---

---

“Your grace, I seek guidance.”
His majesty Artuur Vahkran bowed to but one man in all of Avalon. The sorcerer Ustizor the Ancient. Rumor argues he has sustained his life well beyond his mortal limits in service to Artuur, his father before him, and his father's father before then. No one knows what he is truly capable of. His knowledge is unquestionably unrivaled, but the aether is so strained in Avalon even he might be unable to summon more than token magic. The kings of the empire long believed in his abilities to sense the future, employing him for his wisdom and guidance.
“You seek that-” rasped the ancient wizard “-which you already know.”
Vahkran rose from his knee, gazing into the blank silhouette at the floor-to-ceiling tower window. “Do you not believe the prophecy, your grace?”
“You claim to fear nothing, Artuur ... yet I sense you fear this... fantasy, above all.”
The infallible ruler of the Imperium seemed almost ashamed, like a chastised schoolboy who wouldn’t keep his hands to himself. “So you do not believe it ...”
“The supposed day of reckoning has come to pass, Artuur,” Ustizor hissed, “I sensed no disturbance, and not one evil ha-” a sickness overtook the fraile wizard, stumbling to a knee.
“Your grace... your grace!” Artuur trembled at the sight, only to rush to his aid post haste, “what is wrong?”
“You were right... Artuur,” the wizard strained to whisper, “they ... have awoken.”

---

---

Adrianna jolted awake, drenched in sweat and without breath. The nightmares were getting worse. 'It'll get better ... when it's not so fresh.' It was still only days ago that she stormed out. Parts of her body still ached from beating down nearly a dozen guardsmen, and then riding into the plainslands for hours on end, well into the dark of night. It unsettled her nonetheless to hear those voices again, those words and ... something else. Something called to her, she could hear it so vividly, but there was no one around her. Only smoldering embers and flickering stars kept her company.
"Adrianna ..." something whispered from ... behind her she thought.
Frantically she searched for the voice. But she was alone in the darkness, just her and Gods know whatever was toying with her.
"Adrianna ..." louder this time.
Adrianna scrambled for her staff. "Who's there!?" she yelled into night.
Even the insects had gone quiet, the overpowering stillness enveloping the campsite. All she could hear was her own heavy breathing, her heart pounding in her chest, and whatever was haunting her. "Gods have mercy I'm losing my mind."
Her breathing finally came under control, the white-knuckle grip on her weapon relaxing at last. She poked at the embers, rekindling their glow a fragment. The trees whistled as a breeze came in, stoking the dead fire for her. The wind whispered to her in the same hauntingly familiar voice, chilling Adrianna to the bone once more. "Silverwick"
What the hell was at Silverwick? The place was a scorched wasteland; nothing but the ruins of a fallen city remained even after centuries. No one dared venture to the sight of such a tragedy. Adrianna could be sure of only one thing: she would find out. She settled back in for the night, hoping for a shred more sleep. She could ride out towards Silverwick at first light.

---

---

Beneath the beautiful snow capped summits of the Sirosan heights, the village of Lobremor burned. Gabriel Digani, or Agatho D'amere as he was known these days, watched with two set of eyes. With armored feet firmly planted on top of one of the snowy hills that surrounded the village, his body stands still as a marble statue. Watching as his men carry out their orders with eagerness. Meanwhile, high above in the sky, the Thorn Captain watched through the eyes of his beloved Alessandra. Feeling the wind rushing against her feathers as if they were his own, only half paying attention to the devastation below. More worried instead, about surveying the horizon. Always on the lookout for something. It had been weeks since they started their ravaging of these lands. But so far no sign of even a single Lanteran host. "But carelessness is death, and I made you smarter than that. They are coming. They can't afford not to."

And as he watched as his men finally set fire to the temple of Miramis, he also recalled the orders he had received before setting out on this endeavor. And how close to desperation Commander Lorenzo Manzini sounded: "Leave no field unburnt, no maiden unspoiled, no house standing. Make them fear us more than the Orcs." Raiding wasn't an uncommon tactic in the Free Cities, but for Commander Manzini's plan to work, for the Company of the Rose to have any chance to make out of this alive, then Lobrenor and many other villages did burn. And thousands of peasants did die. No big loss on the grand scheme of things. There would always be more filthy farmers and simple minded shepherdesses somewhere else. "An easy sacrifice to see our dream made true.". It was impossible not to agree. He had seen it so many times in his dreams over the years. A land that shone in prosperity, with loyal and obedient people inhabiting glorious cities. Where petty squabbles were put aside for the greater good. Where law and justice flowed not from distant and uncaring Gods but from a wise and benevolent ruler, a God-King made flesh who sometimes was Gabriel, sometimes the Brazen Prince himself with Gabriel at his side and sometimes even a glorious amalgam of the two.

"Gotta give it to ya. This all actually makes up for that merry trek over tha mountains." Gabriel didn't even bother to keep the scowl or turn his face to look at the interloper as he trudged through the snow to reach his hill. Captain Amarro, of the Silver Spurs, one of the lesser companies assigned to this task. "A man like him has his uses. But I also despire him."

"You should not have doubted me." Was all that he spoke, still somewhat distant and lethargic as he made Alessandra swoop down and claw out the eyes of a girl that had managed to escape the cordon. Lobrenor would die, all of it. There was no true host in this region capable to stand up to them. But even a single survivor could warn the surrounding villages. And while Gabriel's host could easily crush whatever rabble the locals gathered. But why risk taking the attrition? They would need every soldier they could if they were to tie down the armies of the Lanteran League.

"And here I hoped another victory would get that stick out of yer ass" Amarro mocked as he settled down by Gabriel's side."Figured ya woulda at least be enjoiyn' tha spoils."

"This barely counted as a skirmish. We've yet to face anything else than desperate farmers with pitchforks." Gabriel snorted, mind now fully back in his own body. "And I am not so destitute to need to take whatever shabby trinkets there may be hidden in those hovels." There was no glory here, no great treasures or rewards. Just a bloody task. Sneak through snow covered mountains and butcher villages until someone shows up to stop you because the fat oligarchs employing them had overreached and made enemies of all their neighbors. "Even with the Lanterans coming for us, the others still have more than enough force to crush the Wise Masters. They were foolish in starting this war and even greater fools in not striking first before their enemies mustered their forces."

"Suit yerself, cunt." Amarro grumbled as he stood up to leave, mood soured and in search of something better to do among the looters.

Gabriel suppressed a frustrated sigh. He trusted the Prince, he really did. The specter was the only one the Thorn Captain really trusted. But he couldn't help but feel angry at the endless waiting. This job was beneath him. He was supposed to be tearing down the old order and bringing about the perfect state. Agabyzus had been drilling that on his mind for well over a decade years now. But so far he was forbidden from taking any real action towards that goal. It was all preparation, learning aetheric disciplines, setting up the occasional safehouse and stashes for future use. But nothing else, no alliances, no real efforts to build an army or power base. Gabriel didn't want to doubt Agabyzus, but unlike the Prince, the mortal man wasn't getting any younger.

"The time for action is coming soon, I feel it in my very soul. But I think we have enough of a window to finish this little diversion. We gave our word after all, didn't we?"

He once again sought Alessandra with his thoughts. Flying always helped to clear his mind and settle his thoughts. Gabriel felt himself being thrown across a great distance. But that lasted a mere moment and soon he was once again watching the world from the eyes of one of Avalon's mightiest birds of prey.

And that was when he saw it in the distance. Almost unseen in the horizon. A cacophony of banners, spears and sounds that signified a marching army. Willing the eagle to dart in the direction of the army, powerful wings flapping as the Sybarite Eagle flew over the army of the Lanteran League. Back in his own body, Gabriel smiled. Battle was finally upon them and they probably had less than two days to prepare for it.

"Win or lose, the time has come to abandon the Rose. Fight your battle if you must, but we must make haste to Silverwick regardless of the result."

The shock passed in a moment. Replaced by elation that turned Gabriel's smile into a vicious grin.



To say that the mercenaries weren't happy would be an understatement. Weeks of easy life killing, raping and stealing from defenseless villagers had apparently been enough to make them forget the true purpose of their mission. Not that it mattered to Gabriel anymore. He finally had a goal, Silverwick. The Legion would be reborn in the very place it was destroyed. "Seems fitting don't you think? I'm rather eager to see just what sort of people my fellows have brought up as their Chosen. Though knowing them, we shouldn't be holding much hope of anything worth our Dream."

Gabriel for his part, was busy riding along the hastily assembled battle lines placed directly before one of the river Saerin's fords. The only place within marching distance where they could make a stand and nullify the Lanteran numerical superiority. The Thorn Captain wasn't really invested into winning the battle for the Wise Masters, Manzini or the Rose. It would simply be easier to sneak away if his army didn't collapse at the first charge.

Bringing Megathocles to a stop above the hill that rose behind the right flank of his army, Gabriel dismounted and drew the longbow from its quiver in the saddle. "Is it really worth the effort?". Of course it was. With Alessandra flying over the opposing army and the Prince's command of the winds, Gabriel would be able to land impossible shots upon the Lanteran ranks. Slay officers and force them to charge through the ford. They had done it before, "Agatho" was renowned as the best archer within the Rose. And it wasn't only because he favored the weapon since his youth.

[color=GOLD]"The men are exhausted, surly and outnumbered. We could certainly win this. But it's not worth the effort or attention it would draw to us." Gabriel ignored him and drew an arrow even as he also saw with Alessandra's eyes, hovering above the enemy lines looking for a suitable target.

The Thorn Captain loosed the arrow and smiled beneath his helmet as it kept flying longer than it had any right to be. Until it eventually fell among the Lanteran troops. From Alessandra's eyes, he saw a officer fall from his horse with an arrow lodged in his visor. And so he did it again, again and again. Until the front ranks of the enemy force took up into a run, while the rest rushed to catch up after a moment of indecision. As they got closer, the Rose's own archers loosed their own arrows. Their barrage felling more men as they reached the ford, but not nearly enough

The two lines clashed. Pikes, spears and polearms thrusting from both sides of the brawl as the Lanterans, more numerous and fresher, pushed on from their inferior position. With water up to their knees and their own archers now starting to form up at the opposite bank. Gabriel watched, frown deepening and forehead sweating under the sun, as his lines started to buckle. "Took them long enough"

"Send Amarro with the reserve to the center!"Gabriel barked to one of his aides. Fighting off the slight soreness that crept into his arms whenever the Prince allowed him to use his arrow trick. It used to be worse, but it seems even years of practice can't really make him fully immune to its effects.

By this point Alessandra had already returned to him, digging her sharp talons on his right shoulder guard as both watched the battle on the ford. The river runs red as clumps of bodies flow downstream. But even then the men under Gabriel's command are faltering. The Lanterans have a foothold on their bank and his reserves are spent. They are still going to hold out for a while yet, if morale doesn't crumbles now. But there's no way they can win this. Not that surrender is an option either. After everything his mercenaries did, Gabriel doubts the Lanterans will be in the mood for mercy.

Time to put the escape plan into motion. The hill turned command post was somewhat removed from the host. And now that the entire mercenary force has thrown itself into holding the ford this distance has only increased. Which makes this next step easier. Gabriel mounts Megathocles again, turning his horse and riding down the hill on the opposite side. If any of his men were looking back, they would see their commander apparently abandoning them. That would be enough to end the battle right there. Without anyone else able to rally the men, they would crumble and route. But mere moments after he disappears, the Thorn Captain crests the hill again, on foot. Now shouting encouragements to his men as he waves the Rose banner over his head.

Meanwhile, Gabriel spurs Megathocles faster. He's not even sure the ruse may hold. And even then that still wouldn't mean shit if the Lanterans still broke through the weakening battle line. So all he could do was ride faster and hope that he had gotten enough distance between him and the Lanterans by the time they finally crushed the mercenaries. It was an unfortunate sacrifice to sacrifice his closest followers like that. It had taken over a decade of subtle influencing and exhausting channeling of Agabyzus' power to get those men to the level of blind loyalty that made them agree immediately to die for him and cover his flight. "Good pawns are hard to come by, yes. But even the best pawn is expendable. Think no more of it, we have a long journey to Silverwick. Just be glad no one else caught us while we packed our things last night."

The soft sound of her quill filled the library, the gentle scratches echoing off the domed ceiling in the absence of other noise. She sat at a desk all but covered in documents, new and old, decaying and freshly penned; the clutter was such that those papers and scrolls on the edges of her workspace were distant enough to receive only the dimmest remnants of the light that shone from the lonely lantern above her. Chaos to some, but Meera knew what was what. It was that eye to the details, after all, that had allowed her to rise to where she was.

Or rather, return there. Scribe, it was a simple job, a meagre payment for what she’d done for the Great Lord, but of course you don’t reward assassins with glory do you? Of course what the buffoon she served these days handed to her didn’t really matter. The real payment had been in the satisfaction in knowing that the last eighteen brutal years of her life hadn’t come to nothing, in knowing that the man who’d damned her and her mother was finally dead. In some ways she regretted not being there for it, but the gossip was enough. The former Great Lord of the estate had died in unthinkable agony, unable to scream even as his body ate itself from the inside out, instead merely writhing in a pain beyond what most could conceive of.

So here she was, copying mouldy scrolls in the dark of the night under the light of a lantern wholly inadequate for the task. It was, she considered, a peaceful respite. There were no lies here, no stakes beyond the smudging of ink. Here she was the ultimate power. Even if that power was over pen strokes. In another world, another life, she’d have contented herself with this blissful tedium forever, secure in the knowledge her life's work had been completed. In another world she wouldn’t have had that first dream all those years ago.

She’d worked her way up to the position of senior maid for a wealthy merchant family when she'd started having the dreams. At first they were vague, images of those she’d killed, warm feelings and words reassuring her that it would all be worth it. That everything she’d done had been justified. Over time they grew explicit, telling her where opportunities might arise, how to ingratiate herself to those she worked for and tended to. There had been a time when she thought her life of toil, the endless scheming, the work and the lies, had finally driven her mad. That time passed when she started to listen to what the dreams were telling her.

Perhaps if she’d not been so tired from the labours of her job she’d have noticed the details herself, but they were all there. The way the man of the house tended to get nervous when she cleaned certain cabinets, the way his wife treated him when he returned from his trips abroad. Cracks in the domestic life of the rich she could use as leverage to pull herself above the rest of the throng. The more she listened to the dreams the faster she rose in the world, and soon enough she was a lowly servant of the Great Lord she had spent the better part of her time on the world planning her revenge on.

The dreams had just been that, dreams. At least until the day she slipped the poison in the wine another girl had been ferrying to the Lord. The moment she heard word of that greatest evil in her life having been finally burned from the world like the scourge he was, she also heard the voice from her dreams while awake. It spoke softly, but with intensity. It urged her not to fall into idleness, it reminded her that what had been done to her was not something a single life in tribute would wipe away.

In time the voice revealed its name, Akat. Akat spoke of truth, of the cruelty behind every smile, the filth behind nobility and humility alike. Meera listened, and came to agree. Kindness and charity, she knew better than most that these were simple manipulations. Some deluded themselves into thinking otherwise, but she knew that every man, woman, and child had sinned and in their arrogance deemed themselves righteous anyway. The Great Lord who’d accused her father, his son, every bystander, every single life in Jeshkan, they all thought themselves the hero in their pathetic little stories.

Soon enough Akat came to speak of power, the power to ensure that nothing and no one could hurt Meera again, the power to do what needed to be done. The world was replete with delusion, it would never change unless it was forced to. Someone had to show people who they really were, beneath it all.

So now, as she copied letters stoke by stoke, she listened to the voice again. The melodies of Akat’s voice both demanded attention and soothed as ‘she’ spoke in Meera’s head, "The time for idleness is over child. That which you seek, which we seek, is not here. We must leave this land and make for the monument, for Silverwick."

Meera smiled, “The fallen city? How dramatic of you, though I suppose it is appropriate. I have enjoyed this short peace, but we can't dally forever can we? If it's time then it's time; we'll depart at first light, Akat.”

She put the quill aside and snuffed out the lanterns pitiful light. In the darkness of the library she was merely a shadow, but as she made her way through the dark halls she noted that she wasn’t the only one there. Allies she could truly rely on, ones devoid of pretension, flanked her as she opened the recessed door leading into her room. Akat had been generous, the least Meera could do was ride to the site of one of her partners greatest triumphs to help her with the next.

First Chapter, First Part - Revelations

Deep in the Southern Plainslands, Yesterday

Child, love, what is it that you desire?

“I want to destroy Denaris. I want to tear him to shreds.” She spat the words out, Denaris curling off her tongue as if she had tasted something foul.

Why stop there?

“What do you mean?”

I said, why stop at Denaris?

“What else is there?”

The entire world, child.

Katerina smiled.

“What do you propose we do, Beoris?” Her interest was piqued. The campfire crackled softly before her, and some of the bitter edge drained from Katerina’s gaze. The smooth chocolate of Beoris’ voice often had that effect on her. Something to steady her dismal mind no matter the circumstances.

There has been a shift, my dearest. The dark prophecy that I, along with my brethren had foretold, has at last come to pass. The chosen are being assembled even as I speak.

Katerina shifted into a comfortable position upon the soft grass of the plains, wrapped snugly in her cloak. Stars twinkled down at her. They seemed friendly on this night. Katerina gazed up at them, her lips upturned into a soft smile. This one was not a life worth casting aside. She and Beoris, alone on the open road, wandering from place to place, masters of their own destiny. But her lord had plans, and after all he had given her, who was she to deny him? She, and she alone, was his champion. Katerina was special. She giggled at the thought. Beoris was all hers, and she was all his. “Okay, love, tell me,” Her voice had a lightly musical quality, brushing the space before her in fine strokes. “I am yours to command. Always yours.”

Deep in her mind, she heard Beoris chuckle softly, his lovely tones cascading over her mind. Tomorrow we make for Silverwick. Since our flight from Kalaknos, that is where we have been heading. Now that you have steadied yourself sufficiently, it is high time I relay to you the clear details of my plan, and the entire truth of the events leading to our current circumstances. Beoris paused, for a single, brief moment. It was centuries ago that I was called upon by my fellowship to craft the curse that would ensure our return. Through me, our joint powers were channeled into this last, vicious prophecy. The process left me shattered. I was left a miserable husk of my former self, and just like my allies, I was destroyed. What I haven’t told you is that the other eleven have also stirred from their slumbers. It was agreed upon, before the utterance of that terrible curse, that when the day came that our worthy vessels made themselves apparent, we would convene at the site of our greatest triumph.

“Silverwick,” Katerina whispered in awe.

Indeed. You are young yet, though no less capable to carry out my grand designs. None of the other eleven deserve your fear. You have my backing, and that is something that sets you apart. Even from the other Legionnaires, you are unique. You are mine.

First Interlude - Resurrection

The Plainslands South of Kalaknos, Some Number of Weeks Ago

The cart trundled along the filthy road, more mud than dirt at this point. The sickening schlop, schlop of hooves struggling their way through the grime punctuated the air. Darkness loomed all around the driver, barely kept at bay by the meager lantern affixed to the wagon. The night was unforgiving in its crusade against the light; no moon hung in the sky, and it appeared as if each and every star had blinked itself from existence. Musty and humid as the air was, a fouler stench invaded the nostrils of Denaris Valdi. Piled high in the wain behind him was a stack of corpses. Buzzards circled in lazy arcs overhead. Ever hungry, and ever patient.

Something stirred from within the mound of remains. The shallow rise and fall of a man’s breast betrayed the heavy presence of death around the corpse cart. Breath seeped in and out through the man’s mouth, whip thin and strained. The carrion birds cawed, as if laughing at the miserable creature beneath them that clung so desperately to life. Bruises covered the man’s half naked form. His face suffered far worse abuse. One eye was completely pulverised, with the other blackish purple and swollen nearly shut. An ugly wound, still red and angry, leaked pus from his neck. Yet despite the abuse his body was burdened with, a wavering ember of life stubbornly remained within the man’s core. And, as that last swollen eye slowly cracked itself open, no more than a thin slit, the fierce cobalt blue peeking out from within was unmistakable.

The cart shuddered over a gaggle of loose stones, disturbing the balance of the corpses held aloft. The man found himself sliding free, until his leg caught, trapped within the dead heap that had nearly suffocated him. The buzzards cawed once more. Grunting with exertion, the man pulled on his leg, shaky hands grasping around the thigh, yanking with all the severity of a wild animal that would not- could not, allow itself to become another’s meal. He yanked, and yanked, the corners of his vision starting to blacken. Then there was a momentary rush of weightlessness, and the man collapsed face down into the mud. The corpse cart did not stop.

The buzzards, however, drew closer and closer to the ground, lazily descending. Their cawing was vicious laughter in the man’s mind, as his trembling muscles fought desperately to lift himself from the suffocating pull of the mire. He could not see, could not breathe, and all he heard was the flapping wings of carrion birds come to pick his bones clean. Panicking suddenly, he jerked himself upwards with all his might, freeing himself from breathlessness. Heaving, he greedily sucked in air even as mud and grime spilled from his lips and was scraped from his face in slow, painful motions.

Knees partially sunk into the mud, arms dangling uselessly at his sides, the man craned his neck upwards, seeing little from the swollen gaze of his left eye. Still, a faint glimmer of hope ensnared itself around his heart. He watched as the buzzards retreated up and away, into the darkness. Slop dripped slowly from between his fingers.

Struggling to his feet, Mikhal Valdi wandered off the road, and blindly into the shadows. Covered from head to toe in bruises, mud, and blood, Mikhal Valdi wept sour tears from the last eye he had. Desolate, miserable, and alone, Mikhal Valdi was alive.

First Chapter, Second Part - Ode to the Sun

Approaching Silverwick, Hours Ago

The odd duo had been walking for the better part of a day, the sun now beginning its descent below the horizon, like a drop of honey slowly dripping its way back into the jar. Brilliant shades of orange and purple surrounded the yellow orb as it dipped lower and lower, casting golden light over the plains. The grass waved listlessly in the breeze that carried from the distant sea. If it was Beoris that kept Katerina going day to day, the natural beauty enveloping them played at least a small part in making it all worth it. She outstretched her hands to the sun then, and spun around in cheer that had been absent for so very long. “Goodnight sun! I will see you again on the morrow, don’t doubt this! And what a day it shall be!” Laughter bubbled up from her throat then, clear and mirthful into the warm evening air.

Good, child, good! That’s the bright hearted girl I watched grow up for all those years. Mayhaps she is here to stay?

Katerina’s cheeks flushed, and then she sighed contentedly. A small smile flickered across her face. “I shouldn’t think so. The sun is just... such a lovely sight.” She sighed again, the smile fading from her face. “We still have more ground to cover. I was hoping to reach Silverwick before nightfall. Tell me a story?”

A chuckle. Very well. There was once a boy, made entirely of wood, that desired more than anything to become a real human of flesh and blood. To this end, the boy struck a pact with a dark sorceress...

Second Interlude - The Empire’s Finest

A Missive Sent to the Imperial Court, Received Several Days Ago

My Lord Inquisitor,

As I have detailed in previous reports, I harbored suspicions regarding the younger Valdi girl, suspicions that extended to the family as a whole. What terrible circumstances lead to the demise of Lord and Lady Castris? And what truth lay within the rumors surrounding Katerina Valdi’s birth? I can say now with absolute certainty that Katerina is a fellchild, with the rest of the family guilty of knowingly harboring such a creature. At worst, they too are practitioners of dark aethercraft.

Gloriana Valdi had spent the most time with her younger sister, frequently interacting with the creature. My visits to the household revealed the two enjoyed each other’s company on a largely frequent basis. Be it lessons or play, the two were undeniably close. If Katerina confided her secret to anyone within the household, her sister would be the most likely suspect. Unfortunately, upon storming the Valdi household, Gloriana and her sister vanished without a trace. Subsequent search parties revealed no clues as to the whereabouts of either Valdi sister. I assume the two are traveling together, on the run, even as I write this. There is also a chance that the two have separated as well. I advise extreme caution when engaging Gloriana, for the fear that she too may be fell in nature.

Mikhal Valdi is perhaps even more suspicious than Gloriana. When I confided in him my intents on how to deal with Katerina, Mikhal was quick to anger. He fervently denied my accusations, and was gripped by a terrible rage when I remained unmoved by his protests. Additionally, I have more troubling news to add. I took it upon myself to take the deceased servants and members of the manor far away from Kalaknos, so that I could dispose of them without incident. While casting the corpses into the fire, there was no mistaking Mikhal’s absence from the cart. Either he is an extremely lucky man, or, as terrifying as it may sound, a gravewalker. I pray that my fears here are unfounded.

Katerina Valdi herself I have certain proof of her shadowy nature. The truth is simple enough. While storming the manor, Katerina revealed herself to me, just long enough to cast a very tangible curse upon my person. She said: “Uncle, this day you may have won, but I swear to all Gods beneath me and above, I will return to burn you and yours, as is my behove!” I still hear her dark work crying out at me in my sleep. If she is truly a fellchild, myself and all that I hold dear is in grave danger.

With this knowledge now at your capable disposal, I humbly request for an official bounty to be placed upon all three Valdi siblings. Additionally, I suggest that the empire’s finest enforcers be sent out to search for these threats.

I smell a storm coming on the horizon.

Ever your faithful servant,

Court Inquisitor Denaris Valdi

First Chapter, Third Part - The First Step

Silverwick, Present

Thick, gnarled trees curled out from the tightly packed ground like crooked, reaching fingers. The moonlight shining down from above was absorbed in its entirety into the terrible, black bark coating the miserably twisted claws. Clumps of dead or dying grass lay scattered about the stark landscape. The ground, black and gray like soot and ash, was a largely flat expanse, pockmarked by thin, jagged boulders. In the distance, the fallen city loomed. This was a grim place, dark and corrupt in its nature. Katerina swallowed nervously, teeth working away at her lower lip. “Home… sweet… home?”

The darkness that swallowed this place was a glorious sight to behold. ‘Tis good to see that time has left my- the triumph of myself and my brethren, unchanged. You have nothing to fear here, child. Silverwick is a dead place.

Katerina swallowed again, and slowly released her lip from between her sharp incisors. “And, the others? Are they… present?”

I do not sense them yet, though I must expect they are to arrive soon. Within hours at the least, a few days at the most. We will not have to wait long. Take heart, love. At long last, the mutual destinies of we twelve Legionnaires and our twelve chosen champions begin to intertwine. You and I have a great role to play in the events to come. Of this, I am certain.

That remark, at least, had steadied Katerina’s nerves. “I’ll set up a camp, then. It’s no sun, but a fire is sure to offer some degree of comfort.”

Chapter 1: A Higher Calling

Rialza, several weeks ago

Fayvre looked down impassively at the gaping, infected wound as she removed the maggots with tongs one by one. Even when her activities revealed bare bone, she did not flinch. The screams and protestations of the unanaesthetised soldier were only met with firm instruction to stop squirming, as it was making Fay’s job harder. Once, his convulsions caused her tongs to scrape the bone, and after waiting for the grown man’s tearful howling to be finished, she crossly chided him, telling him that it was his own fault for not staying still.

She gave him a glass of whiskey, and a toothmark-ridden wooden bit, as she went to wash her hands. She returned with a knife to cut away the rotten flesh. The next hour was full of screaming and thrashing. Fay rolled her eyes and wished that surgeons were allowed shackles. That would make this so much easier. With all that done, Fay walked over to her shelves to choose an antiseptic, she chose not to apply lavender or St. John’s wort, but instead opted for lemon juice. ’He deserves it for making it hard for me’ she thought. Or at least she believed it was her own thought.

”This will sting,” she warned with a subtle twist of a smile, as she squeezed the lemon juice into the infected wound and for the first time today, didn’t mind the exclamations of pain so much this time. After that was done, she sewed the wound shut and applied leeches to aid with the clotting process, and fetched the soldier another whiskey.

’I’m not enjoying this,’ she mused, or at least the musings entered her head, and she thought them to be her own. ’This is nothing like the helping of the sick that used to happen at Wood’s Edge, where maladies were mysterious in nature and I had to use my brain. Now everybody wants wounds treated, but hollers and protests when I treat them. City folk are soft and hard to please. I can’t stay here and be happy. I need to leave.’ Yes, she sighed. But where to go?

That night, while Fay was asleep, Quoris whispered to the girl all night, promises of a higher calling. Of opportunities to put her brain to the test and conduct research the likes of which has never been undertaken before. She promised these things would be found to the west, to Silverwick. She whispered promises of more morsels of forbidden knowledge than what Quoris had currently been slipping into her thoughts so subtly she had no idea she hadn’t thought of them herself. Eventually, Quoris would have to present herself to Fay before they reached their destination and hope that the Wrelmsman girl didn’t figure out that all the secrets in her head were Quoris’, or that her decision to poison her father and leave him crippled and abandoned, were both Quoris’.

Fay woke up the next morning, with an inexplicable desire to travel to the ruins of Silverewick. She did find this strange, but it was an excuse to leave behind this damned City and go somewhere new. The prospect of travelling was admittedly rather exciting. Without thinking too hard about why Silverwick in particular, she was already packed and her surgery closed by sunrise, and made her way to the stables.

---

---

Silverwick, Today

Turns out that riding on horseback for prolonged periods of time was very different to riding them for hours at the most whilst hunting. Several days in and she was so sore she could barely walk once she dismounted. Travelling was slow going, with many stops for no other reason than to rest. She also hunted game to eat, and whenever their route took them to a Town or City, to stop by to feed and water the horse, and eat a hot meal and sleep in a real bed for a night. Then, feeling completely reinvigorated, she would carry on the journey. The days she spent her life like this were grueling and seemingly endless, but she never once desired to return to Rialza, to her surgery. What she was doing right now was exciting, and like nothing she had ever done before. She was seeing and visiting places she'd only heard of in books, letters and stories, never imagining she would ever get to experience them herself. She really started to wonder if she'd ever return to Rialza. Even if it was her home, she knew that the answer was likely no. What was left for her there? A job she hates, and a family she's too ashamed to be around? No, Silverwick is her future now.

About a week into her journey, the whispering started. They felt like thoughts, but they were forceful, and alien, and seemed to be talking to her directly, like a voice whispering from over her shoulder. ’My name is Quoris,’ the voice whispered. ’I will be your guide and your mentor on this journey to Silverwick. All will be clearer when we arrive.’

Fay was scared at first, and all her attempts to try and 'reply' to this voice were met with silence. But over time she learned to get used to this guiding voice. Quoris was a member of the Shadow Legion, and her spirit had chosen to help Fay, as in Quoris' eyes, they were both of a scientific mind. Fay was slightly scared upon hearing that Quoris was of the Shadow Legion, but liked to have some company, any company, during her solitary travel, besides the horse. Eventually when Fay asked about medicinal questions, Quoris started to answer, and she was incredibly wise and knowledgeable. Fay was elated that there was somebody she finally could talk to about her passion! After weeks of this, Fay would even go as far as to say she had a certain amount of trust in Quoris, though she never really forgot that the voice was of a Shadow Legion member.

She arrived at Silverwick some time in the evening, and after dismounting and tying up her horse, dropped straight to her knees and started to massage her legs. When she could walk, she entered the ruins proper to see a lone woman, tending to a fire. Fay approached tentatively. She didn't actually know what to expect when she got here, but even so was still confused and at a loss for what to say.

"Hello? I'm...I'm Fayvre." she greeted weakly.

Katerina huddled close to the fire, a miserable spluttering thing that had been thrown together with what could be salvaged from the dead land surrounding her. Still, there was some degree of solace to be found within its glow. Night had well and truly descended upon the world at this point, the silvery moon hanging high in the darkened sky. Katerina was actually thankful for that. The ebony air made it harder to see too far into the twisted surroundings. It was this darkness that allowed Beoris to sense the presence far before Katerina could. One of the champions approaches, dearest. I sense a toxic presence with their mind. It seems the Green Death is the second among us to arrive.

Craning her neck forward to better peer into the gloom, Katerina's sharp ears picked up on the sound of soft footfalls, and then, the woman stepped into the dim ring of light emanating from the campfire. Where Katerina was a girl, the specimen before her was no doubt a woman. She was tall and thin, although built gracefully. Katerina had never seen a wrelmsman before, though from the descriptions she had been privy to, this new arrival certainly matched what she had come to expect. The sharp features dressing the woman's visage mirrored some of Katerina's own. However, the individual before her was better described as handsome, whereas Katerina was doubtless a fairer specimen. A light smirk rose and fell across her face at the thought. She watched in silence as the woman struggled to find her words, before finally offering a greeting.

"Hello? I'm... I'm Fayvre." The weakness in the stranger's voice did a great deal to boost Katerina's own confidence. She rose to her feet then, and strode leisurely forward towards Fayvre. Standing about three feet from her, Katerina noticed that the top of her head barely came to reach past Fayvre's shoulders. She gave a little bow, and then smiled up at the wrelmswoman.

"I would curtsy, but my current attire makes such an act unadvisable." She gestured to the short gray tunic cinched about her waist by a dark leather belt, her black leather leggings, the dark gray boots that laced up to her knees, and the blackened cashmere cloak with its dull metal brooch. "My name is Katerina, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Her voice was kept light and respectful. "What is it that brings you to this bleak place?"

This one belongs to Quoris, child, of that I am most certain. The Green Death doubtless senses me the same. While there was no love between us, there was a distinct lack of enmity as well. At the very least, we can trust these two not to poison us in our sleep.

Fay could sense something different about this girl almost immediately. Quoris could discern her vessel's curiousity and would address it after introductions were made. Manners were important, after all. So, she implanted the thought that Quoris would explain things soon into Fay's mind, and Fay's mind intergrated it as it's own thought all too easily. Fay, accepting that explanations will come, and that the girl posed no threat, relaxed and smiled down at her. The jovial comment about being unable to curtsy in that outfit even got a chuckle out of the wrelmsman woman.

"The same thing that brought you here, I would imagine," Fay answered, replying to the girl's question. "I was actually about to ask you what brought me to this place. I journeyed here under promises that all would be made clear once I reached here. Do you have the voice of one of the long-dead Shadow Legion in your head also?"

Now that pleasantries have been exchanged, Fayvre, I feel it prudent to provide you with some more information. This location has been chosen to gather the twelve mortal vessels of the souls of the Shadow Legion. All twelve have been instructed to come here, and should arrive soon. This young girl has been chosen, by reason of some kind of spiritual connection, to Beoris, though I cannot imagine what that connection might be. If you are wondering, my connection to you is your love of science, thirst for knowldge, and disdain for those who will try to dissuade you from that path in the name of traditionality. Others may be chosen because they too are evil, or they too seek vengeance against the powerful. It might not be wise to trust every vessel, but this girl seems to bear us no threat.

Katerina sized up Quoris' chosen carefully. Her expression was kept pleasant and respectful, though her mind was hard at work looking to discern Fayvre's intentions. Child, do not be so suspicious of those that you do not know. A healthy dose of caution is good, truly, but all twelve of us have been called here for the same purpose. Go on, love, answer the girl's question. Katerina sighed contentedly, pleased to engage with this stranger, so long as Beoris found no reason to mistrust her.

Folding one hand back into her cloak, while outstretching another arm towards the meager campfire, Katerina spoke. "Surely it isn't much in the way of hospitality, but at the moment, it's all I can offer you." She chuckled softly. "Perhaps further discussion would be more comfortable closer to the light. Come." Turning then, Katerina drew her cloak closely around her, resting gingerly beside the fire. Little embers danced in the still air. Waiting until Favyre had herself situated, she turned towards the wrelmsman woman. "I do have a member of the Shadow Legion resting within me. But, as we both know, they aren't quite dead yet, are they?" A good-natured smile rose to Katerina's lips. "We are here to assemble the Shadow Legion incarnate, and carry out the desires of our lords and ladies."

Fay took her place, seated beside the fire, glad of the warmth and the rest from standing. She sighed, smiling, and held her hands towards the flame. They were sore from the cold, and from the strain of riding. However, Katerina's comment made her pause, and her smile wavered slightly. Were they being gathered to reenact the carnage, death and destruction from centuries prior? Or were they merely to carry out the desires of their own 'lords and ladies'? Fay wasn't sure she was comfortable with either of those arrangements.

Fear not, young Fayvre. I do not wish to force you to act against your own principles. Nor do I seek any authority over you. I cannot speak for the relationships between the rest of the chosen and their choosers, but my goal is simply to aid and assist you. I will grant you knowledge and in exchange I may ask for favours in the future, which you are well within your right to turn down. Besides that, I wish for you to merely do what you love; to learn, and to test the very boundaries of medicine, alchemy, and what they used to call 'witchcraft'.

Soothed and placated by her spiritual advisor's words, Fay's smile ceased wavering, and the doubt had vanished from her face. She looked across the fire to Katerina. "May I ask the story of how you found yourself here. Or is that too personal a tale to share with a stranger?" She asked.

Katerina's eyes turned downcast, and the smile was gone from her face completely. The fire didn't seem so friendly anymore, and the night was growing to be oppressively chill. She pulled the cloak even tighter around her lithe form. "I... I will not say much. But I will say something. There isn't a point in keeping the general truth of the secret from you." Katerina's voice was flat, and a glare was forming on her face as she stared into the flame. She cursed herself for the vulnerability she was unable to mask. The wounds were still fresh in her mind. "My full name is Katerina Valdi." She turned to stare at Fayvre. "I'm sure you have heard the news." Katerina turned away. "I do not wish to discuss this matter further."

A brief moment passed. Then another. Then another. Finally, releasing a shaky breath, Katerina gave Fayvre an uncertain smile. "I am sorry for my grim demeanor. What of you? What lead you to this place?"

Fay had heard that name, from hearsay and rumors told in several of the free cities she had visited on her journey. She had paid the story little mind then, but she knew enough of the tale to know why a Valdi would ally with a member of the Shadow Legion, and why they didn't want to go into great detail about their past. "I'm sorry..." Fay answered, her own smile also now gone and replaced with a grim sorrow. "As for me, I'm not a part of any family you would have heard about. I'm a commoner. My mother was a healing lady, and my father was a hunter. We lived in Wood's Edge, in Rialzi. My mom's now dead, and my father's...crippled. There's nothing left for me there now." Fay explained, hanging on the word 'crippled' for suspiciously long.

"I briefly worked as a surgeon in the center of Rialzi, but I didn't enjoy it. All I would ever get called upon to do was to sew the wounds of mercenaries, guards and infantry. That's when I had a dream which...looking back, was Quoris talking to me, telling me to stop doing what I didn't enjoy and travel to here, to a 'higher calling' as she put it."

"This is a higher calling." A tremulous merriment had crept back into Katerina's voice. "Commoner or noble, who you were then has no bearing on who you are now." No, it didn't. None of them had Beoris. That alone set Katerina apart from all the others. She smiled gently. "We have been given the opportunity of a lifetime here. No one else may boast of the unique potential that we bear. I think that in this moment, our new lives have truly begun."

Well said, well said indeed. I see that time in isolation has not blunted your charm. Katerina giggled aloud, before catching herself. Her cheeks flushed.

Fayvre nodded, and couldn't help but chuckling too. She hadn't felt this happy and content in months, nay, years! It really did feel good to have a purpose again. Quoris' assurances had put to rest any misgiving about what her destiny might entail under the guidance of the Shadow Legion. What she felt she was really being offered was the freedom and choice to go where she wished, and do what she wished, and while her wishes may not be malicious, she knew that Quoris shared her dreams. Despite being such a notorious evil figure from the past, Quoris had a lot in common with Fay.

Another laugh escaped from between Katerina's lips, one that she was not ashamed to share aloud. They were free. "I suspect the others will not be long now..."

Gabriel had barely stopped these last two weeks. Ever since leaving his men to die beneath Lanteran pikes, the former Thorn Captain, because as far as everyone else was concerned he had either died or deserted, had ridden Megathocles to his limit. First to escape the Lanteran outriders, which cost him essential travelling days as was forced to lose them in the Sirosan Heights. And then the hard ride south towards the ruined city of Silverwick.

The thought still made his stomach flutter and his spine tingle. "You knew this day would come from the moment I revealed myself to you. You must be ready for this. Only the Gods Below know what manner of individuals my fellow Legionnaires have managed to call upon. This first meeting will be vital in making a good first impression. My fellows will fall upon any perceived weakness like hungry wolves." Gabriel knew that yes, but knowing and actually being prepared were two different things. Sure, he trusted the Brass Prince and was truly intent on seeing the Dream made true. But the other Legionnaires were another matter, from what Agabyzus had shared of his fellow Lords, few if any shared their purpose. More interested in wanton destruction and senseless bloodshed than actually doing anything productive with their power. "It was this stupidity that led to our downfall. I can only imagine how much they may have decayed and what sort of people they have taken as their Chosen."

Turning back was not an option, however. Gabriel's fate had been sealed the moment he picked the silver earrings from the sacked Rivaldi caravan. Now the only path forward was seeing this great enterprise through to the end. And that, he was more than willing to carry out. Onto victory or death. "Preferably the latter, I doubt we will get another shot at this.".

And then silence. Even running over the same thoughts, plans and doubts again and again got tiresome after a while. Gabriel was exhausted, his limbs felt like lead after hours of riding without rest, even holding on to the reins was becoming too much. Megathocles wasn't much better, the horse was even more tired. A lesser beast would have already collapsed. But the black horse was no mere beast of burden, even if it still had its limits.

Unwilling to push his horse further and not in any conditions to travel further this night, the Chosen guided his horse out of the beaten trail and into a thicket of thorny, dry bushes. Half stumbling out of the saddle. Wincing and tearing up a bit as his sore legs struggled and failed to support his weight. A nearby boulder helped him avoid a humiliating fall face first into the dusty ground of the wasteland as he used it to slid himself to the ground. Not bothering with much else. Megathocles would never flee, too trained for that. And judging by the sweat and his tired panting, it was not like he could go far. Not that Gabriel himself would be able to catch him in his current state.

A fireplace, Gabriel decided, would be more trouble than it was worth. The night was hot and the fire might alert others to his presence. Oh, and of course, he was so tired that even the rough stone at his back was lulling him into sleep. Though to be fair, he had slept in worse conditions. The smell of a single man and horse didn't even bothered him anymore. And the pain in his body was only another reason why he should let his eyes close and sleep it away. They were close now. Another hard ride and they could reach Silverwick tomorrow before lunch. So tired was Gabriel that he almost missed Alessandra landing atop the boulder.

Joseph Peter Kane

Two Days Ago

---

"I am telling you, you are going the wrong way you stubborn vessel!"

Joseph could feel Alistar's voice roar through the strange necklace of bone and teeth, though there was no real sound escaping the device, it was all condensed in his head afterall. "I know these damned woods by the back of my hand, the nearest town in this way"

"You senile old fool! We're not even on a road!"

"I'm the old one?" The old soldier scoffed. "Yet you boast about how you are an ancient spirit of some long disbanded group of-" Joseph was interupted
"Don't speak of my legacy so casually you uncultured swine! In my day I would have punished such ignorance with a fury of flames! To think I thought you'd even be a smidgen worthy enough to wield my great power! The strongest of the shadow legion and yet here I am reduced to-" Now Alistar was interrupted by a forced hush from Joseph. They were being watched. The constant arguing with his deceased 'companion' had made Joseph unaware until now that there were things in the woods stalking them.

Joseph's eyes watched his shadow, his breathing slowed as he stopped to look at his surroundings. Then, a confirmation of his suspicion. A twig snapped.

From the corner of his eyes he saw several large bodies of black and grey fur move out of view, into the cover of thick trees.

"Wolves." Joseph cursed under his breathe. Wolf attacks weren't necessarily uncommon, but they must have been pretty hungry to target a human. The old guard slowly drew his sword.

"You're going to let these puny creatures impede you?"

Joseph was silent, both on the exterior and in his thoughts, which only provoked Alistar to mock him more.

It wasn't long, however, before the first wolf lunged from the shadows. It must have been the alpha, because it was fairly large for its breed, and its fur was as black as the shadows the trees left behind. With a veteran's reflex, Joseph swung his blade in one mighty cleave. The blade smashed and cut into the wolf's hide, scarring his torso and right side of his face. It wasn't a clean cut due to the wolf's leap, and instead the snarling beast was swung back from the force writhing in it's grave injury. There was no room to relax, as the second and third wolves made their attack. Two grey furred canines leaped from either side of Joseph. One going for his ankle, and the other, for his throat. Joseph held his left arm out in the way of the beast to protect his neck, which in turn caused the wolf to bite into his elbow. At the same time, with one hand he slammed his two handed sword down onto the wolf that went for his leg. This time, the blade tore into the back of the wolf, slashed deeply into it's torso and head at about halfway, the blow killed the animal in an instant.

The black wolf had recovered from it's pain, and was desperate enough to charge for a second attack. The wolf that still chewed and snarled at the arm was swung like a club into it's pack leader, sending them both into a tree. There appeared to be two other wolves in the shadows, that did not make their attack. Instead, they fled with their leader who limped into the depths of the forest.

With the pack gone, Joseph could afford to lower his guard, and immediately cry out in pain at the deep wound in his arm. The teeth of the wolf had sank down into his flesh up to his bone, and had tore away a chunk of flesh when it was thrown off him.

"If you'd use what little of my power your feeble body can comprehend, you could have avoided that injury." The ghostly voice taunted with a tone of a lecturer while bragging to himself.

Joseph ignored him as he began to wrap an old piece of cloth from his person over and around his wound.

"You are my chosen one, yet you refuse to use m-"

"I won't become that demon again."

"Ungrateful mortal!" The delusional Ghost hissed. "You'll have to use that power eventually. You're fate has been decided, you have been chosen to carry out My will."

Joseph winced as he tightened the make-shift bandage wrap to help cut off the circulation.
"Besides, we both know that the only way you'll have your vengeance is if you accept that dark power. Your mortal strength alone cannot defeat those orcs, as you call them."

He ignored his comment on the inevitable. "I hope one of your associates are healers."

"You best hurry up and get moving then, we are still a long way from Silverwick."

"Guess I'll just have to borrow a horse. Now..." Joseph turned to get his bearing. "Which way is the road."

"I hope I'm not the only one who had chosen such a worthless inheritor."

---

Present Day

---

Joseph wandered down the wasteland with a limp in his step and his injured, broken arm hanging at his side. Failing to get a horse, all this walking had taking it's tole on the old man and his injuries. Even being in shape and having invested in the dark powers of an ancient sorcerer, Joseph was exhausted. He took a large gulp of water from a wooden flask, and tucked it back into his belt. Alistar had been oddly quiet for most of the day.

"Were close, I can feel it."

The old guard had seen the glint of flames in the dark and bleak wasteland.

"That must be them, go on and greet yourself. And don't you dare embarrass me!"

"You got something to prove to your old friends? I thought you were 'superior' to them." He mocked.

"They are hardly 'friends'. Necessary allies at best. Still, if they see that my inheritor is such an utter failure my legacy would be humiliated! Sullied! I was the great terror of the world, all feared my name and dreaded the day that they'd hear my great wings descend u-"

Once again Joseph cut off the mad spirit's glorious ramblings as he approached the fire. "I take it you lot also have an annoying spirit that rattles on in your ears?" The tall, white haired soldier said as he made himself a seat near the flames.

Dorian had been jogging for the past four hours straight, his equipment and provisions clanging against his back in time with his pace. He'd been drenched with sweat at the two hour mark, now he was competing to see whether or not his forehead would become a small waterfall, or his lungs would finally give out from the exertion. Passersby along the road, if they paid him any heed, must have thought he was bearing some news of either great importance or terrible implication, in reality, it wasn't anything so pressing at all.

As the sun began to get low in the sky and the patchy clouds were turning yellow with the setting sun, a deep voice resounded in Dorian's mind.

"That's enough. You can stop for today."

Dorian stumbled to a stop alongside the path onto the grass and practically fell onto it. This elicited a somewhat bemused sigh out of his spectator.

"To think that I once could run for days without stopping or need for rest, hauling gear that would have made you tremble to even guess at its weight, and I get a dwarf of a man as my pupil who can hardly run for a quarter of a day."

Dorian was too exasperated to do anything other than think bitter thoughts, his waterskin was emptying its cool contents down his throat. By the time he caught his breath, he begged a question.

"Any tasks while I make camp?"

There was a pause as the former giant actually gave it some thought.

"No, not today, I'll instead try to teach you the rudiments of how and why one reinforces a piece of equipment, be it weapon or machine with braces of metal, though how I am to do that with no forge, no actual metal samples, and very few actual examples to show you physically and purely through word of mouth so that one as ignorant as you might understand . . . shall be my problem to solve. "

Dorian frowned and took up his axe as he walked towards a small patch of trees to begin cutting smaller ones for firewood and collecting tinder.

"You know, I'm not entirely ignorant of engineering. I worked a bunch of the stuff all my life."

The giant's voice, still calmly resolute, chided the Northman.

"Does the Cow understand the Farmer's ways simply by being in his field and being guided by him every day? Does the Child understand the Parent's ways simply by watching them? No, the cow cannot think, and the Child THINKS they know, but in truth they know no more than the average peasant knows how to rule an empire. Consequently, you don't truly know much about what you use, and until recently my vote was out on whether you were the cow or the child."

Dorian chopped into the small tree with more anger than usual.

"Says the giant who's bound to a fucking ring."

Suddenly, Dorian's left hand felt like it weighed as much as an anvil, the majority of the weight focused around his middle finger, where a large and rune-inscribed iron ring lay. He closed his hand into a fist as he struggled to hold it up under the weight and keep it from breaking his hand.

The giant's spirit within the ring, his tone still mostly unchanged, spoke again.

"You agreed to our deal back in Braldurheim. Power and knowledge in exchange for serving me, and obeying me. You think you're my match to speak as such? Do you understand that even in this state I can shatter your bones with merely a thought? That I can simply leave you and await another? I am timeless, you are nothing . . ."

The veins on Dorian's arm bulged as he struggled to keep up the stress of the giant's will imposed into the ring.

". . . But I can make you into more than any can ever be, as the unrefined ore to the Forgemaster, so shall you be to me, and craft you into a masterpiece, I shall. But you shall not disrespect me by deluding yourself into thinking you're worthy to address me in such manner, understand?"

Dorian simply nodded grimly, and the pressure and weight slowly relented and allowed him to cease clenching his fist and arm.

"Good enough. We'll speak no further until after camp is made."

And so Dorian made camp, mostly keeping his thoughts to himself as he settled into a small meal of dried venison, a biscuit, and some wild onions and carrots he'd found about, he washed the meal down with water. This had been mostly his situation since leaving the underground on foot a couple months ago, Vardun had constantly set to testing Dorian's physical abilities and giving him various training exercises in conjunction with the odd lesson if the Titan felt in the mood to do so. He'd been giving more of them lately as they drew closer towards their destination, which made Dorian curious as to whether or not he was genuinely doing better, or simply because Vardun felt he needed to do so before their arrival.

Vardun himself took spectral form upon a rock across from Dorian, the towering and gigantic figure attempting a relaxed posture in his incorporeal state. Dorian hazarded a question since dinner was mostly finished.

"You know, you've never told me why exactly we're headed to Silverwick. Never been there myself, nor why would anyone want to, its an old husk of a monument to the first war, isn't it?"

Vardun turned his attention to focus on Dorian.

"That may be a more important topic than bracing . . . You see Northman, we're going there to fulfill a destiny that was stolen from me, and many whom I considered brothers and sisters-in-arms long ago. I assume you're not so ignorant as to not know of me, or my legacy? Surely you've pieced it together by now, or have mothers ceased scaring their children with tales of the Worldbreaker, and the rest of the Shadow Legion?"

Dorian threw away the leftovers of his veg and leaned back as the small fire he'd make flickered.

"I know enough . . . So what's it matter to all this then? You and your fellows come back to re-live your old glory-days with fools like me? Finish what you started?"

The Titan shrugged.

"I don't know, all I know is that I feel something there, the place of our defeat, and I intend to get to reach it. And if I feel it, surely the others do as well. What we do shall be decided then and there and is of my concern, not yours."

"Who's to say any of your old Legionnaires are there? For all you know you could be the last."

Vardun, the Titan of the Deep smiled wickedly as he chuckled deeply.

"I doubt that, little one. Call it a Master's intuition, but we're more difficult to kill than you'd think . . . get some rest, we've still a ways to go, and I intend to make it so that you will not embarrass me anymore than you already will."

Dorian chuckled as he moved over to his furs by the fire.

"Yeah, a Northman pupil to a Giant, won't they all laugh?"

The Titan, fading away but still speaking, concluded for the night.

"Let them laugh, you may be small, but I by the time I'm done with you, they'll look upon you as they once did I, a colossus."

Dorian, still left not entirely satisfied with the discussion, drifted himself off to sleep, his exhaustion taking hold.



Walking the last hike into Silverwick, the blasted wastes and ruins of the site of the end of the war that closed the First Age of the world were bleak to say the least. Dorian had hardly seen a more desolate landscape. Vardun advised Dorian as they made their approach to a flickering fire in the distance, the only sign of life for miles.

"Some of my former war-kin are more . . . vain than others. They may influence their chosen to be more forceful, but don't give in to them."

"Yes, and you're a paragon of humbleness."

Dorian winced as Vardun's ring tightened on his finger painfully before releasing.

"I am merely naturally right on many things, all come to see my way in the end. If they don't, they usually end up dead, or at least in a contest to see who's more correct in the case of the Legion. So many castles could be spared if only their masters didn't think themselves indestructible, I would always prove otherwise. Much is the same with most arguments I enter into."

"In any case how will I know who to look for?"

"You won't, but then anyone living out here is mad, or dead. More than likely anyone you meet will be chosen like you. Just keep a sharp eye and sharper mind."

To this, Dorian simply advanced in silence, approaching the fire and seeing others already arrived, quite a motley crew. A soldier-looking man looking on the older side had just walked up and was evidently asking the question that had been on Dorian's mind.

"Aye, though I wouldn't tell mine that, lest I risk a broken hand."

They had set out early, well before the sun had even begun to crest the horizon. The twilight of the morning had left her chilled, but compared to the scorching heat of the day it had been an unseen blessing. At least Meera had saved enough to purchase the horse she now rode outright, even if the act left her with little left in the small coin purse that hung from the animals muscled side. She'd have never made it walking, and the last thing she needed was to be wanted as a horse thief. Her journey to Silverwick would take her through the Imperium, and from what she'd heard of her fathers homeland it wasn't a country kind to thieves, even less so to thieves carrying one of the greatest evils in history within them.

In truth she'd have preferred to avoid the Imperium, but the only other route to Silverwick would have led her deep into the labyrinthine mountain passes of the north. She hadn't the skill or supplies for an excursion of that nature. In a way it'd be enlightening to see her fathers home, but while she'd once clung to the idea of her extended family rescuing her from her torment and bringing her south, now all she felt was apprehension at the prospect of her journey attracting undue attention.

Almost as soon as she'd thought it Akat chuckled and reassured her, “Worry not Meera, the Imperium is as vast as the ego's of its rulers. A single traveller need not worry about anything so grand and incomprehensible as the interest of the state, merely the notice of pathetic bandits who've succumbed to their base instincts like the animals they are. We should be so lucky as to attract one of those, you've had little practice defending yourself.”

Meera could only grin, it had been some time since she'd surprised some foolish degenerate with Akat's gifts. Making a target of herself in the slums had worked for a time, but there could only be so many self-mutilations in the work camps before the Great Lords took notice and came to an inevitable conclusion. In truth her shadows had been more useful thus far, and she'd called on them almost daily, but she knew what was ahead. For now what she creatures she summoned remained behind the veil, no matter her efforts.

Though if there was to be an opportunity for practice on this trip it certainly wouldn't be anytime soon. As she looked to the horizon Meera heaved a deep sigh. Only recently had the foliage of the land started to take a greener hue, and the cloud of dust kicked up by her horse could doubtless be seen for miles in any direction, so flat was the land. There was no doubt about it, she was alone on this road. Meera spoke wryly, “Come what may Akat, at the very least you've given me an excuse to leave this wretched place. May we never see Jeshkan again.”



As it happened Akat and Meera were both disappointed by their journey through the Imperium. True, no soldiers had stopped them, but neither had any foolish bandits. It had been a pleasant journey, though it had only reinforced Meera’s lingering disbelief that her father had left such a land for Jeshkan. The only thing she could think to say about the world outside of Jeshkan was that it was green.

Akat had found her surprise at the worlds verdant nature amusing, but her partners mirth had not dampened the sense of wonder Meera felt. Farms had stretched out in near every direction in the Imperium, and even when she had emerged from the nations other end she marvelled at the abundance that seemed to stretch to the very horizon. As wondrous as it was though, it only reinforced Meera’s trust in Akat. In Jeshkan people could never be trusted to act with genuine kindness, but neither could they afford to. Jeshkani were known for being cutthroat, or so she’d heard from other Jeshkani, but the very land they called home all but demanded it of them. Here though?

The fact there was war and suffering and betrayal this far south proved every word Akat had fed to her. Human beings could never be trusted to rise above their animal natures, at least not until somebody made them. There would be no point in Meera’s revenge unless she endeavoured to prevent other men and women from needed to do as she had. By the time she was nearing Silverwick her face had worn a contemplative scowl for days. Eventually she spoke aloud, “I suppose I shouldn’t be so disappointed. You told me that no amount of wealth would change people, after all.”

A warmth filled Meera as Akat spoke, “The truth is not a kind thing, often it must witnessed to be believed. Be wary though, child. The last time I sought to right the world I failed, no matter how many sins I exposed or the number I punished for their self absorbed lies. Had I a body of my own I doubt I’d do it differently, even now. Yet I did not choose you to blindly follow my path, nor do I desire it. No matter how much the masses deserve to bleed for their pretensions of righteousness, no rampage will disabuse them of those notions. I chose you because you have spent the majority of your life waiting, planning, working, and only moving to act when the time was right, when you knew the outcome was certain. Patience is a quality I lacked in life, and only through my association with you have I begun to see the importance of. So remember Meera, as vile as the world may be, you must remember your past. I will doubtless fail to compose myself in time, I may even demand you lash out, but even if you wish to you must not. We will never have another chance to set things right, so this one mustn’t be squandered.”

Meera opened her mouth to reply, but a figure set against a roadside boulder caught her eye. She approached cautiously, keeping an eye on the mans horse. In the dim light of the morning she could have mistaken him for dead, but Akat quickly corrected the notion, “Be careful Meera, this is no simple traveller. It seems we’ve found one of my compatriots early.”

Her money was gone, rations were low, and her horse was exhausted. Almost four days riding sun up to sun down took its toll, at her fierce pace nonetheless. The sky had gone black once more but tonight she kept pressing on, spurred by the tingling sense that what she came for was close at hand. The weight of exhaustion pressed upon her whole body like the weight of her armor after hours of training. Even in the darkness the oppressive warmth in the air offered no relief from the day’s exertion. Time lapsed as she slipped from consciousness briefly. She hated the feeling that she’d missed an unknown amount of time, this it marked the time for her to stop for the night.
“Carry on, child. We are close.”
She mustered the strength to growl at the voice in her head, “do not call me that.”
Perhaps it was the tired delirium, or perhaps she was in fact losing her mind. Whatever the case, her stupor made it far funnier than it should have been that here she was talking to some imaginary voice. It seemed to serve to wake her up a sliver which was enough to finally make it within view of Silverwick.

“Gods have mercy ...”
She knew the history of what happened here, but to see the devastation firsthand was nothing short of shocking. Much of the rubble had weathered to dust, flattening into an ashen soil half-burying what still stood. Nothing green lived here; everything was grey and black and charred. Various half-destroyed buildings stood like a scorched forest across the barren expanse. Yet the place felt ... alive. A burning energy permeated the very air. She was losing her mind. There was absolutely nothing living here, and she knew she didn’t have the aetheric training to sense anything. Perhaps more concerning was the sense of familiarity. She had never been here before, or had she? She left her horse and treaded carefully into the ruins.

“I always hated this place,” the voice spoke again.
This time she swore it came from one of the streets ... or what she assumed were once streets now buried in ash. “Who are you?” she called into the inky night.
“Do not be afraid.”
Adrianna could see nothing anywhere, and it kept changing direction whatever it was. Its advice certainly wasn’t helping to reassure her racing heart.
“Relax, child. I am only here in your mind.”
That was less than reassuring. It still didn’t answer her thousand questions. “I am Kassandra Malistare, the blade dancer. Forgive me for startling you.”
Adrianna pulled at her hair, convinced her own mind was betraying her. Seemingly knowing, “Do not be afraid, your mind does not deceive you, and you are not alone. We should find the others, before I teach you.”
‘Teach me what?’ Adi thought to herself, finally breaking the habit of speaking out loud to the voice in her head.
“Everything,” Kassandra answered, “All the power I once wielded will be yours to command, to right the wrong that I see tearing you apart, to shape this world to your will.”
‘... The power to take back my rightful crown,’ she fantasized.
“You are not meant for your father’s crown.”
“It is my birthright!” she seethed aloud.
“Your birthright is to rule far above your petty lordship. You will sit upon the throne of the Imperium itself and preside over half of the known world.”

Kassandra had her. Just like that she owned the girl. Adrianna coveted a throne and she was just promised the highest throne in all of Avalon. If she had a physical form, her telltale smirk would be all over it. ‘What would you have me do?’
“This world took from you what it promised and cast you aside. Here on the site of our fiercest victory, you too will learn the power to rewrite the world in your image.”
‘Gods have mercy the old legend is true ... you were a Legionnaire.’
Adrianna couldn’t even comprehend it. Shock and exhaustion took her legs out from under her. Kassandra was of the Shadow Legion, and she was among the chosen reincarnate.
“I am indeed, and you, Adrianna, will be my protégé.”

She remembered what Kassandra had said: that the others needed to be found. Adi remembered her horse, and led him through the city towards a flickering light near the fringe of the ashland. She thought she could see people around the flames but she couldn’t shake the thought this was all a hallucination. Rest would do her well. If the people were real, she only hoped that there would be no need for a fight. Her staff and armor were both stowed and she had neither the strength nor the dexterity use either at this hour.

"You should not have come with them." the small pendant mentioned to the now half-northerner laying in a pool of his own blood, a destroyed caravan surrounding them both as multiple other people and civilians seemed to be getting executed by a single fellow who was injured as well: lithe build and a rapier on his hand as he stabbed through the hearts of the innocents just to gain whatever properties they might have on them, bodies of his own colleagues surrounding the caravan as well. It seems it was quite a bloody battle, in which no one really had won, at least yet.

Rägnar, though, was not about to get defeated by some bandits that would more than likely be related to the incident that happened when he was younger, the same bastards that destroyed his childhood and his mother's spirit within a single day, truly the lowest scum of mankind. As the lithe bandit was rummaging through a semi-destroyed chest, the man stood up to a knee as blood poured out of a hit on his side, where more than a few other scars were present in there. "Rägnar, do not be so stupid, you are no use to me if you are dead." Omegarus whispered in an attempt to stop Ironhide from doing whatever he was about to do, but to no avail, as Rägnar started to limp towards the bandit with a broken handaxe on his left...well, hand.

"Trash...trash...trash...hmph, th' boss ain't gon' be happy I tell ya that much, so many lives lost fo' shite." the bandit idly stated before he heard the footsteps behind him, turning around with a quick spin and barely stopping the dented edge of the axe that was coming straight for his head with his own rapier, now admiring a hulking northerner with a stoic look on his face, suffering multiple injuries as he dropped the axe and to one knee, his weight too much for the injured lower bottom to sustain it...or was it? "Pfft, someone would think you'd be ded b' the time ya even woke up, laddie." the bandit ignored the man, going to turn around to continue his search of treasure before Ironhide spoke up, his voice coarse and very, very rough. That is some nice clothing you have there. he commented on the obviously stolen clothing that the bandit was wearing. "It's a shame you won't be able to wear them again." at that, the bandit named Alexander turned around again, with an eyebrow raised. "...and by that, I mean I'll kill you." Alexander laughed, walking past the man and going to slowly start to unsheathe his rapier, replying. "You seem like quite an interesting fellow, but I do not have time for idle talking...I only so much time before I need to return to the boss' tent." with a chuckle, he started to clean the edge of the blood-covered sword, continuing to talk. "Did you really think you could defeat me? I caught your attack like it was a pop-up..." Rägnar grunted, a single hand covering his own wound as he just stood there, the bandit raising his rapier. "Poor bastard, killed just like a woman!"

Right at that second, Alexander saw how the previously injured and clearly near-death northerner jumped up with a spin, his free hand turning into a fist as it collided precisely with the bandit's jaw: the impact causing him to drop the rapier and stumble back, as Rägnar extended a hand to hold the lithe man by the wrist. "T-This power...how...?" Alexander thought. Meanwhile, Ironhide just sighed very lightly at the sight of the almost defeated bandit, speaking up. "Now that I have a closer look, hmph, your clothing was not as nice as I thought, more peasant-stenched than anything." he then loosened the grip of the man's wrist, as he adjusted his own leather clothing behind his back. "But you won't have to worry about that anymore - because your face is going to end up, even uglier. and even before Rägnar finished his speech, the bandit was already trying to get away, but not before the same northerner raised both of his fists and started to pummel the man on the ground, as he felt himself slowly dazing away out of existence, eventually just letting himself do with some broken bones...before it all stopped. Alexander needed to see if he was going to make it out alive of that situation, but opening his eyes just revealed the same northerner from before wielding a Warhammer and about to make his head smithereens: and that is indeed what happened.

"Now we have got no way of traveling, perfect." Omegarus idly stated as the two of them continued walking out of the destroyed caravan, Rägnar having treated his own injuries and just walking with a slight limp, adjusting the holsters for his own weapons and just replying with a "Hmph", clearly not the social type. "Anywho, I do suppose we shall reach Silverwick in a day or so if we do not encounter any more hostiles...

"What even is there, that would interest me, talking necklace?" Rägnar replied, picking away at some berries from his pouch. "I told you to call me Omegarus, insect, and I also told you that there'll be fame and rewards awaiting you there, isn't that right?" of course Omegarus would use power and fame as objectives for the half-northerner to pursue, clearly not being too hard to make the man follow in your footsteps given enough courage and a succulent treat as a reward from doing what you asked of him. The two of them passed through a small village, most of the people living there making no objection to a breed of a northerner passing through with a small iron pendant, and thus going through without much problems at all: stopping by with the excuse of gathering a few more supplies for the travel and selling off the loot from the bandits and caravan traders which died just a few hours ago, although the sound of battle was still stuck in Rägnar's head. "Silverwick...

Gabriel dreamt of floating away on a stream. Of cool, soothing water enveloping his sore body and nothing else. Forgotten were the stink of sweat and the painful soreness of his body as Gabriel simply drifted away into the nothingness. A sharp tug, as if someone was pulling him down by his hair, was all the warning he got before Agabyzus unceremoniously brought him back to the waking world.

There wasn’t even enough time to groan at the still present soreness in his body before the Prince’s voice warned. ”Stay sharp, she is one of us.. Gabriel immediately saw the woman in question through half lidded eyes and suppressed a sigh. He quickly stood up, ignoring his aching legs as he waved for Megathocles to settle down. She probably was no threat, yet at least.

“Good morning.” He called out in his accented Vahkranite. “I do hope you can understand me, my lady. Otherwise this all is gonna be rather awkward.”

Meera nodded and pulled aside the loose scarf covering her face with one hand even as the other remained ready on the dagger under her cloak, “I can, though it appears it is a mother tongue to neither of us. I am informed that our destination may be the same traveller, you head for Silverwick?”

“Indeed.” He smiled at her, hand resting at his pommel. “And I presume your source has already enlightened you of our shared purpose?”

Meera paused for a moment, regarding the man carefully, before she relaxed and dismounted her horse, “As you say. Forgive my caution, but the nature of our common undertaking demands no less.”

“So it seems.” He agreed. “But I find that going straight to the point sometimes works better than subterfuge. At least in this case.” He regarded Meera for a second before continuing. “But where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself: Agatho D’amero. At your disposal.” He declared with a short, flowery bow.

Meera affected a cordial smile and returned ‘Agatho’s’ bow, albeit more conservatively. At least, she considered, the chosen of the worlds greatest evil had manners. Without more than a passing thought she introduced herself falsely, “Kasi Iyer. A pleasure to meet you, Agatho. It seems we’ve stumbled across each other prematurely, but perhaps this was for the best. I do find myself wondering if all of our fellows will be so… Pleasant.”

”Do not get your hopes up. For all we know she can prove to be a liability to our Dream.”. Gabriel regarded her for another moment as he measured his next words. “Let’s hope so, then. Things would be so much easier that way. Though from what my benefactor told me, his fellow Legionnaires might not have had the chance to be picky, considering our shared circumstances.”

”Enough with the pleasantries, this man may be our ally but until we know which of my fellows acts as his patron he is still a danger. Doubtless they’d say the same of me, but many of the other Legionnaires were dangerously unstable, and worse yet, without the moderating effect you have Meera,” Akar warned.

Aquizencing to the demand Meera queried, “True enough, but we may yet hope. In the spirit of ‘going straight to the point’ as you say, may I ask your benefactors name?”

“That is a fair question.” Gabriel nodded. “I work with Agabyzus, the Brass Prince. And you?”

Meera answered, “The Legionnaire Akat.”

”Be careful, by the time of our defeat, Akat had grown out of control, her drive for absolute justice turned into senseless cruelty and pointless vengeance. Gabriel nodded at that. “With introductions out of the way, then why don’t we proceed to Silverwick together? I’m sure we will find whatever answers we seek there. No point in delaying.”

“As you say. We may only hope our introductions there will be as affable.” Meera gave a last smile and turned to mount her horse.

As she returned her scarf to her face she listened to Akat carefully, ”Agabyzus is among the more trustworthy of our fellows Meera, you were lucky to meet his chosen here. His goals were always nobler than the others. I doubt his opinion of me is so glowing, but as long as we make no move against him he will remain an ally. I cannot guarantee that with the others.”

Gabriel returned to his own horse, the pain in his legs now much more manageable as he dug out a parcel from his saddlebags. “Want some?” He asked extending his hand. “I don’t know about you, but even stale bread sounds delicious at this point.”

High above, the large eagle darted away, in direction of Silverwick.

It had been a full two days since Meera and her unexpected companion Agatho D’Amero had met on the road, and now their mutual destination dominated the horizon. They’d known they drew close when the wind began to carry ash and the foliage started to wither, but seeing the ruins of Silverwick, even as a silhouette against the sky, was something else entirely. The site of old Illya’s capital and the legionnaire’s most lasting triumph was a ruin suspended in time.

On some level Meera doubted Akat, the presence who’d been nothing but helpful to her, was really one of the fabled legionnaires. Seeing this, having been directed to it, did less to reinforce than dispel that doubt. The destruction, even at this distance, was something to behold. Akat had warned Meera that she had become excessive in her quest to force the world to come to terms with its nature, that in looking to change things for the better she had gone too far.

This, Meera reflected, was too far. Akat made no comment, but Meera knew that the criticism of her work grated the disembodied legionnaire on level. She turned to regard her newfound ally, and remarked, “It is… Grander than I had expected.”

Gabriel took a moment to turn to Meera. “I have spent almost 20 years fighting all over the Free Cities, but I can’t think of anything that matches the devastation we’re seeing here.” He swallowed. “And if we are to do this right, I think we might come to a point in which we will have to repeat or surpass this.” He finished, gesturing to the wasteland around them.

Meera considered his words, and shook her head slowly, “This is no victory Agatho. This is why they failed. I am no stranger to murder, I have accepted that slaughter may become necessary on this road we have embarked on, but this is nothing but senseless destruction. Akat has admitted, though perhaps begrudgingly, that it was wanton aggression from others and herself that doomed the legionnaires. This is that aggression. I cannot imagine how, with all the power in the world, our patrons failed to find any solution more elegant than this.”

“That Akat is willing to accept that some of her past actions might have been misguided pleases us greatly.” He smiled at her. “But one of the things I learned in these years of selling my sword, it was that more often than not battles simply get out of control and expand beyond our plans. In the end all we can do is adapt to the circumstances.” He paused, lifting his head skywards. “Don’t misunderstand me, I would rather never have to repeat what was done here anywhere else in the world. Our goal is not simply to destroy, we all have the power to create a better world from the ashes of Avalon.” He exhaled slowly as he looked at her. “But if anything else, we must be mindful of the kind of company we will have once we reunite with the other Legionnaires and their Chosen. I assume Akat has filled you in about their past behavior?”

“She has,” Meera paused, “As have the documents I’ve studied. Forgive me if I offend, but when an ancient evil speaks in your head, no matter how inclined you are to trust it, it is prudent to educate yourself on what sort of evil it is. I knew of Akats deeds before she felt cause to reveal them to me in their fullness, and I know of what the others we are to meet have done. The old books are perhaps hyperbolic in portraying the legionnaires are inhuman, but Akat may be too accustom to them to see what are in totality. She seems to think your patron is trustworthy Agatho, and from what I know that may be true. I do not presume anything of the others.”

Something threatened to break through Gabriel’s placid facade, but whatever emotion it was, it got quickly shoved down. “I wasn’t in position to look for old scrolls and ancient tomes when the Prince revealed himself to me. At the time I followed him because I had no other choice.” He paused, considering his next words. “By the time my situation settled down, I had no reason to think the Prince wished harm unto me. And since the sparse lore about the Legionnaires I managed to get my hands on, supported his words, I never found much reason to doubt what he told me over the years.” He paused to sip from his water skin. “Though I must thank you for your vote of confidence. The Prince used to count Akat among his closest partners within the Legion...before she allowed herself to be blinded. That she is now willing to admit to her past mistakes and that you talk of self-control, does makes us believe that this time we can continue to work together towards greater and worthier goals.”

“Then Akat and I are both glad to count you as an ally.” Meera had been smiling as she spoke, but as they began to enter the ruins proper the expression died. She looked around cautiously before she spoke again, “With that in mind, we should be wary. The others will be near now, and though it seems we both have learned the value of patience and manners I would prefer to judge our fellows on that after we meet them.”

Gabriel stood silent for a few moments, drifting away before the great bird swooped down and settled on his shoulder. “‘Sandra counts at least three among the ruins. But we will never know for sure until we meet them, won’t we?”

Internally, Katerina bristled at the comments made by these newcomers. Annoying spirits? Beoris was no such thing. Katerina bit back a sharp retort, instead smiling genially at the older man and the stout fellow that would be her company for the forseeable future. "I'm sorry to hear of your plight, sirs. My lord is rather pleasant company, himself." Her eyes flitted between the two men as she addressed them. The first of the two to have spoken had the look of a soldier about him, scarred and rugged as he was. The dull and scratched -yet appearing no less sturdy for it- plate strapped across his body would have raised an eyebrow from Katerina, had she not been trained so thoroughly in matters of the court. Had he been wearing that all of the way here? The northman, stockily built and sporting a bushy brown beard, struck a less imposing figure in Katerina's eye.

Do not be fooled by his stature, child. That one is housing the great Titan within himself. Vardun is one of the finest minds this world ever has and likely ever will know. His great strength is shadowed only by his knack for practical siegecraft. In his time, no city was impregnable when Vardun was set to the task of bringing it down. That other one though, be wary of him. Alistar is the basest of creatures. Where Beoris' had spoke of Vardun with clear respect, his tone curled into something akin to disgust when describing the soul stowed away within the old man's psyche. He is a mindless, sadistic beast caring only for wanton destruction. His thirst for ruination was instrumental in leading to our downfall. Had we been afforded more time, I would have found a way to exclude that wretched thing from my prophecy. His return is most unfortunate. We must watch his vessel carefully, lest the same madness that ensnared Alistar befall him as well.

What a deplorable creature. Katerina, though, only inclined her head in his direction respectfully. "My name is Katerina, and it is a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances." As she said this, a third figure stepped into the light provided by the campfire, crackling along faithfully.

"Gwynne Lancet..."

Without missing a beat, Katerina turned to this latest of arrivals. "Welcome, Gwynne Lancet." Her voice was a gentle harp, the strings plucked ever so softly. "I am Katerina, as perhaps you heard me say." Lines of concern then formed upon her face, only half feigned. "You seem to be wounded, do you require assistance?" Katerina rose to her feet, and took a single step closer to Gwynne. She stared into the eyes of the white haired woman with worry, unfazed by their crimson shade, diverting her attention only momentarily to glance with wonder at the purple orb floating beside the garishly dressed woman.

Topesh, Beoris stated, somewhere between bored and disdainful. Though powerful, his obsession with aetheric energy is something of a detractor. He cared little for our cause then, I doubt that has changed now. The Shadow Legion to him was simply the most effective means to an end. Still, he is a tool that can be used to some degree of efficiency.

Gwynne looked to Katerina when she was offered some help with her injuries. She turned her ruby gaze to her shoulder injury and nodded, "That'd be much appreciated..."

Gwynne's clothing was tattered and dirty after her fight for survival in the woods. She didn't really carry herself, nor look the part of the other chosen. Then again, that randomness would likely help the group remain inconspicuous. The orb floated closer to Gwynne, then pulsed with light as it began to speak. Topesh's voice could be heard by all, the voice emanating from the orb, "T'is fortuitous that the apostate and I are not the first to arrive. Should our pursuers arrive, they will be in for a rather nasty surprise. You there," the orb floats right up to Katerina, "Your kindred spirit is whispering to you yes? Can he not talk like myself? Perhaps yours can?"

The orb quickly whips over to the other chosen, the northman. "No? Oh now this is quite the development. I was under the impression our reunion would be more... vocal. This is a funny twist of fate indeed... Topesh, the quiet, studious one now the most talkative of the bunch." the orb pulses faster as Topesh laughs.

As Topesh flitted about in his little orb, Katerina's shoulders squared themselves more firmly, and it seemed the girl began to stand just a little taller. A voice emanated from between Katerina's lips, still hers, yet carrying with it a smooth confidence that would be familiar to all listening. "I am, Topesh, entirely capable of speech." The words flowed together like melted chocolate. Katerina's eyes turned away from Gwynne and over to the orb lazily, a vaguely amused expression across her face. "Though it appears that speech now has a more feminine touch to it." Beoris and Katerina chuckled quietly in unison. "I give greetings to all of us gathered here currently." A teasing tut tut tut, then. "It seems the rest of our compatriots are somewhat tardy."

"Oh bollocks... I have to go through another era of listening to my chastizing brothers and sisters in arms. At least I can speak freely. I respect my chosen enough not to take over her body. She is a temple, after all. And temples are not meant to be ransacked and pillaged." the orb floated back to Gwynne and orbited around her in wide circles.

Beoris withdrew his control, then. I am sorry for seizing you so suddenly, love. Do not listen to the words Topesh speaks. He understands nothing of our arrangement, and little enough of people in general. Katerina only smiled faintly, and moved closer to Gwynne.

"Can we have a look at this, then, Gwynne?" She offered the somewhat meek woman a reassuring smile. "I'm not a healer of any sort, but one of us here has experience as a surgeon." She gestured in the direction of Fayvre. The wound on Gwynne's shoulder could certainly benefit from inspection by a proper medical practioner. It was not a pretty thing. An ugly red cut, the flesh at the edges black as pitch, stretched across her shoulder.

Gwynne let out a deep breath when Katerina asked to inspect the wound. Indeed, the frostbitten injury was beyond anybody with rudimentary knowledge in first aid. Wounds dealt my magic were always complicated, even for the more talented surgeons in Avalon. With the lack of aetheric power in the world, the increased rarity in magic meant that doctors didn't feel the need to practice treating magical injuries as much. So many victims seeking aid were often left with nothing.

Upon hearing that a surgeon was among the group, Gwynne's eyes looked around the group. With luck, this doctor would be skillful enough to treat the injury. "It was a glancing hit from a frost bolt. A battle mage sent it a few days ago..."

Fay, who up until now had been sitting still at the campfire, looked up. She hadn't really been all that interested in making talk with the newcomers herself, lest they smell weakness in her. She was out of her league here. The rest were more inkeeping with who she'd expect the egiobarre to pick; Warriors. She was content to listen and observe them, and determine who was trustworthy and who was not, but before she could discern anything substantal about anyone, Katerina had outed her as a surgeon, and now she was being called upon to treat wounds...again.

Patience, Fayvre. This may be the last time, and besides, this is not work. This will valiate you in their eyes. They may even come to trust you. Getting along with your fellow chosen will make the near future a lot more bearable.

Fay approached Gwynne and examined the wound carefully. As she did, knowledge poured into her head, given from the pool of forbidden knowledgethat Quoris was privvy to. She dropped her pack to the floor and began to rommage through it. "I've never treated a magic injury before, but luckily, Quoris knows how to. "

Dorian listened while Katarina and Gwynne introduced themselves, inclining his head respectfully as they did. Though the most surprising thing was hearing Gwynne's supernatural benefactor actually speak openly. When he had obtained Vardun's ring publicly, nobody had shown any inclination of hearing the Titan's voice other than him, not even previous contestants who attempted to lift the ring. The Titan himself mused the situation curiously in Dorian's mind.

"Hmmmm. . . Topesh the Wellspring, small wonder out of all of us he'd be the one to obtain a form that would grant him the most external power to show off. Very interesting choice though, if I'm not mistaken that orb of his is from the former Nexus itself . . .greedy bastard."

Dorian felt almost a subconscious shifting beneath his own eyes as he looked upon the others, as if Vardun himself was sizing up his old fellow Legionnaires and their chosen. He gave more of his thoughts in Dorian's mind.

"His choice is also fitting of his champion, a right and proper magician of such potential he was likely grinning within that orb when they first met. But this Katerina, she's one to note, she's Beoris the Bastard's. Tricky son of a bitch, but a damn good shadow, and I doubt he's become any less devious in death. If he's picked her, he's probably been grooming her to his liking for a while."

Dorian replied within his own head.

"Like you have for me?"

"Exactly, except likely far more intensive in different manners, makes sense, its what I'd do in his place. Its what we're probably all doing, really . . . Quoris, the Green Death is here as well, and how ironic that her champion would be a Wrelmsman . . . Wrelmswoman? Whatever. Fact remains that that Legionnaire could poison all the nature that woman cares about, if she hadn't been more concerned with the pursuit of knowledge and using it to punish her mortal foes. Knows about as much about alchemy and witchcraft as I know of seigecraft . . . And then that last one, scion of Alistar the Wyrmcaller . . . strange to me that he'd pick someone older, I'd have thought he'd prefer a more hot-blooded youth to twist to his will and be more forth-with in his madness and bloodlust . . . but then who am I to judge his choice? He may well know something I don't. Make no mistake though, The Wyrmcaller is mad, oft times more beast than man . . . but such is his power, that he'd cut and burn through a battalion like a farmer through his fields. And while some of my bretheren and sisters may disagree, I don't disdain him, all of us serve of purpose, even those mad and desperate for power. Just be mindful of any of his mood swings and keep your strength up and you'll be fine . . . in anycase, introduce yourself, you're doing me disservice by standing around like a statue and staring."

To which end, Vardun only slightly tightened the ring on Dorian's hand, making him visibly clench his fist. Dorian turned the gesture into a salute across his chest and gave a short bow.

"Dorian Vadderung, out of Braldurheim. Honestly I didn't even know we'd meet anyone out here, Vardun was as cryptic as anything."

The ring tightened again, making Dorian wince.

"Only for your own good. Its not like we don't have enemies about, and besides its not like I knew entirely what to expect either."

Dorian shook his hand out as the weight and tightness relented, looking over at Gwynne and Katerina as the one was treating the other's injuries. He casually unslung his pick-hammer, forged recently but yet unblooded, he placed it with its head down, his hands on the top of its grip as he leaned against it. He looked out into the dark and bleak lands around.

"You and Topesh said you were pursued? By whom?"

Joseph sat as he fiddled with the bandage on his arm. "Whoever's the healer I'd appreciate if ya had a look at my arm once your done with the first patient. I got into a nasty fight with some wildlife." He stated flatly while Alistar berrated his inner thoughts.
"You sickly worm! Asking these fools for assistance! My own vessel, disgusting! How humiliating...At least these other vessels seem just as pathetic! I should have known these insects couldn't have picked a proper warrior to carry out their deeds. This is why we failed! They didn't believe in my grand p-" Joseph ignored him.


"And what's this about being pursued?"

At the third mention of pursuit, Katerina's eyes flashed over to Fayvre's as the surgeon approached Gwynne. For the barest of moments, palpable anxiety was laced throughout the gaze. Katerina might not have been followed, but there was no doubt in her mind that she was being searched for.

Fay silently cursed to herself as she heard Joseph's request for her services. She had finished treating Gwynne's shouler, using methods that even with the knowledge now in her head, she didn't fully understand, and was now binding it tightly with white cloth bandages. The talk of some members possibly being pursued was scary, though. Fay didn't believe she had yet commited any crimes worthy of being pursued, and didn't want to be involved in a fight. If it came to that, she'd likely hide somewhere out of the way. But then, what if the Legionaires lost? There were all that was protecting her now. Them and Quoris.

Gwynne looked between the other chosen as they all seemed to be concerned by the mention of pursuers. She nodded slowly, "Sorcerers of the Court, two battle magi and a sorcerer superior. They've been on my tail for the past few days now. I crippled one of them two days ago, which should hopefully have sent them back to the Spyre to treat their wounded. I've been very high up on the Court's wanted list for years now, but only recently have I been actively hunted by them. Worry not, they should have no reason to believe that I have... allies..." The word is strange to Gwynne, she had only just met them after all.

With the cloth cut and tied, Fay told Gwynne that her treatment was finished, and before any remarks of thanks or otherwise could be made, picked up her pack and made her way over to Joseph. Gwynne at least gave a nod to the woman to show her appreciation. Now this wound, even from this distance, she could tell was within her mortal understanding of how to treat. She put down her pack beside Joseph and took his arm in her hands, extending it towards her and staring at the wound. "I've seen much worse than this. I think all this will need is disenfecting and sewing up."

She pulled a small vial of lavender-based disenfectant from her pack, and started to drp in into the cut. It stung. "I'm afraid this will hurt, and I didn't bring any whisky with me for the pain, but at least I'm not using lemon juice, " she joked, trying to keep the atmosphere light, before returning the disenfectant to her bag, and getting out a needle, thread, and a toothmark-riddled bit, which the offered to him. "Some men use it. Others like having the option of turning it down," she explained, as she got to work sewing. It felt...about as good as having your arm repeadedly puctured with a sharp object could feel.

Far from the worst pain Joseph's war-torn body had experienced, his body still occassionally jerked and twitched reflexively through the procedure, however his tolerance and will had supressed such reactions to prevent them from disturbing her work. "Well lets just hope we all can get some peace tonight while we wait for the others, at the very least. These old bones are sore from all the walking."

Katerina turned politely towards Joseph. "My, what strength of you will you possess..." She curled her nose back. "That procedure appears rather painful. But sir, you still have yet to introduce yourself?" Where were this old man's social graces? Still, the inquiry was phrased respectfully.

"Pardons." The old soldier raised his hand. "Sir Joseph Peter Kane, at your service." He answered to the young ally. It was odd to him how young some of these allies seemed, to him age meant experience. Still, figuring it rude to bring it up, he remained quiet on the matter. Alistar was also, fairly quiet now; to which Joseph was thankful for.

"It will be," Katerina began politely, "An honor to work by your side, Sir Kane." So the old man had some degree of manners after all. He wasn't entirely unpleasant company, even if a mad dragon made its lair in his head. The fire began to sputter then, and Katerina poked at it with determination until the flame regained some degree of intensity. The darkness was entirely palpable around the Shadow Legion reborn, despite the little campfire's best efforts. She thought it seemed fitting.