Darsun had answers. "I think it is about time for you all to know, and to see, the Artifacts of my Ancestor, Dramoria the Gol-" The Emperor was cut off by shouting in the distance, followed by silence then the doors opening. The old woman was a known site to him, the decade since they had last spoken had not been kind to either of them it seemed. He had not wanted Sue to go, but her experience was invaluable.

Darsun held up his hands, and the guards, even Templar Jasek, backed down. Sue was no threat to him. He knew this confrontation would've happened eventually, it was a fool’s hope for it to happen quietly however.

"Susan..." The Emperor spoke quietly before looking at all the people he gathered here. Some of them were so young, but if no one went then they would all die. If no one tried, then he was a failure. He would have gone with them, but his health had taken a foul turn of late and he was tired, so tired. These people, he barely knew them, but they were hope.

Darsun looked back at Sue but spoke aloud for all to hear, "It isn't a good idea, it's all we have left. My army is failing because it is conventional, but I need the unconventional to win. I have told them the risks, and not one has left. I have told them that they might die, and still, not one has left. They need guidance, and experience and you are the only one left now who can give them what they need. I am sorry it has to be this way Susan."

The Emperor then stood up and clapped his hands. "Besides, you all will not be powerless. I present to you now, the artifacts."

And through a side door, servants began to bring in long tables, and items covered in fine silk, and clothes. Each varied in size, some were small, and some looked like weapons. The servants quickly set up the tables at the base of the throne, and then placed each covered artifact on them. Then they began to remove the fine silks and covering, revealing a range of items. Some looked quite plain, and others looked exotic. All in all, there were six tables covered in an assortment of powerful items, before each item was a small card. Anyone with a magical sense could feel them and there was also an increased presence of guards standing watch.

As the Emperor began to walk down towards the artifacts, so too did Val. "Most know nothing of these," The Emperor began, "Lost to time and memories of a by gone era. These are my inheritance, passed down from Emperor to Emperor and guarded secretly. As I spoke earlier, these items you see before you are powerful relics of a time when Dramoria United his Empire. Though I would like to think we know everything about these items, they have seen so much misuse that we have forgotten much. I have had my servants each place a card before an item, stating what we believe they can do and any history that we know of. Feel free to take your time, I have read these artifacts can bond with a wielder, or wearer, especially if they are compatible." he then motioned for them to start.

The Emperor then turned to Val and spoke, "I have one just in mind for you. The Sword of Sanctity, here." They walked over to it and Darsun pointed at the elegant sword. "I dare not touch it, but you just might be worthy."



If Val had heard Kean bark a laugh at his leadership, he pay no attention. Rather, he stood silently like always next to his Emperor, hearing him address these newcomer's and their concerns. He listened and watched them secretly from behind his helmet. These were people he would have to count on, but he wouldn't trust. Not yet anyways. After all, these people were only really tools. Useful tools he hoped.

As soon as this Sue person came barging into the room, Val had instinctively gone for his sword and moved in front of the Emperor. But when Darsun raised his hand, Jasek went back to his side and resumed his vigilant stance. This woman, she seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't fathom why the Emperor had sent for her. Her words did strike some curiosity in him however, but with like all things, he would trust in the Emperor's word.

The next thing he knew was the artifacts streaming in, but he instead watched the assembled group closely. Wouldn't want any of them to get an idea, but he noticed nothing before the Emperor began to move. He walked slightly behind him as they approached the tables. After the Emperor spoke, he turned to Val and spoke of the Sun sword.

Sanctity.

The very same sword Dramoria had wielded, the first Emperor. He looked at it with excitement but was hesitant to take such a weapon. Why didn't Emperor Darsun claim it for his own? Well it would have to wait for now, if he didn't take it, he might upset the Emperor. As soon as Val touched the hilt, he felt its heat. He raised the sword and let it reflect on the sun light streaming into the chamber. It was a beautiful sword, and it felt powerful.

For the first time since everyone had gathered he spoke, "This will do perfectly, thank you my Emperor." His voice rang with clarity and was as smooth as the very silk that once covered the artifacts. As Val looked at the sword, he knew his responsibility would be great. The whole of the Empire rested upon his shoulders now.

@Stitches@Zetsuko@Sola@Sofaking Fancy@Rithy@Leotamer@AdvancedJ3lly@Ghost Shadow@Burger@jdh97

Kean grinned when the iron-masked latecomer caught the question before it all fell from her mouth. Drawing her hands across an invisible pair for lips somehow made her visage appear all the more inhuman, a reminder, perhaps, of what should be there?

For the most part, everyone was watching each other, weighing and measuring, seeing if any amongst them was found wanting. Not that unwise; this was a doomed voyage at best so they needed every edge they could afford. Kean was all too conscious of the beggar’s rags and the odour of sweat and dirt that hung about him.

Yet not all were quiet. The Lunan noble beseeched for a relic of his church. The Emperor’s conditions comforted a distrust of the sickly looking Lunan Kean had not been aware of before. Quite how the Emperor intended to enforce them was another matter entirely.

The vaulted artifacts, mentioned only briefly in the letter. Kean had no idea what exactly they were, let alone what he’d want from them, but he’d have been a fool to turn down the invitation from the Emperor.

The Fae sorceress’s question, one Kean had been musing over, was answered, if somewhat unsatisfactorily, yet it was something. Perhaps everything.

At the opening of the doors, Kean turned, watching an orc with curious lavender eyes enter the room. He noted the tension in the arm that supported her as she knelt. Quite what it belied? Kean was undecided. Her acceptance was likely not without reason, but the group was becoming ever the more rag-tag, with two uninvited being accepted. The longer this meeting went on, the faster his hope was drowning in the apparent desperation of the act.

Ending slavery? Now there was an idea. Shame he doubted that would ever happen. Slavery would always exist, haunting man, just as war and disease would. Always.

The scoff from the son of that most loyal house did not escaped Kean’s attention. Thrace was one of the names he actually recognised, yet his memory of their history was murky. He just knew them as imperial sycophants.

Apparently not everyone, even if it was just the Elvkiin, knew what the artifacts were, and Kean fought the urge to sigh.

The commotion provided some entertainment. Its source, an old woman, appeared little more than a commoner, cleaner than Kean to be sure, but spoke to the emperor with a familiarity that was both alarming and amusing. There was history there that intrigued him. This “Susan” must have been something special if she would guide them alongside Valson. Fortunately, she seemed too human to also be a Templar.

The procession and the menagerie of treasures, well, Kean couldn’t help but frown at them and tilt his head. Having never developed his magical sense, they just looked like baubles and weapons. Some were mildly impressive, but hardly seemed worth keeping a close-guarded secret. Yet, if they were truly what the Emperor promised them to be, maybe there was hope after all.

"This will do perfectly, thank you my Emperor." Valson had said, after following the Emperor's suggestion.

“It talks?” The words escaped Kean’s mouth at Val’s silken tones. Luckily it was only a strangled whisper, but even still, under his next breath he cursed. He eyed the sword, Sanctity, and then looked into the visor. It was easy to see why the Templars had their reputation. Quickly he went over to inspect the artifacts, turning his back to Val.

“Great going,” he whispered to himself, “Just keep that up and you won’t even make it out this room.”

He looked over the tables once. Then again, going slower. A few things piqued his interest, yet one seemed invaluable. The Amulet of the Lying Cat. He lifted it up by the leather cord, fixing his stare on the tiny jade statue: a cat. Slowly, he put it on. In his mind’s eye he could see a pale green, hairless cat the size of a large dog, with jet-black eyes, like shining lumps of coal that smouldered short trails of emerald smoke. He knew by reaching out and just willing it, he could summon the cat before him. It watched him.

Come.

Green and black haze spilled forth from the amulet, tumbling thick and heavy to the space in front of his feet. Kean stepped back. There, under the table, was the cat he had seen in his head. It licked a paw. He knelt down in front of it, and extended a hand. The cat put its paw down and watched with completely-black eyes. Kean cooed, and, slowly, stroked its head. Still, it just watched.

“You are rather terrifying,” Kean confessed. It purred now, rubbing its head into his hand forcefully. Its skin felt surprisingly human. For a few seconds, Kean thought, scratching it behind the ear. Then, he said, “I am the Emperor.”

“LYING.”

Kean roared with laughter. It spoke somewhere between a hiss and growl. He stroked it some more, then got up and walked over to the Emperor, stopping a safe distance from his Templar. The Lying Cat followed.

“I thank you for granting this boon,” he said, grinning, and, uncertainly, he took a knee, “you have my word I shall give my all to end the blight that is the Scorned.” The Lying Cat yawned, stretching out next to him.

Kean stood and looked at the necklace. The cat was clear now, completely transparent and colourless. He beamed. Having read the cards, some of the artifacts sounded truly devastating, and if his companions on this venture wielded them, he doubted much could stand before them, even the Scorned. He was content protecting from more insidious threats.