[IC] As Darkness Fell - A dark fantasy story

[Nariata]

ACT I: As Darkness Fell

Part I: An unlikely start

Two weeks have now passed since the Mad King and his followers destroyed the combined armies of the realm and rose an ancient power. In the days that followed, the mortal realm has started to spiral downward into a frenzy of desperate civilians fleeing the horde and a shadow of hopelessness to fall over the people. All across the long edge of the demonic army, the lands of the Human, Elven, and Dwarven civilizations burn. Villages, too numerous to count, have been razed to the ground while massive cities have found themselves under siege while slowly losing their grip on their defenses. Ahead of this coming darkness, a number of villages and cities have begun to evacuate; with countless of their citizens running to the fabled walls of the Castle Estel.

The Castle Estel was the oldest castle found in the entire realm, with legends talking of it being constructed by the gods themselves as the last beacon of survival. Perched on steep cliffs in the center of the Chasm of Reckoning, the long divide that neatly bisects the western and eastern parts of the continent, overlooking the deep canyon from the singular and lonely mountain. Surrounded on all sides by the deep canyon, and with only the two long bridges of fate running in and out from the east and the west, the Castle had become a logical fallback option for them. The walls have never been breached by any assaulting forces, and the legends go this is where the Goddess Roffella ascended to the Goddess well-known throughout the realm.

The actual story is often stranger than the myths, however.

Time has a funny way of perverting the truth, or so Mulad says. In his countless years of service as a Grand Wizard Mulad has read all the books in the Grand Library; from the tale of Roffella and her rise to the fall of the First Imperium of Man some two thousand years ago. In his studies, Mulad had found time and time alone to be the great equalizer of all. Yet Mulad knows that these stories have more parts fabricated than not, with essential pieces of information lost through time through translation errors or downright sloppy work. What isn't perverted by time quite yet is the threat Mulad and his would be heros face. The darkness that spreads throughout the realm has taken notice of their plans; with a hastily put together and sloppy execution of Mulads call to arms noticed by those who would do them harm. Even now, dark forces work in concert with the beasts on the ground to intercept and destroy the group. The culprit for the enemey knowing their plans, one may ask? None other than the various posters and letters sent out in the wake of the defeat, calling on all who are able and willing to join this Grand Wizard as he adventured to retrieve a long forgotten artifact of great power. Even now, as those who chose to respond march on the meeting point, dark forces stalk their moves and wait for their chance to strike.

Mulad had chosen a place to distract those who gathered of that fact.

Mulad had decided that the first meeting of this group would be in a place that is perpetually happy, one where he could reveal his grand plan to fix the world and at the same time earn the trust of those who he would eventually learn to count on for his life. As Mulad approached the location from the south a memory began to flicker in his mind, and Mulad let himself fall into it and he began to relive his first experience at the Six Corners as he walked, eyes closed as he did.

- - -

"Can I interest you in a trinket – turn around and watch the magic – increase your male vigor – I thought you were dead – I am not lying, this weapon killed a dragon – are you sure it cost that much to– look at my wares – what do you have for sale – the Dark Crusade shall soon end – I'm walking here - you sold me junk – I'll give you half and still that be – when this is over – guards are so – he looks like fun– I am a healer – I am not interested – do you know of – that food smells amazing – this place is amazing."

The familiar sounds of the Six Corners and its fabled trade bazaar, the finest such place to buy a bit of everything and all of anything in the Firen empire, filled the ears of Mulad and a smile began to slowly creep across his face. The six corners stood where the six long Roads of the King intersected at their only common location; and in the years since the massive undertaking required to construct this massive transportation network, a massive trading outpost had sprung into existence. The would be adventure could find anything they needed here for whatever journey they found themselves on; weapons, armor, potions, fancy colorful cloaks, and much more.

Not only known for the supplies, the local food had as much draw for the adventurer as did the trading with a local tavern called the Crossroads Inn being home to the realm famous Chef Mincy; a Firen woman who had once cooked for the King himself before she left with his blessing to bring her cooking skills to the world; and oh could she cook. You name it; roasted chicken, boiled pork, lizard tail, rat skewers, poultry and whole fish placed between a sliced loaf of bread were just some of the many unique and somehow delicious food that had a home in her tavern. The building itself was four stories tall with an open center design that allowed those sitting on even the highest floor a clear view of the bands playing their music below. The walls of the tavern were covered in various pieces of artwork, all of which were donated by the happy patrons that had become regulars in their travels. From a personal portrait of the King himself to an artist's rendition of the Battle of a Hundred Nations, so many paintings in fact that the walls have come to resemble a museum more than a tavern. The furniture was well carved with rich tapestry's covering the comfortable chairs and barstools. The outside of the tavern was adorned with many different unique and artistic engravings on the many poles that supported the building; the local artisans donated their work for weeks of free food and grog and much celebrations were had in response.

Mulad smile widened as the memory took him back to when he first visited the place.

Though, even as though he was an admirer of the arts, Mulad did not approach the tavern to view the decals or did he enter it to see the artwork inside; rather it was a smell, one carried on the winds, which brought him in. At first, it was subtle and teasing in nature; with each passing breeze bringing with it the sweet promise of succulent food. As he moved closer to the tavern doors, the aroma became over powering. The sweet smell of cooked chicken seasoned to perfection permeated through the air outside the doors; a smell so good that it pierced through the smell of urine, bad hygiene, and various other nefarious smells before it reached his nose. The sweet smell of the nectar of dragon root, paired nicely with a dash of pepper and salt, grabbed him by the nose and forced him through the door and into the establishment. Once inside, Mulad could hardly hear himself think over the roar of the crowd.

"I love you wench – how about a song in honor of – this food is amazing – you are full of it - I swear I killed a dragon – I once saw the King in – the last time we were here – Mincy this food is – three more drinks – how about a song about – you want to take this – I love this place – where are we-"

Oh, how the crowd was alive that night. Each person was as drunk as the one next to them, with many men wrestling each other over who took home the prettiest wench and much more drinking to the various victories their friends had in battle. Some were boasting of their own victories; some far-fetched while others hitting home the chaos of battle. In-between swigs of their grog each and every patron would dig into the plates of food that seemed taller than the average Good Folk themselves to the hungry eyes before them. The food never stood a chance. Seasoned to perfection, and paired with all sorts of different vegetables, the plates were devoured in minutes as the patrons spared no bean or lavors leaf as they quickly devoured all in front of them. The plates, clean as a whistle, were returned to the bar top where they were cleaned a second time, loaded with food, and dished out to yet another hungry patron.

Mulad quickly became intoxicated in the atmosphere, and after many drinks blacked out amongst many new friends. As Mulad fell deeper into this memory, his smile spread further across his face. He remembers the faces of those new friends, the taste of that sweet food, and how alive the crowd was that night.

As Mulad opened his eyes, with a wide smile that crossed from one corner of his face to the other, the memory of the Crossroads faded away and reality came crashing down around him. The sight of the Six Corners had changed. Gone were the colorful, vibrant people and their market stalls; replaced instead with over a hundred dead bodies which littered the streets. The sight of broken and burned out market stalls replaced the various colorful hues that once adorned this place. The sweet aroma of fresh food had been extinguished, and now the smell of death and ash was all that Mulad could smell. The smile dropped quickly from the face as his eyebrows crunched together while the corners of his lips dipped downward. The place had been destroyed with not a single house left untouched by the vicious assault that had fallen on this place.

His eyes, wide and open, stared at the remains of the tavern; a ruined shadow of what was once great. Mulad stood there for a moment, hands clenched into a fist, as he looked. After a brief moment had passed, his body quickly lurched forward towards the tavern. Quickly making his way up the few steps and he soon found himself near what remained of the door. He paused as he reached the door.

"Who did this to you, Mincy," Mulad asked the silence as his eyes quickly darted into the ruined building as a look of longing fell upon his face.

"I ask that the spirits of the departed to reveal the perpetrator of this crime," Mulad started to spin a spell deep within his body, channeling his magic as he spoke each word. He felt his inner magic slowly flow forth from his core, through his left arm, and finally into his left hand; which he slammed on the ground in front of him. "Let me hear your final words, reveal to me the architects of your demise," Mulad continued as he released his magic into the area, "so I may yet bring them to suffer for their sins." As Mulad finished the spell thin, bright blue, bands of fogs began to rise slowly from the ground next to his hand before they shot out into the area; the bands danced around the bodies of the dead before the silence that was once deafening was drowned out by the wailing and cries of fear of those departed souls that haunted the area.

"Why are you – oh my god – please stop – why is this –someone help me – run for the – I have three children – tell my family - not my daughter – where is my – someone help me – take it, take it – please stop – have mercy – someone help me- where did they- what is happening – why me- cultist are – they're everywhere -"

Mulad poured more of his magic into the spell, releasing an additional two additional seekers while his mind focused on one word in particular; cultist.

"Cultist are- there – watch – cultist are everywhere – from the west -"

"Cultist," Mulad spoke as he summoned the wisps back to him with all four falling into his hand before he clenched his fist and thus breaking the spell. "This attack was recent enough, they came from the west and swept through this town like the plague," Mulad continued as he pulled himself off the knee and turned around, facing his body towards the west, "the west, the west is still very safe, no demons nor have there been reports of cultist activity that way unless," Mulad paused and scanned the area. His eyes drifted from the north to the south while keeping parts of vision towards the west. "Of course," Mulad muttered as he walked himself over to one of the few benches that remained unbroken and sat down with a heavy thud. Those that had heard his call for adventure would soon be arriving at the six corners, expecting to hear the plan to save the world over a hearty feast of the best food they ever had. Mulad raised his right hand and placed it on his forehead, covering his right eye, and shook his head from side to side. He did not know who he could expect to head the call of adventure. Thousands would receive, read, or hear details of the quest through word of mouth, yet there was no way for Mulad to know who would answer his call.

"So much for that," he spoke to the silence once again as he sat on the bench, rubbing his forehead and thinking of what to tell the group when they arrived. The group of adventurers was coming from numerous different directions, and within half an hour they would arrive at the Six Corners, or at least what remained of it. From this now dark place they will begin their quest.

[The Angry Goat]

Six Corners. Seemed to be an odd place to start a meeting. No walls. Chaotic. Not really that open to dwarven kind, either – though Sirgala was more than capable of passing as elven or human, her mixed lineage blending the lines between them.
At least it was close to home; a donkey or a horse would be expensive, something for which she’d rather not have to pay if she could avoid it, especially since she wanted to scout around on foot before she got into town proper. And once she got into town? straight to the bar?...peruse the shops?... check for caravans?...one step at a time though, she thinks, keep in the present, keep focusing on the closest step.
The acrid smell of far off smoke. A thought - a worry.
The town really didn’t have much of a defense.
She did see the invitation on a flyer. And broadcast from the town herald.
How much thought was really put into this meeting? How did this man even know who to expect – how many, of what skill, of what allegiance?
But no – the armies of darkness would not be so bold. A Great Wizard would not be so idiotic as to be THAT unprepared.

Would they?

Sirgala continues onwards, apprehension pooling in her stomach as she further considers the possibilities; thousands dead; cultists loose way up here; material wealth lost; the ramifications on the trade networks and how those could affect the surrounding villages. She shakes it off, and tries to focus on other thoughts. But the feeling remains.
Dusk seems to be an hour or so off, the city also that far. Rest here for the night? no. In the city. One way or another. Need to know... does not seem good…
The smell was growing, and she could see smoke in the distance, through the trees. cultists still here? she wonders, electing to put her gauntlet on, rubbing it some mud when she gets the chance to make sure it stays dull in the fading sunlight. Alert and ever the more apprehensive, she continues this way for the next 40 minutes or so, until she finally crests a hill and can get a proper look at the city.
Sirgala didn’t think her stomach could have dropped further, but drop further it did as she looked upon the ruins, smouldering embers in the twilight. After staring in horror for a good half-minute, her instincts kick in. Prudence and caution of the highest order. Sleep in forest. Cloak gives camouflage. All shiny items in pack. Leave it here in the morning. Scout out quietly. Full hunter’s gear.
The next day, she wakes, observes the ruins again, and changes her plan slightly – this is the day of arrival. The Wizard must have also chosen to arrive today. Had he been there, there would have been far more of a fight. Would have been less one-sided. Surely?
She would watch.
She bore witness to Mulad’s conversation with the dead, necromancer? recognizing him not as a grand wizard, would that not come with an entourage? Some sort of fanfare? but simply as some sort of traveler, perhaps a cultist, preparing the day’s ambush against the travelers as they straggle in – or maybe the first of those responding to the Wizard’s call?
At any rate, she would keep watching, safe in her little hideout she made. Let things happen, let her determine when it was safe to act. Sirgala has plenty of patience.

[Unraveller]

---

---

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Blood runs thick when it ask naught be spilled.

Or so concluded then a young knight, eyes ablaze with life, with fear. Those very same orbs marveling upon the sight before them, their knight brother lay as a sack upon the wooded battlement. That moment froze the man as it would to any green as he, sense took him again, and that squire grown dropped all the same, lest he wish a similar fate. A bolt of grotesque length driven through between the eyes held dear, no armour would stand for it.

Alarums raised, so say they a score insurmountable marching upon that Lavasian fortress-town. Cacophony played out in the ears of every man, woman, child, and beast before those paltry walls. Frantic boot-falls of the mustering brigades, both watchmen, militia, and knights as he. Calls of father to mother and mother to son, begging to quit this place 'fore the Sun sunk beyond the hills. Rhythmic, constant beating of metal upon metal, as belfrys rung of utmost intent. And yet all but one sound fell deaf to the novice's ears.

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Consumed by stupor did so he watch, watch the crimson life of a dear comrade eek as sap through bark. Pooling as slow syrup that snuck at agonizing pace through the cracks and nooks of boards below, trickling to be the first of many stains upon the mail of men in their maneuvers.

Knew not the knight was the length at which his back settled against the palisade, dare he cared not either, save until storied words of Lord Maleagant wandered in memorium, 'Be it not blade nor beast, nor terror nor rashness as the bane of man; Inaction would you find as allied black. To do naught is to be shorn deepest, is to be harrowed to the bone. . .'

Still yet quivering under the coming duress, no spectator who had witness he then would assume Glamhoth blood. Despite the man's countenance, he was no battle-forged barbarian, and indeed it showed. Still, revitalized, legs carried without abandon for held within was the resolve that required the toking of memory. So it was. So it was. Even that night, and the countless nights thereafter amidst the Dark Crusade, paled when held aloft to the certain desolation that lay before the knight-proper now.

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

Drip. . .

The elder man-at-arms squeezed firm the final drops of his water-skein into his awaiting mouth. From atop the man's mount those sunken eyes took tally of the sanguine murk just beyond a cobbled-road's horizon. A calm, practiced breath drew in through flared nostrils just above greying bristles, the air following soon outward in a sigh. Just as swift with it, the mighted man swung down from the burden of his beast, whom chortled in response.

Laborious steps took the giant all about the saddled horse, from between lips came a light and gentle whistle. A tune both he and the beast took delight and measure in. Slowly, slowly he unclasped belt and hook, bar and reign, throwing each item aside with nary a care. The sight perhaps, were there the living to behold it, would be in no mere contrast to the black mire that lay but a few steps more. A mask, for the horse's sake, or so would the man convince himself.

At last a horse free, the wild-haired knight stepped live to meet its visage. Whispered had he through that ever gruff, yet compassionate tone.

" Of what may beleaguer us upon the path ahead I cannot say, know however this Artur, 'Tis no place for even the stoutest of horses. Dare not protest as I know you would, turn about my steed, my friend. . . Turn about and live a life grand as only an animal could in this age."

With that, the knight too wheels around, his destination in sight. Yet he cannot help but cast a few more words to the beast behind.

"Think not toward fleeing again to Lavas, the wilds are of greater circumspect now. . . Until again we meet Artur. . . Pray it long and storied from now."

Only the hesitant clop of hooves fading away had comforted that steady advance, until even they were lost to him, hung over and left were only the profane silence of the dead whom choked the streets. The light hung low in the sky now, and even so it appeared unable to pierce the veil of miasma that lingered amidst the shattered bazaar. Ruin to ruin, husk to husk, finished he then the words of his master, ". . . Yield not your spirit to uncertainty, waylay not under duress, for even the deepest of the dark cannot overcome a man steadfast in will."

Carried the knight had the meaning to the very center of the Six Corners, what green and good there lay left gasped for life, strangling under the weight of innocent blood. 'Could spirit, could resolve alone saved these folk. . ? Nay, could it even ere madness' blade in slight?' Gerhard huffed upon his own musings, rather than elect to sop through that bog, he'd instead navigate the sea of mort flesh before him, for he could see it now, the ruinous carcass of a once grand shrine to ale.

Without allowing his oft' wandering mind to stagnate too long upon the potential of a ruse, the well-built man stole within at gentle pace. Without the wherewithal to draw the blade from its sheath, Gerhard delves into the ashen remains, to which the first sight of life comforts those weary bones. A moment there spent in silence, squinted eyes gauging the seated, younger man. However, before the other could speak, the knight made to cast his cape of blue abaft, gesturing an arm below the chest in a bow, as the proper folk are aught to do. And with it, a cascade of his soft-spoken accent.

"Deign we to meet under such gloom, see I that neither feast nor rest are to avail us this day. Nevertheless, before you now, Ser Brandt of the Lavasian order, under charge of knight-commander Maleagant. Assume you just as ignorant as I to this tragedy fresh?"

The grim stoicism of this circumstance certainly does not escape from the elder man's demeanor, yet still, upon that worn down face remains the warmth he ever casts. Knew not he, what fate would befall him that day, nor the days soon after. . .

[Life in Stasis]

Contaminated water had killed Rothelion’s riding ibex the day before, stranding him two days from any known settlement on the map he possessed. Carrying what he could without risking exhaustion, he’d been forced to continue on foot. Another laughable turn of fate delivered by some fecking divine jester. Well, sod it. If there truly was some self-important, so-called “grand wizard” at Six Corners, perhaps he could simply MAGICALLY TRANSPORT everyone to where they needed to be.

And then they’d save the world.

Or whatever.

---

The day had grown too hot, and both Rothelion and his riding ibex were in need of some food and respite. They had just left the township of Lofton to the north, but there had been nothing left after it had been raided first by the dark hordes, and then again by a roving band of human brigands, snuffing out the survivors and stripping what little remained. Nice, right? Like pissing on someone’s grave.

By the time Rothelion passed through, all he managed to pick up was some fresh cloth and leather to mend his garb and repair the ibex’s harness. Unfortunately this sight was starting to become common since the Mad King pressed his reign down onto the races. Someone might say it was starting to look a bit hopeless now, if that someone was a brazen idiot who couldn’t see that yes, everything was now burnt to the ground and everyone was dying.

Taking a moment to let his ibex graze and drink from a pool at the bottom of a hill, Rothelion retired beneath a barren tree and grazed himself on the meager rations he was slowly running out of. If Six Corners didn’t have something to eat, he might have to slaughter the ibex.

Roth glanced down the hill at the creature, wondering amidst his guilt if by some magic it could read his mind. Stupid beast. It would be better off running now while it could.

Having swallowed what mouthfuls he thought he could afford, and saving the rest of his food for later—for the ibex’s sake if anyone’s—Rothelion settled down for a brief nap. The landscape was fairly open, dotted by only a few trees. The hillside afforded him a good view in any direction, and even if he dozed off, he’d be able to hear an approaching threat. Anyone who thought it might be a good idea to creep up on him might find themselves very foolishly chasing after their own lopped off head.

With his bladed staff tucked in his arm and at the ready, Roth leaned back his head and enjoyed what relative peace he could manage.

He was awoken some time later by the feeling of something depressing his staff. Rothelion lifted his mask.

Perched on the dull side of the blade was a fat crow, its sleek feathers iridescent in the brutal sunlight. It was, most likely, wondering if Rothelion had perished. Of course crows would be doing well, while the world was in an active state of decay. They and the vultures and the rats must have been in pure heaven. This was the state of things now; civilization perished while the scavengers gorged themselves.

Don’t look so smug, crow, I’m not dead yet.

“Ho there, little bird.” Rothelion glanced to the side, to see if his ibex was still there. It had laid itself neatly in the dry grass, resting along with its master. “Do you bring news from the west wood? How fare the Lebethron?”

The crow said nothing; it only cocked and turned its head in the avian way, seeking only what would interest itself and caring for little else.

“Don’t feel like talking?”

Roth reached into his pouch and closed his fingers around a piece of dried meat. Working them blindly, he sought to tear off a small enough piece he could offer to the wildlife. Scavenger or not, even they would suffer in this collapse of civilization if darkness turned it all into ashes and ruin.

“A bargain then. A morsel of venison for a morsel of kindness, hm?”

Just as he’d managed to tear off a piece, the elf froze. Opening its beak, the crow’s tongue had slithered out to taste the air. Forked, like a serpent’s. It had been a very long time since Rothelion had communed with nature and the forest’s native spirits, but he was pretty fecking certain that crows weren’t supposed to have forked tongues.

“My mistake…” Roth slowly withdrew his hand from his pouch. The crow eyeballed it when it didn’t contain the promised morsel. “I hadn’t realized the Mad King’s evil had consumed you too. In that case…”

In a whirl of movement, Rothelion had sprung to his feet, pulling his staff in a lethal arc that briefly encased him in a gust of air. As his cape gradually settled at his sides again, the crow—now in two pieces—fell into the dry grass.

He nudged one piece with its foot.

“Is there even any world left to save now, I wonder?”

Thumbing away a speck of blood on his cheek, Rothelion called down to ibex to leave. When it didn’t respond, the elf narrowed his eyes and ambled a few steps forward, calling louder. A few more corrupted crows took flight at the sound of his voice, and it was then that he could see that the animal was dead.

Moving further around, Roth could see that a small murder of crows had been blocked by the ibex’s body, which had begun to bloat in the sun. Some of the birds had buried their entire heads in its bloodied flesh, straining to reach the good parts.

“Oh. Good.” Rothelion hurled down his staff, which bounced up once with a metallic rattle. “Just wonderful! Take it! Take the only friend I have left!” The friend he was very likely planning on eating himself. “Here, take my coin! Take the clothes off my back too, why not! Bloody arseholes!”

---

There was nothing at Six Corners. Nothing and no one.

Rothelion made camp there for a day, managing to trap a hare to serve as dinner while he took shelter in some abandoned hovel. A small filrepit had been improvised in the middle of a stonefloor, where a rotted rug had once made it friendly to bare feet. It had been someone’s parlor once, and now Rothelion sat on a bedroll, feeding himself pieces of rabbit on the broad side of a knife.

If no one arrived by tomorrow, he would leave.

Maybe even go back home. If there was a home to return to. The world was crumbling, eroding away with the darktide. The least Rothelion could do was meet death in his homestead, standing with his family.

And then, voices. Distant, but as he sat and listened, Rothelion was positive. Humans? Orcs? Not elves, surely, but someone new had arrived. Could be foe. Could be a fecking grand wizard, why not.

Prompted to investigate, Rothelion hastily cleaned up camp and emerged from the ruins. It did not take long to find the pair of humans standing in what looked once to be a tavern. One certainly did seem to fit the description of a wizard, while the other was a beast of a man nearly as tall as Rothelion himself, if not taller.

No, not taller.

“So there is someone here.” Rothelion lifted his wooden mask, a gesture of peace toward strangers. “Is one of you a Grand Wizard by the name of Mulad, perchance?”

[Claw2k11]

Irrak raised his head and took in a deep breath of the air to discern which way he was supposed to go, however, the same scents that he had felt the days before filled his nostrils, fresh blood and rotting meat. Usually, a gnoll would not give up the chance to eat some carrion in difficult times such as these, but the bodies he encountered were a bit different a certain off-putting stench floated around them, a nearly demonic smell, who knew what would happen to him if he had partaken in the meat of those corpses.

He continued his walk towards the Six Corners, the meeting place where he was supposed to meet the other people that would undertake on this quest. His jaws clenched shut only at the thought of working with people not of his clan, let alone people not from his own species, which he barely tolerated in the first place. However, he needed to work with them if his clan was to survive for another day, even if he did not like the prospect of it.

However, as he walked his ears detected something nearby, something living, considering it was getting closer, though as the creature made itself seen, it was obvious it was not the kind of life he wanted to detect. A large, gaunt bear came out from the bushed in front of him, growling at him. The beast must have been desperate to eat something if it attacked him, though he wondered how come it did not go and eat one of the many dead humans that he could feel the scent of even now, probably the wolves and hellhounds chased it away from prey. However, he shook and focused at his target. Even in this gaunt form, a bear was still a bear, it was still quite capable of killing him if he was not careful enough.

The predator glared at him only for a second before charging at him on all four, it's maw wide open, ready to take a bite out of him. He pitied the gaunt bear, a proud and powerful creature driven to such acts of desperation, it was nearly sad to see it in this state. But he could not die here and feed this predator, the bear was right in front of him, rising on it's two paws, ready to strike at him. However, he was faster than the creature, and by the time the bear started it's swing, Irrak buried his axe right into the proud beasts head, killing it nearly instantly.

Just a moment later, the body of the large bear collapsed on the ground lifelessly. "I am sorry, proud beast, but I must not die just yet, my people need me in order to survive." However, he placed his hand on the beasts chest and spoke a brief prayer. "Gods and spirits of the afterlife, take the soul of this proud beast and allow it's soul to live forever in paradise." With that, he rose to his feet and glanced at the body of the deceased creature for one last time before heading on the road to the Six Corners.

---

As he approached the location, the distinct smell of ashes entered Irrak's nostrils. A raid, someone had raided Six Corners. Could it have been other gnolls? After all, some of the weaker clans were very opportunist, when an enemy was weak, they attacked. He scoffed at the thought, a true gnoll would attack someone no matter if they were weak or at their peak strength. However, as he approached the town, it was quite clear that it was not a gnoll raid. After all, there were still bodies on the ground. When a gnoll raided a village, he cleaned it of every person there, the living would be taken as walking meals and the dead would eaten... bone and all.

The town seemed desolate as he walked through it, however, as he approached, he could sense the smell of living beings and these ones were not animals, though he would rather have the company of animals than humans, dwarves or anyone else. He let out a low growl and approached the nearest of the scents, and from the look of him, he somehow fit the description of the one he was supposed to meet, the wizard Mulad.

"Human, I have arrived!" he growled as he approached the wizard, he had not even talked to him and he could barely suffer his presence already, it would a difficult journey for him indeed.

[Holy Soldier]

A Dove's Flight...

A white dove soared like a star amidst the bleary, backdrop of grey and dark that filled the air on the plume of burning nations. It vanished into the clouds, blindly flying through a grey screen and yet the creature’s black eyes continued to gleam with light as it carried on without thought. The dove flew for days with a tiny message coiled and tied with thread about its leg. It flew until the clouds churned like the ocean, swirling and rolling beneath it about a rocky mass. Darting all about the dove were beings of an array of colors who enjoyed the air as much as it had once. They revolved about a city of white, stalagmite towers, and which glowed with the sun that still shined when the earth was black. The beings were the Arials, and the floating island in which the city resided was Sepherine.

The Arials were no different than the Earthborn. They went to school, played in the clouds, but there were no businesses or currency. There was no greed for the beings to leech off each other over. Their culture was entirely progressive and focused on discovering new ways to preserve life—their lives at least. They shared; they watched each other’s children; they fed each other; they danced and played music; while the land burned, the Arials in their selfish spirit continued to thrive. But it wasn’t entirely without fear. The war had wounded the Earthborn, and even nestled in the clouds, the selfish beings could sense their suffering. The island was metaphorically floating on an ocean where a big black beast lurked beneath it, waiting to consume it. However, there was still hope.

Hope approached the center tower, White Tear, and passed through its narrow windows to descend upon a chamber with a crystal floor, The Crystal Chamber. Within the chamber was a giantess whose rainbow hair pulled about her legs and covered her lap like a blanket. She wore a white silky gown of cotton thread that loosely hung from her bare shoulders. White feathers crept from her bosom to stop just beneath her pallor collar and eyes that glittered like the cosmos rose to the white creature that floated down to meet her. The Mother, as she was often called, was cradling a large, white egg against her bosom. She spared one arm, extending it toward the dove with her palm open for the creature to land. As the dove landed in her palm, its legs buckled beneath it. Its head collapsed as it went still and the gleam that once shown in its beady eyes faded.

The Mother’s brows twisted with sadness as she gazed upon the motionless creature in her hand. She brought its body closer to her and sliding her egg into the crook of her arm, she brushed its downy form with her finger. While her finger traced across its feathers, she happened to brush the paper about its leg. Turning the bird upon its side, she frowned curiously upon seeing the scroll and untied the thread so that she could inspect the message. The dove was still in her hand and her fingers curled about its form as its feathers turned black and a smoke rose from its body. Her hand closed into a fist, and when it opened, ashes were all that remained that she sprinkled into the air. She pinched the scroll and spread it before her eyes, recognizing the Earthborn language immediately. It had been Human, and it was asking for help.

The Crystal Court

Arials filled the crystal chamber in rainbows. White Knights shrouded in white and silver hooded robes stood in files branching away from the goddess to the tall chamber doors. There was a red Arial, who stood before The Mother and the entire room. He wore red philosopher robes to match his red hair and blood-red wings. The court had been called to address the message—the message that had all the Arials astir. The red Arial, the philosopher, Jiceras, ambled up and down the aisle of space he was granted as he addressed the room to explain why most of the Arials had been summoned:

“Friends; my fellows; The Mother; The Sky Queen; has called us here because she received a message and not just any message. She received a call for help from the Earthborn Humans…”

The room bubbled with surprised murmurs and gasps. How did she receive a message from the Humans? Their messages could reach all the way up here? Most of them were amazed and some disturbed. Jiceras continued: “It appears the Mad King has poisoned the land; and the Humans, the Earthborn, have become so desperate for aid that even when they lack wings, they would send a dove!”

Jiceras stopped. While holding the excess of his robes upon his arm, he turned in a circle as he suggested, “This desperation is alarming, is it not? We live up here in peace, and while they burn below, we are merely waiting for the flames to rise higher—for the flames to reach us! We have to help. They cannot do it alone. They couldn’t win the war without us, and they won’t be able to survive without us.”

A green Arial woman stepped onto the crystal floor next. A green gown twisted up her body. Her hair was held back by a flower tiara, her dark hair as green as seaweed and hanging down her back between her creamy shoulders. She folded her hands neatly over her lap and stepped forward to where Jiceras stood. Her name was Hedina, and she represented the opposition.

“The Earthborn are lost. What have the Earthborn done that is different from the Mad King? They war with each other. They kill each other. They steal from each other. They rape each other. You are asking us to help demons fight demons. The Arials have found peace and because of The Great Mother and our city, we have continued to live in peace for centuries while the Earthborn drowned the world in blood below. The Earthborn have survived this long. Surely others will rush to their aid and provide them with all the help they need. I say we watch both evils perish.”

The room rumbled with several Arials voicing their agreeance. Jiceras turned to Hedina and frowned. “And if the Mad King wins?”

“Then we will destroy what is left of his Army.”

“How long do you think we can hide in the clouds? A dove found Sepherine. Someone knows we are here and that someone wrote us a message. We are fortunate that someone had not compromised our location long ago.”

Hedina parted her lips to speak, but then closed them again. She had no comment. Jiceras turned his head, passing his eyes sternly over the room.

“We have grown complacent! We have studied the Earthborn for years and learning from their mistakes, complacency, is a killer! We are alone. We need allies. If the Mad King were to crush us now, the Earthborn would watch and do nothing just as we did.”

“The Mad King could try to crush us. A single Arial could fell a hundred Earthborn before she would fall.”

Jiceras whipped his finger at Hedina and exclaimed, “Arrogance! Blind Arrogance!” He returned to the audience, “We are an arrogant race. We pride ourselves on sustainment and on being above the Earthborn. But the Earthborn are the reason why we are at peace. Peace cannot exist without sacrifice. The Earthborn have sacrificed so much, and it wasn’t for us but we are benefiting from it. Now they are about to perish. Our peace will need a new sacrifice!”

“You speak of them as though they are martyrs…”

Jiceras bowed his head as he thought, Martyrs…maybe. Lifting his head, he concluded, “I respect the Earthborn. I have read many of their texts, and through them I learn things that our people will never learn. We will never learn these things because we have no reason to, but in this day and age, this knowledge is paramount. Hear me, My Queen, hear me My Fellow Wings, set aside your ego, bring forth your compassion. For the sake of conserving our peaceful kingdom, we must help the Earthborn fight the demons. We have fought demons for centuries. They could learn something from us just as we could learn something from them.”

The red Arial faced the queen and pleaded, “My Queen, your decision is just regardless what you choose to do, but I beg you to please send them help. I have no further words.”

Hedina addressed the chamber next, “Let’s say we help the Earthborn, and the Mad King and his armies are destroyed. Let’s say…we share our technology with the Earthborn in order to help them. After the war, there will be celebrations for days. Our Wings will return to this city and we will celebrate. Let’s say decades later when the war is all but a storybook, the Earthborn with our technology attack us. They attack us as they attack each other. They try to conquer our city and they bring their wretched wars to the skies. Years from now, we will be saying, ‘What have I done?’”

She faced the queen: “My Queen, you know what must be done. We cannot trust the Earthborn. They live only to destroy. Is the Mad King not also Earthborn? His corruption is of no surprise. I have no further words.”

The Sky Queen closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she continued to cradle her egg against her chest. The air around the Arials vibrated with a power as she spoke words that didn’t leave from her lips but resonated from her being. “My Beautiful Children, I can feel your fear. I am scared for you. I am scared for this city. We have had no troubles until now. I still wonder to this day if I had sent My Knights to battle would we be here now? Would we be faced with such weighted decisions? Because I did not send My Knights the first time, the Earthborn now call for our help, and in order for us to remain safe, I feel I must send them…”

Hedina bowed her head in disappointment, but did not let the expression show on her face. Jiceras’s eyes glimmered as his face brightened with joy.

“I will only send one.”

Jiceras’s face faltered in disbelief. One?

“My White Knight will be an emissary to the Human who sent me the message. We will learn then if the Earthborn were trying to deceive us. If the Earthborn prove trustworthy, then my White Knight will relay to us the strength of the enemy, and we will make preparations accordingly. Which of my Knights will go?”

I will go.

There was no hesitation in the voice that responded. One of the white robed beings stepped from the file nearest the center and pushed back his hood. He approached the two philosophers who stepped aside and bowed at the waist in respect. The room was full of excited whispers:

It’s Balthair!

The Storm Champion!

Balthair closed his eyes and bowed his head as a proud smirk curled his lips. He couldn’t deny his love for praise and when people actually recognized his skill. He stopped before the Rainbow Queen and knelt before her, pressing a fist against his chest over his heart, and his large, white wings sprung from beneath his robes into the air in an arch over his head.

“My blades will crumble to dust if I don’t use them. I will see the Human for what he is. I do not find it necessary to dirty my swords with him even if he does so happen to be a liar. I will leave the demons to him instead. It is a more fitting end for treachery,” Balthair declared.

The queen nodded. Jiceras straightened and offered, “My lord, if I may share with you some wisdom?”

Balthair stood and turned to Jiceras. “You may.”

“We Arials are unique. As a White Knight, you should try to blend in with the Earthborn. Your wings will make you a target. If you are to travel with the Earthborn, then you should travel like an Earthborn and try to keep to the ground. Use your wings only when you need to. The enemy will find you difficult to discern that way.”

Balthair smiled. “I am afraid that I could never look as ugly as an Earthborn, but I will see what I can do.”

Giving his wings two, stretching flaps, Balthair curled them back beneath his robes, and turned to once again bow to the Sky Queen, spreading his arms in adoration.

“I will watch over you, My Knight.”

“Thank you, my Queen!”

The Crystal Court filled with cheers and applause as the Arials watched the White Knight take his leave. Balthair waved to his loving public with a warm smile before he grasped his hood and pulled it over his head.

[Torack]

Screams rose out from the ruins of the hamlet. The wails of those who lost loved ones mixed with the cries and moans of the dying. It was by some blessing it was muffled by the dark, heavy smoke and ash that engulfed the entire place. And yet, despite it he could see the bodies beyond the shifting veil, countless innocents that had no part in this wretched war but caught within its midst nonetheless. It was unfair; these people had nothing to defend themselves with save a few pickaxes and hammers but what good were they against seasoned cultists?

He sat on a ruined carriage a few meters from the center of the hamlet, where the smoke was thickest and the remaining few fires still being put out. He sat there with a blank face. Before him was an semicircle of cultist corpses and beyond them the body of a human girl no older than six, face down in the mud with an arrow jutting out between her shoulder blades. The girl's brother cried freely next him face-in-hand and Eovaine could do nothing to comfort him for his own soul wailed at the horrors before him.

Did this mark the end of all the good races in the world? When many of their own kind would give in to the darkness of their souls and serve someone like the Mad King for nothing more than a taste of temporary power to feed on the weak? These cultists before him were elves, one of them he had known through simple passing and a few conversations before this mess began. Humans, he could understand why humans would flock to the Mad King and his mad power; short lived and inherently weak, they would willingly seek anything that would give them power and longevity. But elves? He certainly didn't believe his race better, but their longer years gave them greater wisdom. He was sickened, but moreso distraught at the girl.

He had come to learn that it wasn't the cultists that had killed her, but a passing hunter who leaned on a ruined wall nearby closing in on death, his face a ruined mess, the facial bones shattered, one side of his jaw hanging limply, held only by the skin as bloody drool fell to the ashen earth between his legs. And what great excuse had the bastard given to killing an innocent child, robbing her of her parents and siblings?

"Our world doesn't deserve one as pure as her."

It had been almost fifty years since he'd felt a rage similar to the one felt at hearing those words. The fucking bastard. He should've killed him, and yet he stayed his hand for whatever reason. His gut perhaps. Or something.

He was about to stand when he heard multiple footsteps approaching from behind. Turning, he saw a squad of Firen Shock Troopers making their way into the village, their faces hard as stone from the scene before them. The squad sergeant caught his eye, removed his helmet and walked towards him. A young man, Eovaine noted, with hard and hollowed eyes that had seen too much.

Eovaine stood once the sergeant was close enough, noting how he looked at the bodies then back at him.

"I assume this was the work of the dead cultists?" He asked gesturing to the hamlet

Eovaine gave a nod.

The sergeant regarded him and gave him quick look over. "And I assume you're one of those adventurers?" He asked.

"Indeed," Eovaine said, looking hard into his eyes.

The sergeant grunted. "Then do us a favour, adventurer, stay out of our way. You and your kind are more likely to do us more harm than any sort of good. You want to help? Join the fucking coalition and use your skills on the battlefield. Less soldiers die that way." He then spit in front of his feet and shoved past him, walking into the city. The remaining soldiers followed, save for one who stopped and regarded him for a moment and nodded in the direction of the sergeant.

"Don't mind him," he said. "Sergeant's in a pissed off mood. We've been chasing a small company of these cultists when news came to us that Firen had been sacked. He's been sour ever since. We all have."

Eovaine could understand that sentiment. He nodded at the corpses. "Those part of the company you were looking for?"

"Aye, could be. A small squad left behind to send word of potential pursuits. If they were, you may have helped us a great deal, despite our sergeants words."

"I was passing by when I heard the screams," Eovaine said, shrugging. "I figured it was cultists but... bastards destroyed this place before I arrived."

The soldier grunted, baring his teeth. "Expect to find more of this. But if you truly want to help, there's some insane wizard gathering adventurers in Firen for, I suspect, an insanely dangerous mission. I'd advise against it, but you adventurers are madder than the Mad King, so." He shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder then walked past him to the girl, stepped on her corpse and pulled the arrow out of her and put it into his quiver and moved on.

Eovaine looked over at the boy. The crying had stopped replaced with a hollow mask. A mask he'd seen too many times. Steeling himself, he walked over and crouched in front of him, placing his hands on either side of his arms with a soft but firm grip. "Where are your ma and pa, little one?" He asked.

The boy pointed.

Eovaine turned towards the ruined building he was pointing at, still burning with the roof caved in, billowing dark smoke.

Well shit.

He turned back to the boy. "Do you have any remaining family? Some uncles or aunts perhaps."

The boy nodded.

"Can they take care of you?"

The boy stared at him blankly, giving no answer.

Eovaine sighed. "Alright well, how about you go to them? They'll take care of you, okay? Tell them to, shit, tell them to go to Lebethron. Might be the only safe place left in this world. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded.

"Good. Be off with you then."

The boy then looked towards the body as if questioning.

Eovaine closed his eyes, looking down as he sighed. After a moment, "I'll take care of her," he said looking back up at the boy. "She's happy. Just know that. Wherever she is, she's far better off than the rest of us."

It wasn't the most comforting words, but he sucked at this sort of shit. Eovaine stood and watched as the boy walked off as though he were a corpse and prayed silently that the boy would forget this day if they survived the Mad King. Then, with a sigh he went into the smoking city where he found a spade and started digging until his arms were numb, then walked back, picked up the girl and put her inside and began filling the grave.

Once he was done, his face dripping with sweat and covered in soot, he looked down at the unmarked grave for a long moment. There would be none to remember her save for her brother and whatever few family members she had left. Poor thing died alone, at the hands of a cruel, misguided man. He had no words to give and so he turned and walked away from that fell hamlet.

---

---

Several days on the road had finally led him to what remained of the walls of Firen. Beyond, he could see buildings in ruins and bodies heaped on the ground in piles on the sides of the road. Near the walls, many of the bodies were soldiers and the deeper he walked more and more civilians replaced the soldiers until it was only a heap of men, women, and children, shocked and twisted faces looking in all directions.

He had become almost numb to the sights he was seeing and this was a subject of concern, but one that he had no mental capacity to tackle. Keep everything out. That's what he'd told himself over and over as he passed destroyed town after destroyed town. Death clung to him like a curse, or so it seemed, for no matter where he went he saw it. And the pain of doing nothing stabbed at him with every corpse he passed by until he learned to stop looking, to stop caring. It was the only way he could live with himself without going insane. Either kill his own soul and free himself from seeing all the destruction around him or end up killing himself.

Eovaine knew many who had to face such decisions in their lives, and until this moment he never really understood why they had gone so far as to place a wall between themselves and the world. Most of them opting for a wall of grim and sordid humour, each quip and joke as though to blunt the shock of what they had to see. And now he would follow in their footsteps.

It wasn't long until he walked into the Six Corners and found a ruined tavern and made his way inside, the smell of death and burnt wood strong enough to cause him to hesitate for a moment before walking over to the bar and grinning at the sordid figure behind it, wiping the counter despite the state of the place.

"So. You got any pie back there?"

[Delta44]

---

---

---

---

A journey inspired by memory, guided with a fuse of heart.

The steady gallop set by Kestrel doesn't wear out her companion, trailing up one of the main roads towards Six Corners, its glimmering visage in the distance.

And with it, the clearly labelled signs of telltale destruction echoes like a beacon of danger.

However, Kestrel doesn't fault in her advance. Pressing forward, she kicks Greg into high gear, pursued to find the truth in such a dangerous and heart-wrenching location. The smell of death travels not long after that of the desolate town before her, however, and soon the young woman finds herself coming to a halt; merely to breath, no less and no more, as the smell tears her mind from its previous convictions.

Oddly, the reek of death shifts her mental focus back home. How her parents would cry if they heard their second daughter was going on a suicide quest to save the world! It wasn't as though she decided it on a whim, either - she knew the risks in doing what she was about to do.

She remembered all too well.

---

People still prayed, despite the current situation. Kestrel couldn't understand it one bit, believing in a God which had so clearly forsaken you an age ago. She didn't voice her concerns - she knew better of it than to voice her agnosticism when being taken in by the church. Asylum was hard to come by with the demons invading, Kestrel barely lucky enough to gain such a status, at least for a night. Alas, her night had come to pass, and she was out the door before they could kick her. She sympathized with the peoples behind the relief effort, working practically day and night to support various peoples whom couldn't find a home. She hoped that her spot would be put to good use.

An eye out and around town, the young woman strolled in the early hours of the morning, just before the busy nature of the city would revive, like one big creature coming to life. Its citizens stumbled out of bed and into the stalls, shops and stores; fresh bread was to be made, its scent thick and sweet with perfection; the various merchants and traders tidied up their stalls and brought out new wares and items from out of nowhere, the routine of the day finally kicking in. For a place so close to danger, nothing appeared too out-of-place in the lazy city. It woke and bustled like any other day - comforting in a world of mortal peril, but not what she was looking for.

No. What Kestrel wanted was far more valuable than a comfortable lifestyle in a world gone mad.

A sister. Robin.

She made her way to the barracks. If what she'd heard was true (and God knows she paid for it, cursed Dwarf), then Robin had been stationed right at the forefront of the conflict. It wasn't exactly hard to locate - the tower with the banners of Firen was key enough. The problem was finding out if Robin was, in fact, here.

And if she wasn't, wherever else she could be.

Apparently, her sister was pretty bad when it came to not leaving an impression, for it never really took her long to figure out where Robin had gone. Apparently, she was really good at making scenes or looking suspicious - something which went in Kestrel's favor. The barracks themselves were simple enough, with a general meeting space as soon as one entered, likely where prisoners reunited with their families. A reception for caged criminals, if you will. It even came with a front desk.

Not quite knowing her way about discussing the matter to another, she walked up to the front desk and muttered a faint 'excuse me', to which the guard behind the desk barely registered.

"Mmmh?"

Her eyes darted to the floor. Normally she was alright when speaking to others, but since she'd never really spoken to someone with authority before...

"U-uh... I was wondering if, erm... a certain new guard had been added to your roster?"

"Are you talking about that Robin girl?"

"Y-yes! That's her!" Kestrel's eyes lit up for a moment, however his complexion perplexed her. "... Something happened, correct?"

"She's not here."

Her heart sank. Just when Kestrel thought she'd found her sister, she'd escaped her grasp again. However, ever able to keep herself composed, she continued her queries: "Do you know where she went?"

"She joined the Firen Guard stationed within the city, however we found all too late that she was simply using our transport as a ride. She ditched guard duty the moment she arrived, which caused quite the stir from the higher-ups." The young guardsman sighed. "Supposedly she went around town shoplifting before leaving; the reports were not accurate, however someone certainly did go around taking the food off some of the poor folk in this town. We're letting people know about her since she's broken the law, but we don't expect anyone to go beyond the borders of the city for a mere theft."

Kestrel's eyes narrowed, nerves spiked. "She went beyond the city walls?" His nod caused her to become visibly upset, and she certainly felt it. Beyond the borders, she could have gone anywhere - how was Kestrel to find her sister in a world so impossibly large?

"In the direction of Six Corners. Where The Wizard is having that meeting to recruit able-bodied men."

Six Corners? Wizard?

"U-um, excuse me..." The guard perked up at her humbled approach. "W-where is this Six Corners...? And if you don't m-mind me asking, what's this about a wizard?"

From her face he could tell she was genuinely curious. Growing up in a small town all her life meant she didn't know much of the outside world, barely beyond the borders of town. It was a comfortable form of lifestyle - one she sorely missed. She hoped she could get Robin back and that the war would end so they could all return to it, together. "Six Corners follows the Southroad: a road which leads directly to Six Corners from the city. It's the central hub of trade around here, with plenty of major roads leading in and out of it. However recently our scouts suggest its been ransacked. By cultists. The Grand Wizard of the realm has set up a meeting place there, calling to arms anyone willing to support him on his quest. From what I've heard there's nothing for you to get involved, so not a lot of people are rushing over there."

Now that sounded like Robin!

Hesitant, the young woman quizzed: "S-sir, are there any prerequisites to go on this perilous journey?" He shook his head.

"As far as I can tell, so long as you can swing a sword, you can join. I haven't had the luxury of finding one of his special flyers myself, however, so-"

He cut himself off when he found himself talking to thin air. He would call out to the young woman, however she was gone before he could stop her. It wasn't often youth so readily raised a sword in the face of danger in today's world; he just hoped she knew what she was doing...

---

And Kestrel hoped she knew too...

Their pace slowed after their pause, from a lively gallop to a more evenly-paced canter, steadily approaching from the North. The closer they got, the more their pace slowed, till finally, the very outskirts of Six Corners was beside them.

Or what was left of it.

Greg couldn't suppress a whinny, for which she couldn't fault him for, however she gently stroked his neck as a means of calming his nerves. "Shh, easy there, boy... Let them rest in peace..." The stench of corpses was enough to make her sick, and the sight made her eyes watery against the metallic colour. Their bodies littered the floor like a trail of suffering, and the further into town she got, the harder it was to navigate around them. The debris from the buildings and embers from the fall didn't make things any easier, either. All about was a sight Kestrel had never witnessed before, never truly experienced before first-hand.

And for once, she hoped Robin hadn't come this way.

An entire bazaar barren. It was eerie, considering the previous city had it's center bustling in the early hours of the morning. The sun's light was well beyond morning at Six Corners, and the stillness of the place unsettled her. Smoke poured from dying embers, like the end of the line for some of the poor folk caught in the slaughter. Guards, civilians, merchants, husbands, wives, children; all were equal among the corpses strewn about the bazaar. Lifeless and equal. A terrifying thought to bear about the future of the world.

But she wasn't here for them. As much as she wanted to say she was, her goal was to find someone in a town full of no-one. Their demise had come earlier than she could've hoped to save. However, if it was not too late, she could find Robin somewhere around Six Corners. And to do that, she would need to find the mystery wizard.

And the first place of intrigue was around the bazaar.

Without any clear direction, however, she opted rather to stand around awkwardly until something happened. She didn't even know if or when people would arrive, but if they did, perhaps they could guide her to her target. Little did she know, the Wizard for which she sought was in a building around the bazaar, extra company included. The whinny of Greg the horse may have attracted their attention, though.

"Shh, Greg, quiet...!" She whispered harshly, however he gave another loud neigh, before finally calming down. "Shh... There we go, boy... There there..."

[dreamingflowers]

"I don't mean to pry Sister, but have you always lived at the temple?" A young Firen soldier riding next to her asked, his tone was hesitant. He wanted to make conversation but at the same time not be a bother.

It had been the second week since Nimue had left the temple she grew up in. The journey to the trading post called the Six Corners was soon coming to an end. She met the company of soldiers while traveling through a small village. They were recovering from a brutal battle with the dark forces. Nimue healed the wounded until she collapsed with exhaustion. The next day the villagers and soldiers who owed her their lives refused to let her travel alone. Half of the company of soldiers were to escort her to the Six Corners, to which she agreed.

Nimue lowered her hood and glanced to her side, a gentle smile on her face.

"I was seven when the sisterhood came to my house"

The soldier nodded in understanding. The sisterhood was well known throughout the lands as a sacred order of women, tasked with the preservation of life in all its forms. They took in young girls who were pure, kind, with the spark of magic in their souls. Their temples were often build close to the sea, the sustainer of all life. They lived secluded and secret lives. Their reputation as healers was well established, but little else was known about them.

"I...well I just wanted to let you know that.."

"SOLDIERS!, up ahead!" The captain called out, pointing in the distance, at the borders of the Six Corners. With an apologetic look in his eyes the young Firen soldier urged on his horse speeding up the front, coming to a halt beside his captain. Nimue kept up an even pace, her white mare didn't have much opportunity to rest the day before, she didn't want to push the animal past its limits if there was no need.

The famed trading post was utterly destroyed, a look of shock spread across the faces of the company of soldiers, luckily largely hidden by their helmets. Gasps of horror interrupted the silence death had left behind in its wake. Nimue also reached the front of the line, fearing what she would find down below.

"Gods..." She covered her mouth, feeling a chill running down her spine. Nimue didn't understand this senseless destruction, what was the purpose of it all?

The smell of death and decay was overwhelming the closer they came to the entrance of the Six Corners. Nimue covered her nose and mouth with her cloak in a effort to block out the sickening smell. Everywhere she looked bodies lay strewn about, men, women and children. It pained her to see their lifeless bodies. When the company arrived at the entrance Nimue descended her white mare. The bodies made it near impossible to ride through the trade post without her horse crushing them. She tied the mare to the wooden remains of a marketstand near the entrance. The captain got of his horse and made his way over to Nimue, his plate armor clinking together as he walked. The middle aged man towered over the small statured Sister. He cleared his throat. The captain had a hard time leaving this young woman, she had after all saved many of his men, including himself. They were all reluctant to leave her behind.

"This is where our ways must part Sister, may the Gods watch over you, as you have watched over us"

Nimue bowed, her left hand holding her cloak, the other crossed over her heart. Overwhelmed by the goodness of these soldiers she was left speechless. A small smile graced her lips, her eyes wandering past each face of the company standing close behind their captain. The man was about to turn his back on her and return to his recruits when one of them spoke up.

"But Sir...we can't just leave her here! It's not right...it's not.." It was the same young soldier who had tried to make conversation with her earlier when they were riding towards the Six Corners. He stopped his protests when the other soldiers were turning around to face him. They all knew it was dangerous, but the Sister had chosen her path as did they. The young soldier pushed his way past his comrades ignoring the looks he received from both his fellow soldiers and his captain. He got on his knees in front of the young woman, bowing deeply.

"Thank you Sister, for all you have done. You are a shining beacon of hope..and..y-y..you" His voice cracked with emotion. Nimue was touched by his words and seeing him struggle for words tugged at her heart strings. She placed her hand on the cool metal of his shoulder pads. Her words were practiced, but her tone warm and kind.

"Where there is darkness there must always be light."

The soldier rose to his feet and adjusted the visor of his helmet He struggled to do the right thing and ignore his feelings. Despite his better judgment he stepped forward and enveloped the young woman in a quick and wordless hug. He turned away from her and made his way back to the company. The rest of the soldiers saluted the Sister, but he kept his back toward the Six Corners, looking down at the ground.

[Bishop]

4 days before, a settlement close to the designated meeting place

Everyone was on high alert. Walls and barricades had been set up, guards patrolling 24/7 and everyone was inspected before entering the settlement. Even during the road he saw fire pits encased by metal structures to allow better night vision to the patrolling guards atop the walls. Things had gotten dark, everyone was tense and on edge, waiting for the next boom. He approached the gate where he was stopped by 2 guards while another one stood next to them with a list.
"Hmm, there is no scheduled arrival for at least the next 2 hours."-the guard said as he scrolled through the list-"Who are you? State your name and purpose for visiting The Redclaw settlement."- he added as the guards put a hand on their pummels ready to draw at the sign of any sudden movement.
Without a word, Numenor calmly took out a piece of folded paper from one of his inner pockets, unfolded it and showed it to the guards. It was the poster with the dragon-slaying quest.
They looked at each other for a moment then started laughing.
"So you really think you can kill the dragon? Still, your arrival here is unscheduled and we can't let anyon-" the guard stopped as soon as Numenor lifted his right hand, showing a silver ring with a red gem on top, a signature carved on it. At that moment the guards stood at attention.
"Sir! You may enter, sorry to have delayed you."
The ring is a witness to the man's experience on the front lines. Even though he wasn't exactly at the vanguard, he helped a great deal with eliminating enemy officials and key targets. He served under General Lugethius since he became part of this war. In fact it was he who recruited Numenor and now he had one final mission for the warrior. Slay the dragon.
Hushed whispers could be heard from behind him as Numenor passed the gates.
"Did he really come from the front lines?"- "Can't imagine what he saw there." - Just hope this doesn't become the front lines."

It was dark. As he entered the settlement he saw..ordinary, everything was normal. The inn was busy with drunken people coming in and out, people on the street laughing, children playing. It wasn't that late but still, this was part of the east side, the danger of an attack was present at all times. How could these people live life like this? Maybe seeing the front lines had made him too harsh but even so...nothing, he could barely muster anger. The old him would be furious of the nerve on this people. As he was watching the scenery a knight approached him.
"You must be the one they were talking about. The mighty warrior from the front lines eh?"
Numenor only continued to look at the scenery of the "happy" people before him, well, as happy as one could be at times like this.
"Must be a change huh? I can't imagine what you have seen, things that these people can not see. That's why we are here, protecting people from the dark things of the world."-the knight said as he joined the cloaked man by spectating the residents.
"Where can I get a room?"- Numenor finally spoke, his voice smooth and attractive(as heard by the females).
"You got the Inn right there with added breakfast and dinner. Usually it's full but lucky for you, not too many people passed by here today. How long you plan on staying?"
"One night, leaving by first light."
"Not my shift so I probably won't see you again. Good luck on you journey. We thank you for your service!"- the guard said while straightening up but then he added-"You mentioned that you were on a quest..err..posters spread by that Wizard. Just a heads up but the location where you are to meet, the Six Corners, we just got news of the attack. Everyone died and everything burned to a crisp. Makes you wonder how safe we are here."
Random men:"You, whore, get up on this!"- one of them said as he gestured toward the tent in his pants while the other 2 laughed. He had been talking to a well dressed lady. She was probably only stopping here on her way to the far west.
"Excuse me."- the knight said as he approached the man.
"Oh, if it isn't Sir HonorAlot!"- were the last words that came out of his mouth before it became 2 teeth shorter.

Dragon's Kneecap...what a strange name. He wonders if they named it after or before the dragon emerged. He took his hood off revealing his face, dark green eyes, a smooth face but for a scar on his right cheek, short hair and overall handsome features.
Entering the inn, the smell of liquor and food instantly hooked your nose. It was noisy, a lot of cheers, some were singing while one was dancing atop the table and there was always that one table who served as an elbow holder for the hand wrestling and as always you had those who watched and placed bets. He approached the counter and was greeted by a smiling hostess. A young girl in her 20s with long blond hair, blue eyes and a vitalizing smile.
"And what can I do you for today?"- she said as she turned around behind the counter only for her to look a little surprised.
"Hmm, do I know you?"- the warrior asked with a smile on his face. The ambient, these people, he finally started relaxing. How long had it been since he had a normal conversation not involving the war or demons.
"I feel the same way. I am certain I have seen you before."- the girl responded while biting her lip as she went into thought.
Well, that was one way to start a conversation. After ordering a meal and a few drinks later he had gotten pretty cozy with the girl. At least he hadn't lost his charms over the years spent slaying demons and cultists. Pretty sure he had tortured a few too.
"My shift ends in a minute. Wanna take this conversation upstairs?- her stance and actions were suddenly sultry as she said the last question.

She fetched a key and lead him upstairs with a bottle of wine in one hand, opened the door and they both went in. As soon as the door was closed she jumped at him and they went into a deep kiss. Her soft lips then started tracing his neckline, collar bone down to his chest as she undressed him. Feeling outpaced the man started becoming aggressive, his lips inquisitive while he was undressing her now. The bottle was still in her hand when she almost dropped it.
"One more drink before before we succumb to our burning passion?"- she asked with a naughty smile, her hand outstretched, holding the wine.
Numenor took the bottle and drank a few big gulps before putting it away and continuing. As they went on she pushed him into the bed and got on top of him.
"Do you remember when you said you knew me?"
"Maybe if I know you better I can remember."- he responded while stretching his neck for a kiss only for her to get back. She then moved her hair away from her shoulder to reveal a scar, caused by a sharp blade by the looks of it.
"Do you know what this is?"
"..."- still confused Numenor remained silent. Maybe it was the drink or the mood he was in but his movements were getting noticeably more sluggish. His hands had stopped rubbing her and she had his full attention.
"Do you remember who I am now?"- the girl asked again, her face was now cold.
"..."- more silence. He tried to recall but nothing would come to mind. HE tried to lift his hand but could barely get it a few inches above the bed. Something was wrong. He should've seen it the moment he saw the girl or when he drank the wine. HOw could he be so careless as to let his guard down?
Now the girl's face was contorted in anger with tears beginning to form in the corner:"19 years, 7 months and 23 days ago you came..angry sob..into MY HOUSE and killed MY PARENTS."- she said, half crying with her voice uneven.
It was coming back to him now as adrenaline was rushing through his veins and sobering him up. Yes, he remembered that night.
"Your parents worked for the Mad king and supplied the demon faction wi-"
"LIAR! They were simple merchants who were doing their best to raise their daughter. YOU killed my family. YOU destroyed my life. You should've killed me then."
"I don't kill kids. But you're not a kid anymore are you?"
"Hahahaha. So what? You plan to kill me now? Try that when you're dead."- and as she said that she lifted her skirt and drew a knife kept in place by a strap on the side of her shin.
"You..ghkk..don't want to.."- and then he couldn't speak anymore. The poison had paralyzed his vocal cords.
"It will soon render you unable to breath. But you won't go that easy. You don't deserve to go that easy. Oh and, I'll be sure to visit your grave."-and as she said that she traced the knife along his chest, below his chest, to the sides until she struck him. The pain was tolerable but then she took the bottle of alcohol and poured it on his open wound. Unable to make a noise these were the 7th longest 5 minutes of his life. He had been tortured before, always managed a way to escape but he had never let his guard down like now. He deserved it, there was no place for becoming soft in this world. And soon his vision began to fade.
He was dressed and placed on the bed. The bottle of wine discarded outside. She screamed with a smile on her face as men came up to the room and found his lifeless body. Upon a quick examination he died from asphyxiation. His body wasn't analyzed further, hiding the wounds and he was buried the next day.

First light of the following day

The man who was charged with the body carried him in a horse carriage some miles into the woods where it was the official burial ground. They usually burned the corpses first but that was usually family. This guy, who no one knew, the only reason he was even being buried properly was of how insistent that knight was. The knight was also the reason the body was getting buried along with its belongings. He went on and on about honor blah blah, this guy fought in the front lines for them blah blah. Finally arriving at the burial site the man started digging. He was a real good digger. The hole was nice and deep and ready to swallow a body. Just as he was about to throw the body in he noticed a ring. Well no one would notice a ring missing. He got his sausage fingers pick the ring and started removing it when a hand shot for his arm, painfully squeezing it, cracking the radius. He was about to yell in shock when the other hand shot for his throat. The grip was stronger than steel and it kept getting stronger, applying more pressure as the neck finally gave in and cracked. He threw the lifeless body of the gravedigger in his own grave. He put a hand on top of his shoulder and cracked his own neck as bones got into place. He really thought the girl liked him cause of his charms. Just as he was about to leave he made a dark figure approaching. Using his enhanced vision he saw that it was the girl and more than that she was riding HIS horse. Preparing to dance on his grave? It seemed like divine justice.

The girl approached the hole all the while humming to herself and got off "her" horse. Now standing in the edge she looked down only to see the body of the gravedigger. Suddenly she panicked and looked around. Where was he? How could a corpse disappear? Just as she turned back a hand reach for her head and slammed her next to a tree trunk. A blade was raised before it stabbed the tree just inches away from her throat. Looking sideways, head still against the trunk she started:
"How did..."-but the feelings of shock and surprise were quickly replaced by anger-"Now what? You going to kill me like you did my parents? THEN DO IT!"-she said in a burst of anger but a hint of sadness showed on her face as she muttered the last words:"Monsters never die anyway.."
The old him would have pitied the kid. He would have blamed himself for her predicament. Maybe he would have let her go? Who knows..were the thoughts that crossed his mind as he shoved her head close to the blade, lining the edge to her throat and slid her across the blade towards him, finally leaving her lifeless body to fall on the ground. Grabbing her and dragging her by the hand he threw her in the grave.
At least she deserved a burial..

Now he was on his horse, finally on track. Stopping there just before he reached the city was completely not worth it. And something had changed in him. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was definitely off. Maybe because of how he felt nothing while killing the poor girl? She posed no threat to him and he had no desire for revenge but at the same time he had no reason for NOT killing her. His hunger had lessened and he began sleeping less and less. For 2 days straight he rode to the designated meeting location. Stopping only for his horse to rest. And at last he arrived at the Six Corners. It was as gruesome as the knight proclaimed it to be. Death, decay, melted flesh and wood, a common sight in the front lines. He had seen this too many times to even give it a second glance. What happened happened.
Using his vision he looked in the center and saw multiple humanoids gathered there. Could be their employer and the adventurers or the cultists waiting to ambush them. Either way he would find out.

He started approaching them, atop his horse, at the ready for battle.

[Voodoo]

When a journey is lain out before you with no end in sight Andin found that the hardest thing was to take that first step. If not for a hawk-eyed assistant, the letter would have been lost among the deluge of documents that shuffled through Andin’s lab. While he had heard hushed hints of hellish turmoil in the west, Andin had given it no mind. Rumors had a way of spreading like sickness, even amongst government officials. It was a fanciful story of dragons and devils that one would be more likely to hear from a bard’s mouth after his third tankard of ale than on the lips of a noble. This dismissal stayed with the halfling until he started to his lab.

As he was showing his papers to the guards so he could leave the royal district, a pair of riders sped by him, out of the district, toward the city gates. The halfling watched with curious eyes as the horses churned up the earth in their wake. Calls of “Make way!” rang in his ears. In all his years, Andin had never seen men ride so quickly through the streets. He could feel something in his stomach, as if a single piece of ice had spontaneously sprouted within him. Making his way onward, it wasn’t long before the sound of hooves began to thunder behind him again. Another pair of riders bearing the royal colors, dressed for a long journey rode by at the same feverish pace. Andin’s doubt became more tangible and his pace quickened. More riders filled the street with their colors and traveling cloaks, many went toward the city gates, others rode to other parts of the city. Andin kicked it up to a healthy jog as he looked up. Dozens of doves were being sent off into the sky. Something was happening and that doubt in the pit of his stomach just grew and grew.

As he was handed the envelope by his assistant, he could see the unease on the boy’s face. The thunder of hooves passed them by as Andin turned the letter over to study the seal. A surprised twinkle in Andin’s eye and a warm smile helped put his assistant at ease as the halfling peeled away the seal of the Grand Wizard. “I believe our production orders are about to change Pyotr. Go and fetch the stored tallow and lard. When you’re done, you and Higgins shall go to the butcher. Bring back as much fat as you can carry,” said Andin as he walked with the unopened letter to his desk. He watched as his assistant went into the back before opening the letter. A lit candle sat on Andin’s desk, pooling crimson red wax on the dish it sat upon. It wasn’t necessary with the sunlight that flooded the lab through its windows but the dancing flame was a convenient and relaxing distraction at times. He took some time to read through the letter as different brews bubbled in the background. He could hear Higgins complaining in the back, seems Pyotr had roped him into hauling out the tallow and lard as well, lazy boy. He hummed a little tune as he opened a drawer at his desk and withdrew a thin stick of incense. A relaxed smile hung on his face as he held the incense to the candle’s flame, watched it catch, and took a deep whiff of the smoke.

He exhaled unsteadily.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Entry #3

The trip so far has gone as expected but I grow worried. The evacuation orders have spread much quicker than I could have imagined, surely there must have been some magical support. Possibly alchemical? I’ve seen many posters pointing toward the Six Taverns. In any other case I’d believe it a ploy to lure in those thinking themselves capable of bringing about the Mad King’s downfall but the letter I received make me sure this is no trick. If a Grand Wizard’s seal could be forged, then the realm is in much graver danger than we could have ever thought. It bothers me though the notice was made so public. Surely the Grand Wizard would know that the enemies of the realm would take notice. Perhaps it’s a trap for them? Perhaps he seeks to smoke out the Mad King’s allies and strike a blow at the Six Taverns with an ambush. But how would he know who to trust if he draws in friend and foe alike? There’s an ingredient missing.

Entry #4

I’ve been taking the main roads to Six Taverns and have seen the droves of evacuees firsthand. I have never seen so many Gyfdin all at once, like a river of flesh. Many are heading toward Castle (BLAHBLAH), others have heard of refugee camps being constructed along the walls of the capital. I hope the day does not come where they regret that decision. It isn’t all misery though. Many of those gifted in the arts have taken on the role of rallying the others into higher spirits with songs of hope and extravagant talents. I’ll never be able to forget the blindfolded man juggling seven axes. Truly extraordinary.

Entry #5

The injuries though have been surprising. I’d heard talk of cultists razing towns in the west. While I expected some spell-caused injuries, I was startled by the sheer number. They have many mages among their forces. I may need to come up with a way to defend myself but unfortunately, I’ve not had the luck to have a magically-inclined volunteer to work on.

Entry #6

I’ve done what I could for those that I’ve come across. For many, rot had already began to settle in so amputation was generally the only option. Many refused. There wasn’t enough drink to numb the pain and my supplies are for the future, not for now. If I had known what I would have found, I would have brought more supplies to help these people. I’ve done the best I can though so I can confidently say that more people will reach th

_________________________________________________________________________________

Andin looked up from his notebook as he slowly shut its pages around a ribbon. He kept still as someone heavy trying to be light crept through his camp. His ears twitched slightly as he heard a knife point poke at the pan he had set up over his campfire the night before, then the sound of chewing. Andin frowned at the loss of his breakfast.
In time, a sword poked through the flaps of his tent before moving them aside. A man’s dirty face peered through with beady eyes and a misshapen nose to find a halfling frantically hiding something in his bedroll.

“Oi, unless yer wanting to be a quarterling, ya betta be gittin’ out whateva ya got ‘idden ther ya slip.

Andin flipped over to face the human. His hair was wild, eyes still fighting off the last vestiges of sleep. As soon as he saw the blade glint menacingly in the last remnants of moon light, the halfling froze, eyes wide. “P-please, no.” The man sneered as he leaned in and grabbed the halfling by the hair and dragged him out of the tent. Andin kicked and struggled but the man was literally twice his size, easily throwing him aside. He hit the ground with a hard thud, landing on his side, facing away. The man snickered as the halfling curled in on his himself in pain.

The man kept his sword leveled at the trembling halfling as he rummaged through the bedroll. Little bugger was probably trying to hide his coinpurse, he could even see the shape of it. Throwing aside the covers he found his prize, a waterskin. The man frowned as he picked up the skin and shook it. Sounded like water. Keeping an eye on the halfling, he uncorked the skin with his mouth and took a deep whiff. It wasn’t water. The man suddenly spasmed, coughing roughly. Maybe he should have stopped smoking. He could tell it had done a number on him. He hocked up some phlegm and spit it onto the halfling as he laughed and took a long swig of the wine he had found. Damn that was good. No wonder the slip had tried to hide it away.

“Tryin’ t’hide drink from yer guest ay?”

Andin’s trembling intensified as the man drank and when the man’s sword wavered, the halfling surged up onto his feet, dagger in hand. Silent, he lunged forward and was promptly kicked aside. He landed on his back, dagger out of hand. With a cruel sneer, the man in his tattered soldier’s uniform kicked away the dagger and laughed at the halfling’s feeble attempt. He stepped over quickly and planted a boot on the little man’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “Good try, mate,” he spit out. Andin’s eyes began to tear up as the man twist his foot into his chest. With a thrust, he planted his sword next to Andin’s head causing him to flinch away. He leaned down, putting more and more weight on the halfling’s small, struggling body. Suddenly he grabbed the halfling by the throat with a meaty hand. Andin could feel the sweat and grime on his skin.

“I was gonna just kill ya but now ya gotta die real slow. I don’t like peoples who try at cheap shots,” he whispered, putting his face close to Andin’s so he could spit out the last insult the halfling would hear, “ya slip.” His breath stank and in that moment with the man’s mouth open, Andin sprayed him with the contents in his mouth. The man turned his head, coughing and sputtering. “You fuc-“ the man started before suddenly choking on his words. Confusion ran through his eyes as he tried to breathe and found he couldn’t. An itching feeling was spreading across his skin and when he tried to close his grip and crush the halfling’s windpipe he found that his fingers had already gone numb. He tried to get up but found that the numbness wasn’t just in his fingers; his legs wobbled and gave out under him. The numbness was spreading, his skin was itching, and everything was continuing to swell. He tried to whimper as his vision swam but couldn’t even manage that through his throat.

Andin peeled the man’s hand off him and stoop up as the deserter pawed at his neck with useless hands. He went around and picked up the waterskin before dumping the contents out onto the grass. The man’s eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head as his face swelled into a horrific caricature of what it once was. He skin was red and inflamed and beads of sweat poured out into the ground as he rolled onto his side in some attempt to crawl. Andin brushed the dust off himself and began to gather his supplies. After scraping out burnt chunks of fish from his pan, Andin proceeded to packing everything in his tent up, nice and orderly as the deserter convulsed violently in the dirt.
With a bite of his trail rations in his mouth (jerky with hard tack) and a refreshing swig of water, Andin went on his way, whistling a little ditty he’d learned from an Elven bard. In his wake, the grotesque body, twisted, bloated, tinged an ugly purple color, finally started to grow cold.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Andin’s soft footsteps carried him in the forest near one of the main roads leading to Six Corners. He was close. He knew because he could smell ash, and bodies rotting. His heart sank at this turn of events. He knew to expect it but that didn’t diminish the tragedy of the situation. Why these people were not warned, he had only an inkling of a guess. Trailblazing through bushes and trees, it was a bit hard to see where he went. At the very least he knew that straight forward would take him to his intended destination and so long as he kept the road in sight, he shouldn’t get lost! And he didn’t! What Andin didn’t expect was that when he stepped through the next thick patch of bushes , it would be into a clearing where a tent had been set up. Over the bushes on the other end he could see the grey ruins of Six Corners. Andin froze as he looked at the tent, waiting for someone to burst out or make themselves known. After several seconds with no motion, Andin took his first step. Whoever this person was, he wanted to avoid them until they met at Six Corners. Even Andin was on edge with the deafening silence of the once bustling trading post and two jumpy strangers was not a recipe for peaceful resolution. His bare feet fell silently on the grass, while the Good Folk were not strong like humans, hardy like dwarfs, or as long-lived as elves, they were slippery, light on their feet. He made it across the clearing, keeping a close eye on the tent for any activity. Slowly stepping into a bush, it was shown then that even a halfling’s luck can run out, as Andin bumped into someone hiding in the bush. Startled, he stumbled backwards and tripped, landing on his rear as he finally noticed what was in front of him.

“H-hello there, friend!” he stammered nervously as he crept back, his mind frantically assessing the situation.

[HeySeuss]

An Education

---

His journey started with a letter that arrived with a man in Kynos from outside, and his father's creased brow and crinkled eyes as he read the missive the man bore in the modest stone interior of a thatch-roofed croft far east of Six Corners. The bearer of the missive was an obvious outsider, but they were not entirely unknown. They came to Kynos to pick over the bones of the Once Empire, as they knew it, though those were inert, dead stone, not the stuff of the legends that you might hear the dramatists recite at fair gatherings, remonstrances against Hubris.

His father muttered of promises and friendship, but pointed to his broken leg, and the man that Murad sent quite agreed; an unfortunate accident and the man could not travel at the speed that was required here. In his stead, he'd send his honor, his firstborn, to fulfill the obligation. The Kyneans were simple herder folk, or simple bandit folk at times. In this rocky back country, vicious feuds developed alongside a well developed sense of obligation, be it to return injury in kind or to repay debts and favor.

It was how Mardion wound up on ponyback alongside Murad's messenger, Ardur. The man that had a sneer on his lip for everything in these lands; the pony, a stout, shaggy, indefagitable sort that could plod on well past the time a more refined running breed would collapse, sustained only on grass and without the benefit of horseshoes, didn't meet the man's approval. Nor did Mardion. Young, and able to guide well through the roads and the paths to avoid the worst of things, be it trees aflame, beasts on four or two legs, he seemed to take it as effrontery that he be guided by a young man that was sure of where he was and where they were. Mardion took pains not to condescend to the man, but nothing would unprickle him.

If there hadn't been an obligation, Mardion would have probably headed back after the second day, leaving the man to find his own way back. He'd managed to make his way in, guided by another local from the borders. Mardion could have left this sour one to find his own way and probably be bushwhacked on a road. But there was an obligation, and his father put it in no uncertain terms. Go to the wizard, guide him to the destination he asked to be guided to.

Stone, brush, clay, chalk, salt and pine were the landscape, along with a brusque wind that helped spread the fires from time to time, as it was that season. The distances they were to travel, weeks of it, seemed to stretch out ahead of them interminably, as they churned through the muddy tracks that passed for roads in the Kynos, finding succor in certain communities charted out by Mardion, who learned from his father Cratus the lay of the land. It was how Mulad met the family; hiring a guide to show him through the lands during his younger years and wanderings. Some wizards were curious about the history, and then gave up when these studies revealed little of use to their Art.

The weeks were not pleasant; they bedded down where they could on the trail, using campgrounds he and his father marked for themselves and others who hired guides in the land, but the conversation was thin and Ardur's mouth twisted at the fare. The conversation was similarly sparse; curt exchanges. It was worth noting that the man's demeanor did not warm and his likeability did not improve with prolonged exposure.

As they came closer to Six Corners, from the Southeast, below the elven forests, he noted more refugees, stragglers in knots with their possessions and animals, sometimes wagons, making a desperate, unguided journey. Some were ill, others were starving, and some yet bore wounds, festering. They told tales, of a dragon, of the Mad King. It was not the recitation of a dramatist, but rather the piteous cries of the children and the begging of the women, and the ruined, defeated look of the men as the staggered into Kynos, desperate enough to risk the meager succor of a dangerous land. He tried to give them meager advice, direction on how to make it to the next safe village, but he knew the bandits and the beasts would have their feasts nonetheless. These people were prey worn down from the hunt, lurching into an unsafe land. The elves would not have them, and the Emberlands, Kynos, were not so much held as a kingdom so much as a place where only desperate outsiders or scholars came. It was not a fertile land, and the people were scattered.

He heard the tales from a burned survivor, a member of a party that they let share the campsite, he understood more of why they would risk it, even half dead as they were. The tales were of black-winged death breathing fire down on whole armies, of demons unleashed to crash in chaotic waves ferociously against organized lines, breaking them with terror and hellborne strength. In a stony redoubt, with watchers set to ensure that there would be no ambush, and a fairly warm night, everyone still looked over their shoulders and shuddered as they came to a temporary respite in their weary march away from the death, the devastation.

Others started shaking and weeping at the description, and it occured to him that he was stepping into far more than simply guiding people around. The grim, ashen faces around him, their too-big, terrified eyes were as much a testimony as the stories from the burned man, still wrapped in his bandages and smelling of ointment and slow, painful decay and death. Others, such as the aging aunt, drawn and worn down from the flight, piled on with stories of wondrous horror at the unleashing of fell magic and awful monsters.

There was little he could do for them but guide them to the next stop and pray they found it. But everyone knew that the odds were slim. And he knew that he was walking into something worse. Was this why Mulad was calling for a guide? To get him out in style? It seemed a venal aim against what his father said of the man's integrity and acumen.

---

The settled lands, lush places with loamy soil where things grew in abundance, but even that seemed strained as fields were either unharvested or cut down early. The locals were on edge, of a tendency to challenge first and even shoot arrows at two more tramps on the road, possibly up to no good. But it was Ardur that stopped Mardio from nocking his longbow and firing back at one that nearly took his pony out with the arrow. Kyneans were not noted soldiers, but they could hunt and eke out a living on venison, wild sheep and other game, and a bow was always of use for that. He'd never found himself drawing back an arrow in anger before, right to his cheek, and would have released but for the hand on his arm and a shake of the head. For a bastard, apparently, the man had sense. There was no sense starting a war with the locals over one farmer with a cocked eye or a mouthfull of blood looking for an excuse to kill. There were other travellers on the road, but they were generally going the other way, struggling through in small, wary knots, fresher than the ones that they met in the Kynos.

Mardion tried to steer them away, but not all of them were having it.

The other danger was the patrols of soldiers, chasing deserters and none too picky about whether or not someone actually was a deserter. They were just grabbing men, but Ardur, now the guide instead of Mardion, had some sort of paper to show them that caused the ventennar of one patrol to spit, sheath his sword completely and order his lads onward with bulging sacks of grain and a couple of live chickens squawking away under arms. It was a first taste of the predatory nature of war, men with swords taking what they would in the confusion to ensure that they were well fed and survived. The experience left a bad taste in his mouth.

His first experience of a small, prosperous city was instructive; Ardur said the place was swelled with refugees. The foot traffic began to increase, as they dismounted to lead their animals, moving with the crowds rather than being able to ride free. Ardur was able to navigate through this mess, indicating when they were to shift their position to turn here, to cross there, so that they weren't pushed out by elbows and shoulders of annoyed bazaar goers who obeyed their own unspoken laws of movement in a city. There were open market stalls and shops to gawk at, except when he tried to slow down and take a look, he had Ardur practically grabbing his upper arm to steer him away. That would have earned him a knife to the ribs except that by the time they got to this point, after weeks of forced companionship, he gave the man allowances.

They stayed in an inn that was too crowded, and were lucky to find floorspace in a stable to sleep in. Ardur grumbled about the money spent, but the innkeep was a hard faced one, and unsympathetic. Mardion was growing to know that expression as much as the too-large expression of fear. It was the face of a scavenger, as much as any vulture on the side of the road. Pitiless and unsentimental about their own windfall.

They had expected another town like the one they passed through, but more vibrant, as their destination. Instead, they were greeted with the sight of bodies in the streets, twisted in ways that spoke of the agony of their demise, bloodstains that drew a ragged line through the cobblestones, and the scorchmarks that spoke of a much more horrible sort of demise. Few of these folk had been armed, or perhaps they'd been picked clean of their weapons. It was hard to say, but there was something here that tugged at his senses, though he could not make it out...in any case, Ardur tugged at his coat to keep him from staring at the twisted, burnt corpses of mother and child. He could taste the bile at the back of his throat, he realized, and turned away quickly and heaved out his stomach's contents.

They had a meeting to attend, whether or not the inn was burnt down and filled only with charred bodies and a mournful wind...

[Voodoo]

Sirgala had watched the first new arrivals move in... multiple elves...at least one human...

Gnoll?!

Gnolls didn't usually align themselves with the Mad King. The dark magic left the bodies un-eatable, and even crazy people were uncomfortable working with what they often perceived as brutish beasts. So was this a change? A meeting to decide on an alliance? It seemed equally unlikely that it would be an adventurer - but I'm judging him before I've met him again, aren't I?

Deep in thought, the hunter fails to notice the telltale sounds of motion as Andin stumbled upon her.

“H-hello there, friend!” he stammered nervously as he crept back. Equally startled, Sirgala moves on autopilot, rolling away while unsheathing a knife in a fluid motion. "And a good morning to you," she replies.

Andin flinched away as a woman burst from the bushes and drew a knife. It gleamed in the bits of sun that cut through the ash and leaves. The halfling gulped as he held up his shaky hands, showing his lack of armaments. He took note of the woman's sharp ears, not quite as long as an elf. What was intriguing was her strong frame. Elven blood typically developed slender frames with wiry muscles and while humans were a bit broader, half elves typically would be rather lithe, somewhere between the parent races. That was neither here nor there though. The real question was not about her blood but about if she was here to spill it.

"Oh, I...I hope so! Did you see the posters as well?"

Sirgala takes pause - unarmed of physical weapons means nothing in a world full of magic, and shaky hands can be nothing more than a front to something far more sinister. She cocks her head at the mention of the posters, playing dumb. "Posters? Explain."

A look of puzzlement spreads over Andin's face at the question. They seemed to have been everywhere. She had to know, though these games were fair when their destination had been burnt to cinders. It'd be better to play along though, would be a shame to get stabbed when the destination was but a skip of a stone away. "Grand Wizard Mulad put out the call for able-bodied folk to meet at the Six Corners," he said as he pointed over the woman's shoulders toward the smoldering ruin of the trade town. "Unfortunately we were beat here, weren't we? My name is Andin, I'm a surgeon. You?"

Not particularly worried about the content of his response, Sirgala was using the time it took him to explain to survey the area in greater detail, until she was certain that there was no ambush waiting for her in the bushes. When her sharp eyes and ears caught nothing, she decided it was safe for now.

"I apologize for my caution," she says, flipping her knife back into its holster, "but it was necessary given the circumstances. Sirgala, hunter."

She glances back at the smoldering ruins of the city for a moment. "there's already a few in there; two humans and two elves - both look to be travelling adventurers, the kind you'd expect to see in a call like this. There's also a Gnoll and a rather confused looking young lady," she finishes; fishing around in the bushes for her pack, then dons her gauntlet and hooks her mace onto her belt. "I was worried that they might be cultists, setting up an ambush. Doesn’t look to be the case though - they certainly haven't done much preparation. Plus, I have backup now" she remarks to him as she start towards the city.

This woman, if she wasn't trained had remarkable natural finesse. The knife disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The halfling quickly got to his feet, visibly relaxed in stark contrast to a moment prior. "It's smart to be careful...but not too much. Otherwise, I'd be out of a job!" the halfling said with a chuckle as he adjusted the bulging bag on his back. The cast of characters she rattled off seemed strange, as if it had been ripped straight out of a storybook full of misadventures and wacky hijinks. If only this was that kind of situation.

Andin caught up and fell into step with her. Things were tense and their mutual trust was on shaky ground at best, exemplified by the safe distance between the two. Just a little longer than an arm and mace's length but hey, a shaky start was a start nonetheless. Andin could see the group of gathered forces in the distance and he could only imagine what they looked like. Almost seemed like the beginning of a bad joke. A half elf and a halfling walk into a burned down bazaar...

[Nariata]

Part 2: And the journey starts

Mulad, still sitting on the bench outside the tavern, found himself staring at one body some fifteen feet away from where he sat. The woman herself was an unknown person to him, but she reminded him of someone; someone once very close to him. The dead woman lay in the middle of the street, without a second body near her, with her face looking sideways as the rest of her body faced downward with her chest pressed against the cobblestone street. The woman was wealthy, as the makeup on her face showed; her cheeks a rosy pink color while a vibrant black color found itself coloring in the underside of her eyes. Her hair was long in style with a natural brunette color but it had long since been covered in dirt and blood; a result of the attack no doubt. Her eyes a dark blue color, much like Mulad's own, and they were staring out with a glossy finish over to the bench where Mulad sat.

"I will be seeing you soon, my old friend," Mulad spoke to the dead body. Sure, it wasn't her that lay there in the street but the visage of the woman none the less sparked a memory in Mulad's mind; one which Mulad willingly fell into once again.

~ Many years ago on the eve of battle against a demonic force ~

"Mulad," his friend spoke as she entered the war tent; resting her long spear with its massive blade on the side of a table near the entrance. Surrounding an oak table that had small clay figures, either a blue or a red color to denote the forces allegiance on top, Mulad and three of his Purifiers sat planning the upcoming battle with a Firen commander. The commander was in full battle gear while Mulad and his Purifiers were still in their common clothes. The war tent was lit well by multiple candles placed strategically to fill the tent as a whole with as much light as possible. It was also spacious, with the massive war table placed in the direct center with enough room on all sides for any and all to move about freely and without hindrance. "I observed the enemy lines as ordered and what I saw suggests that the enemy will use the cover of dark tonight to sally forth and assault."

Mulad turned his head from the war table to face his female companion. "Aster," Mulad spoke as he beckoned his second in command to his side, "your report is well received and it is as we expected," Mulad paused, "we have bolstered our lines here, here, and here," with each 'here' which Mulad spoke did he point to a specific portion of the front-line, "with hidden poles that should be strong enough to withstand the charge of that damned Demonic Hound and give our mages clear shots, while we have also hidden our War Mages here, here, and also here," again pointing out the positions on the map, "to counter any and all Minoutaurs that have aligned themselves with the demons."

"Do we have enough soldiers to hold the line?" Aster asked as she placed her hands on the table, transferring most her weight in the process. "This defense needs to hold if a larger conflict is to be prevented."

"What we lack in numbers we make up for it with skill, miss," the commander of the Firen Shock Troopers said as he himself moved over to the war table, pointing to the center of the blue clay figures. "My best troops will make up the center lines, and we will hold them back; our flanks are bolstered by a few units of our newer soldiers and the militia you guys somehow convinced to fight; we will take a weak-center and encourage the beasts to charge us head on, and we will win," the commander finished as a smile crossed his face.

"What do you think, Aster?" Mulad asked with a smile.

Aster turned her attention towards Mulad and pulled herself from the table, crossing her arms as she did. She paused for a second, but she began to speak once again. "Deign we to meet under such gloom," Aster responded but the voice was not her own; gone was the sweet and gentle rhythm of her speech and instead replaced by the coarse voice of an elder and with enough bass that suggested a man was now speaking to him. As Mulad realized someone, in reality, was with him, the illusion of the memory fractured and Mulad found himself being pulled out of the memory and firmly back in the ruined Six Corners. In front of him stood a mountain, and the mountain talked.

"see I that neither feast nor rest are to avail us this day. Nevertheless, before you now, Ser Brandt of the Lavasian order, under charge of knight-commander Maleagant. Assume you just as ignorant as I to this tragedy fresh?"

Mulad quickly stood up, and gave the dead woman one last look before he turned his full attention towards the towering Sir Brandt; who had a head and a half on Mulads height or so it seemed. Mulad did not expect to see such a man respond to his call. Mulad eyes quickly scanned his face before sizing up his build. "Much too strong to be Lavas by birth, and much too big as well," he quickly thought, "maybe a tribesman, most likely Glamhoth," he finished the thought with a smile. The man before him, although old, had much strength left in him.

"Sir Brandt, you are a most welcome sight amongst this chaos," Mulad said as he stood up and gave the Knight a slight bow, "while I wish I was the ignorant fool who just stumbled upon the mess we find ourselves surrounded by, I cannot claim ignorance as to what happened here," he paused as he looked around the area, eyes resting on the dead woman with another 'last glance', "the dead can still talk for those who know how to listen, and they told me everything we need to know," Mulad paused as he turned his attention back up to the Knight, "Let us make our way inside the tavern, I think-"

"Human, I have arrived," snarled a monster from down the road.

Mulad shot his head over, preparing a spell as he did. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened, with his body weight shifting backwards as he took in the sight of the creature which stood even taller than Sir Brant and with a visage so fierce it forced Mulad to question how the patrolling soldiers had not mistaken it for a hell beast. "Tall, collects trophies of its kills, smart enough to craft and use weapons and armor," Mulad thought, "of course!" After a brief second had passed, Mulad let the magic within him return to his core and allowed a slight smile to cross his face. "Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine a Gnoll answering my call, but here you stand." While the statement was delivered with the articulation and annunciation of a well-versed scholar, inside his mind his thoughts were more like a teenage woman's after meeting the man of her dreams; yes, yes and yes drowned out everything else as the smile slowly crept further and further across his face. "Monsters shall come for us in our journey, Gnoll, but they shall learn to regret the day they did when they meet your blade" he finished as he turned his attention back to the Knight, and in turn back to the Gnoll, "Let us make our way inside the tavern, all of us, I think-"

Click – Clack – Clop - Click – Clack – Click – Clack

Mulad turned his head around completely, pulling his body along with it, to face the complete other side as the sound of a single horse slowly moving its way towards the center of the town began to fill the air.

Click – Clack – Click – Clack – Click – Clack -

Mulad struggled to get a clean look at the rider as he swayed from side to side. Mulad channeled his inner magic once again before he turned and faced the rider. "I am Mulad," he shouted down the road towards the individual, "Grand Wizard of the Court and the one who had sent out the call for heroes to join me," Mulad again paused as he watched the man slowly move down the street towards them, "we were just about to enter the Tavern as we await any individuals who are yet to arrive. Let us all make our way inside the tavern, I think our upcoming discussions could use a drink or two to stomach." Mulad's eyes scanned over the man, and he let his magic yet again return to his core. The man was neither demon nor cultist, the eyes told him as much, and most likely he was responding to the call. Mulad motioned, giving Sir Brandt a long look as he did, for the small assembly to follow him inside with Sir Brandt and the Gnoll following him first and soon followed there after by the cloaked rider. Mulad knew the man wasn't a cultist, he did not reak of demonic influences, but a particular smell had caught his attention and it had given him cause for concern; grave dirt.

Inside the Tavern, the scene before Mulad was reminiscent of the war-torn streets outside. Smashed tables, broken chairs, shards of glass covering the ground at every possible location and a few bodies to boot that took away from the polished and, albeit charred, beautiful interior of the bar. There were signs a fire had started in the tavern; black soot marks danced up many of the sides of the inside, yet it seemed something, or someone had put them out. His eyes started on the back left most corner from the door, where he noticed three dead bodies, two of which were hanging from the wall with the wooden shafts of a spear protruding from their chests. As his eyes moved more towards the far middle corner of the room, he noticed a strange sight. On the wall by the corner there was a large pool of blood that started from a hole in the wall that was chest level with Mulad without a body to provide it; with lines of blood being forced along in a line towards the door.

"Seems the drunks fought back in here," Mulad spoke as he pointed out the area on the wall, "someone over there managed to drive a spear through one of the attackers," he paused as his head quickly scanned the room once again, counting all the bodies he could see in the process, "let's not be too picky, grab a seat wherever you please and I'll see about getting us some drinks," Mulad spoke as he diverted his attention away from the group and over behind the bar, "we may not be alone here after all."

Creeeeeeeeak

Mulad quickly turned his body once again and faced it towards the door, where a tall creature stood in the doorway with an ominous wooden mask adorning his face. Mulad, understanding the random appearances of those who responded to his call now did not channel his inner magic; instead, he faced the stranger with a smile on his face.

“So, there is someone here. Is one of you a Grand Wizard by the name of Mulad, perchance?”

Mulad relaxed as the man took off his wooden mask, revealing the sun kissed face of a well-travelled and aging elf. "One of us is, assuredly," Mulad said as he gave the elf a slight bow, "you arrived at a good time, we were about to discuss the quest," Mulad paused as he moved behind the bar counter, "this is Sir Brandt of the Lavasian order before you," he spoke as he motioned towards the giant of a man, "I know not the names of our Gnoll friend and the other human over there, but I'm sure they'd tell you if you'd only ask." Mulad finished as he returned his attention to the bar and began to look for any poison he could drink to ease the burden. After a few seconds of rummaging, Mulad rose up and placed three bottles up on top of the bar and grabbed a few clean looking glasses, at least they weren't broken and placed them next to the bottles. "We have brandy," Mulad spoke as he placed his hand on one of the bottles, "brandy," he said as he placed his hand on a second bottle, "and to mix it up we also have Brandy," Mulad finished as he pointed towards the final bottle. His eyes looked underneath one of the bottles, and much to his dismay he had placed one in a pool of blood. Quickly grabbing a rag, Mulad quickly started to wipe up the blood.

"So. You got any pie back there?" Asked a new face that had slid through the door unnoticed by Mulad and had crept up to the bar top.

"I do not," Mulad responded after a quick glance, smirking as he did, "and it breaks my heart to tell you that pie will be in short supply as we adventure further North." As Mulad finished, a knock was heard coming from the doorframe. In the doorway stood one of his purifiers, unmasked, with his guide in tow.

"Our party is mostly complete now, I suspect we have a few more to join us lurking in the shadows outside, let them know it is safe to make their way to us here," Mulad spoke in a raised voice, "you are free to put your armor on again as well," he finished as he motioned for his Purifier to leave with a wave of his right hand. The Purifier tapped his chest twice with a closed fist, before turning around and leaving the establishment. "Mardion, I assume, come on inside we don't bite," Mulad started as he began to pour some of the brandy into a cup; leaving it on the table for whoever wanted the first drink. "Your father had been a most useful scout for me in years past; if he could not make it I pray he is in good health and is as good a teacher as he was a scout," Mulad said as he finished pouring another drink.

His Purifier, upon exiting the tavern, reached into the front right pocket of his jacket and pulled out a trinket. The trinket was something remarkable to look at; it had a golden color to it and was round in nature, engravings bordering the edge in a mysterious language and it had a solid blue gem in the center. With force, the Purifier slammed the trinket into his chest. Immediately, the blue gem began to project a soft blue light. In a second the trinket began to expand across his body; first covering his chest in a solid, golden plate armor before it spread downward with his legs getting similar plate armor and finally it spread upward, covering the head of the Purifier with a winged helmet.

Now in armor, The Purifier quickly went to work. He looked around for one second before he started off down one of the roads, locating Kestrel on top of her horse within a minute. "You're late, Mulad is in the ruined Tavern," the Purifier said in a condescending tone as he moved away from the girl, shaking his head, and returned back to the crossroads. He then turned down the second street and began to down it for two minutes before running into Andin and Gala. "You're both late, Mulad is in the ruined Tavern," he again spat out in a condescending tone, shaking his head as he did once again. He then turned around and left the pair behind him as he again made his way back to the crossroads. He paused for a brief second before he again turned down a separate road and began to walk. After three minutes, he managed to approach Nimue and stopped a few steps ahead of her. "My dear, it appears you are running late to the meeting," The Purifer said in a soft, comforting voice, "Mulad awaits your arrival in the tavern; do hurry now!" As he finished, he gave the woman a slight bow before he moved passed her and down the road and began his journey westward.

A few minutes passed as Mulad poured out eleven shots of Brandy into the various glasses and waited. Soon enough, the rest of the group soon entered the tavern and found their way in and sat down across the room.

"As some of you are aware, my name is Mulad and as darkness fell all across our land did I put out a call for heroes," Mulad started as he leaned his body against the bar, "the hour draws late on all the mortal races and we are faced with a choice;" Mulad paused as he gave everyone who had arrived a long look, "we either make it to the Canyon of the Gods and retrieve the Staff of the Gods itself," he paused as he adopted a grim look on his face, "or we let everything we hold dear fall into ruin. All around us are the signs of the times; this one bazaar, far from conflict, serves as a reminder of what will happen to every city, every town, and every person if I do not make it to that staff," he paused as he let his voice echo off the far wall, "My time in the Court has granted me a unique perspective, one fueled by a combination of magical ability and by mental intellect. I have discovered how to activate the power of the staff, once used to quell the First Imperium of Man, and with it;" he paused to let the gravity of his words fall on the now assembled group, "and with it we stand a chance of ending this blight on our world, lock away the dragon once again, and banish the Mad King himself to the realm he so loves." He moved from behind the and quickly made his way to the front of the bar; stepping over one of the many dead bodies as he did. He leaned his back against the bar, crossed his arms, and looked out once again.

"Each of you is a key cog in the machine of war that I am building," he looked over to Sir Brandt, "You are its conviction," he then his head towards the Gnoll, "you are its ferocity," turning his head once more towards the robed figure in the background, "you are its focus," he paused as he looked at those remaining, "and the rest of you are key cogs in the scholar and the mage that is I," he paused and turned his head now to the priestess, "I have my faith," he paused as he looked towards Mardion, "I have my guide," pausing again as he looked over the remaining few, "and I have my hope, bolstered by strong individuals like yourselves." Mulad uncrossed his arms as he looked around the room once more, "I ask you to follow me, through lands filled with monstrous creatures to the very Canyon where-"

Mulad quickly paused his speech, which had started to drag on in all honesty, as his eyes shot to the back of the room. The dead bodies pinned to the wall had started to twitch, and Mulad began to feel the presence of Dark Magic filtering into the tavern and all around the Six Corners as a whole.

"Bold move," Mulad muttered in a low voice as a frown spread across his face and he began to make his way towards the bodies, "my friends, it seems we find ourselves under a cultist assault," Mulad spoke as he walked in front of the body, now moving more fluidly although their arms and heads jolted about in a janky fashion, "for the undead go for the head, either separate it from their body or destroy it by whatever means you can," he again paused as he began to draw his magic up to his hands and extended his right hand, clenched into a fist, towards the face of the creature. Electricity began to arch off his hand and started to scorch the face of the undead creature, which began to writhe around as it opened its mouth and began to moan as all undead creatures did, "for the cultist, attack in groups and overwhelm them but beware of their magic," Mulad added as the undead creature quickly turned its head towards the Priestess Nimue and began clawing at the air in her direction; Mulad quickly opened his fist, blasting the face of the undead creature with a bright white blast that obliterated the head of the monster, while the creature itself stopped it's moving and fell dead once again. Mulad pulled his magic from his hand, causing the bright white light to fade, and turned his attention towards the group.

"Get ready for a fight."

All around the Tavern, the dead bodies began to twitch and move around. Hundreds of dead bodies began to pull themselves off the ground, slowly as they did, as a group of five cultist, four mages and one summoner, began to walk into the six corners from the North. The battle was upon the group, if they took things slowly and carefully they would survive unscathed; on the flip side over aggressive attacks could prove costly. Time would tell how the group responds.

[The Angry Goat]

The walk into town was relatively uneventful, though Sirgala still kept her mace at the ready – caution was always merited. this Halfling seems decent enough… what was his name again? Adin… Ardin…Andin!... fail to see how useful he’ll be in combat though…completely unarmed…still…surgeons are nice --

"You're both late, Mulad is in the ruined Tavern,"

is spat at her by a pasing Purifier petulant child…with that tone you’d think I was the one who caused this town to be burned to the ground, but she refrains from scowling. His kinder remarks heard in the distance cause her to turn her head – ah, the pretty girl gets the gentle words…200 years and young men are still lead by their second head, I see. Still, she keeps moving on to the tavern, re-hooking her mace to her belt but leaving the gauntlet on – not like that hand had much use anyway; better to give a first impression without appearing as a crippled old hag.

The mage blowbags about the staff for a while, then goes for the flattery approach to each of the adventurers. Sirgala begins to understand why he didn’t think about the consequences of their meetingplace. The other travelers were a much more interesting lot than he was – It really was a fucking Gnoll, of all things. She’d need to chat with him later; his worldview had to be interesting.

-

But that will indeed have to wait for later, as the bodies begin to rise. The mage shows that what he lacks for in wisdom he makes up for in impressive magic tricks. Sirgala doesn’t entirely believe that the rising zombies aren’t his doing, based on the necromancy she saw him doing earlier, but the bodies were the first issue to deal with – him later if needed. Glad I didn’t take my shield off she thinks as she deftly unhooks her mace and smacks an approaching zombie, bashing its head against the wall a few more times for good measure. Having earlier noticed Mardion’s gear being mostly for ranged combat, she points at him. “you. Also a few others. It’s highly likely the cultists are outside, and there’s a fuckton of corpses. Minimize the damage they will do by removing them early.”

[Unraveller]

Turned neither eye nor nose to the wizard addled in memorium, Gerhard merely gazed with that certain aged understanding of his so dear. Deep-set somewhere firm within those fleeting orbs of the younger of two men something laid-bare in brief. For specifics, the knight could not well say, even so, Mulad no doubt held his own share of remembrances stolen away, just as any in this age. And that thought, perhaps as macabre as it could be, comforted Ser Brandt. A wizard so grand may he be, yet a man just so.

With such a thought, the Glamhoth could do no less than return the kindly smile, a strange thing to be had upon dirt-laden paths from which to mistake as deep-shaded clay would be a fault of any onlooker.

A brow most bushy first raised at the magus' discussion of corpse-words, yet before a retort leapt from the tongue an assault feigning foul drove upon either's ear, words snarled 'twixt ivories most sharp. Much as Mulad, the knight wheeled in swift, cape a-flutter to meet the offending speech. A fist near plunged direct for the hilt at the man's hip, and just so! Stayed however was it by temperament practiced and sure.

'Such a beast. . .'

Mouthed he, deflating from readied caution as the wizard made his thoughts obvious to any. Never before 'midst the ser knight's life had a creature such as 'Irrak', as they would come to know, appeared. Relived so Gerhard was of course, to see aggression naught through the monstrous Gnoll, to best a beast as so even with an empowered mage at the side? Doubt cast at the very least.

And so even as a fourth joined in tandem, the small party strode forth through the swamp dire, for the splintered taphouse from which mortals the world over would soon converge. No more gruesome than the blooded bazaar, each man merely took it in stride, yet still the knight could not help but to sigh, even the sacred places such as these were not untouched. Of course it were not so, such wishful thinking in the days following crusades black were as seeds un-watered.

"Nary the place for a drink proper. . ."

Gerhard spoke, half in response to the fervent caster, half to respect those fallen among the rubble. Despite reservations in spades, the man forged inward alongside future companions, electing to stand just 'fore what remained of the bar. Seemed it all but right to sit and even think to make merry within a site desecrated so.

Another form made its appearance along with the eking of the threshold, more mundane, that of elven sort to join the four now, and most welcome indeed, respect of course was shown as Ser Brandt ever had, repeating the bow as before by introduction fair.

Then another of the same make, and another still, little more than a boy, little more to tug at the gentle knight's heartstrings. With time passed, three souls more found themselves within the ruined halls, without fail so, each and every one would find their greetings in Gerhard.

Thus were they so, eleven in all 'neath hollow skies.

---

A knight most of merit,
Elf of life disparate,
A hunter most perplexed,
Little man of life vexed,
A young smith of skills inherit,
Beast of strength declare it,
A merc of sweets apexed,
Girl amidst sacred text,
A dwelf fringed and errant,
Young boy a scout ere it,
An angel appearing next,
Under mage the very best.

---

Twelve 'heroes' of tragedy, know not they the fates that twined and twisted, know not they what lied beyond their mortal perception, know not they the harrows of the future, lest this journey would never have begun. . . So listened they then, the ten, to the twelfth's words, learning of which the part they had all to play in scheme.

Alas, just as it was, rest most certainly did avail they them all.

Those more readied of the party swirled by intensity, burst in action, the graveyard from which each foot lie stirred and quaked of unearthly sighs. Dead men walk not of their own volition, those unaware learned so this day. Ser Brandt of all, veteran among the Dark Crusades had seen sights as these all too often, never an end to it all, so seemed.

"These walls a death-trap as good as any, we make for beyond them, open ground wouldst deliver us all of surprise!"

Gerhard's voice boomed as he weaved beyond the middling heighted half-dwarf as a gust, the large knight stroke forth through the portal into a realm which appeared wholly different than the morbid peace of the mass grave he first had come upon.

Stood there didst he, just 'fore the wooded threshold of their fortress, naught but hellscape therein lie greet. Festering carcass, sundered man and child, the still embering mort of women. All and more rose to their straps and feet and corroded boots to shamble for livened flesh. Yet the site more dreadful, the very skies a-blood, seemed they to weep and peel to crimson shade, every shadow deepened, every dark most umbral encroaching closer and closer still.

Perhaps at once the sudden comeuppance was all too much for even the most stalwart, the Lavasian knight's weary lids shut a moment fore, relative, the darkness that blankets the future on is even more so bleak. Crushing the dread, Ser Brandt unsheathes his blade of length from its side, taking the hilt in hands both, with a mighty stamp and cry he drives unease ever further.

" 'Tis naught a bed of flowers pure under morn's peace of first light, thus we cannot fall here or ever until then! Those of arms with me in form I ask! Stray not far, to be surrounded is to be as they."

Hoping his gruff voice breaks to each companion, the man drives a few steps forward, only a score in eight from the desecrated alehouse, with mercurial thrust, his steel enters and vacates a single gnawing skull in but a fluid motion, before peddling back toward the formation in his head.

Tired though he may be, to find the elder man ready to quit at the very beginning of darkness' fall, would be as to cleave the mightiest mountain. . .

[Claw2k11]

Irrak raised his shield when the wizard and the knight turned towards him, seemingly ready to fight. If these two wanted to fight, then they picked the worst target one could at the time, even two on one, he still figured he had a fairly good chance of winning, at least if he took out the wizard before he could cast any dangerous spells first, then he'd be able to focus on the knight.

However, his plans were all for naught as both of them stood down upon seeing who he was. The wizard even started speaking to him, about his amazement that a gnoll had joined this crusade of his and how all the monsters they would meet would regret facing him. Irrak assumed that these words were meant to flatter him, but it did not affect him at all, he did not fight for praise or for glory, like humans did, he fought for the safety of his tribe, as long as they were safe, he did not care for anything else.

"My name is Irrak the Protector, though from what I heard, your kin call me Irrak the Savage." he said to the wizard in a slightly annoyed tone, he had agreed to work with humans, but it did not mean he had to enjoy it. "And I fight solely for the safety of my own tribe, to me, nothing else matters, but that, you'd best remember that!" And with those words, he followed the wizard and the knight inside the tavern, ignoring the dead bodies completely before sitting on one of the chairs and awaiting the announcement of the wizard.

However, as he waited, he saw more and more people arriving towards the tavern. A lot of people had answered this wizard's call it seemed, however, as the distinct scent of an elf entered his nostrils, he could not help but let out a low growl, elves thought themselves superior to all, or at least the elves he had met and killed did so truly and most of them feigned amazement at his own capability to talk, considering gnolls nothing more than beasts capable of walking upright. He looked at the elf for a few moments before turning his sights away, he would have to restrain himself a lot not to attack this one, even more so than other humans.

"Gnolls have great constitution, wizard, drinking that would be akin to drinking hot water and I do not enjoy drinking hot water despite what some of you think of my race." And with that, Irrak spoke no more and simply looked at all the arrivals within the tavern, eleven people other than himself had arrived to accomplish this mission, he was not sure if this many people were enough to do mission, but he would have to hope that spirits chose the right people for this mission, or his tribe would be doomed.

Then, upon everyone arriving and everything set, the wizard introduced himself as Mulad and started speaking. Irrak would often times not even bother with the words of other humans, but this one knew how to defeat the demon armies, the dragon and the Mad King, he would force himself to listen even if he did not want to. However, as the speech went one, he caught on a few words "...and with it we stand a chance of ending this blight on our world..." and furrowed his brows under his helmet and waited for the wizard to finish speaking before letting out his own thoughts speak.

"You said that we would stand a chance to end this blight, so you mean, even with this staff, we would still be capable of losing?" he asked the wizard, staring at him intently, however, before he could receive his answer, the dead bodies started to twitch and rise on their feet... someone was reviving the dead. "You humans have no respect even for your dead..." he snarled as the dead bodies rose from the ground one by one.

He had felt the scent of more than a hundred people in this town, if they all were raised, then it would be 12 people against several hundred undead, plus the cultists who had raised the, these were not good odds for them and while he would normally enjoy a fight with odds like these, these were people who had already died, they would offer Irrak no pleasure upon their second deaths, they had to kill the cultists to stop this tide of undead. And so he did, he sniffed the air for a bit, to feel where these cultists were so that he knew to kill them first.

As soon as he had felt their scents, he started charging through the undead, decapitating one with axe with ease and smashing another in a wall with so much force that it's head had burst open like a overripe fruit. As soon as he got outside and noticed the cultists, he raised his shield in front of him, allowing only his eyes above the protection of the shield and charged straight towards the closest cultist, trampling down several walking corpses that were in the way and heading straight towards one of the men who had desecrated these people so.

[Delta44]

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Greg was irritable, and it made Kestrel nervous. It wasn't often that the old horse appeared spooked by anything, so to hear his labored breaths, his cries of displeasure and roaming eyes, made the young woman all the more wary. Even though she had him quiet, she knew too well just how terrified he was really feeling, his pulse beating away at a breakneck pace. The smell of fire and death faded the more she was exposed to them, yet by no means left her nose nor her mind. At one particular glimpse, that of a young girl desecrated, she had to hold back her stomach.

Too little too late, after the image burnt into her mind like the flames she was putting out with her breakfast.

An unfortunate time to meet with another human being, to be sure, but she couldn't lift herself up in her moment of weakness. It disgusted her, but admitted to her faults, and listened even as the man spoke, following her moment of sickness with a mere 'I'm fine'. She understood well why he spoke in such a condescending tone: a young woman such as herself, barely out of her youth, vomiting beside her horse on someone's grave? She understood it perfectly well, the ignorance of it all, the innocence. But she still didn't like it.

Once her stomach had finally emptied their contents, she took a moment to calm her breathing, now leading Greg by the reigns. The tavern wasn't far at all, and she could make it out well enough.

Or what was left of it. Broken sign and all.

The charred remains of the building matched that of most of the inhabitants, however she found that upon entry (having tied Greg outside to a stray post), there were a small collection of people, mostly men. In fact there was only one other woman in the establishment, and she didn't exactly look as Robin did. Once again, her search had been put to a pause as her lead came to a dead end. At the very least, it meant that Robin wasn't in the direct vicinity, most likely, and was somewhere beyond Six Corners. Now she could only speculate her location.

An older man bowed to her upon entry, and she offered a kind yet reserved smile and said nothing more. Nervous to be around such peculiar company, Kestrel took a stance towards a corner of the room, further from the other inhabitants. From this angle, she studied the people within.

A Gnoll. The one who made the biggest impression was most certainly him. He looked to be more like a bandit than an adventurer, from the... heads he was wearing. Although, he didn't appear completely terrible. She had read about such creatures before in stories Allouette had managed to drag up from mother's study: big, brutish creatures told to scare the naughty children into being good. Allouette herself could be a bit of a prat at times, and only found the book to see if her mother was telling the truth.

Needless to say, Allouette was a much nicer girl after that particular truth unfolded.

The old man. He was kind enough to offer her a bow, even when she knew she scarcely deserved such formalities. He looked half-haggard, something similar to her father, beard unkempt and hair equally so and of the grey variety. However, he was by far better built than her father, his frame enough to dwarf all but the Gnoll. Height was won by the the pair of elves within their party, but barely, and Kestrel had to admit to never seeing any before. Dark skin, tall, pointed ears - she wasn't sure if there were any other characteristics to being an elf, and understood there would be a lot she could learn from the two of them if the stories were accurate. There was also the cloaked man.

She was a bit scared of the cloaked man, and hoped he wouldn't talk to her much.

From the crowd, though, Mulad eventually made his presence known. She didn't expect the makeshift bartender of the establishment to be their leader, but perhaps that just meant she had a lot of learning to do. She was perhaps the most attentive member, having known that her knowledge was severely lacking and she'd need just about every detail she could to make herself at least feasibly useful, in her mind. There was only so much a smith's apprentice could do, after all. Though she had a sharp sword, after all, and knew how to use it. Robin was the smart one, she was the strong one.

"My friends, it seems we find ourselves under a cultist assault."

Oh no.

Kestrel's hand rest at her sword, as her eyes scanned feverishly. Movement; she took several steps forward and twisted round, as the body near her feet began to twitch to un-life. As the corpse began to wake, Mulad informed the group of how to deal with the undead, knowledge Kestrel believed would never have ever been applicable to her, at least, until now. Hand twitching like the dead before her, her hilt rattled slightly against her armour, before conviction took hold and she drew steel. Her blade, elegant in its refinement, glimmered a steady glow from the light which stole through a hole in the wall. The light trailed down the blade, tip angled upon her target.

Her silver was stained with red, and so too was her heart. "I'm sorry..." She could barely mutter, as the once-human's head rolled upon the floor, reanimated corpse now lifeless completely. She would never have wanted to disrupt the soul of one at rest. But from the warning given by Mulad, it was clear enough that what would have to be done would be done. Had she not vomited earlier, she would do so again.

Gregory's whinny snapped her from her macabre thoughts, and, like the gust of a man before her, she followed to the outside. Two particular corpses were too close to her horse, however they were still in the process of waking up, still slow and stagnating. Eliminating them were not an issue, and, like the creature before in the bar, they too lay dead again without their heads. Mulad's knowledge worked in her favour, and she was glad to have listened. But that momentary glee was offset by the immeasurable number of rising corpses all around the bazaar, the true weight of how many died finally setting in.

She quickly untied her horse and mounted. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, however others seemed to have a plan figured out. The old man, most particularly. His skill was noted as he proceeded to cleave a head from another of the revived brethren, a voice booming of certainty as he asked them not to stray far. With that knowledge, Kestrel saw her opening.

"I'll s-see if Greg and I can help clear the area!" She announced, horse darting forth with a firm kick to get him going. Most of those about them in the bazaar had mostly risen by now, and so she made sure to take into account for those that seemed more nimble than others, starting with the easy ones. Said 'easy' undead seemed to originate from the south, and so she closed in on her first of the lot, calming her nerves with a steady breath.

With a certain degree of force, her blade thrust through the wind, impaled between the eyes for one of the unfortunate. Greg's speed dragged the blade out without much resistance, resulting in another fallen corpse. The next in line lay without a head after a clean sweep decapitated spine from scalp, though the rough angle meant she almost lost her sword if it were lodged any further deep. Now, Kestrel understood, that she had to be careful, for this was truly a fight to the death, among the death...

[Torack]

"Shame," Eovaine shrugged at the man's response and turned to look at the assortment of figures within. The first of which he noticed was the gnoll. A bloody gnoll. Here. It was unusual and more than a little disconcerting. Savage, brutish. The only good thing he could see of that beast was the fact that it'd gladly meet the brunt force of whatever they'd have to face with equal or perhaps even more brutish savagery. And it wasn't just the gnoll that was like that, he'd known humans that could hold their own against gnolls and something about them, all these large bastards, was their insane need to attract as much swords as possible in their direction.

Stifling a shudder, he looked away from the gnoll and noticed the other patrons around as he subconsciously grabbed a tankard of brandy and drank. There was another elf present wearing a mask and some oversized claok and he got the distinct impression he was trying to pass off as a human. Couldn't be it, though. Perhaps trying to hide some sort of frailty. He shrugged internally, at least he wasn't the only elf around.

Then there was a priestess. That, out of all of them, shocked him the most. The innocence flowed out of her like a massive beacon, an aura of pureness that he knew their dark world would snuff out, and he hoped, somewhat desperately, that it wouldn't come to pass until after this mess was over with. Still, she didn't belong here, and if the insane mage truly intended to seek out his staff, she'd only be a hindrance to them, a burden that would weigh on all those with a heart in this fucked group. She was like the physical manifestation of all the good within them, stolen away and bundled up within a human girl and placed within their midst, smiling sweetly in the face of the monster that was their dark world, full of innocence and naivety. Her fall from grace, an eventuality that was almost certain, would doom them all. By simply being here she had guaranteed their deaths. More of the good within them than physically, but what was the difference? The only thing he could do was delay her demise as long as possible. More for his own sanity, he had to admit, than her own good.

He looked away, his face twisting to mimic the sorrow he felt inside. They were all fucked and this damn rambling mage had doomed them. All for some glorious, desperate final attempt at a fabled weapon that might not even exist. He should've followed that sergeant's advice and joined the military. Perhaps that would have had better for him, but he was dead anyway, so what difference did it make? Almost a century and a half of life and it was going to end following a plan that might not even work. Well, at least it would be interesting.

Especially since the dead seemed to be rising.

If anything, these fucking cultists knew how to make an entrance. He finished the rest of his brandy and threw his empty tankard at an undead's head, stood up and looked at the wizard with a grin. "Looks like you've successfully managed to annoy the dead with your ramblings, Mage." He unsheathed his swords and followed the massive human out of the tavern into a red sky and a scene of pure horror. In the distance, far to the north, he saw a squad of cultists approaching and the behemoth that was the gnoll rushing them, bulling his through the undead, his arms swinging to lop off multiple heads at a time.

Eovaine couldn't help but feel the cultists managed to track him. It didn't make sense, he knew, but the feeling was there, a small doubt in his mind. And that feeling grew to become horror. What if beyond this decrepit bazaar a company of cultists and whatever else was camped and these bastards were just scouts. Well shit. If they were, he wouldn't die by their hands. He'd face that fucking army grinning like the mad bastard he was. And with that he rushed in, his swords swinging in a frenzy as they slew undead after undead and it wasn't long until a small pile grew behind him of headless, immobile bodies. But the further he went, he noticed the bastards were becoming more and more sophisticated. More effort was suddenly put into parrying or sidestepping brutish swings rather than brazenly lopping off heads.

It got to a point where killing them came to halt and he was left parrying and dodging, although not difficult, their sheer numbers threatened to flank him and so he backed off, his swords dripping with blood and gore. He needed someone to support his flank, otherwise he'd be stuck there until he was eventually overrun.

[HeySeuss]

He gave a curt nod to Sirgala, not trusting himself to speak without squeaking. That was the fear talking; this was a much larger fight than anything he'd ever seen. In his world, a scrape consisted of shooting down some beast or exchanging arrows with a bandit before that one got the message and left. This was something else.

Mardion wasn't about to buck orders in this instance, but they had a number of corpses to kill off in the place before he could find vantage and use arrows. When told to go for the heads, he realized that he really didn't have the right tool for the job on that front. An axe would be ideal for splitting heads, but a fireplace poker would do in a pinch. Iron and a spike, perfect for piercing skulls and crushing a head.

He wasn't some sort of warrior god, he took one out as he moved methodically toward what had been guest rooms; charred, burned and with unstable footing, it was still an elevated vantage for an archer. He was used to shooting wolves and other predators off his family's herds, but this was an entirely different affair, and he found himself shaking and his head pounding a bit, his vision tunneling. It was the same was meeting bandits, you tried to master that and use that for the extra sprint in your step or the sudden burst of strength you had in climbing something you had to climb. Later, of course, an older person might pay the price with a limp or sprain.

Besides, he was a good enough hunter, but not really used to combat, he was happy to leave the hacking and chopping to people in armor with heavier weapons who looked ready for it. It took ten or so seconds to string the bow once upon a vantage where he could identify the cultists and another two to nock an arrow. He used cover and concealment, but he was not a thief or some sort of wilderness dwelling ranger that could simply melt into terrain. All the same, he was able to regulate breathing, clear his mind and do what he could, scrambling mentally, to calm himself enough to aim.

He aimed for their center mass, but he did not necessarily expect to land every arrow -- he was accurate, but the target was moving and would be wary after the first shot. He took his time and lined up that first shot, hoping to get one square on. After that, he'd have to settle for providing a distraction for heftier, better armed types to potentially make an assault. If he could just keep them pinned and avoid any return...well return hellfire, lighting, or whatever other magic they put in. He didn't know what his odds were of that or what they could do. He didn't get magic, but if they reacted like bandits, they wouldn't want to necessarily advance when arrows were flying.

He had two quivers with him. He could make those forty arrows useful.

He released.