[M] UKC3: The Great Pandemonium IC (F)

[Kris]

Rated M: For mature themes such as excessive violence, gore, sexual contents and sexual insinuation and the like. Oh, and mainly for the fact that I encourage my players for creativity.



Prologue- The Great Pandemonium

One more day by the pits of hell...
Just one more, when even yesterday was too late!
One more thought that I had to sell...
One last trick that you can't debate!

And my eyes sweep a shore that was always there
A blood red line through the sonisphere
I can't resolve where it's coming from...
I sense it's the great pandemonium


***


Norgard-Two miles outside of Toria-Zelvad's safe house-One week after Bria's arrival


Zelvad's mind was a wreck as he leaned back and sighed, rubbing the sides of his head.

The scrolls were in the most perfect cipher he had seen in a long time and it would've taken him months to decode it had it not been for Helena's aid. Her reasoning for wanting to help him still evaded him, but he figured if she was going to say anything it was going to be on her time and terms... plus an extra set of eyes allowed him to see things that he would've originally missed.

Though the first scroll was done, his work was far from completed.

He sighed as he looked at Bria. She had just recently fallen to a deep sleep, the tear streaks drying on her face. At least she could sleep...that was good.

"No child should ever have to go through what she has to get these to me....Widow curse your soul Cronus."

He was itching for action. It was evident by the way he slouched in his chair, rapping his fingers against the table with one hand and now flipping his dagger around in between his fingers with the other.

"I'm slaving over a goddamned six volume codex that has ciphers layered on top of fucking ciphers ...instead I should be in Chanclera right now gathering information and allies, slowly tearing apart Cronus's hold over the Fangs!"

He stabbed the dagger into an area of the table not cluttered by the work they had put in so far and stood hovering over the scrolls, letting his hair fall over his left shoulder while resting his hands flat on the table as to hold his weight as his emerald eyes frantically darted around the table.

"But I'm not. I'm standing here serving Lieroian's dying wish...as Roseabelle before him for the good of my clan and country. I'm slowly losing my damn mind because of this conflict Helena...and it seems that my only salvation lies here scrambled in at least three different codes. Widow's grace guide me...".

Helena chuckled, "And what of me? I was to be sent here on a request made by Father Augustine. This was never a fate for me to bear upon my shoulders.... ", Helena took a deep breath, gazing quickly over the little child that rested peacefully not so far from her, "You mistaken a word here... Let me...", she took the second scroll while writing up the next lines.

Then she pulled the chair she sat upon backward, the wood making a sound against the ground as it was pushed while she slowly got up. Without armor and without much of sleeping hours, the image of Helena, the cold warrior woman, didn't seem so frightening as she should have been seen. She took a deep breath, "High Priest Tik'Va wanted me to learn this... around the time my father died he just convinced everyone to let me be. So instead of training I spent hours on this kind of scripts and ancient languages. He said I had a talent for this... But now I think there is more to it...".

Hearing that her father agreed to some deal with the demon lord Emonalach was not easy news to anyone, but only now Zelvad seemed to realize how horrible was the news to the lady Paladin.

"The cruel truth is that fate never gives you a choice at times. That being said, know that it is always something more than what you see at face value Helena, you just need to dig a little. Whether it be with yourself, others, or even if you actually have to physically dig for it." He chuckled a little at himself before turning his attention back to the second scroll. "Now if I move this letter here...so that means this is that which means this goes here...." He wasn't sure what it was, but something about Helena had surfaced rather quickly in the week they had spent revealing the mysteries of the scrolls.

Her usual distant, defensive attitude had evolved to something he couldn't easily identify...not yet at least. Whatever it was, it caused waves to echo within. They were small, but enough to be noticed. Though to be honest the two of them had never really actually had a conversation since Ascara, so it could very well be nothing.

He needed to know for sure though.

Zelvad cleared his throat a little before he spoke again. "It's a good thing you got to study as much as you did though, otherwise we'd probably still be stuck on that first scroll for another day or two. Though I guess the isolation just comes with the stigma of red hair, eh? I know the feeling well...".

Helena smiled and nodded. Zelvad, too was belong to the same bloodline of the ancients from Chanclera. Now that she learned that her mother originally came from there, she wouldn't be surprised if there was much deeper connections between the two of them, "The habits of solitude are not new to me. You are right, it has much to do with the stigma I bear within the top of my skull", she chuckled, "But I would like to think that someday in the near future I shall take pride of it... Somehow...", she nodded, "I'm sorry that the little child now shares your fate... Or that you are forced out of your family yourself... It must be hard".

Blue orbs danced eagerly within their sockets as Helena forced Zelvad to gaze back at her. He seemed to be weary himself and she thought it was much more to do with recent events than the fact they both missed their nights of proper slumber.

Zelvad smirked lightly, "I think it's gotten to the point that I'm not worried about being an outcast anymore. Now I'm more worried about the process of changing the clan's opinion on magic now that Cronus is in control."

Zelvad rested his quill on the table and leaned back in his chair as he locked eyes with the Paladin.

"Magic is only as corrupt as its user. If the talents gifted at birth are being abused for sake of personal gain or wanton destruction, then yes that person should be permanently removed for the safety of all. Though if a person truly wishes to help the world with their power, to do as you will while harming none in the process...then I believe we can rid the world of the fear of red hair and allow the Ancient blood line to flourish once again."

The smirk on his face quickly faded as his eyes left Helena and found their way to Bria again. "I feel worse for her than for myself though. Losing her home, her parents, and Lieroian all in one night had to be devastating. I couldn't imagine not having my parents when I was her age." Zelvad slouched in his chair again as he crossed his arms in a worrisome manner. "I just wish that I could offer something more than comfort for her right now...".

"Be strong for her, Zelvad", Helena nodded, "Create a better world for her. Create a future for her", white teeth landed peacefully upon red lips as Helena considered her next words, "Be sure to do all that you can do... But be sure to guide her path as well...".

(Done with the help of the Amazing Repent!)

[Anne Bonny]

Chapter 1- Fire Within

Norgard: Toria

The streets were riddled with casual passerby on their way to do whatever errands heir day had brought before them. It was cold, but not too much. The unlikely couple emerged outside, Raphael dressed in a fine white silk shirt, the sleeves and collar decorated with a hint of lace. A new vest of soft leather adorned his torso, stained a rich shade of blue and decorated in golden filigree about the breast that formed a pain of simply roses. Wren, in comparison, was dressed like a noblewoman for perhaps the first time in her life. Her fine figure was hugged snugly and accentuated within a fine silk gown of cornflower blue that went beautifully with the vest of the man who had purchased it for her. It flowed about her with a natural elegance all its own, the bodice supporting her bosom comfortably while also a teasing bit of it to be visible for the viewing pleasure of any and all men she might pass. She had been a little nervous about it at first, of course, having never worn such a thing but the way Raphael’s eyes had sparkled seeing her in it had dispelled all of that in an instant.

“Now where to, prince charming?” The healer asked, a playful little smile upon her face as she twined both slender arms about his own.

“I’ve some friends in the city that haven’t seen me in a good long while. Care to make a visit?”

Of course she readily agreed, always eager to meet some of the people that her newfound love called friends, and so into the market within the city of Sonata they went. At first Wren had thought this was where said friends resided but after a bit of watching Raphael move methodically form store to store, purchasing strange toys and other childish objects such as tops, teddy bears, and sets of carved soldiers fashioned to seem like the guards of Damas. Perhaps the people they were going to visit had children? In truth her guess was close but she had no way of knowing that and the curiosity boiled deep within her. She asked nothing though because she was starting to get this sneaky suspicion that Raphael enjoyed leaving people in the dark, offering no answers so that they are left wondering just what the hell he was up to. It was maddening, the not knowing, but at the same time cute because he seemed to enjoy the game so very much.

They soon found themselves in the more common area of the city, the narrow streets a little less well kept as those nearer the market. Both sides were lined with quaint little homes, simple in design and built very near to one another as if those who had constructed them had been given a limited amount of space and had crammed everything together to ensure it would all fit. Raphael was speaking as they walked, a large sack slung over his shoulder which contained all of the things he had purchased along the way, toys for both boys and girls and suitable only for children. Wren still had no real idea as to the nature of people they were headed toward and the pirates words were not exactly revealing or all that comforting either. “There is quite a few of them.” He was saying in a light and joyous tone. “Don’t be intimidated by their numbers though. I swear they can sense weakness just like your average predator.”

The turned down a street, Wren’s apprehensions growing as they approached a large, two story building that looked as if it could be some sort of simple church or perhaps a monastery. It stood apart from the rest of the buildings, surrounded by low walls that were just high enough for them to be unable to see over and glimpse what might be going on within. The gates were open though, silently welcoming everyone who should decide to venture within. They did so easily and the sounds of laughing, playing children filed the air the moment they had. They were all over the courtyard, playing tag and racing one another, paying with old and battered toys. One little girl stood in the doorway, watching them all with haggard looking stuffed teddy tucked within her arm and a thumb within her mouth. Why she was not playing as well was a mystery but if Raphael had to guess he’d say it was because she was in trouble and the aged, motherly woman clad all in dark robes who stood beside her watching everyone seemed to enforce the assumption.

No one seemed to have noticed them apart from the woman in the doorway. Her eyes shone a dark shade, her slightly wrinkled face composed in a state of quiet happiness as she watched over the children from across the courtyard from the pair who had just entered. When her gaze settled upon them, however, that slight smile grew into open joy and those dark eyes sparkled with the kind of happiness a mother might have when seeing her child be made happy. Tossing his beloved healer a wink Raphael lifted his hand, placed two fingers between his lip and gave a sharp, distinct whistle that had every single child present stopping in their tracks to regard the source. The little girl in the doorway was the first to react, an excited squeal escaping her throat before she was bounding toward them as fast as her little legs could carry them.

“Uncle Raphie!!!” She called, arms held wide open as she neared and the ruthless, infamous captain of pirates smiled warmly, dropping the bag to catch the girl as she leapt full on into his arms. The laugh that bubbled from his throat was friendly, open and true amusement displayed as naturally as the cold intimidation he seemed to surround himself with in combat.

The other kids were quick to follow, clambering around Raphael and Wren both excitedly as they called out questions of where he had been and who the pretty woman was. Some of the newer additions to their ranks had never seen either of them and so were a bit more shy than the rest but even still they stuck around, smiling and laughing as if caught in the tide of the sudden mood that overtook the entire place.

“Lily, I thought I said you weren’t allowed to get any bigger?” The Captain asked, frowning in mock anger at the girl in his arms. She knew the act for what it was, giggling helplessly and hugging the man so tight that, had she been bigger, he might have had difficulty breathing. He simply laughed some more and returned the embrace.

“Munchkin’s, meet Wren. Wren, meet the Munchkin’s.” He rattled off the names of the ones he knew, pointing to each in turn though he needn’t bother as they waved frantically once their names were called. Those he didn’t know he learned quickly, asking after them all with a smile until everyone was properly introduced.

“You’ve never brought anyone with you before, Uncle Raphie.” The little girl in his arms said, smiling shyly at Wren while half concealing her face in the man’s neck. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Why yes actually. Something like that.”

“It’s about time someone caught you, My Lord.” A feminine, alto voice called from behind the crowding children. All eyes went to the woman who had been standing in the doorway when they had arrived, the smile still on her face. “I was beginning you worry that you would grow old all alone. Finally it seems my prayers were answered.”

“What treachery is this?” Raphael exclaimed, lifting Lily up over his head and turning much to the girls delight. “I knew someone was responsible for my falling for a girl at long last. This betrayal shall not go unanswered Sister Mary.”

“You brought toys!” Lily suddenly squealed, completely ruining the Pirate’s playful act in a moment of sheer, innocent obliviousness. She squirmed out of his grasp, moving to inspect the goodies he had brought him as all of the kids crowded even closer to get a look for themselves. It was impossible to deny them any longer and so Raphael shoulders the sack once more, tossing Wren a wink before he marched off at the head of his small army.

Sister Mary remained behind, smiling after them before making her way over to the healer who suddenly realized she had been smiling so hard her cheeks were beginning to ache. “I am thankful that he has found someone, My Lady.”

Wren blinked, turning her green eyes upon the woman, her smile softening now. “I believe I’m the one who got lucky, actually.”

Mary nodded. “Both of you are, perhaps.”


****

Wren blinked, turning her green eyes upon the woman, her smile softening now. “I believe I’m the one who got lucky, actually.”

Mary nodded. “Both of you are, perhaps.”

The healer nodded and allowed the older woman to usher her inside. Wren's eyes met Raphael's as she passed him in the yard, and the two exchanged smiles before he turned his attention back to the children.

"Can I offer you some tea, my lady?" Sister Mary asked when the two woman were through the doorway.

"I would love some. I confess I'm not quite used to this Norgard chill," she replied, taking a seat at a modest table nearby. "But please Sister Mary, you don't need that title with me. I'm no noblewoman."

Mary's eyes dark eyes flashed as she laughed to herself. "No? But you're on the arm of a nobleman."

She poured the tea from a kettle and turned to hand the small cup to her guest. But Wren looked to be in a state of shock. "You mean, Raphael..."

"Came from a high class family, yes," Mary said in a matter-of-fact way, setting the cup down on the table instead and pouring herself one. "You're questioning his choice of profession now," she continued, taking a seat across from Wren at the table.

After a moment's thought, the girl shook her head. "No, I always knew he wasn't a pirate to get rich or terrorize people." Her thoughts drifted back to their first conversation. Well, their first civil conversation, Wren corrected herself. In her mind's eye she saw Raphael standing on his ship, watching the sun come up over the horizon, his eyes afire with the adventure of a new day.

Wren took a sip of the tea, mentally shaking herself, bringing herself back to the present. "Is that how you know him then? Through his family?"

Sister Mary's laugh echoed through the walls of the small building. "Oh no," she replied with a shake of her head. She pushed a strand of graying hair from her face and continued. "He just showed up one day, saying he wanted to make a donation.

"I had a mind not to accept it," she said with a frown. "Even years ago, all of the kingdoms knew of the dreaded pirate Raphael Sinclair. I recognized him from the wanted posters around town. But in person, he just didn't seem so vicious as the talespinners said about him. So I took his money and used it to buy new clothes for all of the children."

Mary paused to sip at her tea before continuing. "Since then he's stopped by whenever he's in town, no matter how many guards are looking for him or how busy he is with his own business. He always made the children a priority. And they can tell. That's why they love him so."

"They are all so sweet," Wren said with a smile. "What..."

But her question was cut off by a cry from outside. Seconds later, Raphael was strolling inside with a crying Lily in his arms. The other children were at his heels, their little faces wearing expressions of great concern.

"She slipped while running," the pirate explained before Sister Mary had a chance to ask. "Skinned her hand on the stone."

As if trying to prove his words were true, Lily held out her palm to show the women her torn skin. "It's bleeding!" the tiny girl yelped between sniffles.

"Now then, I told you to be brave," Raphael said gently. "Do you want to see something amazing?"

Lily turned her watery blue eyes up to the captain and gave the slightest of nods. In turn, Raphael looked towards Wren, but the healer was already on her feet.

"May I see your hand again, darling?" she asked. Lily gave the new woman a suspicious look, but complied. Wren softly cradled the tiny hand between her own. Her powers had been restored by Gilliam, and though the fallen Oracle had warned it was only a temporary fix, Wren felt instinctually that she could help the little girl. The child gave a startled gasp as her hand grew suddenly warm. But when she pulled it away, there was no trace of the cut.

Lily stared at her, and a smile crept over her face. "You fixed it!" she cried, beaming. The child's joy was infectious, and Wren found herself grinning back as well.

"The day is saved!" Raphael exclaimed. "Wren is the heroine!" The pirate leaned over to reward his sweetheart with a peck on the cheek (to which the children all objected loudly) before ushering the kids back outside. "Don't go running off again, Lily!"

Her face feeling a little warm at the display, Wren turned back to Mary, who was watching her with raised eyebrows. "With all the scrapes and bumps we get around here, you're going to have to visit us more often," the woman said.

Wren felt her smile widen. "I'd love to."

***

A few short hours passed before Raphael and Wren begrudgingly agreed that it was time to return to their friends. Raphael's fine clothes were dotted with smudges from playing with the children outside, and Wren sported a braid in her hair and a bracelet woven out of string. Sister Mary, in her watchful way, waited until all the children had said their goodbyes and reassured the little ones that "Uncle Raphie" would be back before they knew it.

The pirate and the healer made their way down the steps of the orphanage, arm in arm, the sound of their laughter dancing through the air.

[Kris]

Norgard; The cold kingdom within the borders of the world as we know, Probably the only safe heaven we have left.

Rumors are carried by the wind like dust from the sands of Ascara. They speak of bloody war.

Brothers war...

http://desmond.imageshack.us/Himg221/scaled.php?server=221&filename=warascara.png&res=landing

They people of Ascara lift their daggers and swords and shed blood, blood which is precious just like the little source of water they have left. All in the name of a change. A new world. A better world.

But will it be enough to make a change?

http://desmond.imageshack.us/Himg849/scaled.php?server=849&filename=waraerosia.png&res=landing

Even now. The rest of the world is tormented by the ghouls of darkness that appear in the shadows, "The Nephilim" and the evil clan of the Assassins, The Once prideful order of the "Lunar Fangs".

Is there no place for pure souls to hide?

The oracles are dead...

But in Norgard... In Norgard lies the answer. The fire within. The oracle of Fire still lives.

'Head there', the visions speak to you.

http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/Shahar.jpg

'Head to Norgard'.

Why?

You are not so sure yourselves.

But there, in Norgard, you may find the answers you seek.

[Jacogos]

Lydia hadn't been there at the time when the man she came to know as the infamous pirate Raphael Sinclair had decided to donate a rather hefty sum to the orphanage she had grown up in. She had left the squat little building before most of the others would have, learning about her ability in magic when she was still too young to grasp that it was not the evil that most people saw it as. She had ran away, but her problem followed her until she was forced to face it, control it, and eventually master it. That was only a few years ago, and she had been tempted to return to the orphanage then, to see how it was, to see if anyone remembered her.

However, something made her stay away. Maybe it was the man she saw handing a rather heavy looking money pouch to Sister Mary. Maybe it was the fact that all the children seemed much happier than when she had been there. She no longer felt like she belonged there, and thus moved on with her life.

And yet year after year, Lydia found herself drawn back to the orphanage, to look on it from afar, sitting atop a different building that gave her just the right angle to see into the walls. She might not have been allowed up there, but she did it anyway, simply to watch the children play. She eventually even came to recognize the man she had seen with the money pouch, a wanted man known as Raphael Sinclair.

Why he was giving money to the orphanage baffled Lydia. As she watched the children, she always pondered that at least once. She had never heard the stories of the man like other people had, but she knew of him, knew his face, knew his crimes. Why would he give his 'hard-earned' money to these children? It made them happy, sure, and by a strange extension it made Lydia happy, but why? The question tormented her, kept her staring long hours after she thought she should have stopped watching the children play. She felt she might go mad simply sitting there, wondering, watching, waiting.

Waiting for what? She didn't know. And she hated it.

It was only on this day that Lydia finally realized what she wanted. The man himself, Raphael Sinclair had shown up at the orphanage... An epiphany hit her like a lightning bolt when the man showed up: that this was what she had been waiting for, the chance to question him face to face. It was odd, having such a feeling, the feeling that years of waiting, watching, finally paying off in one moment... She felt like she might have a problem, but was too blinded by the chance of victory to truly care.

As the pirate and the woman he was with left the orphanage, the mage girl deftly hopped down from the building and landed lightly, following the sound of their laughter. For a moment, she wondered what she would say, what she expected he would say. So many possibilities raced through her mind that for a moment, all she could do was stand there in front of the two, looking quite silly with her mouth slightly open, words dead on her tongue. Finally, though, she found her voice, looking the man dead in the eyes.

"Raphael Sinclair. I never would have imagined a deadly pirate like you might have a soft-spot for little orphans."

[The Imposter]

The heavy boots pushed the snow down under their weight leaving behind an imprint. Even with the winds and blowing snow one could still make out the trail left by the moving armor. Looking back the eyes behind the helm rolled, if everything left such obvious tracks it wouldn't be too difficult to hunt prey. Yet, it was the peoples of Norgard that were known for their skills in hunting, but if it was this easy to track just how skilled would they be? The question cascaded down in her consciousness, truthfully Claudia found it quite uncomfortable to be leaving such a trail. Now wasn't the time to be worrying about such trivial things, she was on a job and she had to develop some sort of strategy or plan.

With the recent change in leadership in this land came many new opportunities for those who walked the way of a mercenary. Many sought some sort of security during a regime change and mercenaries were skilled at securing such things. Their arsenal was vast and ranged from blackmail to intricate dethroning of certain people in power. With this new boom started there were many who headed toward the capital to find work. Claudia was no exception, her guild had been hired by a certain wealthy man that wanted status security during this transition. Suspecting that his position would be at risk he made a wise choice and Claudia was sent to keep her eyes ever watching.

However many of the other guilds would find that Claudia being sent to these frozen lands strange especially on such a job as watchdog. Rumors had begun to circulate in the mercenary circles as to her real reason. The suit of leather and plate stopped the winds sweeping stronger. Her movements were stiff under the cold conditions and old injuries had started aching. She found it almost pleasant to think that she was becoming a topic of conversation and it was true her reasons for coming were more personal.

'....I hope the springs are warm.'

Her thoughts mingling together as she rubbed her shoulder. Her reasons were indeed personal but personal to the guild as a whole. Vengeance she thought was always a dish best served cold. The locale was perfect she would just have to locate the backstabber during this job and be the the hand to deliver the guild's wishes. Slowly her legs began to step forward again, she had made good progress but was still perhaps another days journey away from the capital.

[Mysteria]

Norgard, Capital Sonata


Preparation to the wedding- The Lady quarters


It was a lovely early morning when Helena has returned with Bria and Zelvad. Departing with him and the girl, Helena rushed into the town, to the castle of what used to be the property of the former queen.

Now it was the soon to be palace for the new king Arjak and his soon to be wife. Helena made sure she would be there for the promising day, no matter how important solving the scroll was, or how much more she needed to train.

She saw the maids carrying flowers bouquets and cleaning the floors and walls, all in ready for the holy ceremony. She smiled as this lovely sight, thinking it's been a long time since they had celebrated in such a manner. The kind woman that was Ciara sort of insisted to wait with the wedding at the sight of the torn girl, Bria, but the others convinced her that she was deserving of this happiness.

Climbing upon the stairs of the tallest section in this tower was no easy task, but Helena found herself excited. True, the wedding wasn't planned until another day, but she knew that today the bride was supposed to measure her wedding dress.

Opening the door in the lady quarters, Helena stepped inside slowly, giving a soft knock on the door, "I came here with Zelvad as promised. And as we know, men are not permitted to witness the bride before the wedding. And so, he was left outside to take care of Bria. I came to assist as best I can", Helena smiled, "I am sure Wren shall join us soon as well", she chuckled, "Maybe the pirate will get the hint too?".

Ciara had been standing quietly while Arjak's mother, Morrigan, and sister were sticking her with pins as they tried to get the finishing alterations done on her long green gown. (http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii297/DakotaSkyez/Fantasy/Fantasy-FemaleDruid.jpg) Over her gown would be worn a traditional druidess robe also of matching green with a fur lined collar.

Ciara had her back to the paladin when she entered and turned rather quickly, managing to get herself stuck again with a pin as Morrigan was trying to pin the waist of the dress in to make it just a bit more snug. Satisfied that the dress would fit she smiled at Ciara "When you are ready you may remove the dress so we can get the seamstress to make the final preparations."

The druid bride smiled as her future mother and sisters in law left the room and she turned fully then to meet the gaze of Helena, stepping forward and hugging her with excitement.

"I'm so pleased that you made it, Helena!" she exclaimed. "Our journey together has brought us some way now, has it not?" The raven haired woman smiled softly, beaming at the fiery haired paladin. " It would not feel right if my friends were not here."

She frowned then at the mentioning of Wren. Ciara had come to grow rather fond of the young healer and her presence was missed.

"I hope the Lady Avari will be joining us, the festivities wouldn't be the same without her. As to the young pirate, if he knew exactly what is to be found in the heart that he now holds, he would take that opportunity rather quickly I should think."

Ciara wasn't going to ponder on the what if's regarding Raphael Sinclair. She had more important things to think about. She turned then in a circle slowly for Helena to see the dress better then stopped. "How does it look?"

Then her nerves got the better of her as she took Helena's hands into hers "Helena, Arjak and I..." her voice trailed slightly "We've come together so far but still there is fear within my heart. He is a king and as such he is entitled to many women besides his queen. I am afraid that I will not be able to do as a good queen does that allows her king to bed his concubines. He is a man of great vitality, virile and strong. What if, I am not enough to appease him?"

Ciara fidgeted with her hands then, wringing them together, the normally confident druid now filled with some amount of doubt.

Helena's smile wore off a bit. It sure was unlike Ciara to question herself. Was something happening between the two lover druids while she was away?

She considered the words of Ciara, and then decided to dismiss them. Without further thinking Helena moved forward grabbing the druid's hands within her own as the smile returned to her face again, "The man worships you. You have been his promising anchor and love, his goddess. I suspect someone as lord Arjak would not be easily captured by just any woman, and you are indeed special", Helena played a bit with Ciara's dark hair as she turned her whole body to look at the mirror before the two of them.

At the reflection was the image of the tanned lady and the head of the tall Paladin popping from above her, "Fear not, my lady. You are a wonderful individual, the perfect missing half of Lord Arjak. Our fire of hope. I am certain that those worries are just fears from the big day tomorrow. Once your eyes are set upon his, as you both shall be brought together upon the altar, all your worries and fears shall be gone as if they never were", Helena kissed the top of the druidess' head, "My blessing with it as well, and I am certain, Wren shall be here soon as well", she smiled, "And the dress looks wonderful too, my lady".

Ciara smiled at the paladin as she looked at herself in the mirror. "I know you must think me to be foolish Helena but when Brennus disappeared" Ciara quickly corrected herself as although there had been no proof that Brennus had perished, it had been assumed that he had when he never returned. "After Brennus' death, I did not wish to find another with whom I could share my life. Now, I have found Arjak but like Brennus, he is destined for greatness."

The dark skinned female sighed "Perhaps you are correct" Ciara mused quietly before dismissing the thought from her mind.

Ciara turned away from the mirror and moved behind the tapestry that hung from the ceiling, stepping behind it and slipping out of her gown so that the alterations would be done on time and began to redress in her normal clothing, talking through the curtain as she did so "I do hope the others will be able to attend."

Ciara's ears perked and she thought she heard a distant howling of wolves. A shudder ran through her lithe frame. Since coming to Norgard her druid senses had been reawakened, what once had become still within her now burned brighter and she could hear the nature's call in all of its various means of glory. And since coming here many things had been revealed to her. TikVa, the oracle of fire, all of these things were still fresh in her mind. And always in the back of her mind lingered the fact that unrest remained within Allfathers creatures, and evil still dwelled in the lands of Norgard.

Hearing the cries of the wolves reminded her of Epinala and her voice became filled with excitement again at the prospect of seeing those whom had fought by her side and made this incredible journey with her.

"We've come so far together, all of us" she spoke through the curtain as she slipped back into her shoes. Stepping from behind the curtain she could hardly contain her enthusiasm "I do hope that Wren makes it on time!" Grabbing the paladins hands Ciara laughed then, her earlier cares having been diminished and forgotten "And Epinala! Soon brother and brother will be together again, and they have mended their ways." Ciara truly beamed, her olive eyes gleaming.

Taking the paladins hands into her own Ciara stated "It's going to be wonderful, Helena. And please, do not call me lady. I am merely Ciara, your friend."

"You are right, forgive me", Helena smiled, "Ciara it is".


* * * * *


Preparation to the wedding- The men quarters


Meanwhile, Arjak was in his quarters, the grandiose room that he was to share with Ciara. With a silver goblet of wine in hand, the new High King rested his elbows on the stone handrail of his balcony, watching the ant-like forms of people far below, but the keen eyes of Arjak could see better than any normal man, noticing details that many would require a set of far-eyes to see. Even better than his sight, were his senses of hearing and smell. The city smelled like it should when preparing for a festival - honey on the wind from mead and the baker's sweet rolls, the soft notes of bard performing on street corners, the tickling scent of seasoned mutton, and the clanging of the smithy's hammer and anvil. Having grown up in the wild, Arjak never realized just how alive the city was from the inside.

Taking a sip of his wine, Arjak's golden eyes settled on the hand holding the goblet; his right hand. The palms and fingertips were calloused and his knuckles bore many scars. They were not nobleman's hands, powdered and soft, but the hands of a warrior and a savage. No jewelry adorned the Wolf King. Even his crown was iron, heavy on Arjak's brow. Silver and gems, while beautiful, were weak. Norgard was a country for the strong, and a strong leaded needed a crown of strong metal, leaving the spared funds to go to causes that truly needed it. The wedding that loomed over the horizon was the only extravagant expense Arjak had permitted. He wanted Ciara to be happy and the people of Norgard needed a boost in morale. Few things made hearts rise like a wedding. Taking a deep breath of Norgard's cold air, Arjak took another sip of his wine.

Most men would be shaking to the bones or having doubts so close to their wedding day, but Arjak had faced many horrors in his life and he knew that he would be as happy as he ever could be on the morrow. Thinking back, all that time ago, to when she first saved him from the Nephilim, Arjak could not shake the feeling of fate when he met her. Yes, she was beautiful.. stunningly so, but he never imagined marrying her beyond his most fantastical dreams. Yet, here he stood, separated from her until the morning when their rings would be placed on their fingers. What then? He was High King or Norgard, the leader of an entire nation. Would he leave the crown to his stewards and continue to venture with his comrades, and see their plight through to the end? Or would he and Ciara stay in Sonata and rule as King and Queen, sire heirs and be just another pair of kings and queens throughout history? No. Arjak was going to alter the course of history, back to the Sagas of Old, where Warrior-Kings and Queens lead their armies from the front and took their opposition by storm and steel. Ciara was definitely not a woman to settle until she was much older, and it would be wrong to make her change, because it was that free and wild spirit that Arjak fell so madly in love with.

Epinala walked through the festive town, wearing clean clothes and his hammer, vordr, safely attached to his back. A light smile adorned his face as he waved to those he passed, some waving back, others shying away. He was completely overjoyed at the recent changes in the past month. He had become Thane of the Al Anduun, which had taken him aback quite a bit, and now his brother was getting married and had become high king of Norgard. He looked up, seeing Arjak looking down among the people, and he smiled more. “Who would have thought that you would ever get married? And that my one crazy plan would actually come true!” Epinala said, looking around the town once again. The people here would be united, and finally some balance would come back to their lands. He nodded again as a small bird landed on his shoulders, paper tied to his leg. Epinala quickly pulled it off and read through it. The scrolls from his hidden study rooms were being moved to a permanent study chamber he was having built from the main room. While his brother was more brute, Epinala enjoyed the arts of reading, and hell, someone had to record all this. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t fight if need be, and would be glad to draw his hammer when he needed to, but he needed to start being responsible, and he wanted to start off with a strong foot. Tying a confirmation onto the birds leg, he sent it off while running up a near building that was low to the ground. Hopping along the top, he made his way towards the large castle, keeping his eyes on the people below who stared at him with curiosity and some shock. Shifting half way into his wolf form, which had changed during the past 2 months, he was no longer afraid to shift in and out with other people around. He danced around the steep castle walls, creating and collapsing small platforms made of earth to reach the top, landing on the platform that Arjak stood. Remaining as a wolf, he sat down next to Arjak, staring out at the people. “It’s nice to see this place in peace again; been a while since these people had something worthwhile to cheer about. Speaking of something to cheer about, are you ready for probably the biggest day of your life?” Epinala spoke to Arjak, watching the forms of humans rustling around, the scents of food and sounds of merriment weaving an intoxicating air around him.

Arjak's eyes did not move from the grand courtyard of the castle when Epinala appeared, but a small smile tugged at his lips while his brother spoke. Finishing off the rest of his wine, Arjak spoke,

"A moment, brother." Arjak held up a hand to Epinala and turned to the double doors at the far side of the room, "Feija," Arjak called and a young serving girl, perhaps seven or eight years younger than Arjak, entered the room and bowed to the two al'Andunn brothers. Her eyes lingered on her King for a moment before speaking,

"Y-yes your grace?" she curtsied shyly, her face red as a beet. Arjak simply smiled and raised his goblet,

"More wine, my dear girl. One of the Ascaran reds." Arjak's voice was its usual baritone, gruff and deep, but he was kind to those who served him. It was something that he forced himself to do, especially with the civilized serfs in livery. None of them responded well to a Druid's mighty bellow, even in mirth. The girl bowed and left the room as quiet as a church mouse. Turning back to Epinala, Arjak smiled,

"My dear brother, our father trained me to lead and to fight. Not for this." he chuckled and rested his elbows on the handrail again, "I always assumed I would fight, drink, or fuck my way to the grave before I met the right girl, yet I found her. And to top it all, this the damned Chiefs placed this blasted crown on my brow..." Arjak took off the Iron Crown for a moment, rubbing the groove the metal band left in his brow. Sighing, Arjak placed the crown back upon his head,

"I need her, Epinala. It is as simple as that. I knew I didn't have room in my heart for anyone else when I was with her in Ascara. I've done a lot of running away in my life, and I won't run any longer. I have the strength of Norgard behind me, and Ciara's heart beyond that. What could a man fear with that in his mind at all times?" Arjak looked out at the mountains in the distance, a soft smile on his face at all times. His smile turned in to a grin when his ears picked up the sound of Freija, the serving girl, approaching.

"Good! More wine!" Arjak turned to face the door before it opened, and the white-dressed girl approached, presenting the bottle to Arjak, filling his goblet once he nodded in approval. Setting the wine bottle down on the nearby table, Freija looked up at Arjak, face still red and an all-too-familiar look in her eyes. The way her hands fidgeted with her dress and she bit down on her lip. Arjak could only look down at her and chuckle.

"Is there... anything else I can do for you, your Grace?" Freija was young and foolish, but she had learned her sultry arts well. Arjak smiled and placed a hand on the girl's cheek, soft as silk. He looked her in the eyes as her skin flushed, looking as if she had been burned by the sun. Patting the girl's cheek, Arjak spoke,

"You can leave the wine and clear your head, then go tend to my fiance." Arjak's voice was calm and steady and the serving girl huffed in embarrassment, walking briskly from the room. Permitting himself a mirthful laugh, Arjak took a gulp from his wine once more, "Care for a cup, brother? This wine is older than you are, and probably twice as smooth."

“Still smoother than you, dear brother.” Epinala responded in retort, returning to normal. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig, letting the chilled red liquid cool his throat. He looked at the crown resting in Arjak’s hand. It probably wasn’t very comfortable, and probably would be easy to give up. He could feel the minerals hum inside of it, and looked back after the church mouse girl.

“You are not the only one surprised by this outcome either. I figured I would continue to live in the woods, acting out my own skewed idea of the world. But hey, fate sometimes likes to throw you under the wagon, and then throw you a bone.” Epinala said, taking another sip of the wine and looking over. He rubbed at the slight dirt that had formed under the band across his forehead, but that was a minor mar to this day.

“What is funny is that I have become thane. Figured you would carry that title and pass that along to one of your … probably 20 sons with how frisky you were.” Epinala smirked at Arjak, leaning against the banister as Raiden, his messenger bird, landed on his shoulder. Another scroll was attached to its leg, but he ignored it for now.

“So,” Epinala started, raising the wine bottle, “ to new adventures and mending of old ways.” Chuckling, Arjak raised his goblet and clanked it with the bottle in Epinala's hand. Arjak had forgotten how much he missed the banter between brothers.

"Smoother than me? Whose sheets was the serving girl trying to get in to?" Arjak chuckled, taking another sip. "Unfortunate for her, Ciara is the only one permitted between those sheets with me, and none other. They know this, yet they still try. Force of habbit, I imagine." Sitting on the handrail, Arjak continued to study his homeland from a perspective he never thought possible. It all still felt like some dream or fantasy, yet the tingling burn of the wine and the cold nip of the air told Arjak that it was all really happening.

"I wouldn't give the title of Thane Andunn to anyone else. You are the only other son of Perrin, and Allfather forbid I give the title to one of our sisters." The High King had started to take another sip when Epinala mentioned children, causing the wine to catch in Arjak's throat and suck the air from his lungs, causing Arjak to cough.

"That is your title to pass to your children. The Crown is mine to pass on to my children. Like you said, twenty or so." Arjak laughed uproariously, emptying his goblet and filling it again. "Look at me... one year ago the talk of children would have sent me running, but now..." Arjak shook his head and smiled, taking a heavy sip this time, "The thought is... warming."

“She only wanted in your sheets because you’re the king, nothing more. And as well, I don’t think most non druid girls would go for the whole wolf thing. And I hear that. I don’t know if I will have any kids, because, who knows, maybe I will find that one girl, or go with a hoard. Never had to think like that.” Epinala said, looking up to the sky.

He listened to the sound of the animals of the town, from the barking of dogs and the hissing of cats, even the squawk of the occasional gull hoping to snag a piece of bread before being shooed away from the food. Each one sung in his ear in different voice, building the words in his head to the a roaring din. It reminded him of how different Arjak and he were. While Arjak had strength and leadership behind him, seeing the people as a whole and cohesive mass, wanting to protect all, Epinala saw the individual, desiring to find the solution for each one.

“So, ever think we end up here? Not Here here, but us together, chatting like we are two fresh welps still wet behind the ears. Now we are here, planning a wedding after all that fighting, you ruling Norgard, and me as High thane? Not even in my wildest dreams, and I have had plenty, did I ever imagine that I would be in this position. How about you, brother?” Epinala said, that word tasting familiar on his tongue, thought it could have been the wine at this point.

Arjak chuckled, thinking as he stared in to the bottom of his goblet. There was much he wanted to say, but he was unsure how to express it.

"I hoped for it, though I never thought a day like this would come. I never dreamed of it." Arjak took a sip, emptying his goblet once more and sighing contently. "Yet here we are, leaders of Norgard, each in our own right. The lives of every citizen rests on our shoulders. We stand on the precipice of history..." Arjak looked his brother in the eye, the High King's thick arms folded over his chest, "What matters now is what kind of imprint we leave on history. In a thousand years, how will we be remembered? Will I be the liberator, or the usurper?" Arjak finally set his cup down and ran his fingers through his long black hair.

"And you are still wet behind the ears, little brother. Mother is not around to make sure you washed properly, it seems" Chuckling, Arjak gave his brother a firm jab at the shoulder. Arjak would continue with the small talk with Epinala. It took his mind off of the wedding and it was a better way to kill time than drinking himself in to a nervous stupor while he waited for his other visitors to come by.

(A Kris, Koti~, StormWolf, and Mysteria thang!)

[Rook]

Norgard: Toria – Marketplace


Black spots swam before his eyes. Faieth hadn't slept, not in a very long while. But unfortunately (For him, in his own mind. For plot it's awesome), that wasn't why his vision had gone. For a moment, he thought he saw something. Heard something.


“Um... Son, are you ok?” a raspy, feminine voice asked as his fingers massaged his temples. He looked up. Fuck. The herb merchant. “Where in the seven hells was I just there...”



“Yes, yes, I'm ok, sorry about that. I was somewhere entirely different. Where was I... A yes, a bushel of Belladonna leaves, three ounces of Aloe Vera, another bushel of Chamomile, and the Ginger Root.” He said, placing his payment on the table. She packed it all up into the sacks he had provided at the beginning of the transaction. And before long, he was back in his covered cart, with everything packed away, and then he urged his horse onward.



As they traveled the the back roads of a more quiet district of town the silence set in. The clop of hooves and the creak of wheels began to take on a different tone. Further away. Echoing, as if he was in deep water. And then, suddenly those swimming black spots crawled back into his line of sight.

~~~~~

Horrid images. Cruel, desert lands. Looming death. War.

The darkness had blotted his vision entirely, a new, darker reality began to set in.

Destructive creatures of dark creation, spilling blood with every unnatural motion. Dark cloaked figures, grisly weapons in hand.

And then peace. A cold, ice laden city. And a soft voice, as soothing as those chilly winds he could have swore he could feel, whispered in his ear.

"Sonata... The Flame still burns."

~~~~~

He pulled the reigns. Hard. His vision cleared even more suddenly than it had faded. Had he been driving the carriage the whole time? What was that? Why did he suddenly feel as though he needed to get to the Capital, as if it was his calling.

He shrugged it off, and the thought was left ignored for a more immediately important question. Where was he?

He lifted one of the side flaps of the awning over his seat. Three people, and a enormous, walled building. He looked the building over. The signs and high walls brought back memories. Orphanage.

Young children without parents. He remembered that deep, cutting feeling of longing. His little town hadn't had an orphanage. He stepped down, leaning on his cane, left leg held straight. The people were ignored as he stared past the open gates up to the door at the top of the steps. His right hand came up, stroking the neck of the young horse, willing it to stay steady as he began to limp to the carriage's back doors.

A smile grew to his face as he glanced over his stock, and then, he gently began to place vial after vial into a large bag. By the end, his medicine stock was dwindling, and he reached for his notes. Unceremoniously, he tore a page from the book, and folded it, placing it in his breast pocket.

And then, he simply limped past the gates, bag slung over shoulder, and passed the congregated people wordlessly, only acknowledging their presence with a short glance from under his black hood and a smile.

The stairs were a challenge. With cane and right foot the only things doing the work, it took him twice as long to climb as it would a normal person, but he was good with that stick by now, so it wasn't too arduous.

Reaching the top, he simply knocked. Moments later, a woman, middle aged opened, quizzical look on her face.

"Can I help you?" she asked. This wasn't a person she had ever seen, even around town. Faieth returned her quizzical expression with his own, the difference being that it was mixed with the polite smile of an oblivious man.

"This is an orphanage, yes?" He began, to which she nodded. "I made a decent haul today selling my wares in the market. I do have quite a bit of overstock though. I was an orphan myself. I know how bad it could be for these kids, and I really respect anyone willing to devote their life to helping kids like this lead a life probably far better than they did on the streets. I gotta say, if I had someone watching over me back then, things would probably a lot different for me. That said, I won't waste anymore time going over my life story. It's not pretty and it's not that interesting. What I'm getting at is, here." He said, dropping the bag from his shoulder and holding it out for her.

When it was taken, he reached in the pocket, and handed her the page from his notes.

"This is a copy of the dosages for each of those medicines, what they do, and the vials are labeled." He said, turning. "Take care of them. You do good by them, and if they turn out anything like me, karma dictates good things are coming." he said, beginning his long trudge down the steps.

At the bottom he stopped, glancing the strangers over one more time. He was waiting for a break in conversation. The vision was prodding at his mind again, and all he wanted to do now was ask where he could find a room for the night and a good meal.

[Skeletor]

The posse of fooled, grisly, and angry men abandoned by Devon had eventually gone their separate ways, leaving Brem to be the bearer of bad news. Trudging through the cold, harsh land, Brem set out to Sonata, his brow furrowed and expectations shot. "If I ever see that bastard again, I swear..." The hunter wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as a nearby squirrel perked up and sniffed in his direction. "Not you," Brem reassured the creature. He often found himself forgetting that they could understand him in the first place. It was a secret he liked to keep from those that hired him, as Bremmigen figured that surely they would see profit in a hunter who could lure animals into his traps with his voice, had he wanted. But Brem never used his gift while hunting. He did have some scruples and determined that such a thing was wrong, deeming it an unfair and cruel trick.

After a few days of travel and silent rage brewing under the surface, the hunter made it to Norgard and headed for the capital. The queen would surely be furious, he thought. So he began reciting in his head what he would say, should she focus her discontent upon him. "Maybe it would make her feel better if she knew we hunted Devon down and failed to. We at least tried to find him..." The thought of not reporting back at all briefly ran through Brem's mind, and he silenced it almost as quickly as it had come. "And then what? Come back to Norgard and have a bounty on my head or something? Not a chance," he told himself. "Can't risk that."

He found himself in the capital of Sonata in time to discover that the queen who had sent them on their failed journey was no more. The words had passed right through him, as he had never really cared what went on in the kingdom anyway and was relieved to be spared from any possible anger or further inquiries as to where Devon might be. All he knew was that his job for now was done and that if he ever came in contact with the snake again...it would not end well. Unsure of where to go from there, Brem wrote to his mother, sent her half the money he'd earned recently, and spent a small bit of what he kept for himself on a drunken night on the town.

In his drunken stupor, Brem eventually found himself in the company of three pretty young girls in the tavern who had seated themselves on either side of the huntsman, gabbing away about some wedding. "This is what happens when you don't make conversation with women you intend to bed," he told himself wryly. Attempting to join the conversation, Brem said, "Weddings aren't exactly my thing, but I've been told this is supposed to be a huge deal." In truth, he knew nothing of the wedding, or who was getting married for that matter. Anything to get one of the girls to pay attention to him again. The three snapped their eyes back to the man they had so quickly forgotten about, the one on his right side hooking Brem's arm in hers as she squealed, "I know who I'm taking to accompany me, then!"

"Free ale, remember, Brem. Free ale, and free food...and possibly another night with this one," he told himself on the day of the event. He still had no idea who was getting married or what was going on, but Mae, the girl he'd met at the tavern the other night seemed ecstatic at his side. She led him around by his hand, which Brem didn't like one bit. "Good God, what has gotten into women these days? Have to have their men in sight and nearby at all times? No. Just this one. Why do I get myself into things like this?" He knew it was because of his drinking and irresponsibility. He often got himself into trouble the day after a night on the town. Starting fights, making false promises, leaving behind a trail of scorned lovers, both male and female. He shrugged inwardly and kept telling himself, "Free ale, free food...possibly another frisky encounter in the near future."

[Repent!]

Somewhere in Sigard

"Gwen! Gwen wait!"

Deep blue eyes opened wide as Joseph lay on an unfamiliar bed. His mind raced as he thought of the nightmare he just awoke from. His body was drenched in sweet and his breathing heavy. However, before he could think about the dream too much a throbbing in the back of his head started to bring himself back to reality. With the exception of the fluorescent light about the room was dark. It was obvious that the light of day was a stranger to this room, but considering the circumstances so was he. Remembering how it was he had gotten there Joseph began to wander just how long he had been out. As for where he was, considering the events that lead of up to now, it was easy for Joseph to take a guess.

Knowing that there was no way he could change his fate now Joseph sat up, but as he did his head pounded with pain. Grunting in pain Joseph placed his right hand over his forehead as if in an attempt to stop the throbbing. After a moment Joseph looked around at the room. Other bed like the one he sat upon now filled the room and it was from these beds that Joseph knew he was in the infirmary in Sigard. He was not in the room alone, however. "How long have I been out?" Joseph finally asked as he looked over to where No. Vii and VIR were standing. When he did a third person caught his attention, causing his eyes to grow wide and his mouth to gape open, "Gwen".

Gwen looked down at him with a cold glare. A moment passed before her hands slowly moved for the weapon resting within her belt. *cling* the blade sang as she removed it from the scabbard, she lingered on the moment of pressing the sword slowly over his chest. As her hands reached over his throat and the sword pressed down his chest, there was no second guessing. She wanted to kill him.

"So after two months, the rouge warrior finally wakes. Thought for a while I hit you a little too hard back in Norgard." VIR was still in possession of Joseph's sword, keeping it comfortably notched underneath his own sword as he began to advance toward Joesph while dragging a chair behind him. He placed the chair about two feet away from Joseph, with the back of the chair facing his bed. VIR then sat on the chair like mounting a horse and rested his hands on the top of chair, then his chin on his hands. He took his time with each movement made to approach Joseph before he spoke next. "I'm pretty sure everyone has plenty of questions for you concerning your...absence." VIR reached out a hand to slowly and calmly move Gwen's blade to a non-lethal area. "Though your activities outside of Sigard don't concern me, I do have one question. Why? Why leave?"

As the silence grew No.Vii watched the scene unfold with a slight tapping of his left foot, his fingers clenching and unclenching on his sword. He was restless and getting annoyed at having been confined to the compound for training for war. That thought alone excited him, but the waiting had been bugging him a lot, making him irritable.

“Are you going to gut him already?!” No.Vii said in a very aggravated tone, staring at Gwen while breaking the tension in the room. Blade already halfway out of his sheath, he stared down at the man known as Joseph, malice and pent up anger plainly visible.

“Cause if not, I will gladly do it. I mean, blood is going to be spilt, might as well stop beating around the bush and do it already.” No.Vii followed up, fingers tapping along the edge of his blade in a methodical rhythm.

"Not yet", Gwen uttered, "But I will.... according to his answer", she looked down at Joseph, waiting for his answer as well.

Just then a soft knock at the door, "I see that he is awake", said a cold low voice which all of them knew. They turned around slowly, looking at Jared as he entered, "Follow me then, Your next mission is up, my warriors."

Duty called, and Joseph was safe...for now.

{From the minds of Troy, Kris, myself, and Koti~}

[Extraordinaire.]

Leonie had imagined this moment for months and was now feeling the first-hand effects of disappointment. Although not confident in her estimate, she was sure that it had been weeks since she'd arrived in Norgard, or had at least spent that time in the snow. And it was only upon her arrival, that her hate for the cold had reached its full extent.

She was entering her second day in the capitol, the place of her childhood, but hadn't experienced anything close to deja vu. The only familiarity that she'd found, was a lone Evergreen tree that she'd past not long before. That, along with a memory that was tickled when she stuck her bare foot into the snow, of being buried alive by the mind-numbing cold. But just the thought of that happening to her as a child was enough to stiffen her spine, so she suppressed any subtle hints that the city's history may offer her. It was a decade, after all, since she'd walked on the land, and a decade that continued on without her presence.

Skimming a local marketplace, she was quickly sorted from the elegant dress of the capital-dwellers, compared to her dressed-for-practicality attire. The unruly trim to her arctic fur coat, paired with the seal-skin leather pants, seemed suddenly rogue beside the softer, flowing materials that were accustomed to this part.

Hauling the leather sack onto her other shoulder, she stretched the sore joint and headed to the first sight of warmth. As she shuffled her last few coins around in her balled-up fist, she scored the rustic pub for the shadows of the town; the ones who either went intentionally unnoticed, speaking their secrets in the most hushed of voices. Every city had their fare share of these devoted gossipers and if she were to get the answers the was looking for, then her last few coins were to be put to good use.

What she didn't recognize, however, was how terribly unwanted she was from the land. Her parents had been exiled a decade prior to the upcoming winter and were a sore reminder to the unforgiving town. And if the strictly-foreign dark features, or her almost indistinguishable similarity to her mother, weren't enough to resurface the crime, then her cursed surname would suffice.

[Prophet]

Raphael remembered clearly the day he had first set eyes upon the orphanage he was not so familiar with. He had been skulking through town on his way to meet a contact. The heat had been high then as he had just recently sacked a Norgardian Merchant vessel and the city watch was hard on his heels to find where he was. He had nearly passed the place by but the sight of a young girl outside had brought him to a pause. The place had been in a poor state at that time. Nothing like what it looked now thanks to his and, hopefully, other donations. He could not truly relate to the children who called the Orphanage home as he had grown up in a family with two loving parents, but it broke his heart to see them so downtrodden besides. Kids were supposed to be smiling, supposed to be running about and laughing at the sheer innocent joy of life. He had gone out of his way to ensure they did.

His throat always grew a little tighter when it came time for him to leave the children and head back out into the much more dangerous world that awaited him. Things were so much simpler with the kids. They did not judge, they did not condemn him for decisions made and mistakes committed. With them the blood on his hands always seemed to wash away... Of course more would get on them before he returned. That was practically inevitable. He had Wren now though, his salvation. He had always considered himself a lucky man. Now that was obvious.

A girl hopped down before them, bringing the pair of them up short and Raphael reflexively flexed his wrist, loosening the throwing knife he had secreted up his sleeve in the event that she became a problem. Yet, to his surprise, it was not blows this girl seemed to want to cross but words, a simple question asked out of more than a little curiosity.

"Raphael Sinclair. I never would have imagined a deadly pirate like you might have a soft-spot for little orphans."

"Oh?" the pirate captain asked, sharing a glance with Wren a moment. "You're an expert on pirates and their interests then?" He was teasing of course, his smile betraying his amusement. "I think the question is not why a pirate cares for the orphans, but rather why no body else in this damned city seems to."

[SQJ]

Nonkululeko burst out laughing, she clutched her sides tightly the pain of the of laughter bringing her to her knees before she fell face first into the sand around her. She screamed with it, her entire form contracting into itself as though she'd been stabbed in the chest. The pain in the centre of her gut was so intense she most likely would have preferred a blade.

It took a while for the laughter to subside long enough for her to move again. Nkuli's father sat there with is arms crossed watching both Nkululeko and her brother writhing on the floor like children.

"Would you two be finished? We are supposed to be leaving." The old man voice was gruff, visceral as through his every word was gargled out of a mouth full of blood. The side effect of a battle which scares running across the top of his head. The main of which run down his temp, down his right eye, his lip and across his through.

Xolani, the oldest of the remaining four siblings, pulled himself up clapping his hands and coughing in a pointless attempt to regain composure. The old man's stern gaze didn’t falter. It was more than enough to cause Nkuli to sink into the ground.

The dark texture of her naked form matching the tan of the sand around and literally melting into the sand leaving Xolani laughing on his own. Xolani followed melting into the sand.

The old name hissed at them, clicking his teeth, two large hyenas which had once been resting in the sun hoped to their paws and sprinted past the old man, bursts of sand creating a trail as they ran separating and joining at the regular intervals until out of the beach sand both Xolani and Nkuli burst out of the sand in what appeared to be a sprint across the beach until the beasts caught up and pushed them to the ground.

Dark, visceral growls burst from the jaws of their natural druid pets, rumbling loudly in their ears before once again they sunk into the ground leaving the pets and an potential scent behind. The pets paced around unable to detect, unable to see until they started sprinting at the old man. A smirk formed from his lips and he clicked his teeth twice causing them both to stop cold in their assault. Sand shifted beneath the old man and both Nkuli and Xolani jumped at the man. A flick of the old man's cane brought it to a crashing halt.

"Nkuli, there is much for you to learn in the art if you are to survive what will happen to you once we reach the wedding ceremony. Xolani, you can do better. I'm glad you both can leave your scent's behind but you Xolani are capable of using your ability and taking your clothes with you unlike your sister and your the better fighter. I see you challenging your sister but I do not see you teaching her anything. I've lost too many sons to lose you both do you hear me?"

What ever mirth had been there before passed at that moment. His father didn't talk that often. The simple act always brought pain to him, they knew that. But of late the number of words had increased, his words becoming more and more sentimental. More resigned.

The carriage ride to the capital city was a long one but an extravagant affair. The clan itself could not afford much, as limited a they were in land and activity across Norgard, sticking to the beaches they had used what little they had to make some kind of presence at the ceremony. Along the with the old man, Xolani and Nkuli, there was a ten clansman escort, again in the name of showing some presence. It was of the utmost they show that they were worth a meeting with the royaly if they were ever going to be considered more than some wondering clan.

[Jacogos]

Lydia smirked slightly, his words true, if not what she wanted to hear. She knew the orphanage's plight, or its now former plight, all too well. She had lived it, which is something this man didn't know about her.

"The posters with your face them warned me that you had a way with words. Seems they were right," she said, slowly approaching the man. She did not care if he readied weapons, as he no doubt had at least a dagger secreted on him somewhere. She did not care, because she was not here for blood. She was here for answers.

"I do not claim to be an expert on anything about you, Mr. Sinclair," Lydia stated, stopping about arm plus sword's length away. Her gaze shifted to the woman who accompanied him; did she know about this man's deeds? Lydia could only assume she did. However, the mage was not here to question the man's love interests, merely his business ones.

"What I wish to know is this... Why? Why would a pirate, notorious for deeds outstanding and usually negatively impacting the state, suddenly find himself giving money to an orphanage, and not even a well known one at that. Answer me that, and I will leave you be."

I don't quite mean that, she thought to herself, studying the man and woman. I might tail them for a little while, see what they're up to. No doubt after this, they were planning on robbing some merchant in town...

[Evil Troy]

~Sigard~

No.Vii entered his room, flinging the sword to the side and pulling back the curtain, revealing the pure black scythe now hanging on his wall. Memories of the eventful trip to claim this scythe flooded back to him as he pulled it off its peg, attaching the holding strap to his back. Running his fingers along the dulled edge, he looked down as the nearly undetectable purple hue appeared on the blade from the slight pain the pressure caused. The first symbol on the scythe glowed as well, noting the enchantment finally glowing before he strapped it onto his back.

Picking up his now old and rather useless sword, he slid it into the sheath, thinking that the man who had given him the sword, was also the one who had lead him to the scythe, and made it possible to make his two very own vials to use. Slipping out of the room through the back window, he climbed along it until he was at the window to the room just above. Slipping through the room, he snuck quietly down the stairs and entered the Med room.

“Why hello … never got your name, but you are the only person who has given me a damn challenge who won’t avoid me now” No.Vii sneered, tapping the hilt of his sword as the other began to unbuckle it.

The thoughts of what happened earlier ran endlessly through his mind as he sat quietly on one of the beds in the med room. As his mind raced he looked at the necklace he had always had with him, it's blue gem shining from the lights above. "She had so much hatred in her eyes." He quietly said as he clenched the jewelry in his hand and closed his eyes. But the sound of the med room door opening quickly caused his eyes to open once again. It was No. Vii, the one who Joseph had fought just before being knocked out and brought back to Sigard. Joseph's eyes turned an icy blue as he knew exactly why the man had come here.

"You are No. Vii, I have heard a few things about you. For instance, you work with poisons and are effective at what you do. As for me, my name is Joseph and I'm sure that you have heard a few things about me just as I have about you. But you did not sneak into here just because you wanted to know who I was did you? I'm guess you're here to kill me." Joseph let out a deep breath before putting his necklace back in his shirt and standing to his feet. "If that is true, then I wish you luck."

Seconds later Joseph had grabbed the IV bag which stood beside the bed and slung it so that its contents were flying towards the lanky man before Joseph. However, as the solution flew across the room it turned from a harmless liquid to deadly frozen darts.

"You are going to try that shit against me?!" No.Vii said, leaning far to the side enough that the scythe swung free of its hold and broke half the shards as the others scattered around his body harmlessly. He snarled as he pulled the sword off with the blade in the sheath, and tossed it at Joseph. Pulling out the scythe and detached the bottom half, allowing the chain slide out as he rushed towards Joseph, swinging hard sideways with the scythe, a manic smile on his face.

"I've seen magic at work, I've dealt with an ice user before. You are nothing, nothing more than someone to kill. And yes, you guessed mostly right. I am damn effective at killing, shedding blood, and all around fucking everyone up! But am I here to kill you? No.... I just need some damn entertainment." No.Vii smiled wide, a manic look across his face as he leaned to one side, the chain wrapped around his hand and the bottom length of wood spinning in a circle, making a dulled whooshing noise.

Joseph stood in place as the man charged him, and it was not until Vii was right up on Joseph that he finally made a move. Dodging the initial first blow Joseph made his way over to were the sword No. Vii had tossed now lay on just a few beds away. Picking up the blade Joseph unsheathed it from its scabbard and readied his stance. "Confidant in your skill. I must admit I admire that. However, you are a damned fool if you think I am going to lose."

Now, with weapon in hand, Joseph made his move. After a few steps to get in range Joseph swung the blade in an upward diagonal motion. However, due to a shift in his opponents movements only the tip of the blade met flesh as he managed to inflict a minor cut on Vii's arm. It was then that Joseph noticed something he had not before. The blade of No. Vii's scythe glowed with a dim purple glow and when Joseph made contact with Vii's arm the glow grew brighter for just a moment. No. Vii was fighting with an enchanted blade, and it was then that Joseph knew that this fight was going to be a hell of a lot more interesting.

Spinning the chain, he angled it so that the swing from No.Vii’s old blade wrapped around the blade just after the blade sliced through his skin. His smile grew wide as he spun around, pulling the blade, and Joseph with it, before ramming the backside of the staff into Joseph’s back, releasing the chain and continuing the spin. Smiling as he rubbed his finger along the cut, he felt a small droplet of blood coat his middle finger. He looked at it and chuckled. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

“Is that all you can do?! I could have sworn you were a bigger threat. Even with your magic, you barely left a scratch on me. But me…?” He smiled wide and dashes forward, dropping the blade into the ground to start leaving a thin but deep trail in the ground. Swinging hard, he brought the blade upwards, aiming to sever the man’s chest clear in half.

Joseph twirled his body to miss the oncoming attack and in the process jabbed his sword towards his opponent as he twisted back around. However, instead of the sword making contact with flesh again Joseph missed his attack and instead hit an IV bag causing its contents to spill to the floor. Two, three, and four more times Joseph swung his sword at Vii and just as before this attacks barely miss his opponent and instead cut open three more IV bags cause their contents to fall to the floor. "I have to hand it to you, you are fast, but you are foolish to underestimate me."

No.Vii smiled wide and laughed maliciously. Stepping back and spinning his scythe, he continues to laugh.

“Oh, is the dog gonna bite now. Since you seem so confident, I’ll give you a handicap!” No.Vii said, grabbing a nearby cutting utensil. Raising it above his head, he slammed the small blade into his lower side, just below the ribs and out of the way of major organs. Dragging it down some before pulling it out, he sighed some as the pain splashed through his entire being like cold water. Licking the blade clean, he tossed it to the side, the scythe blade now a vibrant purple. A second symbol on the scythe began to glow a deep red as the blood flowed freely from his wound.

“Let’s see if you still hold that confidence!” No.Vii shouted sporadically, swinging hard with the blade now looking like the head of a demon, blood red symbol surrounded by vibrant purple as it seemed to cut through the air as he swung fast towards Joseph, hardly caring about the wet splash on the floor with his step.

Joseph gritted his teeth when he saw the gruesome site. Truth be told from the many fights he has been in throughout the years he has never fought anyone who was as sadistic as Vii. As the lanky man walked towards him Joseph readied himself for Vii's strike. After a clanged of metal a opening made itself know and like so many fights before Joseph made the best of it. However, something was wrong. Instead of the blade of Joseph sword piercing the soft flesh of Vii's chest the sword was instead met with the resistance of like that of a brick wall. Joseph pulled back and noticed the blood that was flowing from his opponents side was now acting as a shield. It was at that point that Joseph realized he needed to end this quickly, otherwise today would be the last day he drew breathe.

Moving for Joseph once again No. Vii Swung his scythe, and like before Joseph moved his blade to block the blow. However, as Joseph blocked the swing Vii arced the blade so that its now razor sharp edge sliced into Joseph's shoulder. Grunting from the pain Joseph grabbed the heel of the scythe with his free hand and used his other to swing the sword at his opponents chest. Yet like before Vii's blood blocked the edge of blade. When Joseph realized this he grew desperate and threw a side kick to Vii's chest. Surprisingly enough the kick landed and now his opponent lay on the back in the large puddle he had created just moment before. When Joseph noticed this he wasted no time in freezing the liquid causing Vii to be stuck to the ground.

No.Vii blinked for a second as his feet were swept away from under him and he began to fall. Thinking fast, he slammed the blade of his scythe through the floor just as the ice cemented him to the ground. Laughing like a man on ecstasy, he yanked hard, taking off bits of his shirt and flesh before a sharp pain impaled him through the side, just barely missing his right lung and now sticking out of his chest.

“Now this, this is a fight!” No.Vii shouted, yanking the scythe out of the ground and spinning up, catching Joseph on the left arm and pressing him against the wall, smiling manically as blood pooled inside his mouth.

[Repent!]

An unfriendly chill shot down Zelvad's spine as he walked with Bria through the streets of Sonata. For the first time since leaving Ascara, he was now in an outfit (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b216/hero2/RP/Z.jpg) more fitting to the Norgardian climate. His red hair draped over his right shoulder was in a tighly braided ponytail, a feat completed with requested help from Bria of course.

He tried to think of what could cause such a feeling, but he soon waved it away as he rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword which was resting at his left hip, his dagger secreted away in the leather vest he wore.

"Have you been to a wedding before, Bria?"

Truth be told, Zelvad had never been to one himself, so this was going to be a new experience for him at least. Though he also figured he at least owed Arjak and Ciara his presence with everything considered.

To his question the girl only raised her chin softly as she found herself clenching at her little red dress that Aunt Helena bought her, before dropping her gaze and looking at the dirt created by her shaky feet's movements. Waving the folds a bit here and here, she couldn't find herself answering with words, so she brutally nodded her head here and here to mark a big "no", to which uncle Zel chuckled with delight as her lovely black hair was tossed so roughly around. To this she found herself found smiling as well before that last gesture faded away by a gloomy expression.

"Well then it will be an experience for the both of us then." Zelvad smiled as he crouched to meet the child's eyes, noticing Bria's expressions change so abruptly. He needed to say something, anything. "Bria...I'll be honest with you. I have not the slightest idea of what you've been through...I can't even begin to understand your pain." He then took her hands in his before he spoke again. "Though I will tell you now I will do everything in my power to help you through this. Uncle Lot would not have sent you to me if you weren't meant for great things."

Bria gazed at the assassin long and hard before she gave a sharp, single nod. Twisting her lips as he best comment to say that "she knows... but...", kind of expression. She then moved closer to the assassin, looking more interested in what he had to say than before.

If there was a time to follow Helena's advice, it was now. "The efforts of your mother, father, and Uncle Lot to make sure you arrived here safely will not be in vain. I'll stake my life on that promise. Though once this is over, if you want..." Zelvad smiled as he pulled her hair back behind her ears, "...I can start helping you to be like me and Uncle Lot so you can help fight the bad guys. Deal?".

It took her but a moment to smile, but it was such a lovely smile no real words were needed to be added.

She agreed.

Zelvad simply met her smile with one of his own, as he slowly stood back up and nodded. "It's settled then...though right now we should get going or we'll miss all the fun."

Then with that they pressed on....

[Kris]

Sigard


"STOP IT!", Jared (http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSIzsKaAhzn1ZLO5hjKLG9E67kZ45OJJ uhTTc9HQyay6HLyl913JA) snapped his fingers and the two opponents were tossed to each side of the room. They felt unseen energy waving around them as they were both unable to move.

"If you are going to do some killing, you better wait instead of damaging your own damn army!", Despite his tune, which was a bit too low and terrifying for the angelic looking boy, it was rather amusing to see a small child swear, "It's not like we fucking have people to spare here! And I think I told the both of you to meet up with the rest of us, damn it. Do I really need to do everything myself?!".

Jared snapped his fingers and the two were gone from there.


***


Secret meeting room, somewhere in Sigard


The four elemental warriors (along with No.Vii and Joseph, that were still tied up by invisible force) stood in one long line along with other members of the order, their age more or less, the same. There were new faces there too, younger children, most of them girls.

New recruits, probably, although Joseph couldn't shake off the feelings that something about the clothing these girls wore, which were crimson red, looked utterly familiar to him. He quickly pulled himself together however, while before him emerged a tall man with dark hair.

"Lord Fergal (http://www.wearysloth.com/Gallery/ActorsS/16671-27578.gif)", Gwen uttered, her voice was somewhat without confident as her body shivered slightly.

indeed, the man wasn't very impressive. Vii was probably thinking how easily his neck would break too. But... there was something... something about him... Something that might have caused Jared, their personal watcher, to be so worry of him.

Once he stepped inside the dark chamber another man (http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/tobenamed10.png) followed suit, however, Joseph didn't know who he was.

"Greeting my children", Said Jared, as the two mature men turned to stand beside him, making his midget appearance to be seen even more ridiculous than it normally used to be. And for a child to treat them as infants was even more absurd no less. But they knew better than to laugh. No one ever stood up to Jared and Fergal and survived.

With a clap of his hands, the little child with the angelic face stormed over the long lines of warriors, gazing carefully into their eyes as he passed over each and every one of them, enjoying their cold sweat and the fact they tried to avoid eye-contact. Once he returned to stand in the front he snapped his fingers and the binding of Vii and Joseph were gone.

They carefully stood up as Jared started to talk again.

"Well, we have gathered here today to announce a special event, my dear children. Yes, indeed. and not just ANY EVENT either", he laughed, but there was something very evil and sinister in his pure childish chuckle.

"Enough of this crap Jared", Fergal snapped at last, looking even more annoyed than he normally did. None of the elemental warriors ever though Fergal was human to being with, but his expression were VERY easy to read as if he truly were one. But now, he seemed even more obvious. He was agitated... and most of all worried.

"The empire has achieved immense power, in the form of the rumored ghouls you have all heard about and they are led by a terrible fiend known as Emonalach", he cleared up his throat as he choose his next words, "The council has yet to approve of this project, but we all know how dire is the situation at hand, when one man is at power, noble no less", he looked up as he raised his chin, "Yes, all of you are war orphans, abandon by those who had the power to make your lives better... feared because of your innate powers. They called you demons, they cast you away. It's high time that we show everyone the true strength of Sigard, of the "Elemental warrior army". It is time to give back the power to the people. To you. You might fear the shadow army, but you shouldn't. Within you the power to cast them away. You should be grateful for all the efforts we did to make your bodies as strong as they are, and now it's time to show everyone what you are truly made of...".

He paused as a sinister grin formed upon his lips, "Death to those who defy us..."

Gwen couldn't help but wonder if this last remark was meant for them... or more for him.


***


After the quick briefing Jared found the four, "Normally you would be divided to pairs like you always do and be sent to practice but... the situation changed...".

The three shot their eyes at Joseph.

"And I tell you this, young Ice boy...", Jared smiled, "Should you try to escape again, one of your group will pay the price".

[Koti~]

The devil shall call upon me to lead his army, for I shall bring him a legion of souls when I die, all in the name of his glory I sing. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SzsDHtzx6tI&feature=related)

-Sigard-

No.Vii fumed as he headed into his room, slamming the door hard enough to crack some of the wall around the door. Fumbling around his room, he took off the scythe and carefully hung it on the wall before throwing the curtain over it, hiding it from prying eyes. Gripping the edge of the bed, he flipped it hard, causing the simple cot to slam against the wall and flop down. He continued his slight rant while breaking things, before flopping down into a chair, the only thing not broken or tossed astray.

“Fucking power hungry midget. I was just having some fun.” No.Vii finally muttered as he crossed his arms in anger, tapping his foot as he stared around his room. Paper with writing on it scattered about his room, random pieces of broken furniture and cloth mixed in there.

“It wasn’t like I was going to kill him” No.Vii said, flicking his hand and calling forth a vial of transparent green liquid appeared. He drained it in one swig and instantly felt it take effect as everything begin to become hazy and sway, a smile appearing as he leaned back in the chair…

~Two Months Prior, just after the Return from Norgard~

“War, what a marvelous word. And soon, I shall get to play again with the lives of millions. Soon, I shall once again become … alive!”

He had laughed himself to the training room, where he set to work instantly. Over the next week, No.Vii became irradically more violent during training, aiming more to main and kill rather than just fight, causing some odd looks to be set in his direction, which he passed off with not a though. He also became increasingly more agrivated towards the others, and his own weapon, until on the final day he ended up embedding the sword far enough into a wooden training dummy that it quivered a bit, as No.Vii swore loudly, before ripping it out , shredding the dummy along with it without a second thought. He headed into his room, gripping the hilt hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Why, why do you deny me sword. I demand violence from you, yet.. you seem to resist me!” No.Vii said, flinging the weapon onto his bed, knocking loose some of the old papers he had from his old master. One of which he had never taken look at. A second name, under the name of his master, had always haunted him, but now… it made his blood boil, enough to the point where he had to go find that man, and find out what he knew. As well, he needed a weapon that matched him more, not the sword that didn’t cause enough pain. Not enough blood was spilt. Tying a note explaining that he was going off to find an old acquaintance of his master, he left his sword in front of Gwens room, before slinking away in the middle of the night, simple dagger and some money he had borrowed from Jared, to find the man.

-3 days later-

No.Vii pulled sharp on the horses reigns enough to make it whinny in pain. Slapping the horse on the side, he ordered the thing to be silent, less it be ended. He had taken the horse from Sigard and rode it through the sun and the moon; making plenty of distance, enough that a sane rider would want to punch him for the strain he probably put on the horse. Tying it off, he entered a local tavern, drawing attention to him as he rested in a back corner of the bar, listening to the drunkards finally waking up from the rowdy night before. Pulling out the paper, he read over the names again, the cold morning breeze filtering in through the trees as others looked around. He rememberd this place some, the southern check point. This was the town he had wandered to after the month of wandering around on his own, which is where the two who had saved him had been, but no more. Heading over to the barkeep, he slammed the paper on the bar, making the balding man jump.

“Ya seem new here boy, ain’t it a bit tpo early to be drinkin?” The man said with a slight drawl on his voice, denoting the age and some probable damage in his life.

“This man here, know where I can find him?” No.Vii said, pointing to the circled name.

“Aye, I know that old croon, owes me a good tab as well. You a relative or sumthin? He doesn’t have that much money, or time, left.” The barkeep said, washin a glass with an old dirty rag.

“Where can I find him?”


-A quick hike later-

No.Vii stared up at the worn down manor sitting on the hill side, nature already trying to reclaim it. Bashing the door in off its hinges, servants scrambled in fear as two old brutish men appeared as if from nowhere, standing in front of No.Vii. A few minutes later found them on the ground, bleeding out of the wounds in their neck as No.Vii cleaned the dagger on one of their shirts.

“Eledeirk Crowshia, Where are you?!” No.Vii shouted into the house, strolling forward into the room. A door opened on the side as a portly old man stepped forward, clutching a pitch black scythe, which gave off a slight purple hue.

“I am the man you want.. what are you looking for?” The man asked, spittle and blood flying some as the old man took a stance. The scythe though was quickly knocked out his hand as a dagger entered the back of it, followed soon as No.Vii rammed into the old man, yanking the dagger out hard.

“You knew my old master somehow… HOW!” No.Vii shouted, keeping his arm pressed on the man’s shoulders, keeping him pinned but allowing him to breath. Eledeirk coughed some while clutching his other hand as recognition slowly registered on the man’s face, quickly followed by happiness and fear.

“Number 7, the one who had lived? My dear lord, he had done it, he made a human god. Oh sweet lords it wasn’t in vain.” The man crooned before being roughly shoved against the wall.

“I am not a god.. I am a demon, a being of war. WHY DO YOU KNOW HIM!” No.Vii shouted again, clutching the dagger again.

“My dear boy… that man was my brother. We had signed up for it together …. I was the one who brought the children, He was the brilliant man behind such work, and I was just the supplier.” The man tried to continue, but was roughly shoved against the floor, bringing up more blood as he pulled a small vial of clear green liquid, taking a sip to heal his hand as No.Vii retrieved the scythe from the ground.

“A brilliant man? HA! He was killed by his own damn creation. And what do you mean by brought him the children?” No.Vii asked, kneeling down and holding out the dagger to the man’s throat.

The dagger against Eledeirks through caused him to laugh, which brought another round of coughing from the man.

“Boy, did you think you were just grown in the back yard of his place? No, he had me bring any child who showed magic… but.. they all died. You however, not a damn drop, but it worked. Bet that bastard father of yours felt some annoyance… but alas… my love…” He sighed, before getting kicked in the side of the gut, drawing his breath up short.

“You… I have parents? Who were they… WHERE WAS I BORN!” No.Vii screamed at the man, the house empty but themselves.

“You … were born in the port town of Tamur… to a red headed woman.. the Love of my life. Oh how I coveted her, I wanted to take her as my own, but that bastard of a Merchant stole her heart before I could. That man had not even given her the time of the day, obsessed with only getting the next trade, the next deal. Nine months later, you were born to that woman. I loved her so, but every day I looked at you…. I just saw him, the way he used her for simple sexual desire…. She would croon his name, ‘oh Dr*” His voice was cut out by another round of coughing, irritating No.Vii, who responded by pressing the dagger enough to draw blood.

“You stole me, because you hated my father ….. are they still alive.” A cold hard edge had entered into his voice, matched with a hard stone glare.

“Unfortunatly.. I have no idea what happened to your mother after I left. I lost all contact with her, but knowing her and her people... she's probably long gone from this world. I wouldn't doubt that bastard of a father of yours was still alive. Not even the devil would take his soul, the man has none really. Either way… I gave you to my brother, figuring you would die like the others, hoping you would be another failure. I’ll never forget your name, a sheer insult to my love her for her. You’re a bastard through and throud, your own father tainting your blood, J-!” Eledeirk’s voice cut out as No.Vii rammed the blade into the man’s skull, fragments of skull mixing with brain mass as his eyes rolled back into his head. With a wet and slick yank, the dagger came out hard, tearing the hole open more, making brain and blood pool out.

“Bastard” No.Vii cleaned his blade against his shirt before sheathing it. Staring at the scythe, he smiled and looked down at the man.

“You can be happy of one thing though, your brother and you did achieve something great. You made me, a man designed to kill, and kill, and kill, until there is nothing left but a sea of blood. I’ll see you in hell you bastard, and I’ll torment you when I get there, for even the Devil will want me in his army when I have done his work up here.” No.Vii chuckled, staring at the black scythe, laughing like mad. He didn’t care how bad Jared would punish him for leaving with no warning, and for what he would do next, but it was worth it. Now… the only person who knew his past was him… and he could become something beyond a human, to destroy all in his path.

He walked away from the manor as a small wisp of smoke trailed up from an open window, the soft glowing flames inside the house engulfing the old man’s body as they grew with great enthusiasm, his shoulders hunched to the heat and a smile covering his face.~

~Sigard, current day~

No.Vii giggled in slight madness as the memory faded back into his mind.

“Even the devil will want me, for I shall bring him an army of souls”

[Kris]

Norgard

The wind whispered a melody (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ni8xvFP6boA&feature=related) of beautiful whistles as it was howling the evening chilling cries of the dark. Many would depart for the night, rushing to the warmth and safety of their homes were it not for the simple task of decoration and preparation.

The stones of the city had to be polished.

The gray buildings had to be filled with colors and flowers.

The meals had to be ready and the silver tools had to be presented to the eyes of all of those that shall wish to take part in this this future event.

Because, the time has finally come.

After two long months of hyped anticipation, the festivities heralding the wedding ceremony between the two noble druids, Ciara and Arjak, were about to begin.

The original maids and the court men within the queen’s castle were replaced with some of the elders from the land of “White Forest”, although some nobles, loyal to the cause of bringing together the people of Norgard, druids and townspeople alike, were able to remain within the castle walls. Two of them were the nobleman Brendon, who was planned to give away the bride, and Elder Guiveria, who was going to accompany the groom and marry off the couple.

The celebration was only a day away, yet it felt like time had slowed to a crawl for all in attendance. Within the castle Arjak and his brother were joined by a few of the elders, while the bride was joined by her new sisters in law and the mother queen of the druid lands, Morrigan.

Outside the castle walls the excitement was nearly palpable in the air, bringing fresh life to every townsperson. The moon hung high in the air, though the people treated it like broad daylight. The tables outside were already set with lovely maps and the food was already available for everyone to feast upon. The inns were free for the coming days too and everything seemed to be inviting.

Rumors of the newly wed couple and their deeds reached far and wide, and Norgard itself rejoiced in their celebration.

More and more people were drawn into the city, taken in by the music, the wine, the food and the welcoming mood.

(Done with the help of the amazing Keeper)

[Housemaster]

~Issac~
-Capital Sonata, Norgard-

"G...Getoffme!" a half-gurgled protest just managed to escape the throat of a darkly cloaked individual. He was having difficult talking due to the cold steel pressed against his throat. "Iz jus' a damn book! F..ff...f..."

"Give it back."

Pressing the knife was a figure much smaller then the darkly cloaked individual. Standing about the average size of a boy of 12, the smallish figure became possessed by a frightening menace - a fright in which he was displaying to the darkly cloaked man.

"Give it back..." Issac repeated. He managed to catch the thief off-guard, slipping the knife past his guard making it nip his grizzled and unshaven neck. The boy had a look sewn in his face, a calm rage that has appeared to taken him over as he pressed the knife closer to the thief's neck. "I know you took it."

"I duns have it! Som otha mucks s... stole it from me!"

Issac kept the knife pinched on the thief's throat as he reached in the many pockets of the man's cloak. Coins, baubles, other stolen goods... things Issac could care less for. Suddenly his fingers slide across the familiar texture of worn leather and the prickled spine of his item of interest. He pulled the book from the thief's pocket.

"Musta been somthin else!" he spat, nervous that Issac had found the book, "Ain't wantin no trouble 'ere boy, I swears bys! I swears bys!"

Issac's temper was quickly fading, as if the book in his hands performed a calming solvent. He relinquished the blade from the thief's neck who took the first opportunity to scamper away around the corner. The sudden breeze awoke Issac from his trance, he remembered where he was. A chilled Norgard breeze swept through the stone laden alleyway. A broken stair was what separated the alley from the main road, caught between a storehouse and an orphanage. The thirteen year old sighed while putting his knife back in its belt, his legs felt weak as he revisited the situation again in his mind. He had just threatened a man's life... for a book?

He opened the book, strolling back onto the main road he started back to the palace. The first few pages reminded him why he took the trouble to find it. The first page was taken by a title, handwritten and worn.


The Winds of Winter
-J.G Wiser-

It may be one of the most prized notebooks ever written. Issac did the stupid thing and showed it to the librarian at the palace, who loudly proclaimed it's worth in gold. Unfortunately others had overheard... which led to the altercation in the alleyway. The boy held the book close to his chest. It wasn't just the pages and stories inside that drew his protection, but the previous owner had trusted it to him.

He recounted old stories of the past on his long walk back to the palace. The streets and halls were buzzing with anticipation and preparation for the events to come. Music was spilling into the atmosphere, driving the entire city into a claymore of celebration. There was to be a grand marriage, a royal marriage... but to Issac it was simply two of his companions tying the knot. He was not sure how well the weathered King Arjak has taken the new title. Things were changing very quickly, and underneath the merry-making drew a thin undertone of skepticism you could hardly cut with a knife, but everyone knew it was there.

And within all this celebration, Issac stood alone... often lost between some unseen corner of the royal library. Sandor was missing, presumed dead from the far-whispers of the mountains. Talk of the Iron Giant on a stone bridge often tickled the lips of travellers, talk of the smell of burnt ash and bloody mayhem within the mountains. People say that a dragon has been born, sowing havoc and superstition amongst the people. Issac pondered these stories... yet had no sound explanation for any of it.

The old knight Savos, brave and wise, passed on while succumbing to injuries taken in the battle against the Nephilim. He passed quietly, pressing no complaint. Not many realized he was gone after he died, the old knight would have wanted no fuss over an aged lump like him. Only Issac accompanied him on his last days, keeping his secret until finally collapsing on the journey back to Sonata. His death only took an hour... as if he was already waiting for it to pass.

Issac felt alone, yet somehow he managed to paint a cheerful face onto his. A Royal Wedding was putting electricity in the air, and a sulking foreign boy would garner little sympathy from anyone who simply wanted to celebrate. Part of his smile felt genuine, since Issac pictured what Sandor's reaction would be if he found out his young squire successfully manhandled a town thief. A small pride swelled in the young boy which made him put a little march in his step.

[V]

Norgard, Capital Sonata, Within the castle

Someone walked past the room, their footsteps hurriedly moving through the castle. Inside, torches burnt lowly, it was a small sitting room joined to a bed chamber.

And here Caleb paced, preparations for the wedding happening in the rest of the castle, his thoughts trying to order themselves and failing.

A war at home; he desperately wished to return to Ascara. A civil war tearing apart his homeland, and he wished to be there for the Prince. For his son. But he couldn't, there was a task Caleb needed to do before he returned. Something other than defeat the assassin Cronus.

The Oracle of Earth, Gilliam Mulcair, was dead. Killed by Jask, reportedly taken into a knife. A small nagging shame clung to the edges of his mind - Caleb had been drawn so deeply into the his conflict with the demon Ariel he'd lost focus on Gilliam.

The Necromancer's knife lay on the wooden table, the warrior stared at the bone blade and then looked at the Merchant. Baxter, owner of the weapon with the necromancer gone. Caleb stopped pacing and took a seat at the table, "I need to speak to the Oracle."

He must have spoken those words a hundred times already to the merchant, he grated them out at him. Caleb needed to know why he had been brought to Norgard.

The room smelled strong of spirits. Baxter's pointed chin rested on the edge of the dagger-beaten table, his seat pushed back and his arms fell limp to his sides. The man named Caleb forced his way into the room yet again, and instead of jumping from surprise Baxter peered up with bereft eyes. After a moment he sighed through his nose and slowly rocked his head along the table.

Two months. Two bloody months spent in front of a dagger he wanted nothing to do with and cooped up in a little room and a stuffy castle trying to appease this bastard's need to bring a dead man back to the land of the living. Baxter was no mage, no wizard, no sorcerer, yet for some reason he was charged with trying to make the damn weapon work. Baxter spent his days surrounded by piles and piles of necromatic tomes he would skim vaguely, and one of which he'd actively stabbed with the thing. Truth be told, Baxter had only ever held the thing twice. Both times he held the thing it made him feel revolting, as if tiny bugs were crawling all over his hand and seeping in through the pores. Sometimes the aura of the grappling black smoke would fill his nose with the familiar stench and slither cold across his skin, though none were to be seen. Baxter had taken to the drink, and would have continued to drown himself if he had not been recently cut off. His last bottle now rested at his feet, just recently stolen from the kitchens.

Still slumped over and looking at Caleb, Baxter swung his right arm up from under the table. He flicked his hand towards the weapon before him and wiggled his fingers.

"Presto." He slapped his hand down on the table. "Sir Oracle, can you hear me?" Baxter projected towards the dagger. He then slid his hand back off the table, letting it fall off the edge. "Nope. Still not there. Let us try again tomorrow, shall we?"

Caleb growled in frustration, the merchant had given up. "Fine!"

He thrust himself up from the desk, collecting the various tomes and books and parchment from the table. "I'll be back early."

The Following Day; The Wedding Day; Sonata, Norgard

Three books awaited, the necromancer tomes opened each to an incantation. Vague similarities about the wording present in each - Baxter had tried these already and failed. Beside them lay an uncurled scroll written in Ascaran, written by Caleb's hand. Some from of bastard necromancy the warrior had cobbled together combining elements of each of the three incantations.

Beside that sat the bone knife, calmly resting beside a white cloth. The cloth was smeared with blood.

Behind the knife sat a goblet filled with red wine, and a cask beside it.

Caleb had taken his usual seat, he sat staring toward the wall, arms resting on the table - he had yet to sleep. One of his arms had been bandaged heavily, something new that had happened during the night.

With the creak of Baxter's door, he said, "you may have to goblet when you summon the Oracle. After which we'll attend this wedding." There was a tired sense of finality to his words; it was either this attempt or he would never know the reason he'd been brought to this cold land.

Just the other night Baxter had been feeling hopeful. Perhaps Caleb would learn to leave him be, to take the task into his own hands, because the task certainly did not belong to Baxter. Just because the necromancer Jask had handed the dagger to him did not mean he needed to stay twisted in these ridiculous affairs. After the horrors he'd seen, he was quite hoping they'd let him run off on his merry way.

But then Caleb came back to pester him. Baxter looked from the bloodied cloth to the goblet and then back to the cloth again.

"... Beg your pardon?" Baxter was not quite sure what Caleb was asking of him.

"I've written you a new spell to use Baxter," Caleb replied lifting the parchment from the table. "The first section requires blood, a sort of .... binding."

The warrior had a feeling this would send the merchant into a babbling mess, but it couldn't be helped.

"Just think of how you'd seen the Necromancer use it as you read."

Baxter blinked once, twice, three times, feeling his legs tremble in the ensuing silence. He pressed his fingers together, put on his very best smile and beamed at Caleb.

"My good man, I have a better idea. What sense does it make, to have me be the one to summon the Oracle? Why, it is you that is searching to speak to him, yes? I know, I know, I miss the dear chap too. Quite a lovely fellow, really, but I believe you know him far better than I. Perhaps he'd be more... responsive to an old friend such as yourself, yes?" His lips twitched from stretching the wide and bright false smile across his face, but he did not let it drop. "In fact, here. Here you go," he motioned towards the dagger upon the table. "You may have the dagger. No, no, please, don't thank me, but I know how much this all means to you, and honestly I'd say the thing suits you far better. Now if you will please excuse me, I believe there are some kind of festivities you and I are to attend?"

Baxter made his way towards the door.

"You've been around the knife longer then I, you've seen it been used," reasoned the warrior. He stared at the dagger. "He gave it to you.... but if you do this I'll take it off your hands."

"Once we've talked to the Oracle, we'll go Baxter," Caleb reminded him. He didn't rise from his seat, only muttered, "the door is locked until we do so."

"Pick it up."

Bugs beneath the skin, the cold stain of magic, blood bubbling within the confines of veins. Just a drop of blood, one little drop of blood. What harm would a little prick to the thumb do?

Quite a bit. Baxter wanted nothing to do with the evil contained within that dagger, the evil that made his skin crawl, made him feel like a lesser man. This silly ceremony would prove nothing. He wanted to throw his quivering hands down on the table, yell to Caleb that asking anything of him was a pointless task, but the look in his eyes made it quite clear that no tantrum would stop Caleb from making Baxter use the damn thing. Perhaps one little spot of blood was all Baxter needed to return to his travels. A small price to pay, really. If only life was always this easy.

"It won't do any good..." he mumbled, keeping his head down to avoid Caleb's glare. It took almost a full minute before he finally picked up the dagger, holding it lightly in his hand to stop the crawling on his flesh. He couldn't even remember how Jask had wielded the thing, nor how he had managed to summon the dead from its depths. "It's not going to work. And you- you have to promise to just take the damn thing! I want nothing to do with this. I mean, this is all I'll do for you."

"I promise Baxter," commented Caleb, happier now that despite his manipulations there would be another chance to summon Gilliam.

He poised the tip on the center of his thumb. He could hardly keep the blade steady, feeling it wobble dangerously in his grasp. One little cut, then he could give the dagger to Caleb and be left alone. Even if the Oracle did not arrive, he'd have to let him leave. Baxter gave just enough pressure to let the blade pierce the flesh, a tiny, tiny stab but one that made him wince in pain. He promptly let the dagger clatter on the table as he looked at the tiny bead of crimson welling up.

Ignoring the merchant's previous words, Caleb clutched his spell from the table, urgently holding it up for Baxter to read, "quickly now, read and will him to return," his voice was hurried, trying to wast no time.

He clutched at the bone dagger in his other hand, his fingers feeling the horrid weapon underneath. Caleb sent his own prayers for the oracle to appear.

Baxter's skin drained of its color as he slid the book closer towards himself. Skimming the words, he could hardly honor the proper pronunciation of a single word, and as he spoke them he stumbled magnificently. He thought of the Oracle, spoke his name, though he could not quite remember his face as well as he could remember the sound of his voice. He stared down at the dagger, wondering what would happen if he placed an open wound down onto the blade. Would its powers leak into the wound to infect his blood? Would Gilliam finally heed their call?

Before he even had the chance to place his thumb down, a dark smoke emitted from the metal. Startled, Baxter yelped and threw the dagger away from him to clatter on the table, but still the smoke continued. He stood from his chair and backed away.

The warrior gave the merchant an amazed glance, finally able to break past Baxter's nerves and unwillingness. He took the knife away, holding it to his side. Caleb's own thoughts turned to the oracle, and the few moments they had spoken.

Caleb took the spell and goblet from him, placed them on the table - and placed an arm around his shoulder.

It was then that the chamber itself lost any sign of light, just like that. The sensation they felt was more than enough to gave them goosebumps or just make them slightly shiver, but before them his body was presented, excatly like how he was in his life, Gilliam, the oracle, was standing before them as he gazed around himself, "Heavens", he uttered, still confused, his eyes clearly showing terror, "Where is this?... How was I removed from the blade?"

Caleb shook; supported himself against the merchants body. "You've done it Baxter," he muttered. Ignoring the dark world, Caleb stared in awe at the oracle returned to life and was worried by his confusion.

"Oracle, we're in Castle Sonata," he explained, "Baxter here, has helped me to draw you from the blade. We've been working on this for 2 months now."

He let go of the merchant, trusting his feet to take a step toward the oracle. Weakly he held his hand out to Gilliam, "I've needed to know, desperately wanted to ask.... why... why bring me to Norgard?"

"Two months...", the Oracle bubbled some more before he noticed the pleading eyes of the Ascarian, "You... oh that... I will be honest here and admit to you... Your summoning was not... planned... and before you ask me anything else, I'll admit that I have not much of an idea how it happened... I only know... I wasn't fully in control of your particular summoning... You see, you appeared long after I pulled the souls of those I sensed around me... I remember I was cut off by the ominous power of the lady fiend "Rose" half way... some of my awareness could have still lingered to pull you too... and yet I don't know what could have guided my powers to call you there..."

Caleb rocked back away from the oracle into Baxter. The assurance and reason he'd expected to find wasn't in the oracle's words. Having tried for so long only to learn he was not meant to be there, that he hadn't been called. But, still he could not leave for Ascara yet, he wanted to search out the reason he'd been pulled to Norgard. And who had brought him here with the Oracle's power.

"I understand," he said coldly.

"Gilliam, Baxter saw you die. Yet... " He trailed away finding the words, "you're here. I do not understand Necromancy... but is that not summoning the mindless dead..."

"You stand before us like you have always been."

“Why yes, because... I am... not actually dead....”, the spirit lingered on the last words as if he was unsure himself, but the fact he was standing before them was more than enough to be used as evidence to what he just claimed.

“I,” Caleb muttered, turning head slightly to Baxter, “that doesn’t make sense, the Necromancer took away your body, it was lifeless.” He had not been there himself but from what Baxter had told him, repeatedly, Gilliam had died.

“Sure... I had to ‘die’ in order to carry out fate’s greatest next plan... however, Jask, the kind man that he is, like I always believed him to be, allowed me to watch you still. Sure, some would disagree with this method, but it was the only way for me to stick around and be stay by your side. I knew I had to die soon. It was the only way for the Oracle of Fire to awaken, as was written in the scrolls of fate, since it was the curse placed upon the four divine souls that dared to challenge Emonalach, but... If I am like this... Jask could keep me around alive.... hmm... more or less... and still fulfill the job given to him by whatever fiend that is hiring him. I still believe in him, nothing that you say will change it. He could have just killed me back then, but he didn’t. Also, now might be a good time to mention that there are others that dwells there with me. Nice fellows, but they seem a bit agitated of their condition.... not that I could blame them... I mean... who would want to be stuck within a knife as a forsaken soul forever... Or until they could escape that is”.

Caleb stared in disbelief as the oracle prattled away about plans and fate, souls and Jask. His hand was running through his hair, pulling it away lightly, his face full of worried lines. “How can you believe him - he killed you. And by what.... some unknown fiend’s orders! How does that make this right, how can you trust him - call him nice!” He growled out the last word. “I don’t understand the talk of scrolls and fate, mine I apparently don’t need to know.”

“Jask put those forsaken souls into the dagger, of course they are agitated! They had to die to get into there.... how many souls are in there?” Caleb asked suddenly. “Can you all escape?”

“Well... I fear that it may not be possible to all of them. You see, from what I figured so far, since I still have my original powers with me to aid me and learn more of this, well, ‘current’ situation, I learned that in order to be ‘revived’ the original body must be intact, or... have a substitute... which is a strong body, that is capable to respond to the soul’s call. As you know, our souls continue to live on regardless of death, and they answer the plea of newborn babies, animals or plants to be reborn within them when their times come. If such body is possible to find... or is close to death, which is the situation in which the original soul is leaving the body, and a new soul is able to enter instead... then.... it will be possible. I fear some of Jask souls might try to regain their ‘life’ like this... which is why I will ask you now to NEVER use this dagger if you are close to death, no matter how dire the situation is. If your soul is weak, another just might try to snatch off your body and kill you, or trap your own soul instead, if the worst came to pass”, Gilliam sighed, “I have no idea what came to pass with the others, but regardless... You two are alive and well, as well as your other companions. I trust in Jask to keep his words to me, and I trust Jask to aid you... well... in his own way... during this journey...”.

Caleb looked away shaking his head at these words; if they tried to save these souls... many would require a new body. The warrior understood their desires to return to life but if they had to sacrifice another for resurrection then he would have no part in that. Even if it meant leaving the oracle inside forever. “I do not intend to use to dagger, merely keep it safe.”

Light seemed to return to the room then and the spirit of the Oracle seemed to be fading slowly, “Alas, my children, I fear none of you are as powerful as Jask is... Which is why I cannot maintain my visage for long... Please... Take care of yourselves... you are ALL important for this. Find whatever clue you can... and save our world. I may appear to you again should you call me in the future, however do know that my time with you might be limited with each summoning and I may even stop appearing before you. So be wise when calling on to me, or any of the other spirits”.

Caleb nodded gravely, there were many problems with the world. Apparently, the aging warrior needed to help it. “We shall be sparse in calling your spirit, Gilliam.”

Once the oracle had left their presence Caleb stood until the light returned completely to normal, he turned to Baxter shaking his head, “that man is quite delusional isn’t he?”

Baxter turned a baffled eye to Caleb. The sight of the returned Oracle was too good to be true, too simple, but frightening all the same. "Awful calm, aren't you?" he managed to say. "See a dead man appear right in front of you and you call him delusional!" Baxter waved his hand out towards where Gilliam had faced them, his voice cracking slightly in his fear.

Caleb brushed aside the wavering nerve-riddled voice, saying, "calm on the outside only, I am worried by his words. I will have to think on them." He clapped the stuttering merchant on the arm, "cheer up Baxter, he didn't just appear in front of me - you're crazy too."

"Indeed," Baxter said with a nervous chuckle. "Hell, I've been going crazy since the beginning of it all! Still waiting to wake up, in fact, still waiting for that big reveal that says 'surprise, you can all go home now'--"

Baxter had walked to the door while speaking, placed his hand on the doorknob, and opened it. He stared out the open frame for a pause. "Thought it was locked... you said it was locked."

Caleb looked at the open door, then at Baxter's face and smiled, "don't we have a wedding to attend?"

"But you said the door--" Baxter stopped and sighed loudly, looking down at the floor. "Probably lied about the whole damn ritual, for all I know. Is this a habit of yours?"

"I've been to a few weddings in my time, but not frequently," Caleb replied, he lifted from the table a goblet and indicated toward the wine. "Shall we join the celebrations then?"

Baxter continued to grumble to himself as he followed Caleb out the door. "Bet your name's not even Caleb. Gerald, perhaps. I knew a Gerald once. Lied about everything. You look an awful lot like him, you know. Never trust a man named Gerald, that's what I always say...."

[The Imposter]

Norgard, Capital Sonata, The Wedding Day

Claudia for weeks had been working during the festivities, unable to really partake in them. Securing intelligence here, preventing a witness from exposing her employer there, and so forth. She sighed heavily as she followed the younger noble. Truthfully the whole experience hadn't been that awful or petty and they had carried on much conversation. Trust had been quite clearly built and he shared much with her after all it was his money that kept her around. She stopped in her thoughts and steps as she looked to what Harken was holding. It was a dress, simple and nothing that would draw much attention but a dress still the same. The woman shifted awkwardly in her armor and stayed silent.

'Well? You can't expect to accompany me to the wedding in that!?! Although I doubt I'll be much of a target for anything there but I must attend and pretend to show my excitement for the great acclamation of the day. This all being said you shall attend with me and not bring attention to yourself waltzing around in that armor. If anything it will give my competitors a sense that you have already finished your job if they are going to try something....also I think this brings out your eyes.'

He stiffly held out the dress and pushed it towards the armor clad woman. Gently taking it from him she proceeded to the room she had been staying in. She hadn't been in a dress in a long time. As she got ready Harken talked from the other side of the door.

'I know I'm no warrior, or protector...but I have other qualities and am just as ambitious. I'm loyal to my cause, unwavering, and there are other types of power than just the physical.. I, I guess that since we have been together for these last weeks I...well I am quite fond of you...and...and.'

'Shut up, you don't have enough money to keep talking the way you are.'

'Right of course...so why is it that your guild keeps their name secret and you always just refer to it as the guild.'

'....they aren't searching for fame and the best often try to stay secret.'

'Oh, but you are quite well known. Your armor is at least.'

'Yes. So logically you would assume I'm not the best in the guild.'

'...uh,uh...heh very well. Are you ready?'

The dress fit surprisingly well on Claudia but her arms and face still showed the signs of battles fought with scars, the most noticeable was one across her face. She grabbed a small satchel filled with papers and other such things and opened the door. Her brown eyes looking upon the young nobleman.

'No weapons, just as you said. Shall we be on our way?'

The nobleman was stunned, even though she was older and had seen a great many blades she was still quite beautiful. He tapped his lips and cautiously answered.

'I don't suppose you would do something with your hair...you know by chance. I mean you are going with Harken Fiddlefrost, one of the most important nobles in all of Sonata.'

'...fine.'

After another spell she emerged again her hair done up quite nicely and neatly. Skills she had used in her younger years as a mercenary. The two left the estate and proceeded to the wedding ceremony. As they traveled Claudia quickly adjusted to her role and drew closer and even her personality shifted. By the time they entered the castle she was the lady who had fallen hopelessly for the powerful young noble. Little did he and everyone else know what she was really there for.

[Mysteria]

Norgard, Capital Sonata, Preparing for the Wedding




The day had passed quickly enough and Ciara was left to be alone with her thoughts in the overly large room that would be where she slept this night, devoid of Arjak’s presence. Silly customs after all but they were the customs of the kingdom and to see her beloved again before the wedding would to break with the customs of the land. Even having grown up most of her life in Chanclera, her mother had taught her the customs of Norgard and its royalty.


The raven haired beauty paced back and forth. Helena had told her not to worry but what if she were wrong? What if she was not woman enough for Arjak? What if at this very moment his chamber was being visited by a concubine? Ciara shivered. It was not like her, or any druidess to hold so much self doubt but the high thane, soon to be king had captured her heart in a way that no other man ever could. He now held it within the sanctity of his hands and she had to trust that what she sensed about him was to be held as truth. He loved her. He loved her….he loved her…..

Ciara repeated the words as she slid under the warm pelts that had been supplied to her. They would not provide the same warmth that Arjak’s muscular body would have provided her with, but they were more than sufficient in keeping the cold Norgard air from getting through and chilling her. She lay awake in the darkness for some time reflecting upon the journey that had brought her to this place and space in time.

She’d made so many new friends and allies along the way. The paladin who had visited just this day as promised. The Lady Avari who’s presence was missed greatly. Off somewhere undoubtedly now with her new found love, Raphael Sinclair. Ciara smiled as she remembered her first encounter with the swordsman, the way his hand had taken hers into his own with certain gentleness. The lady Avari would do well to keep the man’s affections, and obviously it shouldn’t be such a hard task as the pirate was undoubtedly smitten by the flaxen haired beauty. As well, Wren would do well to keep herself unto him also. Perhaps someday another wedding would be had in Norgard or elsewhere for the charming couple but for now, Ciara needed to find rest for her own wedding day.

As she lay awake in the bed unable to sleep in the land of disrest, her now sharpened senses listening to the wolves outside. She wondered if at this moment Arjak and Epinala would sense it too. The thought of Arjak’s brother slipping into her mind caused her to smile briefly. She’d become so close to him now and was so glad that he would be the one to walk her down the aisle. He’d confided in her, she’d kept his secret at the risk of Arjak’s wrath. Now he had become like the brother that she’d never had. Her mind would reach out to him in hopes that he could hear her thoughts in the most primal of ways, at one with the nature surrounding the castle “Epinala I know not if you can hear me, but thank you my dear friend, for your gift of friendship and for being with me tomorrow” she would whisper as she lay in the candle lit room.

"You're welcome, my dear. Never thought I would seem someone who could quell Arjak’s head” Epinala replied to her, ears swiveling in the wind. He was sitting on the roof of the castle, too eager to sleep much. Having listened to her speak, he smiled to himself before padding down towards the spot above her room. Hopping down, he slipped inside, the pads on his feet muffling his approach some and sat down on the floor, tail waving in the air.

“Sorry, I wasn’t eaves dropping. It’s just a lovely night and the moon is huge. Cloudless with a full moon in the sky, it’s a great sign for a wedding.” Epinala said, staring out the window. Listening to the howls, his ears twisted in the air with each howl.

“They sing for the upcoming events, but … they also sing of trouble. Not all lands are in peace right now … and neither are you, from what I can feel.” Epinala said, finally glancing over at Ciara. He headed over to her, smiling wide and he lay on the ground.

“You seem quite nervous about tomorrow. Anything you want to talk about?” Epinala asked, tilting his head to the side, making his left ear droop a bit in a comical fashion.

Ciara's powers had grown considerably since coming to Norgard. She now had little trouble talking to the wolf brethren, and especially to Epinala whom seemed to be able to read her thoughts when she needed him the most. He'd heard her as clearly as if he'd been in the room with her all along and then as though by some unknown magic he appeared to her in her room then in his wolf form. Ciara envied his ability to shift, something she'd yet to master. If the truth be told there were many things she had yet to master, her emotions included.

His wolfish smile did little to comfort her although his words would take her off guard. He'd learned to read her so well, almost as well as her betrothed had. She surmised it must be a family inherited trait. She had needed to guard her thoughts carefully, having at least learned to only allow those thoughts to transfer to the intended recipient. It had been Epinala's help throughout their journey that had taught her some of the more subtle ways of the druid where as Arjak had taught her how to unleash the power that had lied dormant within her during her time away from Norgard.

Ciara shifted restlessly on the bed and rose to again pace lightly, her long night wrap billowing about her feet as she did so.

"It is a beautiful night, the world seems at peace and yet there is so much disrest Epinala. I know you sense this too." She avoided his question but his gaze would find her unable to not give him the answer that he sought. Even his drooping ear in an effort to make her smile did little to bring a smile to grace her dark features.

Still she paced, nervousness settling in her stomach. How could she tell Arjak's brother of her fears? Surely he would think her daft but her fears were not totally without warrant. Arjak was a man, a virile and strong man. He had shared his bed with many women and for all she knew he was doing just that at this very moment, a last minute hurrah's of sorts perhaps. Ciara's mind raced although she did not speak, her thoughts going unguarded as she paced, her hand occasionally coming to rest upon Epinala's broad head to scratch his ears.

Epinala smiled as Ciara had begun to scratch behind his ears, a long since forgotten happiness that had brought him about. He looked up at her, a soft smile gracing his wolfish face. The girl was troubled, that much was obvious, and it was well warranted. He hopped off the bed and headed towards the window. Resting on the window sill, his right hind leg dangling onto the carpeted room, he stared at her, his brown eye affixed to her dark green eyes.


“Let me tell you a story, one of which I remember hearing as a small child when I was brought into the white forest for the first time. It’s called “The boy and the bear…”

“A small boy was playing out in the woods one day with his favorite red ball, which he cherished beyond your wildest imagination. Now, the woods he was playing in were a very scary woods, and he had been warned by his mother and the villagers to not tread there, for a nasty and large bear lived in there, who would gobble up even the mightiest of men, and the bravest of druids.”

“But the boy said ‘I’ll be fine, as long as I show that I am not afraid’. So he played, despite his parents warning and his mother’s worry. Suddenly, a large gust of wind blew past, carrying away the red ball.” Epinala said just as a gust of wind blew into the room. Smirking, he continued.

“Now, the boy, not wanting to lose his ball, raced after it, deeper, and deeper, and deeper still into the woods, where just the scarcest of light made its way through the trees. He found his ball, resting in the paws of a giant black grizzly bear. With terrible gnashing jaws, and long pointed claws, it roared at the boy.”

“The boy though, did the oddest thing, not to run away, but to walk towards the bear.

‘Mister bear, may I please have the ball back’ Epinala said, doing his best to sound like a small little boy.

“Now, the bear was puzzled, and stared at the boy”

‘Little boy, do you not know who I am, and what I do. Why do you not run and flee?’ Epinala puzzled, speaking in his best bear voice.

‘I know of you, and I know what you do, but not everything they say can be true. A bit of faith is needed, is it not?’ Little boy

‘You… are not afraid?’

‘Nope, I am sorry to ask, but … may I have my ball back, please?’

‘Sure little boy and thank you, for not being afraid. Will you be my friend, and visit me again?’

‘Sure! Maybe we can play catch as well’ The little boy finished, happily taking his ball back and running back towards home, to tell his mom of the kindly bear he had met.” Epinala finished; a longing look in his eyes.

“Don’t always believe what stories you have heard, and have a little faith. That was the moral of this story.” Epinala said, smiling sweetly at Ciara.

The soon to be married druidess smiled. Epinala hadn't came right out and said he had heard her thoughts, but he'd heard much more than her thoughts. He'd heard her heart. Ciara smiled, getting up and placing a soft kiss upon his forehead.

"Thank you my dear friend" she said before turning to stare out over the moonlit lands. Although unrest remained within the realm, she felt some small measure of peace now. "We should get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day, and again Epinala, thank you for being here and for doing me such an honor."

Ciara went back to the bed and crawled under the furs once more. Her eyes shut and she thanked the Allfather for the blessings of Arjak, her new found family and friends and before she even knew if Epinala was still in the room with her or not she'd whispered through the darkness as she blew out the candle "Good night my friend." Feeling much more at peace, the olive eyed beauty fell into a deep slumber, no longer was her mind burdened and troubled. Epinala's story had worked its magic upon her.

“Sleep well, and may the Allfather watch over this day” Epinala silently whispered back as the candle light went out. Curling up on the floor just under the moon light, he rested his head upon his paws, feeling the chilled breeze rolling in through the window. He fell asleep shortly after, a smile affixed to his face as he slept…

-Next Morning-

“Good morning Bride to be” A woman’s voice echoed happily into the room as Morrigan knocked on the door to Ciara’s room. Opening the doors wide to be greeted by a morning chills, she blinked, noting Epinala asleep on the floor near the open window, which was allowing in. Anger bussling into her face, she grabbed a throw pillow off the chair and tossed it at Epinala.

“Out! Out now! The bride needs to get ready, and no man, other than her father, should see her before the wedding!” Morrigan shouted, chasing Epinala out of the room through the open window, before she shut it with a huff.

“Strange nights before a big day a bride does not make” Morrigan said, eagerly, before pulling the furs off Ciara in an attempt to wake her .. nicely.

A sudden flurry of noise along with things crashing against the wall had stirred Ciara from her sleep although she was quite certain she thought herself to be dreaming. That was right up until she felt the cold Norgard air blowing across her skin and heard the voice of Arjak's mother.

Ciara rubbed her eyes and immediately Morrigan chastised her "No no no the bride cannot have red eyes. Quick child, you must bathe and get ready time is of the essence."

One thing that Ciara had learned in her short time there was that when Morrigan spoke, one listened and did as commanded, her sons included. She gazed at the window where the candle holder had been smashed against the wall. Had Epinala spent all night watching over her? Again Ciara could hear herself whispering thank you to the wolf who had quickly become like a brother to her. Now he would literally become family as would all of Arjak’s family.

The morning passed by in a flurry of commotion, first the bath, then the sisters would come to do her hair and Morrigan would come to help her into the dress. Finally the moment had arrived and Morrigan took her future daughter in laws hands into her own. "Ciara, my son loves you dearly. When you walk down that aisle on Epinala's arm, he will be beaming at you. Remember child, he does not give of himself easily. You have captured his heart."

Ciara smiled softly and hugged the woman who would soon be her mother in law but as she did so a sense of sadness swept over her. Her own parents would not be there to see the blessed event. Morrigan surely read Ciara's mind and Ciara was certain the entire family must have been telepathic for it was now Morrigan who consoled her "They are here in spirit child. And your father would be proud that one you hold as dearly as you do my son Epinala would be the one to walk you down the aisle." Morrigan kissed her cheek then "Thank you, for returning my sons to me my dearest Ciara."

The moment of bonding between the women passed quickly as a knock was heard on the door and from the other side the voices of Ajrak’s sisters could be heard in unison "Mother, it is time." Morrigan looked at Ciara, fixing her long hair back over the hood of her cloak. "It is time she said."

Moments later, Ciara would find herself waiting to walk down the aisle on Epinala's arm for all of her new found friends and family to see, her stomach doing flip flops as each moment seemed to drag until Epinala would show up.

Epinala had barely made it out of the room with his fur intact, personally having forgotten of his mother’s temper. Managing a smirk to himself, he headed off to his own events, making sure to eat something before the event. Brushing some roots out of his hair, only to have his messenger bird alight on his shoulder, a note attached to his leg. Pulling the note off; sending Raiden off with a scrape of his meal, hurried to his room, an excited look upon his face. Entering his room, he was greeted by a wooden chest, deep brown in color and seeming new, yet still old.

“Ah, it arrived just in time” Epinala said, heading over to the chest.

Epinala opened the wooden chest that had just arrived from his home, a tribute to his old mentor. Pulling out the silk and cotton outfit, he let it lay flat against his bed. The light inside his room gave just enough light to show the outfit for any to see.

Decorated with what appeared to be leaves from various types and colors of leaves, green along the middle with a red trim along the bottom that appeared as fire, and a slightly faded brown. The leaves were detailed with high skill, done by instruction of his book. The inside was a simple cotton inside, to protect against the cold with two large pockets, to house any book, he might carry. The cloak buttoned only to his waist, so that it fluttered some in the breeze when he walked. A pair of simple brown cotton pants and a white shirt came along with it.

“Ah, here it is” Wrapped inside a small terry cloth was a simple broach of an oak tree. Gold outlet with a glass green inside. It was a token of his mentor, who had given it to him, under the wording that he was just like an oak “Stubborn, never yielding, but wise beyond your years”. The thought made him sigh some before he set it on the side of the robe. He quickly, dressed, adjusting the leather band across his forehead and affixing his hair, making sure the brooch was in place and the cloak buttoned up just right. He headed off, soon standing outside the room where Ciara was standing.

“Are you re…” Epinala paused as he entered the room, looking her over in her outfit.

“I guess I don’t need to ask. You look amazing, my sister” Epinala said, hugging her carefully to not disturb her clothing at all while still sending her his own thoughts. Standing to her left side, he offered her arm to his, a huge smile upon his face.

“Shall we go meet what is undoubtedly the luckiest man in the world right now?” He said with a chuckle.

When Epinala stepped into the room and began to speak his words faded and a smile graced his handsome features. In his human form he was every bit as handsome as his brother. Their father must have surely been a handsome man also. His words need not be finished as Ciara could hear his thoughts and a smile graced her own fair features. She was happy that Epinala approved of the dress and her only concern was that Arjak would also approve. And that Epinala thought of her to be a sister now touched her deeply.

Her breath drew sharp. Luckiest man in the world...go now in front of the others. Ciara took Epinala's arm, her nails likely digging in with each step that would lead her to her wedding day and to the man whom she would spend the rest of her life with.

As ready as I'll ever be. She hadn't needed to say the words; she knew Epinala would read her thoughts and know her heart.

"Thank you my brother." She whispered the words as she forced one foot to move in front of the other.

{The amazing Koti~ and a Mysteria thing}

[StormWolf]

Norgard - Sonata: The Night Before the Wedding

After Epinala departed for his own business, Arjak was left with his thoughts and half a bottle of wine for the rest of the night. The High King’s thoughts started on what was hanging on the horizon, the day that would change his life forever and mark the beginning of the al’Andunn royal line. It was a very alien concept, even now. He never imagined that he would be a king, marrying a bronze-skinned angel of a woman, and ultimately become a father some time down the road of his life. He only hoped that he and Ciara could live long enough, with all the danger and darkness that haunted the world, to see such a dynasty come to pass.

Taking a seat in his study, Arjak pulled off his crown and placed it on a peg mounted on the wall. The groove in his brow was deep and reddened. There was no padding on the crown, just as Arjak demanded. A King was not to be comfortable and complacent in his position. The King’s crown is a shackle that bonds him in servitude to all of his people, and all of his people are bound to him in kind. Arjak needed to be strong for his people, and his strength would inspire them. All of the world would need to be strong in the times ahead, a great darkness loomed over the horizon and Arjak knew it all too well, having felt its cold fingers sink in to his soul more than once.

From there, Arjak’s thoughts wandered from the brightness of the wedding on the morrow to darkness of the future, and he felt his heart grow heavy with great melancholy. Rubbing his eyes with a scarred and calloused hand, Arjak sat at his writing desk and poured over the older tomes of Norgard’s history, looking for anything that could indefinitely destroy such darkness. He was no scholar or cryptologist, but he was King, the guardian of Norgard herself, and he refused to be alone in the dark without so much as a candle. The moon had climbed far passed its apex in star-strewn mantle of night when Arjak’s eyelids grew leaden. Throwing the dusty tome shut, Arjak rose and approached his bed, removing his clothing with lethargic and liqueur-numbed fingertips.

Standing at the foot of his bed, bare from head to toe, Arjak stared at the great mattress designed to fit three people comfortably, or one man of Arjak’s stock, and Ciara. The candles cast their flickering lights across Arjak’s bare body, highlighting the swelling ridges of his musculature as he stared at where Ciara had slept with him before. He could still smell her on the sheets and the pillow, and their separation this night was tugging at him in the most terrible ways. Climbing in to bed, Arjak laid his head down upon Ciara’s pillow, letting her scent fill his nostrils while the silk sheets caressed his skin. With that, Arjak’s golden eyes fluttered closed as he drifted in to a deep sleep, Ciara on his mind once more.

Norgard - Sonata: The Wedding Day

The wind-swept melodies of bards ushering the day’s festivities and roused their King from his slumber. Climbing out of bed, Arjak craned his neck from side to side, resulting in a series of audible pops as he rolled his broad, cannonball-like shoulders. The sun was cresting over the mountains, pouring their warm light on the cold dawn. Arjak walked towards his balcony, bare feet patting against the stone. Holding his arms wide, parallel with the floor, Arjak stood at the door of his great balcony and let the warm light of the sun pour over his bare skin, warming him from head to toe. The cold air still nipped at his skin, but he was born in the dead of winter, and the cold no longer effected him the way it would most. Sighing, Arjak started to get ready for the day. Filling his porcelain wash basin, Arjak scooped up the chilled water and lathered himself with it, washing away the sweat and grime of the past day and night. Wetting his hair and scrubbing his beard, Arjak let the water flow with the contours of his form and drip on to the floor before scrubbing himself dry. He had just pulled on a fresh loincloth when there was a banging at the door. The Elder Guiveria and likely a handful of handmaidens to help their King prepare for his big day. Opening the door, Arjak let them all in. There was no awkwardness between Elder Guiveria and Arjak with the King’s current level of undress. The Elder had been the one who pulled Arjak from his mother, after all. The handmaidens were a different story. All of them in their white livery, a stark contrast to the burgundy of their faces. The High King paid them no mind as they handed him his clothes for the day.

They were fine leathers and fabrics, embroidered with the knot-like designs Druids were so known for. Arjak’s slacks were of a fine leather, plain and brown with black embroidery along the outer seams and his boots were knee-high with steel plating the toes and heel, etched with the same knot-work. A graphite colored silk shirt was pulled over Arjak’s head, then a royal red tunic, lined with the black-spotted-white fur of a snow leopard. The tunic was embroidered with the same design with thread-of-gold around the hems and collar. With cautious hands, the handmaidens wrapped a sash of white silk around Arjak, over his left shoulder and tied around his waist, held in place by a thick leather girdle belt with a steel disk, etched with Arjak’s Clan sigil. The white sash was an old Druid tradition for the men, and Arjak insisted on partaking in tradition. With steel bracers strapped on to his forearms, his ice bear cloak draped over his broad shoulders. Taking a seat, a few of the handmaidens took to braiding his long, black hair at the temples, tying small white mountain flowers in to the braids. The two braids were met at the back of his head and became one, a silk bow tied at the and of the long braid that reached the base of his neck. With his braid in place, Arjak donned the Iron Crown at last.

“You truely look like a King of Norgard, Arjak.” the Elder spoke, his sagely voice holding a sense of pride, “If only your father was here to see you now...” Hearing those words, Arjak smiled, taking the scabbard of Vanksmunr and looking the at the brass-colored wolf skull on the cross-guard, remembering the cave.

“Worry not, Elder Guiveria” Arjak said smoothly with a deep tone, strapping the bastard sword to his right hip. Arjak was not expecting any trouble at the wedding, but Vanksmunr had become as much a symbol of his kingship as the Iron Crown had. “He stands in Edinsheim now, watching over all of us.” Arjak said with what sounded like iron-clad certainty. The Elder smiled and nodded to Arjak before snapping his fingers and herding the gawking handmaidens out of the room. Arjak chuckled at Guiveria’s cruelty. The Elder was a smart man, and knew how the serf girls present wanted to tear off Arjak’s clothes, so he tasked them with dressing him for his wedding. A clever and cruel man, indeed.

“Come, we have festivities to partake in... well.. I do. You have to stand there and look pretty for your wife to be, go through the grating religious ceremonies, then you can drink and take your queen to bed.” The Elder laughed gruffly as Arjak shuffled uncomfortably, glaring at the Elder for speaking of Ciara is such a crude manner. The Elder smiled and bowed humbly before his King. “My apologies, your Grace. I still see the boy I taught before me, forgetting that you are indeed a man worthy of the highest respect. Now come. You must not be late for your own wedding day.” Nodding, Arjak took a deep breath and followed the Elder out the door.

********************

In the grand royal gardens of the castle, amongst the great bushes and trees of exotic flowers and ferns and the carved marble statues of heroes of old, a dais was raised above the stone courtyard. On that raised dais, Arjak stood with his hands clasped in front of him, his golden eyes watching the isle with great anticipation. The garden was completely filled with people, druids and civilized folk alike, all united here in brotherhood. When the music started, Arjak’s heart fluttered as the bells started to ring. He saw her, lead by his brother down the isle. Ciara. She looked like a goddess amongst mere mortals, walking with a regal grace that was more than fitting for a queen. While Arjak’s golden eyes remained mostly unchanged, they had never been warmer. A smile broke across Arjak’s face as he watched Ciara approach step by step. She appeared to be as nervous as he was, if not more so.

When she reached the dais and stood beside him, Arjak reached out and took her hand in his, letting the priest wrap their hands in a bolt of white silk, bonding them together. Looking Ciara in her beautiful emerald eyes, he gave her hand a tight squeeze as the ceremony began.

[SQJ]

The evening before.

"This is insane. We have been waiting for hours. There could have been some level of something. This is our father you are playing with you disrespectful sack of wine. You disgusting-"

"Nkuli, silence." her father snapped.

Nonkululeko immediately fell silent, her high risen form collapsing enough to allow her brother to pull her back and into the arms of the rest of the group. "I apologise for my sister. She's not generally this easily riled up. We beg you, do not hold her actions against the rest of us. We've written letters requesting an audience. I know you've received them. As I have sent many, personally. My brothers sent them too in an attempt to get your attention. We only request an audience with the king. Or any one in charge of territorial disputes."

"Xolani." His father growled and Xolani too fell silent.

"I sincerely apologise father." He said turning his eyes to his father before turning his eyes back to the well dressed man, looking down on them. The old man bowed his head low, civility demanded that the man bowed lower than him as a sign of respect but no bow came and instead the man simply walked away.

The total sum of men and women who left the camp sight was nine, including Nkuli, Xolani and the old man. When the man simply walked away, all eyes outside of the eyes of the father widened in shock.

"Let us go." the old man growled and turned away from the castle doors themselves. Nkuli screamed at the doors as loudly as possible before slamming her boot against the castle doors. A sharp whistle forced her to turn and run from the castle doors themselves.

-

It took an hour for the carriage to come screaming out of the castle themselves before being unloaded on to the eager arms of working boys. It was hard to stay furious seeing armies of young children eager to help. It was entertaining how wondrously uncomplicated the life on a young boy was in any world. They always outnumbered the number of girls out in the streets or out by the river or out by in the sun.

What boy oriented chores were there really? Go out hunting with the rest of the men. What chore was that? What boy or girl would not want the sun on their back and the wind in their faces while exploring? What child would say no to exploring? Push away from having to beat the carpet of sand every single day, sweep and wash. Never cut the meat, simply weave the faeces out of the intestines, clean the stomach of bits of grass laying inside, assuming the killed beast is a grass eater otherwise there was the likely chance of pulling out have eaten squirrels out of the stomach.

All in the hopes she might, MIGHT. Get to cut the meat right off the bone instead of handling damn precut meat.

Watching the boys clamour up for tasks to be given in the name of compensation outside of the city limits, she found herself realising quickly that that example was oddly specific.

Hundreds of horses came in droves, there was a need for work at all times but not the plain work that mostly women would be doing. Polishing stone, sweeping, using up the waters of the land that were needed to clean, something about it seemed illogical, seemed like a waste of water but still woman's work. Something she wanted nothing to do with, which most likely best explained why she rushed off the the rear of the city where most of the boys would be.

All the people with the city limits produced sewage along with the sewage of the horse, oxen and other creatures. Goods that could not simply be thrown away. She watched, seething in silence as the children, mostly in their teen years, brought carts full of the piles of 'fertiliser' Which were carried away by larger carts ridden by older men, undoubtedly to be taken in by farmers in need of revitalising their fields only to bring them back in the form of fruit, wheat, cheeses, meats. The machine of industry, the inner workings of the not only the cities but of everything. She'd stood in the heart of desert lands with sand on the horizon on both sides, stretching endlessly and yet staring at dozens of five to fifteen year olds shuffling shit around made her feel smaller than she'd ever felt before.

Something small in something big. A profound and yet poignant moment.

One marred by the intense fury that bubbled within her. The image of her father being shrugged off broke away against the light of day only to return every single time she blinked. It was perhaps that fury that made her brother's appearance ahead so jarring, breaking her out of her reverie.

"Never seen you so lost in thought. I never knew you were capable of thought." Her brother laughed.

She extended her hand and he pulled her up to her feet. Laughter bubbled up from her lips and she held her eldest close. "A fool could only be seen by a fool. And if I be a fool by your case then I am quite familiar with you. Could spot you in the distance as though you were made out of a blinding light."

"It is nice to see you so much less." he waved his hand airily.

"Encumbered?" Nkuli ventured.

"I was aiming for weighted down, shackled. That word works too." He laughed but the laughter didn't last dying down to a sigh.

Her lips twisted to a scowl. "It's unfortunate, what happened and what we were left to do."

"And that was?"

"Nothing. We were left to do nothing. We were insulted by these people. And we did nothing."

"We did not do nothing sister. We listened to our father."

Her shoulders arched, bunching up as she glared at him. "And you're saying father did nothing?"

"No, of course not. I'm saying father responded in the only way he could."

"We have asked for an audience repeatedly and received none."

"There were never that high of hopes for us. Father knew that coming in. The only one who held delusions of us coming in a wave of glory under our clan's name and winning an audience is you. The reason we came in number is proof we exist in number. The only other way would have been to call them to bring an an official to prove exactly how large our village is. We've even used taxes to prove our existence. Tributes, meagre but wholly existent."

"Papers! Papers papers. A quarter of the people with us cannot read. How much more so off the many here?"

"And what else is there? A show of force? There is a reason our clan settled here."

"One that's before all of us before times."

Xolani slammed his right palm hard against her chest and slammed the right against his own. "Before us sister? Before us? You tell me you can't feel that pain in your heart of hearts. Tell me!" He demanded. She glared at him. "The history of our people lies in the way we are parented, raised, educated, the way in which we are loved.Even in the way we grieve and for who we grieve. So pleasure. Bare with it. There is no time for you losing your mind on your own, not when the fate of our people relies upon us thriving on these lands after so many years. New king new hope and a new path."

-----

Morning

Early morning found the tribe wide awake. There were over twenty five hyenas on the camp site. Each one restless and difficult to manage as the queen hyena herself found the ground difficult to manage. The mountainous slope, the lack of soft soil, dry dead grass hidden in patches under rock and more mountain beneath.

Those who weren't coaxing the animals together were seated at the heart of the camp sire surrounding Nkuli's father.

"I have heard the murmurs of anger and disappointment." Nkuli's shoulders dropped when his father's eyes fell on her. "There is no need for panic or strong feelings. I place trust upon the fates of mother earth. There is nothing else. We work to survive allowing fate to guide us by following this simple task. I ask you all that you remain honourable to our people. Half will look after the site, keeping the Inzagi and the other children from the others who made refuge outside of the walls. The other half will join the reception, myself, Xolani Nonkululeko will try an audience with the king and queen. Every one should try to enjoy themselves as much as possible."

[Prophet]

Raphael clicked his tongue, his hand rising to slowly rock his index finger back and forth as if to suggest the girl had just done something wrong and required a scolding. Still there was a teasing glint to the notorious pirate's eyes, a hint of laughter not yet released that whispered of mischief. "Now, now." he chided. "A bright young lady such as yourself should know by now that you can't trust everything you read. Who's to say that the person who told these stories is not the silver tongued braggart whilst I happen to be the innocent victim, reputation slandered by their ill-deserved fabrications of crime and villainy, hmm?"

That smile grew then, bright and charming. The kind of smile Wren loved best as it warmed her heart to see... among other things. He looked at her, his mind distracted a moment as he considered what to do to her later in the privacy of a room. The very notion warmed the blood to a boil.

"All jokes aside now," he murmured suddenly. "What is it you expect here? I am certainly not going to tell my life's story to a stranger and since you lack both blade to threaten and guards to capture I fail to see any motivation for myself to divulge the slightest detail as to my reasoning and motives.

"On the other hand if you be looking for an employer and have some talent..." he tilted his eyes skyward, considering a moment. "I may be trying to fill a few empty spots aboard my ship very soon. Interested in a little adventure?"

[Jacogos]

Lydia found herself grinding her teeth as she began to figure out how stubborn this man was, though she had to admit that he was good with words. What she didn't like admitting, however, was that he was right; there was no reason for him to divulge anything to her. She had no bargaining method, no leverage to bribe or coax him with, nothing. So now she had to find a new angle...

For a moment, she contemplated simply freezing his feet to the ground and waiting him out. Would he call for the guards, knowing that most of them knew his face around here? There was also the question of the woman. Would she protect him? If so, was she capable? Lydia disliked all these variables, and it caused her to become increasingly angrier with the man and herself. That anger channeled her magic unwillingly, and the air about them began to plummet in temperature.

"I have little doubt of your past and your personality, Mr. Sinclair. Both of those you have already proven right now," Lydia said, anger flowing from her lips like a chill wind. His mention of lack of blades to threaten with made her think of correcting him, but she held back for now. No reason to start a fight so close to the orphanage... Especially since none of those kids knew her, but loved this man.

What completely threw her off kilter, though, was the man's sudden change of course, offering her a chance to join his crew, out of the blue. "What sort of madness....?" she began, then paused as she thought it over. Of course this would give her the chance to see the man for who he was, but did she really want to become a pirate, particularly under this man? It went against her morals, but if it got her her answers...

"If I accept, and I prove myself to you, will I get my answers?" she asked, crossing her arms as the temperature of the air began to return to normal.

[Housemaster]

~Issac~

Morning came and went, the day's events were clamoring to their beginnings in hopeful celebration. Issac noted the mixture of nervousness and excitement in people's expressions - a royal wedding of a new King and Queen. Dressed in finely stitched dark leather vest while sporting a vibrant silverish grey cotton shirt, Issac had dressed for the occasion. He even felt excited - even if no one around him had any interest in talking with him.

The wedding was scheduled to start soon, the gardens brimmed organized panic, with last minute checks and minor detail inspections. There was not too much need for extra decor since the royal gardens themselves provided a fitting backdrop for any momentous occasion. The grand statues and flowers so bright with blues and golds which tickled the eyes with the reflected young sun. Issac wandered and strolled, indulging himself in the occasional snack while waiting for any opportunity to fit in with a crowd.

The boy had grown used to being ignored or looked over, something that commonly happens when continuously standing next to a 7+ foot tall Knight with an even larger ego. He grew to feel safe in that shadow, but now that it was gone he felt obliged to break free and, well, talk with people. It was something he rarely ever had done other then "Yes sir." after each and every command Sandor would make. Now, being a special guest at the wedding of the Royal heads of Norgard the boy felt as if he needed to prove himself... but how?

There were next to no children his age to chat with, and every adult, druid, noble, and guest seemed to have already ducked in their social circles and had locked them tighter then a drunkard's grip on a pint. It seemed intimidating, but he had to try.

Passing by an ancient King's statue, Issac spotted something rather queer behind one of the larger bushes. Out of sight and red with frustration, a odd image of a rugged druid fumbling with the his fancy attire silently cursed with severe agitation. Most druids wore their family's armour or ancient cloaks, but this druid was attempting to wear something regularly found worn by the upper class of Sonata. Issac pressed forward.

"Um... Hello? Sir?" Issac began.

The druid shot his head back in Issac's direction, wearing an expression of "oh God why me?" with a hint of annoyance. "Begone child, I've.. ugh... pressing matters to deal with here..."

"Pressing seems to put it lightly... You've almost gone and torn your clothes!"

The druid was attempting to adjust his cotton-dyed tunic, already having lost a few buttons while attempting to fix the problem with make-shift wooden duplicates, which weren't working so well for the fabric. The druid growled with disapproval as Issac continued, "Why are you wearing those clothes to begin with? You don't strike me as someone born in the capital."

"What's it to you kid?" the druid responded, wondering who this kid even was, "Are you just some other noble foal from Sonata?"

Issac ignored the dismissal, "Actually, I'm from Aerosia..."

That seemed to gained some fraction of the druid's attention. "From Aerosia..." the man repeated. There were only a few whom were here from Aerosia... all of whom were distinguished guests of the King and Queen themselves. The druid paused, shook his head, then resumed his wardrobe struggle.

Issac spotted a long sprawl of cloth discarded on the grass, laced with patterns and coloured stitchings. "Is that yours?" the boy asked.

"Yes, now go away!" he shot back quickly

Issac persisted, "Is it a pattern pertaining to your clan or family?"

The druid continued his fumbling, "Yes, YES! It is mine and not yours. Happy? Yes! Go away!"

"I can fix your clothes."

The druid paused. He turned to face the boy who had a smug look of satisfaction on his face. With curious defeat, the druid gave a sly grin. "Fix it you say?"

"I see you've lost a few buttons and scratched some of the material in the process. Luckily you've only damaged the upper torso, something that can be easily masked."

"Masked? By what?"

"By that!" Issac pointed to the long bit of cloth.

The Druid retreated that notion, "Oh no, no, no... I can't wear that..."

Issac twisted his face, "And why not?"

The druid's cheeks grew red, "Well um.." the man was lost with embarrassment "It's for a druid... I can't.. well.. I ..."

The boy then immediately understood, and failed to contain his devilish smile. "A girl..."

"Maybe..."

"From Sonata?"

The druid's silence answered Issac's suspicions, Issac beamed, "Perfect!"

"Perfect? What do you mean 'perfect'?" the druid felt uncomfortable.

The boy picked up the long strand of cloth. "Today, we are celebrating a wedding for a new King, a King who happens to be a Druid. Now, you're wearing a green cotton-dyed overcoat fixed with shiny brass buttons which is common for our current Noble delegates. Disguising yourself as something you're not will not win you any hearts... But!" Issac tossed the cloth around the druid's shoulder, tucking the access diagonally around his torso, "If we manage to create a blend of both cultures..." he tied loose ends then tucked them under the druid's belt on his back. "We should be able to merge both worlds to fit such a royal occasion."

Silently stunned from the boy's aid, Issac stepped back to observe his work. The missing buttons and torn cloth were completely hidden, and luckily the colours of both the tunic and the family cloth matched well enough. "Something's missing..." He thought out loud, looking around for any spice of inspiration. "Aha!" The boy walked over to one of the flowerbeds and plucked a flower that almost looked as if it were made of silver. He nestled the flowerhead within the knot on the druid's shoulder. "There! That should do it!"

The druid was in awe of himself. Twisting his shoulders to see if he still maintained his mobility, as well as to see the newly added cloth compliment perfectly with his suit, the man felt a surge of excitement grow on his face.

"This looks..." he couldn't say the rest, although his expression told it all.

Issac brushed his chin with an observing flare, "The finest dressed man besides the King I'd say."

The druid paused, "Thank you... I.. I don't have any-"

"Nothing is needed sir."

"What's your name?"

"Issac..." he replied, "Issac Trento."

The druid extended his hand, "Rahok... Rahok Longlea."

They both shook hands, "Pleasure to meet you."

[Extraordinaire.]

It would have been hard for her to tail the man, to say the very least. Not only was she unprepared, with coats as thick as pillows bulging around her tiny frame, but she'd developed no gift of silence, through her stay in Aerosia. Any of her useful combat-skills outweighed the chance of a sneak attack, and any improvement was to be done strictly in the water.
But despite her lack of stealth, she found herself nearing him, than she did outing herself. There was something peculiar about him; a de-ja-vu affect that only brought on a strong sense of respect. He was likable, and surely for great reasons, but when on her timeline he'd made such an impression, was still very vague to her. Certainly he wasn't from her past in Aerosia; her stay there was too reason for her to be so forgetful, and his fair features were separate from her own dark. So that lead him back to the orphanage, had their current disposition not been a give away. Surely he was there to check up on the kids; that's how she'd spent most of her time in Norgard after all, and the reason she was standing on the opposite wall of the Orphanage, trying to determine the motives of the wanted man.

"Raphael Sinclair. I never would have imagined a deadly pirate like you might have a soft-spot for little orphans."

Between their distance and the hum of children nearby, their conversation was mostly droned out, but her mind linked the muddled name to a distance memory and made sense of it.

Sinclair.

She felt relieved of an accomplishment, although in reality she'd only confirmed that the man was familiar to her; apart from that, he was still very much a stranger. His voice, or at the very least the tone since even fewer words could be made out, served as bridges through distant memories, although she found difficulty in holding on to any fragment. She felt like she'd just woken from a dream and was trying desperately not to let the memories go, but minutes later, reality would make her forgetful.

The next few minutes passed with restlessness and she found herself nearing the wall, the more her hearing strained. She listened to the tone shift from curiosity, to playful banter, until finally settling on an ultimatum. There was an edge of interest to the rather professional female tone, while the man seemed carefree, but well put together. There was a pause in the conversation, followed by a hesitating voice.

"If I accept, and I prove myself to you, will I get my answers?"

Answers.

Carelessly walking ahead, her food made contact with a crate, where a spitting hiss was sounded from the sleeping prowler within. In panic of giving herself away, she brashly picked the calico up by the wrinkle in the back of its neck and watched it for a moment as it dangled, furiously swatting at the air between them.
"Ah, hell, of course they've seen you," she thought, knowing her arm stuck past the crease of the wall, where the cat hung midair. After getting her forearm nicked a few times, she threw the stray aside and rounded the corner. She thought about making a run for it, was sure she could if they hadn't gotten too curious, but had as little faith in being able to run in the cold, as she did in surviving the temperature for another week.
Walking parallel to the couple, she gave him a brief look from behind her coarse hair, before pointing her nose forward and continuing past the orphanage.
Time to find out what the bugger knows.

[~N~]

Oh hell yeah, light those fireworks, start the entrance music and send the parade downtown! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQo1HIcSVtg) Dravon Shylock has finally come back to Sigard!
************************************************** ************

They had the ticker-tape waiting for him, in all of its forms. In the form of the confetti that flowed down from the heavens it seemed. In the form of the strings of numbers representing stocks and trades on Rampart Street. In the form of receipts, bills, contracts and paper money, all tabulated in trades, customs, legislation, bribes, debts, loans, and deeds.

It may have been called "Capital Senadon" but everyone knew it better as Shylock's City.

http://twistedsifter.sifter.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/new-york-city-skyline-aerial.jpg

No less than a dozen streets were named for the Scales, three of them after its master. He owned a majority stake in all the business and the city council here. No less than 40 out of the 60 Council Members answered to Lord Dravon Shylock alone and unquestioningly.

http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/4048/PreviewComp/SuperStock_4048-6425.jpg

These men and women were bought and paid for, because their families were bought and paid for.

http://i498.photobucket.com/albums/rr348/annebonny10/photo1-1.jpg

Their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and all of their many children, born and unborn, were networked into the the only infrastructure that mattered at the heart of the business capital of the world: the Merchant Cartel of the Scales.

With them, you could accomplish anything. Without them, you were were less than nothing.

And so they had the parade of people waiting when the Strahl came into port...

http://www.blogcdn.com/www.joystiq.com/media/2009/08/cosplayattemptgamecom580.jpg

...and the fireworks going...

http://wac.450f.edgecastcdn.net/80450F/lite987.com/files/2011/06/firework13.jpg

...and Shylock, in all of his ebon-robed, gold embroided majesty stepped down onto the dock, his erstwhile sniveling standard bearer stumbling by his side, holding aloft the black and gold standard that commanded the loyalty and allegiance of every man, woman, child, and creature that mattered in Sigard's capital--indeed, in Sigard itself.

His arrival was marked with the ceremonial release of Sigard's very own native rainbow-colored pigeons, of course...

http://www.spainalive.tv/images/RAINBOW_COLORED_PIGEONS_IN_FLIGHT.gif

The appearance of the now white-haired, elderly Merchant Lord surprised some of the onlookers, and the tabloids and paparazzi spun their rumors and tales, while the media journalists and reporters worked their clunky camera machines and shattered bulb after bulb of flash technology, creating a path of broken glass for the Merchant Lord's entourage to tread upon with their crunching procession. Behind his measured step came the carriage of the King of Aerosia, arguably more visibly protected than Dravon himself. But though Shylock's power was invisible, it was also palpable. He needed no overt protection because the city of Senadon was his and it welcomed him with ten-thousand open arms and cheers for his triumphant return.

Down the streets of this magnificent city they went along a planned route that led right to the governing heart of Senadon...

http://www.sntrl.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/aa9-600x500.jpg

Literal walls of concrete and windows guided Dravon's passage through the systematically gridded streets while the city breathed out smoke and steam from the crevices, the grates, the alleys, and the catacombs that criss-crossed in an elaborate network of tunnels and aquaducts beneath their steps...

http://i498.photobucket.com/albums/rr348/annebonny10/photo2-1.jpg

Who could say how many blocks the City went on for? It was by far the largest metropolis of its kind, outclassing even the central seat of power in the Esgares Empire. It was the crown jewel of trade and commerce, the beating center of cultural arts and entertainment, and there was no dream, no wish, no fetish too twisted or exotic to be purchased here, down on the corridors of this maze of skyscrapers...

http://img.ehowcdn.com/article-new/ehow/images/a07/e1/tk/hotels-near-rosendale-new-york-800x800.jpg

Beggars, drunks, gang members and police lined the route interspersed between cheering, yelling, pandering and crying spectators, begging by turns for Shylock's attention and coin. They were his people; cosmopolitan, diverse, rich and poor as the world over. Colors and creeds that spanned the nations, attire and customs as motley as the patchwork attire of a fool, and all of them lined up for him.

Cameras flashed, gears churned, the city's bustling life heralded Shylock's march now with horns and trumpets beneath the Merchant's Arch, a monument to the oligarchy and plutocracy that ruled the City of Senadon, Shylock's City.

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJh-nEl39Hk/UDFf7LTsveI/AAAAAAAALIs/Njb0xjrxdbg/s640/washing.png

And at long last, the Merchant Lord of the Scales reached his goal, the Heart of the Labyrinth, the Spire of Power in all of Sigard. Before him, before the parade of marching citizens and their Lord....

http://www.smtexas.net/faculty/jackson/CAPPS6_2009-2010/CAPPS6CT3/kim/webpage/Pictures/RockefellerCenter2.jpg

... was the tallest skyscraper in all the world... the seat of power.... the Council Chambers.

And it was here, inside these hallowed halls, that Shylock would make his grand entrance, his address to the Council, and request their support on the final phase of his plan, which he would reveal before the hushed scribbling quills and whirring recorders of the press who would flash and photograph every single moment of this momentous occasion...

To be Continued...

[Housemaster]

- The Calm before the Storm -

"Okay... t.. this one's finished.."

A man shaken with nervous dread stood upright, back aching from bending over on the ground for so long. He made no protest... his fear had completely swallowed his self-preservation. Two others were accompanying him, and upon seeing him finish, compared his work with a symbol drawn on a torn piece of paper.

A runic character was drawn on the stone foundation of a local barracks, small in size yet heavy in detail. This was the seventh symbol of its kind this man has drawn that morning, and by the looks of his two captors only one of many more.

He was no one special, why did this have to happen to him? He worked at a library as an assistant - maintaining and repairing the older and more fragile texts. He has never done anything illegal, never wronged anyone, owed any debts, or won any riches. Why was this happening to him?

"Move..." one of the captors muttered with an accent thick enough to hold. They moved from the barracks to what could only be assumed as their next area.

Maneuvering through the busy streets the nervous man displayed his best staged act of appearing normal. One could still see an enormous hint of fright on the poor soul's face, the look of uncertain fear.

Turning a corner down a darker alleyway, he dropped his act and fell to the ground, pleading. "Please oh please!" he sobbed, "I'll give you all my money, everything I own!" The captors looked with disgust, pushing back as if the man's cowardice was contagious. It was clear they could barely understand a word he said, but the nervous wreck persisted. "O..okay... I'll keep adding the runes. J.. just... tell me what they're for!"

No response.

"Do y-you even know what I'm doing here? What I'm drawing?"

The captors had enough of the man's rambling. With a shove, they sent him back on track while he protested. "These are p-p-powerful conductors! If anyone were to practice a spell on this rune it would be-"

"It would be a momentous occasion..."

A voice slithered from the shadows and startled the nervous book keeper.

The voice then spoke in a tongue which was unfamiliar to him, but the two captors seemed to understand it just fine. It sounded like orders, and from the looks of things the captors obeyed without question.

The bodiless voice then returned to the book keeper, "Do your part little mouse..." the voice hissed, "Do your job and behave like the rest..."

"L... like the rest?"

Nothing answered him... only the cold stare of his two captors. With no other option, the whimpering poor man began to chalk yet another rune... On the outside wall of the royal gardens.

[Repent!]

From the high Balcony that looked from above at the lovely garden, where the wedding ceremony was supposed to be held, Helena looked down, alerted and suspicious.

Even having her hair tucked in lovely long red braids and the lovely dress (http://static.i-weddingdresses.com/iwdress/2010/05/medieval-celtic-wedding-dresses-3.jpg) she was given to wear, Helena couldn't forget herself being a guardian. She tried to act naturally, but she couldn't bring herself to fully enjoy the celebration like a maiden should.

"Zelvad!", Helena called with a surprise. Zelvad and Bria had turned around when Helena had called him and Zelvad was taken aback a little. Before he could have said anything the little girl ran for her direction as Helena gave a soft smile. Bria halted few inches from her, looked up, and then dug her gaze in the ground as she played with her cute little dress.

"Would you look at that!", Helena raised the hand of Bria and softly turned the child around to view her whole outfit, "What a lovely dress you are wearing", frankly, even Zelvad was surprised with how high and soft Helena's voice turned into when she talked to the little girl.

Apparently some just have it in the blood to raise children.

The girl Bria gave a shy smile before a red line appeared upon her face. She then ran to stand by Zelvad's side.

Noticing the assassin, she added, "How lovely you both look, Zelvad and Bria".

"I would say the same to you Helena." Zelvad let a grin escape his lips.

"Thank you", Helena smiled in return.

Even in a formal gown, Helena still carried herself as a warrior. Her posture, the movements by her arms, no movement was wasted. Though something in her eyes spoke something beyond her smiling face. The answer appeared to him after a long moment of silence in her words.

"There is something...not right here...", As Helena grabbed the hands of the young girl, she allowed the Assassin to move closer thus averting his attention to the noble and his "company" as it were. He made note to move his head enough to look as he was starting at something in the distance above him, while his eyes were lowered enough to catch sight of the two Helena pointed out.

"He's a noble from the former queen's court", Helena announced as she stroke the black hair of Bria softly, "I will never forget his face....The question is, what is he doing here?" Another pause came and went as Helena grabbed Bria's hand and moved closer to him, "I suspect the woman is not just a decoration... Your thoughts?".

"Well the noble is most likely gonna look for approval to continue his lavish lifestyle...that is if Arjak doesn't banish or kill him first. Which brings me to her..."

He turned fully back to Helena and made arm movements as to allude to making idle conversation. He was sure they were far enough that his voice wouldn't carry.

"Despite the lovey-dovey act, I sincerely doubt a nobleman would want to be seen with a girl that carries a scar like that across her face and is still able to hold herself like she is. I wonder how much he's paying her...Or where she's hiding her weapons for that matter..."

"How do you suggest we approach it, then?", Helena asked, looking down at Bria and then back at the assassin, "The ceremony's about to begin..."

"We need to wait till after the ceremony is over...violence is usually seen as a bad omen for weddings from what I gather. The people need to know that this country will change for the better with Arjak in control. Until then, we keep an eye on them." He then removed the tiny knife from the spider and willed it to crawl down the shoulder away from the noble and his company and inside his leather vest as to not draw attention. "I just need an opening...."

"Very well then", Helena nodded. "We shall keep an eye on them both then."

[Housemaster]

On the most eastern part of the capital, far from the main festivities and focused in great defense stood the walls and gates of the city. Be it any other day, the gate would have been wide open for trade and travel - but today was the wedding day of the new king, so the gate remained closed and only opened for small travelling parties whom have been duly questioned and searched.

It was then, during a time of great security, a mysterious creature made his approach.

He was slow, draped in a large cloak as he hid his face and figure from sight. Limping bit - by - bit on the wooden mis-shapen pillar which was his walking stick, he advanced in slow solace past the enormous cue into the city. The creature, hidden by the confines of his cloak would seem to you and me like any other human who roamed the old north, but as to what he really was - it was uncertain to be sure. As to why he chose today to come, even he was unsure - but something in his essence told him that there were spirits within this city of stone which may turn the tide. A great evil was lurking over these lands, far reaching like a shadow of a monolith at dawn... a great stirring within the creature bode him to help... even if he seems incredibly incapable of it.

As he trudged past the line, many who were left waiting in its form took quick notice of the odd figure. However, no one said anything, there seemed to be something not quite right about this character which no one wished to discover. An odd force, yet seeming all the while harmless like an old man. Still, everyone kept to themselves and left the creature continue onward to the gates.

Two druidic guards, who's duty was to patrol the enormous cue to maintain its orderly fashion quickly spotted the lone figure limping past everyone in the cue. From afar, they must have interpreted the creature to be a confused old man for they glanced at each other with lazy expression. However, as they drew closer to remedy the situation, they could not help but feel a strange presence. Being closer to the creature drew forth a relaxing sensation down their spine, akin to a gulp of the finest mead after a hard day's work. This made them more alert for they knew that this creature, however harmless it may seem, possessed an energy of questionable nature.

"Sir traveller..." one guard called out, attempting to make contact with the creature. The cloaked figure stopped, and shifted the shadow of his face towards the two guards.

A long silence then followed, even the onlookers from the cue made no sound, as if a spell had been cast over a 20 meter radius. The guards carefully approached him, peaking around the cloak to spy any hint of weapons or other devices of malice. Nothing... nothing but his walking stick.

"May you come with us? Sir?"

The words and sounds seemed familiar to him, but as to their meaning he could not fully understand. He did, however, sense their want to separate him from the crowd to ask further questions. To this demand, he would comply.

He followed the two guards outwards into a temporary tented barracks, the rest of the guard looking with curious eyes as to who these two have brought. They all sensed the same sensation as the two guards, a feeling of comfort and soothing, which at the same time put them on edge for the lack of its explanation.

"Who do you have here?" one of the captains asked, glancing at the large oddly figure.

"He was cutting through the line... and... carries a presence."

The captain paused in thought. He too had felt it. He turned back to the guards, "To what tongue does he speak?"

The guards shrugged, "We started with common, then tried a few sentences in different druidic tongues. No response... he seemed to agree to follow us, yet I think it was not our words that convinced him."

The captain nodded, "Very well, you did good to bring him. I'll take it from here... take a 40 minute rest then set back on your patrol." The two guards bowed and saluted, dismissing themselves from the captain leaving him with the mysterious creature.

"Do you have a name?" the captain started.

The creature shifted his attention to the captain. It was obvious he could hear the captain's words, yet he made no hint of understanding. The captain kept patient, he wished to peek at the figure beneath the cloak... yet something about the creature's bode respect, and he did not want to insinuate anything that may prove insulting. Still the captain pressed.

"To what business do you have here in Sonata?"

Still, nothing...

"Have you heard about the wedding? The marriage of King Arjak and Queen Cia-" the captain stopped himself in mid sentence. The mere mention of Arjak and Ciara's names sparked an enormous change in atmosphere. Feelings of regret and concern were fogging the air, and the creature shifted in worried confusion. The captain glanced at his fellow guards, who too have felt the sudden change.

"May you remove your hood, please?" The captain asked this as nicely as he could. He did not wish any disrespect, yet his duty to protect the gates overweighed that courtesy, especially after the break of emotion at the mention of the King and Queen's names. The creature did not understand, he merely stood silently with discomfort. The captain motioned to a few of his men and gave them the signal to approach the creature.

"Do you require aid? We can help you remove your hood if you're too sore to do it yourse-"

The creature removed his cloak as it fell to the ground, and the entire barracks were stunned into silence.

[Anne Bonny]

Though the stranger wasn't outwardly aggressive, her direct, demanding questions made the shy Wren uncomfortable. She gripped Raphael's hand as he spoke and quietly wished she could blend into the background, where the woman's inquisitive eyes couldn't bore into her. Instead she looked up at the pirate, down at her feet, and at the scenery around them; anywhere but at the stranger.

It was during one of those avoiding glances that her green eyes settled on another stranger. This one leaned on a cane as he made his way down the steps from the orphanage. Wren felt a familiar stirring in her healer's heart as she watched him hobble along. Shy and non-confrontational she may be, but Wren couldn't simply stand there while someone else might be in pain.

She gave Raphael's hand a gentle squeeze before stepping away from his side. The hooded stranger stood still, for all the world looking like his was patiently waiting for her. The idea made Wren a bit more nervous,l and though she donned a friendly smile, her hands fidgeted with unease behind her back.

"Sir?" Her voice came out like a squeaking mouse, much to Wren's dismay. "I don't mean to intrude, but I couldn't help but notice your cane. Are... you wounded?"

The hooded man paused a long moment at the girls question. This was a dilemma he faced often. Some innovative doctor, generous healer, or simply a concerned passerby would ask about his limp. It made him wonder whether the controversy surrounding his art was more tolerable than the questions surrounding his affected limp.

"No no, no such thing. A childhood injury. A problem with the way the bone healed. Unfortunately, there is no cure unless I was willing and able to break it in the exact same way. I'm something of a healer, believe me, I've tried. No, I was just waiting for a polite time to ask if any of you might know where a man could get lodgings, possibly a good meal. I've got a long journey ahead of me." he said. Faieth was a polite man. A gentleman even. As such, even though his lies came with a straight face, they all came out at once. What should have been simply, 'No, it's a childhood injury", came out five lies and a topic change. None the less, polite smile on his face, he simply waited for a response.

"You're a healer?" Wren exclaimed, her face lighting up with childish excitement. "So am I!" A man of her own trade? While not rare people, it wasn't everyday that a person came across another healer. In fact, Wren hadn't seen another since she left her mentor, Father Augustine, back in Ivalor. The very thought made sadness prickle at her heart, but the girl ignored the feeling. She missed Augustine as a dear friend, but she also missed the simple companionship of being around other healers.

Resolve set and nerves forgotten, she reached out to grasp the stranger's hand. "We'll do better than just tell you where to stay. Come along with us. In fact, we're guests in this town too.

"I'm Wren Avari," she said, giving a small curtsy before gesturing to the pirate behind her. "My companion is Raphael Sinclair. We have some friends that we're traveling with. Won't you join us? I'd love to hear some stories from your journies."

Faieth's face was one of wonder and joy as he reached out to shake her hand. Good thing he'd become such an incredible liar.

"Fuck. What the hell are the odds of that?" he growled on the inside. Of course, he'd use the healer lie on a healer. It couldn't have been the "I've visited a couple of healers and they told me there was nothing they could do." Fortunately, it wasn't a total, bold faced lie.

"A healer?! No... Here and now!? What are the odds!? I'd love to accompany you all, but I wouldn't want to put you out of your way. I'm headed for the Capital. Sonata is my destination you see. Quite a ways off." he said, sizing up the two, possibly his new companions. The girl seemed to be your simple, run of the mill healer. The man however... Sinclair. Why did he know that name...

Wren couldn't help but giggle. "Sonata?" she replied. "More coincidences! That's where we're off to as well. There's a wedding between our two friends..."

She paused, suddenly realizing that her excitement was getting the better of her and she was probably coming on a little strong to a complete stranger. The girl took a deep breath to compose herself, but couldn't stop a blush that came to her cheeks.

"I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? We'll have plenty of time to talk on the way to the capital. If you want to travel with us, of course. I don't mean to impose on any plans you might already have."

"No, no, don't worry yourself a bit. Actually, it will be nice to have some company for a change. I'm from Esgares you see. I'm a long way from home. For months now it's simply been My horse, a cart full of herbs and equipment, and myself. And lemme tell you. That many days alone on the trail, the big guy's not a talkative fellow. Any longer and my head might start to disagree, so it looks like you good folks will be saving me from insanity. And who knows, maybe bandits too." He said with a smile.

"Still it's getting rather late in the day, is it not? Are you planning on leaving this evening? Because if so, we're not likely to get very far, unless we're going to travel through the night that is. And if not, at least I am going to have to find a place to stay." He said, glancing over at the other two, the man and other woman.

Wren frowned. Was it really so late in the day? She hadn't noticed that the sunlight around them was slowly fading, or that the Norgard air was getting even cooler. The must have been playing with the orphans longer than she had realized. Time flies when one is having fun...

"You're right, of course," she said quickly. Travel at night? Foolishness, Wren chided herself.

"I'm not familiar with this town, but I'm sure Raphael knows of something." Then, with a glance over her shoulder at her Beau and the brash woman, "Or perhaps his new friend can tell us where to stay."

[Kris]

"If I accept, and I prove myself to you, will I get my answers?", Lydia asked, crossing her arms as the temperature of the air began to return to normal.

"Maybe, maybe not", Raphael chuckled and winked, "But you are more than welcome to find out the answers along our way".

Turning to Faieth he moved closer to Wren, gently grabbing her hand, not very pleased by the fact that she was making herself friendly with this stranger, Raphael cleared his throat, "I do know of this town, and I know a good place we can spend the night in", He nodded, "It's pretty cheap place, so keep that in mind. I do know the owner so I think she'll try to make the best out of the place for us".

When Leonie approached he said, "You may join us too Miss", more to Lydia than to the newcomer, but it did appeared to concern them both.

The goal was clear however. The wedding in the capital.

And so they spent that night in said Inn, traveling to Sonata the next day.

[Mysteria]

Norgard, Castle's royal gardens

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/104/310385303_7ee56bbd4a.jpg

Finally, as their hands were locked together the couple marched ahead. Ciara and Arjak were lead by two elders, each representing another sector within the divided kingdom of Norgard; the druid elder, Guiveria (http://www.fotothing.com/photos/0a1/0a1a71b7e66db013ec614b208e374547.jpg) and the former nobleman to the house of Queen Kasilica, Brendon (http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/MisC/troy123233338.jpg).

Although Arjak ended up killing Prince Godric, Brendon held no hard feelings for the young druid lord, and was, in fact, more than thrilled to marry off the couple.

As both Brendon and Guiveria stood by the edge of the altar, the former nobleman bowed deeply to Guiveria, “Happy as myself, my friend?”, started the man to question the elder druid.

The old Druid held himself up by his staff, clutching it tightly in one hand, he bowed respectfully in return. “I am, noble Brendon,” his voice a little tired but behind his grey beard his face had lit up.

“I am happy to hear so!”, the nobleman rejoice, “To our unity!”, he announced.

“Unity of Norgard!”, the druid elder responded, crying his voice out.

The couple before them stood still as Brendon started the ceremony. The Elder Druid stepped forth beside the nobleman, in between those to be wed. His aged fingers gently held two golden rings. Simple as they appeared to be in their shape, they were still priceless. “Lord Arjak, it is an honour,” he offered the rings, “Likewise, Lady Ciara.”

“Those rings shall be handed to the other, once each of you made your oaths”, Said Brendon with a smile, "Well then, Shall we?”, turning to the crowd he spoke, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in the holiest of rituals. This couple stands before us ready to pledge their honor and their lives each to the other.

“Human love is both mythical and real, both tangible and ephemeral. It exists in our realities and in our minds, in our hopes and in our needs. Traditionally love has had the power to change hearts and to break them, to cause wars and to end them, to invalidate curses, and to inspire the most beautiful music. Love can give life meaning, and love can teach the meaning of a life of giving.

Now come this couple, ready and eager to swear their love to each other; ready to take on the task of being a source of happiness to the other; ready to assume the duty of being strong for the other in bad times, of being joyful for the other in good times, and of being vulnerable for the other in times of stress and need.

Please hold hands, look at each other, and repeat after me. 'I promise to take you as my spouse, as my partner, and as my companion for life. I promise to love you as no other, to be my best for you, and to never stray and to do my best to never waiver. I promise to share with you my thoughts, my time, and my life'.”

Arjak stood in silence, but it was anything but stoic. It had been a long while since he had smiled so sincerely without the lingering grim thought touching his mind. Arjak's white teeth showed faintly through his parted lips, his golden eyes bright and full of joy. As the Elder started to speak, Arjak tightened his hand around Ciara's beneath the bolt of silk as he held his breath. It was a similar sensation to standing on the ledge of a waterfall, looking down at the crystalline waters far below. That fluttering in ones stomach, the deep breath before the plunge.

Taking the ring that had been handed to him, Arjak turned to face Ciara, holding the bronze fingers of her other hand in his. Taking a deep breath, he repeated the words of the oath, one that he would see honored for the rest of his days,

"I, Arjak al'Andunn, promise to take you, Ciara Anstruther, as my spouse, as my partner, and as my companion for life. I promise to love you as no other, to be my best for you, and to never stray and to do my best to never waiver. I promise to share with you my thoughts, my time, and my life..." Arjak took another deep breath and gave Ciara's hands each a squeeze, "for as long as my soul carries on."

Ciara’s eyes had locked on to Arjak’s frame dressed in all of his regal glory as Epinala guided her down the aisle. Her olive orbs sought out his golden eyes and a calm unlike that as she had never experienced before settled over the raven haired beauty dressed in her the green finery that had been provided by Morrigan. She had felt the slight squeeze of Epinala’s grasp upon her arm as her hand was taken by Arjak into his own rather large and warm hand. Ciara would note her new found friends amongst those gathered, her smile beaming with warmth as she moved forward.

Her hand was bound to Arjak’s, her hand placed within his as the finely woven silk was wrapped around their hands, joining them in the druid tradition of becoming one in mind, soul, and spirit. The slight squeeze of Arjak’s hand had a calming effect upon her even as the Elder began to speak. She felt the warmth emanating from within Arjak’s heart that he held for her through his smile, his love for her rather evident held in that gaze of his.

Her gaze would only leave that of her beloveds long enough to grasp the ring offered to her in her free hand, her tiny fist closing over it before and her head bowing in appreciation of the Elder Brendon’s acknowledgement to her. Her focus would return to her future husbands face, taking in every nuance as though it were still the first time she had ever gazed upon it.

A hush fell over the room as the Elder spoke and although Ciara’s gaze remained on Ajrak’s face, she would hear every word that was being spoken by Brendon, considering every single word filled with such meaning. Her heart fluttered, her hand beneath the cloth squeezing Arjak’s tightly as he spoke to her, his admission of love and acceptance of her as his wife when he spoke washing over her and filling her with extreme bliss as those words were repeated to her by the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

It was time then for Ciara to speak the sacred vows. With her eyes locked onto the face of he who now owned her heart; she began to repeat the words, each syllable being lingered over with the purpose of displaying her love for Arjak. "I Ciara Anstruther, promise to take you, Arjak al'Andunn" she began, her voice strong for the crowd to hear. However as the the very last sentence would find her voice softening as it tugged at her heart when she spoke the words, because she meant them so very deeply. She would love Arjak with her life, she would give her life willingly if need be for this man she loved so passionately.

“I promise to share with you my thoughts, my time, and” there was the slightest of pause as she smiled at him, her hand squeezing his beneath that bolt of thread, the emphasize now falling on the very last words, her voice soft and intended mainly for her husband to hear. “by the grace of the Allfather, my life in both this world and the next" Each of the couple that stood in front of the crowd adding the words that would no doubt bring comfort to one another through out the remainder of their lives and into the after life that druids naturally believed in.

Brendon gently nodded to Guiveria, a smile upon their lips as the couple gave each other the rings, a look of love and fulfillment in their eyes.

Guiveria, then stepped forward and unwrapped the silk that bond their hands together, freeing them.

Brendon then spoke again, "The wrap is no longer needed for we have the rings. The rings represent the unity of your marriage covenant. They are made of a precious metal that is most enduring and will never tarnish. Your rings demonstrate eternity, having no beginning and no end, just like your eternal souls".

Turning to Ciara, Brendon spoke, "Lady Ciara as you give this ring to Lord Arjak and place it on his finger, please say after me 'Arjak, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vows. With this ring I thee wed'."

With her hands now freed she Ciara took Arjaks rather large hand into her own and as she repeated the words "Arjak, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vows." Her dainty fingers slid the ring further up past his knuckle until it was placed firmly on that strong warm hand she now held within her own " With this ring I thee wed."

The joy that burst from Ciara's heart was overwhelming and she felt the fire of love burning deep within her spirit as it flowed throughout her lithe frame, coursing through every fiber of her being as she waited for the final moment that would bind her to him, and he to her for the eternity that she knew she would love him for.

It was then Arjak's turn.

"Lord Arjak", said Brendon, "As you place this ring on her finger, please speak to the Lady as follow, 'Ciara, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vows. With this ring I thee wed'." Dipping his head in a bow to Lord Brendon, Arjak took the ring from the noble and turned to face Ciara. Already, Arjak's had was growing accustomed to the weight of the ring on his finger, as it was always supposed to be there. Taking Ciara's hand in his, Arjak locked eyes with her, the rest of the world ceasing to matter in this singular moment, this view in to heaven's bliss.

Slowly, his slipped the golden band onto Ciara's slender, bronze-skinned finger on her left hand. Her skin was like the softest silk against his, warm to the touch. "Ciara, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vows. With this ring I thee wed." Arjak spoke in his usual baritone voice, but it was light and happy. The happiest he can ever remember being. His heart was fluttering in his chest, quickening his pulse and filling his golden eyes with the fires of life and love. "And I name thee my queen, from now 'til the end of all things." Arjak held both her hands in his, looking her in the eyes, his gaze never faltering.

Guiveria the old druid then stepped forward, guiding Morrigan and Arjak's three sisters along with Epinala to stand before the couple. He gave each of them candles in their hands.

"With this", said Guiveria, "You all, as members of future family, accept the newlywed into the embrace of the clan. Lit the candle to show your approval".

They watched how the little lights from the wax were flicked with a soft 'pop' along with smiles to add to the brightness of the display. They all approved.

Brendon then spoke again, "Ciara and Arjak, you have thus consented together to holy wedlock, and pledged your loyalties and sacred promises one to the other, and have evidenced this by the giving and receiving of rings and by joining hands", his smile then grew bigger, "Therefore, by the power vested upon me I now pronounce that you are husband and wife!", he then winked softly to Arjak, "You may kiss the bride".

Smiling to his mother, sisters, and brother, Arjak's entire body was flooded with warmth. Before kin, country, and the Allfather, he and Ciara were now bound in body and soul. Looking Ciara in the eyes once more, Arjak slowly stepped in, hunching his broad shoulders to softly press his lips to hers, wrapping his thick arms around her narrow waist, and closing his eyes as his mind fogged with the fire the two of them held within.

[Housemaster]

"What... what is that?"

The guards within the tented barracks looked in awe at the creature they have just apprehended. The cloak gave hint he was no regular traveller, but who could have foreseen his true nature.

His skin was that of tree bark, thick and jagging outwards in disagreement around his joints. Twigged foliage adorned his shoulders while young toadstools grew on the roots of his legs. He had the silhouette makings of a human: two arms, two legs and a head - but human he was certainly not. His face showed no signs of a mouth, nor ears... but his eyes, his eyes were a silver-blue and remained to be its most human-like apendage.

A silence followed, one that neither party could accurately time. It was only until the creature struggled to retreive his cloak did the druids jump into action. They did not jump to apprehend the mysterious being, but they instead aided him with his cloak in silent awe.

"What do you make of this?" one finally asked.

The captain was at a loss. He was pressing on 30+ years of experience in the wood, and never has he ever seen such a marvel. "We need to consult the King..." then his memory protested, "But we will do it tomorrow! He mustn't be disturbed during his wedding day. Tomorrow... yes... we will bring him to the King tomorrow."

His plan seemed sensible enough. The creature was all manners of non-threatening and did not present a security threat to the wedding festivities. He seemed to understand the situation, regardless of his apparent lack of understanding to their tongues. It seemed the creature was able to sense their emotions, then fit the puzzle pieces together for himself to decipher. It knew they were not going to harm him, and it also knew that the King Arjak was mentioned again. A memory was lingering in the old oak's head, but it was too clouded and fogged to gain any comprehension from it. For now, he would wait contently with the soldiers.


*********************

They escorted the wooden mystery through the capital streets into a more suitable barracks. His figure was once again hidden from sigh within the shadows of the cloak - on recommendation from the captain as to not arouse any unwanted attention from busy eyes. Their journey remained uneventful, although slow at times for the creature required time and aide when stairs and steps were involved. Again, nothing too suspicious, for any outsider would have simply seen a trio of druid servicemen aiding an elderly figure.

The Barracks was a large stone-masoned structure that sank its foundation within a climbing hill. Within its walls, the premises were divided into two areas. One held the guard of the former ruler of Sonata, and the other held the druids who accompanied the current King. While there were a few trifling moments between the two factions, bridges were being built between the two sides... yet, they did not wish to expose their new guest to the non-druids just yet for fear of misunderstanding and conflict.

"You can stay here... and..." the druid felt incredibly stupid for asking, "Be quiet." for the creature had not whispered a single sound.

It did what it was told, and found a corner cushioned with straw to sit upon. Then, it closed its eyes in rest... until it felt something. Something sinister was lurking on the other side of the barracks. The creature did not know what it was, but an evil intention was breathing malice from the far non-druid side.

Outside, against the wall on the non-druid barrack quarters... a small elaborate rune was painted in red...

[Evil Troy]

~Somewhere in Sigard~

As Joseph made his way to the infirmary after the meeting Jared's words echoed in his mind. "Should you try to escape again, one of your group will pay the price." Joseph's fist clenched as he knew without a doubt that he was talking about Gwen. Whether he wanted to or not Joseph was going to have to cooperate in the next mission. Worst part about it, once the mission is over then chances are so would be his life.

"DAMNIT!" Joseph yelled out as he stopped, dropping his head and punching the wall beside him. As his fist stayed connected with the wall his hand throbbed yet the pain from his shoulder outweighed it. No matter how hard he tried he would never be nothing more than a tool for a city he hates. After a moment Joseph looked back up and when he did he noticed Gwen leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, glaring at him with her icy blue eyes.

Joseph took a moment to recompose himself before making his way back down the hallway. As he walked Joseph keep his eyes forward so that his eyes would not meet hers, yet he could still feel his old partners cold eyes following him. Just feet in front of the woman Joseph finally stopped, and in an instant the room grew heavy from the silence and tension.

"Stop!", Gwen called after him. She was upset with how much he would just ignore her.

After hearing her voice Joseph turned to face Gwen. For so many years whenever he would look into her deep blue eyes he could feel warmth and happiness. But now, however, her eyes were different; Joseph could see the anger and hatred which burned behind her cold glare. Filled with what he believed to be sadness Joseph closed his eyes out let out a deep sigh to match what he felt. As much as he wanted to tell her about the things he had learned while he was gone, as much as he wanted to apologize for leaving without her for some reason he could not.

"You know, it's funny." Joseph finally said as he looked back up at Gwen to meet her gaze. "Those three long years that I was away I learned so many things. I learned how regular people act. I learned what regular people eat. Hell, I even learned how much weather can be different from place to place. But each one of those things that I learned I could help but think of you. To think that if I ever had the chance to see you again I would tell you about everything I saw and learned." Joseph paused for a moment and let out another sigh before continuing. "But now that I'm here, now that you are here right in front of me I just can't seem to find the words. I guess the truth is...I'm just too scared to admit what I have done."

Joseph once again closed his eyes only this time he could feel his fists clench. In all truth Joseph did not know what else to say. His mind raced and his body was filled with anxiety from the tension that filled the air. Silently he waited on his old partner’s response.

"Why... why did you leave me...", she finally uttered, her body shivered yet her posture was steady. He could see the tears gathering in her eyes, and could almost feel how she fought to keep them at bay, her lips were trembling, not sure what to say or add.

he watched as she clenched her fists, trying to keep her gaze steady, despite the fact that looking away from him seemed so tempting. It was such strong inner battle. On the one hand she wanted to know... on the other, she felt like the truth could just crush her.

Ignorance was her way to escape, and she fight with everything she had to stay still and hear him out.

The room stayed silent for what felt like an eternity before Joseph finally looked up at Gwen. "The truth is, I left because I hated it here. I hated being treated as nothing more than an expendable tool. Most of all, I hated killing those who did not deserve to die. All those families who had nothing to do with our missions but had to die just because they were "witnesses." Joseph paused, lifting his hand right and looking at it."So many people, the blood of so many innocent people stains my hands." He quietly said as he looked at his hand.

At that moment her eyes couldn't take anymore. She sobbed as pearls of tears dropped down her cheeks, "But... But.... Why didn't... you say anything...", her words choke her throat, feeling so heavy, as if the whole world was falling upon her. Facing this truth was very painful, "Why... didn't you take me with you?!"

The tears that ran down the girls face caused unfamiliar emotions to stir within Joseph. His heart felt heavy and his eyes began to grow wet from his own tears. When it came down to it Gwen was the only person in this world that he cared about , but yet here she was, unable to contain her tears and hurt because of him. Extending out his arms Joseph moved forward and embraced the sobbing girl in front of him.

"Gwen I'm so sorry. When I left I knew that if anyone ever found me it would be my death. When it came right down to it, even though I was free from this city I ended up becoming a slave to my own paranoia. That was something I did not want that for you. I wanted you to be able to live without having a constant fear lingering over you. Truth be told I also wanted to tell you. However, I knew if I would have you would not have let me leave without you." Joseph held Gwen tighter as his heart began to race. "Gwen, you are the only person in this world that I truly care about. I want you to be happy in life, but I realize now that by leaving without you I did nothing but cause you pain. I'm so sorry Gwen. I'm sorry."

Tears finally began fall from Josephs own eyes as his true feelings began coming out.

His heat and warm tears were more than enough to melt something inside of her. There was a strong impulse within her to push him away from her, for this kind of touch was so new and fearsome to her. Yet, she felt herself drawn, as her hands slide around him and she dug her face within his chest, sobbing some more.

It took another long moment, but when she finally calmed down she looked up, so afraid to let go, as if by moving away everything will be taken away from her once again, "Please... Please don't leave me again...".

Joseph took a moment to look down at the girl he held in his arms. The heat from her body, her fragrance, how close she was to him; all of this things made his heart begin to beat even faster than it was before. As strange as all of these new feeling were he knew what they meant, he knew that he never wanted to be away from Gwen again. "I won't. I promise I won't leave you again. Though, what are we going to do now?"

"I don't know...", she shook her head as she held him tighter, "I don't want to stay here anymore... I don't want to kill anymore... Should we run away? Should we talk with the other two...?".

"I'm not sure. To be honest I wouldn't be surprised if those two have already received orders to eliminate me once we are through with this next mission. If that were the case what would stop them from eliminating you as well. I also don't see us making it very far if we tried escaping before the mission either." Pausing to think Joseph let out a deep breath. He knew the odds were against them. More than likely either one or both of them would end up died by the end of it all. It was a truth that Joseph wanted to ignore, but yet he couldn't.

"Our best option would be to find an opening to escape during the mission." Joseph paused once again, only this time he looked deep into his partners deep blue eyes. "Gwen, for tonight, why don't we stay together?"

Gwen nodded softly, "Yes... Let's...".

Her breathing was heavy, her words a whisper. Just diving into the heat of his embrace, Gwen closed her eyes. For the first time in a long while she smiled peacefully and wholly.

[V]

Wattz, Imposter, V


Norgard, Capital Sonata, The Wedding Day

Every time he heard the words "the happy couple," Baxter took a drink.

He took another two whenever he heard "best day of their life."

The wine was smooth, expensive, but tasteless on Baxter's tongue, and plentiful enough for him. He planned on drinking until the lines of decorations blurred away from his sight, and until the chatter of the other guests faded away into a dull hum.

He hadn't been to a wedding since his own. Dear, sweet baker's daughter Persephone "Percy" Hill walking down the isle with a white satin dress accentuating the round curves of her form and with soft purple flowers woven into her dark curly hair. Her freckled and plump cheeks were rosy red from smiling and talking all day, nonstop, about the size of the wedding ring, the detail in the cake, the luxury of the chapel's decorations, and the goodwill of her coveted husband.

He wondered if the baby had been born safely, and then he took another drink.

"How about her," Caleb said, poking the merchant hard in the side. He waved his hand toward the next table over. A woman with a half revealing dress, wrapped in a layer of furs glanced their way her long blonde hair swaying softly.

It wasn't the first lady he'd brought to the merchants attention.

Baxter took a moment to gather himself, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger before looking up. "Ah, yes, lovely indeed. But I'm afraid, my good Gerald, she seems more to your liking. She's seems like uh... how shall I say this--a bit of a tart."

"Someone a touch meeker then?" Caleb questioned thoughtfully, his eyes scanning over the others at the feast for a companion for the merchant.

"Your wine is going down easily," he said, eyeing Baxter's drinking as the glass was filled and drained. He didn't comment on his own, of course, some Ascaran heavy spirits had been found in the cellars. The Desert kingdom drink was addling his mind quickly.

"No, no, I can find one on my own, but thank you good Gerald." Baxter's eyes flicked across the crowds of women, beautiful and not-so-much, thinking that on any other night he would have tried taking one, or perhaps two, to bed with him. But on this night, the memory of his own wedding march continued to play. "Perhaps you should concentrate on setting your sights on a lass of your own. Unless you need a bit more courage?"

A passing servant with a tray of wine glasses came by, and Baxter quickly placed his empty one on and took off two, nearly spilling them both. He kept one glass and shoved the other one in Caleb's empty hand.

"Courage, nay, I am well passed that stage in my life. " Caleb replied, taking the drink anyway. "But, I shall drink with you regardless, friend."

He settled into his chair sipping the wine.

~~

After the Wedding

Somehow a group of strangers had found themselves sitting around the Merchant and Ascaran. Caleb couldn't have said when they had arrived, or why they had stayed.

"....and can you believe that the Sultan asked me where my damn shirt was!"

Baxter laughed heartily with the rest of the group, his head thrown back and his drink nearly spilling over. He wiped a tear away from his eye and finally caught his breath. "Another excellent tale, Gerald!" Baxter said as he thumped Caleb on the back. There were cheers of agreement all around the table.

"So, I turned to him," Caleb continued as the laughter died down, "and I see him wearing my shirt, see the hole under his arm and the hurriedly cleaned stain. Over the top he's wearing a robe heavy with gold ornaments. I say 'lost it amongst a pile of gold.'"

"He looks at me, and then to the assassin, 'Has he been gambling again?' The assassin replies with a quick yes. And then the Sultan orders us both to get out of his quarters!"

"I can't say I blame him!" Baxter slurred. "Your cousin makes a piss-poor assassin. Oh, but what ever became of the stupid fellow?"

"I ordered him out of the Capitol never to return. But not without forcing him to buy me a new shirt first!"

"You and I, Gerald, you and I! See--see--that reminds me of this one time. Oh goodness, what was that one time? I was working with a bunch of mercenaries, and you see now, you see, no offence Gerald, but mercenaries can be just a bunch of barbarians, the lot of them!" Baxter struggled to find the right words for his story, but nonetheless took another swig of wine. "Working for some group of 'em, oh but I can't remember the name, just trying to make a--make a living, and they go ahead and cheat me out of my pay!"

"Well," considered Caleb, "you're here and alive... and I assume you managed to swindle back your pay?"

"Damn right I did! At least... I think I did? yes, yes, this instance I definitely did, no question about it. Quite an easy thing, running is. You--you never know how far your feet can carry you!"

Claudia's soft laughter was barely audible over the others sitting around as Baxter spoke, although it was forced she doubted anyone had caught onto her facade. She sat still clinging to the arm of the young nobleman as he laughed along with the others. He was easily coaxed about as he continued to try to impress the other affluent people enough that his position was secure. Truthfully Claudia was getting bored of the whole charade, and eagerly was awaiting the ceremony to finish. The whole time she was there was filled with strange looks, doubt and that arrogant air the wealthy carried with them could be seen as their eyes stared.

Fleeing may be easy, but its the chase that gives the most joy....Baxter

"So, how is it you two know each other? Are you with the bride or the groom?"

Claudia's tone was light enough to rise above the other murmuring, her cheeks blushed slightly as the attention of the two were caught by her words.

Baxter stopped and looked up at the woman looming over them. He wondered why the table seemed so empty, as if he and Caleb were the only ones remaining, though the night had been filled with laughter just moments ago. "No, no, no, just a friend. I'm sorry, can we help you?"

'Oh...you two just seemed like you were enjoying yourselves more than the others here. I'm not quite fit for a noblewoman's life.'

Claudia could feel Harken pull on her hand trying to get her attention, so she turned to address him. The two whispered briefly, the nobleman stating that he wanted to give his wishes to the newlyweds. Claudia smiled as she answered, knowing finally something was going to happen.

'Perhaps next time gents, you'll wait for a lady to start at the same time you do, it isn't much fun playing catch up.'

She gulped the full wine glass that was obviously Baxter's as she turned back to the ever anxious Harken.

Baxter followed as the woman drained his glass, stunned into momentary silence. He did not know this woman, but through the heady haze Baxter could feel the tension building stronger. Surely she was not here for idle chit chat.

"Yes, well," Baxter stood from his chair with a grating screech. "Perhaps Gerald here would love to help you catch up," he said while motioning to Caleb and giving hsi friend a pat on the back. "But do excuse me, I--I think I hear someone calling for me. Yes, yes, Misses Fairchild, I'm coming!" He yelled out this last part as if he had heard someone from across the room, waving his hand and advancing to find his non-existent friend. Waiting out the woman's presence in a quiet room sounded like a far better plan than sticking around.

Harken and Claudia made there way towards the newlyweds, slowly moving there way throughout the crowd of people. They were about half way between from Baxter and Caleb to the new couple when she stopped. The action almost caused the young nobleman to lose his balance. He turned and looked at her almost offended which only made her smile, this was the moment she had come her for. She yelled out from amidst the crowd, her tone no longer that of a lovestruck slut.

'O King, I wish to present to you 'Our' gift on this most joy filled of days for you.'

Grabbing Harken's wrist she twisted it forcing him to face the direction of the wedding party. His wide eyed expression only growing and she kicked his knees forcing him to the ground. Her devious look grew as she pulled out the papers from the front of her dress.

'We give you: the happy couple on this fine day: an insurrection! This traitorous sod has been conspiring a coupe, one no less funded by the kingdom's coffers itself. I was hired to erase the evidence and cover the tracks of his conspirators and their actions, but instead bring them to you with testimony that you may quell the event before it even happens.'

'Ho....How dare you?! I paid good money for your services. I paid the guild...I...I...it isn't true O Great King, she is mad!'

All could see the perspiration run down the nobleman's nose as he looked ahead in fear. Claudia however wasn't quite done yet.

'Someone paid more 'my love'. This is only but a part of the wedding gift the Unladen Hands wish to give you on your wedding day. We are interested in the affairs that have been transpiring here, and wish to make a good foothold in your fair kingdom, so the guild has expressed that my services will be offered to you for a special rate.'

[Kris]

The wedding took place and the vows were made.

Helena's smile faded however, the moment she spotted Baxter and Caleb not far from the suspicious couple of nobleman and woman (Whom she and the assassin recognized as a warrior lady).

Helena watched as the two moved forward for Arjak and Ciara from her watch point at the balcony. She tightly held the hands of Bria and nodded to Zelvad, "Let's go!".

It all happened so fast Zelvad barely had time to let the spider sneak from his person and to a better view of the action. They quickly descended, however, as Helena allowed Zelvad to take the lead as she guided the little girl by her arms, both because of her small steps, and for the fact she didn't wish for Bria to fear if there was no real need for it yet.

Helena and Zelvad stopped right before the two, watching as Claudia twisted the arm of the nobleman, announcing of the last as a wedding gift.

Glances were thrown back and forth between the former Paladin and the assassin, and Helena watched as Zelvad moved forward, while she herself kept some distance away, holding the hands of Bria and watching, "What is the meaning of this?", she asked Claudia, "Who are you?".

She wanted to move forward but Zelvad held up a hand toward her as he slowly approached the woman. "I think the better question would be why the guild decided to work against the nobles? They have the kind of finances to work out a permanent deal with the nearby mercenary guilds to attempt to retake the capital.....so why the double cross?"

Claudia's face almost expressed confusion at the question before her lips curled slyly. Her grasp tightened on the nobleman and he whimpered.

'Was our intent not clear? I thought it was. The guild is giving the newlyweds a gift to prove their worth to the King. We seek the King's business, and the guild decided that this was the most...how should we say....pointed way to get an upper hand on the competition and impress the royal couple.'

Claudia quickly surveyed the situation before continuing.

'...as for my name Miss...I am Claudia and it is a pleasure to meet you all. Now I do imagine one of you would like to take this man for questioning, and to verify these reports.'

The scarred woman winked towards Helena before narrowing her gaze on the man in front.

Zelvad was caught a little off guard by Claudia's answer. From what he knew of mercenaries, they usually just followed the money. Which would make the nobles the obvious choice to follow...but they were looking at the bigger picture and that was what threw him off. Motives held a business sense, though a public shaming of a noble like this made Zelvad suspect a bigger plan at work. It all seemed too easy...

"Well...alright then. Helena, Bria, let's give them room to work something out."

"Good and well, Assassin", Helena nodded softly. Frankly, she was still unsure, but decided to try and trust... At least for now.

[Anne Bonny]

It was with a sigh of pleasure that Wren watched the wedding ceremony. It was obvious that the bride and groom were destined for each other. Arjak was a a powerful leader. A king of the best sort - one who put his people and friends before himself. He had a passion for justice and the courage to keep what was right in the world. Ciara was just as fierce as he in her love of good, but she was also the embodiment of faith and quiet joy instead of strength and fire. Wren thought the two seemed to even each other out. And with her dark, graceful beauty and his rugged, stormy allure, Ciara and Arjak were certaily a lovely couple in every way.

In her seat, Wren took a moment to glance down at the hand entwined with her own. It was so clear that the new druid king and queen were perfect together. Did people think the same when they saw the meek healer next to the infamous pirate? He was ready to charge off the ends of the earth in search of an adventure without concern of risk or injury. She, while not one to shy away from danger, only saw such pursuits as worthy when they were justified by dire need. She devoted her life to saving others, while he was well known for taking from them. What did people think of them together?

Wren found herself smiling. Did it matter? Raphael was good to her, and being at his side made her happier than she ever could have expected. Much of her own life had been traveling on her own, and she hadn't ever given thought to settling down with another person. But watching the beautiful wedding made girlish thoughts come to Wren's head. She could imagine a home by the seaside for Mr. and Mrs. Sinclaire, with a few blonde-haired, green-eyed children in the yard. She looked up to see Raphael gazing at her and grinned. What would he think of her fantasies, she wondered?

The ceremony ended, and the guests cheered for the happiness their king and queen. Then, like any good wedding, the real party started. Wine flowed generously, accompanied by rich and exotic foods. Wren marveled at the feast that the frozen, Norgard land could provide. Raphael spoke and laughed easily with the other guests, while Wren smiled and got along with her usual, quite, polite ways. Their friends were here, and she had greeted them all and was glad to be reunited with their rag tag group.

The newlyweds passed by, and Wren practically flung her arms around Ciara. The girl's polite demeanor dissolved in her elation for her friends. She took a moment to grasp Arjak's big hands in both of her own, and then gasped that she was more than happy for them both, that she admired and loved them. It was an emotional exchange that made Wren wish she had more time with the couple and left her with joyful tears.

A couple is never so busy as they are at their own wedding, and it wasn't long before Arjak and Ciara were pulled away. One last squeeze of their hands and Wren bid them goodnight before turning back to her own beau.

The pirate brought a hand to her cheek to brush away a tear that lingered. "Don't be too concerned," Raphael teased. "I'm sure marriage isn't as horribly painful as some make it out to be."

Wren couldn't help but laugh and give him a playful push. "You know that's not why I'm crying," she chided.

He nodded and pulled her close. "Come dance with me," he said with a gesture to the violins playing nearby.

A sudden sense of panic washed over the girl. Raphael was a nobleman, probably taught as a young man the steps of formal dancing. Besides spinning around with her father when she was a child, Wren had no such training. She would surely stumble around. Maybe even step on his toes. She would make a fool of them both.

“Raph… but… I don’t know how!” she protested as he tugged her to the dance floor.

Raphael laughed. “I’ll show you. Just follow me.”

He gathered her into his arms and they began to sway to the music, and Wren felt some of her apprehension dissolving. She looked up into his sparkling green eyes and thought to herself that she would follow him… anywhere.

Love is blind, the saying goes. And for a few blissful moments, the two sweethearts twirled and held each other close, happily oblivious to the darker events that were already troubling their friends.

[Koti~]

Koti~ And Agent 20

The Lie stared at his hands turning them over and over pressing his fingernails into his skin til blood pooled at his finger tips. He was as human as he looked he couldn't shake the feeling that the sign of blood was a bad thing and should have been followed by a laugh. He laughed but it did not feel appropriate to the situation. he stopped laughing. His body was telling him laughter was wrong but he definitely enjoyed it. The small cut throbbed with pleasure. Oh yes.

"Time for a test." The Lie poked and prodded as he searched his memories for a some kind of clue as to what his purpose was. Names and pictures of allies and enemies flooded his mind's eye. Emonalach filled the majority of them his visage one of hate, fear, respect and loyalty. Emotions exploded from this memory filling The Lie up with purpose. However free time was assured and whatever chaotic notion of freedom The Lie had was urging him out of that cold dark labyrinth.

"A flip of a coin, a roll of the dice. Let fate decide what'll be nice.

The shadows around Lie wavered and drew close until the darkness enveloped the general. It was mere moments til he found himself in a small room. the shadows retreating into the cracks in the floor boards.

No.Vii blinked in slight surprise as the man appeared inside his room, emerging from the shadows as they retracted from the cracks. Taking a swig from his flask before sitting up, he blinked at the man. Reacting quickly, he flipped back on his chair so that he was laying on his back, before rolling off and kicking the chair at him, stopping next to a blood red cloth. He reached behind it and pulled out Verkur, gripping it so that the head now rested on the ground.

“Who the fuck are you and how the hell did you get in here?” No.Vii asked, a curious yet annoyed frown on his face.

Lie frowned and batted the chair out of the way with a flick of his wrist, it smashed into the wall. "Oh too strong. I'll fix that later." Lie turned to No.Vii.

"I see...in my mind a fight....for life for.....everything. I see you....it intrigues me.....but nothing after that, nothing that involves you specifically. I was wondering if you you would do me the pleasure of facing death with me....there is this feeling....feeling of threat and excitement....I need....no...I want you to die. Now."

No.Vii blinked at the man, trying to place a finger on the man. Nothing came to mind, but his eyes flicked to the chair that was now in parts against the wall. The man was quite bizarre himself, knowing only of a war and an oracle. He was quite happy though, mainly due to the splintered remains of the chair.

“Sorry…. I have plans to live for a while. But, if you don’t mind being turned into dead meat, I’ll happily turn you to into fleshy piles of meat!” No.Vii said, twisting the ending part of his staff before spinning it, sending the bottom part flying out like an arrow from a bow. While spinning his entire body, a hand slipped inside his coat and he pulled out a vial of black liquid. He drained it quick before finishing the turn, tossing the vial as his body bulged some as the liquid finally took hold.

The Lie stepped back and to the side, his body slightly blurring, too fast. He'd fix that later. Suffice it to say he dodged. The Lie grimaced at No.Vii's reaction. "It was a reasonable request. I don't understand why you're acting so rashly. Perhaps I should mention I'm a Necromancer, Dying isn't as bad as its made out to be. It's a bit painful...well in your case a bit more painful. I don't exactly want to make it easy for you."

“Sorry, but I enjoy staying alive. I fought to stay alive, so I will stay alive, thank you very much” No.Vii said, pulling the scythe’s end back into it, twisting it into place. No.Vii spun his weapon around his body a few times, the dull blade making an odd chopping sound as it broke the air.

“I literally walked out from under the ground with nothing by a blade and my life. I’m not dying to some freak because he wants me to!” No.Vii said, dashing forward with the scythe pointing down. He flicked to the side and twisted the scythe, dull blade first, swinging to catch the man on the lower side, just at the knee.

The Lie leaned and fell towards No.Vii catching the scythe in his ribs as the blade ripped into his clothes and back. Blood poured out of the cut in his back and he felt a single rib crack from the force of the blow. He groaned as pain rocketed through his abdomen.

"Oh that's good I thought I couldn't feel pain for a moment there. I remember pain now. This weapon of yours reminds me. Pain. I remember Jask and Gluttony hating pain. I don't know why though. It feels so good. There's no way to describe it really. I feel like I have to kill you, now." The Lie grabbed the scythe tightly.

"One thing should be made clear though. I don't have to do this. I want to." Pulling the weapon toward him roughly The Lie punched No.Vii. A warm smile crept up his mouth as a nice memory popped into his head. A memory of a Necromancer fighting with an intimidating knight in the halls of a druid temple....or was it a house... did druids have houses....tree-houses maybe. The Lie's attention began to drift.

No.Vii blinked in surprise as Verkur ripped through the man, just enough to get caught off guard as the man… strange and exciting all the same … to get punched in the rib enough to skid back. No.Vii’s smile grew wide as he skid back, the edge of Verkur began to glow with a purple hum. No.Vii swept the scythe back and up, sending specks of blood across the room before he brought the scythe to his lips.

“Then allow me to accommodate you, you crazy bastard. For even the darkness fears me, and the devil shall call upon me.” No.Vii said, licking his tongue across the edge, tasting the man’s blood. It tasted rotten and decayed, but warm and like iron, like… determination that will continue regardless. His body convulsed as the blood rolled down his throat, igniting the liquids second effect. His muscles in his chest grew a good size larger as the ones in his legs tensed. His senses sharpened and the room became clear, the wound on the man glistening with blood along with the freshened splatter across the wall.

“Ready to dance?” No.Vii asked, his voice having dropped half an octave as he swung his scythe, the staff side heading straight to the man’s head with enough speed to cause a slight whistle.

The Lie ducked and slapped his palm on the floor. The thing most people don't realize about necromancers is that anything that has died is fair game to a master necromancer, even wood. The Lie injected the wooden floor with his tainted mana forcing false life into its forgotten veins. The wood exploded with growth before quickly rotting away, sending both men down to the floor below. Advancing cellular growth in a long dead creature was always tricky especially when each floorboard came from different trees. The Lie landed on all fours and skipped backwards towards the door.

"I'm a not much of a dancer but if you want I believe more space will do us some good."

No.Vii flipped back just as the ground began to give way and sunk the blade into the wall, hanging now while facing the Lie. He smiled down at the man, highly amused now and his left arm hanging free.
“No amount of room is going to save you. Small tiny box or the wide open planes won’t help you. You made a mistake of coming here, mister crazy. No one is here to stop me, no one is going to save you. There ain’t no person behind the door who is going to stop me from killing you!” No.Vii grinned, showing off glimmering teeth as he planted his feet against the wall. Pushing hard, he wrenched the scythe from the wall and spun, aiming right for the lie. The hue had dimmed considerably from the blade head, but brute force would be more than enough to slice him in half. At least, that’s what No.Vii thought.

"Scythes are so cumbersome. A large blade is of little use is such a small environment." The Lie dove forward as the blade spun towards him feeling its edge tear effortlessly through the back of his coat. "You've had me on the run for most of this conflict perhaps I should turn the tables and show you the offensive." The Lie ran at VII with superhuman speed throwing his weight into his run and slamming into his opponent. The momentum carried him further into the nearest door. Shifting his weight he slowed momentarily and knocked the warrior into and through the door and out onto the street. The Lie walked over to the scythe and pulled out of the ground where it lay deftly twirling it in his hands.

"Mine now."

No.Vii skidded along the ground and rolled upright, a few tears in his coat and now weaponless. He snarled at the man, Verkur, now dull, resting in this man’s hands idly, making claims that it belonged to him. This… he would not allow. Thinking now was a really bad time to be weaponless, he shifted his feet a bit, keeping him in front of the man while scanning the area close by.

“Just because you fucking suck at using them, doesn’t make them useless!” No.Vii shouted, dashing to the side and tackling a soldier to the side. Ripping the sword out of the mans scabbard, he ran the man through the neck with his own blade, tasting the hot blood traveling down his throat and causing the muscles in his body to twitch and expand, the bandages on his chest now soaked crimson from the old scars splitting open. Gripping the now dead man, he rammed his fist into his chest, grabbed his spine and dashed at the Lie. He keep his new meat shield in front of him and raised the sword, ready to swing it towards the man.

The Lie countered by jumping to the side and swing the scythe at VII. "Wow, I have yet to murder someone and here you are doing it for me. You may call me "The Lie" or "Liar" for short....lets be friends!"


"Perfect Lie, the friends I remember all died!" No.Vii said, swinging the sword to guard against his own scythe. Hurling his meat shield at The Lie, he dropped the sword and grabbed the scythe Giving it a sharp twist, he yanked it hard, the engorged muscles under his shirt aiming to either fling the Lie like a sack of potato's, or to pull the scythe out of his hand. Either way, he was aiming for getting his scythe back.

Liar let go the moment he saw VII's muscles bulge letting the recoil from his opponent's own strength do more damage than what would occur should he hold on to the scythe. As the scythe slipped out of his hands Liar smiled weakly and disappeared in a violent burst of dark violet flames leaving only the faint smell of sulfur and decay behind. Far from the battlefield below wind blew through his hair and clouds of ice and water stung his lips. He was coming in fast. Perhaps this was a bad idea but the wound he had foolishly let occur mere moments before began to crack at his shell. Liar laughed as he fell. "This is one sure way to give birth. ALL MESSY AND DRAMATIC!!!"

No.Vii blinked for a second as Liar had vanished upon him, leaving behind the smell of rotted flesh. He flipped his scythe back in place and looked a bit sour, annoyed that the man had left the fight, still alive using some cheep magic trick. No.Vii stretched and craned his neck to relieve his sore muscles when he spotted something above him. It was Liar, free falling from the sky.

"Oh.. looks like you jumped a bit to high. Since we are good friends and all, let me give you a hand!" No.Vii shouted, running up the building side before jumping off, the muscles in his legs tensing and then releasing like the mechanism on a catapult. He pulled his scythe back as he aimed to shishkabob Liar straight through like a piece of over cooked meat.

As the Lie soon found out, contrary to popular belief there were no dead people in the clouds. The Lie was saddened by this. Where did all those people he had murdered in the past go when they died? They can't have all been bad and gone to hell. He swore loudly into the wind, if he had actually done the world a favor...he promised himself he'd find a baby and cut it in half. His mind wandered again. What did the inside of a baby look like? What does a baby taste like? Tender? Fatty? Gamey?

It wasn't til he had heard yelling that The Lie turned his attention back to the ground which was in some kind of hurry to meet him. White hot pain shot through his abdomen and blood sprayed from his mouth. The force of the abrupt stop forced the scythe's blade to tear through his body. Only a thin sliver of flesh held on but it was only moments before the edge of the blade made short work of that. The Lie fell to the ground and landed in a heap of rubble. Blood gushed from his torn body like a hot spring. the taint from his blood soaked into the cobblestone. Nothing would ever grow there anymore til the end of time.

"Fuck you." Coughed The Lie before lying still on the ground the rest of his organs spilling out of the hole in his gut.

No.Vii grinned like a fool as he landed on his feet, the scythe now glowing a deep sated purple, blood dripping off the edges. His grin grew more malicious as he began laughing like a mad man, the street now void of life.

"THIS? This is your great "offense"? The only thing offensive about this is how quickly you fell! I swear I have had more challenges from a toddler with a dagger!" No.Vii shouted, doubled over in laughter as he gripped his scythe. He walked slowly over to the man, trying his best to reign in the laughter, with little luck.

"Well, this has been fun and all Liar.. but I think I should end this. It's been a great challenge, but.. I'll meet you again to the gates of hell, if I don't break them first!" No.Vii said, raising his scythe above his right shoulder, his left arm across his body as he tensed it, ready to swing.

A silence filled the air.

Then all the windows in every house shattered in unison. The ground began to grow cold. The stones cracked at VII's feet. Before him lay the body of the Lie destroyed by his blade slowly and eerily beginning to dry up and turn to ash. The wood in the houses around him started to splinter and age no longer able to support the structures weight. Plumes of debris shot up as older houses beyond the street fell. The street once devoid of life was now bustling with panic stricken people.

"Thank you." breathed a voice. It spoke to VII but he did not hear the words rather he tasted them and yet he did not. He felt them and yet he did not. He saw them and yet he did not. The experience of those words ceased to exist. What stood before him was the antithesis of existence given form.

"Well.... This is new. Either way, I am not going down. Maybe now you can fight" No.Vii said, pulling back his scythe and shifting his feet into a defensive position. His body shook from excitement and pain, the muscles in his body starting to tense from the overload as the pause had begun to break his concentration.

In the blink of an eye Truth was upon VII, his white hands pressing hard into VII face, tightening his grip with each passing second until he pressed his palm into VII's nose. Despite the seemly weak movement of Truth's hand he pushed with unbelievable power sending VII flying down the street.

Truth's massive black wings stretched out silently, his body lithe and graceful stood in the center of the road in all its glory. He was thin, too thin to be human yet human like form still betrayed earthly origins to the observer. His head and face were covered in some kind of pure white armor that seemed to serve as skin. Only eye's could be seen on his face, white as well with only a single black pupil staring emotionless into the world beyond its fleshy lens.

His wings contrasted violently with his white body. Black as midnight they stretched out from his lower back Menacing and beautiful.

Truth's eye's stared blankly at VII as if expecting more.
No.Vii almost flew back as he was pushed, barely having time to notice that Lie's hand had pushed him hard, harder than his body should have been able to do. Using his scythe, he stopped his body about half way down the cobble stone street, leaving a rather large line in the street as he picked himself up. Looking at his scythe, he was puzzled by the fact that the blade had very little edge to it. He was completely baffled though, because he had just scored the person in half. The blade should have been almost covered in purple flames from the glow of the hue.

“Hey… did you replace the dead guy that was here?!” No.Vii said, standing up slowly as he looked at the new winged …thing standing there.

Truth didn't respond. He turned stretched his wings out wide and effortlessly left the battlefield. There was no longer any need to fight for he did not see a threat in the man before him.

No.Vii frowned as the thing flew off, before sagging against a building he had stopped besides, glad for the support it offered

"...Jared is not going to believe this one."

[~N~]

(Apologies for the month delay. This semester's been pure hell.)

He wants it all... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3ubLOKbx-Y)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The golden archway groaned with the weight of the metal engraved doors to the Council Chambers of Sigard as they swung ponderously open, bearing their imposing presence dangerously upon those who stood behind them. Through the backdrop of the blinding sunlight that flooded in and painted the floor white two long shadows spilled forth over the vestibule floor of the Chambers: one diminutive, squat, bearing a standard twice as high and lofty as itself, and one taller, clearly the Master to the Servant. Both required assistance to maintain their stature and pace; the Lord his cane, the Slave his standard.

The Council Chambers were shaped in the vision of an amphitheater, with the speaker upon a low raised dais, facing the elevated concentric rings that surrounded him where all but a few members of the Council sat evenly spaced apart in attendance this day. As Shylock entered the grand chamber itself, the beams of sunlight illuminated his aged white head and shimmering dark robes--luxury attire for a man of wealth and status fit more for a king than mere merchant. But the overshadowed men in the seats rose up as this great lord among them entered their high domed majestic chamber, for every one of them knew that every brick of that same chamber was financed and paid for by the man standing before them over thirty years ago. The old chamber was little more than a gazebo by comparison.

Shylock set aside his cane, while Dreeg held the Standard fast a few feet away, wavering only to periodically wipe his perpetually running green nose. The Master slid his wrinkled hands over the smooth surface of the lectern, made of the finest oak and gold-inlays, and smiled imperceptibly at the plated insignia of the Scales that rested in the lower right-hand corner of the top surface. It was agreed upon construction that neither the building, nor the podium would bear overtly the mark of his Cartel and while he might have normally contested this, everyone would always know who truly owned this hall and all who dwelt within in it for as long as Shylock lived.

"My Lords of Commerce," he began as strongly as his aged voice allowed, "My Lords of Sigard."

"It is with great accomplishment that I return to you today."

“Yes, Master Shylock, we have heard that you have had your hand in many affairs abroad...” Councillor Matthias responded. Some others nodded their assent.

Shylock nodded in affirmation, “Your reports... are correct in that regard, Councillor. I have indeed been industrious abroad to the great benefit of our people here in Sigard, as well as around the allied Kingdoms.”

“How so?” Councillor Tolman interjected, his statement one of inquiry as well as challenge. “For our reports show that you have leveraged and spent much wealth and capital in these endeavors, and such expenses cannot be justified lightly, Lord Shylock. Your recent actions are both out of character and of fiscal concern to us as the Council whole.”
“I assure you, Councillor,” Shylock responded, turning his gaze upon the imperious questioning eyes of Councillor Tolman, “That what wealth and resources have been indeed spent have been to your benefit as well as mine, though I must admit, the resources you mention have been mine alone.”

“I disagree, Master Shylock,” Councillor Bray countered, “For while your balance sheets may indeed reflect the expenditures as coming from your coffers, this city, this kingdom depends on the economic well-being of your Cartel in particular, as you well know, and--I’m certain--would agree...”

Shylock gave a sagely nod with a knowing smirk of acknowledgement to this claim.

“And with that in mind, it brings us a measure of concern to see the sudden depletion of your accounts for the enterprises in which you have lately engaged, which--as Councillor Tolman has just mentioned--are rather unusual when considered against the past several years of your business behavior. Do you dispute this, Lord Shylock?”

“No, I do not,” the Merchant Lord replied.

“Then please,” Councillor Velos importuned him, leaning forward and clasping his hands, “explain to us the reasoning and rationale for this recent erratic and wild behavior so that we may better understand how to assess the risk to both our own investments and those of this kingdom in your affairs.”

Shylock bowed his head and breathed in deep, gathering his thoughts before raising it again.

“My Lords of Commerce, Councillors of Sigard and of the City of Senedon. I have traveled much in recent much, and have moved with a decisiveness that our time and occasion call for.” One of the Councillors made a motion to speak, but Shylock raised his hand and gestured for him to maintain his silence while he continued.

“The Empire moves against us.”

A hushed gasp and shifting eyes spread through the chamber. Whispered questions about proof and the boldness of that statement rippled outwards.

“It is worse than that. My sources, as well as my personal experience, indicate that the Empire is working with potential entities that are malevolent and antagonistic to our cause.” Again, the looks of disbelief and shock were apparent on the faces of the Councillors.

“How can you say these things?!” Councillor Murrat challenged. “I’ve heard no such reports.”

“Because I’ve spoken to one of these demons,” Shylock said with ironclad reserve and gravity.
“What?!” Councillor Velos replied with astonishment written on his features.

“I have dealt with him and others,” Shylock continued undaunted, much to the chagrin and agitation of the Council, “and I have destroyed two of them.”

“Your participation in the battle in Norgard. Yes, we’ve heard the reports,” Councillor Bray affirmed. “But there was no mention of... demons.”

“Rest assured, I appear before you today--changed,” Shylock countered. “Your eyes do not deceive you, and no, the miles I have traveled have not had this effect on my appearance. It was in taking the lives of one of these entities in particular that I sacrificed much...” and in saying this Shylock choked for a moment, and swallowed, his throat rattling briefly before he mastered it again for speech.

“It was in destroying this demon that I lost part of my own life.” Hushed silence filled the chamber.

“So you can see, Councillors Velos, Bray, and others of you here, today,” Shylock went on, “that the matter of which I speak, is one with which I am deeply and personally acquainted. And yes... it is one I have paid dearly for.”

“But do not doubt,” the Merchant Lord raised his voice and hand, his finger pointing to the heavens, “that I am here... for the purpose not only of our survival, but of our evolution. When I was in Ivalor, I ensured the complete and total acquisition of the market economy there...”

“But reports have confirmed Ivalor is sealed, Master Shylock,” Councillor Galoran interjected.

“Tis true, Councillor Galoran; it is sealed, for the demons have made it so.” The Council shook their collective heads. “You’ll find in your reports, if they are accurate and thorough, that this ‘barrier’ is indeed magical,” Shylock emphasized, “in nature.”

“There are those who practice magic who are not demons,” Councillor Ipsett remarked in consideration.

“True, but consider who benefits from such an act that no doubt would take an enormous amount of magical potential. Aside from the isolation and destruction of its people, there is no other purpose that such a barrier can serve. Ivalor has its warriors, its paladins and its defenses. It is not lacking for military power, no,” Shylock explained. “This is a holy nation which has been sealed off by dark powers precisely to remove it from play.”

Whispers rippled through the Council chamber once more, heads turning as Councillors contemplated and considered this charge.

“We’ve seen this strategy before,” Shylock added, “in business... in the form of economic sanctions. It is imposed, as a trade embargo is, to seal off and suffocate a kingdom in order to bring it to its knees through a slow, but effective process of starvation. You all know the historic effectiveness of this tactic. You, and I, and this government have employed it against others ourselves, and we have seen the results.”

Councillors nodded their heads in assent.

“And so we must rise! We must recognize and rise against this threat!” Shylock boomed across the chamber, closing his raised hand to a fist. “And I have done so, and I have traveled, and I have come back here... for the sake of us all.”

“To Norgard,” Councillor Tolman called out.

“And Ascara,” Councillor Elos added. “For we have confirmation the Sultan is--grudgingly--supporting you.”

“Embroiled in civil war,” Councillor Bray countered.

“And we have heard--and seen--the King of Aerosia with you,” Councillor Velos announced.

“Surprisingly, considering rumors that tell of that island kingdom’s recent turmoil,” Councillor Murrat added.

“And so you see that everywhere these forces move against us like a storm, swiftly and destructively!” Shylock proclaimed.

“And in all these places, you have moved to counter them,” Councillor Matthias conceded.

“We were wrong to hold you in contempt, Lord Shylock.”

“Indeed, for you alone have recognized and acted before any of us against a greater threat that--in light of recent events--seems more troubling and real than we may have first assessed,” Councillor Velos agreed.

“What of Chanclera,” came the clarion voice of Councillor Larren.

From the shadows of the chamber stepped forth the rough, intimidating silhouette of Cronus Audata as though he simply materialized from the dark corners of the opulent chamber itself. He stepped silently, imposingly next to his Master, his razor gaze, flickering with the smoldering embers of an inner contempt for these “talkers”, these politicians, who effected nothing, and were incapable of the acts he committed in the name of financial gain and advancement.

“Chanclera,” he said in a voice that conjured the dread severity fitting an incarnation of Death itself, “is ready to back this Council and the Merchant Lord of the Scales. I speak for her people.”

“This, ladies and gentlemen, Councillors all,” Shylock addressed the chamber, “is Cronus Audata, the sole leader and representative of the deadly Lunar Fangs. And he is with me, and with us.”

Again, the Council was struck dumb with silence, a few of them clearing their throats--obviously moved by the sudden, unannounced presence of perhaps the most effective killer in the world in their midst.

“The Council,” Elos acknowledged, “is becoming, I think, increasingly convinced of your position, Lord Shylock. I do not think the appearance of this particular...” she stopped and narrowed her eyes, “individual... is necessary, and furthermore, poses a threat to the members of this chamber.”

“Councillor Elos,” Shylock countered, “I am content to have Cronus next to me, fully armed and capable of extinguishing life in a single moment. So should you be. I can personally speak to his honor and reliability, and would ask that you not question it as long as we... consider ourselves to be of one mind with similar goals.”

“Lord Shylock,” Councillor Bray addressed the Merchant Lord of the Scales, “We aware of the secret project of the Elemental Warriors that you have personally helped to fund. What can you tell us of this, and your amassed resources and... weapons,” she eyed Cronus warily. “What can you tell us of your intentions, Dravon?” It was a personal address, one that called on Shylock to be straightforward and honest with his response if the Council was going to approve his intentions.

Shylock nodded, as another man stepped forward with a gentle wave from his master into the light. “Geordis Dupont is here to tell of the proceedings of the ‘Elements of Sigard Initiative’ which was created to address military concerns that our people had in the past.”

Councillor Ipsett joined in, “Yes, we’ve had that on-going for the past few years now. Tell us, Master Dupont, where do we stand on the ESI project?”

“It is progressing well, and I can officially state that we have our first cohorts prepared. We do not need the numbers of a conventional military force, because our combatants each posses powers and capabilities beyond your typical ‘soldier’. Lord Shylock’s funding has helped immeasurably, off-setting setbacks and costs that have accrued with the project,” Master Dupont said with projected confidence.

“We’ve been hearing reports that some of the... participants in this project are not adjusting well to the ‘training process,’ or that they were... ‘recruited’ by methods the Council did not officially sanction or express approval for,” Councillor Velos remarked with a stern tone.

Geordis and Shylock glanced at each other, and the merchant knew that he was to continue without hesitation, “I assure you that every project we have engaged in has been a learning experience, and yes, a few of those recruited did not initially take well to the process, but we have learned from these experiences and spent significant amounts of time and effort towards refining the process and improving it, so as to reduce the amount of ‘failures’ and ‘missteps’ that we encounter.” He cleared his throat and affirmed his position, “We are in accordance with the best business practices in Sigard. The project is run in the same way, with an eye towards advancement, efficiency, and return on investment.”

“That doesn’t necessarily address my concerns,” Councillor Velos replied, undeterred.

Shylock motioned for Dupont to hold his words, and then addressed the Councillor’s concerns. “Councillor Velos,” he began in a tone of voice that called for consideration and understanding, “surely, as a businessman yourself, you know there are ‘challenges’ to be overcome in the means of supply, demand, production, and profit. Finding suitable recruits, making certain they were selected with a deep consideration for our own people, and at minimal expense to our great city and kingdom, were all obviously contributing factors towards the creation and development of this program. We did not want to put our own citizens at risk, so we sourced abroad. We needed this program to be fully operational within a short period of years, so we took measures to ensure the subjects would be rigorously prepared in that brief amount of time. We wanted them to be loyal, imbued with gifts and abilities as this project would grant them, so we made certain that the training ‘process’ ensured that loyalty. All of these measures were implemented with a mind toward cost and efficiency,” Shylock explained in a measured and reasoning manner.

“Therefore, you can certainly understand there were were a variety of demands placed upon this project that tested our ability to overcome the challenges that lay before us with an eye towards accomplishing and meeting each of those demands.” Before Velos or anyone else could respond, Shylock drove into the heart of his reasons for calling the Council together and appearing before them:

“Ladies and Gentleman of the Senedon Council of Sigard, I have addressed your concerns sufficiently in my opinion, and every moment we spend in debate and discussion of these matters is one more moment that we lose to the malevolent forces arrayed against us!

“Already I have received reports of suspicious activities which defy explanation in Ascara and Chanclara, right on our borders to the east and west! Across the seas Norgard, Ivalor, and Aerosia are in the grip of uprisings and black magic that incapacitate their lands and wreak havoc on their people! How long will you wait to act?!

“Will you wait until their is blood running through our streets and creatures of living darkness prowling upon our industry and population?

“Will you wait until the bloodied babes are screaming in the arms of slaughtered mothers?! Will you wait until your people are dying in anguish to the monstrous forces arrayed against us?! Will you wait until the doors of this hallowed Chamber are being smashed open by the nefarious legions of the Esgarian Empire?!

“NO! We will wait no longer! You must come together now!

“For your people!

“For the health of your businesses and nation!

“For the Six Kingdoms of the World who are under siege as we speak by that damned power in the West and its black legions!

“For all humanity, for all civilization, for all life in this world, you must come together and act!

“Stand with me, Councillors of Sigard! Stand with me, great Lords of Commerce! Stand with me against the tyranny of evil, darkness, and annihilation! Let these fiends and their Emperor know that free men of commerce stand against them today in the name of prosperity, freedom and peace!

“Let them know our might! Let them know that this war, this savage campaign against the Kingdoms of this World will. stop. here!

“Stand with me, Councillors! Grant me your executive authority to marshal the full might of our forces against these dark powers to extinguish their villainous ambitions once and for all! And I will lead us into a new day! A brighter day! A day that shines with Hope for the future!

Stand with me, Councillors! For Sigard! For the World!”

The grand old Merchant Lord of the Scales raised his hands into the air to the resounding applause and standing ovation of the Council Chambers--for they were with him, in the majority.

And in that very hour, the Council of Sigard in the grand Chambers of Commerce granted Shylock supreme executive authority to proceed with preparations and actions of war against the Esgares Empire and the demonic forces that swept across the lands. It was a bold and unprecedented move in the history of the Council, but each of its members realized that the threat was indeed real, and that if they were to combat it, they would need to stand behind Shylock and give him their full support. Each of them were also aware of the fact that in the wake of their victory, should it be attained, Sigard would stand as the strongest of the Six Kingdoms, ready to assume control of the world’s marketplace.

[SQJ]

Morning of wedding.

The old man sat, upon a high rock, his pet sitting between his legs. They're own little camp-site isolated from any and all off the others, which had a great deal to with the cackling and snarling beasts which surrounded the camp site. Most of beasts had pulled in to their respective owners.
Their breath visible in the cool air.

The old man stroked his chin, his movements slow, calm, heavily deliberate for such a simple physical action.

"While we are here I would have you all do good. Every action, every movement you make is one you make in the name of our people. Like the heat of battle the actions of one. We are a proud race. We posses a wealth of traditions that create and strengthen out sense of pride that have made us strong. That sense of pride has also been our downfall and it stands to be our downfall. Once again we stand in a position where our pride could bring forth our down fall. Your every step should be calm, your every movement well thought out. At no point must your actions be motivated by anger."

Wedding

Nonkululeko had never been to a wedding or matching ritual outside off their own matching ceremonies.

It was a truly a bizarre experience, mostly considering how, dressed, they were. She wasn't exactly sure what she was expecting but it all bothered her. And yet she had no idea why. It was unique, yes it was nothing like any thing she had ever seen before but at the same time something bothered her cheated her of her sense of awe and amazement.

It was perhaps the simplest of things. She couldn’t put a finger on it.

There was one thing that she knew that did bother her. It was easily how far back she and her father were. They could barely see the proceedings. Both her and her brother had had to come moments away from exchanging fists with on the younger views to get her father a seat but they'd gotten it. Xolani, the old man and herself had been the only to even attempt forwards seats. the others had simply been allowed to spread out under the condition the pair had already broken.

Post wedding

This was an awkward situation to begin with but their father had assured passage in,


Epinala rolled his shoulders as he walked around the edge of the royal garden where the reception was taking place. Rubbing just under the leather band on his forehead, he was glad for the minute silence that had accompanied him once he left the rather large table, a desire to be away from people for a bit. The past few weeks, hell, months, had been tedious with the Clans and the Wedding, that he had had no real time to sneak away on his own, and just be him. Having been devoid of human contact for some years had left him with a bitter taste to be so forcefully thrust back into the throngs of society.

"Hm?" Epinala looked up, a faint scent of sand attracting his nose. Looking over, he saw three people standing outside, guards preventing them access. Frowning some at this, he headed to the guards and tapped them on the shoulders, drawing their attention with a quick snap to the ready position.

"Guards, can you not see that this elderly man needs a seat. As well, they appear to mean no harm to anyone, tempers be another thing." Epinala said, motioning them aside and beckoning the older gentleman and his two travelling partners to follow with.

"Sorry about that. Now, let's see if we can find you a seat." Epinala said, smiling at them as the disgruntled guards went back on duty.

It took a moment for the family to react. The old man smiled graciously, hobbling slightly and sitting slowing, in a way that suggested he needed to be seated before he would ever be able to sit.Which was odd, as old as the man was, he wasn't that helpless.

The old man looked up to Epinala and smiled, "Bare with an old man my son. I cannot keep up with you. You are one of the royalty? You seem quite the important man." Both Xolani and nonkulukeo were silent unsure of what to do or say, they had both simply taken to walk behind.

Epinala smiled at the man, taken in by his kindness and good eye. Epinala himself sat down in a chair near the man, adjusting the robe around him.

"I am in fact. A bit new to it, but I am the new clan leader of Al'Anduun. This is, actually, my brothers wedding, which was a surprise to me as well. So, what clan are you from? You don't have the same scent most other clans have. You carry a scent more akin to the beaches" Epinala asked, leaning back in his chair some.

The old man raised his eyebrow. "You have quite the talent there. I would not have guessed that the people of your clan could ever come close to be able to smell the location a person has been just by their scent. You are not to be under estimated." The old man said with a chuckle. "Something tells you me you are the time who interacts well with the ways of nature and the wild. A most admirable trait, one I would have my daughter learn best of all."

"Father!" Nonkululeko cried out before Xolani raised his hand silencing her.

"Nkuli, you would do best to listen. Remember my words. Bare them close." The old man said before turning back to the young clan leader. Nkuli clenched her jaw, frustration quickly winning over against reason. It took Xolani's playful tap on the back to bring her back into the conversation.

The old man looked intently into Epinala's eyes. "Al'Anduun, the leader you say,and by such the leader of the man of which the men and women of this kingdom" the old man's voice trialled off. "I know a little of your people but I am most certain you know nothing of mine. We are of the Umbaleki tribe. We unlike any druid clan as illustrious clan as your own were of Ascara where once, perhaps two, even three centuries ago our numbers were great, our wealth measured in our bond with the earth and all that fed off of it enumerable. We were rich as any druid should be." the wonder in the man's eyes made her see something she'd never seen before in any but the youngest of children. It was not a face known of by those knowledgeable of the tribe's history.

"But the ascara are not known as the most tolerant of peoples. There was some sort of uprising. Where those of magical heritage lost all esteem were hunted. We were no exceptions. We were hunted to near extinction. We could not stay/ And it is through such that we came to the shores or Norgrad and there where we adapt for generations upon your beaches but we possess no territory for our people, no claim. And."

The old man stopped there, his tone having depreciated ever so much through the whole conversation. Paused, his hands covering his face, his breath slow and haggard. The old mans eyes sharpened on Epinala's. "And nothing." He said with a sigh. "My clan has been here for three generations. He have caused no conflict, we have no stolen, we have worked for what we have, despite not having much. I am sure you are a man who is given great offers within your land. Gold, diamonds, minerals from the earth that go unseen and untouched by most of the world, of course the same going for your bother. I do no come to buy or barter, I can ill afford to do that with the little my clan has, and despite the time my clan has upon this land I would not attempt to lay claim or make demands. Only humbly ask for the right to claim the marked uninhabited beaches upon where we lay refuge as our own."

Epinala's face tensed a bit, seeming less cheerful yet still relaxed. He listened with interest to the story of this man, trying to remember if anything came to mind about the clan. Nothing much could be drawn from it as he didn't recount anything from the history scrolls he was made to read. Though... there was something that made him laugh.

"I understand your situation well sir. I myself was alone in this world with nothing to my name until I was adopted by my clan. And its only recently that I have become clan leader. Other than that... I spent most of my time in the woods alone." Epinala said, crossing his arms with a smile. He looked over at the girl though, who made him think of himself a bit, when he was younger.

"I am sure we could arrange something along those lines, given we need to know a few things about your clan. The main thing though is," He started, his eyes flicked to Nkuli, "Can you accept having to answer to another clan if the need arises?"

Nkuli's eyes narrowed. "And what would you mean by that? Our clan would never allow such a thing. We are here seeking freedom, not to be enslaved by another-"

"Silence daughter!" The old snapped turning to face her. "You will learn to listen as you are one who will be listening to this man for as long as it takes to secure out liberty within this land."

"What do you mean 'as you are'? What of me?"

"The man needs to know of our clan, myself and your brother cannot stay away from our ground long you, on the other hand, must stay. I am giving you, my daughter to this man for as long as he is able to ensure the survival and growth of our clan."

Nkuli dropped to one knee her face contorting to hold back rage filling inside her, her sense of hate rising but held back tightly by her code of honour demanding that she keep form reacting causing tears to form in her eyes. "Please father, I beg of you do not send me from your side. From my people!"

"You are causing a scene sister. You say you want to serve your people there is no better way."

There's death she thought to herself, her breath running short as she fought to contain herself. It look a few moments but she managed to get her eyes up to look at the young leader. "It would seem, as though your time alone in the wildness will be a luxury my presence will not allow as I am now embedded to you. As a root to soil. I am fair with my hands but most capable with my feet. The fact that a cannot read should limit any chance of having others read your messages. Though unread I am not stupid. I am..." She bit her lip unable to say a word more, her chest heaving under down garments, a bright red top which was essentially a triangle tied at the sides and at the base to a skirt, her hair tied tight. "yours."

Epinala sat in stunned silence, his face showing no emotion as he listened to them, wondering what had just happened. In only two minutes he now had a person who now worked for him, which made him pause. His mind quickly worked over this with ease as he leaned his head into his chest, his body unreadable. A small chuckle burst from his body, and soon he began to laugh heartily.

"Sir, sir, I assure you, this is entirely unnecessary for that, but ... I will not disrespect your wishes in this, and young lady, don't seem bad. This will serve your clan very well. Until such a time as your services are no longer required, you will be considered an ambassador to your clan, where your actions will be depicted .... in part, to how your clan will act when push comes to shove. And do not worry about following our clan too much. There are only two laws that we require you follow. One, you do not try to take over another clan, and two, you will keep tabs on your location and who is in charge if there is a change in power. Other than that... you are free to do what you wish with your clan." Epinala said, ruffling the girls head in a reassuring meaning.

"Sir, I promise to take well care of ...Nkuli, correct? No harm will come to her while she is in my care. As well... I will teach her how to read at a basic level, regardless of her job. It should be important, and it might help tame her temper." Epinala said, taking a light serious tone with the old man.

The old man took a slow heavy breath. "I have lost much of my family this is Xolani he last of my sons. Centuries of being whittled down, my family and their heritage being wittled down like the leaves of the oak in autumn. We struggle to survive not win over others so you have no cause for concern. We keep our pets well trained, better trained than most. Never doubt the sharp intelligence of the hyena. As for guarding our location we ask that we be given exactly that." The old man yawned, shaking. "I am unused to the chill of these higher lands, these old bones are suited for such. My daughter will return with me in order to retrieve her things and her pets. Shall we drink and cross arms to settle our arrangement? Will this be fine with what is now our king?"

Epinala smiled and nodded, picking up two glasses and a bottle of aged wine. He poured them two glasses and set the bottle down. He handed the glass to the old man and raised his in acceptance.

"To the bright future of this world, and to the joining of another great clan" Epinala said, raising the glass up in a toast.

The old man drank happily, his shoulders raising "it would be my dying wish for my clan to be great once again. to a wondrous future. He grabbed the your leaders other fore arm with his free hand and shook it as was the way of their tribe, hard.

Letting go the old man bowed his head and turned, making his way back into the city, with his two children at his back before meeting up with the others and dissapearing into the night.

[Kris]

After the rounds of applauds and the usual ass-kissing faked smiles, Fergal found himself biting his lips as he tried to keep himself calm, watching all the respectful ministers shaking hands with that son of a devil.

But of course, it took one to know one...

Fergal then took a deep breath, trying to remain in a position of power over his feelings, but like always waves of shivers stormed into the folds of his clothing over his skin, as anger and frustration were built within and were allowed to dwell and grow; they fed unseen fire that could have almost be formed into a physical shape if it were possible for emotions to be turned so real like that...

Then again, he was indeed inhuman and... some vapors of dark steams began to be formed under his feet now...

"Temper, temper", Hissed a voice from behind and Fergal flinched as he tried to rid himself of the foreign hand that draped upon his shoulders.

"Heaven, Jared", Fergal coughed, fixed his tie and suit, shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Can't you just approach me normally? You almost gave me a heart attack"

The small child moved closer to the balcony above the second set of chairs, the light turning over his body and revealing him a head taller than the Councillor from his position of location, "I could, but children are not allowed here...", he chuckled as a wolfish smile appeared upon his angelic face. His blue eyes then searched the room, stopping and fixing themselves upon on the image of the lord trader in the distance, "So... He has returned...".

Twisting his nose in disgust, Fergal nodded softly.

"Well..", the child leaned his hands and twiddled his fingers on the rail, "You could have just... spoken against him... While he made his lovely speech...".

"I could... But, the bastard has a clear majority of the voters... and High Chancellor Izlude just simply hates me...".

Jared chuckled, leaning his head over his hands and licking his lips he asked, "So... Knowing you... What's the REAL reason you didn't speak up to him?".

Fergal grinned.

Jared's smile increased in return, "Well?"

"He faced Emonalach... He won against a General... which I am guessing to be Rosiel... How's the saying goes?... The enemy of my enemy is my friend? well... not THAT close of a friend... But I could use him... for now...".

"Take heed, My lord", Jared stood up, "Even Emonalach had troubles with this one...".

"I know", Fergal smiled, "I'm... counting on it", he started to advance for the exit, "Well, at least we will get that extra founding... and I can continue training the Elemental Warriors... With luck, I'll rise an army strong enough to serve me".

"Of course you will...", Jared smiled, following his lead from his level of chairs' floor, "Your orders?"

"I'm going to contact Bolgan, there is much to be done with Ivalor...", he looked up to the boy, "Jared... that trader, Goliath, was his name I believe...".

"What about him?"

"I think you told me he's been in hiding or so, ever since Shylock returned... Find him... we may use him in this... Also, I must find a way to get closer and learn more of Emonalach's plans...", he took a deep breath, "Send VIR to me, and make sure our new General is ready to be moved as well".

"As you wish".

[Extraordinaire.]

Stability and understanding supplied untold amounts of the young Aerosian's actions. Her life was a blending of neatly-picked actions and decisive reasoning, a compact mound in which only a lack of control could kick of tresses of loose dirt. She was unlikely to loose her grasp on things, even in the midst of chaos, and even more frequently was set off-edge. Perhaps this filed content was purposefully so and she repeatedly placed herself in ways to guarantee dictatorial control, if only of her own life. Every step was heel-to-toe, every diversion highly accounted, and in every instance, despite the circumstance, she was depicted with clarity, in both mind and manner.

She arose knowing how her day would end and slept mindful of how to rise, which is why on the unusually perky day in Norgard, she found the deepest of anxieties in the white-veiled occasion. Weddings were the most fragile balances of nature, a wavering pendulum bound by the tension of two individuals. One step out of place, one moment of doubt, one last-minute thought, and the couples relation to each other, and to the entire city, would be severed. It was strange of her to think of their decision as infinite and it was plausible that the lack of independence bothered her more than the pre-vow risk factor did, but she was set on the all-or-nothing proposal of it.

The appearance of the bride encouraged the twitch in the corner of her mouth, the deepest disturbance of not knowing the certain outcome of her walk down the aisle clawing at her compulsive behavior. The air seemed fragile and even with the couples hands bound by the cloth, she could all too easily image her wrist slipping out.
"You don't have to go through with this," she thought to herself, but the royalty seemed as obliviously happy as always.
Her heart sank when the fabric was torn, but her head returned to its chin-tipped level with the restoration of balance, released for all reasons but the couples peace of mind.
"So it's set, they're the new heirs, I suppose," she thought on whim, although she hadn't spoken much of the matter. She actually hadn't spoke of any matters of Norgard, nor had she in it. Her stay with Sinclair had gladly been a convenience, although his former reputation had stilled her mouth. She'd arrived at the wedding with nothing more than instruction and even on the way there, found herself drifting from her initial interest in the role he played.. The sight of him and Wren holding hands had little effect on her, although she did start remembering faces and listening to conversations more closely, hoping to keep an eye out for an opportunity that wouldn't come.

-editing-

[Repent!]

Sigard-One week before Joseph's recovery

VIR made time everyday between his studies and his training to move to the infirmary where they put Joseph so that he would be the first to ask the questions that Joseph had hopefully gained the answers to since Fergal was still annoyingly tight lipped about everything still. Sadly, his waiting was fruitless.

Every bone in his body said that something was wrong about everything happening so far. He needed to know why and the best way to do that is to get Fergal alone. Jared's constant presence kept him quiet and Jared was quick to deflect VIR's approach each time. The pillar, the nephilim, Shylock, no matter he tried to play everything in his head he couldn't connect the events to get any sensible answer.

He knew they were connected though...

Sigard-Present day

VIR's questions still remained unanswered, though he now had some ideas. Joseph had made himself scarce since the meeting with Fergal and Jared. VIR was still making himself scarce around No.Vii and Gwen was a whole different story since Joseph's 'return' to Norgard. The trip set something in motion ever since VIR gave his report to Fergal and he responded by preparing Sigard for war. Fergal had to be working against either Shylock or the man that Shylock was fighting against. Both had big risks on the line in the fight, but the prize spoke for itself. Control over men like Shylock...or control over the nephilim...or maybe both? There were still too many variables floating about, one especially being the group that VIR found Joseph with in the heat of battle.

"I wonder how long they would last..."

"How long would last what?", he heard a childish voice coming from behind him. Jared really had his ways about sneaking up on people. VIR nearly gave himself whiplash at how fast he turned and halfway drew his weapon before seeing Jared.

"Anyway", Jared said, almost ignoring VIR's reaction, "Lord Fergal wishes to see you, I think it will be best if you go to his office as soon as you can."

VIR sighed and sheathed his weapon. "Good, seeing as every one will be there now I can find out precisely what needs to be done." He began to walk until he got next to Jared and stopped. "Word of warning, be careful who you sneak up on like that...they might not be able to check their blade as well as I." Afterwards, he continued his walk.

Jared simply smirked and turned the other way.


***


Approaching Fergal's office

As VIR drew closer, it became painfully obvious that he was the only one there. Was he just ridiculously early? Or was he the only one called? The all too familiar feeling of two months prior came rushing back to confirm the latter as he approached the door, then entered. "Lord Consul?"

"Come in", hummed the voice in return, and VIR followed inside.

Everything about Fergal's office to the naked eye was normal, but the air...

It was stale...tense.

This was going to be no normal conversation, VIR was going to get what he wanted all this time.

'Breathe VIR. Easy does it.'

"Do come in", Fergal rushed lad, "How long was it since we last were this intimate with one another? Few months I'll say, if memory serves me right".

"About two months prior Lord Consul." he wandered to a nearby window as he spoke and looked out at the world outside before turning back to face the Consul. "I received your summons from Jared, Consul. Is everything well? Shouldn't the others be here as well?"

"Things are not well, but it is not of your concern. However, I do wish to go back on the details you gave me about Norgard. You said Alucard escorted a group of travelers with him... And that they were fighting the demonic army of General Ariel and the former Ice Queen. What can you tell me about them?"

The warrior sighed as his eyes met his feet.

Shot down again. No matter, he'd play along for now.

VIR met eyes with Fergal as he cleared his throat.

"There was no mistaking that the group consisted mostly of druids and other magic users. Though there was one person in particular that stood out from the rest...I immediately thought him stupid for wearing black against the winter snow...but then something happened."

VIR's fingers began to fidget against each other as his mind replayed the events faster than he could speak.

"He used some type of magic I had never seen before, having to bleed to access his gift...he tore through the nephillim like they were common rabble. It was a power and speed that I had originally thought to be unheard of. I can't even move that fast, and my magic is built around moving fast."

A powerful chill shot down VIR's spine as he recalled the voice shouting claim to the nephillim's souls.

"Sounds like the power of the ancient one... What else can you tell me about him?... And about the others?...", Fergal seemed to be somewhat fearful. Why would Emonalach let someone with such power survive the battle... Unless... there was someone he was trying to protect...

"Recall VIR... What else was there?... Who else was there?!", he bite his lips, "The druids are of no importance. Think clearly.... Tell me more about this man and whoever stood by his side!"

VIR saw an opening, something about the man VIR saw at Norgard made Fergal flinch, he needed to exploit that.

"The only other person I could clearly make out was a red-haired woman. One of the Nephilim was about to split her open from behind and he killed the creature in that very instant. She seemed to carry an uncanny resemblance to the lady that Shylock killed. Other than that instance, he showed no quarter to any who stood against him...it was as if he was possessed by death itself. His person was fully covered in black, save for his face and even that was covered by a mask."

'Red hair!', Fergal blinked.

VIR paused for a second to gather his questions:

"Though he is just one man Lord Consul, why worry about a single man that can easily be crushed by the might of Sigard? Magic can only get a person so far in battle. Is it something to do with the Pillars and this 'ancients' power you mentioned earlier?"

"It's not JUST him that I'm after...", Fergal smiled slowly, "I find him interesting because of his power... but I'm certainly far more interested in the... woman he protected...", he tried to hold himself from laughing, but a chuckle of 'Ku, ku, ku' escaped his lips, "Red hair... So fitting Emonalach... so fitting... For you to do so...", he shook his head, "Perfect VIR, we have our targets now... But first, you will accompany me to Ivalor... There is a priest who must heed my testimony...", another chuckle, "We leave in a hour, get ready".

"As you will Lord Consul." VIR took a couple steps backwards and headed out.

Ten minutes after leaving Fergal's office

VIR decided to take the scenic route to the docks from Fergal's office. VIR always traveled light so there was no need for any serious preparation. He was making good time when he heard two very familiar voices around the next corner. He couldn't exactly place them though, so he placed his back against the wall and slowly edged his head around to catch sight of Gwen and Joseph in a very...close situation.

"Gwen, for tonight, why don't we stay together?"

"Yes... Let's..."

VIR raised an eyebrow and smirked as he contemplated ruining this little rendezvous, but thought better against it and ventured off in an alternate route as to not be seen by the two of them. It would seem that he would need to exchange some words with one of them if there is some down time before the mission starts...

[Skeletor]

"Oh my gods, this wedding is simply gorgeous! Look at those decorations, the outfits, the food...and of course the royal couple are two of the most adorable little things on the planet today!" Mae prattled on with her posse of women-folk, obsessing over small details, swooning over the men attending the event whether they were single or not, and making fun of other women who came dressed less fashionably than themselves. Brem was forced to follow the gossiping group of..."women", attempting to drown out their stupidity and incessant rambling with the aid of a flask of mead he kept tucked into his belt. He stroked the bushy tail of the squirrel perched upon his shoulder that had been following him since he reached the outskirts of Norgard whose name was Tad.

The way Brem saw it, this was a small price to pay when he was offered free lodging and virtually unlimited intimate encounters with Mae. The two had been staying together the past few days at her home, though Brem was beginning to question both his sanity and his level of intelligence for voluntarily exposing himself to her thoughtless chatter and endless simplicity of the mind. And then the time came for them to share a bed, and Brem dismissed that question all together. However, today was more difficult than usual because now she had a collective group of morons that agreed with her every word that had figuratively latched themselves to her underbelly in an effort to bond as one. Or something like that.

Brem took another heavy swig from his flask as his lady friend clutched his arm close to her in an attempt to seem coy as she giggled,"Someday, when I'm married to this one here, we'll have a beautiful wedding, too. Not as great as the royal wedding, of course, but almost!" The hair stood up on the back of his neck as she spoke. Brem shuddered inwardly and gently peeled the young girl's hands from around his upper left arm, laughing. "Eheheh...don't you think it's a bit early to be thinking of that, lass?,"he asked, trying to hide his inner panic as Mae's flock of idiots collectively cooed things like, "How romantic," and, "Mae, you're so lucky!" Briefly, the hunter wondered if this were some kind of joke, something this particular group of girls did on purpose to make their dates uncomfortable so they could laugh about it later. Mae shook her head and smiled saying, "Of course not! What could it hurt to plan ahead for the future? And besides, I love you, and you feel the same way, right?"

The hunter's eyes widened as he opened his mouth only to be interrupted, as if on cue, by the sound of a dying animal. Brem, Mae and her friends jumped and all eyes fell on Tad, the source of the sound. His intoxicated eyes were dragged to his left shoulder, where Brem noticed the squirrel writhing and emitting a small, pitiful squeal. "I uh, think you must've hurt him when you leaned I'm on my arm. I'll be right back," stuttered the man, turning on his heel and bolting just in time to hear one of the girls reprimand their friend that she should have been more careful, to which Mae replied, "It's just a stupid animal. Besides, you can't tell me a hunter who cares about animals actually exists." His face turned red in anger as the tortured man found solace in a crowd of people far, far away from the crazy ones he'd originally attended this event with. Brem mumbled under his breath, "Alright. That's it. This is NOT worth the sex. Not even when she does that one thing with her..." Tad cleared his little squirrel throat as if to cut the sentence short. Brem looked over apologetically. "Sorry, it's the drink talking. Been chugging since last night..." Tad snorted and said, "I can see why. Figured I was lending you a hand by creating a diversion." Brem nodded and promptly followed that with a burp. "Indeed."

He took a moment to scan the crowd in order to make certain he would no longer allow himself to be pulled into the buxom blond's gravitational pull anytime soon. After awhile Brem ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair, asking his companion, "So do you ever come across that kind, Tad? You know, the marrying types that don't know when to leave?" The squirrel tilted his head, an ear twisted back as if in question. "How the hell would I know? I'm a squirrel. We have sex, we move on. About a month and a half later (or nine, in a human's case), it's not my responsibility." Brem let out a hearty laugh, a small group of puzzled people looking his way at the hunter who seemed to be drunkenly carrying on with himself. "I like you, Tad. I'm glad you followed me to Norgard. To think, I've made a new friend, and he isn't even big enough to carry my drunken arse home after today."

[Kris]

Esgares Empire

In the dim light of the bedchambers he watched her body resting against the sheets; A true image of beauty, so fitting to be there. Lying comfortably as her hair covered her shoulders and neck, soft breathing escaping from within a sweet smile of pleasure.

Her body was warm, and her heat was lingering all over, aiming to cover his own body and claim him into the dream world she was slowly drawn into with every soft breath she took.

But resting peacefully was not an option.

His eyes were popped open in the darkness and his shadow stretched upon the wall as he slowly got up, his legs descending along the edges of the bed. He felt the cold hitting upon his feet and upper torso almost immediately. He reached up his hands to rub his arms and his golden hair fall loosely against the sides of his cheeks as he bowed down his head to blew off the last candle that was still flickering. The light was extinguished and the colorful glassy doors that lead into the porch, opened up with a soft 'click', the wind was howling against the glass.

He slowly got up, his naked body strolling for the direction of the porch. It was raining hard outside, and yet he was still drawn forward, the instant smell of water and wet mud was more than enough to lure him ahead.

Lighting... and ear deafening thunder... Ultraviolet lines within grey clouds and never-ending streams of water.

His hands were reached above his head, trying to seize all this glory and might and claim it into himself. He was ravished by this scenery. Feeling the water wrapping him, his head was tossed back and he felt the water lingering down from the neck he bared and offered to the gods, the watery lines passing all over him, like hands and tickling kisses from a lover.

"Enjoying yourself?".

He slowly lowered his head, making an eye contact with the being standing before him. There was no shame nor fear. Just an annoyance.

"You are failing miserably, demon...", said the young Emperor, "Losing your touch?"

Emonalach just stared back with a cold glare.

"Sigard is very busy lately... I'm sure you are aware of it...", Morgan chuckled, "What do they want?"

Emonalach continued to stare.

"Could it be that those philosophers and scholars finally wish to take me more seriously?".

Another silence.

"Tsk", the Emperor turned back inside.

He roughly pulled a fur made robe from above the sleeping woman and used it to tuck himself in. Once he did so, he stepped back outside and reached over the edges of the porch's rails, "I shall rule this world, demon. If they openly turn against me, then we shall increase our might as well... It shouldn't be that hard for you to find those that shall join us... find them... tempt them.... use them... for my glory...", he smirked, "War...", he looked back at Emonalach, "You wanted this all along, didn't you?"

The demon just smiled back, slowly disappearing from there yet again.

[StormWolf]

A new day was dawning over Norgard. The jagged horizon shimmered a fiery orange as the great disk of the sun rose lazily and cast its warming light over the frigid landscape, sustained in a perpetual winter. Arjak, the High King of Nogard rose from his bed sluggishly when the sun's light washed over his face. Stirring, the bulky Norgard untangled himself from the silk sheets and the smooth, bronze, limbs of his wife, Ciara. She remained content in her slumber for now, and Arjak contented himself with watching her for just a moment. The peaceful look upon her face as she slept, the faintest clue to a smile found at the corners of her mouth, and the way her breasts rose and fell with every breath she took. Smiling to himself, the High King turned and walked to the far side of his- their - chambers, and started to rinse his bare body with the chilled water from the wash basin. Red stripes criss crossed Arjak's back where Ciara's nails had raked in to him all last night an early into the morning. His neck also bearing the purpling blemishes of love bites, very ferocious ones at that.

Shuddering as the cold water cascaded down his herculean figure, Arjak could feel the aches in his back and core, and namely the sweet soreness of his groin as he stepped in to a fresh pair of smallclothes after drying himself off with a cotton towel. Wordless, a serf in livery brought in two trays of food, hearty breakfasts cooked in the traditional Druid manner. Two thick slices of ham, pan-seared and seasoned to perfection with two wursts and two strips of crispy bacon. Served alongside the meats was a dish of beans, three fried eggs, two slices of bread, and a patty of black pudding. To round it all together, a horn of dark beer was provided to wash it all down.

Rousing Ciara, holding her bare form against him for a long moment in a kiss, Arjak notified her of breakfast. Ciara woke, rather grudingly as what little of the night had been left after her and Arjak consumated their marriage had allowed for much sleep. But feeling Arjak pull her to him and knowing that she would awaken every morning to feel his arms around her was worth having been woken.

Ciara stirred from the bed, noting the sore muscles but smiled. It was the type of soreness that she could become accustomed to. She grinned at her husband as she washed her naked form and then dressed in a lovely gown of gold and white trim, the first gown that she would wear as Ajrak's queen. He waited for Ciara to sit down at the table before eating, himself. Their meal was silent, but that did not mean there was no conversation between the royal couple. Arjak would feel Ciara's foot rub against the inside of his leg as their eyes just stared into one another with a hunger no food or drink could satisfy. Finally, Arjak broke the sweet silence between the two of them,

"I would love nothing more than to spend to morning with you, Ciara, but there are matters I must attend to. The weight of the crown cannot be ignored," he mused gruffly, running his rough thumb against the intricate knotwork in the polished iron band. Shoveling the last of his breakfast into his gullet, Arjak stood and pulled his grey gambison and black leather doublet, embroidered with silver vines and thorns, and buttoned the chest down. "I believe you have a package in the mailroom, if you would like one of the serfs to bring it up. Take your time getting ready, my dear. I had half a mind to leave you sleeping, but I needed a kiss to muster my courage for the day." Arjak chuckled, placing his crown atop his head and strapping his sword to his side. Kissing his wife one more time, and in her wisdom, wiping the bit of egg stuck in his beard, Arjak departed for the throne room, his boots clicking heavily against the redstone floors of the castle.

After her husband left her, Ciara moved to brush her long raven locks out while calling for a serf to remove the morning's breakfast. It felt odd for Ciara to give another human an order, but as the King's wife, she would have to learn that it was her place to do so now, but she could still do it with kindness so she smiled as she spoke although she would be certain that her voice also held the authority of the kings wife.

"Once you've cleared this from the room please go to the mail room and retrieve my package and return it to my quarters." Slipping the fur lined boots onto her feet that Ajrak had recently purchased for her as her feet felt rather cold this morning, she exited the room after taking one last look at herself in the mirror. The white gown (http://media-cache-lt0.pinterest.com/upload/252483122829960223_ClF0kZwQ_b.jpg) was a stark contrast to the darker, warmer colors that she was accustomed to wearing and her bronzed skin gleamed under the pure color of the garment. Satisfied that she now looked presentable she turned and exited the room. She followed the marble lined corridor until entering the great hall that led into the throne room where upon the guards granting her access and opening the thick heavy doors, she entered and made her way to the front of the room where she would take her seat beside her husband.

But instead, the King's seat was occupied by another figure...

Upon the highseat of Norgard sat an unwelcome guest of the new King and Queen. Black and stringy was his hair, cold and boned was his face, vile and wicked were his eyes. The intruder, accompanied by a small group of bloodstained bare-chested brutes, contrasted their savaged appearance with an opulent robe stitched with fine silks of exotic colours and patterns of a bygone era. As cold as his presence appeared, the room boiled with thick hot suffocation.

Furthermore, he was completely unknown.

The stranger's eyes lit with excitement upon the Queen's entry. "Ah, the radiant Queen Ciara... Allow me to extend my congratulations for your wondrous marriage! Your husband and I were just getting to know each other."

Ciara's eyes flew to the stranger on the throne, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She knew not this man, and her instincts told her that his congratulations were not meant sincerely.

She nodded her head curtly "Thanks be to you stranger." She looked at her husband with a querying eye but continued to speak to the man who sat in his seat, the fire of anger rising in those olive orbs of hers. "I do believe however that you are confused about something as you seem to have not noticed that you are sitting in your kings seat." Arjak had been standing rigid, his feet planted as if they were one with the grandiose marble slabs that made up the floor of the throne room. His hand rested on the hilt of his ancient sword, scarred knuckles whitening and cracking with the tightness of his grip. The Wolf King sniffed the air and something was... wrong about the man. Something that made the animal within Arjak's heart and mind gnash and snarl and caused the hackles on the back of the King's neck to rise.

"Aye, ser..." Arjak's voice was low and hard enough to mark steel, "One must rise in the presence of his Queen, especially when so rudely warming her husband's chair." The Norgard was entirely unamused. His good morning had been soiled by this stranger that smelled afoul of all that was right in the world.

"Now rise, else I make you." Arjak sneered, shifting his feet slightly and popping the sword's cross guard free from the intricate sheath of leather and brass. The black blade shined bright, the veins of crystal glowing like embers amongst ashes as Arjak's anger rose.

The stranger's face tickled a playful grin, it was clear he was enjoying the tense atmosphere and reveled in their confusion. "Rise, or else you'd make me?" the notion seemed comical to him as he reached for a sack resting next to the throne. "Funny you say that... I was told exactly this by some guards who disapproved of my choice of seating." he reached in the brown sack, then out he threw five blood stained helms of druidic origins, "They swore to defend your honour." He threw out three more, "These three almost caught me weeks ago..." he then pulled out two helms which bore the older insignia of the previous guard and discarded them with the others. "These two surprised me... who would have known regular men would bother with a foreign king? Oh, and last but not least..."

*WHAM*

Upon the ground was tossed a helm of preposterous size and elaborate design. "You may recognize this one. The man who wore it called himself The Stallion." The grin on his face quickly faded into shadow, "My name is Devon Istain... you stole the throne from me."

The King seethed. His hands gripping Vanskmunr in a white-knuckle grip as he pulled the black blade from its scabbard, the veins of crystal glowing like the blood of the earth spilling over a field of obsidian. "The throne was never stolen, but reclaimed. You are unfit for the throne and the crown, but I thank you for your name..." Arjak held his weapon in both his hands, the blade humming lowly, as if singing an ancient battle song. Outside, the sky darkened with mighty clouds, flashes of lightning flashing in the distance. The winds rose with Arjak's anger, making the glass panes on the windows quiver, "I will carve it on your runestone myself." A grave threat that was, showing plain and simple that the King had every intent and now every purpose to kill the grievous offender who had sullied the throne with his insolence. The lives of the druids Devon had slain would be paid for in blood. The Stallion would be avenged.

Holding Vanskmunr in a two handed white-knuckle grip, Arjak approached the middle of the grand throne room, the storm outside growing stronger and stronger, "If you wish to challenge the throne, outlander, do so."

"Challenge!?" Devon roared a forced laugh, "This throne has been tainted by your savaged culture, why on earth would any sane nobleman wish to inherit it now?" The storm outside looked welcoming in Devon's own twisted way. "I didn't come to usurp you, oh mighty King..." he snapped his fingers to relay an order as one of his brutes handed him a peculiar weapon.

It appeared to be carved out of a jawbone of some enormous beast, bent into a twisted shape resembling a bow. The intruder stood from his short rest on the highthrone. "I want you to suffer first." He drew back the nocking and through bright embers an arrow materialized out of thin air. Devon wasted no time as he released the cursed arrow screaming in Arjak's direction. However, before the arrow reached the king it spontaneously erupted outwards as if it had struck a wall, emitting an flame of curious and sinister nature dividing Devon and Arjak. The flame grew as it settled on the floor, its heat and colour unnatural in comparison. It was there when Devon burned a symbol onto Arjak's skin, taking advantage in the chaos and spurts of uncontrollable embers. "If you want your throne, then you'll have to walk through fire to obtain it."

Ciara watched as her husband, the king engaged in what she knew would be an on coming battle between himself and the stranger. Arjak was the love of her life but he was also stubborn and quick tempered. But this stranger, he was something more. He felt evil to the druidess queen.

She stepped forward to put herself between the two men, refusing to allow blood shed to transpire the day after her wedding, and certainly not within the throne room. Things heated up as she heard the strangers voice roaring in response to her husbands threat. Things had heated up, literally. As she stepped between the two, the stranger released an arrow and she was certain that it would indeed hit her straight in the heart, but the arrow veered off and burst into a wall of flames.

It was an unnatural flame that danced between the three of them and Ciara felt something stirring inside of her body that she'd only felt once before. It had been when her druid powers had begun to return to her that she had become aware of the presence. And just as had happened before, her eyes began to glow like burning embers, the normally dark olive orbs appearing to dance with amber flames as she turned towards her husband and she gasped as she saw the mark emblazoned into his skin.

She could not...allow this travesty to happen, not here...not now. "Enough of this" Ciara's voice rang out, but it no longer sounded of this world as it echoed through the grand throne room. The words reverberated off of the walls as a rather peculiar feeling washed over the raven haired beauty and instinctively she fell into a state of something akin to a trance. Although she could see Arjak in front of her and she was aware of what was going on around her, Ciara no longer felt as though she occupied her body alone. Something else was present within her now and although the conscience part of her mind felt fear, she tried to recall everything that Tik'Va had told her back in the cavern.

A carnal ancient instinct flowed through her veins as she relinquished her fear to the power that she felt surging through her lithe frame, her blood feeling as though it were fire itself burning through her very veins. Fear flitted through her as the rune intensified on Ajrak's body and it was now her turn to remind herself to hold onto hope. She'd given her group hope in their time of need before, always a constant light to them but now she needed to be strong for herself. She needed to believe in the ancient teachings, her eyes seeming to see only the spirit of Tik'Va in front of her now. Gone were the flames, gone were all of the inhabitants of the room. She only saw his comforting face as his knowledge seemed to pass from the vision into Ciara and she allowed herself to fall deeper into the trance.

Ek kveðja ofreflismaðr um inn villielder, vald inn bruni til friðr skyld!

The ancient words she spoke where foreign to her but she knew their meaning as though she'd spoken the ancient language all of her life. She was controlling the fire now, it danced around them and died to an eerie glow, parting so that Arjak could step safely through to get to Devon and yet the fire would not activate the rune on his skin. Ciara stood, palms pressed open to the side, controlling the fire and keeping it at bay while the two men were left to face each other.

Arjak's brow furrowed deeper as his skin burned as if touched by a brand, the archaic and arcane rune burning itself into his living flesh, throbbing with his heartbeat. He never trusted magic not imbued with the spirits of the wild, and judging by Devon's quip about the Druid culture, this magic was not of a natural origin. The wall of fire had risen and been contained by Ciara, or whatever spirit had possessed her. Looking her in the eyes, Arjak nodded and held his weapon at the ready, proceeding though the gauntlet of fire, Vanskmunr glowing like hellfire and brimstone in his hands. "What makes a man noble? What makes your blood any different than the farmer in the cold mud?" Arjak glowered, his eyes glinting dangerously, the storm outside raging. The ruby eyes of the wolf head engraved on Vanskmunr's pommel started to glow, the angry and wild spirits of the sword wakening, filling Arjak with their timeless rage. "Perhaps it is the way it tastes..." Arjak's voice was a growl, his teeth no longer of a purely human nature. "The lowest vagrant, the most disease-ridden, starving, lost child is a hundredfold more noble than trash like you." The High King roared as he passed through the gap in the fire. His flash of anger caused a flash of lightning and thunder that shattered the windows, freezing rain and violent winds flooding the throne room. With the cold winds of Norgard at his back, Arjak charged Devon, muscles tensed and rigid, ready to split the man in two with the mighty and ancient sword, bringing the black blade down in an overhead swing.

His eyes still distraught from Ciara's control over his fire, Devon winced with doubt for a moment's time - then a moment passed and he met Arjak head on. Tossing his bow aside, the slender hunter pressed against Arjak's charge with no blade in hand. His movements and speed were surreal as he clashed with the King in a mighty clench, catching hold of both Arjak's wrists before any strike could be made.

A struggle for power then ensued as Arjak clearly was the larger warrior with the snows of Norgard at his back, but Devon held his strength with unexplained power... it was not without toil.

"What's the difference between a nobleman and a farmer?" He repeated, holding Arjak from slicing him in two. "You may as well ask what separates the worm from a wolf. A worm simply is... It is the lowest form of life. Yet a certain poetry allows them enough importance that without them all animals would perish. They live to be eaten. No more, no less... no decisions to be made. No tales to be told." His grip then dug into the King's wrists, "A wolf on the other hand sits higher on the food chain. They chose their own meals, write their own stories, create their own politics. Choices that would never have occurred to a worm... So, what are you? A King of wolves, or of worms?" He eyed the rune he had placed on Arjak's left shoulder, "Lets find out shall we?"

The hunter broke past Arjak's swing and gave his burned rune a single tap. Devon continued putting distance between himself and the King before facing him again with a disgusting look of satisfaction on his face. "Brace yourself, my Grace... you may feel a tiny sting."

The rune glowed a dark base red, projecting its markings outwards from his skin. What would happen to Arjak was uncertain, but Devon cared not for that. What was certain is that now, in the morning after of a grand royal wedding, hundreds of runes now glowed brightly in Norgard capital while its citizens prepared to start was was supposed to be a normal day. What followed after was nothing short of tragic...

Arjak was poised to snap back at the offender and persist with his assault on the man when the branded rune on the High King's arm started to glow and sting, reddening the flesh and turning it raw. Arjak winced, brows furrowed deep in disdain of the unnatural magic at work. What in the seven hells...? Arjak thought to himself before a deep boom, rising over the clamor of the storm, drew his attention. There was then another, and another, and another. Flashes of white and orange gave way to thick plumes of smoke, and Arjak's hearing could discern the wailing of men, women, and children burning alive, the shrill shriek of a babe trapped in its nursery as the world came crashing down around it,

"You want to see what I am?" Arjak growled, eyeing the rune that was throbbing faster and faster as the explosions drew closer. Snarling, Arjak gripped the skin on his shoulder with his bare hand, dug his nails in deep, and tore at his own flesh, pulling and peeling his own skin to remove the rune from his body. Bare, bleeding muscle was exposed, streams of dark red cascading down the contours of his arm and staining the fingers that held the removed sheet of flesh. The skin was unnaturally hot to the touch, and it only grew hotter. Snarling, Arjak tossed the torn bolt of his own skin aside, and just at the right moment. The rune flashed white and the mark exploded, shattering three tall stained glass windows and charring the floor and columns nearby. Looking through the flames as they licked at the cold air, Arjak saw Ciara crumpled on the floor, motionless. Through the scent of his own blood, the fire, and the smoke, Arjak could smell her bleeding as well. What happened? Thoughts flashed through the High King's mind like lightning. Pursue Devon, or go to Ciara's side. No matter how deep Arjak's bloodlust was, Ciara was the dearest person in his heart. He would not leave her cold and alone on the floor.

"Run, Devon. Run so I can hunt you to the ends of the world. Run, knowing you will always having me hounding you. There will never be a throne awaiting you in your conquest. Only the cold clutches of death and the fires of my hatred for you." Arjak stepped closer and closer to Ciara, crouched low like a lion on the prowl, his blood dripping from clenched fists, firmly gripping his sword. Arjak stopped when he was beside Ciara, severing the path from her to Devon. The Wolf King's anger broiled, the storm outside raging, bringing down a heavy, icy rain upon his city, lightning cracking through the blackened sky. Arjak remained poised and ready, glowering and growling like a savage beast, golden eyes flashing with the thunder and lightning that raged beyond the castle walls. The stone of the castle itself trembled, the earth writhing with Arjak's rage. The doors to the throne room burst open, palace guards filing in, having heard the bang of the explosion and the roaring of their sovereign. Devon was left with two choices - flee or get captured. Arjak would not risk his people's safety with the madman, and would remove Devon's head from his shoulders and place it on a pike at the city gate, should the man get apprehended. Crude and barbaric, but necessary.

[V]

Good Morning
Someone's Bedroom, Sonata Castle

His head hadn’t ached so hard in a while. Perhaps his position didn’t help the situation, sprawled about, squished against something, blankets a tangled mess. Caleb wrestled free his hand to brush hair from his eyes. Half poked himself in the process. Squinting he stared at the ceiling which span a little. But it wasn't too bad, he could remember it being worse not long ago. He supposed he’d have to get up soon, find Baxter and make sure the merchant had stayed out of trouble. Caleb let out a deep breath.

Perhaps it would be better to rise now, with Baxter’s ‘luck’. The man had started to seem agitated last he saw him.

Suddenly, the thing he was pressed against shifted. Caleb slowly turned his head to the side, his eyes gazed upon that of a woman laying beside him. Her hair draped over his shoulder and a hand pressed to his chest. She slept still.

Whoever she was.

Caleb swallowed.

And she awoke.

They stared at one another for about thirty seconds. Neither seemed inclined to move first or say anything, perhaps they both liked the way their bodies were touching. Probably more so they were wondering how things had lead to this. Then they were all movement and talk.

The mystery brunette woman pushed against him, even as he shuffled free of the blankets. Or had attempted to. They came with him as he fell off the bed, the floor unkind to him this morning. She gave a squeak halfway through her protests. Groaning Caleb managed to get himself free and lean against a wall.

A few things had started to come back to him, he spluttered, “Misses Fairchild?”

Baxter’s mystery woman, Caleb had thought he’d made her up. Until they met sometime the previous evening, Caleb had introduced himself as a friend of the merchant. Couldn’t remember her response to that, suspected it had been of confusion.

By the time he’d gathered himself to look at her she’d drawn the blankets over her form. She looked at him in a similar way and questioned, “... Caleb?”

There were few Ascaran people in the capitol. He suspected her question was ‘what are you doing here?’ With a damn few more thrown in as well. He had the same in his own mind, one glaring out at him in particular.

This wasn’t the room he’d thought to be in, not his, and not of the right woman’s.

“Guess last night just lead to this,” he said, though meant as kindly as his words would allow, the became a cold croak of nothingness. *Caleb grimaced, pulling his shirt over his head. He didn’t see much point in searching out her eyes, but did so out of respect. The narrow eyes, tight mouth was probably what he deserved.

“I’ll take my leave then,” he muttered. Had a damned merchant to find. It was not a good morning, and Caleb was a morning person only half the time. The rest he was definitely not.

“Probably for the best,” she’d wrapped herself in a blanket and had shuffled over to the doorway. She looked at him and pulled oven the door, the hall beyond was free of people to see them. Sleeping after the events of the night.

Misses Fairchild opened her mouth to say something more, condemn him Caleb figured. But she closed her mouth up quick, her face suddenly changing. From shock …. to, well... a variation on her shocked expression.

“What is it?” Caleb asked out loud taking the steps to meet her.

Seemingly she ignored him, stepping outside with that frown on her face. On the wall beyond was a glowing red Rune. It emanated heat, like a day in the desert of Ascara, “step back,” he growled, “I don’t like the look of-”

Caleb was pushed backward from the explosion of heat, back in the room he hit Fairchild’s bed and bounced off it. He rolled away onto the hard stone flooring. Not a good morning.

He hissed, pushed himself up and shouted out to her. There was no response. Caleb limped around the room to the destruction. The entrance had been destroyed and flames licked along wooden beams. Whatever dark magic the rune was, it had blown a hole in the opposite room. He glanced at the devastation but looked for her. He called out her name.

Caleb found her underneath some rubble, he pried free the larger parts. She didn’t move. Caleb brushed aside a few locks of her brown hair, the burnt skin marked half her cheek and down her exposed neck. Blood ran from an open wound, where her head had been hit. But, she breathed.

He lifted her into his arms, blanket and all, he staggered away from the destruction. Her limp form less of a weight, than those in his mind. An angry voice sought him to take his sword and find whoever responsible.

Ignoring it he searched for a healer. He felt himself bleeding as well.

He'll find whoever is responsible afterward.

[Housemaster]

~The Throne Room~
-Capital Sonata, Norgard-

The echos of chaos, rumbling from the city had bled its way into the throne room and sang of terror. Devon listened to the turmoil and basked in his work. He'd accomplished this with only a few men, and his pride even suggested he could have done it alone as well. As he stood in wonder over his own work, more guards began to swarm through the main halls into the throne room. The four brutes that had accompanied him quickly dove into action, holding combat against the armed druid guards as Devon continued his trance, his ears thirsty for screams as it brought an unweary sense of nostalgia. It was a bloody mess, but as expected the guards quickly killed three of the brutes and apprehended one against his will. An odd sense of deja-vu was tingling through Devon's mind, but the odd part was that it did not feel like it belonged to him...

Then the King snapped the hunter out of his trance, bringing him for a moment, back to reality.

"Run? Oh heavens bless you, my king." The hunter twisted disgust with curiosity, "Oh don't look at me like that, you've brought this on yourself. I was grooming myself to wed the Queen, madness and all. There's nothing a little insanity to spice up any forced relationship, makes things so much more colourful. And you had to go and spoil it by overthrowing that wreck of a woman... Look what its brought!" He lifted his arms as a ring-master in a grand circus, "One does not usurp a nation without making a few enemies, a lesson learned too little too laaaaarrrRRIPP AND TEAR!" The noise that came from Devon's mouth was tremendous. It had also not belonged to him, upon seeing the confused expression that soon followed his face. It then reammerged, twisting the hunter's body in an awkward struggle for control, "YOUR FLESH WILL BE BLAZED EMBERS, YOUR BONES INDISTINGUISHABLE CHALK... RRRRRRIP AND TEAR!"

The hunter's posture quickly shrunk with uncertain terror. Heavy with breath in attempts to calm himself down as his mind declared war on his senses. What witchcraft was this? he thought as he immediately accused some sort of sorcery committed by the Queen. If it's her, then I must wipe her from existence...

He shot his arm outwards towards Arjak and Ciara to draw forth a spell aimed at the Queen, but was interrupted midway as he felt an enormous pain surge through his bones. His head felt compressed, and his limbs searing hot with agony. The intensity was too much to bare, too much for any mortal mind to withstand. With one deafening scream, the hunter collapsed into an unconscious state as his body was taken from him by a great evil.

His boiling carcass remained upright, twisting in an abnormal display with unfamiliar movement. His eyes then reopened. They were pitch black with an unnerving vertical slit of pearl white, lizard-like in nature yet sinister in purpose.

"Such filth..." An eerie voice spoke. Low, yet elegant and terrifying. The air became unbearably thick with torrid heat and growing intensity to his proximity. The stones under his feet began to soften and glow. He looked around as if seeing the throne room for the first time, nose hung high in the air, "The air smells of the North. But these stones are unfamiliar to me..." He eyed the guards whom were inwardly debating on how to approach him. He responded first, "TO ASHES!" and instantly covered the guards in dark flame, killing them immediately.

His body jerked forward, morphing in size and shape as odd contusions formed on his back. A transformation was taking place, a metamorphosis of ungodly demonic power. His head shot up once again, eyes bright with a poisonous glare. "May the volcanic remains of this kingdom herald my return!" He growled as a tremendous maelstrom of dancing black flame swirled around him. With every horrendous breath the flames grew hotter and hotter, melting stone and metal wherever it touched. It was designed to consume the entire castle... but was then inexplicably halted.

The fire died...

The maelstrom ceased...

But neither Devon or his beast were to be found...

[Koti~]

The cool night air pulled at his flesh as he detangled himself from the mass of flesh and sheets amidst the torrent of heat and passion that wracked his bed chambers. Having pulled himself free, he shivered as the cold air wound past his groin as the woman stirred and pulled herself closer into the blankets that covered the lush bed. Smirking and rubbing his shoulders with the ice cold water, he stifled a yawn as he pulled on a simple set of clothes before pulling up a piece of paper and charcoal. Writing down instructions for a Serf when he came knocking, he slipped it into a crack in the doorway, looking down at the woman. Silken white skin slowing warming with lines and bruise marks over her back and lower parts as she shivered again. Smiling at the woman oblivious to his movements, he slipped out of the room, taking a glance at the pale skinned beauty, a smile on her face now that she was warm.

He walked along the building terrace while heading towards the main gate, up just as the sun cracked the surface of horizon. He could just start to hear the earth begin to wake up, some animals chirping, people stirring, and the wind picking up. He had reached the main gates when the wind picked up. He sighed inward at the scent of an oncoming storm, Raiden landing on his shoulders. Curing his brother for his anger this early in the morning and getting ready to wave the guard to open the gate, another scent filled his nose. The scent of anger, filling his eyes red and his muscles clutching into fists, Hopping up to the guard tower near the main gate, he called over the captain as the wind picked up worse.

“Guard, something is wrong in the castle. You are to remain here, no one gets in or out. I do have an apprentice coming in today, a woman by the name of Nkuli, you are to allow her into the guard room and keep her safe until I can either send a Serf to pick her up, or pick her up myse…. Huh?” Epinala stopped mid convo as an eerie red glow came from the top of the wall. Acting on instinct, he pulled Vrodr from his back and slammed it down hard. His magic spread fast and soon the piece flew up into the air, launched like a catapult. The rock barely made it 3 feet into open air before it exploded violently. Trying to reclaim some sense of order, he looked back over the town as other such explosions raked their way through the town, destroying buildings and setting places ablaze before the engulfing rain washed it out. A pain emenated from his left shoulder just a few seconds before an explosion shattered the glass inside the throne room. Pushing past his guard, he picked up a piece of paper from the nearby desk and scrawled out a quick note onto it before tying it onto Raidens leg. Placing his hand on the birds head, he ordered him to find the healer Wren, before heading past over the guards

Quickly reigning in the chaos, he got them back in order, sending them out to the sources of the explosions, a druid with each to help move any rubble or debre and set the tavern as a safe haven, as none of the explosions had reached it. Shifting to his wolf form, Vrodr shifting to match his new form, he ran, fur slack with rain as he ran. Chaos was strewn about the town as he ran, people screaming in pain, others white with shock, and others now gone from this world. Taking the direct route, his claws dug into the stone as he climbed fast, anger bubbling inside his chest as he launched himself into the throne room a few seconds after the black flames died down.

*What happened here!* Epinala asked, heading over to inspect Arjak and Ciara, who were sitting in the center of the room. Pray he did that Raiden had made it, because both were in need of medical help, and his skills didn’t do jack for that.

[Kris]

Somewhere in Sigard


"...Jared is not going to believe this one."

http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSIzsKaAhzn1ZLO5hjKLG9E67kZ45OJJ uhTTc9HQyay6HLyl913JA

"Indeed I won't...", Said a childish voice and No.Vii had to turn around and look at the small image of Jared approaching him. How could the sneaky little child always be there when least expected was unsolved riddle and probably would remain such to him, "I still can't believe it... How powerful you proved to be against a fused form of a General... But that to be expected I guess, with someone carrying the blood of the 'Red haired' ones".

The power of "Truth" faded away slowly and the boy known as "Jared" couldn't help but smirk softly to himself, "With the death of "Lie"... so did the essence of the being known as "Gluttony" reached its end... There was a mortal soul behind the shell of that powerful being known as "Jask"... and I fear it won't be the last we see of him... but... For now... It is one less worry to deal with... I wonder what his brother "Meda" will do now...", Jared chuckled.

Jared's words made no sense to No.Vii and maybe because the first realized it, he tried to explain better with his next words, "There were many to fall, following another great power, hoping to be a light of their own might. At the end only seven survived...", said Jared and shook his head, "And now... with the death of "Gluttony", "Lust" and "Wrath" only four remain".

"I believe "Sloth" is about to die as well", said a voice.

http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/tobenamed10.png

The man known as "William" stepped forward, "I told this to Fergal... Out of the seven generals I was always the weakest..."

"But your powers are the greatest....", nodded Jared, "The condition in which your self's deterioration are so great, are balanced with the fact that your abilities are so immense"

"Yes... The allfather always had a twisted sense of humor... Regardless, I won't last long... That is why I told Fergal that I shall be loyal... Let either him... Or Emonalach to claim my power with my death".

"So be it...", Jared nodded and then turned around to face No.Vii, "I'm warning you child. Don't dare destroy towns and buildings without permission. We certainly don't need pesky humans digging into our doing...", he chuckled, "However, I do have to thank a certain Trader for making it back here... his aura of greed is just... Delicious!".

The body of the small child known as Jared glow as his form started to change.

"Impossible...", said William looking at how quickly Jared has changed before his eyes.

http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/jaredolder.png

Jared chuckled with a voice that was now husky and firm. His body now that of a much mature young man.

"It feels like you have gained more power... How can it be, Jared? Did you hide it from us all along?! Does Fergal know?!"

Jared just scanned himself, gazing at his new form, "... Interesting... I had no idea how powerfully inspired-greed can make me grow... I'm sure it will be a surprise to Fergal... I guess I'll just have to deal with him once he gets back...", he chuckled again, licking his lips with joy, "The people smell the coming war... The council wishes to fight... They want the loot and the blood... They are eager...", he nodded and looked at No.Vii, "Speaking of which, you should go back to your training", turning around at William he added, "Please clean after this irresponsible young man... I hope he learns his lesson about destroying my-... I mean... Our.... towns....".

William nodded and closed his eyes, his body slowly sliding down until he rested peacefully upon the land. Everything around seemed to be reverted to their original form; No building was left damaged, no life was doomed and lost.

Once everything was put back together, William's eyes popped wide open as he coughed so strongly until blood came pouring out of his lips. He was barely capable of holding himself. His body twisted on the ground as wrinkles of pain appeared all over his face.

"That...Sure... took... some... years... off... me...", he uttered with every weak breath, gasping for air.

Jared bent beside his body, "Let us go rest then...", he said. He looked one last time at No.Vii and said: "And you better go too!".

With that, the bodies of the two generals vanished as if they were never there to begin with.

[Repent!]

On the way to Ivalor

VIR decided that boat rides were his new favorite thing in the world.

The free air, the strong breeze, the strong connection between the crew members.

It was amazing...but the good feeling only lasted until he saw Fergal briefly emerge from the lower decks.

The breeze was nice and all, but it still couldn't solve the puzzle in VIR's head that had stayed empty since Norgard, that much he knew for a fact.

The boat ride to and from Ivalor would be the only times he would have to get the answers to any questions that Fergal had dodged so many times over. He figured that he would do a couple minor questions to show the extent of which Fergal would be comfortable talking, then on the ride back he would squeeze as much information as he could out of the Consul.

So with that, he made his way to follow Fergal to the depths. "Lord Consul, a moment before we touch land?"

Fergal raised his gaze as his eyes met with those of VIR. It was a disturbed ill look, but that to be expected from someone who had turned out to be suffering from great seasickness, although VIR could have guessed that his deal of conversation might have speed up the obnoxious feelings.

"Speak Lad, and be quick with it!"

It was painfully obvious that Fergal had not yet found his sea legs, and look like he was about to wretch at any given moment. Though amusing, VIR had to keep his comment about this to himself. "What's Ivalor like Lord Consul? My missions have never sent me there till now and it has always sounded majestic."

"Majestic..", Fergal spitted, "A royal pain in the...", he stopped and seized his head between his hands, trying to fight the urge to wretch, "Holy... so damn... Holy... At least... it was...", he heaved himself over the rails as he fought against the coughs, "Just... Just... your typical holy city clean of ale would have looked like... Nothing like Sigard on that regard, thank the seven hells".

VIR cocked an eyebrow at Fergal's surprisingly low physical fortitude as he answered. Surely any country would have some use of ale even it was the quality of lukewarm piss, but no ale?

VIR then quickly shook the thought off. His mind was going on a tangent, and he was pressed for time. There was no need for mindless wandering right now.

"Consul, why are we needing to meet with this priest? Should we really seek spiritual guidance where hard work and innovative research can produce results much faster?"

"Spiritual guidance? Really VIR... Hearing this from you can almost make me believe you were never born or taught the way of Sigard", he chuckled, but quickly change his expression, feeling ill once again, "No, no... What I seek is information... and possibly... a future ally."

VIR cocked an eyebrow again at this answer. "Don't misunderstand me Lord Consul, I put no faith in religion. To me all it bolis down to is words that comfort the people who are too afraid to do what needs to be done. My only issue is trying to understand why we need a priest and his followers as an ally. I mean sure they'd probably have make for glorious cannon fodder, but they would hardly seem like the kind to be efficient soldiers."

To that Fergal just grinned, "Sometimes, within the saints, lies powers almost like the sins themselves... that power... and the ability to collect it... is what I seek in Ivalor.", he chuckled, "Ask me no more VIR... You will see...once we get there..."

VIR nodded and turned to see the port becoming quickly visible...Fergal's vague answers were getting quite tiresome.

[Kris]

Outside Sonata- night time


Alright, everything seems to be in order.

Zelvad stood in the woods alone and felt the cool air wash over him.

The moon was almost as bright as the morning sun and the fresh snow laid in front of him, holding his mask to meet its eyes with his own. He sat cross-legged in pants and a sleeveless shirt. His hair was free and wild as the spider pendant sat quiet with the rest of his outfit a couple feet from him.

During his time, not spent either trying to sleep or working with Helena on the scrolls, Zelvad was working on ways to better understand his own abilities. His outward confidence in his abilities was growing, but now he needed to face inward...to face the demon inside.

'You've been awfully quiet these past two months. Why?'

'Would you like me to be more active in all aspects of your life? Even though you know what will happen if I take control?'

Zelvad had no answer.

'I thought so.'

'That didn't answer my question though.'

'...Fine, if you require the knowledge. I see no harm in giving it to you, though you should already know. I have been silent because you have had no problem in actively discovering your power, safely. Had you just started fucking around with powers you hadn't yet understood, I would've eaten you whole from the inside out, taken over your body, and destroyed everyone and everything in Norgard three times over by now.'

Zelvad's eyes shot wide.

'Honestly it would've happened after the events in the Star Sanctum had your two lady friends not gotten involved when they did. Helena has done a marvelous job of keeping you focused mentally and Bria has vigorously refueled your desire to see the Fangs set right and Cronus dead. Though I think you're not asking the real question..'


****


Norgard's castle- The night before


"Why... Why do people have to die?"

The question surprised Helena and not only because she thought the little girl she tucked in just few minutes ago was supposed to be sleeping. Helena set down beside her as she reached a gentle hand over Bria's forehead, moving aside strips of black hair.

"Why?"

There came no answer and Bria just averted her eyes elsewhere. Soon she turned around to her left side as she pulled the blanket over her. Helena just watched her, unable to say anything aside of petting the little girl's back.

Bria hardly ever talked and during the little time the two spent together, the paladin learned not to question, but she could see how difficult was the burden the little girl was carrying upon her small shoulders.

"Why do people... leave you... all alone....?".

Few tears fall upon Bria's cheeks, but a foreign hand has already reached to seize those precious pearls. Bria looked up, watching the paladin face which was full of sorrow, yet that appeased small smile of understanding showed that there was still some hidden hope.

"You are never alone", Helena said slowly, letting her words to sink in.

Bria looked back unsure.

The smile upon the paladin's face grew, "... All those people shall always be part of you. They shall shape you, grew with you and make you stronger".

Bria turned her back to the paladin, looking somewhat annoyed. She curled into a ball as she hugged her legs under the sheets, tucking inside and trying to push herself away from Helena.

Helena chuckled, "I understand child. Sometimes, I find doubts in my words.... in my thoughts...", Helena leaned her body over the bed, reaching her hands to embrace the child, "But... Then... I just fight the doubts!", Helena kissed the girl's head, "And I am sure, those people are always with you".

Bria cried in silence, however, filled with the overcoming warmth of the paladin's hug, the little girl finally fell asleep.


****


One hour outside Sonata


'What do you mean?'

You know damn well what I mean child.
I can't hurt you.
I'm only a voice that acts on your will, and fueled by your rage....but in the same vein...

What...what are you?


If the mask could smile, it would have done so.

I.
AM.
YOU.
Not The Widow.
...All of this power is you. All of this death is you, everyone you have killed since Roseabelle brought you into this ordeal of yours...their blood is on your hands. I know the only person you've ever truly trusted is Livata, the Elders, and your family. It;s going to be hard to accept new people even if you have no idea why they would want to work with you, but I will tell you now: Lieroian was right. The group you travel with will prove invaluable to your goals. Trust in them and their actions, and they will never steer you wrong.'

Zelvad felt slightly uncomfortable by the fact that he was being lectured by an inanimate object, but that would just have to be something he would just have to live with. He lightly sighed...


*****


Norgard's castle- Much later that night


Helena found herself unable to sleep.

The weeding that day was wonderful and happy, but the tense words of Bria and other thoughts troubled her mind; For one, she was still worried about their missing comrades and had the feeling that a lot of things were left unsolved for their friends. Secondly, there was no clear path ahead for them, and she didn't know how to handle herself from now on.

There was still much of the scrolls to read into in order to learn about the demons they were about to face, but it was already dark, and She did wish for everyone to rest before going back to their tracks, at least for another night.

Stepping across the castle's halls, Helena halted. It was dark but she was able to recognize the woman before her, the mercenary she and the assassin had met just today. She cursed as she realized that she was dressed only in her gown, and wished that at least she had a weapon at reach, but instead she just cleared her throat, allowing the woman in front of her to know of her coming.

"Greeting to you", Helena said with an even voice, "Sleep deprived are we?"

That voice....I didn't think anyone else would be wandering this late.

'Truthfully? Yes, ever since I was a little girl it has always taken me a night to adjust to a new place.'

Claudia turned and met the gaze of Helena and even in the flickered light could see the disdain in her face. Claudia wasn't surprised really, and this women didn't take too kindly to her to begin with. The woman leaned against a wall and folded her arms sizing up the new acquaintance.

'Helena correct? Are you also restless? Or perhaps you are on your way to meet someone in secret?...hmmm, I do not mind the company if you want to keep your eyes on me. I can relate to coming into your close knit group and your skepticism...'

Claudia smirked and the shadows from flickering lights accented the expression. She remained composed waiting for the paladin's reaction.

Helena just stared back with cold gaze and furious expression, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment. Really, what was it about that girl Claudia that just set her up so much?

"Do not speak ill of me", Helena answered back, trying to keep her tune in check as best as she could, "Why are you here? Why our group?", she shook her head, "I might not hear everything from your lips, but I need better reasons to trust you!"

Claudia's grin only grew at Helena's words. However sporting she thought this grudge may go she thought better. Her goal was to infiltrate and she was now even given the easy answer to doing that: Trust. With still a hint of condescension she answered.

'Why? I thought I had explained that earlier. Its business, nothing more, nothing less. The guild sees your group as a profitable investment. Helena....your distrust is a understanding thing but if you do not believe my words than believe the hundreds of tiny gold pieces that the guild is getting for their services. Everyone has a price my dear....it just so happens mine is money and there are few that can pay more to sway me.'

"Money...", Helena shook her head, ".... I am not so sure as to-!", her words were cut at once with the sounds of approaching footsteps.

Helena turned around only to notice the tiny image of the girl Bria stepping outside of their room.

Weak rays of light penetrating from one of the windows made Helena realize that dawn was approaching, but even so, it was rather odd for the little girl to be up so early. Helena stepped forward as she tried to call for the little child, but the last just continued on walking, ignoring her.

Surprised by that, Helena looked back at Claudia before she dashed for the girl. She caught up to her, still calling her name all the way, and when she realized the young girl was not responding she waved her hands before her, only to realize that nothing was getting to her. Bria's eyes were wide open, and her expression looked mesmerized.

She stepped back and watched the as the little girl was getting farther and farther away.

"I do not feel any evil energy about her... So I believe she allows her senses to overtake her body... She hails from a mystic clan that can feel great hidden powers", said Helena slowly, still somewhat surprised, trying to explain Bria's behavior to Claudia, "I witness Zelvad acting by his will, and it has appeared to be just like that. Although... If a power called to the young less, I wonder why he is not here as well..."

Turning to Claudia Helena added, "Would you... follow me with her?... Be on your guard if you do, I do not know what may come to pass or what might be luring her".

Helena wished to call for the assassin, but decided against it, for Bria was moving too quickly, and should she not follow her now she might lose her track.

Claudia silently agreed to the paladin and allowed her to take lead in following the strange girl. Surprisingly enough it appeared to the woman that she had worked her way into the group just in time. With the dawning of a new day it would seem things were about to get interesting.

'Helena....'

Claudia's voice softly commanded her attention.

'...You will have to help me sort out who is who in your ever growing group. I must admit that although our intel is good it would be helpful to have someone help separate the rumors from the truths.'

"For aiding me, I shall give you that", Helena nodded and the two followed the girl outside.


***


Norgard's castle- outskirts, early morning


Bria stopped far distance from the castle before strange engraved marks on the land. Then she collapsed. Claudia had followed the paladin silently the whole time, however there was an urgency she could feel radiating off Helena. Something about that child....

"Bria?", Helena picked up the girl, watching as the last was slowly returning to her senses.

Zelvad had just returned to the castle walls to see Bria collapse in Helena's arms, with the mercenary from yesterday in tow. Upon seeing this Zelvad broke into a run to see the worry on his face matched that of his own. Then a scent caught his nose sharp as he looked up. "Blood...A lot of it."

Helena looked up, "So you sensed it as well?... What might this abomination be?", Helena asked.

What on earth....? What have I been drug into. Not even the paladin has answers...

Claduia's thoughts distracted her from the situation.

Zelvad then turned his head to the markings (http://img839.imageshack.us/img839/5131/rprune.png) on the ground that Bria stopped at and looked back at Helena. "I don't know, and I don't like it. We need to get to the throne room...."

The Rune then glowed a violent red that caught the corner of Zelvad's eye....

"GET BACK!"

...and then exploded.

[Anne Bonny]

-scratch scratch-

Wren's green eyes opened ever so slightly and then closed again.

-scratch scratch-

Again they opened. The room was filled with the white light of morning. Wren supposed it was probably time to be getting up. But what was that noise?

She turned her head to see that Raphael was still sleeping at her side. The girl used care to slip out from under the heavy blankets and his arm that was draped across her body. A bear skin lay on the floor, and its fur greeted her toes with a tickle. Despite the slowly dying fire in the room, it was cold. Wren shook her head. Of course it was cold. Aside from the heat of passion between her and Raphael in the dark of night, Wren couldn't recall ever being warm in this country.

-scratch scratch-

She turned, now fully awake and able to pinpoint the sound, to the window. There perched a bird, a hawk she realized with a gasp. The poor creature's coppery feathers were pointing every which-way and it was frantically scratching at the glass with his talons. Concerned, Wren moved closer and something tied to the bird's leg caught her eye.

No more hesitation. The girl ran to the window and flung it open to bring the hawk inside. She heard a questioning groan from the bed behind her, but Wren ignored it. The hawk hopped closer, glancing around with apprehension at the closed quarters before sticking out his leg. Wren obediently removed the note and read the words hastily scrawled there.

Arjak, Trouble, throne room. Go please

"I smell smoke," Raphael said as he stood up from the bed.

It wasn't long before the pair was dressed and running through the hallways to the throne room. They were greeted with a terrifying sight. Ciara was collapsed on the ground, Arjak crouched over her, his own blood pouring onto the floor.

Wren froze, wide-eyed. They were both hurt. Healing one person from a serious injury took all of her strength. How could she help them both? If she tried and exerted herself too much she would need hours to recover. What if they didn't have much time? Who would she start with? What if Lady Rose's curse came back? What if she failed?

"Wren!" The girl looked up to see Raphael. His eyes were hardened, determined.

"Did you hear me?" he asked. "Whoever did this must be nearby. It wasn't long ago. You help them, I'm going to try to find the enemy. Alright?"

Wren nodded, and he was gone. But her feet remained rooted in place. She couldn't do this. It was too much. She needed help. Another healer.

Her own resolve set, Wren spun on her heels and took off running again. Out of the throne room, out of the castle, into the chaos that was the surrounding town. It was only half a block until she reached the closest inn. Through the lobby that doubled as a tavern, up the stairs, to the room she remembered from before, when her little group had dropped off their newest acquaintance.

"Faieth!" Wren cried with whatever breath she had left, pounding on the door to his rented room with her small fist. "Faieth please!"

~~~~~

~Days Prior~

The travel was simple. With a group so large, and three of the five holding a rather intimidating look to them, no brigand would dare. He was lucky. With such a lack of activity, nothing forced his hand; revealed his true nature.

Now his horse drawn cart weaved through the bustling city, trailing behind the group as they walked on. He knew where they were headed by simple deduction. The goal of his acquaintances was the castle, which would more than likely put him in the richer end of town. Faieth wasn’t a picky man. A ramshackle inn, or often times the floor of the horse drawn cart was enough for him to sleep comfortably. But in a big city like this, sleeping in his cart wasn’t his best option, and at the risk of feeling selfish, it had been a while since he’d splurged and spent his money on a decent night’s sleep.

And thusly, before long he found himself moving through the bustling tavern to the stairs accompanied by two of his companions, the pirate and the healer whom, still under the assumption that he was truly a cripple insisted upon helping him bring the meager but necessary possessions to the upper floor. It made him feel like some sort of manipulator, but he certainly couldn’t simply say “Oh look, a miracle, my bad leg feels like new.”

And so, with a thank you and a wave, Faieth retired to the bed, and quickly found himself sleeping off their long trip to the capital.

The next few days found him peddling his wares from his stall in a bazaar square. While he didn’t make as much of a killing as he’d expected, it was definitely more than he’d usually raked selling in smaller cities.

Every night he turned in late, and rose with the sun. And finally, one last sleep, before the calamity.

~~~~~

It was peaceful, a late afternoon in the countryside of Esgares. All Iqueris Gran’s disciples had gathered in that open patch of land east of their home, to simply have a good time. Faieth, no, Zale then, was young. He talked rapidly with his friends, happily. But something irked him. He didn’t know what.

“You’re all dead.”

He pushed the feeling aside, just happy to be where he was, with the only real friends he’d ever known. And suddenly, an air of unease, far worse than his simply niggling feeling of perturbment rocked him.

The ground beneath he and his friends groaned and rocked, as if something explosive was set off nearby. For a second he felt as though it would open. No one seemed to notice save for himself.

“Was that… Real? In the waking world?”

It was only then that his hopeless delusion, the dream of a life taken from him, began to fade. He fought it.

“No, please, don’t go…”

And then it was returning. But it was not the pleasure of that hillside that greeted him. Buildings rose on either side of him as a thick, coppery smell savaged his nostrils. Nausea gripped him as he looked around.

“Not this again. I don’t want to see it.”

Corpses were piled around, most long rotten, but some far fresher. Amongst the dead, long departed, and freshly slain, he picked them out. All four. Still warm, blood seeping from spear wounds, sword slashed throats, and blunt force parted flesh. He wanted to help them, but it was too late. Far too late. He struggled against it, not fighting for the bliss of a dream, but thrashing against the grip of nightmare.

“Faieth!”

~~~~~


His eyes snapped open and a hand drew to his face, tracing the damp streaks fleeing across either temple from their pooled locale below his, until recently, closed eyes.

“Faieth, Please!” a voice called from outside, accompanied by a loud pounding.

Wren.

“Wren?!” He called out, hastily leaping from bed, hand groping over the end table for his cloak. Moving for the door, he draped his about his shoulders, disheveled but more remotely presentable than nothing more than night clothes. As he reached the door, his left arm rose to his face to wipe away the tears of the morning’s unconscious nostalgia trip on the cloth sleeve, and his right hand gripping the doorknob. He pulled it open hastily.

“Wren, what’s wrong? Did you run here? Where’s Raphael?” He said, peering out the door to either side, looking to see if someone or something was pursuing her.

“Settle down. Come in, tell me what’s wrong.” He said, opening the door to allow her entry, stepping back, without the aid of his cane, on a miraculously healed leg, as he forgot to affect his limp in the potential crisis situation.

But Wren shook her head in response. "No, no. There's no ti-"

She paused, her eyes lowering to his apparently strong leg. Her head cocked to the side like a curious bird, and forgetting her manners Wren couldn't help but stare for a heartbeat. With her eyes locked where they were, he was hopeful that she hadn’t noticed him involuntarily mouth 'Fuck'.

The urgency of the situation presided over her confusion before long, and the girl recovered. "There's no time. I need your help," she continued, looking back up into Faieth's golden eyes. "Both Arjak and Ciara have been attacked. Badly."

She reached for the man's arm in desperation. "I can't heal them both. Will you help?"

“Arjak? Ciara?” He grumbled out, still groggy and confused. Where had he heard those names… Wait, she can’t be referring to the King and Queen people had been referring to his entire stay, could she. Only then did it hit him. They were in the city for a wedding, and people couldn’t stop talking about the royal wedding that occurred yesterday.

“Great, in town three days and you’re being asked to wager your severely atrophied healing abilities on saving the local Monarch. Don’t suppose you can decline can you? Wouldn’t exactly be gentlemanly, would it?”

“No more than twenty seconds, I promise.” Faieth quickly shoved her out the door and slammed it behind her. His cloak was off; his sleeping attire flung aside as quickly as he pulled on his clothing, draped his cloak back over his shoulders, and grabbed his cane, holding it more similarly to a staff than a crutch, and tore the door back open.

“I’ll explain my mystically disappearing condition later. You lead. If their hurt badly enough for you to make such a hasty trip over, we should be expeditious."

Wren frowned, but gave a curt nod. "Can you run?" she simply asked.

"Faster than most. I'm sorry for the deception. But as I said, that is a topic for later discussion. Now we move."

Questions swirled in her head as the two sprinted back to the castle. Not only was there the mystery of whoever had attacked the king and queen, as well as the town itself, but now to the identity of her newest companion. Why would Faieth like about his leg? Was it to avoid some sort of identification? Or was it something more sinister, to lure sypathetic strangers into trusting him for some nefarious gains? And if he was lying about his limp, what else was a secret? Was he even a healer? Could he help her, Arjak and Ciara at all?

They reached the castle one of the guards let the pair inside. Wren shook her head, trying to leave all doubts outside the great stone walls. She didn't have much of a choice but to trust Faieth if there was any hope of helping both her friends. That was all there was to it.

"The throne room isn't far," Wren panted. "This way."

[SQJ]

Outskirts of the city


Both Nkuli and Xolani were in trouble.

The night hadn't ended the way the old man had wanted to. They hadn't gone straight to their tents instead Nkuli, having explored more than the rest had led his brother to the sewerage system where she'd found a piece of land where they worked mud, and extracted clay there was a damn of the stuff, created using small aqueducts in order to extract clay.

It didn't take long at all before they were naked and swimming in the stuff it, still dripped off of their skin when they'd made their triumphant return into the camp site.

What ever sense of triumph had been there didn't last.

Dawn first rays touched upon Norgrad with both of them, jerking and grunting in copper bath tubs as multiple women of their tribes scrubbed them with little mercy with the old man's approval and encouragement.

Nkuli's skin tingled and ached, each memory of the offending brushes imprinted on her skin. What ever moment of rest she was offered did not last, instead they were quickly compounded by once soft and tender hands which threw her face first into ice cold water. Here dreadlocks were scrubbed. Loud crackling and popping could be heard as ends of her dread locks were untwisted with steel forks creating an unnatural sound matching that of embers in a bonfire, which seemed appropriate to the hot pain on her head. Every fight she had paled to the burning pain she experienced now, it took a real warrior to handle a dark woman's hair.

Yet, it was hard to feel anything other than joy. The mood of the entire site had changed.

Everything had changed.

Even the icy air which she drew into her lungs felt different, tasted different. They had been acknowledged. So many disappointments, so many betrayals, so many twists of fate and even though they were only left with that princling's word it was something to be celebrated.

She'd felt the change, she'd believed him, her father believed him and the old man was hard trusting. Epinala was some one they could trust. He would follow through and the old man believed it.

The positive feeling spread like wild fire through to every man and woman there, even the hyena's looked brighter and perkier despite the uncomfortable cold against their stringy and tough fur.

The tribe congregated, their pets surrounding the group moving in circles.

The old man grinned wide, yellowed and blackened by time and maltreatment. The cool air created a ball wave of mist.

"Much has been said, I have promised you so much in the past with little to no results and yet you still gave me your trust. I could never show the extent of my gratitude I can only hope the results of this excursion will end centuries of fleeing.

"For the first time we will be able to take root. There will be no running, there will be no being scared for our lives as a until. We will look after each other and with a solid foundation we will grow strong as a people. We will be able to build upon this until we have walls of our own. Nonkululeko come up."

Nkuli's cheeks flushed turning a darker shade of brown, she made her way to her feet, the simple process seemed to activate every aching muscle in her body and skull.

"My daughter, I would trust this task to no other. A woman of true honour she can only grow through this process. Gain from what she is to become a woman this entire tribe can be proud of. I have such faith in her that we will begin preparations for our true settlement within our shore lands. Nkuli, I've never been more proud of you than I am now."

Nkuli fought hard to keep form gawking, choosing to stare at him in stunned silence. The old man dropped his palm upon her freshly rowed dreadlocks, first him, then Xolani who grow a playful smirk.

One by one the group added their touch, creating the largest circle of honour she'd eve seen before. Her cheeks flushed darker than before when two tears forced themselves from her eyes with little regard of how her she'd look. Embarrassment demanding that the reason behind them was simply the unfortunate placement of their palms on her tender head.

[The sooner they would leave the more independent Nonkululeko would feel. The old man knew this, which is why by the the time Nkuli was out of sight the last of the tents had been dissembled. The hyenas shivered with excitement as they were long ready to set course for lands far warmer than Norgrad.


The old man and Xolani both sat down together with him putting an arm around Xolani. "You know why I chose her right?"

Xolani shrugged. "Yes, I believe so though I am not sure if that explanation you gave was the full one.

"A woman of strength is a good way for them to see us. Make them wonder what value out men have if our women are as strong. Though that too is not the reason. Those sort of reasons are but grains of sand to my true intent. I need you to start taking better care of the others. You concern yourself with your one sister too much ever since your brother died. I good leader, a good chief needs to know to expand his gaze. Had it not been for this opportune occasion i might have sent her else where. You choices now are the ones that will define-

The old man stopped, Xolani didn't need to question why. Their hearts skipped a beat in unison, the hairs on the back of their necks rise. Nature was powerful, resilient. It could easily recover from all that was thrown, which is why nature was their strength. Something huge was coming. The very earth ahead of them slunk in by only an inch but the impact was enough to draw their attention.

"Square eight" Xolani said, not using any part of his conscious mind. Some how the memory of having words and letters hammered and beaten into him, in some cases literally. Somehow when his heart stopped beating, his mind cleared to a blank and that sense of pride at being able to remember the number eight as triangular and square that ruin had been what had stayed behind.

The sound of howls could be hit his ears just as the ruin turned black, the heated up turning white hot, drying his skin before exploding violently.

He didn't break apart he didn't fly away, his bones didn't shatter instead he sunk into the ground, disappearing into the earth below but it wasn't by his doing, it wasn't him. He mind was still stuck on 'square eight'.

The blast wave passed and the flame and head washed over head. Screams and explosions filled the air, one drowning out the other in irregular intervals.

Xolani burst out of the soil, waving his arms and shaking himself of the charred soil. Each explosion rocked his entire core, shattering him understanding and faith. It was stunning. He'd never witnessed an explosion before, it seems impossible that some thing so unnatural could exist with out some form of-

Tears were already streaming down his eyes when the groans of an old man his his ear for the first time. He was in the ground, literally. His flesh messed with the blackened and charred soil, bone exposed and half crystallized in the midst of exposed flesh. He'd seen the weakness of their nature based abilities before. Hard driven pikes into a patch of wood, hitting the heart of the one hidden within. But this was something else, he'd never seen such devastation wreaked on the body. His face form out of the sand blood, bile and rock burst from his lips as he coughed and hacked. "Not,-"
"Shut up old man, I can..." Xolani trailed off, his eyes darting from left to right.
"Not yet, there-"
Those were the last sounds to escape the man's lips before every part of him mixed with the soil below and crumbled as the next explosion rocked the earth deeper inside.

]


Inside the city.

She should have come in first thing, she knew she should have but it was still bright and early in the morning. Too beautiful a day for her to ignore, despite the cold, if anything it acted as a soothing balm for her improved hair.

She needed earrings to go with her dress and to go with her hair. She was proud, she was gorgeous she was heaven she was nature's sweet kiss. Her eyes twinkled as she gazes into her fourth mirror in the past twenty minutes, eyeing herself carefully. She winked at herself as she changed the bottom earrings to pearls. Bright ruby red to match the red dress she was wearing.

She was gorgeous, perfect.

Nothing could get in her way:
The fact that she was illiterate, meaningless.

The fact that she was about to deal with a bunch of druids who seemed to deal with magic different to hers, meaningless, if anything it was an opportunity to gain new opportunities to finer attune with their pets.

The fact that she was holding the hopes and dreams of her people. Perfect, she could handle it.

The fact that her pets Inzagi and Drogba, two full grown waist high hyenas were walking at her side safely because the guard at the gate listened when Ephina's name came up and were now growling and creating an open path for her to walk. The delicious strip of fat on a lamb chop you enjoy most of all, in other words better than perfect.

The way doors in the city of norgrad were set up... now that had the potential to put a damper of the day. Her movements were fluid and fun but her momentum was being hammered by the design of doors. She hadn't been around many cities before but she knew they were supposed to open in doors. Doors were supposed open inwards not outwards but every third door, there were three doors that had impeded her, making her curse violently.

It seemed most ironic that it was that type of door that saved her life.

She's stopped dead in her tracks, Drogba and Inzagi cringed and whined as the first explosions set off, her heart skipped a beat and everything inside of her shut down twisting and contorting. She turned sharply when she saw the rune just behind her. Instinct told her to run but her legs denied the the right.

Her skin almost immediately ran dry as the ruin heated up, just then the door ahead and behind burst open blocking her view of the ruin as people poured out. The ruin disappeared out of sight behind the door and exploded, ripping the door off of it's hinges and flinging it right into her, it didn't stop taking her thin body with it, sandwiching her into the door ahead ripping it off of it's hinges and slamming her into a wall. She didn't remain conscious long enough to see the second ruin explode further ahead the door covering her snapped in half missing on slamming down hard and missing her chest and heart by an inch, nearly killing her but creating a stronger foundations that separated her from the falling debris.

Fingers poking at her eye woke her. She shoved the offending fingers away. There was a light flop, too light. She opened her eyes finding darkness and a severed hand in her face. She was hemmed in-between two doors and she could barely feel a thing.

Her left hand was hurt like it was fire, she felt twisting and crackling as her fingers moved at impossible angles until she, with the aid of the wall managed to make a first. She had her hands but not her feet. Too hemmed to the door to look down at them, she couldn't move them but most frightening was the fact that it didn't hurt. It scared her more than she thought of her cousin and she panicked.

She found her legs, pain, severe and endless ignited from her legs shooting upwards to her brain making her cry out as her entire form slide away in bursts of movement and pain. Within a minute she was free, Both Inzagi and Drogba's jaws clamped on a foot each, dragging her by her ankles.

The explosions rocked the city and rocked her at the core. Thee pain, the broken hand, fractured ribs and aching jaw were nothing compared to the unnatural sensation twisting inside of her with every explosion. Tears streamed freely from her eyes form the devastation. The explosions were intense, not for the lives they took but from the sense of understanding they robbed her off.

She made her way up to her feet only to have her knees to buckle under her own fears and she screamed. It was just as unnatural since she wasn't actually screaming anything it was just a scream. It was ridiculous but she did anyway. A loud cry inexplicable but powerful, yanking out every piece of air she had in her lungs. She needed to run, she needed to go back to the camp site. A second scream burst from her lips, only this time it had definite purpose. She couldn't go back, she wouldn't go back. She could never allow herself to fail right at the start.

Nkuli found her feet once again. She started running, each blast taking her legs away from her as they tore ahead through to the keep itself. Still she stood up, still she ran on. She had to find Ephinia she needed to keep the man alive and honest on his word by any means necessary.

[Housemaster]

Darkness.... it enveloped Devon's sight completely as he regained his consciousness. Or at least, he thought he was conscious, it was hard to tell in such a void.

As feeling came back to his body he found that he was on his back, laying against a hard flat surface of unknown stone. Was it stone? He could not really tell. The only smell he could detect was his own sweat, dripping liberally from his forehead in exhausted turbulence. Memory soon returned to him, it was not a few seconds ago he was in the throne room facing down King Arjak and Queen Ciara in what was supposed to be a one man conquest. His memory then retraced itself to its last point, to where the voice took over.

What monstrous essence was that? he thought to himself. Upon further reflection he had already known the answer, but denied it further in hopes for a different truth. How could he lose control? Him, the cunning and intelligent Devon who is able to puppet entire hordes and orchestrate such widespread violence, how could he lose control? He sat upwards, crossing his legs as a crawling ache rippled in his back.

His nose caught new air, someone else was in here with him... someone deadly silent. "Who's there?" He asked.

As if only by being aware that he was not alone, a new piece emerged into this "reality", or the "void" that Devon was part of now. And, as if to herald the entree of the new being, a small piece of said "ground" was lit, lone mark of light within the ever-growing darkness. Upon it, feet, body and face were to be shaped as if the new-comer was unwrapped by unseen dark veil.

Emonalach didn't speak at first, but rather, just stared back before approaching closer. With each step he took, the light under his feet follow, marking his trail, and making him visible to the eye, although, Devon senses could have probably traced him without it.

Then, at what otherwise Devon, or anyone else for that matter, would consider too intimate of a distance, Emonalach spoke, "Hail to you, son of Balon"

The hunter stood quickly, meeting this figure face-to-face. There was an odd intention in Emonalach's eyes that Devon could not quite decipher. Whoever this mysterious man was he was the reason why Devon was here, transporting the hunter away from the throne room for a purpose yet unknown.

"Who are you?"

Emonalach smirked softly in return, taking a step back. There was something within his eyes that seemed to be growing with life, a spark of interest maybe?

"How curious... You hide your fear well, mortal".

Was he praising or taunting the hunter? It was hard to tell, but the unsatisfied expression upon Devon's face caused Emonalach to speak again, "You may address me as 'Emonalach'".

Emonalach... Not a name... Just a title... which literally translate into 'Trust is gone'....

Devon urged himself to remain composed, puzzling this oddity that stood infront of him. He addressed the hunter as a mortal, to which begged further questions on who Emonalach was. Why was here here? What are his purposes? Questions Devon wished to know, but at the same time he didn't. Images of past victims of the hunter's various games of torture then flashed through his head. Their many colourful expressions of pain and fear presented a sickening calm to Devon's mind as he regained his composure. He too, was very much a monster.

He licked the sweat off his lips before speaking, "I doubt that I've been brought here for a mere exchange of names. You've caught me at an odd juncture, I was just in the middle of setting fire to some undeserving monarchs..."

"And as deserving as he is for such... fascinating flames... It is much too soon for the king of Norgard... Or any of his companions... to burn....", Emonalach's voice was calm, yet his deep blue eyes showed the storm of emotions within, "You carry within you power... That shall devour you...".

A pause.

Was Emonalach trying to see any change upon Devon's face?

"It is a fate you cannot flee from...."

Another pause.

"And yet... I can prolong your quest... your revenge... silencing the Behemoth within you... for as much as your will allows it... For a price..."

How does he know? How can he see this... this thing? Devon took a step back, his personal judgement sending full alarms against Emonalach. How dare he belittle me with such spectacle. How can I be devoured? Me! The hunter of the mountains! He tried to convince himself, but even he was not foolish enough to believe such lies. The monster within him was voltile, unpredictable, and unstable... but this Emonalach fellow seem to harbour secrets. Secrets that may prove to be beneficial.

"My power is my own!" the hunter spat with false confidence, "But... I will hear your offer... What do you know about this beast, and what is it you seek in return?"

"Some call it "god", some call it "devil". A beast from ancient time.... much earlier than my own kin's golden age...", Emonalach nodded, "Although I know little of its origin, I do know of the fiend's nature, and it shall feed upon you, like it did with all its lovers and hosts... unsatisfied thirst for power... Never ending lust for conquests..."

Emonalach took a step forward, "You are a worthy vessel... but so were many before you... In order to achieve your goals and fulfill your dreams, I shall allow you to escape death and depletion for as much as possible... I shall enrich you... and add more power and wisdom to you...".

Emonalach's eyes lit for a moment before the blue within the sockets of his eyes was drain, "Lead my own army to victory in this coming war... And your enemies shall fall before you as they try to face you... ", with dark eyes, devoid of life, Emonalach glared, "Wish for it and join me!".

Devon grinned, "It was wished upon before we've even met..."

[Wattz]

The Night Before

Baxter scurried back to his room after speaking briefly with Misses Fairchild, flinging the door open and diving for his backpack. He grasped his coat, his set of knives, and any other stray items he could, rushing furiously to make sure he had everything he needed to leave Norgard. Then he stopped abruptly, his arms full with all his things in the center of the room.

Surely he had been overreacting, he thought briefly to himself. Surely that Claudia had more important things to deal with than a meek little trader, like that Harken fellow she was toting around. But even if this woman hadn’t stopped at their table and given him a nasty glare, the sinking feeling in Baxter’s stomach had been growing stronger and stronger. He’d had his reservations since the beginning of this whole mess, and on more than one occasion he’d just about thrown the towel in and left. Perhaps now was the perfect time, just after a wedding, to sneak away without anyone noticing.

But his indecision returned once again. But what reason did Baxter have to stay? He had felt and said this many times, what reason did he have to prance around with kings and queens and vicious warriors? When was he ever worth enough to be around something great? A broken record, an endless cycle.

If only to finally finish something. Baxter thought himself small, and for that he was small. But what did it matter, being small amongst giants, when something grand and fantastic was clearly at stake? He hesitated, moved to start packing again, stopped, hesitated, moved, stopped, hesitated, stopped.

Baxter could hear the jovial murmurs from the celebrations in the distance. He slumped his shoulders and sighed, letting all his things fall in a pile on the ground. In his drunken haze, he slowly crawled into his bed and went to sleep.

Early Morning

He woke up earlier than he would have liked. His head was aching something fierce, but he forced himself to sit up. Baxter sat in the silence, rubbing his forehead until he thought he saw something glowing on the floor very close to all his stuff.

He raised an eyebrow, then groggily moved toward it. The red rune pulsed with light, but even more curious was its terrible heat. Baxter snapped awake, gaze moving from his belongings to the heated rune.

“Oh no, no no nononoo—“

He managed to grasp his coat, but by the time he scurried back the rune exploded. Baxter heard the violent snap of glass and metal as all his things were caught in the burst. His pack was on fire, the corner of his coat scorched, his knives warped by the sudden heat. He had no time to survey the full extent of the damage before running like mad out the door. All around he heard the devastation that rang throughout the premises.

[~N~]

Geordis, Cronus and Shylock exited the grand Council Chambers of Commerce, with Dreeg (http://sofiavalecruz.deviantart.com/art/goblin-78790123)-- the Merchant Lord of Sigard's ever constant standard-bearer -- keeping pace beside him on feet that seemed in imminent danger of tripping over themselves at any moment. As soon as they were a few blocks from that gilded heart of Senedon, Geordis grabbed Shylock's wrist and fixed him with a gaze of concern. Shylock stopped short and returned Geordis's concerned look with an arched eyebrow, asking, "What is it?"

"There is something else I have not had a chance to tell you yet," the lesser merchant replied. By now Dreeg had realized he had been walking on alone for a few steps and quickly doubled back, while Cronus silently maneuvered around and loomed like a shadow beside both merchants. "But the matter can wait no longer," he continued. "I must tell you of the Elements of Sigard project, and the strange happenings I have seen there."

Shylock gave Geordis his full attention now, and commanded him to speak: "What have you seen, Geordis?"

"For the past few months, things have proceeded very much as you have intended. But the... management has not quite been what I expected, personally from the Council's oversight of the Project."

Shylock knit his brows.

"Fergal has been leading the project from the start," the lower merchant explained.

"Fergal?" Shylock questioned.

"Yes, I know. He has been leading the project from the start but didn't even become a member of the Council until recently."

"Yes, I'm aware. He didn't seem to have anything to say at the meeting."

"No, indeed he did not," Geordis affirmed. "But I do not feel as though he is entirely trustworthy for his position..."

"Why is that?" the Lord of the Scales probed further for answers.

"Not just because of his unusual appointment to such a position over a project of utmost importance and secrecy to the Council, but also because of the company he's been keeping," Geordis pointed out.

"And who has he been keeping company with, Geordis?" Shylock narrowed his eyes.

"A youth--a small boy, who has been following his steps for these past few months from time to time."

"A child?" Shylock questioned with puzzlement.

"Yes, but a child with whom he has had serious conversations--as though he was talking to an equal..."

Shylock drew back slightly. "That is a bit odd."

"There's more."

"Go on, then."

"Goliath, of the Golden Bar, has also been in his company, and it is fair enough to say that he has been having... dealings with him," the lesser merchant said in a lowered voice.

Shylock's face suddenly hardened, and his fingers closed tight on his staff. "Traitor."

"Yes, I feared as much," Geordis replied, apprehensive of Dravon's reaction.

"And you kept this from me?" he accused the merchant.

"N-No, Lord Shylock," Geordis quickly stammered, "But I had not had the chance to report to you these dealings until now. It has taken a few months to notice anything unusual about them."

Shylock seethed, his eyes narrow slits of cold suspicion and irritation. He turned to Cronus, who met his gaze. "I want him eliminated."

"All three?" Cronus replied.

Shylock contemplated for a moment, his eyes growing briefly distant. "No," he replied after a long reflective pause, "Watch Fergal and his... young companion..."

"And Goliath?"

Shylock turned to Geordis, "Do you know where he is?"

Geordis thought for a moment and then nodded in affirmation, "Yes, and even if he isn't where I think he is, I can find him for you well enough."

"Good," Dravon nodded. "I want you to deliver to him this message: The Annual Goblin Races are in three days. They are the one chance, as you well know, for merchants to compete with one another in a way that can defy business success and rank within the City. I know of Goliath's envy and his ambition to usurp me; I can even identify with it on some level," Shylock smirked. "But I want you to invite him to bet against me in the Races."

"But Lord Shylock, you have never lost a Race in the years you have participated..."

"Which is why the winnings and the fame for a victory are as high as he can hope to collect. Inform him that..." Shylock thought for a moment, "Due to my absence, a group of merchants has gathered to make sure that Shylock's goblin..."

Dreeg looked up, as if registering--however dumbly--his existence.

"...does not... finish... the Race."

"How shall I convince him of this?"

"Gather a dozen signatures from Merchants loyal to me and give them each a token from me that will acknowledge that they are free of blame," Shylock replied, reaching into the satchel that Dreeg carried, and bearing out twelve seals with the Scales emblem engraved upon them. "Then take these signatures to Goliath. When he suspects a conspiracy within my own ranks, he will be as a shark to blood and seize the opportunity to humiliate me in public. Tell him that nothing less than a significant portion of his wealth, spent upon this endeavor will ensure his loyalty in the plot."

Geordis smiled slightly himself. "It is an ingenious plan, Lord Shylock."

The Merchant Lord of the Scales turned again to Cronus. "When he has lost his wealth in this, you will kill him in the street, and you will make it look like he was murdered by common brigands--an unfortunate by-product of betting with money you don't have."

Cronus nodded silently.

"You will get one quarter of his bet for that," Shylock affirmed, "And another quarter for shadowing Fergal and his companion." He drew close enough to Cronus that the latter could smell the old man's breath. "I want to know what he is up to, and where he is going..."

Cronus nodded again, "It is easily done."

"I never suspected you'd have trouble in this. I will need you to report back soon enough. I suspect that the Demon Generals will become more bold in the days to come and I trust very few with my personal safety. You are my edge, assassin--the best that money can buy. The world will know that if they so much as attempt to strike at my person, you will end their life before the stroke can fall."

Cronus nodded a third time, "As sharp as your tongue, so shall my blade be."

"Go now, both of you," Shylock commanded. "We have work to do."

[~N~]

Three days later...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fluttering banners and flags were hanging now outside the windows of the townhouses and apartments that lined the streets on both sides leading to the epicenter of the 100th Annual Goblin Races. The morning had begun early, with the first race beginning at daybreak, and progressing from there. Merchants from all around, most of them natives of Sigard, came to bet on and sponsor one or more goblins, and sometimes even "teams" of creatures, hosted by one Merchant's Guild or another. It's not that the Merchants had a monopoly on the Races, but there was a special lore that was passed from Merchant to Merchant which allowed for a seemingly better and more capable handling and breeding of these creatures.

In fact, if one were to see how many goblins could be found in Senedon on the day of the Races, one could be forgiven for assuming that they were a more populous "species" than they actually were. In truth, the creation of Goblins was something of an experiment gone wrong according to legend--another "secret project" funded by the Trader Houses a few centuries ago, as the stories tell it. Council Records, were they disclosed to the general populace, would reveal that the Elemental Warriors were not the first attempt to fuse a being with powers and abilities they would not normally be gifted with...

Though it comes as a mystery to modern scholars and researchers as to what precisely it was that the Traders were attempting to do with the Goblins... as the species does not seem terribly remarkable for much else than its low-born mentality, lack of shame, and inscrutable desires...

Which made their unwilling, coerced, or in many cases, bribed participation in the Races all the more entertaining and ripe for a gambling ring. Goblins were, after all, unpredictable sorts of creatures in the main, which made a subservient Goblin like Dreeg all the more unusual in his constant steadfast loyalty to his avaricious Master. But for six of the past ten years, Shylock had won the Races Dreeg was in. The other three he had not entered, after taking payments from the other Merchants to opt out of the race every third year. This was the year after the third such "bye" and Shylock figured Dreeg was ready to run again, after having a year to recuperate.

Truthfully, it wasn't a very relaxing year, as his Master nearly always had Dreeg at his side and the diminutive little companion didn't have the mental capacity to imagine doing anything else, besides. The time he spent inspecting, sampling, and digging for globules of goblin snot from his own nose were more of a subconscious act, like breathing. But nevertheless, where Shylock went, so went Dreeg, and for his part, since he hadn't known much else in his short pathetic existence, he was as content with it as he could imagine being, and simply took the humiliation and hardship of his meager existence for granted, more or less.

But the Races were not on his mind at the moment. Indeed, he was quite oblivious to the happenings and goings-on of the world around him a great portion of the time, and Shylock made no attempt to change this; for the Merchant Lord of the Scales, the less aware his young goblin was of what was about to happen on this very day, the better it would be for both of them. It's not that Shylock intended to actually sacrifice his sniveling little servant in this annual event--Dravon never appreciated the idea of losing any thing of his, no matter how lowly--but it was an accepted fact (and even the primary reason for attending for many of the spectators) that many Goblins met horrible, untimely ends in the running of the annual Races. The lower-ranked creatures therefore had the unenviable position of running earlier in the day, in the interest of literally thinning out of the competition by the time to the Finals came about in the early afternoon.

Because of Shylock's esteemed position, he was able to keep Dreeg out of the races until the Finals--now a mere twenty minutes away. Making his way slowly down the City's main street, towards the "Menagerie" -- the first "culling ground" of the Races. Twenty-five Merchant Lords gathered together, each with their surviving or favorite Goblin, each Goblin decked out in a miniature taberd the color of the Trading Guild or House that they represented. Shylock slipped a black taberd around his companion, embroidered with the golden Scales that were the emblem of his dynasty. Some Houses had more than one Goblin in the Finals, and it so happened that three of them sported like evergreen taberds, all featuring a Golden Bar upon them.

"Shylock," came a gruff, low voice off to the Merchant Lord's right. Dravon turned and looked up to see the hulking six-foot five form of Goliath peering down at him with a greedy smile, punctuated by several golden teeth. It was rumored that when he became the Lord of Senedon, replacing Shylock himself, all of them would be gold. "Just one goblin, Shylock?" Goliath taunted.

"One is enough to win, Goliath," Dravon answered with a steely business-like tone that betrayed no fear of his monstrous competitor. "Efficient and skilled," he continued, "unlike the three messes you've put up against him."

It was only now that Dreeg (http://sofiavalecruz.deviantart.com/art/goblin-78790123)himself, upon seeing the other Goblins, especially those wearing the Golden Bar who appeared to be feral and crazed with a kind of bloodthirst, slavering and snapping at each other and at all others around like they were, that he began to quiver and whine. His eyes widened with worry, and they rolled up to look upon his aged Master, his lips now trembling in a stupefied frown.

"He looks like he's about to piss himself," Goliath mocked.

Shylock glanced down at the now burgeoning terror in his young Goblin's eyes, and then after a moment of consideration, nodded in assent, "He may well do that."

"But he'll still win," he said with renewed steel in his voice, his eyes shifting back to the giant Merchant Lord of the Golden Bar.

"You know the survival rate of the Races, Dravon..."

"I know that your wretches will not survive, Goliath."

"Quite sure of yourself, aren't you? You're getting weak, old man. Feeble-minded and weak. Your time has passed; your 'reign'," and Goliath paused, his tongue writhing as though he hated the very taste of that word, "has ended. It will be proven today."

Shylock considered his boast for a moment, narrowed his eyes and smiled, "If I had but one pence for every time I've heard those words..."

"SHUT UP, BEGGAR!" Golaith roared out suddenly. And now Dreeg's knees were knocking and a small trickle escaped between his shaking legs. The brutish Merchant's right hand reared back, ready to backhand Shylock clear into next week---

--but he checked himself as he held it raised. All around the audience had grown quiet. To strike Shylock down was not the Sigardian Way. No. He would strike his blow with this Race. He would win, and Dreeg would not survive to see the finish.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Sigard and the World!" a loud announcer proclaimed. "We bring you now to the Finals; the last Race of this 100th Annual Goblin Races Event here in Senedon!" Applause and cheers of excitement went up from the crowds of spectators and onlookers, who were gathered in throngs through the streets, watching from the windows of their homes and shops, and even the rooftops.

"Today's Final Race will be run along a longer route than ever before!"

http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/Senedon2_zps40886b20.jpg

"We will begin here, in front of the Menagerie--Senedon's famous Zoo, full of creatures and monstrosities the likes of which cannot be found anywhere else in the world!"

http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/594727976672191259/F793C6598A639E57B8F02C32496AD9568A5BC101/

"Our brave competitors will run through the Menagerie, breaking left and escaping--if they can!--to proceed down the stretch of Merchant's Way, into the famous streets of our beloved Merchant Quarter!"

http://qqreporter.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Guild-Wars-2-City-Concept-Art-cropped.jpg

"May we throw things at them?!" one woman's shrill voice cried out.

"YES! You may!" the announcer happily answered, "But remember, in the Merchant's Quarter, we expect only the finest materials to be used, and prefer gold coins to any others, should you have them!"

"YAY!" she cried out. "I've got a whole bag ready!"

"So do I!" cried another. "Me too!" came several more shouts. Dreeg couldn't stop shaking now if he even had the desire to. He glanced wildly about. Faint memories of this horrible experience came creeping back into his puny mind, and his little teeth chattered as he clung tightly to his Master's robes. Dravon allowed it for the moment, but he would soon force the goblin away.

"If they should get 'lost' in your shops, or stray from the path for any reason, including those which may be considered 'accidental', you are permitted to beat them until they have returned to their course, or..." the announcer added with a bit of sadistic delight, "if they do not, you may beat them to death." Again, more wild cheering.

Once the shouting died down a bit, the announcer went on, "From there, it's on to the outskirts of the City, down Brigand's Lane, and right out into the Outer Slums, where nothing is paved, everything is covered in shit, and the poor are so wretched that any meal on legs is considered a blessing! Yum!"

http://i.neoseeker.com/ca/dragon_age_ii_conceptart_MOrPU.jpg

The crowds loved the details this announcer applied to his descriptions of the route. "I hear the vile urchins inhabiting that place are more savage than starving jackals!" Senedon's true class colors happily revealed themselves.

"Should they make it through the teeming and starving masses that inhabit the Outer Slums, our goblin runners will thence proceed to..." the announcer changed his voice to a low dreadful tone, "the Lower Ward!"

http://i.neoseeker.com/ca/dragon_age_ii_conceptart_TRbKi.jpg

"The horrors here are unimaginable and beyond description. Gangs of lawless brigands and thieves, drug-runners and unspeakable, mutated wildlife that lurk beneath in the labyrinthine underworks of the Old City await our hapless goblin athletes there! And I certainly won't step in to prevent anything from happening to them there, are you?!" he called out to the cheering crowd.

"Hell no!" they replied in unison, knowing the line from Races prior.

"Then!" he answered, "Those that survive will climb Beggar's Path back into the embrace of our righteous City, and run along the back alleys of our esteemed Merchant's Quarter, where they will be treated to the worst conditions this fair City has to offer, including the finest waste, industrial chemicals and deteriorating road conditions known in all of Sigard!"

http://th07.deviantart.net/fs4/300W/i/2004/237/4/4/Fantasy_city_street.jpg

"Next, they will pass into the finest part of our City, the Heights!"

http://gameolio.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/hightown-01-p1.jpg

"Which... as you all know, is quite illegal for all but those who have built up their wealth and reputation in this fair metropolis and paid the tidy sum required by city law to live there!" The crowds went wild.

"The guards will most certainly enjoy having their way with them then, don't you think?" A few city guardsmen, in shining arm sharpened their pikes and polished their morningstars with a gleam of anticipation in their dark eyes.

"Finally, those who remain after these trials pass over Highland Bridge..."

http://dungeonsmaster.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/bridge-medieval-fantasy-city.jpeg

"precariously avoiding a plunge into the churning city canals there, and find their way into the twisting, shady pathways of our City Port...

http://www.blogcdn.com/massively.joystiq.com/media/2012/05/laheader.jpg

"...where all manner of seamen are just looking for a weary stray goblin to take advantage of! Ha, ha, ha!" the announcer proclaimed with boisterous laughter.

"Should they escape the buccaneers, pirates, and wenches that linger about upon the docks and bars of that place like seedy vermin, they'll have only to find their way back into the City--through a rathole or drainpipe, of course, because we won't open the doors for them, and then it is only up to the last remaining stragglers to make it across the line first. Only the lucky winner will be spared the chase of the hounds we release upon the losers!"

"Yay!!!" the crowd cheered wildly again, as the snarling packs of hungry dogs were brought forward from their cages, ready to rend goblin flesh from bone.

"Merchant Lords, one and all, lead your Goblin runners to the starting line!"

Shylock roughly grabbed Dreeg and dragged him by the collar in grim silence to the line where the Final Race would begin, the terrified little goblin whimpering and whining with each step.

His Master paid no heed to his fear...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Since this post was so long, I'll describe the Race and its outcome in another post following this one. Stay tuned!)

[Repent!]

Ivalor- Capital Camelot


"What in the...?"

This is nothing (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1_kayDWx-0) like he thought it was going to be.

VIR thought this place would be full of smiles and bright and shiny things. Priests speaking 'the word of god' and he would've laughed at the mouth-breathers eating up the man's sermon like they've never had a full meal in their whole life.

Children would be running around causing pranks as children often do, then immediately being given chase by some adult while scolding them about their bad behavior.

Shops would be full of people bartering and selling wares and foodstuffs. Women would be laughing as the sun accented their beauty to make a truly marvelous visit feel that much better when he found the one local tavern so that he could rub it in Fergal's face for the rest of this trip...

What he saw as he walked through the streets of Ivalor at Fergal's side however, was just...depressing...and underwhelming.

The streets were dull and barren.

The places where there should be shops or a bazaar of sorts was more or less deserted.

People were hidden inside their homes deep in prayer, whether alone or in small groups. The voices coming from within begging for hope and forgiveness for their transgressions.

The small number of people that were outside looked rough and sickly, huddled around small fires as they slept on the cold ground.

"What happened here, Lord Consul? Are you sure we're in Ivalor?"

Fergal coughed, "I am sure. Although, I didn't know Emonalach will be so bold and eager... Let us make haste. I'm sure he will be able to notice our presence soon enough".

The further they entered, the greater the eerie feeling grew. Every now and then a cloaked figure would pass by them, without welcoming or even noticing them. VIR could have sworn he saw some kind of steam flowing down the cape and no face presented within the cloths.

The people, the few that wandered aimlessly around the street looked mesmerized and lifeless.

They continued to walk until they reached their destination, the grand chapel within Camelot.

http://dukegroups.duke.edu/westminster/files/2011/08/Duke-Chapel.jpg


***


As soon as they entered (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZJFJ1YhgCc) a friendly looking priest welcomed them. Fergal whispered something and the two were escorted further inside.

"Be on your guard, VIR", Fergal said slowly, the dews of cold sweat already covering his forehead and nape. It was too easy. Much too easy.

http://img526.imageshack.us/img526/1281/grandchapelinner.png

"I always am, sir."

VIR lost the fondness for this place the second he laid eyes on it. He wanted out now, and if people had to die today so that he could leave, he would be more than happy to comply.

"Just do what is needed so we can go home, Lord Consul. There are bigger issues at hand than religious 'support'. These people don't feel right, and the air is...wrong."

VIR was more than confident in his ability to have his weapon ready and get Fergal out of harm's way before anyone...or anything for that matter, made thoughts to cause harm...make no mistake about that.

Something just seemed off though...and he couldn't quite place it just yet.

The warrior felt it had something to do with this 'Emonalach' character, and the pending questions VIR had for Fergal for the ride home just seemed to want to dive bomb out of his mouth right then and there.

He had to keep himself in check though. Fergal's safety was more important right now so he merely swallowed his spit and kept his eyes open....

And open they were the moment he noticed the new presence in the room.

"You!", called a man from the far balcony above them, cutting off the line of VIR's thoughts. They both turned around to face the elderly man who slowly approached them as he descended down the row of stairs, accompanied by more priests with lifeless gazes.

http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/Bolgan.png

As peculiar as it was, this elder seemed to be flowing with life about him, unlike any person in this kingdom... and yet... even something about him seemed to be off.

"Hail to you, father, high priest Bolgan", said Fergal weakly.

VIR only gave a slight nod after Fergal greeted himself.

This new face was probably the most wrong out of everything he had seen so far. Too much despair, sadness, and fear has passed in front of his eyes since he arrived to believe that this person could remain so...bright.

It was the only word VIR could bring to mind. It quickly became painfully obvious that this Bolgan fellow was at the center of the problems in Ivalor. VIR kept to himself that this 'High Priest' could have at least tried to look like the rest of this soul sucked country as Fergal spoke with Bolgan.

"Father, we-!"

"Enough with this silly show, why are you here?", snapped Bolgan, halting the words in Fergal's mouth.

"You know perfectly well why-!"

"No! Don't request it!", cried Bolgan. There was a pause, "I won't betray him. he is far too powerful...".

VIR scoffed. If Bolgan knew why they were here, made evident by him cutting Fergal off at every sentence, why let them this far in only to reject them? For the amount of power Bolgan exuded, he sure didn't care to make use of it. VIR was officially fed up with all of this diplomacy shit and decided to make his presence felt...

He began with the most sarcastic slow clap he could muster before crossing his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg with a very incredulous look on his face as he locked eyes with the priest.

"So THIS is the power of FAITH! Old men who speak of salvation and purity across the land in the name of 'god and country'."

VIR scoffed again.

"Amazing really, truly masterful in your speech craft. Until it comes time to bring hard evidence to the table apparently. Then again your insecurity towards any physical contest in war right now is clearly understood given Ivalor's current state what with your people huddled in fear and begging for forgiveness or dying of starvation in the streets."

VIR then closed his eyes and shook his head with a smirk, his face becoming blank before meeting Bolgan's eyes again.

"Really top notch work, Father. You are truly a shining example for the future of this country..."

"Future of this country?!", the high priest shout back, "Have you told this boy nothing?!"

VIR shifted his weight to his other leg and cocked his head to the side with look of feigned shock. "No, as a matter of fact he hasn't."

He turned to Fergal with a very unsurprised look on his face.

"Should I ask him what he meant by those words and get the answers to the questions you have been dodging or would you like to go ahead and answer those questions I've been badgering you about for the last couple weeks? I hear confession is good for the soul."

At that point VIR cracked a sly smile. Either way he was finally going to get the answers he wanted, the choice was now up to Fergal as to who was going to tell him first.

Fergal just grinned, "Foolish boy... I don't remember allowing you to talk back to me!".

Fergal's eyes glitter with an excitement as the dark color within them switch to a bright red. He watched as VIR knelt before him, slowly fighting unseen waves that pushed him down, paralyzing every bone and muscle within his body.

"You are lucky that I value your courage as much as I do... But... as you know... I'm very arrogant... my pride... is important to me...".

Looking at the priest, Fergal chuckled softly, "Now... I require you to join me, father. The reason you are even giving this option is because you spared my life and were my closest in commend during the time of the heavenly choir. Refuse me and I shall be empowered by your might with your death".

The priest looked down at VIR, "What about him... I'm sure you've never planned for him to learn that you are more than just a simple... human... have you?"

"You are ignoring my question, priest. Don't test my patience, you foolish imp".

The high priest laughed. He then started to advance for the direction of the two, taking his steps one at a time, his golden holy rod, knocking against the cold marble floor with every pace, "Should I tell you boy? Should I answer your questions?", he shook his head, "Wouldn't these questions lead to more questions? Would these new questions be easy to be answered?".

He looked down at VIR, "Do you really want to learn the answers, my boy?"

"Why do you even bother with him, priest?", Fergal asked.

"You chose him for the very reason that you've chosen some of them to serve under you... his blood heritage... I can smell the filth of the ancient in it.... I wonder how this will play in this game... If he were to know...", he looked up to Fergal, "And you, just by being so close to Emonalach, there was some level of curiosity that you must have inherited from him. The ability to wait, watch and learn... and maybe improving your movements..."

Watching the annoyed expression upon Fergal's face the priest smiled back with delight as he carried on, "I thought so...", he shook his head, "In order to beat your enemy... Sometimes I must try to think like him...".

He looked down at VIR yet again, "What is your answer boy, should I tell you?"

The influence over his muscles was stronger than originally thought. VIR grunted and winced against the force holding him down. As much as he fought to get back to his feet though, in a knelt position he remained. Where did all this power come from? Was this Fergal's doing?

The only thing VIR could manage was to turn his head to allow his eyes to meet with the priest's again. That same smirk was still on his face, wincing through his words as he continued to fight. "Try me...papist. I've never stopped when i'm...this close to victory before-"

VIR made a short gasp of air before continuing.

"..and I will make no effort...to start now!"

[~N~]

And now the moment you've all been waiting so patiently for... (with TWO songs to make up for a lack of songs in the past two posts)

Let's get this death race started (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_WZLPRpOa4)...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Sigard and the World!" the announcer proclaimed in a booming tone, "It is time to begin the final race of this grand and glorious occasion! Goblin Handlers, lead your contestants to the starting line!"

Shylock's aged grip on the scruff of Dreeg's taberd tightened menacingly, the old master's teeth clenched. Dreeg whimpered and struggled and dragged his dirty green feet. Goliath crosses his thick arms and laughed while he watched the spectacle. "Doesn't look like he even wants to be here, much less win, Shylock!" The Lord Trader of the Scales flashed him a withering glare and continued to haul Dreeg ever so slowly to the line.

A few more paces and he was there. Handlers were allowed, for the sake of the more reluctant entrants to accompany their charges to the starting line, simply because if they weren't, half the competition would flee for their puny lives. Some especially hardened goblins didn't need any company, but Dreeg was no such goblin. He simply wanted to live his life and escape from the nightmare unfolding before his wide, terrified eyes.

"Goblins and Handlers! Take your mark!" the announcer boomed. Silence swept over the hushed crowds, leaving only the sounds of whimpering and snarling from the starting line and the faint, strange noises that echoed now from within the great Menagerie positioned not 100 yards directly ahead of them.

"Ready!"

"Set!"

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! !!!!" the announcer howled at the top of his lungs with a firing of his flintlock pistol.

The noise shook through the street and sent the goblins scrambling forward, their screams drowned out in the sudden wave of cheering that rose up from the gathered crowds.

Without thinking, Dreeg's legs shot into motion, scrambling forward as much out of sheer terror as driven instinct straight into the pack of green and brown goblins (along with a couple bluish ones here and there) and forward into the waiting bower of the Menagerie.

The first two goblins to reach the ominous entrance were immediately snatched from sight by powerful talons and feathers, their shrieking cries fading quickly as the powerful winged predators swooped up and bore them higher aloft to craggy nests towards the top of the majestic structure. Their shrieks turned to dying screams of horror as their flesh and innards were ripped apart once they arrived at their destinations by razor-sharp peaks that pierced and tore at their soft bellies mercilessly. The rest of the pack funneled in to the waiting enclosure, scrambling and shoving against each other as they pushed and fumbled about through the dimly lit paths, surrounded on all sides by vegetation--thick leaves of trees, vines, and undergrowth such as you might expect to find in dense jungle. Slashing claws burst out of the foliage with ferocious intensity and speed, carrying off another three goblins in bounding flashes of powerful legs and growling ferocity. These predators were hungry and ruthless, and never did Dreeg himself catch more than the barest glimpses of these ambushing predators, but the horrifying death cries amid the suddenly roaring jungle atmosphere filled his lowered, tucked back ears. Whatever was out there was in a struggle with likewise starving predators who made clear their own intentions to get their piece of the kill. Unholy snarling and growling, crushing undergrowth and splintering, swaying trees accompanied the sounds of voracious struggling among these vicious predators, with bits of flesh and the scent of goblin blood filling the air.

Dreeg's own heart pounded in his chest as rapidly as his legs and feet would carry him, but, not knowing where he was in his blinding terror, instead of bearing left, he continued straight...

...into the body of another goblin who had remembered to bear left towards the exit from this green hell. The collision smacked Dreeg clean off his feet and right out of the way of a lunging maw of glistening white teeth which closed savagely upon the torso of the one he collided into, crunching down powerfully on its ribcage instantaneously. The victim squealed, its eyes rolling back in its head, tongue dangling out, before the jaws opened and crushed down powerfully again, causing a rush of hot goblin blood to flow into its greedy throat. The prey was carried off a moment later, disappearing into the brush from whence it came. Dreeg wasn't even sure it was bestial in nature, but this small lack of recognition never registered as he scrambled to his feet and rejoined the pack, now fleeing for their lives from the Menagerie. Shadowy talons just missed another goblin right behind him as nineteen goblins emerged, their hearts pumping with sheer terror, their numbers cut by six already at the first checkpoint.

Shouting, cheering and jeering erupted from the windows, of the City streets as the hapless runners sprinted for all their worth down the winding corridor of Merchant's Way, straight into the Quarter of the same name. Cruel bystanders swung out low with clubs and poles, looking to connect with the heads or torsos of the poor panick-stricken contestants as they ran here and there, lost in the chaos and confusion of their fear and adrenaline, knowing not where they were.

*CRACK!* The sound of a pole connecting with a goblin on Dreeg's right vanished him in an instant, leaving a dazed and bloody creature upon the ground who was summarily trampled by the other runners and beaten savagely by the merchants who fell upon him for collapsing in a bloody heap upon a carpet for sale. The body went lifeless and limp, registering only dull thuds as the beating continued between three such merchants upon the corpse, their mad cries filling the air with remorseless glee.

Coins of all varieties, big and small, flew out like shrapnel from the side streets and windows, a few of them pelting Dreeg himself leaving bruises that would soon puff into welts. Another shot blast of coins caught one of Goliath's goblins in the eye, causing him to scream in pain, clutching his eyes, stumbling with tiny rivulets of blood running down through his fingers. Flailing before the pack, he was pushed by the other distressed runners who shoved him wildly into another stand where the waiting merchants fell upon him as well. The echoes of his screams, bloody and gurgling, followed the runners in a fading echo down the curving path of Merchant's Way. Dreeg was out in front suddenly, daylight in front of him, when suddenly a club came out of nowhere and clobbered him upon the skull, sending him stumbling and reeling, clutching the right side of his head.

Blinded for a moment by the pain, Dreeg reeled as he was shoved and pushed, tumbling back into one runner and bouncing against another, but somehow, his feet and senses found their footing and carried him on, now in the rear of the pack. Like a pinball he had crashed into the other runners, but they had kept him, unwittingly, in the middle and out of further harm's way by sheer accident. Regaining his throbbing senses and hyperventilating, he carried on, tarrying in the rear now.

Brigand's Lane was named such for the criminal element that lurked there with blades and small crossbows. Some of the murderous thieves enjoyed cutting themselves a piece of goblin flesh and so running down this street was akin to running a gauntlet of razors. Time and time again blades flashed out and bolts whistled by. One such shot impaled a goblin through his chest with such force that it sent him flying against the unforgiving wall of homes and shops that formed the side of this street. Others simply splattered the streets in colors of dark blood from the victims of their daggers and poniards like a Jackson Pollock work of art. By the time the sixteen survivors emerged from this dreaded passage, they were all cut and bloody, some sporting bolts that lodged in their little arms and legs. Dreeg was fortunate in this instance, having suffered only two such cuts, relatively small upon his arm and side, but he was bleeding now, from the head and body and this alone would make the next leg even more terrible...

For as the goblins banked left and raced out through the grand outer wall that protected Senedon like a citadel, they raced, hobbling and panting, towards the Outer Slums, where a starving menace awaited them. The streets outside of the City turned quickly to mud and slop, and the houses turned to shanties and lean-to's; the majority of the population here living in the squalor and filth of rotting wood, disease and gross neglect by the wealthier classes that made their abodes inside the City. The announcer was not making wrong about the level of poverty and starvation that ran rampant through these hovels. As soon as the unfortunate sixteen arrived, hungry packs of desperate people, children and adults alike set upon them, grabbing them and slavering over the taste of ripe hot goblin flesh. It mattered not to the ones who were most destitute and feral whether they were taken raw or cooked.

Like starving dogs they set upon them, and once again, cries of alarm and confusion erupted from squealing goblin throats, as one after another they were seized and bitten, beaten and dragged away by the mob of homeless vagrants and gangs of urchins. Dreeg was grabbed mercilessly and hauled away, kicking and screaming, until the idea occurred to him to bite as well. Sharp teeth, rarely used, sank into the arm that held him fast, eliciting a cry of pain from his astonished captor who released him immediately. As soon as his goblin feet hit the mud, they slipped and slid, running furiously for any purchase in the slop he could manage. Two other goblins were not so lucky, and were dragged away as if they were the victims of a zombie horde, disappearing in the huddling throngs of bodies that hungered to feed upon them. Their cries of pain and anguish were muffled and silenced beneath the ravaging masses that madly tore them apart like maenads.

Fourteen goblins remained, and gasping for breath, they fled the Outer Slums towards the dark, dismal corridors of the dreaded Lower Ward. Where the Outer Slums were filthy and was possessed of starving, impoverished inhabitants, the denizens of the Lower Ward were spoken of only in hushed tones and fearful whispers. It was said that the Lower Ward was once a part of the City proper, inside its limits, and the ruins of a wall around it that had long since fallen was oft cited as proof of this. Then, many generations ago, a great battle was fought there, Senedon having come under siege by marauding invaders that possessed dark magic and demonic powers. As the siege went on, the leaders of the Capital City of Sigard realized that the Lower Ward was most likely to fall, having been surrounded by the assailing armies who pounded away at its defenses day and night.

And so the City Leaders at the time, the makings of the first Council of Sigard, determined that a second wall be built to seal off the Lower Ward. A great outcry arose from the citizenry that this was cold-blooded, and that these "wise" elders were only concerned with their own wealth, and would be willing to make any compromise to protect it, even at the expense of the citizenry. The counter-argument was that if the secondary inner wall was not built, the entire City would fall, and all wealth would be lost, instead of just some. City engineers worked tirelessly on the construction of the new inner wall, and it was completed on the very day that the walls of the Lower Ward were breached, and came crashing down. The siege was broken ninety days later, but not before the ruinous conjurers of the marauding armies defiled and twisted the citizens, places, and remains of the Lower Ward during their occupation. No one settled there again, and while it is true that organized crime sometimes used the dark, twisted ruins of the Lower Ward as their hideout, they rarely stayed long.

For there were unspeakable horrors that lurked there (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__PU5CVSegg)... monsters that had no place in the natural world.

And it was into the decrepit, twisted guts of this forgotten part of Senedon that the goblins now ran, their fear driving them from the Slums to the horrors of the Lower Ward. They ran up crumbling steps into the wide open maw of some hideous abomination that grotesquely swallowed and snapped shut when two unfortunate goblins had dashed into its waiting, slavering trap. The others, driven out of their minds by this obscene terror, scattered in different directions, as the very shadows leapt from the twilight of this hell on earth and enveloped them in a smothering dark embrace that seemed to pull them out of this reality altogether. Wailing apparitions rose up and haunted the streets that went nowhere, or ended in broken down buildings and homes that had long since felt the warmth of life in them. Gangs of hardened criminals sharpened their weapons and joined in the sport of hunting down the goblins, exposing themselves to the abominations that slithered on hands and scales hissing with multiple tongues as both criminals and hapless runners were pursued, cut up, or devoured.

Six goblins, their eyes wide with the nightmarish visions they had seen, fled back towards Senedon, up Beggar's Path towards the refuse alleys behind the Merchant's Quarter, where all the trash and waste of the wealthy inner-city classes pooled and discharged into the streets and sewers below. The streets likewise here were not paved, and indeed, there were sinkholes concealed by strips of wood or even thinner palm leaves. One of the goblins in a blue taberd misstepped upon one, disappeared suddenly with a surprised scream, and was never heard from again. Dreeg slipped upon the mud, his legs giving out and was showered with a chamber pot of human waste from above. The pot itself came crashing down upon a goblin who had at that very moment trampled over him in a blind attempt to get ahead, sending the unlucky bastard sprawling upon his stomach just ahead of Shylock's prize runner.

Dreeg struggled to his feet, covered in piss and shit, and stumbled along, huffing and choking and whimpering the whole way, doing his best to catch up to the other three goblins who were still ahead, two of them wearing Goliath's evergreen.

The streets turned pristine and paved, the walls became white polished marble, and one of the Golden Bar goblins was promptly skewered out of nowhere with a pike, wielded by a guard who proceeded to boisterously laugh at the twitching corpse. The other gruff but decoratively uniformed watchman pointed to the mess of blood beneath and admonished his partner about that on the city streets of the Heights. While they were distracted, the other three, Dreeg included, approached the Highlands Bridge, only to find it being blocked by two more guards who were grinning with malicious intent, both swinging spiked morningstars casually. Halting dead in their tracks, the two turned and practically clambered over Dreeg, only to run into the goblin who tried to run Dreeg over in the back alleys of the Quarter. The pile of them, all four, trembled and squirmed and squeaked out as the guards approached with a glint of anticipation in their eyes, weapons raised. At the last minute, Dreeg, standing on weary, shaking stubby legs, his back facing the two approaching guards...

...and sneezed. A sneeze so powerful it blew him straight back between the legs of the approaching guardsmen who were about to bring their morningstars right down upon his head and leave him a bloodstained quivering pile of goblin meat on the street. Their weapons hit nothing but paved street, startling the others three goblins into action: one splitting left, one splitting right, and the third quivering as the guards, completely frustrated with missing their previous target, raised their weapons to strike home again. The squelch of pulped goblin meat was all that remained of goblin number four, who paid for its indecision with its life.

Three goblins raced across the Highlands Bridge, one in an evergreen tunic of the Gold Bar, one in purple, and one in the black and gold of the Scales, jockeying for position, and descended into the marina of the City Port. All three were harried and chased by drunken sailors there, while the wenches looked on and made fun of both the sailors and the goblins in catty voices. The goblin in the purple taberd tripped and was caught... and dragged away by three particularly intoxicated sailors... into an alley... where cheering commenced and shouts of "GO FOR IT! YEAH. STRIP HIM! UP AGAINST THE WALL! YEAHHHH! WHOOO!!"

Two goblins remained: Dreeg and Goliath's last remaining contestant, Spaz. Spaz shoved Dreeg to the ground and kicked him vigorously over and over before racing into the nearest drainpipe. The battered, crumpled heap of Dreeg whined and quivered, finally rousing himself to his feet and stumbling forward, bloody, beaten, scared senseless, exhausted. He found his way to a plank, where he promptly collapsed in fatigue and misery, crying tears of anguish. From high above, a couple of townspeople who had perched atop the City gates in hopes of seeing the end of the race from a high vantage point hauled out a special surprise they were saving for just such an opportunity.

There he was, defeated and miserable, unable to go on any further, waiting for the inevitable loss--one lonely goblin in a black and gold taberd. And these two teens brought out spare anvil of all things and held it up, looking each other in the eyes with glee.

"Ready?" said the first brown haired teen.

"Born ready, man. Let's do this," replied his blond friend.

"One..." said the first as they swung it back in unison.

"Two..." said the second with another coordinated swing.

"THREE!" they both cried as they hurled the anvil with all their combined might into the air and down in a projected arc towards the hapless Dreeg.

Surely this was the end.

Were it not for their terrible aim...

The anvil crashed down on the other side of the plank, vaulting the end Dreeg was on high into the air, sending the poor miserable wretch flailing and screaming into the air....

... over the wall...

... and down into a shop wagon loaded with the finest flour in Sigard. Shaking and struggling to climb out of it, Dreeg pitched to the ground covered in white with two blinking eyes. Spaz had just squirmed out of the gutter and looked up to see the hot white mess that was his rival. In a blinking moment of hesitation, both runners looked at each other, and then the roaring crowds around them, and then the finish line...

... and then the race was on. Dreeg had flour coming off him like smoke, and Spaz was trying to keep it out of his eyes as he trailed his competitor. The dog-handlers struggled to keep the passing goblins from being snapped at by the jaws of the half-wolf breeds. Dreeg was nearing the finish when a big meaty hand smacked him dead-on in the face, causing him to spin backwards in a dazed whiplash and tumble into Spaz, sending them both to ground. The crowd erupted with cries of interference and fair play and in the scuffle, the two contestants were stepped on and kicked around, until Dreeg got a boot to the nose that sent him on his back. Spaz got up, rushed towards the line, through the pushing and shoving throng and broke out into daylight...

... only to be savagely brought down by a dog that broke free of its handler. The screaming goblin was savagely ripped apart and shaken about in the jaws of the canine as Dreeg gingerly limped by (having recovered once more and gotten to his feet in the midst of the confusion) and promptly tossed over at the finish line.

A moment later he was raised up like a rag doll to the cheers of the crowd....

... and a thin avaricious smile crossed the aged lips of his Master, whose eyes glinted with the thought of the wealth he would gain from Goliath's loss and misery.

Dravon Shylock, Merchant Lord of the Scales... was once again triumphant.

[SQJ]

Nonkululeko was covered in dirt, rough, grainy flecks of rock, balances crudely with soft ash and gelatinous flecks of flesh. Pale skin match the flesh tone of the people of the land hung on her bare shoulder, she flecked then off when exhaustion won over her determination, leaving her limping towards the keep itself.

Looking behind her she saw she'd at the very least made good time.

Her body had stopped trembling, the very soil and rock glued to her body by blood kept her from breaking apart. A large bird landed on her shoulders, its talons needle pricks on her flesh. It cawed, are at least she assumed so the ringing in her ears limited her hearing.

It took off circling before shooting towards the keep, Nkuli gave chase with what little she had in her the adrenaline threatening to break away quickly.

The hawk kept a slow pace as he watched Nkuli follow her, alighting on a piece of rubble every now and then to keep the girl on track, as well as avoiding ash and soot that still fell to the ground. He continued to lead her down the safe avenues, avoiding as much of the rubble and debris as soldiers rushed to and fro. He eventually made it to a small room set off to the side of the castle and flapped his wings once while alighting himself on the back of a chair.

With a rather loud caw, he held out his left leg, which a rather small canister could be seen attached to it. He waited and let out a caw again, affixing his eyes on Nkuli.

Nkuli opened the canister unsure of exactly what she was supposed to do in this situation. Her family didn't deal with flying creatures outside of vultures. Opening the canister she saw a lock of hair inside.

Again she found this confusing, cursing her own ignorance when it dawned on her. She's told Epiniah that she didn't know how to read. the lock of hair was the colour of his. Perhaps this was a message from him. Bird took off at a hop and, moving at a sprinting pace she gave chase, regaining hope that the village's dream was still alive.

Raiden, moving swift, led the girl up through the back hallways of the castle, barely managing to keep her out of the way of the city guards, who were given pass at the screech of Raiden if they did run into them. Once again, Raiden had made it to another room, landing once again on a rather small chair he tenses just the tiniest of bits, his wings pressed against his side as his head tilted back and forth. Giving another caw to the now limping girl, he pointed to where a rather large basin of water sat, gentle curls of steam rising off the rapidly cooling water. A loud pound echoed once through a closed door on the other side.

"Once you are washed and clothed, Let me know so I can attend your wounds as best as I can." Epinala's voice rang clear through the door, with Raiden flying through a window on the far side of the room.

Nonkululeko, gritted her teeth, clenching her teeth tightly as her feet glued themselves to the ground, everything was on fire disjoint, separated from her.

It threatened to come back, reality threatened to set in. She cried out slamming her first and her forehead to the wooden door. She cried out again when the pain floating in her skull sending white hot flashes of pain into her head, there'd been blood that had been dripping on to her neck that had stopped but started up again. "I can tend to myself" she screamed out, raising her foot to kick the door when shift of balance caused her to fall on her buttock, rattling her brain. "I would much rather be told of what has happened and what has happened to you!" She sat on her knees, clutching herself tightly as she fought to keep her reality from crashing into her. "Cast aside what doubt you have over my own well being. I was taught well, i will be well. Cast your thoughts upon yourself and your people less able to look after themselves. Your word would be meaningless if your actions have no impact in protecting them."

She was getting desperate, she as going to scream as cry, she knew it was coming, the rush, the sense of numbness was crumbling inside of her. She needed to scream she wanted him away.

Epinala let out a sigh as he felt her fists hit the door, screaming loudly. Deciding that safety was better over privacy, he waited until he heard some sign that she had moved back, and was rather well greeted with a small rumbling on the floor as the girl hit the floor. Steeling his nerves and adjusting Vordr on his back, he opened the door to see Nkuli sitting on the floor, looking to be a serious mess. Blood bubbling from freshly open wounds and caked in dried blood and ash, he frowned.

"This is why I told you to clean up." Epinala said, kneeling down next to her and placing his hand on her head. Holding still and giving her a serious look, he sighed and shook his head. Covered in soot and other spots covered in an odd grey patch, he stood up quickly and headed over to the large stone basin. Other than the odd patches, he was perfectly in suit, dressed in rather loose clothing, but an annoyed look on his face all the same.

"Now that you can see I am safe, please wash yourself up and try to remain calm. I'll fill you in on what I know, okay?" He offered her, sitting on the bed and awaiting her reaction, a hard steely gaze to match her own gaze.

She eyed him over, looking at every little detail on his body. Not wanting to look away in case he, himself was just covering up in the same way she was. The type of thing, her family was famous for it. Covering up their thoughts, pain and emotion.

"You are not a man I would expect, you are not a man I clearly should expect."

The pain was over her but with him standing right there looking down upon her with eyes that matched the eyes of her brother. She made her way to her feet and turning to the basin herself and splashed herself.

"Heh, there is more to me than what people would expect. I may be a leader, but it was only recently. I've spent a long time living off my own and in the wild. So don't expect me to be soft and doughy." Epinala explained, averting his eyes to allow the girl to wash up. Once she was done, he headed over to the stone basin, running his hands over the edge.

"Besides, I don't think your clan would like it if you died on the first day here." Epinala said pulling out Vordr and rolling it between his palms. With one clean strike, he shattered the basin into a near fine powder, the fragments mixing with the water into to form a grey paste like substance.

"This is something I learned in the wild to save my own skin." Epinala explained before applying the paste to the wounds he could see, coating the spots well. The one he worked the most on was the broken hand, using the salve as a tool to reset the bones quickly before reinforcing the area rather well.

She gritted her teeth as he worked, it was clear by her hands that he wasn't a dainty piece of royalty "You have better hands for a blade than the fingers of a woman." She giggled despite the pain, looking up at him. "I do appreciate the help, do not consider your efforts squandered or soon forgotten."

"All members of the Al'anduun clan can fight, regardless of whether we are female or male." Epinala replied with a chortle, putting the unused salve aside and replacing vordr on his back. Looking her over and giving a nod of approval, he headed towards the door.

"Take some time and recover. I'll come grab you when I can guarantee your safety." Epinala said, motioning to the bed while resting his hand on the door.

She raised her eye brow at him. "YOU would return to ME, when MY safety was assured? I believe our situation has been turned in the opposite manner my current leader, something that will need to be discussed, upon your return." She was already removing the last items of her clothes moving to the basin. "As much as my will would have me walking ahead to keep you safe I have been taught sense enough to know when I am at a disadvantage. I may not be able to wield a sword as heavily as you but I will show you just who I am, just as soon as the floor stops rising up upon me. I will be here when you get back and I hope it will be accepted if I were to let my pets in with me or if you could lead them in. You they will not harm."

She said dropping to her knees to what was left of the basin washing away what newly formed blade had come, pressing more of his head to her skull, downing herself in it, revelling in the pleasure of having the very earth she loved provide aid to her.


"I shall make sure they make it safe to this room while you sleep. And when you are well, you can show me exactly what you can do. I wish to know that my apprentice can hold her own ground." Epinala said with a nod, heading out of the room.

[Extraordinaire.]

Thump-a thump thump-a thump thump-a thump thump thump....

It's so nice not having to run like that anymore.

Thump-a thump thump-a thump thump-a-thump-a-thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump

Thumthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump

"They're just marching," Leoni thought hopefully to herself, but the scab of doubt was torn at the distant screaming. In a moment she grabbed her nearest belongings and fled from the room.

...


A celebration should never be wasted, Brem thought to himself as he drank whatever was being passed around the table. Though he was intent on leaving the wedding and its overly cheery environment, the hunter had started to enjoy himself instead. He'd found a group of people far away from his insane date and joined in the festivities like any regular attendee. This included singing, dancing, and sharing stories of grandeur in the hopes of impressing all who listened. Most of it was true, with a spin of fiction to it. It was clear everyone knew the rules of the game; full honesty never mattered when telling tall tales. The winner was whoever could polish their fiction well enough to be indistinguishable from the truth, but still leave the audience in awe.
Gathered around a table, the group of men took turns boasting about their endeavors and amazing adventures while they drank. Tad had migrated from his usual spot on Brem's shoulder and slipped into the hunter's hood on account of Brem's constant failure to remain still like a normal human being. "You are quite drunk," the animal grumbled as he attempted a nap while Brem threw back another tankard of ale...the good kind, apparently. He chuckled, "Fluthered, Tad...I'm quite fluthered!"
When it was eventually Brem's turn to tell his tale, he took a deep breath and pointed his finger as if to say that his story was going to be the absolute best. He opened his mouth to begin with, "It was two years ago when this bear came into-" and that's where his story ended. After the hunter's head met the table, Tad awoke, startled to find his friend passed out on the table as the other men laughed until they practically cried.
The next day...
His head was pounding as he awoke in the garden of the castle, cradling a bush to his chest, the day after the royal wedding. "Ungh..." Brem sat up and let go of the bush then brushed his shirt off, looking about with bleary eyes. The sun was starting to rise. "Oh Gods, I'd better get my things from Mae's before she throws them out. Or burns them...or creates a shrine to me using them." He shuddered and stood, chittering softly for Tad. "Where'd you go?" he called. The squirrel rolled out of the bush that Brem had woken up to find himself clutching. "I'm here....uuungh," Tad replied. Brem raised an inquisitive eyebrow and bent to pick up his tiny comrade asking, "What happened to you?" Tad tilted his head as he lay on his back in the hunter's palms. "Well, after you passed out, I decided to have a sip of this hot cider. I crawled to the edge of someone's abandoned mug and got my wish...I fell in." Tad hiccuped and continued, "Needless to say, it was alcoholic. I only escaped after you knocked over the cup when you woke up and then you put me in this bush. And here we are..." Brem chuckled and tucked him into his hood. "We'll have my things soon enough. Then you can sleep in my knapsack."
Brem tugged his cloak tightly around him as he made his way out to the streets of Norgard, past all the confetti and trash left on the ground from yesterday. He would have to sneak into Mae's to get his things, he knew, but Brem was sure this would take some planning.
Upon arriving to the building she was staying in, he began to scale the wall and climb up to her window, which was cracked just a bit. Inside, he could see her form next to another pressed together in her bed. "Oh good, she found another man to torture," he thought. "Maybe this will be easier than I thought..."
Tip-toeing quietly into the room, Brem grabbed his knapsack and other belongings then turned before he climbed out the window again just in time to witness Mae clinging to the man next to her closer to her in her sleep. "Damn. She's even a psycho in her subconscious," he whispered to Tad. The squirrel nodded. Brem placed his companion in the pocket of his knapsack and left, without a hassle.
It felt good to be rid of Mae. Brem found himself almost skipping down the alleyway until he came across a guard giving a cloaked girl some trouble near the castle gates. The sun was just coming up and he saw from the look on the girl's face that she was calculating how many ways she could knock the guard's face about without getting caught...and that would mean big trouble for her. Brem recognized her eyes as that of a fellow hunter's. For a moment, he thought about slipping away from the scene, but the secret guilt about the poor decisions made the night before got the best of him when Brem decided the only way to have balance out the bad karma with good was to perform at least one kind deed today.
"Oi, what seems to be the problem?," he called out the to man harassing the bundled woman.

Relief did not come with stealth, nor when she made it outside of the castle's immediate walls. Rather, she felt like a bug beneath the magnifying sun, out in such plain sight that she stood as a warning flag for the already high-alert security. Her ruined sleeve fought against the side of the east wall, where she clung as the corner-shy guards tried to organize themselves. Several strings of men rushed into the castles, while the others snaked towards the west wing, continuing to circle the exterior of the castle. As the last body disappeared behind the wall, she was off.

Her anticipation heightened as the forest closed in, but a mile stretched before her as the voice called out. Moment's later, she couldn't make out exactly what had been said. Her panic shot straight to her ringing ears and she was deft to what he had said. Panic struck in amorphous forms, as the nearby trees seemed to curve with their shrieks, or as the grass itself seemed to wrinkle, threatening to pull out from underneath her like a rug, did she dare to run.
And as the moment of opportunity for her escape passed, the line of marching men rounded their third corner, angling themselves almost directly at the cat-and-mouse pair.

The man continued to shout out, quickening in pace, but the words were reflected off of the glass wall of fear, becoming gargled sounds.

"Pardon?" she asked too loudly, turning sharply to face the still-speaking man.
The man stopped at her voice and they both stood there for a moment, looking cross eyed at one another. Her wall of panic soon became a cage that, with the continued silence between them and the deeper his brow furrowed, began to fill with the intention of drowning her with her own anxiety.

"What is your purpose for being at the castle?" he asked briskly, still on edge of whether to remain civilized or go full-out guard dog on the girl.

"I was a guest at the wedding," she stated in a blunt tone, thankful once again for the gown that she'd picked up the night before. She did look like one of the usual poodles, or at the very least was dressed like one. Catching her own dark features across the face of his shield, she winced before furrowing her brows and snapping, "And all the way from Sigard, may I add!" in a tone that she'd picked up from the night before.

"Well, then why are you in such a rush to leave the castle?"

Her moment of doubt only fed the guard's confidence as he inched in to continue his interrogation. Meeting his movement she moved a step back, only to have her dress pull around her ankles and make her stumble. She leaned over in annoyance, ready to tear the seam of the fabric and take off in the seal-leather pants she'd wiggled into during her escape, but footsteps interrupted her.

"Oi, what seems to be the problem?"

You, she thought, her eyes registering the man's face. The man with the squirrel! She was glad that the guard's attention was captured long enough for her to hide the smirk she wore so heartily.

"Well, you left too early last night, and I couldn't find my way back! That's the real problem here," she hissed at the newcomer.
"And then I woke up in the castle this morning to people stomping outside of my door and everybody screaming and running around like wild animals!" she explained in the nose-held, over enunciated tone that the guard could only be adept to.

"So, being the only sensible thing around, I grabbed my things and left! I was just preparing how to let you have it for doing such a cruel thing to me, when this guy has the nerve to start questioning my actions! Why of course I'm leaving the castle; have you seen its condition lately? Terrible, just terrible! I don't know what- I don't know why anyone would stay a moment longer!" she screeched, stopping herself from saying 'I don't know why the queen and king find this appropriate,' if only not to get herself hung. She was, after all, unaware of whatever it was that had happened at the castle and at this moment, was very glad not to be a witness.

"Why didn't I see you two together at the wedding, then?" the guard asked before she could further jump onto the familiar stranger.
Crossing her arms, her lips went sour as she tilted her face towards him, angrily forcing him to explain himself.

Brem caught on quickly and let a smug smile creep onto his lips. "Well, take a good look at yourself and tell me who would want to spend a whole night listenin' to yer yammerin'," he chuckled. The hunter crossed his arms and put a foot forward, slowly circling the guard and the girl. Performances were one of his favorite past times. It was nice to be in charge of someone's well-being. Knowing full well the girl's safety rested in his hands, Brem became bold and decided to slip in a demand for his services. "But since we're together again and we've both had our night of fun, it would only be right of me to come slinkin' back to ya, correct? But not without a promise. I propose ya start shuttin' yer mouth and puttin' it to a good use against mine, eh?" He crossed his arms and paused in his careful stride, the smile still warming his features as he continued, "I think after our mutual mistreatment of one another last night, we go home and make up with a kiss. What do you say?" Brem extended a crooked elbow for her to cling to as he stood by the girl's side and remarked lightly to her pursuant, " And as for you, sir, I believe ya got more important things to do than to be gettin' in the middle of a lover's squabble. Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady and I are off to continue yesterday's celebration...privately."

"You're on the clear, after you tell me your name," the guard said in their usual skeptical way. She was assured that the man's performance had settled things, but of course the "protector's of the castle," wouldn't reveal how easily swooned they were.

"Centeria Gibbins," she said absent-mindedly, between semi-suggestive responses to her friend. The guard was eventually attracted back to the center of the royal grounds, as the couple playfully inched their way out.
She waited many second after watching him disappear over the curve of the ground before dropping the act. She didn't wait a moment after a last line before turning and walking soundlessly off, with such a casual manner that she may as well be turning back to their supposed "home," had she not headed off in an entirely new direction.

And with that strange coincidence and favor of deviltry, the girl parted without any physical means of gratitude, and the moment of familiarity past.

[Koti~]

((Made with the Awesome Evil Troy and the Marvelous Kris))
Sigard- Day before training


He was still moving below her, and she felt his heat lingering under tears of sweat and warm breaths. Gwen parted her body only for a moment to allow Joseph to adjust himself under her. Once he did, she rested her elbows over his chest and looked down at him with a shy expression.

Still together like this, she found herself unable to look into his eyes, and with fingers she started to draw circles upon his naked chest. Carefully she pulled a blanket over them both, as she tried to keep him steady under her, her legs raised above as she leaned her head over her hands, still nervous, still unsure what to do next.

Looking up at the girl above him put a smile on his face. Joseph’s heart kept beating faster and faster as he felt and thought about the warmth and closeness of Gwen’s body to his. Never before had anyone been this close to him; never before had he experienced the warmth, the scent, and the feelings of another person. It truly was an amazing feeling, but yet he could feel his nerves tensing as his mind raced on the thought of what to do next.

After a few moments Joseph finally lift up his right hand off the bed and placed it on Gwen’s cheek. He could feel his hand trembling ever so slightly from how nervous he really was. But as he looked he gently turned he face towards him and realized how red her face was, and he could not help to smile even more. He had never seen such an expression on her face but at the same time he loved it. Lifting up his other hand he wrapped it around her and drew her in closer to him. From there he could feel her soft skin against his, how close her lips where to his, and without another moment was wasted as he locked lips with hers.

And the rest of the night was...

warm...


***


Sigard- The next day

The next morning was quiet and peaceful. The events of the night before ran through Joseph's head as he laid in the bed with a gentle smile on his face as he watched Gwen sleep soundly. This was something he wish could last forever, yet he knew that with this upcoming mission everything would change and more than likely everyone's world would be turned upside down. But Joseph pushed the thought from his mind so that he could enjoy the peace if not for just a bit longer. Minutes later Joseph decided that it to get up and begin training for the days to come.

Getting out of bed he moved with care as not to wake Gwen, and once out he threw on a pair of pants and made his way out of the room. From there he began the morning workout he had done so many times growing up in the training room. As he did his reps Joseph knew that in order for him to survive this next mission and protect Gwen he would have to become stronger. He knew that he would have to become an even better fighter and even increase his magic ability. But yet, how could? When it came right down to it the only thing he knew about magic was from what they had taught him. Despite the fact that he could use magic with ease it was still nothing more than a mystery to him.

If only there was a way...

No.Vii was just finally getting up, dragging himself back to consciousness from a world of blankness. Having been spending his night working over the words of Jared, he had been up most of the night. Tired and worn, he was increasingly frustrated, his hand already itching to swing his scythe. He slid out of bead and headed towards the training room, having been told to do the same thing over and over again. Training, training, training, that was all he did. He wanted something more, to prove his strength. Pausing just outside of the room, he heard someone else in there. Almost immediately knowing who it was, he smiled. Pulling his scythe off his back and bracing against the door, he shoved hard with his foot, making it slam open.

"Oi, punching bag! Lets fight!" No.Vii said, bringing up his scythe and moved into the room, gripping the weapon hard, his grin growing wide.

The room fell silent when Vii entered the room. Looking at the armed man Joseph quickly realized that without weapon or any water to utilize odds were sorely against him. Yet, at the same time he realized that this was a fight he was not going to be able to avoid.

"You know, in all the years that I've known you I've never thought of you as the type of fighter to go against someone who is unarmed." Joseph said as he shook the limbs of his body to loosen them up. "Despite your bloodlust for battle I've always seen you as the type to only fight someone if the odds are equal or against you. I see you at the kind that thrives for the challenge of tough opponents. This could mean one of two things then. Either I've had the wrong idea about you for all of these years, or..." He paused to look Vii straight in the eyes. "I've managed to piss you off enough for you to throw aside your principle just so that you can kill me."

Closing his eyes Joseph took a deep breath before once again looking a Vii and taking a fight stance. "I can tell from the bloodlust in your eyes that this fight is going to be unavoidable. Just know, however, that no matter how hard you try I will not fall to you." With the last few words Joseph mind was taken back to the promise he had made to Gwen just the night before. No matter what Joseph was not going to break that promise here. No matter what Joseph was determined to with this fight.

"Your move, Vii."

No.Vii stared at Joseph for a few second, letting the words sink in as he stood the scythe upright. Though, that ended shortly as No.Vii began to laugh, and laugh hard. It was a laugh filled with malice and insult, poking fun at Joseph. It was one that made No.Vii look all the more unstable.

"Of all the things I am pissed at right now," No.Vii began, standing upright and pointing the scythe at Joseph, the blade horizontal ", you are not one of them!" He finished, pushing his left foot forward and swinging his scythe to embed it in the wall, the dull blade making a horrid smack as it pierced though the wall. No.Vii smiled as he pulled his hand back, taking off the Jacket to show the bandages underneath.

"And you truly are an idiot. If I wanted to be serious, I would have not presented myself. Though you were right about one thing. I do seek strong challenge, but... VIR ain't here, so you will have to do as my punching bag!" No.Vii shouted, sprinting forward to clear the distance, pulling his arms in to his side. A smile full of malice sprung forth on his face, his eyes alight with something akin to lust. This, this was his element.

"Now, show me what you got, SnowMAN!" No.Vii shouted, ducking just the tiniest bit before throwing off two quick punches. He pulled back his left arm, showing by all intent and purpose to throw a third hard punch, but bringing his left foot up in a hard kick to the man's side, just under the rib. What made it worse, was the grin and chuckle, making it appear as though he were slacked in blood, ready to tear into the throat of another opponent.

"You son of a bitch." For as long as Joseph had known him Vii had always been cocky. It never really bothered him that he was like that either. No. Vii was an excellent fighter and as long as Vii did his part in a mission he could care less how Vii acted. Instead it was Vii's attitude towards Joseph that always seemed to rub him the wrong way. To Joseph it seemed as if Vii looked at him as if he were someone not worth have around, a joke of a warrior. Because of this hearing Vii's words caused Joseph's blood to boil with anger.

Grunting from the kick to his side Joseph clenched his fists tighter and gritted his teeth. "I've had it! I've had it with your damn cocky attitude and your belief that I'm not even a challenge for you!" As Joseph said this he threw a hard left jab to Vii's face followed by a quick side kick to the man's chest. With ease Vii blocked both of Joseph's blows to return with a few of his own. Blinded by his rage Joseph took the hit but shook them off as if they were nothing. Instead Joseph was focusing on doing something he hadn't done in a long time.

"What am I to you Vii!? Am I some kind of fucking joke!? It sure as hell seems that way!" As Joseph spoke his fists became heavier, harder. Freezing the blood in his hands Joseph made it to were his fists felt more like stone then flesh. Once again Joseph lead in with a left jab and once again Vii blocked the block. This time, however, he could feel the difference in the man's fists. Following his jab Joseph threw a right hook followed by an uppercut right to the man's gut. Vii managed to stop the hook just an inch from this face, however, the third hit made contact square in the in his gut.

No.Vii skidded back a bit from the punch, bending over just a bit as he held his stomach, his smile growing larger, and more maniacal. A laugh pulling deep from his chest, he soon pulled himself upright, looking deep into Josephs eyes, the same manic look in them.

“You want to know what you are to me?” No.Vii chided, before dashing forward and aiming a series of quick jabs to Josephs body, all but two of the 6 shots blocked. Hitting Joseph on the shoulders, No.Vii was thrown back as he was hit by the frozen hands, the hits heavier than expected.

“You... are a tiresome nuisance, a fool who thinks too damn much!” No.Vii shouted, slugging down a hit right on Josephs head, sending him reeling as No.Vii hopped back, shaking his left hand a bit as he smiled more.

“You want to know why you aren’t a challenge to me? It’s because you spend too much time thinking, and not doing” No.Vii spoke heatedly, dodging the blows that rained down at him. Taking a rather quick hop, he brought himself fast into the man’s range, grabbing his left arm in a vice lock to pin his arm under No.Vii’s armpit, and the other he bent the hand back sharp with his own, bringing his face mere inches from Joseph’s face.

“You’re even doing it now. Thinking, always thinking! ‘Should I throw a punch here, or maybe a kick?’, or ‘If he hits me like this, I can counter like this’” No.Vii said, making a high pitched mockery of Josephs voice as he glowered, his eyes manic and teeth wide.

“Our job is to kill, not think. We were raised to be killing machines, nothing more and nothing less. Until you can get out of your own damnable head, you will always be a fucking joke!” No.Vii finished, ramming his head down hard onto Josephs enough to break his nose as he separated from Joseph just long enough to redouble his attack on the man.

"... you will always be a fucking joke!”

These words echoed in Joseph's head. His anger turned to rage and everything seemed to fade away around him. Years of resentment towards the one he was now fighting were finally starting to break loose, and without warning Joseph had reached his breaking point. A devilish smile begin to creep its way onto Joseph's face almost as if another person or demon had possessed him.

"Fine you fucker! You want fight someone who just doesn't give a shit! Well then come at me!" As he said this he dodged and blocked the majority the barrage of blows Vii threw at him. Blood began to run down from his nose to his mouth. The taste of it was exhilarating and he found himself wanting more. It was at this point that the man known as Joseph was gone and was instead replaced by a demon with a lust for blood. Moments later Joseph returned with his own barrage.

With each punch that Joseph threw the air around him grew colder and colder until the air around the two began to pop and hiss. Small ice crystals formed and burst around them, but the two focused more on fighting then the spectacle around them. Without Joseph even realizing it the anger and hatred he felt caused his powers to manifest in a way he never even dreamed of. Breaking off from the fray Joseph Jumped back and looked at Vii with a hellish smile.

"Your Over confidence is you weakness Vii, and to be honest it's something that I've always fucking hated about you! Now let me show you what that cocky attitude can do to you!" Without a delay Joseph went in for another attack throwing a quick one two punch which was quickly followed by a roundhouse kick to the man's side. The blows were blocked, yet, Vii was now left with a slight opening. It was then that a crystallized sword formed in Joseph's hand and with a quick upwards slash the frozen blade found flesh. Moments later the blade shattered causing Joseph to scoff at its weak nature.

"I guess the blade is only good for one hit. No matter..." Joseph paused and once again looked at Vii with his hellish smile. "It will be more than enough to kill you." With that another blade formed in his hand and Joseph went in for another attack.

“Yes!” No.Vii shouted out loud as he stumbled back, the bandages on his chest falling off as he the sword shattered. Ripping them and his jacket off, he smiled as he pressed his hand against his chest, pulling it back to see a line of blood on it. The wound was shallow, but long. Though, it wasn’t that bad. He loved it. He was on a high, and he fucking loved it!

“This.. this is what I want. You hate me, you despise me, and now, you are just like me!” No.Vii said, rushing at Joseph at the same time. Dropping low, he managed to grab Josephs wrist and turn into him, flipping him over his back and onto the ground. Jumping back, he stopped right at the door and yanked his scythe out of the wall, the blade lighting up just the tiniest flare.

“Now that you have finally grown some fucking balls, lets fight for real!” No.Vii shouted as he jumped high, twisting his scythe to bring down his weapon, the bladed side sticking up as he brought down his weapon.

The fiendish smile that crossed Joseph's face grew larger and darker as Vii's words began to sink in. Moments later a macabre laugh slipped from his lips as he raised his left hand up and grabbed the shaft as it came down upon him. The tip of the blade sunk deep into his shoulder but he paid no mind as he continued to laugh. "Ha ha! Me!? Like you!?" With the last syllable Joseph's laugh instantly stopped and his expression changed. His eyes grew darker almost as if the void of hell itself had swallowed them. As he glared at his opponent his grip on Vii's weapon tightened. "I am nothing like you, nor are you anything like me."

At that moment Joseph shoved his arm upwards to throw the weapon back, and from there he propelled his body forward, blade forming in hand as he moved. Seeing the incoming attack Vii moved to dodge the attack but not completely, however. The edge of the blade managed to catch his arm as he moved. Blood slowly began to trickle down his arm as the weapon slowly began to grow brighter. Joseph watched as the blade in his hand shatter from the impact of the attack.

"It doesn't matter whose it is for you; as long as blood is spilt then your thirst is satisfied. You're a fool whose thinks himself to be so much strong than everyone else." As Joseph spoke he went in for another attack. With sword in hand he came across for another slash along Vii's chest. However, The attack was stopped short when the head of Vii's scythe made contact with Joseph's stomach. The knocked the air out of Joseph as he double over from the blow. It was then that Vii swung his scythe around to dig it blade deep into Joseph side. Blood flowed from the now gaping wound and the runic weapon which delivered it now grew even brighter than before.

A smile once again crossed Joseph's face as his cold black eyes peered into Vii's. Before his opponent had the chance to pull his weapon away Joseph grabbed the weapons shaft and pulled Vii's towards him. "Let me let you in on a little secret. Even the weak can get lucky sometimes." As he spoke another blade formed in his free hand. "And your blood is the one I wish to spill." Seconds later the icy blade which he held was sunk deep into his opponents side. A laugh once again escaped his lips as the blade shattered inside the man. Letting go of the scythe Joseph stepped back and gripped his side. Blood flowed from both of their wounds and room itself was now illuminated with a purple hue.

No.Vii paused for a second to stare at the wound in his side, a dark smile growing larger as he placed his hand on the flowing wound, pressing it deep and making the scythe head flare just a bit more as he pulled it away. A laugh echoed through his system as he gripping his scythe, one hand resting on the end.

"Yes, spilled blood, regardless, is spilled blood. But you are wrong on one aspect!" No.Vii said, twisting off the end of the scythe to pull it out, revealing a long chain segment attached inside the scythe. Spinning the end segment freely in his hand, he ran forward, chucking the shaft segment towards Joseph's chest, being caught in his free and as another ice sword formed. Catching this, No.Vii gave a flick of his scythe, and the chain fully uncoiled, wrapping hard around his opponent's hand. Yanking down to offset Joseph's balance, he quickly stepped forward, ramming into Joseph's head with his shoulder and sending the two of them into the wall with a loud crash and the cracking of the wall.

"You say you are nothing like me, and I am nothing like you? That is bullshit and you know it." No.Vii spoke energetically, his face mere inches from Josephs. Bringing the scythe section closer, he pressed the blade against his arm, puncturing it a small bit.

"Right now you are fighting me, not to defend yourself, not to get away, but to kill. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your words. Hell, I can fucking taste it! You want me dead, for no other reason than to kill. That is all that is on your mind, to kill, to destroy that which you see! You see, we are just the same. We bleed, we kill, we break. That is all we are good for. Accept it Joseph. You are just like me, and always will be." No.Vii said, a demonic macabre laugh echoing in his chest as he pulled back, if only to bring down the scythe once more.

But then there was silence.

Moment forzen in time as both of them fall to the ground.

"I believe that would be enough", they heard the voice of Jared from unfamiliar, yet somewhat similar body. Gwen was with him. There was concern in her eyes and worries for Joseph.

Well it couldn't be helped, with all the noise they made, one was bound to find out of their little fight.

"Assemble in the main hall, I have orders for you", said the no longer child Jared a smirk upon his angelic, elder face.

"Feh, fine then." No.Vii said, releasing Joseph and replacing the segment back into the scythe.

"Seems like you were saved once again Joseph. Better get stronger before next fight, or it might be your last with me." No.Vii whispered to the man and chuckled replacing his scythe on his back and walking out of the room, pulling out the cleric antidote and chugging it.

[Repent!]

{...and how it was almost death at first sight. aka Flash back origin story that will explain later comments made in the current time frames.}

“Feh, another new partner already?” No.Vii sighed as he adjusted Testou on his belt, giving a slight grimace again. Annoyed at having to be partnered up again, he had decided to head out to ease some tension while getting away from the angry glares at him once again. His feet hit the baked Sigardian floor as he stepped out into the sun, a wall of heat hitting him square in the face. Growling again at the people nearby, he quickly made his way to the roof tops, drawing the blade with a quick swing and resting it onto his shoulders.

“Not my fault the bastard got in my way. He should have known better than to let himself be stabbed.” No.Vii spoke out loud, snarling as the idiot had appeared in his way of a fight between him and a guard. It had ended with his partner dead and himself scrambling some to regain the fight before getting swarmed.

“Maybe this new guy... VIR, was it?...will actually be able to hold a sword right during this fight.” No.Vii gave a slight pause, wondering how strong his new opponent would be. Spinning Tetsou in his hand once, he gave a smile, eager for his next fight.

----------

“Seesh, you think that with enough time people learn to respect your personal space. I don’t really understand why I need a new partner...but whatever.” VIR had been wandering through the markets of Sigard, taking the scenic route to the place where he was supposed to meet his new partner. “Hopefully, he knows how to see with his eyes and not his hands.” VIR fiddled with his goggles a little as he spoke.

His last partner was alright...if you count alright as being almost constantly intoxicated and grabby. VIR had already warned him about the goggles, but he just laughed. It was the last thing he ever did...ever. Apparently this new guy, No. Vii....wait was that seriously his name? Who in the hell would use a number to name someone? That just sounds stupid and lazy. Idiots....

-------

“Sti.... oh?” No.Vii stopped mid step to look down at where he was. Having taken a random way, he managed to find himself in the market. Though, oddly enough, there actually was something interesting to see this time around. Other than the normal drunkard getting smashed into a wall, there was a strange garbed man with a set of goggles. Pulling out the folded note with the mans descript, he read it over quickly to see that the goggled man was indeed the man he was to be partnered with.

“.... Those sons of bitches!” No.Vii protested, loud enough to draw attention to himself. Sliding down the slanted roof of the building he was on, he sprang down and landed with a rather loud thump a few feet from the man. Standing slowly and rolling his legs a bit, he snarled at the man some before speaking.

“I have to be partnered with another fighter, and they give me you! You look like you could barely hold the correct end of a spear, let alone know which end is supposed to skewer the bastard you’re supposed to be fighting. And seriously, why the hell do you need goggles?! Are you going to take your opponent out to go dancing in the rain? Feh, lazy ass fucks teamin me up with you.” No.Vii said in one mouthful, swinging his sword down to rest against the ground, still glaring at VIR.

He slowly turned to the man that was shouting at him, and his posture slouched with a ‘seriously?’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULS27Wak6-8) look on his face. “Really? This coming from a man who’s so bandaged, you look like you would fall apart into a heap of meat and bones if I poked you hard enough. If we really wanna talk lazy, then you should go look in a mirror...partner. As for my combat abilities, I could tell you how I could eviscerate you, and seeing as you’re already broadcasting lines to trace with across your body so it wouldn’t be that hard...though I think it would be better if I just show you.” VIR then took hold of his blade and took his stance. “Bitches first.”

“Oh, you wish to fight already? I didn’t know you had a death wish!” No.Vii spoke, flicking his sword into a fighting position while looking at the man. Eyes narrowing and smile furrowing a bit, he looked around rather quickly, taking apart the area with rather ease. Jared had warned him about causing too much a scene, so taking too long would be a problem, yet he wanted to enjoy this one. Figuring he could attribute it to a confusion of enemies, No.Vii shifted his feet again before bursting forward, sword going down and to the right.

“I might be a bitch, but at least I’ll be the living bitch, Bug eyes!” No.Vii said, going into a low crouch with his stance. Closing the distance fast, he made to bring his sword up from the right, but as it reached about mid point, stabbed forward with the blade towards VIRs left knee, aiming to stab through it.

VIR only chuckled at the man’s weak comeback as his blade veered off to the left as VIR spun right, delivering a stern backhand to No. Vii’s head. “You’ll do better at hitting the ground before you land a hit on me. How bout you go find a retarded puppy to go poke fun at?” VIR had not yet let go of the handle of his blade, but had not yet drawn it. “Come on, I know you can do better.”

Taking the hit to his face, No.Vii tilted his head to allow most of it to glance off his face, but it still had some remarkable force behind it. Hopping back a bit and licking the inside of his cheek, he smirked. It seemed that they had finally given him someone who could actually stand up to him. Standing upright and smile growing wider, he held up his ringed hand, allowing his sword to point to the ground.

“Why would I go pick on a poor puppy when I have someone like you to poke fun at? But I hope you can do more than flail your arms pointlessly.” No.Vii said, twirling his fingers and causing a vial to appear, filled with an odd colored yellow liquid. Quickly breaking the wax seal and downing the entire bottle, he flicked the vial to the side, standing still for a few seconds as the liquids raced through his system. Feeling the all familiar muscle contractions in his legs, he gripped his sword and held it behind him. The minute they had settled into place, No.Vii took off, a plume of dust trailing him. Making the same feint as before, No.Vii allowed his sword to drop free of his hand and allowed it to flow all the way up, the back of his hand making contact with VIR’s chin as his sword was caught by his off hand.

The speed was rather unexpected, as the hand came rather quickly across VIR’s face, causing the warrior to spin a few feet away to compensate, though No. Vii could feel a somewhat flimsy wall of air slowing his hand as he struck. VIR sucked his teeth at No.Vii before spitting at the ground, a slight hint of blood in the saliva. “Great....another drinker. Fucking council. They know how the last one died, why send me another one?”

“Another drinker? What the hell you talkin bout?” No.Vii said, standing upright and looking down at his hand. Flexing it a few times, he pondered at the odd wind feeling that had slowed his hand just the smallest bit. Rubbing the back of his hand with his handle, he spun the blade a few times before taking another stance, this time with the sword pointing towards VIR. His pose looked awkward and unneeded, but it only made No.Vii smile.

“I take it though that you are another one of those flimsy magic users. Ya know what always pissed me off about magic users. Their stuck up attitudes and their frail bodies. E’eryone of them that I killed were always surprised, probably thinking ‘but I was the best, how could I die’. Same way everyone does, with a sword through their throat.” No.Vii’s chuckled at the last word, before motioning for VIR to make his move.

“Funny...that’s the same look my last partner had before I sliced his stomach open and let his guts fall out. Don’t mistake my power for weakness, for my power sits..” VIR then pulled out his blade and extended it to its full length and rested the flat on his left shoulder, “...on the very air you breathe.” The air current then shifted for split second as the warrior cracked his first smile since they met.

“A wind user? Should be better. At least this time its better than fucking plants!” No.Vii said, spinning his sword once enough to make a hum through the air. Shifting his left foot inwards, he sprung upwards, gripping his sword hilt with his right hand to bring down in a chopping movement, wondering how well VIR could use his wind magic.

“But don’t underestimate me either. I’m not a normal drinker!” No.Vii shouted as he fell through the air.

VIR scoffed.

‘Four seconds so far, close enough.’

“WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!!!” VIR then held his sword with both hands and spun inwards to get some torque for his swing, then brought his sword at an upward cut to unleash his power with an assertive yell. The arc from his swing ripped at cloth, wood, and drunken bystanders unlucky enough to be within shrapnel range as the wind shear moved with urgency towards No. Vii.

With how close he was, No.Vii watched as the wind covered blade headed towards him, the arc high and wide to strike at himself. Knowing full well that he would be unable to dodge the strike, he opted for the next best thing. Flipping the blade so that the flat side rested against his forearm, he took the brunt of the slash for just a second before tilting his arm up, sending the blast above his head, just missing him by a few centimeters. Though, this had sent him skidding to the side as well, resulting in a tumble and knocking over a fruit stand. Standing and upturning a few more baskets nearby, he smiled wide. Now this was a worthy fight. Already he had almost lost his head, but speed would be something more than what he needed for this one. Twirling his free hand again and causing a red liquid vial to appear, he stored that in his pocket for a bit later.

“So, you are good at close range, lets test reflexes.” No.Vii said, before flicking his sword and sending chunks of fruit flying at VIR while he uncorked the Vial, turning, and downing it on the spot.

VIR quickly took foot towards No. Vii as the fruit curved hard away from its target and whizzed past him except for one. He caught the last fruit, and anchored his feet into the ground and slung it as hard as he could, covering twice as much ground twice as fast, before returning the same speed to his feet with his blade ready to strike. “Same to you, boozehound....think fast! ”

Jumping out of the way of the fruit as he finished downing the red poison, he chuckled at the name. It was a strange one at that, and much better than most common names that he had heard. It was rather fitting, seeing as another term for beer had been poison. Grimacing some as the poison took effect, he slowly moved to the side, feeling the muscles in his chest and arms compact and grow, stretching the bandages along his chest and making a few old wounds pop open freshly, sending a few lines of red against the white cloth.

“Now, lets see if you can really fight!” No.Vii shouted, his voice lower as he took off at a hard run, bringing his sword in fast from the side, arms tightening to increase the arc enough to produce a whistle.

As No.Vii ran in, VIR kicked over a nearby bucket and let the water inside flow on the ground as he took to his knees and arched his back, sliding under the swing that just barely nudged his nose and coming up with a quick slice to No.Vii’s mid section, before pushing into a side roll and taking steps back to a safe distance from No. Vii’s new reach, while rising to his feet. A small cut appearing with blood coming down the bridge of his nose. “You have anymore of your disgusting drinks to help you fail miserably? Or are you ready to call it a day?”

“Oh, so you really wish to push the envelope. I only need two poisons to take you down.” No.Vii said in his altered voice, his smile broadening. He pressed his hand against the cut on his midsection, feeling the warm blood ooze between his fingers a bit before he pulled it back. It was long, but no where near fatal or dangerous yet, so he was good for the most part. Straightening, No.Vii picked up the bucket that VIR had kicked over for an odd reason. Pressing his hands against the cool metal, he quickly bent it into a crumpled ball form, which he tossed around in his hands for a bit.

“Now it’s your turn!” No.Vii said as he flung it up. Bringing his sword back in a wide range, he struck the ball as it came within range, sending it rocketing towards VIR at a high rate as No.Vii followed closely behind, taking a diagonal swing at VIRs legs.

VIR couldn’t help but chuckle. It had been a while since he had been on his toes this much during a fight. Even his former partner, who knew VIR inside and out, was able to keep up with him the way that No.Vii was right now. He swung his blade to push the crumpled bucket, using the momentum to push himself out of the way of the sword slash. He lost a tuft of his hair and good chunk of the back of his coat, but it was a necessary price given the alternative. VIR then went for another quick slash, this time to No. Vii’s elbow, before hopping back to a safe distance...if only there was more room behind him as his right heel touched the wall behind him. “Heh, seems I misjudged you a little...you are pretty good for a bloodied, poison sucking cock-juggler.”

“And you run well like a bug eyed wind strokin pretty boy.” No.Vii said as VIR backed out of range, and right up against a wall. Flexing his arm to alleviate the sting from the cut on his elbow, he smiled at the few strands of hair that were still holding onto his blade. He would need to get a better cut though it Tetsou Kaoli would be of any use. Though, with VIR up against a wall, it did bring an idea to his head. Holding his sword in his right hand, and putting the blade so that it was parallel with his body and angled, he ran at VIR like a battering ram, head tucked in and forearm ready to smash into anything in his path.

VIR needed offense and he needed it now. He needed to use No. Vii’s power and momentum against him..wait..that’s it! VIR opposed No. Vii’s stance and rushed at him as well. VIR then took to side stepping at the last moment, holding out a foot to trip up No. Vii’s stampede and shoving on the middle of his back as hard as he could. No. Vii could feel the air move again, except this time it was pushing him even farther forward, and faster towards the wall. VIR then whistled at the hole made by the resulting impact as he took another couple steps back, both to truly take in how big the hole really was, and in case No. Vii wasn’t rendered unconscious or dead by the impact. “Didn’t expect that to work like it did but uh, okay....You still alive, Vii? Hate to think it ended that quickly.”



“Are you kidding!? I’ve never felt more alive!” No.Vii shouted through the hole as he pushed aside the rubble. Having thought quick as the wall came up fast with no way to stop, he had relaxed his arm and tucked his head in, slamming head long into the wall and carving out a new door frame for the house, which had groaned loudly at his intrusion. Exiting the hole while coughing out a few flecks of dust and whatnot, he smiled at VIR. The man was a genius, using the wall to try and slow down No.Vii, but resulting in a rather large hole instead. Checking that his sword was still alright, he needed to think of a new idea to bring down the wind user.

“So, you are quick and nimble on your feet, but lets see how you fare to something much bigger than yourself.” No.Vii said with glee as he grabbed the largest chunk of rock he could find. Holding it between both of his fists and lifting well, he brought it down hard in front of him, sending out a short shock wave before the segment broke into slightly larger fist sized pieces. Grabbing a few, he hurled them quickly before dashing towards VIR, sword held to the side and arms tightened for a swing.

At the mention of something bigger than the behemoth before him, the air shifted around VIR as he took the same stance as before as wisps of air soon began to cover his sword, then came the chunks of rock with No. Vii in hot pursuit.

‘Five seconds, almost halfway done this time.’

VIR then grabbed the sword with two hands again and anchored himself with his front foot as he heaved a heavy diagonal slash, shredding the majority of the rock in the front to dust and pebbles, the rest of the rocks further back had been thrown off course as the wind shear continued to tear through to its intended target. VIR wanted to see how a stronger No. Vii could handle a stronger gust.

Standing as the winds began to blow, No.Vii switched around his blade and slammed it into the ground, using it as a holding point as the wind pushed into him.Gritting his teeth as the wind and rock bits washed over him, he smiled wide, fingers tightening on the hilt. Smiling wide as the wind faded, he finally looked up at the man and hopped forward, bending his arms back.

“I hope you are better than a windbag!” No.Vii shouted as he ripped his blade out of the ground and brought it down towards VIR, bits of rubble caught in his swing.

Wide open.

VIR slid off to the right side of the attack and lunged forward with his blade out front, aiming for the elbow again...this time aiming to dig deep, twisting the blade shortly afterwards.

This fight was over.

“You done yet? The drinks don’t last forever...”

Truth be told, VIR was nearing his limit himself. All of that magic he spent, on top the extra amounts he had to push out with No. Vii’s “improvements” really took his toll.

“Neither does your magic, but yeah.” No.Vii said, holding himself in place while he looked down at his right arm. Pulling off his jacket and binding it over his right arm and the deep cut, he smiled, happy to have such a capable fighter as a partner.

“You make for an interesting partner VIR. Hopefully you’ll last longer than the last one.” He spoke, sliding Tetsou Kaoli back into its sheath.


{Koti~/Repent!}

[Kris]

Sigard

It felt cold, somewhat eerie to see the apartment almost clean out of contents, but it had to be done.

He was left with no choice but to flee the place.

Combing back along the lines of his ears the little that of what was left from his silver hairs, Goliath fixed his shirt's collar before glaring at his reflection. The image in the mirror was almost as gloomy as the deserted place he was about to leave behind: old, broken and desperate.

He looked around and scanned the place with his small tired eyes. There were two suitcases by the door, waiting to be carried down to the carriage that parked just before the back entrance, waiting to drive him away. There were still few pieces of huge furniture lingering about, that were either too big to be taken, or too old to be sold, and their fate was to be left under the guard of a protective heavy clothing that was supposed to keep them from harm, should he ever desired to come back and get them later.

He looked back at his reflection.

There was uncertainty and fear within his eyes, and he felt cold sweat in the shape of beads of water lingering across his nape and forehead.

Soon, they will come to take everything from him. Shylock's men been eager to take all of his possession... Maybe even his life, perhaps, after all there was no guarantee with Shylock... Not after he boldly tried to cross him so many times...

But... tsk... he was so sure he could win this time...

After all... the deal he had...

What could have gone wrong?!

While cleaning the sweat he tried to catch his breath and recompose himself, for he had little time to spare with fear.

They were about to come for him... They probably were already downstairs... climbing...

"BY THE LORD!", Goliath flinched, almost falling back to the sight that welcomed him from the corners of the mirror. He quickly turned around to watch the man that stood there, who wasn't just there a second ago.

"Who are you!? Are you the collector?!"

http://i1089.photobucket.com/albums/i358/livnatkris/UKC/jaredolder.png

The young man stared back. A wolfish... yet somewhat angelic smile, appeared upon his lips.

Goliath's eyes grew with a surprise and understanding, "It can't be... You... Are you that little boy?".

Trying to keep his compose as steadily as he could, Goliath paced around the room in a huge circle, seizing with his eyes the appearance of the man, that was so familiar and yet so unlike his demonic agent kid, "Jared.... How can it be?"

The man chuckled, "Would that be of importance, Sir? I believe you have much to worry previously to my appearance and shape".

That teasing brought some sense back to the old man, "You! I don't understand any of this!", Goliath's voice and anger increased, "How could that good for nothing trader win against me?!"

"Luck and skills, I'd say!".

"Bullshit!", Goliath spit, "Our deal! What about our deal?!".

Jared smiled softly.

"We had our deal. He was going to lose everything and I should have won against him!".

"Oh, the deal was carried out perfectly... or have you forgotten the fact he was missed during a long period of time?".

"No, it was too short! He's already back on his two feet, ready to take all that is mine!".

Jared smiled, "Then you'd have to be more specific about what you've asked, sir", Jared nodded, "You asked to try and win against him... Never did you request the ability to win against him... or for his skills to be removed from him... Not that it could have been done like that even if you asked for it. I'm providing the tools of succession, I can enable the start... It's up to you to see things being carried out..."

"What about the goblin's race, demon?! You could have easily turned the tides for my favour!".

"I don't work quite like that, sir", he chuckled, "Beside... I didn't feel like helping you..."

"THEN YOU TRICKED ME!", Goliath screamed, "YOU FUCKING BETRAYED ME!"

"I didn't do such vile thing, sir...".

Was there something.... cold about the air now?....

Goliath looked around himself, the eerie sensation has just increased.

He was feeling rather... cold... too...

"I have only given you what you asked from me...", Jared chuckled, "As someone who claims to be such a good lord trader, you do awfully about reading the little print... Or fully understanding your deals".

Yes... It... was... getting... colder...

"Before...", said Jared again, his voice barely reaching, "You were of use to me... Now, even if you choose to run away and start again, I don't think you'll have enough time building your small empire again... Not before my Lord Demon, Emonalach, will start his move against me... and between him and Lord Fergal... I have enough to deal with... I have army to run too... And they are waiting for me...".

Goliath's vision and hearing became blurry, he felt like something was penetrating him, eating him from inside out... reaching and grabbing something... tearing out a piece of him...

"Your greed will better use me as food and energy to absorb... and your essence will prove to be a wonderful "Nephil", the first of many to slowly appear within the industrial city of Sigard... Another part of my small creation within this city...", Jared's laugh echoed within a void of darkness...

Endless space...

And then... It felt like... Hands.... Hands that reached deep inside... pulling from within something out of Goliath's body... His soul... maybe?

....

The room was back again to be colorful and sound-full...

Jared's steps echoed as he slowly bent down beside the, now lifeless, body of the old man, "Surely... I can't just leave it like this... I'll just hang him here... Better that Shylock's men think that he tried to commit suicide after losing everything... It will make sense after all... What kind of a REAL trader will value his life more than his money?..."

[Kris]

Sonata courtyard, Norgard


Alive? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVuf9dSnIPM)

The first thing Helena did was look for Bria. The girl was lying not far from her on her back as she kicked her limbs at the ground.

She dived beside her like a mother bird, listening to her heart and breathing.

She was alive.

Smiling, she slowly collected the girl into her arms, trying to see if she was wounded, paying no heed to her own wounds. The child was warm, and appeared to be in good shape.

Were Zelvad only so lucky....

With the assassin being the closest to the rune, he took the brunt of the damage when the explosion occurred. The force of the blast knocked Zelvad a couple feet past Bria and Helena, stopping only when his right shoulder made contact with a nearby tree, making him roll violently on the ground followed by a sliding halt.

He wasn't moving, save for the up and down of his midsection made by labored breathing. His hair was wildly strewn across his face from the nature of his landing, and his mask and weapons were thrown about at the base of the tree he had recently gotten acquainted with.

The upper half of his outfit was shredded by the explosion and his landing, exposing his cut and bruised skin to the dirt and snow, as well as something on his right shoulder (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b216/hero2/RP/Zelvadspider.jpg) you could have sworn just moved.

Zelvad coughed as he slowly tried to rise to his feet, but his arms and legs gave out as he fell face first in the dirt with a agonizing groan. Widow's grace he had forgotten the last time he was in this much pain...

"Assassin!", Helena moved closer, the child Bria held tightly in her arms. She bent beside him, placing the girl just beside the body of Zelvad before she checked on his condition. She could feel some kind of aura about him, but couldn't exactly state what.

"Talk to me!", she ordered while trying to examine his condition.

It was an amazing effort in itself for Zelvad to even be breathing right now let alone speak.

Still he fought to squeeze out a few words:

"All....okay?"

Helena smiled softly before averting her eyes and noticing the lady mercenary.

Claudia's eyes opened wide to the voices. Her instincts going into survival mode and she scrambled to stand up. Other than tears, ripped clothes, bruises, and the smell of burnt hair she was alright. Her gaze quickly settled on the small child before answering to the assassin.

'I think everyone is okay. However I can't help but wonder....what is this? Some sort of attack?'

Her voice shook slightly, not from fear but from the ache that consumed her whole body. She wasn't even sure if the one, Zelvad as he was addressed, was even inquiring of her when he said all. As she tried to assess and process the sequence of events she realized that she at the very least wasn't prepared for anything like this.

'Helena....I don't know about you but I have no armor or weapons at the ready. I followed you straight from the hall. Did the attack hope for such a thing? The child....I feel like I am still far behind in knowing anything that is going on right now!'

"There is much for you to learn", Helena nodded softly, "But now is not the time nor the place. We must head back to the castle immediately".

"Widow's grace..." Zelvad had managed to turn himself face up and was now wide eyed, looking at quite the spectacle.

The fire that came from the explosion seemed to be at war with numerous strands of red light that had formed a large spider's web. It had somehow found a way to contain the flames...but it couldn't be extinguished.



***

If only it were time for breakfast,
An Excellent Morning

Sonata Castle, Norgard

Caleb seethed, feeling none of the pain he should have been. A glance down could confirm the blood. He could feel it snaking down from some unseen wound. But it just felt wet nothing more. Anger sustained him, moving through the castle walls, forcing all else to cower within.

And he was met with more Runes' destruction wherever he walked.

His quest for a healer changed to evacuation, escape this ruining alive first. There were druids within the city, perhaps a healer or more.

His steady march, was interrupted, by the recognisable voice of his friend Baxter. Disturbed and distraught, Caleb could guess why. The merchant came jumping out of his room into the destroyed hallway.

"Baxter! Help me!" He called, voice rougher then intended.

Baxter came to a sliding halt, waving his arms to maintain his balance. Caleb was carrying Miss Fairchild, and both of them were bleeding profusely.

"Good lord Gerald, what do you think you're doing?!" he said as he approached them with urgency. Baxter instinctively pulled the unconscious woman from his grasp, lifting her up and into his arms. The trader was in far better condition to hold her than Caleb, for he only had small bits of shrapnel from the glass and metal stuck into his skin. "The damn place is falling apart, we've got to get out of here!"

"Aye, we do!" Relief clearly in his voice. "Thank you Baxter."

Even then, holding his hands close to his blood soaked clothing, he heard shudders and crashes from around them. The strange destructions around them weakening upper floors and walls.

"We've just got to get to main entrance, and into the courtyard," Caleb said over the rumbling. He lead them along, over debris. Their path was a slow one, between his wounds, and Misses Fairchild's condition.

Baxter followed Caleb, lugging the woman in his arms with relative ease, but forced himself to keep in line with Caleb. Rubble continued to fall throughout the residence, but Baxter felt more fear towards what could have caused this mess. Many enemies crept within the shadows. Could the culprit still be around?

"Come on, come on, hurry up!" Baxter chided Caleb. "You can hobble all you like once we're out of here!"

Ignoring the ever worrying wounds Caleb nodded and pushed onward. Just when he thought that their path to main entrance was blocked by some destruction sunlight peered in through a hole. "Through here!"

They emerged out of the palace walls and into the courtyard. Where they notice the small group of the assassin, the paladin, the mercenary and the little girl Bria. And more of the damned destruction, Caleb saw.

Helena heaved the girls up and carried her in her arms, "Were you harmed by the explosion as well?", she asked the two, fearing for the safety of everyone else that were still within the castle and the city.

Caleb turned to her words, replying, "the woman in Baxter's arms, she was knocked out but she bleeds, I fear her injuries are serious. With this... attack I could not find a healer."

Miss Fairchild had yet to stir within her blanket but still continued to breath, Caleb saw. He motioned for the merchant to set the lady down - at least for the moment. He looked the group over, they appeared battered much like him and Baxter, "and you are all alright?"

Helena nodded, while looking down at the child in her arms, "living, yet bleeding. I fear for the safety of the others, we must go back and check on the conditions of the townfolks and treat our wounds as well".

"I do not think it wise to wait for her healing," replied Caleb, the unconscious woman troubled him. A deep frown set into his features. He asked bluntly, "Helena, are you not a Paladin? Aren't you able to help her?"

Helena eyes popped wide open.

"I... Healing....".

There was a deep silence there for a moment but it was loaded with emotions, raging as if the Paladin was screaming and moaning with all her might.

To explain to him that she was never in the grace of God to receive his blessing, his power.

Hell... to call for the divine help when she... the cursed child.... the demon.... was halted from such kindness all her life...

Holding Bria allowed everyone to see how badly she shivered, for the small frame of the girl was moving about. Helena opened and closed her mouth few times before she finally said, "I be of no use to the lass. You should seek a worthy redeemer!"

Frustration built within Caleb, he grunted out something born from the pain he hid. Caleb was urged to heed her words, for them to find another, as he saw her shaking. He couldn't do that, damn himself, but he couldn't.

"A worthy redeemer - Like one of those Dark Redeemers I've heard of, those forsaken ones. Acting as ghouls taking upon themselves to instill evil?" Caleb snapped at her. "No. You are the only worthy one!"

"Yet you won't even try." He added sadly. Caleb looked down to Miss Fairchild, suddenly feeling less emotion within himself and growing much more tired. "Just one attempt. Please."

"You ask for the impossible!", Helena lowered her head, "I... There is not enough of God's love within me.... To give love and nutrition which is pure and good for her."

"Dear, fuck." Swore Caleb his annoyance awakened. His eyes suddenly sought the child, tongue halting for the warrior to curb his words somewhat.

"You have Faith in Him, He exists for you, you've risen to Paladin - a warrior of light! Would He have allowed this otherwise? He loves you, trusts you, has tasked you to do what is right, but you won't do it!" He growled, "you doubt yourself, Helena, to call on the healing arts. There is nothing more to it."

"There is much to it!!!", Helena barked back, "The Lord never had a course for me! I don't think he ever wished for me! What I am is nothing but a woman with a broken faith. I plead you, Ascarian, ask a proper Healer to cure her!"

"No, Helena, you will do this." He said, "Your faith is broken in God and in yourself, it will remain forever so. Unless you face this.

"Heal her, and yourself."

Helena started to shiver... Even more badly...

Suddenly the cold of Norgard, was ever so visible around her and even breathing turned out to be a troublesome task. She forced herself to cross gazes with the Ascarian only to realize she can't look into his eyes without feeling a great shame.

And for a moment that to her lasted like an eternity she counted all the factors including her own personal pain.

Truth be told, no matter how much she wanted to run away from there, that expression of rage upon the tanned skin man was not something she wanted to engrave in her mind. At the end she marched for Caleb, letting him hold on to Bria while she bent down beside the woman.

"This all will be in vain", she looked up with her own fiery expression, "I shan't succeed, and I shall show you that I cannot do this!".

Caleb smiled in response, taking the child with good will holding her against his weakened body. "At least try, Helena." He said, coming to stand near her.

The paladin nodded, by that time she realized it was not only the eyes of Caleb that were watching, but those of Claudia, Zelvad and Baxter... and more...

Eagerness within their eyes to see whether or not she could make a change.

That pressure alone was enough to discourage... Really... what could she possibly do?... why would it work now, when all these years it haven't...

Helena shook her head and the thoughts away with it. Now she needed to focus. She did wonder however, what might the healer Wren think when she did the same ritual... Is it easy to be done?... Was the healer in need of certain emotion or thoughts while healing?

Helena decided to do as the healer usually did, and lean her hands over the body... and... clearing her mind... Probably this was the answer...

At first... there was nothing....

Helena opened her eyes and took a deep breath, closing her eyes yet again and trying once more.

Still nothing.

It was hopeless. She wanted to scream how hopeless it was.

She knew she might need to pray... or maybe seek some outer power... higher power...

But in truth she just wanted to curse... and with that... she wanted to... disappear... to fall...

Burst of light!!!

Helena gasped.

All of a sudden, within her mind, the vision of the body that she wished to heal became clear like white chalk's outlines sketch upon a blackboard. The image was hollow, but clear, she could tell which part was linked with what... what part... effected which part...

There were even colors... for each... energy like type... mostly orange... but colorful still...

Helena opened up her eyes, looking somewhat surprised. She gazed at Caleb, before closing her eyes yet again.

Is it working?!

Is it?!

But...

Why is it working?! Why now?! It never worked before!!!

Leaning again, she felt the energy moving across the image upon the dark mess of background... With a strong will she felt like she was fighting something... pushing aside energy that was meant to hurt while she was inserting another energy from outside...

Weird... Wren clearly said that healing comes from inside... By given your own inner powers to others... How come she was manipulating energy not of her own might? Was this how paladin's magic working?! Was she even using healing energies, or holy powers for that matter?!

The wound was slowly healing, but Helena knew it was mostly upon the surface. The woman would need a better care... but at least... she was going to make it...

"I don't know how I did it", she said to Caleb after a long moment of silence. There was some kind of strain in the shape of a headache, but aside of it, Helena felt that nothing was taken from her, like healers usually felt after healing someone...

Caleb could see now that Misses Fairchild was breathing more easily, more peacefully. He was relieved that she would survive, he slumped a little. Holding the child still he replied, "but you did, and that's what matters."

"The price mattes", Helena said softly taking back Bria into her arms. She knew perfectly well that paladin's skills and certain type of magic was accessible through some sort of a pact without the need of innate magic... And she didn't own any power... So... this means... that she somehow created a bond.. that gave her power out of the blue... be it a divine entity... or devilish fiend... Helena knew that she just did something that was always out of reach for her... and it scared her.

There has to be a price... and it will be an expensive one for sure...

Trying to keep her face calm she added, "You wish to follow us to the castle? Or do you wish to join us later, both you and the Trader?"

The thought of heading back into the castle was not something Caleb wished to think of. Despite the anger he'd expressed earlier, he was not up to it. And if he were, he had left his scimitar in his room, limiting the way he could fight.

"We'll get her to safety first and rest ourselves." Caleb replied, "we'll meet up later I'm sure."

"We will!", Helena turned to Claudia and Zelvad, "Shall we head for the castle?"

"We can..." Zelvad slowly grunted as he rose to his feet successfully this time, his eyes returning to his magics and the fire rendering each other null after watching the interaction from Helena and the Ascaran unfold in front of him. "...assuming nothing else decides to-ergh...explode and burn everything on the way."

Zelvad had originally assumed that all magic users from Ivalor had some degree of healing, which kind of threw him off when she initially rejected to help the injured woman. He would've said something but Caleb had gotten to it first. He was harder in his words than Zelvad would have been, but he same message was delivered.

The assassin soon began to hobble his way to his belongings and held his hand out, causing them to slowly make their way to his open hand. His hands lightly shook as the spider reached him first. He removed the small knife that kept it static and caused the spider to move to his head and tame his still wild red hair, bringing it back to his regular ponytail, returning it to its inert state once it was done.

It was good to know that whatever the hell he did, didn't completely drain his power.

Inspecting the rest of what was left of his clothing, he figured the vest and shirt were beyond help and removed from his body what scraps remained. The only thing left of the top half of his clothing were the wrist gauntlets. Everything else was intact enough to be acceptable.

He gingerly strapped his sword to his back, wincing through the process. He then placed the sheathed dagger in the left gauntlet and sighed. "You know he's right, don't you Helena? We were gifted this power for a reason..."

The image on his shoulder twitched again..

"But I was never able to do so before", the Paladin protested, "That gift was never part of me".

"God or not, you were given the ability to use these powers, and you've been doubting these gifts you've been given since we left the desert. Your healing is a natural part of light magics, though like all magic it needs to be channeled through your pure willpower...you have to want it to happen in order for it to work."

Zelvad went to take a step forward, but cringed and fell back against the tree quickly clutching his right arm while gritting his teeth momentarily. "The rush from the pain is starting to wear off...not good." He looked to Helena with a sheepish grin on his face. "You wouldn't mind a little practice on your new ability before we press on would you? Seems I hit that tree a little harder than I thought." He lightly chuckled before going into a small coughing fit.

Heavens....

"I am willing to try, Assassin", she shook the child within her arms, only to notice that Bria was slowly opening her eyes.

"Are you well, child?", Helena asked the young girl who nodded back at her. She leaned in and kissed her forehead, passing gentle fingers into her black hair, checking for any sign of wound. When she couldn't see an immediate pain, she helped the girl to stand up, while she herself was moving closer to Zelvad, "I am not certain of this... Should you feel any pain.... Stop me....".

Once again she closed her eyes, focusing on the place... picturing the wound in her mind as a clear marking within never lasting void...

She could feel energies... which she could control in some level... until...that image (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b216/hero2/RP/widow.jpg)... appeared in her mind.

She gasped with horror, as her mind continued to process the following images, her eyes still closed as she felt something gripping her.

The sights of war, death and destruction ran through her mind. A lone figure stood over the silhouette of a dead woman, falling to his knees. Then with clenched fists, the person slowly stood as the person drew their swords and released a deafening roar, sounding warbled and distorted before descending into the carnage. It tore through the violence, showing no allegiance to either side and killing all in its way. The only thing made clear were the eyes, a red hue shining brighter than any light.

Then she heard a familiar voice echo through her mind...now given form as the woman she saw earlier.

'Rather adventurous, aren't we? I don't believe we've been properly introduced...though we have met before, dear paladin. You just saw a piece of his dreams, though he doesn't know...not yet at least.' She then moved in close to where it felt as if she was right behind Helena, resting her hands on the paladin's sides and whispered into her ear. 'He's taking a big step by letting you in. Don't waste it.'

Helena tried her best to stop herself from shivering. Not ounce of fear could be reflected from her face, but her never-ending shudders and the closeness to this woman allowed her to know that she was given herself away, "Witch!", Helena hissed under her breath, making sure her voice was unchanged and confident, "What this scenery be?! What might you be?!"

The woman's chuckle was silky and light as she kept her position behind Helena. 'I'll let the face you know better explain what you've seen, as for who I am... you and the other lady healer have now heard my voice, while you have seen my power first hand against the demon's army. It saved you from being overwhelmed....and after all this you are still blind? Open your eyes god-warrior, and see the true face of this 'witch'...'

"I Cannot comprehend...", Helena's voice whispered, "What is this?!"

The woman went to speak again, but something caught her attention, her head turning sharply before returning to Helena. 'He's getting curious...seems I'll need to cut this meeting short. Though remember, the Web is everywhere. So I'll be eagerly awaiting the next time I get to speak to you like this.' With that, she blurred and twisted from sight, sliding the paladin back to the real world.

Helena looked around herself, realizing the strange woman was no longer there. Bria grabbed the folding of her dress, and she in return put her hand over head, bringing her closer to her body. Realizing that for now it was better to keep this vision to herself she turned to the assassin and asked, "I am not sure I was able to complete the process... How do you fair?"

Zelvad moved his arms legs and fingers around a bit, before looking to the paladin. "I'm probably better than I have been in the past few weeks...thank you Helena. Though I should probably be asking the same of you, you looked like you were about to lose it a couple times...and you were talking to yourself...is everything alright? I don't want you over stressing your power and getting hurt because of me..."

"Do not trouble yourself, Zelvad", Helena tried her best to hide her surprise. He knew something was wrong and she hoped he wouldn't ask further about this, at least for now. Helena looked down at Bria before gazing at Claudia, "We should return to the castle, would you follow?", she asked her.

Claudia stared blankly, her mind still trying to sort through everything she had bore witness to. She never quite understood the magics of the world, and to see such a display. The shock of the events began to waver leaving a ringing in her ears.

'...hmmm? To the castle? Yes. I'll follow. Get out of these clothes and back into my armor.'

Focus Claudia, there is much going on. Something tells me there is much I don't know about who I'll be working with now.

Claudia half smiled at the child and the paladin before letting them lead her on.

Helena nodded.

And so the small group headed back, hoping to be joined with the others back in the castle, along with Caleb and Baxter later on.

[Kris]

And VIR agreed. And he saw...

He saw... so many sights... penetrating his minds... cutting his thoughts, breaking all the limits of reality and dreams....

And he saw... the visions blurry...

He was there... and yet... not exactly...himself...

another body.... another person...

"Hillel...."

He heard... at least... he thought he did...

"Hillel..."

They called upon to him.

With voices that made no sound.

They bestow the path upon him

But he saw no ground.

And within that tunnel, that everlasting, never-ending void that was the sphere of creation, one light shone brighter than all of them combined together. In that regard, that being was purer than the mess of creation, the "Th'oho", created from within without the use of elements... a sole spark, wishing to be its own self, seeking awareness, seeking the thoughts...

However, that light, like a broken bulb, was radiating so intensely and strongly, it was doomed to experience a power shortage.

And so it cases to be what it was... and was turning to be something he was not meant to become, biting from a forbidden fruit, creating a new race that has yet to appear upon the world of Ol'am.

"Demons", one might say, "Fiends, Imps".

They... He... She... never regarded them as such.

"We were the Unfading Awares. Endless, yes limited, aware, yet bound. Seeking our own knowledge and experiences. The taste from a world that caused the first, Hillel... to take a risk and question.... question his master... as to why... why?!

"The son of Sh'ahar... the son of Dawn... the first to turn the page... for a new creation, that was not meant for this world...

"But the more he was here, upon this world, that was reflected to us from the other side of the Pandora box, the more he learned how to listen... He could understand the hearts of both mankind and his new kinds, the demons... Seek us out... He made us join him...

"But our needs where powerful still...

"For us, to choose another master in place of the God we left behind... was a disgrace to everything we stood for.

"We wanted to be a creator... a God...

"And he knew it...

"Before a greater struggle could occur, the divine powers were reaching in to stop us. They were four, represented of the elements...

"Our kind... What used to be... our kind... The angels...

"Destroying us, and locking those that were too powerful to be contained or killed.

"They all paid a price...

"And here we are now...

"Fighting the words of a forsaken prophecy... Fighting... the ancients ones...

And he... he must be creating his next moves as well..."

[Repent!]

What he just experienced by Bolgan's hand was more than anything he would have ever expected. He should have been more than sated, but like Bolgan had said it just gave VIR more questions on top of the questions that still had yet to be answered.

Who was making more moves?

Who was Hillel?

What did this have to do with the coming the war?

What was this 'Pandora's box' and what did it have to do with anything?

How was the Priest and Fergal connected?

Where did everything else tie in?

This was moving way deeper than he had anticipated. This was deeper than Shylock, deeper than the pillars, deeper than any outcome he could have anticipated...and he was lost in the sensations.

The speed his mind was moving caused his body temperature to rise, with smoke flowing from his body. Lines of his hair turned crimson, as the smoke began to swirl around him.

VIR began to notice and it just added to the confusion already in his mind. "What...what is..." Still under the power that Fergal restrained him with, it took a good amount of effort for VIR to look to his hands without having his face shoved into the ground. "What am I?"

[Kris]

"An Ancient one... Just like your father... Just like his master... your king... his nation... the first red holy mother... her offspring... "

Bolgan's voice echoed across the hall, bringing forth the waves and shuddering from unseen thunder. His voice pierced into VIR's soul, without having Bolgan actually acting or moving.

"All of the children... The elemental warriors... had... this particular bloodline to them... more to say... the potential to become the-"

"Stop it, he doesn't need to know", barked Fergal, "You're speaking too much old man".

Bolgan smirked, "Why... isn't it the reason why you brought this particular individual with you? My... What an amazing scent... his blood is.. inspiring... He might indeed prove to be the chosen vessel for-"

"I said enough!", Fergal moved closer, bearing the scariest gaze one could ever expect such a coward. And yet there he stood, preventing the priest to speak as though his life was depending on every word he uttered.

Bolgan just stared. For a long moment the silence went on, until the old man turned his back to the two and started to draw back to his quarters, his red cape carried by a long trail after him.

Fergal tried to follow him, but was halted when the last spoke again.

"Go back, Fergal", said the priest, "I will not assist you in this coming war..."

"You must! Don't go back now on all that you spoke and-!"

"No, not again... Emonalach is far more powerful than what you dare to think... Those dreams we had... achieving godhood... being our own creators... they cannot manifest while he still chases his silly pride and goals..."

"Belial! Stop! You must-!"

"I said no!", the priest turned around at once, his blue orbs shining in inhumanly way that caused even Fergal to take few steps back, "Go back, silly pride. His army is moving... and...", he looked down at VIR, "He may not be... what Emonalach needs..."

"What?!", Fergal looked alerted and surprised, "How can it be so?! I made the tests myself!"

"You must have kept him close to keep Emonalach from getting stronger... Even going as far as to take him away from his home when he was a boy... Silly hope... I told you... more bear the burden of the bloodline... Most of them are unknown even to your own research... and for a good reason".

Fergal stood still, but it was clear that he was about to fall to his knees from devastation at any given moment.

"Go back... Sigard is still safe for the time being... That's the best and last advice I can give you".

"I CAN'T GO BACK NOW!", Fergal screamed.

And then he crouched at the ground, shaking, broken... "I can't...", he uttered slowly. He throw his head down, as if bowing the goddess of fortune, accepting his bad luck... his fate...

Another silence.

And then...

As if some unseen light radiated from his heart and healed some courage he looked up slowly, "You know..."

"What...?", asked Bolgan, somewhat unimpressed with all the drama.

"You know... of course... of course you know!".

One leg, and another... and Fergal slowly stumbled forward, hunting his prey like a madman, before reaching and grabbing the priest's robe's collar and barking like a lion, "You know! You know!".

"PUT ME DOWN!", The priest tried to fight.

"TELL ME!!"

"YOU ARE CRAZY!!"

"TELL ME WHO THE VESSEL IS!"

"I HAVE NO IDEA! PUT ME DOWN! GAH-!", The priest felt how the hands tighten closely upon his fragile elderly neck, and knowing that if he did not speak now it would break like a twig.

"OKAY! OKAY! OKAY!".

The priest screamed with all his might before his hands and body touched the cold floor, as he was coughing in his effort to gain back some air into his lungs.

"Speak", Fergal hissed, moving closer and looking down at the man, his eyes shining with victory and pride.

The old man took a deep breath and slowly looked up, trying to regain some of his dignity, "I am not... perfectly sure... but... Emonalach... took interest... in a particular group of humans... If all goes according to his plans... they ought to reach Sigard sooner or later... then he will march on his army... for that kingdom..."

"Seeking... the vessel...."

"Yes..."

Another pause.

The priest continued to cough as Fergal moved closer to VIR, "Let's go", he ordered and passed him, leaving behind the scene of a broken man who was stripped out of his pride and dignity.

"You can't win against him", called Bolgan after Fergal and VIR, "You will fail like last time Adramelech... And this time... you won't come back...."

[Mysteria]

Norgard: The Throne Room

The two arrived at the throne room, finding it just the way Wren had left it moments before. Arjak, blood streaming from his wound, was hunched over his unconscious bride. Guards stood around in helpless confusion, unsure of what good they could do in the throne room, but afraid to leave their king in case the attacker returned.

Wren swallowed against her dry mouth, whether from fear or from the run it was hard to tell. She looked up at Faieth with wary eyes, but asked no questions. Those would wait until later.

"I have not assessed them yet," she began, "but I think it is more urgent to start with Arjak. He's strong, but I fear his loss of blood. Will you help me, or will you go to Ciara?"

Faieth looked them, as well as the room, over at a distance with a grimace. Whatever came through here, it was meant to be a blood bath. The assailant wasn't counting on any survivors to heal. Unfortunately, if the assailant was anything like him, he also wasn't counting on this King, Arjak, because such an incredibly large gentleman. If there had been just a bit more blood and rubble, Faieth would have assumed that the explosion he heard earlier wasn't an explosion at all, simply Arjak dropping the entire castle on him.

"Knowledge is key in all things humanity may hope to accomplish dear Wren." he said, removing his cloak.

"The King's wound is clearly more severe, yes, which is why for the moment I suggest a tourniquet at the shoulder, my cloak should do don't worry about the blood, it can be washed. But I'm not even sure I'll be able to work on the Queen's wounds. One moment, allow me to examine her, with your consent of course my King." He said striding toward her confidently.

"Go to Ciara..." The King's voice boomed through the ravaged throne room, weary yet still powerful. His shoulder had been completely skinned by his own hand in order to keep his life. A worthwhile sacrifice. It hurt terribly and it was bleeding plenty, but it was not nearly as severe as the wounds Arjak had sustained before, like when he had first arrived in Norgard. "I've doled and dealt with worse. I just need to... sit." Arjak pressed himself against one of the pillars and let himself slide down until his bottom hit the floor.

"For once, things could go smooth." he muttered, tearing the tails of his tunic to press the burgundy cloth against his wound.

Crouching and all the while mumbling his observations, Faieth began a rapid examination. Putting his ear to her mouth, he clarified that she was in fact breathing, meanwhile one hand tugged her wrist up to check her pulse, which was a bit slow, but nothing too troublesome. He opened each eyelid, and paused, his mumbling rising to a intelligible tone.

"Pupils over dilated, but not uneven as one would see in cases of concussion. My lord..." he began, turning to the monarch. "Tell me, how exactly did this happen? Dilated pupils like this, there are an immense amount of things I can think of off hand that could cause such a effect. The primary two are Belladonna poisoning, which is unlikely as I don't see any wounds to deliver a poison, and the over exertion of ones magical abilities. Either way she doesn't have many physical wounds, so that's a bit of a game changer." He said, a bit sheepishly, but not in a way that would mock the current situation.

"Unfortunately Wren, I'm something of a Battle Healer. I'm more than proficient in healing flesh wounds, but poisons and exertion aren't really my thing. So are choices, based on what conclusion we come to with the Queen are as follows. Either you work on her and I work on the King, or, we can set to work one at a time, and instead of having too many cooks in the kitchen, I can transfer my energy over to you so you can mold it to fit your healing work, because I'm sure our ways of healing wounds are a bit different. And as a book whose author died half way through, so his brother finished it, two artistic styles mixing together can some times be pretty, but unless said artists have a really good feel for each other, as in knowledge of how the other functions, there are going to be flaws. So I leave to you the same question you left in my hands. Work together, or should I start healing Arjak alone?" he asked, beginning to exercise his focus. One way or another, magic was coming out, he'd better get it flowing in advance.

Wren frowned. She wasn't fond of either option. Her eyes wandered to the piece of cloth that Arjak clutched to his shoulder. He had stated his preference, but after the brush with Lady Rose's dark magic, Wren was uncomfortable with the idea of taking Faieth's energy. Still, Ciara's condition did worry her...

"The king has commanded us to look after the queen," Wren said quietly, looking down at her feet. "If you offer your own energy, we will use that to help her."

With the decision came a sudden and great urgency to get the ordeal over with. She moved to kneel next to Ciara and took the other woman's hand in her own.

"Faieth, I've never... I've never done this before. Not in a controlled way." Her green eyes moved up to seek his. "I don't want to hurt you."

Faieth shook his head and smiled politely, returning eye contact with his own amber gaze.

“Wren, you’re a healer right? Energy transfer is a simple enough principal. Just keep your mind on the principals and the laws of Nature. It’s very simple. Nothing truly ever dies. Energy is a constant, neither created nor destroyed, but given or taken. Every time you heal anything, you’re doing the same thing. You push your magical energies into someone to fix the wound. Taking those energies from another person is no different. Though you’ve never done it before, so it may be a bit tricky. Fortunately, the transfer of vital energies is something of a strong point for me, I use it in a lot of my studies, so to simplify it for the time being. Just focus on healing. I’ll do the transfer.” He said, stretching as if to limber himself up, and running his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Whenever you’re ready to start healing, I’ll start the transfer.”

She nodded in reply, and turned back to the fallen queen. Ciara was beautiful, even in such a state as this. Her olive skin glowed in the morning light, and sleek, dark hair surrounded her face like a black halo. Even the expression on her face was serene, and if she didn't know better, Wren might have guessed that the woman was sleeping.

Carefully, as if trying not to wake her, Wren took Ciara's soft hand in her own. Even without letting her empathic abilities come forth, she could feel the druid's life surging just beneath her skin. Ciara was strong, despite what she had been through. It gave the smaller girl some confidence.

"Alright," Wren said, hardening her resolve. "I'm ready."

“Ok, here we go.” He said, gently clasping a hand on her shoulder as he stood beside her where she crouched. The magic began to flow as he concentrated on pushing his energy out through his palm. Unfortunately, the nature of his energies, and not simply a Healer, but a Necromancer, was fundamentally a bit darker. Had he thought about it before this? Yes of course, but this recourse was better than them both trying to heal at the same time.

“Now, you’re going to notice a fundamental… Darker feeling in my energies than your own. Push it from your mind, it’s simply a slightly different signature of energy based on my specialty of magical study, as well as my aptitude in said field by comparison to your own. I’ll answer any questions you may have on my specific field of study later on in private when I explain the sudden and convenient disappearance of my hip injury as well.” He said, maintaining focus on transferring his energy to her.

A stifled whimper was Wren's only response. His power was darker, she could feel it almost instantly. The magic flowed slowly from his fingers on her shoulder into her body, oozing slowly into her blood and spreading throughout her entire being. She sensed it's heaviness as it crept along, making her own feelings of nausea and anxiety build up inside of her with it. But the girl squeezed her eyes together tightly in concentration.

Push it from your mind, Faieth said, and she repeated his words over and over to herself. Fear must be rejected, and this energy embraced, turning his power into fuel for her own. Sweat began to bead on her brow as Wren focused her abilities.

With what felt like a violent burst of heat and light inside of her mind, the healing powers roared to life. Wren felt the weakness in Ciara's body through her hands that held her friends' in a white knucked grip, and her magic rushed forward to overcome it. Intense, passionate, hot, crashing forward like a wave onto the shore, with Faieth's help the healing felt stronger than ever before. Giving up on any attempt to control or restrain herself, Wren willed the power to wash over Ciara and envelope her completely.

The queen lay in a half conscience state, not totally aware of her surroundings but yet not awake or capable of moving. Her mind still saw only flames and the face of Tik'va smiling at her softly, his voice calling to her "Awaken my precious child of hope"

In her dream state she could feel the blood trickling across her face but yet she did not know from whence it came. She could hear her husbands voice but yet could not respond. In time, she became aware that her dear friend Wren was now also present but she could not awaken from the hold that exhaustion had upon her. What had overcome her that she had fallen to her knees and then crumpled into a heap upon the floor?

And why was Tik'va there when he had passed into the other world before their arrival in Norgard? But somehow he was here now and although in her still trance like state he was willing her to return to those whom loved her, she desired to remain with him. "Tik'va I do not understand" Ciara's body became restless, unaware that Wren was forcing her healing energy into her own semi conscience self.

His voice remained calm, his peaceful and serene smile enduring as he urged her "As the phoenix arises to the flame, so must you child of fire. Follow the call of your brethren..." Tik'va began to dim and as he did, Ciara heard Epinala's howls in the distance as though he were her spirit guide, her eyes fluttering wildly as the words began to fade "Return to the light...."

"Keep it up Wren. The conduit is perfect, so our capacities for magic are fully intertwined right now. You're likely using a perfect mixture of both of our energies. So, in short, You're wielding the full magical potential of two people, so feel free to go a bit overboard." he said before a short, thoughtful pause as he glanced about the flame scarred throne room. If Ciara's injury corresponded with his second theory, magical over exertion, this would still fall short. It would take more energy than it had too. He began to modify the flow.

"Alright, now. I just thought of a problem. Don't stop what your doing. Keep it up just the way you have been, but be warned. The energy you're receiving already feels dark. It's going to have to get a bit darker, so be prepared. I need it to react within her body a bit differently. If she has magically exerted herself, it'll refill those vital energies she's expended. Unfortunately, it's likely to make you a little bit nauseous from the energy signature if you're not used to it. Bear with it. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to give her enough to wake up if that's is the case. If it doesn't work in that time, then I'll dumb it back down to the way we're using it now. Whenever you're ready, I'll go for it." He said, shifting his focus, and preparing to delve a bit deeper into his own power.

Faieth's words seemed distant, like someone calling to her from another room. Still, Wren heard and understood them, and tried to nod in response.

Like going from twilight to midnight in an instant when one is used to the sun, his power crashed over her again. Wren's lips parted in an agonized gasp, and she felt her heart pounding furiously in her chest. She clung to the queen though her hands shuddered from the intensity. Ciara had responded. She could be reached and brought back. They just had to keep up their power for a little while longer.

Voices...garbled sounds that came from around Ciara beckoned her to awaken yet she did not wish to leave Tik'va "Please..don't go I have questions" she murmured as his last words met her ears "Return to the light Ciara, you will find your answers there" and then, the vision of the man who had brought her such peace was gone to be replaced by another howl in the distance. In her dream state she began to run towards it, forcing her mind to try to link with the wolf, her new brother in law Epinala.

"Where are you Epinala?" she called out, still trapped in her semi conscience state. His howls slowly began to fade but as they did, Ciara became more and more aware of the garbled voices in her head as though someone or some thing were trying to reach into her mind. She froze in her tracks, looking wildly around as she tried to discern what was happening to her and who's voices it was she heard but it was all to no avail.

Behind closed eyelids, the dark skinned queen with blood all over her white dress heard the cries of her raven twin, Reyes. "Reyes" she murmured din her sleep. It must have been his call that she had mistaken for voices.

Then something was wrong, terribly wrong. Ciara suddenly felt trapped and began to fight ferociously to awaken, her heart racing as some power she had never felt before threatened to overtake her and suddenly with a gasp that filled her lungs, olive eyes shot open and she sat up straight for a second before collapsing back to the floor as she tried to catch the breath that had felt like it had filled her lungs only to be stolen from her again. Then as suddenly as she had fallen into her trance like state, her eyes once again opened to find herself staring up into her friends face although her own breathing was still rather labored.

"Wren?" she queried softly "Wren, something is wrong..." Ciara babbled "Dark presence...I..." She grasped Wren's hands and her eyes shot open once more. "Wren!" Ciara exclaimed, struggling to rise to a seated position but finally feeling her strength returning as Wren held her hand until she could on her own come to a semi seated position. Ciara's eyes wandered around the room then she noticed that her face felt sticky. Looking down, she saw the blood that had ruined her white royal gown. "Wren, what happened..I don't..." Then Ciara began to remember and her eyes darted around the room once more as they searched for her husband, finally finding him slumped to the floor and covered in blood. "Arjak...you must help him, please."

"Yes," Wren mumbled weakly. "He... He said to help you first."

She made an effort to rise and turn toward the king all at once, but the sudden movement combined with exhaustion from the use of magic and nausea from Faieth's dark power was overwhelming. The throne room swirled before her eyes and she felt as if she might fall.

Wren caught herself on her hands and knees as heaves shook her body. A small thought in the back of her mind was grateful that they hadn't had time to eat breakfast that morning, or it would have been all over the stone floor. Still, the reaction was enough to make tears spill from her eyes and the knots in her stomach to turn into cramps.

Behind her, Faieth stood with a grim look. "Is it really that bad? To make a woman I'm trying to help cry out 'Dark Presence', and the other collapse nearly into convulsions?" It crossed his mind, but he pushed it away, recalling the Necromantic principal of Balance. "Good isn't good if it's used for evil. Evil isn't evil if it's used for good. There are not simply gray areas, because life is a gray area." His mind repeated as he walked around Wren to come to a stop in front of her, kneeling.

"You did so good Wren. I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but I needed to tweak the transfer not simply to heal her, but to rejuvenate her as well. Lady Ciara, good to see you awake." He said, standing. "But for now, both of you rest, come down off the of the energies, I know it couldn't have been entirely the most pleasant experience for either of you. With Lord Arjak's permission, I should have enough left in me to heal the wound on his arm on my own;" He said, looking to the king for his input before glancing back to Wren, "Assuming you're not up to it after that of course."

[Kris]

~Devon~


"And what is this wretched filth I see before me?", asked the young Emperor.

His gaze fell upon Devon in a rather sluggish and lazy way. Even when the last approached further for his throne, a thing which the frightened maids and the severe looking servants considered to be an act of a great insolence, the young Emperor didn't seem to snap out of his lethargy. In fact he even forced himself to yawn just to show how unbothered he seemed to be with the last's approach.

And then Devon grinned.

And the Emperor titled his head.

Eyes locked upon eyes, as if they were both trying to test who was going to blink first.

"Emperor", called Emonalach, and, as if they were timed together, the two hotheaded men looked at his direction.

Emonalach stepped forward, each of his paces were timed perfectly into a rhythm. The lackeys' whispers were joined together into a melody of eagerness that was halted the moment the last stopped.

Only then did the Emperor was kind enough to grace the two with his presence by standing up, "What is the meaning of this, Emonalach? Who is this man?".

"Your grace", spoke Devon, bowing his head softly and licking his lips before proceeding to introduce himself, "Though my pitiful appearance may fool you, my lord, I am not a commoner... In fact... In my land, I am a well known noble.... a rightfully heir that was demoted from his throne...".

Was there a spark lighten within the eyes of the Emperor?

Whispers rose again from the background, and when he noticed that the Emperor clenched his fists tightly, Devon knew he had to press on, "A familiar tale, among nobles, is it not?".

Emperor Morgan gritted his teeth, snarling at Emonalach.

"By all means", Devon continued, "It was not your enigmatic man that informed me of this. All kings and queens of the six kingdoms know the tale of your birth. I hope that with this information I earned your trust of my holy and royal origin".

"Really now?", Emperor Morgan chuckled. He set down again, snapping his fingers. At his command a young maiden approached with a tray of grapes. Picking the juiciest one, he played with it between his fingers until he landed it carefully upon his eager tongue, sucking it dry.

"So... Why shouldn't I behead you now? King or not, you are still a trespasser in my own castle"

"Well, the answer is simple", Devon looked up, "You need me, your grace".

Bite.

A silence passed as the Emperor was digesting his food and thoughts. He leaned his head over his hands and grinned.

"Need you?", he chuckled, wiping his lips with his thumb and licking them, "Why in the world would I need you?".

"You need a strong General, your grace, someone that could actually get the job done. Someone who has not only been chose by your Enigmatic adviser, but also share your interest and your revenge".

Another silence.

The Emperor reached his hands for the tray, picking another soft and delicious grape, shooing the girl in the process.

"Sounds interesting... I care to know for your price, however".

"The head of the Thane, and the kingdom of Norgard, a small price to pay for the reins of the world, is it not?"

"Are you really that good to dare bragging?"

"Guilty as charged".

"Hump.... I shall not provide you soldiers".

Devon shook his head, "I hunted with my squads, with wild animals, with savages... I have my small army at my command... However..."

"What is it?"

"I have never had the pleasure to march with the undead..."

Whispers from the crowd rose again.

"ENOUGH!", the Emperor shouted. Once the room was hushed he looked back at Devon with a serious expression, "How much you know of the-!"

"I was watching the great battle in Norgard, The Nephilim have been an interest to me ever since..."

Emperor Morgan looked at Emonalach who nodded back at him.

"It appears my advisor trust you...".

"Do we have a deal, then, your grace?"

"Yes... we have... General".

[Wattz]

Location: Sonata Courtyard, Norgard

"Back to the castle?" Baxter inquired, just a touch bitter. He thought of all his things blown up in his room, all hope of salvaging even the smallest scrap quite low.

"Yes, yes, back to the castle where there could just be more of those lovely little traps, and where the whole foundation could just come crumbling down." He made a sweeping gesture with his arms, letting them fall down to his sides while rolling his eyes. Baxter looked around sheepishly, just remembering the tone of the conversation, then drawing back into himself.

"Well, I do hope Miss Fairchild will be alright..." he mumbled.

"As do I, perhaps we'll find someone who can attend her it town," Caleb replied softly. After his confrontation with Helena he was pleased, but very exhausted. His injuries caused him worry watching the others head back toward to castle. "You'll be able to carry her a little further friend?"

"Maybe we'll find someone who can fix me up also." Caleb added hopefully.

Baxter brought the unconscious woman into her arms. She was in far better shape, though her body was still exhausted from shock. He began walking alongside Caleb. "Oh, I'm sure if you badger the paladin woman she'll lend you a hand again. She did it once, why not again?"

"Well she's heading in the opposite direction already," Caleb waved his arm after where the others had gone. "I'm sure we can find someone else after we see to Misses Fairchild."

Silence between them for a while. Baxter searched around for something to say. "So what's this next mess all about? The explosions. You'd know better than I, anyways," Baxter said with a slight note of bitterness that he immediately regretted. Around these folks, Baxter was always moving forward, and rarely understanding the root cause of any of it.

"Something dark," Caleb sighed, "I don't know what it is, but these have been dark days of late. I can only imagine that it is all related." Mentally he added to himself, but I hope to find out soon. The determined anger that he'd been resisting until they had helped, soured his thoughts for the moment.

Softly he added, "don't worry Baxter, it is probably safer to not know what is happening. Only that something does not want the land to have peace." He held his thoughts for a few minutes as they walked. "The Oracle brought you here for maybe that purpose," Caleb added, unsure on how to ease his friend's worrying nature.

Some time later...

Miss Fairchild rested peacefully in the medical ward, her breathing less sharp than before. Such were the miracles the power of healing could provide for mere mortals. Baxter wondered what it would be like, to have such an ability at one's fingertips. He made a note to ask Helena more about it later. It wasn't every day he had the privilege to be in the presence of a paladin.

"Fairing well, Gerald?" Baxter called to his friend, whose wounds were being seen to by a cleric.

"Hopefully better soon," Caleb was laying on his back as the cleric worked away at him. He was shirtless against the cold country as his wound was attended too; a large gash that had made his attending grimace at the sight. Caleb insisted that it wasn't as bad as it looked. She silenced him with a look that made him close his eyes. Laying back he drifted away in his thoughts, his mind clouded as it were he fell in and out of a sleeping state.

The healer healed with magic, stitching his wounds together again as much as she could. But there seemed to be other injured and she needed her strength. When Caleb came back to himself, she'd sticked him shut and bandaged him heavily. "You should be able to take those off this evening," she told him.

Caleb lifted himself off the bed and set out toward Baxter tiredly. Only now he was beginning to feel the cold against his skin. But his blood soaked shirts lay in a pile with the sheet they had brought Miss Fairchild in. After the cleric had undressed her, she had given both Baxter and Caleb a dirty look.

"I should be better now, we should check on Miss Fairchild later," he said softly. Free of his upper clothing, the bone and hunting knives were more revealed to draw attention to him then before. "Friend, come use your bartering skills and find me some new shirts."

Baxter shook his head, then motioned for Caleb to follow. "Well I know there were some shops around the town."

Caleb pulled a few coins from his pocket and held them out to the merchant, "it's not much but I'm sure you could get me a few shirts and even replace some of your wares lost in the castle."

Baxter cringed, the memory of his possessions blowing up in his face. All his best sells, his favorite knives, his expensive scrolls and baubles... gone. "I don't know how much of that I can afford to replace, but... it's worth a try."

"That's the spirit."

[Anne Bonny]

Wren eventually found her way to the wall of the throne room, and as minutes ticked by the churning in her stomach eased. Still, as she stood silent and still, she had no idea how much time passed. All of her attention was focused on the man who had turned out to be someone completely different than he had claimed.

Her green eyes darkened, lips turned downward into a frown, and slim arms folded across her chest, the healer appeared every bit as displeased as she felt. Faieth went about helping to stop Arjak's bleeding, but as soon as he had a moment to pause, Wren called his name with a low growl.

It had been nearly an hour by that point. The pain should have been severe but either Arjak was tough, or the blood loss was profoundly effecting him. Faieth stopped to inspect his work, glancing over the fully healed, but deeply scarred area of his flesh.

Unfortunately, given his talents, it was the best he could do. With a simple bow, followed by the king's dismissal, Faieth pivoted, and his eyes seeked the room before he heard that dark voice from across the room. He shuddered lightly, surveying that glare, like molten rage pressing against green stained glass. Knowing full well that just because one is a healer doesn't mean that they can't, nor won't strangle you, Faieth approached cautiously.

"So, I feel as though we were unclear on exactly who I am somewhere along the way. It probably happened when I... Well, blatantly lied to your face. If it helps, I had to. You don't understand why yet, but if you literally give me... Gods, one hour? This can all be cleared up. But I don't think the proper place would be here. You know, in an open throne room... In front of "King" and "Country", if you take my meaning?" He glanced back and nodded to Arjak and a large contingent of guards. "I don't quite know what the policies on my... Specific school of study are in this kingdom, but I never like my odds when it comes to that."

Wren's eyebrows arched upward. "You don't think the proper place would be here?" she repeated. "Then where do you suggest we go? Shall we find someplace away from any prying eyes or witnesses? Should I accompany someone who I obviously don't even know, with powers I don't understand? Maybe we can find a place as dark as your magic to have a discussion?"

Her hands moved to her hips and Wren shook trying to contain her anger. "I trusted you once already, and what I thought about you was untrue. If you think I'm going anywhere with you without knowing exactly who and what you are, you're absolutely mistaken!" Behind them, there was a gruff fit of grunting as the King struggled to stand, ultimately helped by one of his guards.

"You'll say your piece here, laddie." Arjak spoke in a gravelly, tired voice. His eyes were dim and his skin ashen pale, only helping celebrate the new bright pink scar on his shoulder. "Your voice shan't carry, and for saving my life, I'll keep yours intact, despite your secrets." The King pressed himself against a pillar in the throne room, supporting his weight where his legs could not - not until he got all the blood he lost back. At least he wasn't bleeding any longer, and he had earned another scar, and a hideous one at that.

As the voices within the throne room grew louder, Ciara's inner fury began to quickly increase. Arjak may be king but he was also her husband and there had been enough dishevel for one day already so early in the day. Her hands moved to her husbands face, soothingly as she spoke "My husband, there has been enough unrest within our new home for one day already and you need your rest."

Arising from her kneeling position beside Arjak, the new queen addressed the captain of the guard "You there, our king needs to rest and heal. Help him to our private quarters and remain with him until I arrive." Despite any protests Arjak may have attempted to raise with the fiery raven haired woman, they would have fallen on deaf ears as she would have no part of risking her husband's health one iota further. "I will come to you soon, my love.' She kissed his cheek and then moved towards Wren and Faieth.

As she approached them, she held her hands out, taking Wren's into her own "My dear friend, let us discuss this civilly in private, shall we?" In her smile was conveyed the calmness that had always been a part of who Ciara was, perhaps even more so in her new role as queen. She nodded to Faieth although still speaking to Wren "Come with me."

The fair haired healer hesitated, but eventually released Faieth from her icy gaze and followed the queen without protest.

Ciara moved then, through the doors of the throne room and into a corridor where she turned into a smaller room furnished lavishly with several chairs and a sitting table. With one hand she made a sweeping motion towards the table and chairs "Please, let us be seated."

Only then did she release Wren's hands. Ciara eyed Faieth curiously, not yet quite certain what to make of him.

"Perhaps Wren, if we give him a moment to explain we can make sense of this, together you and I my friend."

Wren had become an intricate part of the queen's life since their journey had begun oh so very long ago aboard the good captain Sinclair's ship and hopefully Ciara's presence now would give the healer the pause she needed to calm herself that together, they might understand Faieth, and that Wren might know in her heart that Ciara would never allow any harm to come to the woman she cherished as her friend.

With a shuddering sigh, Wren took a seat and folded her hands in her lap. She looked up to Ciara and her eyes softened. Perhaps her friend was right. Perhaps she had been judging the stranger too harshly.

"I suppose it wouldn't be wise to talk about such things with such impassioned feelings," Wren muttered, doing her best to steady herself. "I will listen, Faieth."

She paused and eyed the man warily. "Is that indeed your real name?"

"Funny that..." Faieth began, setting his cane to lean against the nearest chair and stepping away from it; "I was just thinking, 'Good Lord, where to begin?' And there we go. My name. Faieth. That's word play. Take a word, toy with it while, and you have something entirely different. So, in fewer words... No, that is not my name. But it's ok, because that's a lie I tell everyone, including people that know the rest. Fact is I prefer Faieth and therefore it shall remain. Besides, what you want to know is the meat and potatoes of the story. And now that I began with that charming little anecdote about using a fake name, I'll get to the point. I was a healer. I still hang on to the teachings, in fact I hold them dear. However, if you want the truth of my profession, I'll go so far as to be boldly honest. Wren, Lady Ciara, I am, have been for years, and will, until the day I die or perfect the art, forever be a Necromancer."

Wren's gasp was audible. She had felt a dark magic from the man, that was certain. But a Necromancer? That was much blacker than she had presumed. Her stomach lurched again at the memory of Faieth's magic running through her, and she had a sudden urge to take a bath.

Had it not been for Ciara's calm presence at her side, Wren might have gotten up and left the conversation right then. But as it was, the girl stayed and Faieth continued.

"Now, I know what you're thinking. Foul Sinner. And you have no idea how often I hear it. I mean, I know it's literally the art of raising the lifeless into a state of false life, but the amount of times I've been called something profane for my School of Study is actually quite absurd. I mean, I think murderers get less trouble for what they do. I mean, at least they're just executed. I've had villages find out, and within moments they had a stake up in the center of town. Ignorant, superstitious cretins. However, enough of that. Any questions before I begin on the even longer explanation of my intentions as a Necromancer? I swear, it will clear up the whole 'Dark Power' thing in an admirable light."

Ciara listened to Faieth words, nodding her head as he spoke but her eyes darted to Wren's face. The healer would assuredly have more issue with Faieth than Ciara herself might. Was Ciara not a Druid? Were her own ways and beliefs not different than that of the healers?

No, Ciara would not judge Faieth until she heard all that he had to say. Squeezing Wren's hand reassuringly the new Queen nodded to Faieth solemnly "I will hear your explanations, Faieth. Because you utilized your powers for good reason just now, you are owed that much."

Wren grimaced. "I've always been taught that a necromancer's powers were nearly opposite than a healer's. I don't know how you can clear up anything. Necromancers... you use the bodies of the dead as your own personal-"

She stopped with the sudden realization that her voice was rising in anger again. Wren glanced up at Ciara who held such a tight grip on her hand, then lowered her eyes to her lap in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she muttered, more to the queen than Faieth. "I just... Nevermind. Please continue."

"Very well." Faieth began once more, not even attempting to measure the contempt on Wren's face. His head turned sideways, seemingly in shame, avoiding eye contact with either of them. "Have you ever had anyone close to you die? Or at least witnessed someone else feel that pain? I know I have. And Ciara, you or potentially your Husband may have had that fell honor today without our aid. Wren, I can't speak for you. The fact is, you keep thinking, 'What if I could bring them back'. I know the feeling, and I've watched that bargaining played out. But as of right now, the true resurrection of a human life is simply a nice thought. A coping mechanism for the broken hearted. But if I have my way, myth and reality will collide. I'll give you a quick rundown. I was scooped off the streets of a small village in Esgares as a boy by some mages from the college. They took me in, gave me a home, let me delve into some greater aptitude they saw in me. But soon enough, I realized I didn't want to partake in the studies of their magic. I soon chose the path of the noble healer." He paused glancing up at Wren as if to say simply with a look, this is fact, I swear it.

" I studied for about five years. as my power as a healer grew, so did my ambitions. I'd spend days at a time in the city morgue, helping with autopsies, preparing burials, trying to understand the human body. Everyone thought I was attempting to understand the human body better as to further my healing capabilities. In truth it was a reckless dream I still hold on to until this day. I wanted to understand the spark. That which gives us life. Not to make it everlasting, but to return it to the lifeless. I went on like this for the better half of my instruction as a healer, until one day my head instructor got suspicious. After questioning my goals, he said that it was a dream, but my time with the dead was borderlining on something foul, and that I should be focusing more on the living. I asked him 'What can be foul about bring life to the lifeless'. He threatened me. 'That's necromancer speak. if you keep it up, you'll find yourself thrown out of this place.' he told me. So, I stopped. I halted my research, just long enough to, heeding his words, find after a painstaking search someone that could teach me the 'dark arts' as you've been taught Wren. Where I'm from, we call them the Gray Arts." he said, and brushing philosophy aside.

"What happens next is something a little... Unfortunate. I don't wish to go to deeply into it, so I'll meerly touch on it. The next four years were spent understanding the principals of Necromancy, and the practice of the art. I've raised bodies to a state of unlife, even developed a means, through my thorough understanding of the bodily systems, to bring them into a state of Advanced Unlife if you will, by triggering certain portions of the brain. All for a higher meaning. A perfect mixture of Healing and Necromancy; Light and Dark, White and Black, coming together to make Gray. Life. And that's my story, Judge me as you will, but know this. I may be crazy, but I know if anything else, I am far outside of evil." He said, finally, unceremoniously dropping into the chair behind in, one finger lightly drumming atop his unneeded cane, as if waiting for some sort of judgment, maybe validation, on his life up to this point.

Wren shifted slightly, slowly considering his words. Healing parts of the brain? Advanced Unlife? These concepts were foreign to her, and the girl didn't know what to make of them.

"Well," she began, unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. "Well what of your limp? Why would you fake that?"

Ciara agreed with the healer. Even if some of Faieths reasons were logical, there would be no reason for him to lie about his limp. Ciara gave Wrens hand a slight squeeze as she spoke to Faieth.

"Wren is correct in questioning you further Faieth. And I too believe, you have more to tell us do you not? It would be wise for you to tell me everything, before I return to the king for he is not as patient of a man as I am a woman. Continue, please" the queen motioned with a slight wave of her hand for him to continue. At this Faieth smiled an uneasy, sheepish grin.

"Well, try and follow my train of thought. A crippled man looks like a very easy target yes. But what right thinking, sane minded person with any dignity or moral fiber, even hidden behind bluster and bad times, would attack a crippled man. It takes a particularly scummy sort. Someone willing to take anything from anyone, just because they want it. The good ones, and I believe even a 'thief' or a 'murderer' can be justified given particular circumstance, won't attack a man whom can't defend himself. Honestly, yes, end of the day, it's a lie, but I'm sure you can respect that I'm just looking for any way I can to avoid hurting anyone. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I bet anything, and on one occasion, know for a fact, that on those lonely nights, camping out on the trail by myself, before I came across you and your comrades, it's saved me from a situation in which I'd have to seriously wound, and then try and heal a bunch of men that who wanted nothing more than to ransack my cart for all I had, until they noticed my limp." He said. "Plus, it makes a decent weapon in a pinch. Solid enough logic?" he finished, glancing between the two of them for confirmation.

Ciara listened to Faieth's explanations and while the queen may not have agreed wholeheartedly with him on all points, she did understand his reasoning.

"You're reasoning is understandable Faieth even if I do not agree with you on all points." Ciara smiled then "But you use your powers for the cause of good and you have helped the healer to heal myself and the King, therefore you have thus from this moment forward gained allies in this land."

Ciara looke at Wren then making certain that the healer seemed to be okay. Wren appeared to the queen to be mulling over Faieth words and Ciara would wait to take her leave until she knew the healer was quite alright.

"I will speak to the king regarding this matter." Ciara knew full well that the king would not be happy about a necomancer being within their midsts but the queen did have her way of keeping the king calm under most circumstances.

"Although the king can be quick to jump to coclusions or show his temper, he is a reasonable man. I will relay what information you have shared with Wren and myself."

The queen gave a nod to Faieth "Thank you, Faieth for your helping Wren, and for you honesty" then she turned to Wren, again taking her hands in her own "Before I take my leave I with to know if you are you quite certain that you are okay, my friend?" Ciara's voice was questioning and hopeful that Wren was okay but she would wait for the healers answer before she took her leave.

Wren nodded in return. "I am, thank you," she replied slowly before turning to meet Faieth's eyes.

"There is much to consider in this, and to be quite honest I'm not entirely sure what to make of all of it yet," she said, still somewhat stiffly. "I hope you will excuse my skepticism for now."

Certain that her friend was feeling well enough both physically and mentally the queen releaseded her hands as the healer turned her attention to Faieth. That was Ciara's cue to exit. With a nod of her head to both "We shall talk more perhaps later after I've checked on our king." Then Ciara slipped from the throne room to check on her husband while Faieth and Wren were left to their own devices.

(from me, Stormwolf, Mysti, and Serin!)

[Repent!]

Norgard-Sonata-in transit to the Throne Room

The aftermath of the attack was hard to watch as they moved through the city. Fires were now starting to be contained, great buildings now reduced to broken pieces of their former selves. People lay either dead, wounded, or carrying the wounded to safety. It was depressing and even though this wasn't his home, it made him think of Chanclera and how bad things must be with the way things are now. That thought, in turn, made him itch to return home even more....but for some reason he knew he was needed here more for the time being, and all that thought served was to irritate him even more...

-----------
In transit between Ivalor and Sigard


Fergal would have called this journey a complete failure given the result of their conversation, but VIR didn't see it that way. Though honestly, he didn't know what the hell to think right now given the information he received. From time to time, VIR would look down at the new strands of red in his hair as the images that blurred through his mind replayed over and over and over. At first nothing made sense and it seemed like useless words from some sort of illusion magics. Then though random pieces of information gathered from before, things started to...click. From the way Bolgan and Fergal, or whatever the hell their names were now, were talking it seemed like they were the ones referenced by the light that spoke to him. If so, then that would mean that they were the demons controlling the nephilim Fergal spoke of too. Though would that tie in Jared as well? So then why would Fergal be fighting against this Hillel person if they are on the same side? Though the same could be asked for the correspondence between Joseph, No. Vii, and himself but that was beside the point.

There were more pressing issues right now though and they were more of a tangible nature. VIR's body temperature had spiked since leaving Ivalor and it showed no sings of going down, no matter how much of the cool wind hit his face. His coat and gloves were already off and tossed to the side and it only subsided the fire to a small degree. It was like someone had his insides ablaze and the flames were spreading to just underneath his skin...quite uncomfortable, but until he found the reason why this was happening he would just have to learn to deal with it.

He knew he needed to ask Fergal about the things he saw, but was also expecting the Consul to dance around his questions again and VIR had no time for games. War was looming over Sigard and he needed answers...now. So VIR decided he needed a new source of information to answer the questions he had, and he knew just the person...

[Housemaster]

~The Seed in the Stone~
-Ruined City of Sonata, Norgard-

The city rose in turmoil as the sounds of unnatural blasts had dissipated. What followed the explosions was a haunting silence of those who had died and those who were soon to follow. It was almost dream-like, the seconds after the explosions, a heavy reminder of their mortality sweeping in with full fanfare across the city.

And in this dream-like silence the screams snapped those trapped by its lure back into reality, a jarring change in scenery.

The barracks in which the creature of the forest was being held remained trapped in his dreamlike state. The explosion drew inwards from the outside of the neighbouring room, now replaced with splintered wood and demolished rubble. The creature himself lay buried under heavy stones from a toppled wall, unharmed yet trapped as he found his limbs wedged under the workings of masons. He could hear the commotion and panic that was surrounding him but he could not understand why he was hearing such noise. Memory was dim, and for a long while he had forgotten that he was even in Sonata at all. However, the more time had passed, the more things had begun to clear into focus.

He could feel his body in the rubble, the panicking sensation of having no control over one's movement due to the weight of the stones. He did not panic, but instead he rested and sought for any signs of leverage.

His body was like a seed trapped in a stone with no way out. His only ally was his patience.

A solution crept into his mind, but it had required the use of his bare shoulders which were now covered by his cloak. With small, precise movements he began to twist his torso left, then right. Each change of direction shifted the fabric of his cloak ever so slightly, resulting in very slow progress; Yet progress is still progress in the eyes of nature. After several long minutes he had successfully shifted the fabric away from his resting shoulders and was able to proceed with his plan.

From the twisted bark tones of his shoulders rose small strings of amber resin, followed by small green vines as fine as braided hair. Through the cracks and gaps between the rocks and stones the vines climbed and twisted, slowly and surely. He could not see with his eyes where his small plants were growing, yet as they grew his awareness of his surroundings grew with them. With each centimetre he could see the surrounding chaos. His view expanded and expanded until he could finally see the castle. His vines had reached the ceiling, and were now wrapping themselves around a wooden beam, a familiar texture to the creature's touch. As his reach grew further he continued to gaze around the city. At the loss of life. The scattered panic. The numbered strangers attempting to help clear the debris. It was all becoming more clear to his eye as his close surroundings became as clear as day. His vines had now secured themselves, ready to bloom.

With one deep breath the size and shape of these vines thickened, and like a well trained muscle had pulled the forest creature from the debris; A seedling sprouting a single leaf from a rock. His cloak remained trapped in the debris, but he had no use for it now. There was no use in hiding his figure from the city now, it seems they have more pressing matters to attend to than another bizarre creature limping like an old man.

But this elder-like creature could offer aid, for it was in his nature to mend wounds. It was nature's very foundation for why life continues to exist, to strive, to heal, to survive.

And nature always finds a way.

[StormWolf]

(Mysti and StormWolf)

Norgard: The King and Queens Private Chamber

At the Queen's command, the present Captain, a kinsman of Arjak's, took the King by the arm and helped him to his feet. An older man, the Captain's hair and beard was more salt than pepper with a physique like a bear.

"As you say, my Queen." the Captain grunted as he supported Arjak and moved the limping monarch to his chamber, where he was to sit and begin recovery. Once back in his chamber, the Captain laid Arjak down on a padded reclining bench.

"Are you well, your Grace?" the Captain spoke in a sagely and gravely tone. He really was like the bear that was the sigil of his Clan. Arjak managed a cough of a laugh and cracked a grim smile.

"I've had worse, Baldur." Arjak sat up with a wince and pointed over to one of the wedding gifts he had received from the Clans - kegs upon kegs of ale and mead.

"Not to demean your station, Captain, but if you would be so kind as to hand me a keg?" Baldur looked to the rows of fermented hops and grain, then back to the King and bowed with a smirk, mocking a curtsey with his cloak, "Oh bugger off, Baldur." The two chuckled mirthfully despite the wounds. Baldur started to fill a horn of mead when Arjak interjected,

"I said the whole bloody keg, Captain." they both laughed again as Baldur emptied the horn for himself and brought the King his keg. Smiling thinly, Arjak pulled out the the tap and drank from the keg greedily. "Help yourself to a keg, Baldur. I only have half of them up here." Baldur bowed graciously and took up his own keg, drinking in the same manner.

"Always a good gift from the Clans. Alcohol or steel." Baldur mused as he took a sip from his own keg. "Quite a woman, the Queen. I'm more scared of her than I am of that blighted sorcerer." Arjak choked back a laugh as he drank, wiping the froth from his beard,

"Bold words, dear Captain. Very bold, but also very true. Ciara is can be a hellion at times, a fiery woman. Thats why I married her, though. She'll never let herself be the mewling quim of a maiden, waiting to be rescued." Arjak took another drink. "She was the one who saved me, after all. You recall that story, Baldur?"

"Aye, I'll never let you forget it either, your Grace." Baldur said, smiling.

"I'll never forget it, even without your mockery, Baldur."

As Ciara made her way closer to her and her husbands chamber she heard the voice of Arjak's Captain as well as being his dear friend coming through the door. Laughter and mirth could be heard and she took a deep breath before opening the door and entering. Nodding to the captain she thanked him.

"Thank you Baldur for staying with the king until I could return."

Baldur smiled "It is my job and honor my queen." Then with a wink to Arjak, the captain left the two alone.


Immediatly Ciara moved to Arjak's side, her hand reaching out to touch the wound as she knelt down beside him "My husband, are you quite certain that you are well? Perhaps you should lie down and rest for awhile?" Ciara very much so meant the words but as well was trying to give herself a bit of time before having to try to explain in regard to the necromancer among them.

"Rest does sound nice, but I would hate to be one of those monarchs..." Arjak grunted and pursed his face in a wince as he forced himself to sit up straight. "You know how many fat and lazy Kings there are in the world today? I'll not be one of them, even when I get too old to swing an axe" Arjak smiled through the wince and cupped his wife's face with his non-boodied hand.

"Worry not, my sweet wife. I have suffered wounds much worse in my time. A day's recuperation will do me enough good to have me on my feet again." he patted her cheek, his amber-golden eyes warm and soft as they looked upon her.


Ciara laughed at his mention of a lazy fat king. Stroking his face lightly she smiled "You my husband will never be fat and lazy. You have your wife to keep you young and virile." Ciara's velvet lips brushed his own, and her grin broadened then. For the moment she had diverted his attention from the necromancer, but the subject did need addressed.

Before Ciara began though, she poured a basin of water and dipped the cloth into it, touching the cool cloth first to her husbands bloodied hand, then slowly washing the blood from his skin, her dainty hands moving softly over his muscular chest.

Her brow furrowed slightly then, not quite certain how to broach the subject, or for that fact as to how her husband would react. While she saw Faieths reasons for his actions as acceptable, she feared her husband would not. Now was one of those times she would need to use her sway, and reasoning on him.

"I feel you should rest now my king." Ciara knew that Arjak hated when she called him her king, as he was her husband but even as his wife, he was and always would be the king. Her fingers brushed through his hair lovingly. "I want my husband to regain his strength." There was a slight amusement in her tone, one that only her beloved would recognize to be the wild passion that lay within his fiery wife.

Still, no matter how hard Ciara tried to divert the subject, it lingererd in her mind despite the smile that she wore upon her face.

Arjak laid his head back, uttering a pleased groan that sounded more like a growl as Ciara ran her narrow bronze fingers over his chest and through his thick mane of inky black locks. Long before he wore a crown, Ciara had made Arjak feel like a king with the way her touch send warm shivers rippling across his skin. Looking up at her with his golden eyes from where he reclined, Arjak recognized the fire in Ciara's eyes, and Arjak's smile only broadened as he reached up to cup her face with his now-clean hands.

"Bah," the king began, "Some ill-begotten trickster will not have me down so easily... Especially when I have you to keep my blood on the rise." said Arjak with a smirk as wolfish as his gaze, his scarred hands moving down her slender neck and flicked one of the brass raven brooches from her dress, sending the pin bouncing across the polished marble tiles with light tinning sounds. With the brooch removed, part of Ciara's dress fell away, exposing bronze shoulders and where they tapered to the supple, natural curve of her breast.

"If anything, I think my pride is wounded more than my shoulder..." said Arjak slyly.

Ciara recognized that glint in Arjak's eyes and smiled at the touch of his hand. She covered his large hand with her own, taking it within that dainty hand and bringing it to her lips, pressing softly against it as she stared into those lupine eyes.

"Faieth means well my love, you must trust me on this. Although we may not share the beliefs of the necromancer, Faieth uses his talent for good and I told him that he has an ally in this kingdom."

The dark olive orbs of Ciara gazed at her husband "I was not speaking for you, my husband, as I know I can not. But, I spoke for myself. In some strange way, I understood and believed him."

She leaned forward then, her lips brushing Arjak's "After all, Wren did save us both, with his help, yes?"

"Agreed..." said the king in a low tone, his finger brushing against her lips. "I will speak with Faieth on the matter later. For now, my head is awash in a keg of ale, and my wife is overdressed for the privacy of her bedchamber." Arjak's smile never faded as he spoke, "You trusted him. That is enough for me to give him a chance."

Chuckling, Arjak ran his hands down Ciara's frame, resting them on her hips as he looked into her olive eyes. "We have both earned an early nights retirement, I think." said Arjak, unclasping his gambison and undoing the lacing on his ravaged tunic.

Ciara nuzzled her cheek against Arjaks large hand. Her husband could be ferocious when protecting his kingdom and those he loved, and he could be as all druids, a bit wild at times even in their private chambers, but he also knew just when Ciara needed his gentle touch. And when she didn't.

Those dark eyes danced at her husbands comment, regarding earning an early nights retirement and teasingly she quipped back at him "But, my Lord, are you quite certain you are feeling well? It is not yet even afternoon my love."

As she spoke, she had already grasped his tunic and had begun to peel what was left of it away from him. Her fingers traced his wound and then she leaned forward, soft lips brushing gently against it. She looked up at him then, her eyes soft as she questioned him.

"Does it still hurt much, my husband?" Her delicate fingers began to trail lightly over his broad chest. Ciara loved touching his bare skin, tracing every ripple and muscle almost as much as she loved feeling his own strong arms holding her tightly as well as feeling his own fingers moving across her own skin. Although she did not say it, as there was no need for her to speak the words, she silently agreed with her husband. They both had far too many clothes on.

As Ciara's lips softly touched the raw skin of his shoulder, the king's eyes tightened at the corners. The scar was fresh and still very sensitive to touch. Still, he did not object, merely nodding in response to her inquiry as he watched her with hungry eyes. When their eyes met, there was a silent acquiescence between the two of them that spoke loud enough to make the mountains of Norgard herself tremble. Rising from his seat slowly, Arjak looked down hungrily at his wife, shrugging his jerking off of his broad shoulders and shredding what was left of his tunic. Arjak now stood before Ciara, bare above the waist, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He watched Ciara intently, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he eagerly awaited what Ciara's fiery response could be.

Arjak had merely nodded when she inquired if it still hurt. Olive eyes dances as she stared up at him, a mischevious grin on her face.

"Then let me soothe it for you and help you to forget the pain." She whispered the words quietly, her lips moving to softly kiss around the wound as her hands moved up to clasp behind his broad neck. Warm softly lips pressed to his bare flesh leaving a trail of glimmering kisses across the broad expanse of his chest. Delicate fingers toyed with his long locks as her lips traced around the wounded area, Ciara saying nothing but rather instead simply allowing those soft pink lips to move over his skin lightly.

As Ciara's silk-soft lips glided over Arjak's scarred skin, the Wolf King's chest rumbled with a pitch no man untouched by the spirits of the wild could vocalize. His hair stood on edge as his arms became goose-bitten under the soft touch of Ciara. While she traced kissed over the King's wounds, Arjak flicked off the second brooch on her blouse, loosening the fabric around her soft shoulders. Then, with that same deft hand, Arjak started to ease the white dress from Ciara's shoulders, looking down at her with a carnal hunger of the heart burning in his eyes.

"I feel better already..." Arjak mused in a low, rumbling tone, his heart beating faster and the fire rising in his blood. Veins pressed against the surface of his thick arms and his ears turned red with the rush of blood, his trousers becoming ever more confining as Ciara teased Arjak's pale flesh. There was a heavy thud of metal on stone as Arjak's belt was undone and his sword fell from his waist.

Ciara felt her dress slipping from her shoulder and as she heard her husbands sword hit the floor, she shrugged her shoulders allowing the dress to slip down further, the white of the dress a stark contrast to her bronzed skin.

She stared upwards into those lupine eyes as her husband towered above her. Her hands immediately moved up and around the back of his neck, pulling him towards her until their lips met. Soft pink lips pressed to his tenderly, then brushed his cheek as her now partially naked form pressed to his. Her lips played at his ear, teeth catching his lobe between them before being released and his wife whispered in his ear.

"Does my husband mean to tell me that his strength returns now?" Ciara said the words playfully as her warm breath washed over his ear. Arjak's throat continued to rumble in response to Ciara's skillful touch, making every square inch of his skin prickle with teasing waves, his ears flushing with the rush of blood. He offered her a look, sly and confident. It was as if he paid no mind at all to the near-death experience. All that mattered to Arjak was that Ciara survived the ordeal. The extent of the damage done to the city and the castle would not be known until evening, or perhaps even the next morning, depending on the extent. As worried as Arjak was for his people, there was nothing more he could do for them at the current time. Patience would reward him this time, and brooding idly on his charred throne would do no one a service either. With Ciara with him in the privacy of his room, at least the King and Queen of Norgard could keep each other's spirits up.

"It has returned in full, my queen" Arjak wrapped his thick arms around Ciara's waist, pulling her body to his, pressing himself against her as his hands worked deftly with the lacing at the back of her dress, pulling the tightly taut strings from one another to free Ciara's bronze body from the tight, white confines of her sullied dress. It had been the one Arjak had bought for her as a gift, and the would-be usurper ruined it. Arjak would be sure to drag out the man's death a week for that offense. For what Arjak had planned, the would-be usurper would die over the course of a couple years, slowly and painfully.

By the time Arjak had finished that dark thought, he had undone Ciara's dress. Putting his hands on her hips, he grabbed a fistful of cloth in either hand and slowly pulled the dress down her body until it was just a puddle of ash and blood stained silk on the ground.

"Your King has a fire in his blood, and that fire needs to be fed..." said Arjak, in an almost dangerous tone, dominating and tantalizing in its depth and pitch. He kissed Ciara back strongly, passionately, as his tongue chased hers, his fist closed around a thick bolt of her silken hair.

As her slippery muscle played a game of tongue chasing tongue with her husband for a brief moment Ciara recalled to mind the very first time Arjak had kissed her. It had been unlike the kiss he was gracing his wife with now. It had been softer, this one much more agressive than the first she'd shared with him.

It was a carnal moment between the two druids. With Arjak's thick fingers woven into her hair, gripping her tightly she returned his kiss with the passion that she felt burning inside of her. Their wedding night had been wonderful and there was no doubt about it, but the new queen simply could not get enough of her husbands arms wrapped around her tightly. She couldn't get enough of feeling his fingertips moving across her bare skin.

And she quickly got more of that which she desired when she felt her dress being pulled away and left to bundle itself upon the floor in a heap of damaged material. She wondered what her new dress looked like, the one that she had yet to see, and hoped that it would be as beautiful as the one that had just been ruined. Knowing Arjak the way that she did she was certain no coin had been spared when he had purchased the gift for her.

But again, any thoughts other than getting her husbands clothing off of him were fleeting as her hands moved to the waist of his pants, untying the string and tugging at the material until they too slipped downward and were released to fall upon the floor as well.

Ciara pressed her lithe form to her husbands, her motions slightly limited by the tight grip he had with his fingers fisted into her long silken locks but it was enough that she could feel her bare flesh pressed against his own warm flesh.

Ciara stifled a small gasp that threatened to escape into that kiss that felt as though Arjak were stealing the very breath from her and if she were to die in that moment from lack of oxygen she would die a happy woman with her husbands lips pressed to hers. When Arjak finally allowed their lips to part his wife looked up at him, dark olive eyes almost seemingly to glow with a fire of her own that was born deep within the depths of her.

Her lips played at the corner of his mouth, her hands wrapping up around his neck as she began to step lightly, forcing Arjak back towards the rather large bed they had slept on just the night before, already made by a serf earlier that morning. Her lips moved from his mouth across his jawline and warm breath washed over his ear as she murmured to her husband in a loving tone laced with sensual teasing.

"Then my husband, allow your queen to feed your needs and quench your desires." Smiling and gasping his wife's bare hips, Arjak bared his teeth and bit down on the nape of her neck just hard enough to turn the skin pink as he fell back onto the feathered mattress and comforters. Growling into her soft flesh, Arjak pulled Ciara down into him, grinding her heat against his manhood as their blood rose in a thunderous unison.

Slowly, their bodies melded into a tangle of limbs and dark hair. Sighs escaped Ciara as grunts arose from Arjak, their chest vibrating against one another as hot flesh pressed against hot flesh.

"I could do for some pampering," said Arjak in-between kisses, rolling his hips up to rub against hers, that primal need that burned in his wild heart grew, spreading through his veins in a searing flash the dulled his senses to the rest of the world. Ciara was his world in this moment, a world he would see flourish and be fruitful with his love, for he knew he would return her favor.

Ciara's eyes began to glow the color of amber as the couple fueled their passions. Each kiss and touch was placed just so purposely until finally came that sacred moment when Arjak claimed his wife, their pent up desires erupting as the two became one in a mutual display of their animalistic lust, and love for one another.

[Rook]

The silence was unnerving in the cramped Inn Room as Faieth entered. He looked despondently over his belongings, scattered around the room in his usual, unkempt fashion and he felt the flash of rage wash over him. He didn’t fight it. He was alone, there was no sense in hiding his frustration from no one. His arm lashed out violently, and his cane, propelled by fury, crashed loudly into the wall before coming to rest unceremoniously on the floor below the chipped paint where it struck. He fought back a loud curse, the bang was enough, he didn’t need to make a scene, before approaching the table.

Silently, he began to pack his equipment. Another city, another misunderstanding fueled by intolerance, and more importantly, another night of questioning why he bothers. Healers were all the same. His powers were dark, but not inherently evil. However if one is taught to think a way their entire life, it’s a moot point and a useless endeavor. The truth had nothing to do with it. As he placed the final piece of his mobile distillery into the chest, a knock came at the door. Faieth, not bothering to hide it anymore, approached the door without his cane, and threw it open. The inn owner stood before him with a grim look.

“Sir, is everything alright up here? We had a complaint from the next room of a loud bang followed by some rapid clattering.” He said, showing real concern, or as real as Faieth could imagine.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine, I’m in a bit of a rush, and I attempted to toss my cane onto the bed, but it hit the wall. I’m very sorry. If you wouldn’t mind, do you have anyone on hand that could assist me in moving my things? In return you can keep the rest of the money I put down for my stay for the trouble.” He spoke through a grimace, attempting poorly to hide his frustrations.

“Not a problem sir, I’ll send someone up right away.” He said before scurrying off. It was generous. Faieth knew it would work out well. The remainder was easily enough to repaint the whole room, with enough left over for the man to take his wife out for a nice dinner.

Closing the door behind him, he went and kicked the top of the chest closed, and dropped ungracefully onto the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, and his face in his palms.

After Ciara left, Wren simply sat across from him in silence. It stayed that way for a solid ten minutes. He wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her to say something, or vice versa. But it didn’t happen. Was it Indignation ? Hate? Intolerance? Fear? Guilt? Confusion? Faieth didn’t know what his own motives for not speaking up were, let alone hers. Finally, after that long, deadly silence, he couldn’t take it anymore. Without uttering a word, he stood. Without even a glance her way, he picked up his cane, and silently let himself out. He brushed past the guards, and dismally he walked right out the front gates and returned to the inn.

Another knock came at the door. Faieth put it aside. He’d have enough time to think about his choices on the trip. He opened the door and was greeted by a young man. He spoke, but Faieth was illucid. On reaction, he simply pointed to one of the chests. The boy nodded, and proceeded to pick it up as Faieth scooped up his cane, and, tucking it in his belt, grabbed the other one. Before he knew it, he was in the cart, horse attached, and driving it forward. Completely engrossed in thought, he wasn’t sure how long it took, but he looked up to see the gates out of the city. He pulled his horse to a stop to stare a moment, looking back around him. A headache began to form behind his eyes, and suddenly, he felt the memory returning.

"Sonata... The Flame still burns." He whispered silently to himself. The vision, like a hazy dream, came back to him. And despite his attempts to shake it off, he couldn’t. He was called here. He was sure of it. Big cities, places with competent guards? These were places on any given day he’d avoid. He had a reason to be here. If there was a divine force, something he couldn’t confirm, nor deny, but if these was, he felt that it was giving him a reason to come. Hesitantly, he began to turn the carriage back. He didn’t want to go back, but if he was going to go off of the idea that this wasn’t a coincidence, meeting Wren, helping heal the king and queen after their brush with evil? Maybe these weren’t either. So it was settled. He set his carriage in route to the castle. Who better to talk to about a sense of calling to a city than those in charge. The only question is if they’d give him an audience now that they both knew what he was.

[Repent!]

Arriving in Sigard


VIR was off the ship the second anchor was down. He took a very brisk pace in his strides as he moved through the groups of people. The fire inside had yet to subside and the wind was the only way he found comfort with this new development. He needed to speak with Jared. Though...wait, would that even be wise given the events he bared witness to in Ivalor? No, he couldn't trust Fergal or Jared to give him a straight answer anymore. He needed to go above the both of them. Someone in a high seat of power that was detatched from the situation to a degree where VIR could get honest reactions...he needed the High Consul.

Meanwhile....

In transit to Sigard
Had it really been two months already since Norgard? Gods, how the time flew by.

Livata's (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b216/hero2/RP/Livata.jpg) hands were shaking as he eased himself against the mast, crossing his arms to help his quivering fingers find some sense of stability. He never liked ships. The creaking of the wood and the potential for a storm heavy enough to turn the ship made Livata only see travel by ship as a necessary evil. Regardless, he needed rest and this was going to be the only time he was going to get it. The nature of his recent travels since his last discussion with Zelvad had been high-tension, stop and go movement....but it was worth it as he now had a very pleasant surprise for his former pupil.

Soon after getting as comfortable as he could where he was sitting, he slipped into sleep and his dreams took over...

Three days after Bria's arrival in Norgard...
"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Livata. It took me a whole day to find a way to get a message to you so I hope i'm not tearing you away from anything too important..." Zelvad did his best to keep a positive attitude around his mentor, but the events that had been brought to his attention had all but drained his want for a smile, yet here he was...grinning like an idiot. He had to be strong now. Whether it be for Bria or for his own sanity...he needed this.

"Anything for you Zelvad. I know you wouldn't have sought me out had it not been important." Livata quickly studied Zelvad while they exchanged greetings. The young assassin definitely looked more worried than usual. He shared some of the same body language Lieroian had when the Elder had sent him to Norgard to watch over Zelvad and his growing powers. Livata couldn't help but smirk back at Zelvad's smile when a short silence made its first entrance into the conversation. The weight of the world is on his shoulders and Zelvad still finds a way to work up a smile...

"You're looking a bit off since I last spoke with you, Zelvad. Is everything alright?"

Zelvad cocked his head to the side to notice Bria with Helena and out of earshot. Then he turned back to face his mentor.

"...Lieroian's dead, and I have the scrolls."

"What? How-"

"She drew the signs, Livata. She said he made her promise that the scrolls found their way to me."

Livata could only respond with stunned silence.

"Helena's volunteered to help me dechipher them. If I had any choice in the matter I would pack up shop right now and be in Chanclera, putting Cronus's head on a pike and seeing my mother and father safe...but the Elders have granted me a dying wish: one from her death bed, the other from his final breaths made to reach across the seas, and I must aim to see them completed."

"Surely he could have made a better way than this to-"

"You really think Lieroian would have let this happen...to a child of all people...if he had a better option!?" Zelvad snapped back in a hushed yell."These thoughts rooted in the old ways are what is going to get all of us killed if the Nephilim get any stronger."

Zelvad sucked his teeth and shook his head with a heavy sigh before he continued.

"If I were a betting man, I'd be willing to wager that Cronus killed the people giving Lieroian shelter. Also it would be another safe bet to guess that they were her mother and father, so now she is orphaned. It is because of the clan's current internal conflict that her childhood is now lost and that she has no family. Even if I can save the clan and aid in the salvation of the realm from this evil, nothing I can do will be ever come close to being able to make amends for what she has been made witness to...but I can at least try to be here for her now, so that I can give her a future that will forever outshine her past..."

The dream faded as a hand shook him from his rest.

"Livata, wake up. The captain says we're almost here."

"Hmm? Oh, thank you Ziva (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b216/hero2/RP/Zelvadmom_zpsfe290d8e.jpg)...I guess this trip took more out of me than I thought." Livata chuckled as he stood up and then went to cross his arms, but was stopped when she lightly grabbed his left wrist.

"You're shaking...what's going on Livata?"

"It's nothing. I'm just not too fond of ships is all."

"Livata, while my husband may not mind...I don't like all the hush-hush. You owe me that much at least for working on faith alone."

Livata smirked as his eyes met hers, recognizing the seriousness in her eyes. Zelvad really was his mother's son.

"Ziva. You know just as well as I do that Chanclera has become less and less safe for the two of you in the past two months..." Livata lifted a lock of her red hair then let it drop back down soon afterwards, "...for reasons I shouldn't have to explain. It's been nothing short of an act of what ever gods exist that you're still alive right now given the...tenacity of the clan so far. You and Risel will be safe in Sigard, no one knows you or your husband here, so it will be easier to blend in. I just wish he hadn't taken a separate boat..."

The ship reached dock and Livata stepped out first to bump shoulders with another man in quite a rush. His hair was a mixture of red and black, and he carried a very familiar pair of goggles....

VIR turned his head to make as if he were to verbally eviscerate this crotchety looking old man that had just rudely bumped into him. Though upon locking his eyes with the man, his hard stare softened for a split second in faint recognition. He had no recollection of ever meeting this man, but why did his guard drop the more that he was standing here staring down this man?

The warrior felt like he was staring at what he would look like in 10 years. Livata saw something much different though, something much more close to home as old ghosts from his past were coming back like a flood. This shouldn't be happening, but Livata found himself speaking first. He could only get one word out, but it shook the both of them to the core:

"V...Virgil?"

VIR's eyes went wide as the word sent shivers across his entire body, which in turn made the fire inside that was now settling in his gut rage even harder. A familiar feeling came across him soon after, the same one that filled him whenever he's moved to avoid No. Vii.

It was stronger this time...a hundred fold stronger and it threatened to envelop him to the point where it was time for a decision based on the only thing he knew how to do: fight or flight? VIR slowly clutched at his stomach as he took a couple steps back, then turning to run full tilt in the opposite direction. He had heard the word that described this feeling many times over during his travels though only now could he really appreciate what it truly meant:

Fear...

Livata stood in silence again, as the man ran away. He began to give chase, but the man was long gone. As he was trying to find some reason as to how this was happening right now, the reason he was here in the first place grabbed his attention again. His head jerked to meet Ziva's eyes, his eyes were lucid, yet wild. "Do you know that man, Livata?"

"I...I thought...It's nothing." Livata turned and started walking again. "We should keep going. The people I have guiding Risel would be worried if they beat us there."

[V]

Norgard, Capitol Sonata

Caleb and Baxter strolled through the town searching for a merchant that dwelt with clothing. The icy winds of Norgard brushed against his naked skin. Whether it was just his shirtless attire, or his Ascaran skin covered with scars and the wounds of battle, but they were receiving a lot of attention. They walked the roads with glances from all, looks of appreciation, winks for them, and flirtatious comments to follow this interest.

Baxter dragged him away from one final interaction with a woman, "we need to get you some clothing quick," he winked and pulled Caleb into a store.

It didn't take them long to pick out an outfit for Caleb, a large dark shirt similar to what he had used to wear, as well as a heavy coat to protect him from the weather.

It was then, that something amazing occurred. And from within Baxter emerged a creature of confidence and daring. This strange different man bartered with the store owner. He was merciless in his approach from the beginning and only made steps toward that path. Before long Baxter had the store owner spluttering and wheezing trying to counter him. But Baxter would have none of it, his mastery of the merchant trade far exceeded this ones.

Only a short time later, "fine! Fine! Take them... I accept those terms," whimpered the store keeper, as he sobbed on the ground, "please," he added, "take these gloves as a ... as a gift..."

"That's more like it!" Beamed Baxter, depositing a singular coin - and the one with the lease value - onto the counter. He collected his new gloves, they fit him perfectly. "Shall we get something to eat now, Gerald, friend?"

Caleb was too amazed to speak.

"Aye," Baxter clapped him on the arm, "I am that hungry myself!"

~

Though they had managed to find the clothing shopfront, finding someplace to eat at proved much harder for the pair. The earlier explosions and panic made many sellers hesitant to open up once more. In the end they had to resort to some roadside seller.

After buying their meal, Baxter panically questioned, "Gerald, do you even know what this is?"

"Well," Caleb took a bite, his mouth full of meat, "some animal."

The merchant picked at it, lifting something out of the meal. It was black, long and stringy like. Baxter gave a shudder, and stared horrified as Caleb dug into his. "I-I- don't know if I can eat this."

"I've eaten worse, more unknown meals," Caleb licked his fingers, "back in my mercenary days."

Baxter sniffed at the food and scrounged up his face. "I can't imagine that..." He poke his finger in. "Something moved!"

Caleb peered over, indeed something was squirming around. "That'll go down well."

Baxter gave an intent look at it, then up to Caleb, back to the meal. "I.... can't eat this."

~~

Their excursions complete, the pair began the walk back to the castle grounds. Caleb was unsure what they would find once they arrived but hoped the situation hadn't worsened. He gave a look to the merchant; without the means for some self defense, Baxter held a sense of frailty about him. Not that he had been much of a warrior.

"Baxter these are dark times," he ventured.

"Gerald!" Croaked out Baxter, "don't.... don't remind me please!"

Caleb, ever forceful, pushed onward, "I don't like that I've taken the Bone Knife from you. Not when I have my own weapons." Well, Caleb noted, he had them somewhere. His hunting knife was in his belt. He had to find his scimitar, hopefully his room hadn't blown up. "I think you should take it back."

The merchant groaned, "it, it makes me squirm to even look at it - no a passing thought sends shivers down my spine. Gerald, I say, keep ahold of it for a little while longer."

He was having none of these protests, forcing it into Baxter's hands. "It would set my mind to ease, if you held onto it. Perhaps for awhile until we have a replacement."

"What about that other dagger you have, can't I take that instead?"

"No," growled Caleb. Turning his body slightly as if trying to hide it from sight.

"Fine, fine!" Relented Baxter, waving his hands around.

"Great," Caleb sighed out relieved. He whispered softly, "now I can feel more at ease, damned weapon was making me see ghostly figures."

"Wh-what was that, what did you say just now Gerald?"

"Nothing," he replied innocently, but it made little matter. Baxter was giving the knife a fearful stare before hiding it away.

Before them, the castle was rising into view and before they knew it they were back to where they had come from earlier. "I suppose we should find Helena and the others."

[~N~]

Merchants are often very thorough types. They account, they keep track of transactions, sales, figures, balance sheets, receipts, inventory, market trends--so it came as no surprise that Dravon Shylock, the preeminent Merchant Lord of the World (he was warming up to that as an official title), wanted to make sure all “outstanding balances” were “accounted for.” It was thanks to this attention to details great and small that Cronus now tracked the weary footsteps of not one but two prey.

His assignment concerned only Goliath, as Dravon had ordered him to simply follow (and execute if necessary) the trader who had lost a greater sum than he could manage to pay in coins to his bet on the Goblin Races. Such were the consequences for any foolish enough to bet against Shylock, and Cronus knew this well. His “loyalty” to the Lord Trader was simply the prudent decision to stay with an employer who would provide more job security than any he had known in the past, and as the assassin did enjoy his vices and luxuries, it was a mutually beneficial relationship that resulted in a great deal more gain for the lone assassin than the “honor code” to which the past assassins of the Lunar Fangs adhered. “Honor” was an arbitrary concept that professionals today could ill afford, as Cronus himself demonstrated when he had successfully killed the other members of the order and had greater resources and luxury at his disposal than any other professional killer in the world.

And so he followed like a shadow, tracking the miserable trader’s steps back to his apartment -- the perfect place to make a murder look like suicide in light of recent events. Cronus was just about to make his move when suddenly a golden-haired youth appeared seemingly out of nowhere and entered the apartment after the trader lord of the Golden Bar. The assassin stayed his steps, waiting for several moments for the youth to leave, but it seemed he intended to stay much longer than Cronus had anticipated. Very carefully and cautiously, he approached the apartment in silence. Goliath’s shouts made him pause his steps again, as the booming words reverberated from the apartment, “THEN YOU TRICKED ME! YOU FUCKING BETRAYED ME!” Cronus held his position, hearing only a much quieter, muffled voice responding. He slid up next to the door to hear what he could: "You were of use to me... choose to run away... you'll have enough time to build your small empire... my Lord Demon, Emonalach, will start... and between... Fergal..."

What the... Cronus thought, taking a slow step back. What did this “kid” have to do with Emonalach and Fergal? What did those two have to do with each other?

Then the soft voice began again, "Your greed... better use... energy to absorb... be a wonderful "Nephil"... appear within... Sigard... Another... creation within this city..." Laughter of a truly insidious sort followed these words. Then steps and more muffled speech, but strain as he might, Cronus could not catch the words before a set of footsteps approached the door. It was time to vanish.

The golden-haired youth left, looking none the worse for wear, the assassin watching him silently from the shadows. Had he been on his own, Cronus would’ve taken after the lad, but he had a job to finish first: Goliath’s murder. Giving another half a minute after the youth had departed, he slipped out and silently crossed the distance to the door, finding it already open. Opening it noiselessly, he peered inside, scanning the room for his quarry.

What he found stunned him. Goliath had moved quicker than he had anticipated. Much of the furniture was already covered in white sheets--what was left, for much of the place was already emptied of whatever belongings had been there. He was getting ready to leave the city, Cronus surmised. It made sense; Shylock would not be the only one he owed money to in Sigard, and suddenly the city would be very dangerous for him. Cronus himself was evidence of that.

Where are you... Cronus thought to himself, stalking slowly from one room to the next. In the adjacent room, he found Goliath...

... hanging from the ceiling, his life already gone from his corpse.

You were leaving--why would you...?

He moved closer and grabbed a hand with his left, and Goliath’s throat with the other.

Still warm...

This was staged. Someone else already thought to do what he had come to do himself! But who---

The boy. Goddamn it!

A breeze followed as Cronus dashed from the apartment, flying upon fleet footsteps to exit the building and catch up with the golden-haired youth he had glimpsed only moments before. Looking left and right, he moved as quickly as he could, down one street and then doubling back to the other. Fuck! Where was he--

Just then he saw a golden head disappear around a corner a block away. Like a predator who had caught the scent once more, Cronus pursued his new prey. The lad already set him on edge. His mind raced, recollecting the scene. He killed him almost without making a sound! No struggle... no scuffle, no resistance--verbal or otherwise! Something wasn’t right. Cronus prided himself on his skills in the dark arts of murder and stealth, but even he would have been hard pressed to re-enact the same execution with as little effort and fight as the boy seemed to have done. There was an unseen variable here and much as it irritated him to the core to admit it, he would have to be cautious with this callow weakling.

Better to strike him down violently and swiftly from ambush than take any chances.

Moving deftly through the crowded streets, Cronus caught up to the next corner and strained again to catch sight of the boy in the crowds. Fucking people he thought to himself, snarling with frustration as his anger started to take hold in his veins. He began shoving people out of the way, eliciting cries of offense and irritation that were met with deadly glares from his own two eyes for those who even thought about retaliating. One glimpse of his shimmering blade was enough to silence their bullshit “courage.”

Once more he caught a glimpse of the fair-headed lad slipping down another alleyway. Where are you going, runt? Cronus wondered. He glanced around at the streets, trying to figure out where this irritatingly difficult fawn was leading him while continuing his pursuit with determination and purpose in his steps. The noise and commotion of the daytime produced too much static for him to stop long enough to be certain. Capital Senedon was perhaps the highest populated metropolis in the six kingdoms and Cronus was not a native. The winding streets and concrete jungle made this particular task of following his prey unusually difficult, and getting his bearings was all but impossible while he was focused on the task at hand.

Another turn, and then another, the boy always slipping just out of sight and reach. It was like chasing a phantom and Cronus shook his head in growing irritation, picking up his pace even more. Damn, he’s quick. Again, the thought that something was not quite right here tingled through his body like an instinctual sixth sense warning him of some unseen danger. But Cronus was not one to fear any adversary, seen or unseen, so he pressed on, undaunted.

As if in response to his thoughts, a familiar sight opened up before Cronus...

******************

“What do you mean, ‘you saw him entering the sanctuary of the Elemental Warriors Project?’” Shylock demanded of Cronus.

“I meant what I said, Lord Trader,” the assassin replied, gritting his teeth. “The ‘boy’ -- if that’s truly what he was -- entered the grounds.

“I followed him into the warehouse where the project is housed. I saw a number of them there, training, conditioning, preparing themselves for what’s to come...”

“For what’s to come...” Shylock mumbled distractedly, “... indeed... for what’s to come.”

“You said he killed Goliath? And you know not how?” the Lord Trader inquired with rousing shake of his head, his eyes shifting through his thoughts with concern.

“Yes,” Cronus continued after a pause, narrowing his eyes a bit, paying attention to his lord’s unusual moment of distraction. “And he was meeting with Fergal.”

Shylock’s eyes widened and met Cronus’ directly. “About what exactly?”

“I was not able to hear. I could not, in fact, get closer without them noticing or recognizing me.”

“Goddamn it,” Shylock cursed, turning away. “We need to get there. Now.”

Summoning up reinforcements and issuing orders for more to arrive when they got there, the Lord Trader of the Scales made his way to the secret location of the Elemental Warriors Project.

He was not about to let such a grand investment fall to sabotage...

***************

“Fergal, our esteemed chief investor and overseer of the Elemental Warriors Project has arrived,” a servant announced as Shylock, Cronus, and his retinue came marching onto the premises in force. The old man led the pack with his stumbling green standard-bearer ever at his side, quickening his own pace to keep up with the Lord Trader’s longer strides. He approached Fergal, who was stunned at this sudden unannounced arrival, his glittering green eyes fixed upon his target piercingly.

“Shylock! What are you doing here?” Fergal called out, wrestling down the spiking rage within himself at having to deal with the Merchant Lord of the Scales at all. His voice did not quite fake the surprise he wanted to project.

“Perhaps my associate here should see to your head, Fergal,” the old man countered, “or have you simply forgotten that I own this project and have most recently received full support from the Council for funding this little endeavor? Yes? No?” Shylock proceeded in his determined way, approaching the stunned Fergal.

It was not lost on Fergal that he was dealing with perhaps the biggest threat to his existence walking the earth at this moment; they all knew of Shylock. Word had spread quickly of his defiance among the damned, and every time he was underestimated, someone or something had paid with his, her, or it’s life. Feeble and mortal as he was, without either great strength, great skill in combat, or great magical power, the Merchant Lord of the Scales used his own talents and keen intellect to devastating effect. With Shylock, one never knew just what kind of hand you were playing against, but one could be certain of this: he always had a trump card up his sleeve.

So, Fergal, with all of his seething, raging pride boiling inside of him, swallowed back his acidic reflex to simply destroy the Merchant Lord where he stood, and addressed him in as cordial terms as he could suffer. “Yes, of course, Shylock, I have not forgotten--how could I?” he strained forced laughter. “But that leaves my question unanswered! Is this just an administrative visit, then? Overseeing the progress on our little operation here?”

Shylock drew within polite talking distance of Fergal, close enough that he could smell the unwashed stench of his standard-bearer--who was at this moment completely oblivious to how badly he smelled. To others.

“I want to discuss your dealings with certain associates of late,” Dravon proceeded.

“Oh, I assure you, there are hundreds that I deal with on such an endeavor as this; why, just to keep it going requires meeting--”

“...one in particular,” Shylock cut him off.

“Oh. Who might that be?” Fergal abruptly stopped and feigned confusion, suspecting where this was going.

The Merchant Lord of the Scales glanced around, noting that several curious Warriors had gathered for this little spectacle. He refocused back on Fergal, who wore a thin smile. “A youth, was it?” Shylock turned to Cronus. The assassin silently nodded. “Yes, golden-haired, young man. You met with him recently, in fact.”

“I don’t know anyone by that description,” Fergal shrugged.

Cronus’s blade was at his throat before he could get another word out. Eyes wide, he shifted his gaze from Cronus to Shylock.

“Kill me, and you lose the most knowledgeable person this operation has, Lord Trader.”

Shylock leaned in closer, “I can find someone else. Everyone has a price.”

“Not... in time for it to matter,” Fergal grunted, feeling the razor-sharp edge of the blade cutting into his throat.

Dravon’s eyes narrowed and he drew back. “What do you know of it?”

Fergal delicately, but steadily put his fingers to Cronus’s blade pushed it back, eyeing the assassin with an unflinching glare. He then turned to the Merchant Lord. “Do you really think you are the only one with spies, Dravon?” He chuckled derisively. “I have my sources.”

He was too bold. There was no fear in this man’s eyes, even when he should’ve been afraid. That bothered Shylock.

“And this boy is one? Who is he,” the Lord Trader pressed, “Tell me, or it won’t matter how many spies you have.”

Fergal knew when his advantage had been pressed far enough, and dying absolutely did not suit his purposes, even if it wouldn’t happen in the way Shylock thought. He needed to survive this encounter. No... he needed to turn this to his advantage...

Putting his hands up, he decided to give Shylock exactly what he wanted, “His name is Jared.”

The enemy of my enemy... why not?

Shylock snorted, unimpressed. “Who is he.”

“No one special. Just an informant, like so many that work for you,” Fergal retorted.

“He’s more than that!” Cronus objected. “He killed Goliath, Lord Trader of the Golden Bar!”

Fergal appeared stunned by this news, “He did?”

“He did.”

“You’ve seen him, right? Surely you’re mistaken; he’s just a... “

“Boy?!” Cronus roared, advancing, grabbing Fergal by the throat and putting the blade back where it was. “That ‘boy’ killed a Merchant Lord of considerable size without so much as a sound or breaking a sweat. Now tell us who or what ‘he’ is!!!”

Shylock placed his elderly hand on Cronus’s shoulder and motioned for him to release Fergal. He then addressed him: “Jared is one of them, isn’t he. Answer me now, or I give the order for him to end your life and none of your Warriors here will be able to move quickly enough to save you.”

Fergal’s eyes shifted nervously again, weighing his options. Then he sighed deeply and nodded.

Shylock narrowed his eyes again. “He will meet with you again.”

Fergal met his gaze and said nothing. There was no need.

“When he does, you will have him killed. One, small, weak lad shouldn’t be too difficult for you, Fergal,” Shylock taunted him. “Lay your ambush accordingly and have him executed.”

“He holds important information, Shylock. Killing him would be... unwise,” Fergal countered.

“He’s one of them. Squeeze whatever you can from him, and then kill him,” Shylock commanded. “And if I find you working with them again, I will not stop Cronus from ending your life just as easily.”

The assassin smiled with a menacing delight at that thought.

“Never forget who holds the power in this world, Fergal. Never forget who will continue to hold the power, regardless of what they promise!” the Lord Trader threatened.

Fergal simply stood silent, doing all he could to contain his molten rage. His lips noticeably pursed and his breathing quickened.

“Of course,” he replied through his teeth. “How could I forget?” he snidely added.

“I’ll be watching you, Fergal. Every. Move,” Shylock said, emphasizing each word. Then he turned to Cronus and his retinue. “Come. This operation is proceeding well. I’m sure it will be ready in time.” With that, he and his company withdrew. The tension in the room remained until long minutes after the last of them had exited the building.

“He’s not to be trusted,” Cronus muttered when they were in the streets.

“I’m counting on his self-interest, Master Audata,” Shylock answered. “As long as he’s thinking of himself, he’ll have less objections to betraying one of his own, just as he demonstrated to us.”

Cronus considered the logic of the Trader Lord and was surprised at how coldly efficient it was.

“Still, you’re right,” Shylock stopped and smirked at him. “You’re going to make sure he stays reliable. For now.”

Cronus returned the smirk and nodded. Someone was going to die.

The enemy of my enemy... Shylock mused.

Indeed.

[Wattz]

Norgard, Capitol Sonata

Baxter did his best to not make eye contact with any of the passerbys. He kept one hand up to shield his face, a ridiculous kind of assurance for anonymity, but assurance all the same. That Caleb hadn't at least thought to borrow a temporary shirt was baffling to Baxter. But at least most of them were paying single attention to Caleb with many a woman's (and the occasional man's) swoon and whistle to keep him occupied.

"Come on," Baxter finally said. "We need to get you some clothing quick."

At last they found a small shop of reputability. Caleb picked out a simple dark shirt and jacket that would do him well in harsh weather. But goodness, the prices! They were much too high for Baxter's liking.

The shopkeeper was terribly gruff, but Baxter was in his natural element. He hadn't bartered in a long time, yet the words rolled easy off his tongue. But still the man would not budge, and Baxter felt that drastic measures were to be taken. Luckily, he still had his single glove on his right hand....

"Now come on then, my good man," Baxter said as he leaned against the counter and waved the gloved hand in front of the shopkeep's eyes. The man floundered for a moment, pupils growing big, a split-second hypnosis. Baxter thanked his lucky stars the man's brain was simple enough to catch the spell.

"W-what?" the shopkeep muttered.

"Glad you could see it my way!" Baxter shoved the amount of money he intended to spend in the keeper's hand--a single coin. "And free gloves? Oh, you're too kind."

"Yes, fine, fine, take them. And the gloves... I think." The keeper became dizzy, sinking to the ground for a moment to rest.

"Shall we get something to eat now, Gerald, my good man?"

"Aye, I'm quite hungry myself!"

~

The meal they'd procured from the strange, shady shop was not exactly what Baxter had expected. The only indication of the squirming creature's edibility was the fact that Caleb ate the thing with ease.

"I've eaten worse, more unknown meals," Caleb licked his fingers, "back in my mercenary days."

Baxter scrunched his nose and looked down at the thing with disdain, complaining a bit more about how he could not eat it. It didn't look too far from something he would place in a jar and sell to a customer with claims of hair-loss prevention or skin care. In fact....

The trader picked the black mass up with his fork, shrugged, and placed it into his cup. The fix would have to do until he could find a proper jar. What a state he'd been reduced to! Forced to put his finds inside of lidless vessels to potentially rot before he could preserve them. Not to mention, he was now without a weapon. Those shining silver daggers were the best things he had to his name. A pang of regret shot through his stomach as he remembered the necromancer's dagger, the one he'd given to Caleb in his fear. He had a right to protect himself though, did he not? At the very least, perhaps he could sell it for a pretty penny--save up enough money to buy something safer.

"Gerald?" Baxter slid the cup into his new satchel. "Do you still happen to have Jask's dagger on you?"

Caleb took the final bite of his meal without hesitation. "Aye, I do."

"Well you know.... I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me looking at it again. Maybe holding onto it. I've seen it do some terrible things and, well, it's just not safe for you to have!"
"Gerald, I truly insist you give me that knife," Baxter said, holding his arm out straight. "I cannot in good faith allow you to go on with that knife!"

"But... you refused it so adamantly!"

"I promise to keep the dagger safe. Besides, you have plenty more to worry about. Me? I am but a lowly trader. My safety is far less important!" A bitter truth that left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but a truth nonetheless.

"No, no, I think I should keep it. After all, I am far more qualified, like you said. What about another dagger I have? It would be better suited for you."

Baxter shook his head. "You know what that thing is capable of!"

"Fine, fine," Caleb shook his head and handed the dagger to Baxter, careful to keep the handle wrapped in cloth. "But don't complain once you start to see the ghosts!"

Baxter took the dagger gratefully. Surely this would catch him a pretty gold coin on the market.

"I suppose we should find Helena and the others."

"Agreed, my good man! Let us carry on, Gerald!"

[Koti~]

Feeling the raw muscles rolling under his skin, the slab of rock shifted, allowing those trapped below to get free, and those wounded to receive help. Epinala stood holding the piece up by himself, energy drawn around him as the stone rested in his hands. While calm on the surface and just as deep inside, he was beside himself. Not even a scant day after the wedding, the town was already attacked. No leads turned up from the search, but it was still on going. And with the king “dealing with other affairs” Epinala had taken the reigns to help recover the city. Hell, he didn’t even know how his companions were fairing.

“Thane Epinala, the people are clear.” The soldier shouted, pulling the final elderly mane from the wreckage on a shoody stretcher. Giving a nod as his only answer, he tossed the piece up, muscles clearly moving under his sweat soaked skin. With one mighty roar, he shattered the building segment to rubble, the soldiers scrambling as debris fell around him.

The work was relaxing.

“Take the weak and wounded to the temporary med station, and have the healthy do as much as they can without getting in the way. Let me know if any more large areas need to be cleared.” Epinala spoke, motioning for the wine sack. Taking a gulp, he allowed the cold wind to blow across his body, the wind frigid against his chest. A permanent frown covered his face, nose still clouded with the scent of blood and death. A scent not a few years ago he longed to smell. He sat down on one of the large pieces, drawing some looks from his fellow men and druid alike.

“No worry, I’m used to the cold” Epinala replied to them, waving them off and back to work

The work gave him something to do.

With the king out of business, and the city in a state of shock, he had stepped in to start the rescue mission, which to him still felt odd. Not two months prior, he would have let the – no, he mustn’t think like that. Still, he took hold fast, snapping the guards back to attention and beginning work on the town, finding survivors and able bodied men and women to help. Debris was being cleared, people were being rescued, and the dead were being placed just outside for later. And all the while they searched for the man who had done this to their fair city, their new city.

---- Sigard ----

Tick, two, three, four. SLICE

Tick, two, three, four. SMASH

Tick, two, three, four. STAB

The current dummy fell to the ground, cut to near ribbows as No.Vii pulled back Verkur towards him. A scowl crossed his face as he stood up, watching the other wooden figures drop to the ground. He was back at it, and this had been his fifth go at it, felling hundreds of figures within minutes, each replaced before he could really count. It did little to appease him, practice. How he hated the word, even the mental sound of it made him gag. It was disgusting and a waste of time. He wanted blood and gore, watch men run in fear as his scythe came to spell their doom.

Without a new target to kill, he headed out, just noting the grouping of people that had now entered the room. One of them was an old man who looked more like the scarecrows that resided in the training room, the other …

*Oh fuck yes* No.Vii’s thoughts rang with excitement as he eyed Cronus, keeping silent save a smile on his face. He could smell the blood coating the man, the sheer bloodlust emanating from the man’s body. If not for the silence in the room, he would have already drawn his weapon to attack, to skewer the man from head to toe in what would be a glorious fight. Patience stayed him however, as he wanted the fight to be free of the people in this room, so no one may interfere. He would have to wait… but he would keep an eye out, waiting for a moment to strike.

[Repent!]

After VIR saw he wasn't being pursued, he slowed and leaned against a nearby post. Why did he run from that man? Why did he cower at that name? There's was no logical reason for any of the things he was faced with right now. Regardless, he had to calm down and regain control. He started taking some deep breaths and found that his magics were aiding in fighting the inferno within. After almost an hour, he had finally brought himself back down to a reasonable level and decided to press on.

This would be the first time VIR had ever been to see the High Consul and was almost positive that someone would try to turn him away, but this was a special situation and he needed a fresh mind and eyes.

VIR guessed the High Consul's quarters was near Fergal's...and with some well placed questions he found that he was right. He may have also been right about being rejected as he noticed a guard posted at his door. The man turned to face VIR and met eyes with the warrior as they stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

"I need to speak with the High Consul Izulde...now."

The man chuckled. "On who's authority?"

"On the Lord Consul Fergal's. He sent me to report our most recent expedition to the High Consul himself as urgent matters arose that he needed attending to that required him elsewhere immediately."

Of course, that was a blatant lie. But this simple bastard at the door didn't need to know that.

"And what if he's not in right now?"

"Then you should tell me for how long. I am a very patient person."

The man cocked an eyebrow....then raised a hand to let his knuckles rap against the door three times. "High Consul, you have a visitor on Fergal's behalf, shall I let him enter?"

The man in front of the impressive looking mahogany desk, turned his chair and met the eyes of his assistant. He brought a hand closer to his mouth, removing a large cigar, exhaling as he did, while tapping his fingers on a pile of papers, "I'm rather busy", Izulde said.

"Wait".

Izulde removed himself from his desk, "Did you say Fergal?".

The man nodded in response.

A hint of hesitation from the Councilor quickly shaped into eagerness and strong will. "Bring him in." He inhaled the cigar.

Perfect.

The man placed a hand on VIR's chest as the warrior moved to enter. The guard made note of the axe at his side and added a glare to tell him to mind his place. VIR flashed a bright smile and a nod before slinking around the man's hand and the door soon closed behind him.

He had Izulde's attention, now it was a matter of working the conversation.

"High Consul Izulde, so very nice to meet you. I know you're a busy man, so I'll get to the heart of the matter. I just recently got back from a trip to Ivalor with Lord Consul Fergal and I came across some observations that I need a fresh pair of eyes to understand. What with Sigard moving to war soon, I figured you should be made aware of some of the key players...if you're not already that is."

VIR had no idea how much Izulde already knew about the project, or anything that had occurred in the past couple of months. So he figured he throw out some topics and find out which one catches the High Consul's ears first.

Exhale. White steam dripping out of his mouth and nostrils, outlining him like a mad bull, "Explain yourself!"

Apparently it was an all of the above situation, even better.

"Seems your own people have been working under the table..."

And so VIR laid all his cards out. He told Izulde what he knew about the elemental project, as well as everything he had witnessed since his first trip to Norgard: the pillars in Aerosia and Norgard, the Nephillim, Fergal and Jared, all leading up to his trip to Ivalor and his interaction with Bolgan.

".....though I fear all this goes well beyond Fergal, High Consul. I have a theory that Shylock may have been at one point working with the demons I mentioned earlier in a very cloak and dagger fashion, but it's all speculation and I have no hard evidence besides my report of Norgard. He may very well be innocent of all this....but I figured it would be worth mentioning and taking the time to investigate in the near future."

"Heaven".

Though Izulde was no man of faith, he was raised as a child as one. But ages and eons passed since that time, and he thought he had tore off any connection to religious.

Whatever that VIR told him, apparently, was powerful enough to make him recall of that single world. Short hymn and cry for the justice from the unseen above.

When he realized that he dig his face into his hands, the cigar ever stuck between the fingers of his right hand. Once he collected himself he took a deep breath.

"Child... If all that you say is true...", he shook his head. Technology and advances was all he really believed in. Back at Ivalor's great church, when he serve as an acolyte, he recalled of the great priest and his words of warning.

"I am deeply disturbed by this, my dear boy", he returned to sit behind his desk, inhaling his cigar long enough to call it a day and trashing it against the silver ashtray. leaning in and folding his fingers on the table, over the pile of papers, Izulde looked up to VIR, "Why tell me all this? What do you hope to gain from this?", he narrowed his eyes, "Is it personal ordeal against Fergal? Or maybe against Jared?", another deep breath, "Or maybe against Shylock?"

"Fergal has done nothing but shrug off my inquiries and my observations, and he has danced around my questions for far too long and I have had my fill of it. Bolgan himself, who had previously never met me to my recollection, gave me more information at my request than Fergal ever had."

VIR felt the fire inside spike again, though this time he paid it no mind as it spread across his body, making smoke rise off of his body.

"So to precisely answer your question High Consul, I have no quarrel with Shylock...for I have no reason to do so, and I only have an issue with Jared for his conspiring with Fergal. I assure you that the Lord Consul is at the center of my frustrations right now, and I will suffer his indifference no longer. That is why I decided to come to you. For if I went to Fergal once again, I would be willing to bet chests filled to the brim with gold that I would not get a straight answer. I need to talk to someone who is detached enough from developing situations right now so that I can get a fresh perspective on what paths to take next."

"Every action I take after I leave this room will be crucial. I need to know that what I do is not only good for me...but for every man, woman, and child in this country. As far as I can tell High Consul, the war has already started. It's only a matter of time before the blood fills our streets."

"Are you ready to leave this city... for its sake, boy?", Izulde questioned.

VIR took in Izulde's question and smirked as the weight behind it set in. He was being tested.

The warrior's hands slowly curled into fists as they rested on Izulde's desk. His eyes locked into the High Consul's with their faces about two feet apart.

"I would give my very soul if it ensured the safety of Sigard, High Consul. What would you ask of me?"

Raising up slowly from his chair yet again, Izulde walked over one cabin. It took him few minutes to search among his stuff before he pulled a "chess" like table game.

"Come, join me".

Before VIR could even wonder about his intention, the elder add in a low voice, "The walls... have ears as well...."

Placing all the parts up, he allowed VIR to notice that not all players were put into the game. Just the Queen, the king and the horse.

"My kingdom for a horse....", chuckled the elder, moving the stallion forward.

"I bet you can guess who the queen is? I'll give you a hint, She... or rather he... just as powerful...."

VIR cocked his eye at Izulde's presentation. He knew the basics of the game, so he knew the importance of the pieces. He just needed to decipher why the High Consul was using these specific pieces for:

The King stood alone, away from the other two pieces. It only moved around the board when It needed to, and that was usually when it was in trouble. Though Izulde's phrasing led him to believe that it was referencing less to a person and more to a place, which was undoubtedly Sigard.

The queen moves wherever she pleases, regardless of whatever is in her way. Unlimited power and influence...from what he saw with how well he kept his forces co-ordinated at Norgard along with Izulde's hint, it quickly reminded him of Shylock.

The way Izulde moved the knight he had placed it behind the queen, showing it was being guarded. Horses weren't the name of the game though. When you wander around the Sigardian markets as long as VIR had, it was easy to know that any stock worth buying comes imported from overseas.

Once VIR had finally put it all together, He smiled. "So...how will I know when I have found my horse?"

"It will shine in crimson... waiting to ride waves... a worthy present from the god of the sea... But in order to set sail, she will need help".

That's right... The horse was the "Strahl", Raphael's prized ship.

"Heavy guards were placed to keep it safe. They know what I've been wondering for some time now. whether or not said pirate shall return for his vessel. The ship is nothing but, yet in some sense it is still a symbol. A symbol to people brave enough, that might be convinced to join us... and might even know more of this... I read the reports given to me by the renegade Alucard. He traveled with said people".

Deep breath.

"Shylock might be the queen, but not only is he a mortal, but he is just one man... and a man that I cannot control directly. Help them seize the ship back from him and get them all here.... Protect the king... protect Sigard..."

VIR returned to his original standing position as Izulde described what he needed and looked to the board again.

"I take it my help will be there when I arrive? I'd hate to be stood up as a lone pawn looking to out-maneuver the queen."

"Yes, it will", called a voice from the other side.

Izulde looked unimpressed when Gwen stepped forward.

Her....

No wonder part of the elder was already set in motion.

"They are keeping a close eyes on Joseph, but... Ever since.... I felt it was the right thing... to tell about all we passed through... I guess you thought so as well, haven't you VIR?", before he has a chance to answer she added, "No need to worry, No.Vii doesn't know anything about it. And I believe it is best to keep it like this. I shall help with whatever that is needed."

She moved closer.

"I've been monitoring the pirates, or what was left of Sinclair's group for some time now... They will strike at dawn. There will be heavy casualties. Never the less, we must get the ship back. Joseph told me there are people there, on the other side, that he trusts. He told me to find a paladin by the name of Helena".

VIR quickly turned his head as recognition of the voice made him meet eyes with Gwen. What in the hell was she doing here? As Gwen explained herself, it seemed that Gwen and VIR were unknowingly on the same page.

His heart skipped a beat for as she mentioned No. Vii. He was so focused on reaching the High Consul, that he totally forgot about a possible confrontation with his partner. Gwen was nowhere near VIR and No. Vii's power, so she would only be a liability if No. Vii turned violent.

If they came across him again, he would have to figure out a way to keep the psychopath sated and away from bloodshed until all of this was over. Shit....

That train of thought was soon changed when she mentioned her observation of the crew that are to help procure the ship.

So that's what she's been doing this whole time...

He then heard they were to find the same group that VIR had briefly encountered during the battle at Sonata, and observed at the Star Sanctum. This meant he may have the chance to come across the man in black again. The action he bared witness to at Star Sanctum made him quiver with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

He had a foreign power that VIR knew nothing of, and a speed that rivaled and surpassed his own. He now had a chance to meet this man, to see how he would stack up against this 'power of the ancients'. He would be damned if he passed it up now. Soon after that thought, he realized how much he sounded like No. Vii as if by some sick cruel irony. It would seem that old habits die hard....

[Kris]

Chapter 2- Nothing Ever Dies

Norgard, Capital Sonata

After all the evil and darkness brought forth around the world, we thought that Norgard was our only safe heave.

We were proved wrong as we woke by an explosion so powerful and destructive that made us wish we were already in Hell.

Lovers, friends, enemies, possession and everything of value.... All were taken from us... Stolen during our sleep...

Those that survived barely had the will to continue....

But for as long as the fire of hope within Norgard is burning, we shall aim to rebuild... and fight...

But the fear is still strong among the people.

For that, an urgent meeting was called for at the castle.

The elders of the tribes were worried.

The nobles that pleaded loyalty were worried.

They knew.

They know the name of the man that shattered the idea of Norgard as a safe sanctuary.

They also knew who's magic was at worked that allowed him flee punishment.

Now the two, the Human-Demon, Devon and the Demon-Lord, Emonalach were working together...

Because of that, they summoned the heroes within the kingdom of Norgard, those capable men and women that still wish to fight, to regroup and hear the story.

From this point onward, they shall continue forward.

To the point of no return.

****

(OOC : You are now regrouping at the castle. New players are allowed to ask questions and understand by them where they stand at. (I shall control NPCs to answer your question).

I'm giving a round of posts before moving inactive players out in order for me to continue the plot (working on it as we speak) so we can start heading for the last part of this RP.

Feel free to regroup and ready yourselves as you see fit until then. If you have more questions use the OOC thread or PM me).

[Repent!]

Caleb and Baxter had found time to split off from the three of them as they wandered back to the castle hall. Zelvad was holding Bria at the time and saw that she had nodded off a little bit. He figured he wasn't going to get a chance like this again, so he just said it:

"Are you sure you're alright Helena? I don't mean to pry, but you have been extra quiet since we started heading back...."

"I am... Fairing well...", the paladin nodded, "By all means, do not trouble yourself over me Zelvad".

"As much as I would love to, you're actually making me worry even more. You shouldn't worry about speaking your mind Helena. Trust me, I have probably seen and heard far worse things than you could ever bring to me, given my line of work. What's going on in that ever busy mind of yours?"

"I was denied the time needed to process said thoughts. It is a great blur of images and emotions to me", she bite her lips, "However, for your peace of mind, I can promise you that I shall share more once we are all gathered in the castle and secured the safety of the others."

He figured as much given everything that had transpired in the past couple of days.

"Very well then, just let me know when you want to talk. My ears will always be open when you need them." Then the little one started to stir...

"Well hey there, sleepyhead. How was your nap?"

Bria rubbed her eyes a little as she responded. "Good. I'm kinda hungry though..."

Zelvad had to work a smile up along with a light chuckle in response as the child looked at him. Bria hadn't spoke much since she had arrived in Norgard, but when she did it reminded him of Lieroian, his last conversation with Livata, and the promise he made to himself..

Give her a future that will forever outshine her past...

"Alright then, Bria. We just have to visit some friends of ours, then we'll see about getting you something on the way back. Deal?"

Bria smiled and nodded.

[V]

The Castle

Before going in search of the others, Caleb left Baxter with a quick word and pat on his back. Alone with his thoughts only for company he wandered through the halls. He passed through ruined rooms and over some rubble. His anger at who had caused the magic attack returned to the fringes of his thoughts.

With all the wedding events and this devastation, he hadn't really thought to much on the Oracle. Now, alone, the question of his purpose returned aided by the disturbing visions he came upon. He felt frail, aging, uncertain, all with the unease of unknowing why he had come here.

The Oracle hadn't given him anything. Questions still remained, why was he brought here, and by whom.

Caleb found the room he'd been staying in, it was unlike he'd left it the previous day. Pushing aside some rubble he found what he'd sought. His sword and scabbard, a little dusty, seemed okay.

With it found, Caleb wandered back through the castle. He sought to meet back up with the others, Helena and the rest.

[Rayne7]

Graesin had been in the mountains when he had found the message on a band of dead warriors lying dead in the snow. After reading it he had returned to his encampment and gathered his things, knowing he'd need them. Then he had set off for Sonata, where he planned to come out of the shadows and step into the light, once again re-entering the world which he had disappeared from for so many years.

Coming down the mountains had proven treacherous, and more than once he had to climb down sheer cliffsides that were covered with ice. When on the trails, he'd discovered ambushes and had taken the would-be ambushers by surprise, and killed them with cold efficiency. Off the mountain he found that the groups of highwaymen were larger, and required more skill to take them down quietly. Upon finding where some had taken some unwary travelers, he acted as an unseen savior, relying on his ability to hide and use his bow to keep from being discovered by the victims.

Villagers that he'd passed on the way had been wary of the armed stranger whose only obvious weapons were a bow and a pair of daggers, and whose armor was dark, face hidden under a cowl. The fact that he carried little more than his weapons marked him as someone who seemed to require no comforts, and that made the villagers uneasy. But they passed him in relative silence, and mothers rushed to take their children inside upon seeing him, clearing the way and making the only real obstacles of his path the highwaymen he dispatched with seeming contempt.

When he'd finally reached Sonata he found the people reacted to him as though they expected him to be a thief and a criminal, both of which he had been before his disappearance. Nobody recognized the once-known mercenary, for which he was grateful. Finding an Inn, he had paid for a room and a bath, then shaved. He bought himself a newer set of clothes that were finer than the clothes he'd made from skins in the wilderness, and some oil for his swords.

Feeling respectable, he donned his new clothes along with his armor and weapons, and approached the castle. It was a large affair, and one that to him felt decidedly grim and hard unlike the forests and the mountains which he preferred. But they had called for warriors, and he was among them, though he still sought to remain anonymous until they asked for his name. He could give an alias, but somehow he felt that would serve no purpose other than personal comfort.

Finding a servant, he finally spoke.

"I'm here to meet the call to arms."

[Imperial1917]

Norgard, Capital Sonata

Isha stumbled drunkenly through the icy winds of the high mountains as she made her way at last through the gates of the castle. Under the dark cloth of her cloak, she shuddered, but not from the weather. No native of the land as she would be cold with such a high temperature, no matter what the foreigners said. She had learned as a child that natives either learn to live with it as one does with their family, or die a quick death.

The cloak was well made, but it still pained her when the material rubbed against her many burns. To distract herself, she thought, Am I a native of this harsh land? She didn't remember so well. She knew that she was from here, but only the cold was familiar. She had forgotten much else in the darkness of the Sigardian laboratories. So much hidden, pushed back to block out the pain...

She pushed onward, deeper in to the castle, ignoring the wide-eyed servants decked in the livery of its wealthy occupants. She had never been to such a place since escaping Sigard. A city, that was. As a little girl, her family had been nomads and so she had never gone to a city. Or had I? she wondered. She couldn't remember. Remembering made the pain become almost unbearable.

Suddenly, she realized that she was standing in a great antechamber. At least, that is what she thought it was as she staggered back into a wall, staring up at the great, vaulted ceiling. The motion sent a great surge of pain up her body as the burns were contacted by the cloth of her wear. Darkness pressed in and she fell to the floor with a groan of pain.

Why am I here? she asked herself. Wait. she thought. Where am I? How did I get here? Confusion swirled as pain and memories in equal measure swarmed her vision. A cell. A man clothed in shadows, whispering something about Norgard through the bars. Anger? Fear? What was... ahh! The pain! It overwhelmed everything else! Dead guards. A group of cowering men before her screaming as she lit them alight. Hatred. Hatred for them. But why?

Suddenly, something came back to her. She looked around the chamber, seeing it for the first time. It was a grand chamber, yes. As grand as she had thought it was. But something was wrong. She hands. They blazed. She didn't understand. Something in the distance. What was that? Screaming. Yells. Both. Metal slapping against stone. The smell of burned flesh entered her nose, invading her senses. Her clothes were singed. Servants lay on the ground, their chests a mass of burns, some trying to put them out as they scrambled to their feet. She looked back the way she came and saw the same. Banners and portraits burned along the hallway that she had come down.

And there were guards. One was coming towards her from the entrance she came through, his sword bared. His plate armor was singed black in the front, but otherwise undamaged. Behind him, another guard was helping a limp guard out of the way. The limp guards' armor was singed as well.

Isha suddenly became aware of something wet at the corner of her mouth. She put her hand to it, wiping it away. Then she looked at it, her hand lit by the flaming portraits. She dimly noted that her sword lay beyond her hand, unbloodied. Her hand was a different story. It looked like a trickle of blood had come away. She looked down.

An arrow stuck out from her chest, below her breasts. A large wet spot was spreading around the leather of her armor, though it didn't absorb it. More leaked out onto the marble floor. She looked at the arrow, not quite understanding what had happened. It's so pretty, she thought. Indeed it was. The shaft was of polished wood of a tree she didn't recognize. The fletching was of a fine bird's feathers. Eagle, maybe. There were fewer more noble birds to make fletchings from.

She looked up as a shadow fell across her. A man silhouetted against whatever lit the antechamber gazed down at her, a great poleaxe gripped in his fist. He was armored from head to toe in polished steel. She could not see his face, but something told her that he was beautiful. She couldn't help herself. She gave him a sickly smile. He raised the head of the weapon.

At that moment, everything became clear. Just for a moment. She was in Norgard, in the capital of Sonata. She had escaped her brutal captivity at the hands of the elemental warrior program scientists. She was here... she was here to help the people of Norgard. The man, the one who had spoken to her through the bars of her cell in Sigard, he had said they needed her help. That lives depended on it. She had, inexplicably, been drawn to end her own captivity, something she had never found the energy to do, to come here. Some great compulsion had driven her here. Here to talk to the people of the castle and help them.

She saw the man before her more clearly. She had seen him before, but she knew not where. She opened her mouth, to tell him that this was all a mistake. To tell him that she was a friend and here to help them. To beg him to spare her. At that moment, he said quite clearly even to her confused mind, "I didn't like the look of you when you first came here and I still don't. I guess it doesn't matter either way." He prepared to bring down the weapon.

Isha almost screamed. Almost. Instead, darkness swept over her. It drove before it her thoughts, her pains, her emotions. Everything. The last thing she knew was a distant voice saying, "Stop!"

[Repent!]

Sigard- in transit to Port Town of Galim

Before leaving, VIR made sure that a letter was to be delivered to both No. Vii's and Joseph's quarters quickly and discretely. The object of the letters were simple and to the point: keep an eye on Fergal and Jared while he was gone and inform him of any suspicious activity while he took Gwen for his third journey to Norgard.

They were both worded differently, in order to better fit the person:

Joseph's letter informed him that VIR knew of the ice warrior's "involvement" with Gwen and to mind his place before he ends up out of it and have the wrong person on the wrong end of his blade.

No. Vii's however was a little more...high stakes than VIR would want it, but it would be the only way to keep No. Vii in check long enough for him to gain any useful information. He mentioned the words "promised death match" and "a fight you'll never forget, even if it's in the afterlife."

VIR knew Joseph would act right while they were gone.

He only hoped that Vii would follow suit...

Regardless of the content, the same last words were placed at the end:


"Play nice, you two.

-VIR"


****

Night fall: Port Town of Galim-Overlooking the Strahl
Even if VIR was moving by himself, navigating the thick expanse of guards undetected was rough...having an extra body like Gwen's to watch out for wasn't really helping matters either. Having to dump and hide the bodies that wouldn't get out of the way long enough for him to slip by was interesting, but overall far too simple.

Gwen overall pointed out where they were to meet the ship's crew, and he got the two of them to the rendezvous safely.

All there was to do now was wait...

***

The two elemental warriors have rendezvoused with the others. Although they sure looked like how pirates were usually portrayed in one's mind, there was something amiss.

Maybe... that despair in their sunken eyes... that replace the usual merry attitude in one such energetic being of the sea.

Then again, being stripped of their ship for so long was probably the reason. And the nemeses they were about to face were not much of a hopeful thoughts either.

There were about 20 of them. Their leader was Mikhail, a man at his late 40's. He was not very tall, but impressive and fearsome nonetheless.

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Although there was something sincere in his eyes, it was hard enough to shake off the feelings that you might not want to trust this man too easily.

The one to stood out mostly in the group was the young lady, Margureite Skinner. She seemed too... Clean?... would be the word to probably describe her best as to why she was not to be packed with the others so easily. But she was vocal, greedy and lustful. Maybe she did belong with them after all?

*Ahem*

Mikhail coughed and everyone's attention was drawn back to him.

"Well, yer lazy dogs, 'his the plan see?", He said as he tuck his sword (an impressive looking, long blade Shamshir, probably Ascarian in origin) right at the center of paper sketch, featuring the crimson "Strahl".

"We'r gonna get in, n' we'r gonna get out, capish?"

Though there was hardly any tactic involved, everyone knew how carefully everything was made for this hour of triumph.

The date and time was chosen carefully, right after the elder Chancellor, Izlude, gave them the needed information, which was the death of one of the most successful Traders, "Goliath" of The Golden Bar.

Although Shylock was probably going to be clear of charges, his attention was no doubt was going to be diverted from any matters regarding the ship. At least for the few hours of this night.

And the fact it was the time of the tide only proved them it was their best... and probably the only window of opportunity.

Gwen stepped forward.

"Do yer thin' lass", smiled Mikhail.

And she was gone, already at the top of the nearest building close to the docks. She sensed the wind blowing at her nape and rejoice at its cooling caressing. She gave VIR a deep gaze before the last nodded in respond.

She picked one of her twin swords and carefully draw two fingers on its blade. Leaving a trail of blue aura on them she focused her energies into it.

Now it was VIR's turn.

Putting all of his powers he called fourth into the wind that surrounded the area. The mix of the two energies, ice/water and wind, was more than enough to create the fog.

Their perfect veil of Infiltration.

From here on out, the pirates moved in. Pistols in their hands along with knives and swords.

The fog gave the pirates ample time to move around the guards surrounding the boat, trying to slip around the armored patrols as they slowly but surely made it onto the ship. Gwen and Margureite took up the front while VIR and Mikhail took the rear of the crew. Once they were all aboard, the process started at a slow pace as to not make any unneeded noise to prepare the ship for takeoff. Once they were all on board, Mikahil looked at VIR as he pointed to both of his own eyes, then off the side of ship to signify that VIR was on watch while they got everything set up.

Though he couldn't watch for long as a slight pull in his chest took his attention. It wasn't painful, just odd as he attempted to trace it and found it came across the back of his neck. He went to scratch at whatever the source and felt something on the band of his goggles. The warrior raised an eyebrow, perplexed as to what could have caused it. So he decided to do something he hadn't done since he was six years old:

The goggles were held by the bridge binding the lenses as they glided up past his face and off of his head.

His fingers and eyes wandered to the strap where he felt the abrasions and traced out spell runes...someone did something to his goggles.

"Hey! What are you doing up there?"

VIR's investigation with his treasured possession was cut short as looked up and saw the fog had let up enough to follow the voice to a guard who had taken notice of the warrior standing out on the ship.

Shit...

"Intruders! Sound th-gack!"

VIR moved as fast as he could, grabbed a passing crew members knife and flinged it at the guard, having it plant firmly in his throat. Though it was in vain, as an alarm bell could be heard echoing through the docks.

"FUCK!!! We've been spotted! We need to go now!!!"

Mikhail took notice and spoke, now knowing that silence was no longer favored. "All right, ya scurvy dogs! Half of ya get us ready t'move. The rest o' ya with me, I be damned to the drink 'fore I see this ship lost again!"

"You bet!", Margureite jumped forward before Mikhail turned her way.

"Nay!", he shouted.

"Mike!"

"Back ye go!", he glanced at VIR and Gwen, and the five people aboard the ship, "Go to Sinclair. Fetch the bastard".

"Mike! No! You can't!"

The world then slowed to a crawl around the wind warrior as he surveyed the field and weighed his options.

Bullets passed by them. Singing the melody of war. Once they were noticed the alarm was sounded and once he saw how many more of Shylock's men joined the fight, it became painfully clear:

There was no way to win this battle.

There was a quick period of time to escape should Gwen and VIR join their powers and move the boat. But that meant losing Mikhail.

Then again, if they choose Mikhail, there was no way of getting the ship back....

Gwen looked at VIR, waiting for him to decide what to do.

VIR looked back and forth between Mikhail and Margureite, then took a deep breath as he looked overboard into the battle and shouted. "You'd better be still breathing when I come save your ass, old man!" He then turned to Gwen with a very stern look on his face. "Gwen...I don't care if we have to spend every drop of our power to do it, just help me speed up this ship. ALL HANDS ON DECK, READY FULL SAILS AND BRACE FOR HEAVY WINDS!!!"

VIR knew that once they were safe from harm he was going to catch a lot of hatred from this decision, but if he had been more vigilant in the first place they would not be in this situation. He could only hope Gwen and the crew could be reasoned with as he would soon expect to be interrogated while they sailed further and further away from the Sigardian shore.

[Kris]

Norgard, Capital Sonata

"I'm glad you've joined us today", Brendon the noble spoke. "It grieves me to meet you in such hard times".

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Bowing deeply to the queen and king of Norgard, Brendon stepped forward.

"Before we start, allow me to welcome our new guests"

"Graesin Talbot the trader, always a welcoming sight".

"Isha Osa the beautiful warrior, only the wind can truly speak of your bravery"

"Gidion Ravenshard, the skilled mage of the nature land".

"I took the liberty to summon these fine men and woman, in hope that many will follow", Brendon spoke, "This time, you won't be alone".

"Brendon! by the plea of the all-father, stop".

A man cried as he moved closer into the great hall.

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"Did I speak wrongly, Elder Guiveria?"

"No, you didn't, my friend. yet-", the old man chuckled, "I only think it's fair to allow our new recruits to know where they stand".

"Yes, yes you are right".

Elder Guiveria chuckled once again, before he lifted his staff up into the air, "Our nemesis is the Adversary; An enigmatic being, who refers to himself as "Emonalach". He is no human, although he wears the skin of one.

"We know little of his origin, but we know that he commends a powerful army of deadly soulless creatures, called Nephilim".

Elder Guiveria started to move across the room. His staff rocking back and forth with each step he took. tok, tok, tok.

"The group you see before you, was formed to defeat Emonalach, but they learned that Emonalach does not work alone. Greedy humans and Seven deadly generals of same kin, support him.

"We were able to defeat three of his generals, but at a terrible cost. The war with the demons seem to awaken the humans to ill emotions, stirring up wars across the world along with hatred and fear. Everyone are forced to take side, and those who don't, fall prey to the deadly desires.

"Ascara, the jewel of the desert, is now at the brink of destruction. Aerosia is a ghost kindgom. Chanclera fall to misery and Ivalor is no long the holy land.

"You have to understand, we must make the final assault against Emonalach without further delays. The demon has already grew impatient. His cruelty is relentless and he becomes bold each day. For that we have gathered you all".

Elder Guiveria stopped talking all at once. His voice was so powerful that the moment he had silenced everyone felt somewhat relieved, and yet fearful, like poor lambs without guidance.

"Our final clue lies in the metal city of Sigard, where we believed we may receive the final answers"

Elder Guiveria hushed and Brendon's moved closer, "We've prepared a ship for you, but it too, was destroyed, along with the other buildings and foundations of the city, in the great explosion. I fear that it may delay us, but we have no choice, for we have no other ship to spare".

"Not only that", spoke Elder Guiveria, "The city took great damage. We may need to ask some of you to stay behind and defend the kingdom".

"Respected elders", Helena said suddenly, "If we may be forced to part with few of us, we shall understand, however, we may still move forward"

"What do you mean by that, lady paladin?", asked Elder Guiveria.

Helena pointed at the large castle's window, where the crimson crow's nest was seen.

By the castle's wharf, some distance away, yet still visible, stood the Strahl.

Proud, crimson and beautiful.

"It might be a good time to say hello to our little friends", said Raphael with a smile.

[V]

Caleb hung close by his merchant friend as the meeting was undertook. The words about the demon Emonalach brought forth the memories of his dual with Ariel, the demon taken into the form of the man who had killed his lover. He had suffered many injuries from that encounter, but also a healing within.

But it had also invoked a deep need for vengeance against Cronus, in his mind he thought on this now. Though, there was little he could do about such. Ever since summoning the Oracle he had felt required to assist this group in the struggle against the demons, in hope of his purpose coming clear. Even now that duty held back his desires against the assassin.

Caleb looked out to see the Strahl like the others, Raphael's ship. He had only heard of the craft, not travelled upon like the others.

Turning to the pirate he said, "it would be nice to finally meet that crew of yours."

[Koti~]

Epinala stood silent as he listened to the meeting, his arms crossed. He was planning, and he loved to plan. The mention of the demons and others only fueled his desire more so, wanting to destroy what had destroyed a momentous day. He petted Raiden quietly, speaking quietly as he planned, listening up as Helena mentioned a ship. The ship sitting down on the wharf, blood red sails waving in the sunlight.

The conversation done, he stood up, heading towards the main doors. Pushing them open in the silence that had fallen around them stirred many people, drawing attention to him. Turning as he allowed Raiden to fly through the open doors, he faced the people, smile wide.

“Well, it seems we no longer need to worry about transport, and we have a battle to win. I say we show these … demons, just what they really are against, and send them back to the pit they crawled from.” Epinala said with fire in his voice, lifting Vordr onto his back as he headed down, completely silent after that point. He made way to the Wharf, ready for whatever would be on that ship.

[~N~]

“How does the song go, Cronus?” the elderly Shylock asked his “Right-Hand.” Cronus glanced over with a skeptical look, not recognizing his employer’s reference.

“What song, Lord Dravon?” he growled, his gaze settling back upon the captured pirates. They were pathetic, all ten of them. But especially that mutt leader of theirs, the one they called “Mikhail.” How any group of men could even come to think of one so incompetent as worthy of leadership was as confounding as it was telling.

“Oh, come on, Master Audata, surely you know of the song!” Shylock pressed him. “Let me see if I can recall how it goes...” And then after a few strokes of his beard, he cleared his throat and began: “Ten little pirates... stealing our ships...”

Cronus cracked a smile; even he knew the song the Merchant Lord was parodying.

“One fought back and got captured instead...” Shylock waved his finger around at the semi-circle of the ten captives before him, all of them bruised and covered in stains of blood from the beatings they received at the hands of the City Guard and the Harbormaster. Of course, they may as well have been beaten by Shylock himself, for the city of Sigard owed its allegiance to the Merchant Lord of the Scales.

The song was of course humiliating to these prisoners, who now regretted their foolish bravery. “Pirates, yes? The whole bunch. Fucking thieves,” Shylock spat into the face of one brown haired female pirate who dared to meet his glare with hers. It was an unusual display of brutishness from the Merchant Lord who carried himself like an elder statesman and man of professional integrity rather than simply a crass trader hawking his wares in the street.

But Shylock was incensed--nothing angered him more than having his goods stolen by thieves... those who lived off the honest hard work of the sweat of his brow. Fucking pirates. They were the very bane of every merchant and businessman in this world, and the sooner they were all exterminated, the better. They were the rats, the ticks, the parasites of this honest labor of working men and women alike, and they stole the hard-won profits of business for their very livelihoods.

“Cronus, that was uncalled for, and unbecoming of me. Punish them for me, will you?” he dismissively ordered, turning around as Cronus cracked his knuckles together and moved in for the kill.

He smacked her so hard across her jaw, she could feel it break with the first blow, and her cry of pain registered with all of them. He nearly took her head off, and now a long, saliva thin trail of bright warm blood dripped from her mouth onto her leggings and the floor.

“Gods, at least hit someone your own size, you fucking coward!” Mikhail growled at Cronus, who happily turned, wound up again, and socked him in the diaphragm so that he doubled over and all the guts and wind went out of him immediately.

“You were saying? Was that good enough for you? Shall I try again? Harder this time maybe?” Cronus threatened in a low, deadly serious voice into his ears. “Or should just break your fucking neck and end it now? Would you like that? Beg me. Come on. Let me hear you whine like the bitch that you are. Beg me.”

“If you kill him, we’ll never get to hear what he has to say, Master Audata,” Shylock said casually, glancing in a preoccupied manner at his nails, seemingly unaffected by any of the severity of Cronus’s actions.

Cronus stood up and turned to him. “What about the others? Their mouths still work.”

“I’m not so sure about hers...” Shylock nodded at the brown-haired pirate whose jaw was fractured, and who was still bleeding from her mouth.

The world’s most deadly assassin smirked and stepped towards her again. “Well... maybe not for speaking...”

“Maybe later,” Shylock acknowledged. “Right now, I need information.” He walked slowly over to Mikhail and leaned down, tilting his head. He slipped his older fingers underneath the filthy chin of the pirate leader and lifted until his eyes met Shylock’s own. Then the Merchant Lord’s eyes shifted to Cronus and back again.

“You see how crazy he is?” Shylock asked, nodding then with a frown and then a shrug. “I can barely control him. Sometimes he just does what he wants.” And then he moved a little closer, “I can’t be sure he won’t do something terrible to your friend over there.” A pause. “Not unless you start giving me information, that is. Maybe... just maybe I can make him reconsider if you give me something to pacify him, to buy him off for the moment. I mean, I’m afraid he’s really going to start going to work on her if I don’t, if you don’t.”

“Don’ gi’ ‘im anyth’n,” she protested through her broken jaw and blood-filled mouth.

But Mikhail glanced over with worried eyes, as Cronus grabbed her jaw hard and forced her to look up into his wolfish grin. The pain for the woman was excruciating. Then his expression hardened.

“Go fuck yourself. We’re not tellin’ you nuthin’,” he spat back, a grimy twisted grin on his face of defiance.

Shylock was neither amused nor impressed. “Cronus,” he called over to the assassin, “She’s already in pain. Let’s spread it around.” And then with a moment of consideration, he followed it up with, “And try to be a little more creative. After all, we are quite well-fitted to the task at hand here with all the toys money can buy.” His piercing green eyes turned back to Mikhail, and with an icy smirk, he added, “Spared no expense.”

“I’ll put the screws to them,” Cronus smiled back with a grin that was no more comforting than his employer wore.

A moment later he returned with the “pilliwinks”--a special device made up of multiple bars between which the victim’s fingers and thumbs were placed. These bars were held together just so with screws, which--when turned--naturally closed the distance between those bars, thereby crushing anything between them. Like a nutcracker! Cronus advanced on another pirate, a bald headed man with a tattoo along his neck and ripped ears where his gold earrings were torn from the flesh during their capture. When he saw the ruthless assassin moving towards him, he began to squirm and twist against his bindings, but to no avail, for they were secure. No amount of struggle yielded anything from the ropes, and while his fingers jerked and flexed back and forth like trapped vermin, Cronus Audata calmly and sternly took them in his own strong hands, and held them spread as he slipped the cruel device through them, threading it all the way back along the hands until both were securely fastened in its hold.

And then... he began to tighten the screws.

At first there was no pain, only worried, shifting eyes, and a sudden nervous laughter; the kind of brazen, desperate laughter that comes from a man who thinks somehow he has dodged his punishment and pain. The kind of laughter that comes from a mind that has slipped beyond logic and rationality into the realm of vaunted delusion; the kind of laughter that erupts from courage born of self-deception and false hope.

It was not long before the howling laughter turned to howling pain. And still Cronus turned the screws, tighter and tighter. Sickening crunching sounds began to start from the fingers as their fragile, compressed bones began to creak and fracture in lines along the length and joints.

“OH GODS!” the pirate yowled, “Make it stop! Gods! Please make it stop! I’ll tell, I’ll tell! Please!”

“No, you won’t!” roared Mikhail. “Or I’ll cut ye myself when I break free of these damnable fetters!”

“What... will you tell us?” Shylock inquired. Cronus gave the screws another turn. Crunch, snap. Screaming again.

“Go on,” Shylock prodded the pirate. “Tell us what...”

“I’ll tell you where they went!”

Cronus glanced over his shoulder, waiting. The room was hushed in silence for a moment, except for the man who now suffered under the excruciating vice of Cronus’s machine. Shylock stroked his beard for a long, thoughtful moment.

“Not good enough,” he said with a single upward curl at the end of his lips.

Crrruuunch! The man’s fingers snapped and popped as Cronus gave the screws an additional turn. He screamed out in agony, wailing for his life in mad syllables, uttering words of Norgard, of Raphael Sinclair, of the return of the Strahl to its original captain.

Dravon Shylock only shook his head though and closed his eyes, clicking his tongue while shrugging his shoulders, thinking what a shame it was that this poor soul didn’t know something he himself already didn’t know.

Pacing away, and talking over his shoulder with flippant gestures of his hand, he explained, “I already know that Raphael Sinclair wants his ship back. It was his crew we confiscated it from originally, you bilge rat. Of course, if pirates take it back, it’s pirates that the Strahl will be going to, and of all the pirate captains yet evading the iron-fisted grip of the harbormasters and merchants, who is the one with the most to gain from this little heist? Why, Raphael Sinclair. But he’s in Norgard, you say?” Shylock smiled a bit at this.

“YES! YES! GODS YES!! I SWEAR! I CAN TAKE YOU TO HIM! PLEASE, SPARE ME FINGERS! OH MY GODS I CANNOT EVEN MOVE THEM!” he howled like a wounded man on a battlefield.

“You really should pay more attention, pirate,” the Merchant Lord of the Scales responded coolly. “You can’t move them because they’re being crushed by my loyal assistant here in a special device meant to do exactly that. Cronus, would you please turn the screws and show this one that it won’t help him anyway if we show him a little mercy?”

CRRRRUUUUUNNCHHH!!! His whole body jolted as if it had been hit by a bolt of lightning. How he screamed. It nearly deafened the ears of everyone in the room.

“Cronus!” Shylock roared.

“Yes?” the assassin responded over the din of the man’s screaming and carrying on.

“I meant the other way! Damn it!”

“Oh,” the assassin responded with a frown and somewhat less enthusiastic expression. He loosened the screws, but the damage was done. Even as he pulled them free, he realized they were crushed and mangled beyond use or repair. He would never be able to handle anything again...

“My gods, my hands... my goddamn hands! You fucking broke them! You fucking broke my hands!”

“Yes,” Shylock acknowledged, “Perhaps more than necessary, but that is the cost of not having anything useful to tell us. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Cronus stood up with a wider grin. “What next?”

“Take one of the women. They’re smaller and scream louder, and I think the boys have more sympathy for them.”

Mikhail’s eyes went wide as Cronus seized a red-headed pirate lass, and held her fast as he undid her binds. Struggle and kick and bite as she might, she could not break his iron hold on her, and he dragged her literally kicking and screaming to the next device...

… known to many as the Rack.

The rack, for those unfamiliar with torture devices, was a special sort of contraption that fastened the outstretched arms and legs to the parts of the machine, which looked like its namesake. The arms and legs were fastened to bars that were then pulled slowly and agonizingly apart by a crank at one end of the machine--an especially useful sort of device for shorter people. Once she was secured, he placed the bar into the crank, and gave it a turn.

The sound of tightening leather strips could be heard in between the struggles of the pirate woman, and her growing cries of worry, as it dawned on her what this device was meant to do.

“Please, please, don’t do this. Please. I’ll work for you. I’ll do... anything... please...” she whined.

“There’s nothing you can do that the women in my employment cannot do better,” Shylock callously replied.

Cronus nodded his agreement with a smirk, and turned the crank again.

The woman screamed, feeling her joints beginning to pull apart.

“Goddamn you, Shylock!” Mikhail cried out, watching this spectacle unfold. The Merchant Lord ignored him and gestured for another turn from Cronus. And the woman screamed with even deeper pain now, for truly her body was being stretched to its limits at this moment.

“Stop! Stop, goddamn you!”

“Why?” Shylock turned slightly. “Why should I stop? You have something to say? Or is this...” he stepped over to grace her hair with the backs of his fingers as she strained with her body pulled as far apart as she had ever known it. “... is this one … special to you, hm?”

“No,” Mikhail gasped, as if undergoing this torture himself, “Look, I can tell you what you want.”

Shylock raised his hand for Cronus to give another turn.

“WAIT!!”

Shylock proceeded with the gesture and simultaneously addressed Mikhail.

“Better start talking. I don’t know if she can take another turn,” he responded coldly, “Slowly, Cronus.” Cronus frowned of course, and took his time with the next turn.

Creeeeaaaaakkk. She screamed. Oh how she screamed. And then... the distinct sound of that slow, soupy pop, as the joints began to give way.

“She won’t be much good for anything if he goes one more time around, you know,” Shylock said without raising his voice, barely audible above the woman’s cries of anguish.

“PLEASE!!!” Mikhail cried out, straining against his bonds.

“Are you ready to tell me what you know, Mikhail?” the Trader Lord inquired with a raised eyebrow, his fingers idly stroking his chin.

Dry lips that barely had any will to speak parted for a few mumblings, “They need it”, throwing his head against his chest, defeated, he carried on, ”Not because they need it. But because they must. The crimson ship is a symbol, more than anything, it’s their way to show they still in game. They are coming for him. And you. But, mostly for him.... You know who...”.

“You can’t mean dear Cronus, here, can you?” Shylock replied with feigned astonishment and surprise.

A pause.

“Yes”, he answered.

“But what could they possibly want with such a gentle soul?!” Shylock replied mockingly, motioning to his beloved enforcer, who, in turn, merely smirked and shrugged.

“Who wants to die?” he asked in his threatening, deadly tone.

“Yes,” Shylock added, turning back to Mikhail, “who, indeed, because that’s what will happen. Cronus took down the world’s best trained killers. You really think Raphael Sinclair and whatever rag-tag crew he can still shark up will be anything but calisthenics for the likes of Cronus?” The Trader Lord sighed deeply, shaking his head slowly in disappointment. “Do you really care about this girl?” He gave Mikhail his most sincere, caring look.

“Because if you don’t tell me more than that, I’m going to order Cronus to rip out her spine.”

“The new king of Norgard, and his maiden, joined together with unlikely group of assassin, mercenary, paladin, traders, warriors, healers... You name it... They have it. I don’t think names will give you any more edge in this, you see...”

“WHO?!” Shylock interrupted him, suddenly, with more rage than anyone had seen in him up to that point. “I want names, or so help me, not one of you will leave here alive!!”

Mikhail shook his head.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know. You sailed with Raphael. You’ve seen them.”

“You know them yourself... You tried to stop them long ago, back in Ascara...”, He started talking, “I will give you names, but will this be of any use to you?! HOW!? You just plan to kill them!!!”

Shylock motioned for him to hush up with a wave of his hand. “You leave the scheming and trading and valuing of things, such as information, to me. Of the two of us, I’m the rich successful Merchant Lord and you’re...” Shylock narrowed his eyes,

“....A broken man, a traitor, a dog? Need I say more?!”.

“You’re pirate scum without a ship to call your own. Which makes you nobody really.” Shylock wanted to drive the point home like a spike through his heart.

He shook his head again, “Will you spare them?”, he said looking at the faces of all the nine... Each of them a shattered pillar of union that was fractured beyond repair.

From out of the tense silence, Cronus spoke unexpectedly. “You mentioned... an assassin?”

“Yes. I did....”, He grunted, “I can talk all day, Will you spare them or not?!”

Shylock looked to Cronus and then to Mikhail. He gestured for Cronus to turn the crank back the other way, careful to make the counter-clockwise motion, and Cronus reluctantly did as he was told, bringing a wave of relief to the woman who up to this point lived in a hell of strained agony.

“Start talking, or it goes back the other way just as fast,” Shylock warned him.

And the names fled his lips, even these that he only heard from rumors. All of them counted for, what they did, where they come from...

All accounted for...

For a moment he hesitated, when the young girl Bria came in mind. Would she be so important to include her with the bunch. Surely they never planned to bring her along with them...

If there was one last deed of grace he could do with the maker was probably leave out that small name...

And so he did.

“Zelvad...” Cronus muttered. His eyes shifted to Shylock’s. “He’ll have to be taken care of.”

“One of yours?” the Trader Lord of the Scales inquired. Cronus nodded. “I see,” Shylock pondered this new variable in the equation.

“He cannot be allowed to live,” Cronus added with the gravity of passing down a death sentence.

Shylock nodded, “No... no he cannot. He poses a threat both personal and otherwise.”

“What do we do with them?” the assassin questioned.

“They’re bargaining chips,” Shylock quipped. “Raphael Sinclair, pirate or no, is not a killer. He loves recovering things--his ship... his crew. He will bargain for their lives if he values them at all.”

“You’re going to make a deal with him?”

“I’m going to see if he is of any use. At the very worst, he’ll be forced to meet us on my terms.”

Cronus nodded in acknowledgment; he had long since come to respect Shylock’s extraordinary capability for employing anyone to advance his own ends and getting the results he desired.

“Mikhail,” Shylock addressed the leader of this pitiful group. “You work for me now. You’ve been promoted to messenger boy. Congratulations! The rest of your comrades here, including this girl, will surely be executed in summary fashion unless I stop it from happening. You have ten days to find your beloved pirate ‘captain’ and convince him to negotiate with me for the lives of his crew. If you do not return in ten days time, their lives will go to the hangman in a very public display of merchant justice, for I will be left only to assume that you have indeed defected and abandoned them. Cronus, untie him.”

The assassin approached and placed his iron grip on Mikhail’s shoulder, digging in at precise pressure points to make certain he knew that if he was to try anything stupid, his life would end right here, right now.

Once his bonds were freed, Shylock motioned to the door, “I trust that, you being a pirate of some years and skill, you’ll have no trouble finding the means to make that journey as swiftly and safely as possible, for as I said, if you don’t return...” Then the Merchant Lord drew a line across his neck and stuck his tongue out in a humorous, yet morbid display, followed by a smile.

“Now, go! Hurry! Their very lives depend on your speed and swiftness.”

As Mikhail stumbled hurriedly from the chamber, Cronus could be heard humming the children’s song “Ten little monkeys jumping on a bed...”

[Repent!]

Roughly an hour out from Sigard

Everything happened pretty much how VIR expected it to. The crew, in its over emotional mixture of getting the ship back while losing Mikhail in the process, was whirled in a rage enough to "appropriate" VIR's weapon and bind him to the mast. They made sure to leave his front exposed to the open air as they did so, leaving his arms tied back and around the mast itself.

VIR was personally surprised that they let him put his goggles back around his neck before they tied him up.

He didn't struggle, regardless of how extreme they were being at that point in time. Though all of VIR's compliance seemed to do very little to quell the mob mentality of the crew that was left, Marguriette the most of all. He moved his hands up and down after he was bound and saw he had enough give that he could sit comfortably on his knees, and so he did just that knowing he was going to be here for a while. He figured he would make himself comfortable while waiting for the judgment of the crew.

Then he heard weak steps approaching him. They were quick...understandable given the situation, so he turned his head to find himself surprised again. It was Gwen who approached him slowly, walking as free and careless, as if nothing of this was of any care to her. Sure she would, she was not the one deemed responsible for the leaving the oldest member of the ship's crew plus half of the rest of the crew...to die.

She leaned against the rails, and looked out at the sea, "I tried to put some sense into them", she said with her usual cold tune, "They seem pretty upset, but the woman Marguriette knows there was nothing else to be done".

A moment of silence.

"I expect them to release you in the next day or so... They are still pretty upset...". She chuckled, "But they are smart enough to know that you did what you had to do...".

Another moment of silence.

"I miss Joseph... We left in such a hurry...", she bite her lips gently before she raised up, her dark mane of pony tail waved back and forth against her nape by every windy sway, "It will take us some time to reach Norgard. I expect it to be at least six days. No matter how fast this vessel is, it will be a long journey".

"Figures, thank you for speaking with them Gwen....for what its worth. Though while we have this time alone and we're on the subject of Joseph, I wanted to go ahead and let you know that I know about the two of you. I saw you both before I left for Ivalor."

He made his own pause, letting it sink in before he continued.

"He's deserted once, which means he will undoubtedly try to desert again with you in tow. I personally understand if the two of you want out, I know I've seen enough in the past two months that I've thought about it myself."

VIR turned his head in Gwen's direction, letting the gravity of his next statement be made undoubtedly clear.

"Though, if you really care for the boy, you'll hopefully convince him to not try disappearing before this war sees its end. I promise you two won't like what happens afterwards if I find either of you missing before our job is done."


----------------------------------------------------------------------------


Seven days later


Norgard- Port Town of Damas


http://www.aetherapparel.com/journal/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Screen-shot-2012-04-22-at-11.26.21-PM-590x327.png


"It sure is cold here", said Gwen, as they descend the ship.

The way she said it, one might think she found the cold to be a nuisance, but instead she seemed rather pleased of the weather.

She took a deep breath, watching the guards that wore uniforms unlike those of Sigard, approaching them.

"Figures, that they recognized Raphael's ship as a pirate's one", she mocked coldly, "He is famous after all..."

VIR took in the sharp Norgard air for the first time in his third visit as he stepped on to its cold ground to find that the air felt...cleaner to him now compared to his last two visits.

"Let's just hope he's as reasonable a pirate as the crew claims...I'm not too fond of getting into a fight with the people we're supposed to be helping."

[Repent!]

It was no real surprise that after the Strahl was spotted, Sinclair was spearheading the group's advance towards the docks. Someone gathered the backbone to gather his crew and steal back his ship, he wanted to see who made it happen. He hadn't seen his crimson vessel since he crossed paths with Cronus in the desert.

Helena and Zelvad were close behind with Bria in the paladin's arms as they made it to the city of Toria when it would seem that the those who would pilot the ship wanted to meet its owner just as badly...

-----------

When the guard detail met them at the docks, VIR explained what they were doing here and once the names came up of the people they were to meet the guards offered to accompany them to their destination. Any port in a storm it would seem...

The rest of the crew decided they would remain on the ship, needing to work double time now to get the ship back to Sinclair's preferences now that the ship was going to be back in his rightful hands.

Once they reached the city of Toria, VIR came across some very familiar faces. Though he would be familiar to them as well. "That's them Gwen. I believe the one holding the child is the one you're looking for."

"What makes you so sure?", Gwen asked, "It is indeed odd to see a paladin so far away from Ivalor, and yet... How do you know it's her?"


"Because of the people in the group Joseph was in when I brought him back from that cloud of bloodshed and war, those two were with him." VIR pointed to Helena and the man leading the group's now halted advance. "She's who you're looking for." As he finished explaining himself to Gwen, VIR's eyes met the third of the small group that met them in the city. His skin was....green-ish? Weird. The part that intrigued him most though, was the red hair that was maybe as dark a shade as his own.

VIR's eyes and thoughts near matched that of Zelvad's. "Who are these two? The guy seems to at least recognize you, Helena."

Helena's eyes shot wide open as she slowly let Bria off her hold. Slowly lifting her spear, there was a shift of anger passing in between her eyes as she scanned VIR, "You...".

She reached her hand to cover Bria, marking the girl to step back as both her hands rested upon her spear now, "I recall of you! You are the man that abducted Alucard. You and.... And another one...".

She looked at Gwen, surprised to see it was not No.Vii, "State your names, rank and affairs", Helena ordered.

VIR didn't really care for being ordered around by someone who felt they had to clout to do so...especially now. So he responded to the woman in his own way...with a smile.

"Yes, I 'abducted' Joseph, though it was only because he deserted in the first place. I had orders."

"Though as for 'the other one', Vii is quite busy right now with Sigard's preparations for war...though while we're on the subject of No.Vii, has anyone heard from Jukes yet since the war here? I still feel bad about the two of us having to take out that entire village even though it was a simple misunderstanding that turned into a fight for survival involving a observance of a gambled fight which escalated into No. Vii slicing someone's head off..."

VIR shook his head and waved his hand around in the air for a second before continuing.

"But enough about me..." VIR took a couple slow steps till he was slightly behind Gwen and placed a hand on her right shoulder "...Gwen wants to talk to you. So if you would kindly stop swinging that twig around, we can get to it."

Zelvad moved forward until he was between the paladin and Bria and placed a hand on her left shoulder before she could act, hoping to be a voice of reason. "Helena, I understand your angry....but at least hear them out." He leaned in a little closer to make sure only Helena heard this next part. "Besides, if what he says is true and two of them killed an entire town...how do you think you'll fair one on one? Will throwing yourself at death get Joseph back? We need all the help we can get if Sigard is moving to war, and it looks to me like they're offering just that."

Helena stared long and hard at the assassin. Fear was not something that was easily seen reflected in his eyes, so she knew that his words came from another source. Curiosity maybe?

She withdrew and the dark haired lady before them stepped forward.

"My name is Gwen. I bear no title or rank, but my blades can speak of my might. My companion here is VIR. Being here, stepping upon this land, under orders that came from right above the chain of power in Sigard, should be significant to you all".

Gwen turned to Helena, "Joseph spoke about you paladin, and indeed I have never seen such color of red. There was a myth about demons being born into our world with that hair color. I believe that this color has brought much trouble into your life. But so has it been for the many red-haired children that have trained with us".

"But who are you?", Helena asked, now more curious than ever.

"We were sent here by the great High chancellor Izulde. The legal authority of Sigard".

"Speak of the reason!", Helena ordered.

"Rumors passed by his ears. He suspect the actions of some of the council members. He...", Gwen looked at VIR and the last nodded for her to continue, "He think their behavior might be too... inhumanly...."

"Such as cruelty?", Helena asked.

"More like... Demons...", Gwen lowered her gaze, "Demons..."

"Emonalach", Helena uttered slowly as she looked at Zelvad.

Zelvad met Helena's gaze with one of understanding, while it all came together in VIR's head.

The argument with Bolgan, the attack in Aerosia, his friendship with Jared despite the 'child' that he was. Fergal, Jared, Bolgan, the lady that attacked Shylock at the pillar...these were the demons. Though would that mean Emonalach was this Hillel that VIR heard of from the vision Bolgan gave him?

The assassin turned to face Sinclair. "Go reclaim your ship, Raphael. We have this." The pirate turned eyes to meet with Zelvad and nodded. Raphael stepped forward, walking to head to the port before VIR stopped him, a hand barring Sinclair's path while his face faded to a remorseful look. "You should know from me since it was my fault to begin with. We were discovered while trying to reclaim the ship. Mikhail and half the crew stayed behind so that we could be here now."

The pirate met his look with a hard glare and a swallow of spit. "I must see to my ship." The pirate pushed past the warrior's hand and pressed onward as one of the guards escorting VIR and Gwen made half the detail branch off and see Sinclair to his ship.

VIR sighed. The reaction was expected and thankfully, the best case scenario. Then a thought crossed his mind and he looked to Helena again. "While I'm talking to a paladin, would you care to know what has become of your holy city? I just recently came back from Ivalor, and let me tell you...Bolgan has really done a number on the place."

Helena swallowed as she closed her eyes, "Oh.... Dear...", another pause before she uttered again, "Mother..."

Zelvad quickly interrupted. "I thought Ivalor had been shut off by powerful magic?"

VIR returned an answer quickly as he met eyes with the man he was sizing up earlier. "Well one of these....'demons' that runs the project that trains warriors like Gwen and myself seems to be in leauge with the 'priest' in control of Ivalor. So it seems that their magics are the type that is keeping everything in and out that's not their own..." A swift breeze passed from behind, causing a slight shiver to pass up VIR's bones. He shivered slightly, "Though if it isn't too much trouble, could we move this inside? I doubt that we want to keep talking while freezing half to death out here."

She felt the hand of Zelvad resting upon her shoulder as she quickly recovered, although a tear did break across her cheek which she was quick to wipe off, "Of course, sir VIR", Helena nodded quickly, trying to hide any sign of weakness, "Let us get everyone inside, it will be best to continue this discussion in the warmth of the great hall".

[Kris]

Norgard's castle.


Once inside the guests were set by a fancy table, the kind of which wouldn't been held otherwise (because of the former, saddening circumstances), which meant it was a great feast.

But it wasn't a happy one.

Everyone were tense, for the information gathered there was too dire to think of.

VIR wasn't the talkative one but he did handed his notes here and there when he thought he could contribute to the conversation.

And this was their story:

Ivalor:
For now Ivalor was doomed to Emonalach. Bolgan, the high priest was proven to be connected with him at last.

Sigard:
Two ministers of Sigard turned out to be demons as well, but they seemed to be cooperating with Sigard's intentions, in some sense, which meant that for now they were going to fight against Emonalach. But that doesn't mean they were going to be of any help.


At that point, everyone knew. They were forced to leave for Sigard immediately.

And then, just when they wanted to speak further, a harsh knocking and slamming was heard.

An ill pitiful looking man was making his way for the hall, fighting off any guard that tried to held him back.

"CAPTAIN!!", the man cried.

Two were already standing for the voice of Mikhail was heard to be missed. Even the elemental warriors and some of the pirates soon joined to welcome the man.

And once he was before them.... his sight was terrible... Even if he was alive, he was no longer the man he was... for he was broken... devastated...

He collapsed and Marguriette was the first to be by his side as she revived him and set him by the table, forcing wine into his bleeding mouth.

"We gotta.... we must... go back... that bastard... will kill them....".

"Who", Raphael asked as he grabbed the collar of his shirt, trying to shake some sense into the man before he was about to pass out again.

"Sh.....Shylock....".

[Kris]

Chapter 3- March of Mephisto


Sigard- Port Town of Galim


They all shivered, but not because it was freezing. This kingdom was nothing like Norgard. In a sense this was nothing like any part of the world.

Too advanced... Too developed... Too improved...

Maybe.... They shivered... because.... it was somewhat too... cold.

Sigard. The city of metal.

Here they were to meet with Izlude, the High Chancellor, but for now, this meeting has been postponed. Now they had to meet with Shylock, who seemed to have much more power and influence in this city than anyone else.

And time was growing short.

Soon, they knew, Emonalach was going to approach with his generals and attack this city, and later the rest of the world.

"Shylock is not a fool.... And as much as we have claims against him and his assassin, we simply cannot risk fighting him now...", Helena said.

Gwen moved closer, "Lady Paladin, what do you offer?".

"We cannot venture further inside with everyone. He sees us united, he will see an army".

"So, lady red", Marguriette grinned, "Have you figured out a plan?".

Helena looked back at the docks, where they have just parted from the shining Strahl, "I say we send about three to four representatives. Seek a truce for now until we solve our matters before the Chancellor".

"You can't mean that, Helena", Raphael raged, "We are not cowards, how can you ask us to come to terms with this man".

"How can I not?!", Helena cried back, "We cannot risk your men, and we cannot risk the people of this city... And... I....", she tried not to think of her mother back at Ivalor, "I cannot bear the thought of losing any of you now... Not after we have come this far...".

She took few more steps.

"Once we deal with Emonalach.... We can pursuit our own quarrels... But not before that....".

There was another silence.

"I will be one of our representative.... Who joins me?"

[StormWolf]

Norgard- Sonata Castle

In his high-backed chair painted with gold-leaf knot designs and inlaid with polished amber, the High King of Norgard sat, arm in sling and crown resting heavily on his brow. His unharmed arm rested on the broad armrest, meaty fist settling underneath his cheekbone. Again and again, Arjak replayed the terrible events that had unraveled. Each lingering thought of the attack made his skinned shoulder sting terrible. Despite the healers' work, it still needed some time to heal, and any unnecessary stress would cause the knitting flesh to tear.

"Our land has been assaulted by a madman and those who share his derangments. Nothing more." Arjak finally said after so much time spent listening. His voice was gravelly and terse, entirely devoid of patience. "Whoever this man was, I will see him found and I will skin him alive." Arjak took up his silver goblet, sipping the spiced red wine from the brim. It was the same wine served at his wedding, which already seemed so far away, but now it simply tasted like ash. There was no joy in the spirit that filled his vessel, no familiar fruity undertone beneath the subtle tang of ice peppers. His mood was much too sour and his land in too much turmoil. It was endlessly frustrating. Arjak's hand clenched around the cup, slowly crushing the silver goblet in his hand, the deep red wine spilling over his hand and down to the marbled floor. With a growl, he discarded the cup and slammed his hammer of a fist down on the long table,

"I want to know who this man belongs to. Who his friends are, where his loyalties lie, and who is loyal to him. Find the weak scale over this dragon's heart and cast a spear through it without remorse! Am I understood?" The High King rose from his seat and began walking around the perimeter to of the long dining table like a caged lion.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sigard

Arjak felt alien in the cold and unnatural city. He felt like something that was being rejected by the main body of a creature - his nature too dissimilar. There was no freedom of the natural order in this place. The High King of Norgard, walking closely in tow behind his wife, appeared weakened - sickly, even. There was nothing for him to draw his power from in this place. No song of wolves to bring light to his mind. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, making a silent grimace as pain shot through his recovering shoulder. Still, despite the discomfort of such a place, Arjak had a duty as sovereign of his people,

"I will join you, Helena." Arjak said in a low, tired tone.

[Wattz]

Norgard, Capitol Sonata

We always expect change. We expect the best change to come in tidal waves. We expect change to arrive on our doorsteps with confetti and a symphonic band of bards. We expect that change will come at the right moment at the right time with all the right cues to let you know how to move, how to act, how to dress. But change is usually a subtle beast. Even in the gravest of times the realization trickles into your mind; you are not the same person as you were years, months, days, minutes ago.

The thought occurred to Baxter when he found himself staring at the bone dagger and realized his first impulse was not to sell it. Certainly, the thought crossed his mind eventually, but why sell something so destructive to any joe shmoe off the street? Certainly he could find more experienced buyers, but he saw what the weapon could do. In the hands of a humble trader such as himself, the knife was quite worthless. In the hands of a necromancer, the knife was something to be feared. Yet Baxter wondered if he was terribly confused.

To be so near a true magical artifact, one that he could so easily activate, was terrifying. He had no regrets for taking it back from Caleb. He carefully switched the handle from his left to his right. He had always toted fake artifacts around in his cart, but what if he really did learn more? Surely the dagger was a place to start. Afterall, his belongings had all perished in the rune fires—

…Baxter tripped over a large bunch of rubble in the ruins of the castle, falling so he somersaulted gracelessly on his back. His cheeks burned, but the sight of the intricate ceiling calmed his nerves. He gave himself time to stare at the intricate ceiling before slowly rising to his feet….

—perhaps he could make a fresh start.

In the meantime, he would brush off his legs of dust and rubble, make his way to the throne room. Listen to the speech while surrounded by great heroes, warriors, mages such as Caleb and Helena. He would hear the name Emonalach for the umpteenth time and tap his toes with impatience and nervousness and excitement all at once. He would wince periodically at the thought of returning to Sigard, his Homeland, all in the name of progressing the fate of something he could not quite define. How he would react when faced with such trials again, Baxter did not know. He never could trust himself to behave as he thought he should.


Sigard, Port Town of Galim

Baxter had not visited Sigard in years.

He pulled his coat in closer to his body, feeling the metallic chill run through every bump of flesh. The city was colder than he remembered.

It was Shylock the group was after. Shylock, the man that sent shadows of fear over the entire group. But it was not Shylock that Baxter had his mind on. He had images of a soft, white dress, of a plump face with dark cheeks and wide brown eyes. Every move caught out of the corner of his eye looked like her. Like Persephone Hill. Baxter searched around like a madman. The very scent of bread rolls even sent him on edge, reminding him of the way her apron always smelt when he visited her family’s bakery.

Persephone “Percy” Hill was a baker’s child, wide eyed, curly-haired, and plump from her love of sweets. She was the kind of woman composed of dreams and fancy, staring out the window for want of a wedding ring. Her place was with her prayers, using religious rights for selfish whimsy and the hope that one day she’d finally have her place in a husband’s kitchen.

"So, lady red. Have you figured out a plan?"

From time to time, Baxter came into their shop in Sigard. Every time, Percy would laugh just a little too hard at his basic charm and wit. Every day, she made sure her hair was done up nicely just in case he’d walk in through the door asking for his favorite sweet rolls. Eventually their relationship had blossomed into one of many awkward touches, of stilted walks about the city and reluctant kisses. Percy didn’t know any better, and Baxter had convinced himself he cared.

"I say we send about three to four representatives. Seek a truce for now until we solve our matters before the Chancellor.”

When he finally asked for her hand in marriage, she cried for days and told the entire town in an animated frenzy. Finally, finally, she had a man: a well-coveted man at that.

"You can't mean that, Helena. We are not cowards, how can you ask us to come to terms with this man.”

“I wonder how old he is,” Baxter whispered to himself as he caressed the dagger in his gloved hands. Something stirred deep within his chest. Baxter hadn’t thought about his child in years. To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t even sure if it was a boy or a girl. On occasion, Percy’s tart of a friend would say how this bodily reaction or that food craving meant they were having a boy (“The left breast is much bigger than the right!”) and it simply stuck. Ronan if a boy, Rosaline if a girl. Percy always said she didn’t care either way. They could always try for more children. It’d be nice if Ronan could have a little brother or sister. Percy would bite her lip and give a smile that plumpened her flushing cheeks. Freckled hands caressed the blooming child in her wide hips, clothed simply in white cotton.

"How can I not?! We cannot risk your men, and we cannot risk the people of this city... And... I…. I cannot bear the thought of losing any of you now... Not after we have come this far..."

Nine years. His boy was nine years old by now.

Baxter walked away from the group to lean over the dock’s railings. He peered over the water before burying his head in his hands. He gripped his red hair hard and sobbed.

[Mysteria]

Sigard- Port Town of Galim


Ciara heard Helena's question and was rather surprised when she heard her husband's voice being the first to join. Of course, she knew he'd feel it his duty to go, just as she felt it her own duty to be a representative. But she had not thought that her husband should make a journey while still recuperating from his wounds.

There would be no sense in trying to talk him out of the journey either. The best thing that Ciara could do for her people, and her husband was to accompany the group of representatives. And no one could keep Arjak's temper under control quite the way that the Queen could, so there literally was no reason to think about what she should or shouldn't do.

Stepping up and brushing past her husband she moved towards Helena with a small nod of her head. She stretched out her hands towards the paladin, taking them into her own.

"I too will join you as a representative my friend."

Ciara felt much as Helena did. These people had come to become part of Ciara's extended family. She'd do whatever it took to help protect them.

"Well and good", Helena nodded with a smile. Having the royal family of Norgard as emissaries of goodwill, was going to be a good plan. Surely Shylock would come to terms when he sees them.

"It is settled, we meet with the Lord Trader, and then plan our attack against the demon lord Emonalach", Helena added.

Ciara smiled and nodded, then moved back to her husbands side.

[Kris & Mysti]

[Wattz]

Sigard, Port Town of Galim

They made their decisions, they chose their representatives. Baxter listened vaguely to the final volunteers. He kept his head down and continued to cry. His shoulders jerked harder with each sob. It was not long before he forgot where he was, who was around him, what they were tasked to do. The only thing that made sense to him at that moment were tears.

A sight that appeared to be pretty interesting to one of the women in the group.

"I hardly ever seen a man weep...", Gwen said, her voice ringing at his ears as she unintentionally snuck up behind him, "Are you burdened with the future?"

Baxter jumped as Gwen spoke. His eyes were red and puffy, his face a blotchy mess. The tears did not stop, though the sobs subsided.

"Y-yes..." he choked. "The future. T-t-terribly so.... Or rather... by what I could not - I could not..." Baxter broke down into sobs again. He held the dagger close to his chest, absentmindedly petting it with his one gloved hand.

But he saw the figure out of the corner of his eye. The familiar form, the terrible form.... Jask?

The necromancer lunged for the dagger in Baxter's hands. He had just enough time to react, just enough time to throw himself backwards, scrambling across the dock.

Truth's arm plunged into dock where Baxter once stood as if it were butter. Sending shards of wood everywhere. Truth roared and straightened himself back up, his immense black wings throbbed as they stretched out wide. Standing at nearly 8 feet tall with a thin emaciated body, Truth was as any other monstrosity, purely inhuman and so much more.

Rage coursed through Truth. He represented an aspect of eternity, not something temporary, not thread in the tapestry of fate. And most certainly not the plaything of a lowly necromancer. He was the void itself and he would not stand by and let the whims of a fool and his pawns.

"Give me the dagger and I will grant the blessing of the void. I promise it shall be slow, so even pawns such as yourselves can savor my mercy."

Baxter's tear-stained eyes were opened wide, watching helplessly as the planks of the dock flew everywhere. He kept scrambling backward. Anything to get away from him. Anything to get away from Jask.

Surely, he could have just handed the dagger back. Surely, this would have seemed a much simpler answer. But the promise of the void, of death.... This was not what Baxter wanted. There was something different in the necromancer's eyes, though, something in the way he carried himself. Baxter was certain that Jask was not entirely present. Surely, no matter what, he was done for.

"S-stay away from me!" He fumbled for the dagger, touching it at last with his bare hand. In that instant, the smoke rose....

The oracle's form was just about materialize but was interrupted as Truth gave a single beat of his wings. The smoke spread thinly as the creature extended his aura to suppress the daggers power. A feat made easy due to the artifact's connection to the void.

"Not Jask! Ru—" was all the spirit could speak before dissipating into a weak mist. It would be only a moment before it could be used again. In the meantime Truth would assess the more immediate problems, Jask's more formidable pawns.

Truth beat his large wings again and again slowly lifting himself off the ground. His eyes shifted from the pathetic merchant to his female companion. His clawed hands flexed and clicked. Raising his arm Truth focused his aura and blasted it in her direction.

"Rot."

Helena barely dodged.

Looking back more shards of wood burst at her from the impact at the docks.

She looked at the new nemesis hovering above them. The aura was terribly familiar. Reaching her right arm up she gently passed her fingers over the tips of her lips. Shivering at the sight of the dead Oracle Gilliam it wasn't hard to make one and one.

"Jask", She said softly, "But…"

But that wasn't his form… Yet…..

And the more important question. She turned for Baxter, "Was this dagger capable of summoning the Oracle?", she asked, wondering what else was this little blade capable of doing.

"Jask, what happened to you?"

Closer, closer, and Baxter was sure he was done for. He couldn't die, not here, not now. He felt his chest rise and fall with a strange sort of heat. He pictured the woman he left behind and the baby in her hands, the son that now was grown somewhere in the city. In just hours, Baxter was sure the city would be in shambles. If he could just get to them... If he could just make sure they were safe from the upcoming crossfire....

Baxter gritted his teeth. He gripped the dagger tight. "Come on," he yelled at the weapon. Nothing happened. He yelled louder, his knuckles turning white and his teeth grinding in together. "I've seen what you can do. Show yourself!"

The dagger buzzed with a sudden rush of power. Baxter used his free hand to hold the one with the dagger steady. Smoke erupted from the blade once more.

The soul of a woman clad in blue and silver armor flickered into view. The image was not as strong as it could have been, but it gave Baxter hope. He only held the dagger tighter, backing up slowly. Surely he could find an opening.

The woman turned slowly to look at him. Baxter stared her right in the eyes. "Do something," he commanded.

Val's glare darted back and forth between the monster and Baxter, he was not Jask nor was he one of his prisoners, but the creature before her reeked of the necromancer. She could read between the lines. "With pleasure." Said the spirit swinging her blade at the beast. Truth, in his arrogance, attempted to snatch the sword from her hands in his talons.

There was moment of silence as the creature floated there. Did he miss? Did she? A single second of time passed before a small line appeared on one of Truths clawed digits. The piece fell to the ground. Truth watched in complete awe of the moment. She had cut him. She had cut into the void. Truth's winged moved with a vigorous fury and he soared up into the sky away from that warrior and her ethereal blade.

Formidable pawns, they were. He would simply lay waste to them from above. Truth spun and dived into a nearby house, screams emenating from the household echoed through the harbor. Then truth burst out one of the windows dragging something with him.

A child. The pitiful thing writhed in his hand for what seemed like eternity until with a twitch of his finger the child's neck relaxed. There was no more movement. Truth threw the body at Baxter.

"I am fear." Whispered Truth. As quiet as his words had been, he knew with out a doubt he had been heard.

Baxter tried to scream, but no sound came out of his throat. His body became slack, and the dagger fell from his fingertips. He stared at the child before him, projecting his own onto this one's lifeless form. He had no idea what his son looked like, nor did he note the lack of dark skin and dark curly hair on this one, but that did not matter. At this moment in time, Truth was not there. Nobody was.

For the very first time Truth smiled, these pathetic creatures squirmed below him, dirty and weak. Perhaps he was too overconfident. It was clear that they could hurt him, but as he watched Baxter drop the only thing that could save him and his friends. Truth realized...well, the truth, of the matter.

Ants.

All ants.

"I was mistaken, you are not a threat. Keep the dagger. I will destroy this city instead."

[~N~]

“Lord Trader!” the young lookout arrived in the room where Shylock was going over reports about the Elemental Warriors “project.” “They… the crew of the Strahl… they have arrived. And there's some kind of commotion at the docks,” he said between gasps of breath.

Piercing green eyes, framed by crows’ feet, peered up from his paperwork and slid over like razors to meet those of the young lad. A simple glance from this man was enough to make the boy shiver slightly quite beyond his control and reserve. And then a smile creeped upon those old, dry lips. “Well then, it’s about time… Handle the 'commotion' and see to it that they get to me...”

The lookouts each reported in succession, identifying the company as they entered the city. Making their way into the city was a company of six: Arjak and Ciara, newly crowned king and queen of Norgard; Helena, the paladin of fiery-red hair from Ivalor; Baxter, a small-time peddler of this very city; Caleb, a merc from Ascara; and Raphael Sinclair himself, former Captain of the Strahl. Quite a presentation, but not enough to be a threat. It was as though they were handing over their most important pieces…

“Zelvad is not with them…” Cronus muttered.

“Perhaps he is…” Cronus and his master exchanged glances and the assassin nodded.

“I’ll take care of our… meeting. You take care of their assassin if he has come here,” Shylock commanded. Cronus nodded again and remarked with a grim smile, “With pleasure…” A moment later, he was gone. If Zelvad was waiting in the shadows, Shylock would have his own “ace-in-the-hole” waiting as well. Playing with hidden cards was Shylock’s specialty, and it served two purposes: it kept his opponents guessing; and provided the Lord Trader of the Scales with additional options, as they became necessary.

The company of the Strahl made it about six blocks into the city before they were noticeably surrounded by members of the city guard. An equal number, six for six…

… and then twelve…

… and then twenty-four…

… archers in the windows and on the rooftops...

… until it was quite apparent that Shylock was not taking any chances whatsoever. Not with this group.

His aged voice came down from a balcony where he was flanked by archers:

“Raphael Sinclair!” he announced his greeting to them, “So nice of you to come back to Sigard and surrender to justice!" "Nice of you to bring royalty with you, too!" he added with a sly smirk. Out of the frying pan and into the fire...

"Arrest them! ALL of them!" Shylock patted the railing and broke into rasping laughter. To see such delight in the Merchant Lord was rare, and his lackeys happily did as they were told. And Arjak's power, Ciara's beauty, Baxter's coin, Raphael's reputation, Caleb's skill, and Helena's conviction counted for nothing against the numbers Shylock commanded. Roughly handled, they were taken away from the public eye, disappearing amidst cries of justice and jeers of piracy and epithets of abuse and insult.

***************************

But it was not over for them, for Shylock was a Merchant Lord, first and foremost, and he would never remove a piece from the board that he could potentially take for his own; that was just good business.

Leading them in chains and manacles to the room where he had kept his bargaining chips, Shylock ushered them forward, waving his hand before him in a display of his "wares" and... his prisoners. Before the company of six were the nine that Mikhail left behind in Shylock's care. They had been given enough to survive on, and little else. Shylock was a man of his word, after all, and if Mikhail had, in fact, come through on his end of the deal, Shylock promised that they would be alive.

He glanced at the heavy chains restraining the giant king of Norgard. Breathing in sharply before he spoke, as if in realization, he remarked that "This is the second time I've had a king as a prisoner..." He chuckled, eyeing Arjak up and down with an icy, aged smile upon his lips. His emerald eyes betrayed little fear of the massive man before him. Of all the things in this world, physical strength bothered the Lord Trader the least, for it was the most obvious and least useful of qualities, it seemed to him. Still--he did make sure they had bound the Norgardian King three times more than the rest... just to be sure.

"You told us you'd make a deal with us," Arjak growled with a tone that betrayed his animalistic nature.

"No, I told Mikhail..." Shylock corrected him, pausing and raising his own snowy eyebrows with a sudden delight and a raised finger, wagging at Arjak with similar pleasure. "Did you happen to notice that he had crossed an impossible amount of terrain--in fairly worse physical shape than when I found him, I might add--in a record amount of time to deliver my message to you?!" He glanced from Arjak, to Ciara, to Raphael. And then he laughed again, "Can you imagine any man doing that again? I must say, I surprise even myself with the kind of motivational power I hold over some people!"

His tone was filled with mockery and the frustrated rattling of their restraints was music to his ears. He loved it when tempers flared uselessly. But he returned to his point in his amusement.

"No, I told Mikhail that I would keep his nine friends alive if he brought me you," Shylock explained with a sharpness to his final word, directed right at Raphael. "So far, your vessels and vassals have proven more useful than you, Captain..."

"I'll never serve the likes of you, Shylock!" Raphael shot back.

Raising his slowly wagging finger again, Shylock turned, clucking his tongue with a slight smile. "Oh yes, Raphael, oh I think you will. Even you come when called, after all," Shylock laughed menacingly again. The pirate captain felt the sting of the Merchant Lord's words, for he had in fact come, but for reasons he could at least stand behind--nine of them.

"You see? It all comes back to motivation," Shylock went on, approaching the young woman who still had a bruised jaw and stroking her cheek with his soft old finger, a leering smile upon his lips. She turned away, unable to face him, unable to look at him, burning with shame and resentfulness. "He came for you... your captain came for you, after all," he whispered to her, his breath making her brown locks, greasy with lack of attention, dance slightly. Turning suddenly back and bellowing out, "Who knew such concern and loyalty could be found among pirates and criminals?!"

"Whatever we are, we are ten times the human beings that you are," Ciara angrily answered him.

Shylock narrowed his eyes as he leveled them at her. He approached her, gritting his teeth, "Sometimes, being so 'human' is more of a liability than a benefit, dear queen of Norgard..." He looked her up and down, scowling, and then turned away again.

"Whatever your views of me," he continued, addressing all of them, "our purposes are aligned in this matter."

"What matter is that?" Helena asked.

Shylock chuckled without turning around, "Come, come, dear paladin of Ivalor. You, of all this company, should know what you're facing more than these others."

Helena dropped her head, her fiery locks falling around her. She sighed. She knew.

"You and I, we are all threatened by this scourge upon our lands," the Merchant Lord of the Scales stated matter-of-factly. Turning back to them now, taking all of them in as he address them from across the room, "And of all of us, I have dispatched two of them, and sent Emonaloch packing... twice. So if you care at all about the fate of your people, your friends, and this world.... then you will understand that in this cause... we are on the same side."

"You have them working here in the city, on your little 'project', you realize?" Helena boldly stated, drawing looks from her comrades and silencing Shylock.

He considered her eyes, her expression; there was no lie in either of them. He pursed his lips and nodded, grateful at least to have another affirmation of this.

"Yes, I am aware."

"And yet you claim to be 'against' them?" Arjak argued, scoffing with laughter of his own. "Right."

Shylock blinked and shifted his eyes. "You lack any kind of comprehension about true power, 'king,'" the Lord Trader shot back. "The true merchant," he turned now to Baxter, "knows that he cannot, if he wishes to grow his business, discriminate among his customers..." The smaller merchant sighed.

"And so I have done what you--what none of you could," Shylock regarded them critically. "For, while you have blustered about, with your ethics and code and morality, I have gathered an army based on one thing: motivation."

"What are you babbling on about, old man? You're lost in your delusions of power," Raphael lashed out at the Merchant Lord.

Shylock shot a look back at him, "No, no I am not." He paced forward, "Motivation, Captain Sinclair. Motivation. Like politics, it makes strange bedfellows. You and I, for instance." Raphael snorted in disbelief.

"These demons," he turned to Helena, "are not all aligned because of motivation. They are, some of them, aligned with me because of motivation. And here you all are, because of motivation."

"I know what I'm motivated to do right now..." Arjak muttered.

"You have us in chains, and you have them working for you... what's to believe?" Helena questioned the Trader Lord.

"I have you in chains, Lady Helena," he answered her, "because you were accompanying him." Shylock pointed to Raphael. "And I had to take him in chains because he is a fucking pirate," he gritted his teeth. "Or did you think I just let the Strahl slip from my grasp so easily?"

"What do you want, Shylock?" Baxter spoke up for the first time, unusually bold, but with the understanding that he was dealing with a dealer, a man who thought in terms of coin and profit.

"I want... what you want. What we all want," Shylock answered him.

"I highly doubt that," Arjak muttered again.

"Au contraire, mighty king! You want your kingdom and your beautiful queen," he caressed Ciara's cheek now with another smirk.

"Touch her again, and I'll make you feel such pain as you have never imagined," Arjak threatened him suddenly with a burst of rage. Six men had to hold him and pull him back.

Shylock started back and narrowed his eyes, addressing the King of Norgard coldly. "You want her alive? You want your people alive?" He turned to Raphael, "Do you?" He turned to Helena, "Do you?" Turning to Baxter, "And you? You have family here. I'm sure you don't want to see them consumed in the flood that is coming." His words cut like ice.

"What is it you... we want then?" Caleb finally spoke.

Shylock regarded him thoughtfully, "In plain terms. I took you prisoner because I cannot allow piracy to go unchecked. But if I wanted to execute you, I'd have done it by now. You care about the preservation of those things you hold dear. So do I. While I do not share your emotions of 'love' and 'loyalty' to each other, I understand motivation and preservation of one's own gains. Sigard is mine, and more importantly, so is the international trade of the world..." he paused and let that realization sink into their minds.

"But what good is all that if there is no world to trade in? Demons care nothing for money; they trade in souls, and they don't really 'trade' per se, so much as consume." The Merchant Lord of the Scales breathed in deeply, shuddering slightly while he slowly paced. "I've felt it myself..." A brief memory of Lady Rose's assault flashed into his mind. "Years of life... gone..."

If anyone had been paying attention, they would've seen the Merchant Lord in a rare moment of frailty. He coughed suddenly and wheezed before catching himself and straightening up, breathing in again.

"No, there will be no world for any of us if we don't combat this threat together..." he said more softly. "I will release you and your crew, under one condition," he remarked, eyeing all of them. "You must join me."

That got a look of shock from nearly all of them. "What about your precious reputation as a minister of 'justice'? Won't people see that you've released us without punishment?" Raphael scoffed.

Shylock shot another look at him and shook his head, "Please. You're supposed to be some kind of 'legendary' pirate captain, Raphael. Surely, one more 'escape' is not out of the question for you and your comrades here?" He stated it as though it was terribly obvious as a solution. The company looked at one another. They couldn't believe what they were hearing.

"And so perhaps you see I am not the monster you thought I was after all?" Shylock remarked, turning away. "My men will release you, and my armada..." he paused for effect, "Yes, Raphael, I have an armada--will be ready, along with my army, along with those disparate factions that have joined me for one cause or another, at dawn. My scouts report that a fleet of ships from Esgares is already on their way here." This stunned nearly everyone in the room.

"Emonaloch does not waste time, an while you lot have been fighting, he has been gathering his power and forces. We have run out of time. As soon as I leave here, my men will release you and your nine crew members here. I expect the Strahl to be among our forces tomorrow, if your own words have any truth to them, about caring about others, this world, your 'loved ones', etc, etc..."

"How can we be sure you won't betray us?" Raphael countered.

"If this hasn't proven it already, then count the ships, look at the warriors of the elemental project, and look to all I have spent and done for this enterprise and all I stand to lose by it..." Shylock bowed his head. "No, Captain Sinclair... whatever you stand to lose, I have wagered as much and risk more than you have or will..." He looked at them all one last time.

"I expect to see you tomorrow on the seas to face our true enemy..." With that, the Merchant Lord of the Scales departed and once he was gone, the guards released every one of them, and showed them a secret passage back to the docks...

[~N~]

Just as soon as I belong, then it's time I disappear.... (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYSDC3cHoZs)
************************************************** *

At the prow of the massive ship of the line, the flagship of the armada of the Scales, of Sigard, stood Lord Dravon Shylock, Rod of the Merchant Lords in hand. The ship slowly bobbed in the waves, as though it was breathing in and out with long slow deep breaths upon the swells. The wind, which kicked up, as if a storm approached, whipped through his black and gold robes. And Dreeg, his erstwhile companion held fast his ground, both of his wretched green hands wrapped around the shaft of the standard that bore his Master's Guild insignia: Golden scales, on a black background. In truth, the wind was picking up, and a storm was now upon the horizon, like a darkness, heralding the arrival of the doom of their age.

Black sails, too many to number, their sails silhouetted by the rising sun, seemed like a spreading shadow upon the morning glow that spread across the sparkling seas. Against them was Shylock's fleet, the assembled and amassed sails of the six nations, what little they could contribute together, with what Shylock and Sigard could purchase and construct. And among their many hulls was that of the Strahl.

The pirate ship's captain had decided to come after all, and how could he not? The world was at stake, and he was a part of it. With Emonaloch's demons upon seas and land, turning the kingdoms into their individual hells, there was no reason to go on, no reason to run, no reason to think anyone could outrun or hide from what was coming. Raiding merchants was one thing; living in a world dominated by minions who had no need of riches and wealth of various sizes and shapes was quite another. Or so Shylock assumed. Truly, it was impossible to say what was going through the pirate captain's mind, but deep down, Shylock counted on him siding with human beings over the unholy forces arrayed against them.

Shylock addressed the coming tide of adversaries with the same piercing glare he gave to anyone and anything that threatened his business interests. He felt what these bastards could do if given half a chance to do it, and he set himself against them as a matter not only of life and profit, but life and death -- which was pretty much the same thing in his mind. He wouldn’t give them one cent, one drop of blood more than he absolutely had to, and he would make them fight for every single drop and cent they got. Fight with their godforsaken lives.

And he would make them pay... dearly.

He rapped the staff once upon the planks of the deck... and the ocean trembled.

Sailing towards them, the black fleet and their forsaken crew bore down upon the waiting defenders with soulless malice in their eyes, and dark fire in their hearts. Their sails billowed with unnatural winds, howling like the souls of the damned that they consumed in their wake. For their passage marked the ending of things to come and there was naught left but shadow and despair wherever they went. Already they had struck out and established outposts in this world, within these kingdoms, and the most holy among them had fallen first, a victim of its own righteousness...

But they had not counted on the cold, hard determination of those who remained... the industrious merchant lords of Sigard, the undefeated druidic royalty of Norgard, and the remaining resistance from Ascara, Aerosia and Chanclara. They had not counted on Shylock, Arjak, Ciara, Helena, Baxter, Caleb, Wren, VIR, Zelvad, Cronus, and others... In short, Esgares, and their Emperor and demonic adviser had chiefly underestimated the uncontrollable will of the rest of the world.

And they had underestimated the ambitious self-interest seething in their own ranks, for arrayed against them were also the forces of their own kind, in form too familiar, yet in disguise. These too had joined the ranks of the resistance in hopes that they might stake their claim upon the heap of bodies piled high from battle and so become more powerful than the demon general who advised the young emperor. For they preferred giving orders to following them.

So the ships lined up against Esgares' fleet, one armada against another, and the display of naval power was impressive. But as the west drew closer, a dread fact became apparent: They outnumbered the resistance by a margin of 3-1. Even the most stalwart fighters would find it difficult to overcome such odds.

But Shylock... always had an ace up his sleeve. The rod rapped twice, and the seas shuddered once more, like thunder peeling through their depths. The old Lord Trader of the Scales smiled a thin cold smile as he slowly unveiled a trump card he had kept in waiting all this time.

It was not Cronus. The assassin had obeyed his command to remain in Sigard, regardless of the fate of the battle, and should result prove good or ill, he knew what his course of action would be. There would be little use for him upon the seas, as the battle would take place between cannon and and not swords until much of the armada had sunk beneath the waves. Cronus was Shylock's last resort, should the battle go good, or ill, for he would spend the rest of his hand on this historic gambit.

The ships closed the distance, the wind in their sails picking up unnatural power and speed, filling them and speeding them onwards to their imminent clash of guns and wills. Blood would color the seas red this day, and the sharks would eat until they could swallow no more, but there was nothing worse than sharks to be feared lurking in the deep waters of the world...

"Ready the cannon! Move into position! Ready yourselves lads!" The captains bellowed out their orders and gave their commands. Shylock moved not a muscle, his expression hardening, and his resolve with it. His old jaw clenched, and his piercing emerald eyes narrowed. He held his staff aloft in the air and waited. Patience... cold, steady, merciless patience.

Wait for it...

Just as he ha done when facing down Lady Rose...

Wait for it...

The devils' fleet drew closer, borne atop the crests and swells by their demonic magic, swiftly driving them onward towards their devastation.

Wait... for it...

Staff raised, they drew closer and closer and closer....

Sails full, billowing, bringing them closer still. He could hear their unearthly orders carrying upon the winds, echoing their damned ambitions to sink every last vessel lined up against them.

And still he held his staff aloft... until they were nearly upon them....

*WHAM*

He struck the wood as though he wanted to drive the Rod right through it. And this time, the oceans shook with the fury of his blow. The magic had been unleashed, the call had been sent below and the beast had been summoned...

... and unleashed upon this world.


Within shouting distance now, the demon fleet took no notice of the sucking whirlpool that now formed from the gigantic displacement of water from below between the fleets. But Shylock did, and so did others who were sensitive enough to look for it.

"Roll out the sweeps and reverse direction!" bellowed the first calls of those more observant captains. Only something terrifyingly large could make such an impression in the seas.

The thunderclouds roared above, lightning crackling across the skies, ripping through the blanketing, rolling storm like lashing fingers, reaching for the doom at head. Heavy rains began pouring down from the heavens, dousing and drenching the fury of those fighters just before they would clash in battle. The storm had come...

... and so had something else.... the Trader Lord of the Scales' biggest surprise yet...

Legend and lore always had it that merchants had learned to tame the beasts of the wild--that they, more than any other, had acquired the secrets of turning any wild thing to their service, with some beasts becoming those of burden and others....

.... others had a fury and a propensity for violence that no man could quench or control...

... such was the creature known to storytellers and lorekeepers as the Leviathan.

Just before the fleets came together, just before they clashed, it breached, taking an entire ship into its gigantic maw, and sending it high into the air, a great serpentine body, with a girth that rivaled that of the biggest ships in history, rising from the ocean in a spectacular display of speed and power. That unfortunate vessel was crushed inside jaws that splintered the wood like toothpicks, and sent the pieces into the sails of those vessels around it. It's great body, not even rising fully from the depths smashed down like a giant whale upon three other ships, taking them down with them as it smacked with a tidal force back into the tumultuous ocean. Great waves were sent smacking against the hulls of the fleets, both of them, and Shylock, in all of his wildest fantasies, had never imagined a creation, a creature so incomparably huge that it quite chilled the blood in his bones and made him realize at once just how impossibly beyond his control this weapon, this mythical beast, truly was...

For it knew no fear, and heeded only its own appetite for vengeance. And when it sank into the depths, the whirlpool of its wake sucked down three more ships, from each side, threatening to capsize them and take them down with it. It had no side in this battle and the only consolation Shylock had, as his own ship--grand as it was--was pulled towards the watery abyss, was knowing that Emonaloch and his Emperor, wherever they were across from that whirling vortex of watery destruction, were feeling that very, very human emotion as well....

.... that cold sweat of Fear.

And truly, they were. When the demon general from the prow of the flagship of the Esgarian fleet beheld the monstrosity that took down half a dozen ships with one breach, his own infernal blood, his demonic spirit, if it could ever feel the emotion of terror felt it now, for there were things in this world that would consider even the demon generals and their nephilim soldiers to be food.

The Leviathan breached again, roaring with all the fury of the storm in its presence--rising higher this time and sending capsizing waves against ships all around, scattering them and their puny hulls and sails like candy upon the choppy ocean surface--took up and smashed another ship in its maw, crashing down with its enormous girth, taking and plunging and sinking all the ships around its massive impact with it into the depths, sinking sailors and demons and soldiers and nephilim alike into the crushing depths where they would surely drown in the cold, eternal abyss.

And in the oceanic spray, Shylock rejoiced, for the demon fleet was in chaos, and even if it took his own ships with them, it would be such a blow that would sink this hellish army before it would ever reach the shores of the kingdoms that it would resound through history like one of these hurtling waves that sent each ship reeling and rocking to stay upright against the power of this creature.

Once more, the Beast came up again, and it was the Emperor's own ship that it seized in its jaws now, sending it high into the air, such a beast it was... a hundred feet or more into the air, and then down....

... down it came, ship and Beast.... crashing towards Dravon Shylock's own vessel.... drawn too close by the sucking wake of this awesome monster, so that in those final terrifying seconds.... Beast... and ship.... came crushing down, smashing upon the sails of Shylock's vessel, plunging it finally into the depths with its prey....

Beast and flagships.... sunk together..... swallowed up by the sucking, clashing waves.... where the vortex swirled... and disappeared in a foaming fury.... swirling.... and swirling and swirling..... sucking all within to their doom beneath the waves...


And from that incident... the Beast was seen no more.... but left only splintered sails and hulls and bodies and destruction and havoc in its watery wake....

*************************

It has been said... that upon a beach of Ascara, a lone spluttering green figure, about three feet in height, holding a ragged standard was seen after this legendary battle....

... but most dismiss this as a fanciful tale, of the kind sailors tell of mermaids and selkies, cities and shipwrecks and islands... lost beneath the sea...

[Repent!]

Sigard

Zelvad walked off in disbelief when the notion of trying to reason with Shylock had been brought up.Trying to reason with the merchant meant trying to reason with Cronus...and given current events that just wasn't going to happen.


VIR caught sight of the assassin's distaste and followed after him. When he knew that he would be uniterrrupted by the group they arrived with, he spoke up. "So you're running away now?"

Zelvad quickly turned his head to meet his accuser with a look of disbelief. "Excuse you?!"

"I think you heard me just fine. Though I think it's funny how you were so eager to get here, and now that we are here you want nothing to do with the plan. Are you scared?"

Zelvad shot another look of disbelief. "Scared?"

"I didn't stutter. Worried about Cronus? Worried that you won't survive him, let alone be able to kill him? Or are you worried that he may not fight you directly?"

Zelvad was now officially pissed as a slight wave of red covered his cheeks while a slight hue of red mixed with the green in his eyes.

VIR smirked. "I thought so. I've seen how you eye the paladin, and I know you both have been caring for the little one, what was her name?"

"None, of your fucking business."

VIR gave an airy laugh before continuing. "Noted. Though that anger of yours could be very dangerous...is that why you left her with a caretaker in Norgard? Do you not want her to see the very same rage that was let loose upon the nephilim at the Star Sanctum?"

"How do you-"

"One of my many missions in Norgard was to investigate the pillar at Star Sanctum, it was the same time period that Norgard was having its little war, the paladin can tell you how all that panned out with Joseph. I watched the entire thing from the queen's army's arrival, to where you and yours came in and cleaned up the rest of the battle."

Zelvad shook his head. "So you understand why Shylock needs to be stopped, and not negotiated with right?"

"How do you mean?"

Zelvad scoffed. "Someone as socially and financially powerful as Shylock, out thinking and out maneuvering beings that threatened to destroy the known world in the lore, and that this man has one of the deadliest men still walking this earth is on his payroll."

"So?"

"So?....SO?! A man with that kind of power going unchecked doesn't bother you? If not, then think about what could happens when Shylock dies. When the most dangerous man in the world is free to do as he pleases with a grudge against magic, what's stop him from going beyond you and me? What about Gwen, Joseph, or anyone else in your 'project'? What about any other innocent Sigardian or other innocent citizen that gains an affinity for magic? Are you willing to risk all of that on a 'So'?"

VIR crossed his arms as he responded "Well that's what your clan is for right? To track and kill any 'corrupt magicks'?"

"We do, Cronus doesn't."

For the first time, VIR didn't have any kind of quick answer-question combo to retort with.

Zelvad took the silence as a signal to continue.

"Just because you have spent your life killing on other people's orders, doesn't give you the right to put me and Cronus in the same group. Know that you, me, and him have taken to taking lives for very different reasons."

VIR carried a look of confusion. "How do you figure?"

"You of course, kill because your told to. That's how a weapon works. Cronus kills because he enjoys it."

"Enjoys it?"

"Always. I saw the glint in his eyes when he was killing our leaders, he was reveling in their death."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Zelvad repeated.

"You said the three of us had separate reasons for taking a life. What's yours?"

"Balance."

VIR scoffed at such a predictably lame answer, while Zelvad continued.

"Look at all of the things that have happened over the past few months. Ascara plunged into darkness, Ivalor cut off from the rest of the world, and Norgard is still recovering from civil war. Now which of the last two countries that we've heard nothing from have waged all out war in the past?"

VIR didn't miss a beat. "Esgares.."

"You see where I'm going here?"

VIR took in everything that he was presented with and considered as he spoke his next question. "So is killing Cronus going to give you the balance you desire?"

"No, but it's a start."

"so then, when does it stop?

"Until I don't have to fight anymore."

"What if you never stop fighting?"

"Then I will fight through a thousand lifetimes until I achieve it."

As they rapidly exchanged words, Zelvad took strides towards VIR until they were about three feet apart.


VIR shifted his feet to a offensive stance. "Are we going to have an issue, assassin?"


Zelvad smirked. "That all depends. Are you going to be one?"


VIR was done with the words, hopping forward to throw a palm strike to Zelvad's chin with his left hand, waves of heat bursting from his arm. Zelvad responded with a side-step and a grip on IR wrist with right index finger and thumb. Then with his left hand, Zelvad took his left hand and clamped down on VIR's shoulder joint with his middle finger and tumb, now trapping the heat in VIR's arm.

"Motherf-AHH!!" VIR attempted to wrestle is arm free, to which Zelvad answered to by reasserting the pressure.

"Don't move. The more you struggle, the more you irritate the magic inside. So unless you really don't care about having a left arm anymore, I suggest you drop the hard-ass act and calm down."

VIR growled from the strenuous amount of pain, but did his best to remain still. It was easy for the assassin to tell him to 'calm down', since his arm most likely didn't feel like it was being cooked from the inside out.

"You said it best yourself though, we track and kill corrupt magicks. That's why this little barrier of wind around you means nothing to me, why all of this fire in your arm doesn't bother me."

Zelvad then leaned in a little closer to further drive home his next point."If I were anything like Cronus, I would've kept quiet and let you blow your arm off." Zelvad then released the pressure on VIR's shoulder and pushed him forward, returning the two to the three foot distance between them. As VIR
recovered, he felt the magic being sent back across his body, cooling his arm down to a normal temperature.

Zelvad went to speak again, but both of their attentions were brought on by a man dropping into the shadows, approaching quickly. The two acted almost simultaneously, VIR drawing his sword in its half extended state and blasting off a blot of fire while Zelvad drew his dagger and flung towards the shaded figure.

The approaching silhouette caught the blade and twirled past the fire with the greatest of ease. He then anchored his body down to his right foot as he hurled the dagger back at Zelvad, causing the assassin to catch it just short of the blade piercing the bridge of his nose. The man spoke and voice froze the two in place.

"Your form is good, but you're offense was way too obvious...both of you."
The reaction from the two was warranted though as Livata soon revealed himself
from the alley way.

"Old man?"

"Livata?"

"As much as I'd love to answer both of your questions right now, there are morepressing issues that the two of you need to be present for."

--------------------------------------------------------------
Five minutes later

They followed Livata through the turns and twists of the back alleys untill they found an abandoned house deep in the Sigardian markets. Livata motioned for VIR to stay while Zelvad entered. Hearing a light scuffling inside, he slowly walked inside until his eyes met with the woman inside.

"Mom?"

She turned her head and they both gained bright smiles as they met in a tight hug, Zelvad crumbling in her arms with silent tears rolling down his face. "I...was scared to death you and dad were..."

The woman hushed him, and ran her fingers through his hair.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

As Zelvad entered the house, VIR was brought back to the same decision he was left to on the dock when he first came across this man: stand your ground or run?

VIR took a deep breath, and spoke first this time. "So back at the dock, where did you get that name from?"

"Virgil? That's your name."

"No. My name is VIR."

Livata looked lost as he turned his head sideways...until he realized what was going on. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"What?"

Livata chuckled. "You're name is Virgil Ignatius Renali. What do your initials spell?"

"V...I?...son of a bitch."

"You get it now?"

"Yeah I guess, though how do you know all this?"

"...you have your mother's eyes. You know that right?"

"Something about that sentence trigger something subconsciously as VIR rocked Livata's jaw with a right hook. "No! You're supposed to be dead! They told me you died at sea. They even showed me the grave!!"

Livata dropped to his knees from the hit, then rose to his feet while checking to see if the hit drew blood which it thankfully didn't. "Hah, good to know I can still disappear."

"I WILL hit you again."

Livata smiled at his threat. "You have her temper too."

VIR cocked back to swing again, but found himself hesitating. The man made no move to defend himself, and his words hit harder than any truth ever could. Slowly, he lowered his arm and loosened his fist.

Soon after, Zelvad exited with his mother in tow. Livata noticed he was carrying two separate parcels now. Both of then were wrapped up in some brownish paper and tied with rope. One was a flat square and the other seemed long and slightly curved.

"Got what you two needed?" They both nodded, the laughed once they realized what just happened.

After the laughter subsided, Zelvad looked over to Livata. "Thank you for this, I really appreciated it...but we talked about it and I need her headed back to Chanclera in the morning."

"They won't be safe so long as Cronus still rules the Fangs."

"No one is, Livata."

Livata shot eyes over to Ziva who nodded, when turned his gaze back to Zelvad.

"Fair enough, I guess."

"Widow bless your travels, Master."

"Likewise....Filistata."

With those parting words, VIR and Zelvad left for the docks. They had been gone a while, and no doubt they were being searched for.

[Kris]

Night- Sigard

Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boo2Zm69fhY)

They departed from Shylock and were soon preparing for the battle they were told was going to take place the following day.

There was no sign of VIR and Gwen, but Helena thought little of that. After all, they were greatly disturbed by the recent events. Not only did Jask attacked them out of the blue and disappeared as fast as he arrived, which meant he was still waiting to attack at any given moment, now they were forced into a new alliance against their wills.

The pirates were free, but everyone carried an angry or sad expression. Raphael more so than the rest.

Joining together with the people who were left by the docks, Helena was glad Zelvad was still waiting beside the ship. But this was probably only the calm before the storm, for soon the assassin will find his way for Cronus....

And then...

"It is better that we ready ourselves for tomorrow", Helena said to the others.

She then moved slowly for Zelvad, who was absent this while, and softly took his hands within hers, "Join me tonight at my ship's quarters", then quickly turned and left before he had any chance to ask why, probably to aid or talk to the others.


***


Zelvad had just made it back for about two minutes before Helena asked him to meet her in private. Perhaps she was ready to talk, though something in her eyes said more than just words. Such thoughts made his heart jump for a second...he needed to know if this was real.

da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM

As he reached where Helena was to spend the night, he knocked on the wood before his eyes entered the room. "Everything alright, Helena?"

da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM

"Yes, all is well. Please come in", she said.

She heard his weak steps as the door screeched, announcing his entree. She didn't know if he was inside the room yet or not, for her back was turned to him. Her red hair sprawled all over her nape as she was leaning against the night table beside her bed.

There was a mirror hanging there. Her reflection was somewhat blurry, but he could see the small gestures of kerchief running back and forth over her eyes and nose.

She was most certainly crying, but now she was trying her best to hide any trace of tears before she was turning to face him.

Still, that was not the only thing to take him by a surprise. There was something about her aura. Fragile like a wounded beast.

Her room was somewhat cold and yet all that was adorning her features was a silk yellow night gown, the kind she used to wear under her armor-plates.

"Helena..." He spoke in an almost understanding tone, as all was certainly not well. If anyone would've had the right to break during this entire adventure, it was Helena. Having to question and change everything about her life and beliefs to ensure everyone else around her was happy and safe...though did it make her happy?

Zelvad wondered when was the last time Helena did something she truly desired that wasn't required of her. He took steps closer to her and gently placed his hands on her cheeks, wiping away the dried on streaks the tears left behind. "It's okay Helena, you've done so much for everyone here...you can let yourself fall tonight. I'm here to catch you." Zelvad slowly eased his hands into hers to weave their fingers together, resting his head against hers.

"How… How can I…" She sobbed, and again those tears she fought so hard to keep back threatened to cascade down her cheeks. She was a proud warrior, but at that moment she felt like a small girl. The touch of his forehead against hers was calming.

She wanted to push him away. If anything it was her duty to deal with the demons on her own.

And yet...

BA-DUM BA-DUM BA-DUM BA-DUM

"How can I, dear Zelvad?", she whispered. Her voice low. She wasn't sobbing, but there was some demand in the way she spoke. As if challenging him to stay still... and yet close

Zelvad had the basic concept to answer her question, but the words escaped him. So instead of spending the next couple minutes trying to fumble over words that made no sense when put together, he fell back on his next best talent: thinking on his feet. With all the smoothness and finesse he carried into battle, he slipped his hands from hers and set them on her hips while he slipped forward and gently met her lips with his own.

Her eyes widened with a surprise before they closed half way, her gaze never letting go of the sight of his lips. As if hypnotized, her mouth remained open...ready...inviting. Soft breathes escaped her throat. It was inflaming.

Soon after breaking the kiss he took a decent inhale and breathed into her ear the words: "Like that..."

What was it about that closeness? Never before had a man dared to touch her, let alone kiss her. Her body trembled helplessly but every part urged her to try and balance her position.

She felt selfish, for she wanted more. A wild fire, she slowly moved closer, reading herself to steal another kiss.

Sadly, one cannot steal things that are freely offered.

As their lips locked a second time, they held for a little longer as Zelvad fully wrapped his arms around Helena's waist, pulling her against the warmth of his own body. Soon after, he began to lightly trace her form through her gown.

She allowed him to trail over her body, never knowing what in all of seven hells got into her. The flame was brighter, and she felt his touch upon each and every curve.

There were warnings at the back of her head, some voices telling her to stop this madness. But his body was rather addictive, so it was hard to not return each and every gesture with her own fingers.

She felt his chest rising and sinking along with hers. She felt the beating of his heart.

Madness. Pure Madness.

Helena knew this was not her place. She was a holy warrior. The group's guide... She was never to be a part of them or enjoy life...

But every caress caused a shiver, and every shiver caused excitement. Which felt like a welcoming bliss.

The voices in her head were almost nonexistent now and she found herself giving into something very primal that required no thinking nor speaking.

Moving with the moment, Zelvad draped Helena's arms behind his neck as he lifted her up by her thighs to lay her gently on her bed, moving the sensation of his lips from her own to her neck then to just under it, letting the heat from his breath linger with each passing exhale while his nails gently dragged down her arms.

And she moaned with every move, bearing herself to him so not one inch was to be spared from his kisses. As she raised her neck, she felt how heavy her hair was as it was pulled back. Her arms moved around him, welcoming him, bringing him closer.

His head finding its way back up, Zelvad made for a light nip at the side of Helena's neck before coming all the way back up to meet her lips once again. Then his hands wandered across and down her arms, then to her legs and up to her knees where they decided to turn around and make their way under her gown. His hands continued to slither up her body with her gown riding up along with them, stopping just short of her breasts.

His hands then drifted back down his nails slightly grazing her skin again as they passed over her mons, gliding around the outside of her treasure trove below as they moved up and back down her inner thighs.

And she arched upward with every exciting pass....

Between feeling aroused and the sounds escaping her lips, she could do little but to twist along with him, making sure his body was anchored with hers. She enjoyed the way he sliced and buttered her with his fingers.

For a moment their gaze met. There was eagerness reflecting in their eyes. Blue and Green locked in tension like a storm in the sea.

Lips wide, unable to utter anything.

Passing of heat, sensual breathing.

As he moved forward they kissed again.

Before more screams followed.

They both knew they were going to use every precious second possible to make this a night worth remembering, for they knew whether or not they would get the chance again.

***

Helena watched as the world burned around her.

Everything was set on fire.

There were screams and shouts coming from every direction and there was nothing she could do aside of staring.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

Hands reached around her and at her left shoulder his chin rested. She heard him whispering so close to her ear, and she shivered with fear and disgust.

"Emonalach..."

She couldn't resist him.

She couldn't move, she couldn't scream.

And he was so intimately close to her, stroking her belly, pulling his hands over her cheeks, playing with the locks of her red hair.

When she tried to pull away, she felt a strong hand grabbing her neck. He then lifted her chin, forcing her to look at the terrible destruction that happened around her.

"What...what do you want of me?!".

She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was smiling.

"We shall meet come dawn.... The promised day has come...".


***


Later that night

Helena gasped as she woke up. It was still dark, but she knew it wasn't long before morning... before their last battle was going to happen.

"Just a dream...".

The assassin was still sharing a bed with her. She calmed down before she started to playfully fiddle with his hair.

Zelvad stirred little by little as she continued to play with his hair as he laid face down in the pillow. To which he responded with one open eye, and the closest available hand swatting weakly at the hand playing with his hair with a low groan. "I'm up, I'm up."

He slowly stretched out his arms and legs as far as he could before fully turning on his side to face Helena with a light smile. "Can't sleep? Can't really find fault with that, considering what we're gonna be up against come the sunrise." He sighed as he met eyes with the paladin.

She hugged her knees before she moved in closer, taking her place beside him as she wrapped herself with his arm. She playfully passed a finger over his lips, "I am troubled...", she said with a smile, as if trying to hide all her fears from him, "What about you?"

Zelvad scoffed and smirked as he moved his thumb side to side across her skin, pondering his answer as he did so.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about what's going to happen, though I am optimistic about our chances of all of us walking away from this very much alive when taking into account everything that should have killed us so far. I would ask what's troubling you...but I think the better question to ask is what troubles you the most, my lovely paladin?"

"My Zelvad...", she gripped his hands within hers as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, "Cronus... You should not.... I do not wish....", she bite her lips, "I..."

Zelvad's smile slightly faded.

Were it any other request...literally anything besides this...Zelvad would have been able to make it happen. Too much had happened though. Too many people have been hurt by Cronus and his actions, and all because he wanted to live by his own personal agenda.

"You know I have to, Helena. Everything with the Nephilim has shown me that the clan itself needs to be reminded of what we're fighting for....of why the Fangs were created." His heart felt like it was tugging at his throat, begging him to shut his mouth and take the out she was giving him. He had already said his peace though. The words were out and he couldn't drag them back in.

He knew she wasn't going to like his answer, so he made his next move before she could respond.

"Though I'm going to make a promise to you now. If..." Zelvad choked up for a second and sniffled back the sudden glint in his eye at the thoughts the word 'if' implied now. "No, not if...when...I'm finished with this, I want us to take in Bria. She deserves a second chance at a family."

"And you too...", Helena said as her body was pushed again his, she was lying on top of him now, playfully playing with his hair. She bowed her head to kiss him.

"And me...", she said, now reaching lower for his neck.

She reached her hands to entangle her fingers within his as she forced his arms around his head, "But you will probably have to catch me first", she grinned.

Surely this kind of expression she would have never shown to anyone else.

At that point both knew what it meant.

They were both going to do their best to live...

And try their best to find each other if they were ever to be parted.

[Derpnaster]

At night, we're conspiring by candle light.... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nQCxwneUwA)


Night- Sigard.


"As I expected", Gwen said angrily as she descended the staircase and joined VIR, "Fergal is not here... And I doubt Jared will show himself any time soon..."

Gwen and VIR left just as they suspect the presence of Shylock. Working for the High Chancellor, Izlude, want that they were going to be discreet about their actions.

But the absence of Fergal meant that the four of them, VIR, Joseph, No.Vii and herself were now the seniors in charge.

In charge of the project and in charge of leading the elemental warriors in the coming fight.

"Lady Helena will require our assistance in the coming battle, maybe for once we will fight as free people... I believe that's what Joseph meant when he returned here... Maybe... Maybe once all is done... We can... Start anew... no more... tests... or...".

Gwen was still occupied by her thoughts before she recalled of VIR, "No.Vii said he has some business to take care of. I suspect it had something to do with the being called "Jask", the one who turned itself into swarms of ants.

"I suspect that won't be the last we see of them both, but for now Jask is silent and No.Vii is on its tail.... I think it will be best to let him be, but you still need a partner.

"We're have a meeting come nightfall, gather everyone together and inform them of the battle. We will also team you up during that time."


***

Night- Secret meeting at the elemental warriors base, Sigard.

VIR, Gwen, and Joseph had managed to gather up all of the warrior that were fit to fight, while the rest were to be placed safely in the emergency shelters. If there was ever a time to use it, it was now.


VIR decided to speak up. "Fergal is gone, as is Jared. Which means control of the project falls upon the heads of Gwen, Joseph, No. Vii and myself. I'm not going to lie to you in saying Fergal was right in the regard that we are Sigard's refuse, orphans thrown out and left to die. Though I believe he was only half right in that regard."

He paused to swallow back some spit before continuing.

"I look upon everyone here and I don't see garbage and waste...I see the absolute best of Sigard's research and efforts to better defend itself, though I can't help but now think about what would happen if all that effort was put towards other more useful resources. Though for now we play soldier, and once the battle is done and over with, we pull the plug on the project and take any available ships left off of Sigard and go someplace that we don't have to fight anymore."

VIR then turned his head to face Joseph. "I once thought that anyone that deserted from the country was unworthy of mercy, but after everything I've seen other the past couple months, I have officially had my fill of this country and am now ready to take my leave of it."

VIR then turned his head to face general direction of the rest of the group.

"One more thing, this fight will undoubtedly be the most life threatening fight you have ever seen....death is almost guaranteed. If you disappear before the morning, your motives will be understood and you will not be pursued. Though know now, if you commit to fight, you will see it through to whatever end is dealt to you for better or worse."

The cries and cheers were beaming, echoing back and forth along the small hall. It took a while for them to quiet, and even then there were still visible whispers among the crowd.

They agreed.

"Looks like we have a natural leader", Gwen nodded with great affection.

She then stepped forward, "Victoria Hill", she said, "Please step forward".

Fate... a cruel mistress, one who is kind to some born into privilege and a brutal publisher to those who are less than that. It was no different for Victoria. She never was meant to be here, she was no solider and was anything but a leader. She was a simple farmer who was made the plaything of fate..

These thoughts of fate were what ran through the mind of Victoria as she made the long and heart stopping trip to the front of the hall. To her, all this felt like more punishment and then finally they would just kill her so her pathetic and miserable life could end and she could once again see the one she loved in the afterlife..

It wasn't long before Victoria stood before the rest of the group. Head down, eyes looking at her feet, and just looking broken and defeated. Which she was. She was no longer herself. She was simply a body with a broken soul and no hope for anything except her final rest, where she could at least have peace.

"Victoria, you are one of the new members, but you are still one of our best", said Gwen, "We would give you the option to leave, like we did with the rest, but I would like you to consider an option, would you care to hear?"

Victoria sighed and looked up but only enough to see whom was speaking and who would be the one to seal her fate once and for all. Taking a deep breath she finally spoke, a rare thing lately as her speaking has more often brought punishment and pain than any form of good.

"Yes... I would." She said in a barely audible voice. One that despite her best efforts betrayed a lot of fear and pain.

"Victoria, what we are about to face tomorrow, will be the kind of things we've been taught to channel our power against. As you know, we are all moving in teams of two. My partner for this battle will be Joseph".

Gwen stopped allowing VIR (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=33098&page=14&p=1048556&viewfull=1#post1048556) to step forward.

"VIR's partner is currently absent, although during the fight we will mostly be on our own, I believe it will be best for you to fight by his side as his partner in battle, would you agree?"

Victoria froze for a second as then she moved only her eyes to look at VIR. She began mulling over what to say. What would be the consequence of refusal? Would they sentence her to be beaten and left in a cold rotting room? Or would she be thrown out into the cold to die for refusing? The options to her were so limited, she would never be the same as she was when fate first turned its cruel gaze upon her life and now here it was giving her a choice! It just wasn't right. She was confused and scared of saying the wrong thing and angering them all so she simply nodded.

"Yes... it would."

Gwen nodded, turning to VIR, "It works, does it not?"

"Not if she stays so frozen stiff." VIR took a couple steps forward towards the girl as he lifted her head up by the chin with his index finger so that their eyes would meet. "Relax, you're among friends here. Not a single one of us will ever feel the pain we have suffered ever again so long as I still draw breath. You only need to fight one battle, then we'll be free. I swear it."

Could it really be? Is it at all possible? Can he really be telling the truth? We might actually be... free?

Were the thoughts that ran through Victoria's head when VIR's words reached her. She then finally looked as far as she could into his eyes to search them for any hint of deception. She found none, yet somehow she couldn't be sure. She had been lied to before and it was hard not to mistrust them all, but the look in his eyes somehow dispelled any fears for Victoria.

"You swear it?" She finally managed to say through her haze of thoughts.

"On my eternal soul, I do."

[V]

Before leaving Sigard

To be as soon leaving Sigard as they had arrived? It was madness to the weary Ascaran warrior - a man who had spent the last few days feeling ill and frustrated. Halfway from Norgard on the pirate ship and some sickness had befallen him, nothing terrible (and certainly not seasickness) but enough to force him out of any conflict. The confrontation with Jask had left him feeling sluggishly useless, unable to help his friend Baxter. And, once more in the meeting with Shylock.

The merchant had been most unsettled by the events, especially the death of the young child. The old warrior, Caleb had begun to feel aged ever since Norgard, had images of Ascaran conflict flash though his mind. Mercenary days, of similar atrocities playing over and over. The shock of someone using them like that had woken the anger inside the warrior but also pain.

It was madness to be leaving so quickly, unrested and unprepared. But, perhaps for the best.

They had petitioned this aside before their departure to war. The burying of a child, but it was a quiet service. The bulk of their group had their own tasks to accomplish before they left, or thoughts occupied them. Accompanied by a small Sigard guard Caleb and Baxter entered a cemetery close to the docks to bury the child.

Resting a hand on his friend's shoulder, Caleb said kindly, " to go on another ship so soon. A nightmare friend."


The events passed like a dream. Baxter could still feel the weight of the child's limp body hanging over his arms. His parents were nowhere to be found. Any family that they could find lurking in or around the city seemed to not exist. It was as if Truth had pulled a phantom from thin air and laid it at his feet. But Baxter knew better. The child came from someone, from somewhere, had a family at one point. There would be more bloodshed today. With the child's twisted face still in his mind's eye, he could only envision that his son and Percy could share the very same fate.

Caleb stood at his side, though he hardly noticed. He stared forward, feeling as if his gangly figure could fall over at any moment. But he had his task at hand; he knew where he wanted to go. Baxter had heard talk that Percy still lived in the same district.

Caleb had not spoken since mentioning the ship, not wishing to interrupt his friend's thoughts.In some ways the merchant felt different to him, more withdrawn then he usually was. He gave his friend a long moment in silence before asking softly, "shall we go back to the others, Baxter?"

Baxter did not respond immediately. His throat was dry, his fingers and toes numb, his eyes swollen from the previous night. "And then what happens next, Caleb? After we find the others. What will happen to the city? Is there any hope? Can we save it? Or is that not our goal?" The more he spoke the more bitter his voice became. His hands began to shake at the thought. He decided already in his heart that he had but one goal in mind for the rest of this journey.

"You don't need to fight Baxter, you don't need to come to the battle." Caleb replied slowly, trying to keep his friend calm. At the anguish within the merchant's voice, Caleb's eyes turned downward. He did not know how to heal the pain. Feebly he placed a comforting hand on Baxter's shoulder.

"This victim child of a terribly tragedy, he means more to you. I won't force more from you, but know that I will listen."

"When I married Percy all those years ago, I never imagined I'd... be capable of something so vile. I left her, Caleb. I left her without... without even thinking. I knew she was with child, I knew it. And still.... I just need to know they're okay. I need to know they're safe. I can't continue to live with myself if I don't."

Caleb placed a hand on the shoulder of his friend, he was in no place to judge the man's actions.

After a quick look to their pair of guardsmen, in a hushed voice he said. "Then don't friend, go to her. I will help distract them from us."

Baxter couldn't help but smile. He placed a hand on Caleb's shoulder. "I wouldn't be much help here, anyway, now would I Gerald?" Then, Baxter fell just a little bit behind his friend's step, waiting for a signal.

"Ah much better, you made me worry when you called me Caleb earlier." He grinned, joking louder.

They had stripped him of his sword for this brief trip to the cemetery but Caleb could still use his fists. Approaching the pair he patted his friend on the back, and when they were but a few steps from their guard he tugged Baxter's shirt.

He jumped onto the first guard, bumping him to the ground. The other one had taken a step back and was scrounging for his weapon. Caleb's fist took him on the nose. Eyeing the man he said, "we'll meet again my friend."

Baxter could only muster a nod before he turned on his heels and sped off. His long, lanky legs carried him forward through the city, and never once did his memory fail him; Baxter knew the route every step of the way. He continued to run even when he heard the eventual disruption of battle behind him. But he did not stop, not until he turned the corner and smelled the sweet scent of bread spreading forth from the old bakery, not until he climbed around the narrow alleyway that had been the center of many restless nights, not until he came upon the sight of a very familiar home still decorated with the same potted plants and antique statues she had collected over the course of her lifetime. In the window he saw the faint silhouette of a plump woman and a small child. Whether or not Persephone would take him back, he resolved to get them out of the city and into the arms of safety. This marked the last time Baxter would ever run away again.

The Night Before the Battle

Within his room aboard the Strahl, Caleb sat alone for some time. He wondered on what fate had befallen Baxter, perhaps they had thought re-capturing him would not help in this final battle. After being 'apprehended' Caleb had been returned to the Strahl.

A lantern swayed above him. He drank wine from a goblet staring at an empty scroll before him. Slowly he gripped his pen and wrote a letter no one would ever read.

My sudden disappearance I assume caused much shock, you may have learned of my exploits in Norgard. I did not abandoned you, I was taken for holy purpose. It has been months and I have not written, I apologise the words would not come to me.

The end is coming, what ending it is I do not know. I do not fear death if that is what is to come in tomorrow's battle.

Sultan, rule the sands well.

You know my script,
Son

"Farewell Hassan," Caleb muttered pouring himself another goblet. He drank slowly reading his words once more, and when completed lifted from the table.

Flames took it quickly, the old magic returning.

There had been rumours about Caleb's flames for over a decade, many spoke of a former lover teaching him the skill in his youth - a sorceress of power. Ascaran's had never let go of their superstitions over magic, not completely even as powers such as his fire rose up through the deserts. Perhaps it was wise, Caleb had seen much in his travels. Wise to fear when demons walked the land.

The truth however was plainer, it was stolen sorcery. Like the Sultan's wife, it was another thing taken from his former liege. In the library depths Caleb had found holy scrolls early in tutorage, the mercenary within had spoken: make use of what you have.

Perhaps Hassan would find the scrolls one day, take ahold of the magic himself. Assemble the ashes of the letter in the future.

Caleb snorted at his speculation, and drank more wine.

The Day of the Battle

The great beast, the water, the vortex, the swaying of the deck underneath his feet. Caleb could remember very little of how the battle was unfolding. His focus was on the battle at hand, everything else was just an unwanted distraction. Even his growing hatred of the sea, the swirling of his stomach.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't drunk so much wine the prior night. One for him, one for Baxter.

Every few moments there seemed to be the need to check to still see if he held his sword, though he resisted that and focused on the army of the dead. They kept coming and coming, these Nephilim, the dead enemy. Even without the doubt that had been a part of him last time, the sheer number swelling on the deck was making all his efforts almost useless.

He'd burn several, slash some, tumbled others into the ocean. And more would come to take their place, the demon army felt endless to the Ascaran.

Every few moments there seemed to be the need to check for his sword... Then Caleb remembered it had fallen overboard some time ago. He had to roll, to dodge instead of attacking. Only he'd been scorching the dead enemies to survive, his only weapon left. He barely had the strength to get back up to his knees.

Around him Emonalach's army were closing in...

[Repent!]

Battle at sea


Esgares fleet were countless

http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs29/i/2008/101/e/3/fleet2_by_Civac.jpg


And as the demonic dragon summoned by shylock wreaked havoc the great green ocean quickly turned crimson from blood and gunfire. Cannons balls rang across the waters and whistles of spells and blades were heard all over.

http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2013/110/0/9/sea_dragon_ushering_the_fleet_by_citystate-d62dpu1.jpg

At that point Helena lost signs of Zevlad. She cried for him, fearing that the assassin has gone to face Cronus. While looking around, she felt huge force tossing her aside. She looked up only to notice a huge man, who didn't even bother with her. He had another person in mind.

"Remember me! Handsome prince!!".

It was Devon (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=33098&page=8&p=1037797&viewfull=1#post1037797), the man who wanted the throne of Norgard. The man who was working for the Ice queen. The man who set bombs all over the kingdom and killed and wounded so many.

Was he now working for Emonalach?

Obviously Arjak charged at him, caring little to know about Devon as revenge made his weapon sing.

Fire and fury churned in the blood of the Norgard King, his eyes wild and savage as the slavering wolves that stalked the deep and dark forests of him homeland. Devon's presence alone filled Arjak with hatred, veins pounding with every beat of his heart. Vanskmunr glowed brightly as the heard of the earth, filling the room with a glorious and radiant light. Roaring like a wild animal, the High King made his charge at his nemesis. Fueled by hatred and vengeance, the gap between the two of them closed rapidly.

Devon' channeling the dragon that he had absorbed into his mortal shell, spewed gouts of white-hot flame from his hands and mouth. The fire was untamed and crazed, spreading out before the deranged and demonic huntsman with wild abandon. The stone and metal touched by the unnatural fire glowed cherry-hot. Arjak could feel it through the soles of his boots and the layers of his clothes. It was as if the High King had just leapt into the gaping maw of hell itself. Gritting his teeth, Arjak endured the flame, discarding his immolated cloak and surcoat to the inferno. Escaping the ravenous tongues of fire, Arjak dashed at his aggressor, swinging Vanskmunr at Devon's torso, the blade singing with the chorus of furious angels slavering for redemption. The blade, once black, now glowed as brightly as the huntsman's fire. The tip of the ancient blade narrowly missed Devon as he stepped aside, the blade still sundering cloth and singing flesh.

Reeling back from the High King's sword sweep, Devon mustered more of the terrible power within him and unleashed another cone of flame. Arjak, with no room to maneuver, raised Vanskmunr's edge as if to block an incoming strike from an opposing swordsman. The enchanted blade stood stalwart, splitting the column of flame down the middle. Still, the heat was unbearable. Arjak could feel the skin on his knuckles and arms burning and smell the hairs of his beard melting.

"I'm going to enjoy... killing you!" Arjak shouted through gritted teeth, sounding near inhuman with this growl. Arjak's eyes were almost entirely shut to protect them from the heat, but Devon could not maintain the burst of fire forever. Finally, the fire subsided, leaving Arjak singed in several places, his pale skin several shades redder than would be considered healthy. In some places, like on his hands, forearms, and shoulders, blisters appeared, some of them even burst, oozing a mixture of blood and pus. The pain fueled the High King's rage, clenching his teeth, he reeled his sword back with one hand, the other gripping Devon firmly by the throat. Vanskmunr's crossguard connected with the huntsmen's head three times.

"You are going to leave this world slow and in pain, you maggot..." Arjak muttered, squeezing down on the gaunt man's throat.


================================


Ciara had rushed to the red haired womans side, taking a knee beside her to comfort her when the one known as Devon had appeared. Ciara's eyes flashed, the reflection of fire burning deep within them.

Her hands stretched out to Helena, offering to help her up but as the two women began to stand, she heard her husband’s voice booming over the din of the destruction happening around them.

"I'm going to enjoy... killing you!"

Ciara squeezed Helena's hands and then turned to face the direction the sounds had come from. As she moved away, a golden aura began to glow around her. Once olive eyes now burned the color of fire as she approached the two men. There was no fear surging through the raven haired queen, there were only the words of Tik'va that would be heard in her head.

She was the oracle of fire. She was the bearer of hope. Ciara would not see the world she loved so much fall under the hand of evil. She would not see her husband become a murderer. The smell of blood and singed skin wafted up, almost gagging her but she continued moving forward, unblinking, unafraid as the golden aura moved out and was propelled forward until it surrounded not only her, but her husband as well as the huntsmen body began to crumple under the crushing blows.

"Arjak" Ciara's voice had once again changed, hauntingly beautiful as she spoke and the dancing around around them glowed softly with the embers of the love and passion she had for her husband. She took his hands into hers, both of them safe inside of that glowing bubble for the briefest of moments as she would try to sway her husband from killing the crazed Huntsmen "This is not who we are. We are druid, you are king, and I your queen. " Blazing eyes locked onto the crazed eyes of her mates. "Husband, we are not barbarians. It does not serve us nor does it serve our people to become as him."

Ever constant, the voice of reason, the voice of that his wife, the oracle of fire would reach the kings ears, her pleas not going unnoticed as her dainty hand reached up and touched the side of his face with gentleness, love, and hope.

It was then that a powerful magic took place, and out of the blue two figures appeared.

"Issac?", Helena asked surprised. She didn't know who the other man that followed him was, but decided not to press the questions right now.

"Now Issac, lock us both into the portal!"

"Yes Sir Oaken (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=33098&page=20&p=1064126&viewfull=1#post1064126)"

Something caught both Devon and the new character known as Oaken within a portal of some sort, sealing them inside a red glowing wave of energy, spiral shaped.

Devon, already eager from the mad battle he just had with the king of Norgard, seemed to be very upset and angry being trapped inside the energy circle.

"Don't worry… We shall soon fight again…", said Oaken

"Again!", cried Devon, "You must be mistaken fool, as a hunter I have clear vision of all the people I ever marked to kill… unless you are one of these lowlife that so happened to cross my path", Devon licked his lips, "But I will fight you all right".

"Eager already?", said Oaken, "I am too…".

"Wait…", Devon's eyes shot wide open, "I know you…".

Oaken grinned, "ISSAC NOW!".

"IT'S YOU!!! IT'S YOU!!! SANDOR-!"

The cries of Devon were not heard, but he seemed to be uttering a name…

Issac hands were lifted to the air, the energy he mastered sending both Devon and Oaken into another realm…

To finish their last fight.


================================


The elemental warriors were fighting as best as they could, their powers progressing at the sight of the Nephilim, those horrible creatures without form, and yet as much as a great havoc was happening so close to the harbor, there was much tumult in the kingdom of Sigard as well.

A flash of light was passing into the main city. Green light it was, which made it somewhat symbolic, both because of its poisonous origin and for the fact the color was closely associated with the idea of “Greed”, the symbol of Sigard.

Indeed the apple does not fall far from the tree…. That is, if No.Vii, the child of an unknown origin, was truly the son of a known trader…

Anyway, the light halted once it reached the gates, a human visage was appearing among the destruction.

“You smell… somewhat familiar….”, No.Vii grinned.

The artful display of Truth brutality was very charming. Magical and boundless… as any beautiful chaos should be…

Truth, was starting to sense the newcomer, briefly gazing, suspecting…

“You feel…. familiar too…”, No.Vii said again, “I sensed you… I knew it was your I was fighting before... I was hoping we could fight again...”.

Truth, a whirlpool of disasters has decided to turn for the new foe.

No.Vii was happy. He has beaten the “Lie”, but it was such a pleasure for him to know if he could have overcome the “Truth”.


================================


Before the battle begins


Zelvad sighed deeply as he left Helena, her bed, and her quarters. Slowly striding off, his pace started slow, speeding up as he got further away. He was at a slight sprint before he began scaling a nearby building, stopping once he reached the roof to where he stashed the parcels he had acquired the day before. As he made the trek, he felt himself enter a tunnel vision as the moved, slowly blocking out every unnecessary detail around him

Opening them up, he got a good look at what was left for him. It was a new set of armor, seeming to be a hybrid of cloth and leathers all colored black, but there was something… special about it. They didn’t feel normal, and upon further inspection, he found out why. Several symbols could been seen as the sunlight passed over the spine of the clothing and it seem to cover the entire set. Along with the clothes there was a note inside:


Livata told me everything. While I didn't want you to live in a conflict like ours, I understand your place in this one.
These belonged to a very dear friend, they should help you with your battles to come.
Your father and I will expect you home once you’re done.

...Mother? You too!?

Zelvad sighed as he looked over the clothing… and slowly began to put everything on (http://imgur.com/WJnJjLN). Zelvad then turned his attention to the second parcel and opened it up to reveal a sheathed sword (http://imgur.com/t1xeCfp) only a few inches shorter than his own. Inside the package like the first one was another note:


Consider this a final graduation present.

May your Widow guide you home.

-L


Zelvad unsheathed the blade halfway, (http://youtu.be/6J4Ye7nRT0s) the ring of the steel being made very familiar to him. It was the same sound he heard in Norgard… this was Livata's sword. Slowly he sheathed the blade and secured it on his person so that both of his swords made an 'X' across his back.

Once prepared, he surveyed the city. He knew Shylock wasn't going to put all his eggs in one basket, so that meant Cronus wouldn't be on any of the ships.

The assassin then turned his head to face the city, his eyes scanning the neighboring rooftops until a figure scaling a nearby building in the distance caught his eye. Odd enough that someone would be up there with him, until Zelvad met the man’s face. Cronus….

The veteran killer had a slight airy chuckle with a look of disdain. He dropped down and Zelvad chased after him, the both of them tearing through the shaded Sigardian streets before they finally stopped at a clearing. It looked like an old abandoned part of the markets with stands and spoiled foods thrown to the ground and left to rot, forgotten by the world around it. There’s was even a large hole in one of the walls that looked like a large enough person was shoved through at a very impressive speed.

Zelvad drew both of his swords as he jumped down, steel clashing with Cronus’s own blade. This caused Zelvad to jump back a little taking a short defensive stance, his eyes brightly burning a furious mixture of green and red through the shade his cowl provided. He then pressed on again. He was relentless in his assault as sparks flew from the clashing metal, making sure to leave no room for retaliation, but nothing was getting through.

Cronus’s mettle certainly spoke through his skills, as he was warding of a dual bladed assault with his one sword, not even bothering to bring out his dagger. What was even more astounding was that in in his defenses, he was mounting his own assault as their bodies twisted and curled like vertical serpents, sliding through the edges and points looking to find and remove chunks of flesh, though they could make small cuts and slices.

After what felt like an eternity, they found their weapons locked against each other as they pushed against the opposing force of the other. Cronus took this opportunity to press his words. “You know you’ll die here, whelp. You’re not going to save anyone with this sloppy swordsmanship. Not your master, not your friends….”

“Shut up...”

“Especially those whores you travel around with, you think the paladin would look good mentally and emotionally broken at my knees?”

“I said...ergh….SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” Zelvad shoved forward, and hopped backwards. While doing so, he dipped into his power to loose his dagger and hurl it at his opponent who had said quite enough. A smirk flashed across Zelvad’s hidden face as the blade made a very fine slice across Cronus’s cheek, leaving himself wide open, both of his eyes now a brilliant ruby red. His voice was now gritty and distorted.

Rage flashed in Cronus’s eyes as he wiped his cheek with his thumb as the the crimson slowly began to seep from his face. “Fine, you want to play? Then let’s play.” Cronus drew his dagger and much like this whelp in front of him, flung it with an ease and an aim better than anything Zelvad could have done, aiming straight for where the throat was located to only have it be deflected in the flash of a spark, Zelvad’s dagger whizzing past and embedding itself in the stone nearby.

Not moving his body, Cronus scanned the immediate area then raised a hand in the air. “You can beat one...big deal. How about a hundred?” Soon archers came from the surrounding roofs with longbows and crossbows drawn and ready. Cronus took two quick hops back and threw his hand down. “Now!”

The arrows came down like a monsoon. Though try as he might to survive, Zelvad took a very generous amount of the storm. The heads pierced through his arms, legs, back, chest, and neck...until he fell limp to the ground. Once the volley cleared and his body laid littered in arrows, Cronus kicked the corpse a couple of times to make sure he still wasn’t breathing, then scoffed as he began to walk away.

Then something truly disturbing occurred...the corpse began to move and rise to it’s knees with a chuckle, which escalated to a laugh, which soon evolved into a full blown cackle that grew in such an intensity that it seeped into the bones of the archers and creeped under the skin of the trader’s killer. Cronus turned to witness this with his own eyes and quickly drew his blade, rushing forward to take this abomination’s head...but his blade was stopped when the body bent and twisted against his blade as Cronus continued hacking away at the lifeless shape. The arrows melded into its skin. The cadaver’s clothing melded into a black and red mess until a form rose out of the ooze.

Its feminine curves apparent and reforming from Cronus’s continued assault as were its ruby red eyes shining even brighter than before. The arrows that didn’t make contact with the body began to swirl in jagged circles around this mass, then they pointed out wards, and returned to their senders. The archers screamed as they arrows ran through them at speeds that were inhuman, small traces of the form on the arrows now swirled into the archers, slowly taking over their bodies, their pain was maddening and debilitating as some fell from the heights of the roofs to their untimely ends as bones cracked and insides ruptured from further penetration of the arrows upon contact with the ground.

This sight struck Cronus into a state of bewilderment and confusion until he felt the cold steel drag across his throat along the warmth of a body behind him. The sight of the lava-like woman vanished as did the sight of the dead guards who stood in very good health on their perches, with arrows still knocked and ready “I told you this in the desert and it bears repeating, it’s bad for the balance if the spiders start killing each other over the flies in this world. Thankfully, you are no such thing...so you fell into my web quite easily.”

Cronus could only manage to choke out a couple words through his blood coughs.“An illusion? But how…”

“I’ve had two months time prior to this trip to learn everything I can about this power...the very same power you took for granted.” Zelvad explained whilst slowly laying the dying assassin down. Before he spoke again, Zelvad laid a hand over Cronus’s face, his index and middle finger making a ‘V’ over the center of his head.

He then removed his cowl and face mask so that this would be unmistakable. “In spite of all you’ve done...may the Widow grant you peace.” Cronus screamed out in protest before the dagger found its mark again. The dagger buried itself deep within the man’s skull, his body rigid for an instant...then limp. Zelvad gave a shuddering sigh as the ground trembled beneath him and the sound of an unearthly roar rose to meet his ears. His thoughts soon returned to the battle on the sea. “Helena!” Zelvad soon took off into the streets working to find his way back to the harbor….


================================


Helena slowly got up, using her spear to support herself. “Issac… Is that you?! Where have you been?”.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask the lad, but just before she reached him, a powerful light beam crossed into her path.

Once again, she found herself crouching at the ground, her massive red hair covering everything from her sight. When she raised her arm to remove it, she noticed a familiar…. face….

Arjak’s cry was heard loud and clear and Ciara was already chanting something under her breath. The fiend, Emonalach, cared little for that. With a wave of his fingers they were both sent flying, landing some inches away, badly wounded.

Issac was next. He seemed to be trying to summon some magical powers…

Helena was surprised…

When did the boy became so skilled in the art of spells?

“Tell him to stop”, Emonalach said coldly, looking directly into Helena’s eyes.

“For what reason?”, she bite her lips, slowly getting up, making sure her pose was as confident as possible.

“You are not powerful enough to stop me now…”, Emonalach said looking nonchalant.

Issac’s aura increased.

“He will be hurt and I promise, this time I won’t hold back…”.

Helena swallowed, surely, being so shamed by the attack of Sigard was enough to even draw the greatest tactician to go for one powerful strike.

“Halt!”, she carefully placed her arms over Issac’s shoulders, using her inner powers to slowly decrease the energies he had just summoned.

“Why would you appear before us, demon”, she asked with a low voice.

“I have an offer….”

Helena realized at this point that the only reason she was standing alive now was because Emonalach was in need of something…

“I am all ears”, she whispered.

Emonalach reached his right hand forward, “Follow me then…”.

Helena looked at him, surprised. She tightened her grip over Issac, “You wish for me… to…”

“Join me, Paladin…”

Helena remained in her place. She shivered so badly and for some reason she found herself unable to speak or move.

“Paladin. I have an offer and I will need you to accompany me for another location. Do so, and… at least for the time being… I will spare your companions… And even abandon this attack… for the moment…”.

“What… What do you need of me?”, she swallowed.

Emonalach’s hand was still reaching out for her.

She found herself staring at his open palm and little by little she started to advance for his direction.

“Are you sure?”, it was now Issac’s turn to hold her hands. A second thought, a second option, a second option… If it were only Zelvad’s hands… maybe she would have… stayed…

“Yes.. I am sure…. Take care of Ciara and Arjak… Tell them to head for Norgard. They need to care for the kingdom…”

“So, I shall m’lady”.

And reaching for Emonalach’s hands, Helena found herself now heading for another location, leaving behind everyone, probably to never see them again.


(CO between Repent/Mysti/Storm/Kris)

[Kris]

Epilogue

Sigard:

At that moment everything seemed to be over, or so Caleb had thought. The darkness wanted to overcome him... and he already felt the chilling breeze that accompanied the Nephilim whenever they went. He felt them crawling under his skin, threatening to suck out his soul… to feed off his fears…

“My love…”

A light….

Beautiful… and familiar….

He felt some kind of a fire rekindle itself within him…

“Sarah!”

That beautiful woman calling for him.

He smiled.

Feeling his personal angel floating over his head all he could have sensed now were joy and great heat.

And yet… Yet…

Something was holding him back… an anchor…. an anchor to this world…

An anchor at the shape of a small dagger… the weapon of souls… the dagger of Jask… holding the life and the souls of so many and the Oracle of earth with them… could the world be saved without the last piece?…

“Sarah!...”, he whispered.

She seemed to be smiling as she pointed for a direction not far from him.

Somewhere in the distance, two silhouettes could be seen: one was a woman, the other a young boy. They rode off on horseback alone, safely away from the clutches of the burning city. A third figure, alone and with nothing on his back, watched as they fled.

That figure, climbed down from the horse and looked at Caleb.

Inside all of this hallucination, Caleb was able to tell that the man standing far from him was no one else but Baxter.

Should he choose to follow his family to safety, then, for sure, Caleb will join his lover… wherever she is at now..

But even should Baxter come for his aid, Caleb thought, his life as “Caleb” will be over still.

Maybe now, he will truly be “Gerald”…



================================


Back to Norgard:

Our heroes were making their way back to Norgard. There was little they could have done at the moment, and there was still the cold kingdom of Norgard to keep safe.

It seemed that once Helena disappeared, there was little to be done at Sigard, for the ship hailing from Esgares were disappearing as quickly as they came, leaving their appearance a memory, that could be identified as true only because of the destruction and the number of casualties that still drifted to the shores.

But the Empire was probably aiming to strike back and there was a great need to prepare, to unite the nations and kingdoms together for any coming future attacks, for everyone knew it wasn’t the last they were going to see of Emonalach or Esgares.

They would need to train and learn more of themselves, their quest and their powers. But this time they would not be alone and probably handle the next attack better.

Arjak has already issued an order to aid the movement that supported Hassan in Ascara. Both Epinala al'Andunn and Nonkululeko Sibeko were sent to cross the border between Ascara and Norgard and help to strengthen the ties between the two kingdoms.

Now that the two had much more time to share together, maybe more was for them to experience in this journey.


================================


Sigard:

Jared was watching from a safe place.

“You look worse for wear”

Jared chuckled, “Coming from you, William, I almost find it to be a praise”. Jared, turned around, looking much older than he used to be.

“Humans and their ambitions”, said Fergal, now joining the two, “I mean look at you. Just a little Greed, and your powers are at the peak, but now when everything is ruined and so many chances are for them to act like animals and exploit the weak, your powers are out of control… and so is your appearance….”

“Laugh as you wish, Fergal, but I at least tried to aim for my goals… Once again, you were too fearful to face Hillel…”

Fergal scowled and William yawned, “There, there boys”, he said, stretching his hands, “The great demon lord has yet to say his last… I’m sure you’ll both have enough chances to fight him”.

They turned around, each of the two picking a side and starting to walk for it.

“I shall be stronger”, said Fergal, turning for the right.

“And I shall control my powers… Just you wait…”, said Fergal in a very old and tired voice.

“And as for me…”, said William, “I think I shall head to sleep… for some years now… I earned at least that”

In silent, they stepped off the stage, knowing their time to play the role shall come again, when it was needed of them to be.

================================


Helena found herself in an isolated dark room. She felt… somewhat tired.

“I am here!”, she cried to the void, “Emonalach! I demand that you appear before me!”

But he didn’t.

Instead, visions surfed around her as if she was part of a mind of someone else. Each scene felt like it was being melded into her own memories, into her mind, as if she was the core of some very delicate system.

There was a great war, the visions said.

A great war was taking place in some far away dimension. Flying beings were glittering in the most magnificent light, and yet, the image appeared to be painful and bloody.

And from a great radiant unity, eight beings sought a refuge in the darkness. They wanted to be their own makers. They wanted to ravish in their own world of diseases. And all was because of one being that dared to defy the all-maker.

A woman, or so she appeared to be a woman, Helena recognized her as the angel of hope “Shahar”.

For her, his goddess, he, “Hillel”, had followed.

And with his parting from the great light, more shadows appeared.

Each of them, had their own mark… their own beauty.

Humans would call it “sin”, but they were still very much “angels”.

They were:

Abbadon of the “destruction”, forever charged with controlling his unending rage. The angel ranked as “Seraphim” from the first sphere, he was to be the General of Wrath.

Followed by Beel’zebub- The Lord of the Flies. Ranked as “Cherubim” from the First Sphere. General of Gluttony.

Then came Mammon- The wealthy. Ranked as “Thrones” from the First Sphere. General of Greed.

Next, with the desires of tainted love and seduction was Rosier, the angel ranked as “Dominions” from the Second Sphere. General of Lust.

Belial, the “worthless". Unable to find his true meaning, Lord of the Lies. The angel ranked as “Virtues” from the Second Sphere. General of Envy.

Belphegor the lazy, Ranked as “Principalities” from the Third Sphere. General of Sloth. He was the one to seduces the people of Sigard into a state of careless by suggesting them ingenious inventions that will make them rich… and also very indolent.

And last, but the most glorious, Adramelech, the angel ranked as “Archangel” from the Third Sphere. General of Pride.

But the goddess, as she was, her might, power and beauty were useless. She was a sin, a sin of “hope”, and for her to take form, Hillel allowed himself to be the embodiment of “fear”.

At that point the dream ended.

Helena opened her eyes to find herself bound to a wall, as some… wires…. were carefully placed around her body, sucking blood and other liquids from her, as she herself was presented naked to both Emonalach and his advisor, the man she knew as “Bolgan”, who was no one else but Belial.

Her face was red of fury and shame, almost matching the color of her crimson hair. And yet, she mastered all her might to regain her cold expression.

She recognized the place she was at now, it was the grand church of Ivalor.

“Let me share with you the tale of our world”, said Emonalach. He cleared his throat as he started to speak again, “Long ago in the mortal lands, before the humans were created, there has been only one big continent called ‘Esgares’, which was a beautiful tranquil land with many flora and small creatures wandering upon. There has been only one sole portal between the land and the world of the all-father. A guardian was placed to watch over the “pillar”, a deity of short, a goddess to some. My kind…. My former kins, called her “Pandora”.

“With time, the humans were next to appear in our world. Filthy creatures full of lust and desires, their cries has tainted the pillar. The pillar turned to be the form of what the humans may refer to as “hell”.

“Some say that over the years this angel, Pandora, has became wild… And that the voices and screeches of agony of the tortured souls planted a seed of evil within her, changing her into some kind of a vengeful spirit.

“She hated the humans whom short and meaningless lives were able to change her so… and has decided to act, probably to protect her higher kins and the great all-father. She disrupt the “pillar”, and by the abrupt changes of energy she had almost destroyed the delicate fabrics of the human world, almost destroying the dimension known as “the box”.

“Four angels, the protector of the elements, wind, earth, fire and water were sent to banish the illness and misery brought by her actions, but they had to fight “Pandora” to do so. The fight was a horrible one. Pandora lost, but not without a sacrifice. The souls of the angels were cursed to forever reborn if “Pandora” was ever to reach power again in the form of her evil self… or so it was told.

“The pillar was far too terrible to fix as it was and it was said to be divided across the lands, that have now been formed and created by this great heavenly war. Those weak 'Pillars' could have never be used as a bridge for another world as did the first pillar, but they did have some effect on the humans who took resident beside. They were able to give them magical abilities and so by Pandora’s blood magic has been introduced to humans.

“And yet… her rage was still burning. Soon a new war was beginning in the the human world. The rage of Pandora was burning by hatred and destruction yet again…

“But cleverly, she had changed her form now… Turning herself to the saviour… If only to trick the humans… She was now... A goddess of Hope… But hope cannot be without fear, and so, the being known as Hillel was born...

“And this fear, was so deep and powerful, it awaken others to think… others to want to be alone from the great holy light… others that wanted to be their own masters…

“They fell… They fell with Hillel…

“But They still wanted their freedom, they fought Hillel for power…And in the end they lost… forever locked within the pillars…. Until now…”

Helena opened her eyes.

“I will require your aid, Paladin…It was eleven years ago… No, in fact it was much before that… I searched for a worthy vessel…”

“My parents?”, Helena said slowly, her blue eyes shivering.

“Mother, her blood of Pandora runs deep. A father, holy power from the all-maker…”

“But you couldn’t convince them… At least not right away…”

“I work by fear… I must be invited… Fear is powerful, but it cannot live without being summoned…”

“What was the fear?!”

“The fear of losing everything. It was a still-birth…”

“You appeared to them then… when all hope was lost…”

“I offered a deal… They offered me their souls…”

“I was given a life… and the eyes that now watch me, belong to the one who gave me life, forever a reminder of what I am to you…”

“Yes… But the deal… was said to last for 10 years…”

“And ten years later my father died in battle… Exactly the time my mother went crazy…”

“She wasn’t crazy… just… soul-less…”.

“I will not help you…”

Emonalach placed his hand over Helena’s naked stomach, “You are carrying a child… A child with a much more powerful Pandora’s blood… I want… To be reborn…. in this child… I must be… reborn inside of you”.

For a moment their eyes crossed gazes, blue eyes trying to pierce blue eyes.

“I SHALL NEVER ALLOW IT!”, Helena screamed.

“We will see… We have much time to spend together… Maybe… Maybe you will be saved by then… Maybe… Maybe you will realize.. that… it might be… the best choice for this world…”

“Best choice?”

“I will be human…”

“You want to die….”

There was a silence.

Helena thought for a moment and then added, “But… at the same time… you want to be this particular human… Because…”

“I want to save this world….”.

Another long silence.

Helena found herself once again sleepy. Her eyes were slowly closing and she felt herself driven into the world of dreams.

The greatest fear… wishing to be the greatest hope… to redeem himself maybe? To prove his own meaning without using another force?

There was much to think of… But alas…

Now it was the time for others to step forward… and play the game...



END


The children of UKC (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=81896)