Two days had passed since the incident with Kipper. Though the Chief had promised Brennen to begin teaching him the values of discipline the day before, he was waylaid with his tribal duties -- and the fury of Kipper's father. That night, feigning sleep, Brennen could hear the two men arguing outside the Chief's hut. Brennen's father, maintaining his patient, reserved demeanor, almost seemed to be browbeaten by the larger, louder man, who's shouts seemed to disturb even the native creatures of the bog. Yet Brennen could hear the subtleties in the Chief's tone. Though quiet as he always was, steel was beginning to form behind his words, a sharpness that serve to remind Kipper's father that he had forgotten himself. Finally, after what had seemed like hours, the two men parted. The last thing Brennen could remember was the Chief offering a quiet assurance to his wife before all fell silent again, and Brennen slept, comforted by the sound of crickets in the trees.

The next morning just before daybreak, Brennen was gently awoken by his father, who had him get dressed and follow him into the untrodden depths of the Swamp. The early morning sun peeking across the horizon seemed to burn through the dense treeline, giving the swamp a warm, yellow glow. Brennen could hear the sounds of the swamp waking in reply. Birds began to sing their long song; frogs and toads croaked out their morose baritone choir; and insects buzzed and looped about the bog, ready to begin the day's work.

Throughout their journey, the Chief spoke little, seeming deep in thought. Though his anger and disappointment at Brennen's previous antics had faded entirely, he seemed tired today, as though drained from long battle.

After walking for what seemed like a mile-and-a-half at least, the environment around the two changed. In what could almost be described as a rift between worlds, the swamp seemed to...die. The soggy, spongy ground turned to infertile, dry cracked mud, riddled with puddles of foul, black water. The treeline thinned out almost entirely, leaving a bare, open plain before them. The few trees that still stood were burnt, bare, and withered, like corpses. The air was thick and heavy, and a cloud of smoke still seemed to loom in the distance, a physical barrier separating this damned wasteland from the rest of the Bog.

"Wh-where are we?" The young Brennen piped up, nervously looking from left-to-right as if expecting some beast to come charging from the malodorous fog.

"It has no official name to our tribe," the Chief began, somberly, as if recalling a bad taste in his mouth, a bitterness towards past memories. "But many of our brothers and sisters call it the Scorched Place."

"What happened to it?" Brennen asked next, primal instinct urging him to run, to hide. Whatever this land, this 'Scorched Place' was -- it felt wrong, like it shouldn't be.

"Many years ago, centuries before my time, the first fledgling Pyromancer tribes settled in this part of the Bog; the first generation to come after the founding company made pact with Valaista. For years, the tribes were peaceful and accommodating, recalling the camaraderie shared amongst their forebears. But it was not to last. Soon there were disturbances between the tribes. Minor, petty disputes that could be resolved with a mediator, no lasting harm to be thought of. But as the tribes grew and flourished, their success gave rise to arrogance, a struggle for the superiority of ideas. Those small, petty disputes began to occur more frequently, with truly unbiased mediators becoming harder and harder to find. Arguments turned more vicious and accusatory, and tribes subconsciously began picking sides, forming alliances with each other. Finally it all came to a head: a physical altercation over what was a trivial disagreement. That was all the tribes needed before erupting in all-out civil war. They began to use their Gifts against each other, Pyromancer versus Pyromancer, fueling their Inner Fires with 'righteous' fury and 'just' outrage. But their anger controlled them, and unstoppable fire cut a swath through their home, gorging itself on flesh and vegetation, leaving nothing unburnt. When the flames died down, leaving this...scar behind, all that was left was shame." The Chief stopped, turning to look down at Brennen, who stared back, captivated.

"This place is a permanent reminder of the dangers involved in misusing our craft. This land was never the same after that - barren and salted. But it serves as a lesson to future generations: we Pyromancers walk a fine line between rage and serenity. To channel our gifts, one must have the passion to cast fire, and the discipline to control it. It's been tribe law since that time to never use our powers against one another. We are not primitive savages tearing at each other for sport, but servants of a higher purpose. To pervert Valaista's gift out of wrath or enmity is contrary to nature, to our beliefs. It only leads to destruction... Keep your eyes ahead of you, Brennen. Watch closely - and let this lesson sink in."

Brennen said nothing, simply looking at the seared expanse in reverence. At the passing of a shadow, he could've sworn he saw an echo, a dark and feeble spirit of malice gnawing at itself in the burned wake.

Brennen remained almost entirely silent during the proceedings that followed, but his bright amber eyes darted from adventurer to adventurer as they beseeched the Emperor with their own requests. His eyes fell on one who was not there before, a late-newcomer who did not announce herself or her presence. a silver-haired young woman no older than himself garbed in inelaborate furs and fabrics, the only notable feature about her appearance being the strange markings on her face that Brennen could only assume were a sort of tribal marking or war paint. She said nothing, but had the look of a huntress about her, enough that the pyromancer wondered if perhaps this woman was a kindred spirit.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sallow disciple of Luna stepping forward with his appeal, disregarding wealth and even forfeiting his own life in return for one thing, a relic called 'Serenity.' The Emperor seemed to oblige this request, so long as it is not used in violence. The Imperial Pantheon within Eon confused Brennen more than anything. Their emphasis on a deity representing each element of life seemed counter-intuitive. The Pyromancers worshipped Valaista and Valaista alone. Questions regarding the mysteries of life were seen as a waste of time in the greater scope of group survival. That was not to say such questions did not exist within the tribes, but no pantheon came from it. These temple disciples were as varied as men come, from modest and mild-mannered to overzealous and fanatical. Which camp would Neil fall into?

Brennen grimaced softly as the Emperor all-but-admitted he knew nothing of substance about the threat they were facing, but still, he said little, absorbing the information as well as he could. Indeed, the only question that the group needed to focus on was how to kill the Scorned, to see them put down - exterminated.

The entire company was interrupted by the introduction of another -- how many letters had been sent out? -- this one an Orc-woman, equipped for battle. From her dialogue, it became apparent she was a replacement for another, one called Garthan. Despite her strong, sturdy appearance on top of carrying enough weapons to single-handedly take on a band of brigands, the woman carried herself with stiffness and uncertainty, as though she did not belong here. But whether they liked it or not, these men and these women of all races and walks of life were tribe now. And within tribe, there is strength and unity.

When the question of slavery came up, Brennen's interest was piqued. He had heard tales of some regions of Eon partaking in the practice, something that Brennen found despicable. Men and women were each entitled to individual freedom, the power to choose and decide for themselves. For someone to be born into servitude, into bondage was inhumane. As with nearly all past inquiries, the Emperor did not give a solid answer aside from seeming to share the human-looking Fae's request. Conditioning its enactment on their success and survival seemed to Brennen like self-absolvement. This quest was already little more than a suicide mission, one that, while being the Empire's last hope, had little chance of succeeding. By saying their petitions would be carried out upon success might as well have been saying no.

Right when the Emperor prepared to unveil the rare Artifacts of Dramoria, another seemed to burst through the large, ornate doors, announced moments earlier by shouting and cursing that echoed off the walls of the keep. This latest newcomer, one called Sue, looked like any peasant or commoner, one who could slip into a crowd and remain unseen. But the way she carried herself, the way she spoke betrayed her station. Brennen had not been out of the Bog for long, but he had seen enough to know that the rules of fealty were different here. To address any ruler, let alone an Emperor so curtly, by first-name no less, is a bold, dangerous move. Yet that ferocity, that utter lack of deference intrigued Brennen. Whoever this woman was, she was no peasant.

The Emperor's reply only confirmed Brennen's suspicions. He spoke to the woman not as a blatantly disrespectful serf, but with a sort-of mutual respect. History there, perhaps dating years back. This woman, her identity seemingly-revealed, was to be the company's guide, their advisor. A monolith of a Templar and a false-peasant: motley leaders for a motley crew.

At long last, the Artifacts were introduced and revealed. Servants, as though waiting for signal, carried in tables, laden with items covered by fine, expensive silks. These coverings alone would have likely cost one of the commoners a year's wages to pay. Eon may as well have been a different land from the Charred Bog. Opulence, wealth replaced practicality and utility.

But Brennen could sense something from that table, something almost calling to him, like a warmth that swelled in his chest, stretching out til it touched the tips of his fingers, prompting them to twitch as if in anticipation.

The Templar was gifted his Artifact first, a gilded, ruby-encrusted longsword etched with glyphs written in an unfamiliar language. The Templar seemed almost hesitant to take up the blade; a betrayal of emotion behind that faceless helm. But he finally held the blade aloft, letting sunlight catch itself in the gold-and-steel. Then, he spoke -- unveiling life that breathed, that thought. His voice was clear and smooth, almost belying the golem-like stature his ornamented armor afforded him.

As the other adventurers slowly moved towards the ornate tables seeking artifacts of their own, Brennen followed the one that called to him in his heart, letting it lead him to a small, seemingly-insignificant pendant hanging at the end of an iron chain. Outstretching a blackened, ash-stained hand, Brennen let a finger trail along the etches within the pendant, the symbol of Solus, Imperial god of the Sun. The card placed before the pendant had but a simple inscription on it: 'He who wears this pendant wields the might of the Sun. But beware he does not burn from within.'

Brennen gently intertwined his fingers with the iron chain, lifting the pendant off its place and into the air. As it was held aloft, the pendant seemed to draw sunlight into itself, softly glowing...an illusion? Brennen's eyes narrowed; though this Artifact promised great power, power of the sun, itself, something held him back - instinct, perhaps. Silently making a decision, Brennen simply clasped his fingers around the pendant, wordlessly claiming it. Perhaps it would find use.

Coming out of his reverie, Brennen turned to see Kean had chosen his Artifact as well, an amulet that conjured from it a transparent spectral-green cat, one that seemed to detect whether the speaker was lying or telling the truth. Whatever use it would serve in this quest aside, its master seemed nothing-short of ecstatic to acquire it.

As the others had asked the emperor their questions, Pale couldn't help but feel remorse. Their questions were rather innocuous. Asking for slavery to end, how to fend off this corrupted horde, what these 'artifacts' entailed. All of these questions were valid and normal. Pale's question was—perhaps if she was unable to cut herself off—something that would get her executed.

What happened to your son's corpse?

Of course, she could have phrased it better. The meaning would always have been the same. She had a morbid curiosity about it. It would be a lie to say that Pale would've asked this question in order to get an idea of what they had to fight. In reality, she just wanted to see both a dead body and what she could take from it. Morals be damned, it wasn't as if the emperor's son would have any more need for his tools.

Surprisingly, Pale wasn't the final arrival. A green-skin had arrived and, with the assistance of the page, had introduced herself. This made Pale realize that she hadn't introduced herself nor had the page. In fact, she was sure that the page didn't even know who she was. Her introduction would have to wait!

The emperor had answered their questions and now was the time for the big reveal of the artifacts. Only, their introduction had been cut off by the entrance of some old hag. She greeted the emperor with familiarity and he responded in kind. This old fox being some sort of guide to them? It sounded interesting, at the very least.

With all other interruptions out of the way, the artifacts were finally brought in by their attendants. Even Pale, who's sense of magic was only an approximate, knew that the artifacts were powerful. She, however, didn't care about that. As the artifacts were unveiled, Pale noticed the most abhorrent thing about them—none of them actually looked good. Sure, to an untrained eye that demonic looking dagger may look amazing, but it also required the user to switch to a much more violent, rough, and black aesthetic. None of the items seemed to fit Pale's fashion sense. She enjoyed her outfit too much to just give it up for some relic.

But that's when she spotted a small ring. Hidden between two massive weapons, it instantly caught her eye. Rather, it did the exact opposite of catching her eye. Between all of the grand accessories, armours, and weapons, the unassuming ring seemed to be perfect for her couture. She went to it and, without even reading the card, slipped it on to her gloved finger.

She really didn't feel much different.

As she looked around her, she noticed one of the raggedy men holding an amulet up, it emanating a warm glow. But what had claimed her attention was that ghost cat.

She didn't like that ghost cat.

After all, someone who appropriates goods from the dead only had three fears: suddenly dying, slowly dying, and ghosts.

She decided that her first purchase with her newly acquired coin would be salt. And, if possible, she would get it blessed by a cleric. It was a necessary precaution. The salt would prove to be a valuable weapon against ghosts if the cat had come for revenge, even if Pale was just being superstitious.

Sue pressed her knuckles to her lips in a look of consternation as she stared at the Emperor for a long time. Her gaze slipped to the Templar, then over to the adventurers, then back to the Emperor as she mulled over her current situation for a good minute or so before heaving a great sigh through her nostrils and letting her hands swing down to their sides. “Okay,” she croaked, voice breaking just a little. “Fuck it. Fine. I’ll go. If only because I-”

Her train of thought was abruptly cut short as her head snapped up a fraction of a second before the greenish smog began to tumble out of Kean’s amulet. She steepled her fingers and shut her eyes tight as the raggedy man toyed with it for a while and seemed to twitch when he burst into loud, echoing guffaws at its antics. “...If only,” she continued exasperatedly, “because I’m probably the only one here who thinks that unleashing an unknown, incredibly powerful, and reportedly dangerous artifact in the middle of his majesty’s throne room might be a bad idea.” She shot an unimpressed glare towards Kean before jabbing a thumb behind her. Brennen was presently in the process of picking his own artifact and, once he had chosen his pendant, he silently pocketed it. Sue gave Kean a pointed look.

It didn't take long for Sue to pick her artifact, mainly because it seemed as if she did not pick any at all. The moment she had agreed to join in on the emperor's journey, a guard had left the throne room. She simply peered at the artifacts with a faint sneer, keeping her distance from the table and her arms folded across her chest. She seemed almost surprised when the aforementioned guard tapped her on the shoulder and wordlessly presented her with a pitcher of silvery-blue liquid, to which she let loose a faint chuckle. Leaning down to peer at her reflection on the surface, she slipped her fingertips into the fluid and asked it something under her breath.

There was a sharp cracking noise as the pitcher split into chunks of glass; the liquid shot upwards, twisting and writhing into a column of solid metal that seemed to disassemble itself near the top. Shards of blueish steel were suspended in orbit around the shattered head, held together by the absolute faintest pulses of blue. Sue did not have to hold this staff; it attached itself into a position hovering an inch or so behind her back. “Didn't mean to break that,” she mumbled guiltily as she picked up as much of the glass as possible, squished it into a mass of transparent slime and pulled out of it a precise replica of the one she had broken to hand it back to the soldier.

The introduction of her Greatstaff was the inevitable reveal of Sue's previous identity. For those who had heard of her antics or seen the artistic representations from the smaller villages, this blonde haired, bitter old woman had to be Lady Diamenthia - a member of the Hounds of Eon and one of the most powerful magi to work independently from the Empire's military. That said, it was safe to say that the ten years she must have spent in hiding were unkind to her appearance and soured her personality. Comparing this hag to her former self was almost pitiable; she had lopped off those long golden curls, abandoned her sumptuous robes and age had caused her whole body to eat away at itself, leaving her a skeletal mess instead of the curvaceous icon of Alidia that she once upheld.

She was also now in a habit of talking to her weapon. “You're not going out like that missis,” Sue snapped irritably to her staff. “I can't afford that kind of recognition anymore. Find something else to turn into.” The greatstaff hummed despondently in response, a low reverberation emanating from its very core. “Be creative; you've done it in the past.” The steely pole suddenly split along its centre and shattered, rapping the back of Sue's head with shrapnel but at a velocity that rendered the shards harmless. Sue ruefully rubbed the back of her neck as her staff reassembled itself into a thick band of metal, curling around her waist and sealing shut in some facsimile of a belt. It made a few pinging noises, to which its owner mumbled something else to it under her breath and then tugged her apron over the metal band.

“Unless there are any more stringent policies you have to force upon your so-called 'unconventional’ suicide team, I think I'll be heading out to buy supplies with the rest of your-...adventurers.” Sue uttered the final word with such bitterness that it almost felt tart to the ear. Now that she had well and truly saddled herself with the others, she seemed impatient to get going. Her belt was equally as excited, though perhaps for different reasons - it twisted and wove around Sue's waist, pleating itself into various alluring patterns and designs, writhing like a tangle of serpents chasing their own tails.

Neil listened to the emperor's words, and simply bowed his head. "I give you my oath."

He had known what artifact he was destined to use, and let before he went to pick it up, he adsorbed himself in prayer. His concentration was broken when Sue revealed her weapon, and her identity. He had heard of her tale, though he did not know how it ended until now. He knew the situation was dire, though he was not aware of how desperate the emperor was until now.

He finished his prayer, and walked over to a shield made of silver and sapphire. The shield floated into the air seemingly by itself until it was lifted high enough to see the tendrils of shadow that gently pushed it into the air. He carefully grabbed it with both hands and looked into its mirrored surface.

It was beautiful, though now was not the time to admire its craftsmanship nor revere it. It was time to wield into battle, and once the scorn were annihilated from the earth, it would be returned to the church.

As a way of answering Lothian's question the Emperor simply had the artifacts brought into the room. Enchanted weapons and trinkets from a time long past. It made sense that this is what they'd turn out to be, Lothian was struck with the feeling that his question was actually a bit silly.

A short moment later Lothian turned toward the sudden sound of glass breaking, only to see that a woman with a large staff seemed to have knocked over a glass pitcher, his gaze lingered on the floating staff for only a second before looking back to the rest of the relics. Being largely unversed in such things as magic he was hoping he could find something a bit simpler.

He spotted something promising a moment later, a cloak made from the pelt of some beast. There was no card for this one, in fact it was so forgotten that it had actually been used as a makeshift cover when the artifacts were first brought in, as he had not noticed this Lothian mistook it for what it actually was. Taking up the cloak he threw it on, tying it in place and waiting to see if any effects were apparent. Shortly after he flinched, shut his eyes, and covered his ears as his senses were overwhelmed. It took him a minute to realize that this was not the cloak's doing, not directly at least. He soon found that the cloak wasn't assaulting his senses, it was enhancing them.

His eyes were the first to adjust, the light becoming bearable again and he reckoned seeing in the dark might've just gotten easier for him. Next were his ears, he could pickup faints sounds in the room and the normal sounds become near-deafening, it'd take him a bit to get used to this. As his senses adjusted he realized his sense of smell got a boost too but that hadn't been as intense at least, though the raggedy one with the ghost cat could do with a bath...

---

Keenan watched the relics be rolled out along with a couple of the first selections, making a note to be careful around the lying cat. As he was watching one of the artifacts quickly caught his eye. It was a set of black armor laid out on one of the carts, unremarkable really but still it caught his attention and held it as he approached even when the sound of a pitcher breaking rang out. The card by the armor had a simple name, "Berserker plate", whether or not that was the armor's true name has been forgotten, this new one given seemingly in light of it's apparent abilities.

House Thrace actually held some knowledge of this artifact, if not by much more than the imperials did, among their many secrets. This armor had not belonged to Dramoria, but instead to the old king Thrace. A fact that the noble house had kept all this time, though unfortunately details of it's capabilities were lost along with it, and a fact that resulted in Keenan interest with the thing. It was with a bit of a grin that he began putting some pieces of the armor on his arm, smaller plates slinking out from under larger ones to leave no flesh unprotected. Flexing his grip a bit he murmured "This will do nicely.

Standing behind the bulk of grouped up people, Eygon was filled with many regrets. First and foremost, not only had he ruefully decided to stand too far away from the group, but he also didn't remove his helmet which caused him to blend in with the rest of the generic guards. It was warm in here, and he could barely hear anyone aside the emperor's booming voice. Would it be too awkward to shuffle closer now? He shook the thought out of his head and decided to endure for a moment longer. That said, he was standing perfectly upright with locked knees and he noticed that was going to mess with his blood flow soon enough.

Time passed and the emperor allowed the subjects to ask questions. He noticed that some of them were even making requests - now more then ever he wished his visor wasn’t obscuring his vision so he could at least properly view the people he’d be “adventuring” with. He could just about make out a few in his periphery - there were more semper Fae than he expected and one particularly odorous man in rags. He could hear a new woman storm into the throne room and talk to the emperor using his first name but she was standing too far off to take a good look at her. Eygon considered, on several occasions, to take off his helmet - but he was in too deep now and had to see this through to the end. Besides, he would be too sweaty to show his face to the emperor.

The emperor was exceptionally generous with the arming of adventurers assigned for his mission indeed. As the cloth covered desks rolled into the chamber, Eygon sensed his chest tighten up due to the sheer influx of magical instability that the items hidden underneath the covers emitted. The fact that the emperor then freely allowed them to pick and choose the items enforced how dire the situation really was. As the rest of his party shuffled to pick up their items, Eygon finally followed suit by carefully trying to wander into the crowd, acting like he was always there. Aside from awkwardly nodding at anyone that commenced brief eye-contact with him he was seemingly drawn to a specific ring. Large, bold, and golden, with the small engraving of Solus where a gem would usually rest.

After locking eyes with the ring which resorted in placing him in a deep trance like state, Eygon reached for and was hit with the sudden realisation and rush that left him in a daze. Outwardly he seemed stuck in the spot, staring at the ring as if in love. Inwardly, it took him several seconds to actually remember where he was, before shrinking back into the gathered group.

"Ohhhh... ! "

Zina's eyes widened as her mouth parted when the Fae saw the table of magical artifacts being brought into the room. Before her emerald eyes had even fallen on the first of the items the Fae could already hear a slight chiming noise in the back of her mind at simply being in the presence of so much raw magical items.

Her initial fascination with the items caused the Fae to simply stay in place and ogle the tables for more than just a long while; until she finally snapped out of it after she had stood gawking at the table for the greater part of a minute!

"A-hem! Zina promptly let out a fake-cough, remembering the fact that she was supposed to be a mighty sorceress after all and quickly assumed the role as she stepped forward.
Striding forward on long legs, the Fae would watch the others try out their artifacts, as Kaen was already making a scene with a magical cat with a bad attitude.

Standing in the middle of a group of random adventurers that she did not know in the slightest; both their persons and their abilities; wielding and toying with powerful magical artifacts that; if they were as strong as the emperor made them out to be; would more than likely have the power to destroy the entire throne room and probably a better part of the castle if mishandled in an awesome, ginormeous multi-colored magical explosion, did not worry the Fae so much.
It was not the first time she had been exploded, and she calculated her odds of surviving a crashing castle coming down at her to be decent-enough to risk it to get to hold such an awesome artifact!

"Please don't explode, please don't explode... !"

Zina privately thought as her green fingers drifted over the table.

To her disappointment, most of the cool looking artifacts had been taken already thanks to her dawdling! She was about to curse her own luck when, suddenly, she spotted a large, utterly-oversized grimoire by human standards called "The Book of Harow" resting on the table, taking up a good chunk of space. It was a heavy set black leather grimoire reinforced with a rusted metal frame; and hooked to a heavy carrying chain!

"Oh, what's this?!" Zina muttered, reaching for the book and grabbing it with both her hands.

Zina may have been big compared to the others, yet the book was _heavy_! With an initial sound of snapping twigs somewhere in Zina's body, her first attempted ended with the Fae dropping the book back down on the table!
Rubbing her hands together, the Fae pulled at the book once more with a grunt of exertion; this time appreciating the weight, and hoisted it up from the table wrapping its chains around her torso!

"Ahaha, got-you!!" Zina cackled triumphantly to herself; a small tone of mania in her voice; as she opened the heavy book to check the first couple of pages.

Alas, aside from a boring introduction part that Zina did not have the patience to read, the rest of the pages were just scribbles upon scribbles of strange runes, diagrams and alien illustrations in a text and language that Zina couldn't understand at all...

... and she loved it!

"I will take this one!" She exclaimed with a high pitched voice, turning around only narrowly avoided hitting Keenan with the oversized book in the process!

"Good." The Emperor stated to Kean, "I have faith in your words my man." He then paused to look at the cat, "An odd choice, but I think it will suit you."

The Emperor looked about as his assembled adventurers began to pick his heirlooms. He felt loss for a moment, but it quickly faded away. What good were heirlooms if they weren't used in time of crisis. He was sure Dramoria would agree. His eyes finally landed on Sue, who had just broken a vase or container of some sort. The one which housed her weapon, an odd thing really. But her words made him respond.

"Susan, there is no need to buy things. I have everything and more that you will require in the North courtyard. The horses are prepared, and items in bags. Food and water are also included. I know that your journey before the arriving in enemy territory, will take you through a couple of settlements, where you can also buy anything needed." He said.

The Emperor then clapped his hands together, quieting the room.

"I'm afraid there will be no celebratory feast here this night, no ceremonies for you all. No matter how much I would have liked to give one, there is little time. Your journey must begin at once, before we are overrun." The Emperor paused once more and looked at them, "I thank you all on behalf of the Empire. I wish you the best of luck, and upon your return we shall throw a feast to revival Dramoria's coronation. Goodbye, and may we see one another again."

The Emperor then looked at Val, nodded and began to walk away. He was tired, but there was work still to do, planning for the defense of an Empire was no easy task.



So caught up in the beauty of Sanctity, Val paid no attention to Kean or his remarks. Slowly he lowered the blade and watched others pick and choose their weapons and boons. An attendant came and took his own sword, allowing Val to place sanctity in a sheath around his waist. The soothing warmth of the blade vanished from, and he shivered slightly before pressing himself to attention when the beggar man walked towards the Emperor. Then the man knelt and Val relaxed. Kean's thanks was needed, he had been given a great gift. One seldom such as he would ever have even dreamed of seeing the throne room, yet here he was.

Soon his thoughts drifted to other things and he saw watched the others for any shifty moves but like before, he found nothing. Then the Emperor addressed them all, his farewell was a somber tone. When bowed slightly as the Emperor began to walk away, his shoulders heavy and his movement slow. Val swore he would do his Emperor right, he would see this through. Not for himself, but for the Empire itself. He prayed to Solus to watch over the Emperor and his family, then he straightened himself out.

He surveyed the group, then in a commanding tone he stated, "No time to waste, follow me. We need to be in the town of Havel by tomorrow night."

Val then began to walk in the opposite direction of the Emperor, towards a door that would take them to the North Courtyard. Where his destiny awaited.

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

---

Kean had felt eyes on him, yet it wasn’t until Susan spoke that he became conscious of how he must look. They weren’t loud words, but to Kean they were a whip-crack; it reminded him of a tired mother and wits' end. He smiled sheepishly and shrugged, mumbling under his breath something akin to, “just wanted to make sure it worked.” But he had known it would work, he had felt the connection. It had simply been him giving into the temptation to pull on the power of the artefact. At the time it was not something Kean even thought about resisting. He looked down at his feet, twisting the toes of one into the ground.

Return.

The cat collapsed into that same billowing green, losing all form in an instant. It trailed back into the amulet, as if sucked by some great pair of invisible bellows. The emerald hues returned to the charm as it hung about Kean’s neck. He clutched the amulet and shut his eyes, swaying gently. What he was thinking was a mystery.

Glass smashed, rousing him. The vision of Sue and her blue-steel staff met his rapidly calming gaze. It was not that he hadn’t heard of the Hounds of Eon – some families he’d helped had even asked if he was one of their number – but he’d never seen any of them, and the disparity between the Lady Diamenthia he envisioned and the haggard woman who stood before him were enough to keep him from connecting the parallels.

Everyone seemed to have selected an artefact now, since they’d stopped perusing, though some were more visible than others and – Wait a moment. Had their numbers grown yet again? It seemed so. Kean rubbed his eyes and yawned. Rest could not come soon enough.

According to the Emperor, however, it would have to wait. After he left, Kean stretched his arms towards the heavens, arching his body backwards to yield satisfying cracking sounds. He sighed, wiped a hand across his grimy face, and turned to the others. Immediately the frayed seams of their patchwork group began to show. Despite the imposing nature of the Templar, Kean couldn’t help but chuckle at the Orc’s words.

“You have bigger balls than I ever will!” he went to slap her on the shoulder, thought better of it, and ended up frowning at his own outstretched arm for a few seconds, before slowly reigning it in to scratch the scruff that passed for his beard.

When he spoke next, it was more measured, “She raises a point though. I wonder if you’re still flesh and blood under all that armour, or did they take that away too?”

One of the more intricate processes of shaping a Templar, is the mental aspect of training. They are broken down and built up to be obedient, loyal, and unwavering in the face of danger. They have to be able to reign in their emotions, if they aren't swept away by the vigorous training they undergo. Valson was taught this, all of the Templar's were taught this but it was never greatly enforced. Some of the older instructors even said to use emotions in response to physical combat, and mental stimulus. Anger was a powerful tool in the face of adversity, but one had to balance that with the proper training and levelheadedness.

Val stopped in his tracks at the voice of the Orc, swiftly followed by the man who had addressed the Emperor just a short time ago. So quick to voice concerns, so quick to make idiotic remarks. It was enough to make him angry. Of course, he hadn't expected much from the orcish woman, they tended to be hotheaded even more so then males.

Val turned slowly to look at the both of them.

He began to talk, his tone full of sarcastic venom, "Puppet you say? I'm sorry orc, I didn't realize that my status of being a faceless puppet would already be causing problems." He paused with a chuckle, "How about you save your sentiment for someone who actually gives a shit? If you couldn't tell, we're at war and we have much bigger problems to deal with then some orc with an ego. But by all means, if you wish to lead us go ahead," Val then gestured towards the door, "Surely you would be better suited at it over I. I'm sure you know exactly the path we must take to avoid the Scorned and the bulk of their forces. And not to mention the road to the mountain itself. Or would your leadership get us killed? We wouldn't want to end up like poor Garthan after all."

Templar's are versed in an assortment of tactics to get inside an enemies head. They play dirty, any information that could weaken an opponents resolve, or push them over the edge, is welcome. It can go both ways however, the opponent might be so angry they make mistakes, or their rage sends them into a frenzy. Val was hoping for the latter, it was always more exciting to fight with the odds against you.

Next Val removed his helmet, showing the full extent of his face. His grey eyes were sharp, and his hair was well kept. The most notable feature was the many faded scars that ran amok throughout his face. The largest of which, were three slashes on his right cheek that ran through his beard. The scorned were merciless opponents, he had learned that the hard way.

"Satisfied?" He asked Kean before placing the helmet back on. Val then started walking towards the door once more.

@jdh97@Sofaking Fancy

Zina had quietly walked up behind Adra and Kean as the two were talking to Val, the taller Fae watching the conversation between the three from above Adra and Kean's heads, until the Templar eventually removed his helmet for show.

It struck the Fae that she had never actually thought of what the templars would look like under those helmets. Would it be a fair and beautiful angelic face resembling the mythical and beautiful creatures that were referred to as angels? Would it be a dead face, the mask worn by a corpse risen to fight? Or would it just be an empty void?

In the end, it turned out to be none of that, yet Zina was quick to comment nonetheless!

"Hey, your head actually looks pretty nice! No need to be so shy and hide it under that metal helmet all the time."

Zina exclaimed with a cheerful as Val turned and walked away.

Pausing, Zina turned her face as she fixed Adra with her poison green eyes and a smile; her long, emerald green ponytail swishing behind her head as she turned to look at the Orc.

"I think he secretly likes you! He's just too shy to admit it..." She said to Adri with a coy smile in a hushed whisper!

Neil had heard tales of the shield Serenity before, however it was much more beautiful than he imaged. Its reflections had an ethereal quality to it. He could feel its power merely by wielding it. The only time he ever felt closer to his god was when she came down and blessed him, anointing him as one of her own.

He was pulled out of his daydreaming when he saw the orc and Templar arguing. It was an ill-fortune, as a team that fights itself always loses. He thought that perhaps the argument could be resolved on the road, if not he would need to intervene or else their petty squabbling could kill not only the squad, but doom all of the known world.

Brennen paid little heed to the others who more-quietly chose their Artifacts, but did turn his attention to Sue's slightly-more dramatic approach. The staff she summoned seemed familiar to her, carrying at least some-sort of awareness. There had been tales, rumors told of powerful enchanters and warlocks capable of imbuing items with basic cognizance, perhaps even true self-awareness; but such magics were old and unfamiliar to Brennen. The Pyromancers weren't like other sorcerers, seeking to unravel all the universe's secrets through mysticism, mastering the fundaments of reality itself. Their magic was primal, wielding the forces of nature. If their magic could not aid the tribe then it served no purpose. There were some especially gifted Pyromancers, Brennen recalled, that pursued the enigmatic art of controlling poison, foul vapors, and toxins. But these few, like all Pyromancers, took their power from the world around them, wielding it as a humble part of it.

As the Emperor bid the adventurers farewell and departed, Brennen could almost-immediately sense a sort-of tension fall upon the throne room. Each of them may have been guided by the same conflict, but motive, purpose, and methodology were all different. They may-as-well have all been foreigners in unity. All that remained as echo of the Emperor's Will was the Templar, faceless and stoic.

Then tension turned to conflict, as the Templar's first commands issued were met with questioning, surprisingly enough, from the Orc-Woman. Her initial reluctant deference in front of the Emperor had faded, replaced by the sharp burning of molten steel. Though he knew little of their history, Brennen understood that zeal, that fire. Orcs, like the tribes of the Bog, valued strength - strength of mind, body, and will. The tribes' way of life had hammered that message in. If one was to lead, whether leading tribe, family, or self, they must be strong, cunning, disciplined, with the respect from both self and others in order to truly lead. The Templar may indeed have strength solidified behind his layers of steel, gold, and chainmail. But to the Orc-woman at least, it would have to be demonstrated. Brennen could respect such practices.

Her mistrust was shared by Kean, who seemed more amused by Adra's bluntness than anything else. He remembered the stories of the oldest tribes; growling, fraying against each other, fighting for leadership. They were more savage back then, willing to use blade, fire, and poison against themselves. This tribe was no different.

But the fires of opposition would fade soon, once the kindling ran out.

The Templar was quick to retort in kind, drawing his proverbial blade, striking to counter as a serpent would; looking for gaps, chinks within the armor, attacking personal area. It was effective, if cruel in Brennen's mind. The Chieftain, even one merely temporarily in command for battle, must rise above those disputes, and serve as a rock for all the tribe to follow, to look up to.

In that moment, Brennen felt a pang of pain deep in his chest, a sharp bitterness as he recalled those words echoing from his father's dead lips - preparing him to lead someday. Yet here he was, not a chieftain but a vagrant, a mercenary chosen to die combating a cataclysm. He, himself failed to lead as he should have, and it left him here. Alone.

Brennen stamped out the bitterness almost as quickly as it arrived, turning his attention to the present. The conflict seemed to die down, the group trickling towards the door behind the Templar, and Brennen followed, comforted by the warmth of the pendant deep within the folds of his robes.

He chose not to speak to anyone, not yet at least, he had nothing to say that would contribute anything to the group at hand. But he kept watch, eyes alert on the road that would-be-ahead. If this tribe was to succeed, it would require everyone's talents and skills, including his own. Though he, alone, may carry the history of the Pyromancers, he would share that history, carry its memory for a little longer.

Keenan refused assistance as he put on the armor and as a result it took him a bit to get it on, further lengthened when he shifted to avoid being hit by an overexcited Fae with a large book. He had actually chuckled at that, smirking at the Fae's antics as he finished putting on the armor.

Once it was on he felt it's power begin to boil up within him, and his rage right along with it. For a brief moment he lost control, turning toward the sounds of the templar arguing with an orc. His face was stone but his eyes were filled with hatred and fury as he glared right at Val's armored figure. He took only a few steps in his direction, hand on the hilt of his sword, before he reigned himself in. He stopped for a second to get his breathing back under control and relax his stance before moving on to follow.

He wasn't able to make out what was said during the brief spat between Val and Adra but decided against speaking to anyone just yet. pleasantries could be handled somewhere other than this damned throne room anyway.

---

Lothian was still a bit out of it, it may have gotten easier to handle the input from his heightened senses but he'd yet to manage to fully make sense of it all. He almost considered removing the cloak to return his senses to normal but stopped himself, thinking he might as well get the hang of this sooner rather than later. Thankfully, that didn't prove overly difficult and soon amidst the ringing he was able to make out an argument between other members of the party.

He only caught the tail end of it so he didn't know what the issue was. He walked over and stopped briefly by the group and considered saying something but decided against it not wanting to get involved in such things, at least this early in their adventure. So he carried on and followed the Templar, hoping for a chance to get to know at least some of his companions in a different setting.

Kean Jossun

---

The exchange between the Orc and Templar was over quick enough; Kean had watched silently, biting his upper lip to stem any further reaction whatsoever at the Templar’s insidiousness; he wanted to keep his head.

“Oh, I’m more than satisfied,” Kean said through a smirk, “You seem human enough for me.”

Then he looked to Zina, the other side of Adra, and then to Adra herself, and then back again.

“Do – ” he began, before trying to shake the amazement from his face, chuckling to himself, “never mind.”

He followed.

Unbeknownst to those that followed the Templar, a few adventurers floundered in their faith in the mission. They doubted themselves and in their doubt, they simply put their artifacts down and left the Throne room. They would never be seen again by those that had gathered there. It took strength and determination to continue on such a perilous quest. There would be no room for weakness.



Val arrived at the North Courtyard. Set up before him were provisions a plenty and fresh horses. The adventurers who now followed him would find anything they could possibly need. Val himself grabbed a pack, looked through it and found himself nodding in agreement. There were several water flasks, and dried food. He picked out a white and black horse and secured the pack. Templar's were trained to need little sustenance, as their missions seldom took them to civilized places.

Val mounted the horse, there was no time for talk. He looked at gate ahead and said aloud, "We head north to the crossroads, then west towards Havel and the then the Mountain."

He then motioned the horse forward and began at a trod. The Journey had started.



The road was full of peasants and armed men fleeing towards the capital. Farmers and their families, livestock, entire households it seemed all traveling to Dramon to avoid an otherwise worse fate. He heard whispers and rumors of the Scorned spreading closer each passing day, that the Protectorates weren't slowing them down whatsoever. This talk only gave Val a sense of restlessness. They needed to be going faster.

Once they reached the Crossroads and turned West the traffic became steadily worse. But having a Templar at the front of the party helped speed the process up. No one wanted to get in Val's way and those that did apologized profusely. It seemed most were displaced from Westgate falling and a few more had no faith in their own towns surviving what was coming. Still the traffic bogged down their time table, and by nightfall Havel was nowhere to be seen.

As it was night, few people walked the road and so Val had a choice to make. To keep going, or rest for the night. Val stopped the horse off on a long stretch of road right before a forest. The dark ominous trees looked like giants in the dim moonlight. They could camp on the outskirts or go through, the town was on the other side.

He turned to look at those behind him, his helmet glinted in the dim moonlight. "We have two choices. Camp here for the night, or continue to Havel. It's just on the other side of the for-" His words were cut off as a scream broke through the still night. Bloodcurdling and very close. It sounded like that of a young girl and it came from inside the forest. Val tensed up, the others would not know what he did. The scream came again, closer now, almost at the edge of the forest.

Val dismounted and pulled out Sanctity. He held it in a stance. "Get off your horses. Now." He said to the others. "No matter what we heard, it isn't what you think."

The air was still once again, he could hear the horses breathing and those behind him. His eyes were focused on the treeline, scanning the dimly lit woods, seeing shapes and shadows disappear at a moments notice. There was tension in the air now, he could feel it. Something was about to break. A cloud washed over the moon, blanketing the area in uneasy darkness.

"Steady now.." He whispered.

And right before him at the edge of the woods, a large creature walked out into the open. It was hard to make out, just a large black shadow at first, but as the cloud moved and the moonlight came down again, its figure was seen. The creature had once been a wolf, but it had been consumed by the scorned. The left side of its body was completely transformed into an abomination of green flesh and plantlike growths. It looked at them panting long bits of drool and blood. Then it opened up its mouth, tilted back its head and screamed. The horses began to kick in fear. And then the wolf began to charge.

Val looked behind and shouted "Brennen, Kean, secure the horses away from here! The rest of you, get ready. Don't let it get a hold of you, or you're as good as dead."

As the wolf charged them, in the distance of the trees, more screams could be heard.

@jdh97@Zetsuko@Ghost Shadow@Leotamer@Sofaking Fancy@Rithy@DinoNuts@Stitches

"Brennen, Kean, secure the horses away from here! The rest of you, get ready. Don't let it get a hold of you, or you're as good as dead."

"Keep it busy, I will summon my magic to deal with it!" Zana called out, the tall Fae taking a few steps back before she leapt backwards up into the air; a magical force pulsing out from her last step that caused the grass and vegetation by her feet to suddenly immediately rot and wither away; just as a magical force caught the Fae in her jump, lifting her up into the air as she now hovered 20ft above the ground behind the party!

She had seen creatures like the the abomination charging them right now, though in many different variations. During her last encounters they had not been hostile. They had mostly ignored her. This time however, it clearly was hostile. She was unsure whether it was coming at her or her new party members, but she would not wish to risk the lives of her companions and leave their fates to chance!

"Source of all shadows, gather in my hands to serve my malevolent intent... "

Zana began to mutter, her voice echoing through the air as she began to cant the magical words of power to her spell. The poison green hue of her skin suddenly turning a strange, violet color as her green eyes began to change to a magenta color!

Hovering in the air, her long cloak of thorns and vines splayed out around her; she extended one hand, the already weak light seeming to vanish around her arms as a gleaming, distant violet light flickered at her palm. The very air around her began to move as it was sucked directly into the violet bead!

" ... let the darkness cut through light; let the darkness cut through life... !"

During the trek Lothian tried to gather the names of some of the party that he didn't yet know and shared his as well. He didn't keep for much conversation on the road though and eventually went much quieter and put his hood up as the road got more populated, trying to avoid the looks he'd inevitably receive. He was silently thankful for the Templar, as most of the traffic wanted to avoid the party because of him.

When they stopped he was ready to answer in favor of continuing through the forest almost as soon as Val started talking but then they heard screams. He began scanning the treeline after the first scream, his eyes never left it even as he dismounted along with Val. In the short tense silence after the second scream he actually chuckled "Heh, normally I'm the thing haunting the woods" but quickly shut up as the creature appeared.

He readied his crossbow and took aim as the corrupt wolf began to charge. Targeting it's untainted side he released a few shots, hoping to weaken it's charge if he could not kill it.

---

Keenan had been mostly silent during the trip but as he faced down a charging scorn-wolf he sighed and muttered "aren't these adventures suppose to start with rats?" still he had stepped forward, blades drawn, and braced against the wolf's charge, sharp parts forward and ready to throw a kick to the underside of it's jaw when it got close.

All the while he could feel the Fae manipulating dark magic behind him, the presence of the shared magic tickling at his back but with a short huff he kept his focus on the creature before him.