Chapter I: The End

Year 1799, March 1st of the Ivorian Calendar

"Those monsters... but the Magic Knights will save us, right?"

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A young woman made her way through the grassy hills and stunning landscapes of Lowick's soil. Her eyes were equal parts fiery and fearful, finding herself to be a complete contradiction of a person. Her feet, covered by thick leather boots, stomped upon the terrain with power and force as if she had the physicality and athleticism of a giant in her steps. An average person beholden to her sprint would blink and, upon the brief moment of time in which their eyes were not witnessing her form, they would have found her moving many tens of meters farther. There were flames that charred the grass but did not spread with each footstep, her entire being moving as if she were an archer's arrow set ablaze and moving with intent. If one were to look behind her where she was running away from, they would see a smoldering rubble of a city far off in the distance, a once proud yet fallen castle, and many shapes of varying sizes moving among the destroyed beacon of humanity. Saint Reginald had fallen, and this girl who proudly wore the uniform of a Magic Knights' squire had a job that she would only let herself and no one else see to.

Her body was white hot and burn marks were running across her face and embers ignited in her hair. She had reached the limits of her potential as a magic user, enhancing herself with what her colleagues would refer to as the "Deft Ember". As the flaming ruins that were once inhabited and called Saint Reginald, the jewel of Lowick, faded into the distance and off into the horizon, so too did she look forward towards a sight for sore eyes. She saw flames, but not her own, off in the distance as the setting sun started to allow stars to peek out from the sky above. The caravan that carried Lowick's survivors, guardians and stray adventurers alike was only a few more strides away from her with her overwhelming speed that threatened to suffocate her.

"So close, so close, so close...!", the girl would scream at herself, adjusting her backpack and ensuring that the contents inside that she had rescued from Saint Reginald were still with her - and with a satisfying shake, she sighed with relief knowing that nothing had fallen out in her mad and unrelenting sprint to catch up with her friends in the Magic Knights; she had succeeded in her duty.

The blazing trail of a dedicated squire ended right as she zoomed into the center of the relief camp set up for the night on the side of the road, her fire, loud entrance and subsequent halt threatening to rip up the very ground around her. Her eyes no longer saw the goal, as she knew she had already reached it. "I... I got it. Your Majesty, I've... I've retrieved it.", she would speak aloud to thin air in front of her in the middle of the camp, collapsing to the ground in the muddy soil with her flames extinguished, burn wounds all across her own body from overexertion of magic. She was breathing, but barely.

It wasn't long before Magic Knights would arrive on the scene, but the camp itself was still setting up otherwise. Tents were being constructed, merchant and storage wagons were being unloaded to prepare rations and take stock of survival supplies, hands were being shaken to establish new relationships, and Saint Reginald's regular guards were patrolling while the Magic Knights saw to King Lowick's own personal tent and well-being. The sun was setting, and there were very few smiling faces to go around. Many had just lost their families earlier that day, to some sort of monsters. Monsters nobody had ever seen before, and that shouldn't exist in this world. Rumor had it that the good King Lowick, ruler of a city that no longer existed and territories that would soon be put to the slaughter, would shortly make some kind of announcement. Until then, tensions were high.

During all of this, that was when adventurers would begin to take action. In this camp, awaiting the words of King Lowick or perhaps even just trying to survive in a group, those who could become heroes to save the world would make themselves known and decide what they wanted to do.

It hadn't truly set in yet.

Rem stared blankly as he stood at the edge of the encampment, a black cloak pulled over his shoulders to fight against the evening chill. The carnage of the day, the screams - those creatures - were all just a figment of his overactive imagination, right? None of this...none of this was real.

As footsteps echoed behind him, the still hammering heart in his chest told him that what he hoped was just a dream was real. Turning around as the steps came closer, a breath left him. "Clyde," his voice was soft as he spoke, barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid something would break were he to speak louder. "Is everyone...Is everyone safe? Mother? Father?" A silent nod was the response. "Lenny?" There was a pause.

"Dunno. Can't find 'im," Clyde turned back towards the camp, before his gaze fell back on his little brother. "'E'll be fine. Resourceful," an older man called the brute's name, and he turned without another word, lumbering off.

Biting his lip, Rem turned his icy gaze towards the crumbling city. He had been able to protect himself as he fled, sticking to some other civilians like glue as they escaped the city. The darkness protected him, and them in turn, and he made sure they all made it out alright. The creeping dread slowly started to seep into his mind, though, when he thought about his only friend. He should have gone for him first, should have run to find him instead of saving himself.

Before he could think anymore into it, his eye caught the running girl, a beacon of fire escaping the lost city. Rem stepped away from his spot, holding himself up as he made his way towards the center of the camp. He could barely make out her words as he stepped closer. "...Retrieved what?"

Bending, Remicius wasn't far from her, his eyes holding a slight curiousity as he stared. It wasn't long before the Magic Knights arrived, the young man stepping back and away from her, giving them all space. Taking a deep breath, he looked once more towards the ruined city he called home. If she had come from there...

'Maybe there are still people alive in the city. I can go and look. Perhaps there's a chance that I can figure out what caused all of this, too.' Taking a deep breath, Remicius let his eyes close as a breeze drifted through the camp. His mind was made up. At nightfall, if nothing changed...If nothing changed, he would go.

"Just put it over there Azgrul, thank you."

Azgrul nodded as he proceeded to place one of the merchant's boxes onto the ground close to the wagon. They had been lucky that they were able to take the entire wagon out of the capital city while it was ransacked by those monsters. The clothier had agreed to give away most of his merchandise to the people - especially since most of the refugees couldn't bring anything with them during the escape. Azgrul opened up the crate and inspected the garment inside. It was by no means anything special, but it should be enough to warm the people.

One of the guards came so they can distribute the items inside. Azgrul gave them a nod before moving back to the clothier. "Rough day to be a merchant huh?" He asked, watching the man go back into his wagon to survey his inventory once again. He had also decided to sleep inside his wagon so he wouldn't take up extra space.

"Very much so." The clothier responded with a heavy sigh. "Had I expected that we would be walking right into a massacre, I would not have left Mynol." He shook his head as he covered up the box he had been inspecting and gesturing for Azgrul to come inside. The orc obliged and carried the box and they both climbed off. "Do you think the same fate will befall Mynol?"

The orc's grip on the box tightened. "Hopefully not." He knew his family were all able-bodied and his younger siblings all have some capabilities in a fight. However, those monsters were on another level. They were in the outskirts of the kingdom and he doubted that they were well-protected. "Do you think it will?"

He gave Azgrul a small smile, filled with sadness and fear. "I think it would be likely." He gestured towards an empty spot where Azgrul deposited the box. "I do hope that our king is more prepared." He eyed the tent that was set up for King Lowick himself. Azgrul followed his sight and zeroed in on the Magic Knights. They had been the elite warriors of the kingdom of Lowick - but even they couldn't provide the safety that they promised when the beasts had attacked. "Though, that seems unlikely as well."

"You're right. I don't think anyone can be prepared for something like that."

A girl - blazing and heated - skidded to a stop in the middle of the camp. Azgrul wasn't the most observant person, but she definitely looked like she had burnt through her entire magical reserve and then some. He exchanged glances with the clothier as she called out that she had obtained... something. He looked back at the trail she had left behind, fire dying down slowly but no doubt coming from the capital city. Had the royal needed something within those walls?

The orc moved to help but quickly stopped himself as the Knights arrived on the scene and took care of it. He crossed his arms, watching as they hauled the woman away to a healer, he presumed. Did they have a plan? Was there something they all needed to do? Azgrul wanted nothing more than to do something aside from helping the clothier with the distribution of goods.

He was a Slayer, after all, and there were beasts out there who need exterminating.

On some boxes nearby sat a girl, Eva, by herself as she watches the people around her. Many here for similar reason as to her, for business, or maybe for something more personal. She couldn't tell by just watching obviously. Yet the gloom atmosphere in the air looms over her. The city of Lowick and not to mention the lives of innocence people were robbed by beasts unknown to anyone here in this camp, how was she to cope in a situation where it hadn't affected her directly? How can she help people cope with their own loss? The answer to this question was lost to Eva as all she could do was sit an watch now as people went on with this long and drawn-out evening.

"...I don't like this." Eva mutters as she sat the plush back-pack to sit on her lap and had it face her. "I don't know how to help with how the way the things are right now. Feels like I'll just mess up if I intervene or soothe anyone here." She sighs and furrows her brow. "But then one can argue that I won't know unless I try. Yorik would say something along those lines and I can hear it ringing through my head already." Her eyes narrows at the doll. "That would be where I'd fight him over that statement." Blinking, she frowns. Yorik always seemed to have had the answers to everything to her. He was good at problem solving, logical, had good intuition and not to mention sound advice. It'd be now where she'd turn to him, except he was no where around now. "...Ah, I wish he was here."

By a glance, one could either assume this girl was talking to herself or the plush doll in her hands. It certainly was an odd sight for a woman of her age, but given the circumstances of what happened today one could take it as a way of coping. Eva was slumped over with the arm in her arms as she thinks over all that had happened. She empathized with those here in the encampment, to lose what you called home and the ones you loved is a hurtful thing to experience. The idea of even losing her siblings to such atrocities would've left her deep in rage and misery.

"I sorta hope nothing like this will happen at Zephry."

A girl then soon approaches the encampment with each step a trail of flame on the ground. Yet, it was the scene of knight quickly gathering all around her is what brought her attention to her. Having not paid any attention as to what happened prior to her entrance, Eva was left to assume that maybe she was another refugee who found their way to the camp or maybe someone important. It left her with a quizzical gaze, but shook it off as she's sure the knight would have all of it handled.

Looking back to her plush, she gives it a small squeeze with her arms. "Tonight is going to be a long night..." She sighs and then spots a group struggling to put up a tent. "An opportunity. So he would nudge me and say, I should help them out." Nodding, she hops off the boxes and slips her plush backpack over her shoulders. "Besides, my expertise and judgement would be useful to help put up the tent anyways." She says as a slight confidence boost to herself as she began to walk over with a slight smirk on her face.

Oh, but everything had happened so fast - comparable to the gusts of the bleakest typhoon - and the transformation to silence had come and gone like a boat downstream. A bustling locale, Saint Reginald, was torn from its roots and the seeds of its activity were scattered. Hjadana had been on scene in a manner of chance, circumstance and intent. Sure, he'd been in search for a good adventure, something that would finally help him pursue his goals of conquering his illegitimacies, but the plunge of chaos that had arisen was far beyond what he'd expected. He began to have his doubts when he saw the camp, the lack of smiles and about as much happiness as a funeral session.

And now, he found himself incredibly discomforted. In a time like this, he wanted something to do. Not out of excitement, but the need to feel useful to someone or something. Everything had gone down the drain and yet he was sat there, twirling a stick he'd found on the floor and looking to the sky with a colourful garb on his body. That idea of fitting in had never settled once. An outsider, first and foremost, then the additions of a bastardised race and lack of understanding on the situation left him most uncomfortable. It was all so muddy, he thought, and the temper of the evening was much to be desired. Who could blame any of them? Families were dead, homes were burned down, careers were ransacked and blood was spilled. It wasn't the typical festival, he could tell that for sure. No, festivities were for times of greatness. And the only good thing that had come out of the horror was opportunity; and by the oath of his intention he felt all the more gutted by the desire to seek employment and self-fulfilment from it.

Yet, assuring that he would not swallow himself in guilt that early on, he rose to his feet and began to walk around the camp. There were few talking heads and most were locked in heartfelt discouragement. Hjadana knew it was unwise to disturb their moment of peace. And so, he looked around for a task, something to introduce him to the rabble he'd thrown himself into. Everyone around him was, to him, far superior than he was. They were surrounded by people they knew, or they donned armour, weapons, businesses, true personalities...All of it was hard to grasp and he only yearned to fit right in.

He saw an Orc assisting with a clothier, selfless in his endeavours. The lean Hjadana swept himself onto the scene, drifting in with a manner of foreign confusion and awkwardness. Looking into the crate, he found himself admiring the material before him. A smile came on his face and he was quick to strike up conversation to ease the silence.

"These are fine cloths," he proclaimed with a little murmur, doing everything to keep it a quiet conversation, "I'd say you put your heart in the right place to give out such things to those in need. Admirable, comes to mind. Mind if I lend a hand on these last few?"

The merchant, still half-in-conversation with the prowess of the Orc, waved a hand in acknowledgement and nodded to him. It could've gone worse, but the lack of a reception had taken him down a notch. Breaking that ice had always been such a stinger. He'd seen those monsters, those things that had ruptured all that these people knew true, and it made him feel all the more uncomfortable when no one could keep their words flowing. Perhaps he was just confused on the world, or perhaps he was yet to experience the full force of the shock.

When granted passage, Hjadana walked over to the cart and grabbed the first box he found. It was a lot heavier than he thought it was and the wind was quite nearly taken out of his sails. He recomposed himself and made a second attempt, getting the casket of clothes out into the fray. He left it aside the other near-empty crates and sighed, feeling a sense of artificiality to his assistance. Nothing felt purposeful. There was an aura of sadness to every sorrowful act he did. And it was greater than the initial grime that plagued his hidden mask. The shame was exasperated tenfold. And when things had died down within the camp, he'd convinced himself that he'd taken a step too far into an occupation not suited for his kind of person. He was weak, even if capable, and the experienced dresses and armours of the other camp-members put him to shame. A second sigh left his lips, before the commotion to a new arrival, caked in ember, arrived. Several approached her, but the push of guardsmen retrieving her stopped the inconsequential from investigating her presence. He didn't get a good look at her, but the softness of her voice had definitely introduced a new emotional place in the camp. If it didn't worry people, it surely livened a few souls up.

And without realising it, he was stood next to the orc, both staring at the event that took place. Hjadana glanced at him, looked away, and then stared right back at him. His presence hadn't really been noted, and what looked like the sternness of his gaze gave him all the aura of power he'd expected. Taller, broader and littered with small scars and scratches - he'd stumbled upon a truly experienced individual. Hjadana wasn't exactly inexperienced himself, but the display almost proved him to be but a pipsqueak in comparison.

"Run of the mill chaos, huh?" Bugger! He'd let slip his voice first, disrupting the thoughtful silence that could have comforted the adventurer. He cleared his throat and tried to clear up his awkwardness. "Just the regular afternoon for us, aye? Well, maybe not to this scale but...you know we get around, in more ways than one."

The more he talked, the more casual it seemed. He found his voice, that comfortable and laid back individual who tried to cheer people up, even in small talk. It wasn't much, but it went to lengths that he hadn't registered. A sort of encouraged personality shift with added benefits, if he were to describe it himself. He looked around and smiled kindly up to the orc, unaware of them sharing similar native roots.

"Colour me impressed, it looks like we'll be in deep agony for the next months and years. A toast, even, to the worst of the worst. Thank the bloody stars above." His chuckle was pained, agonised even, by the reality around them. They were sat in excrement and left to rot in the filth. It was any miracle that the King had made it out on such haste, intact nonetheless, and he nudged the orc with another faint smile. "Don't know what she was on about, but do you think there'll be any sort of great reaction afoot? A counter to the great collapse?"

The group of knights carrying the flaming girl would split into two groups messily, squabbling among themselves in the stress of the moment. Only those closer to the scene or with better hearing would audibly hear it, close to the king's tent, with the knights bickering at a lower tone as to avoid causing panic with the civilians. Anybody who could hear them would hear the panicked arguments of knights wishing to preserve their status and gain favor with King Lowick in these treacherous times, with only one man not participating. To break up the arguments, he would step aside with the wounded girl and hand the backpack she was carrying over to the rest of the arguing knights.



The red knight would carry the barely breathing girl over to a medical tent being set up, visible frustration on his face that even in such times, many were still concerned for their titles and their own lives. He would open the flap of the medical treatment tent and disappear inside with the girl, not a single gleaming interest of gaining royal favor when the life of a comrade was at stake. Meanwhile, the other knights would rush to King Lowick's tent, backpack held, and disappear into the royal tent after displaying their identification as Magic Knights. After approval, they would enter, and many voices inside would start chattering and shouting desperately among each other before long. The Magic Knights who guarded outside, forbidding entry or even entry within ten meters of the king's tent without identifying oneself as a Magic Knight, would appear visibly perturbed and concerned by what they were hearing from inside.

After a bit of help from some rather strong and capable individuals, merchants would finally begin selling and trading. Currency might not be so important before long, so it was up to them to take initiative in a game of conspiracy and manipulation with each other. Not a single drop of blood would be spilled, but it would nonetheless be a battle just as cutthroat as any war on the planet. Some were already muttering that this was the apocalypse, and hope was dwindling with each minute that passed without reassurance that everything would be okay. If one looked upon the survivors around them, they would find that the meager population here was nowhere near what Saint Reginald proudly held as its daily residents. Upon a quick estimation, there were likely no more than two hundred people that survived the capital city's destruction.

After a while, the red knight would make his way out of the medical tent and wipe sweat from his brow, a look of relief across his face even with the grim situation. He'd look towards the royal tent for a moment with a sharpened glare, and then look away after shaking his head in disappointment. One look at him could tell he was decently ranked in the Magic Knights - at the highest ranks, one could request personal enchanted armor rather than following the regular dress code of the Magic Knights' uniform. He walked with a confident gait towards one of the many campfires being ignited, seeing that it was dying, and raised his palm out towards it from a few feet away. Concentrating. After another moment, a small puff of fire came out after some clearly strenuous effort on his part, clearly having put in work to get such a minor spark to blast out. Regardless, it was enough to ignite the flames once again, and the campfire burned the strongest of any that was set up at that moment.

The man would then sit down cross-legged next to the campfire, and follow its dancing embers. A few people gathered around as well, seemingly comforted by the presence of a Magic Knight near them rather than guarding the king. He'd pull a package of dry meat out of one of his pockets while conversing with the various citizens.

Elsewhere, one could take note of the royal tent and see that, with Magic Knights funneling out one by one and staying in formation once outside, some kind of major announcement was about to be made. His Highness, King Reginald Lowick XI, started to make his way out of the tent with his head held high. He would give the camp a few minutes to settle down, giving even the peasants their time to calm their heartbeats in the presence of such a glorious king that was also so close to them now. Being a king of good heart and stalwart leadership, he would even allow the commoners and the rabble to finish their conversations before continuing, waiting for all to be silent like the considerate ruler he was.

Azgrul had barely acknowledged the elf at first until he had spoken about the commotion. He looked down at him and offered him a small smile. He hadn't expected an interaction with most of the people in the camp aside from when he was giving out blankets or clothes for people to grab. "Certainly isn't rare for me to find trouble sooner or later." He agreed with a small shrug. He was worried about a lot of things but it was still a fact that there wasn't exactly much they can do about what happened now. They just had to adapt to the new threats that have appeared before them. Adventurers fought to survive. This was no different.

He hummed in agreement. It would take a while before they could find a true counter to fight these monsters. Not even the most skilled of Lowick stood a chance after all. What happened to Saint Reginald was certainly a testament to the challenges that the kingdoms will face in the future.

The orc looked back at the magic knights, noticing that the girl was still collapsed onto the ground as the knights argued in front of her. His eyebrows knitted into worry. "I can only hope that the king has a plan. Whatever she brought must be sensitive, considering she had ran back into the ruins just to grab it." He idly responded to the elf but he never took his eyes off of the commotion. He could barely hear them from where he was and they seemed to be arguing about the king's favor or something along those lines. He looked back at the girl and it was obvious on his face that he was not pleased with what he was hearing. Azgrul had half a mind to come forward himself to grab the child and bring her to the medical tent but a knight in red armor had already done it for him. He was the only one who wasn't involved in the argument and he pushed the bag containing whatever the knight had retrieved to the rest of the group before bringing the injured knight to the tent.

"Even in such dire situations, many are still worried about their reputation, huh?" He observed. As he turned his attention to the other merchants, many have settled onto selling their wares as opposed to simply giving them away. Maybe Azgrul should be glad that he landed a job with such a charitable soul who understood that it was likely that most of the people that had managed to escape did not bring anything with them. Favors were being exchanged and he could see his client waving someone's pouch of gold off. "I wonder how long this camp would stay intact when they're worried more about themselves than about each other's survival."

"Ah, where are my manners? My name is Azgrul, a Slayer currently under employ with Sir Ein." He waved towards the merchant. "Though our contract has ended a while ago." Azgrul was supposed to leave the capital as soon as the clothier managed to set up shop, but everything had happened so fast that they had stuck together.

The Magic Knight from earlier had exited the medical tent and sat down at one of the campfires, sparking it to life using magic. Some have already started talking to him so Azgrul paid him little mind. He seemed at ease so he hoped that the female from earlier was perfectly fine as well, simply exhausted from the amount of magic she had burnt through. Soon enough, however, the royal tent's flap opened up and out came the king himself. Azgrul raised an eyebrow, tapping on the elf's shoulder and gesturing towards the king with a tilt of his head.

"Looks like the news came earlier than expected."

'More concerned for their own reputation that the life of the woman. Barbarians.' Rem watched the scene unfold from the spot he stood rooted. It wasn't to be unexpected. No one had anything anymore. It was lost, abandoned when they were forced to run, so it was to be expected that the only thing these men and women could bicker over would be their reputation. This was the chance for the knights to shine, to make something of themselves, wasn't it? If they didn't take this chance...There might not have been another one in the future.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose when the soldiers dispersed, a man in red heading over to the medical tent with a girl, Rem turned. Dragging his hand down his eye then, it was only now that weariness was beginning to truly set in. The day was slipping farther away into the black of night, and in the back of his head, Rem was beginning to rethink his idea of stealing away into the city again. As he thought, becoming distracted from his environment, he stepped into a girl he hadn't seen.

"A-ah!" Crying out in a bit of shock, he blinked. "Apologies! You are unharmed?" Reaching out, he put a hand on the girl's shoulder to make sure she remained steady, looking at those bright red eyes in the process. "I was not watching where I was going. My apologies, miss."

Before he could do or say anything else, a murmur began to run through the camp. Their King had left his tent, and made to speak. Eyes widening, Rem left the girl before she could even respond, making his way to the front of the crowd to hear what their King had to say.

He shrugged at the comment about the Knights. Reputation aside, there was so much confusion around them that the gravity of the situation hadn't really settled in for any of them. Those used to the cruelty of the world, like the experienced stature of the Orc and his faint words, were quick to set their priorities into motion. Hjadana was more or less understanding of their confusion, as he was too himself. The camp was a mess, however, and a much needed direction was yet to be cast upon the adventurers, knights and survivors of the apocalyptic purge. He waved his hand in the air to waft away the deadened silence between him and the orc, who identified himself as Azgrul in conversation with the merchant. Truthfully, the half-elf wasn't that interested until he heard a very homely keyword leak from his low-toned lips.

"A Slayer?" Taken slightly aback by the revelation, he whispered only to himself. To see such a figure from his homeland, one in which he held a little resentment for in partiality to their role in Ludrix Nacht's successful rebellion and rise to power, a move which ultimately broke apart his family livestock. His expression drowned itself for a second before he recomposed himself back to the chipper-tune, keeping his own personal history on the side. "Couldn't get away from the blasted past, could we?"

When Azgrul's attention was finally drawn away from the merchant, he quickly silenced himself and returned to the happy-go-lucky attitude he'd shown so far. Spectating the bustle of the knights held much to be desired, but their position had already been thought of previously. Azgrul's judgement wasn't from a place of falsehood yet it carried the heart of a survivor over one who'd lived a different life. He waited for him to be back by his side before he chimed in on the manner.

"Their minds may be in the wrong place but this seems very out of proportion to what a mere knight might seem accustomed to, now wouldn't you say?" He began with a soft-yet-suave tone, letting his words flow fluently like a river. During his talk, he continued to twirl the stick between his fingers. "We can't all be survivalists. Give them a day, and they'll be back in their places, maybe. If not, then doomed-be-them, for they're failing their duties. A duty which, might I add, is not under our supposed call to arms, is it?"

The tap to his shoulder came at a quiet surprise. The gesture towards the sudden appearance of the King caught him off guard rather quickly. He dropped the stick, losing his flow on the dexterous twirl, and frowned to himself at the slip up. In turn, he followed Azgrul's hand toward the great figure. Surely enough, he looked almost as he'd expected. There was an ounce and a half of honour running through his veins, and his appearance amongst the people, as well as his patience, spoke volumes of their employer. A matter of circumstance seemed to have placed Hjadana in the right spot for the right line of work, lest he were continue to wander alone and asunder from his home and people.

"Well, oh well, this is sure to be interesting." Quick to pay attention, he put the image of the elven girl to the side, though it still lingered. Someone of such relevance to himself had caught him under the umbrella of interest, but he dared not to speak a word of such thoughts until he was sure of where they were headed.

Standing somewhat proud with her fists rested at her waist, Eva stares at the tent she assisted with stand firm and tall. Of course without her they probably would have struggled with it. It felt really good to be of help to some people and hearing a word of thanks uttered out to her always left good vibes. She liked it. Just feeling like she did something good would make her day at least the slightest bit better especially with what is going on now.

That was went she caught wind of the bickering and arguing among the knights when it came about their ranks during a time where people are mostly trying to get by. Eva steps away from the tent to listen in a little more carefully in the distance to see amidst all the arguing was the girl wounded with any little assistance. This annoyed her as she would expect a knight's duty was to protect the people around them and yet their priority was over selfish concerns. "Seriously? Of all things they can just--" Eva began to take a step forward which was then halted at the sight of another knight cladded in red taking the girl into the medical tent. "Oh. Someone got her...thank goodness." A sigh of relief escapes her and then continues on her own to find a place to rest for the time being. Though she wouldn't find rest easy with the subject the knights have chosen to argue about.

"I get it. Nobility, rank, any sort of privilege is always nice. It's fair to fear not having nothing left, but still... what's all that worth if it isn't earned anyways." Eva grumbles as she walks about. Their attitude made her angry as it also had her divert her attention from the path she's chosen to walk. Instead it was into another man who thankfully held her steady with a hand on her shoulder. "Ah." Blinking she looks up at him and was just about to answer until he suddenly ran off by what seemed to be a sudden announcement to be made soon. "Don't just run off like that!" She grumbles with a stamp on her feet and marches over to the campfire where the red headed knight had sat around. Plopping down on the dirt, she hugs her plush backpack and awaited for the announcement to be made.

King Reginald took a step forward with his head held high, his chest puffed outward, radiating the dignity and grace of a man commanding the lives of all in his sight and beyond the horizon. Despite being a man in his late 30's, his hair had already lost its color; decades of overuse of magic, time and again for the sake of his people, had resulted in the eradication of his crimson locks. He looked upon his people, his vision scanning across them, looking into the eyes of those he had protected within the walls of Saint Reginald and its surrounding territories. He looked at them in silence, just for a while, as if a parent imparting a great revelation onto their children. After a moment, he would turn his head to the side to look behind him slightly. "Bring it over.", he would state in a voice that held neither concern nor apathy, a ruler possessed by the concept of neutrality. Holding out his hand, a knight would hastily trot over to His Majesty's side and produce a dagger, sheathed in a small scabbard made of a bright silver. After a moment of pause, looking at the object as if looking at an old friend, he would unsheathe it at raise it skyward while looking upon his people.



"My citizens, my friends, my knights, hear me now. Saint Reginald has fallen, but we have not! Through the brave efforts of one of our Magic Knights, we have the Azoth Dagger under our control! Using this, one of the great symbols of the unfaltering mortal spirit, we can bring the judgment of the old conceptual gods to these foul beasts! We may not remember the names of those who once created us and gave us our world, but we WILL give to these wretches who destroyed our proud city a proper judgment. We WILL slaughter them the way they so cruelly tore apart your loved ones, and they WILL, in their final moments, remember the fear of gods they had long since forgotten!"

The blade of the object known as the Azoth shone with the setting sun, giving off the heir of something otherworldly despite being a rather simple-looking weapon. In old texts, the Azoth Dagger was said to be one of the greatest feats of craftsmanship in all of Ivor. Anybody who'd studied magic or Ivorian history would know of such a creation, known to be locked away deep in Saint Reginald's royal vault where nobody but royalty or the most magically adept could ever hope to enter. It's known as a weapon that combines all elements into one blade that never dulls or rusts, and always aims true towards evil.

One by one, the Ivorians gathered around to listen would begin cheering, and the morale of the soldiers whether it be Magic Knight or regular town guard, was also raised. Even the red knight, who was already optimistic, seemed relieved with his expression softening somewhat as he stood up and away from the campfire he had conjured. He would begin moving through the crowd towards the front - towards His Majesty. Seeing this, Reginald would continue speaking after the cheering had died down.

"However, I am old beyond my years. As king I cannot take to the front lines as I once did. My mind has advanced, but as you can all see, my body is not what it once was; the consequences of a magical bloodline, you see. However, my son..."

At this, the red knight would approach forward from the crowd and kneel before Reginald, eyes closed and taking on a more resolute expression now.

"My second-born son, Prince Regis, will take this Azoth and claim victory for our glorious homeland! He will take the Magic Knights, the Saint Reginald city guard, and any adventurers or capable volunteers to reclaim Saint Reginald and prove that the initial attack of those monsters was but a fluke! For us, my citizens, victory is OURS! And tomorrow, we take back Saint Reginald both in anger of those we lost, and to keep alive those we haven't yet lost!"

King Reginald would raise his hands up high after finishing this speech and handing off the dagger to the red knight, now revealed to be the second son of Lowick's current royal family, Prince Regis. He slid the dagger onto the left side of the belt at his hip, and humbly made his exit to allow His Majesty to continue speaking as he will, watching to ensure that nobody was in immediate danger during the loud noises of revelry and relief from the people at the camp. If nobody would interrupt King Reginald or make any hostile attempts at him, he would give one final cheer of boosted morale before retiring once more to his tent for the evening. Closely afterwards, Magic Knights would follow him into the tent, with a few around the perimeter of the tent to guard.

Crowds would begin dispersing to settle into their tents for the night, with city guards going from tent to tent and conscripting able-bodied citizens and adventurers for tomorrow's grand battle. For those without tents, merchants would see the chance to seize a temporary market and offer comfortable shelter... for the right price. Lastly, Prince Regis would lean against a tree near the outskirts of the camp, overlooking the fallen Saint Reginald that had been dwindling from sight with the sun about to finally bid farewell for night to take over. He seemed on edge, and uncertain about something.