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Maerec was relieved to see the faces he did as he collected everyone around. Some of them looked worse for wear, but at least alive. Looking around at them now, he could estimate how many he could hasten to keep up with the horses. Possibly with the help of others, they could get there before the dragon decided to make another attack.

Deep in that thought he barely heard the Eskandr woman approach him. He turned his head to see Hildr near and clasped her hand on his shoulder. He did not shy away from it, nor did he seem all too offended by her presence.He could feel emotion rise from her hand how she grabbed hold of him, even if her face showed lack thereof. There was a level of fear, of course, but there was something else there as well. Remorse?

Before Maerec could respond to Hildr, Arsene and Caelum spoke up on Maerec’s defense. As much as he agreed with what they were saying, he felt no need to tear down Hildr further than she already had been. Plus, Arsene and Caelum made their point quite clear. None of her Eskandr stayed. Why did she? Surely there was something in her heart that told her to do the right thing regardless of being an Eskandr or Parrench.

“You can never be too sure—“ Maerec began, cracking Hildr a hint of a sideways smile as he placed a hand over her’s on his shoulder. He gave it a firm squeeze before letting go and stepping away from her. “Not all of those that have knowledge have the means to fight. And not all those that have means of fighting have the knowledge to win.” He looked up to the sky, tracking the dragon. They were running out of time. They needed cover first. “Let’s move!”

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Any horse that could be found was brought over and given to someone that could ride. Hildr was given a horse and Maerec chose to run instead, helping those that did not have horses keep up while giving direction of where the cave was. He led the group through the open field, moving in patterns so as to avoid as much of any assault by the dragon that may come their way. Fortunately they were blessed to make it to the caves with relative ease.

As soon as they met the entrance of the cave, he saw Percy being tended to as best as the soldier could. He was no binder, but he was doing his best. “Make way!” Maerec called, ushering everyone inside to take shelter.

The caverns were larger than they seemed on the outside, and now that Maerec wasn’t chasing after the enemy through them, he could grasp just how advantageous they were. The Eskandr were clever, finding a place like this to store hostages…

Maerec allowed everyone to settle in for a moment before bringing the circle of individuals together to decide on the best plan of action… including Hildr. “Killing the dragon is going to be a difficult feat,” he bagan. “So instead, what if we attempt to subdue it? We just need it to stop attacking.” He paused for a moment, giving a quizzical expression. “Are… dragons a beast that can be reasoned with?” A small huff escaped him as he placed his hands on his waist. “Regardless, I believe the best thing to do is to try and ground it. So long as the dragon remains in the air, we have no chance of stopping it.”

“It’s risky, but I believe if we can get at least one person up to the dragon, we can use them as a conduit to feed energy from the dragon to us below. If we can manipulate that energy effectively and quickly enough, we may be able to cause the dragon to descend until it either attempts to land or, well, crash.” He paused to let the others add in their own ideas and input. And to scold him on how ridiculous the idea sounded. Though, he felt it could at least be an option.

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Interaction with: @RezonanceV

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Damned self-righteous fools Of course she knew what he did, she could smell and see it as it was going on. It made her sick to see the horrors her comrades committed. Friends she shared drinks with, laughed with… If she truly thinks about it, the only reason for fighting has been for another. “What do I fight for again?...” Thinking about it made her reveal her panicked expression, seeing the knight’s eyes filled with firmness. “Faith?... Any form of Divinity has forsaken me… I’ve had my fill of faith.”

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Interaction with: @Dao Ma

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Feeling the other knight’s hand squeeze her own while showing a smile… It was absurd. To think he wasn’t disgusted by her touching him, wasn’t she just a barbarian in their eyes? He truly was a weird one.

As the group arrived at the cave and seeing how roughed up the prisoners were, something in her ached. Hearing the dragon in the distance got the knight to laugh loudly. “Boy, perhaps you’re right.” Smacking her roughed up armor with vigor. “You shall have my aid, giving me a chance is more than I can ask for.” A short pause as she thought on his words. “Subduing it isn’t impossible… You just have to fight it with killing intent.” Tears rolled down the knight’s cheek as her laughter only got louder. “A beast like that reasoned with? Boy, it will never view you as an equal, just an enemy.”

Perhaps his plan wasn’t even that bad. Hell, it even reminded her of something reckless a certain Death’s hand would think of. “If you do take that beast to the ground… I think I can keep it on the ground… at least for a while…” She tried her hardest to remember what she had done to fell the beast all those years ago.

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It was shortly before midday when the katterhorns started up. Already, there had been a trickle of smoke from the direction of the Grøntempel and it had been a subject of idle conversation lately. Perhaps they were making some sort of offering. Maybe it was merely garbage being burnt in the yards beyond. Perhaps it was truly a fire in their sacred place. Many were still on edge over the havetskriger that had gotten loose the day before. Now, however, the great rasping cries of these horns rose into the cool spring air, harsh and crisp, and echoed off of the fjord walls. People paused in their daily errands and work, searching about with eyes and voices, and there were now other ribbons of smoke rising from the city: more than the usual assortment of cooking fires and forges. So it was that the city of Meldheim, heart of the Eskandr lands, lurched from calamity to crisis.

The people of this place did not yet know it - for it had been centuries since anyone had dared attack their capital - but all of the misfortune that they were now to endure was the work of Parrench infiltrators. These had been based in Rigevand for the past handful of days and their true nature unknown even to many of the Quentic converts who called the village home. For, as much as they now kept the gods of the greenlanders, they were still Eskandr and would have almost certainly rebelled at the prospect of their guests putting the city to the torch.

The katterhorns continued to sound, people scrambled, and fires spread. Within ten minutes, soldiers, firefighters, and sorcerers were running about the streets. The Grøntempel was fully ablaze now and a growing crowd gathered on the mountainside outside of the city walls. From this multitude rose cries and lamentations as they watched Meldheim burn. A punishment that they had so eagerly and thoughtlessly inflicted upon others had now turned its ire upon them.

As thousands streamed out of the capital's gates, chaos took their places within. For every fire put out, there seemed to be another three. Thieves and opportunists ransacked dwellings and plundered shops. Enemies of the Eskandr continued their work with a grim sort of glee. Then came the flooding, in earnest now. Streets became streams, cellars filled, and anything left unfastened was swept away.

Into this stepped Queen Astrid and the Æresvaktr. Whatever exhaustion lingered inside of them from the day before was nothing in comparison to the urgency they felt in action. Countermeasures were enacted, and stormclouds began to form over the city. Over a dozen Parrench either surrendered or were struck down in the midst of their crimes. Kol, Vali, and Arne were dispatched to the hotspots: the Kongesalan and Grontempel, the docks and the market, to both blunt the catastrophe and hunt down the ringleaders: people they'd likely met before on the battlefields of Relouse. Silently, the hooded figure of the Skygge joined them, but a dilemma remained: fight the fires, save the people, and salvage the treasures soon to be lost, or bring the arsonists and raiders to justice?

Yet there were more raiders now. The Sea People rose from the river and its ruined locks, dozens of them invading the palace and plundering wantonly. If they had not come as an army, they had come just the same and it was yet another figurative fire that the Eskandr had to put out. Too many! There were altogether too many and it was a mystery, a punishment, a farce that this had been allowed to happen! The water barbarians ran eagerly about, filling sacks of sea-cloth with whatever they could find, jabbering in their strange language, and chanting mocking songs. It was a tragedy: something to run from.

Yet, around the far hook of the harbour, a trio of knarrs rounded the headland, unremarkable but for their sparse crews and unerring path right into the mouth of it while many were trying so hard to escape. Aboard were Trygve, Maud, and Lazy-Eye Jacques. Of the strange swamp girl, Nettle, there was naught to be found and nothing had been seen of her since she had gone to tame the havetskriger. Already, they could see a few familiar faces along the docks: some who'd come with them and some who'd been rescued from Meldheim's prison. There were just a few more: a few more who needed to make it there. They could afford to wait around for fifteen more minutes. Then, whoever remained behind at that point would remain behind for good.

The hourglass was trickling, the pieces were moving and, as Maud watched from the boat, a heavy wind swept flames in the direction of the Kongesalan. A dozen small fires were now licking at the mighty building's periphery. Though the Tree of Life had not yet caught, one would have to think it would be only a matter of minutes. Trygve could not bear to look at it. "Træet er helligt. Vi burde ikke gøre dette," (The tree is sacred. We shouldn't be doing this,) he mumbled under his breath. Busy racing through the burning streets of the city where he had grown up, Svend glanced back and felt a pang of... something. Coming back here, playing the role of this Jarl Bjorn or Alsfard. It had awakened in him not a love for the old gods, for they were false, but at least for his own tongue, his own people and culture, and he felt himself a traitor, an eternal outsider among these Parrench. The die, however, was cast. He had chosen his path and, whatever regrets now welled up inside of him, it was his to walk.

Then, flames touched the great tree that rose from the roof of the Kongesalan and everybody within Meldheim was compelled to gaze upon it.

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@Tackytaff@Force and Fury

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Few remained so close to the outskirts of the city as the Timewalker's residence. There were contingencies for when forest fires broke out, it was always better to fall back and ensure the preservation of the inner city buildings. As it was, only a few were left scrambling for belongings when Dyric arrived at the timewalker's house. He'd gotten there before Talit at least, and hurried himself to finish his task before her arrival. She would come after all; it was a near certainty. He knew the timewalker to be an old wound for Talit, and not one she would let lay with her friend on the line. Dyric waited until certain there was no one else watching before using the little binding magic he had to seal the door shut. Smoke was already filling the air, and it would be only a matter of time before the trees in the area would catch. A tragedy to be sure, but if he couldn't frame Talit for the timewalker's death, an accident was the next best thing.

“What are you plotting now?”

As though privy to his thoughts, his sister’s voice descended from the branches above, her dervish chain evaporating as she lowered herself to the ground. Talit’s face was set with determination and anger. “Why are you here Dyric?” She asked in the same tone, beginning to circle her twin. They both knew he had no chance of escaping her.

Eliis had been tailing Talit for a little while. It was hard to keep up with the Dervish whilst also maintaining a degree of stealth, but the fires of the city certainly helped, as did the commotion of the Eskandr raid. There was a part of her that wanted to intervene with that, but her mind had been made up since yesterday, and she knew she had to have this conversation, for the sake of her people. But, partway through her journey, she had noticed that she was headed to the timewalker’s and, before long, she had also spotted Dyric there. She quickly began to put two and two together as she sat in the branches, observing the scenario. The barred doors from the binding magic and the confusion of Talit at her brother being there. What was going on here? She would wait for just a moment longer before she’d get involved, hiding in the branches, waiting, listening.

"What are you doing here?" Dyric countered, stepping backwards and away from the building he’d bound shut. "Shouldn't you be helping people with all that magic of yours?"

"I am helping them. Not my fault they don’t see it that way yet." She said, taking her eyes off Dyric only long enough to examine his work on the door. "Did you really think that would stop me?" She asked, blowing the entire frame inwards in a gust of force magic and splinters. "I'll warn you once Dyric: stay out of my way."

He scowled, but made no move to follow her inside.

Eliiis would wait no longer. She leapt from the branches the moment Talit went inside and moved to follow, attempting to ignore Dyric. She didn’t want to look at him, but at least she could assume that he was making a feeble attempt to save the timewalker. She brisky went to follow after Talit, hoping that she could stop whatever was going to take place, and get a chance to talk to the girl before it was too late.

There was a curse and a strong pull on Eliis' back, stopping her from entering the building. "What are you doing?" Dyric demanded, apparently in less of a hurry to leave than he'd let on to his twin. "Talit's lost all reason - she'll kill you as soon as she sees you."

”And you’re just going to let her in to kill the timewalker? After you made that effort to save her? What was the point of you even being here then?”

Dyric let out a short, cold laugh, but made no effort to loosen his grip. "Save her? What do you think will happen if she's allowed to speak truth to the Elders? This-" He waved his free arm at the encroaching smoke "Will be over soon enough. The trial will not. You think they'll show mercy to a Tar'ithan agent?"

Things started to click in her brain. She’d never prized herself on her wits, or her ability to see through people that were quite obviously using her, but she realized that she’d been betrayed. He was happy to watch his people burn if it saved his own skin. She turned to face him, unbridled fury in her eyes, as his words rang in her ear. He didn’t care if his sister damned herself, he didn’t care about her, he didn’t care about his great-grandmother's dying wishes. She’d been used, manipulated and tricked by this man and he was about to do the same to his own blood. No. No more. She’d not let it happen. Loriindton was a pit of vipers and this snake was particularly venomous. She would not let this one bite another of their own.

” Your city burns, your people die, your sister slays a kinsman, and you laugh? I will not stand here and let you manipulate your family once more,” she spoke, venom in her words as she grabbed the arm on her back and threw him into the floor. Close range was her specialty, and he was so very light before her rage.

"It was you-" Dyric didn't have the chance to finish his thought before the taller woman flipped him to the ground with shocking ease; knocking the air from his lungs.

"Talit?!" A voice called out from some distance away, but close enough to capture the pair's attention as it came closer. "Talit! Where are you?!"

Dyric took the distraction to right himself and catch his breath. "It was your hand that ended Merit's life." He gasped, "That's all they'll ever see you for. I'm the only one who can help you."

”And it was you that tricked her!” she spat back, as she went towards the door of the timewalker’s shack, hoping it wasn’t too late to save the two women inside.

"Eliis," Dyric called to her, his voice low. As she approached the entrance it burst into flames from a wave of his hand. "I can help you, but not if you go inside." Already he was making distance between them, falling back into a defensive stance.

”I don’t want your help, Dyric. Merit had your help, and she was your family. I don’t wish for anyone to die here except for the huusoi ransacking our city,” she exclaimed, her patience wearing thin as she took one step back from the door and turned to look at the snake. If he would not stop the flames, she would make him.

"Our city?!" He spat at her, drawing energy from the heat of the forest fire around them. "What do you know of Loriindton? Meddling southern bitch." He made no effort to hide his disdain and lobbed an arc of heat and fire at Eliis.

She’d expected as much from him. He had propped himself up ready for a fight the moment she’d gone towards that door, and it seemed that violence was the only path forward here. As much as she detested fighting her own kin, she could justify it now. He didn’t see them as the same, and by this point, neither did she. She drew quickly from the heat of the smoldering door in a rush, and erected a small barrier of stone shielding herself from the incoming wave of fire and dismembering it once more into energy she could use, before making a run at Dyric. If she got into close range, this would be over as quickly as it started. And so she used that energy kinetically, to increase the pace of her stride.

Dyric didn't wait to see if his first attack landed before drawing again. This time, his casting more subtle as the Maledict began to charge at him. A combination of essence in her mind and trick of the light on the forest floor gave the vision of two dozen Dyrics by the time she reached the first. As one they began to rush around her, each indistinguishable from the next unless physically touched.

Illusions. That’s all they were. There were those in her order who could use such abilities, and she’d trained against it. An important lesson rang in her mind: ‘If your eyes are against you, do not use them’ and so, she closed them and listened. The world became silent aside from the crackling flames of the city. And that’s when she heard it. A footstep on her right and a very slight indication of breath; it was all she needed. She snapped her arm out and felt flesh as she grabbed hold of his neck. His little gambit hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was because of the state of combat she now found herself in, that her other arm plunged into his chest without hesitation, like a sharpened blade. She opened her eyes to the sight of the man, who she dropped near instantly upon seeing his blood on her hand. She didn’t feel guilty. It was kill or be killed, she’d seen what he’d done to Merit and she was just another loose end to him. Else, why would he have attacked her? Justifications and excuses ran through her head as she took a moment to stare at him now lying on the floor.

"What did you do?" A voice came from behind her. Lyen's search for Talit had finally brought her to the Timewalker's house and she’d witnessed the fight between Dyric and the tall stranger that seemed too familiar to call such. There wasn't time to wait for an explanation in the end though; a glance to the inflamed doorway was enough to distract her. "Talit!" She called again, and rushed to the entrance, binding herself a new one free of fire.

Eliis snapped out of it the moment she heard the voice, and turned to face Lyen. Wasn’t that… The woman who was supposed to be on trial? She had sympathy for the girl, but why exactly was she here? And why was she looking for Tali? None of this made sense. She followed after the other maledict, eager to get into the flaming building as well. She hoped she would not be too late.

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"Why are you fighting me Rae?" Talit yelled into an empty room. The Timewalker was still a floor above, safely hidden away. The hag had prepared for her arrival, called upon a greyborn to protect her. It would barely slow Talit down. "You can't beat me." She continued to thin air. It was true enough, though the other woman's vanishing and reappearing complicated what should have been a decisive fight. When no response came from her taunting, Talit made to move for the stairs for a third attempt. Just as the others, the moment she made it only a few steps, Rae materialized further up and struck to push her back down. This time Talit was ready, she swung her chains over her opponent to root in the ceiling above, securing herself from losing her place even as her leg was swept out from under her.

"Let me pass!" Rae was pinned between her chains, until she faded again. Talit didn't wait to see where she would turn up again, instead pulling herself to the uppermost floor of the Timewalker's hut. The ancient woman herself, sat on the narrow cot that served as her bed, huddled in the dark and facing the window. Again Talit unleashed her chains to pull her across the room with greater speed than she could ever move on foot.

"Talit! Stop!"

"Lyen?" Talit responded, already knowing it to be her before turning. The older Yasoi stood in the doorway, along with the shockingly tall southern stranger from two nights before. It was all the distraction Rae needed to return again, charging at Talit with enough speed to knock her grip loose from the Timewalker. All three were sent sprawling to the floor. The space in the small room was all the more sparse with the new arrivals, but it didn't deter the two from sparring on the floor, Rae dodged most attacks while Talit was able to absorb greyborn's blows with little impact. Only the Timewalker's voice brought an end to it. With some assistance from Lyen and Eliis she was on her feet again, albeit leaning heavily on the window-ledge.

"Enough, Rae." Her voice rasped but remained clear enough for all to hear, past even the creaking supports of the home and roaring fire bellow. "Your city burns and your brother lies dead. Are you pleased with the path you've chosen, Talit'yrash?"

"Shut up!" Talit yelled, using a wave of force energy to finally land a blow on Rae, sending her towards the timewalker, leaving both momentarily stunned against the wall. Lies and more lies! She had been left with no choice- chosen nothing. Certainly not this. The Eskandr weren't meant to come with such force, weren't meant to bring fire with them. Had Dyric only listened "Lyen," She started again, turning to her friend but her eyes caught instead on the hands of Eliis, still wet with blood. The timewalker's words rang again in her ears.

"What’s happened?" Even as the timewalker and Rae righted themselves behind her, Talit did not look at them again."Where is Dyric?" She asked, her pitch increasing each time her mouth opened.

"I-" The tallest of the grouped women looked at the faces of strangers. "Outside. Dead."’ Lyen's solemn nod was confirmation enough. Talit reached out with force energy, enough to drag the red-headed woman to the floor.

"Murderer!" She screamed, equal parts shock and surprise. Impossible. Her brother - her twin, she would have known. "How?" No sooner was she on Eliis, than she redirected her anger to the timewalker again. "Explain yourself! What twisted lies did you feed them? My brother?"

The timewalker's wrinkled lips pursed then parted to reveal missing spaces between small and rotten teeth. "A maledict killed Merit, your brother was honest on that, if nothing else." A crooked finger pointed to Eliis. "Dyric's blood is not the only she has drawn these three days passed."

"It was lies!" Eliis defended herself. "He told me it was what she wanted- a dying wish! A final selfless act to protect Loriindton!" She shook her head, eyes shining. "Merit was the best of us, I would never have ended her life had I only known the truth."

"You're unworthy to speak her name!" Talit yelled at her, already drawing energy for another attack.

The timewalker took her attention instead: "And you, Talit? How much blood will be on your hands after today? Sending a thief and mercenary to poison soldiers, to send them against your own people-"

The gears clicked in Eliis head, the final piece of the puzzle that had been missing for so long was finally in place. If she could have ripped out her heart in that moment, she would have. Alas, she was on the floor, so all she could do was watch as hatred for this girl filled her heart and mind. To Eliis, Talit had truly been lost to the huusoi. To think she would betray her own people for some foreign king. It was blasphemous.

"I never meant for this!" Her voice was now unnaturally high and strained. "Had Dyric listened from the beginning- Had anyone just believed us-" She stopped and looked between Eliis and Lyen, searching for some understanding and finding none.

There was a brief moment of confusion in Eliis’ mind, but stark clarity came after. She thought that perhaps she should not judge this girl for her crime, since she herself had committed a grave sin all too recently. But Eliis realized Talit was not remorseful for her actions. She would do them again if it meant she got the outcome she wanted.”You are lost. You let your city burn not for duty, but for love. I know the truth - your truth. And I swear to all the gods that you will burn for your sins, just as your city does now. ”

Words wouldn’t be enough to contain Talit’s anger. She rushed at Eliis, the air around her hot with energy; she meant for the southern witch to burn.

"Rae, it is time." Before the words had fully left the timewalker's mouth, the greyborn had taken hold of Eliis' arm and disappeared, this time the tall woman vanishing with her. "She can only take one, I'm afraid," the old woman whispered to Lyen, sorrow in her voice.

"I won't run from a friend." Lyen replied with a good deal more confidence than she felt. "This isn't right Tali, you know it isn't."

"You trust her? Knowing what I told you- What she did to me?"

"She isn't the one who took your leg." Lyen kept her voice low, desperate to be a voice of reason.

The timewalker took a different approach. "Stupid girl. A child! You want the entire truth and I shall give it to you. You will die before your 30th year, Talit'yrash. Loriindton will vanish and be forgotten. The Yasoi will crumble and hide away from the world in their shame. This is the future you have wrought."

Talit was lunging again before Lyen had a chance to try to defuse the timewalker's words, there was enough time to put herself between them, barring Talit from passing any further.

"You see how she poisons with her words Lyen- She is a cancer to our people and must be cut out."

Lyen shook her head, but gave one final effort; "The truth will prevail," she said, "However ugly it may be."

Her own words being used against her proved the final straw for Talit. How could Lyen, Lyen of all people, whom this had all been for, be so blind? There was no blinking back the tears once they came again, now at least she hoped the smoke that had come in the room was enough to hide them.

"Parrence needs the Yasoi," Her hand trembled as she drew energies, and sensed Lyen's person for the thin silver blade always kept at her hip. "Please," She said, "This can't have been for nothing, I don't want to lose anyone else."

The blade had slid easily and smoothly through the right hip and out the left shoulder. The timewalker was still screaming out curses when Lyen's body slumped to the floor, but Talit finally recognized the spitting vitriol for what it was. The old woman feared her death. As much as she had seen it coming, she did not wish to die. The observation did not lend itself to sympathy, as Talit used the energies still inside her to push the hag from the window, accelerating the force of gravity so she'd have no hope of saving herself. The fall was too far to even hear the woman’s screams, had she produced any. Without sparing so much as a glance at the bodies on the ground or in the tree, Talit fled from the house the same way Rae and Eliis had, though they'd left not a trace behind and she eventually circled back to put out the fires and finish the Eskandr. She would save her city and her people, even if it meant dragging them to their salvation, kicking and screaming.

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Twenty lay dead by the time the fires were completely extinguished. Merit's body still lay among them, still greyer and more gaunt with each passing hour. Her place of honour was now shared; Chad, Dyric, and the timewalker all lay ahead of the rest of the deceased residents. A place had been left for Rae. None were able to find her and assumed the worst had come to pass; she'd been caught in the flames or between Eskandr who hadn't left anything behind.

Hers wasn't the only body missing from the memorial. Lyen's body had been left outside in the forest. Unburned and unburied, exposed for the elements and animals to exact their judgment. The final insult for a traitor, murderer of two barons, and deceiver of Vyshta. Talit remained quiet throughout the ceremonies, the picture of grief; pale faced and tight lipped. She hadn't wanted to remain long enough for the proceedings at all, but her binding was needed to heal the injured, and leaving early after Gari had pledged two battalions of Yasoi dervish and mages to the Perrench cause would be nothing less than an insult. Not that any questioned her now. Talit'yrash, saviour of Loriindton, avenger of her family, killer of the treacherous and deceitful Lyen'Ivhere'Zulc....It was easier not to listen too closely to the praise they showered her with. She accepted the commendations with a humble nod and teary smile, speaking only long enough to give thanks and notice of her intentions to leave ahead of the group and give warning of their arrival. The cheers for her were deafening.

When everyone else had long left, and she stood alone over the corpse of her brother did Talit let her tears fall. Had only they listened to her; heeded her warnings, accepted her apologies, it could have ended so differently. A long silver dagger was produced from her clothing. She'd cleaned it well, though she swore she could still feel the last of Lyen's magic lingering inside. An impossible melancholic haunting of guilt, she knew, but it did draw enough sentiment that she found herself kneeling on her one leg at the base of the tree that had once been her childhood home. She dug the hole with her hands, scraping knuckles on rock, dirt caught under nails. It wasn't large, but she'd made it herself, without the gift. The knife was placed inside, with a short, customary burial blessing, and buried. It was a weak balm for her stinging guilt. She faced east instead, and looked to the future, thinking of again seeing Arcel and the comfort he was unable to provide her. But what else did she have left?

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A S I E R

With a brisk pace down the catacombs, Asier finally found his way along the path set by Osanna. The smell was musty and thick with charred remains of incense used in the frequent burial rites. The collapse of the ceiling brought the dust up as it billowed throughout the chambers, each breathtaking in hundreds of years of Eskand’s long-dead ancestors as the fog obscured the exit.

Osanna was currently set over his shoulder. Her wounds were patched up in a quick and simple manner that only the situation and timing could afford. He could save her life, the rest would simply be a bonus. Snorri followed behind the both of them, carrying Asier’s spoil-filled burlap sack for him, not making any efforts to escape the situation or too frightened that came along cowed. It wasn’t long till they made it to the fateful ladder which went up into the back alley, and Osanna was starting to come around.

“The timing cannot be better, champion.” Asier smiled widely as he placed the box by the wall. Allowing the illusion of respect without the potential embarrassment of her awareness of having been carried.

Asier looked over towards the boy, who appeared to be keeping a distance. “Not going to hurt you, son,” though clumsily translated in simple terms into the Eskand tongue, “Ingen Skade - No Damage,” which did not reflect reality.

The sound of chaos was definitely rung overhead as there was screaming, shouting, and loud footfalls. From what he could make out, there were cries of fire, and this was an omen for distraction. He moved to find the ladders stored away as she brought them to the opening for their escape.

Osanna’s breaths were loud and labored in the catacomb gloom, but she gestured up at the latched exit. Asier had to help her out, but Snorri scrambled up with all the ease and energy that a nine-year-old could muster. The city around them was chaos, smoke hanging over the heads of screaming, fleeing people as their world tumbled around them. The streets were a flood of soldiers and commoners. The sky was a thick and miasmic gray. “The harbor,” Osanna panted and turned in that direction, reaching out a hand to Snorri. He took it, wide-eyed, but didn’t cry or shrink back. His eyes seemed to be trying to swallow everything he saw.

Later, Asier would remember little of that desperate flight down the curving roads that lead out of the city and down to the far embankments where their escape lay waiting. It was like a fever dream. All sweat and stench. People are running with buckets and using what meager magical abilities they had to start drenching their homes in water. A more organized effort looked at tearing down homes, to the cries of protest and anguish. Meldhiem was on fire as thick smoke rising from the Gromtemple signaled the end times of the Eskandr gods. Not even the capital of the Eskandr Empire was free from the touch of war.

Then, like a sunrise after a long night, the harbor materialized out of smoke and fog and there, waiting at the end of its long, ragged docks, were three familiar craft.

---

O S A N N A

“Hurry! Get on board!”

Osanna stumbled down the docks, the wood seeming to sway and shift beneath her with each slap of waves against its thin, age-nibbled planks. Every movement hurt. Her skin was awash with fire, tight against the right side of her skull where hair had once been and now showed only blistered skin. She could see it on the backs of her hands too. The undersides of her forearms. Her side and right thigh. At least one of her ribs was broken. Maybe two. And still, she struggled on, heart and breaths and wind loud in her ears as the screams of the city had been.

They reached the boats, and she pushed Snorri in front of them and got him safely to the hands of waiting allies before allowing herself to be bundled aboard to cries of “Maud! She needs aid!” and “What the hell did you try to fight, girl? A bonfire?” Like they hadn’t seen mage wounds before.

Osanna found herself lying near the bow, not far from Asier and Snorri, the mage-girl Maud leaning over her to inspect her injuries. The binding didn’t hurt, didn’t feel like anything but the slow cessation of pain. Almost like numbness, the occasional prod of Maud’s fingertips as distant as Parrence’s friendly shores.

She began to feel drowsy, lulled by the stamping of booted feet, and yells as they prepared to make way. Osanna didn’t see if any other allies made it aboard, but in the last moments before her eyes sank closed and she drifted back into unconsciousness, she felt the knarr begin to move. Headed away from enemy shores. Headed home.

---

---

---

---

A newfound sense of determination settled deep within Maerec’s bones as he headed the group out onto the field just outside of the mountain cave. His plan was absolutely mad, but even still, he got the approval of his peers, including the once enemy Hildr. That was enough to fulfill his resolve. They were doing this.

“Prepare yourselves!” Maerec called, “Hold strong, and hold onto your faith–wherever it may lie. We can do this!” He pointed upwards as he crouched down, accumulating as much energy as he could to springboard himself up into the sky. He would use any energy given to him from the others to continue to launch himself up onto the dragon.

The dragon circled around upon seeing the group out in the open. “Steady!!” Maerec called out again, feeling unnerved energy swirl around him. “Almost…!!” His eyes remained locked on the dragon, watching those massive wings flap and carry it upwards before declining towards them. “Now!!” Like a slingshot, Maerec shot upwards and with every assist, he climbed higher and higher. He cut through the wind as if it was only there to guide him towards his goal. The dragon was fortunately so large, there was little chance of overestimating his trajectory. The dragon grew in his vision, and he realized the beast was so much larger than initially thought. The distance between land and sky did not do justice in just how massive and majestic it was. Even so, he did not waver as he grabbed gold off its leg and hoisted himself up onto it.

He could see all kinds of magic rise from below to assault the dragon as he climbed further onto it. With each strike, the dragon jerked and thrashed, forcing Maerec to try and hold onto the scales tightly. One attack from below seemed to be exceptionally effective though, and Maerec felt the dragon roar and shutter, causing his hand to slip. Time seemed to slow down for the knight as his heart pounded hard, eyes widened as he saw the space between his hand and the dragon grow.

He was free falling.

He couldn’t fail now. Maerec reached out again, feeling energy flow into him as the dragon flapped its wings. At the same time, a warmth came over Maerec, as if being comforted by loving arms. It was a blessing of some kind, no doubt. Camille’s prayers to Dami had reached him, and Maerec knew now that this wasn’t the end for him. As if launching himself off of a ledge, he narrowed himself until he shot through the sky towards the dragon. Feet touched first on its scales, and he rolled to soften the landing. As soon as he was right again, he held onto one of the dragon’s spines, securing himself back on it. A lesson would be learned–it was not going to be easy staying on this beast.

–

The fighting continued, and Maerec did what he could to attack the dragon from its back while attempting to stay on. He could see the familiar magics of his brother of Solenne, and it only encouraged him more. They were doing it! The arcs of thunder that struck the dragon were powerful and very effective. And there were several times where Maerec had been thrown off, only to return to his place upon it. The dragon was being worn down.

Several times the dragon swooped low in an attempt to attack those on the ground with its teeth and claws. It was then where Maerec was able to take glimpses of what was happening below. The ground party did not look well. There were scorch marks everywhere in long lines and bodies lay charred and lifeless. As the attempt to swallow his allies was avoided, he could hear screams flying passed him. They were losing so many… But he couldn’t give up now. Oraphe keep him.

An attack left the dragon thrashing in the sky once more. Maerec was able to hold on, but just barely. With fire in the pit of his own stomach, and energy coursing through his entire body, he forced his way towards the head of the dragon. He would see it in its eyes now. The dragon was enraged, in pain, angry, frustrated. He could sense it. But that didn’t make Maerec waver. Putting what energy he had stored in that moment, he struck down on the dragon’s neck, forcing it to let out a heavy roar. In that instance, the dragon flung the knight off as it whipped its mighty tail around, striking whoever it could. As Maerec fell, he was met with the mouth of the dragon and fire aimed directly at him. He was able to change the direction of his fall just in time, and grabbed hold of the dragon once more.

The ground party was getting worn down. He could hear and see more and more being taken down by the dragon, and he knew that they needed to end things quickly before their defenses would finally give out. The knight was exhausted, as were his allies. And yet they continued to fight on. His hand slipped and once again he began to separate from the dragon. But tiring of this, Maerec got back onto the dragon, near its head by now. “You’re mine!” He roared at it, voice raw from the ferocity of his words. It attacked, and thrashed, and yet Maerec held his ground. He could feel the effects of overdrawing coming into effect now. His arms were starting to weaken, and there was a brief moment where he felt as if he were going to slip into nothingness, but determination held him steady. “Calm yourself, beast!” He called out to it as Arsene made another mighty attack against it. “Or else our assault shall continue!” Surely the dragon was tired of being pestered by such small and insignificant creatures.

“We don’t want to kill you!” Sure, it would have been hard for the dragon to trust that. “But we need you to stop!” The dragon must have been tired… for it seemed to slow itself from its thrashing. It still fought, but with more fatigue this time. “We know you have protected the villagers in the area for a long time now. But look at what has happened now! That which you protected has been burned down. Those that revered you are either dead or dying. You were their protector!” Maerec felt different somehow as he spoke. As if he himself were just as large as the dragon. As if he could look into its eyes and make it understand. “You have every right to lay an assault on those that harmed you, but your rage has gone beyond your enemies! Be at peace, dragon, and spare those that do not deserve your ire!”

Hearing Maerec, the dragon crashed into the side of the mountain, revealing exactly where its nest was. Three large eggs rested in the nest, and the dragon painfully roared and curled itself around it. Beaten and bloodied, exhausted from the attacks, the dragon seemed to accept its defeat. Maerec had made it onto the dragon’s head and stood there, staring down into one of its eyes. Behind him, he could finally hear the sound of a music box. It was a strange sound, and not quite a song that would be expected. But he could see the change in the dragon’s eye as it listened to his words and the music box. As the others collected into the area, Maerec crouched down to pet the dragon on the stretch between its eyes. “Protect us, and we shall protect you. And what is yours.” He finally said, giving an exhausted smile to the dragon. He could feel the connection between them. He couldn’t tell if their goals would ever align, but for now, they had a bond, and the dragon was at peace.

The exhaustion took hold of the force knight, and Maerec collapsed onto the dragon’s snout. He rested there a moment as he heard his allies begin to rummage around the area. He heard claims laid to the eggs, and after a while he sat up and motioned over Hildr and Percy to come near. “I see Arsene has taken a liking to one day having a dragon of his own.” He laughed and held out a hand to help Percy up onto the dragon. “I could see what you two had done on the field, and I humbly thank you for your assistance. She calls to me…” He reached down to pet the dragon’s head once more. “And I believe she thinks she would be able to trust you two as well… if the need ever arises to request her aid in battle.” The chosen three, the first of their kind–dragon riders.

“Lady Hildr,” Maerec started, more quietly as he allowed Percy to go onto whatever boisterous rant he decided to in that moment. “I would like to personally thank you for deciding to help us. We lost a lot of good men today, but I feel their sacrifice was ultimately for the greater good. Our drive and determination has been rewarded today, and I hope you choose to continue your path on the same road with us.” He offered her a slanted smile. “I feel you may be able to find a place with us here.”

After a while, Maerec heard his name being called out and he turned his attention towards the inner parts of the cave. The others had found all kinds of treasures and were pulling them out, showing them off and divvying them out amongst one another. “Shall we see what’s left for us?” He called to Hilr and Percy before jumping off of the dragon.

As he landed, a knee gave out, sending the knight crumbling to the ground in a fit of laughter. How ridiculous he must have looked. “I must not have my land legs back yet.” He chuckled, rolling over to push himself up only to see a small ornate chest not too far from the dragon’s tail. Curiously drawn to it, Maerec stood and walked over to it. It must have been missed as the others rummaged through the treasures. He carefully opened it and looked inside.

A fruit?

The fruit was vibrant and beautiful. It looked almost as if it could have been made of glowing red gems. Something about it hummed with energy. It also looked incredibly delicious. There was a moment where Maerec did not have a hold of himself. It was as if he was in some kind of trance. The fruit was too tempting, and after all of that, he just had to eat it.

And so he did.

Visions flashed before his very eyes–things that he could not fully comprehend. But just as soon as they started, they stopped.

As Maerec seemed to come back to himself, he felt something very hard hit him square against the jaw and sent him flying back onto the ground. “What was that for?!” He yelled out, seeing that it was Caelum that sent him sprawling, and continued his assault. What had he done? No, really… Maerec, what have you done?!

---

Otios was never to find out the true cause for Lyen's death, but instead believed that the friend he had gotten to know in the Battle for Relouse had fallen victim to the very battle he himself had arranged for. He strolled through the woods around the smoking city menancholically and wanted to be alone with the emptyness he felt inside him. An emptyness that very much also felt like a battlefield between two different stances: The one being that the whole operation had been totally worth it, the other that this was absolutely not the desired outcome.

Never before had mourning about the death of someone he had gotten to know personally while not mourning about the death of many more anonymous people felt so absurd and so justified at the same time.

Otios was not even aware of just how much he was merely dancing on the top of a volcano with his thoughts. Neither did he know that Lyen's death had actually happened a lot differently and that he was not to blame for it, nor had any news reached him about just how much a certain Lady Talit weighed the loss of one of her own legs higher than the potential death of people who had been dragged into her personal plot of revenge. She had tried to suck him into it, too, and the only reason this had not succeeded was the fact that the Eskandr army had marched a significant tad faster than anticipated. He didn't even know how much he should have thanked them for that.

And, had Otios been able to eavesdrop on the events in the timewalker's hut, he'd by now have had no doubt about Lady Talit happily taking the praise all for herself should there be any in the future. It was him who had both engineered and executed this plan, having a vague and abundantly abstract idea about that something had to be done could hardly count!

History, given how things looked right now, would just forget about him however.

---

Muffled shouting. Boots running over something different than forest floor. The general feeling of panic.

Otios stopped dead in his tracks, convinced that he had heard something. Yet there was nothing but birds chirping and some leftover dew dropping to the ground around him. And the smell of burnt wood. Maybe this all had just been too much for his nerves right now ? He walked on not really caring about directions.

'Where did this come from ?' one voiced asked. 'I don't know! Something punched a hole in the wall!' another, female sounding one added. 'We must seal it!'

He stopped again, this time much more startled. What wall ? What 'something' ? Was his overstrained mind now playing dirty tricks with him or was there actually someone hiding in the woods doing that ? The thief took a much more thorough look around and also craned his neck to look for anyone up in the trees, but only discovered something eerily familiar hovering a tad over his head: The pitch black thing that looked like one of his lightning bolts, but wasn't moving like one.

Otios remembered: The fight in the wagon where the timewalker had surprised him. She had done this to his attack, something he had never witnessed before. It seemed the aftermath of it was still resting in place like an immovable object, waiting for eternity to finally become a thing of the past. At least that was what Otios presumed, given that absolutely nothing seemed to have changed about it the slightest. Now however he had the opportunity to look at it in all calmness. And the more he did, the more it mesmerized him.

'Too late. Nothing is going to stop it once containment has been lost!' a more elderly person added, almost sounding as if already having yielded to some kind of fate. Then there was a hissing noise as if air was trying to escape from something under immense pressure, quickly followed by what must have been a deafening explosion had it not been muffled like everything else.

Was that thing making these noises ? Now that he was so close, even putting a small log in place to stand on so he could actually reach up to it, the sounds and voices appeared to be louder, but still they were nothing but a low whisper in total contradiction to the kind of event they appeared to carry over. A brief silence set in, then the faint echoes burst out again and repeated the catastrophe that appeared to happen at their origin.

The very verb 'to walk' implied some sort of movement. So if somebody was called a 'timewalker', then said somebody had indeed some potential to move along time if language was supposed to have some logic to it. So... had she sent his lightning strike to another point in time indeed ? And what point in time then... had she even had any time to take aim or had she just defaulted to some random destination not caring about what the bolt might hit there ? The idea felt quite a little frightening.

Still, Otios reached out with his large hand slowly. He wanted to touch it, yet the moment he did something else came to haunt his mind.

History might forget you, but your reward is here, in front of you!

A different voice. It didn't match any of those already heard and didn't sound panicked either, but had an enthusiastic tone to it. Otios identified it as his own.

You can't undo what has been done, but you can make the echoes stop!

Otios' hands were itching to reach out to their fullest extend, grabbing the whole of what was before him. This was beyond mesmerizing, this was tempting.

The fabric has been torn and lies bleeding like a wounded tree. Its sap is bitter sweet, but it has no equal! Your deeds have made yourself equal that inequality! It belongs to you!

Otios' mind was on rails. He did not even truly know what he was doing, he just did it and started drawing from what had felt like the least preferable thing to draw from just moments before. A patch of nothingness so devoid of matter, energy and just even the bare potential to be understood truly, yet now it produced a surge of energy the thief had never felt before. Part of him wanted to let go of it for it just felt not right and dangerous, but things were descending into a state of craving faster than that part of him could cope with.

At some point there was nothing but sort of a scream to be heard in the forest. The voices, the noises, everything had stopped. The black entity was no more as he collapsed to the ground, releasing what little food he had eaten previously onto the forest floor the front way out.

---

Otios was not another Eskandr army approaching Loriindton, but he felt like having the mood of one. His hairs were halfway standing upright and seemingly hating each other as static electricity had built up in them. His eyes had not so decorative rings around them as if he had either been in a fist fight or no real sleep for quite a while, and he had figured already that whenever he touched something wet or metallic connected to the ground, a punishing amount of current would flow through and out of him. An electromagnetic hangover asking for a particularly thick pair of leather gloves!

The Yasoi didn't want to see anybody right now for he'd see all of them early enoug on his way back. He just wanted to leave. Yet as he had finally prepared his bags with far less patience, but a lot more headache than he was used to, his horse evaded his touch even before it could happen and refused to be mounted. When had that happened before ? Stupid beast, now he'd have to walk for a while or what ?! And of course it was all the fault of this wierd, black, floating piece of shit he had gobbled up!

Strangely enough, while at one point he had started calling it 'black shit', at the other end he also felt all the more intrigued about it. Were they all the same ? Did they all exhibit this weird form of communication if one could even call it that way ? And... just how rare were they actually, given he had never seem something like it before ? Stumbling upon another one would have been a nice diversion from war!

One could argue that Otios no longer was dancing on a volcano, but had become the volcano himself.

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Mentions/Interaction: Arne'altan'jaros, The Skygge @Force and Fury, and Vali @Wolfieh

---

The fighting was intense with the Havetskriger was fierce, they had lost 15 of the 30 foot men who had helped the these 4 great heroes. However after the fighting they were able to beat the creature down to a state where they were able to restrain it once more. Yet their work was not done, taking down and restraining the beast was but the first of the crisis, now came the many raiders, bandits, and sea folk whom seemed to have came to take from them. Kol's face was stern, his anger was something immense, he drew in energy as he stepped forward and barked, no, roared. Each step was heavy as he called those around him and nearby as he carries his voice with gift, "These Greenlanders have came from the pits of hell and brought its fires with them!" As Kol roared out to those abled men who ran, he knew this was not something they could do with just the army. They needed every abled person to push back against the fires and raiders, "Why do you run? This is our home, they come to burn our home! Bring water! Bear fangs! They come to burn us! Let their fires burn our hearts, we are not a people to cower!" Kol throws his hands out to each side and begins to fill those around him with Essence Magic, he roars once more, "Now, we save our home from these invaders! Send these Hellraisers back to where they belong! Quell the fires with the cleansing waters of our home!"

Kol turned to those behind him he then ordered, "Arne, you must go to the Grontempel, there are fires the must be put out and pillagers who must be coming from there". Kol then looked to Vali and the Skygge as he said, "You both go to the docks. My Brother, you will need to grab as many people as you can and must go quickly, for them to leave they must leave by ship. Make sure to clear the Market place as you can as you go and leave others to finish there while you go to stop them from leaving". As Kol looked to Then finally Kol said, "We must leave now, I will go to the Kongesalan. There are raiders and fires there that must be put out before they b-". Yet before Kol could finish what he was saying his head began to turn as they all bore witness to the Great Tree being touched with fire. Kol spoke as his feet began to move towards it, "We must go". As Kol roared once more to all who were looking, "GO! Our city shall burn if we do not! Go to where you were told!" As Kol began to draw energies from the fires and began to enhance himself to leap and move through the city. As Kol drew from the energies from fires, he tried to put some out as he moved, assisting by giving others Essence Magic, and using Arcane to draw in the heat and flames quickly to continue moving. Anytime Kol came across a raider, pillager, or Hellraiser he took their heads without mercy and without resistance. Kol, Deaths Hand had arrived, and all in his way had Hell to Pay.

---

Interaction with: Maerec@Dao Ma Queen Eleanor @Force and Fury, Caelum @RezonanceV, Camille @pirouette, Arsene @Th3King0fChaos,

---

Seeing the Perrenchman accept the help from not just an enemy, but a heathen as well is nothing short of astonishing to her. Perhaps she had misjudged her advisory all this time, their obnoxious self-righteousness still ticks her off however. Not that it mattered all that much at this moment as there is a way bigger, scalier problem at hand for her.

As long as she could make herself useful one last time, she would be able to travel the life beyond in peace. If she were to survive this encounter she would devote herself to protecting the life of the man that dared to give a second chance, even if only until these battles are over.

A shocked look appeared on the Drudgunze’s face as she witnessed the man she followed threw himself right towards the dragon. The knight couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. “Let’s hope your plan works out.”

After the group split up to trap the dragon in certain air space the dragon dove towards the knight. It seems as if the massive beast had it out for her. With enough will and force, Hildr managed to get off with a few minor wounds. “Bastard doesn’t pull his punches!” The beast barely paid attention to any specific person and almost seemed like it was trying to find an weak spot, the warriors stood steadfast and even weakened the beast to the point of slowing it down.

As the knight almost took the time to clear her mind it was halted by an incredibly loud roar from the beast as it became enraged even further. Hildr became stunned by the sound of it. as she was getting a hang of things once more the dragon swooped in and batted her away, breaking a couple ribs and crippling her ability to fight.

Seeing the dragon go in for the kill, the knight mustered up a final throw of her blade with as much force she could throw in it. It hit the beast’s wing and forced it to come lower to the ground, losing interest in its prey from the other’s attack. “Up yours…”

As the battle concluded, the knight forced herself to approach the victorious group. A wide grin with gritted teeth could be seen on her face as she hasn’t felt this in a while… victory… The sight of Maerec calmed her mind, good thing he’s still alive. “Sir Maerec,” the Drudgunze looked with a rather regretful smile. “I doubt I can be very much like the Perrench.. but if you do wish for me to fight with you, you shall have my blade for a while longer.” The knight was still somewhat uncertain of her future.

The treasure, this dragon had quite some… unique treasure, not that she much cared for it. The thrill of battle was what counted after all, but these gloves look rather comfortable... Maybe they won't be missed.

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Event: Escape from Loriindton.
Characters: Eliis @Suicharte, Rae@viera

---

For a moment, Eliis thought she was about to meet her end. Talit was strong. She was beyond strong, an otherworldly strength possessed of only the avatar of the gods. And yet, she was fine. And not entirely there? She’d never felt the way she felt as she floated through reality, led by the hand by the ally of the timewalker. Walls and floors and solid matter were nothing to them, as they slipped out of existence, and traveled. They didn’t stop for quite some time, until they were more than far away. At first, anger, rage, guilt and resentment towards the one legged traitor filled her mind and so she had no will to speak. No conversation was had for what seemed to be hours. And before long, she had the urge to ask questions, and know who this guide was, but she didn’t have it in her to speak, to cry, to even feel at this point. She just wanted to sleep. Until they finally stopped. They were definitely a few miles out from Loriindton at this point, and the fires were long past them, though a thin trail of smoke barely visible in the distance sat behind them as she felt her flesh against the ground once more. If she hadn’t been so shellshocked by the experience, perhaps she’d have been more thankful for the absurd experience of phasing through matter, but all that was on her mind was knowing who this stranger was, and why she had helped her.

“So…” the interruption of silence was sudden, and the voice that cut through it was a bit rough. Rae didn’t realize how long she’d gone without speaking until she finally did, and her vocal cords strained.

She normally wouldn’t have let the quiet stretch this long, wouldn’t have the patience, but the same reason that made her get involved in the first place had been keeping her lips sealed. She had liked to tell herself it was because of some appreciation for the timewalker and what she represented, but that was a shallow lie. She wouldn't live long enough to have much stake in what remained in the world after she was gone.

The actual reason was that the timewalker, knowing precisely what button to push, had told her Eliis didn't have anyone else to help her.

And, look, Rae hated that it worked, which is why she lied to herself about her own actions, but her cold, dead heart still held a candle for someone like herself, someone that had been abandoned, even without knowing any other details. The only problem was that, empathy aside, she had no idea what to say that could possibly be helpful. It had been long since the last time she cared to portray herself in any meaningfully positive light.

“Thank you. I owe you my life, however little that means now. You didn’t have to save me, but you did. So, thank you.” she spoke, choking on her words and struggling to get them out. It hurt. And she’d begun to realize that since they’d fazed back in. Not her body, but her soul. She was supposed to be strong, she was supposed to have no feelings, and yet, she was on the verge of tears for the second time in a day. It hurt.

“Hey,” the word came out so quickly it almost cut off Eliis. Rae turned so she was standing in front of the other woman, instead of beside her. Eliis was much taller, and so Rae had to look directly up. Her eyes held fire in them. “Do not make little of it. Your life is invaluable, however much other people treat it like it's nothing.”

It surprised Rae herself to hear what she’d said, she felt almost like she was talking to a mirror. She never thought she would externalize it to someone else.

“Take it as a favor. You won't have long to repay me, anyway.”

What a strange girl. Eliis didn’t know what to make of her. And such a cryptic response. She wouldn’t ask, but it rang in her head, a little too strongly. Still, she was thankful for the words.They helped, if only a little.

“Can I ask you something?”

The moment of intensity had passed, but Rae didn't step back, merely continued to look with a tilted head. From an outsider's perspective, they seemed like snakes analyzing each other.

A shrug, “Sure, aim for the stars.”

“Why did you help me?” she spoke, looking down at the girl. Her voice was softer, but she found herself regaining her ability to speak now.

Now that made her move away, to get out of her face for a second. Rae looked to the ground instead, kicked a rock as if she was pondering the question, and not whether or not she should answer it. “The timewalker asked me to,” she said, and it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

Don't trust her, said any rational part of her brain.

Whatever. Might as well. “She said someone backstabbed you. I figured we could bond over that.” Her tone carried enough nonchalant irony that it was hard to tell if she was serious. And without leaving enough room to answer, she extended out her hand; “I'm Rae, by the way. Don't get attached. I'm going to die soon.”

“Eliis. I’ve never really felt like this, but it’s nice to have a friend at times like these.” she smiled for the first time in the day, and shook the shorter woman's hand. She too wondered if she should trust her, if her words held weight, but doubt was gone from her mind. She could not dwell on the past, only move toward the future. Not just for the sake of her people, but for herself. She had to live, to take revenge while she drew breath, lest her words mean nothing. And if she trusted nobody, that goal was far out of reach. “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, so I don’t know if you plan to backstab me, but I think it would be stupid for lightning to strike twice in the same place... So I’m going to trust you. And I’d like you to trust me. May I call you suunei, Rae? ”

There was a long pause, hanging heavier the longer it lasted. It was too much, too fast. Rae stared at their joints hand with wide eyes, and that was about the only thing betraying what was going on in her mind, other than her fingers tightening around Eliis' until the shades of the knuckles were whiter than pale skin.

At first, the shock stopped any feeling from getting through. Her ears rang with that one word, a word she heard many times when she was young. A word she trusted, until she didn't. She never believed it could ever have a nice ring to it again, that it would only ever be coated in bitterness so deep it stains you all the way down to your bones.

The rage was somewhere buried there, the screams of a child that's grown past sadness and developed it into hatred. She felt it bubbling up her throat, had the urge to screech and push Eliis away like she and Vianca were the same person.

Then her fingers flickered. She felt the numbness come to her limbs as her body momentarily faded. Blind panic took over, not because she thought she would die, but because the separation was sudden and forced. Her body was back in reality almost instantly, but the force of the fear made her stumble forward, practically crashing into the other's arms, clutching her torso in a desperate hug. Voice weak, she mumbled; “Yeah, okay.”

Eliis wrapped her arms around hers, and returned the hug. Her hand was a little sore from the squeeze, but it didn’t hurt. Only the pained look on Rae's face did. She’d obviously been through so much before getting here. They both had. But enduring the indifferent cruelty of the universe was so much easier with a friend by your side. She patted her head softly, and sat in silence for just a little while.

“Where should we go, suunei? North or south?” she whispered, keeping the embrace tight.

She didn’t think of her answer, merely spoke. “North.”

And so they walked.

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“Aller, prends-ça! (C’mon, take that!)”

Many wondered what Percival de Perpignan could truly do. Some speculated him to be the strongest man in Parrence, others called him out as a farce. Today he would display the extent of his skill. The Gehenna-class Monsigneus dragon had been left massively disoriented by a pinpoint essence strike from the noble pretty-boy, allowing for others like Maerec to gain ground in subduing the beast and offering a head start to the team, “Ne me décevez pas! (Don’t disappoint me!)” he called out to his troops, many of which died by the dozens, with only the more remarkable mages pulling through.

Percy’s long, blonde hair blew in the searing hot winds ushered in by the fiery breath of the dragon. It engulfed so much and killed so many. The slippery nature of the Stink Knight had saved him from the worst with little more than scrapes on his armour, and he even caved in to help Arsene in a time of need. The act of goodness to his fellow man had the universe give him the protection of his sister when the slime that had gotten him through the worst had run dry from the flames, “You did not need to do that, Eleanor!” he complains with an indignant look to his charcoal-stained face. The fight wasn’t over - Far from it, and their best troops were starting to fall.

It looked bad. The Queen’s defence was beginning to falter and mere men could hardly keep up with a force of nature. Even Percy in his delusions of grandeur began to admit to himself that this was potentially even beyond him. As things were getting worse, observant Thunder mages could begin to feel growing electrical tension in the air. Something was coming. Up above! A glimmer of golden light sparked above the thrashing Tyrannus and descended down upon it just as Maerec had been kicked off again. With a thunderous roar, it looked as though the very heavens had sent a yellow bolt of lightning as punishment to the Gehenna specifically. The creature was temporarily on the ground with electricity running through it, but the scales had clearly softened most of the impact.



A short, armoured Knight emerged from the intense smoke brought by the skyborn strike riding a comically large horse for their size that was also stacked with mail and armour. They bore a big shield on their left arm, and a spear on the other, the latter of which they would peer toward with a mere incline of their heavy helm, “Big and resilient.” they remarked in a metallic and deep voice, although not deep enough to make the sex behind the veil evident. The spear had been slightly bent and chipped from the strike which kept Sasha fixated for a moment whilst the beast rose back up and continued its onslaught.

Despite its growing aggression, its wounds were getting to it with Maerec de Solennes gaining significant ground on the beast. But as it stood, if they didn’t finish this quickly, the Parrench army was as good as dead even with the small reinforcements. Sasha intervened to save the one known as Caelum, hurling their spear toward the ground by the decommissioned paladin, prompting magnetic and blood magics to merge together and form a barrier to save him. Only a little more. Without a spear, Sasha could only help through Essence. And with just that, it would be enough to pacify the beast after a final, decisive strike from Hildr the Red to the dragon’s maw, giving a brief window of vulnerability for the squad to finish this.

What came after was the realisation of many that they had lost an obscene amount of manpower to stop this thing. There had to be a way to make up for it. The decision to tame the beast was made, with Maerec at the forefront. The survivors helped the best they could, with Camille, Sasha and Eleanor performing the final push to finally tame the beast, and Percy keeping a considerable chemical hold on it. The Gehenna was as tamed as a wild beast could be with Maerec as the one it recognised as the dominant human worthy of its respect. Still, that didn’t prevent Percy from indulging.

“Haha! A worthy steed for a dragon slayer such as Percival Perpignan!” Percy exclaimed as he hovered to the back of the beast with no resistance coming from it. After all, he had asserted himself very early on as a threat. Hildr had also earned particular recognition with her ballsy strike at the climax of the battle. The others, well, they had spoils to veer their attention toward. Sasha, without any hesitation or tact, immediately power walked in very loud metallic clangs toward one of the three eggs found in the dragon’s lair. They pocketed one, stared back at the group of men and women that had survived, and just returned among the group as if everything was normal. The same disconnect from others was noticeable when they just pulled the strange rod among the piles of treasure via magnetism before any sort of fair distribution could be made. It resonated well with their manas. They were going to keep it.

“Where is Asier?” the Kitten Knight, having the initial goal to find the King at Chamonix but got side-tracked by the dragon, addressed the question toward the most important person in the room: Eleanor. No introductions. No formalities. Just a loud, demanding voice. “How dare you, Tourrare!” Percival waved his rightfully acquired Scales of Dami to the horse rider whom he recognised the sigil of, “You are speaking to a Queen. Show proper respect, child.”

“Okay.” Sasha made a stiff turn toward Percy before they replied, and then turned back to Eleanor with the same, stiff awkwardness, “Where is Asier, Miss Queen?”

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The Rearguard intercepts Hrothgar’s scouts, spearheaded by Ulfhild the Resilient, with Arnaud stepping up as the immovable wall of King Arcel. The clash is fierce, many of the executioner’s men die to repulse Ulfhild’s own. Ultimately, the seasoned ranger could barely even scratch the hulking man that is Arnaud. Slowly but sure, he gains the upper hand with indiscriminate and unrestrained force. Eventually, Ulfhild is brought to a knee and stares up at her inevitable fate. The axe is just above her with the shadow of Ahn-Eshiran herself cast upon her. But before the finishing blow could be dealt and Eleanor’s mistake rectified, a surge of lightning descends upon both as a form of divine intervention. A heavenly strike that came simultaneous to the one that befell the dragon many miles away.

Ulfhild is still hurt with a deep, bleeding wound on her chest, but it is neither fatal nor enough to subdue her. She is hanging by a string. And Sweyn Thunderspear entered the battle with Arnaud left to defend against the monster on his own. "I would say you had best retreat, big man," warns the eminent sorcerer, "but it would do you no good. This is where your story ends."

Arnaud snarls at the thunder wizard that interrupted his coup de grace. He doesn't move from his spot and stares down the much more powerful man straight in the eyes, "Le bras droit de Hrothgar arrive. (The Right hand of Hrothgar arrives.)" he bellowed as he stomped the pommel of his weapon onto the ground, causing the thick, red ichor on his axe's blade to drip down faster, "I have taken two of your elites already. Your words mean nothing, Thunderspear! You cannot stop me."

With malicious essence magic, Ulfhild is kept from healing for the time being and the two powerful men are left to clash one on one. Sweyn, with his immense power and speed, accomplishes what Ulfhild could not during the entire fight: Heavily wound Arnaud. And with a single arcane spear to the shoulder. Still, the Aheri doesn’t falter, but it allows for the ranger to recover without any hindrance.

"If you run now, to your pretty little king, I may let you live," Sweyn taunted, rising from the ground, arms crossed. The Aheri does not listen, and instead seeks to bury both of them with a powerful earthquake. An attack that both of them easily avoid, as Arnaud feels himself tired after the fiery impalement. "If you will not accept my mercy," Sweyn roars, "then you will die for your pride!" Eyes blazing with magical energies, he picks up the massive figure of Arnaud like a child's plaything and makes a squeezing gesture. Armour begins to crumple. Bones begin to snap. The agony is unbearable. A breath of fresh air entered her lungs. The pain was gone for the most part, still a bit delirious from the bludgeon. Thunderspear had bought her enough time to regain her composure and once again enter the fray. Seeing the Parrench soldier being squeezed like fresh citrus, bought her some joy. She unsheathed her sword and ran towards Arnaud hoping to deliver the finishing blow in the art of a skewer.

Ulfhild's strike is swift and sure. She dodges the roguish Rolfe Bobignon that had come to Arnaud’s rescue who emerges from the shadows and slices down towards Arnaud. By all rights, he should die. Then, her blade is yanked from her hand with incredible force and driven into the muddy ground a handful of yards away. Sweyn casts about immediately for another intruder, as does she, but none is to be found. It is as if the gods themselves have spared this man after having appeared to have condemned him.

He is ready to die. His duty is fulfilled. The Thunderspear is kept at bay, hopefully long enough for Parrench to regain an upper hand. But as the end was nigh, an inexplicable intervention stops this unceremonious conclusion. Arnaud chuckles at this turn of events. It wasn't the Gods that intervened. Or perhaps it was a God. Battered and weakened, he is on one knee and still facing down his enemies, "You will lose this war, Thunderspear. With or without me, Arcel will be victorious." he states with his strong accent, before ripping off the remainder of his armour and clothing on his torso, "Show me what you've got, little man." Rolfe de Bobignon rushes over to Arnaud after witnessing the miracle, and attempts to bind his broken bones back together. "Hold on, Ser! Je suis avec vous!"

Rolfe is severely burned by Ulfhild’s lava strike from below, nearly knocking him out. Arnaud roars in fury. Steam erupts from his being as he stares down the vastly more powerful side. There is little chance of him surviving, but upon seeing Bobignon being pushed to near death already for simply saving him, the Aheri removes all his restraints, "Now I fight as the Zuyr Aheri, Arun!" he growled, his axe tossed aside like it was disposable trash. No armour, no weapon, just his bare hands and incredible speed. He goes to finish what he started with Ulfhild, attempting to seize her with his bare hands.



Rolfe relegates himself to distracting Sweyn, while Arun goes to finish the job. With no armour and no weapon, he uses his hands to slash and smash through everything sent his way while taking any beating needed. Eventually, he does seize the battered woman and smashes her to the ground, readying her for a proper execution. There is no avoiding fate this time, and Ulfhild’s growingly notorious resilience could only go so far. As Arnaud readies his fist to obliterate the ranger’s chest and finish her, Sweyn comes to the rescue once more. His unfathomably massive power on full display.

The moment that he sees Arnaud pummel Ulfhild, Sweyn does not speak. He acts. Prizing her roughly from the giant's grasp, he sets her down on the round before bringing his hands together in front of himself. Seizing the man's arms and legs separately, the Thunderspear hoists him up into the air with naught but a gesture. Considerable strength: that is what the executioner fights his own execution with. It was this man who killed Olaf. It will be the old druid's former pupil who avenges him. Arnaud may be strong, but he is a bucket compared to an ocean when weighed against Sweyn. The sorcerer separates his hands and then it is Arnaud himself who separates. Ligaments and tendons rip and give way. Flesh pulls apart. Eyes bulge and blood gushes.

There is no smile on Sweyn's face, only a grim sort of satisfaction. The Aeresvaktr protect their own. His eyes bore into his victim as he stands there unflinching. Unflinching.... unmoving.

In fact, nothing is moving. The world goes still. Nobody and nothing budges.

For a moment, the only thing that moves it Sweyn's eyes. They narrow and he begins to strain. Another massive power starts to pull against his. Slowly, slowly, and then a little bit faster, the gaps between the five separate pieces of the king's executioner pull themselves back together. The figures in the background reset to earlier positions. Sweyn lets go and Arnaud, wounded but very much in one piece, collapses to the ground. The Eskandr's face looks panicked and he wastes no time lashing out with a colossal thunderbolt the very moment that swirling tear in the fabric of reality opens beside him. His target is none other than Arcel, King of the Parrench.

For all of the power in the bolt, it is absorbed and dissipated effortlessly by Arcel. "I will give you one chance: accept my mercy and leave this field to us now, or you will die here, Sweyn Thunderspear, butcher of Relouse."

Again, he was about to die, and this time in a fashion befitting an executioner and not a warrior. Arnaud was ready to let go, his body barely resisting the unfathomably powerful grip Sweyn had on him. As tough as he was, he screamed in pain from the tearing, but he kept an adamant glare on Sweyn.

Then, it all was undone. Somewhat. Arnaud was in terrible shape, but could still move with his whole body. His heart was killing him, very much tachycardic, but that wasn't going to stop this man, especially after being saved by his lord. Wordlessly, he stood by his king.

"Arnaud, good and faithful ally, you have more than done your duty," said the king. "But you are of no use to me dead or crippled. Take Sir Rolfe are join our army, posthaste. II trust a man of your caliber can still move. Alert them to this Eskandr trickery and send riders ahead to the city!"

Arnaud flinches, but then nods, "A vos ordres, votre majesté. (As you command, your Majesty.)" he wasted no time and Force-hopped to his destination with Bobignon carried along. His heart was about ready to let go, but he was going to at least complete this final order.

"Ulfhild!" called Sweyn. "Go join the Nashorn! I will hold this.... demon off for as long as I can. Bring our troops up. Send riders around to our King's force and we shall have him caught between us!"

"My turn," growled Arcel.

There was a blip: a moment when reality wavered. Nobody was quite certain what happened during it, but the two men stood there, locked in some sort of duel that nobody else could see, as other battles were fought and other people ran to prepare for something that this small action today was merely the harbinger of.

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“You are clearly not a coward,” Inga shouted at Dietrich, “so I don’t know why you are so keen on doing nothing!” She’d had to be held back from entering the rubble. Even now, the energy images of Ositha, Asi, and Snorri were fading into the distance. Above, however, was another energy, far larger and simpler than those of people. It was licking at the timbers of the Kongesalan, hungrily licking, and soon it would feast. Inga turned on her heel, twin braids whipping about like ropes, and darted off in another direction. “The tree!” she cried, boosting herself with force magic unusually advanced for a twelve-year-old. “We must get there!”

A heavy sigh filled the catacombs, from a man who’d had enough today. A small wound dripped blood ever so slightly from his right arm, and it stung, but it did not sting as much as knowing that he had lost the second son of Hrothgar the Black to the Parrench. And now, this impetuous child was determined to do the same, to throw herself into the fire and emerge a hero like some facetious fairy tail protagonist. He went to sigh again, but he realized that would not stop the teens running, nor would it quench the fires that threatened to burn the sacred tree.

“THINK, GIRL! WHAT CAN YOU DO?! THE MIGHTIEST WARRIORS OF YOUR EMPIRE ARE GATHERED HERE, AND YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN UP THERE AND SOLVE THE PROBLEM WITH BRUTE FORCE?! WITH HEROICS?! USE YOUR HEAD!” roared Dietrich, his accent slipping and his voice echoing through the tunnels. He took a second to breathe, and calm himself, before speaking again. “What is something only we can do here, Inga? What advantage do we have?” he spoke, calmer and far more grounded. He prayed that this girl had half the potential that Snorri did.

Inga whirled on him as he caught up. “I am not so stupid as you think, Kressian.” She all-but spat the last word. “I am two and ten years old and have had my first blood. In our family it is the eldest son who inherits the throne, and it will be that fool Ulf, but the eldest daughter inherits the tree.” Having slowed up a bit, she began moving again. “That is my aunt, Frida, but it shall be me when I come of age. I will not have the guardian of our people burn before she is mine to care for and, besides,” she added cryptically, “she has ways of caring for us.” Her gaze took on a royal sort of reproach as she met his eyes, somehow looking down at him from below. “You are either assisting me or you are in my way.”

Dietrich let the girl speak. She spoke of birthright, and inheritance, but did not speak of a plan. Truth be told, he was all about ready to give up on the girl before she met his gaze. He witnessed it. The arrogance, nay, pride required to be a ruler. Perhaps she wasn’t as bright as Snorri, but she had such a strong presence, at such a young age. And even as his blood still dripped down his arm, he felt compelled to help. He opened his mouth once more.“I will help you, Inga. But, we must be cunning. These tunnels surely lead to a point we can ambush those Parrench fucks, and send them to shovel coal. Let’s not fight like northerners.”

“It is others who will make them pay. My mother will,” Inga assured him. “Perhaps you will. I must go to the tree. The Livetstræ will save the city and, if not, I will save its seeds so that it might be born anew.” She swallowed. “I know the route there. These tunnels have been my plaything since I was old enough to walk.” She started running once more. “Follow or be lost. If you can be my sword and shield, I will be in your debt.”

Dietrich wanted to sigh, but then he realized. He’d beaten an incredibly proficient assassin today, what was a bunch of fire. The Aeresvaktr were surely there by now, and there shouldn’t be that many strong combatants. The Parrench couldn’t spare them. He could do this. He would do this. Perhaps this was his mission, not just to save the royals from abduction, but to save the tree of life. He smiled a cocky grin, for the first time tonight, not just because he was confident in himself, but because the girl was finally using her head. “Then let us go, Princess. I will fight for you.”

It was a veritable labyrinth of tunnels and they moved through it at a dizzying pace, Inga’s and Dietrich’s arcane magic lighting the way. It could not have been more than another minute before they arrived. The girl clambered up a rickety wooden staircase and burst into a small supply closet. “Out there,” she whispered,” there are men. If we have sensed them, they will sense us.” Beyond, was the Livetstræ. Its colossal energy image was unmistakable, but the palace was now on fire in earnest and the flames were very close to reaching it. “Can you cover me?” Inga prodded urgently. “We have to reach it!”

Dietrich wasted no time. They were outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise and certainty that they were stronger in the gift than their numerous opponents. DIetrich began to draw from the roaring fires in the palace, both to try and mitigate them, and to prepare for his assault, before he would emerge from the small room they were in.

“Stay close, and use your range. The Visitor would not forgive you dying a pointless death here, Inga.” he spoke, before he began his assault. “I would not dream of it,” she assured him. A vast conversion from the arcane to thunder was internalized, and he unleashed his wrath first upon the unknown foes before him, strange in appearance and mana. He did not know what they were capable of, but he could not hesitate if he wanted to win here. A fierce bolt of lightning emerged from the scepter, leaping from target to target, as he directed it to a new foe every time it struck true, all the while moving forward and trying to make space for the young royal.

Inga was merciless, drawing from the flames and the radiative heat of Dietrich’s thunderbolts. With a look of grim determination, the girl drew, converted, and pounded human and Sea person alike into the ground with invisible fists of force and fury. She did not cover the range that Dietrich did, and the bloody attacks were less refined and elegant in their deadly nature, but no less effective. Raiders were smashed to a blood pulp or lay broken and wailing on the ground. Through it all, she rushed unerringly for the tree. The sheer scale of it was impressive no matter how many times Dietrich had set eyes on it over the past few days. The stained glass windows surrounding the hole in the ceiling where it emerged had largely shattered and still more were breaking, hot sharp pieces of them falling the twenty yards or so to the floor. It was history, heritage, and culture and it was dying in such a was as to make it murderous.

Then, with starling swiftness, a group of six sea raiders converged in a semicircle and a colossal wave of Force lifted the hundreds of pieces of glass from the ground and sent them arching, slithering, screaming towards Dietrich but, most especially, Inga.

There was a choice to make. A split second decision. He’d only drawn enough to fully cover one person, and for a moment, he panicked. But his mind ran clear with purpose. Should the child fall, this venture would be lost. Should she live, he would have a debt from all of Eskand. He would not die from a few measly glass shards. He pointed his scepter at the glass headed towards Inga, and tossed them aside, before attempting to hastily piece together a binded barrier to protect himself, but it would not do him much good. His binding was always lacking, and barely had any mana to use, so much got through, and he was cut for the second time tonight, far worse than the assassin had given him, but still a ways from anything lethal. Adrenaline pumped through his system, and he felt strange as he felt that same cocky grin form on his face. So this is what it means to risk your life, huh?

Inga had twisted and was facing him. He could feel her magics, still fading. They had assisted in his shield. She gave him a grateful nod, eyes turning concerned for a moment, before running off for the tree. “Mother Inga!” one of the cowering priestesses called, the age difference between them making her address ironic, “You should not be here! It is too dangerous!”

“It is my duty, Sister Gertrude. You will assist me or get out of my way.” For all the efforts of Dietrich and Inga, for all of the fire that they had siphoned off, there was still more. It had blown in on a rising wind and now it threatened the Livetstræ directly. “The rest of you,” Inga demanded, some sort of bloody angel or dove in her brilliant white dress, “Join us. I command it, for this is our purpose.” The preteen sank to her knees before the tree as flames neared, closing her eyes and stretching her hands out in prayer. Sister Gertrude took one of them, and then another sister took hers, then a third, fourth, and fifth. Inga, golden hair catching the highlights of the flames, stifled a cough and placed a hand against the great tree’s bark.

A couple of the raiders made a charge for them, but Dietrich dealt with these easily. Most had vacated the area, so intense had grown both the fire and the counterattack. They made off with their trinkets. A prayer rose from the six women and a deep, vast thunder shook the heavens, as if the wrath of Father and mercy of Mother themselves had been stirred.

Then, a lick of flame appeared on the Livetstræ and the clouds opened. A colossal bolt of lightning, far beyond what any mortal man could muster, split the sky, and then a second, a third, and a fourth. All present could feel the power in their chests. Rain hit them in sheets, pounding the broken glass and the ancient stone floors. Throughout Meldheim and the surrounding regions, a downpour took hold. Where the city had been burning there now was water enough to quench it. Inga continued praying, not once opening her eyes, her small voice squeaky compared to the grown women around her, but she was smiling.

Although the city was impossibly loud, all Dietrich heard was silence. The sea people lay as dust on the ground, and the rain felt cold on his skin, a relief from the inferno that he had found himself in prior. He looked to the women giving prayer, and to the smiling inga, as he witnessed bolts of lightning streak through the sky. There was no doubt in his mind, the gods were real. There were no clouds in the sky, they were supposed to die here, yet the rain had came after they had joined themselves in prayer. Sound returned to his ears, and they were filled with the sounds of thunder. A sound of two homes, both of his own, and of his ancestors. Prayers followed, the voices eerie and haunting yet there had never been something sweeter to his ears. He joined Inga in smiling, and spread his arms out to the heavens, more blood dripping from his wounds. They stung, but the pain was nothing compared to the strength he now felt.

“You were there all along, and I never truly saw. I will serve you to the end, Femværger” he spoke, joy filling his voice. They had come in an hour of need. This war was righteous, their cause was just, their will be done. He let the rain wash his face for just a moment longer, before standing up and staggering to the door, to witness the city. From the height, he could see the fires extinguish, like stars retreating at the sight of the morning sun. The world would hear of this event, the proof of their existence, the Wunderregen.

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@Pirouette@YummyYummy@Salsa Verde@Suicharte@Tackytaff@RezonanceV@Fetzen@Th3King0fChaos@viera

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The Fortunes of Kingdoms

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The fortunes of nations rise and fall in war like waves on a beach. Sometimes they ebb low and other times, they flow high. If the Parrench had been mauled in the Fields of Fire, then they had come away with a dragon in the hands of one of the king's most trusted: Sir Maerec of Solenne. If the Eskandr were now directly threatening Chamonix and King Arcel with a superior force, then at least the city was wholly committed to its defense and Eleanor was on the way with what remained of her army.

Burned as well, had been a goodly portion of that great city of the yasoi: Loriindton - in some respects cleansed in the fire. The Eskandr were vile now, in the eyes of these people, their cause firmly allied to that of Parrence, and the soul of Talit'yrash'osmax irrevocably damned in the process. They rode out in force and with all due haste to strike a blow for their chosen side.

Meldheim had been put to the torch, a thousand years of Eskandr history and culture along with hundreds of souls lost. Yet, some had been saved by what many were calling an act of the Gods. A prince had been ransomed as well, but the result had been a people united and rallied and an alliance with Kressia formally struck. A second great heathen army incubated in the southlands, gathering its strength before a march north and a final reckoning. Preceding it, however, came the forces of Kressia, now assured of its position as an Eskandr equal and fully committed to the conflict. Queen Astrid had joined them atop Frelser, the great Volcanic Dragon who lived in the Eldfjall and was hers to command, along with a small number of elite Æresvaktr warriors.

Ebbs, they say, and flows.

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A Test of Loyalty

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Talit’yrash, now effectively Baroness of Loriindton, was one of those people who knew much about the fortunes of battle. Leading a battalion of one thousand from the city where she ruled in all-but name, she drove them hard on horseback. The rangy, tree-dwelling yasoi were less-than-comfortable under the open skies as they departed the forests of south-central Parrence and entered the east-central plains.

It was at the small town of Belfleur where they encountered a conundrum: a sizable Eskandr raiding party under the command of Jarl Ivar the Red, a notable fireblood and cousin to Þorunn Silverhair, had been attacking the town’s outlying villages and now threatened the larger settlement. Ensconced behind his motte and bailey walls, Guillaume, Baron of Belfleur, had raised every able man in his service and even some women and put out a desperate call for assistance. The yasoi had somewhat coincidentally arrived at just the right time to intervene. While they held a substantial numbers advantage of roughly three to one, dealing with the Eskandr would almost certainly slow their rapid march to Chamonix, and there were some among them who were not particularly keen on helping the Parrench as opposed to simply putting an end to the ruinous war. Their choice was stark and a test of where their loyalties lay: bleed time and strength saving the two-thousand souls of Belfleur or let the town and its people burn in the name of reaching Arcel with all due haste.

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Redoubt

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It had been four days since that first glancing encounter between the vanguard of Sweyn’s army and Arcel’s rearguard. Upon realizing that they were at grave risk of being caught between two enemy forces, the Parrench had broken off from their attempted relief of Chamonix and occupied the high ground west of the city, in the village of Saint-Guilhem and the partially ruined Avincian watchtower known as the La Tour Courbée. From this redoubt, they loomed over the efforts of the two Eskandr armies to dislodge their countrymen from the great city of the East.

The Southmen began constructing engines of siege and sent out raiding parties to harass the surrounding countryside, hoping both to resupply themselves and force the Parrench army to battle while they had the numbers advantage. Arcel, meanwhile, ordered small detachments out to make contact with the nearby villages, evacuating noncombatants and levying local militias to defend themselves or assist the Grand Armée.

Then, in the great distance, scouts began reporting the approach of a fourth army - a smaller one - and the rush was on to identify it. By the time that Queen Eleanor was recognized at its head, the Eskandr were moving to cut off its path to Arcel’s force and the Parrench were at just as great pains to ensure the union, for then they might have the strength to mount an offensive. Forces were urgently recalled from the countryside: Ulfhild of Ulven’s raiding band, Arnaud the Aheri’s militia squad, and the Nashorn’s engineers. The question now became one of just how much each side would be willing to commit.

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@YummyYummy@pantothenic@Atalanta@jasbraq@Ti@Th3King0fChaos@Dao Ma

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The southern half of Constantia had been in a stir for the past few weeks, not solely because of the war between the two great empires that had been wracking the continent, but because a supposed miracle had happened. A force of Parrench raiders had come to Meldheim with fire and sword, and had almost succeeded with their goal to burn down the city. However, the “miracle rain” had come in the city's hour of need, stifling the fires and saving the sacred tree from becoming ash and dust.

The streets of Alshofen were bustling. Not just with the normal commerce and ongoings of such a large city, but with an army who stood on the streets, banners fluttering in the wind. Many on Wulfric’s council had advised him against a war, to simply bide his time and wait, but he would wait no longer. The Kressians, the Hendish, the Huulish, and many volunteers from throughout Drudgunze had come to serve. Even members of the legendary Aeresvaktr were present. For, while the Parrench might have succeeded in some of their goals with their raid on Meldheim, they had also ignited the religious fervor of those who followed the old gods, those who had not yet turned to the Pentad, and saw the miracle rain as a sign that they needed to stand up and fight for what they believed in.

This war was no longer a national affair, it was a war for the survival of their beliefs, of their ways of life, and to them, the increased presence of the Quentics and their orders within their lands signified darker events on the horizon. This army was an army of the gods, and they had come together to strike down the wolf that so hungrily gazed at their lands. Dietrich, once an ambassador and a diplomat to the Eskandish, was chosen to lead this army and join forces with their Eskandish kin in eliminating this scourge from the lands, and he was all too happy to do so. And when he stood in front of the address, of the thousands of soldiers waiting for their order, he felt an immense sense of pride and duty to save his people. It was an honor that he had not foreseen, but it was not a chance he was going to turn down. He thought it might have been the cowardice of Wulfric, to blame him if it all went askew, but he knew it would not go wrong as the gods were with them. How could they not be, after what he had seen in the land of his ancestors.

King Wulfric rose from his chair to address the crowds. The blonde haired, long bearded man had an impressive build for someone of his age. He looked imposing as he stood on the balcony of his nearby palace, and gave a quick nod to Dietrich who stood at the head of the ranks, before speaking. ”Children of Drudgunze! Long has our home been the subject of scrutiny from those who live north of our borders. They belittle me, and call me Duke. No more! I declare myself Bretwalda, protector of our people and King of the lands from the Rhengel to the Haskell!” he declared with an unshakeable confidence, his booming voice enhanced by his gift traveled throughout the streets, met by a mixture of applause from the masses below, and a look of fear from nobles around him. They knew that such a move would invite ire from their ‘brother’ nations

Dietrich stood to address the army he had been given, the men and women with whose lives he had been entrusted. And he couldn’t help but smile. He had been waiting his entire life for a moment like this, and the gods had given it to him. A chance to save his people, and prove himself to the heavens. And so, he turned to address the masses.

”Brave warriors, let me tell you a story. I witnessed the wunderregen, from the Kongesalan itself. I watched the gods save our lives, so that we could save theirs. For if we were to lose this war, it would mean the end of them. So I ask you, great warriors, to join this righteous war, where it is just to conquer their green lands and meet the visitor at his table, to ascend to Grünehalle! Remember the example of your forefathers, who once sailed up the Askell and put Avince to the torch, who brought the hammer of Bruder onto the Avincians! I ask you now followers of the Femrigr, to abandon doubt and fear, and join me to seize a kingdom given heat by the sinful souls of the Quentics who shovel coal in Rotehalle!”

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Two Sides of the Coin

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It had not been long since Osanna had landed with Asier and Snorri. The three had parted ways, heading in different directions following the victory of the Meldheim raid, and the injuries of her battle had healed. But it was said that a Black Rezandian never sleeps, and so not long after she had arrived in port had she received new orders. In the large town of Saint-Jean de Glane, her client awaited her at his townhouse on the morrow. She had but one night of sleep before her next mission began

On the morrow, the jaunt was surprisingly quick. A quaint abode in a largely residential area stood before her, with a surprisingly well decorated garden. A few knocks at the door and she was greeted by a man who simply introduced himself as Benedict. He prepared them a cup of tea, and took her through the house into a back garden, away from onlookers. A gardener was there, hooded and trimming the hedges ever so carefully.

“Lady Osanna, I congratulate you on your success. What you were able to accomplish in Meldheim was no small feat. However, there is still much work to be done, for the sake of our faith.” he spoke prudently, sipping occasionally at the cup of tea that was still far too hot. Every so often, he would redirect the gardener to cut a hedge or rose a certain way, and there was no fuss made from the hooded man.

Osanna may have had her suspicions, but she could not say for certain who this man was until he removed a glove from his hand, unveiling a signet ring that revealed him to be a bishop, before proceeding once more. “This task is of the utmost importance and secrecy, and for that, I am regretful that we must work with a heathen. But, much like this garden, some weeds must be allowed to stay, so that greater threats to its beauty be unable to enter.” he spoke solemnly, clearing his throat. “Your mission is to assassinate Duke Wulfric of Kressia. I have been given assurances and tools to make this a possibility. It shall be no easy task, but there is none more suited for it than you.” he stated confidently, before finishing his cup of tea. He directed the gardener to pick a single rose, and he handed it to Osanna. “Hand this to a tall blonde woman waiting at the docks. You might recognize her from Relouse. You’re to travel together until you need to part ways, she should serve as a good cover while you travel through heathen lands.”

Benedict then reached into a bag below the table, and pulled two items. The first of which was a signet ring. It looked to be of Drudgunzean make, and was supposed to be a guise for her assassination. The second was a heavy bag of coins, explained as payment from her previous mission and funds to use in this one should she need it. Soon after, she was sent on her way.

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The Great City of Solenne

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Long had been the travel of the returning heroes from Meldheim, and words of their deed had spread. The ones that had burned the Grontempel and stolen the youngest prince of Eskand. They had many stops through the Parrench countryside, and Asier had been reunited with his squire, who had come from the steppes of Tourrare. The three of them had shared tales of their triumph, and many other discussions, but the destination remained the capital of Solenne.

When they arrived, the reception from the common people was warm but confused. Solenne had largely been saved from the horrors of war at this point, and many of its people wished to know how Arcel and his Grand Armee had fared in the battle of Relouse, and furthermore. Alas, they did not have time to enlighten these people, for they had a more pressing issue at hand, the mobilization of the Kressians and the advance on the southern front. The city would soon be in peril, and so they had the task of enlisting the many nobles that remained within this city to join the cause and defend their home.

In the throne room, the seat remained vacant but hungry eyes occasionally glanced at the empty space for far too long, and there was an uncomfortable air about the place. The trio were met by a council held by some of the most prominent figures in Parrench society, to share their tales and news of what was and what potentially would be.

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The Village of Juvignac

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Whilst the taming of the dragon had been a successful affair, and Maerec had managed a great many triumphs on that day, he had also brought ire upon himself when he had consumed the Ambrosia of Oraphe-Sept. The day had been filled with triumphs and tribulations for the young knight, but he had a task at hand now. The army of Eleanor and a large contingent of the volunteers had headed northeast to Chamonix, to aid Arcel in the battle against Hrothgar and the majority of the Eskandr force. However, he was unable to go, as he now had the task of restoring this great beast to its former glory, as a weapon that could be used against the invaders.

His brief flights upon the dragon's back had brought him to a village named Juvignac, where many of the locals were initially terrified at the sight of such a creature. Many refugees from the surrounding areas had gathered here precisely to escape the dragon, but were now curious as to why it was amicable and no longer filled with unholy fury. Before long, he would find himself pelted with questions, of how he was able to triumph, of what transpired on those green fields, and of why he was not headed north to aid his king. There were not just the affairs of humans to consider either. Monsigneus were hungry creatures, let alone one of that size, and the injuries it suffered did little to sate its appetite. To feed a dragon was no small task..

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Location: Fields of Fire
Mood: ”Rise of the Saturn” by Titan Slayer
Current Event: Fields of Fire
Interaction: @Force and Fury, @Dao Ma, @Pirouette, @Jasbraq, @Th3King0fChaos

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The Queen, Maerec, Camille, Arsene, Hildr, and the Perrench army stood steadfast against the Dragon, who reigned with tyrannical judgment as king of the sky. The Dragon did not slack in its breadth of attacks as it swooped and swayed, casting a dangerously hot inferno across a scorched earth like a blanket covering a bed. The men cried out in terror, their swords and shields no match for the Dragon’s fiery breath and sharp claws.

It was Maerec who knew that if there was to be any gain from this situation, he had to move fast. Spilling his plan to the rest, the Queen’s army mobilized to strike the Dragon precisely against its tough armor-like scales. Meanwhile, Maerec would be launched into space as a rocket on takeoff. In a flash of brilliance, Maerec was hurled to the Dragon’s leg, where he captured its ankle. Hoisting himself up, Maerec began to navigate its physical frame, all while doing his best to stay on.

The ground force was left to wear the Dragon down physically while Maerec subdued it mentally and emotionally.

Caelum took this opportunity to conjure a large thunderous spell as Maerec distracted the Dragon after successfully mounting it. Drawing upon his holy powers divined by Oraphe, he raised his hands and began to recite an ancient incantation.

As he spoke, the sky grew dark, and a lightning bolt cracked, striking the Dragon with a mighty force. The Dragon roared in anger and pain, writhing its body from the discomfort of the onslaught below and the mounted nuisance above. The sporadic shifting of the Dragon caused Maerec to slip, falling, he casted his kinetic tricks to recover and leap back to the Dragon’s body.

Caelum continued to cast his spell, summoning forth more and more bolts of lightning to strike the Dragon from the sky. The Dragon tried to dodge the lightning, but the Paladin was too skilled and powerful. Soon, the Dragon was struck repeatedly, each bolt weakening it further. These attacks only infuriated the Dragon to the point where Caelum was its next target.

With a final, deafening clap of thunder, the Dragon was…

Missed. The Dragon came down like a missile at Caelum’s position. Before his head was charred, the Queen had saved him with her powerful defensive spell. Maerec continued to press forward to reach the Dragon’s neck and head. Encroaching his will on the Dragon’s, the two dueled in a lane of minds while the others valiantly fought by barraging their Gifts and arrows under the Dragon’s belly. Another demonstration of the Dragon’s wrath captured the lives of many and threatened several heroes of Perrench, only to be saved by the Queen once again.

However, Hildr is battered away, and the mighty tail of the Dragon crosses Caelum. Cleanly sweaping Caelum off his feet, he crashes into the side of a tree and falls to the earth. His sight was fading, his perception was running out of thoughts and images, and he was soon absent-minded and asleep.

The battle raged on. When Caelum came too, it was Camille who stood over him. Rolling to one side, “To think I am supposed to be protecting you.” He smiled. He nearly laughed but contained the gesture because of the pain on the left side of his rib cage. They were not broken, “Oraphe and Dami alike seem to have favored us,” looking up at Camille while feeling for his ribs to pinpoint where they hurt. His armor, however, was in the way. He shifted his weight to unstrap himself using what kinetic energy he had left, dropping his plates to the ground, "Ahh, better."

He slowly raised himself, “Did we win?” Caelum looked over the battlefield. A magnificent sight to behold was his dear childhood friend proving his dedication to becoming the greatest knight Sipenta had ever seen. Like in the alleys of Solenne when they were kids, he found a way to keep those who could not help themselves alive by protecting them with sheer bravery and will. Under Camille's help, Caelum walked back to the ground party, reorganizing after the battle. What disturbed Caelum were the dead. Many Perrench would never return home after today. Their bodies were charred, torn, and mangled beneath the natural rage of the Dragon’s power. There was a reason to celebrate, yet, the win somehow did not feel as real as the losses. Caelum felt the climate of sadness that pervaded the fields of fire, "May Oraphe keep them," he said for only Camille and him to hear as he referred to the Perrench who gave the ultimate sacrifice, their life.

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Interaction: None
5.1 If only for a Moment

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Your mother is alive..

Camille felt weak. She had been prepared for the worst when seeing her father. They hadn’t said it, but the feeling was shared between them. Her mother should have been gone and yet, by the Grace of Oraphe-Sept, she had been spared but to what degree?

The cavern passage grew narrow in this alcove of the cave system as the little saint followed her lifetime friend, Claude, through. Even from behind, it was clear to see the damage the Eskandr had done to him. Sweat clung to his brown, ragged shirt sticking to his skin revealing just how much weight he had lost the past few days. He favored his right leg, barely finding comfort when weight came to his left. Cuts and bruises marked up his arms, neck, and face but she wasn’t sure how old they were.

It hadn’t occurred to her until now that she should have asked for Dami’s Judgment to heal. She came close to saying something until he spoke, cutting off before she offered. ”Oh don’t worry about me, girl. I can handle a few lumps. It is your mother you should comfort…” He paused and Camille peered over to see his face contorting in conflict. It was like he wanted to say something. ”...She’s been through a lot.” He turned and gave her a flimsy smile. Even she could see he was putting on a face.

Claude must have been disappointed in what he saw because his smile faded, giving up as he gestured down the passage.

Camille gave him a blank look, confused foremost, before she stepped lightly onward down the short distance to a small circular room, carved clearly by ancient predecessors. Dim candle light flickered, giving illumination to the small room, displaying a few women huddled together for warmth? No, support. Their quiet sobs carried in the small room as Camille stood at the entryway. She did not move, nor did the women as the two parties considered the other.

”Camille?...”

Her mother’s voice was masked behind a hoarse and tired throat, but Camille knew.

”Mama?”

Camille wavered with a weak reply, tears welling up in her eyes. Her mother sounded so weak… so soulless… She couldn’t explain it and didn’t have the ability to understand it as well. All she knew was that her mother was there. The little saint lunged, the women grouped with her mother parted enough for the two to embrace in tears.

They had both faced horrors on their journey to get here but they did get here for at least this moment in time.

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Interaction: None
5.2 The Gambit Chosen

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”It is utter madness. You all can’t be actually considering going along with what that knight said?” Marion exclaimed, her singed hair on the left side of her face would have been quite distracting had it not been for the eyepatch. That still took Camille some getting use to.

”Normally I might agree but I have a good feeling about this. Dragons aren’t one to mess about but what other choice is there?”

Claude was standing before he became lightheaded and dropped carefully onto his rear so he could sit the rest of this debate out. It was just the Port Morilles denizens in this particular part of the cavern, waiting out the dragon’s frequent flybys that kept them pinned inside.

”Since when is that our only option?”

Camille was never one for strategy. She felt like she could hardly read at times, let alone propose something thoughtful in this situation. Instead, she watched the proceedings like a witness in a court. Both Marion and Claude were smart enough so surely one of them could make a sound argument. Her and her mother were nestled together, sitting with their backs against the wall and leaning on one another. Camille had gotten some sleep at some point before Ser Maerec came forth with a plan.

”Oh think outside the box, Mare” Claude held a sincere smile. He was quite thrilled his children made it out of the siege alive and more, they were here. It was good to see him smile sincerely again. ”If we tame a dragon. Actually do it, then we win the war.”

Taming a dragon.

She didn’t really believe dragon’s were as smart as dogs but apparently they were, enough to at least tame one. If it was her choice, she’d want to try and slay the beast before it could burn any more homes or people. That, of course, carried risks and she wasn’t sure how she could slay something flying.

”You say that like it is casting a net for fish, father.” Marc finally chimed in with a light chuckle. He always reminded her of Claude, simply because they both took everything lightly. Marion, however…

”If you think for one minute that it is possible to tame a ravenous beast breathing fire in a primal rage then you and this war are truly lost.” Marion shook her head. ”Sometimes I think I’m the only sensible one here. Camille!”

Camille jumped and turned her head to meet Marion’s single eyed gaze. ”Please tell me you aren’t also considering this braindead idea.” Marion shifted into a glare, expecting the intimidation tactic to strongarm Camille into agreeing with her. The little saint, however, had no idea.

”Whatever helps us now.” Camille offered softly, not trying to choose a side in order to be fair. She didn’t want to waste lives in an attempt to tangle with a dragon but if they could do it… shouldn’t they try?

”Camille…” Her mother softly spoke, pulling her attention away Marion groaning loudly in annoyance as Claude came in to point out he was winning.

”Even if they try.. Don’t go. For me.” Berenice had moved away so she could look Camille in the eyes. She was pleading, desperate for Camille to stay. How do you tell your mother no?

”Mama…” Camille muttered, shifting her grip to her mother’s forearm and lightly squeezing it. ”I have to.” She stated as gently as she could but could already see her mother’s eyes water. ”I won’t lose you now. I can’t keep going through with this.”

Camille didn’t know what to say. She was in this armor for a reason. Dami chose her and she couldn’t abandon that, could she? Men like Ser Caelum or Ser Maerec or women like Queen Eleanor were devout and pious to their belief. How many times had Caelum saved her? If she could just extend that saving grace to others then she hoped that would be enough.

”Dami chose me and I have to.” Camille wished she had something more inspiring or convincing to say, but that was the bare truth. She was chosen and this was her duty. She didn’t understand it, but she saw it in those noble souls around her. All called to be arbiter’s of the Pentand

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Interaction: None
5.3

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Interaction: None
5.4 The Cost for Reward

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Interaction: Eleanor [@ForceandFury]
5.5 Rallying Cry

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Eleanor had never trusted Talit’yrash. From the day they had first met, as girls of sixteen, the yasoi had reeked, to her, of lust - and not just sexual lust, not just for Eleanor’s husband. If I could have the aid of her magic right now, the queen thought, I would take it in a heartbeat. The colossal black dragon that had plagued these lands for decades, that had taken countless lives, and that had fought with such ferocity against the combined efforts of humanity now lay draped across the summit of Mont Errant, beaten and submissive. If many might have seen tragedy in the mighty beast laid low, Eleanor was not among them. For the queen of Parrence there existed only the triumph of human will and ingenuity and the ample blessings of the Gods. One creature did not possess an inalienable right to lord its dominion over others and it was right and just that humans should fight back and secure for themselves survival and peace. Such were the tests of Echeran and they had passed this one. Lives had been saved by Eleanor’s actions and those of her countrymen.

Yet, it was not the lives saved that held themselves uppermost in her mind, but those lost. These men and women had placed themselves under her care and some eighty percent of them who had left the killing fields of Relouse with her had joined Ahn-Eshiran. It is the will of the Pentad that they give their lives for a just cause, she had counseled herself when first the Nashorn treacherously broke the sacred rules surrounding Camille’s duel. They have died heroically, she had thought as more fell in battle against the Eskandr. They have earned their places in the Five Heavens, among the angels and Pentangels. She clung to it as truth while the dragon’s fyre swept through her army and they perished in agony by the hundred. She had nearly joined them. She had not been ready to die. For all her pious talk, Eleanor de Perpignan was not content to give her life away. The same had likely been true for most of them.

It was the early morning after the battle. A cool, clammy mist hung heavy across the battlefield, coating every surface. The sun glowed a faint bluish behind a mourning curtain of clouds and she leaned tiredly against a tree, squeezing her eyelids shut and rubbing the bridge of her nose in regret, frustration, and a sense of relief that she knew for misplaced. Sleep had been poor and fleeting in the night. There was no building left standing and much of the army’s baggage train had been burnt. People had slept in the caves and under trees. The Queen of the Parrench had lain on the ground among them, if slightly removed. She’d awoken in the morning dampness, blinking droplets of condensation from her eyelids. Eleanor took a deep breath in, held it just long enough for her body to feel it, and released it. Her conduct was central to her people’s chances of success, and the march of battle was relentless. She opened her eyes, pushed off of the tree trunk, and walked among them.

The cowardly Eskandr had left them to deal with the dragon, indifferent to their success or failure. Cowardly, she thought, but tactically astute. tactically astute, but not strategically. Sir Maerec of Solenne had broken the beast’s spirit and it was now his as it was healing, being nursed back to health at his hand and that of her brother. Thank Oraphe that Percy was okay. As obnoxious as he could be at times, he was a far more complex person than many gave him credit for, and he was her brother, after all. Now, however, another person dear to her was threatened. It was a near-certainty that the Eskandr army had broken for Chamonix with all haste, and that they would join with Hrothgar’s force to annihilate her husband and his soldiers and take the city. She shuddered to think what those people would suffer: all of the pent of rage and frustration of these southmen, held back by so few scruples and so tenuous a moral fibre. She had perhaps four hundred able-bodied fighters left under her command, little in the way of a baggage train or supply lines, and a host of ills to contend with. She needed them to press forward. They would have to press on to Chamonix at speed if they were to have any hope of affecting the outcome of the battle. Perhaps they could stop in Ambroix and Girenne along the way. Those were towns of some note. Perhaps they could pick up some recruits. It had to work. There was no other option. If Chamonix fell, if Arcel fell, Parrence would be broken, and her with it.

To that end, her eyes roved across the makeship camp as she walked, delivering greetings and encouragement to all who noticed her or appeared in need of it. There was one person, in particular, who she was looking for.

Camille did not find much sleep, even embraced in her mother’s arms. Victory had been theirs and their constitutions tested but the charred smell that still lingered in the air hinted at the cost. Many lives, good lives, had perished. All sacrifices to a ceremony of taming a beast that laid low the people of Perrence for as long as memory served. A small victory, sure, Camille couldn’t contest that but she’d trade it in the heartbeat to end the war now. Maybe it would.

Despite how burdensome those thoughts were, Camille’s rest wasn’t disturbed by the weight of life. Rather, she was encumbered by a discomforting realization. Dami had seen to spare as many of her loved ones that were in her prayers. Her mother, although fractured, was still alive along with her father and her friends, aside from Armand. Her hometown had even shown a resilience, outlined by the kind Ser Caelum to her. She had protected the things dearest to her as best as she could from the evils gripping the Eskandr. That was a victory and yet…

Her eyes wandered to the greatsword she had claimed from the dragon’s horde. A superior blade compared to her previous that looked unscarred by the passage of neglect for the time it had been sitting in that cave. The only impurity, if you could call it that, were the intricate runes of some unknown meaning and origin were lightly smithed into the sides of the blade, writing out a poem or story. The symbols started about a third of the way up the blade and carried down, over the hilt and onto the handle. It was beautiful and Camille could swear there was a slight glow to the whole blade when she held it, a surge of strength she hadn’t anticipated and perhaps what she feared, a calling.

Dami did not place this for her to find to retire peacefully back home. She had been called to be more than herself. She always loathed losing what she had, giving up her life of happiness and simplicity for others. However as the tragedies of this war increased, she was beginning to understand Dami’s Judgement. Let the few be chosen to protect the many. How many other Camille’s relied on her saving them just before their unrighteous end?

Her life to save the others.

She reached out and clutched her new greatsword’s handle, her touch causing the symbols to glow faintly. Were those Dami’s words addressing her? Maybe one day she could read them and know that she made the right choice.

Someone was approaching. Camille and her mother had tucked away in a shallow cut in the rockface, preferring to be away from the others but still close enough to react to any urgent cries. She wasn’t sure she trusted the idea of a tamed dragon. Rounding into view was Queen Eleanor making Camille’s eyes widen in realization as she stirred, shifting her mother who was leaning on her still asleep.

”Mama, the Queen.” She muttered, grabbing and helping her mother up in a haste. Camille had a reverence for Queen Eleanor, believing her to be the best of them with a pure heart. Though she had never directly interacted with her or really any royal before. Bowing reverently, Camille bent at the waist. If she had been wearing a dress, she might have remembered that she was supposed to curtsy, but she rarely wore a dress in any event. At least she thought so but her mother bowed with her, leading to a slight bit of internal confusion.

”Bonjour Queen Eleanor.” Camille spoke loud but rather plainly, believing herself to be just no one of importance.

“Camille.” Eleanor reached out and took the youth’s hand fondly before turning to her mother. “You must be madam Saumure.” She smiled. “Your daughter is an amazing young woman.” The words felt rote even as she said them. How else was she to address a commoner who she did not know? “I am filled to see that the both of you are well and at last able to take some moments together.”

”Your words and blessing are too much, my lady.” Camille kept her head bowed, fingers curling in fists as she grew tense. She had often heard stories of royalty chopping the hands off of peasants that acted disgracefully in front of them or broke a rule of etiquette. She wasn’t sure what the rules were and could hardly remember the ones she had been taught, hoping that she was sufficient enough in this regard. ”My mother and friends are alive, but I would have liked to save more. Even the ones I didn’t know, my lady.”

Eleanor flashed a reassuring smile in the direction of the girl's mother and took Camille’s other hand. “I know well the feeling, Camille, for it burns me inside as well. It burns me as the one who was called upon to lead you here. We have known a great success, but each life lost…” She turned momentarily to Camille’s mother. “Might I borrow her for a moment?” She felt awkward even asking, for she knew that she would not be refused.

Camille’s mother had still clung to her daughter’s side and looked up, concerned as the Queen made her request. Camille’s eyes peered over to her mother’s worried that her mother might just refuse the request outright. The look on her face had certainly been saying that but there was a small breath of relief when the little saint felt her mother’s hands lighten around her arm. ”You may, my lady.” Berenice muttered, backing away meekly.

Camille frowned but turned her attention to Eleanor, partially relieved she could be spared from her mother if only for the chance at a clear head. Though that prospect itself was daunting because now she had to contend with her royal manners. Silently she nodded, signalling she was ready to be borrowed but certainly appearing apprehensive about it.

They walked along the edge of the camp, towards the shore of Lac Ste. Elaine, and there remained the smell of burnt things about them. It was inescapable. “We have known great success, Camille,” she reiterated. “We are of similar mind on that, but each life lost… I tell myself that it is Echeran’s will” - she looked up to the sky momentarily. It remained a mourning shroud. - “but it feels like a failure.” She regarded the youth’s hesitancy. “You should speak freely in my presence. We are all ordained for different roles by Dami, and mine is a large one - to be queen of this nation - but I am a mortal woman no different from you beyond that. I swear it.” She tried to smile.

They had only managed a couple of paces before a reminder, outside of the smell, was found of the cost of their foray with taming a dragon. A charred skeleton near the path, flaking and brittle from a mere scathing of that dragon’s breath. Bone would likely be dust if directly hit by the inferno spewed from the creature’s mouth. Camille stared at it as they passed, never before seeing the decrepit sight of black human bones like that.

When the queen spoke, however, Camille had turned her attention around again, facing forward to remain more polite or so she believed. Her words were, indeed, something she’d expect from one so noble, but that voice… it even betrayed the emotion to Camille. She was tired. They all were and not in the physical sense but mentally and emotionally. It was uniquely vulnerable, Camille had thought and when given permission to speak freely, she had one thing in mind instantly.

”Are you tired, my lady?” The little saint inquired and it might have been a lead into a concerned offering to sit, but no, Camille was analysing, encountering the rare chance to see someone she had placed so high and impervious before to be a little bit vulnerable… Like herself.

”With your role. You said it like I would to..” She paused, considering that she may have crossed a line with being so direct, however, she found it to continue. ”...Like I would to Claude or Armand.” She felt her mind wander back to the camp, just before the war began. It was a happy memory. ”Saint Camille…” She muttered meekly not trying to sound boastful. She wasn’t, just recalling all the times people would look up to her. It just wasn’t something she understood, but now… maybe she would.

Eleanor smiled faintly, slowing as the lakeshore appeared around a bend in the trail. The sickening smell of death was nearly one from the air. It was just her and a simple girl, guileless and decent. and perceptive, in her own fashion. It had been two weeks since the queen had so much as touched another human being in a manner not perfunctory. It had been two weeks of eyes looking to her for guidance, for answers - eyes that looked up to her and eyes that harbored their own ideas and silent doubts. She had not always wanted to lead. She had grown into it, but still ever under the wing of dear Arcel, until they had parted. “I am not supposed to say these things,” she sighed, “as I can see that you recognize.” There were ducks on the lake. Was it this one or another where she had fed them as a girl. It did not much matter. She turned to Camille. “I am exhausted. My vessel is battered and emptied.” She turned back to the lake. “But I shan’t succumb, just as I am now certain that you shan’t, Sainte Camille.” She glanced over as the youth came up beside her, corners of her eyes crinkling in some genuine fondness. “Some of us must serve so that others do not have to.” She sat then, in the damp sand, not caring much for cleanliness. It was all horribly improper. “BBut you have served so greatly and given so much.” Her voice took on a note of sadness, “At such a tender age - and I do not mean to belittle you. I would not command you to come with me to Chamonix. You are free to spend this precious time with your loved ones.” Out on the lake, five ducks and, belatedly, a sixth, took off and flew into the slowly-brightening sky.

Camille, since the first time the queen had arrived, had fully looked into the face of Eleanor with dull brown eyes searching and studying the queen’s after everyword. Were they really so alike? Did Queen Eleanor, the Pentad’s chosen for Perrence, really feel these same things that Camille toiled with? Did she really justify it the same way Camille had? That others could be spared if the few answered.

The little saint joined Eleanor down on the sand quietly in her own mind. Her gloved hands curled around the sand naturally, feeling the slight familiarity of home. It made it painful to think about as the queen offered her the chance to lay down, put to rest her sword and return home. She stared blankly across the calm water, watching the ducks passively as her mind furiously worked itself into a frenzy.

All she ever wanted was being offered. A royal pardon from the war to go home, her family and friends to go with her. Had she been asked this two weeks ago, she believed she would have said yes in a heartbeat. Now, she felt a weight still her tongue on the tip of an answer she couldn’t believe she was about to admit. Her mind played reason after reason to not say it, give in and live how she wanted, but she couldn’t convince herself.

”I shan’t go home.” Camille spoke clear and calm though she thought her voice trembled at the admission. ”I will go to Chamonix so they don’t have to. I need to go so others I don’t know have a chance to live a life I wanted.” Camille turned her face, unbreaking in a resolve. She wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from. Her hand palmed and ran over the Oraphe blade she had been given by Caelum, finding its touch to give her strength. ”I’ll serve Dami so that Parrence may be blessed favorably in Judgement.”

For a moment, Eleanor merely sat in the sand, listening. Her heart grew heavy and soared at once. Perhaps, if Camlle felt so, then there were others. Perhaps their queen was not simply spurring a coalition of the otherwise-unwilling with the strength of her rhetoric and the weight that her authority carried. Wordlessly, she reached out and squeezed the youth’s shoulder. Though it was an embrace that she truly craved, it would not be proper, and Dami had assigned for her the role of queen and its host of other benefits. “Thank you, Camille.” She meant it. So often, she gave away her thanks in perfunctory fashion. Eleanor took in and released a breath, and it rose, misty, in the direction the ducks had gone. “We may yet earn our peace, and I pray that we do, but I will allow the knowledge that our actions maintain peace for others to sustain me, as I can see that it sustains you.” She rose, then, and brushed herself off. “We must break camp soon, and make haste for Chamonix, for the barbarians are relentless and without honour and I sense that the city will die without our aid, and… my husband with it.” She was earnest, perhaps too earnest, for she had not been raised in such a fashion. “It means very much to have you at my side.”

Camille had maybe for the first time been sure she was in the right place. Hearing the queen speak to her as an equal even had been the surest way that the Pentad made their will known. It made her heart swell as she rose, joining the queen on her feet. ”I’m ready.” She nodded, rubbing the last bits of sand she had in her hands. ”We will save Chamonix and the King.” The little saint bashfully added with the slightest of smiles on her face. ”Parrence along with them both.”

_{Location: On the march from Loriindton to the town of Belfleur
A collaboration between @Tackytaff and @Fetzen}

---

Their departure was hurried. Talit had hoped for time alone, a short reprieve to level herself - come to terms with the events of the past few days. But of course she couldn’t leave everyone behind. Otios and Jaxan left the city with her the same day as the funeral. Adric and Esmiin both stayed behind to help organize the battalions and give directions when they followed. Their presence was replaced by a dervish named Tantor, a thickly muscled man who barely reached six feet in height. None made complaint of the hard and fast pace Talit set. They rose early, ate rations on horseback, and barely had the energy to set up camp before sleeping at night. On the third day, however, her horse lost a shoe. The animal needed binding from Talit while another remade a new shoe. It was in this one quiet moment of respite that Otios approached her. She’d known she couldn’t hold out on explaining forever, but her mouth still went dry and muscles tense with nerves.

“I suppose you have questions.” She turned to face him before he had the chance to speak, her eyes scanned the others in their small party. “The others can finish with this, follow me,” She added, moving with as much speed as possible around where they’d latched the horses and upwards of a nearby stream where the running water would help cover their hushed tones.

“What do you want to know?” Her crutches receded into the wood of the tree she leaned against, arms folded as she finally looked Otios in the eye.

Otios had been rather silent for the first days of their journey, but at least the most erratic parts of his newfound electromagnetism had found their way back under his control again. He no longer delivered serious electric shocks to anyone and anything conductive he came in touch with including himself, but any compass needle laying around in his vicinity would still go haywire in the entangled mess of fields invisibly surrounding him.

"How about everything for a start ?" Otios snapped back. He still felt the surge of adrenaline and aggression inside him, originating from a source he himself completely failed to identify. He didn't want to come across this rude, but frankly had not so much control over his own mood at this point.

"Okay, first things first. Do you happen to know what happened to Lyen ? I have very much ruled out the possibility of her still being alive in the prison for then some sort of trial would have continued, and I also don't think she'd ever decide to stroll around in the wilderness lonely when we are actually the only one's believing in her innocence. So I've spent the last few days blaming myself for her death in Eskandr hands, imagining that she was taken completely by surprise in her cell and never had a chance to decide whether she wanted to engage or make a run for it."

Otios folded his arms in front of his chest and his tone became a tad darker.

"The more I am able to think clearly again however, the more I realize that a prison is just as good at keeping unwanted guests out as it is good at keeping desired guests in and that by far not all of Loriindton was even affected by the attack. So somebody must have liberated her and she died outside, right ? I did have a very good spot to observe things on a high tree though and neither me nor those around me up there did see her fighting. So I'm finding myself pretty dumbfounded and wondering…"

Talit listened worlessly, watching closely as her companion's frustrations surfaced, barely contained. To be directed where? Had it not been his hand that picked and placed the poison that started it all? One more lie, she conceded to herself. A final retelling, and then she could forget. Her hand trailed down to the folded seam at the end of her stump.

"I killed her." She said simply, honestly, but her shoulders remained rigid and chest tight. "I had hoped she would use the distraction to escape - to flee Loriindton. But," Her head shook, and for a brief moment, she drops her gaze from Otios; entranced by a loosened stitch between her fingers before looking up again.

"She was angry, vengeful even, or maybe just paranoid." Talit shrugged. "My stories about the time walker... Unsettled her. And when she found Dyric-" That part did catch in her throat. Stupid, thoughtless Dyric. Dead and nourishing the trees of their home. "She killed him. Then the timewalker." She splayed her hands to Otios. "I didn't want to, but she was worsening her case. Perrence's case. And my brother..." The tears that pricked her eyes were real, and she let them stay. If he was going to interrogate her, she would make it as difficult as possible. “I had no choice.”

Otios felt the ground beneath his feet disappearing and plunging into a free fall. Had Lady Talit lost her mind right now as she told him all that, or had she lost her mind the moment she had actually witnessed and done all that she was telling him about ? He had not really known Lyen very well, just from the joint fight against the Eskand around Relouse and then from their subsequent journey, but extrapolating from that, the maledict having gone on a killing spree was uncomfortably far off the way.

A bit too uncomfortably. The Yasoi’s eyes narrowed into slits as he took considerable moments to think about his next words: "How does one just kill a time walker ? She was able to foresee what I was about to do with the Eskand army minutes before I actually did it. So how did Lyen kill her ?" Not that time walking would have been required to get sort of an advance warning if Lyen had indeed killed another person just moments before, but Otios didn’t mention that.

"How should I know?" Talit said back, her voice betraying her weariness. "Why would she let a monster take my leg? Even timewalkers have to die eventually..." She trailed off, looking upward at the foliage. They were nearly out of the forest now, the sky was visible through the canopies.

"There were signs," She finally said, if he wouldn't let this go she'd at least give him someone else to focus suspicions on. "Or maybe I saw glimpses of her- Rae, a greyborn I knew from Loriindton. She was in the timewalker's home too. I know it. Maybe she helped."

Otios looked up into the skies as well, initially suspecting that there was indeed something important to see. He couldn’t find anything though, so his eyes were back on Talit again. ”How should you know ? I was under the firm impression that your eyesight is still perfectly intact, so… Did Lyen stab her ? Did she poison her ? Did she shoot her with some projectile, magically or not ? Or no, I already know the answer: The timewalker fell off her balcony or out the window somehow.”

Otios felt suspicion inside him reaching new levels. That had been a very simple question, yet Talit had made a verbal detour out of it without actually providing a real answer. Should he pin her on that right away ? The Yasoi opted against it, even though his mimic clearly told a story about how nonsensical, yet intriguing he deemed her answer to be.

”Well, the timewalker’s been an ignoramus, I agree. She could have done so many things differently using her knowledge, but she did just watch. You very much distrusted her from the very beginning, otherwise you wouldn’t have tried to send me to uncover whatever dirt I can find around her. You sold me that whole thing as if it was about trying to prove Lyen’s innocence and liberate her, but… Was that really just about that ? The mentioning of your leg very much sounded as if you’d hold a very personal grudge, too.”

It made no sense – or rather it did only make sense in a way Otios really didn’t like…

“What answers are you looking for Otios?” Talit looked down to meet his gaze again. “I went to the time walker's home only to find her and my brother’s bodies laying outside it. My friend still standing high in the tree home looking down. There was nothing else to be done.”

”Answers to questions I’m asking myself since I know about Lyen’s death and have seen a few other things. Answers I hoped would ultimately confirm or falsify that I alone am guilty of it.” The rogue made a brief pause and his eyes turned down towards the grass around their feet. ”It seems I have found them.” he added, deliberately leaving behind the vagueness in his words. The answers, they had both improved and worsened his situation. Lady Talit ? His mind silently assigned her a new status – that of a volatile variable he should not turn his back towards all too frequently.

“So glad I could sate your curiosity.” Talit replied with venom. She began drawing crutches again, the others were sure to be finishing up at least, and she hardly trusted them to come looking for her; more likely they were taking her absence as time to rest.

“It was an ugly thing, what happened. But it’s done now.” She managed to keep pace with the taller, two-legged man with surprising ease. “All that left to focus on Eskandr and the war.” She nodded along with herself, not even looking up at her companion anymore. “We have a Yasoi army with us now. Have to prove their faith in us isn’t misplaced.”

_{Location: Town of Belfleur
Interaction(s): Yasoi battalions @Tackytaff, Eskandr army and Belfleur defenders @Force and Fury}

---

Otios did not know when his butt had hurt this much the last time, but he also didn't want to know how much his horse's back must have hurt at this point. The ride had been harsh to say the least and many, if not most of the combatants he and Talit had brought with them probably felt the same issues of tiredness and discomfort. Encountering another Eskandr battallion roaming the Parrench countryside had been way down on the list of things he had liked to encounter at this point, but things were as they were and they would all have to deal with them.

The problem was that, even if one was't the most advanced general or even just connaisseur of body language, their own little army seemed to lack an amount of momentum that went beyond the simple explanation of a forced march. As for the why, the past few days and how the whole thing had come to be made it rather easy to determined. For the lack of a hill, Otios stood up in the saddle and put his feet on top of it, maintaining a delicate balance. It really wasn't difficult to see the extremely tall man now as he inhaled air to start his speech.

"Yasoi!" he shouted.

"Can you smell the embers ? Can you hear the faint cries of women, children and husbands once you listen calmly ? Can you imagine what kind of carnage these walls are hiding from your view ? Imagine Loriindton, just with more spilled guts, blood and tears. Is this how any nation with the honest desire to finally settle some sort of conflict and gain long-lasting peace, whatever it might be, would do ? Is this even anything a nation on a pure, methodic path of annihilation would do ?"

"No, it is not! What we have witnessed in Loriindton and what we are witnessing here and now is maybe the worst of all: unsustainable explotation. If you keep cutting more trees than the forest can grow, then what will you have to do in the end ? Right! You have to find a new forest! Today this forest is called The Parrench, and the Eskandr have already burned, killed and extracted an insurmountable lot of it. Tomorrow, the forest will be us. They have proven their lack of hesitance to make that happen beyond any reasonable doubt."

"I know there are those of you who say 'Why should we help the Parrench if they have never helped, but only attacked us in the past ?' I have been asking that myself, too, and the first answer I came up with was that the Parrench maybe never were so cruel to us as the Eskandr are to them and will be to us, so we should pick the lesser evil. Yet then I realized that this answer becomes irrelevant once you ask another question: Does not helping them actually improve the potential outcome for us ? Think about it: If we do nothing, one of the two Huusoi nations will come out of this war or maybe even both, and it or they will be in a ruinous state while our nation will still be very much intact. Now when has Huusoi greed, envy or sheer desparation ever failed to drive them into yet another conflict at the earliest possible moment they saw fit ? We would be the last tree standing, surrounded by lumberjacks who have nowhere else to go anymore!"

"Yet if we help the Parrench and kick the Eskandr out of this whole affair swiftly, we would still be dealing with the more familiar of two enemies in the worst, and with a friend who will remember our deeds for at least a few decades to come in the best case. Also: Right now the Eskandr here don't expect us and we might even have numerical superiority. If we bypass this place and march onto Chamonix without further ado, the Eskandr will first profit from their surprise and numerical superiority against the Parrench here and then potentially fall in our backs once we're there. Which way will cause the greater loss of life for us ? I've been a petty thief for some major part of my life..."

Okay, maybe that was a lot of an understatement, if not even an outright lie, but as long as it'd work...

"I know what it means to have limited resources, and I know that, at the bottom line, very much in life is just about that: resources. I think so about wars, too. We can't manage to decapite the enemy's administration, but we can deprive him of resources while conserving ours here. Also I just think that Ivar The Dead is a nice alias whereas I can't think of anything similar for baron Can't-Spell-His-Name."

"So, do you follow me ?"

Otios didn't wait for a reply. He jumped off his horse and started running towards Belfleur, only turning his head and looking back whether anyone would follow once he had merged into the shadows.