Kallak and co get on a boat

Some time after they emerged from the goblin mine Kallak and Silandrazz boarded a ship headed back to Sancta Civitas. Joining them were Stoshri, the goblin Servant they had met in the mines and Gosyor, one of Stoshri’s many brothers who had convinced him of the merits of heading for the Library to improve his newly discovered magical prowess so that he might help his tribe in the future.

Their journey began on the shores of a lake nestled against the volcano’s base (within which Kammek dived and retrieved some Water mana honey from the bee’s he had made there) before sailing down the river that began in the lake and ended down in the ocean next to the great city. The vessel they were on was a barge filled with partially refined metals dug from the mountain by Stoshri’s tribe. They were going to trade to the city so they could then buy grain, wine, varios manufactured goods and silk harvested from the massive cloud moth caterpillars that grazed in the fertile plains surrounding the city for their tribe.

The vessel itself, which had been built in the city’s docks and purchased with metal ore deliveries, was crewed by goblin tribes-people and powered by a combination of sails, oars and the river’s currents.

“Hope get blowy figurehead with this” Gosyor told the two bug people, gesturing to the barrels of metals stacked in the center of the ship “move more ore, get back faster, will be nice. Rowed before. Is pain.“

Several of the nearby oar goblins piped up in agreement to this statement.

“Or maybe u learn how make Stoshri?”

“Maybe? Can learn?” Stoshri asked Kallak hesitantly

“Yeah, can we?” Silandrazz asked

“If you want, though I believe the people who make those are fairly specialized, at least for the time being. Lots of demand for them at the moment, but it’ll die down once most of the ships have one. Odds are by the time you learn to do it they’ll already be alot easier to get than they are now.”

“Understand,” Stoshri said, discouraged, “what learn then? From what said, there is much. Had to choose”

“Anything, everything, what help tribe is good” Gosyor insisted

“Suppose” Stoshri replied, before thinking for a bit and asking Silandrazz “what you go to learn”

“I’m going to figure out how to make my hive’s Swarmlingz lezz aggressive”

“Oh? That good. Things nasty. How do that? Controle like chompy?” Stoshri asked, referring to Kallak’s giant ant mount who was currently resting next to the ore barrels.

“There’z way too many to do that. So I think I might be able to change them so that they are like the Sancta Civitaz onez? They're all calm as can be right?” she looked at Kallak who nodded “Yeah, so I want to change their nature.”

“Change nature? Can’t change nature. Gods made nature.” Gosyor said

“Same way I can make light, or the figureheadz make the wind blow. With magic” Silandrazz replied, missing the thrust of his question

“That create, not change. Why change what made by gods? It perfect”

“I. uh. But not everything is made by the godz. Our preacher taught us how most of this land waz made by the lifeblood. It is chaos incarnate, so how could everything that waz made be perfect?” Silandrazz tried, floundering as a result of not expecting to have to defend the idea of changing nature, despite Artifex’s warning that she would.

“But he make you” Gosyor retorted

“The gods didn’t make perfection” Kallak interjected, mostly due to his own personal feelings about his father, eliciting a chorus of gasps from the ship’s goblins. Upon realizing he’d have to justify this he tried “I mean… I’m not a builder-priest but aren't both Cadian and Artifex about working towards something greater? To chase perfection? To build a better world? They wouldn't want us to do that if the world was already perfect“

“Yes!” Silandrazz said, happy that someone had her back even if it was just a result of Kallak trying to cover his own thorax again “Why stop with just building stone and wood, why stop trying to become better by just practicing and training. Why not change thingz, change nature, build with it, make it serve our needz.”

The goblins grumbled at this, dissatisfied with the reasoning, but before the arguing could continue Stoshri asked “Change nature of Goblin?”

“What?” Gosyor gasped

“Help tribe by make tribe better goblin? Goblins is-”

“Shh. no.” Gosyor cut him off before he could finish “we done. Talk about other things yes? No good arguing when on ship together” before forcibly steering the conversation towards where a good place to stop for midday rest would be (goblins slept twice a day, once around midday, when it was too bright and hot, and once around midnight, when it was too dark and cold) and what they’d be doing about food. Silandrazz however refused to let it go.

What was that? What were you going to say? Goblins are what? she asked Stoshri though the telepathic link they had as Servants

Should not say. Is goblin. Not for others ears Stoshri he replied

You were going to say it though! You were agreeing with me right? I liked where you were going, with making ourselvez better too. Maybe I could make it so I don't have to staff walk everywhere, that'd be great!

Is not bad to say. Won’t say. But do agree. Use magic. Make people better. If change nature of swarming, then can change own. Become better. Get stronger. Be Tougher. Live longer. Stoshri said, before going quiet. He’d all but communicated what his brother had tried to stop him saying, what the goblins hated to admit. They lived short lives, they were small, the sun hurt their eyes and they lacked remarkable traits like natural armor, flight or water breathing.

Compared to the other races, Goblins were weak.

---

It took them some time to get talking again. While the silence hung in their minds the crew ship parked on a sandy riverbank, where stone anchors were cast into the water and other ropes were tied to sturdy forest tree trunks to prevent it from floating free. Their vessel secured the crew headed for the cool protective shade of the forest. A decent campsite was located where they lit cooking fires, posted sentries, and rolled out a collection of tents and mats for sleep.

As the sun rose higher those goblins who intended to not simply hid in the tents fished out sunglasses made of bone, cloth or other materials with horizontal slits cut in them in a manner akin to snow goggles to reduce the impacts of the harsh midday sun on their more sensitive eyes. Not wanting to be left out, Silandrazz popped her hood over her head, covering her own eyes with a fine paper mesh (made mainly to keep sand out of them, leaving Kallak the only person with their eyes exposed.

“Stoshri. Come. We go hunt forage.” Gosyor told his brother once the camp was mostly set up, more or less dragging the sullen Servant along with him and a number of other goblins who knew the ways of the forest.

You’re not in trouble are you? Silandrazz asked though their mental link as the goblin moved off into the woods.

Is alright. Only words. Stoshri thought back as he vanished from sight

Oh good. Words can still hurt though. I remember how mad my sisters were when I snuck out at night to find out what Kallak was upto. See it’s really cold out there in the desert. You can easily freeze or get nabbed by a land fish and she ended up telling the goblin about the night she’d met god, leaving out the fact that Kallak was an Avatar as she had promised him, only to be interrupted during her tale before she could get to the part about divine intervention.

S-rr-. S-un- -ad came Stoshri’s muffled and broken words through their mental link

What was that Stoshri? Your words were all fuzzy. Are you alright Stoshri? Stoshri? Stoshri! she thought back, with increasing panic as nothing came back before calling out “Stoshri!” and talking off into the air and dashing off into the forest in the direction the foraging party had gone, much to the surprise of those still at the camp.

“Silandrazz! What’s the matter? Ah beetle spit” Kallak called after her, before he ended running through the woods after her.

---

------i. S----r-. ---shri! Stoshri!

For his part Stoshri had been in the middle of being chastised when Silandrazz’s fuzzy mental messages suddenly, and seemingly arbitrarily, snapped back into clarity despite the fact that she hadn't actually gotten that much closer to them. He could hear her buzzing wings far to the left of the goblin group. The Vespian he was finding, had a knack at getting lost.

Am here, he told her, before mentaly giving her an indication of the way she needed to go

“Can’t say that. Goblin pride important.” Gosyor was saying when the sound of her wings coming closer caused him to drop the subject. She managed to fly right over their heads, missing the small green people in the undergrowth, before Stoshri yelled at her to come back.

“There you are! I was so worried when the mind thing got messed up. I’m glad your ok” Silandrazz said

“Was strange. Was quiet. Then suddenly back when you over there” Stoshri said, before pointing

“Mind thing? You talk. What I just say not do?” Gosyor said exasperatedly

“It just story. Hers” Stoshri replied

“Fine fine.” Gosyor sighed

“Yeah. Then it all went weird. You said it started working again when I was over there?” Silandrazz asked while Kallak caught up with her, a little breathless

“Yes. Odd. Thought was distance. But got closer than there buzzing around.” Stoshi noted while scratching his head, his rainbow speckled eyes scanning their surroundings but not seeing anything amiss. “Is like something in way? Muffling link?”

“Maybe you should see if you can narrow it down,” Kallak suggested, having poked Artifex and gotten the answer already “and work out where specifically the thing that caused the issue is?”

“Yeah! Stay here. I’ll go fly around a bit” Silandrazz said before talking off

“And I’ll make sure she doesn't get lost again” Kallak said, forming a glowing mote above them to indicate their location to the flying wasp woman

It took them some time to figure out the source, the two Servants moving to and fro in the forest to resolve the area that was causing the disturbance before closing the distance till they found themselves on opposite sides of a maple tree.

“Cant hear!” Stoshri called, causing Silandrazz to buzz around the base of the tree to join him. After a few moments of staring at each other he concluded that “still nothing. So. Is tree?”

“Red Maple Tree,” Gosyor, who’d spent more time in the forests than the other three had combined, said as he squinted up a t the tree’s leaves, “Sap tasty. Keep awake. Good find.”

“And it seems to hate magic” Kallak said, indicating to the light globe they’d been using to stop Silandrazz from losing the ground party which was fluttering as he approached and which then promptly died as he joined them at the base of the tree.

“Why tree hate magic?”

“Who knows. The gods make strange things sometimes.” Kallak replied

“God, not lifeblood?”

“Just a guess. Anyway, guess you’ve got another thing to add to your list of barter. ”

“Why would anyone want a magic killing tree?” Silandrazz asked

“Protection against hostile magic? I’m sure they can think of something constructive to do with it, but mainly it's useful to know why Servant communication doesn't work like the Emissaries say it should.”

After that Silandrazz buzzed her way to the top of the tree, hacked off some branches using her spear, raided a few bird’s nests for eggs they could have for lunch and then rejoined the party before they all headed back for the camp.

“So what was story in mind talk anyway” Gosyor asked,

“Oh it was about how I made my sisters really mad after meeting Kallak. I was just about to get the the bit where I talked to Artifex before the link got cut”

“Uh huh...” the goblin replied before he suddenly halted and glared at her disbelievingly “wait what!”

---

A grey wind buffeted Persius as he walked alone. The skies above were closed with pregnant clouds, and their offspring kept the grassy fields on either side of the road foggy and screened. The dirt of the road squelched under Persius’ boots, his mighty height and weight aiding in squeezing out droplets of last night's rain and soaking into his saturated boots. He could feel sores forming on the bottom of his feet, a creaking ache in his knees. The heft of his bronze hauberk and mighty sword (much too big for most) adding only to the downward pull of each labored step.

Hanging on his belt and getting caught in the wind were four scalps tied by the hair. Their edges were crisp with dried skin, any gore long knocked clean -- and as crude as they were, they served a noble purpose, at least in the service of Persius. The slap of the brutal trophies against his thighs, the reanimation of them in the wind; all things related to them gave no comfort to Persius or vindication for taking them, save for one... that noble purpose. He grunted at the recent memory of why he took them, a decision made right after the death of his horse and loss of most of his supplies -- the start of his foot sores and knee creaks. After that run in with the previous owners of the scalps, he had decided that they could serve as a ward or warning to any potential and future would-be troublemakers -- and so far there had been none. Was it justified, did it work? Persius couldn’t say, but he did call forth five prayers every time the scalps slapped his leg -- one for each bandit and one for his own soul.

The wear was not isolated on his limbs and soul, however, as with each step he loosened a pocket of hunger in his stomach -- knocking free angry bubbles and gurgles from his gut. Each snarl from his belly traveled up his spine hot and angry, giving him a strange itch in his muscles and pressuring a headache into the fore of his brain. His meaty left hand fell gingerly to his stomach, as if inspecting a wound. A deep frown formed on his bearded face -- his bronze skin wrinkling. A sixth prayer for each stomach gurgle; the walls of Ketrefa were in the distance -- along with his vindication from the journey and from hunger.

At the gates of the famed city, his fluttering white cloak marked with the golden scallop shell of his order caught more attention than the scalps on his belt. A bored captain scowled at him from behind two poor looking men armed with spears. The shuffle of everyone else not picked from the inflow of people into the city drowned out most of the unpleasant whispers, but not the captains -- he made sure Persius heard his distaste.

“Do you want to damn the city?” The captain all but shouted, his voice bouncing between the stone pillars and impressive arches that held the walls of Ketrefa’s gatehouse together. The thickness of the defenses meant that where Persius was standing was cooled by perpetual shade, the soil freezing his soaked feet -- the only thing that kept him warm was his mutual hatred of the captain and subsequent prayer for humility. Persius swallowed his pride and hung his head.

“Please sir, I require entry.” Persius’ own voice was dusty and deep. It was the voice of a man who could likely pluck the captain from his spot and pop his head open with only a thumb and index finger. The captain, however, held his scowl.

“Your kind are no good. You can’t come in here.”

“Please, sir.”

“Let’s dispose of the ‘sir,' ' The captain narrowed his eyes, a wicked smile forming, “Let’s not pretend that we are even close to being on the same hierarchy. “You’re a beast, I’m a man.”

Persius kept his gaze down, and his prayers humming in his head -- quelling a rising flame. The captain’s smile grew, “Say beast? You want in, right?” Silence. “Wear your cloak inside out.”

The giant knight looked at the captain quizzical for a moment, bringing his fingers to loosen the toggle of his cloak, “If that is what-”

“And give me your sword.”

Persius froze, “But sir-”

“What did I say!?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you my weapon,” Persius let his fingers fall from his toggle, one brushing the belt that strapped his mighty blade to his back (for ease of travel).

“And I can’t let you in.”

That fire was rising again. Persius shook his head, “I’ll reverse my cloak, duck my head, not speak a word -- I just need to get in.”

“Not good enough.” The captain quickly spat, “I can’t let a beast run around with a weapon such as that.” Each word seemed to drip with poison, and each word set off a gong in Persius’ starving, exhausted, tired chest. His prayers began to slip into unintelligible fuzz. He gaped wordlessly, letting out little puffs of air as he tried to find reason.

The captain sucked in a mocking breath, “What’s the matter beast-”

KA-RACK! Persius’ right came swinging down like a hammer, knocking the captain so cleanly off his feet, his body froze rigid before he even hit the ground -- eyes rolled in the back of his head. The other two guards jumped at the strike, a hot breath steaming from Persius’ nostrils. “Entry.” The other two guards were as frozen as their unconscious and possibly deceased captain, allowing Persius to pay them with a hard stare, a flip of his cloak and a quick prayer as he marched inwards to the streets of the city.

Winding streets and dizzying alleyways fell under his feet as crowds of people stepped aside and parted to give way. The initial unease from the gate spread like a plague through the anxious and busy citizens of the city. Worried glances cast at his weapons, at the strange cloak, at the very foreign essence within him that somehow marked him as an outsider to these people milling about behind their walls. Ever so often he caught the glare of a patrol, relentless spears-for-hire who trailed after him almost as if expecting him to make trouble for himself. Those same patrols were shaking down market stalls, integrating with the populace, or just lazing on street corners. All the while, Persius bore witness to street brawls, screaming, and general disarray on his journey through the giant city. Ketrefa had little left of honor, though it seemed such had not yet caught up with its citizens.

Such became even clearer when he took a turn along the street and found himself walking through thinner and thinner crowds. The bustle and life clung to his back, fading into the background with each step, and Persius found himself inside the eye of the storm - a lull in the anthill that was Ketrefa.

It wasn’t so much the chill in the air as much as the chill in the people that made Persius pull his cloak tighter around him. His nose was wrinkled at the smell of the inner city, and his thoughts were wondering if any of his brothers and sisters of the faith could really be found in such a place. Slowly his eyes drifted over the dirty and ragged people he passed -- neglected children, drunken oafs, whoring women. He felt a pin of sadness, topped with a desire of justice for these people, but all he could really do for them was hope.

People would look, turn, and leave; save for one set of eyes -- for a while at least. Behind a rotting barral a skinny looking man wearing a soiled yellow scarf was staring hard at Persius, enough to make the massive man stop and turn to stare back. The pair held their gaze for a while before the man with the scarf slowly turned away and slipped into an alleyway. Persius let out a huff of air from his nostrils, dismissing the man, and continued on his walk.

Finally the winding back alleys and rotting roads led to a forgotten square of sorts. It wasn’t clear if it was made purposely or if a by-product of poorly planned buildings and misused market stands, but Persius found himself in it. There wasn’t much hawking, the general feel of the square being as wallowing as the rest of this forsaken district. A few more steps brought him before what must once have been a majestic shrine - a centrepiece of the square as forgotten as the rest. With stonework and copper embellishments wrapped in delicate spirals to honor the Goddess of Flame, it must have been a sight to behold in its heyday. Now it was covered with dried paint, dye, and refuse. Someone had gone to great lengths to deface as much of this ancient monument as they could, with arcane symbols of swirls in dizzying patterns, crude pictograms of horns and debauchery, and random defilement of paint and dirt covering most - if not all - of this once proud shrine to one of the highlands five main deities. Persius shot out a breath from his nostrils, be it mixed with disgust or amusement.

The longer Persius had to take in his surroundings, the more he noticed this defacement in the rest of the squalid square. On walls, above doors, wherever they might fit many of the symbols present on the shrine reappeared. The harder he looked, the more he found - old and new alike. A clatter of wood and metal brought his attention further down the forlorn district; a small line of ragged peasants stood lined up at a sturdier market stall in the midst of the largest street. The stall - complete with a regal awning of red and gold, looked freshly out of place in a derelict area like this. Each of the peasant’s approached in an orderly manner, receiving a bowl from a dark-haired woman in finery befitting her stall, and bowing their head deeply. From afar, it looked almost like a religious procession.

Persius remembered his own stomach at the sight -- the burn of an empty gut swirling back. Swallowing what pride he had crumbs of, he bowed his head deeply and found the end of the line. Immediately a fuzz entered his head and he wasn’t too sure what he was expecting -- to find food, or to find direction to food that wouldn’t be taken away from another hungry mouth... perhaps the latter -- only he was just as broke as those around him. He let his thoughts swim unconcluded as he walked with the procession. The line proved longer than it had looked from afar - or perhaps that was simply his stomach talking - and it moved at a slow pace, many of the people ahead being afforded a great deal of time to speak before receiving their gift and moving out of the line for another to take their place.

Finally, when only one remained ahead of him, the scent of stew broke it’s way through muck and filth to tempt his nostrils with a promise of release from hunger. The commoner ahead of Persius greeted the woman humbly, but by name - Mira - and they spoke in a calm and graceful tone about the man’s family, a possible chance for work, and future prospects of the city and the district. Even from the half-conversation Persius caught, it was clear there was some kinship at play. Eventually, the peasant bowed even further, and the woman spoke a last time. The man repeated the phrase, “Praise the Goddess, and her eternal love,” and shifted out of the line to file away between debris and an entryway to living spaces some ten paces away, leaving space to be filled between Persius and the woman. At last, he had his chance at food, or at least, direction. “Approach, please.” the dark-haired woman said with a soft tone of voice.

Persius shuffled forward, the sudden slap of a scalp prompting him to pull his cloak over his belt in an attempt to appear less violent. He kept his head bowed and his vision low, clearing his dust coated throat with a “Greetings, Sister.”

There was a charged pause of silence; not a long one, but enough for Persius to know her eyes roamed over him and his apparel without needing to look up. “Please, call me Mira, friend,” the woman returned to break the silence, with no discernible contempt in her voice. “We are all equals before the Goddess.” Her feet fidgeted and shifted under her dress, lilting her pose on the small box she stood on. “Have I seen you here before? I thought I knew everyone, by now.”

“No. No, you see I am a traveler from Yalin.” He lifted his face to meet hers, “and I don’t want to deprive those behind me of a meal, but I am afraid I am as ragged. If you would know where I could find another meal elsewhere, or perhaps where I may find any brothers or sisters of the Golden Light.” He held out empty palms in gesture with his story.

He found her watching him with big, brown eyes and a graceful smile befitting her station as a sanctuary of the filth that had been the rest of Ketrefa. She lifted her own hand demurely to gesture down the line. “You may not be from here, traveler, but you are no less entitled to a full stomach and a happy life than any other. The Goddess sees and cares for all, and expects only a true heart in return.” Mira smiled at him with a comely expression, then twisted to gesture behind her stall, where three large cauldrons and a fair few modestly dressed - but nevertheless clean - men and women toiled to prepare more food. “The Golden Light I do not know,” she finally professed as she looked back to Persius, though remained as warm and welcoming as before. “Though I do not doubt my husband or cousin would. They are far more knowledgeable than I. But first,” Mira turned, and one of the others raised a bowl from the side in offering. The woman grasped the bowl gently, and simply turned to offer it to Persius. “Eat. Praise the Goddess, friend, and her eternal love.”

“An act of charity is not forgotten, Sist- Mira,” Persius bowed his head again and put his fingers around the bowl, “A prayer for this food and for your Goddess, may an emissary she be.” He looked back up and hesitated a moment, as if asking a question -- a slow pull of the bowl towards himself. Mira simply smiled and relinquished the bowl to him without contest or comment, the stone in Persius’ stomach fading into relief. It took him the rest of his will to not devour the bowl like the starved animal he felt he was right then and there -- opting instead to bow out of line, a sly finger dipped in the mush to give himself a taste.

Only when his back was finally to the others did he bite the tip of his glove and rip it off -- using his palm to shovel the gruel into his mouth. Hopes that his shoulders veiled his actions faded into hindsight as his primal hunger took over his mind, blank and starving. It wasn’t until his teeth accidentally bit deep into the wooden edge of the bowl did he realize he had finished. A sizable burp expanded his cheeks. “Praise be, so says.” He exhaled. As the procession continued behind him in relative peace still, it appeared the only witness had been the particularly crude mural of a horned woman on the wall of the domicile in front of him. Persius gave the mural a nod, turning to return the defiled bowl.

Mira seemed deep in an affectionate discussion with an older woman at the head of the line, though after a few moments of scrutiny he located a table with an assortment of poorly stacked bowls - the telltale mark of a place to return your kitchenware. There wasn’t much to do but skim along the side of the stall to place his own among the others. About to perform this minor gratitude, a hand slammed down on his shoulder with enough power to halt any warrior in their tracks. Persius was no exception, a cringe stiffening his back and he jumped to attention. His eyes widened as they darted back and forth in search of the source, a vision of the massacre of Yalin filming over his sight. The shock and vision faded and he was met with the gaze of a young man, handsome in that way that suggested he had never seen combat and had servants looking after him, a dark pool of blood was pouring out of his mouth -- Persius blinked -- the blood was gone. The man smiled at him with the same oblivious and welcoming heat that Mira had. “Didn’t mean to scare you, there!” he offered with a confident and friendly breath. “Are you new here, friend?”

Sucking in a shaky breath and finding his footing, Persius nodded. Grit returned to his voice and he faced the man squarely, “I am in search of the brothers and sisters of the Golden Light who reside in the city, do you know of them?”

The man continued to smile as his gaze wandered down over Persius, the same sort of pause he had experienced before. He drew his hand away from his shoulder, only to clap his arm twice and squeeze it before chuckling. “Ah, the Golden Light! I have heard of them, yes,” He proffered with a flippant tone. “Are you kindred of theirs? You have a rugged look to you, friend.”

Persius couldn’t help a smile, his eyes slightly wet. What energy he had lost seemed to seep back into his cold limbs, “Where are they?” He didn’t mean to brush away the questions, so he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but where are they?”

The man grew sadder in his smile, his eyes gliding down over Persius again. At last he retracted his hand. “Alas, this I cannot say without first looking into it. Our wondrous city is quite the sprawl, my friend.” Almost if he expected to be able to interrupt, he paused for a few moments before continuing. “But worry not, yes? My wife may be the generous one, but I am not without mercy myself. Eh?” He lashed out with a gentle tap of Persius' shoulder again, brimming with confidence.

Persius winced, “I understand.” He rubbed a hand over where the man had touched him and took a step back, “I must find a place to await news, then. I fear my time in this city is already on borrowed time.”

“Ah, no!” He called out. “You misunderstand me, friend. Hah! The perils of miscommunication, I fear. I am saying I will help you! I am an Akellos noble, there is nothing we cannot find out with some jostling and favours, yes? So I can offer you a trade, perhaps.”

“Trade?” Persius cocked his head, “What sort?”

The man grinned back at him with a knowing, but friendly, smile. “Well. Quite a simple trade, as a matter of fact. You are a rugged man, that much is clear. We are but humble servants of the Goddess. Not all places in Ketrefa are as calm as these. Help us, and we help you. Simple, no?”

“I’m not sure if causing trouble in a city where I am hardly wanted would do either of us much good,” Persius countered, but the man was already shaking his head.

“Please! It is not trouble, it is for the safety of me and mine. We shall feed, house, and,” he tugged ever so slightly on his smile, “...bathe you, and I will personally find your kin for you. In return, you help kind servants of the Goddess give some love back to the city and her hopefuls. We must always pay what we receive forward, do you not agree, my friend?” The man leant over towards the table, adjusting the precarious yet small tower of bowls.

Silence stood between the two for an uncomfortable amount of time before a grunt came from Persius. The mighty man reached behind him and untangled his scabbard from his back. With a metallic thud he let the sharpened bar of metal that was his blade drive into the ground, marking a boundary between the two. Looking over the weapon, Persius held out the scalps in one hand, the other on the pommel of the sword, "Let me say now that all the blood I spill, all the bones I will break; all the fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters I will slaughter will be laid at your feet. If you want this on your hands, so be it, but know that you and your Goddess will hold the consequences. I do not take joy in giving a curse in exchange for a blessing like the one you had shown me, but that is what you are asking. If this is what you truly desire in return." Persius shook the scalps, asking the man to take them from him, "Then I will do it in innocence."

The man was visibly taken aback by the scalps, but still put on the best smile he could muster. With a pause of his own, he eventually extended his hand to take the offered ‘gift’ and accept his verbal curse. “Let us hope that it does not come to that, yes?” He offered with another attempt at a winning smile. “When we are done here, tell Yesua back there-” he twisted on the spot to point at a black-haired man in modest clothes, stirring a cauldron. “That Kalet sent you to help with tomorrow’s service. He will offer you whatever you need. After work you come back to me at our home, and hopefully I shall have good news for you.”

"Where do you live?" Persius was wiping his hands against his cloak, eyes on Yesua. He can't say he liked the sound of any of this, but he also can't say he has liked much as of late anyways. Yesua seemed to cut out of sturdier stock than most of these preened and well-dressed cooks, giving the impression of a man as much out of place as Persius himself was among the ragged masses. Still, he seemed content to be working the cauldron, smiling jovially at his comrades.

In front of Persius, the young man chuckled and reached forward to give his arm a gentle and brief touch -- the brush making Persius’ skin twitch even well hidden under his armor. “Do not worry yourself, yes? Yesua will show you all you need to know. If you get lost, my friend, you can simply ask for House Akellos. Our fame in Ketrefa stretches many generations back, you cannot lose track of us!” He smiled warmly, giving an ample nod in the same motion as he retracted his hand.

“Very well,” Persius took a step out of reach, “Goodness within you, Kalet... I think I’ll speak to Yesua right away.”

Kalet simply nodded. With a final smile, he stepped aside and returned to the bowls, allowing Persius the freedom that came with not having eyes on his every move. Openly at least; he certainly still felt like they were all keenly aware of his presence -- but in their defense... as small as it may be... he himself was having trouble remembering what it was like before paranoia took over his mind.

“Yesua?” He felt his voice leave him before he was even aware he was speaking. He felt slightly foolish addressing the man so directly, especially upon realizing he still had his weapon out. Slowly he tucked it behind him, “Kalet had sent me your way.”

The man gave a gruff grunt as he released his ladle, which was quickly snapped up by his comrade at the cauldron, and looked up at Persius. In another life, he could’ve been out there, fighting battles of his own. Yesua nodded slowly and brushed a hand through his thick but groomed beard. “Excellent, excellent. I’m glad he’s taking the Narrowtown issue seriously. You got a name?”

“Persius of Yalin.” ‘

“Well, Persius of Yalin,” the man grunted out as a growing warmth spread on his features. Eventually, he too smiled like the others had, welcoming and without judgement. “Grab a few bowls and let’s finish this service. After that, I’ll show you to our quarters.”

---

The promise of lodgings turned out to be true; a modest bedroom in a family house a fair distance away from the district he’d first met all of them. Everything was laid out within an hour of his arrival. Fresh clothes - almost identical to what Yesua and the other workers had worn - more food, a small tub to climb into and get clean. Yesua had made himself scarce after sending him to his room, giving Persius only basic directions about when and where to meet up in the morning. There had been no real room for questions, and by the time Persius was situated in his new room, the bearded man was gone for the evening.

Persius was not left alone for long, however. Yesua’s presence was rapidly replaced by a comely young woman, with soft features that seemed to dust with a blush simply by looking in Persius' general direction. Still, she smiled with the same warmth that Kalet and Mira had, and when she swept across the small room to direct Persius towards the tub, she touched his arm with the same exploratory squeeze that Kalet had. Again a cringe chilled over his skin, the great man wincing. This time, however, he gently removed her hand off his mailed arm and offered her a simple nod for explanation.

The woman respected his boundaries only in the most technical sense, insistently remaining in the room to help him bathe. Eventually, when words were finally the last solution, she spoke a simple utterance. "Allow me to show you the love of the Goddess."

Persius stared at her for a long time, his hands tangled in the straps of his armor. With a loud clang, his hauberk and cloak fell to the ground, an inconspicious pouch tied to his belt. His muddied once white shirt came next, then his bries. Finally the man stood bare, his body mottled with grotesque blue lesions and black bruises from recent slaughters. He cleared his throat and gave a slow nod, "Fine..." Taking a few steps forward he thrusted his laundry into her arms, "But be careful with them, I'm afraid they are more torn than myself from the journey." She accepted his laundry with a considerable amount of confusion. Confusion turned to indignance, even frustration, and for just a moment the facade of a pleasant and shy attendant fell away. The woman caught herself in the act, and offered Persius a warm smile and a nod soon after, leaving the room with his clothes. The door slammed shut, and for the first time in a long time, a giddy smile was plastered on Persius' face.

No one came to bother him again that night, finally allowing the traveler some rest. He found himself scrubbing quickly in the bath, so fast the water didn't have time to turn mild - all for his grand plan that he had been cooking up since he first saw the room.

Hopping out and tightening a towel around himself, he immediately leapt into the bed -- asleep before his head hit the pillow.

---

Narrowtown was a descriptive name in every possible way. Doubtfully an actual district of the city, it seemed to be a winding set of alleyways crisscrossing the back ways of a few larger districts in a dizzying pattern. Glassless windows opened straight out onto the street as much as doors and arches, and in many places the opposite sides of the alley stretched so close to each other that any well-built man would struggle to press through; likewise, it wasn’t hard to imagine people climbing into each other's buildings from open windows that were a mere arm’s length apart. This cramped space apparently did not dissuade people from living here, nor did it have any fewer citizens lounging and hawking wares than any other set of streets Persius had experienced in Ketrefa. It was a maddening experience - a veritable sea of unwashed masses squirming and fighting amongst each other in a stink Persius only noticed because of the cleanliness that had been forced on him the night before.

Led by Yesua, a small expedition of hopefuls from the day before had set up camp along the broadest of these alleyways, a single cauldron and enough bowls to feed but a considerable minority of the populace, even with the inclusion of bread. It’d naturally be all but impossible to build the stall from yesterday here, but the alternative still seemed like folly at best. Persius had been given the task of lugging ingredients, which proved no tougher than an honest day’s training in Yalin. Finally rid of the last weight in the throes of preparation, Yesua finally deigned to speak to him. “Alright, Persius of Yalin. Any of them try to get what ain’t theirs, or hurt any of us, we’re relying on you.”

Persius sniffed, regretting it instantly but replying with a resigned sigh. He had hoped they would have forgotten his violent abilities and let him simply ladle soup for a day. Tucking a cheek he nodded, "If that's what you want, then by all means."

That seemed to be all they needed. A few moments of preparation followed as the cooking began, and a nearby resident dragged out planks and barrels to set up a makeshift table for Yesua and a second man to stand behind. They gestured for Persius to take up a position at the tableside, and it seemed two of the men who came along busied themselves entirely by taking up guard posts of their own at the back of the procession.

Soon enough, the scent of dirt and filth in the alley was being pushed aside by the promising aroma of warm food. It was enough to stir the nearby crowd into slow action, a few who had been eyeing the stand ducking into their homes before reappearing to weave through the crowd. Others climbed straight out of windows as word began to spread, and within half-an-hour of cooking beginning in earnest, Narrowtown had become an anthill of activity. These commoners, however, did not have the grace or respect of their peers from yesterday. The attempt to form a line was haphazard at best, and those foolish enough to follow the leader were quickly swallowed by the crowd of interested citizens. Within minutes, men and women alike were pressing up against the table, and against Persius -- sending a strange heat to his belly and a coldness to his head. It only took another few moments before the first man tried to squeeze past him on the side, only dissuaded when Persius failed to budge, a twitch forming in his eye. Clamoring voices overpowered each other, all urging Yesua and the other man to heed them first. The sounds seemed to saturate in Persius’ ears, the thud of the wooden bowls turning to clangs of metal -- the shouts for food... just plain screams.

It swiftly became apparent that today's service was nothing like the one Persius had personally experienced. Not only was there disorganized chaos among the populace, but the process had its own rules. A ragged man in the masses raised his hand into the sky, showcasing some sort of basic medallion in the shape of a heart with six horns around it. Yesua pointed at him, and he forced his way forward, assisted by the few in the crowd who wanted some semblance of order. Reaching the front, he received a portion of bread and made himself scarce just as quickly. This pattern repeated again a while later, another person battling their way through the crowd to show off the same insignia and receive their share of bread, all the while an increasingly indignant mass of people argued and begged for Yesua's attention, rattled the table by pushing each other, and tugged at Persius’ cloak, causing Persius’ heartbeat to rapidly increase seemingly against his will. Another few moments and a third person came out of the woodwork with a medallion and received their bread.

Then the pattern changed. A woman in dark rags elbowed her way to the front of the table, forced to fight for her right at the front. A shining piece of metal clattered onto the wooden planks - a polished and embellished symbol of the Sun Mother. Yesua gripped the piece, investigated it briefly and then nodded to the other man. The woman received a bowl of stew, and a heart medallion, before she vanished back into the crowd. The symbol of Oraelia vanished into a sack by Yesua's side. After another few bread rations being passed out to commoners appearing in the crowd with medallions, another artifact clattered onto the table. A well-tended scepter, unmistakably embellished with insignias honoring Tekret. That too vanished into the sack in exchange for a bowl of stew and a medallion, confirming the pattern that was to be today's service of food. Kindness and love seemed considerably more absent here, to the point that it barely even resembled what Mira had offered the hopeful on the day before.

The whole scene seemed to blur to Persius, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon -- his weapon, he couldn’t remember when he had drawn it. The shoving, the screaming, the clash of metal. Persius’ chest began to heave with deep laboured breaths. His eyes darted between the faces of the crowd -- their features melting into strange shadows. He felt like their empty faces were staring at him, how and why, he didn’t know but they were looking right at him -- they all were. The knight’s fingers went numb, his right arm shaking. At that moment a man bumped into him and a sharp blanket of needles and pins washed over Persius. His heart thumped heavy against his ribcage and he threw out a massive arm -- slamming the intruder backwards. “Back!” Persius’ barked with a shaking rage. Hot air was huffing out of his nostrils -- people starting to give him space as he leveled his weapon between himself and the crowd. They all looked familiar; a sweat ringed Persius’ head, they all looked like the enemy.

From his side he heard the distant gurgle of Yesua’s voice, as if Persius’ was underwater, “Yeah, stay calm, you dogs! There’s food for everyone who does the work of the Goddess!” It was a hollow reaffirmation of his own rage, but other than that, Persius was alone in a sea of madness. The world seemed to spin, Persius dropping instinctually into a low guard, when something caught his eye.

It glimmered briefly in the sun, just enough to pull Persius a little ways back to shore. It was a brass scallop shell being held up by a hungry man. Persius’ brow knitted, the blood flowed back into his fingers and with adrenaline and purpose, he began a powerful walk into the crowd. His body knocked away the hungry initially, then it was their own fear. His eyes were narrow on the pendant -- pointing a gloved hand, “Where did you get that!” He shouted, more people leaping out of his way. “Where did you get that?”

The man in question was shaking, eyes wide as the monster of a man came stomping towards him. A hand from one of the cultists came out to stop Persius, maybe even offer a reassuring squeeze but the knight batted it away with a heavy hand. Finally the hungry man was in front of Persius, knees bent and hands raised. Between the two was the pendant. Persius plucked it from the man, “Where did you get this?” He growled.

“I found it-”

Persius’ arm slammed into the man like a metal bar, smashing him into the soup table -- bowls spilling and clattering everywhere as the whole ensemble tipped from the weight. Persius kept the man pinned. “Where...?” The voice was low and gravely, but all the man could muster up was a hoarse cough. Adding more weight into Persius’ pinning arm, the hungry man’s back began to creak and pop. “Where!?”

“Persius,” a distant voice cut in, the growl of Yesua at his most frustrated thus far. “Persius! Not on the table! Someone get this lout in line, already.” Around him, much of the panicked crowd had begun to press back, but they were swiftly replaced by the cooks and lookouts that Yesua counted among his compatriots. Hands reached out for Persius from all sides.

Spinning to meet the hands, Persius’ felt his head swirl. He could hear the screams. He gritted his teeth, putting his weapon between him and the cooks. A stiff tension rose as both parties processed. Some people in the crowd were crying, the man on the table was coughing madly -- and Persius’ own heartbeat wracked in his head.

“Stand down dogs of Neiya,” The voice wasn’t Persius’. The crowd gasped, Persius dizzily spinning again to find the owner of the voice. Behind the cooks, threading through the crowd, even appearing behind the table -- men and women in yellow scarfs. They greatly outnumbered the cooks -- the crowd showcasing obedience to them. At the head of the group was a ratty looking man, who the burgers and beggars both looked at with a sense of respect and fear.

The ratty man spoke again, a lopsided smile on his face, “This isn’t your turf.” He parted his long yellow beige coat to showcase a shiny blade, but it was the brass scallop shell hanging under his neck that caught Persius’ eyes. With a nod from the gang leader, three other scarf wearing members began to push stubborn stew stirrers away from the table and to inspect the pots -- one pilfering the sack of tokens.

“Where did you-” Persius pointed at the ratty gang leader.

“So says, Brotha.”

The words filled Persius with a cathartic glow -- steeling his expression and refocusing on the cultists with a new burn. The leader tilted his head, eyes flashing over the tense cultists as if surprised to still be seeing them, "Lovewhores, you deaf? I said beat it.. As in leave, before I send you back to the Holy Cunt myself."

Outnumbered and outmatched, the cooks and helpers didn’t appear all that enthused to do anything but remain, guarded and unsure. Yesua, initially overwhelmed by the chaos unfolding all around him, turned towards the table - his gaze immediately fixating on the sack now firmly out of his reach. When the situation finally seemed to entirely dawn on him, his face twisted into one of almost manic anger. “You have committed a grave mistake today,” he pressed out between gritted teeth, fist balling up despite the odds. One of the cooks touched at his shoulder, and it seemed to be enough to at least bring some sense into him. Yesua glowered at both the leader of the scarved reinforcements, and at Persius, before he finally began to walk away, inspiring the other cultists to finally move. Like that, the food procession was officially over with, and the cooks began to scatter in different directions through Narrowtown.

"I commit a grave mistake everyday," The Leader turned to Persius' the smile of a predator still on his lips.

"Best way to learn grave lessons," Persius found his breath, the comfort of Brotherhood leaking in. "I cannot thank you enough... I've spent a terrible forty eight hours looking for you all."

"Please," The leader kept his confident smile, one a lot more genuine than any Persius had seen in a few days. The leader gestured for Persius to follow, "I'm sure you have a lot to tell me."

"That is no exaggeration, Brother." Persius clutched at a small pouch hidden on his belt. The leader cocked his head.

"Call me Justinian."

---

Predtige: cult of the horny goddess 9+5=14

Collaboration with Enzayne

---

Though the rolling hills and steep pathways through difficult terrain had long since put it out of view, Ha-Dûna still refused to leave either of the two travelers' minds. Almost an entire day had passed, carried out almost entirely in solemn silence and determined, stiff march across the highlands. Sanya seemed implacable, taking steadily paced steps even up the steepest inclines. Furthermore, she’d insisted on carrying almost all of their packing, and did not seem particularly bothered after a full day of walking. At least not by physical exercise - there was no denying she was as quiet as usual, or perhaps more so.

They’d escaped in a hurry, with Sanya sneaking back into the village to gather up their things. She had insisted the druids hadn’t made a ruckus about it, but she also hadn’t been able to retrieve everything Lucia had brought with her to the village. With the sun starting to touch the hills in the distance for the second time since they left Ha-Dûna, it was no longer a battle worth fighting. Instead they wandered without much in the way of direction over yet another stony meadow, having wandered off the natural beaten path after a brief but unwanted encounter with yet more druids.

Lucia was quiet too, she spoke of no more stories and her tattoos were diminutively small. Even her halo seemed to be a bit dull. She continued walking for a ways, before stopping in the middle of the meadow. Her traveling cloak billowed about her in the breeze as she looked down. ”We should make camp.” she said unenthusiastically. Her voice sounding drained- mellow.

Sanya came to a slow halt, the dark-haired warrior scanning the horizon as she rested her spear on the ground. Ever the watchful and stoic sort, she replied with a simple ”Alright,” before starting to off-load what supplies they had on and around the flattest and largest rock she could find. It was a solemn affair, with Sanya operating more as a dutiful servant than a traveling companion. Looking for possible tinder, rationing up food, seeing about making a shelter out of what they had available; each task followed the other like rote movement, ingrained survival behavior that needed no input. Though she didn’t say anything, it was clear that she expected to do everything relating to physical work.

Lucia looked at Sanya with a blank expression. ”Can I help with anything?” she asked. ”You don’t have to do everything, you know… It’s already enough that you’re carrying my stuff and yours.”

It was enough to give Sanya pause, and the woman ran a hand up to her face to scrub at the side of her temple as she narrowed her eyes at the small camp, such as it was. Her gaze flicked over to Lucia, and then skidded back to the camp thoughtfully. She shrugged. ”Start a fire, maybe?” she eventually pressed out before going on to another task in silence.

”S-Sure thing.” she said, trying to force a smile at Sanya, who wasn’t looking. Lucia went out, trying to find any source of tinder. Being in a meadow didn’t really help but she looked regardless. Her mind was abuzz with thoughts lately, ever since they had been traveling. She just wanted to be seen as a person, was that so hard? Now Sanya was doing all the work, not even talking to her- but then again, she wasn’t starting any conversation either. She paused, bending down to pick up a small stick. She looked around, but the stick was alone.

Alone.

She sat down and put her head between her knees, staring at the stick. She’d been alone for a long time, hadn’t she? She wondered what sort of wind had brought this stick so far from home, out into a place where it was surrounded by grass and rock. What a sad little stick.

A tear plopped down into her hand and she forced it away, by rubbing her eyes fiercely. She got back up and searched for anything else, but it was useless. There were no other sticks and she wasn’t about to go off to find where they might be. She walked back to camp, head low as she arrived. She walked over to Sanya and showed her the stick. ”It was all alone.” she said, looking at her.

Sanya, sat knelt before the flat rock with their supplies, blinked as she was torn out of sorting their supplies to first look at the solitary stick with confusion. ”I should have some softwood in my pack, still-...” she began, trailing off as her gaze wandered up Lucia’s arm and to her face. The expression on her face softened gently, to that sorrowful sympathy that had taken centuries to wipe out of her eyes in the first place. She clasped a hand around the lonely stick as if to take it off Lucia’s hands. ”I can take care of it, if you want.”

”Thank you, Sanya.” Lucia said softly, looking away as she let the stick go. She then stood silently for a moment, awkwardly shuffling before going to the opposite side of their small camp where she sat down. She picked up a blade of grass and began to fiddle with it between her fingers, sometimes looking at Sanya as she worked, other times at the grass blade. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore but Ha-Dûna was still on her mind. Looking at the blade of grass, she spoke aloud, ”Do you think I was too harsh on them? The druids? I can’t… I can’t get their faces out of my head. The look of shock, the betrayal. Is this what it means to be a Helgen? I shouldn’t say that… I know people are like that when they see me. They think I’m some… Savior, that I can’t do any wrong.” She looked up to gaze upon Sanya. ”Can’t they just see that I… I just help people not for fame or fortune, but because they need help, or guidance or or or… Because it’s the right thing to do? I don’t deserve their titles, I don’t want them, I just want people to do the right thing. Is that so hard? Why is that so hard? And then they keep forcing this belief that I need to be reunited with…” her voice abruptly cut off as she took a deep breath and pulled her knees tight to her chest.

Sanya was diligent as ever, quick to dig through her own packing in search for the alleged softwood. The frown on her lips was intense, a mixture of determination and imminent frustration. It wasn’t until Lucia stopped speaking that the guarded warrior paused in the middle of building a ring of small rocks. She closed her eyes and exhaled briefly, before standing up to close the distance between them. The dark-haired woman fell down to sit on her knees beside her companion. ”They do not decide who you are, Lucia,” she began, extending a hand to place it on Lucia’s arm in a gentle touch of compassion. ”If we let others decide who we are, we are no better than the wild stories they make up about the gods.” Sanya sighed quietly. ”You’re already stronger and better at this than I could ever be. Sometimes, it just gets too real.”

Lucia looked up slowly to meet Sanya’s gaze. Her tattoo’s pulsing around where they touched. She shook her head after a moment. ”You’re far stronger than I am Sanya. Physically and mentally.” she gave a wry smile. ”But you are right, I shouldn’t let what they think… Bother me, but it’s just so… So hard. I know you can feel how I feel Sanya… And for that, I’m sorry. These feelings… They come in waves every now and then and… This one’s bad.” her voice choked up. ”You’re a good friend, better then I am to you.” she said softly, looking away.

”I don’t know,” Sanya began with a soft tone of her own, appearing to have the wherewithal not to be sarcastic - perhaps simply affected by Lucia’s own emotions. ”There isn’t anyone I’ve ever met that I’d rather spend my time around.” She gave Lucia’s arm a gentle squeeze before withdrawing her hand, though remaining sat peacefully at her side. ”If you never felt this way, we never would have met back then. Trust me, keeping it inside is… not good for you.” she eventually conceded with a thoughtful tone.

Lucia looked at her again, saying nothing. She then looked forward and leaned her head onto Sanya’s shoulder. Her halo dissipated, forming a soft glow up in the air above them, almost a king to fireflies. Lucia sighed contentedly. ”I can say the same. There’s only a few I know who’ve stood the test of time, barely…” she said as a whisper. She shut her eyes for a moment, breathing in softly as her tattoos fluttered. Sanya was a good person, and an even better friend. Her words touched her greatly and she realized slowly, that there truly wasn’t anyone else that she enjoyed to be around as much as Sanya. So why then, did they always leave each other? ”Sanya?” she said, ”Why did we… Always go our separate ways?” she asked thoughtfully, a hint of sorrow in her voice.

There was a considerable lull in the conversation. At first the dark-haired warrior seemed unable to produce a reply, and instead reacted to the building atmosphere of sadness by gently leaning her own head against Lucia’s. She sighed softly, reluctant words escaping her, ”I-... We always have something to do. You have your life, people hovering around you eager to hear your wisdom. That strange orb. I’m just a restless soul, wandering.” Lucia could feel the gentle shift as Sanya lifted her hand to rub at her temple. ”You’re usually so happy, when I go. I don’t want to be a chain.”

Her heart began to beat a little faster as she listened. She winced at Sanya’s last sentence, and then said, ”Sanya… You’re not a chain.” she said, becoming misty eyed, her voice full of emotion. ”When you leave… I- I find myself missing you. But I… I never say anything because… Because… Why didn’t I ever say anything?” she said, sounding stunned. ”I’m so sorry, Sanya. You make me happy too, you know?” she said shakely, holding back tears. ”How’s that for wisdom? I can’t even see what’s right in front of me, half the time. I’ve been so alone for so long… I had forgotten what this felt like- This… Talking.” she said at last.

Sanya unleashed something akin to a scoff at first, soft and without any real contempt. Her arm wrestled aside in their lean, and Lucia soon felt it wrap around her shoulder and back in an unspoken extension of shared comfort. ”I tend to remember,” Sanya offered with a little more confidence, that deadpan tone finding its footing after a moment of deliberation. ”You are the only person who gets on my nerves without making me angry.” She sighed after a moment of hesitation. ”That sounded really dumb. I’m sorry. I guess it’s a long time since we just sat down. Even then, I guess I don’t-... say a lot.”

”No, but you listen, Sanya.” Lucia quickly said before pausing for a moment. Her tattoo’s were pulsing now, for she felt safe in that embrace. It was a pleasant feeling, one she had missed sorely. ”It’s okay… You don’t have to be sorry. I’ve been inconsiderate to you, thinking you’d be okay with my absence… Especially back there… You have every right to be angry with me, I’ve been a terrible friend to you.” she said, sucking in a breath.

”Ha-Dûna sure was something,” Sanya acknowledged with a quiet mutter of her own. ”But being angry at you for going along with their wishes is like being angry at the sun for setting. It’s in your blood. Kind-hearted and open to all. Most.” she concluded with a considerable calm. A brief sigh, and a gentle shift of her hand on Lucia’s shoulder in a gentle clap of compassion. ”You are a ray of sunshine on every life you touch, Lucia. I never considered such a life would not always be pleasant for you. So perhaps it is I who is terrible.”

Lucia moved her body closer to Sanya as she shifted slightly. ”No, you aren’t terrible. I just… I see people that need help and I put them first.” she took a breath. ”So when my problems build up, I shove them down to distract myself and eventually, they all catch up and I… Get like this. You were there for me when I needed someone so long ago and since then… I just… Tried to deal with it myself… To varying levels. I don’t like to be a burden on people. It was easier with…” her voice faded as she remembered how Megzhaal would talk to her during her bouts of depression. He had helped too. No more though.

The silence hung in the air for a considerable time, Lucia given time to sit with her thoughts with Sanya close by. Or perhaps the warrioress had thoughts of her own. Eventually Sanya broke the silence with a contemplative thought spoken aloud. ”How long has it been since you two spoke?”

Lucia said nothing for a moment. A gnawing sensation grew in her heart as she gulped and shifted again. ”It’s been… Decades, I guess. Even before that… he had become distant, no longer so… There, if you know what I mean. And now that I know my mother is back, why hasn’t he said anything? Where is he?” she said, her voice growing agitated. ”He was my love. He always told me to be happy, that I shouldn’t just wait for him, but how could I not? Now I realize the folly of my own words, as the druids seek to reunite us, as they talk about him like they know him. No one ever asks me if I want to be reunited with him. They just assume that I’m still love stricken but I… I’m not… I don’t even know what love is. I saw all their happy faces, Sanya. With so many families and children and pure joy and I… I do not deserve it.” she said, tears flowing down her face.

A shaky sigh escaped her companions lips, no doubt stricken by the emotions Lucia herself felt. ”Don’t say that,” she eventually replied, voice fighting to stay even. ”It isn’t true. The way you used to talk about him. The way your eyes lit up when someone said his name. How long you’ve waited.” Sanya took a long breath, shifting in their gentle embrace without moving too much. ”...Even if you no longer feel that way, Lucia, it appears to me like you’ve experienced love like no other. I-.. Well.. Perhaps his silence is his wicked courtesy? To let you find happiness again?”

Her eyes slowly widened as she listened to Sanya, the gnawing at her heart finally easing away. She did not want it to be true, but Sanya was right. She was right. So caught up with what was, Lucia had never even attempted to find hap- Wait, that wasn’t true. She had found happiness, a lot of it along the way. She had just been blinded to what it was. Was it truly was. She lifted her head up, forcing Sanya to move her own. Lifting her gaze, she found Sanya was already looking at her, and Lucia spoke softly, ”It’s what he wanted all along, isn’t it?” she said, her golden eyes full of regret.

There was a certain sorrow in Sanya’s eyes in turn, a tint of pain that had etched itself deep under millennia of duress. It was hard to tell if Sanya was ever happy - even when she smiled it seemed not to reflect the same level of emotion in her eyes - and even in this moment she looked unhappy, vulnerable even. Lucia had never seen her cry, yet she often looked as though she’d cried all night. Only the fact that she was not frowning, instead a mellow part of her lips in a soft pout, tipped her hand. ”I think you should care more about what you want, Lucia. You’ve suffered at the whim of others long enough.” she eventually pressed out.

Slowly a small smile formed on her lips as Lucia teared up. Without saying anything she attacked Sanya with a fierce hug and squeezed her tightly. Her tattoos warmed slightly as they frantically shimmered and pulsed. Eventually she whispered into her ear, "Thank you." but did not let go. She felt Sanya’s arms slowly lift to reciprocate the embrace properly, a small amount of the woman’s strength still being a tight and comforting hold. Lucia melted into the touch, her tattoos fluttering as she nestled her head into Sanya's chest.

They sat in silence for a time, and Sanya gently leant her head against Lucias’. The normally tense warrior seemed to relax in that shared embrace, and Lucia could hear her slow and long breaths as she allowed herself to truly stay in the moment. She could hear her heartbeat too, beating strong.

Eventually, Sanya parted her lips to break the silence. ”Maybe we should just leave the north,” she said with a soft, even mellow tone.

"Leave the North? Like… Go south? Or east? I haven't been home in awhile…" she said sleepily, finding herself very comfortable.

Sanya hummed a thoughtful and distant reply at first, a pleasant quiver of her throat and chest, that soon rose with a longer breath. ”I don’t know-... A break from the attention. Some place where no one cares who either of us are.”

Lucia's embrace slowly grew weaker as the seconds went by, "So…" she yawned, "South then…" she mumbled, eyes drifting shut.

”South sounds good,” Sanya’s voice returned with a hypnotizing calm. ”I know the paths down there like the back of my hand.” She sighed, a gentle caress of her hand on Lucia’s back as she kept talking quietly. ”I haven’t been to my old home in ages. Heh. Last time I was there, a little boy told me he’d be a chieftain one day. I guess he’d have grandchildren by now. Maybe he did become chief.”

There came no reply from Lucia, in fact she had fallen asleep upon Sanya, so tired and worn out as she was. Her breathing deepened and upon the corner of her lips was a soft smile. Sanya sat silent for a while, giving Lucia a gentle stroke on the back. In the peace of silence, she managed a genuine, fond smile of her own.

---

The closer she got to the land of Nallan, the stranger the people became. Many villages had apparently bound together. Their chieftains swore fealty to the mysterious queen of the town. Her rise came with a fair few convenient deaths though. All who refused to bend the knee were found dead at night, with a smile on their faces. Then she reached the sphere of influence of Nallan and things shifted. People were happy. Bandits were a rare sight, peace reigned between the various tribes and villages and trade was growing ever more. Especially the closer she got to Nallan itself.

It was strange, yes. Especially the stories that Nalla was blessed by the goddess Neiya. After her own experience, she knew that wasn’t impossible. Hell, there were plenty of stories of the Sun’s Daughter improving a place where she stayed. So instead of stalking the place under the cover of darkness she just wandered in. The guards gave her a side-way glance but let her pass through the wooden gate. It really wasn’t a shithole like most other cities. For one there was a bustling market and stone paths in the town. That alone elevated it above all other places she had visited. Then there was the palace. It was big, far too big for the location. Though not as big as Ketrefa’s wall, it looked far too nice for the town. Maybe the ruler really did have even bigger plans.

But that wasn’t her business. Her business was with the local queen and the Servant named Parn, whom she guessed would be inside that palace. So with a leisure stroll she walked towards it.

The palace itself even had walls but this time, as she approached the gate, the guards eyed her suspiciously. One guard, wearing fine leathers with a large beard spoke as she neared. "State your business. Is the Queen expecting you?" His voice deep and gruff.

“I don’t think she would.” Auriëlle said as she stopped, keeping a respectful and safe distance from the guards. If only they knew who they were talking about. “My business is with an old friend of mine: Parn.” She said the lie without even a hint of disbelief. She did not move further. The two didn’t seem too keen on just letting anyone in because they knew a name. Still, it was worth a shot.
The guard eyed her up and down then gave a side glance to the other guard, before nodding. The guard, a younger looking man, rushed off up the steps. Several minutes went by before the guard asked, "You a mage?"

She wasn’t about to reveal her trump card though. “No, sadly not. Never could learn a spell to save my life.” She offered with a kind smile. It was a lie but only because she had learned the demon spell just a few weeks ago. In truth she would never call herself a mage.

He gave a satisfied grunt and the conversation died. Before long footsteps approached and the guard was there, accompanied by two people wearing white robes. The gruff guard parted as they approached. One was a man with curly black hair and green eyes, the other a woman with muddy blonde hair and brown eyes. Both wore smiles on their faces. The man then spoke, "Please, follow us. The Queen would like to meet you."

“Okay..” Auriëlle slowly said. Did the queen vet all visitors? Did she even have time for that? From the way the town and the neighboring villages looked, Auriëlle doubted that. Someone had to be the steward of all those projects. Still, she there was no point in refusing so she followed the two, white robed servants.

Up the stone path they went, the pillars of the entrance looming ever ahead. The inside of the walls was void of any life except greenery, not even animals roamed and it was well kept. Through the pillars they came to the entrance to the palace proper, and just above the entryway way there was a massive symbol embroidered into a white cloth. A red heart with a crown, and a ruby eye at the center loomed down on her as they entered the shadowed halls.

They walked quickly and with purpose, going past many rooms. There were servants here and there, wearing the same white robes but most were empty bedrooms. Eventually a light shone through and they came upon a courtyard and a very peculiar sight. People made of plants lingered within. Two adults and two children. The adults were variants of green leaves and different leaves but the children, they were blood red in places running down their backs, arms and legs. And what could pass as their hair on their heads. One of them had a face also blood red in coloration.

She kept pace with the servants but managed to take in a few details. The heraldry itself was a clear indication that at least something related to Neiya was happening here. Perhaps the queen really was blessed. Inside looked as spacious as she had imagined, yet it felt cold and empty. The many unoccupied bedchambers put her slightly on edge. Did the queen expect a lot of company? Then they came upon the courtyard.

Auriëlle was stopped in her tracks when she saw the plant-creatures. Those things weren’t human. They weren’t near human. “What..are those things?” She asked, pointing unapologetically at one of the adults.

"Why that's Aurinia and Chio." The woman spoke as they both turned to look at Auriëlle. "With their newborns, Dion and Suria. Have you never seen Sylphi before?" She asked her.

“Sylphi? No. Never.” She wanted to talk to them, ask them where they came from. Did they come from the swamplands to the east? Or maybe from the sun-kissed planes to the west? Maybe they had come from beyond the great mountains to the south. She shook her free from the Sylphi’s spell and then walked up closer to the white robed servants. “We shouldn’t keep the queen waiting.” She said, trying to forget the plant-creatures. She was here on a mission. Maybe, if fate wasn’t as cruel as usual, she would be able to talk to the Sylphi later.

The servants gave each other looks before smiling and nodding. "Of course, we are nearly there." And they both continued walking.

Soon enough, past empty rooms in the long hallways, they came upon another entrance. Larger than the outside. She could see through and into the large chamber. Besides two large tables the room was as bare as everything else, besides the cloth that diluted the light.

It was very dim and as they got closer and entered she could see who sat upon a throne across from the entrance. A fiery head, almost orange in color, lightly tanned skin, soft features with amber colored eyes. A crown sat atop her head and a ruby choker seemed to peer into Auriëlle's soul. A man stood next to her wearing servant robes, he whispered into her ear but Nalla did not move her gaze from the newcomer. The servants then bowed before her as they brought the sorceress before the queen.

"We bring the one who wished to see Parn before you, Queen Nalla." The man said.

"Good. Leave us." She said in a commanding tone. They quickly scampered off and then they left the room, Nalla spoke. "Parn brings you here before me, yet he is not your friend, is he?" She asked.

Some of the stories said Nalla was beautiful but clearly they hadn’t done her justice. Auriëlle swallowed deeply when the queen commanded the others to leave her. She saw through the ruse. Which meant she might very well have walked straight into a trap. Yet she had seen no guards. Only white robed servants. Either the ambush was laid even better than Auriëlle expected or this queen really didn’t fear anything. Then again, Auriëlle didn’t feel the least bit inclined to make things messy. “I’ve been asked to check up on him.” She said, slightly surprised at her own honesty. “And on his queen.”

"And who asked you of this?" Nalla questioned.

“Sarren, one of the rainbow eyes.” She answered. Once again much too truthfully. Why was she answering questions so quickly without even trying to lie?

The man, who was most likely Parn, leaned down to whisper in her ear again. After several moments he stood back up and Nalla smiled. "What's your name? It's rare a sight to see someone with such beautiful hair in these parts."

“Auriëlle.” She answered but then her suspicion began to take over again. “What is happening?” It was a bashful thing to ask. Even though at this point it was a fair question. Still, years of defiance against any form of authority were pushing back against the authority that Nalla projected.

Nalla looked around before settling back on her. "Whatever do you mean, Auriëlle?" She asked with a bemused smile.

Something definitely wasn’t right. She squinted at Nalla, trying to figure out her deal. The choker was lovely and entrancing. It made her feel calm, yet there was at the same time a voice in the back of her head screaming that she should just run. There were no guards to stop her, she could literally blast through the door. “How are you making me answer your questions?” Auriëlle asked. Her voice wasn’t nearly as defiant as it should have been.

Nalla tilted her head to the side as she looked at her. "Making you? Not at all. I can't make you do anything. I'm simply asking common questions, why oh why would you not want to answer them? You did come here after all."

Auriëlle took a step backwards, even though in her heart she wanted to go forward. “Because…I was warned.” She wanted to swallow those words. Yes, she was warned. Tension rose in her chest. Why was she answering her questions? She had to get out. No she had to get closer. “Where is Parn?”

"Warned? What could she have been warned about, Parn?" Nalla asked, turning her head to look at the man next to her.

"I do not know, my Queen. But here I am, Auriëlle and I have heard many things about you from my brothers and sisters." Parn said, stepping forward.

Nalla spoke again, "Why would Sarren warn you about Parn and me? Is he fearful of progress?" She asked.

She took two steps forward again. Perhaps because there was nothing to fear or perhaps because she wanted to show that she wasn’t afraid. Her eyes turned away from Nalla and focused on Parn. He looked healthy, with no chains on him at all. Maybe she had him under some kind of spell. That wasn’t her battle though.

“He thought something strange was happening here.” Auriëlle said, as she kept her eyes on Parn to make sure he was at least physically okay. “And there is.” Gods she hated whatever spell she was under. Her gaze turned back to Nalla. “Sarren feared for the wellbeing of his brother, not progress.” She motioned at Parn. “But to me, he looks fine. So I will tell him that.”

The fact that the Servant knew of her had rattled her though. Had he seen Galdezor’s final memories? She had to get out of there. “I would like to request my leave now.” Why did she have to ask it, she could just leave! She was Auriëlle. Nothing could stop her!

Nalla frowned at that. "But you've only just arrived. You must be weary from your travels? Why not stay here, as my guest? You'll be well taken care of, that I can assure you." She cooed.

She swallowed again. Maybe she could stay and investigate the whole palace some more. There was still the Sylphi whom she wanted to talk to. And of course there was Nalla herself. Auriëlle had to know her full story about the young queen. “Very well, I graciously accept your offer.”

Nalla smiled again. “Excellent. I will have my servants prepare you a room and bath. You will join me for dinner and we can chat some more. Until then, feel free to roam the palace.” she said, clapping her hands. The two same servants came back in. “Oh and Auriëlle? Do be careful where you wander. The palace is large, you might get lost.” She said with a wolfish grin. “Now, Tirn, Yarce, treat our guest to the finest room and have her bathed.”

They bowed again and waited for Auriëlle to follow them.

The command to join her for dinner didn’t sit right with her. She had no authority over her! Alas, she couldn’t refuse either. So she just kept quiet as Nalla summoned her servants. A bath would feel good, maybe too good but she would still take it. After that she would use that permission to roam the palace to explore every nook and cranny. Even if she would find herself ‘lost’. Silently but without bowing to Nalla, Auriëlle followed the two servants to her room.

Down the halls they went until they arrived at a room far removed from the rest of the little commotion in the palace. Yarce led her in while Tirn kept walking. It was pleasantly furnished, with a fur bed, table with a chair and a small storage area with a white robe. There was a small window, more of an outlook into one of the courtyards, it had a wooden shutter but was open.

"I will take you to the bathing chamber when you are ready. Tirn went ahead to get the water ready. If you'd like, we can also wash your clothing." The woman said to her.

“Don’t touch my stuff.” Auriëlle snapped. Which surprised her, considering she couldn’t snap just a minute ago. “Wait outside. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” Yarce, who had flinched at her outburst gave a solemn nod and left. She felt no more need for pleasantries. Especially not after what she was just thrown in. For a moment she peered out of the window into the courtyard. The sun was still out. Why had she been answering so truthfully to the queen just a moment ago? Worse, why did she agree to stay? If she hadn’t, she could’ve been outside the palace now. She could ride for a few days, find the nearest rainbow eyes and tell him to relay her message. That would’ve been it. Instead she was here, reading to get into a bath.

Luckily the queen hadn’t asked her if she was a sorceress. Now Nalla would assume she was just a helpless girl without her weapons. With that knowledge she undressed and put the robe on. She put her stuff in the chest, though sadly it lacked a lock. Then she stepped out of the room. “Show me the way.”

Yarce bowed her head to her and continued on. A relatively short walk later they arrived at a door. Tirn waited outside and nodded at Yarce. "You'll find everything you need inside. I trust you can find your own way back to your room, we have other duties that need to be done. Do enjoy your bath." Yarce said, flashing a small smile before leaving with Tirn.

The door opened to reveal another short hallway lined with torches and at the far end there was a glow of light. She ventured into the chamber to find herself with a pleasant view of the outside garden. Pillars kept the ceiling up and extended an overhang. There was a low wall that separated her from the outside world, but it didn't prevent the view from being enjoyed once in the water. The bath itself was a large basin of water with many different flower petals and other floral scents mixing around in it. There was also a bench next to the pool and some towels.

After checking all the pillars for potential ambushers, Auriëlle got into the water. It was pretty cold but that was to be expected. Still the whole room with the view on the courtyard was a magnificent piece of construction. She definitely hadn’t expected it in a place like this. In fact it made her think of Acadia. In the bath she ruminated over what she learned about the queen with her mind clear. She was definitely manipulative to a supernatural degree. The fact that she could instill a degree of obedience in Auriëlle was proof enough of that. But it didn’t look like she was actively dangerous or trying to harm Parn or anyone else. She was just peculiar. If she had a gold Ketrefian coin for every peculiar king or queen out there, she would’ve been rich beyond her dreams.

After the bath she returned to her chambers, where she found her stuff. Untouched. Sure it was dirty and after such a clean, nice bath the grim was exceptionally notable. Yet it was her gear. It shared her sweat and blood. When she was once more dressed like a traveling mercenary she began to wander through the hallways of the palace. The Sylphi were interesting but they were also put on display. Royalty liked showing off their best sides. Auriëlle refused to be distracted though. There were far more interesting things around. The palace, for one, was becoming much too nice for the region.

So she wandered through the hallways until she finally found what she was looking for. A stairwell, hidden in plain sight. Tucked away in a corner. Well, the queen had given her permission to go wherever she wanted. So she slowly began to descend down into the lower parts of the palace.

The air became cooler as she ventured down into the depths. The flight of stairs was long, lit by torches but she eventually arrived at a hallway. At the far end there was an entrance with more light. Voices could be heard within but the view only showed some tables. It was the only way forward.

She disliked the torches being lit. it made stalking in shadows so much harder. When stealth wouldn’t work, Auriëlle opted for brazen confidence. She was, after all, told that she could go wherever she pleased in the palace. Besides she was a sorceress. So she marched on forward, making no effort to make her footsteps silent, and headed for the entrance with the tables.

It was a servant room, where the white robed people were eating and chatting at tables that were hidden by the wall. When she entered, multiple heads turned to look at her, most with smiles, some with narrowing eyes. After a moment of intensity, and silence, they went back to eating and chatting amongst themselves, seemingly paying her no mind.

It wasn’t so unusual for servants to eat in a place hidden away. So Auriëlle paid them no mind. Instead she took a moment to observe the three corridors running from that main hall. She took the first one and continued on.

She ventured further in, no one gave chase to stop her. There were many more rooms lining the hallway, and all of them were shut tight. Only the dimness of torches gave any sort of light. There were many artistic pieces on the sides of the hallways, all having something to do with the color of crimson, a ruby and a heart. The symbol of the Love Goddess was also mixed without. She came across no one else as she passed junctions and other hallways. She eventually came to the end, and the hallways branched to the left and right. In front of her was a door ajar.

The door was too inviting to ignore. Slowly she approached it, making sure anyone who would be inside wouldn’t notice her. When she got close enough she peeked inside. The room was pitch black, even with the light from the hallway, it did little to illuminate what was in but there was a strange dripping sound. She slowly snuck in and closed the door behind her. When it was shut completely, banishing all light from the hallway, she held out her hand in the dark and created a flash of light, so she could see the room for just a second.

The flash did its work well, for she could see not only large collecting pots, the crimson liquid within them but also the pale bodies that hung above them, dripping with fresh blood from multiple deep cuts along their bodies. It was a mix of women and men all naked, eyes shut but with smiles on their faces.

The sight made Auriëlle jump backwards. Her back hit the door when darkness took over again. Had she seen that right? Then the smell hit her. That familiar, coppery smell. She outstretched her arm again and released a flash. Showing the pots and smiling…corpses? If they weren’t dead yet they soon would be. Why would the queen do this? Why was she collecting blood? Blood was only useful for one creature…

Auriëlle spun around and opened the door again. Blood drained from her face but raged through her body. Her heart was beating faster and faster. She couldn’t care less about the door. Her feet carried her back through the corridors. She had to get out, now! Before she had dinner with the queen. No, before she was the queen’s dinner.

Before her, from another corridor, she came. Walking slowly, she turned to face Auriëlle with knowing eyes and a smile on her face. She wore a low cut, crimson dress, ruby sparkling in the dim light. Her crown sat upon her head as always, and at her side, was a blade. “I did tell you.” she said, eyes narrowing.

Auriëlle eyes widened. Out of reaction she outstretched her arm. An orb of fire formed in her palm, ready to fill the corridor with flames. “This doesn’t need to end bad.” She said. “Not for either of us. You let me go and I will keep my mouth shut about what I saw in there.” Her heart was still racing in her chest.

Nalla tilted her head, looking at the flame before looking back to Auriëlle with another wide smile. She shut her eyes and then said, “Your heart is beating so quickly.” her amber eyes opened again, “Tell me, Sorceress, does it scare you? I would have thought one with your talent, would not be so opposed to grim realities.”

“I’ve accepted plenty of grim realities but I prefer not to die to one of them.” Auriëlle said. Her mind was getting clear again. Making her ready to fight for her life. For a second she thought of Oraelia. Would the goddess of light be proud of her behavior now? So deep in the ground? She was trying to make a deal with a vampire for her own life. Where was the third option now? Maybe she would’ve wanted Auriëlle to release the prisoners. That didn’t matter now. Not to Auriëlle. She just wanted to live. Everyone else be damned. “Just let me go and I will swear on Tekret that I’ll tell nobody about what you are or that you’re draining innocents of their blood.”

“Innocents?” Nalla scoffed. “No. If one is to maintain order in this world, one must rid it of the worst. Murderers, thieves, rapists… I could go on, but no, they aren’t innocent. Most anyway.” she began to walk back and forth. “Did you think I was going to harm you? Once again, no dear Auriëlle. I don’t harm that which is unique in this world. Not unless that which is unique decides to fight back.” she stopped and outstretched her arms at Auriëlle. “Now, won’t you eat something with me before you go?” she asked with a bemused smile.

“Wait.” The fire in her hand vanished, as Auriëlle lowered her hand. “They’re not innocent?” It was a surprisingly pragmatic way to get your blood as a vampire. Though it rested on the idea that there was always enough evil in her borders. Yet outside the walls she hadn’t seen any of the usual corruption or poverty. In fact Nallan was very prosperous and peaceful. “Well you would forgive me for believing you would kill me. Vampires are not particularly known for their restraint.” Even though she only ever heard of them from stories. “But seeing that you’ve got no interest in slicing me open then I might as well join you for dinner.” Not to mention that there would be delicious, hot food. Hopefully. Still, in the back of her head Auriëlle kept herself on her toes. Ready to strike should Nalla get any funny ideas.

“All is forgiven.” Nalla said, dropping her arms to her side. “Such stories… Do you know how cruel the gods have been to vampires? So much power, at such a price. No wonder all the stories paint us so cruelly. It doesn’t help that the white-haired woman slaughters us with impunity. Do you know of her? Hm, let us retire to the dining room before we continue our discussions.” she said, walking away before glancing back, “Come, Auriëlle.”

She led her up to the first level in silence. They turned down a set of hallways that led them past the throne room and up a flight of stairs to a second level. THere they came to an open room, much like the washroom, but higher up and facing the sunset. There was a long table with one end partially hidden in the shadows of a pillar. There was no one else there except for servants putting a modest amount of food on the table, all on one end. Nalla gestured to Auriëlle to take that spot.

Auriëlle took her designated place, though waited before the queen took her seat and began to eat herself. There was much to choose from. Meats and greens, and with refreshments. “A white-haired woman? No, I have never met her.” She said. “Though I have met a white-haired man. Carn. They could be related.” She noted. “But yes. Some of the gods can be cruel.” She looked at her own hands now. “Or careless.”

Nalla sat down in the shadowed end, pouring a dark liquid into a cup. She took a sip. “Carn?” Nalla said aloud. “Odd name but yes. I have heard rumors, of a white haired man and women, wandering the highlands, one doing great things, the other two with… Questionable motives. Has this Carn never mentioned this to you?” Nalla asked.

“I have a habit of not asking.” Auriëlle answered. “It made that life easier, most of the time.” The truth was that if she asked about his past, he could ask about hers and she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about Acadia. Nor did she want to tell Nalla Carn’s story. That was for Carn to tell should he ever come to Nallan. Then she dug into the food, keeping her silence and waiting the queen out. Auriëlle wanted to know what game she was playing. Because of course she was playing one. In a palace like this there was only one thing to do: scheming. Sadly, the sorceress was painfully inept at it.

"You were blessed by a God too, no?" Nalla asked suddenly. "Parn told me about your stunt at Jalka. How you vaporized that poor fool. Such power." She said, giving her a playful smile.

“Half-vaporized.” Auriëlle corrected. Even though she absolutely could’ve erased him from existence then and there. She kept her gaze on her plate. “And…yes. I should be blessed by a god. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.” And so the dance continued. Except Auriëlle had enough of it. She looked up to face Nalla now. “Let’s skip the formalities now, shall we.” She said as she wiped a bit of chicken from her cheek. “And just ask me what you really want from me?” There was no tact in her voice or demeanor. However there was no outright hostility in her voice either. Just impatience.

Nalla leaned forward on the table, smirking. "I like that about you. Soooo… To the point. So hot blooded." She licked her lips and then laughed before leaning back in her chair. "Very well, I wish for you to work for me. I collect unique things after all, and you are up there my dear. It's no secret that I'm constantly expanding my borders, who better to lead my men then someone of your prowess?"

“Lead your men?” Auriêlle looked appalled for a second. “Half the time I’d be in these walls drilling a bunch of snobs how to wield a spear and I can’t even wield a spear myself.” She leaned back into her own chair with her arms folded. “Beside I suck at leading people.” Not a lie, again. The Redspears were fun to hang around with but they were Carn’s people, not hers. She loved fighting too much to get up and bark orders. Even when she spat out commands, they only followed them because Carn would make them.

“Here’s what I have in mind. I need a place to get back to when I need a break.” Which was about every five to six years. “A place that doesn’t yell at me or throws mud at me.” Both had happened in nearly every village she stayed at in the first years of her new life. “You give me that in Nallan and I will help with some of your wars. Not all of them. I’ve got other promises as well.” Her mind went back to Carn. She began to miss him but if she wanted a safe place for herself, she would have to earn it now. Hopefully he could wait another year. Hopefully. “And to start the agreement off, I’ll be the tip of your spear for a full year.”

“Deal.” Nalla said after a long moment of silence between the two. “Nallan will treat you as they treat their Queen. You will not need to teach them how to wield a spear, I have others for that. But you will learn to lead, through fear or respect, it matters not. I’ve a feeling if you fight with those you lead, they will come to respect you regardless.” Nalla smiled again at her. “As a show of good fortune, I shall give you a house in Nallan, unless you prefer to stay here, with me?” she said, fluttering her eyes.

Auriëlle’s heart nearly stopped beating during the pause. This was the closest she had ever come to a home. To a place she could go back to. When she heard the word, a small satisfied smirk formed on her lips. It would appear Nalla would not move from the subject of leadership. Maybe she would become a leader in the most literal sense of the word. She could stand in the vanguard, drenched in blood. Acting as an example for the rest of the army. Command and strategy would be for the wise men in their tents. Safe behind the battlelines. It would garner the army’s fear first and then perhaps their respect.

Then there was the choice between a house in Nallan or a room here in the palace. With the queen. Auriëlle pondered upon the question, letting the same silence Nalla had used reign. A house would be more spacious probably. Not to mention further away from people. Yet it would have to be tended for while she was gone. Which meant servants she wouldn’t trust watching over her stuff while she was somewhere far away. That wouldn’t do. “I think I’ll stay here.” She said with a coy smirk as she grabbed an apple. For a moment she pondered upon asking how Nalla was able to knock the inherent sense of disobedience out of her. Though she decided against it. It was her habit after all.

“So what’s my quarry?” Auriëlle sounded eager now. She had missed a good fight. She didn’t want to repeat the Jalka siege. This time she wanted to crush something thoroughly.

Nalla waved a hand dismissively, she then looked at Aurielle with a noble gaze. "Firstly, when home in Nallan and in this palace you will address me as Queen or Queen Nalla. Secondly, your attitude needs adjustment. You have hot blood which does well in most places but I will grow tired of it, that I assure you. Thirdly, you will have to go tell Sarren your findings here and then return to me. You did swear on Tekret you would, after all. Fourthly, there will be things you will not understand here at first, things that will make you question your worldview but you must realize, I do everything for a purpose and you will learn to accept that." Nalla then rapped her fingers on the table as she smiled again. "Do these things and I will tell you of the conquest that is to come. Do I make myself clear?" She asked sternly.

“Crystal…my queen.” There was still a slight hint of defiance in her voice. It made clear that Auriëlle would not be a puppet whose strings could be yanked whenever she desired. Even though she would dislike the forced obedience, her heart fluttered again at the idea of being on the battlefield. Other royals would either hide their sins away and appear perfect or carry their crimes like jewels. Nalla might be a manipulative, vampire queen that fed on her own criminals but at least Auriëlle knew that now. Nallan would be worth fighting for. Though she hoped, deep down, that she could convince Carn of that as well.

"Good." Nalla mused. "And do remember, I have more to offer you than the thrill of battle, if your heart so desires." She said cryptically, taking another sip of her blood.

---

Carn was in a foul mood.

For weeks after Aurielle’s departure, he lingered in the area, finding what work he could, as he waited for her to return. She never did.

Then, the work dried up, and he had to move on.

He had wanted to track her down, but he had no way of doing so. She had not told him where she was going. He had heard no stories which might lead him to her. For all intents and purposes, she had vanished. Which made him realize… maybe she had wanted to? If she truly intended to see him again, then she would have told him where she was going, or she wouldn’t have disappeared for so long….

Had the siege been harder on her than she let on? Had she simply grown tired of him? Or had something happened to her? He did not know. It filled him with a mixture of frustration, worry, and even longing. He wanted to see her again, if only to find out the truth.

But he couldn’t. His only friend, and possibly something more - he didn’t know any more - was gone.

---

He went back east.

They had wanted to explore. To see new lands. But Carn could not wander without direction. By the time he arrived at Evenstar, he had already been beginning to grow tired of such a life. Aurielle had livened it up. Her laugh, her smile, her banter, her carefree attitude. Now all that was left was the mercenary company he had built. He was proud of them, of course, but he knew they only followed him out of profit or their own wanderlust, and would desert him or betray him the moment he ceased to serve their interests.

He found work along the way, of course. Escorting caravans. Clearing out trolls. Skirmishing with hostile warbands. But without Aurielle’s magic, which had been such a major linchpin to his tactics, he took casualties. By the time he crossed the Neiyar River, he had gone from thirty men to twenty. They whispered that he had lost his touch, and many soon deserted - the two mages Aurielle had recruited being the first to leave. Only a dozen remained - those who had been with him the longest, and followed him more out of loyalty than anything else. He had been wrong.

But that brought little comfort. With most of his company gone, he felt numb. He no longer had the ambition or the motivation to lead the Redspears. Nor did he believe he even had the ability. And so he appointed one of their number the new leader, and left the Redspears behind.

---

Years passed, and Carn drifted.

He had wanted to be something more than a wanderer. For a time, he had become that. But then he wanted something more. But before he could acquire it, Aurielle had left, and with her went his motivation. Then he had left the Redspears, and losing them only made him hate himself even more. Now here he was, a wanderer again, passing his days in drink, misery, and violence… back where he started, the self-loathing resumed.

---

Carn found himself visiting a place he had not been to in eleven years.

Home.

Thyma was not as he remembered it. It had been rebuilt. Its mines were too valuable to simply be allowed to remain a ruin. New huts had been built, as villagers from surrounding lands moved in, in pursuit of new opportunities. Strange faces in a familiar setting. But in truth, it wasn’t that familiar. The new Thyma was smaller than the original, and all wreckage from the old village had been cleared away.

He approached the wooden gate, where a single guard waited. “Name?” the guard asked.

“Edgar,” Carn lied. He was a wreck. His hair was long and unkempt, and he had allowed himself to grow a dishevelled beard. His face had a light coating of dirt, and the white hair made him look far older than he actually was.

“What brings you here?” the guard asked, squinting at his unusual features.

“Just wandering,” Carn said, “I need a place to stay.”

“Hm. Well, go on in, then.”

Carn took a step forward, but the guard suddenly raised a hand to stop him. “The Ketrefans are here,” he said in a low voice. “So mind yourself.”

...

This was not his home. The people were different. The buildings were different. Ketrefan soldiers roamed about the place in small groups, looking upon him with suspicion. He looked around, vainly hoping to see some sort of familiar sight, but when none were to be found he felt a dull pang of grief.

Then he saw the village temple, and stepped inside.

It was a small, cramped thing, with a series of crude wooden idols set up to represent the various gods. He fell to his knees, kneeling in solitude.

“The Gods…” he whispered. Aurielle had always said the gods didn’t care. Carn himself had felt inclined to agree, but he had always carried some level of hope that he was wrong.

“Oraelia,” he spoke aloud, looking at the statue meant to represent the Sun Goddess. “I suppose you’re no friend of mine. Not after all I’ve done.”

“Evandra,” he said, looking to the Goddess of Fire. “I’ve lost my passion. My drive. I suppose you’ve given up on me too.”

“Tekret…” he whispered. “I’ve broken laws. Killed leaders. Usually out of necessity, but not always. Besides that, somehow I managed to see everything I was born with destroyed, and everything I built I abandoned. I’d be a fool if I expected you to answer me now.”

“Neiya,” he said next. “I’m a failure in love as well. I don’t even know what love is. Where is Aurielle, could you tell me that?” he shook his head. “No, I don’t see why you should.”

“And you,” his gaze finally settled on Cadien’s carving. “They said many things about my father. He was your champion, your herald, your avatar. In the end it didn’t do him any good, did it? You turned your back on him.” Tears had begun to form in his eyes, and he let out a resentful shudder. “On his children, too. Evette, Alys, Brundt. They’re all dead, aren’t they? Dead or worse. Then there’s me. Nothing left. Talking to a statue. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” He sighed, and cast his gaze to the ground. “No wonder none of you answer my prayers…”

“You should know,” a voice spoke behind him. “The gods don’t just speak to their favoured. They also speak to their worst offenders.”

“Is that supposed to be a comfort?” Carn asked, turning his head. Standing behind was a bald-headed man in old worn robes, with a series of tribal tattooes on his face. There was something familiar about him, but Carn couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes,” the man nodded. “I’ve heard gods speak to me in anger, and there is nothing more terrifying. Catching a god’s eye is not always a good thing.”

“You a priest?” Carn asked.

“That I am. My name is Lothar. No need to introduce yourself, Carn, for I already know who you are.”

“Do you?” Carn asked in a dry tone. “If you did, I doubt you’d welcome me here.”

“You murdered the chieftain of Morganstead in a fit of anger,” Lothar said in a neutral tone. Carn’s hand immediately went for his sword, but the priest continued speaking. “You spent years as a thief and an outlaw. Wandering, begging, stealing, sometimes killing to survive. You became a wandering mercenary, offering your blade and your muscle for hire. You defended a kingdom from destruction, but left while it was still vulnerable. You abandoned those who trusted your leadership, because you yourself were abandoned by another.” The priest shook his head. “I do not judge you, Carn. I’ve done worse myself.”

“How do you know all that?” Carn asked.

“As I said, I’ve heard gods speak to me. I have committed offenses against both Evandra and Cadien. They did not strike me down, however; they only threatened to do so if the offenses continued. At the time, I felt it was mercy, and soon came to think it was far more mercy than I deserved.” He shook his head. “Years later, I realized it had been a punishment after all. I was burdened by regret. I craved atonement, but had no way of finding it. I settled down here as a priest, hoping to prevent people from making the same mistakes as I, but my hopes were in vain, for none of the people here are the sort who would do such terrible things in the first place. I could not share my sins with them, for they would drive me away in disgust.”

“You didn’t answer my question, old man.”

“Then, a few weeks ago, I received my chance of atonement,” Lothar went on. “While I knelt here, praying for forgiveness, a purple light filled the room, and Cadien spoke to me. He foretold your arrival, your destiny, and my place in it.”

Carn sighed. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested. I’ve heard this before.”

“You did,” Lothar nodded. “And you ignored it. That was your mistake. You wanted something more than a village, but as with all grand ambitions, one must start small. That village would have led to something far greater.”

“And what makes you think I still care about something greater?” Carn sighed. “These days I can barely bring myself to care about my next meal.”

“What of your brother, then?” Lothar asked.

Carn leapt to his feet and rounded on the priest. “My brother?” he demanded.

“Your brother still lives, Carn. He remains in Ketrefa.”

Carn’s jaw dropped, and for a few moments his lips twitched, trying and failing to form words. At last, he found his voice. “Even if my brother still lives, he’ll be a slave. One among thousands. I’ll never find him, and even if I do, he might not recognize me.”

“You will find him,” Lothar insisted. “Cadien has assured me of this.”

“How am I to do that, then?” Carn demanded. “Walk up to Ketrefa’s walls and ask to see him?”

“Yes,” Lothar nodded. “With an army at your back.”

Carn frowned, and looked away. “For a moment, I thought you were serious. But it seems you’re just deluded.”

“I am not,” there was a rasp of metal, and Carn turned to see the old man had pulled out a strange sword, of a shining silvery metal. The hilt was made of gold and wrapped in fine leather, with an amethyst set in the crossguard. Before he could react, the old man knelt, and presented the weapon to him. “Take up this blade,” the old man whispered. “Lead us. Unite the Highlands. Attack Ketrefa. Do this, and you will eventually be reunited with your family.” There was an almost pleading note in his voice.

Carn stared at him for several long, tense moments. “No,” he whispered.

His gaze darted to Cadien’s statue, and when he spoke there was a fury in his eye and a venom in his voice that took the old priest aback. “Stop speaking to me through prophecies and messengers,” he said defiantly. “If you want me as your champion, if you want me to carry out your will, then at least do the decency of speaking to me yourself. I’ll not lead hundreds to their deaths and kill thousands more simply on the word of an old man in a hut.”

Very well, a deep voice spoke within his mind. Lothar speaks the truth. Your destiny is to raise an army against Ketrefa, and attack the city. Do so, and you shall reunite with your brother. And your sisters, in time. Other greater awards await as well, if you have the taste for them.

Carn staggered, and suddenly found it hard to maintain his footing. A god… an actual god… had spoken to him. “I… where would I even begin?” he asked.

Begin here, the voice commanded. Ketrefa is already here. Take up the sword and drive them out.

The Firstborn of Mekellos hesitated. He glanced down at the blade, which the priest still held out to him. Then, slowly, his hand closed around the hilt.

---

Outside in the village square, a woman screamed.

The lord of the Ketrefan warband had taken notice of her, and he liked what he saw. He seized her by the wrist, and dragged her from the crowd. A child screamed and ran after her, but one of his men backhanded the boy to the ground. The woman screamed louder, and began thrashing and clawing at the officer’s face. He fended off her attempts with ease.

Elsewhere, one of his men shouted in alarm. The lord’s head turned.

Approaching was a strange silver-haired man, his armour battered and his cloak tattered. There was a fierce look of a defiance in his eye, and in his hand was a peculiar sword, its silvery blade glimmering in the sunlight. Behind him, the village priest followed, a staff in hand.

“Throw down that weapon!” one of the soldiers ordered.

Carn did not reply, and instead changed course, striding toward the one who spoke. The soldier’s eyes widened upon realizing he intended to fight, and drew a blade in response. Carn closed the distance, and the soldier swung for his head.

Carn ducked, spun, and then suddenly there was a dagger in his offhand, which he ran across the soldier’s throat in one fluid motion. Carn carried on toward the commander, not once breaking stride, even as the body slumped to the ground behind him.

More shouts of alarm rang out. Five guards approached now. Carn slid the small knife into his belt and gripped his blade with two hands, as he continued his advance. Then Lothar spoke an incantation, and suddenly the ground before the soldiers turned into mud. All five slipped, with three sprawling to the ground and only two managing to retain their footing.

Carn was on them in a flash. He swung his blade at one soldier’s midsection, cutting halfway through his body with ease before pulling it free. The other soldier brought a spear up in a clumsy attempt to block, but Carn’s blade cut clean through the metal. The soldier only had half a second to process this before the sword stilled his heart next. With a smile, Carn turned his attention on the three who were still getting back up.

The crowd screamed and parted, fleeing for the safety of their homes. The Ketrefans made no move to stop them, for they had now all set their sights on the sole goal of murdering Carn. Nearly two dozen men charged toward him in unison as he finished off the last of the second wave.

Once again, Carn resumed his advance, crossing the mud by using the bodies he had slain as a human bridge. There was an expression of complete tranquility on his face, and his calm measured approach after casually slaying six of their number gave his foes pause. Some slowed their pace, and a few stopped entirely.

Once more Lothar turned the ground to mud, and several more men stumbled, but at least half were able to safely maneuver around it. The priest began launching firebolts into their number, setting a few of them ablaze.

Then Carn came to a stop, as they were finally upon him. He became a whirlwind, batting spears and swords aside with unnatural reflexes, severing them at the tips, shafts, and hilts; wherever he could strike them. His blade cleaved shields in two, and severed limbs with ease. Blood rained, but somehow none of it landed on him. One or two strikes found their mark, but they were glancing blows only.

He came face to face with the enemy commander, who stared back at him with fearful eyes. Carn cleaved his blade in two, then brought his fist up into his foes face, breaking the highborn’s nose.

Then new cries entered the symphony of violence, as the village militia joined the fight. They did not stand with the Ketrefans, however, and instead drove their spears into the backs of those who attempted to overwhelm Carn. Just like that, the will of Carn’s foes quickly evaporated. They scattered in all directions, though most wound up being cut down. Only a few made it out.

The Ketrefan commander attempted to stand, only for Carn to kick him back to the ground. Carn pressed the sword against his neck.

“Ignorant savage,” the highborn spat. “I’m the Lord Captain’s son! The commander of Ketrefa’s armies! If you kill me, he’ll come back with legions!”

Carn smiled, a cruel and cold thing. “And if I spare you, you’ll come back with legions instead, I presume?”

The highborn’s face paled, and he began to stutter, beginning a desperate plea for his life. Carn pressed the point downward, piercing his throat. Blood bubbled and frothed from the noble’s lips.

The chieftain of the village was a burly man only a few years older than Carn. “That was not wise,” he chastised Carn, who was already wiping off his blade. The chieftain’s own axe was bloodied as well.

“Then why’d you help me?” Carn asked.

“Because I wanted those bastards dead,” the chieftain growled. “That was my sister they tried to take. But that fop of a boy was right. They’ll be back with more.” The other warriors in the square nodded grimly.

Carn spared one glance back at Lothar, and then looked to the rest of the crowd. “Then we’ll kill them too!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the courtyard and into the homes of the inhabitants. “And the next one after that! The other villagers will see our victories and flock to our banner, so Ketrefa will send even more men. But we’ll kill them again and again until they have nobody left to send. And when that’s done, we’ll advance right up to their walls, break down their gates, free our kin, and take vengeance upon their King!”

Most of the men nodded at his words, and there were a few cheers… but also a few helpless nods.

Lothar spoke next. “You stand before a Champion of Cadien,” the priest declared. “He bears our Lord’s visage and His blade. He has given you a divine mission. Will you answer!?”

“Aye!” one man shouted.

“Aye” declared another.

“Aye!” the rest soon followed; even those who had been reluctant.

“My name is Carnelian,” Carn proclaimed, and rose his sword high. “I will lead you to freedom and glory!”

“Freedom and glory!” one man shouted.

“Freedom and glory!” another took up the cry.

“FREEDOM AND GLORY!”

---

---

Nothing beat a nice cup of tea and a soft beanbag in the night - and considering it was always night in Gibbou’s realm, that was saying quite a lot. The night elves down below had been the first to come up with this idea - tea, particularly in the aftermid hours between one and two glasses after midnight. While they didn’t have much in the way of biscuits (not in Fragrance, anyway; Naomalheb was a different story), the moon goddess preferred her tea alongside an overfilled plate of butter biscuits. The sweet, buttery taste complemented perfectly the floral aroma of the tea, and the warm fluid washed away the greasy remnants of the cookie upon the next sip. A match made in heaven - on her moon, which was in heaven. She filled with pride at her pioneering capabilities - first sunplate and now cookies and tea. What could possibly ruin this evening?

As it so happened, her duty called, perhaps in the most literal sense. A shout blasted through her mind, backed soon up by a multitude of others.

“By the moons! There’s too many!”

“Curse this moonless night!”

“Stand fast! The gods watch over us!”

Gibbou kicked herself to her feet, spilling her place of cookies all over the floor in her hurry to the windows of her dome. She stared down at the source of the pleas - a small outpost in the Northern Highlands. She set down her teacup and conjured forth a model of the area with moon dust, observing small dust figures barricading themselves against a washing horde of other, more vile-looking figures. Boy, had these come up a lot lately in people’s prayers.

”Ugh… Iskrill…” she muttered and gave one of them a closer look to analyse its components: horns, claws, inhuman joints and an evident thirst for anything resembling manflesh. She shook her head. ”... And people keep berating me for vampires… Sheesh…” She clapped herself lightly on the cheek. ”No, Gibbou, focus! Goddess of protection now - goddess of protection!” She took a deep breath and focused in on the centre of the outpost.

---

The outpost was a small thing. A single stone tower, and a smaller building, surrounded by a wooden palisade. It was positioned atop a hill which overlooked the nearby Neiyar River. The twenty or so defenders now busied themselves to the task of fortifying the gate and arming themselves.

A female mage in armoured robes seemed to be leading them, not much older than thirty. A pair of small horns sprouted from her head. “I’ve served at here for five years!” she shouted defiantly. “It has not fallen before. By Cadien and Neiya, it will not fall tonight!”

At least thirty iskrill advanced up the hill, having disembarked from a series of crude canoes. They were armed with equally crude weapons, made of copper, stone, and even bone. They let out war cries in their unintelligible tongue as they ascended.

A small sliver in the clouds above parted suddenly and a beam of moonlight struck the ground like a lightning bolt. A cloud of smoke exploded outwards, and as the light receded, a voice spoke in the heads of the defenders: ”Worry no longer, sons and daughters of Cadien, for the Moon shall see to it that you will experience a peaceful night once more.” The smoke dissipated, revealing a large pile of armour, a full set of breastplates, helmets, bracers, shin protectors and studded leather skirts for each soldier in the camp. Next to that pile was another stack, this one providing every soldier with a large, round shield. However, while they had much the similar form, these items didn’t have that golden sheen of their Acadian armour, no… These were silvery and heavier.

This was steel.

The soldiers stared at it in astonishment. “Neiya has sent us aid,” one of them whispered in awe.

There came another crackle from above and the clouds parted again, this time burning down at the pile of armour and shields and branding every breastplate and buckler with a pale, white disk in the centre. ”This gift is not of Neiya, mortals - she hasn’t lifted a finger in your defense! This is the boon of Gibbou, your eternal defender in the night!” There was a pause for effect. ”Mistake us not again!”

The mage looked almost offended at the assertion that Neiya had not helped them, but the rest of the soldiers were more pragmatic, and hastened to remove their old armour in favour of the new. Shields and breastplates were cast aside, in favour of the stronger, heavier steel. There was not enough time to fully clad themselves in the new armour, but everyone managed to get most of it on, just as the first iskrill poked its head over the wall.

Rather than simply break through the gate, the iskrill had opted to instead use their talons to dig into the wood and climb. Now they poured over the palisade, landing on their feet and surging forward to meet the defenders. The mage shouted a command. A line of spears was formed, and the battle was joined.

The Iskrill came, and the Acadians killed them, as countless generations had done before them. The mage lashed out with fire and flame, while the soldiers skewered them with well-aimed spear thrusts. Some did manage to get past the spear-tips, but their weapons were rendered useless against the new armour. The Acadians fought on, until at last, their hated foes were forced to retreat.

They had not lost a single warrior.

Up above, Gibbou clapped her hands as though they were dusty and nodded. Not bad, not bad - they had known what to do and done it well, surviving without a single loss. Seems that steel was more effective than she had thought - immensely powerful against stone and copper. She conjured forth a steel breastplate and mounted it on a stick on the other side of her room. She then conjured forth a bow and arrow, the arrow being tipped with bone. She drew the bow and loosed upon the plate, the arrow tip snapping against the metal. She tried again with a copper tip. At first, it bounced off, but straighter shots helped it hit the target perfectly, Gibbou finding a deep dent in the plate afterwards. She saw that the arrowtip also had been pressed into a clump, however. With bronze, the result was similar, but this arrow penetrated the armour, killing the metaphorical person inside. Same with iron and steel.

The plate was weak to ranged attacks if they hit it dead on; however, much would bounce off if the angle wasn’t right. This was valuable knowledge.

Still, if the world was to be armoured and ready for the onslaught of the forces of evil. She would create a factory of armour, one that could provide the mortal world with the necessary means to withstand all manner of attacks. This factory would have to be moving, too, so the enemy couldn’t simply capture the place it was located and deprive mortality of its goods. It would also have to travel across the entire world, because mortality was in danger all over. She clapped her hands together and focused down on the World Anchor.

---

The mountains thundered as though it was the Day of the Sword again. Inside its many caves, the Cragking Thunder and his two sons were debating over what it could be - surely there were still ten years or so left until the usual quakes! But as the quakes stopped, it became clear that these were no usual tremors. At the foot of the mountain, where crags meet forest, a colossal female mallard, at least twenty metres tall, spread its wings and unleashed a thunderous “QUACK-QUACK-QUACK!” that boomed out across the forest. It had a coat of rusty iron feathers, between which was dow of spun steel; its beak was a trunk of bronze, containing more of the alloy than many villages; its feel were made of brass, an alloy so rare to these lands that one had to wonder if it had even been made. The Maillard dug its beak under its right wing, sating an itch with metallic scratches. Then, it squatted down for a minute, shaking some shudders out of its head. When it rose back up, a stone egg had been planted on the ground under it. It cracked and the top, breaking open to reveal…

A copper shin protector.

The Maillard looked at it with what could’ve been a proud smile. Then, it turned westwards, waddling its way towards the Prairie and the sea. Its circumventure of the world was about to begin.

Through the eyes of his avatar, Sirius poured over the information gathered by his holy site. He had also attempted to further study and contemplation within his realm but was unsure of how reliable such information would be. He was also parsing information about it through prayers he had received to see how they understand it. Druidic prayers were common and invited overlap with spirit-singing. There were pockets of other groups that opened themselves to him, but he had not reached them in large numbers.

Diverting divine power into those that prayed to him, and expanding it through their magical essences, he attempted to draw them closer to divinity so that they could communicate more freely. However, as it spread out throughout the populations of the world, it became diluted. It had potentially passed over entire species, though that was not the intent. For those who did receive it, it alone was not enough. For some reason, trauma seemed to awaken the power for reasons he didn't fully understand but believed might connect to his nature as a god of hope. Others could temporarily invoke this innate power through direct divine attention. He named the power visions, but it was more than that with it a god could convey sensory or emotional information as he did for the first Leto.

Visions were a good start and would help integrate his further plans, but it felt lacking. As if he could not do it properly.

Refocusing on the Augur's Legend, he attempted to add to its function. He gave it the ability to subtly alter mana to create phenomena that would convey some type of meaningful information. Thinking of the Hir, he opened this function to all gods but added rules so that other gods would not abuse it. He quickly stole away from his realm to add a notice about this to the divine message board.

He had personally imbued three types of omens, that a celestial sheep born with black wool would warn of danger, that a Kirin appearing the sky would signify a leader that has the confidence of Sirius, and the passage of celestial bodies through certain star patterns could convey information based on the zodiac.

Yet it still felt incomplete, but he didn't know to progress. He calmed himself and agreed with himself to continue his diligent research. In the process, he had claimed a new aspect of magic.

---

The Temple of Cadien in Ketrefa was not a standard religious institution.

Most religious orders dedicated themselves to reading, writing, science, preaching, or counsel, among other things. The House of Perfection did practice those things, but they were not their primary purpose.

No. Their primary purpose was to work out.

To be chosen to join the House of Perfection was a high honour, and a very exclusive one at that. Nobles and wealthy merchants would offer up their younger sons and daughters in the hopes of them being accepted. If the children were deemed sufficiently healthy and beautiful, and there was space available, they would then be inducted into the order and placed through a rigorous training practice.

Every aspect of their body was to be honed and perfected, for the servants of Cadien had to remain in peak health at all times. After centuries of study and experimentation, they believed themselves to have perfected exercise and dieting. Citizens who sought advice on how to improve their own appearance and physique would come to them, and they would give it, but outside the temple not all could afford to spend every moment exercising. In addition to this counsel, the House of Perfection also offered use of their exercise facilities and free massages to those who provided them with donations.

In addition to that, the order was also well-versed in a number of sports and martial arts. In fact, they frequently held tournaments amongst themselves, where the rest of the city was free to observe these spectacles of peak performance compete against one another.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the House of Perfection also had a disdain for heavy amounts of clothing, except in the coldest of months.

---

Vasilis was the Grandmaster of the Order, and the strength-enhancing ring upon his finger was his badge of office. Late at night, in the main hall of the temple, he knelt before the marble altar of his god in prayer, when suddenly, a voice had echoed in his head.

Vasilis.

His head rose, and his eyes swept across the room, looking for whoever dared interrupt him during his prayer. Then he realized he was alone, and he swallowed hard. He dipped his head back down, scarcely believing it. “...your Grace?”

Indeed. A great change is coming to Ketrefa, Vasilis. The city will face a threat greater than any that has come before, and you must be ready.

Vasilis paled. “When? What do I need to do?”

Watch and wait. I give you a gift. A purple light filled the room, and a one-handed warhammer materialized on the altar.

Vasilis stared at it for a moment, then rose to his feet, gripped the hilt, and lifted it.

It did not budge.

He tried again. Despite his best efforts, it barely shifted.

You are not worthy, the voice informed him. But there is no shame in that. Few people are. I will send you someone who is, and when the time comes, your order will give him this hammer, along with your unconditional support.

“If I may ask… who will you be sending me, your Grace?”

A boy from outside the city. He has not been born yet.

The revelation that an outsider from the savage lands was worthy of this gift, but not him, sent a wave of shock and disgust rippling through Vasilis. “But… but why?”

Why? Cadien’s voice turned incredulous. You ask me why? Ketrefa is corrupt and rotten. An obstacle to progress. The outsiders are not savages. Their failings are largely due to the fact that your people raid, steal, and kill from them before they can develop. Your walls have made you arrogant, and complacent.

Those words came as a further shock. Ketrefan Supremacy… was a lie?

I approve of your order, but the rest of your city offends me. Ketrefa must change, or it will burn. This outsider will be your city’s saviour. If you reject him, you will find only damnation.

Ketrefan Supremacy was a lie, and they must one day bend the knee to an outsider. It was a hard thing to accept, but with a god demanding it of him, how could he argue? “I understand, your Grace…” Varsilis said, falling back to a kneeling position. “I will watch over this hammer, and I will present it to your champion when the time comes.”

Good. In the meantime, your order has my formal blessing.

Then Varsilis felt the presence leave his head, and a strange tingling sensation washed over him. It lasted only for a moment, then it left, but he felt no change. Perhaps its effects would be discovered in time.

He looked back up at the hammer resting on the altar. He was unworthy, but there was someone out there who was. It was his job to safeguard this until that someone could arrive. And that in itself was a great honour, if it meant his city could be saved and redeemed.

“Thank you, your Grace,” he whispered.

---

Auriëlle had expected a few restless nights on her route towards Sarren. To her own surprise, she slept pretty well. For only one night she had poked the burning wood of a campfire while coming up with what she would tell Sarren. In the end, she settled for her personal half-truth and every night she went to bed. When she entered the land of Vanhym she just kept walking around. Until Sarren finally found her.

His demon was by his side again. Though this time it had a bird-like beak. It wasn’t wet with blood though. “You’ve returned.” Sarren said, as he was patting the side of his demon-like it was an actual dog.

“I have. Safe and sound.” Auriëlle said. “I suppose we best sit down somewhere and talk.”

Sarren just offered her a nod of agreement and led the way into the bushes. They followed a small hunter’s path until they were deeper into the woods. Where she eventually reached Sarren and his two apprentices’ their camp. They all sat down and first began to make dinner. It was a simple rabbit stew. The meat was lean but good enough for something on the road. When the final bits of stew were passed out and consumed, everyone put their bowls down and turned to Auriëlle.

“There’s nothing special in Nallan.” She casually said, as she took the last slurp of her stew and put it down too. She was sitting on a fallen tree trunk. “Just another creep on a throne. I can’t tell you how many of that sort I’ve met.”

Sarren looked disappointed. The two apprentices relieved. “What about Parn? Is he in danger?” Sarren pushed on. Clearly the Servant wouldn’t just accept nothing was happening.

“He’s alright from what I could see. Very attached to his queen. And I really do mean very.” Auriëlle said, which wasn’t a lie. During her short stay in Nallan, she had seen how men looked at the queen. She could see that primal urge within them. It was so focused on Nalla that very few of them would give Auriëlle the time of day. Which had been a pleasant experience for once. “There were pots.” Auriëlle continued. Sarren looked up again. “They’re for preserving meat though. She’s quite ingenious in that way really. Salt’s so expensive. With those pots, she can keep meat fresh for much longer. I hope the runes of those pots will be spread out.” She noted absentmindedly as she poked the fire with a stick again. Mostly for her own amusement.

“Ah.” Was the only thing Sarren said for a long time. His apprentices apparently knew well enough what to do on their own. They gathered the bowls and went to clean them in the nearby creek. Sarren remained seated, looking at the ground. He had dispelled his demon dog some time before dusk had set in.

Finally, without saying anything, he got up and went to his tent. The apprentices each went to their own tents as well. Leaving Auriëlle free to lay down her own sleeping bag or walk away. It clearly didn’t matter to them.

---

But it had mattered to Auriëlle. She had seen the same defeated look many years ago, when she was still doing odd jobs. It wasn’t the look of resignation. Tomorrow, when the sun got up again, Sarren would either look for someone else to discover the truth or go to Nallan himself. One thing was sure though: he wouldn’t quit. Which meant Auriëlle’s work wasn’t done yet.

When the moon was getting high again she pulled the copper knife from her belt. She had sharpened it for three evenings in a row. Quietly she walked up to the first apprentice’s tent and opened the flap. There she was, Surreth. Auriëlle remembered her name. The girl looked sweet and much too young to be camping in a tent in the middle of nowhere. She put the knife’s cold edge on her throat and with a single, inelegant but quick motion she cut the girl’s throat. Surreth jolted awake but Auriëlle covered her mouth with her gloved hand and pushed her down again. There was no real fight in her. Just moments later she stopped moving at all. A few seconds later all life vanished from her eyes as blood pooled beneath her. That was one.

Auriëlle crawled out of the tent and quietly went to the next apprentice’s tent. When she opened the flap, he was gone. “shit.” She whispered to herself. If there was even just one witness, they’d be on her tail. She tried to find tracks but she had never been the best of hunters. The dark night only made that harder. Especially when only the Purple Moon was high in the sky. Auriëlle skulked around the campfire until she heard a twig crack. She looked up and came face to face with Kannek standing in the nearby bushes. He spotted the bloodied, copper knife in her hand and opened his mouth.

The sorceress reached out with her powers. The nearest tree to Kannek lashed out with its thinner branches. Like a lash they wrapped around his throat. Choking him off. He grabbed the branch. Something sizzled and smoked in his hand. Auriëlle began to bridge the distance between them. The hold of the root weakened as fire ate through it. He was nearly free. Another branch grabbed his other arm. It didn’t matter. The branch around his throat broke its hold. He opened his mouth again. Then he tasted copper.

Auriëlle had jammed her knife through his throat. “I’m sorry.” She said. It was genuine. She did not derive pleasure from killing him or Surreth. But this was her one chance to have an actual safe home in a kingdom where she knew the crown’s dirty little secrets. She wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of that. Well…maybe one thing.

The life fled the eyes of Kannek very quickly. The branch that held him up released him slowly, so Auriëlle could guide his body down on the ground. Her blade was bent all out of shape. It would be cutting anything this night anymore. That was fine. When kannek was down on the ground she got up again and walked towards Sarren’s tent and opened it. There he laid, sleeping ever so peacefully. There was only one way she could kill him fast enough. She crawled up behind him and held her hand over his head. “Forgive me.” She whispered. To all things now. To the gods, to Sarren, to herself. Yet the necessity was there. She took a deep breath and summoned the power to her palm. Remembering that what she was about to use wasn’t fire. It was the most perfect manifestation of destruction.

The wave of disintegration traveled fast across Sarren’s body. The man never felt pain. All that remained were bones. Auriëlle didn’t release a tear but her heart wasn’t agreeing with what she had done. The cursed words of Oraelia echoed in her mind. Had there been a third option? Maybe that what she should have done all those nights. Ponder upon her options. It was too late now.

Outside the tent she began to dig a grave. Not with magic but with a spade. It would take longer. Much longer. But that was the goal. It gave her time to think. Would it even have mattered if there was a third option? What did it even matter? Maybe this was her choice. Yes, it didn’t always make her feel good. But neither did other people always feel good. In this life she had to deal with killing those who didn’t deserve to die. If she had been a farmer, she would’ve had to deal with hunger and the death of her children. There would always be something. At least with this life, she could work through the suffering.

By the time the sun was well and above the horizon, two corpses and a skeleton had been buried deep in a hole. The tents and everything they owned had been buried with them. The only thing that marked their presence were the carvings of Auriëlle in the three trees surrounding the overturned earth that she had covered with some moss and the fallen log she had sat upon. She told herself that she’d visit the place sometimes. Just like she would have visited the graves of those who fought and died in Jalka.

With her job done, she followed the hunting path back to the main dirt road and headed back to Nalla.

Soleira was in her cave. Outside she heard her siblings fight. She didn’t know why they fought but it had been going on for days now. Ever since they all opened their eyes. First she smiled, and then she saw her darker siblings charging at them with malice on their faces. When a sister fell beside her, Soleira could only think of fleeing. Her wings carried her far away from everything. They eventually carried her to this cave, where she had remained ever since. Afraid to go out and find one of her siblings.

After some time, the sound of fighting vanished again. Soleira came outside, hoping to catch some sunlight and gather some plants to eat on. As she foraged she found a few wild vegetables. Enough to keep her going. “Sorry.” She said every time she pulled out a plant. The reason they often had such big, fat tubers was because they had to feed themselves and here she was, selfishly stealing that food for herself. Though she always tried to replant a bit of the root. Hoping it would grow again. Suddenly she heard the sound of faint chirping.

She rushed over to whatever made the sound. It was a small bird. One of its wings looked strange. Soleira looked at her own wings for reference. No, a wing should not be bending that way. Slowly she picked up the bird and stroked its small head. Though it went entirely silent and stopped moving. “Don’t be afraid.” She whispered. Even though she knew the bird couldn’t understand her. “I’m not going to eat you.” She had seen some who would eat the bird from outside her cave. Well she had heard them first. Yelling and shrieking as they ran across the forest below the cave. Pursuing some deer. To her horror, she had watched how something that looked like herself, but wingless and with less hair on their head, stabbed the poor animal until it let out the last defiant grunt and collapsed. She had to cover her mouth and looked away. The wingless things walked away with the deer tied to a branch.

Why anyone would ever kill such a majestic beast was beyond her. With the bird safely in her hands, she walked back into the cave. Where she had made a soft spot with long, dried grasses. It wasn’t perfect but it was her place. Gently she placed the bird down. It began to chirp again, which in turn made Soleira smile. “Yes, I’m going to help you!” She said as she slowly brushed its little head with her finger. Her other hand hoovered higher over the bird. A soft, golden light flowed from her palm. After quite some time she lifted her hand up again. The wing looked normal again and the little bird began to chirp happily. “All good again!” Soleira exclaimed with seemingly the same gleefulness. The bird tried to flap its wings slowly. When it was certain everything was alright, it offered a final few chirps before it flew out of the cave. Soleira watched as it flew back, waving as if the bird would know what that meant.

Night was falling now. On the horizon she could see the moon rise. Making the colors of The Luminant a bit softer. Soleira loved the sun, but there was just something magical about watching the dusk grow a little darker. Oftentimes she laid down on her bed, watching the world first darken, and then come alive with various luminescent glows. This time too, she began to feel drowsy and fell asleep.

She jolted up. Something bright hung in the skies. It wasn’t as muted as the normal colors in the sky. These colors were softly glowing and constantly moving. Unlike the clouds. What could it be? She got up and looked out of her cave. None of her darker siblings seemed to be around. Nor any of her lighter brothers and sisters. Not that she was mortally afraid of the latter. She just couldn't face them now. Later she would. With everything safe she opened her wings and flew up towards the colors. The closer she got, the stranger they looked. Like waves waxing in the open air. It enthralled her. Until she was in the middle of the colors. Where there were none.

She then also realized there was no air there. She folded her wings immediately. So she’d drop back down. Yet she didn’t. Some invisible force held her up. She unfurled her wings again and began to beat with panic. With her hands she reached higher, to the mute-colored clouds. She couldn’t go up though. The air escaped her lungs. It felt like she was drowning! Then the burning started. All across her body. Like something was invading it. Blackness grew on the edges of her vision. She gasped for air. Nothing came in. Her lungs were empty. Like she was in water she tried to grasp for something. Manically she pushed herself around. The force still held her still, in the middle of those beautiful colors. When her vision turned black entirely, she fell numb.

She woke up laying on the ground. On the horizon the sun was rising already. Her body was in pain, though nothing looked or felt broken. She flexed her hands, and then her wings. To her surprise she suddenly felt not two but four wings move on her back. She yelped. What happened!? Slowly she moved the wings to wrap around her, so she could see them. With her hands she brushed against the second pair. It felt the same as her first pair. Though on her back they felt…lighter? Ever so slightly.

It was a strange feeling. One that was quickly interrupted by a loud grunt. A boar appeared from beyond the bushes. “Oh hey, mister boar. I’m sorry I’m probably in your territory. I’ll be going in a second, I just need to stretch real quick.” She said with a smile.

The boar didn’t seem to get the message. It grunted and scrapped its hoof across the ground.

Soleira realized she was in danger. She held out her hands. “No no no. I’m not here to harm you. I’m gone in a second, okay? Just calm down.” She said.

It didn’t calm down and then she realized why. Not too far from her she saw a piglet with one of its legs trapped in a snare. It was groinking with a very high pitch. Then she turned back to the boar. Which was probably a parent. “Oh no no. I’ll help you!” She said as she took a step closer to the snared piglet. Which began to trash with panic. The boar let out another grunt. “No, I’m going to help you!” She exclaimed again. Wishing she could talk to animals. She had to help the little piglet though. So she crept a little closer. Close enough to catch it.

That was enough for the boar. It charged head first at Soleira, who held out her arms as if she could even slow down the boar. Then she heard a hollow thump and opened her eyes. The boar was on its back. A strange, transparent but fractured layer of…something hung between her and boar. She lowered her arms again and the barrier vanished.

The boar was already getting up. Ready to go for a second charge. But it bought her time. She jumped for the piglet, which was now squealing under her as it believed it would get killed any second now. The little thing was struggling underneath her, while she was struggling to release it from the snare.

Eventually she got it free, rolled over and lifted the piglet. It was squealing above her but it did stop the boar from charging. Slowly she then got up to sit on her knees. For a moment she looked the piglet all over. Making sure there were no wounds or anything on its little body. When she was sure it was healthy she put it back down.

“See?” She said, half her face coated in multi-colored mud but with a bright smile on her face. “All good.” The piglet ran past the boar for safety of the vibrant shrubbery. The boar slowly walked backwards, making space. It kept grunting, as to make sure Soleira wouldn’t try anything. Then, when there was enough space, it turned around and ran into the bushes as well.

With the boar gone, Soleira got up herself and began to brush the dirt off of her. Her wings felt dirty as well. Even after a few flaps. Something rustled in the bushes again. She looked up, expecting the boar to be back. Well, she could fly away immediately so it wouldn’t be a problem.

Except out of the bushes the wingless things came. They held sharp sticks pointed at her and began to yell in some gibberish at her. One, the biggest one, came closer and yelled even more. Pointing with his stick at her and then down on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.” Soleira said, as she held out her hands again. Hoping everyone would calm down. She slowly walked backwards. Until she hit a tree with the wingtips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’re so angry. I can’t understand you.” She pointed at her own ears and then shook her head. They didn’t seem to get the message. The wingless things just upped their intensity with the stick-pointing and yelling.

They were getting too close now. “I’m Sorry! I don’t understand but please don’t get any closer! You’re scaring me!” She said as her eyes began to water. “Please just-just not here. Just let me go!” Out of instinct she jumped up, hoping to be able to fly high up and away from them. Right as she shot up and was about to beat with her wings to go higher, she heard a sharp thump next to her. A spear had lodged itself next to her, missing her by an inch.

Instead of beating upwards, all four of her wings beat forward. Sending her flying into a tree. Before her, the others were flying further. A strong gust of wind knocked them all back.

When Soleira got up, the wingless things before her were all on the ground. One, notable, was squirming heavily. His shoulder didn’t look right. The others flocked around him.

“Oh no.” Soleira said, as she observed what she did. Even though she had no idea how she had done it. All she knew was that she could help. She took a step forward. Some of the wingless things got up as well, pointing their sharp sticks at her. “I help.” She said. As she channeled her healing powers through her hands. Soft light shone from her palms. They looked at each other, and then began to slowly back away. Letting Soleira closer to the wounded one.

As she knelt beside him, there were four spears pointing close at her back. So close that if she suddenly moved backwards, she’d be impaled. Her heart was racing. Tears ran down her cheeks. But she tried to keep it together as she held her hands over the wound. The man squirmed a little bit more and then seemed to relax on the ground. Slowly Soleira lifted her hands again and let the light from them dim. The wingless things behind her let her move away, before they turned to see their friend. His shoulder was healed again. They turned back to Soleira, gave her a small nod and then lowered her spears.

The second the butts of their sharp sticks hit the ground, Soleira was up in the air. Getting away from it all.

The road back to Nallan was an uneventful one. Though when Auriëlle saw the palisades of the town in the distance, she felt something she hadn’t felt in years. It was a mixture of safety and relief. As she walked through the gates she finally realized what that feeling was. She just got home. A guard took her highland stag to the nearby stables as Auriëlle herself headed towards the throne room. Little things inside the palace now made sense. The insides were darker, with smaller windows. Everyone looked happy and content. The clear absence of guards was not because they were plotting an ambush, they simply weren’t inside. Nalla’s entire security rested upon her own abilities.

She moved through the familiar corridors until she reached that grand door leading to the throne room. As she had walked through the palace she had maintained her usual defiant look. Yet now she awaited Nalla’s servants to announce her to the queen. Gods she wished she could just barge in but that wasn’t the way now. She had to dance with Nallan’s formalities. If only for a little bit.

The doors opened revealing the same dark chamber with only Nalla residing within. The Queen beckoned Auriëlle forward as her servants quickly left the chambers. She wore a low cut, tight fitting, black dress that contrasted her skin tone and accentuated her curves. Her orange hair was up in a bun and her crown flowed as always.

The sorceress’ dress sense heavily contrasted that of the queen. Auriëlle still wore half her hair in a tight braid which was used to tie down her hair on the back of her head. Her clothes were dirty. A discerning eye could take which bits were mud on her leather armor and which were blood. Her clothes were loose and comfortable and the only thing that really separated her from the average mercenary was the wooden, black-veined vambrace on her right arm.

"I must say, I am surprised you returned after all. I am pessimistic about these affairs but it is good to see you, Auriëlle." Nalla smiled hungrily. "I take it you've talked with Sarren?" She then asked.

“We talked. The issue is resolved.” Auriëlle preferred not to go into details. Everyone would have their own opinion on how she should’ve handled it. All of them would be meaningless discussions. She tried to keep her voice neutral, as to not give in to Nalla so quickly. She wasn’t about to address the queen’s doubt in her. Though deep down she wondered if Nalla had expected her to die or betray her. “So where am I to go next?” Inside she was itching for a fight. A proper fight. Hells, she could settle for a skirmish. Anything that could get her blood pumping again.

Nalla seemed amused by that. She got up from her throne and began walking towards her. "Tsk tsk tsk. Back so soon and already wanting to leave? You could die, get injured, even get sick! Who would I be if I did not properly feed you, bathe you, and have you get a good night's rest." She said, standing before her now. Though she was shorter, her presence felt large. "A reward! That's what you deserve for completing this task and as a token of my affection. Do you accept?" She asked, eyes gazing upon her.

A reward? It was unexpected. Yet how could Auriëlle refuse? She just hoped it would be something useful. Though she had the strange feeling that you just never knew with Nalla. Nonetheless she would be grateful. “I do.”

Nalla nodded, returning but a simple smile to her. She walked closer, touching her cheek before walking around her. Nalla then leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "You're so strong, so powerful, so fearsome Auriëlle. Let me show you my affection, a God's love." Nalla then began to speak in a language Auriëlle had never heard before, but the way she spoke pit was soft, seductive and alluring. As soon as she finished speaking, her entire world exploded into mind numbing ecstacy.

Auriëlle took a small, dazed step back, surprised as she heard the strange words. At first she thought it was a spell. Yet then she felt that feeling swell in her heart. Warmth flooded through her. All worries vacated her mind. They were replaced by utter euphoria. Her muscles relaxed. The tightness in her chest vanished as well. It felt beyond amazing. “Oh gods.” She muttered, as she closed her eyes. Letting the waves of joy clash over her.

She felt Nalla arms wrap around her waist as she spoke again into her ear, "As I said, I had more to offer you. It is surprising though, usually it sends people limp and to the ground, writhing in pleasure. Once again you prove yourself stronger then the lesser beings." She paused, and spoke again in Auriëlle's opposite ear. "Soon it will pass but it lingers for far longer in the heart. Yearning. For now, a bath will be prepared, food given and you can rest from your travels. Tomorrow you will learn what you came back for. Now, do you need help getting to your room? Nod if you cannot speak."

Time felt slowed down. Nalla’s scent was prominent in the air. Her words sounded like the most wonderous songs in the world. She couldn’t get enough of it. When the queen said it would pass, her heart already ached a bit for that which was not yet lost. If she could speak, she would’ve asked Nalla in all things that had been prepared for her. Instead her addled brain could barely process bythe flood of sensations. The soft touch of the queen’s arm around her made every thought topple before it could be expressed. She yearned for more words, which sounded like the most beautiful sounds in existence. Why would she ever shatter such beautiful sounds with her own, crass voice? So she just nodded with a very happy smile on her lips.

"Good." Nalla purred before in one swift motion, she grabbed Auriëlle's legs with one arm and scooped her up. She rested within the Queen's arms, who barely seemed bothered by carrying her. They began to walk and Nalla talked. "You should consider yourself lucky my sweet. Everyone in this palace would die to be where you are right now. Swaddled like some babe, carried by the Queen. How scandalous but how delicious. It's a wonderful feeling isn't it? Makes you go numb from the pleasure, craving for it to never end. You know, it's how I feed upon the living. You must think that cruel, well let me explain. You see, they don't feel any pain, they feel what you feel and everyone wins. I get a nice warm drink and they get the best fuck they'll never have. Pity really. But it is what it is, my dear." She giggled at that, as they entered a room. Nalla layed her down on a bed and then hovered over her. "I think you and I will achieve great things together." She mused. "I'll be leaving now. Until tomorrow, Auriëlle." And before she could even blink, Nalla was gone.

The words were soothing. It felt good to be carried, for once. She heard the words but she wasn’t sure if they would be remembered.

Then that voice came screaming in the back of her head. It had never been this prominent, yet so far away. It was the voice of nearly a decade worth of paranoia, mixed with three decades of being shoved aside and ignored. It told her that what she felt now wasn’t right. Wasn’t natural. Perhaps the most damning thing was that it said: ‘this isn’t for you. This isn’t you.’ They were such jagged accusations coming from her own self. For once she felt happy, safety and an unrivaled happiness and something deep inside of her told her it was wrong.

Luckily the voice remained in the back of her head as she rested for a bid. She barely remembered going to the bath. The high she had felt was fading now, as she felt the cold water on her skin. Meanwhile the voice grew louder and more convincing. Especially now her heart yearned for that which she did indeed lose. The next moments all swirled in a blur. She never even remembered when she crawled under the sheets.

---

The next morning came, and Aurielle found herself in a familiar view. Nalla sat across from her at the table, she sat underneath a large sheet, held together by wooden sticks and attended to by servants. It completely blocked her from the sunlight, but she also wore clothing that completely covered her body, save for her head. Even then, she wore a long hooded cloak that could easily fit over her crown comfortably. Like always, she held a cup of blood in her hand and had an amused look on her face as she watched Aurielle eat.

Auriëlle was more tense than ever. The high of yesterday had given way to the low of today. She wanted to see blood. She wanted to kill something. She wanted Nalla. No! No, she did not want the queen or whatever spell she had used on her! Yet her heart yearned for the vampire. The sorceress’ eyes were slightly hollow as she took a few bites from her bread. She didn’t speak, unless spoken to. Even then the most any servant had gotten was a short grunt. Nothing felt right today. The frivolities of court began to weigh down on her. Why couldn’t the queen just let her slip like the war hound she knew she was?

"On to business then." Nalla yawned and snapped her fingers. Two more servants entered the room carrying a chest. They plopped it onto the table in front of Nalla with a resounding boom. "Inside you will find a cloak with my sigil, a set of outfits you might enjoy and, believe it or not, but a set of bronze plate I… acquisitioned from a passing smith." She rapped her fingers on the table. "Nallan is besieged on all sides by enemies. There is a growing number of tribes that are banding together for protection against Nallan in the south. Why they would do this, I can only imagine." She stood up and leaned forward on the table. "You will go to this area with my men at arms, crush this uprising before it causes me trouble and show them that I am their Queen and the only protection they are going to get, is from me. When that is done we shall convey once more. Questions?" She asked.

Finally! Like an over excited child she sprung up, sending the chair clashing into the ground. She didn’t care. The chest was open in a moment’s notice. With a finger she brushed against the bronze plate. It was gorgeous. Probably worth more than an average peasant’s life and it was hers. She smiled from ear to ear. “Yes…my queen.” She responded to Nalla’s orders, though her eyes were glued to the contents of the chest.

But she did have questions. Endless ones. What was she permitted to use? Could she raze a village just to make a point? Could she only kill the leaders and warriors or could she kill more than them? They swirled in her head like never before. Normally these questions wouldn’t come up. Carn would just relay to her what the commanders in their tents decided. Well, this time she didn’t have Carn. “Just one.” She said as she slowly closed the chest. “Where are the commanders meeting?” She would have to be privy before she knew what avenue of action to take.

Nalla sat back down and leaned her cheek on her hand. She looked to Auriëlle with a neutral expression. "You are the commander Auriëlle. Was that not made clear when we first made our agreement? It shall be for you to decide. There are several veterans the men respect, who have served me for years. Look for them for guidance if you must. This shall be your test, to see if you have what it takes to do this. I do suppose I could have you serve under someone-"

“No!” Auriëlle yelled as she slammed her fist on the chest. The whole table rumbled. There was a fire in her eyes. “I will lead and I will win.” Her heart was ablaze again. All the doubt and confusion fled her. It was replaced by confidence and she wouldn’t hear it otherwise. She turned to the servants. “Take my chest to my quarters.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command. The power of her own words made her heart flutter. Then she turned to Nalla again. “Next time we talk, I will have brought you kneeling men or ash.” With those words, she turned on her heel and marched away. Already looking taller than when she had entered the room.

Behind her, the Queen smiled wickedly as she watched her go.

Sancta Civitas

The rest of Kallak, Silandrazz, Stoshri and Gosyor’s journey to Sancta Civitas passed without incident, which allowed for plenty of time for Gosyor and Silandrazz to butt heads over the Vespian Lord Over Nature’s ideals and claim about having spoken with Artifex.

“Look. We’re going to have to go talk to Builder-Priest anyway about this mana honey. So they’ll sort it out, alright?” Kallak told them once they arrived, having grown sick of their bickering

“Yeah. They’ll back me up on this!“ Silandrazz cheered before realizing she didn't actually know that for sure “They will right?”

“Def… Probably” Kallak agreed

“Will see” Gosyor grumbled in response

---

After a ride up from the docks on the back of Chompy the giant ant the four of them arrived in the palace district and headed for the Library. To the disappointment of the Servants they did not enter it right away, and instead made their way to a small temple situated right next to the massive archive of magical knowledge.

Much like the neighboring Library, the temple was a place of learning and self improvement. Twin statues of Artifex and Cadian took pride of place at the far end of the temple squatting as they had upon their first meeting. The gods were angled in such a way that they looked both at each other and down at the room before them which was lined with shelves of slates containing guides on how to perform various crafts or skills. At the moment a vespain builder-priest was using one of these tablets to lead a pottery class.

“Ah hello. Are you here for the sermon? If so you are a little late.” The vespian builder-priest asked the group as they entered.

“No, not today. Sorry for interrupting. I’m here to hand in a holy quest” Kallak expalined

“You are? How wonderful! Just head on through and knock before entering” the builder-priest replied cheerfully, before directing them towards a backroom in the temple. After knocking as instructed and receiving entry the four of them entered a small study, where they met an aging goblin woman, clad in a black toga and wearing a crown adorned with a replica of Artifex’s horns.

She set aside the slate she had been carving regarding the process by which Inspiration infused ink should be passively harvested and looked the group up and down before asking simply “yes?”

“Greetings mam. I come bearing the fruits of Artifex’s divine work which i understand there is a considrable reward for discovering the location of?” Kallak said, presenting two jars of mana honey to the builder-priest. The goblin moved from behind her desk and approached to inspect the contents, finding within honey the color of water in one, and honey the color of earth in the other.

“Hmmm. Will need checked. Come” she said after inspecting the two jars, before brushing past them and leading the group out of the temple via a side door which led into the courtyard of the Library next door. They made their way through the courtyard and past a pair of builder-priests working on some kind of magical statue and surrounded by several failures and as of yet uncarved blocks before entering the library proper and making their way to a small mosaic. It had appeared mysteriously in the library open day, and depicted the existence of four kinds of bees, their mana infused honey and descriptions of how to use the power held within.

Their arrival retrieved a bit of attention, not only from the presence of the builder-priest at the mosaic, but also from the rainbow flecked eyes of the two Servants following in her wake and the fact that Gosyor’s passing seemed to ruin any spells that were in the progress of being cast as well as repelling the magical motes that drifted around the Library thanks to a tree-branch he had in his pack.

“Now. To test...” the goblin glanced around and then called out to one of the mages “Metilia. Perfect. Come” before beckoning over a muscular Akua woman with a snout like face who had the skin, teeth and tail of a shark. The woman had just pulled herself out of a large raised pool (which dsat in the center of the room they where in in a way akin to a fountain centerpiece) used by her kind to stave off dehydration while spending long periods reading in the Library and was already heading towards them when called by the builder-priest. She was quickly joined by Velnik, the Servant, who also pulled himself out of the same pool (he’d been the one to request it be installed in the first place) after catching sight of the two Servants accompanying Kallak.

“Hello mam. Is that honey I smell.” the shark woman said as she joined them

“This claims is mana. Metilia test? Make sure not fake,” the builder-priest replied while the Servants made their introductions to one another in the background.

“Can do. Nice to see you trusting me this time mam” Metilia replied. She glanced at the mosaic before scooping a hearty glob of the rather un-appealing looking grey-brown honey from a pre-offered jar using her hand. She sniffed it, made a small sound of approval, then licked the honey off of her finger.

“Oh. yeah. Yep. That’s the stuff” she said, her voice and body vibrating slightly as if she was suffering from a sugar rush “Earth earth earth ah!” she muttered to herself glancing around wildly before running outside. There was the sound of chanting and then an almighty cacophony of grinding stone before she returned, slightly breathless, and confirmed that “definitely the stuff”

“Very well. Be praised for bringing discovery here.” the builder-priest told Kallak

“And rewarded as well?”

The goblin sighed before agreeing “Yes. For finding one of-”

“Two. and I can tell you where the other ones are” Kallak interrupted

“Water already found,” she replied

“What! By who?” Kallak asked

“That’d be me” Metilia informed him, grinning toothily at the disguised avatar “Velnik told me about the quest, we guess it’d be up in a lake somewhere and seeing as no one’s faster than me i swam all the way up the river to its source. Nosed around there for ages, looking in every nook and cranny and was about to give up when one day i woke up and found there were just a tone of them in the lake. Like they came out of nowhere.”

“From Artifex” the builder-priest injected

“Well yeah. There. Took him a while tho.”

“Same with fire. They’re in the canyons where my hive is” Silandrazz noted over her shoulder before returning to her and Stoshri’s ongoing conversation with Velnik

"Kallak come look. Find earth deep in caves. Now they not so deep any more." Gosyor provided helpfully

“Wait hang on. I’m the one handing these in” Kallak insisted

“You got that honey and air ones still” Gosyor noted,

“I. Fine. Sure. The air ones can be found at the tops of the mountains in free floating hives. I couldn't reach them to harvest honey from them, and the fire ones hasn't made anything before we set off back here. Didn’t think I’d need evidence anyway.” Kallak explained, somewhat exasperated that he’d only be able to claim the fruits of one fourth of his labors.

“Imposters. Paint bees. Dye honey. Sorry.” the builder-priest explained “Still. Is good. Reward for find and information. More once air and fire brought here.”

“This lot are full of useful information.” Velnik noted, having gleaned a lot from his fellow Servants in the background while this had been ongoing, “We’ll need to look into this magic hating wood you’ve brought with you later, but for now I’d like some more answers about this supposed blessing you received Silandrazz. I suggest we see if we get something similar to the Druids and Inventors?”

“Blessing?” the builder-priest asked, and so Silandrazz explained while collecting one of the motes. It squirmed in her grip as she told them of her conversation with Artifex and him declaring her a Lord Over Nature, leaving out the identity of Kallak as his avatar as she had promised. As she spoke of what she desired, to change the swarmling’s nature, and of the idea Stoshi had had of changing their own nature as well the mote finally formed into a tablet which described an idea. it was a simple idea, that nature was not fixed as the gods made it. That mortal kind could, and that they should, alter it to fit their needs.

It described this idea, and the fact that the idea itself had power. That those who believed and acted upon that idea would find the path they had decided to tread easier. The way in which it described this, the builder-priest felt as she read it, was very very familiar.

---

After the sun had set and twilight was long gone the goblin builder-priest squatted before the statue of Artifex in her temple and prayed. The argument in Kallak’s party had been more orless ended by the tablet, but now, several hours after she had met them and they had moved onto other things, the goblin could not put aside the thoughts that had arisen from her meeting with them.

It had not taken long for her to put the pieces of the Lord’s tablet, the mana bee mosaic and the Inventor’s tablet together, and the conclusion she drew worried her. Divine favor had been given, not to Artifex’s preachers, his loyal hands on Gablar, but instead to others. Strangers to the faith. She worried deeply about what this might mean.

“Holy father. Second father of goblin. Big eyes. I call. Will listen?” she whispered to the empty air. A moment of silence hung, and then

Speak, my child. What ails you this night? came the voice of Artifex in her mind, one familiar to her and her kind. A giver of advice, kind words and occasionally insect related miracles.

“I. I wish ask about Inventors. And Lords Over Nature. Did make? Did bless? Do... Do favor them?”

Up in Artifex’s realm a small pair of triangles made out of black glass that was listening and replying to the priest's prayer recognized that this particular prayer wasn’t something it could provide an automated reply to. It began buying time using vague divine wisdom and time dilation on its end while it fluttered up into the air like a butterfly and set off to find its creator. Leaving the workbench it had been laying on alongside several others of its kind behind, it cast a glance around Artifex’s workshop and then headed for the latest addition to it, a large stone gateway built against, but not leading though, one of its walls.

It entered the gateway and found itself inside a vast nested dimension built inside the god's realm. Inside a neural network of free-floating, semi translucent, blue platforms and walkways stretched out for miles in every direction around the gateway. Various large insects bustled to and fro on these walkways, carrying floppy disks, punch cards, shiny pebbles, circuit boards, steel beams and all sorts of other materials between the various small platforms.

Upon the platforms small sections of highly esoteric and eccentrically designed machinery could be seen that was made out of, among other things, silicon based computers, ant farms, animated pebbles on a beach, clockwork, perfectly bouncy rubber band balls, monkeys operated typewriters and quantum entangled particles. The triangular butterfly fluttered along the blue walkway and then it turned off it into a branch that led to a platform with incomplete machinery. When exiting the path it entered a second nested dimension, and found itself submerged in a vast data center of ticker tape fed computers far larger than the contents of the platform implied existed here. If it looked up it could see distorted and twisted space where the machinery from the other platforms also existed and joined together. All of this swirled around a floating energy core containing an entire universe who's laws of physics had been altered significantly from those of Galbar purely for the purpose of providing unlimited energy for the vast mechanism Atifex had created here.

The god himself, or part of him anyway, was found in the form of a small beetle, one among thousands of insects scattered all across the still expanding machinery that was in the process of eating a line of ticker tape that had offended it.

There was a brief nonverbal exchange between beetle and artificial butterfly before a swarm of other bugs arrived and coalesced into the familiar four armed form of Artifex.

”Show me her, and show her this” he ordered the auto-responder, which dutifully projected an image of the builder-priest before him, and projected a vision of him and the vast machine realm to her.

The goblin builder-priest knees buckled as the sight of the vast machine overwhelmed her mind, causing her to fall to them. The sheer enormity of it, the complexity of it, was awe inspiring.

If Kallak were to see it he’d have muttered something about the old man going massively overboard again.

“Holy father. What. What this?” she whispered, voice wavering with shock.

”This.” Artifex spread his hands wide to encapsulate his creation ”Is M.U.S.E. It is a thinking machine. A learning computer. And it is the, well, muse of the Inventors. It is from this vast machine that their ideas and desires are turned from “what ifs” into concrete plans to be executed.”

“So. They yours… and the ‘Lords Over Nature’ too?” she said, once the awe had died down enough to be a background state of mind rather than an overwhelming experience.

”Yes. That one is more of an experiment however. I will be watching her, or rather their, she has been rather successful at expanding their ranks since she arrived in Sancta Civitas I see, progress with great interest. The Inventors meanwhile have shown promise already. The initial version of MUSE has gathered a great deal of data from their initial bout of innovation, a bout that you have personally seen the fruits of, both in what they have made and in how they inspired others to push the boundaries of knowledge, which is why I considered them worthy of this grand expansion.”

The goblin winced at her memory of her treatment of the city’s first and most notable Inventor before saying “They. Special. Yes? Granted… favor?”

”In a sense.”

“And they. Create for you?”

”Yes”

“Oh” she replied, unable to keep a prang of sadness from her tone.

”Ah. I see. So that is how it is.”

“Big Eyes?”

”You fear being replaced. That my blessing of others is a sign of my displeasure in some way? Know that in this you are wrong. You are already my hands upon Galbar. One of oldest and most treasured of instruments. Know that I would never cast you aside.”

“I,” the goblin’s words caught in her throat before she continued “thank you. Do not need more. Should not have said. You speak with us. Listen. Is enough. More is greed.”

The god glanced up at the hovering butterfly and felt a twinge of guilt at having created the auto-responeds, no-mater how useful to both him and his faithful they had been. He gave himself all the time to think he needed, and then answered ”You have served in this role admirably across the generations. You, my child, have served me well with close to all your years. To ask for more power may well be greed, but to receive it would be well earned. Awaken my child, take up your tools and know that your order will always have my blessing”

The builder-priest gasped as the vision ended with a snap of Artifex's fingers. She immediately grasped for her tool belt and retrieved the hammer and chisel resting there as she had been instructed. Each one had been worn by a lifetime of use, intricate decorations and carvings faded and chipped despite being tended to, yet now they were as pristine as the day they had been made. She looked up from them to the blank wall at the back of the temple, the vision still clear in her mind, and she knew what she had to do.

When dawn came and the vespian pottery teaching builder-priest arrived at the temple she found the goblin slumped on the floor before an immense and impossibly intricate carving of Artifex, standing among the endless sea of machines that was MUSE.

Sacta Civitas, 11 AA to 16 AA

It took over a month for Tadiza to repeat the work needed to complete the enchanting of her latest invention as she ended up incorporating the newly acquired mana honey and magical inks into the design, waxing the bottom with a substance containing water mana honey and painting the sails with ink drawn from the sea-breeze. When the day came crowds gathered to watch the ceremonial launching of the ship, the most notable member being the Vrool tyrant of the oceans around the city who was drawn to the ceremony by the Klaarungraxian nature of the ships figurehead and rumors that the vessel heralded an age of longer distance sea travel. As the mighty ship was rowed around the walled harbor for the crowds amusement those paying attention could see the tyrant engaging in negotiations with some of the city’s officials, including Amulius the Diplomat, about them paying for the ‘protection’ of the city’s shipping should they push their trade routes further along the coast.

A bit of shrewd negotiation, a shower of gifts, the consumption of a large barrel of wine and the Matarin male’s pheremonal influence allowed Amulius to turn the protection money the Tyrant was demanding into a promise of actual protection of their ships from raids, and retribution against any that did occur, in return for a share of any wealth they might ship across the tyrant’s aquatic realm.

With the contract sealed by a Tekretsian priest the ship, named the WayFinder, was free to begin pushing the boundaries of the city’s naval range with impunity, daringly seeking out new lands full of new resources and peoples for the city to exploit or trade with. The ship performed wonderfully, scything though the waves powered by its twin sets of oars and magically produced winds. What rapidly became apparent however was that the ship longed for its creator, for any real damages it received could not be repaired without Tadiza doping herself on Inspiration ink and seeing to the repairs personally, particularly because amateur attempts often resulted in unexplained explosions. As a result any long distance travel required the presence of the Inventor to keep the Wayfinder shipshape, meaning the vespain woman becoming a near permanent fixture on the ship as it made a series of adventures westwards. Her presence was a mix of boon and curse because while she sometimes Innovated the ship out of trouble her presence meant that the ship became home to an ever increasing stockpile of rather volatile Inventions.

As the ship sailed out and brought back tales of distant lands the city went through a population boom thanks to the burst of agricultural innovations and improvements that had been brought on by Kallak, Tadiza and the Embassies’ efforts. Long term storage of food, the introduction of domesticated giant ants and the simple yet effective pesticides of the ladybird shrines allowed more food to be produced, stored and transported which in turn increased the population the city could support. The rapid maturation of goblins also meant that this increase was felt rather rapidly, producing more workers who could work more fields who’s fruits filled the City's coffers.

A late arrival to these improvements were the Lords Over Nature. Once they had spent a year learning the basics of magic (and how to read) in the Library Silandrazz and Stoshri rapidly drew in more members to their fledgling order as a result of several minor contributions to the library in the form of spells regarding the biokinetic manipulation of insects. Most importantly for Silandrazz she managed to use stone from Sancta Civitas to induce the mortal friendly attitude of the city’s swarmlings in any member of the species, an innovation she brought home to her tribe during an expedition of the Wayfinder into the central desert’s ocean filled canyonways. In doing so they also established a trade route to and from the desert hives, mostly for fire honey.

In the city, the Lords Over Nature’s research resulted in several minor improvements to agricultural via the modification of plants and animals, including creating a variant of cloud moth caterpillar that could be effectively milked for silk, which provided a greater and more consistent source of the fabric than waiting for the giant caterpillar to spin a cocoon and then slaughtering it. Other uses included the controlling of animals, mostly large insects, which helped with domestication efforts and the use of magic to improve a mortal’s physical characteristics temporarily.

Silandrazz and Stoshri also helped with the Library mages' various other research projects. The red star maple trees were confirmed to be the source of the interference that prevented the network of mind bound Servant from forming on their island, something which the City’s Servants began experimenting with ways to bypass. Reliable sources of all four kinds of mana honey were eventually established and shipped into the city and experimentation began with the use of the honey and in the combination of the elements into other elements. Ink continued to be experimented with, as began to be used to enhance the construction of magical objects, in the creation of artwork and as magical body paint.

Finally, the newly consecrated nature of the Builder-priests ushered in a new wave of construction and carving, as they used their divine carving skills to both decorate the city with grand artworks dedicated to the gods, the city's history and it's people while also taking part in the more humble and vital task of producing more housing for the city’s booming population.

As the city improved itself, the wayfinder roamed further and further from home. As they did so, they made contact with many Vespian, goblin and akua tribes along the coast of Whakarongo, establishing good relations with several and opening up trade with them that would allow them to resupply and travel ever westwards. As they traveled, the explorers became enamored with Akuan tales of the island of Pakohu, a place they could sometimes catch glimpses the mountaintops of on clear days

Five full years after the Wayfinder first touched the waves Tadiza and her trusty crew loaded up on supplies, sailors and trade goods and set out seeking to travel west till they found a rumored peninsula that they believed was the perfect place to launch themselves across the open sea towards Pakohu.

What strange lands might they discover? Want new peoples might they meet? What dangers awaited them on their travels? The crew of the Wayfinder did not know, but they were all too eager to find out.

---

The sun’s curious cresting of the east washed the village in a growing intensity of light, signalling the start of another warm spring’s morning. Rays of light searched their way through the thin linen sheet hung over the window, and cascaded a waking warmth on the massive bedstead dominating the room. Slowly but surely, a few among the dozen-and-a-half women on the bed stirred. Farah awoke with a smile on her lips as the morning sun caressed her cheek. Nestled in place between the quiet snores of Yazmina and the ever lazy Aisha, she decided to remain still and appreciate life, listening to the quiet morning clatter of the first who decided to get off the bed. As was usual, the sounds of waking people and the heat of the sun grew exponentially, and within minutes the bed shifted with movement and the room began to fill with ever louder conversation. Resigned to enjoy her morning in peace, Farah twirled a lock of her brown hair between her fingers, and raised it to idly compare it with Aisha’s.

An older voice cut through the noise, and Farah knew it was time to move - the matron was awake. She had barely begun to try and shift free from the careless arm of Aisha and Yazmina’s awkward lean when the clash of wood on a pot rang through the room, together with the matron’s loud voice. A storm of motion erupted on the bed, and Farah was caught in the midst of it; Yazmina rummaged and rolled away in a panic, and Aisha stood straight up and nearly trampled Farah in her abrupt fit to get up and seem awake - just like always. Farah simply sat up with her smile and slowly edged off of the bed, meeting the glowering gaze of the matron as she finally stood up and mosied on over to get ready for the day. Alongside the other girls she wrapped herself in one of the simple dresses the matron had laid out. Beyond smiling, she chose not to pay the banter between the others any heed - she was already on thin ice with the matron for her jest last week.

Spring was certainly in full swing; when Farah finally exited the domicile, she was barraged by the majesty of nature. Swaths of growing crops filled the vista as far east as she could see, and the whole southern meadow had become a sea of colours as wildflowers bloomed. She took a long and hearty breath, taking a moment to enjoy the sound of birdsong. That sound was soon overpowered by both the chatter of voices behind her, and the loud bass carrying from across the nearby field. A simple glance to the north confirmed the sound: the men had also awoken and were moving towards the fields already. That simple fact filled Farah with a certain delight. She hoped she’d get to work with Adnan today as well. She thought about his smile, his arms, his laugh, and felt a little flutter rush through her stomach that brought an embarrassed smile to her lips. Yazmina would tease her to death if she ever said any of this out loud. A few of the women spilled out past her, talking about the topic of the week - Farid’s awkward song for Aisha at the gathering during rest day - with much giggling and cajoling. Farah herself just smiled. It hadn’t mattered that it was awkward, because Aisha had loved it, and that was enough.

“Farah,” boomed a familiar voice behind her. Farah felt her hopes wither inside, but still tried to maintain a cheerful demeanour as she turned to face the matron.

“Matron Nasira,” she responded dutifully, but the withered old woman did not seem particularly impressed.

“I want you to gather flowers today. We need Whiteknife roots, Gold Tongue, and Summerbells.” the imposing lady continued, twisting a brow at Farah. It made her wrinkled forehead crease in all new ways. Before Farah could protest, she twisted away inside the domicile and returned a moment later. Farah’s heart sank when she realized why - the matron had found the biggest basket they had, and shoved it into Farah’s arms. She could barely stretch her arms around it, and it was almost as tall as her too. With a sigh, Farah slipped her arms into the tied on cloth straps, and hefted the sizable basket onto her back.

“What shall I do when I am done, Matron Nasira?” she inquired with a resigned tone.

“Oh, we need -quite a lot- of them. Make sure to fill the basket, my dear. If you somehow manage to still have time in the day, you can help me in the kitchen. Speaking of, I prepared some food so you don’t have to trek all the way back just to eat.” the matron replied with a more pleasant tone of her own, but her face did not change in the slightest; she was still as unpleasant as ever. Still, she pressed a bundled package into Farah’s hands. “And don’t pout at me, Farah. That might work on the boys, but it won’t get you out of honest work today.” she reprimanded with a finality to her words, narrowing her eyes. Farah simply nodded, trying to mellow out her expression. When had she ever tried to get out of work? The Matron just always caught her in brief moments of rest. Farah knew better than to argue the point, and instead began the journey towards the southern meadows. Not much to it other than putting one foot before the other.

It took a good half-hour or so to fully leave the crops behind and walk into the sea of color that was the meadows beyond. Broken up only by the quiet brook bubbling past further down the way, immersing herself in the ocean of flowers was like stepping into a slice of paradise. The gentle brush of wind provided a soft solace from the growing heat, and gave the longer grass amidst the flowers a pleasant sway. Green, gold, red, blue, and white patterns rocked gently with the wind, a dizzying blend of colors - and even more colours stretching into the horizon. Farah found herself unable to dislike her exile from regular farmwork, the pull of nature’s beauty was too great for her smile not to creep back onto her lips. Farah set the basket down gently in the middle of the meadow, laid her package of food down beside it, and waded demurely into the ocean of color, hands outstretched to brush against flower and grass.

The sheer bliss of existing in the field was short-lived, however. The request the matron had given her seemed almost specifically designed to be as frustrating as possible. Summerbells proved to be very rare, and looked almost exactly like the much more prevalent Wolves’ Tooth from a distance. Gold Tongue was easy to find, their large golden flowers rising over many other plants - but their thistle-like leaves made picking each flower an unpleasant hassle at best. Even wrapping her hand in her sleeve did not alleviate the occasional sting. Finally, Whiteknife was among the most numerous flower in the entire valley, yet the matron had still managed to make it troublesome; between the fragile stem and the hearty roots gripping tightly to the earth, dragging Whiteknife roots out of the ground proved to be a sweaty and tedious process. It was an endless cycle, but at the very least the plants were plentiful enough to cut out most of the searching entirely.

When the sun had begun to climb away from its highest point in the sky, Farah helped herself to a seat at her current picking spot, which just so happened to be by the brook. With a quiet sigh she began to unwrap her package of food, and glanced at the basket she’d now brought with her. She’d been at it for ages, yet the basket wasn’t even filled to a third of its capacity. Perhaps she would truly be out here until it was too dark to see, she mused, and idly peeled the shell of a boiled egg from her package. Shuffling a little closer to the water, Farah cautiously dipped her grass- and dirt-muddled feet in the brook, flexing her toes in the small and refreshingly cold stream. It wasn’t so bad, after all. She imagined Aisha was complaining about her back right about now, and Patron Abbas making his rounds scowling at all of them. The quiet peace and the colors was perfect, even if she missed the smiles of her compatriots.

Farah was about to bite into her egg when something gave her pause; movement on the horizon. With a light squint she could make out a bundle of silhouettes, half a dozen perhaps, bobbing over the grasslands on the far side of the brook, perhaps even along the path from Karay far to the southeast. A few moments more, and she could confirm the shapes were growing steadily bigger, slowly but surely. Perhaps they were visitors? That lone thought exhilarated her, a brewing curiosity blooming within her like a gnawing thought she could not rid herself of. When had been the last time they’d had visitors? Ever since the Matron brought her here from Karay, she’d met outsiders only a few times. Even now, when she was by all rights a woman, neither the Matron or Patron ever chose her for the trading journeys - what few there were - and she could count the number of visitors that had visited the farm since her youth on one hand. What reason would they have for visiting? What wondrous tales would they be able to tell? Did they know how far the flowers stretched? With those questions and many more spiralling through her mind, Farah found solid footing once more and stood up to follow the shapes in the distance with eager anticipation.

There were more of them than she had first seen. Perhaps an entire dozen. Farah quickly downed her egg and rewrapped her food packet, dumping it into the basket for easy storage. Her attention thoroughly stolen, she watched the curious band of silhouettes grow closer as they shuffled along what was definitely the beaten path, given the brief height shift as they walked over and past Boar’s Hill and the lonesome old oak that sat perched on it. Farah waited with baited breath, her expectant smile growing as she began to be able to make out the shapes properly. They looked human - which was expected, but also a shame - lending further credence to the theory that Aqil’s story about plantfolk was just a myth from his home. Farah could still not imagine how a flower would be able to walk around.

As Farah was finally able to make out more detail, spotting their leather tunics, dangling trophies and odd garments, her excitement rose even further. They were on the far side of the brook, and even from here she could see they were near a dozen men and a few women by the looks of it. Then - with the urgency of a falling rock - her excitement evaporated in a flash. One of the men and all the women looked to be tied together with rope around their throats. The man at the back of their procession held some kind of long club, and used it to poke the slowest woman in the back to get her to speed up. Suddenly Farah’s urge to wave and call attention to herself had drained. She trailed the procession with her eyes for a few tense moments more just to confirm; they were indeed headed straight for the farm. That was all she needed. Farah grabbed her basket and slung it onto her back, and began to make her way back towards the crop fields with as much haste as she could muster. Why had she walked all the way to the brook?

The journey back was more stressful and exerting than a full day’s work. Farah raced as quickly as she could through the sea of colorful flowers. She had waited too long. On the path, they would be in view of the farm in no time. A brief pain stung her foot with unbidden cruelty, and Farah gasped in surprise and agony, nearly tumbling over. Her foot had found an exceptionally short Gold Tongue lurking in the high grass. She stopped to gingerly rub at the sole of her foot, and catch her breath through gritted teeth. Precious moments lost, she pressed on towards the farmhouses beyond the valley of flowers, a little slower than before.

Her throat burned with a dry lack of water and breath alike, and her legs roared indignantly with tired complaints, but through sheer force of will, she broke free of the meadow and stepped out into a field of vegetables in what felt like record time. It was too late, however. Across the fields, and between the high stalks of rosegrass planted in the furthermost field, she could see the suspicious travelers gathered by the men’s animal pen, and a whole crowd of her compatriots forming around them. With nothing left to do but catch up to the spectacle, Farah trampled across the fields with learned steps. When she reached the rosegrass, she eased the basket off of her back, and skirted through the stalks quickly. She could see that they were moving around, and she could hear their voices. A worry grew where fascination had been. The voices grew louder as she got closer. Heated and vicious.

“We didnae’ trek all this way to be turned ‘round!” a brusque older man with greying stubble shouted at the crowd, headed by Adnan. “As I been saying, we willnae’ leave ‘fore we trade fer what we need. We brought good stock, eh?. Now where’s thiss’er Narisa?” He tugged on the rope in his hand, forcing the three women and solitary man tied to it to stumble forwards, to the collective gasp and disgust of the crowd of farmers. Unbidden memories of rope-tied wrists and tears surfaced somewhere deep from within Farah’s mind, and she felt a certain dread build in her throat and stomach.

“We don’t want your kind around here. You’ll find no trade here. Now let them go,” Adnan retorted with a blazing anger. Farah had never seen him so worked up, his eyes fixed on the old man and his captives with a fury that scared her to watch. “How can you tie up another child of Kadeen like an animal? It is you who is the animal, brutish and without sense.”

The old man frowned in turn, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Another of his men, a pale man with reddish brown hair stepped forwards and swung at Adnan’s face with the short end of his club. Panicked cries rippled through the crowd, and terror gripped Farah’s chest as a spray of blood rushed through the air. Adnan fell backwards onto the ground, clutching his face and nose. The old man took a single step forwards, causing the entire crowd to retreat. Farid, who was closest, tried to help Adnan up, but quickly backed off when the pale man raised his club. “Now,” the greying man continued, “if ye dinnae’ trade with us, we’ll be taking what’s ours. The Zaeem of Karay is a goner, ye can expect a lot of more of my kind, now that yer precious lil’ deal’s fallen through.”

“What deal?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Monster!”

The last voice in a chorus of many belonged to Adnan, who burst up off the ground in swift motion to pounce straight for the old man with a clenched fist. He was fast, but the old man saw it coming. In a deft motion of his own, he gripped Adnan’s arm and pulled him hard to the ground, twisting his arm in a hold that looked painful - something Adnan’s cry of pain confirmed. Another of the man’s cronies picked up the rope that he dropped, and a third stepped forward to flash a small knife of bone or white stone, pressing it against Adnan’s throat. The men muttered among themselves as the crowd rippled with fear, panicked cries, and men holding each other back for safety. It was all too much to handle.

“Stop!” Farah heard herself shout, before truly registering the will to do so. As eyes from both sides turned her way, many if not all noting her presence for the first time, she felt a cold chill run along her spine. Warily she took a step forwards so as to not hide in the rosegrass. She took another step, finding some confidence, and lending herself some brief time to think. Before the old man got a chance to think for himself, she raised her hands towards him. “There is no need for this violence! You do not need to hurt us, nor do you need to trade human lives.”

The greying man stared at her for a few moments, before taking the knife off of his comrade to threaten Adnan personally. “Ye speak of need, lass? What do ye know of it? Give us what we came fer or this lad gets it. We got many mouths to feed and we came here ready to take it.”

Farah stared at the man and his band. They were ragged and unkempt, a few of them with sunken cheeks. They all had that same determination and spite in their eyes. Though she worried for Adnan’s safety, she raised her hands peacefully and stared back at the old man. She also glanced at her own crowd of friends. “I swear to you that if you lay aside your weapon, no harm shall come to you and yours. We have food for all of us, we have lodgings. It does not need to come to violence. Adnan, as many of us, were slaves. What you ask is painful for us, but it does not need to be the end of civility. Please, on the blessing of Oraliyah above, listen to reason.”

A gentle warmth washed over her, trickling into her mind, seemingly wrapping her in a hug. A voice quickly followed, soft and sweet. "Your heart speaks wisely beyond its years. Here, take this blessing in my name and do what others cannot in the name of peace and always remember that you are loved, Farah. Even in times of uncertainty and sorrow. All you need do is say my name and I will be with you." and as quickly as the voice came, it vanished but not before healing her fatigue and foot. She was not the only one to suddenly feel better, for the men and women in the old man's group, even Adnan, looked physically better and not so beaten down. A beam of light then flashed across the sky and illuminated Farah for a moment, basking her in a visage of Oraliyah before dissipating.

Farah was gripped with a haze of delightful confusion. No more did she comprehend her visitation from the divine than any other, yet it did not seem to matter. She felt a warmth burrow deep within, and it made her feel safe and happy, even in this troubled moment. It struck her then - she had called upon a goddess and received a reply from the heavens; from the sun goddess herself! As the light began to dissipate, she released a breath she did not realize she had been holding in.

Adnan fell to the ground, and slowly clambered up, awestruck as he stared at Farah. The old man, having released both the knife and his prisoner, did the same. They all looked at her. Then someone cried “Oraliyah!” and cheers erupted on both sides. Confusion reigned supreme, but the message was clear. The mere act of the divine’s visitation had forced a ceasefire. The now restored travelers looked dumbstruck and humbled alike, and one of them went so far as to help Adnan up. Farid and Aman crept up from behind and before she knew it, they had hoisted Farah into the sky and onto their shoulders. With the warmth of the goddess still lingering in her heart, she could only smile down at those who looked up at her, and to her surprise, many of them smiled back, the old man included.

Peace had returned to the farm, even if Farah knew a long and serious talk would have to follow when the reverie died down.

---

Patience was a virtue that Klaarungraxus did not by any stretch of the imagination lack.

The vast and unknowable intelligence belonging to the God of Oceans had endured as long as any god and longer than most if not all who had living memories. For an entity so long-lived, contentedness was not only the norm but a requirement; otherwise such activity would drive creatures of his kind absolutely and utterly mad. On ever inumerable yet increasing equations of causality did Klaarungraxus dwell on in his most empty spaces, his numerous minds cogitating answers to questions unasked and scenarios impossible to occur. That was simply his way.

And so it had been since the creation of Mawarungraxus, torn asunder from Klaar’s own form and set loose on the world as an observer of life with a mind of its own. Klaar had been pleased with the initial actions of the dismembered limb known as Mawar and had been content to simply observe through the senses of that disembodied pseudo-god. As several minds were set to the task of collating and categorizing the information, others were directed towards data analysis. Through all that time the overmind pleasantly admired the sensory inputs of Mawar, devouring that raw information with a gleeful gluttony matched only by a vrool’s desire to feed.

Mawar had, of course, been utterly busy with data collection during his time on Galbar and had gathered plenty to be considered. Of greatest interest to Mawar and the collective minds of Klaarungraxus were the successes and failures of mortality. Mortal life had always interested Mawar, even when it had been nothing more than an additional tentacle mind still completely slaved to the central overmind. Unsurprisingly, the avatar of the God of Oceans had been quick to set its sights on the mortal races of Galbar to satisfy its curiosities. Not a single mortal species had gone unobserved, a testament to the intense fascination felt by Mawar towards these oddling creatures of flesh and blood. Their behaviors and societies had been tracked, noted, and catalogued for later interpretation. Most of all, their advancements both technologically and otherwise had been deeply scrutinized. This, above all other things, had been Mawar’s primary, driving function.

Klaar, of course, had good reason to be interested in social and cultural advancement. He himself was a creator of things, a maker of all manner of things from the simplest of organisms to the incomprehensible depths of the ocean itself. As an artisan of reality there was something deeply intriguing about watching the mortal races of the world he himself had made fumble through life, discovering and inventing slowly but surely a path towards ever greater survival and success. Though they came at problems in different ways from each other, solutions were developed for each and every selection pressure presented by nature. Though he himself did this at a very physical level, solving such problems of life and death through manipulation of their environment was an uncanny growth in capability that Klaar had predicted would take considerably longer. Beyond that, the sheer intensity and complexity of mortality’s creations increased at a rate that wholly surprised the overmind.

This alone pleased Klaar above all things.

Mortality had become more intelligent and clever than he had even hoped for and this bode great possibilities. The potential of fruit being borne from his attempts to seed mortality with increased intelligence, alongside the fumblings of other gods less inclined to take direct action, seemed ever more attainable. What wasn’t to be pleased about?

”What luck, little fish,” cooed the immense, multi-limbed deity of the crushing depths, lord of Saxus, that dark place beneath the waves of reality, ”Mine works at last show signs of progress! Doth hath waited too long without respite from thine prison’s impertinent doldrums.”

Saxus rumbled with life as the first deepspeak spoken in its depths for years rippled through the cool, dark waters of that hidden world. Life burst into activity as all manner of organisms danced in the flush of nutrients created from Klaar’s genuine excitement. Powerful limbs pulled Klaarungraxus along the sea floor, the immense bulk of the Old Growth Below sliding through the waters with surprising efficacy for his size. At last he arrived at the center of it all, the old city of his making. It was like no city of mortalkind, a pale reflection of their works that had been forged by tentacles as a means to direct efforts while minds were at work. He coiled himself into its depths, the thrumming heart of the city of Saxus glowing with the dull light reminiscent of the Moon. This was where he had done the work the last time, before the false-city had been wrought and when this was but empty space. Nevertheless, it was a place of sentimentality to Klaar and he intended to keep its value unique to it.

One limb was thrust forward, wriggling violently in the waters to loosen its musculature and weaken the bonds keeping it attached to the whole. Three other limbs grabbed tight and pulled, tearing Left-Forward Two-Down free of the whole. With ferocious hunger they ripped apart the limb, filling the space with black blood and bile. With one tentacle leaning in Klaar booped a single point in the waters and everything pulled inwards, the hum of his intent boiling the water around him.

”Grow little one…” purred the monstrous God of Deep Places, all six eyes locked with manic joy at the single point in reality that saw the birth of his next spawn, ”Grow…”

From that one point an eye popped into existence, staring with wide-eyed curiosity at the world around it. From there the eye experienced spontaneous mitosis, splitting into two identical eyes and then sprouting into four and then eight. Eyes began to form hardened shells before melting into different forms of flesh, leaving six just as Klaarungraxus while the rest began to grow into new organelles and body parts. Like a fetus growing at an insanely sped up rate the little thing billowed into full life and within the span of a minute what had once been a single eyeball now sprouted into a proper form.

It was like a vrool in many ways, though it seemed half-made and perhaps double-made all at once. Although it bore the expected features of a Vrool, such as twelve limbs and six eyes, the rest of it wasn’t quite right. It seemed skinny and its skin was covered in a complex skein of twisting lines and overlapping imagery. Eyes could move about freely upon its personage, dragging themselves across what appeared to be almost liquid flesh to observe new directions. A beak, double-layered, gnashed at the waters with excitement to match its creator. It was a strange vrool indeed that had been born in the depths of Saxus and its skin roiled into a vast array of different colors to match that oddling description.

”You are…” Klaar began to intone, throaty and rumbling as he chose a name for his creation.

”Tewakagraxus,” it called back, interrupting its creator and overmind with a wry click of its double-beaks.

Klaar smiled in a way only a beaked monstrosity could, pleased as punch that his creation was already showing a considerable number of idiosyncrasies in its personality. It was better this way, when they thought for themselves and behaved uniquely. It meant information and data would be gathered in more unique ways and problems would be solved with alternate solutions that would not normally be considered.

”Tewaka it is…”

Klaar wrapped his newfound spawn into his numerous limbs even as the arm that had once been Tewaka regrew itself into a new submind of the whole. A globe popped into existence, a glowing facsimile of the world on the other side of reality. Tewaka closed with the object, remembering its time on that world from an entirely different life. The limb that was now Tewaka was the primary creator of sorcery and had explored and devoured information relating to the other creations of magic by gods unbound to the mighty Klaar. And so it would serve again. In the black act of its creation, Klaarungraxus had bound himself and his realm to another facet of reality he had long been courting.

At long last the Domain of Magic had fallen into the clutches of the God of Oceans.

---

---

The bright hues of the Luminant cast the scene in a fickle light. Row upon row of winged men and women, covering the ground a considerable distance in each direction. Their mottled wings shone with new combinations of color in the Luminant’s strange flora. At the head of the procession hovered a horned and winged woman, her own wings splayed with a multitude of colors that did not seem to blend despite the light’s best efforts to cast her in warm and bright hues. Aveira swept over the tall men and women stood at attention with a single beat of her wings, a critical gaze falling over them in seemingly random patterns. When she spoke, it was with a booming, unpleasant echo that belied her round face and soft features.

”Blessed children of the Goddess,” she began, stirring a few among the organized crowd to gaze into the sky in bemusement, awe, or simple respect. ”You have seen and faced the enemy first-hand. Those who cling to the false pretender and her perversion of your duty. Each of you have heard the Goddess, seen her vision for this world. There are those among you who balk at the task. No food. No shelter. The Oraeliari beg for help from above. Are you as them?”

Aveira slowly touched down at the front of the column, extending a hand to caress the face of a pale Neiyari woman with speckled wings. Her eyes filled with fright and awe alike as the avatar deigned to touch her. ”Yazira, is it?” Aveira spoke in a more regular tone. ”Will you get on your knees and beg for your War Mother to build you a paradise? Or will you show her that you are worthy of one?” the avatar continued, staring into her eyes with a malicious intensity.

The pale Neiyari briefly buckled under the attention, but steeled herself as she tried to keep her stern and disciplined face. “I will show I am worthy!” she cried out, emboldened by a hatred and a passion to fight. “I will build a paradise!” Aveira slowly released her face, exhaling a light sigh. Her rueful stare turned soft, before a single beat of her wings brought her into the air once more.

”Those around you are chosen by me, by the Goddess. She has seen your fervor, and your devotion. True children of the War Mother do not beg, they do not ask.” her voice boomed out over the crowd. ”A true Neiyari takes. By force, by cunning, and by blood. You are the greatest among your kind. Among your brethren, you carry within you the vision that your mother desires, and the will to carry it out. Among your kindred, you are saints. Leaders. Carry the banners of war. Put Galbar under your wings. Show your kin the path to paradise. This is my decree, and that of Neiyara! Praise the Goddess!”

A chorus of cries rang out in the Luminant, discordant and battle-ready. Still they remained in place, drilled to discipline before learning basic survival tactics. Aveira broke out into a haughty smile, unable to contain her glee. They were her toy soldiers, and she enjoyed every moment of it so far.

”The path is clear, you Saints of the Maelstrom! On this day, you are the speakers of war, the strategists, and the scholars. If the war falters, if victory is stolen from your hands, know that it is by your own doing. Learn, thrive, and conquer, and nothing shall stand in your way. Heed my words, and accept your calling!” she cried out with a rising fury, and stared down at the assembled Neiyari. They stretched out their arms towards the sky exultantly, and Aveira knew it was time to oblige. She raised her hand to the crowd, and drew on the divine essence from beyond the veil. Felt the Maelstrom of whispers, emotions and desires roil and touch at her being as it did her creator.

She directed her power at the gathered, and the effect was immediate. Again the assembled Neiyari met with direct contact of Neiya’s voice, and her love, and they tried to accept her gifts with stride. Many fell to the ground in agony, others cried and sobbed endlessly, and a few even bled from the eyes. The result was the same. Their connection to their mother deepened, Aveira watched how their wings soaked a stained pure black, and their skin twisted a pale white.

When the storm abated, those who survived the onslaught arose with new purpose in their eyes. Likewise, as the maelstrom faded from her senses, a strange feedback rippled through her body. For a moment, it felt as though a ghostly shape caressed her body, breathed on her neck. A rush of exhilaration and bliss shot through her system, dusting her features with a rosy blush - a wordless reward from Neiya. Aveira’s features curled into a delighted grin. What was war without some interference from above?

---

---

Like many other times, Yamat found himself strolling through the great meeting place of gods, Antiquity, a pep in his step, ideas forming within his mind. His gaze darted from portal to portal, perhaps he could meet another god to spark some more ideas? So far he had met only agreeable gods, so he only hoped he could find another one he could agree with.

Finally, one of the portals caught his eye, inside he could see a strange misty and endless stone, a rather bleak realm that was for certain, similar to both his and Neiya’s, perhaps he should give this god a visit?

He pressed forward, entering into a vast stone plain, where thick mist covered the land and tall imposing towers dotted the horizon. Certainly interesting. He ventured further deeper, hoping his divine presence would attract the attention of whoever’s realm this was.

In any case, to his divine senses the entire place stank of death, it seemed to surround all aspects of everything there, not that it lent itself well to showing them. So overwhelming that it was the great fog present blocking almost all sense and ability to tell in any detail what was far away. Another thing was off, it would have taken another being some time to figure it out but the rules that governed reality here were not the same as those on Galbar or the facsimile that existed in Antiquity.

A mere few seconds after entering through the portal the ground shifted, the portal vanishing into the mist, the towers seemed to fade further into the horizon. What seemed to be stone shifted around Yamat although he felt like he was not moving at all. Soon vague figures at the edge of what he could perceive in the mists surrounded him and the stone came to stop. Several voices came from above, speaking as one in a demanding tone.

“Who are you and why have you entered Aquibeophates?”

”I am Yamat,” He spoke, offering a bow towards the figures. ”I merely wished to meet the company of the god of this realm and make their acquaintance.”

“Oh, Yamat?” The voices spoke much more pleasantly, almost cheerful. “I am Thaa, and I have to say I am a big fan of one of your creations. The Iskrill are quite a spectacular piece of work, at least I assume they are yours as they seem to be solely interested in the worship of yourself.”

From above descended a great eye, behind it fading into the mists were what appeared to be the corpses of numerous species on Galbar, sapients were overrepresented among their numbers. It twisted to be more in-front and above rather than directly overhead. The figures in the mist faded back into it.

“I have to say I don’t believe I ever did catch, from the souls of the dead you see, what exactly was the domain of your power? As you might suppose, I am Lord of Death, Guardian of Souls and all of the Afterlife. I am quite pleased to make your acquaintance, and would love to talk more if you have the time.”

Yamat’s eye and halo brightened to see another fan of his work ”Why yes! The Iskrill are one of my works, I’m glad to see there is another fan of my works, as for my domain,” Yamat bowed once more, his form doubling over and his left arm outstretched ”I am the god of Tragedy and Misfortune, I am pleased to make your acquaintance Lord of Death, and I am more than free to talk.” He returned to a standing position.

Thaa’s eye remained locked onto Yamat as he replied, “I am glad to hear that Yamat. In truth I have spoken little with the other deities so making your own acquaintance is quite welcome. Before your arrival I had just been ruminating on some plans of my own. Plans which I have to say were in part taken inspiration from your example with the Iskrill. Although very different in form and ultimately have a different purpose. Would you like to see a draft I have made of it?”

”I would love to see them.”

“This is just a facsimile of course, still too early in planning to truly create a form that would be suitable for Galbar.” As Thaa spoke a large figure that towered above came into form from the mists, it came closer thundering with each step. “In form it is quite dissimilar to the Iskrill, but in function and intent you might be able to take up a few notables that they may share.”

The great thing finally came into greater detail and view. Upon initial viewing it could be compared to that of a giant carnivorous lizard although on closer inspection it was apparent it was quite different from such a creature. For one it did not share the same gait as beset most lizards, that of the legs which came out supporting their body from the side. This creature was supported from legs fully below it, and it moved with an alertness and steady speed that spoke to a creature that kept its own body to a high temperature.

Four powerful legs supported the massive form, scales shimmered all across its body, evidently armored to extensive extent. A long tail circled back into the mist. Another dissimilarity with most lizards was the long neck that eventually reached out into a head, a mouth of sharp teeth, two forward facing predatory eyes and nostrils. Ears if it had them were a bit harder to see, ear-holes mostly likely partially obscured by the continuing scales. Thaa continued.

“This is a draft you understand, just a puppet, there's not a soul there but I plan for them to be sapient like many of the mortals Galbar, thinking, speaking and worshipping while they approach their own purposes. Oh and I should say I have a name for them, although it's just a work in progress like much here. ‘Dragon’ is what I've taken to calling it, not entirely original but it works.”

Yamat’s gaze was drawn to the mighty beast, taking in every bit of the “Dragon”, he found himself somewhat entranced with its being ”My my isn’t that a beauty, a mighty fine draft if i do say so myself Lord of the Dead,” He turned towards the large eye, finally drawing his focus away from the creature ”And what function do you wish for them to serve amongst the Great Play?

When Thaa answered, his tone was thoughtful, but not quite masking his own cheeriness. “Oh that’s the true beauty of them, their ability and strength, combined with their intelligence allow for a great flexibility of purposes to which they may be put. I of course do not wish to flood Galbar with them, nor even intend that they live lives down on the surface of that world. No I think they shall remain here and will be deployed as necessary, a single one could change a great deal in its region, they’d serve a great place in shaping Galbar in my thoughts. Although sending them all in great numbers does have some attractive results, ultimately it is too rash and unthoughtful to be in any measure a good idea with the current state of affairs as they are.”

”I see” Yamat replied, his own tone thoughtful as well, he stared once more at the draft, while its current form was indeed impressive and a beauty to Yamat’s eyes, it felt like it needed more. ”Their form is rather impressive, but, I do feel like they need a bit more, perhaps I can be of assistance?” He thought for a few seconds after ”I believe I could also get another god to lend a hand.”

“I would enjoy your assistance very much, to have the mastermind behind the Iskrill on this project is a sure thing to lead to even greater success.” Thaa paused, clearly thinking for a moment as gentle sounds of shifting could be heard through the mists. “I do suppose as per your latter statement that if you think they would be good for this project that I will trust your assessment of that. I do have to ask, which god?”

---

One could only remain languidly on a throne for so long before the simple act of doing nothing became exhausting in itself. Neiya leant back in her pavilion, staring out with bitter expression over her desolate realm. In her mind’s eye, she held herself apprised of Aveira’s progression on Galbar, and intermittently cut in to direct her avatar to take additional actions in her training of the Neiyari. Aveira was her own being, but was still so entirely in tune with Neiya’s desires that there was not much to do but watch her divine servant carry out the plan as it had been established. Like answering the prayers of the indulgent and insolent, it had begun to lose its novelty.

Suddenly, a familiar voice entered into her mind ”Hey Neiya? You there?”

Neiya drew a sharp breath, straightening herself out in her throne even though no one was looking. ”Yamat? Did something happen? Is it her?”

The voice paused for a few seconds ”I'm going to be honest, I have no idea who her is but everything is fine, I’ve come to ask your assistance with a design I'm assisting in.”

Neiya went through a range of expressions; bemusement, irritation, and finally resignation. ”I suppose such is to be expected,” she replied through the connection and glanced at her white talons as though they were nails, and Yamat was somehow watching. ”Shall I come to your realm?”

”No as I am currently not there, come to the realm portal with the strange mist flowing out of it, you can come meet me and Thaa there.”

”Somehow, Yamat, I feel as though that describes more than one of these portals. But very well.” Neiya responded, and lifted from her throne, hovering up over the ground in the pavilion. With a dismissive lift of her chin she preempted Yamat’s response and broke the connection. His tomfoolery was more pleasant in person, after all. Flexing her talons briefly, she drifted up into the sky of her realm, and towards the portal to Antiquity.

---

For the first time in eons, Fe’ris felt excited about something. He had just created shapeshifters, mortals that could be as fluid in their appearance as the gods, if not more so! If some other god had already created such a thing, he didn’t care. It was new to him, and that was what mattered. He couldn’t wait to see how it played out.

The bat god turned his gaze toward the ever-present orange moon suspended above his cavern, beckoning him forth with its autumnal glow. It reminded him of Galbar, perched above Antiquity. He stretched his wings and yawned. It had been a while since he’d last been. It might be good to catch up with whatever riffraff paraded around the stone coliseum.

Pumping his wings powerfully, he launched his massive form into the air, sending clouds of dust flurrying around the dark chasm. A few more impressive beats, and he climbed toward the moon, a portal to Antiquity appearing moments before he could crash into the hollow, floating rock.

Having learned about the importance of portal size last time he appeared in the nexus of realms, Fe’ris landed in his base form, tucking into a roll and popping out of the portal with a flourish. The moderate sunlight stung his eyes, and he blinked ferociously as he scanned the archaic landscape.

His eyes halted on a collection of three gods, none of which he had ever seen before. The fluffy, socially-awkward god approached, possessing just the wrong blend of self-importance and anxiety as he sauntered toward the other beings.

The three beings hovered just around the edge of another portal. Literally in the case of one, a thin woman with skin like snow. White bone and metallic edges jutted from her form in an asymmetrical distortion of an otherwise sleek silhouette. Her fingers were as talons, which she seemed preoccupied with as she fidgeted despite not standing on the ground.

One was a large eye that kept switching between the other two figures, it was emplaced onto a spiked disk which sat upon an enormous pile of corpses that shifted and stretched. Among the corpses were what appeared to be formerly members of life on Galbar, most were sapients that could be recognized as from one species or another, a few that seemed to be collating near the disk were not recognizably any particular mortal race, perhaps an amalgam.

The last of the gods was tall and lanky, they had black skin with golden symbols and runes seemingly carved into their skin and they wore a long bright golden skirt that flowed down to the ground. Their face was covered by a faceless golden mask that possessed a singular eye that seemed to be just a bright orb of light, and behind their head was a softly glowing halo of golden light.

Fe’ris arrived just in time to catch the tail-end of what seemed to be a longer conversation.

”This is all very pleasant,” the pale goddess intoned with resigned tone, barely taking her eyes off of her nails. ”but I hope you’re not going to call on me every time you make a friend, Yamat.”

”This isn’t just to introduce you to Thaa, my new associate has a design he wishes to make, and I thought you and I could be of some help to him, especially given your new area of expertise.” The tall god spoke, looking the pale goddess up and down with their single eye.

She lifted her chin with a regal confidence, the frown mellowing out to a more candid narcissism. ”Well, I suppose there’s no harm in hearing you out, now that I am here anyway.”

“Ahem.” The bat god did not seem to know where to start, as he had only ever seen one god at a time before, much less three. “To whom am I making myself acquainted? You aren’t the most sunny gods I’ve seen, to be sure.”

The tall god turned to face the newcomer, well, their torso did, their legs seemed to stay in place facing forward, their torso now entirely facing the new god. They leaned forward, observing them ”My my you’re an interesting figure, don’t believe I’ve met you before.” they extended their hand out ”Yamat, pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

”I am Fe’ris, and I am pleased to meet someone so unsettling such as yourself. A far cry from Cadien, if you don’t mind me saying.” He sniffed the air, pointy nose twitching as his attention shifted past Yamat, to the two equally sinister and beautiful beings behind them. ”Who might you be?”

The pale goddess scoffed quietly, watching the new arrival with a mixture of contempt and skepticism. ”Neiya. Goddess of Love, among other things,” Her red and black eyes matched her venomous tone as they studied Fe’ris. ”I’m surprised Cadien’s never mentioned you. Another name I did not know.” Yamat chuckled at the comment.

“I am Thaa.” His eye had shifted to watch the newcomer, otherwise he held off sharing further of himself. “And what might your area of expertise be Fe’ris?”

Fe’ris spread his gnarled, scaly hands, his skin shifting and cracking as he did so. Black keratin snaked up his arms as flexible spikes sprouted from the chinks exposing his bare skin. “Ambition. And change, as of late. I entail the good and the bad of yearning; the internal and external turmoil that goes towards changing oneself… and others.” As he spoke, patterns appeared on the scales, which were now covered in stripes and spots of all kinds. His voice deepened to a scratchy rumble. “Not every god is so… accepting, of the good and the bad. I hope that isn’t the case here.”

Yamat drew closer, their one eye investigating the god further, before they suddenly shot straight up and turned towards the others ”I like him, perhaps he could assist us in our little endeavor? More gods could make it easier.”

“I have had enough of these antics, if you wish to be apart of something truly important then come along.” Thaa promptly turned upon his little annoucement’s end, and entered the portal, returning to his realm once more among the mists.

Yamat quickly followed the god of death, motioning for the other two to follow as well, ”Come now Thaa, don’t be so dire.” they spoke as the mists returned around them. Neiya gave the fourth addition a last glance and frown before following along, hovering in behind Yamat.

As each entered the ground underneath them shifted till they were all gathered in the mists, away from the towers in the distance or the portal back to Antiquity which had so disappeared behind them.

The dragon came back into view, with all its armored scales, its four great legs and the long neck and nail. It came from the mists as if remerging from some long forgotten place. A giant beast with teeth like daggers and claws like mighty blades. Its eyes gazed forward as it walked into view with each thunderous step, the eyes seemed empty devoid of any sign of intelligence, for now at least.

"Now this Neiya is what I called you to help with." Yamat gestured at the dragon "Thaa wishes them to have a bit more pizazz to them, something I think we could provide.. They turned towards Thaa rapidly "I was thinking of adding an aura of decay, plants and the like wither away in a radius around them, would be a beautiful sight don't you agree?"

Neiya hummed a soft agreement, black and red eyes swirling intently as they fixated on the large beast with growing fascination. Rarely had so many gears visibly turned in the pale goddess’ head all at once. ”I’m pleased you called on me, Yamat. This is unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s-... majestic. Though perhaps a little too feral. True fighting spirit requires-... strategy.”

Thaa cut in, “Yes, yes, it will have greater intelligence but as of the moment it lacks a soul, something I will remedy. For now this is a mere simulacrum of the true end product. The plates on its body should turn aside most mundane weapons as would its notable natural weapons and large size provide it with great power on its own, combined with an intelligent mind as Yamat’s kind suggestion we might be starting to get somewhere with this.”

”Well,” Neiya retorted swiftly, ”Now that I am here, we can certainly get started.”

”It’s so… bulky. Does a beast of this stature not deserve more grace? More finesse?” He gestured at the long, winding, sinewy figure, full of sharp edges and smooth curves, yet stout and staunchly connected to the ground it prowled upon. “Should we add color, then we should also add wings, for brilliant displays of power and fury through the skies, as well as the earth.”

The pale goddess lit up with a sudden epiphany, as though her interest was relit after the initial novelty had worn off. ”Yes. Wings are an excellent idea. I’ve worked with them before for a project of… battle-testing… and I agree with-...” she peered at Fe’ris for a few moments. ”...our friend here.”

Not waiting for any other agreement, Fe’ris twirled a finger, the scales on it flipping and clicking back down like a set of dominos. On the dragon, scales shifted similarly, sliding out of the way to make room for the fleshy spines forcing their way out of its shoulder blades, expanding and warping to form a pair of branching, webbed wings, their exterior covered in strong, flexible scales molded to the shape of the wings. Patterns swirled and bubbled across the unfurled surface, almost like an avian mating display as they swirled and changed, from spots to stripes to glowing freckles, back to plain scales. Fe’ris grinned. “My, I think we’ve something spectacular on our hands.”

“Indeed we do.” Thaa paused in his speech as he shifted around the dragon, his great eye looking over it as the bodies that made his form coiled around at a distance from the form of the great beast. “Come aid me in making this beast we call a ‘dragon’ a reality, that it or its kith and kin may one day come to Galbar.”

The assembled deities each lended their power to bring the dragon forth, beyond just a replica of the ideas it became real. The Dragon became more full with contributions from each of the gods. Grown anew, massive wings stretched out from its back, long joints connected and controlled the wings, each connected by membranes that made the whole structure look like that of a bat’s writ large. The Dragon stretched out to its massive wingspan’s full reach before collapsing them onto its back to rest gently.

It’s body glimmered in the mists of Aquibeophates, coated with armored plates along the entirety of its form. No mundane weapon would pierce, crush or slash through such a defense. Plate sat half over plate, each reinforcing the next from head to tail, back to foot. Its massive form shifted as the mists still coiled around it, larger than most of any mortal species on or away from Galbar. It bespoke of things powerful and full, able to exist and grow to such a size far beyond what most were capable of.

Intelligence shined through its eyes as it gazed upon the figures before it, power radiated from the great beast in the eyes of divine beings that created it. Decay radiated from its form, its soul shining a brilliant gold resilient to all that would attempt to bend its will, its thoughts pounded with focus and desire for prey. Dragon lifted its head spew forth green fire, flames not of mundane means but rather a magical bane-fire, concentrated energies of death.

Soon the flame was joined by faint glimmers throughout the mists, fell flame burning, showing the faint outlines of similar forms throughout the realm of death.

A dull-eyed scholar from Sancta Civitas watched the night sky, using it as a captive audience to announce his frustrations and fears. Flashes of light suddenly started to streaked across every corner of the sky. After blinking, his eyes opened in a way that they had not before.

Everything except the stars vanished from his sight; the ground, the colorful sky, himself. He saw streaks of blues and yellows cross across three glyphs written into the stars, and the sky turned unnaturally around him, revealing an entirely new astronomical picture with three more symbols crossed over by mystical trails.

His eyes refocused on a giant crook gently sweeping across the heavens, interweaving mana into the celestial markings. Suddenly they were no longer stars in the sky, but arcane formulas with foreign concepts seamlessly integrated in ways beyond the scholar's understanding but attempted to commit to memory.

When the scholar senses returned to normal, he scurried to attempt to write down what they had seen. While his notes did not carry any immediate divine touch, he managed to write about arcane conceptions that would be considered advanced by even expert servants, though in addition to the obviously foreign elements, other oddities dotted the work such a motif of circles and the number three.

'There are those, my dear Ganisundur, who wince at the sound of the cymbal and the rhythmic thrumming of the drum,' said the blessed Rinas when she and her devotees sat to rest beneath an arching palm tree one day, 'those long-eared, fair-eyed, dark-skinned ones who are dazzled by the light and heat of Hulaiya and can only walk in the dim light Reffoh sheds by night. You will see them wince sometimes, or jump up startled at the sound of music or song.'

'Surely that is because they worship that goddess felled by the Death-eye, and so are ever in panic and fear,' one of the disciples said.

'They cannot resort to Hulaiya's light, for Reffoh's failures mean they suffer beneath Hulaiya's glorious day,' another added.

'Perhaps. Perhaps,' said Rinas, and her finger strummed her one-stringed instrument so that it let off a long droning sound, 'or perhaps they cannot wander beneath her glorious light for the same reason that any true lover can't long bear the gaze of the beloved, hmm? Look how they burn up with fervour - is it Hulaiya's light that burns them? Or do they burn as a lover does beneath the beloved's gaze?'

'And what of the sound of song and music, Rinas, why do they jump and wince at it?' Inky Ganisundur asked. The songstress flashed him a gap-toothed smile, and her eyes wrinkled up warmly at the question. She leaned forward and looked at the great man of ink.

'If I were to jump and wince when you played something for me, Ganisundur, why would you think that is?' Asked the older woman.

'Well, I would think I had played badly.' The man of ink said.

'And if I were to jump and wince, but, say, Sinhuldo there seemed to be enjoying it, why would that be?' She pressed on. Ganisundur frowned and scratched his head.

'Well, that would be very strange,' he mumbled.

'Indeed, and yet you find that our long-eared brethren jump and wince, while we of the short ears dance and make merry.'

'But adi, if you winced and I danced,' cried Sinhuldo, 'I would think it is because I am stupid in the ways of song and you are not!' His outburst caused low laughter to ripple across the gathered disciples, and Rinas too laughed.

'Well, I wouldn't quite put it that way, but perhaps you are not far off my dear Sinhuldo. When we make music, we must know who we are singing and playing to. When we sing and play to those who do not know music, it is not like singing and playing to those accomplished in those arts. And when we sing and play to the boisterous small-eared folk, it is not like singing and playing to the sensitive long-eared ones. We must know what effect we intend to bring about in our listeners, and to do that we must know them and adapt our playing to them. Music has great and marvelous power and can leave listeners emboldened and strengthened - or unable to resist the tide of emotion it carries; and just as one may be intoxicated on beer so too can one become intoxicated on music and song. So why do the long eared folk jump and wince? It is because the songster does not know his audience, and so the effect he intended through his music is utterly lost and all his playing is in vain.' There was a long period of silence after this as the disciples sat and digested their master's words.



'Oh! Adi - what should the intended effect of our music be? Is it to bring happiness?' One disciple asked.

'And is all music happy?' Came Rinas' response.

'Well, no, it's not all happy,' the disciple conceded.

'You have listened to much music - was it happy music or sad music that you have found yourself inclined towards?' Rinas asked. The disciple frowned and cocked his head in thought.

'Hmm, it's difficult to say, adi. The different emotions serve different purposes at different ceremonies and occasions. I certainly could not play a happy song on a sad occasion...' the disciple's brows remained furrowed as his words trailed off and he fell into silent thought.

'Ah,' said Ganisundur, 'but the purpose should be neither, adi. Sad music and happy music and music of all emotions - there is a greater purpose and effect at play, beyond mere emotion.' The songstress looked at Ganisundur and beamed.

'You have savoured the secrets, my dearest Ganisundur; and silence between those who know is speech.' And with that, the knowing songstress rose and strummed her one-stringed instrument a few times, then walked off. Her disciples, many of them nonplussed, all picked themselves up and walked after her. A small shy smile played about Ganisundur's lips as he walked among his comrades and their master began to hum and sing.

• Summary [+]

  Rinas and her disciples sit beneath a palm tree and discuss musical matters.
• Might [+]

  | 5MP and 5DP | 1MP towards Puppetry | 2DP towards Acting | 2DP towards Inspiration | Next Domain: Art |
  
  5 MP to claim the Art Domain.
  1 DP to bestow upon the songsters and artists of the Azumai river valley an understanding of basic musical theory. (+1 towards Music portfolio)
  2 DP to bestow title of Songstress II on Rinas. (+2 towards Music portfolio)
  2 DP to bestow title of Numinous Dancer II on Rinas. (+2 towards Dance portfolio)
• Prestige [+]

  +3 Points to Rinas hli Awqar (~5,000 chars.)

There was a disturbance in the mana.

The venerable Eloxochitli of Sancta Civitas could feel it upon their refined senses. The mana had waxed and waned, not in an natural way. Something had caused the movement. It was too methodical, too predictable. The pattern was easy to discern. Unlike the usual movement of the mana. Which required one to delve far deeper to find its patterns. No, this was a deliberate disruption. A disruption that would require investigation. Their lord had already given them the task. He too had felt it.

High the skies, the Qael’Naath had peered upon the world through the magical sense of the Winds and already discerned the cause of the strange phenomena upon his streams. A singular act caused ripples across the mana in no way he had seen before. It warranted further investigation, for it had made him curious.

Sancta Civitas was the perfect place to observe it. So the task was given. The ever growing influence of The Library within Sancta Civitas began to move it’s lumbering reaching. The inner circle of the Curators requested a meeting with the city’s bureaucrats. Meanwhile the stockpiled gold was being gathered near The Library. Perhaps most importantly was the beseechment of the Builder-Priests to lend their hand to the construction. They were, after all, Artifex’s chosen.

The right words were spoken, permission was granted.

Yet this would not be like the main hall where The Vessels resided. Nor would it be like the Vault of Ink, which had already pushed the city’s architectural minds to their limits. The Eloxochitli of the Curators desired something that would do nothing short but inspire awe. Something so ingenious and beautiful that it would cement The Library as magic’s most prominent site. A place worthy of their still mysterious lord. The Builder-Priests, seemed to relish the challenge. Plans were drawn, scrapped, re-drawn, turned upside down, consulted upon, torn to shreds, burned and then pieced together again. It took a year for all parties to become satisfied. In that time vast quantities of rock had been moved from the nearby quarry and were already turning into Sancta Civitas’ distinct white stone.

The second the bulbous toads shook the builder-priests’ hands on the design, construction began. Even the younger Itztli, spawned within Sancta Civitas itself, were helping. Even though they were but children still. Stone was raised in a pyramid shape. The inside remained hollow and was supported by great pillars carved with various runes of illumination. Offering a soft glow when mana was channeled through them. The last stone of the pyramid encased the room below. Allowing for only one small hole above. A beam of light fell through into the dark, cavernous hall below. The building wasn’t finished though.

Above the pyramid the most daring, audacious and difficult part of the construction began. Large, square blocks were lifted up the pyramid and raised upon eachother. Forming a tall obelisk atop the structure. Below in the cavernous hall, Vespain Curators were constantly flying around the roof. Looking for cracks of weaknesses. There was a consant, faint, silent prayer to Artifex going on as the stones above were raised. They prayed that the whole construction wouldn’t collapse.

When the capstone of the obelisk was finally put into place, the whole construction crew held its breath. Waiting for the Vespians below to should in alarm. Nothing came. When enough time passed, people cheered and laughed. A small feast was held, with a promise that tomorrow would be a free day for both Curators and builders. They had earned it, for they had moved the line of what was architecturally possible.

The task was not done yet though. For a week later the Eloxochitli and their Itztli breathren hauled the gold they had saved up across nearly two decades from its vault. The inside of the obelisk had been slightly hollow. A channel ran from its tip down to the base of pyramid. Connecting it with the opening in the ceiling of the chamber below. The gold was forged and thinned into plates. Which were attached to the cap of the obelisk. Each plate was intricately carved with runes as per design. Below, in the chamber, a well was constructed in the middle of it. With four curved, golden claws held over the well. The Library had been a loyal and constant customer to the furniture makers of the city and now too did they put in their request for even more tables and bookcases.

When the construction was done, a magical energy flowed from The Library’s main hall into the Omen-Spire. Followed by a singular Vessel, which placed itself upon the four claws. Right on cue, the ripples of an omen travelled across the spire’s top. The magic imbued in the gold condensed a single drop from the air. Which fell down along the inside of the obelisk, through the vessel and into the well. The vessel itself began to shift and change. Until it took the shape of a bowl with carvings on its bottom. The first omen’s ripples was recorded!