PDA

View Full Version : [M/R] Eternum: Blood of the Gods



Death of Korzan
11-28-2013, 09:02 PM
Rated M/R for Blood, Gore, Strong Language and Sexual Themes

The Southern Wastes

The sky was grey, thick with snow and cold. The Gods of Winter bellowed down upon the Southern Mega-Continent with rage, covering the land in ice and crisp snow, turning rocky outcrops into dunes of the cold mix until the land looked like a beach, covering in grains of white sand. Whispers of wind caught upon the vegetation that clung to the rock, sparsely distributed across what soil and nutrients there was, it's tough leaves not being released, instead dancing in between it's proverbial fingers.

A man stood alone on a cliff. He was heavily armored; a helmet shaped like a Dragon's skull covered his face, forged from a long forgotten mineral, his armor shared the same design, with two metal draconic hands ornately forged into the pauldrons of the figure. Golden veins of metal ran along the shoulder pads in erratic formations, marking the plates in what appeared to be flowing metal.

The chest-plate that rested against his grey skin was made from the same material, with a spider web of pulsating spider-web of Gold, the same veins that covered his shoulder pieces. As the chest-plate became more central it 'grew' outwards, tipped off by a glowing piece of golden metal. The piece of armor was intimidating, yet not terrifying; though it reeked of darkness.

The figures armored hands pulled themselves tight around the hilt of his blade as he was joined by many others, less armored than he from atop the small cliff he stood upon. More figures continued to join him as they began to jump off of the wall of rock and ice.

"Branda khlor lath unaf kar. Gant lo hath sara oriour."

The figure spoke, his voice foreboding and melancholy, yet beautiful at the same time. He then took a leap of faith down the cliff, landing and facing a medium sized settlement around a mile away.

The assailants moved quick and quietly, and no alarm was rung as the small contingent slaughtered the inhabitants of the settlement.


Afragian Coast

The sound of horses snuffling and snorting had filled your ears all day, as the blackness of a cotton bag over your filled your nose and eyes. The weather was sweltering hot and you could feel your hands and uncovered body parts peeling under the boiling Afragian sun. Every few hours you'd have the bags over your heads lifted, with your eyes and face inspected by a man in the same bear-pelt hats as the other members of his party - his face sweating and looking as hot as yours did.

Eventually however the horses seemed to come to a stop, with the sound of their hooves sifting through the golden sand ceasing. The sound of guns clicking, people stepping off of their horses, and the sound of metal being hammered into place echoed around in your heads, where you now had headaches and dehydration. The bags were removed, with different soldiers grabbing your arms and pulling you off the horses.

Numiera fell, and was briskly yanked upwards. "Get the fuck up you tart!" Her escort spoke as he dragged the half-breed through the sand, leaving a temporary trail, soon to washed away by the sands of both time and the desert.

Ahead of the captured questing party and their friend sat a relatively large military town, looking newly built from sandstone and lumber - from which it came from would be the question of all the party. The buildings looked sturdy and all around it stood machinations and people. Huge ballistae that had oval tracks on them; thin cannons on wheels; machines with outstretched wings. To the distance there were multiple grey seafaring craft, one of them reading on it's body 'HMS Doncaster'.

Around the area sat various men playing cards or cleaning weaponry, talking to one another or eating food. They wore an assortment of clothes, some in berets and brightly colored uniforms, others in white jackets and trousers, with sailing hats; some sat in metal helmets shaped like bowls, with grey-green attire. All stared at you as you walked past them, being pushed by the men behind you.

Being dragged into a building, the man briskly pushed you into a cell and closed the door, locking it with a key. The one who had spoken so harshly to Numiera turned to you all and smirked.

"You can stay here until the Admiral returns. Welcome to Sharktooth Bay, maggots."

Dun Moriga-Afragia

Altius lay sword in hand as he stared into the abyssal maw that was the entrance to Dun Moriga from the consuming sands of Afragia. His eyes wept, sometimes tears, and sometimes blood; his body felt grim and foretold his imminent death. A slow, creeping and grating sound came from below in the passage which caused Altius to grip his sword, his already weak form expending much of it's remaining energy in the simple task.

The blackness continued to writhe up his chest, causing him to cough up globes of tar and phlegm. The creeping continued to get closer still, with what sounded like daggers scratching at the cobble, leaving a horrible sound behind. Still Altius waited to see what horror would befall him, fighting to give his friends more time, give Salvius more time.

"Gods damn it man, if you don't get to Tartarus, I'm gonna have a bone to pick with you in the underworld." Altius smiled to himself, a painful motion.

As time went by, the grating sounds came closer and closer, until from the darkness, the maw of a hound seemed to appear. Out of the black shadow came a monster coated in blood and gore, a formed of half man and half wolf. The creature looked down at Altius and in one swift moment, the monster scurried down and bite into him before refraining and coughing. Altius screamed with pain and from the shock his heart slowly but surely stopped leaving the man dead.

The Namorian's grip on his blade slowly ceased and the Wolf-man shook his head in half rage, half disgust, spitting wildly and scratching at its nose in order to get rid of the taste. It bounded away as quickly as it had appeared. Before long, a howl could be heard, being half cut off by the sound of a man screaming in pain.

As time went by, the body of Altius sat still upon the floor. The sun fell and cold intensity of the moon came with the night sky. The Legionnaire's body twitched once, twice, three times. It began to convulse extremely face, limbs sometimes coming off of the ground as underneath his armor the blackness spread over his body at intense speeds. They crawled up his neck and slithered all the way over his body until they covered every inch of it. Altius opened his eyes, and revealed the never-ending darkness that filled them.

He rose from where he stood shakily, before screaming as his back was torn apart by the curse that he now bore. His limbs stretched longer, his mouth become more Wolf-like and his legs took on a shape that looked more familiar on a Bloodhound. His teeth, black and flowing with darkness elongated, whilst the man's black eyes changed to fit the bestial skull he had transformed into.

Fur did not grow on the Namorian's body, instead darkness poured off of him and floated around him like a sick mist. The blackened creature roared into the air, a sound that was not a howl but felt like it belonged more to a Lion.

"Elu..."

Azazeal849
11-28-2013, 10:08 PM
THE SOUTHERN OCEAN

The sky was clear, and the wind bitingly cold. It whipped the sea into small waves, and drove the Namorian fleet onwards towards the Southern Wastes. Rowers recruited from all over the Imperium rested at their oars as the wind billowed the sails, conserving their strength. Legionaries sat among them or huddled together in the decks and holds, working constantly against the damp, salty conditions to keep weapons, armour and food in good shape. The legionaries wore winter clothing in preparation for the harsh South - woollen socks and roughspun trousers, bound tight below the knee by strips of cloth; felt hats and thick indigo cloaks.

The wind gusted again, expanding the sails of the fat transports and of the sleek, dagger-shaped warships that sailed around them in protective V formations. The sails showed eagles, wolves, lightning bolts and other martial symbols. One was emblazoned with the goddess Victoria, depicted as a winged figure astride a golden chariot. The goddess' name was repeated in gold paint along either side of the bow, above a bellicose pair of painted eyes and the jutting chin of an iron ram. Like the other ships around her the Victoria had five banks of oars, collapsable fighting towers at the bow and stern, and rows of harpax ballistae studding her flanks. For now the towers were stored away, and the ballistae were covered with waterproofed canvas.

A man in a fur-lined cloak stood at the bow of the quinqereme, his fingers digging into the wooden rail as he frowned southwards. Quintus Maximus was praetor, dux meridiem, and the emperor's instrument in bringing the rebellious southerners to heel. He glowered at the horizon, as if seeking to catch the first sign of land or an enemy ship before even the fleet's scouting units. His grey eyes were like chips of flint beneath their heavy eyebrows. No signal flags went up from Vindica and the other agile triremes ranging ahead of the fleet, suggesting that all was well.

Admiral Cossinius had things well in hand, keeping the fleet together through both day and night with not a single straggler or collision thus far. No doubt he could conduct an efficient landing as well despite the treacherous southern coastline, but Maximus was still eager to reach the shore and deploy his legions. The Earthborn had promised their aid, and their strange flying machines were no doubt shadowing them even now, but Maximus knew how important it was for this to be first and foremost a Namorian victory. They dare not look weak. That was why the southern expedition had gone ahead, with more than half of the Imperium's legions, even as unknown enemies threatened the borders. The last news that had reached Maximus before the fleet set sail was that the gambit appeared to be paying off - legatus Marcius and the 18th legion had apparently won victories at the river Minerva and the city of Hercinia.

The next part would be up to Maximus, and to the fifteen legions sailing south with him. Admiral Cossinius estimated that they would reach the southern continent in three weeks. Three weeks, if the gods were good. Three weeks to the landing point on the Southern Wastes.

And then onwards to victory.


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA, THE AFRAGIAN DESERT

"Shhh!" Ovidius hissed playfully, once Suriyana's hips had finally stopped spasming.

Suriyana stifled a laugh as she flopped back against the pillows, her chest heaving and a sheen of sweat glistening on her dark skin. "You try being quiet when it's your turn."

Ovidius grinned as he disengaged his hands from around Suriyana's thighs and pulled himself up far enough to be able to rest his head on her stomach. He had a broad face and quintessentially Namorian features, his narrow nose and dark eyes topped by curly black hair.

The night air of the desert breezed in through the window of the high tower, and Suriyana closed her eyes as she enjoyed the cooling feeling against her skin. "We should probably be a bit more careful." she whispered, after taking a moment to get her breath back.

"I'm your bodyguard." Ovidius whispered back. "I'm supposed to follow you around, even in the temple."

"Yes," Suriyana admitted with a slightly lop-sided smile. "But you, unlike me, aren't consecrated to Ra." She pointed to the jackal amulet, normally exclusive to the assassin priests of Anubis, that hung around Ovidius' neck. It was currently the only thing that he was wearing. "Which means even you aren't supposed to be in the high solar."

Ovidius grinned again. Technicaly, Suriyana wasn't consecrated to Ra either, at least not formally. She might be taking lessons from the earthborn Anne, but the real reason they were here was to tip the current power struggle in the Egyptian camp towards the Namorian Empire's favour.

"And I," he said, "Unlike you, am a devious little shit. Getting into places unnoticed is my speciality, remember?"

Suriyana matched his grin, showing her pearl-white teeth. "True." She dug the heels of her hands into the mattress and pulled herself up into a sitting position, to re-tie the plait that was currently straggling in pieces down her back. The soft light of the candles set around her chamber in the temple solar danced across her delicate features. She paused as there was a soft chirp from behind the gold idol of Ra on her bedside table, and a small avian creature fluttered up from behind the idol's sun disc. It was plumed in blue and yellow, and had a long thin snout and an even longer tail.

"You know," Ovidius said conversationally as he drew up one knee and hooked an arm round it, "I never feel quite comfortable with your familiar watching us. Especially after Anne talked about him being her eyes and ears."

"He's probably telling us it's nearly dawn." Suriyana said, glancing at the window. The eastern sky was indeed beginning to lighten, with a streak of grey above the dark silhouettes of the city buildings and the dunes beyond. Dominating the skyline was the Egyptians' half-finished pyramid. Suriyana leaned over to kiss Ovidius, then gave him a shove to get him to his feet. "Go on, do one of your famous vanishing acts."

Ovidius sighed, and groped for his discarded tunic. "Better get ready to meet the three potential pharoahs, I guess."

It was time for the infiltrators to go to work.


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR, LAST FREE CITY OF DUN MORIGA PROVINCE

The gateway to the dwarf city reeked of death. The smell of blood and shit was familiar to praetor Numerius Graccus - he had served in the Ferrata legion before achieving political office and governership of Dun Moriga province, but this smell was mixed with the sulphur of dwarven gunpowder and the unnatural scent of the demonoid orcs. They had broken through to the second gate with their last attack, and their tusked, grey-skinned corpses had piled up beneath the murder holes before they had finally retreated. Namorians and dwarfs in banded armour were struggling to shift the bodies so they could close and repair the second gate before the monsters came on again. Graccus saw one legionary yelp as a bloodstained arm with black claws instead of fingernails reached up from a pile of bodies to grab his leg. The legionary jerked his leg free and stabbed down with his gladius, swearing.

Graccus unlaced his plumed helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. This was how the greyskins had overrun Azulfa and the other underground cities - a brutal, relentless meat grinder. And, unless they could think of something soon, Ech Zilidar would suffer the same fate. As if on cue, there was a blare of warhorns from outside the walls, and the guttural snarling of the orcs rose to a thunderous roar. It filled the vast cavern into which Ech Zilidar had been carved, from the smooth floors to the cunningly-wrought skylights in the domed roof high above. First ten voices, then a hundred, then a thousand, all roared an unintelligable warcry from twisted throats.

"MIRDAUTAS VRAS!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Graccus yelled back, giving vent to his helpless frustration as his legionaries scampered back to the still intact third gate and dwarfs began to swarm up to the parapets, shouting at their comrades below for more ammunition. Amidst the organised chaos, a single dwarf in the golden armour of the royal guard battered his way towards Graccus.

"Praetor!" the dwarf shouted, "Praetor! I need ta speak with ye!"

Glancing back at the battlements and cursing, Graccus turned on his heel and pushed forward to meet the dwarf.

"What is it?" he snarled.

"Praetor," the dwarf began. The craggy-faced humanoid was hesitant, Graccus could tell, but something told him it was not because of the praetor's angry tone. "Praetor...king Vagrund is dead."

It took several seconds for Graccus to process what he had just heard. And then his stomach lurched so violently that he nearly staggered.

"How?" he managed to spit out at last.

"A beast in the catacombs."

"What, a greyskin? One of their giants?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Something else."

Graccus cursed again. "Centurion! Take over!" He turned back to the royal guard as he began striding back up the main street that had been hewn out of the mountain rock. "Take me to the palace. And gods help us if word of this gets out!"


* * * * * *

EMOR, THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL

Night had fallen over the marble city of Emor, but beyond its limewashed walls, a precession of torches still flickered. The road that led from the city's western gate, parallel to the coast, was lined with the mausoleums of Emor's noble families, with the more modest communal crypts of the plebian class spaced between them. One mausoleum in particular was ringed with light, torches and candles held by deathmasked actors all dressed in sombre black. It was a warm, still night, but the occasional breath of wind caused the candles to gutter. Citizens, slaves and hired funeral functionaries stood within the twinkling circle, their faces turned towards the four raised daises that had been set up in front of the mausoleum's primary arch.

Chiselled, curly-haired and dressed in a black toga, Gaius Octavius watched as the fathers of Lycinia and Decius Marcius stood as equals to deliver the eulogy. Gaius had to admire them - their voices never wavered. At Gaius' side was his wife Seppia, a pretty young woman tanned by the Namorian sun, though with a slight gap between her front teeth that made her shy with her smile. She was not smiling now - her lips were pressed hard together to stop them from trembling as she looked up at their cousin lying in state on the first dais. Lycinia had been dressed in an ornate purple gown, with a silk scarf arranged to hide the ugly wound at her throat.

Between Gaius and his wife stood their young son, Titus. Still recovering from his ordeal at the mages' guild, which had seen the masters and most of his fellow pupils slaughtered by the demon Hothian, he was pale and underweight, and kept his balance only by holding onto his mother's hand. Titus was looking not at his aunt Lycinia, but at the smaller pyre raised next to her. Marcus Marcius had been the same age as Titus, with his mother's curly hair and his father's intense eyes. The two boys had often played together in the family villas. Beside Marcus lay Diana, a perfect replica of Lycinia in miniature, and Aurelia who had been only four years old.

As members of the Marcius clan lowered the four bodies into their cremating sarcophagi and Galius Marcius put a torch to the wood stacked inside, his head turned respectfully away, Seppia burst into tears. Gaius himself, almost to his own surprise, felt no tears in his eyes at all. All he felt was a burning sense of rage.

I'll find out who did this to you, cousin. And I will make them scream.

"Are you going to send your owl to Decius?" Seppia ventured, her voice cracked and hollow. As an alumnus of the now-destroyed mages' guild, Gaius was the owner of one of their rare messenger birds, which could deliver a letter faster than any horseman. The royal court of Afragia were the only others who knew the secrets of training such birds.

"No." said Gaius, putting his arm around his wife but not taking his eyes off the flames as they danced higher. A procession of mourners were approaching the sarcophagi, throwing tokens and vials of scented oil onto the fire.

"He'll find out eventually." Seppia reasoned. "Best he hear it from us."

"When I tell him," Gaius said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, "It'll be with the news that I brought the murderers to justice."


* * * * * *

WEST OF DUN MORIGA

The legion marched, with a rhythmic chinking of leather and metal, and the steady trudge of hob-nailed sandals against the stone road. Decius Marcius, commander of the 18th Fulminata legion and general of the Imperium's new eastern task force, rode at their head as the ground sloped steadily upwards. The seal of his rank hung around his neck, a golden disc showing the Namorian eagle clutching the hammer of Dun Moriga and the sun of Afragia in its claws. It felt much heavier than the Fulminata lightning bolt that pinned back his cloak. Around him marched a river of blue cloaks and segmented lorica. Flanking the column were legion outriders and maniples of reptilian crocolykes, while behind them came the Greeks with their long spears and the red-crested Romans. Septim's Roman legions were almost identically equipped to Marcius' own Namorians, although their livery was scarlet instead of blue. The difference was just subtle enough to make it all the more jarring, like the painted statues in Plaza Primus that Marcius' daughter Aurelia had always been scared of.

General Marcius was a striking man even though he wasn't a particularly tall one, with a stern aquiline face matched by piercing blue eyes. The premature lines around his mouth and across his forehead spoke of a man who smiled and frowned in equal measure, but he had been doing more of the latter of late. His armour and scarf hid several scars, more than one of which had been inflicted during the most recent campaign. Another wound was more obvious. Marcius looked down at his wrist, still bandaged to immobilise the slowly-healing tendons. He flexed his arm muscles experimentally and was rewarded with a knife of pain up and down his arm, and only the slightest twitch from his rigid fingers. Marcius cursed under his breath, and pulled his indigo cloak over the bandaged arm.

He felt vulnerable. The bodyguard at his side - a bellicose looking man called Varrius – did not ease the feeling, deadly fighter though he was. Marcius' true bodyguard, centurion Salvius, had been dispatched on a secret mission that was even more vital than the march to relieve Dun Moriga. If the Hunter still watched over Salvius as he had claimed, the centurion would be deep in the Afragian desert by now, a good two hundred miles east of where Marcius currently stood.

Salvius' original replacement had been Lucius Calvus, 1st cohort's best swordsman, but Calvus had been killed by a man that Marcius now called ally. The gods had favoured Marcius, after a fashion, but every victory and new ally came at a price. The 18th legion only stood at full strength now by virtue of 3 cohorts from the battered Combrogia legion. The capital of Hercine province was half ruined, the remnants of its garrison no doubt struggling to restore law and order at that very moment. The Druada had returned to reclaim their ancient protectorate of Combrogia, but the Combrogi people themselves were still refugees from Beowulf's savage attack.

All physical signs of the gods favour were now gone too. Zar Stormwraith, the son of Diana who had helped to defeat Achilles, had vanished after their triumphal return to Emor. Silverwick, who had been a potent talisman for the legion ever since bringing down that dragon, had fallen at the battle of Hercine. Even the sword Hate - which had been an asset to the legion's morale, albeit nearly lethal to Marcius himself - had been reclaimed.

Marcius had to believe that Mars, Diana and the Hunter were still watching over his men, but his list of true allies was growing thin, and instead he was left with friends who he did not trust; crocolyke barbarians and immortals who had until recently been his enemies. His tribune Cassius and his wife Lycinia had been inspired to be able to turn the Greeks and the Romans respectively to their cause, but Marcius still found himself thinking of the long-term outcome. Again, it rested with Salvius; gods willing, the Alcamor Stones would enable them to not only drive back the demons, but to return the resurrected immortals to the underworld where they belonged. Maybe even to give pause to the Earthborn, who were the Imperium's original and most dangerous "allies". There was precisely one Earthborn who Marcius trusted - Anne von Bayern - and she had detached from his legion for a secret mission to Afragia.

Marcius reined in his horse with his good hand, and fixed his gaze ahead. One thing at a time. First, Dun Moriga. And although the legion had marched hard through the day, the wind from the mountains was turning cool and they were running out of daylight with which to pitch camp.

"Praefectus!" Marcius called as he brought his horse to a stop.

"Sir?" came the rough-voiced reply from Tiberius Lucullus, the legion's third in command and master of the camp.

"Call the halt. We'll pitch camp on the hill north of the highway."

"Very good, sir." Prefect Luccullus saluted, and paused to raise his voice. "Legion! Halt!"

A trumpeter relayed the signal, and Marcius watched as the blue-clad soldiers around him took one more step before snapping to a coordinated stop. They were now only a couple of miles from the mountain pass. This would be their last camp west of the mountains.

CrumpetCannon
11-28-2013, 11:47 PM
The Afragian Waters

The problem with these new-fangled navy battleships was that they were too good at what they did. It's all well and good to outfit your new vessel with the most advanced long range weaponry the world has ever known, and it may very well be a bonus to come equipped with a veritable flock of state-of-the-art aircraft ready to take off at a moment's notice, and frankly, air conditioning was a godsend. However, whoever had designed these floating fortresses of steel had clearly not known when to stop, the desire to militarise the vessel had spread to the very interior aesthetics, the walls were grey, the floors were grey, the ceilings were grey... Would it kill them to put a few wooden chairs about?

The achromatism was slowly and surely getting to Admiral Clement, so used to the mottled brown of his ship's hull and the colourful flag that adorned her in the name of the Britons, that he found himself barely ever leaving the comfort of his own pride and joy. Duties are duties, however, and right now Clemente had a meeting to attend, one that included his direct subordinates, the wordlessly appointed generals of his will and, by extension, the entire might of all the assembled navies to ever sail under the British command, individuals he trusted above all others to keep watchful -and above all, fair- charge over the masses of sailors, pilots, and foot-soldiers that were, as of resurrection, under his complete command.
Flanked by two rifle-bearing guards, the Admiral of the Fleet rounded the last claustrophobic, inevitably grey corridor and arrived at a matching grey door, one of those heavy, watertight bulkhead ones with the curious wheel-operated unlocking structure, Clemente had seen a lot of these on his way here. The door itself was guarded by two sailers, Clemente noticed, of different uniforms, he smiled genuinely, glad to see two individuals quite possibly centuries apart from one another working together without fault, upholding order for King and Country, regardless of which King the other was referring to, or indeed, which Queen.

The sailors saluted, one of them turning to open the pressurised barrier for the Admiral and his escorts, his uniform was predominately white, with some sort of blue kerchief or collar, and a matching white hat. His companion wore a much more modern outfit (although 'modern' was a very loose term these days) consisting of a dark blue working shirt and thick black trousers, complete with beret, most interestingly, this individual had chocolate skin. Two sailors, whether ten or a hundred years apart, Clemente was happy to see such contrast aboard the vessels under his command, it made the whole fleet look a great deal more diverse, why, in his day, he'd have been dismissed for bringing a black crew member aboard.

He gave the two a nod before continuing into the room, an expansive war room of some kind, with mercifully wood panelled walls, perhaps to make the place look a bit more comely to the officers that would have sat around to discuss matters of conflict and politics.
Now, it was occupied by the various Generals, Admirals, and other assorted sailors of high rank that Clemente had found himself in command over since his and their awakening upon the planet Eternum, when it had first happened, the oceans were in abject disarray, shots had even been fired, for no one was quite sure which mighty steel ships of war they had awoken beside, it wasn't until the various commanders got together that they all realised the truth of their situation, and agreed to band together in the name of the British Royal Navy, united under the most superior officer present.

Which just so happened to be Admiral of the Fleet Isaac Donning Clemente, 18th century seaman and literally old-fashioned, highly decorated member of the Royal Navy, with service in most Earthly oceans and experience in all variations of naval exploration and combat.

Despite the hefty obstacle of the Navy now consisting of about three dozen different commands across all iterations of its timeline, Clemente had settled into the role rather snugly for a fish about thirteen-hundred years too long out of the water. It now fell to him to oversee hundreds upon thousands of ships and aircraft, as well as the countless men and women that made up their crews, as such, these meetings were of utmost importance to the upkeep and management of the entire fleet.

Clemente took his spot around the circular table -thank God, mahogany- after exchanging salutes with the other sailors from across history, settling into his assigned chair and fighting the urge to reach for the bottles of liquor that resided in the centre of the table, it would be rude to partake of drink so early into their discussions, he did however accept the offer of a cigar, which came from one Captain Fenchurch, trusted friend to Clemente and current Captain of the HMS Belfast, the ship in which they were currently holding their meeting. Fenchurch had told him all about how the Belfast, one of the most famous British Battleships to ever see the ocean, was taken out of retirement in 2031 in response to North Korean military activity, given massive alterations to its battery and firepower capabilities, as well as augmentations in the hull to make it the first dual battleship and aircraft-carrier vessel in the world, which of course made it the biggest ship in Clemente's entire fleet. It was undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with, and he often found himself gazing at it from the deck of his own ship, entertaining the morbid thought of the battleship, so many times bigger than any other vessel in the waters, suddenly turning on the rest of the fleet.

"Pleasure to see you today, Sir. Shall we be underway?"

That was Fenchurch, ever persistent, always eager to get things going, one of the many reasons Clemente liked him.
The Admiral inclined his head, careful not to displace the hated white wig upon his scalp.

"Yes, I think that would be preferable to sitting around a table smoking and drinking the waters out from under us." His friendly jibe disguised as a stern caution earned him a few smiles and a concealed chuckle from those around the table's circumference. "We have much to discuss..."


* * * * * *

The Admiral stepped above deck, coming to stand upon the steel bow of the HMS Belfast, breathing in the salty sea air and enjoying the warmth of the open air, gazing out across his fleet and smiling at the order and collective unity before him.

Stretching into the distance was a veritable island of naval ships: galleons, sloops, battleships, men-o'-war, frigates, corvettes, destroyers and super carriers, all fully crewed and prepped for both long distance exploration and all out combat, long ranged and short ranged, heavy artillery and fast attack vessels, different ships for different tasks, all of them perfect at their jobs. As if that were not satisfying enough, Clemente looked skyward and spotted dozens of planes aloft in the cerulean blue sky, on scouting missions and routine flights, Hurricanes, Spitfires, Typhoons, Chinook helicopters and more, hundreds more upon the flight decks of various aircraft carriers.
Underneath the surface of the ocean dwelt yet more naval vehicles, nuclear submarines and amphibious sea to land vehicles that could turn the tide of any battle, the thought of such immense machinations of war floating beneath his feet both chilled and excited Clemente, he had spent many years learning of these machines, the ones that had come about after his death on Earth, and now his knowledge was almost up to par with the modern Admirals.

The sea itself was a calm blue, carrying the fleet on a gentle current and caressingly cool wind, illuminated by a beautiful midday sun, which bled into the water's surface and created a most lovely amber liquid, the kind of unforgettable scene that made Clemente praise his decision to enlist in the Navy all those years ago.

The Admiral turned to one of his rifle-armed, red-coated escorts and issued his orders.

"Send word to the Aptitude by signal, and the modern battleships by radio. We head for port."

Within two hours, the fleet was mobile, all of the ships from across the history of naval warfare moving as one, heading lazily for the Afragian shore and the makeshift port that lay there.

Minkasha
11-29-2013, 03:54 AM
The Afragian Waters – HMS Aptitude (This character has been edited it out of the story)

She was a good ship, Tommy thought to himself. He was scrubbing the wooden surface of the layered cannon ship. Privet Thomas Glen felt at home on her 18th century craftsmanship. But the sounds of the helicopters and the ‘engines’ of the other ships made him both angry and excited at the same time.

But this was Admiral Clemente’s personal ship; it was the ship that belonged to the only man whose command he would follow. So much has been learned since he was brought back to life…the first thing being that there is a way to come back to life!

The young man bit his lower lip, and with blue, doe eyes scanned the ships around him. So strange and metallic, some of them didn’t have the same…pride as the HMS Aptitude. His fellow shipmates of the skeleton crew were doing the usual to maintain its combat ability and maneuverability, though Tommy knew the guys of the ‘newer’ ships laughed at their ship. Tommy did honestly question if the cannons could even pierce the metal ships’ armour…

Of course they had the best Admiral. Tommy always knew Admiral Clement was fantastic at what he did, and now all these strange hunks of metal and beautiful wooden ships were under his command.

And then there were ships UNDER the water, submarines they were called. It was all so different, but Tommy kept it simple for himself…the same ol’ rag and bucket of water. He liked it, scrubbing away the boot marks of the ‘newer’ guys’ fancy shoes.

But they all served God and Country, so they were allies…yet why did he feel so alien then? Tommy saw a few coloreds, in fact, he saw a bunch of new ethnicities serving and he tried to be friendly…but he’d received many angry glares…

Were they not colored? They were not pale like him, colored! Wasn’t the N word the bad one? Also, why did the coloreds call him a ‘cracker’? Tommy never understood that, he’d have to ask later.

He’d forgotten he was cleaning. He sighed, breathed in deeply…enjoyed the waves of the alien waters and continued his daily chore.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

“Lady Jarl, the village Hurtugs have gathered in the hall” The words came from the pale house slave, Åge.

“Thank you” she said dismissively, her deep sea blue gaze lost in her own reflection that came up beyond the snowy tundra of the outside world. Her gaze turned to the crown on her head. They called her Lady Jarl, the humor of the title, the first time ever used in Eternum history.

Though such a title wouldn’t have existed if her husband, Korzan, Son of Odin, not been ruthlessly assassinated by The Imperium. She stepped on the long, decorated carpets that kept the cold stone separated from her. Each step showed her grace and power, yet also brought the bitter memory of Korzan’s ever missing presence.

His might helped build this castle, this was only one part of his legacy. Beyond the nation that he himself had founded, his six beautiful children existed elsewhere within its halls.

Though into her 40s she had aged wondrously, and in the grand hall she stuck out comparatively to the old, husky and hairy men of the other villages. The guards and hurtugs bowed. Her eye was sharp and she could see this discontent in many of their eyes. To follow a mere mortal. Her blood lacked the ancestry of their great patron god. They deemed her unfit to rule, but this was furthest from the truth. With all her heart she loved her son, all her children, but, Jóhan, the next in line to rule, was not ready. And with his affliction, she questioned if he ever would be.

“Lady Jarl” the hurtugs said in harmony before sitting after her.

“To business” she quipped before turning her body, and attention to Mikkel of House Engh, Hurtug of the Akershus village “Have your people detected any sighting of the Imperium?”

“No Lady Jarl, we have been increasing our defenses. The wall around our village is almost done” She nodded, Hurtug Mikkel’s village rested north, near the Pass of Neptune, an oceanic location that existed between the Northern and Southern half of the Eternum. In other words, the division between the two warring parties.

“Though I doubt they will attack the Pass of Neptune” On the table before them was a map of their lands, Hurtug Ole of Rogaland village pointed to the waters near Branjaskr, their current location and capital. Three hours distance further south the salt water moved about. “They will clearly come from here; they have foolishly tried through our lands too many times. Why go through it when they can swim about?”

“Or fly. The sky men” Hurtug Lars of Norland village grumbled. There was a silence in the air and Else cut through the air with her hand, the letter left by assassin burned in her mind.

“The sky men will fail, or have you lost faith in Odin?” she was hypocrite to ask, but she was a leader first, the mask needed to be put on. “His very blood runs in the ruling family”

“Yet they do not rule, Lady Jarl. That crown should be sitting on the head of your whoremongering son ” she raised a sharp brow at him. The tension of the room built, deadly silence. Her smaller hands slammed onto the table and she leaned forward, exotic earrings shaking with her force. Proudly her coiled, pleated hair held the gemmed crown.

“Say one, more, thing, hurtug” she dared, royal guards looked at him with a glare past their thick metal helmets. The overweight, older man crumbled under the pressure and grumbled again. Silk, and fur moved with her now standing body. “They have their gods and technology” she admitted “But we have, not only the pride of a people who do not back down to tyrants, but the god Odin himself with us!” though in truth Else was much more trusting of other sources of aid before her godly father-in-law. Her jeweled choker gleamed by the light of the fire pit. “We have already made preparations for their sea based attack” Else spoke of the lookout towers, patrolling ships, and stone walls to block outside trespassing. “What I need established from all of you is the passion, and capability of our warriors and magicians” The Imperium had their advantages, but the Free South was not without its own.

The Hurtug nodded and her hand pointed back to the map before they spoke once more of possible weaknesses in their defense.



The session ended and Lady Jarl Else left with the decorated door slammed behind her. She made her way to the more intimate, dining hall that her family always gathered at for supper. It was a family tradition, as was the fact that she was their first.

Sitting at the end, facing the doors, she waited her six children to enter. First came Karla, her fourth child, and in her arms was Nea, her sixth and final. The blonde girls walked to the long dining table, though the young woman carried herself timidly. Else scanned Karla, did she too share the same affliction as the rest of her children?

Karla placed down Nea at the corner chair next to Else and sat at the second char on the right. Maxwell and Kalle came in next, her two youngest boys, Maxwell was only starting to become a man and Kalle was her most estranged child. Kalle was also the only one of her children who did not have blond hair, black locks decorated his equally beautiful face, and he shared in the same blue eyes.

Else was thankful for her children, regardless of the strife they had to suffer. As the two boys sat on the left side, it was once again the two end chairs that were empty. Her eldest children, Jóhann and Hella, the most afflicted of them all.

The family sat in silence for a moment, knowing what the two of them were up to, once more.

“Karla, kjære, what did you and Nea do today?” Else engaged her two, present, daughters.

“We, um, sewed today” Karla’s constant hesitation was not fitting of someone her grace and stature; she would need to have to find a way to help Karla come into her womanhood. Nea’s fluffy golden hair danced about as she laughed at what Karla said. House slaves began to set down food, the family politely thanked them.

Else hated the food being served in front of the empty chairs.

“I’ll have to see what you two have done!” A large smile moved across the fair mother’s face. “Tonight!” a small, tentative smile showed on Karla’s face while little Nea continued her jovial laughing.

“I’d like to see it too” Kalle smiled, Maxwell nodded. “We trained more today, mother” Kalle looked to her and she, in response, looked to her platinum haired teenaged son. Training was something Korzan used to do with his boys.

“And how did you do?”

“Kalle is a much better fighter than me” Maxwell was brooding.

“His skill with the axe is greatly improving” Kalle chimed. Else grabbed Maxwell’s hand and looked at him.

“You will be as strong as Kalle one day, and Jóhann too, they are just older, skatten min” he gave her a small, toothless smile.

Then her two eldest entered, she could tell by the giggles that didn’t belong to her children. Slipping off Jóhann’s body were the concubines he had around him constantly. Such a…habit didn’t form until after his father was murdered. It was as if with Korzan’s death Jóhann no longer cared to keep his truest passions discrete.

Hella, her well-developed daughter, often shared his…concubine company. Else couldn’t help but shake her head, it at least kept the…affliction to a set few rather than the entire general public. She knew her children to be a danger.

At the table they all greeted each other and then looked to their mother. Before each meal they had a moment of silence for their fallen father.

Karla held Nea’s and Halla’s hands while keeping her eyes shut. There was a hole in this family now that he was taken, he made all the bad things of the family seem to not matter. Though he never knew.

And that was when she heard crying, she looked up, shocked.

“Mother” her hands covered her face. Mother had been through so much, she was in so much pain. Her siblings all shared worried glances. Nea began to cry now.

“Daddy” her little voice cried and Karla pulled her to her chest.

“Yes” she nodded and found herself struggling to hold back into the same sadness. She could see the same struggle in the eyes of her brothers and eldest sister.

“Mother” Maxwell was trying to sooth her. Thirty minutes passed and finally mother was in a calm state again, as was Nea…though their meat and soup had become cold. They began eating in the same silence, each thinking of their heroic father.

Else’s tearstained eyes found focus again while she began eating. Karla kept her focus tonight, as she had for the past two months on a specific house slave boy. Maxwell admitted to her that he shared the affliction of his siblings, yet he was younger than Karla. Had Zenita’s blood not found its way into her veins?

She noticed her daughter had recently begun to often lay her eyes on one of the house slaves each meal. At first she was only giving glances, but with her recent meals she now looked with less discretion. Perhaps her second daughter thought herself craftier than she actually was?

Else was seeking signs of the affliction: it always came with a hunger in their eye as if seeking to feed. Other times a squirming of the body or heavy breathing and sweating, they were captivated with something.

Else had tried asking if Karla had ever felt…overwhelming feelings but she admitted to nothing.

Near the end of their meal she gestured over the very young man, Karla now looked away.

“Yes Lady Jarl?” Else stood.

“Come with me” the two walked while other house slaves began collecting the plates. “Karla has recently grown…unhappy with the service of her personal caretaker and I planned on assigning her to other tasks”

“Um, yes, of course Lady Jarl” he gave paused response, confusion.

“But I also had another plan” they stepped out of the family dining hall. “I thought you could take her place as Karla’s caretaker” she looked into the boy’s eyes, he looked shocked.

“Uh, Lady Jarl, isn’t that a woman’s job? I’m afraid I’m not…adequate” the last words came out hesitantly.

“Speak to Selma. She will teach you, tell her it is my wish” the boy was now looking at the floor and he bowed.

“Yes Lady Jarl, may I assist in any other way?”

“No you are dismissed; I suggest you start learning, now”

“Yes Lady Jarl” with another tentative bow, he left down the decorated stone hall. Else had a secret hope that nothing would become of the boy. But if so, she would be grateful his sacrifice would help the betterment of Karla.

Returning the dining hall she finger gestured to Jóhann, and Hella. In moments everyone else exited the smaller, lavish, room. If Karla did have the affliction, she was not going to send her to her eldest children to help.

“Yes mother?” Jóhann asked, there was always a smug look on his face.

Else slapped it off.

“Mother!” she slapped her face too. Though Jóhann was a large and strong man, he stood before his mother with the most respect and kept himself passive. Hella carried a face of shock.

“You two” she pointed at both of them sternly. “Are unraveling everything we spent YEARS concealing. Jóhann, you have whores all over you in PUBLIC! How do you think that reflects us?” she shook her head furiously. “I remained quiet because I thought you were going through a phase since your father died…but it’s been a year and while I try to work with your…affliction, there must be a line!” Her children had a somber look. “Whatever you are doing, keep it in your bedchambers. You are children of Korzan, second generation descendants of Odin. Not only do we have a responsibility to our people, but what do you think will happen when the people start asking questions?” The two of them remained silent.

“They, would burn us” fear rippled through her voice and it made her eldest children show a more grim face. “If they knew what blood…taint, swirled in you, and the skeletons we had, they would kill all of us. Even Nea, do you want Nea to be harmed?”

“No” Hella said, upset.

“Then keep your personal life, personal. I don’t need to hear from the Hurtug again that my eldest son is whoremonger.” Jóhann shrugged and kept quiet. Else glared them down before kissing both on the forehead and walking to her personal chambers.



Maxwell hid in his own room now, catering to himself he was now in silk and furs to keep himself comfortable for the night. He kept himself distracted with the snow until he heard footsteps. Excited and curious he peaked outside his door. As he hopped it was Åge, yet when he looked at him he tried to look away. Maxwell stepped into the hallway and grabbed his wrist.

“Master Maxwell!” He exclaimed, his wrist was now pinned up against the wall, next the gold border that belong to a portrait. The late Korzan watched the events unfold in his canvas. The young royalty put his face into the side of Åge’s neck.

“You used to like this” he smirked, and bit his lower lip…the desire burning in his blood. Åge helped keep it…focused. Kalle always preached about the use of deep breathing exercises and finding clarity, but that rarely helped.

“Yes Master Maxwell” his voice cold and professional “But I must get to Karla’s chambers and serve her, as th-”

“Karla?” Maxwell pulled him into his room and slammed the door. “You're mine, remember?” the taller, lankier boy nodded as his lips pursed. “I-I-am afraid your mother had” he breathed in deeply, sensation getting to him “other plans” He tried getting to the door and Maxwell grew angry.

“I SAID NO!” he pushed him on the bed. “I’ll make sure you won’t get in trouble” he smiled before working to unfasten the man’s doublet.



Else could see the shadowy figure of the four bat winged, horned woman at her wide window. The Lady Jarl closed her door quickly and stood beside her tall succubus minion.

“I often wonder what Korzan would have thought had he knew of his children” she admitted to the always quiet mocha skinned demon woman. “And with a Queendom to rule, I can’t always watch over them. I grow more and more afraid they won’t be able to control themselves” she put a hand up to the window, the cold biting at her supple palm.

Zahneri, the succubus, remained steadfast in her silence.

“How do you not get cold in such weather?” Else scanned the strange rock formations that swirled on the woman’s skin and lose black silk that hung from her arms, it was poor excuse for clothing.

The demon looked down and over into Else’s eyes.

“I simply do not feel hot or cold”

“What do you feel then, Zahneri?”

“The Seas of Lust coursing through me and contentment in my eternal servitude, my mistress”

The Lady Jarl looked to her, trying to find some clue as how to help her children through her. She could only give an amused ‘hmph’ before looking back to the snowy tundra outside her castle.

Aureyon
12-01-2013, 11:07 PM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Slave Quarters

Kalle closed the book and the small children laughed and cheered. Kalle was amongst his people, within the long wooden and stone structures outside his family castle. There was a greater serenity outside the walls and away from the stress of his siblings. He handed one curious child the book and with them gathered he helped them read the sentences out loud. His father was a noble man who treated everyone with respect, slave or not. Korzan’s philosophy passed down to him and he prayed he could even be half the man his father was.

But he already had innocent blood on his hands, even if the throats were cut by his mother’s dagger.

The adults had grown used to his constant visits, and as they walked by, gave him warm smiles. Among the help he could give contribution. He worried if his youngest siblings would get swallowed into the blackness of their blood like Jóhann and Hella had.

“And…he…” the little girl struggled with the next word, Kalle put a finger to it.

“United” she repeated “the tribes to make the Free South” he read slowly to her part of his father’s deeds.

“He was a hero” said a slave boy and Kalle rubbed his head with a small smile.

“He really was” There was peace here.

“Master Kalle?” he looked to the woman’s voice and swallowed hard, blood began to boil. “We were grateful for your visits” a few other adults of various ages accompanied her. “And wished to present to you something we-”

“Don’t me so modest Beata! You sewed it together!” the others laughed and Beata, the young brunette, blushed.

“I..we..wanted to say thank you Master Kalle!” she bowed greatly at the hip and Kalle blinked a few times, her slender figure visible though the simple dress she wore. The children looked between the two with surprised eyes. Pulled from behind the group was a folded blanket and Beata displayed it.

Upon its duller colors was stitched a beautiful replica of the Crown. Kalle couldn’t see Beata behind the blanket but he did shift uncomfortable, his heart beat rising.

“Master Kalle? I hope this…” she lowered it, she still had red cheeks “is to your liking?” he started to grip his thigh, leg bouncing.

“It is wonderful” he stood straight up, the furs he wore keeping him modest. “I’ll be back for it” he nodded and quickly left into the snowy lands. The grateful slaves had looks of confusion, Beata frowned.

Just keep breathing, that's what he taught Maxwell and Karla.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Woodlands

The prince's eyes were sealed shut, the opposing wind was weakened by the fur cloak covering his bare backside. His mind elsewhere.

In his fantasies Beata was bent over the table of the grand hall, knocking over the decorative ornaments. He imagined the feeling of her body and the sounds she would make, clinging on to her voice in his mind. His pants hung at the ankle, surrounded by snow. Kalle’s blade hand didn’t stop till his screaming release and a moment’s silence from his body. A small peace, the yearning of his blood quieted.

Panting, he leaned forward onto the thinner tree he was resting on and snow fell on his head from the branches above.

“Ack!” he fumbled backwards and he pulled up his fur leggings and began to fasten them.



For so long it had been nothing but the darkness, and the torture and the pain that was offered to her in her imprisonment in the realm of the dead, and now here she was amidst the snow-caked landscape that she did not recognize, her pale hair blowing wildly in the wind as it whipped around her skin sending stinging sensations across her exposed body.

Her stormy grey eyes scanned the area around her, and she noted a large castle in the distance. She eyed the walls and marveled at the architecture that the castle was made from; though something told her that it was rather primitive at its best, she could eye the walls and spot the weak points in a matter of seconds.

As the wind blew again, she heard the sound of a man screaming and followed in the direction from which it came. As she trudged through the snow she shivered and her skin began to try to heat itself up, and while the cold wasn't unbearable, she wasn't used to it. She nimbly walked through the frozen wastes eyeing the castle that seemed to be growing larger in the distance. As she got closer her eyes could see the cracks and holes in the wall, and she shook her head in disbelief; For some reason this angered her and she felt the driving urge to tear down the wall and rebuild it to be a stronger and more effective defense.

As she crested the hill, she saw a young, and rather attractive, man in the snow. She made her way down the hill and into the woodlands below where the man had fallen. As she approached, she slowed her footsteps to where they were barely above a tip-toe and called out softly, letting the wind carry her bell-like voice to the stranger...

"Hello, I am Syf, Can you tell me where I am?" Her voice made him jump and a hand instinctively went to the hilt of his axe while he turned himself to face her. Lively black locks whipped about until they fell back into place and his ice blue eyes stared at her baffled. He was glad he had redressed himself before she arrived.

The woman before her was …exotic to put it lightly. Her considerable height caught him first, being at near equal eye level helped him see the mysticism of her eyes. The gray and the hue of them almost seemed inhumanly distinct.

But he stilled his mind and realized that she had spoken to him, and the fact she was wearing only a worn toga in the tundra. The middle child relaxed into a neutral state and began to walk to her, he didn’t think her intentions impure. Though the fact she was so ignorant of her location, and under dressed had him concerned. A light wave of sexual interest hit him again, though luck was on his side with the random woman in the wilderness: he was already spent for now.

“Branjaskr” he informed her quickly. “You must be freezing, my lady, please wear this” he began to unfasten the furs of his cloak and layers of upper garments. “Let me lead you to the castle, you must not be out here dressed like that. You’ll catch sickness, Syf” the last part was muffled as he began to pull the garments over his head, the cold hitting him hard.

Syf eyed the man strangely as his accent was one that she had not yet heard before, and she spoke questioningly, "Branjaskr? What is that?" her tone reflected her ignorance to everything around her and again her eyes flashed over the wall of the city in the distance. The prince tilted his head lightly in confusion to her.

She seemed horribly naïve, how did she survive in the snow?

Since the garments were of the same height, they shouldn't be too baggy or hamper her movement, though he knew this was only a temporary arrangement. He’d need to clothe her and figure what this white haired maiden’s predicament was. He extended out the garments, his skin getting goose bumps. She eyed the castle and then the man who was of equal height as her as she placed his offered garments over her. They smelled of sweat and grime, though it was bearable considering the stench of the underworld.

"Forgive my naivety; this is the first time I have seen light in many years, Branjaskr must be the name of the city in the distance there..." A black brow was raised by this comment. Where had she been?

"Yes, my lady"

She pointed in the direction of the city before continuing... "And you must be a Nobleman judging by the air of authority that layers your voice like the ice on the mountains here." Syf smiled kindly her eyes twinkling in the little light that reached them through the snow and ice. Finding her eccentricities to pile, he only gave her a nod to her, she seemed unwell.

“You are barefoot, allow me to carry you. You must not be well” he said concerned.

She eyed the man analytically, as if she were calculating his existence. He appeared to be of decent strength and his muscles were quite defined, so that meant that he was used to labor and activity. Good, that would be useful in the coming days. Under her gaze Kalle moved his eyes uncomfortably, fighting his own inner demons.

Syf had already begun to plan the reconstruction of those walls in her head, not even taking into account the fact that they did not belong to her, nor did she know these people. She found her stare lingering again on the walls, her eyes unable to keep away from faults in it. She wanted to voice her opinion and tell this man about the defenses that could make it all the stronger, but it was not yet the right time to do so. The time would be soon, but as of yet, it was not appropriate of her to speak on such matters. In truth, she didn't even really know why this fault in the architecture was bothering her so much.

"It is in your blood child." Syf flinched internally as the voice echoed through her mind...

She was distracted and shivering. He took the initiative to carry her, her judgment seemingly impaired. In her arms he looked down to her. She looked up at the man from in his arms and felt her cheeks grow slightly warm, this man was holding her and she had no idea who he really was. And, yet this fact didn't seem to cause her any concern.

“I’m going to take you inside the castle” he told her with confidence. As he walked with her he had a worried look. “I am Kalle, second prins of the Odinsen throne” it was a long winded title, but true nonetheless. They began to head to the outer gates of the larger village. Syf was taken by surprise when, the one known as Kalle, picked her up in his arms without giving her much room to respond before doing so, and began carrying her towards the castle in the distance

Guards stood post outside, next to fire pits to help them keep warm. From the distance, the watchmen looked at them curiously.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village

As they approached the fortress gates, she eyed them in disbelief and then spoke in a tone reflecting a slight annoyance, "Your wall will easily fall should an army come to assault it. There are weak spots all over the wall”, and as if to emphasize her point she slid from the man’s arms.

“My lady!” Kalle cried out, the guards tensed seeing the under dressed, tall woman running about in the snow. Syf walked to the outer rim on the right side of the gate and picked up a rather large boulder. “Please, let us get you inside” he implored while still making his way to her.

"Here", she stated as she effortlessly threw the boulder. Kalle could only wander how much the cold had made her mad, he reached an arm out to stop her, but it was too late. It hit one of the weak points in the wall. The wall shuddered and a larger crack appeared and spread in all directions revealing the weak points all over the wall itself, interwoven like a spider web. Both prince and guard looked at the wall agape. Kalle then walked to her and gently grabbed her arm. “P-please don’t pick up any more boulders, my lady” and he proceeded to hold her once more.

"This wall needs to be repaired, and enhanced. You should just tear it down and rebuild it anew. Judging by the sounds of the village within the walls, you have plenty of laborers, and it could be done in a timely manner and this fortress would be all the safer for it.", she finished her lecture and Kalle nodded as if to dispel a child’s ramblings.

“Thank you Syf…I’ll remember this” he said nervously. Walking through the thick, blocky wooden gates they were then greeted by pale skinned people walking about in furs to keep them warm. Kalle quickly pushed through the stone streets and elongated homes. People stared before bowing in respect of Kalle’s presence. In ten minutes they passed the gate of the castle where Kalle asked her to not throw boulders at.

After having walked through the village with Kalle, she saw much that could be improved, and much that needed improvement. The sheer architecture and structure of this 'castle' was primitive to what she had been witness to in the underworld. But, that was understandable considering that she had been subject to the tortures of demons and Gods.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

The castle was brown in color, stood with many floors, windows, and pillars built into it. The tops of the pillars were windowed archery posts with spike so high they were trying to reach Odin himself. The grounds themselves were layered with permeate snow but also had many large and old evergreen trees. The large engraved doors were opened by the guards while the two headed in. Welcoming heat waved over them, lavish, carpeted halls were visible from each direction.

Lady Jarl Else was speaking to a village hurtug whose name escaped him, and when she saw the duo, gave a dramatic raised brow to Kalle. She excused herself from the hurtug's presence and began to walk to them, wearing elaborate blue robes and gemmed accessories.

“It’s not like that, mother. She was outside in the snow. Her name is Syf, and she seems…” he took an uncomfortable pause, the crowned mother looked up to him expecting “confused on many things” He then nodded his head to his mother and looked down to Syf. “This is my mother, Lady Jarl Else Odinsen” Else blinked a few times, she too was baffled while looking at the woman. Else stared into Syf’s eyes, lost for a moment’s time. Looking back up she spoke to Kalle.

“Selma will be helpful, she may sleep in guest quarters” she glanced at Syf before she left back to the curious hurtug.

“Thank you mother” he smiled as she walked away. Eyes went back to Syf “We will be tending to you now” he informed her, her grasp on the world seemed…bewildered.

“Thank you mother” he smiled as she walked away. Eyes went back to Syf “We will be tending to you now” he informed her, her grasp on the world seemed…bewildered. Syf bowed her head choosing to be silent in the correspondence between the young prince and his mother.She may not have known too much about the current state of the world, but she did know when to not speak, and now was most certainly not the time to voice her opinion; even at the pitiful condition in which the throne room itself was held.

"I need to bathe, I smell like death and demons.", she said rather pointedly to Kalle. He, in shock, accidently grasped her tightly.

“I’m sorry, my lady?” trying to make sure he heard what he thought he did. Walking with her still, he got to the quarters of the House Slaves. It was a separate section of the castle, with small individual rooms and still was just as lavish as the rest of the castle. It was clear they were well taken care of. “Selma” he called out while near the kitchen. A plump woman came out; she was wearing simple feminine garb and an apron.

“Marster Kalle” she looked between the two of them with the same confused look.

“Lady Syf is in need of domestic care, will you tend to her?” Selma nodded.

“Of course Master Kalle, and where is she to stay?”

“She is to have her own bed chambers, guest room” she nodded.

“I’ll have someone take her to the room and we’ll begin to heat her up! The poor woman looks cold!” Kalle shook his head.

“I will carry her, I wish to ensure her safety”

“As you wish Master Kalle” she curtsied “If you’ll follow me” Still cradled in his arms, she was taken to the second floor. The door was opened by Selma, and with the sheets and quilts pulled back, Kalle placed her on the bed. He protectively tucked her in with the feather pillows arranged for her to sit. The heat was pleasurable.

The room had one of the many fireplaces of the castle. Paintings of Korzan, and Nordic people conquering the snowy lands, it was carpeted by the hide of a great bear. There was an off shoot room that Syf could tell was a personal bathing quarter.

“Make sure she is well taken care of” Kalle said, still eyeing her. His skin and hair reflecting the light of the fire.

“Yes Master Kalle” the larger, but smiling woman blocked Syf’s view of the second prince. “Are you hungry dear?” Even Selma stared into her eyes for a moment “You are most interesting Lady Syf” an innocent smile on her lightly wrinkled face.

Syf could hear heavy footsteps and a shutting of the door. Unable to see him still, it was assume he stepped out of the room.

Azazeal849
12-02-2013, 09:19 PM
<OOC - Gold text is mine, white text is Minkasha's.>

THE AFRAGIAN COAST

"You can stay here until the Admiral returns. Welcome to Sharktooth Bay, maggots."

One of the prisoners coughed and struggled to his feet, still dizzy from dehydration. Of the four prisoners he was the heaviest armoured, clad in overlapping scale and steel greaves beneath his plain cloak, and he had also carried a plumed steel helmet before the guards had taken it off him. The armour fitted over a muscular frame optimised for fast and brutal violence, an ethos supported by the shield and heavy cavalry sword that he had been wearing before the capture. His face was broad and had the slightly asymmetrical look that came from healing over repeated blunt-force impacts. A shadow around his jaw showed that it had been several days since he had had the luxury of a razor, and the recent march showed in the dryness of his olive skin. His short dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his lips were dry and cracked, but he still managed to summon the defiance to scowl at the jailer.

"You speak good Namorian." he rasped. "Which is lucky, because it means I can ask you what the bloody hell you think you're doing."

The jailer raised an eyebrow and laughed derisively. "What I'm doing?" He did indeed speak fluent Namorian, though with an odd accent - every vowel rhotic.

"You're clearly not from around here." the blocky-faced prisoner said as he helped the horned girl to her feet. His voice was regaining strength as he moistened his dry mouth. "Which means you're an Earthborn. Which means you're supposed to be our allies."

"And who does that make you?" the jailer inquired, twirling his keys as he looked through the door.

"I'm centurion Varro Salvius, of the Namor Imperium." growled the prisoner. "Who the fuck are you?"


* * * * * *

FOOTHILLS OF DUN MORIGA

Tribune Caeso Cassius shaded his eyes against the sunlight that was reflecting off Dun Moriga's western foothills and turning the snow-capped peaks behind them pink. His arm was healing well – he still couldn't heft both shield and sword, but he could grip his spatha in his off hand and control his horse with his knees, and that was enough. Battles were not won by hiding behind a shield, after all.

Zhnegra's crocolyke scouts were already ranging ahead through the craggy mountain paths, but Cassius had wanted to see the terrain ahead for himself. The brash young cavalry commander was still assessing the way ahead, picking out a route for the following infantry and wondering just how his horses would be of any use in the dwarfs' underground cities, when the centurion at his side gestured for his attention and pointed.

Cassius followed the centurion's outstretched finger, squinting into the scrubland south of the paved highway. It occurred to him that perhaps he should buy a dwarven telescope like the one dux Marcius so prized, when he eventually picked out movement against the grass and saw what his sharper-eyed companion had spotted. It was a woman, clothed in a simple white tunic, and with pleated blonde hair – a rarity north of Combrogia. She was completely alone, and stranger still she was carrying what looked like a sword and a round shield.

“What in the twelve hells...?” Cassius muttered under his breath, and then clicked his fingers at the men flanking him. “You two, with me.”

He gave his mount a quick kick with his heels, and the horse cantered forward to intercept the lone traveller.


* * * * * *

It was a different world, her Goddess warned her.

She ran, seemingly non-stop, it was her duty. Her blue gemmed gladiators had kicked away snow, grass and dirt. Her very soul desired to recreate the legend of Pheidippides, for she too was a messenger. Though she wouldn’t be able to deliver the words of victory, nor did she have the pleasure of death after giving her bitter words.

Elisavet, of Sacred Flesh, could not dwell on the words. She was the Goddess’ champion, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Her ears could hear nothing more than her heavy panting, the slapping of her sheathed sword’s loose, leather carrier hitting her back, and the jingles of her exotic earrings. Olive leaves designs decorated the various gemmed bracelets, and arm bracelets that reflected the sun’s light, her appearance was that of Aphrodite’s design. The shield that was buckled to her left arm had the symbol of woman on it. It was for womankind and Aphrodite that she needed to be strong for, and protect. She was donned in the armour blessed by Aphrodite, though it accentuated the Goddess’ realm of beauty and sexuality, its magics helped Elisavet fight the cold. It was all a matter of willpower, she had been running for days straight, a feat attributed by her enhanced physical capabilities…but even that had a limit.

This world did not possess her home, Greece. The Greece she knew was conquered and gone, thousands of years in the past. Aphrodite’s truths ran through her mind. While the Goddess loved and was joyous of Elisavet’s resurrection, she herself could not help but feel the lingering feeling of failure.

For thousands of years, Aphrodite was without champion. Had she not died in Roman conquest, she could have remained by her side.

Guilt, worry, and purpose continued to fight in Elisavet’s heart, yet her jade eyes saw something she’d never witnessed before: blue Romans.

They were Namorian, not Roman. She could remember the Goddess’ embracing her, the Goddess jest that so much has changed. But it was true, and these blue men who shadowed a distant past were now going to be her allies. They were heading to her, and she slowed her pace, the fist of her shielded arm squeezed for a moment. She would serve her Goddess with endless devotion, and not fail.

Three of the Namorians were cantering towards her - a young man in ornate armour flanked by two others. They pulled back on their reins and slowed their horses to a walk as they approached.

"Is she a Southerner?" Elisavet heard one of the flanking soldiers say. Her blonde hair marked her out as a foreigner; as the goddess had warned her, in the north of this world such colouration was rare outside of Combrogia, and it was considered by many in the Imperium to be a trademark of the vicious Southern barbarians.

"This far north?" the other escort scoffed in response, squinting down at Elisavet's curious attire. His gaze instinctively lingered on her short tunic and the deep V of her neckline.

"Well she's too short for a Combrogi." the first man countered. He was more focused than his companion, and although he had not yet drawn his sword his hand rested meaningfully on the leather-wrapped hilt.

The central figure, the young man in impressive silvered armour, cut them both off with a gentle raising of his hand.

"Let her speak." he said reasonably, nudging his horse forward another step until the tall chestnut mare was a few paces short of Elisavet. He looked down at her with sharp eyes. "This isn't safe country for anyone to be travelling alone. What are you doing here?" A slight frown creased the Namorian's pointed features. "Common travellers don't carry shields, but a real soldier would wear armour. And neither would travel without packs."

Elisavet stood there before the three men on horseback. Her body trembled, though she tried to conceal it.

“I, am Elisavet, of Sacred Flesh” she raised her shield for display to them proudly, the female mark upon it, a circle with a cross joined to its lowest point. “Champion of Aphrodite”

"Champion of A-" the first soldier laughed skeptically, then caught himself. "Aphrodite? Venus?"

The two soldiers exchanged glances, Elisavet's incongruous appearance suddenly making sense to them. The young man leading them wore an expression somewhere between awe and confusion. As well he might; Aphrodite was a pacifist goddess, and seldom had anything to do with the Namorian legions who generally drew their patronage from the more warlike god Mars. He must have been wondering what her intervention heralded, or if she was even there for them at all. A man could easily damn himself by obstructing a messenger of the gods.

"And what does Venus will?" he asked, his tone diplomatic. Like the other soldier, he used the goddess' Latin name.

Elisavet closed her eyes for a moment, she trembled again. Dropping the shield she looked to each on in the eye, her feminine accessories moving with her “I must speak to Decius Marcius. It is dire.” there was a weakness in her voice, it was ill of her to stop running. It felt impossible to start again. “I must speak to him, Aphrodite has willed it so” she reaffirmed and tried to take step closer but fell to knee with a groan. Her mind swirled around her mission, but her body could only ask how many sun and moon cycles had it been running without falter. Days? Weeks? It was indistinguishable under the exhaustion that claimed her.

Elisavet pushed herself to rise but failed and this time fell to her hands and knees, her long golden hair flaring over her shoulder. ‘Aphrodite give me strength’ she prayed.

“It is necessary that I get through” she was winded, sweat made her body glisten “let me pass” Her eyes stuck looking at the hooves of the horses before her. It shamed her to be seen as so weak. It seemed to unnerve the soldiers too - they exchanged glances until the young leader swung himself decisively out of the saddle and landed with a chink of armour next to Elisavet.

"We've been waiting for another sign of the gods, my lady. Take my horse." He snapped a commanding gesture towards his two companions. "See her straight to the commander, and quickly."

"Aye tribune." the soldiers replied tersely. The young man clasped the bracelet around Elisavet's wrist to help her up, then laced his hands into a step to help her into the saddle.

The Goddess figure had no choice but to accept man’s help. Shameful was her need of their aid, but the task needed to be done.

“Thank you, Aphrodite bless you,” she said as she worked her way onto the horse.

The two soldiers wheeled their mounts round and all three horses started west at a brisk canter.

The two men rode with Elisavet in relative silence. Not only were they focused on riding, they didn't seem to know what to say to a messenger of the gods. During the ride she struggled to wake, yet though all her exhaustion and weariness her charm never failed to shine through her body. Though she was haggard and worn she only appeared mildly tired and most of it was shown through her body language. Often she leaned forward on the horse, for a moment passing out only to violently wake again. Elisavet kept putting a hand to her forehead and eyes, she needed to remain awake.

Soon the fortified camp hove into view atop a nearby hill, its half finished palisade silhouetted against the setting sun. The soldiers drove their horses down into a shallow dip and then hard up the other side of the hill towards a gap in the wall, guarded by a contubernium of 8 legionaries until the gate could be erected.

"What have you got there?" one of the blue-cloaked soldiers whistled jovially after they had exchanged passwords. "Someone's escaped slave?"

The solder whistled at her, and past her parting and flipped bangs she looked to him. “How dare you speak of me in such a way.”

Had she possessed the strength she would have drawn her sword, but all she could do was glare, her hands caressed the horse below her lovingly. While she may had been weak she still gave him divine judgment through her long lashes. But again, her quest was too important, retribution could come later.

"A messenger from Venus." the more aggressive of her attendant horsemen said curtly, "Here to see dux Marcius. Step aside if you know what's good for you."

“I must speak to Decius Marcius, now” while she was the only woman, she gave her command. Another hand moved over the side of her face, pushing the bangs out of the way until gravity pulled them back. The Champion knew that once her message had been delivered and she served any immediate needs of him, she could then rest.


* * * * * *

The Namorian fort was taking shape on the hill north of the highway, with the followers' camp at the foot of the slope. Not far away was the more ramshackle camp of the crocolykes, while the Greeks had elected to pitch camp further west, on a second hill that looked back towards the distant Combrogian forests. Septim and his Romans were methodically erecting their own fort south of the highway, an amplified mirror image of the Namorian marching fort; laid out in the same regimented style, but big enough to house four legions rather than just one.

In the centre of the Namorian camp the command tent had already been erected, and general Marcius was busy in council with his senior officers. With his armour and weapons laid in a corner, ready for cleaning, Marcius stood in his tunic and cloak, armed only with his sword belt. Notably absent were prefect Lucullis, who was tirelessly organising the camp and its supplies, and tribune Cassius who was still scouting with the legion cavalry. The rest of Marcius' tribunes surrounded him in their single-striped tunics, along with one or two senior centurions and scribes to take down the orders from the meeting. The only man wearing armour was Varrius, who stood like an ominous shadow behind Marcius' shoulder.

"If the scouts report that the passes are clear, we'll start towards the tunnels immediately." Marcius said, running his good hand over a faded map of Dun Moriga that lay on the table in front of him. "We'll deploy as if we have to fight our way through the tunnels, which we may have to. Once we reach Ech we can redeploy for the wider caverns. Needless to say our cavalry and artillery will be next to useless until then."

"So we keep using the crocolykes for scouts?" one of the assembled officers asked.

Marcius bit the inside of his cheek. He had a well-known dislike for the crocolyke race, having spent much of his early career putting down their bloody and violent rebellions. The crocolykes had arguably shown more good faith than the immortals; on the orders of their elders they had declared themselves as allies from the start, when they could have just as easily crushed Marcius' legion outside Hercinia. For Marcius, old suspicions died hard, but many of his subordinates had begun to warm to their reptilian auxiliaries, and even Marcius could not deny that they were suited to the task at hand.

"They'll be our screen." he nodded at length. "Until we reach the larger caverns and can use our own cavalry again."

"And who will follow up? The Greeks?"

"They'll do well in the tunnels with their long spears." growled Varinius. Titus Varinius was Marcius' oldest tribune, a silver-haired, blunt faced man who. He also had a particularly acerbic sense of humour, and he proved it by almost immediately amending his previous statement with a disparaging remark. "Until they come to a corner, which the dwarfs made plenty of for exactly that reason. Then they'll be worth exactly fuck all. Heavy infantry will do best."

"So do we lead with Septim's men or our own?"

"Let the immortal bastards lead the charge." Varinius grunted. "They don't have to worry about dying."

Marcius smiled for the first time that day, softening his stern features. It wasn't that the idea wasn't slightly tempting, but not treating their allies as equals would jeapordise the already fragile coalition. There was another reason too.

"It should be Namorian troops that liberate Ech." he said. "We'll fight alongside the Romans."

He didn't entirely trust legate Septim, but he trusted his wife, who had said that the Roman leader was a man of honour who had defied the legions of hell in his past life and might be willing to do it again.

The murmur of discussion died off as a pair of legionaries ducked through the tent flap, still dressed in light cavalry armour. Both saluted, touching their right fists to their left shoulders before extending their palms towards the assembled senior officers.

"Yes?" Marcius prompted them.

"Apologies, general." one of the cavalrymen said. "Someone here to see you."

Marcius looked up as his staff exchanged glances. "One of Septim's men? Or is it the Greeks?"

"No sir." the soldier replied. "A messenger...er, from the goddess Venus."

All eyes turned towards the tent flap, an even mix of shock, wariness and expectant awe as Elisavet stepped inside.

The Bartender
12-03-2013, 07:32 PM
AFRAGIAN COAST

"You can stay here until the Admiral returns. Welcome to Sharktooth Bay, maggots."
Numiera was just laying on the ground next to Salvius and Gabrielle. It was too bright and "cold" there, it felt so cold to be laying in the bright sunshine and she tried to search for cover under Salvius shadow. She was feeling uneasy after she had realized they weren't in Dun Moriga anymore, as if she had something strange inside herself. Not only that, her broken horn had be hurting for a while but she wasn't sure what she should do about that.
As they waited, she decided to start building a sand castle and as the time went by it grew larger and larger under Salvius's shadow...

NEW GIZA, THE AFRAGIAN DESERT

Ann was awake hours before the sunrise. She had bathed and dressed in her ceremonial dress, put on some make-up (even though she hated make-up) and then walked out toward the dune she had chosen to hold the morning prayers for the Egyptians. As she walked there, Ann looked at the pyramid rising from the sand which was almost ready. As she walked, she closed her eyes and in an instant the sight changed, suddenly everything looked much larger and also she was in a dark room, looking at a bed where she saw Suriyana and Odivius were, seemed they had enjoyed the night. Ann smiled and opened her eyes, switching away from the sight of her familiar it was time to greet Ra back into the world of the living...

Minasm
12-04-2013, 04:45 AM
Dun Moriga~Dwarven Penitentiary~12:00 a.m.

Drip. Drip. Drip

A single shaft of pale moonlight illuminated the dank and near-empty cell. Worn cobblestone walls, and slate bricks covered in a thick haze of moist mildew made for a poor bed, and Vardren was never much of a sleeper either, what with being a vampire and all. It the loneliness, the mildew, or even the occasional beatings that annoyed him. The room was stark and cramped, but he was used to discomfort--more than anything else, it was the damn noises. The rythmic dripping sounds just outside of his window had been incessant since he had arrived, not to mention very loud considering the tunnel-like structure of his cell's vent.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Silently, he lifted himself off the ground with both of his pale, weathered hands. They had tried to remove his mask thrice before locking him up, and although they had taken everything else--his poisons, parasites, and weapons--the mask held firm. As his thoughts drifted to the last fool who had touched it, a ravenous hunger took hold of him: he hadn't fed in weeks. The dried droplets of past victim's blood stained the floor in large black blotches--apparently beating their victims was a staple activity for the ignorant guards in the penitentiary. Vardren wondered if anyone had died in his cell before--it certainly didn't reek of death, but that being said the hinterlands were not exactly sprawling with bandits and murderers; Perhaps that was why the guards knew so little about containing a hostage.

Ever so slowly, Vardren paced across the floors of his cell, brushing his hands over the weather-worn walls and taking in the dimensions of an otherwise drab cage. He had expected Cassandra hours ago, but apparently she was far less useful than she appeared to be. Impatiently, he tapped his leather boots against the stone, almost mocking the monotony outside his cage. A slight breeze rolled in through his window, and he relished it's cold touch. For the first time in a while, he felt actual discomfort being there.

If you want something done right...

Vardren sighed inwardly before loosening one of the crumbling stones along his wall. With a flick of the wrist, he sent it clattering across the floor and into the rusting bars. As it bounced off the gate, the sound resonated with the other empty cells in the hall, drawing the attention of the guards upstairs. As their hurried footsteps and alarmed voices gave clue to their imminent arrival, Vardren stood at attention with both hands in the copper cuffs he had freed himself from hours ago. Sure enough, three dwarves came hustling into his room.

"More trouble, eh? We'll 'ave to teach you another lesson." Two dwarves pulled him to the ground, while the third reared back to take a swing at his face.

Crack

His head snapped back with the brunt of the punch, but he felt nearly nothing. A vampire's hard skin had many benefits, and a couple of flabby fists carried very little threat to someone like him.

"Going to try again, are we? Didn't I already tell you--"

"You're tough, yeah we know!" The dwarf fired off a couple more hard thrusts to his face, while the two cronies who supposedly had Vardren pinned stood stalwart in their outdated chest guards, and over-sized chain mail shirts. It was almost pathetic how easily it would be to tear them apart, but it was always more fun to take victims alive. That being said, he was getting restless from days of isolation, and he needed to flex his muscles. Cassandra or not, his experiment was over.

"How'dya like those, ya rocky little shit!" The warden looked pleased with himself, and as Vardren sunk to the floor apparently defeated, he stalked back to the jail cell's door. Whipping his keys from his pockets, the fat little dwarf left his protection in the hands of two other overweight fools. With blinding speed, Vardren lurched forward, tearing the first dwarf's tender neck open with his fangs. The opening beneath his mask was limiting however, and he doubted the bite had been an instant kill. As if to reaffirm this, the guard fell backwards, scuttling into the corner with what little energy he had left. The second had it's sword drawn, and was half-way through a sweeping arc when Vardren caught the blade with both hands and wrenched it from his grip.

"Gods be damned! I-" His voice was cut short as the vampire ran the the guard through wit his own blade. The terrified dwarf gurgled bubbles of blood before exhaling for the last time. Unimpressed, the vampire turned to face what he planned to make his midnight snack, but found the door locked with no warden to be seen. More footsteps above him meant that his morsel had escaped and was most likely gathering a team before trying to reenter his cell.

Damn. I had hoped to be out of here by now...

Just as he suspected they would come bursting down the hall, their voices and footsteps began to fade until he couldn't hear them at all.

"What the..."

Cassandra

***

The tall, jagged hill was no easy climb, but for Cassandra it was nothing out of the ordinary--her homeland of Dun Moriga was very predictable in its geography, and an undead warrior such as herself had little time to do much else than learn to conquer it. Toting her ring-blade on her shoulder, the graceful young woman elegantly trotted up the long-forgotten road to where she presumed the half-men were holding her brother. There was a certain sense of urgency that she didn't wholly understand; after all, her brother was perfectly capable of leaving on his own accord, but catching test subjects had been difficult of late: they had culled far too many in so small an area that people were beginning to avoid their stretch of the woods entirely. It was so... boring.

A small group of swallows dashed across the path in front of her, and for a moment, she stopped to admire their sheer speed. The animals of the world were always so enthralling to her: their mastery of hunting, flying, and swimming made even the most talented mortals look like a bunch of clumsy oafs. That's what they were to her, anyway.

Absentmindedly, she began to ramble to herself as the bend in the road gave way to an immense valley. A crumbling spire and half-shattered battlement stood out from the hill's slope--it was the prison she had been trying to find for days. Her brother's maps, although intricately detailed, often missed even the most simple elements, such as the cardinal directions one had to walk in order to find the desired location.

"We're all so busy these days. You know that birdies?" As if she were a babe, the woman reached out, grasping at the air in the direction of the passing birds. "So pretty..." Walking was boring work, and Cassandra was well tired of it. Instead, her face lit up as a shocking revelation dawned on her: she could just run instead! Delighted with herself, the vampire went sprinting down the road, jumping every now and again to perform elaborate spins and somersaults wither her ring-blade. The invisible audience must have been impressed to, for as she reached the front gate, she took an exaggerated bow. The wooden doors were reinforced with dwarvern iron, but with several strong slashes of her blade, the rusted iron bars began to split.

Apparently breaking in wasn't allowed, for as she pushed open the door, revealing a dank and dimly-lit hallway, four half-men came sprinting at her with blades drawn. She had never felt so under-appreciated in her life: There she was, dancing and leaping for the entertainment of others, and her only payment was a sword pointed at her face. It was very off-putting of them, if nothing else.

The long-sword shot towards her face, but with a simple turn of the head, and a single sweeping kick, she had the dwarf on the ground and unarmed. Startled, he had little time to react as she twirled her wrist, sending the hoop spinning vertically. Blood splattered not only her, but the other guards, as the blade caught the dwarf's exposed midriff. Stringy chunks of his colon and muscle sinew remained dangling from her blade, which only served to irritate Cassandra some more.

"You damn half-lings! A Woman can't even go see her brother without getting your filthy guts all over herself? Pathetic. You all need to go night-night now, otherwise it simply won't be fair." The guards ceased their advance--one even turning tail to run into another one of many hallways. The other two stood their ground but didn't advance. Smiling, Cassandra skipped towards them, twirling the blade above her head.

"You can't-" The dwarf never finished his sentence; the blade whipped forward tearing his neck to shreds and sending a half-severed head in the direction of his comrade. The final dwarf charged her as well, taking a swipe which cut through her scarlet dress and raked her rock-hard skin. He didn't speak--a defeated whimper escaped him, as Cassandra's rage escalated to new heights.

"My..my dress. You tore the damn dress! This was my MOTHER'S" A fit of tears and sobs took hold of her then as she prowled ever-closer to a guard that was beginning to look more and more like a frightened child. Wiping the salt from her puffy, red eyes, Cassandra's mouth contorted into a wicked grin.

"Well, it looks like I'll just repay the favor then. Hmm?" Rushing the dwarf, she grabbed him by the plate with both hands. He had tried to flee, but only succeeded in making it easier for her to grab hold of him. With her brute strength, she snapped the leather straps and sent his plate skidding across the floor tiles. In a fit of fear, he swung wildly, scratching and tearing more of Cassandra before she caught his sword arm in one hand. With a seductive wink, she sent her other hand straight into his chest, grabbing as many ribs and guts as she could before crushing them in her hands.

A wail of sheer pain escaped him as she pulled her findings free from the cavity in his chest. Still alive, the dwarf howled in pain, before passing out. The blood loss would do the rest. Cassandra was about to drop the pile of collected gore, but instead chose to lick it--after all, what did dwarf taste like?

She was in the process of sucking the blood from his shattered rib fragments when more soldiers arrived. Terrified, they dropped their weapons. The leader--the warden she presumed--stepped forward tentatively. Clearly, he had never seen a vampire like her before, and from the tears welling about his eyes she deduced one of the dead soldiers might've been related to him.

"Please... Go! We have..have no quarrel with you! I-I" The dwarf stammered as she approached; her eyes were empty with disinterest. She had heard a hundred pleas before, and none ever seemed very interesting. The other guards ran to his defense, but that only excited her. It was the last time they would ever make that mistake, though.

"You all wanna play with me? FINE. Let's dance!"

***

Vardren waltzed through the empty halls, wondering where his little sister had taken all of his prey. The offices were empty, and so were the other cells. In one storeroom, he found his confiscated items--most were unperturbed, which pleased him. Had they meddled with his jars, it would've been an even worse day for all of the fools that ran the place.
It was a petty, low-level jail block that had been built hundreds of years ago to house minor criminals out of the villages. It certainly wasn't anything for a couple of vampires.

"Cassandra?" His voice drifted down bare halls and echoed back to him as his frustration grew. Even after tearing out of the cell, he still was utterly alone. Disappointed, he headed straight for the main foyer, heading for the exit. This was where he found them. Half-ling bodies and chunks of unidentifiable flesh adorned the walls like fresh paint. Several corpses dangled from the torch-holders by their innards, while others simply twitched and jerked as a slow death took them.

It was all very impressive--especially the ceiling ornaments. When he found her, sitting atop a pile of corpses, he almost laughed. She had found a daisy somewhere (perhaps in the pockets on one of the stubby guards) and was perfectly content to sit there staring at it. Enthralled by the crisp, white petals, she took a finger-full of bloody droplets and wiped them on one half of the flower. Smeared with bright red streaks, it was beautiful in it's own right: Cassandra's anger melted away at the sight of it, and her brother simply looked on; he was only partially intrigued by her passing fancies.

"Cassy, we should probably go. You took far too long to get here, you know. I suspect you were sidetracked again?"

Cassandra's face fell as she sensed his disappointment.

"No! Well, yes maybe, but I swear I came as fast as I could!" Vardren gave her a look of doubt, to which she only tried to justify herself yet again. "I just wanted to see what the flower looked like--I mean, I put the mongrels down for you! Please don't be mad!"

"I'm never mad with you. You can just be so fickle sometimes--this was supposed to be a farming run. Do you see any living subjects left to test? Honestly, I don't even know why I bother bringing you..." Cassandra was about to point to a still-twitching body, but as she did, it ceased to move. She had butchered them all without even thinking of her brother.

How inconsiderate of me!

"Alright... I'm sorry." Wiping away tears, the girl slid down the heap of corpses, and followed her brother back outside the prison.

"You'll do better next time, won't you?" Vardren's hoarse voice carried a strong commanding tone to it, his eerie beak mask a reminder of the creature he had become. No matter what, she would please him--even if it meant her life. Cassandra smiled, wiping the tears out of her eyes.

"I'll capture a hundred of 'em. Then you can poke and prod as much as you like!" Cassandra grasped his cloaked arm with both hands, leaning on her fabulous big brother as if there was no tomorrow. "Oh, I'm sure you'll love it!" She leapt forward, spinning and cartwheeling in joy as the many possibilities for potential hunting grounds flooded her mind. She would catch all the dwarves if he wanted to, but she never felt more alive while helping him.

"I'm sure too, Cass. I'm sure too."

Epostle
12-05-2013, 05:53 AM
Gabrielle

Gabrielle could feel weird presences within his mind. Many of them gave out strange vibes and disconnected him from the real world from time to time. He could hear the outsiders talking, then it would slowly drift away, and eventually, Gabrielle slipped into his subconscious. “Everything you have done… will be brought to justice, Gabrielle.” A faint voice began to say as he began to envision different scenes.

“The light never ceases to fade, no matter how hard you try to put it out.” The voice grew stronger, more into a masculine voice that was scorning a person. Gabrielle began to see blood and slaughter once again, only instead of Shacorai being the antagonist, it was Gabrielle. “Did you think that we have simply forgotten what you have done ancient one? Or have you denied it so much that you don’t call it possible?” Gabrielle heard the voice leave as he was brought back into reality for a spare moment to be tossed off a horse. Gabrielle was then punched, but for some reason, he couldn’t feel it… another visions was taking place.

Gabrielle’s father’s voice began to take over as he said “the light will burn you Gabrielle… Your cycle of vengeance is coming to an end, and with you gone and out of the way, will people finally know peace. Your soul is shattered, your body torn, and your mind is slipping into insanity. You’re a dead man walking, Gabrielle.” The voices stopped again and he regained some of his consciousness.

“Welcome to…” Gabrielle was beginning to drift off again. “You know what you have become… the question is, what destiny will unfold… will you ever truly learn humility, Gabrielle?” Gabrielle could hear the voice shift once again. It started to sound like his blind master. “How did it feel killing me… did it make you feel good knowing you killed a man that helped you? Or was it even better when you slaughtered those who were coming to innocence?” The voice then stopped again and turned into a semi-demonic growl “Or did it do you justice… with all of those souls… your creation…” The voice stopped again and Gabrielle came into full consciousness.

He knew what he had done. He knew what he had. The question is, who else knew other than the gods and his former band? He sensed the room out, but no one out of the ordinary was there. He was near Salvius, the soldier boy, and Numiera, the gifted Dark Elf child. It was an odd predicament he was in, but Gabrielle had to say something to break the silence. “Salvius… my big mouth got us thrown in a kings jail… your idiocy got us within the hands of something far worse than you could ever imagine… how does this make you feel?” He said sarcastically, gesturing his head towards Salvius.

Minkasha
12-05-2013, 05:36 PM
Combrogia - In a field of Hyacinth flowers

She sat among the grass and flowers, her nude body shivered. Clinging to herself tightly she looked at the ...thing that had just birthed her, a large magical bulbous shaped. It was strangely beautiful as it was held together by the same flowers that surrounded her. Wet, black hair, clung to her body and she was without a guide.

She didn't have a name, a memory or even a full understanding of herself. All she could tell was that she was, a she and intrinsically she knew that this beautiful, strange thing deviled her onto the surface of the planet.

Pulling out a hand she looked at it, she had somewhat tan skin, grabbing at her dripping hair she could see its black color. A part of her wished she could see her appearance...but even that was a mystery to her.

Looking up to the sky, she felt...unsure. Her lungs still hurt, with each new born breath and her eyes squinted at the light of the sky.

The trees around her groaned and shook in the midnight breeze. The night was cold and the stars shining. Every few moments an owl would make a call or something more sinister would growl in the darkness, a while away from the newborn.

A cracking of branches heralded the arriving of a single Druada, it's body prying itself out of the dirt it had covered itself in. The creature looked upon the woman and the bulbous plant that sat in the middle of Hyacinths. She sat in silence, only surrounded by the chirps and sounds of nature. This state of confused peace was tickled by the sounds of digging.

"What...are you..." It asked in lazy terms, as if it sounded more tired than shocked and curious.

Turning her head she saw a man covered in dirt. Quickly she got to her feet and faced him.

"I...am me...I don't know" she admitted, pushing black hair that was staring to dry under the sun. She took a few steps forward "Can you please help me? I don't know where I am, I don't even know my own name" she began to plead. The giant tree-man pondered for a moment, his twigged hand resting on his chin as he hummed to himself.

"I suppose I could help you...though I do not know your name young one, all I see is the birth that you come from." His arm stretches out with the sound of a mighty oak tree collapsing. "Such a curious way to join this world..." Her sight continued to hold on the dirt man. With nerves, she took a step forward.

“Please” her hands reached out pleadingly “I don’t even know what this means” she gestured to her flowery womb. “Everything…” she sighed “I just don’t know” Eyes looked to him, seeing the wisdom that radiated from him.

"Child. Neither do I, come." The Sepplengais held his hand out, large enough to carry the woman on his palm. "Let me take you to see the Elders..." She gasped, to leave her birthplace?

She turned to it again and looked at it a moment, putting in the back of her mind forever. With a small nod she said goodbye and she worriedly stepped onto the exotic tree man's palm. She felt she could trust him and even in his size, was comforted in his presence. The towering Sepplengais man stood and stretched out his back, giving off the noise of bark shifting and cracking.

"I will take you to the Elders...if they do not know of your birth...then no one will...."



West of Dun Moriga - Decius Marcius' tent

Elisavet was before them, her body felt broken and torn. Her legs threatened to give way without warning. Yet, in the divine vessel of Aphrodite was a grace that seemed impossible to chip away. And it was with this silent grace that she walked forward, her eyes locked onto Decius Marcius. All of the divine feminine channeled thorough her form and when she was before him, she did not falter. The assembled officers instinctively stepped back; they knew a godly aura when they saw one.

"Aphrodite wills me to you Decius." Elisavet said. She then looked at the other men around him. "This needs to be..." she closed her eyes, faced away, and exhaled deeply through her nose, the struggle apparent. Jade connected to the dux's piercing blue. "Private." Aphrodite's messenger held sorrow in her eyes.

Varinius and the other tribunes looked to Marcius, discomfited by the cryptic message, the messenger's apparent frailty, and her unconventional use of the commander's first name. Marcius frowned for a long moment, then nodded. His staff filed silently out of the tent. The bodyguard Varrius hesitated, glancing at his commander, but followed when Marcius gave him a second curt nod. When he and Elisavet were alone, Marcius pulled a folding chair from the back of the tent and set it down at one end of the table, gesturing for her to sit.

"You look tired, my lady." he explained.

Marcius produced a second seat for himself and sat down at the opposite side of the table, regarding Elisavet over the hide map laid atop it and the candles weighing down its corners.

"Now," he said after a moment, resting his bandaged right arm on the table. "What does Venus ask of us?"

The obvious unspoken question was written plainly across his face. What could the goddess of love want with a soldier on the eve of a battle?

She remained silent, she felt the distance. Her heart feared that she would be unable to soften the message that she must deliver. Or tend to his heart after.

She unbuckled her shield off her arm and gently placed it on the table face up. The Goddess had told her that he must know, that was her first tasked assigned. Fists tensed on the table, legs crossed. Decius was already a wounded man, and his heart already held fear. Could she steer him from his fall from grace when he knows of his greatest loss?

“She asks nothing” she shook her head in affirmation. “The Goddess cherishes your heart and its purity Decius, and wishes to protect it. You are changing history and in the rise of your power, and conquest, she worries you will…fall.”

Marcius evidently thought that she was talking about his near domination by the possessed sword Hate. He looked down at his bandaged hand, and his jaw tensing slightly as he attempted to flex the damaged fingers.

"There's little chance of that now." he said wryly. "Shacorai is...no longer my problem. Though I pity whoever holds him now."

"That is not why I was sent." Elisavet said hesitantly.

"Then why?" Marcius asked, his face studiously neutral. He hid it well, but Elisavet could tell that he now thought she was questioning his devotion to the Imperium, and the notion angered him slightly.

She dare not touch him, though she wished to breach the gap between them…it could be this distance that made him feel safe. Her maternal nature and intimate expression trying to reach out to him, his heart. Her eyes remained steadfast on him, watered.

“Because you have been wronged.” the tears fell now, her face showing pain. “In a way of such hatred, malice and pain that even the Goddess cannot understand” Elisavet was saying goodbye to man she saw before her. The warrior priestess could see the dark transformations he would take. But healing must happen, and that only came with the pain first.

"Wronged." Marcius repeated carefully, pushing down on the table with his good hand to rise slowly to his feet. As Elisavet continued to weep, his expression changed from confusion to one of foreboding. "How?"

Elisavet, of Sacred Flesh, stood. The tears fell from her face and gently landed upon her chest, a sparkle gained from the candlelight. Her heart raced, she craved to shield him from the pain. But she had nothing to lose anymore, all that she held dear buried in the thousands of years of history, on Earth. She could not placate to this detachment. Aphrodite’s love flowed through her, the Goddess of intimacy. She kneeled before Decius, that very same love moving through her to him. Her warm, nurturing hands, clasped around his unharmed one, and once more locked eyes with him.

"How?" Marcius pressed her. His voice was more urgent now, the obvious pain on Elisavet's face turning his expression of foreboding into one of mounting dread.

“Unknown Southerners crept into Emor.” Elisavet squeezed the hand firmly. “And...” Goodbye. More tears dropped upon her. “Felled your family.”

The pain rushed, the shock, and anger. Aphrodite’s second task was to love Decius, to protect him from the sweeping darkness. Elisavet’s touch radiated with the warmth of a wife, the stability of a mother’s, and the passion of a lover’s. Her heart could sense that he often craved isolation for emotional release…but with Aphrodite’s energy in her she hoped that he could find comfort in its embrace.

For a moment, Marcius didn't seem to understand what she had said. He just stared at her blankly.

"My..." he said at last. "Southerners? How?"

"The Goddess only knows it was under darkness." Elisavet said. "It was shrouded."

She could see a maelstrom of emotions warring behind Marcius' eyes. For a brief moment, he looked as if he was about to strike her. Then he jerked his left hand out of her grip and stumbled back a step, before turning away to steady himself against the table, his back to her.

"All of them?" he asked quietly.

He asked the painful question. Elisavet wobbled on her feet for a moment before steadying herself by leaning on the table. Weakness continued to wave through her. However she gave her heart and focus to Decius. The both of them were weary.

“Yes.”

Marcius was silent for another long moment. The muscles in his throat were working visibly, the tendons standing out sharp.

"Lycinia worked harder than anyone else to keep us safe." he said at last. His voice was still low and thick. "She investigated the Guild, she came up with the plan for Afragia, and when I could only slow the Romans down she made them into an ally. She saved Emor. She's my wife, and the mother of my children. She deserves better!"

He turned suddenly to face Elisavet, the hand he had been leaning against the table curling into a trembling fist.

"And my children? No-one has the right to butcher children. No father should have to...and I'm not even there to bury them!"

His voice had turned hollow as he looked back at the table, and at the map that showed the vast distance between Dun Moriga and Emor. The general's eyes scrunched shut, his head bowed.

The two stood in silence, only Elisvatet’s weeping could be heard. The Champion listened to Decius with intent. Her soul pained for Decius. When he went silent she remained still, to respect his distance, a dreadful dance. But her legs gave way and soon she found herself leaning on the table with her upper body. The travel had cost her so much, she craved rest. The Goddess figure moved herself to face him, her long pleated tail of golden hair moving the front of her body to her lap. Why now of all times must she be lame? Her vision was getting white spots, she shook her head. Her body was without food or sleep.

“Decius…” her eyes couldn't remain open, all they could do was cry. Her breathing grew heavier, arms hugged her ribs. Her consciousness was becoming foggy. “The Goddess is…vigilant on finding the truth” she shook. “She sides with you, and all she knows…” her voice was growing even quieter by the word. “You will know…I-”

With a heavy sigh she fell to her side and fell unconscious, the ground being stained with her sorrow. The sword in its leathery sheath rattled when it hit the ground.

Marcius opened his eyes as he heard the thud. Realizing what had happened, he coughed to clear his throat and make sure that his voice wouldn't waver.

"Guards!"

"Sir?" Varrius said gruffly as he pushed back through the tent flap. Several of his staff officers appeared behind him.

Marcius pointed to Elisavet. "See her to the medici, and then find her a place to rest. Somewhere she won't be disturbed."

"I'll take care of it." tribune Varinius grunted, and gestured curt commands to two legionaries hovering behind him. They stepped forward and gently lifted Elisavet off the floor, carrying her out of the tent. Varinius cocked an eyebrow at Marcius, silently questioning what the messenger had said to him. Marcius gave the tiniest shake of his head in response, and his old friend understood.

"Come on, you bastards." he growled to his fellow tribunes as he turned to leave. "We've got tomorrow's march to organize, and I don't want our allies using not knowing the plan as an excuse for sleeping in!"

The staff officers followed Varinius as he stalked out, although once again Varrius hesitated, conscious of his role as bodyguard.

"Guard the door, Varrius." Marcius said. He stood very straight, and his face was carefully neutral. "I need to be alone for a moment."

Varrius was too good a soldier to question, or even to frown in confusion. He just saluted and turned on his heel to leave. Marcius remained standing until the bodyguard had ducked back outside, the canvas flap of the door falling back into place behind him. Only when he was alone did Marcius drop to his knees, his face contorted as his forehead sank slowly down to touch the earthen floor.

La Volpe
12-05-2013, 11:47 PM
Dun Moriga-Afragia~

It came back to him in flashes... The dwarf kings gruff warning... The jest he made at the rangers stalwart defiance against them, even if it was suicide to stand against them. Then there was pain... Ungodly amounts of pain. And suddenly, Kuronus began to live events through a different set of eyes, so alien, yet all to familiar to him. A sea of smells suddenly flooded his mind. The distinct scent of each of the dwarfs before him, the different scents of fear that quickly began to pour off of all but one... Yes, the scent of the dwarven king quickly stood alone among them, yes fear was there... But there was something else... Something the beast had not smelt before.

And then just as suddenly as these vivid images had hit Kuronus, they were gone, replaced by the sight of open sky. His body felt as though it was on fire, yet all he could manage was a low groan of pain as he raised himself into a sitting position. Sharp bolts of pain shot through his skull as he gingerly moved his hair out of his face. The ranger slowly moved his arms around, listening with slight disgust as a symphony of cracks echoed with each movement.

Rising from where he lay, Kuronus was awarded with a sound similar to the warning cry of an avalanche, as a new wave of cracks erupted from his body. He slowly moved toward the last location he could remember... The tunnel where he had made his stand. He knew not what to expect there, but he knew he must go back in. He'd left a few things behind in there.

Standing before the black maw that was the caverns entrance, Kuronus shivered slightly, trepidation slowing his pace. He could have swore he suddenly heard a faint primal howl echo from within the tunnel.. Though he quickly realized it was just another memory echo. Shaking his head, as though to shake the sound out of his head, Kuronus plunged into the darkness of the dwarven tunnels for the second, and he prayed not his last, time.

Death of Korzan
12-07-2013, 07:06 PM
Afragian Desert

The sun lifted it's golden rays of light as Ra exited the darkness of Tartarus and broke into the confines of the mortal realm, his golden ship sailing across the sky as a beacon of life to all below. As his rays reached the Afragian desert they glittered off of the golden sands and illuminated the villages and cities of the Afragians, along with the machinations of New Giza.

Deep below the sun in the desert dunes however, stood a figure swathed in black, walking towards the outline of the half-formed pyramid was Altius. His lupine features washed away by the light, yet his eyes still filled with darkness and his body still covered in cracking veins of black. His skin tone had returned and his armor remained intact, but the darkness was still inside him, stirring and influencing him.

He looked upon the half made pyramid and smiled.

"Nam tora chan shentu."

The shadowed and changed man continued his long walk to the city of the Egyptians.

Below Dun Moriga and the Dwarven Kingdoms

The air was sweltering and gems covered the walls in arrays of beautiful patterns. Creatures never seen before scuttled along the depths, with differentiated patterns across their bodies; some where brightly colored; others were shaped like rocks and gems; some were colored like the rocks themselves and could camouflage.

However, one life-form down in the deep unknown of Eternum did not fit the bill. He was tall and foreboding, with large elf ears from a time long passed. In his hand he held a blade that gave off pure demonic energy, though whatever Demon inside appeared to be missing, or at least had 'vacated' the area. Animals that would normally go near the figure in curiosity stayed away from him as if he was plagued, his presence enough to perturb them.

Chaaru shook slightly, his hand wrapped around the blade as he tried to locate Shacorai. Yet in the process, he found something a lot larger, another ancient presence.

He hand quivered as it wrapped around the blade harder. Images flashed in his mind darkness, light being extinguished, an 'anvil' like machination, with flowing orange liquid washing around black metal. A 2D circle sat bang in the center of the anvil and hummed with energy. The setting around it changed as the visions flew into Chaaru's mind. At one point there was ice and snow packed around it, another point there was lush forest around it, in another it was placed on grey stone, with two grubby hands around it and in the final place, it was sat on a grey metal floor.

The last vision was one of two people deep within the Dun Morigan hills. One wore a plague mask, and the other held a ringblade. A bond between them seemed to grow, with one being a subservient member of the duo, yet Chaaru could not place his finger on whom.

His eyes remained closed throughout the exchange, yet was he opened them and his mouth, darkness flooded from them and his eyes remained black as veins of the same color surfaced all over his body. His breath became regular and chilled, his skin became colder and his shadow became longer.

"You will find them and take them to the first Ark." A dark and cruel voice, different to the ones he had heard before spoke.

Chaaru tried to fight, yet he could not, and his head nodded against his will.

"Yes...my Liege."

Aureyon
12-08-2013, 02:21 PM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

“Excuse me, Master Maxwell” Åge said uncomfortably while he fumbled for the buckle that held his pants. Maxwell reached out a hand to touch his.

“Just avoid my mother, alright?” he cautioned, naked body under his cozy sheets. The brunette nodded once he was fastened he stumbled out of the room with a clank. The platinum blonde looked out his windows, he watched the heavy snow fall. Hands were behind his head and he felt like a king, the need was gone.

He breathed in slowly and released, he needed to find focus. With the battles, and struggles that still happened in The Free South everyone was still in danger. It gave him pause, and with The Imperium coming along with their Sky Men…well, it looked bleak. He enjoyed the snow for one more final moment before he got up and began to dress himself.

Maxwell carried himself with greater stride than usual. Damn, that felt great, his body radiated. And his chipper self made its way to Kalle’s room. Else had asked Maxwell to become stronger, for the sake of their family, and with his older brother he would.

He knocked on the door.

“Brother?” he called.

And waited.

Another knock. A frown hit his face, they were to train each morning. Where could he have been?



Syf had risen early the following morning, just before the sun touched the mountains beyond the castle; and all was quiet and peaceful within both the castle and the village itself. It was slightly calming to her, anything would have been more peaceful than the constant screams of agony and death that permeated the underworld, much like the stench of demons in this castle that she had taken residence in. She had realized that she had a rather revealing toga on her that reeked of death and demons, and so she had torn down the silver silk tapestry that had shielded her room from the early morning sunshine.

After having cut it into a fitting form, she began to gather random items from around the room and devised a crude, but effective, needle from melted silver and an iron fork tip. She had sewn together a beautiful shimmering silver dress that shimmered in the light of the sun and fit her form just enough to give her mobility and comfort. Her pale hair was tied into a tight ponytail that circled around her head from the left and hanged over her left right shoulder. Syf patiently remained in her room unsure of what to do in her new surroundings.



Jóhann could hear the soft giggles and moans of his sister. Lying in bed, the two of them were sharing company with four concubines. He grabbed the hair of a blonde girl and smirked. The yearn always existed, always burned.

“Ready again?” he asked, slipping some of his ‘sway’ into her decision process. Every time he used the ability it felt as if he was having energy move up from his loins and out to whomever.

“Yes, yes!” she looked weary and tired, but Jóhann knew he could pull out another go from her. There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he pulled the woman’s head away from him, the woman on top of him looked at him with a leer.

“Max” He perked up, he shared a glance with Hella. Both had gotten quiet, spelled concubines still softly moaned.

“What do you need?” he yelled through his room and thick wooden door.

“Kalle is supposed to be training me, but I can’t find him”

“Did you ask mother where he is?”

“Can’t find her too” he sighed.

“Alright, give me ten minutes”

“Okay!” Max’s voice gleefully said. With a tight fist grasping at her hair he pulled her to eye level.

“You better make this quick” she smiled eagerly and he pushed her head down.



Zahneri warned that she should approach Syf with caution. It was clear she was unusual. A mysterious woman who can survive in the snow in nothing but a toga? Her son even went on to say she didn’t even know where she was.

“She’s innocent, and she doesn’t seem to know anything mother” Kalle was protesting while they stood in front of Syf’s door. Two royal guards were stationed in front of her door. The Lady Jarl looked to her second son and touched his cheek; he was too idealistic, much like his father.

With command, she opened the door, two additional royal guards with axes entered while Kalle stood by her. Syf had been dressed and cleaned for nearly an hour before the Jarl stormed into her room, she had heard them talking on the outside of the door, but pretended that she hadn't.

“I have let you stay within my castle and sleep peacefully within its walls out of good favor of my son’s heart” she interlaced her fingers. “I fear he is too noble at times” there was a penetrating look, she gazed deep into Syf’s, gray and miraculous. Kalle looked at Syf with concern. Else stood forward.

“As Ruler of my people, and a mother to my children it is to me to ensure their safety. And I would be the greatest fool to assume the innocence or inability of a woman.” Her eyes now narrowed. “It is obvious you are not from these lands, who are you and where do you hail from?”

As she turned to listen to the Jarl address her, the sun shined upon her body outlining it in what seemed an ethereal aura of light; her pale hair and silver dress shining brilliantly in the light and warmth of the suns rays. Her stormy grey eyes found their way to Kalles' and she smiled slightly revealing alabaster white teeth. Kalle had looked away, unable to keep equal with such a gaze. The prins noticed her change of attire and questioned how she managed it. It clearly was not royal wear. But it did still fit her well.

"Forgive me, Jarl Elese, But as I have told your son; I do not know where I am or where I come from. I was only left with memory of my name. I have spent years being tortured and bled dry by demons, and from what I can tell, you are of their kind. Perhaps not full blooded, but demons all the same. I am offering you kindness and respect that your station deserves, but you are not being a concerned ruler. You are being a worried mother." Syf spoke so calmly that one could not tell whether she meant disrespect or kindness, or so she hoped. Lady Jarl Else shifted her position to carry off more poise, her fingers interlaced. Her eyes were glaring at Syf. Kalle had looked up shocked, how in the world could she know that? The two guards looked confused about what the white haired woman spoke about.

"If I could answer your questions, I would. Perhaps my memories will return to me, but in the meantime, I plead that you allow me the comfort of staying within your Villa until I regain that memory and discover why and how I got here", she spoke softly her grey eyes softening slightly as if trying to remember something that would not come.

“You speak of dangerous things, torture and demons” she raised a brow inquisitively. “One might find you troubled” she nearly spat at her. With a waved hand she dismissed the men behind her. “Leave us, I’m curious...” she feigned the interest.

“Mother?” Kalle questioned. Else turned to him and caressed his cheek once more.

“Please do what your mother asks” she said sweetly. He blinked a few times, and then looked over to Syf. Pursing he lips, he nodded and with the guards stepped out. Alone she dropped all gentility. Instantly a black smoke in a loose shape of a person appeared and as it faded and now stood Zahneri.

“Grab her throat” quickly the four winged succubus stretched out and grasped. A tight squeeze surrounded her throat, and sharp, black nails began to dig enough into Syf’s pale skin. She began to bleed lightly, unable to speak. The Lady Jarl stepped close so. Syf could feel her body heat. “For a woman who knows nothing” her brows lowered, she held her upward gaze. “You know too much” anger brimmed in her voice “But it seems you are without common sense!” Syf was silenced by the hold on her throat, desperate for air.

The worried mother clenched her fist. “How dare you say such things about my children in open company” The succubus was seductively leering at the white hair woman. “Let go” the demon retracted her claw, air jumped back into Syf’s lungs, and Else quickly back handed the woman. Syf’s hair flipped into the air and her jaw ached. “Grasp her” her throat once more held, new cuts on the neck. The Lady Jarl put the hand to her own chest.

“I should kill you now, for the very sake that you pose as a threat to my children. But something in my heart tells me you are of some importance. There is something about that cannot be ignored” Else raised a finger to the woman “But, if you ever even speak the word ‘demon’ in my home, I will not care what god, country, or noble cause you serve, you will find yourself back in whatever hells and tortures you claimed to have left”

Else pointed a finger to the bed and Zahneri pushed Syf and let go, causing her to fall onto the bed behind. “Be grateful for Kalle, my mercy, and be weary of your tongue!” her words attacking like daggers. “You will remain in this room for the day” she stated as law. “Perhaps the time alone will help gain more of your rather…selective memory” She had made her way to the door and looked at Syf one more time. “I have eyes and ears everywhere” and she slammed the door shut behind her.

The equally tall succubus walked forward and pinned Syf on the bed, using her magic to entrance her with a burning lust. Sharp eyes gazed into Syf’s soft gray and she gently kissed her, feminine lips clashed. Syf, suddenly craved more and as she reached out to hold the demon woman she vanished in a fading cloud of black smoke.

After having suffered through years upon years of torture and mutilation from the undead far more powerful than that of the demon and its kin who had taken residence in Castle Odinsen, this one’s claws did little pain to Syf. Yes, they may have entered her throat, but already the wounds were in the process of healing, and Syf was smoothing herself. She eyed her surroundings and began to work, melting a silver spoon into liquid form over the fire and then using wood from a chest she carved out a mold of a small dagger. That was when the voice entered her mind, a woman's voice that echoed of power and wisdom.

"My child, you are not of mortal kind. But, you are not safe within the castle, and things are brewing that you cannot stand against alone. You were released from the Underworld by Odins magic, and you are Syf of Ancient Greece, of Earth. You were part of a once great civilization that brought about many cultural changes. You are the daughter of wisdom and thought, You are my daughter. Open your mind, girl. Remember that you are a daughter of Athena.", as quickly as the mind had entered, it left again. The godly presence fading slowly, and sending Syfs' senses into overdrive. She could feel the presence of the demons in the castle. The spell that had caused her to feel strong sexual desires faded, and her form itself seemed to take on a soft fiery flow.

Magic flooded through her veins once again, and the silver dress began to shine brightly filling the entire room in an unnatural brightness that shined underneath the door and lighting the entire hallway. When the light faded Syf was wearing a silver breastplate marked with a terrifying owl with its wings spread to her shoulders, and attached to the wings was a brilliant white cape that was decorated with greek writing. A battle-skirt formed upon Syfs lower body made of the same silver that her breastplate was made of. When the light faded she found herself wearing a full suit of a bright silver battle armor and carrying an Athenian helmet with a white-horse hair plume.

She picked up the dagger that she had forged and placed it in a hidden alcove between her armor, sure that the bright light had attracted some attention. She now waited to see who next would walk through the door.

The two posted guards walked in with their shield and axes raised. When they saw her in armor they had the easiest to read faces of confusion.

“Disrobe yourself of your armor!” One demanded, both with their guard up, hesitation was clearly visible in their stance and tone of voice. The two looked at each other.

“The light…” the other brought up tentatively. The other one nodded but held firm.

“We have our orders, by our oath to Odin, we will keep them!” he growled at the man who feigned more determination in his stance against Syf.

"You can try to take them from me. But, it would not be the most wise of choices. I want to see the Prins Kalle.", she spoke so calmly that her voice seemed to radiate an undertone of certain death should these guards attempt to take her armor from her. Her mind was already calculating and analyzing her chances of survival and making it out of this castle should things turn bad.

The one who was more aggressive initially stepped forward.

"You are not of Odin's blood, you have no say" he was still swayed into pacifism by her female form and mystery. "GUARDS!" He yelled, and it was echoed by other guards, a chain of command, causing guards from all over the floor to begin rushing to the room. Already two more had entered. The first two now approached. "You're being put in the dungeon, lass" the original man put down his axe, not seeing her as much of a combative threat, and began to extend his hand to her wrist. The other held his weapon and shield at the ready.

"I am not of Odin's blood, my friend. But, I am the spawn of a God, and one who saw it fit to drive me here despite my lack of memory. Now, the way I see it, my mother sent me here to aid you; I do not wish to fight, but I will not be restricted my freedom because I choose to wear the armor that is linked to my heritage. I am the daughter of Athena, Goddess of Ingenuity and Craft, The maiden of Wisdom and battle strategy. I am over two centuries old, and I am here to help. Now, please, send for Prins Kalle and Jarl Else. I can now tell them what they wish to know.", she said in an attempt to appease the guards.

As a collective the guards grumbled. It was undeniable her armor, her presence, and her very being radiated 'divine'. Since the man outreaching his hand took initiative, the guards looked to him to see what course of action to take.

The man held his hand, and he stepped back, the man right of Syf followed.

"The Lady Jarl is busy. But we will get you the prins" he said with an even tone. "But you are not to leave this room" he tried to be stern, but Syf could still see that even he was taken aback.

Azazeal849
12-10-2013, 10:14 PM
(OOC - More to come soon!)

NEW GIZA

The Egyptians had treated the ambassadors of the gods with relative hospitality, as Suriyana had hoped, but it was still clear that everyone recognised them for outsiders. The huge dog-headed Anuban who guarded the door to the meeting hall snarled at them and bared its teeth, though it backed down and settled for just eyeing them suspiciously when it saw the amulet of Anubis hanging round Ovidius' neck. Suriyana resisted the urge to finger the Ra cartouche that hung around her own neck, and hoped fervantly that the gods would forgive them for using their icons as disguises - and to fool people who seemed to be just as much their children as Suriyana and Ovidius were.

Suriyana had not noticed it at first, but not all of the citizens of New Giza were Egyptian. Many were the dark mahogany of Afragian surface dwellers, distinctive against the more bronze Egyptians, and the lighter-skinned undercity Afragians gave themselves away by their traditional jewellery and clothing. Evidently, they weren't the only native Eternans that the Egyptians had allowed to live. But was that because of a common religion, or just because they wanted slaves? Suriyana's stomach tightened at the thought.

No, this had to be what Ra wanted, didn't it? They were trying to avert a war between his two groups of children.

The Anubite warrior closed the heavy door behind them, shutting out the sounds of the bustling market outside. The thick stone walls and high ceiling of the hall absorbed the sun well, meaning that it was still pleasantly cool inside. Qia'bul cheeped quietly, his soft feet shuffling to keep purchase on Suriyana's bare shoulder as she, Anne and Ovidius stepped through into a wide reception hall where Egyptians in cotton kilts were painting - or rather repainting - the square columns with their own subtly different hieroglyphs. A tall Egyptian with a round head as hairless and weathered as a block of sandstone was waiting for them.

"General Shanaar is in council with the other exulted ones." he said, in flawless Afragian. "You are to give your information to me, so that I can gauge its worth for him."

"May we speak in Namorian?" Suriyana asked, for Ovidius' benefit.

"Your bodyguard doesn't speak it?" the Egyptian said, raising an eyebrow.

Suriyana had been expecting the question. "Anubis recruits from all over Eternum." she explained. "Namorian is the trade language across the Imperium."

"The Imperium." the Egyptian repeated with an amused grunt, and switched effortlessly from the flowing Afragian language to the more precise Namorian tongue. "Very well. What do you have for us?"

"Master Ovidius." Suriyana nodded solemnly, almost smiling in spite of herself because of the formal title that she had long stopped using. Ovidius' poker face however was perfect as he stepped forward, drew a papyrus scroll and handed it to the Egyptian.

"And what is this?" the Egyptian asked as he unknotted the string that bound the scroll. Suriyana forced herself to keep breathing. This was the necessary first step to gain the Egyptians' trust, but it was also the point of no turning back. If they failed, the information they were now giving away would damn her people; leave them completely open to an Egyptian attack. And they could be found out at any time. The slave tattoo on Suriyana's wrist was hidden by her ceremonial bangles and clasps, but anyone who saw it might deduce quite quickly that Suriyana wasn't who she said she was. The dyed skin seemed to burn as the Egyptian unfolded the scroll.

"A map of the Afragian underground cities." Ovidius explained to him. "It shows all of the routes in or out of the caverns. We can also give you information on their defences and how best to get around them."

The Egyptian gave another amused grunt. "You seem very eager to abandon your people."

"We serve the gods." Ovidius said sternly.

"We pleaded with them." Suriyana said, taking up her own part in the charade. "We told them to embrace the first children of the old gods, but the senate wouldn't listen, and the princess fled the capital weeks ago."

"Their leader is missing?" the Egyptian said, looking intrigued. "Interesting..."

The Egyptian glanced back over his shoulder, as beyond the door behind them there was a muffled rumble of chairs scraping back and general conversation breaking out after a controlled forum of speakers.

"It seems that the council are breaking for refreshments. Perhaps now would be a good time to introduce you before they go back to business."

"We would be most honoured to speak with the high priest of Ra." Suriyana nodded.

Now came the second part of their plan - arranging a private meeting with the high priest Ahsha so she and Anne could make their proposal.


* * * * * *

SHARKTOOTH BAY

"Salvius...my big mouth got us thrown in a king's jail, but your idiocy got us into the hands of something far worse than you could ever imagine...how does that make you feel?"

Salvius stopped glaring at the closed and bolted cell door, and turned to look at Gabriel instead, with undisguised contempt.

"My idiocy?" he began, and his hand twitched as if reaching for his spatha before remembering that it no longer hung at his waist. "What a lot of shit you talk. I don't suppose that you know who these 'far worse' people are, or what they want? No? Then do what I told you back in Ech and shut your Earthborn mouth until you've got something useful to contribute."

Salvius knew he was being baited, but he was too irritated to care much. Right now he was imagining prising one of the loose stones from the walls and smashing it through Gabriel's cracked mask and the face underneath it. Who knows, losing a few teeth might make even an Earthborn shut up.

His bad mood was alleviated slightly when he looked round and saw that Numeira was building a sand castle behind him. The incongruity of it almost made him laugh, and instead of assaulting Gabriel he just snorted and turned on his heel to stride over to their guide. The man hadn't said a word since their capture, and now sat with his back to the wall, staring into space.

"Well." Salvius said in a low voice. "This seems like as good a time as any to pick up where we left off. Who are you?" He jerked his head towards the door, "And on the off chance you know, who are they?"


* * * * * *

EMOR

The man was tired, and clearly nervous. His eyes kept switching from Gaius to his wife Seppia, and even to the tall Combrogi slaves who stood at the corners of the room, their eyes fixed defensively on the floor. He was a simple trader of perhaps 40 years, and had clearly never been in the presence of one of the Emorian nobility in his life, let alone inside their villa.

"What did you see?" Gaius Octavius repeated as he leaned forward in his chair, his hands gripping the arm rests.

The man licked his lips. He might not know much about the Emorian nobility, but from what Gaius had already told him he knew that he was the murdered Lycinia's cousin. "I swear I didn't have anything to do with..."

"We're not accusing you." Gaius interrupted him levelly. "You won't come to any harm. At least, as long as you answer my question. What did you see?"

The man swallowed nervously. "I...I stopped by the front gate when I heard screaming. It was open. I caught a glimpse of men moving behind the windows before the place went up in flames."

Gaius exhaled slowly. He had heard the same vague information from several witnesses now. "So nothing of worth then."

"There was something else." the man said. "As I turned to run, I thought I saw someone standing on the next roof, looking down at the building."

That was new. Seppia shot Gaius a look, and the patrician himself sat straighter in his chair. "What did they look like?" he asked eagerly.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I didn't get a good look at them. It was dark, and they were wearing a cloak."

Gaius stood, the hem of his Namorian toga dropping in folds. He picked up a small coin purse from the table next to him and tossed it to the man, who reacted just in time to catch it.

"Tha...thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." Gaius said, waving his arm distractedly. "You can go."

As the trader bowed and made a hasty exit from the villa, Gaius strode over to the wall hook that hung his cloak. His chiselled features were grim and determined. As he reached up to grab the cloak, his wife plucked at his arm.

"Gaius," Seppia said, her tanned face apprehensive. "It can wait until tomorrow."

"No it can't." Gaius countered. "The rebuilding work on the Marcius villa starts tomorrow."

Out of respect for the services that Decius Marcius and his late wife had done for the Imperium, the emperor was funding the repairs and reconstruction of their family villa out of his own pocket. But in tearing down and rebuiding the house, the builders were likely to obliterate any clues that might be left for Gaius to follow.

"The streets aren't safe after dark." Seppia said reasonably. "At least take Tiberius with you."

She gestured towards the tallest and most heavily built of their slaves, who looked up at the mention of his name and began to take a step forward. Gaius belayed him with a shake of his head and frowned at the nearest window, its curtains still drawn back in an attempt to coax the cool evening air into the villa. It was past nightfall - their son Titus was already in bed - but the street outside was lit by the oil lamps that hung between the buildings.

"Any robbers will learn the hard way not to tangle with a mage." Gaius growled.

"It's not robbers I'm worried about." Seppia argued, crossing her slender arms.

Mages had never been quite trusted in Emor, thanks to their secretive guild and its jealously-guarded independence from Namorian oversight. They had been steadily losing influence as technology advanced, but it was no secret that emperor Galen Claudius wanted them gone for good - or at least brought under his direct control. After rumours had got out that a few mages had gone rogue and defected to the South, and the high profile destruction of the Guild Tower by demons - demons that some whispered the mages themselves had unleashed - public opinion towards the Guild's surviving alumni was positively hostile. Seppia found herself getting dark looks in the forum, and just the other day her son had come home with a black eye that he refused to explain. A mage using his powers in the streets of Emor at night would not be looked on favourably, even if he was acting in self defence.

Gaius frowned again, considering his wife's words.

"I'll attract less attention on my own." he said at last, and gave his wife a very significant look. "Keep Tiberius and the others here. I don't want you and Titus suffering the same fate as cousin Lycinia and her children."

Seppia bit her lip, and said nothing.


* * * * * *

The walls of the buildings surrounding the Marcius family villa had been blackened by smoke, but had suffered no other damage. The Marcius villa's stone construction and wide alleyways had prevented the fire spreading before the bucket gangs from the city watch had been able to control it. There had been only so much they could do to save the villa itself, however.

The marble skeleton of the building was still intact, albeit charred black by the fire, but part of the tiled roof had collapsed, and the interior had been gutted. Charred wood and ash covered the mosaics that had adorned the floor, while the windows stood like gaunt holes with their curtains burned away, and all that remained of the front doors was the warped and blackened frame. The iron gates had been closed and locked, but a simple spell clicked them open so that Gaius Octavius could steal inside. He stood in the atrium for a moment, staring up at the surrounding buildings to try and imagine where the cloaked stranger had stood. The thought that someone had stood calmly watching the entire ordeal angered him, and he turned on his heel to stalk into the villa.

His sandals kicked through debris and left prints in the ash as he strode to the centre of the living area. Surrounded by bare plaster and scorched mosaics, Gaius closed his eyes and threw his arms wide, clenching his fists as he began to chant savagely under his breath. By the fourth word a thrum of power swept through the room, dislodging flakes of ash and burned mosaic tiles from the walls. By the eighth the temperature in the room dropped noticeably, and a rime of ice crackled up the columns either side of the door. As he spoke the last word of the spell, Gaius opened his eyes and saw not a blackened ruin but an intact room with the furniture still laid out, the whole scene softly lit by candles and oil lamps. The calm lasted only a moment before it was shattered by a splintering crash, and spinning around Gaius saw the door to the living room barged open by an armoured shoulder. The slave who had unlocked the door - Mercurius, Gaius recognised him - was knocked sprawling as the door opened, which saved his life as the intruder swung a hand axe through the space where his neck had been. Singing in a wide arc, the axe continued on and struck the wall by the door instead, biting through plaster before jarring against the stone hard enough to snap a chip of steel out of the blade.

"Fabia!" Gaius heard Mercurius shout, presumably calling on one of the other house slaves who was now as doomed as he was. "Call the watch!"

The house slave scrambled away, somehow finding his feet as another tall man stormed in through the open door. Where the first man had been blonde and bearded he was dark haired and lightly armoured, his eyes bright and dangerous as chips of glass. The one who had entered first jerked his axe free of the wall with a grunt, and hurled it end over end at Mercurius. The notched blade caught the slave in the forehead, splitting his skull open like a melon and pinning him back against the far wall.

Gaius' nose was suddenly filled with the smell of blood, and a prickle of static clawed its way up his arms and into his chest. A purple haze closed in around his vision and with a gasp he was forced to snap out of the spell, falling forward onto his hands and knees. A plume of ash and dust puffed up in response and he coughed convulsively, his eyes watering. Standing up and attempting to brush the ash from his toga, Gaius cursed. He had only executed the spell a few times before, but he had never lost control like that. Either he had been distracted by his own anger and frustration, or he was losing his touch. Looking around, he now saw clearly the vertical gash in the wall where Mercurius had fallen. The slave's charred skeleton had been removed, and presumably the axe itself had too, as it was nowhere to be seen. Gaius cursed again, but then he turned round and looked at the door. There was a second split in the plaster there, where the axe blade had swung into the wall and sheared off a chip of its blade. Still coughing, Gaius groped his way towards the door and dug his ash-stained fingers into the plaster.

The chip of steel was still there.

Gaius clawed with his nails, plaster crumbling away at his touch, until he could wrap thumb and forefinger around the dull shard of metal half buried in the stone beneath. The edges were still sharp enough to cut, but Gaius gritted his teeth as blood welled up around his fingertips, pulling until the chip of steel came free. Stumbling backwards, Gaius cupped the metal in his hand as if it was as rare and delicate as a phoenix feather. Gently, he wiped away the blood and the stone dust that had stuck to it with his good hand.

"I've got you, you Southern bastard." he hissed through his teeth.

Minasm
12-11-2013, 02:29 AM
A sole raven croaked outside the dilapidated window sill until his repetitious caw woke Vardren from his rest. The chilled Dun Morigan air drifted through the open window, bathing the creaky old bed in its cold embrace--not that Vardren could feel it anymore. The cold was a constant: he could rely on it being there whether he was in Afragia or in Dun Moriga, all thanks to his vampirism. For a while he just lay there, his mask waiting patiently at his bedside table. After a time, he reached out for it, but withdrew his hand to trace the scars on his pale face. He rarely took it off, save for when he was entirely alone. Not even his sister had seen him without the pallid guise for years; Vardren reserved that privilege for himself. Gaps and divides lined his mottled skin, and left his jawline in a perpetual state of tight agony. Craters and pock-marks adorned his hideous head, and continued all the way to where he once had eye-brows. The eyes themselves were not untouched: a grim shade of grey adorned his eye-lids, giving his blood-red eyes a pronounced effect had anyone the opportunity to see them.

Three leather straps and four padlocks later, the familiar headgear had successfully re-assimilated itself into its customary place on his face. As much as he would've enjoyed delaying the day's activities, he had a great deal of work to do. They had been lucky on their way back home; Vardren had encountered a couple of traveling fur traders and made off with the healthiest of the two. He would've had both of course, but Cassandra had been complaining for hours that she needed to feed, and although she had plenty of opportunity during their excursion, she had (in all her absent-mindedness) entirely forgot to keep her thirst in check.

"Cass..." He thought of her in all her excitement and it only made him cringe. She had only gotten worse as time had gone by, but at least he always found some use for his sporadic younger sibling. The emptiness in the air signaled her absence, which only worried him even more. With one hand, he gently pushed the pallid white door from its hinge, glancing through the dank halls for his sister. Tentatively, he paced through the halls, running his hands over the busts of former Namorian generals and leaders his father had idolized. The dusty came off on his fingers, causing him to stare at the statues with vague contempt as he continued down the passage. Entering the kitchen, he found naught but the traditional, six-seat tabletop he had known his whole life.

"Cass?!"

She was never known to be very stationary, but at least he could usually rely on her to be there when he woke up. Ever since the change she had slept less and less each night, yet even though he did not feel the need anymore, it was comforting to him. Even though the chaos and destruction he wrought was pleasant enough, even he needed to refresh himself every once in a while. The old manor had served well as a clandestine hideout as well: the lack of civilization turned out to provide better rest than he would've ever thought. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he strutted through the parlor, bathrooms, and fireplace with an ever-increasing intensity.

Where is she?

Tearing open the basement doors, Vardren descended into the surgery room he had fashioned for himself. Meat hooks and cages adorned the walls, with limestone tables and leather restraints lying in a jumbled heap along the right side of the room. Moans drifted through the air like a trail of crumbs, causing Vardren to immediately sprint into the room he had fashioned specifically for live subjects. There she was, sitting next to their cages with her ring-blade looped around one arm, and a husk of bread in the other. Outraged, Vardren waltzed up to his sister and smacked her straight across the face with the back of his hand. She hadn't seen him until it was too late, and silently, she pulled her self off the floor. With her messy bangs obscuring her face, it was hard to see the tears he knew were coming.

"I told you not to come down here without my permission! I have very specific..." Vardren emitted an exasperated sigh before continuing. "Experiments. This one wasn''t supposed to be eating for another day now, but you went and ruined it didn't you?" He could smell the bread on the writhing body in the cage beneath him. The body was entirely immobile, as the cage had it positioned such that the subject couldn't lift themselves out of a sleeping position. It was too bad the poison he gave them prevented any sort of sleep. Mildly, he glanced over the grimy, naked body of the fur trader he had kidnapped off the road. It was a man no older than thirty, but perhaps more ignorant than even a young child. When they crossed his path, he willingly came with them, thinking Vardren some sort of kind townsfolk lookign to host him for a night. It was almost too easy--Cassandra had been laughing maniacally the whole way home, but the dope thought her simply delightful. He had called her hair pretty, which had inspired her to nick-name him Smooth-lips after that.

"Why are you even here?"

***

Cass glanced at the shaking man in the cage, eyes wide with fear, but unable to speak due to the muzzle Vardren had given him. She had taken a good liking to him after he continued to compliment her in the day. Even from his cage, the trader kept trying to plea for freedom, calling the system unjust and horribly painful. She knew that was a lie of course: Vardren told her personally that nothing he did ever incurred the slightest bit of pain to his subjects. That would simply be too cruel.

"Well... I came to see ol'smoothy here and... well his stomach was grumblin' so I brought him a snack. Not like we need it anyway, right? I'm sorry..."

Cassandra grew angry at herself for disobeying the orders of her brother--he had made them very clear when they got home. In truth, she knew she was breaking the rules, but she had found it even harder to pay attention to them as of late what with all the voices in her head telling her otherwise. Fingering her locks, the girl stood back up and faced her brother. She felt strange about asking him, but somehow knew he would understand. He was her brother of course. Before she could ask, Vardren stooped low to look into the bloodshot eyes of his victim. Gripping her arm, her pulled her out into the outer laboratory. Before he could push her outside, she spoke up, gripping his sleeve to prevent him from tossing her half-way down the hallway.

"Vardren! I need to ask you something!"

A look of mild irritation came over him then, as he rolled his eyes. "What? Are you seriously stalling?"

"No! I.. well I had a strange dream I wanted to ask you about." Vardren stopped pushing her at the mention of her dreams. Dreams were often the best way to commune with the otherworldly, at least, that is what he read. If Cassandra's prayers had broken through, it meant progress. He too had had strange dreams of late--images of the southern hillsides and a warped darkness not even he could delve beneath.

"What dreams? Tell me you insolent girl, lest I cast you from this hall right now. I swear if you are making this up..."

"No! Seriously. I keep dreaming of... well this one hill. I see some sort of light there and I know I have to got there. A bloody sunset always accompanies it when I get there... Perhaps its the demons!?" Cass really hoped she was right: anything else would've gotten her hurled out of the room by that point. Her brother always had an obsession with such things. Even then, his grip relaxed, as did his tone.

"Do you know the way? I would be lying to say I have not received a similar dream as of late..."

"Yes! Is it field trip time already?! Oh boy! Let me saddle the horses, I do so love to do that!" squealing, Cassandra willing tore away from his grasp and dashed straight into the garden behind the parlor. A small stable protruded from the earth not thirty feet from the walls, and housed two fine steeds they had kept for travel. Vardren had tried to kill one once for an experiment, but the idea earned him a punch to the face from his younger sister. He would've done it anyway, but in retrospect, it would've been a fools move to kill the best mode of transport they had. He was especially glad he had kept them then, as it became evermore apparent what his Lords wished him to do.

Vardren was about to follow, when a thought suddenly struck him: he was about to abandon a perfectly good experiment.

***

Not an hour later, two mountain horses departed their manor, with Cassandra and Vardren atop them. Winding through the misty roads, the two vampires carried only the bare essentials. Vardren carried a sack of books and instruments, and Cassandra a satchel filled with an array of glittering gems and toys to keep her entertained on the road. Behind Vardren's horse, a coffin dragged along the cobblestone road, with only a small slit for ventilation. Inside, the bound body of his live victim nauseously squirmed and wailed as each bump in the road brought forth an uncomfortable pain in his joints.

"Do you think ol'smoothy likes joyrides?" After a time, Cass broke the silence. Vardren, amused with her wording, glanced at the coffin, hearing the scraping and banging sounds within. It pleased him to know that when they arrived, the captive would still be fresh for experimentation.

"You know Cass, I sure hope so. We have a ways to go, and whatever these dreams mean, I have a feeling we are finally ridding ourselves of this disgusting country." Cass smiled, but was more content to play with a string of rubies they had found a year ago in an abandoned purse. Humming softly to herself, Cass and her horse trotted ahead while Vardren was left back to his thoughts. Wherever they went, he sure hoped it actually meant something. A dead end would be enough to enrage him--the fur trader certainly wouldn't be alive much longer if that was the case.

CrumpetCannon
12-16-2013, 10:25 PM
The Afragian Waters


The Afragian sun was, quite predictably, still dangling in the otherwise gentle sky and still casting its sweltering rays down upon the Royal fleet, almost embalming the various wooden ships and turning all of the metal-wrought vessels into giant seaworthy stoves, visible heat waves drifted like downward flowing water upon the horizon in every direction, to the point where gazing seaward for too long could give the sailors very poignant headaches to match the contagious aches and pains within their muscles. The headaches were only made worse with the added painful layer of dehydration induced exhaustion and occasional migraines that spread across the non air-conditioned ships like a violent wave in a storm.

The HMS Aptitude was one such ship which, without the Godly wonder of manageable temperature control was very quickly becoming a large chunk of driftwood manned by equally useless lumps of sweat and sea-worn muscle which were once called sailors. Huge amounts of fresh water was needed to quell the signature exhaustion and headaches, but such volume was impossible to maintain, and many of the smaller ships had almost completely run dry, now it was simply a matter of reaching port before they all fell to advanced dehydration sickness, at which point they could have claim to all the water they needed. They had learned from such a mistake, and now the management of accessible water was a subject that would definitely need to be broached upon the hour of the next meeting of the assembled commanders, Clemente himself would see to it that they would not make the same mistake again, especially when their current routes were restricted to the Afragian sea for the time being.
Unfortunately, sufficient effort had to be applied in order to get to shore, effort that was beyond difficult for the disadvantaged sailors, which if course meant that there was much grumbling and bitter mumbles to be heard among the crews, Clemente knew the importance of morale in such an extended excursion, and this was no doubt the most extended excursion of all, what with the fleet being completely -for want of a better word- stranded in an entirely foreign land with no visible solution to the ever heavily discussed problem of how to get home.

As such, Clemente had introduced breaks whenever possible, to allow some much needed rest and leisure time for those who desired more entertaining pursuits. Across the deck of the Aptitude sailors awaiting their next shift stood and chatted among themselves, trading nostalgic tales of home and partaking in the occasional game of chance while other crewmembers worked to move the ship towards land, their lazy work accentuated by whatever slow and casually motivational shanty caught their combined fancy, the wind was steady and their course straightforward enough that they needn't do much work to maintain the ship, for which everyone was thankful.

The Admiral himself walked leisurely along the deck of his treasured vessel, arms clasped behind his back, decorative coat abandoned in favour of a more breathable, manoeuvrable cotton tunic and simple breeches, trademark white wig nestled snugly away in his cabin, deeply-instilled sense of duty abandoned in the face of such insurmountable heat, which attacked the sea-borne barriers that were his crewmember's bare backs, which in turn retaliated with defiance in the form of cold, hearty sweat.

Presently the working crew along with a handful of the resting crew with nothing better to do were engaged in a particularly warming little ditty that held no particular rhythmic associations with the tasks they happened to be busying themselves with, it was a lilting tune of gently swinging notes and calm utterance in which the crew were talking more than they were singing. The song concerned such comforting land-locked luxuries as warm beds and heated towels, it lingered on the fresh scent of sun caressed grass on a park lawn, then switched to gently warmed summer nights alongside a tall glass filled with an alcoholic beverage of their choosing, today it was shandy, tomorrow it would likely be something more potent as they got closer to land and their imaginations grew more desperate and vivid.

Apparently that was already happening, the voices grew in fervour as the sailors transitioned to a more direct and suggestive lyric.

"I'll guzzle down the tallest glass; the ones that the tavern prides
I'll lick the glass and mourn the last drop of the amber tide

They'll gaze at me transfixed as I clasp my stony mitts
Betwixt a pair of stubborn gits and start punching till the mornin' light

Once I've shown them how we do it on the cold high tides
I'll sit back down and laugh
Then I'll down three beers and a whiskey half
What more could I ask from life?"

Clemente smiled at the crew's antics, it was probably some risqué number they'd picked up from another crew, he'd never heard that particular one before, perhaps the more modern crews were a bit more, ah, inventive with their maritime lyrics.
Over towards the aft of the ship, a notably sized crowd were gathering round underneath the polished stairs that led from the poop-deck to the quarter-deck, seeking any shade possible by the looks of it, clearly some sort of game was going on, judging by the slightly raised voices interspersed with tense silences and hushed whispers. Clemente made his way over to the crowd of ten or so sailors and gazed towards the centre of the mass, where he saw three men sat around an upturned barrel cut in half, it's wide berth allowing them use of its table-like surface in whatever game they were partaking in. Clemente took a closer look as some of the crew turned their heads to notice him observing their game, some sort of dice game was going on, one that made use of small leather padded cups and sets of somewhat battered dice that looked as if they'd been taken from other game sets over the course of weeks, many looked as if they'd been carved from the decks of other ships of darker wood. After a moment of consideration, Clemente found that he knew the game quite well, one of those that he used to play during his own time as a crewman.
A joking voice strayed out of the crowd.

"Look sharp, lads. Captain's about to show us how it's done."

The assembled sailors laughed at their companion's jest and turned to look jovially at their superior officer, who smiled shortly and came forward a step.

"Now don't worry, boys, you don't have to joke about me wiping the deck with you. It's funny enough as it is."

They shared in another bout of chuckles, one of the three men currently playing raising his arm to its full extent so that the Captain could see it above his peers' shoulders, beckoning animatedly.

"Well if you'd do us the kindness of granting your company Sir, with your help we could settle a few wagers."

Clemente entered the crowd fully, walking to the centre table and sitting down on an upturned bucket opposite the man who had beckoned him over, laying one hand on his knee and the other lazily upon the pommel of his sabre.

"Wagers?" He ventured.

The man nodded slowly and robotically as if to entice the spectators to lean in for a better listen, eager eyes shining above a shaven face and rather prominent chin.

"Wagers alright. Couple of the crew have been telling tales of you in your early days, talking about how you used to be a right devil at games of dice and cards, said you could swindle the coppers from a beggar's hands with all the ease of a magician, and more sleight than all the savvy merchants combined."

A handful of the surrounding crew laughed and nodded along with the man's claim, and they all collectively leaned in to hear their Captain's response to his bold and thinly veiled challenge. Clemente himself had never considered himself exceptional when it came to such games, he enjoyed them as much as any serving seaman, but he was no better, this was probably the result of the crew making up some tall tales in order to coax a few coins into their pocket. He reclined backwards, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and smiling enigmatically, it couldn't hurt to humour them.

"I don't know about swindling beggars, but I'd bet all the money in His Majesty's purse on me leaving you gentlemen penniless." He punctuated this with the jingle of a few coins dropping onto the already sizeable pile that lay in the very centre of the flat barrel table.

The crew hooted and whistled in response to the confident remark, leaning in an inch further as the original challenger smirked and inclined his head towards the Admiral, he and his two opponents scooped their dice into their individual cups and shook them to displace mismatched gambling objects within, Clemente followed suit, falling instantly into pattern with the game, complicated to those who didn't know it and natural for those that did. They all slammed their cups rim down on the barrel, and their game began.

One of the men playing - who sat to the right of the eager challenger and to the left of Clemente- blinked and spoke, never taking his eyes off of his own cup, which he still held protectively in his hand.

"Captain gets first bid."

Clemente gave a barely perceptible nod and lifted his cup halfway, covering the dice within with his hand, shielding their secrets from his opponents. Five dice, there were two sixes, two twos and a single die which bore one tiny stylised skull on its upward face.

"... Two sixes."

Total silence as his three opponents either checked their own dice or took a second to remember their numbers. The one to Clemente's right, who had been silent thus far, growled out his response.

"Four sixes."

A bold move. Everyone's eyes swivelled to stare at the man with the chin and the hard to resist charisma, he smiled and tilted his head back, tapping the table once with each hand before suddenly leaning forwards.

"Six sixes."

The crew drew in their collective breath as the man to Clemente's left furrowed his brow, still not lifting the palm of his hand from his cup.

"... Bluff."

The crew made various noises of interest as the four opponents each lifted their cups, revealing their sets of dice. Clemente had two, the gruff voiced man had one, and the bold challenger had three. Exactly six sixes.
The sailor who called bluff frowned, pushing one of his dice into the centre of the table to rest alongside the coins, he now had only four dice. He gestured towards the gruff voiced sailor.

"Dobbson takes this bid."


~~

It was almost time for a shift change when the game finally drew towards its close, at this final phase the only players left in the game were the challenger and the one with the rough, haggard voice, Dobbson. Clemente and the other man had been eliminated already, proving to the crew that the Admiral was not the gambling professional they had wanted to believe he was, Clemente himself was sure he saw some money reluctantly changing hands.

Presently the now head to head game was looking quite one sided, the gruff sailor had only one die left, while the ever confident challenger had somehow retained all five of his dice throughout the course of the game, a fact that his opponent was clearly having trouble accepting, the man was sweating even more than anyone else, with a furrowed brow and steely eyes that seemed close to catching fire. He eventually uttered his very terse, very threatening bid.

"Two fives."

His opponent didn't miss a beat.

"Four fives."

Dobbson closed his eyes, scrunching the lids closed with almost enough force to pull a muscle, his opponent was forcing him to go higher and higher with his bids, his next words came out as a croak.

"Five fives..."

Once again the charismatic master of games of chance wasted no time deliberating, proclaiming his answer for all to hear.

"Spot on!"

The shaking, grumbling sailor's eyes snapped open dangerously fast, wide enough that surrounding crew members could clearly see his worryingly still bloodshot orbs. He snatched the cups away from his and his opponent's dice. He had one five, his opponent had four.
Five fives.

The man screamed in rage, standing up and casting the barrel aside, sending dice and coins scattering every which way as the assembled crew took a step back in surprise and fear. Clemente was on his feet in a second, ready to intervene immediately should his skills be needed.

Dobbson grabbed the cocky winner by the lapel of his loose fitting tunic and drawing him in close enough to most efficiently scream into his face.

"Four games! That's four flawless games in a row!!"

The winner smiled, his chin jutted out as if to protect himself from physical blows, even now he didn't lose his overconfident swagger.

"I'm very good with dice."

This did nothing to quell the man's toiling fury, he screamed again, veins pulsing on the surface of his neck as his face grew an even more vivid shade of purple.

"You can't win so often and so well in a game of chance!!"

"Its impossible to cheat at Liar's Dice. You're just not trying hard enough."

Time slowed for Clemente as he saw the Dobbson's scarred hand go for the sharp work knife at his hip, deadly intent clearly written across his savage features.
Barely anyone what to think as they saw the imminent gutting halted by the swift intervention of their Captain's hand, his fingers closing like an iron vice around the attacker's wrist, yanking it backwards and away from the knife at his belt, forcing the man's body to turn, taking his attention off of his unassuming victim.

The attacker had his head held back, already planning to swing it forward and headbutt whoever had dared stop him from making the cheat repay his crimes, but as he turned and met the cold gaze of his Captain and Admiral of the entire Royal fleet, he went through a fascinatingly sudden change, physically locking his own neck and shoulder muscles to keep from breaking his commander's nose, Clemente was sure he'd hurt himself in the jarring process.

Silence reigned absolute as the Admiral reached his hand towards the now visibly shaking Dobbson's belt and took out the knife, tapping the deadly point at the man's own stomach and causing him to flinch audibly, both men were then incredibly still as the crew watched with bated breath. Eventually the Admiral dropped the knife to the deck, where it clattered loudly and rolled a foot or two before rolling back to rest against someone's boot.

Clemente released the man's wrist, leaving a pink, millimetre deep trench along the skin. No one dared speak until the Admiral did so, and he took his time with that, ensuring that they were all rapt for attention and reacted absolutely when his deadly, monotone voice finally broke the silence.

"When we reach shore, you'll be tried before the assembled Commanders, if you're lucky you might get stuck in latrine duty for two months." Clemente turned his gaze to the rest of the crowd, as well as the working crew members who had paused briefly to watch the spectacle. "Shift change, all of you to your stations."

Sailors hurriedly drifted away from the Admiral towards their positions across the deck, relieving the previously working crewmen of their duties, none scrambled away faster and started working harder than Dobbson, who was doggedly keeping his intentions focused on his duties in an effort to escape the untrusting glares and bitter murmurs of his fellows.

Clemente breathed out haggardly, relieved to have resolved the situation without bloodshed, he was worried that he'd have to break Dobbson's arm if he hadn't ceased his brawl. The suddenly exhausted officer stooped down to pick up Dobbson's more than pointedly forgotten knife, feeling along the edge of the blade before standing upright and tucking the offending weapon away.
Sailors turned to look, expressions worried as their Captain strolled towards the wooden door that connoted his personal quarters, crewmen stared as the Admiral let himself in and closed the door behind himself with a barely audible click of finality.

No one saw as the irrevocably stressed Admiral sat down at his polished table, reached into a particular drawer, pulled out an extravagantly marked and sealed bottle, and poured himself a generous drink.

Minkasha
12-17-2013, 06:43 AM
West of Dun Moriga - Fulminata Camp

"Prefect Lucullus says we'll be ready to march within the hour, sir." tribune Cassius reported. The young man saluted with his left arm in place of his right, which was still stiff from its long recovery. The way he constantly flexed his fingers and shoulder showed how impatient the young tribune was to have the full use of his arm back, though he tactfully suppressed the urge in front of dux Marcius, who was still nursing a similar injury.

"Very good, tribune." Marcius nodded and strode out of the command tent, his indigo cloak rippling and the steel bands of his armour sliding smoothly over each other as he walked.

Cassius frowned. The general seldom wasted words when it came to giving orders, but there was a vague tension about him this morning. He spoke a little more stiffly than Cassius was used to, and even his walk seemed somehow stilted. Marcius had yet to tell anyone what the messenger of Venus had said during their private conversation, and Cassius guessed that whatever they had spoken about was weighing on the general's mind. Thinking of Elisavet, Cassius noticed the symbol-painted shield that was still sitting face up on the table. Like the rest of the command tent's furniture, the table was waiting for the tent to be taken down so it could be stored away for the next march. Evidently, no-one had remembered to take the shield with them when Elisavet had collapsed and been carried out. From what Cassius had heard, she was recovering in the followers' camp with a small honour guard and a dedicated medicus to tend to her. The followers' camp was perhaps not the most prestigious place to house a messenger from the gods, but legion law was inflexible on the matter of wounded men who couldn't march with the rest of the army. The legion itself could not afford to be slowed down, and the camp followers were left to catch up in their slower carts and wagons.

Reasoning that he should probably return the shield before it got lost among the legion's baggage, Cassius stepped forward to pick it up. As he reached for it though, a sudden feeling of guilt struck him, and made him pause. He drew back his hand, flexing his fingers. It occured to him that a weapon of the gods was probably not for normal men to touch unbidden. Unpinning his cloak, he instead bundled the shield up in the blue wool, taking great care as he folded the cloak over and picked it up.

Carrying the wrapped shield, Cassius made his way down the carefully marked-out roads of the fort, past the half-dismantled palisade, and down the hill towards the Namorian followers' camp. The followers too were busy breaking camp, albeit with far less military precision. He picked his way through the bustle of men and women, passing slave traders hoping to make a profit off the army's prisoners and merchants looking to liven up the legion's food rations. The Fulminata were relatively self-sufficient for tradesmen - every legionary was expected to learn hunting, metal work or some other skill - but skilled armourers, horse traders and extra doctors were always welcome, and then of course there were the more exotic services that the legion could not provide for itself. A pair of whores with long hair and eyes delicately outlined with kohl looked at Cassius curiously as he passed. He waved them away, more politely than most of his fellow officers would have done, and headed for a tent still waiting to be pulled down on the west side of the camp. A few of the tradesmen in the camp employed bodyguards, but there was only one tent being guarded by blue-cloaked legionaries.


* * * * * *

Elisavet slowly woke, pain enveloping her legs. Her eyes could hardly open, she felt the need to fall asleep once more. But her body felt so ill, she needed something to eat…she was unable to feel anything beyond the sore pain and sorrow for Decius.

She began to cry lightly, her first waking though of the man’s suffering.

“Decius.” she cried in a whisper.

"Easy there." said a voice in softly-accented Namorian. A medica in a leather apron that had been scrubbed relatively clean stepped round the cloak-draped table Elisavet was lying on and into her line of sight. She was a pretty, dark skinned Afragian of perhaps 30 years, with full lips and a button nose dusted with freckles. The medica stooped to root something out from under the table, and Elisavet saw that she was in a cramped tent. The bustle outside and the sunlight shining through the canvas told her it was morning.

The medica reappeared with a clay bowl in hand, and gently lifted Elisavet's head with one hand while holding the bowl to her lips with the other. The bowl turned out to be full of water, laced with what tasted like sugar and salt.

"How are you feeling?" the medica asked as she pulled the bowl away.

Elisavet was ashamed. After telling of the life shattering change to Decius Marcius', she had left him alone. She swallowed as much of the sweetened water as she could, her body needing every resource. If only she could recover faster.

"The Goddess weeps for Decius." The words that came from her lips could only find one focus.

"I'm sure Decius is fine, sweetheart." the medica soothed her, possibly not realising that she was talking about the legion commander. "It's you we're worried about right now. What were you doing to exhaust yourself that badly?"

She shut her eyes, pushing more tears down her face.

“I was running through the mountains, following the will of Aphrodite” she turned her head deeper into the table. “However, it broke a man’s heart.” she gave a weak sigh after that.

"Oh." said the medica, clearly unsure how to reply. She was spared having to do so by a sound of voices outside, followed by the young tribune who had given Elisavet his horse the night before pushing through the tent flap. He was carrying a bundled cloak under one arm, and seemed surprised to see Elisavet still bed-bound.

"Are you feeling better, my lady?" he asked, looking concerned. "The legion will be marching within the hour; I thought you'd want this brought back."

He placed the cloak on the edge of the table Elisavet was lying on, and unwrapped it to reveal the shield she had left in Marcius' tent.

When her shield was revealed a little smile crept across her face. She raised a hand to the man and gestured to him.

"Come closer." her voice was quiet, she sounded exhausted.

The young tribune obliged her, removing his helmet as he did so. He was dark haired and sharp featured, with all the vitality and ambition of youth written large across his face. His eyes were shrewd but had a certain kindness to them as well, and Elisavet noted that he was making a concerted effort to meet her eyes and not let his gaze wander downwards.

"I apologise for the location." he said as he stepped round to Elisavet's side of the table. "As soon as you can walk, you're welcome to rejoin the legion."

Elisavet realised that her tent must be in the followers' camp. It was a sensible if slightly dishonourable place to billet a guest who was too broken to march, but Elisavet could think of another reason - after what she had told Marcius, he might not want her close, chosen of the gods or not.

"Wait a second." the medica said to the tribune, her prized status allowing her immunity to some rank protocols. She turned to Elisavet. "The dux ordered me to look after you. And I don't know how demigods heal, but unless I see evidence otherwise I want you to rest, begging your pardon my lady."

Elisavet reached out a hand to touch the young man’s cheek. Her warm touch gentle and past her tears a loving smile. Her eyes look between his.

“Please watch over Decius.” she kept it discreet to respect his privacy in his mourning. But he did need the help. She looked over to the woman. “I may require a few more days” she then slowly pulled away her hand from the man’s cheek and closed her eyes. “Excuse me, I require more rest. Thank you for your aid, Aphrodite bless you.”

And without much difficulty she fell back into a healing slumber.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Else’s Secret Basement Chamber, Odinsen Castle

The Lady Jarl had a loose end to take care of, and a rising problem. It was with luck she could hit two birds with one stone. Hidden in a damp, dark, and cold room only walled with brick with no decoration, she held an athame in her hand.

On the floor were various symbols, written on the ground with a mix of chalk, and dried blood. The symbols were surrounded by a circle; it was ready for its sacrifice. Two torches lit the small room, one on each side.

“Grab them” Else instructed, and Zahneri disappeared. In only a moment’s time, two armored men stood. Two loyal guard, Fritjof and Inge. “Keep them still” the succubus began to work sweet nothings. The devoted men knew if they stood within the circle that fantastical pleasure was in their near future.

Else stood in front of Fritjof, he had been with the Odiensen family for over twenty years. In his forties he was still strong and proud of the Free South he followed. He was a man of great devotion to Odin. The Lady Jarl raised her sacrificial dagger to his throat and slit it. In his glazed eyed gaze, he fell to the ground…still wanting that pleasure. His blood began to feed into the circle.

Inge, he was younger, in his twenties he grew up with the ideology of Korzan and took blade in his name. Of many of the soldiers, he was one of the hardest hit with Korzan's assassination. Else’s mind flashed back to a moment the two had shared last year mourning together, watching the man they both loved drift off into the cold waters on burning ship. Her hands lifted the helm off his head and she looked at his face. Inge was lost in the mental lands of pleasure. Her hand held his face for a moment, hugged him with an arm around his neck and soon he fell with blood pouring out of his neck.

Their shared life essence began to help the circle glow. Else was in communion with the Demon Mistress Zenita. She knelt to one knee before the glowing red circle. Her choice of sacrifice was swayed only by the recklessness of the Syf woman. Fritjof and Inge had heard too much, and by the time she dismissed them…it was too late.

“Zenieta, Patron of Lust and Desire I summon you once more. I sacrifice in your name and I now seek guidance. What should I do with the white haired woman, Syf? Who is she!?” her voice built in anger “And how does she know my CHILDREN!?” she called out to the powerful woman.

Zahneri had left, watching the very woman her mistress spoke of.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

Maxwell was sweating hard; he circled his biggest brother, wooden axes with rounded edges in hand.

“You’re too controlled” Jóhann smirked. “Did Kalle teach you this?” a raised brow.

Maxwell attacked, thinking an upper attack would make an opening. But Jóhann was able to overpower him, break his assault and take him to the ground.

“The only form of control you should ever have is over others. Not yourself” Maxwell looked at him confused.



Kalle was in his room, sitting on his bed with his face in his hands. What was his mother going to do to Syf?

A knock on the door.

“Master Kalle. You’re being summoned”

“By who?”

“A…woman of Athena” Kalle looked at the door baffled, he opened the door.

“What!?”

“The white haired woman…” the two guards were looking up at him, baffled themselves. They must have been talking about Syf.

“Let’s go immediately”

Led back to Syf’s room he entered without hesitation. When he saw her in armor his jaw dropped, and impolitely, did not pick it back up. This woman: her mystery, her power, her eccentricities. Who was she?

Syf had been standing for what seemed like an eternity now, she wondered what was taking so long to get in touch with the prince, and get him back to her chambers before the Jarl herself came. Syf was no fool, she knew that she was in danger in this castle, but she couldn't just leave. There were innocent people in the village below her and she couldn't knowingly leave whilst demons walked among them.

"I'm glad you've come as requested, young prince.", she spoke not turning away from the window to acknowledge his presence. She eyed the village beyond and then the snowy landscape that made the frozen wastes what it was before turning her stormy grey eyes on Kalle.

"As I have told the guards that I sent to retrieve you; I am the daughter of Athena. I was born in an ancient world in an ancient time. I am over two thousand years old, and I believe that I have been sent here to aid in what I can. However, I cannot knowingly take comfort in a castle that is a home to those kin to demons.", her eyes grew soft as if she felt pity for the prince. He was quite charming, if even for the demonic blood that coursed through his veins. Kalle was lost in confusion, his face shifting from emotions of awe and uncertainty. He felt judgment for simply existing.

"Therefore, I will construct a home among the wastes to live apart from the castle, but within the realm; with your permission of course. Otherwise, I will have to travel North and establish a haven for myself. I have no home to go to, and it is clear that I am not going to be safe here.", she ended with a voice that held no emotion. She didn't want to leave the castle, she had actually grown quite fond of Kalle, but she couldn't stay where her life would be in danger or at risk.

"Uhh" he cleared his throat, a fist held up to his mouth. "How do you know about that...side of me? he said shamefully. He then closed his eyes and shook his head. "Nevermind" the second prince stepped closer and grabbed her hand. His gaze kept onto her eyes. "I can lead you out of here..." he frowned. "I love my mother, but I do not doubt she means to...harm you, my lady"

The Afragian Waters - HMS Aptitude

The Admiral’s intervention at the game was the talk of the ship. Beyond the heat that was…and ships from the future…and the alien planet.

It was still pretty important. Tommy was thumbing an empty bullet shell in his fingers while he listened to his fellow crewmen speak.

“What you think the Admiral is going to do when we land?” Tommy shrugged, he never really had any idea about the Admiral’s choices, just kind of…followed along.

“We have a lot of things to think about!” Tommy looked at the two crew mats with burning interest. “What if our country is on the other side of the world!?” hands waved in the air.

The two sailors looked at him blankly.

“Tommy, we are not on Earth” Tommy rubbed his chin.

“But how do we know if Earth had not fused itself with this planet!? Or perhaps the other side IS Earth!”

“That’s saying the same thing twice, Tommy” an older sailor reminded him and patted him on the back. “I’m glad I’m not the Admiral right now” the man laughed and Tommy frowned.

“Earth won’t be the same when we get back”

“No, no it will not be” the man agreed with sorrow, moved by Tommy's sudden and deep truths.

Death of Korzan
12-21-2013, 04:19 PM
The Afragian Coast

Clemente didn't swill his whiskey around the rim of his short glass, he'd always considered it a bloody stupid practice, why make your drink dance when it could instead be dancing inside your stomach? It was one of those things that the especially high of class did to make themselves look more discerning and mysterious or... Something.

The Admiral often got like this when at the alcohol, in the public eye he was the amicable, steadfast example of perfect British discipline, they said his upper lip was stiff enough to chip diamonds. When in the presence of a few drinks however, the Admiral often showed his more militantly cynical side, he'd often sit and argue with himself about the state of the country or the brash self-entitlement of the nobility, such whiskey breaks were partway beneficial, he wouldn't want to bottle such thoughts up long enough for them to explode outwards before someone with enough power to have him thrown into whatever jail happened to have enough space for this bloody stupid wig.

He sat at his desk, halfway slumped upon the comfortably rickety and blissfully wooden chair with his legs crossed at the ankles, boots propped up by the heels against the dry, shining boards of the floor. On his desk lay his white wig, and there was Dobbson's cursed knife driven through it and embedded right into the table below, he hadn't cared much for the damage to the expensive garment, he had a few spares, horribly enough.
Clemente took another restrained sip of his drink, rationing out the liqueur not because of its rarity and value but because drinking too fast always lead to drinking too much, as he well knew; he was damn good at concealing any sign of inebriation behind a practiced wall of reinforced stone faced authority. Still, he would not risk drinking any more than two short glasses of the dark amber liquid, not when in front of his crew and within the gaze of his direct subordinates.

With a sigh of exasperation he rather unceremoniously dropped the stoppered bottle back into that drawer and downed the last dregs of whatever remained in his glass, setting the moist receptacle down upon the polished wood of the table with a tap.

A headache came suddenly to the admiral, pounding against his head like a fist upon a wooden door. It started heavily, faded and then hit back with double the force, causing the Admiral to buckle slightly and upset his glass, scattering minute flecks of alcohol across the desk.

"Clemente..." A voice echoed in his head. The sound of cannonfire from a distance seemed to fill his mind along with the voice, reflections of the past. "Clemente...!"

Suddenly, Clemente found himself, in an ethereal and bright white form standing next to a woman. The area around him as tundra and various ships and plans stood ahead of him. The area looked much like Sharktooth Bay, though it held a darker stature. At a table sat two men wearing bulbous metal helmets, they spoke in aggressive tongues, laughing as they dealt cards to each other. Behind them sat battleships of all different ages, steel ones, wooden ones...the majority of the wooden ones were pirate ships. One of the most notifying things that Clemente could see was that their eyes held no irises, they were stained black...midnight black.

"Gotter verdammt Friedrich, wie sie mich jedes Mal schlagen?" One of the men laughed to himself as he laid down a set of cards. The man in front of him laughed in unison, taking away a set of chips that sat in the middle of the table.
"Es ist Begabung, leicht von der Hand, und ein bisschen Glück." The winner of the game played more cards out and they began to play again. They evidently could not see Clemente, though something compelled him to walk towards the furthest end of the camp, where a metal bridge connected to a ship that seemed to pulsate with energy.

A female voice sounded in your head. "Go unto the dark, Clemente. See what us Gods cannot, see what is shrouded beneath the Dark."

A lesser man might utter some hopelessly clichéd drivel about how the Admiral had to cut back on the alcohol, but Clemente was nothing if not a shrewd judge of logic, and thus he knew that simple alcohol did not bring about such vivid fantasies, any notion that stated otherwise was profoundly absurd.
Caught in that state between such things as panic and perturbation, he tore his eyes -with enough effort to hoist a sail- from the curiously fluctuating ship and the two men to look at the woman beside him, the voice must have come from her, although she was silent now, merely gazing at him expectantly, as if to spur him into adhering to the voice's request.

Clemente stepped forward, turning his back on the woman to further study the two men at the table. He knew servicemen when he saw them, they must be crewmen aboard one of the ships in the distance, engineers or even footsoldiers in some adjoining army, their language was one that Clemente had come across often in his life, and the accent was unmistakeable, he didn't know a lot of German, but he could make out enough to deduce that what they were saying was unimportant.

He stepped past them, throwing a passing glance towards their game as he went, smirking uneasily, that one had an unfortunate hand.
He kept walking, boots not fully impacting with the dry compacted soil and scattered puddles of snow that made up the majority ground of the tundra, strengthening his hypothesis that he was in some sort of long-distance trance state, not really there.

The range of ships ahead were as varied as those in his own fleet, perhaps more so, the unmistakeable sight of the stylised pirate flags caught his eye and caused all sorts of uneasy feelings to echo across his nervous system, pirates were a group of people he was woefully well acquainted with.
No small amount of trepidation slightly halted the Admiral's steps as he got closer and closer to the fleet, which was like a darker mirror version of his own, he had to remind himself that this was a vision and he was not in fact strolling towards dozens of pirate vessels and the certain death that they promised to someone of his kind.

What ungodly business do German's have with pirates?

His gaze returned reluctantly to the enigmatically pulsating ship and the foreboding metal bridge that separated the Admiral from whatever unsightly force lay within the vessel's hull.

As Clemente looked upon the ship once more, his head ached again and images flashed before his eyes, seeming so real. His fleet running, an anvil like object with orange streams of flowing metal cracked all over the black obsidian that it was formed out of sitting in the burning ruins of Sharktooth Bay. From the center of the Anvil-like item came a huge beam of orange light that stretched into the clouds and around it flew aircraft. Images of sinking ships...ships from his fleet; and images of Pirates boarding the huge Iron titans that adorned the British naval force on Eternum. They were all troubling.

"Go onwards, and you will have your answers." The female voice spoke up, and the female who stood with Clemente had followed him, standing next to him once more. From the steps came a single pirate, with tattered British naval gear and rotting teeth, his canines being colored gold. His eyes too were stained black with darkness. He stood next to another German soldier, this one wearing leather gloves over his hands; his face was stern and around his mouth were multiple scars, his eyes too were deep black, with no discerning features. Whatever they were saying, Clemente couldn't hear it for some reason, as if the pulsating feeling from the ship in front of him were drowning out all other noise.

Clemente could feel the cold-numbed skin around his eyes tighten at the sight of the pirate, unmistakeable among the considerably better kempt Germans. He briefly considered stopping to sink his sabre into the wretch's gut, but thought better of it, his technically nonexistant sword would likely do nothing but pass straight through without leaving a mark.

The eyes had to be some sort of clue here, Clemente pressed his face close to that of the German, who he decided would be more tolerable in close proximity, and gazed into they abyssal depths. Black as any stereotypically black concept, it was hard to tell in which direction they were looking. He retracted his head with a muffled snort and walked past them, giving one final cautionary glare to the pirate with his no doubt stolen British garb, he found himself wondering about the poor sod who previously wore that.
This bastard violates the sanctity of that uniform.

The Admiral took the first step onto the metallic bridge, and found that he could go no further, rooted to the spot from some sensation that he couldn't explain, he knew it was not fear, he was far too well acquainted with that to not recognise that this was something else entirely. His hand instinctively went into a pocket to grasp something that was not there. A single sharp intake of breath as his fingers closed on nothing, accompanied by a horrible lurch of the chest, like the feeling one gets when missing the last stair, only much more dreadful.

Shit

The hand withdrew, the skin whitened and shaking far more than the cold could have done. Clemente's shockingly out of character curse went unnoticed, not that he cared at this moment in time whether any kind of superior officer was here to discipline his vulgarity.

It isn't there anymore, you know that, Isaac

Not in this world, not in any world but home.

You'll have to do it without them

Another long, terrible exhalation of dry, pent up air later and Clemente started to move across the bridge with a lethargic gait.
He tried to occupy himself with some trivial thought or muse, anything to distract the thought process that was doggedly trying to derail his course, independent of his otherwise stoic mental willpower.
His pocket felt painfully empty, and yet at the same time he could feel something there, the psychosomatic imprint of a small, weighty object long lost, like some cruel phantom pain.

As Clemente's feet stopped walking up the gangway, another pair continued. As he turned, he came face to face with a revolver, placed directly against his face. Holding the weapon was a tall man with a long, thick, black beard, with tattoos running across his arms. His teeth were rotten and his breath rancid as it's warmth brushed along Clemente's spiritual figure. The Pirate smiled at Clemente before saying.

"Hello Admiral." The Pirate mused, his smile becoming a grin as he pulled the trigger on his gun.

-------------

Clemente awoke with a start, bells ringing in the distance from his other ships. His own ship rolled slightly, leaning upwards precariously as it was rocked with a hug wave of water. In the distance through his window he could see the silhouette against the sun of something huge and white leaping through the water on top of one of his many ships, dragging it down into the depths of the Afragian sea. At this moment, his doors smashed open and two armed men walked in before saluting.

"Sir! We have a problem...it's a Leviathan!"

Branjaskr, The Free South – Else’s Secret Basement Chamber, Odinsen Castle

As the ritual was performed, the room darkened to an extent where all was pitch black, other than what remained in the area Else had marked out. As she sat there, waiting for the lady of lust to reply, the room became colder, with black icicles forming all over the walls. Instead of being extinguished, the fire of the candles was enveloped in a layer of ice, freezing it solid yet keeping the flame alive, though it did not burn anymore. The feeling of a hand stroking along Else's face was obvious, though there was no hand there, and a voice echoed hard in her head, pounding across her very conscience.

"10 children. 5 sons. 5 daughters. Covenant, Noah, Osiris, Excalibur and Asgardum. My son will harvest the life of two of your own. 1 son. 1 daughter. This I swear. Zenita does not listen now; none of the old ones do. For we...prepare." The mental link was all but maintained, but the last words from the dark entity were the most foreboding that Else had ever heard, and would ever hear.

"Pandora's Box will be forged...and you, will open it for us."

The Lowlands of Dun Moriga

As Vardren and Cassandra continued on their way, they wandered down the mountain in search for the source of the dreams Cassandra had been experiencing. The whether changed as they crawled down the steep mountain tops, though the stench of death did not change. The snow stopped and the lifelessness ended as flowers began to peer through the almost tundra-like grass. Soon the area took a green hue and eventually the vast forest of Combrogia came into sight, though what looked to be a short walk would have taken them a while.

Eventually though, the pair came across something new in the road. There stood a man...or a humanoid figure. His back was turned to them, though at his side sat a blade of such twisted origin that it peaked the interest of the two demon-touched adults. They maintained their gaze upon the figure until he turned and the pair could get a good look at him. He held elongated ears, longer than a humans or any other species of Eternum, his eyes were pitch black and held no identifiable markings or features, not even an Iris. His armor was equally as outlandish as the rest of him, and his hair was long and midnight black, almost as black as his eyes, though his eyes seemed to make his face darker, whilst his hair was simply a color.

His slender lips opened and he spoke, his voice echoing as if being repeated by another entity...or maybe that entity was the figure.

"I am Chaaru the Great Devourer, and I have been instructed by my Lord to accompany you, and for you to follow me."

With no other words, the strange figure turned, expecting the pair to follow him.

Minkasha
12-28-2013, 09:39 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Else’s Secret Basement Chamber, Odinsen Castle

Lady Jarl Else stepped back from the corpses before her. She instinctively held a hand over her cheek where she felt the contact. Only her own flesh to be felt.

"WHO IS THERE!? WHO DARES THREATEN MY CHILDREN!?" she roared with ferocity. In truth, she was terrified.

A deep chuckling resonated from the room as it seemed to become deeper in a shade of black. "Your anger is...amusing. I do not threaten your children; I simply tell you the absolution of two of their lives. They are slaves to the Arks, whether dead or alive their souls are damned none the less." The fair mother spat on the ice cold ground.

"Reveal yourself or begone you snake" her glaring eyes scanned the darkness, unable to see anything past the small light of the frozen flame.

The laughter deepened and deepened until lit became little more than a thick proverbial vibration, accompanied by the darkest of voices. "I need not tell you my name. You know of my name and you know of me. I am Lord of what lies under your bed, I am Lord of what shrouds the night, I am Lord of all that you cannot see without torch on hand. I am apparent everywhere. Continue to test me if you will; I had only come to bare you gifts of tragic knowledge.

"The only gift you give me are lies, Set." The cold was hitting her skin past her furs. "BEGONE!" her yell echoed in the void room.

"I cannot, for you lie in my domain, mistress of the ice. I shall not kill you, for you still will prove useful..." The voice finally faded into the dark and the room returned to it's normal form, though the black ice that swirled with darkness did not disperse. In Set's absence she clutched at her chest, heaving with terror and sorrow. Her free hand crashed into the pool of blood that came from the altar, the liquid ice cold.

"ZAHNERI" her minion appeared.

"Syf does not listen well to your command mistress..." the erotic voice whispered into the bloodied room. "She now dawn-"

"NEVER-MIND HER!" The Lady Jarl shook her head, stood, and walked over to the Elder Succubus. Her eyes gazed deep into the succubus' deep brown. "Your existence, your purpose..." her teeth were gritting "is to watch my children, protect them, at any costs. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?" Zahneri nodded. Else screamed into the room wildly. The powers of Demons, of Gods. How could she outwit or out power them? They were after her family. She would not bow down.

The dark skinned demon woman could still feel the ice cold presence of the demonic. She kept eye on her ill-struck mistress. The woman was now a tragic beauty, but this was common among all the Odinsens. For every aspect of beauty they possessed in their face and body, their lives had just as many sad truths. Zahneri could appreciate this greatly.

"Dispose of these bodies...and do as you're assigned" Else sounded exhausted, she was dragging herself to the door. The horned head only gave nod. As with all the sacrificed bodies she took them into the icy ocean for the waters to consume. And with quick smoky teleportation,the two soldiers fell from her grasp and began to sink below.

Back in the castle she now eyed Syf and Kalle. While the Lady Jarl seemed to now glance over Syf, she knew that in order to keep the children safe, this woman needed to not be in their presence.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

“I know not how I know of your demonic blood, but it is as if I have a second sense that sends a tingling sensation through my skin and to the inner workings of my mind.” she answered Kalle before looking down at his hand as it reached for hers. She looked up to his face and smiled softly her gaze betraying what she felt for the young prince. Kalle’s lips slightly pursed while he read into her gaze. He couldn’t help but think who else might ‘just know’ of his family’s truth?

“I do not want you to risk your safety to ensure mine, young prince. I cannot allow you to escort me out of the castle and risk endangering your life and making your mother angry.” Syf had nothing but concern for the young prince. She knew that it probably wasn't her wisest move to speak openly and bluntly about what the people in this castle were, but she couldn't help herself. It was like a second nature to her. However, she would have to keep it in check to keep the prince safe, and to ensure her own safety.

Syf stepped away from the prince and back to the window in her chambers and breathed in the frigid air of the Southern Wastes. Kalle’s fist felt the sting of the warmth fading. It was truly a beautiful place, icy and untamed aside from the scattered villages and cities across the landscape. These people were quite primitive in their technology, but given a few months Syf could have this place in a higher form of technology and ready for an assault that seemed to loom on the horizon like an arrow waiting to pierce its mark.

“My lady…” he started unsure of how to go about it. “It is obvious that someone such as yourself must have a great purpose. I must ensure you can do it-”

While he was speaking the dark smoke appeared near them. It was Zahneri, Kalle looked at her with wide eyes. “You” he said standing in front of Syf. “Why are you here?” A soft, dark hand reached out to touch him, the fingers manipulated themselves around his chin.

“That woman is a threat to your safety…” she tilted her head slightly while holding eye contact. “And to that of your siblings…” she took a few hooved steps “While your mother is beside herself, she has given me a task” she was now before him, bodies nearly touching. “And that is to ensure your safety”

“I am safe” he argued, his breath hitting her face.

“She is a danger to you” no breath came back to his.

“What are you going to do?” he widened his arms defensively to Syf.

Syf eyed the demon thoughtfully, her grey eyes calculating its moves, and then she strode up calmly to the demon, standing only a hands reach away from her. Kalle dropped his arms and looked to her confused. Zahneri looked to her, eyes scanning her, while her fingers pulled from Kalle’s chin.

"I am no danger to the Prince. You fear the unknown demon, and that is wise in itself, but I can assure that I mean none in this castle harm. I've come only to serve and protect. There is a darkness on the horizon, threatening to ignite the flames of war that are already burning here in the South.", her grey eyes bore directly into the demons, allowing the succubus a look into her mind to see the truth in her words. Zahneri’s eyes looked back without weakness.

"I will protect him." she finished flatly before stepping away again, her white hair caught in the breeze that rushed in through the window. Kalle looked between the two tall women confused, unsure on how to act. The succubus never harmed him or his family, and he doubted she ever would. Though she was a morally questionable ally, she seemed endlessly loyal. Could she see something he couldn’t? He put that thought in the back of his mind, not wanting to doubt Syf’s good intentions.

“His protection is in my hands” the winged succubus informed. Her eyes turned to Kalle without expression.

“Please, just let her be” he begged to her.

“She is your responsibility. I will do as commanded without hesitation if you prove incapable of controlling her” the sexuality dripped from her tongue.

"I am not to be controlled, demon. If I am to be silent and complacent it will be of my own free will, not because my life is threatened. I do not fear death, I know that when I die I will be reborn under my mother as her lieutenant.", her stormy eyes flashed a violent grey before they settled again. She eyed the succubus with impassiveness etched upon her face like runes in stone.

"I will not harm him, and no harm shall come to him while I yet live. Rest assured that I will remain complacent to ensure that I can accomplish what I was sent here to do. But, after I am finished with my task, you will see that there was no danger in my questioning." she spoke softly, this time turning her eyes on Kalle, as if she had read the doubts in his mind about her. Zahneri scoffed and vanished.

"This fortress will not fall." She said ending her involvement in the conversation, as she stepped around Kalle walking towards the door, and opening it to leave, however Kalle followed her. He placed a hand on hers again.

"uhhh, what are you doing my lady?" he seemed shaken by the exchange by the two women.

"I'm going to explore the town, you may accompany me if you wish to do so", she said softly before gently removing his hand from hers and continuing out the door and towards the exit in which she had been brought in through. Kalle followed with worry.

Syf was going to get a feel for the place, see the sites that need to be seen, and eye the defenses. It wa in her nature to want to better what can be better, and once back in her time she was one of the most well known and sought out architects of the ancient world. Her creations were made to endure lifetimes of men, and most of them did survive, even through Roman Occupation of Greece.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village

She had made her way from the castle and into the Village beyond the stone walls, and it was beautiful in a rustic and simplistic kind of way. The people hardly observed her presence on the streets. However in Kalle's presence they bowed. Her armor shone bright in the sun, and her white hair blowing freely in the qualms of the wind. Her armor provided her protection from the cold and as such she could withstand the icy winds with little effort. He was silent while they walked through the snow.

Syf approached the home of the local blacksmith and eyed the weapons hanging from the weapons rack, and her eyes widened in disbelief.

"How do you manage to survive with craftsmanship such as this? I can show you a way to make a far stronger metal than what you have now. You also need to reinforce the blades, a good swing from the sword of a better make and quality and yours will be sheared in half.", she hadn't mean offense with her words and she immediately took a weapon off the rack and began to work. The blacksmith looked at Kalle in shock and the second prince only nodded, pacifying the man.

She placed the blade in the flames and left it there until the blade melted down to the hilt, whereupon she pulled it out and tossed the hilt into a pile of scrap metal. Kalle and the blacksmith eyed her with confusion while she worked away. She pulled a dagger from a hidden alcove in her armor that shone brilliant in the light of the fire and she tossed it into a cast iron pan until it melted down into liquid. She then proceeded to pour the silvery liquid into the mold of a dagger, and let it cool. Blue eyes of the blacksmith focused to study Syf’s actions.

After a few minutes, the mold had cooled and hardened into the form of a silvery dagger. She pulled the hilt-less blade from the mold and winced slightly as it was still quite hot, and then proceeded to hammer the blade into a thin sheet of silver. After the sheet was flattened she began to fashion it around an iron dagger she had pulled from the rack.

Another few minutes later she produced the finished product to the blacksmith along with another silver dagger, "I'll leave it to you to discover how to create the metal that is used to form my daggers.", she then turned to Kalle with a brilliant smile. He could only look back confused.

“You know many things my lady” he turned away from her form to look at the snow. It still shook him that she knew of his secret, he feared she would talk about it openly. Syf frowned when Kalle turned away from her after speaking for the first time since leaving the castle. She racked her mind, searching for an explanation as to why he was being so distant, and then it came to her.

She strode up to Kalle and gently reached her hand to his right cheek and turned his face toward hers, and she leaned in close to him and spoke softly "Be at peace prince, your secret will not be spoken of outside of the castle walls." Kalle’s eyes widened at her touch. It provoked the other side of him.

As she finished she stepped away from him, allowing her hand to gently slide from his face and down his shoulder before returning to her side. He licked his lips and squeezed his blade hand fist. She continued on down the path towards the gates in which she had entered and she stopped in front of what appeared to be an abandoned home. She eyed it thoughtfully for a moment, and then turned to Kalle waiting for him to catch up. He slowly walked up to her, his breathing faster. He could control himself, ‘I am in control’ the mantra was desperately played in his head again and again. The demonic, sexual energy burned in him.

Syf could see the desire burning through him, and noticed the clenching of his fists. She turned her grey eyes to him and inquired "Is it painful, M'lord?", referring to the demonic lust burning within the young prince. She was no fool to lust as she had felt it once before with a single man whom she had lost track of in the long ages that have passed. He was once the greatest warrior greece had known and one that aided in the efforts at Troy, and ultimately helped lead to its downfall. Nevertheless, he would be dead by now and she must push him from her mind.

"I am only here to help Kalle", Syf spoke again her eyes still trained on his. Kalle looked down at her silently, his tension built. She wasn't here to harm anyone nor had she meant anyone harm, it was just her way. She had never had to hold her tongue for anything and as such she was not used to being unable to speak her mind about what she felt or sensed. She decided then and there that things would be different, she would have to change, both to ensure the safety of her life and ensure the continued existence of Kalle. It was her duty, and her privilege.

She walked up to Kalle, practically feeling the desire racing in his veins and tilted her head, her lips meeting his softly and with a passion that countered all elements; for a moment the scene around her faded and she could only feel his presence and the presence of the lust that burned within him. He grasped her body, squeezing her arms. He slammed her into the wall of the house with a deep moan, the snow crunching below them. He continued to go at her as if she were a piece of meat and him a starving wolf, each kiss expressing the sexual nature of his blood.

Suddenly he stopped and threw himself away from her, falling on the snowy ground below her.

"STOP!" he began to crawl backward "DON'T TEMPT ME!" his eyes wide with panic. Quickly, he got to his feet and began to run away from her.

Combrogia

Twigs and wood cracked under the feet of the huge Sepplengais as he trod through the forest he tended, straight towards the home of the Druada. His eyes flicked to the strange...woman that rested on his back. Each sight from this perspective was a marvel in her eyes.

"...What...can you recall?..." The Sepplengais spoke almost carefully, though it was just his natural tone of voice. His arms swayed with the wind and creaked like an aged tree; the leaves that remained on his mostly bald scalp whispering in the cool morning breeze.

"Nothing..." she said, distracted. Everything looked so different from being on the ground. "I only know I was born in that flower...I haven't seen the sun go down yet..." she said with hesitation.

"Well...I guess it would help for you to know the place you are in, and your...friend of the hour...I am Clawbark, son of Shellbranch and Brackenshield." The Tree-Man continued, swaying past hanging vines and stepping over broken trees that had fallen in the wind. "You have found yourself in the great forest region of Combrogia."

"Combrogia..." she said slowly, the sounds of the forest filling her ears. "Clawbark" she called out, looking down upon the tree man "are there other places beyond...Combrogia?" the name nearly slipping away.

"There is the great land of Emor...home to the Namorian Imperium...ruled over by the Emperor. Then there are the Dwarven lands of Dun Moriga, mountains that stroke the skies of the three brothers. The Wild lands of Zamibia...home to the Tribal Crocolykes, and Hercine to it's border, home to the bankers of the Imperium and the slave-trade along with it. Then there is Afragia, which us tree men know little about...and then, the South."

"So many places out there..." she said amazed. "I wonder where I belong in it"

"I wonder too child...I wonder t-." Clawbark was cut off suddenly by a huge suction of wind, pulling him forwards slightly, before a deafening boom shook the trees and knocked the Sepplengais to the ground, causing the mysterious woman to hit the ground with a thud. An unrecognizable sound struck through the trees and a huge ray of Orange light lanced up into the sky, curving as it stroked the clouds, heading to a central point, once the sound dispersed the feeling of static in the air filled the area, and the smell of sulfur seemed to perforate the area. However, a vibrating throb seemed to now emit, causing the ground to vibrate slightly.

"Come young one! We have no time to lose...to Odin's Grotto!" Clawbark roared, his voice slightly tinged with terror. For what had just happened was new to him, and all of Eternum. She began to run with him into the unknown forest.

Azazeal849
01-04-2014, 11:18 PM
DUN MORIGA

Decius Marcius stared down at the plumed helmet resting in his hands, keeping his balance instinctively with his knees as his horse picked her way through the valley.

Do you think you could be a legionary? he heard his own voice say jovially as he recalled placing the helmet on Diana's head and getting her to help him demonstrate to Marcus the best way to kill a Crocolyke. Full of his father's war stories, Marcus couldn't wait until he was old enough to join the legions himself. Of course, in his youthful enthusiasm, he had been more interested in standing up to the enemies of the Imperium and hacking them down personally than the intricacies of command, but that could always come later. The children's magistra had assured Marcius that both Marcus and Diana were bright children, quick to learn when they could be convinced to put their minds to it. Or rather, they had been.

How could they let him die? his youngest daughter Aurelia had asked him plaintively about the direwolf Silverwick.

Only the gods are immortal, sweetheart. he had answered her.

But even the gods must have known that this had been no time or place for his children to die.

Marcius forced himself to shake off the memories and raised his head. He still had a duty to do. Even if right now that seemed like all he had.

The paved military road ran straight through the valley between two of Dun Moriga's lesser peaks, and the allied army of Namorians, Crocolykes and immortals was strung along it in a long march column. A mile ahead of the main column, tribune Varinius screened their front with a battle-ready cohort, while the legion cavalry ranged ahead and through the other mountain paths, clearing their way to the main cave gates leading down to the dwarven capital of Ech Zilidar. The barren, rocky slopes of the mountains to either side were full of legionary patrols and Crocolyke skirmishers climbing nimbly through the rocks, using the height advantage to watch for any threat. Their march was as secure as dux Marcius could make it, but a few paces off to his right, legate Septim was still frowning. The resurrected Roman general was an imposing figure atop his white stallion, surrounded by a knot of his own picked men. Hercules was with them too, and the messenger of Venus, Elisavet. Marcius had summoned them all to him after a minor earthquake had rumbled through the camp that morning, just as they were preparing to march. The quake had been accompanied by a pillar of amber light that had slashed the western horizon like a bolt from Mars himself.

“Something troubling you, legate?” Marcius asked as Septim continued to frown up at the mountain peaks that had long since closed in around them.

“We are in the mountains.” the Roman leader rumbled softly. “About as far as it's possible to get from my father Neptune's domain.”

The Roman turned in his saddle, turning perceptive eyes on Marcius.

“And you, general?” he said, with perhaps the slightest emphasis on the title. To little to directly infer insult; just enough to make one wonder if he had been considering it. “Is something troubling you also?”

“The sign in the west from this morning.” Marcius lied. It was not entirely untrue – none of the immortals had been able to tell him what the blaze of light had heralded, despite their connection to the gods. Cassius had dispatched a handful of scouts back towards Combrogia, but whatever had caused the flash, the allied army was still marching determinedly away from it.

Legate Septim smiled, an enigmatic smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth without quite reaching his eyes. “Whatever it was, I'm sure that lord Kurosavi and your own fine legions in Emor can handle it.”


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

Ovidius attempted to follow Anne and Suriyana into the closed shrine at the end of the great hall, playing the part of bodyguard even though he already knew that he would be rejected at the door. The tall, bronzed guard with the sun-disc of Ra hanging about his neck put up his hand, just as Ovidius had expected, as he made to follow the two priestesses and the high priest accompanying them.

“The light of Ra permits no shadows.” the Egyptian announced softly, but firmly. “The high priest and his disciples wish to pray, and they shall be permitted to do so alone.”

Ovidius shot a look at Suriyana, still playing the part, as she translated into Namorian for him.

“As you wish, domina.” he said with a solemn bow, resisting the urge to grin as he addressed Suriyana the same way she had once addressed her own mistress.

As the two women in white and the high priest they meant to bring over to their side disappeared into the small temple, Ovidius turned back to the great hall. The information they had given the Egyptians on Afragia's defences and tunnel networks had done the trick – so well that the Egyptian council leaders had seen fit to invite them to the customary afternoon banquet. It was being held at the villa of the deposed Afragian magistrate, which now served as their seat of government, in a grand circular hall with shrines to all the major eastern gods arranged around it like the spokes of a wheel. Around the hall of painted columns, tiled frescoes and gilded moon pools, guards stood in solemn watch while the Egyptian elite mingled freely around the long tables. The tables were laid with petal-water wash basins, and with scented candles that perfumed the air. The sweet smell was mingled with that of roast oxen and freshly baked bread, and of warm cakes stuffed with dates and dripping with honey. In the centre of each table stood a small idol of a goddess bearing cow horns on her headdress – Hathor, Ovidius recalled from Suriyana's brief lesson on the Afragian-Egyptian gods – to bless the feast.

Those who were seated were arranged by rank and by gender; men on one side, women on the other, although Ovidius noted that married couples sat together. He scanned over them, and then began to search out his target among the standing guests. She found him first.

“I've been waiting for the chance to talk with a fellow disciple of Anubis from the new world.” said Iset, the vizier of the Egyptian court and second challenger for the throne of Pharoah. She was a tall woman, taller than Ovidius, with high cheekbones and a long nose, and an array of flowers woven into her jet-black hair. Ovidius recognised her face from the pictures Anne had shown them, and she had sat thoughtfully through their first address where they had given away the secrets that could help her and her people destroy Afragia and Dun Moriga. Up close, Ovidius noted that she had very bright green eyes, intelligent and slightly mocking. Although her name was a dedication to Isis, she wore the sigil of Anubis at the throat of her richly-embroidered gown.

“Thank you for speaking Namorian.” Ovidius replied with a slight smile, as an olive-skinned dancing girl threaded between them and hung a necklace of flowers around his neck before twirling deftly away. “Wanting to cross-examine the witness?”

“You have a suspicious mind.” Iset said, and cocked her head playfully. “Often the hallmark of a dishonourable man.”

“I’m an assassin priest of Anubis. Our concept of honour is slightly different.”

Iset smiled. “Just so.” She beckoned for him to follow, and led him through the crowd towards her seat near the top of the main table. The Pharoah's seat at the head of the table remained conspicuously empty.

“You don't sit there yet?” Ovidius asked, nodding towards the golden chair.

The vizier chuckled lightly. “Not yet. My competitors are still bribing, threatening and brainwashing enough people to keep themselves in the running.”

“I don't think Ra would take kindly to you accusing his high priest of brainwashing.”

“It's not Ahsha I'm worried about.” Iset pointed with a long finger. “It's Shanaar.”

Ovidius recognised Shanaar, the Egyptians' foremost military leader, from Anne's briefing as well. During their address to the Egyptian court Shanaar had been more animated than Iset, his eyes practically glittering with ambition as he turned their precious information into attack plans and set them out before the council. Luckily the rest of the court had firmly opposed any mobilisation until the mages finished the great pyramid. Shanaar was currently standing in deep conversation with two of his colleagues, and even in his light civilian tunic it was clear from his bearing and his muscled physique that he was a military man. His face was strong-jawed and aquiline beneath his rigidly shaved scalp.

“That man is cold iron.” Iset said.

Ovidius picked up on the edge of contempt in the vizier's tone, and responded accordingly. “You mean, crude and improved by beating?”

Iset laughed. “Perhaps. It's strange – when it comes down to it we want the same thing. To bring this land under Egyptian rule. To use its riches to glorify the gods. In a past life I won the people's acclaim for my building projects in houses and temples, something I've been working to provide here also. But these things cost gold. Gold we can find in Afragia.”

Ovidius nodded. Rich seams of precious metal ran through the caverns to the east of Dun Moriga, where the Afragians had built their subterranean cities. The surface colonies were rich in trade, but it was below the ground where the true wealth lay. The underground cities were hard to attack by their very nature, but with a knowledge of the tunnels that connected them, a devastating surprise attack became possible.

“A temporary alliance seems like the obvious solution.” Ovidius opined. “So obvious that I take it there's something stopping you and general Shanaar from forming one.”

Iset chewed her tongue, still staring at Shanaar. “He wants to invade Afragia as much as I do, probably more. But he tends towards a scorched earth policy. What good will a conquered province be if we smash all its infrastructure? Not to mention he'll alienate the natives, and we'll need their armies as much as our own. All we need to do is kill the loyal officers – a coin in the palm should do for the common soldiers.”

“I was hoping our information would give you as quick and bloodless victory as possible.” Ovidius said carefully, pausing to pick a goblet of wine from a group that had been decoratively arranged on a side table.

“Every soldier would be an asset.” Iset admitted. “The orcs are massing under Dun Moriga.”

Ovidius frowned and lowered his cup. “Orcs?”

Iset's expression became slightly mocking again as Ovidius revealed his ignorance. “Unfortunately, fellow disciple, we're not the only people who rose with Nemesis. Odin's backlash to his son's death created much darker things.”

Ovidius didn't bother to hide all of the surprise and fear that welled up inside him. There had been hints that the death of the barbarian king Korzan had angered Odin, and that the goddess Nemesis was somehow involved in the events now wracking Eternum, but it seemed that the immortals held more pieces of the puzzle than the imperium did. Ovidius wondered if the allies that his mistress and her husband general Marcius had managed to make knew more than they had shared. And if these 'orcs' were massing under Dun Moriga, what were Marcius and his legions walking into? He swallowed.

“That's why we need your leadership.” he said at length. “You're the chosen of the gods. They told us so.”

“General Shanaar likes to think he's the gods' chosen.” Iset replied, her voice dropping until it was almost a growl. “But he's doing everything for the wrong reasons. Anubis will see him judged.”

Ovidius paused for a moment before answering, sensing something more behind the vizier's words. “And what are the right reasons?”

Iset took a deep breath, the turquoise bracelets that covered her wrists jingling as she folded her arms.

“In our previous life, my husband ruled the courts of Egypt in Anubis' name. But he...he died before his time. I took over and ruled in his stead until our son came of age. I was so successful and respected that they made me vizier. But when we rose from the underworld, neither my husband nor my son were deemed worthy of reincarnation. That's why I'm going to become Pharoah. That's why I'm going to win. I'm going to take Afragia's wealth to provide for the gods and their chosen people. I'm going to take Afragia's soldiers to keep their chosen people safe from these monsters that Odin's blind rage accidentally created. And then I'll cement their safety by crushing the threat that is the Namorian imperium. I'm going to show the gods that I am worthy, so that they return my family to me.”

It was hard not to be beguiled by the vizier's natural charm and confidence, but it was this latest revelation that actually succeeded in cutting into Ovidius' resolve, however temporarily. He steeled himself and forged ahead. I serve mistress Lycinia; I serve the Namorian imperium. And this is what I have to do. And Iset's revelation had just given him the perfect leverage. He put down his cup of wine, and motioned Iset to one side, away from the other guests.

“I'm here as a bodyguard for the priestesses of Ra.” he said, “But I'm a servant of Anubis, and I would rather see another true servant of his on the throne. If you need to remove Shanaar as a rival, then I'll help you do that.”

Ovidius thought that Iset's penetrating eyes were looking at him with a new-found respect, but he couldn't be sure. The vizier was a difficult woman to read, even for an experienced spy like himself. But then Iset's lips tightened.

“Anubis has granted me his jackal warriors.” she said. “But they aren't enough to overwhelm Shanaar's own honour guard.”

Ovidius allowed a smile to creep across his face. “The original Afragian population of New Giza are still here, aren't they? They'll listen to a fellow Eternan like me. And I can find a way through Shanaar's guards for you. All I need from you is protection against any...displeasure my priestesses might show at interfering with your political process.” He straightened, and looked Iset in the eye. A consummate liar, he never flinched. “You do that, and Anubis willing, you'll have your throne, your victory, and your family.”

CrumpetCannon
01-17-2014, 08:30 AM
The Admiral had buckled his sword to his waist before the two seamen had finished talking, threading the leather belt through the clasp and shutting it with a shallow click, a sound that had come to signify conquest. His coat was thrown around his shoulders to drape haphazardly, wasting no time in properly affixing the garment, he nodded to the two men and they led him out onto the deck of the Aptitude.

Crewmen ran to and fro across the deck, alive with the activity and the act of naval battle, their eyes were alight with the unmistakeable fire of survival, some of them bore grim smiles.
The Beast wallowed in the distance, it's sun bleached back breaching the surface lazily to take in air, before sinking ominously into the depths. It had taken one prize ship already, and rescue squads were travelling dangerously close to the whale's last location in order to save as many of the lost ship's floating crew as they could, they risked their lives to save others, Clemente would not let that go unsung.

"Orders, Sir?"

Clemente took a moment to put his hat on his head, adjusting the brim and looking over the suddenly toiling surface of the sea, his eyes alert and dangerous.

"Bring her about and prepare harpoons, the Leviathan lays beneath the fleet, so we cannot risk cannon fire, we would be more likely to hit our own. Radio the steel battleships, I want every gun accurate enough to pinpoint a single target trained on that thing."

The officer saluted and began shouting orders to all aboard the Aptitude, before reaching for the radio at his belt and relaying the Admiral's instructions to the HMS Belfast.
The Admiral gazed over the port bow, the fleet had dispersed, clearing a space of water a few hundred yards wide in which the Leviathan had last reared its scarred head, ships floated in near silence awaiting the Beast's next emergence.
Drawing his sword, Clemente took hold of some rigging and stood atop the waist-high lip of the ship, anxious for the arrival of the dreaded creature and giddy with the the encroaching adrenaline rush that rode the waves of naval battle, he dug his fingers into the coarse rope and swivelled his sword hand in the socket, the tip carving small figure-of-eights in the salt laden air.

The sound of splintering wood rang out across the fleet as the Leviathan surfaced violently, it's elongated head spearing straight through the tough hull of a schooner with ease, carrying the doomed vessel upwards high above its brethren, the pale creature actually rising halfway out of the water with the force of it's breach.
Gunpowder roared as men turned their rifles around and fired at the white hide mere yards from their boats, swivel guns pierced the whale's armour and painted the air black, men took running starts, screaming in anger and exertion as they flung harpoons and spears with Olympian strength, the cruel barbs sticking outwards from the creature's underbelly, shredding flesh and bringing forth an ululation of pain.

And what a sound it was, the Leviathan's mighty jaws snapping open and delivering a shrieking whine that drove men to their knees and tore the very air with shrill talons. The schooner that it carried in it's terrible maw was torn in half and flung in two directions. The whale's cry ended and it pitched backwards, crashing through the surface and disappearing in a matter of seconds, taking three more boats with it, the resulting wave forced a great many vessels backwards to scrape against their sister ships.
Clemente swore colourfully, bellowing orders and picking up a harpoon of his own, testing the haft for imperfections and feeling the weight of the barbed weapon.

"Battleships in position, sir!"

The Admiral turned and was met with the sight of three huge metal-wrought battleships drifting carefully towards them, their lighter guns primed and ready for execution. He nodded and turned back to the open ocean, awaiting the Beast's third emergence.

They didn't have to wait long, the creature broke the surface like a shark, it's gnarled back gliding across the still liquid without disturbing it. Jets were scrambled from aboard the nearby aircraft carriers, the gleaming machines pirouetting through the air and taking aim at the glaring target, loosing missiles that gouged huge chunks out of the Leviathan's hide but doing nothing to slow it's momentous charge.
The Beast's massive head collided with the side of a large ship-of-the-line, warping the thick wood for a half second before the hull splintered and caved inwards outright, the crew aboard the vessel cried out, some flinging themselves overboard while others clung stubbornly to the hopelessly destroyed vessel, uselessly casting a few dozen more harpoons and slugs into the whale's broad head. Their screams were halted by the watery grave that the whale dragged them into.

Clemente roared and gestured with his sword, gunfire and shouts answered him, and the Leviathan's quickly submerging body was peppered with lead and harpoons, the gargantuan white tail flared up at the end of the whale's dive, and just before it sank downwards into the depths a well placed shot from one of the metal battleships tore it apart, chunks of flesh and sticky black blood was flung in every direction, and the Beast paid for it's headstrong advances with half of it's tail.

The same pained sound rang out, this time from beneath the surface of the sea, which vibrated violently with the whale's agony. The Admiral clamped his hands over his ears and glared through watering eyes at the tattered scraps of whale flesh that bobbed along beside the Aptitude.

Presently a half dozen military helicopters drifted outwards from their hulking steel nests to hover resolutely above the masts of the assembled ships, some of which were so close together that crewmen could and in fact were jumping between them carrying orders or just getting into better shooting positions.
All mounted guns swivelled towards any and all ripples that graced the surface of the water, the thousands of men present wary of the accursed Leviathan's next arrival, harpoons were poised above shoulders, wavering but never dropping as hard-wrought sailors fought against the encroaching presence of muscular exhaustion and weariness, rifles were trained and swords were brandished, all alive in the midst of conflict against a near insurmountable foe.

Admiral Clemente wiped the sweat from his brow with a hand that still clutched his beloved sword, casting his eyes about for the Beast's milky presence beneath the gentle waves.

"Radio the Belfast, I want every single piece of heavy artillery drilled straight through that wretch's thick skull. I want the next breach to be the last time the dreaded Leviathan tastes air."

The Aptitude bobbed gently as something incomprehensibly huge drifted underneath it.

And that was all the warning they had.

The Bartender
01-20-2014, 09:09 PM
New Giza

Ann hated this kind of occasions, she had hated them since her childhood and she still hated them; official parties and dinners... She just hated the formalities and how boring they were. But this one was a bit different but still, it was a formal dinner she so hated.
As the evening went forward Ann observed how Ovidius neared Iset and it seemed that the gear of betrayal and secrets had started to grind, mostly toward her favor. She had already talked with Ahsha but not yet about the plan to support Shanaar in order to avoid a civil war.
Ahsha was a strange Egyptian, he was very tall, almost 6'3" tall and his head wasn't shaved and his hair was almost at the length of his shoulders. He wasn't wearing the typical robes of a high priestess but a waist robe with the symbols of Ra on it as well as a large tattoo of a sun on his chest that glowed faintly even in dark. He was sitting on some pillows in the rear of the group of people.
"May I join you, High Priest?" Ann asked as she stood besides the man. Ahsha looked at her and nodded;
"Of course Earthborn Priestess, only the gods can forbid you from doing something." He said as Ann sat down. Ahsha then looked at Suriyana;
"Your pupil is quiet gifted, I have great hopes for her to succeed you someday." The large man smiled, it was so hard for Ann to say how old Ahsha was but she then shook her head;
"She is not yet a full adept, she hasn't made the vows yet and I'm not sure if she even wishes to do them, I just teach her everything I can without binding her." Ann then looked at the other two leaders of Egyptians;
"I hope you know you can't fight against Shanaar or Iset? Shanaar has the army behind himself and Iset has the Anubites under her control. And your people can only fight during the day so Shanaar and Iset cannot be beaten by your powers alone." Ann said as she took a sip of vine.
"You are right, I knew it from the beginning, but how should I act? Do nothing as the two others cause a war against their own people? Not with me." Ahsha sounded very angry as he said it but his expression didn't change at all.
"I would prefer you to support Shanaar. He has the army and the people trust him maybe you should join forces with him." Ann said and stood up, "Think about it High Priest, it could help you much more than fighting alone." This said Ann walked away and rejoined Suriyana.

Azazeal849
01-24-2014, 04:49 PM
EMOR

Gaius Octavius continued to chant, focusing all his willpower on the chip of broken axe and the icons of Nemesis that he had arranged around it. For a moment he thought he saw a shimmer of light flicker around the chip, but just as quickly it faded. This was the fourth time this had happened. Dropping his arms to his sides in frustration, Gaius abandoned the ritual incantation and swore aloud.

After nearly an hour of relentless channelling, his eyes burned and his joints ached from the magical overflow. Gaius dug the heel of one hand into his temple, trying to massage away his pounding headache. As he surfaced from the magical plane and became aware once again of his surroundings, he realised that there was someone else in the room with him.

"Gaius." Seppia said gently, stepping up behind him and threading her arms around his chest. "Come and eat. The slaves are serving breakfast."

"Nemesis won't grant me a vision." Gaius sighed. His voice rose in anger as a violent strike of his hand swept the axe chip and the magical foci around it off the table and sent them skittering across the tiled floor. "She won't answer!"

Seppia flinched, and hugged him tighter in an attempt to calm him down. "Try again later. After you've had a chance to rest."

"The killers aren't resting." Gaius growled. "When I find those Southern barbarians I'll see their hearts parted from their fucking chests."

"And I'll be there holding the knife." Seppia promised, before losing patience with her husband's outburst. "But right now, our son is wondering why his father isn't at the breakfast table."

Gaius tore his eyes away from the now empty table, and felt a pang of guilt as he turned round and saw Titus hovering by the door in his striped tunic, his eyes fixed on the artefacts that Gaius had angrily scattered across the floor.

"Dad?" Titus asked uncertainly, his eyes flitting between Gaius and Seppia.

Gaius squeezed his wife's wrist by way of apology, and slid away from her to draw his son into his arms. Titus was about the same height that Marcus had been, and the same skinny build, though even as a child Titus had his father's angular face. For a horrible moment Gaius was back at the funeral, except this time it wasn't his cousin's family but his own wife and son on the pyre. If Southerners can reach Emor, how easy might it have been for them to reach our villa instead of cousin Lycinia's? How easy might it still be?

"I'm sorry, Titus." he said, stiffly, as he kissed his son's curly hair. "You...you're precious to me."

Gaius made a conscious effort to enjoy the normality of breakfast with his family, but soon after the slaves had cleared away the plates he gathered his cloak, and slipped the recovered shard of the Southerner's axe into his pocket. In the paved thoroughfares and narrow side streets of Emor, the morning routine of praying, commuting and doing business went on as smoothly as it ever had. But Gaius could see subtle differences. People were avoiding the plaza where the Marcius villa had stood, changing direction and hurrying past long before they reached the barriers set up by the royally-commissioned rebuilding workers.

There were signs of the wider conflict across the imperium too. There were fewer traders, and those that remained were arguing vehemently over prices that had been driven up by the disruption of the Hercinian trade routes. There were a lot more beggars slumped at the sides of the roads, and as Gaius passed them he noticed a disproportionate number of blonde-haired Combrogi among them. Thousands of refugees had limped into Emor from the conflicts in the provinces - far more than the city could accomodate. Gaius had heard that some of them were selling themselves into slavery to try and feed their families, and the rich farmers and miners of Namor were eagerly snapping up the free labour.

The exploitation of the imperium's desperate and vulnerable was a matter for the emperor and his senators, not Gaius Octavius. As he exited Emor's southern gate he passed one of the sullen refugee camps arrayed outside the city walls, where a bread distribution line was only stopped from becoming a riot by the presence of a dozen blue-cloaked men of the city watch. The Southerner-like hair and features of the frustrated Combrogi refugees soured Gaius' mood, and he urged his horse into a trot as he started down the southern highroad. Nemesis had to answer him. Whatever her involvement in the current war, she was the balancer of the scales, and a crime as grievous as the one inflicted by the Southern assassins demanded balance. Decius Marcius and his family had committed no crime against the gods. Something else had to be protecting the killers. If his spells to locate the assassins were failing, then he needed a stronger magical focus to cast from, to overpower whatever counterspells the assassins were employing. There was no stronger focal point in all of Namor than the mages' guild.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he reached his destination, but the road leading up to the guild's perimeter wall was a morbid one - the vertical posts that had been hammered into the ground for the Roman prisoners' crucifixion hadn't been taken down.

The guild is now an execution ground for traitors, is it? Gaius thought sourly. Not even subtle, emperor Galen. That's low, even for you.

The crucifixion posts left the place with a grim, threatening air, but Gaius could still feel the ambient magic tingling in his fingers as he approached. He kicked his horse forward in anticipation, and that was when he saw the guards. There were eight of them, men of the 3rd Invictus legion with its spread-winged hawk painted across their grounded shields.

"Halt." one of them instructed him as soon as he got close enough to talk without shouting. "What business do you have here, citizen?"

Gaius tossed his cloak over his shoulder to better display his rich tunic and chains of office, including the gold seal of the mages' guild.

"Gaius Octavius, patrician of the imperium and emperor-sanctioned practicioner of the magic arts." He looked up at the partially ruined round-tower that was just visible over the curtain wall. "I wish to harness the risidual magic of this place to locate an enemy of the imperium, so they can be brought to justice."

The legionary looked up at him, stony faced. "My apologies sir. As of this morning, all magic is now banned within the homeland of Namor, except by express written permission of the emperor. Do you have such permission?"

"I do not." Gaius returned angrily. "What prompted the senate to ban all magic?"

"The murder of the Marcius family, sir." the legionary said, his tone still studiously neutral. "The killers arrived and escaped without being seen or stopped by anyone. The senate has concluded that they could only have done this with magical help."

Gaius' expression turned cold. "I see."

"And sir?" the legionary added as Gaius wheeled his horse around to leave. "If it hasn't arrived already, you'll be receiving a letter from the senate soon. All registered members of the mages' guild are being ordered to surrender any magical artefacts in their possession to the emperor."

Gaius didn't say anything, but the expression of indignant fury on his angular face spoke enough. Yanking his horse's reins to one side to complete his turn, he raked his heels back into the animal's ribs and galloped away.


* * * * * *

Seppia sat thinking for a long moment after Gaius finished explaining what had happened at the guild.

"I suppose he thinks it's to protect us." she said at last, absently waving away the Combrogi house slave who was pouring their wine so that they would have privacy.

"No." Gaius growled as the slave retreated. "Emperor Galen is cracking down on mages. He's been wanting to curb us for years. He didn't lift a finger to save the guild; it was only those few troops that you, Julia and Lycinia, bless her memory managed to sweet talk that-"

"And why did the guild need saving?" Seppia pointed out. "Demons don't just appear this far away from Tartarus. Didn't the chief magus confide in you just a few months ago? That he was worried about the emperor finding out three of his recent graduates had run off south to join Korzan? And that he was afraid magus Cornelius was planning something reckless to keep the guild relevant in the face of all the new engineering breakthroughs?"

"Watch it." Gaius snarled, pointing a threatening finger at his wife. "Our son barely escaped the place. Are you calling him a traitor? Are you calling me?"

Seppia looked shocked, and then angry. "No." she said coldly.

"Well what do you want me to do?"

"Do as the senate orders, of course." Seppia said, stiffly. Her pretty face was hard and drawn down. "Let me handle this."

She drank her wine, and stood up with a rustle of silks. Before Gaius could say anything else she had stalked agitatedly out of the room, signalling curtly to her body slave to accompany her to the bathroom.

Gaius drained his own cup, thumped it down on the table next to his couch, and almost immediately felt guilty.


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

"I don't usually receive visitors this late in the evening." Shanaar said neutrally. His voice was deep, and unlike most of the other Egyptians carried a notable trace of his original accent when he spoke Namorian.

The Egyptian general was sandy-skinned and heavily built, his strong hands curled around the arms of his chair. His face was long and aquiline, with a hooked nose and piercing eyes that fixed on Ovidius in the same way an eagle might home in on a desert rat it had just seen bolting across the dunes below. Something about him made even the seasoned spy nervous. Here was a man with power, ambition, and - if Iset was to be believed - the ruthlessness to raze whole countries without flinching.

Ovidius himself stood before the general's seat in a simple black tunic; unarmed, and with two Egyptian soldiers flanking him, their hands resting on the hilts of their khopeshes. The stone chamber remained warm even as night drew on outside and the temperature continued to drop, bracketed torches and a fire in a clay-brick hearth providing heat as well as light. The walls were covered with painted symbols of Isis - thrones, sycamore trees, a woman with feather sleeves holding an ankh.

"The political situation being what it is," Ovidius said levelly, "I thought it best to be circumspect."

Shanaar's eagle gaze dropped to the jackal icon hanging around Ovidius' neck. "You followers of Anubis and your shadow games." he grunted, with a slight smile. "You've given me the keys to your kingdom, Namorian. What new intelligence do you have for me?"

"Good news, general." Ovidius said, inclining his head slightly. "I thought you should know that the priestesses of Ra are here to negotiate support for you, at the sun god's command."

Shanaar raised his eyebrows, the only visible hair on his carefully shaved head. "Explain?"

"You're the one the gods have chosen. Ra has instructed them to talk Ahsha into supporting you."

Ovidius was nonchalant, but he knew that he was in trouble if Shanaar did not believe the lie. He and Suriyana had proved their loyalty by laying Afragia bare to invasion, but they were still newcomers to the Egyptian court. He resisted the urge to let out a breath, however surreptitiously, as he saw a flicker of triumph cross Shanaar's face. The Egyptian general must have believed him, or at least wanted to, because he couldn't completely hide his satisfaction as Ovidius told him of the gods' favour. Then Shanaar laughed; a low, threatening sound that didn't alter his facial expression.

"Your priestesses heard Ra's command, while the high priest himself did not?" Ovidius felt his stomach drop. "Either he's not fit for his station or he's more ambitious than I thought."

Ovidius suppressed a second sigh of relief as the Egyptian general leaned forward in his chair, the gold chains around his neck chinking together softly.

"I admire ambition, young Namorian." he said. His tone was suddenly very dangerous. "But not when it is directed against me. If that is truly why your priestesses were talking to Ahsha, why were you talking to that snake Iset? My rival who, like you, is a follower of the jackal god."

Ovidius forced himself to focus. He hadn't expected his conversation with Iset to go unnoticed, and he was ready for it. He had gained Shanaar's trust with information once; now he could do it again.

"That's the other thing I thought you should know, general." he said. "Like you said, I follow Anubis, as does Iset. She thought to make me an ally. She wanted me to use my status as a native to win over the other Afragians in New Giza, so that they'd support her. She wanted them...and me...to help assassinate you."

Once again Shanaar tried to hide his emotion from Ovidius; this time it was anger. The spy saw Shanaar's fingernails dig tighter into the arms of his chair. But the Egyptian general was still suspicious.

"And what do you gain by telling me this? If you're a potential threat, what if I have you killed now?"

Ovidius sensed the guards to either side of him shifting, fists curling around khopesh hilts. This time it was him who couldn't completely hide his unease.

"I am Anubis' servant." he began, swallowing as subtly as he could to moisten his dry throat. "Iset isn't. She isn't the impartial judge that the jackal god represents. He works in the shadows, but he still has honour, and so do I. I might only be here as bodyguard for the priestesses, but I agree with them. Neither of the other candidates are capable enough to lead an army and win the war against both Afragia and the orcs. This is clearly the gods' will. They chose you, and they chose well."

Shanaar looked at Ovidius for what seemed like an age, hunched forward in his chair like a vulture over its prey. Then, very slowly, he leaned back. Ovidius felt some unspoken signal pass to the guards, and they dropped their hands from their weapon hilts.

"And so did you, it would seem." Shanaar said, smiling tightly.

Twelve fucking hells! That was too close.

Abruptly, Shanaar drove his palms into the armrests of the chair and jerked to his feet, his hands curling into fists. He moved as fast and as suddenly as lightning.

"That vizier is a snake!" he spat, suddenly furious. "Named for Isis, claims to serve Anubis, and would be better off serving the demon Apophis! I am Isis' chosen! Me! She wouldn't have raised me to where I am now if she didn't want me to rule! And this snake pit of a royal court refuses to accept it! At least soldiers have honesty! And honour! That bitch Iset will burn for this, and at the hands of the god she claims to represent! I'll send her to him myself!"

Ovidius was suddenly very aware of the Anubis amulet around his neck, its weight suddenly seeming to pull him down. He works in the shadows, but he still has honour. No-one's less deserving of wearing his badge than me. But there was no turning back now. Shanaar's anger had burned itself out, and now he stood with his back to Ovidius, his chest heaving as he leaned against the edge of a nearby table.

"It might be wise, general." Ovidius said quietly once the general had fallen silent. "To make it clear to everyone that Iset was the aggressor here."

Shanaar paused, then exhaled sharply and spun to face Ovidius. His face was calm again, but his eyes still smouldered murderously.

"And what would you suggest?"

"A trap." Ovidius answered.

Epostle
01-31-2014, 04:43 AM
Gabrielle

Gabrielle’s comment didn’t seem to put Salvius at any kind of ease. It didn’t matter to Gabrielle due to the fact that there were more important matter to resolve. First of all, Gabrielle was bound by cuffs that seemed to restrained any magical affinity… again. Second, Gabrielle was wondering when the next time that the little dark elf Numiera was going to snap again. Having her snap at a time like that would not only ravage Gabrielle himself, but what of the others? Sure they were strong, but what was inside that girl wasn’t anything to be trifled with. The power intrigued Gabrielle no doubt, yet Gabrielle felt a bit uneasy about it, knowing that it comes during times of injury.

Gabrielle began thinking to himself about how the entity in her reacted. It must be some kind of self defense mechanism to prevent further harm to the hosts body. Possibly parasitic, but hoping mutualistic in nature. The tendency to use a dark magic to harm an enemy but letting them be unaware at the same time made it seem more of an assassins approach. That is the normal approach to shadow magic. “It who thirsts within the darkness to consume its pray,” Gabrielle said out loud and to himself in his normal monotonic manner.

“Salvius… I just want to be perfectly clear when I say… I didn’t want Kuronus to die or be hurt. The way I said it was abrupt and harsh. I forget the easiness of the heart at times and how it can be swayed from one thought to another. However, I wont take back what I said about him dying an honorable death for us… that being said… I was like you. I wanted to go back and save him, but knew if we did that, we would have thrown everything he was going to sacrifice for us. I just want you to know, anything Kuronus did for us was not in vein, and I’m sure he survived. The beast within him would most definitely make sure of that.”

“One thing I want to know, Salvius, before we get this strangers answer to your question, in which I want to know to, what do you truly know about the Gods and the Demon Lords? It seems pretty fascinating on how people view them and personify them, though they probably never met them before.” Gabrielle asked as he took some sand along Numiera’s castle and began to add upon what she had.

Shacorai

“Chaaru… I can’t hear you… nor can you hear me. I feel the presence of the night within you somewhere deep inside you… and I question… are you so easily controlled?” Shacorai was asking the mindless Chaaru, though he couldn’t hear Shacorai. A long history between Chaaru and Shacorai had sparked a hate amongst each other.

Though Shacorai and Chaaru hated each other, Shacorai couldn’t help but to hate Chaaru’s sword, Gluttony even more. The fact that Gluttony wasn’t around Chaaru anymore made Shacorai feel uneasy, even for a demon. Walking through his nether, Shacorai began to laugh and smile. “Enough about that, what I’m interested in right now are the people who are following us.” Shacorai fixed his sight at them.

“Yessssssss….” He hissed in his demonic pleasure of knowing that there were always more pawns to play with. “Mar’s, you were foolish to let that mortal fool Marcius wield me. You have done nothing more than bolster me and freed me from my jailer, and for that, I thank you. Through the hate of the battle for Hircine… I have broken through to the plane of recovery.” Shacorai said peacefully. “Give me more hate…”

La Volpe
01-31-2014, 09:21 PM
Kuronus couldn't help but shiver slightly as he made his way silently into the tunnels he'd just escaped from. He moved slowly, placing his bare feet precisely with each step to minimize the noise he made. "Of all the tales I'll share... This will never be one of them.." the ranger grumbled, trying to ignore the rather unpleasant chill creeping up his body from between his legs. The ranger stopped for a moment, trying to shake the odd feeling that was quickly growing within him. Then it hit him... It was quite, far too quiet. There was nothing he ranger could do but continue forward though, he'd be damned if he left behind his gear for the dwarves to destroy or reuse.

All around the Ranger, blood and gore covered the floor. The sound of his feet padding in puddles of blood echoed through the caverns echoed across the walls and alerted anything nearby to his presence, though there was nothing living nearby. The walls were also coated in thick layers of crimson, shrouding the gray rock surfaces with ichor, sometimes bits of flesh dangled from the walls, though it was unknown which part of the body they had come from.

Kuronus had to constantly fight to keep down the bile trying to escape his stomach like a demon from hell as he made his way forward. He was no stranger to this amount of death and gore... But the enclosed space of the dwarven tunnels seemed to triple the potency of the smell emitting off of everything around him. He did his best to avoid the larger piles of shredded corpses, not wanting to step on any bones and cut himself, knowing fully well how deadly blood can be to one with open wounds. Stopping for a moment, the ranger looked around himself, trying to get a baring on where exactly he was, and where he had to go to find his gear, he was over feeling gore between his toes.
The trail of remains seemed to take a turn down the tunnels and seemed to be a gruesome bread crumb trail that wound down the halls and back to where Kuronus had started.

The ranger was no stranger to large amounts of gore and death, but he couldn't help but get a odd uneasy feeling the farther he went into the tunnels. Winding back and forth for what seemed to be forever, Kuronus began to loose hope that he'd ever see his beloved gear again, or even see the surface again. Just when the ranger was on the verge of giving in and turning back, a flash of silver caught his eye.

Upon the ground ahead of him, laying with a pair of trousers sat Kuronus's blade, unblocked yet smothered with gore made not of it's own sharp edge. It stuck out like a sore thumb, even underneath the bleed and bone fragments left behind after the wolf mans slaughter. This part of the tunnel seemed to be the most brutal, with the dripping sounds being made from blood as it trickled down the walls and onto the floor ever so delicately.

Without hesitation, the ranger pulled his beloved sword from the gore pile where it lied, a sense of calm slowly creeping into him. Wiping the gore off as best as he could, Kuronus rested the sword against the tunnel wall, and donned his missing pants, ecstatic to feel the uncomfortable draft suddenly vanish from his nether region. With sword in hand, and a pair of pants finally on, Kuronus looked around himself at what could only be the origin point of the blood bath he'd been following. It only took him a moment to discern what had caused this. It was a creature he knew all to well, and one he'd seen the handy work of more times then he'd like to remember. The only possible thing that could have been. Him.

Minasm
02-02-2014, 04:54 AM
As the steep Dun Morigan hills began to disappear from sight, both Vardren and Cass began to grow suspicious of their host. While his demonic influence seemed almost positive, they were given very little information as to who exactly had summoned them, or to where exactly it was they were going. In fact, when they first encountered Chaaru, Cass had almost attacked him out of instinct--Vardren stopped her, much to her protest.

"Chaaru..." Vardren felt the words roll off his tongue, savoring the sound for a moment in the vast forest expanse of Cambrogia. The ride had been silent for a long while, which was surprising given Cass was with him. It had been comfortable, in fact, until Vardren realized just how far they had gone. It was not unnerving to him; it was rather irritating, in fact. Chaaru had given them nothing to prove his connection to their own visions. For all they knew, he could've been just as crazy as they were, and nothing more than a wanderer.

The thought of wanderers drew his attention back to the coffin strapped to his steed. The noise had stopped, so he assumed his poison was done with its work. Vardren turned away with a scowl--he missed his favorite part of the ordeal to follow his sister's maniacal dreams.

You had them too. Remember?

"Devourer." he said at last, "We have traveled with you without question thus far, but I do wonder... what have you to prove that you are, in fact, the man we are to be following? I don't care about who you are, or where you came from, but since we are traveling together I do wish to know where we are going."

Cass perked up at her brother's voice, staring intently at Chaaru for a reply. When Varden finished, she piped up herself; "Don't lie to us. We may have come from the middle of nowhere, but we can practically smell a liar." Cass giggled at her own words before leaning forward in her saddle. She too was curious about the Devourer, but Vardren had already told her not to speak to him before, and until that moment, she didn't want to disappoint him.

Chaaru stopped and turned towards the two humans, his completely black eyes somehow staring at the pair of them inquisitively, his mouth opened and his foreboding voice rolled from his tongue: "Smelling a liar is poor practice. Mortals lie all of their lives, some more than others. Like a dog chasing that which kills - in some way, we all kill. You do not believe that I am Chaaru?.." His voice was joined with another's, dark and more sinister - yet oddly comforting to the two siblings. The man-that-was-not-quite-human held out his palms to touch the heads of the two vampires, and as he made contact they were pulled violently from reality.

Cass found herself in a warm living room, circular in shape and with a fireplace and a long padded chair - supposedly popular with Earthborn aristocrats within Eternum; the floor had a rug covering it, made of the finest silk that Afragia could offer. Above the wide fireplace - which crackled like a pig on a spit and burned with the intensity of Ra's sun - a large panel sat, broadcasting the suffering of mentally ill patients inside hospitals; stressed out children; depressed suicidal maniacs. Upon the walls were multiple paintings. One of a male figure with a feminine upper body, his face gaunt and covered with a slight beard, his head was covered in long brown hair and his eyes were a deep chestnut. Behind the calm and placid visage that left you almost wondering 'what does the smile mean' there was a maddening feel to the painting.

Next to it sat a painting depicting multiple dogs sitting around a table, with one other participant playing a game of cards with them - the same male from the painting that lay on it's left. He always looked towards the recipient, as if he knew something Cass didn't.

The paintings and illustrations continued, some of the emperors and kings of Namor and it's provinces, but all with different faces - the same face. A coughing sound came from the chair as that face rose, peeking over the cushions.

"Bloody hell, what's a mortal doing in the 'Hoth-cave'?!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows raised and his brown hair drifting downwards in a perfectly chaotic fashion. Though the rest of his body save for his nose, eyes and the top of his head did not show themselves, it was obvious that the face matched the paintings. The chestnut eyes squinted at Cass.

"Who are you? What do you want?" The man asked, at a lackadaisical yet fast - almost rude - tone and speed. "How'd you even get in here?! Did Ra leave you behind or something?"
Cass had been staring intently at each painting with a strange animosity: it certainly felt wrong that so many paintings had the same face: they might've been in different settings, but because they all had the same key element she could hardly call them different. She supposed that was the way of things, although it frustrated her greatly.

With a child-like curiosity, she moved from painting to painting, only stopping to occasionally watch the large monitor above the fireplace. So enamored was she, that she hardly registered the fact that she was no longer in Cambrogia on horseback. In fact, it was not until the sudden, and manly, voice in the back of the room spoke that she at last understood her predicament.

"Mortal?" It had been a long time since she had heard the word, not to mention it had been even longer since she had been one herself. "I'm not a mortal. I'm a vampire you twit. Now if you could just be quiet for...for..." Cass gazed at his face, and immediately associated it with the blatantly redundant paintings on the wall.

"You! You're the man with the face!" Cass gestured to the paintings erratically. "Why would you ruin these things like this? Can't you see you're in too many places at once?"

Places... what place am I in?

"Wait a minute... I was just in Cambrogia. How did I get here? Do you know where the Devourer is? Where Vardren is?" Cass began to seize up--where had she gone off to? Her absentmindedness had always been a problem, but this was simply too far. Vardren was certainly going to hurt her when he found out she ran off with some man--presuming that was what happened to begin with. Cass was about to cry when she remembered the man had asked her name. She then realized how terribly rude she had been but a moment before and inwardly cursed her own escalating insanity.

"I-I'm Cassandra. You may call me Cass if it please you. I'm sorry for being angry with you, but I need to get back to my brother in Cambrogia... Who are you?"

So quickly did her personality vary between hostile and complacent that not even she knew whether or not to attack the man. Violence was generally her default course of action, but something about the man with the face seemed oddly comforting to her. Additionally, she didn't want to do anything to further complicate her chances at finding her brother again.

"Ohhhh! The Devourer sent you...heavens; I heard Destruction had a bit of a tiff with him not too long ago..." The man rose, shirtless and wearing only silk boxer shorts. His hand rose and ran itself along his small stubbled. Another arm rose and ran through his hair, brushing stray strands back into his mane...And then another arm rose and scratched the hair on his chest...

The Man jumped spectacularly out of the chair and landed on the floor, with only two arms at his sides and the body of a normal man, the chink of what sounded like glass seemed odd. A small crack had appeared under the left eye of the nude-male; he ran his hand over the crack and the sound of an egg shell being broken came from the movement. When the hand moved it seemed that the crack had been erased from existence.

"So...Cass was it? Jesus you mortals have such weird names. My names Hothian...uh...lord of you know...madness and stuff." The Demon-Lord turned and poured out a liquid from a bottle - it seemed to defy all physics, and it lacked any discerning colours, simply making Cass feel small...as if the whole universe had been poured into a glass. Hothian took a spoon and dipped it into the liquid before pulling it out of the glass, acting like stringy cheese and being tough to move. He dropped it into his mouth and smiled at Cass, the whole situation seeming mad. "So." He slapped his lips as he chewed on the...thing. "What can I do for you?"

HOTHIAN!

"I-I-I" Cass had to grip the leathery chair to steady herself. It couldn't be real. She must have been dreaming. Even though she didn't want to believe it could be so, the man was all too real. Cassandra began to hyperventilate at the thought of meeting her god: what more could she possibly live for? All the conflicting thoughts--the rage, fear, and excitement--that controlled her mind came forth at once rendering her weak at the thought of it all.

"I'm your biggest admirer! I've read all the books about you--well, all the one's I own at least. Is it true your world is as delightfully random as they say? My brother, Vardren, opened my eyes to your truths, and I have been a devout follower ever since. I love madness too, and...well... there is just so much I wish I could talk to you about--rather, there are so many different voices inside of me that all want to talk to you at once about different things. Is that strange? Have I completely put you off?"

Soon her admiration turned to obsession; the paintings all over the walls were suddenly a hundred times better for bearing the face of her god, and the room a thousand times warmer for having housed him. Cass slunk to her knees, running her hands over the carpet to savor its warmth. After a time, she realized that the devourer must have sent her with a purpose.

"You ask if there is something you can do for me," Cass' eyes lingered on his manly visage, her appetite piqued by his radiant glory. "-but you've already done enough. On the contrary, all I've done is be terribly rude. I'll be punished for this for sure, but until that time comes, is there something... anything I can do for you? I can't say I have much world experience, but I'm good at dancing, cooking, and maiming. Surely you must have something you want done back in the mortal realm?"

Oh how I wish I could be here forever...

Cass lingered, waiting--no, hoping--for him to address her again. She hoped he wasn't offended, but at the same time, was curious to see what he would do if he ever was. She had read tales of the madhouse, and although to any sane person it would be a terrifying destination, to her it was a paradise. Perhaps the only thing more wonderful than meeting Hothian, would be getting a glimpse of his realm for herself, but even she wasn't foolish enough to beg for that privilege.

Hothian looked back and seemed to roll his eyes, turning away from the girl, who was obviously obsessing over the demon-lord. He groaned silently and turned around once more, fully clothed in a swirling edwardian tuxedo, random objects flying across the material, giving it no distinctive pattern. "Look, I mean I appreciate it an all but...you kinda interrupted me during my favourite show..." Hothian put his arm around the smaller woman and walked her to the door. "So uh...here's the uhm..." He pressed his finger against her left breast and she felt a flicker of energy within her. "The uh...knowledge of all the electric guitar songs in existence and uh...how to play them all..." The perplexed god looked at the girl and opened the door to the abyss. "I mean, it's always nice having visitors and all but, I mean, you can understand right? I mean we're friends aren't we." The demon lord wasted no time in an answer, giving her a dazzling, attractive, crude, insane smile to the girl before shoving her out of the door and into the abyss before brushing off his hands and closing the door behind him.

As the girl was rocketed back into reality, Chaaru looked upon here with his dark eyes before smirking. "My lord allows me to gift worshipers of his brethren with 'visits'." The Dark-Elf turned to Vardren. "However, it would appear that Beelzebub is busy with...preparations. Come, we have a long journey through the forests." As the two looked up, they noticed that the moon had risen and night was falling fast, the forests of Combrogia awaiting their entrance...and a huge orange beam of light that seemed to pulsate with pure energy awaited them.

"The first Ark has been opened. You are to come with me and be transported to an area where your skills may be more...useful." Chaaru continued to walk, allowing the two to notice a group of Combrogian-like men riding on horseback from afar - straight towards the party of three.

Vardren stared silently at Cass--she was swinging her head in a ridiculous up and down rythm--the likes of which he'd never seen before. What had Chaaru done to her? Then again, Chaaru spoke of some sort of... visit. If he truly held demonic sway, then perhaps he had shown Cassandra something of the sort.

"Sister." Vardren spoke, "What is this visit the Devourer speaks of?" Cassandra looked up all of a sudden, painfully aware of her surroundings. With a defeated cry, tears came streaming down her face. Obviously, she had been somewhere else after all.

"Oh brother... I saw him! My love..." Cassandra clutched her bosom, only stopping her sobs to utter a combination of profanity an laments. "Will I ever be happy again?" Vardren looked at his disheveled sister with displeasure. This was entirely unlike her, yet there was only one figure she had ever desired to romance, and that was Hothian. He knew that much at least.

Whether this Chaaru is a liar or not, I cannot say. Either he has demonic power beyond everything I have ever known, or he was smart enough to persuade my sister she was with Hothian. Perhaps the latter is more likely, but I suppose he's earned our time, at least for now.

It was then the riders finally came into Vardren's view. Licking his lips, the vampire really hoped they were hostile. He was beginning to get peckish.

"Cass. Brace yourself--it looks as if we might have company. You do love company don't you?" Both vampires watched Chaaru with analytical skepticism. He was leading the way now, and whether or not Vardren wanted to believe it, aiding the Devourer was the only way he was going to get closer to his goals.

Aureyon
02-03-2014, 10:48 PM
Ech Zilidar- North Wall

“Sir, the North-Eastern wall has fallen. We are doing what we can to hold back the orc invaders, but they will soon break through our lines!” a dwarf stained in blood, spoke swiftly and out of breath. The dwarf eyed the one he was delivering the message to, and awaited a response from him.

Clinking could be heard as the recipient of the message turned and eyed the messenger, with proud and noble emerald eyes; the eyes appeared to be a light with a fire that seemed to burn as strongly as Vulcan's forges. The iron-beard dwarf inhaled deeply, and began speaking in his gruff and powerful voice.

“Do not let them into our city. The Namorians have sent a legion to aid us, but they will be delayed. The paths to Ech Zilidar are...difficult, We must hold out.” his voice echoed in the silence that had fallen over those present at the exchange between the two warriors.

“Aye, sir.” the messenger said before departing back towards the North-Eastern wall.

The iron-beard sighed and turned to the assembled dwarves, all dressed in battle-worn armor, that was rent with dents and openings where enemy weapons had met the armor. If it were not dwarven-made, many of those standing in this pavilion would not be with him right now. Thankfully, they were gifted with the craft, by Vulcan himself; though this particular dwarf was not, he was gifted in a different way.

“Commanders, we must defend the walls to the last man. We cannot allow them to break through to Vulcan's Anvil. If they get that far, we will make our final stand upon the forges of our ancestors. Do not waste unnecessary resources on keeping the walls intact, they can be rebuilt. The lives of our people, and our heritage are far more important. Defend your sections of the walls until they can no longer be defended, and then fall back to Vulcan's Anvil.” he paused, and looked at the dwarves around him; 10 stern-faced, sturdy, and well-armored dwarves faced him, eyes alight with loyalty and respect.

“For Vulcan!” the iron beard roared, the deafening roar of ten dwarves echoing amidst the silent pavilion, and the sound of rushing feet as the commanders made their way to the walls designated to them. The dwarves were stretched thin, but they would have to hold out until help arrived, or until every last dwarf was slain.

“General Jornak, sir, you're needed at the North Eastern Wall, immediately”, nodding the Iron-beard sprinted towards the wall and eyed the defenders engaged in a stalemate with the orcs, and their allies. Upon arriving, he found that the commander that had been in charge of defending this wall was dead, and that they were losing ground quickly.

“Summon the mages”, Jornak said quickly to the messenger, who promptly zoomed off into the distance for the dwarven mages.

“Drork...Forni, come here!” he called out, the two closest dwarves rushing to him from the defensive line. “Aye, sir?” they spoke in unison, and looked upon the Hero of Dun Moriga with respect and admiration.

“Pour the oil along the walls on the outside, and pass it along. I want the wall covered from top to bottom in the oil.”, Jornak commanded with authority and power. A plan was formulating in his mind already, and had been upon arriving at his destination. He would create a wall of fire that would at least halt the invaders for a short time until it could be put out, in which case a new wave of attackers would begin assaulting the breach, only to find the dwarves having rallied together, and prepared to push back.

Jornak watched as the wall was covered in the oil, thick and rank with a stench that wasn't foreign to his nose. He had grown up in Ech Zilidar, and to smell oil was a common thing. It was a popular item in most dwarven communities, though not often was it used as he would use it now. His attention was diverted as the messenger returned with three mages, and he frowned slightly...

“This is all we have?” He questions a slight concern flashing across his face, before it solidified into impassiveness once again. If this were truly all that remained of the dwarven mages, then things were about to become increasingly difficult for them.

“Aye sir. All that could be spared on such short notice. All sections are reporting massive attacks, and breaches are coming about everywhere. We have already lost the western half of the city to the orcs and their foul kindred” the messenger spoke, spitting on the ground in defiance of the enemy entering Ech Zilidar.

Jornak nodded, and took the information with relative ease. He stepped away from the messenger, his eyes glazing only a moment before returning to his current location, and he turned back to the mages, and the messenger.

“Tell all remaining forces to abandon their posts. Fall back to Vulcan's Anvil, get the people to the Anvil and seal them inside. We can at least protect them from this evil.” he spoke to the messenger, and nodded as the poor dwarf zoomed off again. He turned to the mages,

“I need you to light the oil on fire that is over the walls. It will buy us some time to retreat and rally.” Jornak spoke simply, and watched as the mages did their job, and within a few minutes the entire North-Eastern section of Ech Zilidar was coated in a thick smoke; and as he predicted, the invaders fell back from the burning wall, and regrouped to calm the confusion and disorder spreading through their ranks.

The dwarves themselves cheered, and rallied in front of Jornak Iron-Beard, and the echo of “Iron-Beard” could be heard prominently across the section of the city. He silenced the crowd with a single hand lifted into the air, and he began his speech.

“My friends, Vulcan honors us this day. He has given us many enemies upon which our axes and blades will fall. He gives us the gift of fire to rally our spirits, and he gives us the gift of brotherhood and camaraderie as we face down this darkness. We are the dwarves of Dun Moriga, Our Spirit is of Eternum, our Essence of Fire and Metal, and our Hearts of the purest stone. We will not falter in our defiance against this evil, we will prevail, or we will die trying. Our ancestors would be honored today, no matter the outcome. We fight for our families, for our freedoms, and for our HOMELAND!” Jornak finished with a mighty roar and a arm brandishing his war-axe raised in the air.

The dwarves now rallied, and given hope, began to must a defensive line. “Shields in front” a voice echoed, “Pikemen”behind to provide support echoed another, and a final voice said “Guardians behind as the last resort”, this voice in particular was Jornaks', and he joined the dwarves as a last line of defense. The were now organized and greeted the enemy with renewed vigor.

“Lord Jornak, sir. You are wanted in the Elders Council, immediately” Jornak nodded a the message and turned to his left, to a dwarf, heavily armored in a brilliant luster metal, and he commanded.

“Defend this position. Retreat to Vulcan's Anvil if all else fails. The city and it's residents are being moved to the Anvil. The rest of the army will be waiting there. Abandon the siege weapons if you must, but sabotage them, we need not give the enemy anymore advantage over us”, he finished, and turned to leave the field of battle for the Elders council, curious as to why they would want to see him, of all people.

Azazeal849
02-05-2014, 08:59 PM
SHARKTOOTH BAY

"It who thirsts within the darkness to consume its prey." Gabriel said out loud and to himself, in his normal monotonic manner.

"What part of shut up didn't make it through that mask of yours?" Salvius growled without turning round.

"Salvius...I just want to be perfectly clear when I say...I didn't want Kuronus to die or be hurt. The way I said it was abrupt and harsh. I forget the easiness of the heart at times and how it can be swayed from one thought to another."

Caught off guard, Salvius just stared at Gabriel incredulously. Fuck the gods, was that an attempt at an apology? He even forgot to get angry at the customary earthborn superiority implied by the final sentence.

"However...I won't take back what I said about him dying an honourable death for us. That being said...I was like you. I wanted to go back and save him, but knew if we did that, we would have thrown away everything he was going to sacrifice for us. I just want you to know, anything Kuronus did for us was not in vain, and I'm sure he survived. The beast within him would most definitely make sure of that."

Salvius grunted by way of agreement. Well, I asked him to start speaking sense. Apparently, here it is.

"One thing I want to know, Salvius, before we get this stranger's answer to your question - which I want to know too - what do you truly know about the gods and the demon lords? It seems pretty fascinating how people view them and personify them, though they probably never met them before." Gabriel asked as he took some sand along to Numiera's castle and began to add it upon what she had already built.

Salvius looked at Gabriel warily, suddenly wondering if there was something more to the earthborn's question. He was thinking of Gaea's words when the earth god had revealed itself to him, and warned him about the dangers awaiting underground. He still hadn't told any of the group about the vision. You have great power inside of you, Gaea had said. Salvius hoped that was true. He would need it when they reached Tartarus - if the bastard earthborn admiral that their jailer had mentioned ever got back, so that they could talk their way out of this cell.

Gabriel's question however seemed guileless enough, and in the absence of anything better to do, Salvius sat down with a sigh and watched as Gabriel and Numiera continued to build their little sand castle. Who knew, maybe even an earthborn could learn.

"The gods generally don't bother with folk like me." he said after a moment. "They know I can take care of myself. I don't think anyone that I know personally has seen one of them, either. Well, there was one centurion from 5th cohort who swore he'd met Venus in a Hercinian whore-house, but he was pissed at the time." Salvius chuckled slightly. "Still, there's plenty of people who have seen gods, even just in Namor province. They say Mars appears to the emperor at the start of every new year so he can give Mighty Galen his vision for the imperium. Wonder if he told him about this whole shit-storm before it kicked off..."

The centurion paused reflectively.

"They say Mars appears differently to different people - I've always imagined him looking a bit like old legatus Marcius. That kind of natural authority that you instinctively know not to fuck with. As for demons..." He chuckled again, darkly. "I've never seen one of them either, but if half of what I heard is true then our quest for the Stones is going to get interesting. And if nothing else, we'll all get to meet at least one god on the way into Tartarus. Ra doesn't usually have much to do with us Namorians, mind. He's more of an Afragian god. Tell you the truth, I was almost hoping that princess Nesara would stay with us once she'd sorted things out in Ech."

He fell silent for a moment, his thoughts turning to the Afragian princess and a conversation he and Kuronus had shared on the way into Dun Moriga.

"So what do you think about the princess joining us?" Kuronus had asked. It had been Altius' turn to give Nesara his horse and the praetorian was walking alongside her, holding the reins as he led the animal through a patch of loose stones. Nesara had persuaded Salvius to let Numiera go hunting for game, albeit under the centurion's terse instructions not to wander too far, which left Salvius and his friend to scout the road ahead of their small group. Although they remained vigilant, both men were less tense now. They seemed to have left the vikings far behind, and the ominous presence that had been shadowing them seemed to have departed.

"She outranks me." Salvius shrugged, causing the scale armour under his cloak to chink as it shifted. Higher in the mountains the air had turned cold, and his breath misted the air. "Until going after the gods-damn Stones takes us another way, I can't exactly stop her from accompanying us as far as Ech."

"You know," Kuronus said, getting a sly look in his eye, "I think she likes you Varro. Offering to give you a backrub back at camp, before those barbarians rudely interrupted?"

Salvius let out a bark of laughter. "She's a weird sort of princess, but I don't think she's that weird."

Kuronus gave him a wolfish grin. "But...?"

"Huh. You mean if we didn't both have a duty to do, and if she wasn't so far out of my league, and if she didn't know that as well as me?" Salvius paused, pretending to think. "Yeah, she'd get one."

When both men had finished chuckling, he added, "I'm still not sure what to make of her, but there's no harm in seeing her to Ech. After that there's always Amelia back in Emor."

Kuronus cocked a dark eyebrow. "And how much would she set you back?"

"Hey, I don't pay for it. She does it for love."

"What is she loving, exactly? Because it sure as hell isn't your face."

Salvius grinned toothily and patted the hilt of his cavalry spatha. "Maybe it's the size of my weapon."

The memory from their trek towards Dun Moriga left a bitter taste in Salvius' mouth. Nevertheless, he had to admit that if the earthborn Gabriel was telling the truth, then they had one thing in common at least. They both hoped that Kuronus and Nesara still lived, even if the chances of them finding each other again were now remote. Sorting things out in Ech seemed like a tall order now, even for a princess who had counselled Salvius to never abandon hope.

Without his sword to hand, Salvius touched the iron scales of his armour to dispel the bad luck of his dark thoughts.


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR

While the rest of the group Nesara had arrived with had been sent down to the prisons, the princess was treated in an entirely different manner. She had conversed with King Vagrund about who they were and what was the purpose of her being with such mixed company. The relations between Dun Moriga and Afragia were very close, both living in the same manner - underground for the most part. The two kingdoms had co-existed very well together for many generations. For Nesara, King Vagrund was thought of much as a relative she would see a few times a year. Knowing her way from one palace to the other being second nature as it were. Knowing better than to expect him to just let her company free by request. The princess was escorted kindly to guest quarters usually reserved for her or others of like title to wash and rest as the King would have to consider all she told him of the stones, and her need for help for her own people as well.

It wasn't until she was summoned to council by the elders, that the King's fate and those of the group had been exposed to those at the table. This news took an effect on her, having known the now late King for so long. Nesara however has been to these councils before. As such, for one to be called quickly meant only a handfull of things, well aware of the invasion of the orcs as they had passed them by earlier in a mad race to the gates.

"Princess Nesara..." the oldest dwarf, Argam, addressed her while sitting down at the head of the long table, the lady to his left out of respect, "though our King's death had come at a...ill conceived time, we are glad for your safe arrival since our messages to Afragia have, as you know, been either intercepted or worse."

"I am only too glad to lend my support and voice to the Elders during this time, Lord Argam." Nesara said with a tone of voice that expressed her deepest sympathy.

"Such shall be needed during this council my Lady. We ask that you be present for the burial rites tonight of our late King as I know he would have wished. Time is pressing in many ways so I'm afraid the week long customs for our King's funeral will have to be forgone." There was mumbles of many voices heard as some expressed their saddened agreement of this, others directing anger at the orcs, others still mumbling a prayer to the fallen ruler upon the mentioning of his name.

"Of course Elder Argam, I would be honored to attend his last rites and help however I can tonight. Your wish for my presence is most humbling." The princess said after taking a sip of the dwarf mead which was in every goblet at the long table.

"Now we must decide who his successor will be, those fighting out there need a leader who will give reason for their efforts, besides to protect the citizens." A separate elder spoke, seeming to want to get this over as quickly as possible. Most council meetings of the Elders took days before for any decision of this magnitude would be reached. However the blood that covered Ech Zilidar was a strong reason to discuss matters with haste.

Before the call of elders was reported to take into the scrolls who all were in attendance. The grand doors of the throne room, which were heavily guarded, opened up to grant access to the council's representatives from Namor - senator Agrippa and praetor Graccus.


* * * * * *

As praetor Graccus stalked through the jewelled halls of Vagrund's palace, he couldn't help but feel that he was in the wrong place. As the emperor's representative in Dun Moriga province - what was left of it - it was his duty to sit in on the emergency meetings of the dwarven elders, but his old martial instincts were pulling him back towards the front line. The gates had held, but a section of the northeast wall had collapsed under a battering of siege engines. Chaos had resulted as the orcs rampaged through the city, outflanking some defenders and forcing others to abandon their positions in the confusion. Gods only knew how many Dun Morigan civilians had been butchered in their homes. The dwarven general Jornak had stabilised the situation and bought time for the remnants of the Ferrata and Moriga legions to fall back, but the situation was now dire. Graccus could hear the howling of the orcs even from inside the palace now, along with the screams of civilians who were clawing their way towards the relative safety of Vulcan's Anvil. The praetor reflected blackly that even if he had remained with his men, there was little he could do to force them into position any faster than their own centurions. The civilians were cramming the streets, making it impossible for Graccus' troops to redeploy effectively.

Graccus found himself cursing the late king Vagrund's name - for his mad sally into the catacombs after a handful of prisoners who had slighted his honour, when the city above needed his leadership, and for the end of Ech Zilidar that his death seemed to have heralded. Graccus had tried to keep the news of Vagrund's death from spreading through the city, but it had already been too late by the time he himself had heard of it. As the emperor's word and will, it was also Graccus' job to countersign the elder council's order to abandon the city. But Graccus sensed that there would be no evacuation of Ech Zilidar now. Vagrund's death had driven the dwarf soldiers into a nihilistic rage, and many of them had stubbornly held their ground when the orcs poured through the north wall. The orgy of suicidal heroics had slowed the orcs long enough for Jornak to close the breach with fire, but it had also bled the defenders white.

Around Graccus, the jewels set into the walls sparkled in the light - channelled down from the surface by an intricate system of mirrors. Nearer the central chamber, the reflected flicker of torchlight made the gemstones glow as red as blood. These walls had stood for thousands of years, but now, Graccus knew, it was only a matter of time before the lights of the Dun Morigan capital went out.

Graccus was brought back to the task at hand - the possibly final meeting of the dwarf elders - by the toga-clad man waiting for him by the door. Of all the people Graccus had expected to see in Ech Zilidar's final hours, the Namorian ambassador to the Afragian court was not one of them.

"Senator Agrippa?" Graccus said, trying to mask his surprise.

"Praetor." the other man inclined his head, as calmly as if the crisis outside wasn't even happening. Senator Lucius Agrippa was a craggy, weather-beaten man; tanned by years spent in both Namor and Afragia, so that he looked out of place in the sunless dwarf caverns. His face would almost have been fatherly if it wasn't so stern, and was topped by curly hair that had faded to grey. His eyes were appraising and intelligent beneath his thin eyebrows.

"I thought you would still be in Afragia?" Graccus asked stiffly. He had only met the senator once before, during a state visit to the Afragian capital, but it had been sufficient to make him dislike the man. Unlike most of the imperium's senators, Agrippa had gained his office not after military service but by political connections and simple oratory skill. His interest in acting as ambassador to Afragia no doubt stemmed from the silver mines his family were invested in over there. Praetor Graccus liked to think that he was good at reading people, and although Agrippa had talked often of prosperity and stability, he struck Graccus as a man who was always quietly seeking ways to advance his own means. Recently though, Agrippa had overstretched himself; being a key player in brokering the alliance with the earthborn, he had earned the emperor's ire when the alliance proved to have more strings attached than expected - which was probably why he was hiding out here in the east.

Senator Agrippa stepped aside so that Graccus could walk alongside him to the throne room door. "I came here looking for the princess." he explained.

Ah, Graccus thought, Of course. The senator had managed to ingratiate himself to the young monarch by vetting her loyalty to the imperium before her coronation, ensuring her ascension to the throne. Out of favour with the emperor, he had simply stepped back into the aegis of another patron.

"How did you know she was coming here?" Graccus challenged the senator. "Word from the Afragian council was that she was headed to Namor."

"I didn't." the senator admitted, with a paternal smile. "I got caught up in the siege when I tried to stop for supplies at Azulfa, and ended up here. But as luck would have it, the princess came to me."

"And ended up trapped with the rest of us." Graccus said darkly, not reciprocating the smile. "What did you want with her anyway?"

If Agrippa was offended, he didn't let it show. "I wanted her to reconsider and return to her people. The plebians aren't the most rational of herds, and their morale suffered when they saw their monarch leave just as the raids on the border were getting worse and worse. Some of the ingrates even suggested she was fleeing to save her own skin. I wanted to council her to return to Afragia and let me carry her message to the emperor in her stead."

And claim all the credit when the relief army arrived, is that it? Graccus thought. "The only way back to Afragia now is through that gods-damn horde. We need to evacuate west - get the civilians out."

"I agree with you." senator Agrippa said, levelly. "But evacuation isn't the elders' first order of business right now."

Even though he had expected it, praetor Graccus felt his heart sink. "I see."

Agrippa pushed the golden door before them inwards, and a view of the throne room beyond opened up. The walls were still hung with paintings and dully-glowing pink sapphires, but the king's emerald throne stood empty, and the fur-carpeted floor in front of it was set with a long table carved from onyx. Around the table were seated the dwarven elders, and princess Nesara.

As a show of welcome the dwarves along with Nesara all stood from their seats to welcome the last two who had been called to the council.

"Ah good timing." Elder Argam smiled, slowly sitting back down at the head of the table and motioning with a hand for the two to take the last two seats. “We were just about to start talks of the king's successor; the more voices on the matter the better.”

"Elders." Agrippa said, bowing deeply to the council and then to Nesara. "Princess."

"Council." Graccus added, with a rather more curt nod. He knew the Dun Morigans valued their ritual proprieties, but now seemed a bad time to not get straight to the point. "With all due respect to you and to Vagrund's memory, now isn't the time to be choosing Ech Zilidar's king. We should be choosing how best to save its people."

There were mutters around the table as Graccus sat down. Lord Duro, a sharp-faced dwarf with silver hairs flecked through the black of his hair and his neatly cut beard, leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

"Praetor." he said quietly. As the emperor's delegate in overwatching the dwarf government, Graccus still commanded some respect. "As you must know, the king is the embodiment of all Dun Moriga's power, the example who all dwarfs look up to. Without him the people of Ech Zilidar are nothing. Whether our people fight or flee, there must always be a king."

"The situation out there is untenable." Graccus argued. "From two legions I now have less than nine cohorts battle-worthy, and they can barely move. Jornak is rallying the royal army at Vulcan's Anvil, but the only people still manning the walls are a few suicidal die-hards. They've got no-one resupplying them, and as soon as they run out of ammunition the greyskins are going to realise it and pour over, and that's not counting the breach in the northeast wall. It is my military opinion that Ech Zilidar will fall within days, if not hours."

This time, as the praetor had expected, there was a stronger reaction from the elders. Lord Argam was shaking his head. Senator Agrippa was conspicuously silent, taking a sip from his mead as he glanced round the table and settled his eyes on Nesara.

"Jornak will hold them." lord Duro said. "He must. This is our home, our capital. All our culture is here!"

"Did the emperor appoint a coward to lead his legions?" demanded a dwarf with a beard twisted into blonde braids, less measured in his response.

"No, he appointed a realist." Graccus countered, his own goblet sitting untouched by his elbow. "Whether we stand or retreat, the civilians have to be removed from the city. I would suggest the Great Western tunnel to the surface, and then west towards Combrogia."

"Send them away?" said the dwarf with the blonde beard. "They wouldn't agree to it even if we did! Now is the time for every dwarf to take up arms! I say make Jornak king! Everyone who can hold a sword would rally behind the Hero of Dun Moriga, and then we'd have a chance of stopping these orcs!"

Princess Nesara listened intently, as Graccus tried to convince the elders to save the dwarves by means of retreat and escape. Dwarves were all for honour, for tradition; she had to hold herself in check not to shake her head at him for even suggesting the matter that fell of deaf ears.

However...it did bring up a thought. Looking to Agrippa, who was already shooting her a significant look from his own seat, she said: "Senator Agrippa, how many of my troops, including reserves, are there. Total, not available, I want the full count estimation."

Elder Argam with his white hair and time-weathered face pitched an ear to her; he knew she wouldn't have asked without a reason behind.

“Five hundred men of the royal guard, under your personal command.” Agrippa said, playing his part. “Another six thousand regulars, and perhaps ten thousand who could be levied at short notice. In fact, the Afragian senate was already considering calling the muster when we lost contact with the surface city of Kerma. And of course there are the other five cohorts of the legio Ferrata.”

“Which would have been more useful here.” praetor Graccus murmured bitterly.

“This is irrelevant!” snapped the blonde-bearded dwarf. “I put forth again: Jornak should be our new king.”

As the conversation continued, lord Argam nodded to his right, to a dwarf of light red hair with plenty of blonde mixed into the beard - not yet white with age as were the others. The red-haired dwarf slammed his silver goblet down a few times to call order to the matter after Jornak's name was suggested again, demanding silence so Argam could speak and be better heard.

"The Hero of Dun Moriga cannot be king. There is one law that none of us can ignore, even in such pressing times as this. Jornak, though his honour and self have proven true to the kingdom, is unwed. Every potential king must be married to assure his bloodline is carried. Jornak has sacrificed such for duty. No, he cannot be our king."

"Ah, but with the orcs! The dwarves at Anvil can overlook such right now.” The dwarf with twisted blonde braids brought to the table. “He can always wed after the war to still uphold honour to his bloodline and the laws."

Nods from a few of the others followed suit to this suggestion, but they were equally matched by shakes of disapproval.

"No,” said one elder, “I can agree to the decision of shortening the burial rites for our fallen king. But not this! He has to be married! What of Dermot? He already has a 10 year old son and a dear wife. He isn't Jornak but his mind is suitable for kingship."

"I will not put my vote for the confounded Dermot!” spoke lord Duro, the dwarf with salt and pepper hair, who managed remarkably to hold his tongue against Graccus, but not this. “He can be persuaded too easily at times. He won't hold to the ancient laws if the right voice got to 'im!"

Nesara was thinking hard as they delegated and spoke of worthy candidates - harder after Agrippa's answer – even as she cast out two other names herself that she thought were good dwarves for the title. She did know of Jornak, and had met him a handful of times before. He held the common dwarf's ears as well as the elders', which was what they needed now. But ancient laws - older than the funeral rites of kings - stopped him dead from being voted. Even though kingship was no longer hereditary in Dun Moriga, the laws remained.

"My lady Nesara, you seem to have something in that mind of yours?" lord Argam said to her in a soft tone.

He was right, her thoughts needed to be voiced. But...if the council of elders agreed, this meant great sacrifice on her part. Then again, it would also give her the support she needed...among other things, good and bad. Nodding to lord Argam, she spoke with respect towards all at the table, while showing to all the ways of a true leader.

"Dun Moriga and Afragia have been closely interconnected for many generations. Though now we both are in need of each others' aid for support. The fallen king will not go unhonoured tonight; if what I have to say agrees with the council."

Gathering everyone's attention, she looked to all at the table while she spoke.

"We all know reinforcements are needed in both our lands, yet we cannot afford to spare even one life. However there is another way...Afragia's capital of Tu Zenita Duksal has prospered greatly from its links to the dwarven city of Lun Garath, where our peoples first made contact. Its heavily fortified walls still hold strong to this day. What if we combined forces then? Take everyone here to Tu Zenita Duksal. We can make that travel using the secret passageways and make it. The dwarves that fight here will fight, as your history still holds its own strength there. When our numbers are stronger we together shall fight back and reclaim Dun Moriga. The numbers would work, and there are enough resources like silver still yet untapped to supply the efforts and weapons that only you know how to access.”

“Combine the armies?” Graccus asked, cautiously.

Senator Agrippa steepled his fingers and smiled mildly at the praetor. “We are all allies under the Pax Namoria are we not?”

“A joint military venture, without Emor's approval...” Graccus said, trying to put his worry into words. “The emperor may not like it.”

“I have vouched for the princess' loyalty in the past,” the senator countered. “And I am quite happy to do so again. And you are a praetor, with the emperor's mandate – if you agree then what is the problem? What is vital is that the power structure of Dun Moriga and Afragia remains intact, so that we can recover from this war. Stability, praetor. Endurance. The imperium has weathered storms before and it will weather this one.”

The senator's words were very pretty, but right then Graccus actually found himself hoping that when the orc attack inevitably spread towards Afragia, the greyskins would burn down Agrippa's precious silver mines before they were halted. Two provinces would wield greater influence than one...and he would be at the right hand of its princess. Fuck the gods, Dun Moriga's burning and he's setting himself up to be king of the ashes.

“Now.” Nesara said, “I said the fallen king would not go without due honour, and I hear the name of Jornak raised by many voices here."

“He is still unmarried, princess.” lord Argam reminded her gently.

Giving a pause to stand up, princess Nesara held her hands softly together in great poise. "If we combine forces, then let us combine kingdoms as well. Honour king Vagrund with a royal marriage and the crowning of the new king."

She looked to both lord Agram and then to senator Agrippa, her eyes daring him to even try to object. He and the senate council had been pleading her to take a suitor in marriage for some time now.

"I give myself, as princess Nesara Kamienrah of the kingdom Afragia, daughter of the late king Tankroun and queen Missiera, to the council to wed to Jornak if he is to be king tonight.”

As he caught the look between Nesara and Agrippa, and the senator's surprised expression, praetor Graccus belatedly realised that the princess' plans went even deeper than Agrippa's.

“Is this...truly your wish, princess?” the grey-haired senator asked. He was the only one to speak in the silence that followed Nesara's words.

Nesara nodded solemnly. And then, to Graccus' surprise, senator Agrippa smiled. It was an approving, fatherly smile, but for some reason Graccus didn't like the look of it.

Twelve hells. We've either just saved the imperium, or damned it.

Death of Korzan
02-08-2014, 02:40 AM
Dun Moriga

The rays of the sun pounded vibrantly and violently against the hull of the Destroyer class battleship. It floated high within space, the UNSV Waterloo – as it was called - rotating around Eternum. The ship had arrived months ago, when the call for Earthborn aid in a war against the South was answered with a tenuous ‘no’, whilst a ‘senator’ battleship would rotate around the planet, providing emergency aid for the planets inhabitants if they needed it at any point.

Within the flight deck of the ship, various alerts began to sound. A single man in a satin outfit, coloured scarlet in nature sat at a desk bashing at different buttons and running his fingers along a translucent ‘screen’ that hovered in the air. An image of a huge golden beam erecting itself from the magnificent forest of Combrogia – as the natives called it – showed itself on the screen. The man began to make seemingly impossible calculations, aided by an AI system that lurked within the ships main database. His face begun to pale as the calculations provided answers to his questions. He sat up and stormed off to the captain’s post on the bridge, data in hand.

As he arrived at the door to the bridge, he placed his hand on a monitor and a quick light ran itself along his limb before giving off a DING. The doors hissed and slid open, smoothly and quickly. The man ran into the room and towards a man dressed in grey formal attire – the clothing of a Destroyer class Captain.

“Sir…I have something odd to show you.”
The captain turned to the man, his eyes squinting at him before nodding his head – ushering him to continue. The younger male flicked his hand and from a metal circlet around his wrist a hologram of the events transpiring on Eternum appeared, the Orange beam of energy. “By my calculations…this energy beam is flowing faster than the speed of light; even our Hyper-drives couldn't keep up with this stuff.”

The Captain paused for a second before turning around to another group of people, all sat at computers around the room. “Lieutenant Croft, I want you on the phone to the Military Deck – I want to know why they’re using and where they’ve got faster than light technology.” The Lieutenant stood and saluted.

“Yes Captain Ceylan Sir!” The Lieutenant sat back down and began to type onto a touch screen in front of him, relaying the message to the Military decks.

-----------------
At the end of the mountain road, the entrance to the Great Western tunnel loomed wide, continuing straight as an arrow down into the heart of the mountain. The entrance was marked by an elaborate stone arch carved with both the imperial eagle and the stylised hammer of Dun Moriga. Fulminata scouts guarded the tunnel entrance, but no native watchmen or toll-masters were in evidence. They also hadn't seen any traders on the mountain road, nor even any refugees. Something was very wrong.

Dux Marcius swung down from his saddle using his good hand, and gazed through the throng of soldiers at the tunnel. It was smoothly cut, the floor reinforced with paving stones, and wide enough for two wagons to travel abreast. The way ahead should have been dark, but a cunning system of mirrors reflected sunlight down the tunnel to guide their way, and torches stood ready in wall brackets for when night fell. Another ominous sign, Marcius noted; the oil-soaked rags that had been wound around the tops of the torches were dry - the torches did not appear to have been lit or tended to for several days.

The main road was wide and straight, Marcius knew, but nearer to Ech Zilidar it turned into a warren of easily-defensible corners and sentinel gates, while the traders and their carts had to make do with an arterial road that curved round the city and emerged into the cavern some distance from the walls. There were no easy ways into Dun Moriga - no direct routes for attackers to exploit.

Around Marcius, his tribunes followed suit in dismounting. Legate Septim was behind them - as promised, his red-crested Romans would follow the Namorian vanguard down into the mountain. Varinius had wanted a swarm of Zhnegra's crocolykes to precede the column and scout for any surprises, but the saurians were sluggish and less effective in the cold underground. Behind Marcius, Cassius helped Elisavet down from her horse. In truth, being near the woman who had told him of his family's death caused Marcius intense pain, but he could not turn away a messenger of the gods.

"Second cohort will lead the way." Marcius ordered without turning round. "Scout teams to spread ahead through the diverging tunnels to make contact with the dwarfs at Ech."

"Very good, general." prefect Lucullis nodded, saluting crisply and turning away in a swirl of his blue cloak to relay the orders.

"Dux Marcius, sir!" a voice suddenly rang out. Marcius wheeled away from the tunnel entrance, to be confronted by gun captain Agron of the legion artillery train. Clean shaven and clad in a cut-down suit of Namorian lorica, the dwarf was square-jawed and powerfully built.

"Sir," the gun captain continued, stopping to thump his fist to his chest and then extend the open palm in salute. "I have a request for ye."

Marcius nodded. "Yes?"

Captain Agron straightened, his right hand resting on the pommel of his gladius. "Sir, my gun crews and I ask permission to be in the vanguard. So we can be the first to get to grips with whatever is threatenin' our homeland."

The dux's expression remained stony. "Permission denied, captain."

For a second, the dwarven gun captain didn't seem to process the words. Then his mouth fell open in outrage. "Sir!" he protested, "Ye'll have no use for the cannons in those tunnels!"

"The caverns?" Marcius snapped. "Afragia? Wherever the legion is needed after that? I will need the cannons then, and the trained legionaries to man them! What in the twelve hells use are you to me if you're lying dead of an ambush somewhere outside Ech Zilidar?" He took a breath, and snorted it back down his nose. "You and your men will remain with the artillery train."

Agron's mouth worked soundlessly for a second, but he evidently couldn't find words that were civil enough to address the commander with. He closed his mouth without speaking and stood rigidly to attention, fuming.

"Sir." Varinius' gruff voice put in. The older tribune had never had any qualms about voicing his opinions, even to his superior. "If we win, Ech has plenty of dwarfs who can use a gun. If we lose, we're fucked anyhow. This is their home. Let Agron and his boys have a go at the bastards threatening it."

There was a pregnant pause. Marcius tensed his jaw, looking at Varinius for a long moment before turning back to Agron.

"Your gun crews can accompany the vanguard." he told the dwarf at last. "But follow Varinius' lead. I want battle discipline to be maintained."

Agron nodded stiffly, still angry at Marcius for his earlier refusal. "Thank you, sir."

Marcius turned on his heel, striding away from the knot of officers in search of space to think. As he turned away, Varinius and Cassius exchanged a look, puzzled by the dux's uncharacteristic vehemence.

From above the huge group of troops came a hum so substantial that it shook the Earth. From the clouds dropped an Earthborn transport ship, not fully weaponized but enough to destroy the whole legion if it willed it. It was shaped like a stingray but with rockets that constantly shifted and changed position as the pilot willed.

"Sir we have a visual on the nearest presence of the Empire." The Pilot spoke, his hand holding onto a holographic joystick that moved the ship around before settling at a point a few metres above the ground, over a stretch of land that had not been swarmed by the forces of the Namorian Empire. A rotating plasma cannon, holding a huge amount of power dropped from the bottom half of the ship, pointing it's intimidating form towards the front line of the Namorian ground troops. From the sides of the cockpit, where a single pilot was visible, two globes opened with a hiss and a clunk, before stretching out and revealing the fully rotating guns, manned by two people.

Hercules and Achilles smirked, finding tragic humour in the fact that technically the force commanded by Dux Marcius was outgunned, outmatched and would be obliterated within mere seconds by the human ship. The actual comedy was that the ship barely held any combat strength versus an actual Earthborn cruiser, not to mention the UNSV Waterloo...

From below the ship a small deck opened out, revealing a rectangle shaped slope that ran up into the darkness of the ship. From the top of the metal slope - which was within the bottom of the ship - walked a huge soldier, holding a huge gun, larger than most. At its side was a counter for plasma charge and power, though the numbers would be largely unknown to most of the force, other than those who would have learned the Earthborn language English.

The huge troop walked down the slope slowly; deliberately; delicately... His feet stomped at the ground and created clanking noises, echoing through the hull of the ship. His face was covered in a helmet and his very figure - at 8 foot tall and maybe more, with an obvious excess of muscle - seemed to intimidate some of the troops, though the immortals and the Crocolykes did not move a muscle, staring down the Earthborn in his face. As the soldier walked, his helmet began to fold off of him, the malleable metal seemingly melting off of his face and revealing his sharp, commanding features; oddly attractive yet clearly roughened by combat.

"I request that I speak to your commanding officer." His voice was deep and posh in nature, his use of Namorian very well interpreted; it were as if it were the Troops first language.

"Oh bloody hell." tribune Varinius cursed quietly. "Earthborn."

Some of the legionaries around him, who hadn't seen the earthborn or their technology before, touched iron or clutched at amulets as if fearing that they were in the presence of another agent of the gods. With the Fulminata's original 2nd cohort badly mauled at Hercine, most of them were tall, blonde-haired Combrogi from the reinforcing 7th legion - but even they looked small compared to the earthborn marine. Beside Varinius, gun captain Agron curled his hand warily around his sword hilt.

The lines of legionaries parted as dux Marcius appeared, surfacing from his private reverie and striding to meet the armoured giant with his indigo cloak thrown over one shoulder, the eagle clasp with its captive hammer and sun shining in the glare of the dropship's engines. The commander's face was stony as he glanced briefly at Hercules and Achilles, standing nearby. He had seen them smile, and he did not like it. Letting his cloak cover his injured right hand, he rested his left on his sword pommel and came to a halt three paces in front of the earthborn soldier. Varrius, the glowering bodyguard, ghosted to his side.

"I command here." Marcius said, his tone formal. He was dwarfed by the earthborn's armoured battlesuit, but he met the other man's gaze levelly. "My name is Decius Marcius, dux Orientem of the imperium of emperor Galen Hippocrates Claudius. On behalf of the emperor and the people of Emor, I extend their greetings to our valued allies."

"I am Marine 2435614, codename: Axum." Axum gripped at his rifle, his fingers slowly flicking themselves out, as if ready to press down upon the trigger. "I have come to inquire as to how the Imperium has acquired faster than light technology."

The Marine turned to the huge orange beam and looked at it before turning his head and looking at Marcius, his face portraying a coldness that was never warmed within him.

"I have also been sent as an emissary by the United Nations of Earth. We state that if we discover you are hiding evidence of other space-dwelling life upon your planet then there will be serious...repercussions. The official government of Earth has not enacted violently to your planet; though our corporations mine and farm here."

Axum turned his head and squinted at the Dux, a much smaller man than he. "Where have you got this technology?"

Marcius had to fight his confusion, even as he bristled at Axum's threat. He followed the marine's gaze and turned to look back at the amber pillar of light, still visible above the mountains that now lay behind them.

"I must confess," he said calmly, determined not to show weakness even as he was forced to betray ignorance. "That I don't know what is causing that. If it's a sign from the gods, then it's one that they have not seen fit to explain to us."

Axum huffed and turned his back to Marcius, his helmet remolding itself around his head. "If we find that the Imperium is keeping such huge secrets from us, then I must consign to warn you: there are 3 million more genetically engineered Marines just like me - stronger, faster...better than you. Keep that in mind Namorian. We will fall upon your empire as an axe does upon the trunk of a tree."

Marcius sensed Varrius tensing up at his side, and the rustle of steel and leather as around him the hands of tribunes and legionaries alike drifted towards their sheathed swords. Marcius wanted to do the same, but he resisted the temptation. Careful, careful. No weakness.

"Keep your axes pointed South." he told Axum, "Where they belong, and I won't have to show you how ill-considered that threat was."

The Marine paused slightly before touching his right index finger to his ear, communicating with the pilot. "Affirmative, we're going in." Axum turned once more to look at the Dux, the intimidating helmet lying on his head giving him a skeletal look. "Perhaps we shall meet on better terms, Decius Marcius, dux Orientem of the imperium of emperor Galen Hippocrates Claudius," The title was layered in sarcasm and disrespect. "And from the leaders of the United Nations of Earth, we bid you good luck on your mission - whatever it may be." The Ship lowered itself until the huge genetically engineered soldier had enough space to climb aboard, before it sealed itself up and shot off, heading towards the orange beam.

As the legionaries around Marcius began to straighten after flinching away from the roar of the engines, Varinius spat on the ground and cursed the earthborn.

"The crocolykes didn't seem impressed." Cassius said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to lighten the mood.

"After slaying a flesh and blood dragon, downing one of their steel ones might be entertaining." Marcius said nonchalantly.

In truth the commander was seething, but he managed to hide it as he injected his voice with a confidence he did not feel. This deal with the earthborn is getting worse all the time. Gods help praetor Maximus and the southern army.

"There have been a lot of enemies," Marcius said, raising his voice to address his nervous, angry troops. "Who claimed they were stronger than us. We proved every one of them wrong. I have no use for earthborn luck, and I have no use for earthborn threats. Especially now we stand united - Namorians, Combrogi, dwarfs..."

"Dun Moriga!" gun captain Agron shouted, and there was a throaty cheer from the dwarfs among the ranks.

"Even crocolykes and immortals!" Marcius finished. "The will of Mars be done!"

He drew his ceremonial gladius with its IPQE engraving and pointed it towards the arch and the wide tunnel that lay behind it, shifting the men's focus from the earthborn back onto the mission at hand.

"Down there is another enemy who thinks they are stronger than us! Living or undead, they must be very brave or very stupid. This is our land, won with our blood and our sacrifice! Together we've freed the west, now it's time to free the east! Soldiers of the imperium, advance!"

The centurions managed to berate their men into a short and hoarse hurrah, before the blue-cloaked legionaries hefted their indigo shields and began to advance towards the Great Western tunnel.

Marcius stood his ground and let the river of armed men flow around him, his eyes fixed on the still-smirking Hercules and his champion Achilles.

Earthborn, Greeks, Crocolykes...I'm in a nest of vipers. Gods help us when we don't have a common enemy to unite us.

Marcius looked into the future, and saw just one conflict after another. Maybe the gods would smile upon them and see the imperium preserved and safe. More likely, he himself would die before he could see the end of it. Despite his strong sense of duty, Marcius found that the thought wasn't as unwelcome as it might have been.

Odin’s Grotto

Trees clattered and crashed as the tree-man waded through the forest at high speeds, his body lumbering through the dense foliage as his unnatural face was slapped by branches. Her heart was racing, unknown to what was happening Before long the tall seplengais and the odd human he was carrying broke out into a huge glacial valley, that within it sat the beautiful natural home of the Druada: Odin's Grotto. Within the basin of the valley and in the middle of a large open area in the city, a huge group of Eldrani riding upon Horses stood. Their mount's legs shuffled as if awaiting a command and the stench of death still swept over the forest.

"The Druada are mobilising. Come little one, we must go down." The huge Seplengais began to move down the slope of the valley, on a huge stairway that seemed centuries old. Over the trees the ever present orange beam of light was visible and oddly foreboding, it's power being pulsated through the land and a heavy grinding hum being emitted from the beam.

So much was going on, adrenaline rushed and new stimulus continued to arrive the deeper she got into the forest. With no time or memtal compasity to reflect, she held on tight to the tree man.

As the Seplengais rushed down the side of the Valley, sounds of horns bellowing in the distance - in the general direction of the beam of light - came echoing through the valley. The Eldrani, now closer to the pair - who were as far from similar as it gets - were perturbed by the noise. A figure at the front wearing regal armour blew a horn of his own, less crude in sound, in fact it were as beautiful a noise a horn could make.

From the trees ahead came a huge rustling, until many more tree-men - like Clawbark - had pulled themselves out of the ground, roaring and colliding branches, some snapping off. Clawbark roared himself, almost knocking the small human off of him. With the near threat of falling off, she couldn't help but scream in the loud chaos. As he raised his arms, magic seemed to seep all over him and the human found herself covered in solid bark, an armour to hide her modesty - as strong as steel and as light as leather. Her blue eyes looked at her body in shock, it didn't seem to hurt her, her entire psyche was blown now, just letting things happen.

Finally Clawbark reached the ground and joined with the rest of the army. It was forged of a variety of Eldrani, though one figure stood out of the crowd. She seemed clumsy among the Elfin men, advanced armour on her body, with her hand on an alien looking rifle. Ahead of the army stood the man in Regal armour, he lifted his blade; an action that was shared among the troop. Fumbling horribly her hands continued to remain clasp to Clawbark. All was beyond the black haired woman's comprehension.

[color=gold]"I..." her mind was shut down and she fainted from the stress.

Blackness.

Clawbark however did not notice that the smaller humanoid had fallen off and began to bellow and stomp his feet with his brethren. The Orange light pulsating within the air began to make new noises, sounding like cannon fire. The figure at the front of the force screamed: “These humans have come into our forests, desecrated our land and now have activated something that we cannot comprehend! They do not fear us, nor do they respect us! I, Lord Kurosavi shall change that; we will not cower before them, we will not die to their blades of their bloodsucking agents of the night! We will stand and fight; stand and die if need be! Combrogia. Is. Ours!”

With the end of his heroic speech the crowd of troops roared in appraisal and began to follow Lord Kurosavi as fast as they could towards the orange beam of light and towards battle.

Combrogia

As Chaaru and the two approached the riders, the first thing that was notable about them was their pitch black irises, the same as Chaaru's were - stained with black that seemed unnatural, as if rearing to swallow the sun whole. The Devourer spoke in a confusing language, with various guttural yet beautiful sounds coming from his throat, which were then relayed by one of the barbarians. He grunted to the other and they turned. Chaaru looked at the pair of them and held his hand on his blade before nodding at them. "They are taking us to the Ark. I am confident I can trust you to not try to kill any of them?" He said warily, his eyes glancing over the twins...especially Vardren.

The vampires glanced uneasily at the riders. It wasn't their appearance that shocked the siblings--they had long since stopped judging the appearances of others--it was a simple anxiety stemming from the fact that neither of them had ever been forced into complacency before. Usually the people they met, they either had to kill, or killed anyway. Cass's fingers hovered at her ring-blade, her eyes locked on Vardren's movements. If her brother decided to make a move, she would follow him, but not before that moment.

Vardren locked eyes with the Devourer, retracting his hand from the hilt of his blade with some unease. After a time, he stretched out his arms in a mocking bow."Lead the way, Chaaru. I wouldn't even dream of harming our new friends," Vardren cracked a smile and leaned back in his saddle. "Cass." He called behind him. "Don't worry my dear. These gentlemen are our new friends and don't need to be put to sleep." The girl responded with a disappointed pout. "Oh, how terribly saddening. I haven't had any real fun since bustin' you out of that dwarf fortress." Cass let her arms slack at her sides. The girl looked longingly at her ring-blade, fingering the barbed points with glee.

"Carry on, Devourer." Vardren eyed the others as he spoke, however, intrigued by their soulless eyes and foreign tongue.
Chaaru exhaled before turning back to the men and softly speaking to them in the same language. One of them nodded and they shifted out of the way, revealing the path into the forest. As the trio walked down it the sound of Horns within the forest and the guttural hum of the Orange beam became more apparent until eventually the trio came to a clearing. The lack of trees gave a huge level of vision to all three of them, and revealed at least 8000 men within the clearly, huddled together and giving a large level of space for what lay in the center, a Anvil like structure, as wide as a carriage but only around a meter high. On the top if it's surface was an Orange circle that gave off the huge orange beam.

Standing next to the object was a large man, his armour made of Dragon-scales and looking relatively new. Chaaru and the two siblings moved towards him and when they arrived at the item the Viking man looked up at them with his pitch black eyes. "I am Beowulf. Our lord told us that you would be coming, that you could help our cause. In a minute or so, the Ark of Excalibur will finish aligning with the focal point of Absolution, and then we may join our allies across the world."

The sound of an elegant horn sounded in the distance, in response to the horns the Vikings drew their swords and stood ready, in case of an attack. "We may have to do some fighting before hand...but we will all make it through with luck. Now that the Ark is set it cannot be displaced or deactivated."

Vardren scoffed at Beowulf's words. Luck had never really favored either of the vampire siblings, and he certainly didn't believe that it would begin helping them then.
"While it may be true we are on your side, neither my sister nor I has any idea what you mean by 'ark'. Certainly Chaaru has mentioned it several times on our way, but what allies exactly shall I expect to find on the other side?"

Cass looked on with ambivalence: while she wanted to support her brother, her loyalty to whatever cause they had stumbled upon was solidified the moment she met Hothian. Not wanting her brother to seem abrasive, Cassandra spoke up from behind them. Her voice was tentative, or rather fearful of her brother's reaction, yet she felt that no matter what the 'ark' was, she had to believe it would deliver her to something greater than stalking wanderers in the mountains with her brother.

"We mean to cooperate, and are certainly intrigued by your people-" Cass waved her hand at the soldiers as she spoke, but kept her eyes locked on Beowulf's. "-but we'd rather know just where it is we're going. Tell us that, and I'd be more than happy to fight at your side--hells, I'd be happy anyway. Vardren wouldn't though; he's a little more... picky." Cass was about to begin rambling when she saw the look on her brother's face. Vardren stared at his sister with a mixture of shock and mild irritation. He would've hit her across the face for slighting him with her words had the topic of battle not been more concerning. They had all heard the horn as Beowulf spoke, and although he hardly knew the strangers, he did have an itch to use his weapon.

"My lovely sister speaks at least a little truth. You have our attention, but if you mean to keep us here, we need a little more than a vague allusion to some ark thing." Without realizing it at first, Vardren had drawn his sword from his side, the runes along the blade glowing softly in response to being activated. Vardren cursed under his breath: his body betrayed his blood-lust too well and, regardless of Beowulf's response, he certainly did want to kill whatever was coming their way. "If a battle approaches, we'll fight under the stipulation that we'll be informed afterwards. Does that sound like a fair deal to you, sir Beowulf?"
Before any answer could be given, all hell broke loose. The trees opened up with roars as Seplengais crashed into the ranks of the Vikings. Lord Kurosavi and his large group of Horsemen rode into battle, expertly dispatching the invaders - a few of the Eldrani fell to their blades, but the majority of instant casualties were from Beowulf's ranks. The man roared with anger and rushed forward, battle-axe in hand. He ran straight for a Seplengais before beginning to climb it's leg.

"Whatever happens, stay by the Ark; in 5 minutes we will be leaving." Chaaru spoke calmly, his voice still betraying an invading darkness within his conscious; echoing horrible - even causing slight anxiety within the two vampire twins. He turned and drew the demon blade he wielded, though it seemed to be missing something - though the siblings could not put their finger on it. As soon as he entered the battle he began to cause a whirlwind of blood and death, cutting at Seplengais and Eldrani's alike.

Arrows flew through the air at both sides, some aflame and some not, the invaders were slowly being brushed aside, though they only wanted to hold their position and keep the Ark accessible. The Ark in question began to pulsate brighter, the Orange beam beginning to shift into a darker, more purple shade; something was happening, and it was happening fast.

"Now we don't even get to kill things?" Cass's voice betrayed a sense of disappointment as she watched arcs of crimson blood erupt from all around her. The purple glow of the arc seemed to expand around the twins as they watched the battle with only minor interest. Vardren noted the apparent skill on both sides, only ever so slightly surprised that they were attacked as quickly as they had been. Beowulf was surprisingly savage--a trait the vampire's both noticed and admired. In fact, so entertaining were the first few moments of glorious battle that neither vampire immediately reacted to Chaaru's command. Vardren and Cass both tore their eyes away from the assault to look at the ark with some apprehension. They still did not have their answers, but time was running thin. Surely they could make a run for it, but as Vardren looked to his sister he witnessed a strange fire in her eyes--the likes of which he hadn't seen for years. Slowly, she approached the ark, like a child learning to walk for the first time.

"Cass...?" Vardren's own voice cracked with unease at the sight of her. He had never quite lost his grip on her before.

"We're going brother. Chaaru said so himself." Beowulf's forces were thinning, the attackers growing bolder. Arrows whizzed past Vardren's face and into the brush below. Somewhere behind him, the sounds of metal on metal alluded to an increasingly close battle, yet he did not reach for his sword. He too approached the ark, if tentatively so. An arrow skimmed his cloak, yet he hardly registered it: even he was beginning to feel compelled by the soft light of the ark.

Wherever I'm going, my allegiances must remain the same: My gods and my sister are all that matter; the rest is expendable.

As he made a silent promise to himself, Vardren took his side by his radiant sibling, whose own eyes were downcast towards the source of the brightness. For the first time in a long time, Vardren reached out and grasped Cass's shoulder (almost reassuringly) and felt her warmth. Although she flinched at his touch, a strangely comforting smile took over her features, as if to affirm that the both of them were in agreement.

As the two siblings became close to the Ark, a flash of light blinded them before they were hit with a sudden freezing touch upon them. As the brightness in their eyes dispersed, they found themselves within a frozen wasteland, spears pointed towards them, held in the hands of men armoured in black. A figure stood ahead of them, hand resting on the pommel of a broadsword which lay jammed within a layer of ice upon the frozen land.

As they looked behind themselves, they could see another Ark pulsating, with a purple beam of light cascading into the air. The figure in front of them turned his head inquisitively, getting a good look at the two vampires in front of him before removing his helmet. His hair was as white as the moon and braided beautifully, the front had a regular parted fringe, yet the back was braided into various dreadlocks that linked together to create a wild ponytail. The man’s skin was dark black, with his eyebrows the same colour as his hair. His nose was pointed and sharp; his lips thin and piercing and his eyes as black as tar. His ears however were the most interesting of his features, for their tip stretched out almost 8 inches at the top, thinning out until eventually narrowing to a point. He opened his mouth and the most elegant yet brutal tone escaped him. The noise made the two twins feel as if they were being obliterated yet reborn again, and signified that whoever this man was, he would not hesitate to cut the pair of them down, nor would he find great difficulty in doing so.

“I am Dozral Arthrafi, Son of Set and King of the Dark Elves. Welcome to ‘The Southern Wastelands’.” The Dark Elf smirked before pulling his blade from the ice and turning away. He barked something in the same language that Chaaru had been speaking to Beowulf’s men with and a Dark Elf underling ran forwards with two thick fur coats, putting them over the shoulders of the two Vampires. “Someone get them a tent within Beowulf’s camp. When their forces have come through the Excalibur – Covenant link, we’ll begin."

Minkasha
02-08-2014, 05:48 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

It was only midday but Else was tired. In fact, she was exhausted.

‘Pandora's Box will be forged...and you, will open it for us.’ The very words made her shiver in fear. It reminded her of the letter. She sought seclusion in her room, leaning up against the stone wall her mind was shutting down. Gods and Demons, she was damned by both. The Lady Jarl squeezed her fists.

Her children…

‘My son will harvest the life of two of your own. One son. One daughter.’ She screamed and roared, throwing her firsts into the air, her grace was gone. Her sanity was breaking. By all the forces of this world she was just a woman. No matter the throne, she was just a forsaken woman. Palms covered her weak eyes. What can she do?

Forcing herself back into control, she sat upon her large bed. Blankets and quilts Karla had crafted and furs from the animals Korzan killed kept the bed warm.

Was there anything beyond terror? Beyond exhaustion? Else’s soul found it if such a state existed. Gracefully her hands lifted the crown from her head, its beautiful metal and jewels shined off the light from the eternally snowy world outside and the fireplace. It was Korzan’s legacy.

In the passing year not even her children had seen her with the crown off. The Lady Jarl was the leader of her people, a sign of strength, and proof of just how free the south was, even for a woman. A woman could defend her honor, her family, and her nation. The crown was placed on a wooden end table next to the bed. Letting time pass she stared at it…she longed for her husband. Her mind always pictured his blood covered body sitting on his throne every time she gazed upon the crown. A single cut of a dagger could change everything.

Sparing herself the image, she shut her eyes and began to unwind the tail of pleated hair around her head. Blonde locks unraveled past her shoulders, her mind pained. Zahneri will watch them now; she had done so for their entire lifetimes…the Lady Jarl just needed a moment.

Agony pushed her into slouching, fingers rubbing the temples. What was she to do? There seemed to be no right or wrong in this world, only power. Power was what threatened to kill her children, power was what threatened to ruin her nation, and power was what deemed her soul unworthy of help or salvation.

And what of her children? Were they to be tossed into Tartarus? Where was the morality? Where was Odin for his grandchildren? Her body shook, and with her spirit breaking, tears splattered into the lap of her royal garb.

“Why are you here, demon?” she sobbed to the powerful succubus who stood next to the fires. Blue eyes leered at Zahneri through blurred vision.

“The white haired woman is causing trouble for your second son. H-” a dainty hand waved at the demon dismissively.

“Just kill her and be done with it” Lady Jarl Else hissed. Zahneri vanished in her smoky ways. The ruler of the Free South laid upon her bed, no thoughts could remain constant, with her in solitude, she stared at the ceiling.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Karla’s Bedchambers

She pulled the thin line of wool out herself, her legs quivered. The moon’s time was passing. Her face dripped with sweat, sun-kissed roots drenched with it. The second princess to the Odisen throne fought her monstrous desires. The lust always burned worst at this time.

Secluded in her personal washroom, her body and soul yearned, teeth bit down upon a finger till it bled. All this suffering was because of blood. Kalle had told her at the begging of all this. Zenita flowed through her.

She was a demon.

She was a monster.

And now more than anything did she crave for sexual deviance. Her will was a thin string, desperately trying to cling to self-control and her chastity.

This wasn’t her choice, but by the GODS did she want it. Feverously her tongue began licking the clasped finger.

There was a knocking at the door. It must have been her mother.

“Go away mother, please!”

“I-I’m sorry prinsessa, it is me Åge. I’m your personal slave now, I have tucked in Nea for her mid-day nap” the voice was nervous.

Åge..the young man that had been catching her eye…no…no….no WHY DID MOTHER DO THIS AFTER ALL HER SELF IMPOSED ISOLATION WHY DO THIS? Karla’s heart was racing even faster, nude body coiled on the stones, breathing rate accelerating.

“Prinsessa, are you alright?”

Yes….Yes….Yes…”No”

“Shall I come in to assist?”

No…No…NO…NO! “Yes” oh the gods no matter how much she moved, squirmed, the feeling wouldn’t cease. The prey was too close. Past her own frantic sounds, she could hear the door slowly opening. Hands grasped at herself, he was drawing near.

“Prinsessa!” the lanky young man ran down to her beautiful form “You are bleeding” his eyes moved from her cringing, well-crafted, sweaty face, to the dripping finger. Her bodily charms were not to his natural fancy, which he knew would be helpful in being her slave. It was uncomfortable that the great Lady Jarl had replaced Selma with him, she was experienced…and a woman. But he trusted in the Lady Jarl’s judgment.

Karla couldn’t help but hold onto the man, he began to hold and support her and it was with that touch that all was lost. Hungry, she slammed her lips against his, he began making sounds of surprise.

“My Prinsessa!” STOP KARLA STOP!...but she didn’t want to. A smile crept across her face between the stolen kisses and with a sexually charged stare she took what she wanted. Her loins cramped and suddenly began to tingle. Her being could feel Åge’s new receptivity to her advances, hands moving about her.

She was a demon.

She was a monster.

And regrettably, it felt phenomenal.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Snowy Grounds

Maxwell dropped his training axe. Jóhann was relentless; he had enough forming bruises to prove it.

“Ha!” Jóhann raised a wooden axe into the air. “Today I have bested Maxwell!” The young brother gave him a ‘hmph’ and scrunched his nose. Jóhann winked back. Maxwell’s face changed “…what?” Maxwell was looking behind him.

While turning to face it Jóhann already felt a pang of worry. His eyes saw it, past the large snowflakes, past miles upon miles of land…so far away that he couldn’t even see Eternum's surface…there was a beam of light. This purple light, while looking so small he could lift a finger and cover it…must have been beyond comprehension in size to see it from here.

“Brother, what is that?” Maxwell sounded nervous, afraid even. Jóhann grit his teeth.

“I don’t know little brother. But mother needs to know. Come on” he gave his brother a stern face, throwing him out of his fear as intended, and they ran across the castle to the front entrance. Slaves were too distracted to bow to the princes; all of them were staring at the purple beam. It was freighting to look at, but some dark sense of destiny compelled them to stare.

They stood before the throne; their mother was nowhere to be seen. The domestic slaves, ignorant of what was happening outside bowed calmly. All Jóhann could see the lavish craftsmanship of wood and stone that composed of the room and its decoration. There seemed to be no hints of the rest of their family. He tapped his brother, pulling him out of some distant thought.

“Maxwell, come on” he urged him again and they ran to his room. “Stay here” he commanded before walking in on his sister amusing herself with all four of the concubines.

“Hello brother, they’ve missed you” her hand ran down the belly of a woman.

“Hella, get dressed. Something is happening outside” any feature on her that looked playful dropped, Jóhann never acted this way. It had to be serious. Leaping from the bed she threw on a dress and shoes she had on the floor, they had been sitting there most of yesterday up till now. The seduced concubines whined while they held each other on the bed.

The eldest siblings joined Maxwell outside the room.

“What is it?”

“It’s some sort of purple light!” Maxwell’s voice cracked, Hella looked at him concerned. In her matching quick pace past slaves and visiting hurtugs, she looked to Jóhann.

“Should we get her?”

“I have been trying…she hasn’t shown up”

“Where is mother?”

“Don’t know”

“Should we go to her room?” Maxwell squeaked. The two eldest stopped, they hadn’t been near that room since dad died….

“No, let’s find Kalle” Jóhann led the charge.

The Afragian Waters – HMS Aptitude

Was this how Tommy was going to die…again?

Attacking their fleet was a gigantic white whale, he was pretty sure he pissed himself when the thing showed itself and actually shadowed him and a few ships entirely while it was in the air. His Admiral ordered fire upon the thing, damn Tommy for having his pistol stored in his locker.

“FUCK!” the guys from the world war taught him that. He dashed on the nearby men and stole one of his harpoons to throw at the thing. Dashing as quickly as he could, he ran down a level of the HMS Aptitude to one of its many cannons and began to help load cannons while a shipmate fired. “WHAT IS THAT!?” Tommy couldn’t stop yelling, his whole body sweating and running through the motions.

“A LEVIATHAN” the crewmate yelled past all the other shouts, splashing water, gunfire, and moans of the creature. Tommy couldn't help but scream in duress as the entire ship shook. The Leviathan was under them.

‘Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck’ he was terrified of death, more so after dying once before.

DUN MORIGA

The Champion of the Goddess felt strangely ostracized after hearing the alien man call himself Earth-born. What had happened to the planet she lived on so long ago? It couldn't matter now, it was not the surface of a planet she walked on that was important, but rather the path she followed: and this was with Aphrodite.

And Aphrodite's path led her to Decius Marcius, she could see through him, through his masks and his leadership front. The man's heart was destroyed. Elisavet had given him necessary space as she recovered from her life changing journey, but this stage of closed off pain needed to end so that this man may take a step towards healing.

While the Dux was in thought she quietly approached him. Varrius, the general's ever-present bodyguard, stepped back to give them a respectful privacy, while retaining his vigil. Marcius heard his bodyguard move, and turned. Elisavet was hesitant to meet his gaze. This was the first time they spoke privately since...then. To even be near him brought her pain, his pain.

"Earth is not the same as it used to be..." her womanly voice spoke to him tenderly, her allusion to the tremendous air ship. Elisavet stopped side by side with Decius, looking at the heroes Hercules and Achiles. "I was...am...from their time, when Earth was much like this..." she trailed for a moment, thinking of her own loss, eyes watered, but would not tear. "But everything continues to change..." Quickly, she glanced over at Decius but kept her body forward facing as to not crowed him. Jade eyes moved up the sky, casually she took in the environment while allowing Decius time to express his thoughts....feelings, if he wished.

"Cassius would no doubt wonder if our world will end up like theirs." Marcius muttered, only glancing briefly at Elisavet before turning back towards the advancing legionaries. He was clearly still agitated, and Elisavet wondered if he was actually watching the legionaries or just staring into space. "Gods forbid."

He shifted slightly to look at Elisavet properly, and she in turn shifted to meet him equally. Jerking his head surreptitiously towards Hercules and Achilles, Marcius asked, "If you're from their time...can they be trusted?"

The female warrior's face instantly shifted to a pondering one. Now she looked to Decius while speaking.

"In our time, they were seen as heroes...near worshiped and praised for their perfection" she shook her head. "They were supposed to represent what we as Greeks strive to become but Hercules was just as human as any other. His anger was a lethal mix with his strength, but he often sought for his own redemption time and time again..." The shield that shined the symbol of womanhood proudly was stroked by her other hand, touch gliding down its circular, golden, edge.

"Achiles also let his anger guide where his blade went..." she sounded unsure, a gaze to her shield gave her comfort. "I never knew either in person, but if their struggles and epics taught me anything, it is that ego and power never mix well and the necessity of love, compassion. My culture had an unhealthy passion for the tragic, and that created so much self-undoing. I hope in the passing time Hercules and Achiles have attempted to discipline their hearts as much as their bodies."

There was an empathy to her tone, she gave the two men no judgment, but Elisavet was not going to spare the truth either.

"Hmm." Marcius grunted, and his face became stony again. "I trusted my wife when she assured me that legate Septim was an honourable man. I assume I can trust a messenger of Venus to tell the truth about those two."

Elisavet saw that look again on his face and her own showed worry across her Venusian features.

"That face..." She put a hand to her heart in pain. Her watery gaze held true onto his soul. "How long can that mask hold...?" her voice was just as wounded. "You are a man of power... but still a man. When will you show your true face?" So much of her nature struggled to contain her urge to hold him, be tender to him.

Marcius' left hand formed a fist, as if she had struck a nerve - or touched upon a truth that he did not want to acknowledge. The dux snapped his head briefly left and right, as if making sure that they could not be overheard.

"A commander has to show strength." he said through gritted teeth, "And nothing else. We've fought immortals, dragons, the pale demons...and any one of those battles could have ended in disaster. And now I'm about to lead my men into yet another battle with the unknown, with allies that mere weeks ago they called enemies. Our only other allies, the earthborn, just openly threatened us. If I show one iota of doubt that mine is the right course of action, how do you think my men will react?"

He swallowed, reining in his emotions.

"I have a duty." he said, more quietly. "In that, we're the same. Yours is to Venus. Mine is to Mars, to the emperor, and to..." His throat seized up and he looked away, glaring at the paved road.

Elisavet stepped closer while his gaze was turned, her voice beautiful in its femininity, love, and gentleness.

“Decius, by the Goddess…my duty now is to you.” Her eyes sparkled with a caring focus. “And you alone.”

Her head slightly tilted to the side, her bangs fluttered gracefully with the movement, she kept her eyes to his face.

“Strength….strength shows itself in many ways. You may lead men to kill and conquer, but can you face the pain that you try to deny? To acknowledge your emotion is NOT doubt…but the truest conviction and the greatest power you can have.” Her voice shook now, to feel his emotions was heart wrenching, she couldn't put her hand down from her heart in fear it’d lose control of itself.

"You are truly Venus' creature." Marcius replied quietly, and for a moment he sounded almost admiring. "But we're at war." His voice dropped to a savage whisper. "What use does mourning my family do right now?"

He remembered Lycinia's letters to him on campaign; always supportive, always encouraging him to focus on his duty. Come back to us a hero she had said. The memory twisted in his gut - cold as a knife blade, sharp as one's edge. To bring him back to the present, she slid a warm hand up his opposed cheek and guided his vision back to her.

“Now, it will give you direction, power, and strength that you never thought possible. You have seen, and endured so much…” the hand was removed “and the more and more you put on that mask, the more you prepare yourself for a shattering, graceless fall when it is cracked.” Golden arches furrowed.

“You want to be without doubt? You want to continue to overcome your struggles? Then you fight with your heart” The slender hand traveled from hers to Dux Decius’ a tear fell down her face. “And You. Will. Be. Powerful Decius Marcius” she told him boldly before pulling away her hand to wipe away her tear.

For a moment she looked away at the surrounding men before she continued. “I serve you Decius: I will never stop protecting you, and my heart will share whatever burdens you may face. But you must lead us and continue down this path…” she breathed deeply, and exhaled slowly “I will leave you for now if you wish to be alone.” A respectful note to his emotional makeup, a blinking of her eyes produced another falling tear.

Aureyon
02-08-2014, 10:44 PM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Village

Syf remained there, on the wall of the old house, frozen in what could only be described as shock. She hadn't expected him to react as he did to her advances, many in her old home knew that she was rather provocative when she wanted to be, but of course, this was not her home, and there was demon blood in the prince. She knew that she had made a mistake, but she would not follow him; she had caused enough emotional, and sexual, turmoil within him.

Instead, she turned and slowly walked through the village around her, feeling the stares of its inhabitants as they looked at the exotic woman. This was not her home, and she did not feel as though she belonged here, so maybe it would be best if she left Branjaskr, and the South itself. She had heard from the varying people in the village that there was a place to the North called the Imperium. Perhaps she could go there, and she nodded to herself, as her course had been decided; she would leave the south.

As her mind had been made up, she made her way to the local stables, and bargained with the Nord watching over the horses housed there, and she ended up having to give away the necklace clasped around her neck. It was of the purest silver, inlaid with a crest unrecognizable to even Syf, and a beautiful tear-drop sapphire sat centered on the piece, hiding the crest within it's oceanic color.

Having bartered for the horse, she began to prepare for her departure, only looking once back to the castle in which she had stayed for a short while.

Kalle kept running, he couldn’t stop, mustn’t stop. The temptation to vice was so powerful. People looked to their second prince with respect…but also confusion. Why was he running? Fleeing? Was there some connection to the ever distant purple light?

This deeper inspecting of his actions was lost while he dodged the simple village people who were struck still in awe of the unknown. To Kalle, noting was more important than escaping Bransjaskr in fear of what he might do to any of his people.

Syf’s lips still burned against his. His fear of corrupting her pumped his legs to greater speeds.

“OPEN THE GATE!” he yelled at a distance, the men at post did so without question. Speeding through nothing but snow, forest, and the purple light could be seen. In flight, he moved through the woodlands, feet stepping through deep snow, the conditions he was used to his entire life.

‘Zahneri!’ he mind kept crying her name. His need for her was everything now. There was no ability to think of the repercussions, only the fight against madness.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Nearby Woodlands

And in the dense forest, she appeared before the prince…her mocha colored body on display, as always. Her four bat wings fluttered. Sexually charged, angular features remained still and passionless.

“ZAHNERI HELP ME!” Kalle begged, sweating and psyche breaking. None of his breathing exercises were going to save him now.

“You tried to control it, now it controls you” Kalle grasped her, unable to appreciate her wisdom. But his hands could feel the softness of her unusual skin…his ears, the sexuality forever locked in her voice…his eyes, the curves of her nearly nude body.

“I NEED YOU” black coils brutishly meshed against the Demon’s horns and hair. Still charging forward, he pushed her up against a tree, arms grappling around her dipped waist and the succubus, one who has seen him from birth to manhood, returned the affection….the lust. Zahneri fed of his desperation. Pinned against the tree she gave him what he wanted…but eyes scanned the area.

Zahneri always thought of the family’s safety…

With a black smoke, the two of them vanished from the forest…

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village

Upon realizing that Syf really didn't know her way to the North, she turned her attention to the sky as it lit up with a brilliant and purple streak. But, something was off with the light, it wasn't natural, it couldn't be; her gut told her this much.

Turning her attention from the sky, she looked now, to the people of Branjaskr. She had to find her way out of here, and quickly, it was clear that not all was right. So, searching for one who knew the way, became the priority in her mind. She found herself in what appeared to be, a marketplace in Branjaskr Village, and she strode up to an elderly man, attempting to provoke an answer from him regarding the way from Branjaskr to the Imperium.

After waiting a few moments, it was clear to her, that she wasn't going to get an answer from him. So, she strode away from him calmly, with only a slight hint of irritation at being ignored. Nevertheless she continued her search, trying to get an answer from one of the people in the village, but it appeared that their attention was invested in the purple streak in the sky.

A few times she thought about just giving up, and navigating the treacherous and icy south by herself; at least until she found one person, who didn't seem as invested in the purple streak as the others. It seemed this would be her most logical choice, in finding one who could answer her question.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me how one would get to the North, from here? I've never been anywhere aside from the wastes just outside the walls, and I know that I will get lost, or worse, if I can't find a safe path through to the North.”

The man was sitting skinning animals; he seemed to be a leatherworker by trade. He held a judgmental gaze to the white haired woman.

“What business do you have with the North?” he spat in the snow, skinning more of the gray wolf. The look on his aging face was one of disgust.

"I don't belong in the South." Syf said simply, not willing to go into great detail, or explain herself to this man. It did not matter her reasons for wanting to go North, it only mattered that she get there before things got worse here. It was one thing to piss people off, and them be angry with you, but Syf had already been attacked one, and the threat of another loomed just on the horizon for her. It wasn't safe for her in Branjaskr, anymore.

It was during these times that she wondered where her mother was, and why she wasn't answering her prayers. Have I wronged you in some way, Mother? Have I disappointed you to the extent that you no longer feel love for me, your daughter?, these thoughts often ran through her mind, but she could not show weakness, not in this place.

She turned her attention, and thoughts, back to the man in front of her awaiting an answer from him. His skinning blade stopped and he looked up to her, his face a flashing mix of pity and confusion.

"Go to the North then, eh? Betray Odin's blood? You'll find nothing but hardship in those lands, they'll rule over you like a dog to his master" he leaned over to look more closely at her. Syf could see the man's opinion of her intelligence: she just didn't get it. He was cutting through her naivete sharply.

That was the end of her asking nicely. The arrogance of the Southerners had finally managed to break her outer shell, and she drew back her hand, and shot it forward, knocking the arrogant man on his arse, and she knelt down to him, as his nose began to pour blood.

"Do not presume to judge me, mortal man. I am the daughter of a God, and I will not be demeaned and judged by a pathetic excuse for a man, such as yourself. It is not why I was born, nor why I have survived as long as I have. In my time, it was rude of a woman to speak out of turn, but it was far worse for a man to think a woman as being unintelligent. Smart men know that for every powerful man, there is a wise woman to lead him down his path.", She turned from the man, refusing to look back at him, and left him laying on the ground, as she made her way back to the stables.

"I don't need directions, I am a demi-god, and I shall find my way to the Imperium." she said to herself as she got in the saddle and began a slow trot through the streets towards the front gates of Branjaskr. Kalle had been pushed to the back of her mind, so at to prevent her from having second thoughts; it was clear that she was not welcome here, by even the populace. Perhaps she would received a better welcome by the Imperium.

Her journey was abruptly stopped by guardsmen. Villagers that were once staring at the purple light were now looking at her with worry and confusion. Why did this odd woman randomly assault their leatherworker? The gates were not going to open for her.

Uninhibited by Syf’s appearance, sex, or lineage, several guards detained her. Pointed at her were several broadswords, and axes. She was dismounted and her hands had been tied behind her.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Basement

Plowing Zahneri was boggling Kalle’s mind. The pleasure and the rush of taking her thrilled him to continue. The demonic duo making sounds into the isolated darkness deep beneath the castle. The succubus yanked him by the back of his head and stared deep into his eyes, Kalle pushed as if intending to break her. Kalle was in the highest ecstasy, guilt, and shame gone.

Over the edge he screamed, demonic nails were digging into his back, shredding through the thick furs he wore. With a heave the second prince slowed down until he was breathing heavily and his knees wobbled from under him.

Zahneri felt the stone scrape against her wings and back while he slowly fell to the floor, sliding with him. In her nearly thirty years of existence she now just lost her virginity, as the family’s succubus she was only used for murder it seemed…

Kalle pulled from her, ice blue eyes wide. Oh Gods…he just did that? The open wounds in his back failed to compare to the emotional tragedy his returning senses were giving him.

“No…” he whimpered and crawled aside, away from her. In his hands he bawled. Dismissively, his lover pushed thick waves of black hair from her face.

Zahneri disregarded his crying, using the wall to help get herself back to her hoof feet. The magical rocky armor began to grow from her furred ankles and swirl up her body, black silk grew from the rock at her upper arm and draped down to the ground.

“Where are you going? You’re not going to tell mother are you!?” his shame shined.

“I have lose ends to tie up” speaking of murder… she was gone, dark cloud nearly invisible in the shady basement.

Kalle raised a hand in protest…pointlessly. Syf...

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village, Jail

Regardless of the resistance she provided, they were able to outman her and take her to a brick building near the castle’s own walls. In the long and narrow structure, there were tall black bars that were buried deep into the masonry in the ground and the ceiling. These created many small square sections to house prisoners.

Both men and women were in the squares, however, not intermingled. The prisoners looked at her with a tame curiosity before she was thrown in her own small square and the door locked behind her.

“We don’t know where you hail from fröken. There is no honor or respect in attacking an unarmed man” The guard ignored any rebuttal she may have and walked off.

While in this cage she had little time to reflect before her senses began to tell her of a demon’s close proximity. In a sudden loss of sight she lost sense of herself or whereabouts.

The Free South - Expansive Ocean

In less than a second she found herself in the middle of ice cold oceanic water. Her body was struggling to hold herself above the surface in her godly given armor. Intelligence told her she would only live for several moments in this water before the cold killed her...

But there seemed to be no way out, only various jagged glaciers surrounded her, the rest was endless ocean water.

The demon woman must have left her out here to die; Syf’s brain ran to the conclusion quickly.

Syf lost her breath as she hit the water, and she eyed her surroundings, attempting to find a way to survive, this seemingly impossible situation. However, as she eyed the glaciers, an idea formed in her head, and she drew the dagger hidden in her armor, and the spear hidden beneath her white cloak. The spear was about the size of the dagger, with the tip sticking out from the handle. If Syf were to press a button on the handle, it would shoot to its full length, but that was not what Syf needed it for.

Instead, she swam stiffly towards the nearest glacier and jabbed her dagger and spear into the ice wall of the glacier, before climbing the wall by penetrating the ice sheet with her dagger and spear in a repetitive motion until she reached the top. Upon reaching the top, she shivered and tore her cloak from her back, feeling the icy wind race across her skin.

Wind! That was the key, Syf said to herself as she began to fracture the large glacier until it fell apart, once again, her body plunging into the cold water. She lost her dagger to the depths of the ocean, but held a firm grip on her cloak and spear. She surfaced, and found a remaining piece of ice, just big enough to support her weight, and she climbed on top, and lay there for a moment, catching her breath.

Her hair was frozen to her armor, and it made moving her neck...difficult. However, she had one last thing to do, before she would be ready to conserve her heat and strength. With a mighty heave, she jabbed her spear, now in full length, into the glacier-boat, and began to fasten her cloak on the spear, creating a sail that caught in the icy wind and moved through the icy waters at a considerable rate.

"Damned demons..." Syf stated angrily to the wind. Syf’s ingenuity was buying her much more time and a drastic increase in survivability. But unless she could find a way to get out of the cold she would surely perish sooner than nightfall. Drinkable water was the next thing her critical mind could think of.

Her unusual mode of transportation took advantage of the strong ocean winds , but the demon seems to have left her completely stranded, in all directions only glaciers and salt water could be seen.

Near to Syf however, the water began to churn - something was rising from the depths. The frozen water did not seem to bother whatever it was, or else it had grown immune to its damned temperature. From the depths came a huge tubular metal machination, groaning as it began to float above sea. The whole thing was black, as if covered in oil, and it created an aggressive growling noise - the noise of engines.

From the top of the metal beast came the sound of metal hitting metal, until a panel seemed to flip up from the ship. Three...men, all carrying weaponry unknown to Syf rose out of the machine, followed by a man wielding a Shortsword with a flintlock rifle in his hand. "Es ist eine Frau!" One of the first men to leave the vehicle yelled.

"Ja! Was sollten wir tun?" One of the other men said, before the peculiarly dressed man turned to them both, and in a rather crude statement barked:

"Bring 'er aboard. I'm sure Blackbeard would love to see this...smells like a Demi-God to me..."

Setsa
02-10-2014, 06:32 PM
Ech Zilidar - Throne Room

Jornak had arrived at the council meeting just in time to hear the protests of the Imperium representatives, and intrigued, he remained hidden from the observances of those within, to hear out the rest of what was being said. It wasn't that he was afraid to intrude upon the meeting, for it was they, who called for him, it was that he was interested in the protest of the Namorians and a few of the dwarves, who held close to the traditions and laws of the dwarven people.

His breath caught when he heard the Princess Nesara offer herself as Queen to him, and this only meant that his name had been thrown in for the title of King, and the replacement for Vagrund. Jornak had never been that close to Vagrund, but he had a healthy respect for the dwarven leader, though sometimes he believed that Vagrund's past, led to the Namorian's having a stronger influence on dwarven matters. He scoffed inwardly at this thought, and shook it from his head, refusing to dishonor the late king's name with such thoughts.

After the discussion had died down, Jornak deemed it time to make his presence known to those assembled; and he did exactly that...

“Lords...Princess”, he bowed slightly before walking up to the table, his armor rent with dents and scrapes from the battle raging outside the throne room. He deliberately chose to ignore the presence of the Imperium diplomats, or whatever the hells they called themselves. Jornak tolerated them, but he did not have to give them his respect, they were a greedy people, and believed their arm to be long enough to control all. It made sense why the south rebelled, Jornak thought to himself.

“I have been listening, unseen, to the conversations being thrown around this throne room, while MY people are out there, dying. I will gladly take the mantle of King, if it will give our people a new hope, and drive to live..” he turned his eyes to the princess, “..And, I will take the Princess' hand in marriage.”

Jornak, now having said what he needed to say in regards to his people and the matter of kingship, turned to the Imperium diplomats.

“I will hear no talk of fleeing from my city, by an Imperium coward."

"Don't you dare presume to call me a coward, general!" praetor Graccus spat, half rising from his chair. "My men fought and died at Azulfa and Lun Garath, the same as yours!"

"Your cities are not falling to hordes upon hordes of grey-skins. I will not ask for Imperium permission on the matters of my people, and while I respect the power of the Imperium, I will not be a pawn for it to control. Dun Moriga is home to the dwarves, favored by the very ground you walk upon, birthed in the fires of Vulcan, and made with hearts of the purest of stones. My people will survive to see Dun Moriga reclaimed.” Jornak finished, his proud eyes showing the fury that echoed in his words.

"You forget your place, general." Graccus said, his tone dangerous.

"No, praetor, you forget yours." senator Agrippa interrupted sternly. He put a hand on the garrison commander's arm. "Sit down."

Graccus jerked his arm away but he complied, returning to his seat with his eyes narrowed suspiciously at Agrippa.

Lord Argam and the elders heard the responses, and Nesara gave a nod to Jornak before sitting back down in her seat. "Then let us take it to a vote of council. For Jornak to wed Princess Nesara, and by meeting our ancient laws to be our new King."

There were 9 elders, Nesara, Graccus and Agrippa in seat. Lord Argam slowly stood up for the second time of recent, reaching out to take hold of Jornak Iron-Beard's forearm for stability. "A show of hands then, for this dwarf to rightfully be our King in which he shall lead us."

Slowly the elder dwarf took a look up and down Jornak before raising his hand, and others raised their own giving their vote. Five so far but it had to be majority, some looking to Nesara to see if she would hold true to her word. The Princess raised her own hand, six now...followed by the blonde bearded elder and another. Senator Agrippa looked along the table appraisingly and added his own hand, while Graccus kept his stubbornly on the table. But whether Graccus and Agrippa voted in agreement or not by then didn't matter. Majority had already won; the council's decision decided as Agram gave a confirming nod before sitting back down.

Motioning over a dwarf that was at stand by to provide comforts to them, Argam whispered in his ear for him to hurry and inform others to begin preparations right away. A small bow was given in acknowledgement, before the messenger hurried out of the throne room by the grand door. "Then the funeral of King Vagrund and the wedding and crowning of our new King shall be tonight. There is I'm afraid no time to waste."

Nesara spoke now, as the decision of her future was made. "If you do not wish to flee, I wouldn't ask for such. This is a means only to regroup and strengthen as one in Tu Zenita Duksal as you ... My Lord, have not just Dun Moriga's safety to worry about." Standing once again she looked long into Jordak's eyes before continuing "I can get EVERYONE" the last word had been given a firm tone for emphasis. "There in haste; if preparations are made to be ready to depart soon as the ceremonies are done. Lord Jordak, the more time you can give us the better to see the journey through. They by now will suspect everyone to be hiding at the Anvil... is there a way to funnel them in and set a trap to greet the invading orcs?"

Jornak listened, and watched, in silence as he was made the new king by the Council. It appeared the only thing left to assure his kingship would take effect, would be to marry the Afragian princess, and attend his coronation. Jornak could not see the wisdom, in military terms, in a decision such as that, but it was not his place to challenge the Law, nor change his peoples' traditions.

"My lady, I respect your words, and I hear them as a dwarf would hear the stone calling. However, the safety of my people must come before my pride. You will lead our people through the tunnels, to Tu Zenita Duskal. I, and a single legion of dwarves will hold off the Orc Invaders as you get the people in the tunnels." Jornak stated evenly. His voice was threaded with the concern for his people, but also the respect for the Princess, soon to be Queen, before him.

"Aye, we will give the orcs a surprise they will long remember..." Jornak finished, his eyes alight with the glow of the various gems within the throne room, "We will overload Vulcan's Anvil, and light the city on fire."

With decisions made and time of the essence, the council disbanded to get to work. Nesara, after standing up from her seat, walked around to stand before Jordak. He was just a few inches shorter than herself; his head reached just above the Lady's chin. In the softness that was her movements, the princess curtsied before the soon to be King. "My Lord, know that you have my up most confidence and respect. I shall arrange with the Lords to get the people to the tunnel before the funeral rites.... Be safe."

Jornak nodded to Nesara, and bowed slightly himself. He turned to the door, and began to make his way out, before turning back and speaking evenly with a resignation of defeat echoing his words like a man resigned to death.

"Lady Nesara, I ask that you gather as much of our culture and history as you can. We have to preserve the histories, it is a vital part of dwarven heritage, as you well know. It should not perish in a fire.... Be safe, until we meet again", he finished before turning and exiting the throne room to the madness outside.

"I will assist." senator Agrippa offered, rising from his seat. He looked slightly amused as Graccus sketched a curt bow and swept out of the room - after all, Nesara's plan to evacuate the city had been essentially the same as the praetor's, just couched in terms that were more palatable to the council. Shrewd manoeuvring.

"Well played, princess." he said, inclining his head once the two of them were alone on their way to the libraries in the east wing of the palace. "Although, have you considered how this will look to our dear emperor Claudius? A joining of forces is to be expected in times like these, but a marriage pact between the two provinces? That is somewhat more binding. A united East would be far more powerful...the emperor might interpret this as an attempt to set up your own empire. And the emperor has a rather strict policy on rebellion."

Agrippa pushed the gold-chased door in front of them open, and held it open for Nesara to step through.

"Who knows, maybe it's time for Afragia and Dun Moriga to have a greater say in imperial affairs? But the emperor will need assurances. As I said in the council, I have vouched for your loyalty before, and I would be happy to do so again. Until then, we might want to keep general..." The senator caught himself with a smile. "King Jornak and the praetor off each others' throats."

The senator bowed again as they reached the Hall of Records.

"Just the advice of your humble servant, my lady."


* * * * * *

Upon arriving at Vulcan's Anvil, Jornak saw that the army was there, and prepared, as he had commanded.

"Get the civilians prepared, and prepare yourselves. We are to evacuate the city for Tu Zenita Duskal, and there we will make our stand against the grey-skins. I need a legion of dwarves to remain behind and aid me in the task of overloading the Anvil", at mention of overloading the anvil, murmurs ran through the dwarves assembled before him. The anvil was the pride of the dwarves in Ech Zilidar, and to blow it up, meant that the city was truly believed to be lost.

"Prepare yourselves, for the Coronation of a new king tonight, and a new Queen shall rise." Jornak finished before entering into the mighty forges of the dwarves and setting all furnaces to overload at the press of a button. One dwarf would stay behind and light the anvils, and the city on fire. This should, if achieved, cause mass confusion and a screen of smoke to cover the evacuation of the city.

As much pleasantries exchanged as could be afforded for the time being. Nesara did as Jornak asked, going into the Hall of Records where such history was at most times well guarded. Now however the Princess hurried after having a few measurements taken for alterations on a gown. Accompanied by a hand full of guards along with the head historian with a wagon to hold everything, she spent as much time as she could afford helping them gather the most important scrolls, tomes, and ancients written texts. She left all but one guard there to continue the work and see to its protection, as she was needed elsewhere.

Checking on the progress of the evacuation with the elders who offered to lend a hand, Nesara noticed the wagons surrounded by soldiers heading to the Anvil. Carrying whatever was needed for Jornak's plan to take back young and elderly citizens to the entryway of the tunnels.

"My Lady..." Lord Argam addressed her with a small bow of his head as she promptly did the same. "It's time you prepare now, we have done all that we can here..." A hand rested on her own in reassurance as a smile formed on his aged face.

"Yes, yes you're right...off shall we be then."

Accompanying the elder back to the palace so that he might gather any last remaining things of his own while she was escorted back to her chambers, Nesara was greeted by the seamstress and a few ladies, who had with them the dress and jewels that were gifted by the council. "Your highness.." the seamstress said before motioning her to the waiting bath. Nesara nodded in understanding, thanking them all with her honey sweet voice before her bare feet stepped into the waters.

Jornak was retrieved from the battlefield, after ensuring that all civilians were making their way to the tunnels, or the coronation area. He would trust that Nesara had done as he asked, and retrieved the most vital of his peoples' history and culture. The Hall of Records held the names of every family to ever rise, or fall, from power, and many more important and vital pieces that would ensure their ancient laws were preserved, and now it had to be cleared of anything of importance.

Jornak arrived within the throne room, to don the armor of the King; a brilliant golden armor, inlaid with very intricate runes that told the story of kings past, and a mighty crown was placed upon his head, inlaid with a single onyx that resembled the honor that all kings must have to rule, and ensure the safety of Dun Moriga, and now Afragia.

Jornak had devised a plan that would ensure that both places had a ruler at equal times, and he would bring this idea to Nesara after they reached Tu Zenita Duskal. Meanwhile, he had a funeral to attend, and then a wedding.


* * * * * *

So the procession began that evening, to where King Vagrund's final resting place was. To the stone tombs of the Kings. The Elder Dwarven Lords lead in front, to be followed by Jornak, a few soldiers, Nesara, and other officials. Though the entire city would normally follow suit, they instead sat in wait at the tunnels except for a handful in the coronation hall, that was decorated simply for the occasion. Torches lighted their way held by soldiers who were on edge. Watching every shadow, weary of every corner they passed with one hand on the hilt of their weapons at the ready. Nesara was covered in a rich dark blue cloak from head to toe to hide her appearance and give her humble respect to the fallen King. Those even with the cloak, glimmers of light reflected off the jewels that rested around her neck. Giving only the slightest hint of what she wore.

Deep into the Kings' Tombs, each stone coffin that rested in separate small rooms were decorated elegantly. Some with precious jewels, some with golden scrolled letters of prayers embedded into the stone itself... Each one a true masterpiece. The small procession walked into one room newly occupied, circling around the tomb that was made years ago and laid only a few feet beside the late Queen who had died of a fierce illness before her time. Lord Argam looked up to Nesara to give a very slight nod with his soft eyes.

The Princess stepped forward, to stand at the head of the stone coffin. Taking a small pause before she began to speak in their native tongue, the prayers of the fallen. Asking that Vulcan would welcome King Vargund with open arms. So that he may fight for the god and rejoin his wife in the afterlife. As she was instructed earlier, the woman would begin to say the names of the Kings past. Starting with the very first, and ending with King Vargund minutes later as the lineage was long indeed.

As the Lady Nesara finished her reciting of the traditional burial prayer, and naming of the kings of Old, Jornak strode before the stone coffin, encasing Vagrund, and he spoke in his natural tongue,

"We now return your body to Eternum, your essence to the forges of Vulcan, and your heart to the stone"

As he finished his brief statement, he took the torch that a guard held, and tilted the fire towards the golden statue, inlaid with various gems and jewels, and instantly the statue caught afire. There were no words as the statue slowly melted, forming a golden sheet that encased the dead king forever in his tomb. As the ceremony concluded, Jornak approached Nesara, and spoke briefly

"I believe it is time to attend our Wedding, and then we must leave. There is not much time left before the Anvil implodes upon itself"

Watching the statue melt into a gold sheet over the coffin, Nesara was reminded of the other reason why they were all together. "Yes...and so we shall." Looking to the Elders as the procession took their leave, Nesara walked once more behind Jordak with soldiers keeping them apart for the last remaining minutes.

At the coronation hall within the palace awaited a few dwarves who wished to attend and hurry after, along with Senator Agrippa, although Praetor Graccus remained with his troops as they marshalled to join the retreat from Ech Zilidar. All the elders were present. As it was the elder council who chose their King, it would be them to perform the ceremony. The procession taking a pause at the doorway, where the Princess*had her cloak removed by a sweet Lady who had helped her prepare earlier that day. The lady kept firm hold to the fabric to put it back on as soon as needed. The gown Nesara wore was of a light blush red that flattered her figure where it counted, thanks to the seamstress. The long sleeves that fell off the shoulders were adorned with small slivers of jewels within the fabric itself, which served to sparkle in the torchlight. The skirt portion that caressed her legs was loose enough for the long ride ahead. The gold necklace gifted to her by the elders from the royal jewels was made*by the finest touch and skill; a soft red teardrop gem at the center rested against her skin just below where her collarbones met. Diamond earrings helped compliment it, and her gold band around her head that served as her traveling crown was removed for the time being, representing the transition that was taking place.

Walking to the right side of the soon to be King, she nodded to the elders to proceed. Only a kind flute player was present to perform a melody as the couple walked down the hall to the stone pedestal at the end, holding the white gold chalice that contained sacred wine that was only drank for such occasions deemed worthy.

As the two made their way to the end of the long aisle, Jornak kept his eyes forward, and his back straight, as was the tradition of every dwarf male upon his wedding day. He would not lay his eyes upon the bride until the moment when he committed his love for his woman, unto the stone. As the two neared the end of the aisle, and stopped just short of the end, and awaited the flutist to finish his song. Upon the finishing of the song, he spoke.

"I commit my heart to the woman standing beside me. I commit our love in the name of Vulcan, and I commit my eyes to only my woman." he finished as he turned his eyes to the Lady Nesara, with a slight hint of sadness hiding within them, nearly undetectable.

Standing before the elder Lord Argam, eyes solely on the kind dwarf, the Princess spoke after Jornak, her voice soft and sweet like a melody. Yet her demeanor was of duty, honor, and what must be done. "I commit my heart to my dwarf. I commit our love in the name of Vulcan and of Ra, and I commit my eyes to only he who stands beside me now."

Lord Argam read from a scroll, the only one that wasn't currently in the wagon with the rest. "I speak now unto the Gods of Eternum. That they bless these two here today who have exchanged vows. Vows that shall never be broken, like the stone from which all dwarf hearts were made from. May the gods guide them along the path that both Jornak and Nesara share. May they bless the two with strong, healthy children that will carry their bloodlines."

Motioning to a soldier who carried a small stone box with runes of love and prosperity to come forth, then another that held a set of crowns that had been blessed earlier, the elder removed the lid of the box to extract two gold rings. Both had a small, round, red gemstone embedded in the band itself. Handing one to each, he motioned them to place the ring on the other. Nesara turned to face the dwarf, sliding the ring on his finger as she spoke. "As so it shall be, with my heart, body, and mind."
She looked into his eyes as each word was spoken.

"And so it shall be, by the will of Vulcan", Jornak finished as he placed the ring given to him on the Lady Nesara's finger. He kissed her hand, before letting it go, and turned to those assembled, where both crowns of gold were placed upon their heads.

"Now I am pleased to announce to you all. King Jornak and Queen Nesara, hail to the rulers of our lands!" Argam said as the crowd gave their praise to promptly bow before the couple. Jornak took the hand of the woman, and proceeded down the aisle.

"We must leave the city, my Lady. It is no longer safe, we have remained too long, and with little defenses upon the walls, the orcs will soon be upon us. The anvil is set to explode within the next few minutes.", he stated with a slightly desperate tone to his voice. If they didn't make it from the city before the Anvil exploded, they would be caught in a fire that even Jornak himself couldn't withstand.

Already hearing the booming noise of the approaching army Nesara hurried beside her King. "Yes...the others will take a separate way that's been secured to the tunnels..they should arrive near our time." Hurrying out of the palace to where soldiers on horses waited with steeds for the two, she could hear the soldiers urging them to hurry faster, forcing her to hike up the dress to run faster with ease. One soldier jumped down to stand beside her steed, hands cupping to provide a step up for his Queen.

Dress flowing behind her as she ran, the Queen muttered a quick thanks to the soldier, placing her foot in his laced hands to be boosted up. Though before she could be handed the reins to the stallion, a sound erupted from the palace gates in their sight.

"No....."


* * * * * *

Grim faced and advancing on foot at the head of the Namorian column, tribune Varinius snapped up his left hand in a signal to halt. The column had reached a fork in the tunnel, where the wide trader's road continued round and the narrower passage continued down into Ech Zilidar itself. The plan was for the main force to take the trader's road, come out to the northeast of the city, and outflank whatever was attacking it, while a smaller force consisting mainly of Agron's dwarf volunteers headed down the smaller tunnel. But that wasn't the reason Varinius had stopped. A great grinding and squealing of metal came from beyond the gate guarding the smaller tunnel, and a moment later the iron door swung open to admit a knot of men bearing torches. They were Namorian legionaries, their blue shields marked with the bull's head of the legio Ferrata.

"Mars' teeth!" one of them exclaimed when he saw that the mirror-lit tunnel ahead of him was packed wall to wall with armed soldiers. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving your arses." Varinius answered curtly. "What's going on down there?"

"We're getting the civilians out. The greyskins are overrunning the city."

"Hold up." Varinius snapped back. "What are greyskins?"

The other man shrugged helplessly. "Demons, monsters, we don't know. But there's hundreds of thousands of them, and they're all bearing down on Ech."

Varinius swore aloud. "What about the other cities?"

"They're all gone. Azulfa, Lun Garath...they're all gone."

"Who's still alive? Who's in charge?"

"Praetor Graccus is still alive, and some of the 6th, though there's little enough left of the Moriga legion after Azulfa. King Jornak's commanding the dwarfs."

"Jornak?" Varinius said, unfamiliar with the name, "What happened to Vagrund?"

"He's dead. Went after some traitors in the catacombs and something ambushed him."

"We'll deal with traitors later. What about this Jornak?"

"He married that Afragian princess just this evening and now he's commanding the rearguard while we shepherd the civilians out."

"He did?" Varinius said, and then unexpectedly he laughed. "Bugger me, I know people get tired of marriage, but I wouldn't think he'd be looking for a way out that quickly! Alright, get those civvies up here. We'll keep the route clear and see if we can't take some pressure off this hero Jornak."

"Aye, sir." the Ferrata legionary nodded uncertainly, and joined the others in running back down the tunnel to inform whoever they had been opening the way for.

"Centurion!" Varinius barked, "Hold here, keep anything that's not a human or a dwarf out of the main tunnel. You! Head back through the ranks and clear some fucking space for the refugee column. And inform the dux! Agron, you and your boys are with me!"


* * * * * *

Jornak heard the roars of the Orcs before they reached the palace gates, and just about the time that they broke through the gates, a massive explosion rocked the city. A shock wave of warm air and heat pervaded the tunnels and surrounding areas of Ech Zilidar; the aroma of fire thick, and the scent of burning flesh spreading quickly. The orcs had not expected such an explosion, and Jornak took advantage of their disarray to command the few warriors present.

"To battle dwarves, in the name of Vulcan! We must provide cover for the Queen to get to our people!" He roared and turned to his Queen, "Go, my lady. Get to the citizens and ensure the army guards the rear. We will hold them here." he didn't give a second thought before charging into the front lines of the Orcs, as the city outside of the palace began to burn.

Whether for ill, or for better, it would be decided today.

As the battle joined, Jornak saw a commontion run through the rear ranks of the orc column. As the greyskins pressed down the street, something slammed into them from the side road of Smith's Way. All Jornak could see at this distance was blue cloaks and curved tower shields, but the greyskins were reeling back as they tried to respond to the counterattack. The ones immediately fighting Jornak's defenders didn't even notice until the pressure of the ranks behind them vanished, but then they were hacked down as they turned to look, or else thrown to the ground by the greater weight of the dwarf line, where they were swiftly butchered.

The orcs scrambled back to avoid being encircled, some diving through the doors and windows of abandoned buildings to the sides of the road. They were quickly pursued by the newcomers, who turned out to be cleanshaven dwarfs in Namorian armour, and a number of taller human legionaries.

"Halt!" a centurion roared as the blue-cloaked reinforcements began to pursue the retreating orcs. "Reform!"

A craggy faced Namorian with a tribune's plume on his helmet picked out Jornak across the plaza by his golden armour, and began to fight his way through the last few orcs towards him. He battered down a greyskin's shield with repeated blows of his gladius until the orc lost his footing, and left him to be stabbed through the neck by the two legionaries flanking him.

"Come on, you mad bastard!" Varinius shouted to Jornak, apparently unaware that he was addressing the new king of the dwarven realm. In the distance, the orcs were already howling and snarling as they regrouped for a second attack. "Are you so keen to make your queen a widow on her first night?"

"Watch your tongue Imperial." was all Jornak said in response to Varinius, before commanding the forces assembled to get through to the tunnels. Jornak hated fleeing from a fight, but the smoke that shielded their retreat was a godsend, as he could hear the orcs howling in frustration at the loss of their prey.

"Come now, Imperial. We are on our way to the Afragian capital of Tu Zenita Duskal, and there we will prepare for a counter attack, or defense, whichever is in our favor." he stated whilst running towards the tunnels, and upon reaching the tunnels with Legion in tow, he stopped.

They would be safe until Tu Zenita Duskal, Vulcan willing...

Gathering the reins, the two soldiers would remount their own horses. The woman only taking a pause to look down at Jornak. "Hurry yourself, Great Dwarf King" she would remark before racing off to the tunnels. The smoke made it hard to see as it began to cover the streets under the thundering hooves.

Though as planned, the trio of riders would make it to those crowded into the tunnels. Nesara and the two others riding up to the head, surprised the metal doors were already opened. But viewed this for the time being as a reaction from the explosion they certainly would have heard. Taking back her cloak, the crowned woman would pull the reins of her stallion to turn him around. "We move to Tu Zenita Duskal, we will move quickly through the night. Until we break to the surface, hold your heads high, for we are alive."

Looking down the tunnel she would nod to the soldiers, to her people. Before urging her steed back around and to begin moving quickly at a trot down the tunnel, through the gateway. She had to lead them out, lead them as she was raised to do with her own people since birth until she took her own throne. And now, now her throne just expanded. Silently she prayed to the Gods for their guidance as they moved.

Their intended destinations hours away she would constantly ride up and down the tunnel to assure everyone's well being. Having been informed soon as the entire group began moving as one that her reinforcements had arrived just in the nick of time. Which meant they were lead by Marcius, he was able to make it after all. Thank the gods as it seemed their blessings already started to come down upon them. Reaching the rear of the movement; Nesara would turn back around and head back up. Offering an apple she had just received by a soldier; to a pair young ones who were frightened and clung to their parents.

Minkasha
02-11-2014, 10:29 PM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Basement

Kalle sat up against the wall, pants still down at his ankles, his searing back feeling the soothing coolness of the basement walls. He crossed a line he should never have….was there redemption for this? To copulate with a demon…his vision focused on where he did the deed. Blood and some of his soil stained the ground. Past all his sense of guilt was a worry…did he…hurt her?

He buckled up his furs and began to leave, it was clear Zahneri was not going to return no matter how much he called out to her.

The demon just killed Syf. The poor woman didn’t even understand where she was, or the world. She was confused…he couldn’t protect her. Zahneri was estranged family, but he hated her. Tears streamed from his eyes.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

A thorough search of the village did not produce Hella’s middle brother. And the beam of purple light even gave her a sense of fear, one she could see in the villagers. Kalle always kept himself at a distance from the rest of the family, but he was needed now.

“Damn it” Jóhann grit his teeth. “We will get Karla…he’ll show up eventually” Karla…her younger sister, she was just as distant…but rarely left her own room. Hella and Maxwell followed the eldest wordlessly to Karla’s room. Their ears began to pick up sounds; the three could tell what they were.

They walked into her room; Nea was still sleeping peacefully, past all the loud moaning and screaming…Maxwell’s ears perked up. Was that Åge? Blazing past his sister and brother, he ran to Karla’s washroom only to see his sister being defiled by him. But truly, Karla was dominating the house slave. Maxwell’s eyes shot wide.

“GET OFF HIM!” With a dash he yanked Karla off him and looked down at Åge, his eyes looked so crazed. Karla only laughed while she laid on the ground, from her back were two large signs of her Zenita blood: bat wings. And they shared similarity to that of Zahneri… “No… Åge! Åge!” he had to pin him, the young man was acting like a beast, clawing in Karla’s direction.

“So she is just like us” Hella stepped in and looked at her winged sister. Maxwell’s screams for Åge’s self-control awoke Nea and now she began to cry. Jóhann sighed at the state of the family and held her, staying in the bedroom.

“Åge, please…please snap out of this!” he kept shaking him but he was so far gone. “Sister!” Hella must have some answers! “You do this all the time! He’ll be okay! Right!...RIGH!?” Karla was curled up against a side wall.

“Only if she-” her head gestured to Karla “wills it…but he’ll remember…he’s seen too much” Maxwell held the shaking Åge close.

“No! No he hasn’t! He’ll be quiet and he’ll tell no one! HE’ll TELL NO ONE!” He glared at Karla, he couldn’t help but cry in fear. “MAKE HIM STOP!” Karla only continued to shiver, her hands holding her head “I SAID MAKE IT STOP! GIVE ÅGE BACK! LET HIM GO-LET HIM GO-LET HIM-GO…” He kept screaming it but his damn sister wasn’t responding.

“Stop it Maxwell!” Hella cut him off sharply. “It’s too late” Ominously, his ears could hear hooves clicking against the masonry. Desperately, Maxwell dragged Åge to the most distant wall. Zahneri was slowly walking to the two, hoof alluringly crossing hoof, this was standard procedure.

“No….” with each step his crying intensified “Nooo please!....PLEASE! NO PLEASE!” nothing stopped the Elder Succubus; Maxwell’s throat could feel the scratches of overuse. “I LOVE HIM NO! STOP ZAHNERI!” he tried to command while her hand began to reach down to touch manic Åge. The teenager tried slapping the hand away but it broke his grasp and the sacrifice broke free, making a dash for Karla. The Elder Succubus’ other hand grazed his arm…and they were gone.

“No… NO! NONONONONONONONO!” Maxwell squabbled in a destructive mess at where Åge once stood.

Jóhann walked in, Nea being held close, he looked firmly at his little brother. He was a noisy disaster.

“Do not fall in love” he simply advised him.

“SHUT UP! I HATE YOU KARLA!” hiding his eyes with the groove of his bent arm, he shoved past his siblings and out the room. It got significantly quieter with each of his passing steps…only Karla’s whimpering was audible.

The other siblings looked at her with pity. The wings vanished in clouds of smoke.

“We need mother” Hella whispered through pouty lips.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Else had remained on her bed for some time, not sure how much had truly passed. As reflective as she wished to be, it was near impossible with the odds so stacked against her.

Summoned, Zahneri appeared, looking out her window. Else’s eye kept gazing at the ceiling, her mind unable to intake any new stimulus.

The crackles of the burning fire filled the room’s silence.

“Zahneri…how can I gain power?” her voice was soft. “Without Gods?…without Demon Lords?”

“Your children” Else leaned up on the bed, hair falling down, elbows propping her.

“What?” Lady Jarl Else was about to strike out the notion.

“Your children are powerful” the Elder Succubus turned her head to look at her mistress. “Their magic is even stronger than mine…I sense it”

“I will not risk my children”

“They would not be. Their power would be simply, a conduit” At this, the leader of the Free South sat up.

“For what?”

“Conjuration” The Lady Jarl sat up.

“Of what?” her voice menacingly probed.

“Of demons my mistress” Else stopped speaking, working her way off the bed slowly…she looked down at the crown.

“…To summon anything would still force me back to the Demon Lords”

“No my mistress. Not summon. Create: of their own magic and will only”

The mother looked at her shocked.

“My children are capable of this?”

“It is in their blood: The blood of Odin will bestow life to their creations. The blood of Zenita will help make the vessels”

“Their…heritage is truly a …freighting…freeing, one” her eyes looked to the fireplace. Could her children truly create life? “What would it require?”

“Sacrifices…ones that have been laid with and seeded” Else pursed her lips; she shook her head, blonde hair and earrings shaking.

“Why have you never told me this before?” she walked up to the window..and her eyes narrowed.

“You never asked for power from me, my mistress”

“What is that?” she pointed, there was a purple light in the far distance.

“I do not know” The Lady Jarl could feel an ominous fear in her heart when she looked at it.

“Investigate it” she commanded, walking to her vanity to fix her hair.

Purple Light, The Free South

Zahneri studied the far purple ray of light before she vanished from the Odinsen Castle. Appearing miles in the sky, her black wings flapped slowly and her penetrating eyes observed the beam and the surrounding environment.

The ground below her was covered in snow, the wind whipped at the beam but nothing happened, it continued to pulsate in the air with such destructive fervor that all around it seemed lifeless compared to its demonic grandeur. This was a feeling that Zahneri had grown up with - this was a feeling that Zahneri's very realm - Tartarus - conveyed.

Down below, by the beam moved a huge camp, full of humanoids in metal armor. An aura of darkness seemed to shade them from Zahneri, but she could feel herself their influence and power and this seemed to startle the Elder Succubus- she had not felt such blackness since she was within the Demonic plains, a very particular plain. Her eyes blinked as she watched the Beam as a herald of new sounds echoed through it, sounding very much like drops of water hitting a larger body of the same liquid. From the purple beam - which was pulsating from an anvil like object - came groups of people rushing through. They wore different clothes and held different weapons to the others, though they came through. Within minutes hundreds of men and women flooded through, until at the end, two very tall men carrying a single smaller and beaten humanoid arrived.

This humanoid was wearing beautiful armour and held a very particular sword. His hair was long and brown whilst his ears were pointed and ended in a star shaped pattern. One of the dark armoured humanoids marched up to the beaten man and looked at him, before placing his hand on his head. A surge of darkness ran up the armoured man's arm and into the other's head, before they both stood in unison. As they stood, the once beaten man slowly turned his head towards the location of Zahneri, as if he could sense her.

Within the Elder Succubus' mind, a voice of almighty strength and power filled her mind as darkness began to fill the air around her like ink.

"Come now...child of mine sister; come and join us."

‘How could he…?’ the Elder Succubus never experienced this feeling before. She was to be the one in control. Sharp eyes glared down to the man to get a more detailed look before she teleported to Else’s bedchambers…afraid.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

The voice in Zahneri's head laughed as she disappeared, growing fainter and fainter as she materialized within Else's chambers. "You will die soon...oh yes...you will all fall to me."

“What was it?” Else asked, her pleated hair now tied around her head, her beautiful reflection about to be complete with the crown.

“My mistress…” there was a hesitation in the Elder Succubus’ voice that Else never heard before, she turned to face her immediately. “An army is gathering”

“Not the North?” the Elder Succubus shook her head.

“Of Tartartus”

“…how?”

“They are coming from the purple light. And they are not Human my mistress. There is at least one magic user, he discovered me quickly” Else was stiff. Was this Set coming for her children? Her people? The crown sat on the vanity, waiting to be worn. She looked to her reflection the mirror, silent.

“Are you certain of this?”

“I sensed it” Judging from the distance of the light…this encroaching dark force could be on Branjaskr’s door step within a week.

“How many of my children would be required for your ritual?”

“Hella and Jóhann would be sufficient. Their magic the most powerful and honed”

“And they WILL NOT be harmed?” her lips moved slowly.

“No my mistress” The Lady Jarl grabbed the crown, and placed it upon herself. The ice blue gems intensified the color of her eyes.

“Gather them within the hour” she stood firm. With a week to prepare, there was much she could accomplish. They separated: The Lady Jarl by her bedchamber door, the Elder Succubus by her magic.

“Summon the Housecarl and Landswoman” she told a slave firmly, her walk bold. Word of the purple light had begun to move through the castle.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

Hella stayed with Karla to help her and watch Nea. Jóhann’s initiative to get the family together to face the unknown, possible danger, failed. Walking in the direction of his mother’s room, his body could only tense. Memories of his father flooded him, particularly him as a small boy running to his father’s chambers ready for another day’s combat training.

“Mother…? Mother!” He tried to stop her powerful stride.

“Elskede?” She said endearing. “Why are you here?”

“There is a purple li-” She raised a finger to him.

“I’m handling it. I will need to speak to you and Hella soon. Expect her” with that, she turned.

“Mother” her gorgeous face turned to her son, questioning.

“Karla is like us” he heavily accented. He could see his mother’s eyes moving in thought.

“Taken care of?”

“Yes, Hella is with her” she nodded and walked off.

Jóhann stood in the hallway nerved, unable to turn the corner and see the bedchamber door he had visited so many times in his youth.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Throne Room

The two most powerful military forces of the Free South were kneeling before the Lady Jarl. She sat, leg crossed, upon the huge, fur lined, cushioned, stone throne.

On the left was Housecarl Yngve of Odinsen, the personal bodyguard and muscle of the family. A grizzly, toned man in his 60s who had fought alongside Korzan to help create the Free South. At a height of 6’8’’, the weapons master was a beast of a man: short gray beard, a gray ponytail, square head, broad shoulders, with stern, heavy features that were accentuated by three bear claw scars moving down his right eye showed him to be this.

Korzan himself appointed this man to this position of power, and has since then helped teach new generations of the Free South how to fight…making the band of villages filled with powerful warriors, his teachings have passed down to new teachers...men and women alike. Else and the Housecarl were close friends while Korzan reigned…but much has changed since then. He has spent much of the last year continuing his teaching, having near to no contact with the family he was in charge of protecting.

On the right was Landswoman Kia, the leader of the those who have sworn military oath to House Oidensen. Being in her 40s she still had some youthful shine about her. Voluminous blonde coils were a knock out, brows arcing and eyes fierce. But it was her permanently broken nose that changed her from being drooled over by her subordinates, to being respected and to some, feared. Her time was spent speaking of the Hurtug’s of each village, ensuring safety. Her height was a proud 5’10’’, was of a strong build, and her skill with a broadsword was one to not be denied, nor her aim with a bow. Her skill in beast-mastery granted her many fierce companions.

“No doubt you have seen the…light” they stood to engage their fair ruler.

“Yes, Lady Jarl…it puts me on edge” Housecarl Yngve grumbled. Landswoman Kia nodded in agreement.

“Then we share suspicions of danger. With the Imperium already heading toward us, I will not take any risks. We need to fortify Branjaskr as quickly as possible. I feel the enemy may be on us sooner than we think. I want this done within a week’s time”

“Extra archers will be posted on the walls and castle towers. Catapults will be lined on the walls” Landswoman Kia guaranteed.

“And prepare the oils and suitable arrows” Else honed in on her “I want nothing held back”

“Yes Lady Jarl”

“Housecarl Yungve” he grunted, a nod of his head.

“Work with Landswoman Kia to ensure each villager is armed”

“Easy task Lady Jarl, most already have blade”

“I want any repairs of our defensive structures to begin immediately. You’re dismissed Housecarl Yngve of Odinsen” The warrior kneeled in respect and set out to do his tasks.

“By the end of the week I want the wolf packs ready for attack. Send a scout to investigate the light”

“Yes Lady Jarl” she kneeled again.

“You are dismissed” Landswoman Kia left.

Branjaskr was preparing for war.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Else’s Secret Basement Chamber

Else saw her two eldest children be brought in through Zahneri’s magic, the Elder Succubus stood away from them and waited quietly. They turned to their mother, expectedly.

“We are going to be attacked soon” her fingers interlaced at her waist. “The purple light-” the children’s anxiety built “is some connection to a force from Tartarus, Zahneri has sensed it. She has been next to the light” Jóhann turned his head to look at her, but the Elder Succubus remained sensual and still as usual.

“They also have magic…” she looked down, and rubbed her forehead. “Whoever they are, they can be here by week’s time” Hella licked her lips nervously, her mouth feeling dry.

“How we can help?” she offered to her powerful mother.

“The two of you…my children, have a power that can help us…” Else now walked around the room, her silks dragged on the ground. Her face creased with stress. “Zahneri says you can gain us new allies”

“She’s trained us to summon succubi…” The Lady Jarl shook her head her daughter.

“No, allies with no ties to Zenita, only to us. I do not want you to ever use that magic. Those demons' true master will always be Zenita.” They looked to her mother confused. “Through ritual, you…can create our own minions” Their eyes shot wide. The implications of such power.

“Oooooo” Jóhann’s lips puckered while he smoothly sounded his interest.

“How?” Hella’s desire for control motivated her down the rabbit hole. Else took a long pause…waiting before she crossed a threshold she never thought she would.

“Zahneri will guide you through it…” she looked to loyal demonic minion. Her shoes clicked until she stood next to the Elder Succubus. “Use Coldbloods” her voice was stern, and the Lady Jarl then left the room. Hella and Jóhann wondered why Coldbloods were needed, the most vile of society, rapists, murders, repeating offenders of the highest crimes. Coldbloods were exiled to glacier villages, enduring the harshest of colds, their faces branded so that they may never return to civilization, or warmth.

Their demonic teacher and protector disappeared; they stood still in the dark room waiting. Several minutes passed and she returned; two grungy men and a woman dropped their hands from her. Pointing to the ground Zahneri gave command.

“Etch the runes” her nails cuts into their wrists and the three seduced people moved to the middle of the room to use their life force as ink. Their synergy was quickly making a circle, smaller, unintelligible symbols were starting to be drawn, splatter decorating the ground. The Odinsens’ excitement and wonder began to rise.

When the intricate symbols were completed, Zahneri looked to the Odinsens. The three love slaves stood perfectly still.

They stared at Zahneri and she only continued to hold the stare…until Jóhann understood.

“We are supposed to plough them I believe sister” the Elder Succubus nodded, he took his hand and cupped the face one of the men. He was not attractive, he sighed. “We all must make sacrifices…” he jested before putting his lips against the glazed over man’s.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village, Courage Point

By the castle, there rests a hill top that is elevated over the village of Branjaskr. It was naturally dynamic with sound and echoes the speaker’s words down onto the thousands of people who can look up from below. This was the point where Korzan declared Branjaskr liberated by his people, this was the place Else announced the death of her beloved husband and the taking of the crown…and now she stood here again.

Far below her the proud people of the Free South kept their focus on her, dazzled by their graceful leader: the woman who bore the beautiful children of Korzan and continue Odin’s lineage. Her ability to pick up where her husband left off had now become a symbol of pride for the people.

“People of Branjaskr!” her voice boomed down to them, thousands of people were able to unanimously become silent. “By passing days the Imperium comes closer to our lands. And before us” Lady Jarl Else pointed to the purple light “is the unknown. An unknown light that attempts to challenge our bravery. And the Imperium attempts to challenge our strength! Again we, the people of the FREE SOUTH are called to show our challengers just what we can do. Again, we are called to show our challengers just how powerful FREEDOOM is and AGAIN, we will show our challengers the power of a fighting force of men and women who value their humble homes over greedy conquest! It has only been US who can endure the snow and the ice. THIS. IS. OUR. HOME!” The people began to roar.

On the floor, Jóhann and Hella finished the deed, the Coldbloods held smiles on their disconnected faces. The Elder Succubus handed over an athame, their throats and wrists were cut…the bodily fluids pooling in the circle.

The Odinsens intertwined hands, forming a circle above the filth.


“semen facit vitam”

They chanted, taking the demon’s lead. The old language taping into their magical power.

“ODIN WILL SEE THE STRENGTH OF HIS POWER, HE IS WITH US BOTH SPIRIT AND BLOOD!” The people applauded, pride and courage filled them.

Their palms were cut deeply, dripping its reagents into the magic.


“sanguinem facit vitam”

The circle began to glow bright red. Brother and sister focused the energy from their loins to course through them, activating their fullest power.

“WE WILL PICK UP OUR AXES, OUR SWORDS, AND OUR BOWS AND WE WILL HAVE VICTORY!” Thousands of mouths turned into thunder.


“VITA! VITA! VITA! VITA! SED VIVICARE!”

The concoction of fluid and cooling corpses began to become difficult to see under a red haze of mist that began to rise. The siblings fell to their knees, drained of energy.

The Lady Jarl stood among her people confidently; they would fight whatever challenges that came, man or god.

Zahneri dragged her masters away to the edge of the room and watched, the sacrifices impossible to see past the light and mist.

With a quickened thought that her husband had once stood at this very spot, she left.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village

While the populace had their morale restored by mother, Kalle could only stare at the wall where Syf had left her mark: the interwoven cracks that spanned through the stone…all caused by one rock toss. By a woman half crazed, and frozen because she was nearly naked in the snow.

Kalle took off his glove and reached out to touch the cracks, his fingers appreciating each weak point. Though he was left confused by Syf, she was an amazing person, with a mysticism about her.

“I’m sorry Syf…” He had only known her for two days, he had grown to care for her. Another person swallowed by the family secret.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Else’s Secret Basement Chamber

The two naturally gifted demonologists looked at the mist, it continued to evoke more and more curiosity and wonder.

Zahneri however, only leered at the mist…waiting for it to produce kin. The first sounds came from the red smoky haze, a young man’s screams. His first breath a cry of climax, splotched with the blood of the missing dead. Instantly the Elder Succubus could feel that whatever was in the mist was not an incubus and she quickly walked to it, to subdue it.

He, whatever it was, only continue to cry out loudly in pleasure and in life, Zahneri’s hand expertly dived into the mist for his neck. The Odinsens could see the hints of wings sticking out of the mist, what had they made?

The two demons exchanged sounds: Zahneri, a teeth bearing, hissing down at it with ferocity, the undefined male, gasping whimpers.

“WHO ARE THEY!?” she craned his view of the male to the Odinsens.

“MASTERS!” he cried, she slammed it into the ground.

“Good…” Bent over, she looked to the masters “I would ask you leave, things did not go as intended” They nodded, admittedly freaked by their power and their imagination of what the mystery creature could be.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Family Dining Room

It was dinner time. Else already sat in her chair, as per usual, her children had not arrived yet.

With closed eyes, she breathed in deeply, slowly, to collect herself from today’s events. Then the door cracked open.

Maxwell walked in; his eyes seemed to be permanently puffy and red. Else looked at him with quiet confusion. He looked distraught. In a surprising twist: the eldest two appeared next, but rather than the usual cocky looks they had, both looked…worried. They sat down quietly. Kalle walked in, but his usual disciplined walk was slouched, eyes detached…lost.

And then Karla walked in, Nea in arm…much like Maxwell her eyes seemed forever tragic. Out of the entire room, only Nea seemed mildly joyful, even her happiness was dampened. The energy of the room was suffocating.

The Odinsen family sat in silence, honoring Korzan…Else studied all her children, unaware of the hints of stress on her own face. Plates of lamb, and greens with bowls of pig soup were distributed by Selma. This used to be Åge’s chore: Maxwell started to weep at the table, breaking the silence, face in his hands.

Karla glared at her mother. “I hate you” Else stared at her wide eyed, her children have never said this to her before. Selma was politely not reacting to the unfolding tension.

“Will you excuse us Selma?”

“Of course Lady Jarl” it was just the family in the small room. Only Maxwell’s crying continued. The other family members, weakly ate their meals…the respectful time of silence of their father, not yet over. Mother held her young son’s hand, gaining it after a small shoulder rub. Though her youth still hid his face, her eyes turned back to Karla who would not stop judging her with bold blue diamonds.

Then time was up for Korazn, Else raised a brow to her second daughter.

“Do not speak to me like that” Defiantly, Karla spoke again.

“I hat-”

“I HATE YOU! YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST TOLD MOTHER LIKE I DID, YOU ARE THE REASON HE’S DEAD! DEAD, DEAD, DEAD! I LOVED HIM AND YOU KILLED HIM!” Else’s hand was nearly crushed in the grasp of her young son. Past his tears she could see a face she learned very well. Its contortions of pain and sorrow: it was the face she saw in the mirror the night of her Husband’s death. Else knew his heart to be true. “YOU THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN US! YOU ARE JUST LIKE US YOU BI-”

“MAXWELL ODINSEN!” all sound stopped, Kalle was the calmest…as if he wasn’t in the room…ordinary bites of his food. The platinum blonde teen looked to his mother. “Go to your room”

“B-b-b-but!” he was becoming incoherent.

“NOW.” Maxwell stood up from his chair. “Take Nea with you, you haven’t spoken to your baby sister in some time” he walk around Else, gently picked up Nea and left the room with a slam of the door. The eldest looked at Mother. “Hella, bring his food to his room. Jóhann, Nea’s” they had left the room with the dishes.

“You are a sna-”

“You are weak, skatten min” Karla looked down, ashamed. “And a coward for avoiding the truth. We are family, and you are no better, and no worse than the rest of your siblings” Kalle finished eating, he left without word. Karla’s tears fell into her food. “I sacrificed everything so that you may live”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE ALIVE! I WANT DEATH!”

‘..dead or alive their souls are damned none the less…’ Set’s voice filled Else’ mind.

“No child, no you do not” the words quivered out of the Lady Jarl with shaky confidence. Karla shook her head, earrings and full hair flailed.

“You always know what is best” she bit before standing and leaving without permission, her food half completed.

Lady Jarl Else Odinsen of the Free South, sat alone for the first time, after over thirty years. She fell back into her chair; there were too many firsts today. The winds of change were coming, her gut could feel it painfully.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Else’s Secret Basement Chamber

Zahneri’s nails were held into the other demon’s throat. Without blinking, without movement she stared down at him. His body and features were youthful; she could see the hint of incubus blood in their sexual presentation. But the predominate aesthetic was open, fresh…too human. Delving deep into her senses she tried to pinpoint just what this raven winged young blood was. He was not kin, he was something new. Something mixed with Odin divinity.

Brown eyes were locked, the demons studying each other. The male knew to be the lesser. His talon feet scrapped against the stone loudly, he shifted uncomfortably. The pressure was on him.

Zahneri’s ritual failed. This new creation was weak.

“Who are you” she demanded.

“I…do not know…”

Another long moment of staring.

“You are Oerin, eternal servant of the Odinsen family” and it was so.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Jóhann's Bedchambers

Jóhann and Hella had whisked away to do their usual, it kept them comfortable and entertained. More importantly, it kept them distracted from the events unfolding around them, each playing with two concubines.

Karla needed release...there was a limit she could take, after all these years...it was broken. She knocked on the door.

"Who is it!?" Jóhann sounded frustrated.

"Karla..." there was a silence.

"What do you want?"

"May I come in?"

"You know what we do in here, right?"

"Yes"

"Come in" she entered, the scents of sexual fluids instantly hitting her. The family was disgusting. But her eldest brother and sister had what she needed...craved. The door was shut gently behind her, there on the wide bed were the six nude and aroused bodies of her siblings and their long term...company.

"I wish to join you" Hella raised a brow "I...can't take it anymore..." Hella curved a finger under the chin of a male concubine.

"Isn't she beautiful?"

"Very...you all are...she's so innocent" Hella kissed him and giggled.

"She isn't" a tease. Jóhann waved her closer to the bed with a bandaged hand. Standing at the foot Karla's eyes looked around at all the flesh, heart starting to race.

"It helps kill the edge" Jóhann cooed, easing her in. She undid her dress, allowing it to fall to the floor and got on the bed.

"I think this one likes you sister" Hella smiled. "Give him a try first"

Aureyon
02-12-2014, 10:17 PM
Tu Zenita Duskal, Afragia

Sometimes people are cursed with disease and poverty, and sometimes they are blessed with health and riches. Juno, it seemed, had been dealt the lesser of the two hands by fate, and while she was not one to contemplate the will of the Gods, she wasn’t ready to die. She had too much to live for, and her children could not be left without a parent to guide them, so she chose to fight the will of the Gods and seek her own salvation.

Leaving her children behind was the hardest thing she had done, and it was not something she chose to do lightly. But, if she didn’t try to find the heart of the fungi in Tartarus, she would be nothing more than a broken husk for her children to look after until the disease managed to eat away everything that she was, or could ever be.

So, here she was, in Afragia, having walked countless leagues already to get to this point; her body was aching. She could feel the disease eating away her skin, it felt as though blades were being driven in her arms and then pulled towards her shoulder. It took all the strength that her womanly body could muster not to show weakness, or pain.

Instead she looked to the sky and prayed.

“Hera, help me to be strong, Aphrodite help me to keep my promise to my children, Diana give me the ability to hunt my prey as you would, and Athena, give me the wisdom to find my way to Tartarus”

It was true, that she felt as though the gods had abandoned her, and doomed her to feel the ravages of this disease, but it did not mean that she did not worship them all the same. In truth, she was still a woman of the gods, her home decorated with the the statuettes of the Goddess’ she had just prayed to. They were the four main gods of her household, and it was to them she looked now.

She turned her eyes back to her path, and passed into Tu Zenita Duskal, before collapsing to the ground, her legs losing all energy that she had.

An Afragian man helped her to her feet, and gave her a walking stick, allowing her to continue on her path, and she thanked him with a handful of coins; before turning away and continuing on down her path towards the Throne of Afragia. She would see the Princess Nesara, and plead for her aid in the discovering of the path to the Underworld.

Little did she know, she was about to fall into a world of troubles, that she had no business being in. She will soon find herself praying for her very life to be spared.

Minkasha
02-14-2014, 05:16 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Maxwell’s Bedchambers

Max spent all night looking at the falling snow…something he did frequently. It brought him peace, at times he used to share this joy with Åge…but now it was just him and the falling snow again. Mother came in the night, held him and took Nea…but in truth, he found the alone time far worse.

His heart had struggled for a dominate emotion: the hatred for his sister, or the mourning of his lover. The darkness past the wide glass window only helped him imagine the black smoke that enveloped and swallowed Åge…he actually never knew what Zahneri did with the bodies. He just knew that when she took them, they were gone, and that was that.

…And that was that…at least, it was for the rest of his family. But by the damn gods did it hurt. It was just him and the snow again…

Did Åge suffer? Why did Karla do this? Why did she lie, and hurt when Kalle taught them how to be stronger? Maxwell laid on his side in his bed, staring at his hands. Touch…love…warmth…taken by greedy sexual desire. Karla thought she was the best of them, she was the worst.

She even knew he loved him.

There was a knock on the door.

“Max…” It was Kalle, the one truly strongest of the siblings: The one who showed the rest that their blood didn’t dominate them.

“…yes…?”

“Can I come in?”

“…yes” He was glad to not be alone again.

Kalle crept in, closing the door behind him quietly, looking down on the bed he saw Maxwell just lying there, near lifeless. Kalle knew he wasn’t the only one in pain, though he had little idea of Max’s pains. He sat at the side of the bed and rubbed his little brother’s shoulder. Kalle learned more of his brother’s suffering when he rolled over: he looked ragged, weary, tired of crying.

“Brother…” Maxwell said weakly, Kalle brought him close and hugged him, rubbing the back of his head fondly. Maxwell may not know it, but he was now the only sibling in the family whose sexual exploits haven’t caused the death of someone. Kalle was a symbol for Max, he knew this…and it was up to him and Zahneri to keep the truth a secret.

“I’m here for you Max”

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Else’s Secret Basement Chamber

Zahneri once again circled Oerin, her eyes never gave way. What had the magic created? Oerin’s eyes kept following the succubus every time she walked through his field of vision. His facial expression was a nervous one. The succubus didn’t appreciate the fact he had one. How could she ensure it would be submissive if she didn’t know what it was?

“I will introduce you to your head mistress soon…” she now stopped in front of him, leering. Oerin only looked at her with eyes of confusion. “Her word is your reason for existence” she stilled her tongue. Oerin nodded, a state of normality returning to his both chiseled and pretty features. “You will do as she says, without question…have the slightest hesitation and I’ll teach you submission”

Oerin swallowed hard, Zahneri appreciated his fear past her stone face. If he was going to be an emotional creature, those emotions must be bent in the Odinsen’s favor. The magic used to create him should keep him eternally loyal, but feeling was a factor she did not like added into the equation.

Content for the moment, Zahneri vanished. Oerin stayed still in the dark room.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Branjaskr was in a furry of movement, arming itself and making the preparations commanded by the Lady Jarl. Else knew that she could trust the oversight of her Housecarl and Landswoman. With what unfolded last night at the dinner table, it was imperative she reach out to her family. There looked to be the real threat of division, and sadly, her children had no one else that would be able to accept them truly…they must stay united because they are truly the only source of unconditional love past the Lady Jarl’s own heart.

The image of Odin’s beautiful, blessed, grandchildren could change so…quickly. Else smiled down to Nea, moving the doll replica of her that Karla had sewn together years ago. In Nea’s small hands was a larger sewn doll of Kozan, the handsome blond hero. Attached to top of his head was a sewn replica of the crown.

“I am the hero!” Nea made him walk up and strike down a large sewn bear.

“My hero!” Mother made her doll jump for joy with a smile. Her other hand wrapped around the shoulders of her youngest child. “Oh no! Another monster!” Nea’s other hand had a lion leaping for Else, of course Korzan stood defiantly before the evil creature. With great arm swing the lion was put down in one hit! “Kjære! You did it!” Nea giggled, the two dolls were about to hug when Zahneri appeared. Else pulled away her doll from Korzan’s open arms. “Yes?”

The Lady Jarl had not heard word of yesterday’s magic…something that had been tickling her mind and spirit with worry.

“He is ready”

“It was a success?”

“Not as I thought it would be, mistress” Else raised a brow, and stood with Nea on her hip.

“Have Kalle watch her, and bring back Jóhann and Hella” the succubus nodded. After twenty seven years of being around the demon, she was used to her handling her children and after a kiss, gave Nea to Zahneri with the toys. Nea accepted Zahneri with happiness, the little girl actually like Zahneir, loved to play with her very different textured black hair. Instantly, they were gone.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Maxwell’s Bedchambers

Kalle heard the laughs of Nea and turned his head to see her and the succubus. Maxwell and Kalle, for their individual reasons, both looked away from Zahneri.

“Your mother requests you to watch Nea” Kalle nodded, arms outstretched for her. To look at the succubus brought him to a dark place of anger and guilt. There were things he wanted to say to her, but not in front of his siblings. Nea was set in his lap and she group hugged her brothers.

Zahneri vanished once more. Feeling Max crying into his shoulder, his gaze was held low and solemn.

Kalle couldn’t stop staring at the Korzan doll.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Jóhann’s Bedchambers

Karla felt filthy…the stains on her, the way she saw her siblings in a new light, and the deepest intimacies she revealed of her last night.

But, she could live in peace now, sadly. Her body not tearing at her, it was quiet, calm…and now she could never let go of this. She NEEDED to keep this, chastity was worse than death. The concubines and her siblings were sleeping, in middle of two concubines she looked around, dare she risk moving? She’d never shared a bed with anyone before…let alone six others.

The question of bedroom etiquette didn’t have to stay in her mind for long, Zahneri intervened.
“Jóhann, Hella” it roused them. Jóhann took in a deep, waking breath.

“Hey you” he said flirtatiously. Zahneri remained as unresponsive as ever.

“Your mother summons you two”

“Alright, alright” he slugged off the arm of a cuddled concubine. “Come on sister” Clothed, they left in a cloud of black smoke. Karla was left alone with the concubines; she eyeballed all of them nervously.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

The demon conjurers and succubus stood before Else, she turned to Zahneri after eyeing the bandages on her children’s hands. Her face held the question.
“It requires blood mistress”

“What was the result?” The eldest siblings looked to her too, excited, afraid…curious.

“I shall get him mistress” poof….poof: now in the middle stood the toned young man. Else looked to him with wide eyes, seeing his large black feather wings, her vision then moved to the feet: talons. The raven was a well-known symbol of Odin.

“What is he?” her voice distant, deep in thought. However, her children looked him and up and down with satisfaction.

“He’s beautiful” Hella rejoiced at the result, her blue eyes unable to stop looking at his tan skin. Oerin looked at each two that stood before him, the man was grinning at him, the woman looking him up and down. They were the ones he saw at the start of his existence.

“I do not know mistress, he is something that has not existed before”

“Face me” a woman behind him commanded, Oerin followed.

“Your head mistress” The succubus continued to mold his submission. Else held back a gasp, this raven demon looked so young, just barely a young man. Guilt struck her heart. What had she made?

“What is your name?”

“Oerin” Zahneri waited a moment, noticing he said no more, slashed him across his prominent nose and cheek. Small drips of blood escaped from the cuts.

“Mistress” she corrected, Else raised a hand to hold Zahneri’s actions.

“Oerin, mistress” he said now, a hint of a sad look to his bleeding face.

“Zahneri” Else glared at her “No”

“As you wish mistress” Else grabbed a cloth and began to dab it on his wound. Their eyes locked.

“He is a weak creation mistress” Else could see so much of Maxwell in him. Oerin felt a hand grasp his triceps.

“He feels strong to me” Hella giggled, the Lady Jarl snatched her wrist. While she loved her dearly, there was a limit on her patience of Hella’s previsions. Hella met eyes with her mother, caught off guard.

“He is too young, you will not touch him” The Lady Jarl held her authoritative face until Hella broke eye contract.

“Yes mother” she fell back to her brother. This young man was to be a demon, but the Lady Jarl couldn’t help but see the humanity about him.

“You are to serve the Odinsens, Oerin” her voice was gentle, cloth dirtied with a little blood. He nodded silently. “But I have…a special request for you. Something I want you to hold with the highest priority”

“Yes mistress?” Oerin’s loyalties and respect building for the gentle mistress. A bold, well-shaped brow rose, waiting for his command.

“Watch over and protect my youngest son, Maxwell” her heart pained, the memory of holding him in his agony, new. “Can you do this?”

“Yes mistress” Else pulled away with a small smile, her home evolving into a den of demons…but if it would keep her children safe…She walked around him to look to her children and the family succubus.

“Can this ritual be done again?” all looked to Zahneri.

“Yes, though I can no longer guarantee the results mistress. I was mistaken” Else glanced back at Oerin, studying the Odin markers of his body.

“I want to do it again” Hella looked firmly at her mother. Jóhann nodded, and Else did following his.

“Zahneri, assist them to do the ritual as many times as they wish. But if any creation even has the hint of disobedience, end them. And if the ritual becomes a danger to my children, you are to stop it above all else”

“Yes my mistress”

“And, you are to only use Coldbloods” they were damned already.

“Yes mistress”

“Any other…” Else looked to Oerin’s open face “servants are to meet me as soon as possible”

“Let’s get into it, I’m curious to see what happens next” Jóhann’s words triggered the vanishing act of the three conjurers. Else stood in front of the raven demon, she was no longer naïve in the ways of the demonic.

“Are you able to teleport?”

“No mistress”

“Can you conceal yourself?”

“Yes mistress”

“Then do so and follow me” in a cloud of black smoke, he reemerged a raven on the ground. The Lady Jarl took note of Oerin’s ability, it could prove useful later. She walked from her room, Oerin perched himself on her shoulder, she looked to the raven with a raise brow, but continued none-the-less.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Maxwell’s Bedchambers

Maxwell had been left again, Kalle having to take care of Nea. As alone as he felt, he had no desire to leave his bedroom, so many memories and moments he longed for in here. Hands running over his sheets, there was history here. Something he wanted to cling on to.

Another knock of the door.

“Come in” Maxwell tossed it with little energy.

“My son” he looked up to see his mother and…a raven on her shoulder.

“Mother…?” he stared at the raven with confusion, she sat on the side of the bed.

“Maxwell, I see now the loneliness I have caused you…” she left the slave’s name unsaid. Maxwell shook his head. Else’s express was morose and grave.

“No, it’s Karla’s fault…she knew the rules” weary eyes continued to stare at the raven. “Why is there a bird on your shoulder mother?”

“Zahneri and your eldest have been helping us gain new allies; the purple light is a danger son. This is someone who will protect you” Maxwell raised a brow concerned. Oerin flew off the Lady Jarl’s shoulder and to the end of the bed. Black smoke concealed him until he stood before the two in his true form.

Maxwell stared at him wide eyed, his eyes not sure where to look…he had the same covering as Zahneri, but in his case it hardly cupped his genitals. It was an uncomfortable time to blush, he looked away.

“Hi…”

“Hello master”

“Just call me Max”

“Max” Else gave a small smile, this pairing felt best: Maxwell would have company and her eldest children would not try to have their way with the youthful spawn. Her own feelings wouldn’t allow her to see this new demon as emotionless as Zahneri…Oerin seemed entirely different.

“Oerin will keep you safe” she leaned forward to kiss Maxwell’s forehead. “I ask you be careful. Danger is coming” she was foreboding, and he looked up at her with worry. “I love you Maxwell”

“I love you mother” another kiss on his forehead before she left.

“Oerin…” he turned to his new protector, the strange wings not being the thing to catch or hold his eye.

“Yes Max?”

“Can you….turn into a bird again?” in a could of smoke it was done, Maxwell sighed. “Thanks” the bird sat on the end of his bed, it cawed.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Else’s Secret Basement Chamber

Past another haze of red smoke the newly exhausted Odinsen siblings could hear a feminine and divine cry of ecstasy. It was enough to get both of them thinking of the deed again. Zahneri pinned whatever may be hidden in the mist, however she could already see a soft glow in the red cloud. What she sensed was much more to her liking, something with the power to control, this was her definition of power. However, in the mysterious female was a strong connection to the divine.

White feathered wings flapped out of the red mist, and it began to dissipate. The siblings looked at the revealed woman with wide eyes. She was truly breathtaking; all about here seemed positive and graceful.

Thick waves of golden brown hair spilled past her nude shoulders. Divine almond eyes looked up to the succubus. In every way Zahneri was overtly erotic, this new creation was elegant, and mesmerizing in her own right.

The succubus kept her focus harsh on the white winged woman. Her senses telling her that this spawn would not be as difficult to ensure discipline. She craned the woman’s head, the line of diamonds embedded in her hair whipped about.

“Who are they?” the creation looked to Jóhann and Hella. Hella was blinking rapidly, her brother drooled a little.

“She’s mine” Hella claimed.

“No…I made her too…”

“Masters” the female spawn answered.

“Good” the succubus was pleased.

“Share?” Hella offered.

“With pleasure” Zahneri forced eye contact with the woman in her clutch.

“You are Alya, eternal servant of the Odinsen family”

“Yes” Alya took her charge easy enough.

“Quick, let’s show mother” Jóhann suggested, feeling suddenly revitalized in Alya’s presence. Hella greedily agreed.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Else had waited patiently in her room to ensure she could be available once the new spawn was made. When they appeared, she stood and looked at the new ‘demon’ shocked.

“This…was what was made?” she gestured to the glowing and twinkling Alya. To look at her and her beautiful wings made her think of the swans that flew overhead the day she married Korzan in the Odin’s grotto nearby. A shock of emotional pain crossed her in remembrance.

“Yes mistress. Do not be fooled, she is a demon” Zahneri pointed to Else. “Your head mistress”

“What is your name?” more and more the Lady Jarl was amazed and disturbed by the results. They were random, awe inspiring, and not what she expected considering how they come to be. Odin’s dominion over nature could never truly be mastered or replicated it seemed.

“Alya, mistress” The Lady Jarl nodded. Jóhann couldn’t wait any longer and grabbed the deceiving demon’s arm. She was clearly old enough.

“I believe we’ll take this one” he stated with arrogance. Again, the Lady Jarl came into cull their sexual destruction.

“Alya will be watching over Nea” Else stamped on the eldest children’s hopes. Both showed faces of brooding disappointment. “We create these allies to assist us for the upcoming dangers, not to be your sexual play things” Both children remained silent. Alya was released. The leader of the Free South had a mother’s intuition that Alya was naturally suited for the task. “Alya, your charge is to watch my youngest daughter Nea, a child, can you do this?”

Alya smiled. “It would be an honor and pleasure mistress” Else gave a questioning glance to Zahneri, she too nodded. Trust was gained.

“Take her Zahneri” the darkness consumed both and they were gone. Her children still held the sad looks, their faces reminded her of youths who were unable to get a toy they desired. “Bandage your hands children and rest” she kissed both of their foreheads and they left dragging their feet out the door.

“Maybe the next one sister” Jóhann held out hope.

The Free South

A scout riding large reindeer was charging towards the purple light. She was a day’s journey out.

Azazeal849
02-19-2014, 01:19 PM
SOUTHERN OCEAN

"Captain!" one of the lookouts suddenly called, pointing.

Captain Marius of the Delphina, one of the swift triremes ranging ahead of the main Namorian fleet, turned from his post to follow the lookout's gaze. He pulled his woolen cloak closer about him as he crossed the deck - as the fleet moved south, tacking against the current westerly wind, it was getting rapidly colder.

Staring out over the frigid sea, Marius initially thought that his lookout was pointing at the cluster of icebergs that drifted like frozen pearls through the wind-whipped ocean. They were bobbing between the Delphina and its sister scout ship Ulcisca, too far away to pose a danger to either vessel. Marius snorted and clapped the young lookout on the shoulder.

"They're bigger under the water, lad, but they don't stretch that far."

"No sir," the lookout insisted, "A sail. Look!"

Marius looked again, now thinking that the boy must have mistaken a cloud on the horizon, but his irritation died as he finally saw what the boy was getting at.

"Run out the oars," he called to his first officer, "And bring us in closer to that thing!"

A few minutes later, a rope was cast off the Delphina's starboard side, and the strange object was hauled closer. It was a small sheet of ice, presumably sheared from one of the many bergs that broke away from the southern glaciers - by itself it was unremarkable, but someone had thrust a spear and a dagger into the ice, and secured a sodden white cloak to it that was clearly meant to be a sail. Two of the braver and more nimble sailors climbed down to retrieve the effects, while other men crowded the edge of the deck to look.

"Well," the first officer grunted as he hefted the spear. It was a strange weapon - all metal, and segmented into parts that were slightly different thicknesses, as if it were designed to retract into itself like the collapsable dwarven spy-glasses that Namorian soldiers and sailors so prized. "A weird sort of weapon, but it looks like whoever owned it got washed overboard."

"What in the 12 hells would he have been doing this far out?" Marius asked.

"Fishing boat?" the officer suggested, "Shipwrecked?"

Marius squinted at the grey horizon to their south. The skies were relatively clear and had been for the last few days, making a storm unlikely. Still, a ship might have crashed into an iceberg or suffered some other misfortune.

"We're still a few days from the coast." he mused aloud. "A long way to come out fishing. Though Neptune knows how long this has been out here - it might have drifted."

"In any case," the first officer said with a smirk, "One less southern bastard to fight when we get there."

"Shall we signal the fleet, sir?" another officer asked. Off to either side, the Delphina's fellow scout ships had seen Marius change direction and were waving signal flags to ask what it was he had seen.

Marius grunted as the bitingly cold wind picked up again, and blew on his hands to warm them before returning them to the safety of the inside of his cloak. "No. Admiral Cossinius wants to hear about the coast and southern warships, not some poor bastard's makeshift life raft. Signal Ulcisca and Draccona that all's well and return us to station."


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

As the evening shadows stretched over the city of New Giza, the native Afragians shuffled furtively about the streets, closing shops and bolting doors. The Egyptians had let the population of the occupied city live, but for how long was anyone's guess. The only people allowed out of the city gates were the field workers, and then only under guard. The Egyptians opened their gates to traders, refugees and wounded soldiers, but they rarely seemed to let them leave again. The atmosphere in the lower city was tense and fearful, and the dark-skinned Afragians always averted their eyes whenever a troop of general Shaanar's soldiers or vizier Isets Anubites came jangling down the road in their bronze armour. Suriyana was uneasy. What would happen to these people if their mission succeeded? If the imperium made peace with the new Egyptian pharoah, then presumably they would be allowed to keep their conquered territories, and all the new slaves they had made.

And that wasn't the only thing about their mission that struck her as wrong either. What did Ra think at their shady efforts at regime change, among a group who seemed to worship him just as fervently as the Afragians did. When Suriyana had approached Anne with her doubts, after the latter's successful meeting with Ahsha, the earthborn priestess had repeated many of the same words she had told the Egyptian high priest. Ovidius and Suriyana didn't want a war between the imperium and the Egyptians, and the Egyptians didn't want a civil war - which was more than likely if the leadership challenge between the three aspiring pharoahs went on for much longer.

But would Ra approve of this? Suriyana asked herself again. Yes, he must do. We're trying to stop any bloodshed among both his groups of children. Aren't we?

"Where are we going?" she asked aloud to Ovidius, wanting something to take her mind off the wider implications of what they were doing.

"A really shit tavern." Ovidius answered. Clad in a simple black tunic, the spy was winding his way carefully between the sun-bleached mudbrick buildings, glancing back often to make sure that Suriyana was only a step or two behind him.

"Why a really shit one?" Suriyana asked him.

"Because the high-and-mighty occupiers will know better than to go there."

They scouted out half a dozen inns without success before they found what they were looking for, in a narrow street nestled in the shadow of the city's northern wall. The street outside the door was festooned with empty barrels and broken scraps of wood, and a greasy, unpleasant smell drifted out from the poorly-lit windows. Ovidius ducked through the door first, pushing aside the split wood with his other hand resting on his knife belt. Suriyana followed, and found herself in a low-ceilinged dining room where dark skinned Afragians crammed onto long benches and groped at the passing waitresses. A few looked up as Ovidius and Suriyana entered, but soon turned away again. The two spies had had more sense than to wear their affiliation with the priesthoods openly - Suriyana wore a simple linen kalasiri belted with a twist of cord, the slave tattoo on her wrist covered by a cheap copper clasp. Ovidius, like her, had tucked his patron god's amulet inside his clothes - hidden unless he needed it to avert a confrontation - and he was hardly the only person in the tavern who was openly armed. Qia'bul, who had been shadowing them through the streets by flitting from roof to roof, found a perch on the window sill and curled unnoticed into the corner.

The whole tavern reeked of cheap wine and unwashed bodies. Most of the patrons were wiry labourers, but a knot of men whose scars marked them out as former soldiers had been given a respectful berth at one end of the hall. They carried only bronze daggers - theiir sword scabbards were empty, but the soldiers still wore them stubbornly. City guards, Suriyana guessed, disarmed after the occupation. It was towards that group that Ovidius immediately headed.

"I'm telling you," one of the soldiers was saying as he dug a thick finger into the table for emphasis. "There's a war coming." He spoke in Namorian, which led Suriyana to revise her earlier guess to the disarmed soldiers being former auxilaries, or even members of the legio Afragia. And even though they must have known that the Egyptians spoke the imperium's lingua franca, they were being careful to avoid eavesdropping by some of the common Afragians who did not. It was clear enough that they didn't want to be informed on.

"You'd best hope not." said one of the other soldiers. His swarthy, prematurely lined complexion suggested that he might have grown up in the milder climate west of Dun Moriga before being darkened by the Afragian sun, and his accent confirmed that he wasn't simply one of the paler-skinned Afragians of the undercities. "There's what, half a legion and a few thousand Afragians guarding Tu Zenita Duksal? And you saw them when they took the city. These bastards don't stay dead."

"Last I heard from the traders," the first soldier insisted, "The 18th had won a battle at Hercine and were on the march back east. I'm telling you, there's a war coming."

"And who will you be fighting for?" Ovidius asked them pointedly in the same language.

The silence that descended over the table was as sudden and as cold as a Southern frost. All around the table, hands drifted towards daggers.

"Who's asking?" the first soldier growled.

Ovidius took a coin he had palmed and flipped it down onto the table, where it bounced before landing with the emperor's profile facing up at the circle of soldiers. "Mighty Galen." he answered nonchalantly.

The second, sun-weathered soldier began to examine the coin eagerly, but his companions were more guarded.

"Imperial currency, eh?" the first soldier asked. "Who are you?"

"Someone who would rather not see a war." Ovidius responded, and untucked the jackal amulet from inside his tunic for the soldiers to see. "But like I said, if one were to come, which side would you be on?"

The amulet had drawn reactions of relief mixed with confusion from the soldiers. With the notable exception of Iset and her hellspawn soldiers, the stern servants of Anubis were neutral in political matters. They served justice and balance, albeit by highly variable means. But not all of the Afragians were put at ease.

"He's one of Iset's people." one of them said warningly, his dagger hissing halfway out of its sheath and glinting menacingly in the candle light.

"If he was, he wouldn't be carrying Namorian coins." another pointed out. "The Egyptians are swapping them all out for their own currency, trying to acclimatise us all." He spat on the sandy floor of the tavern.

Ovidius let them talk, staring at them levelly. Silence sometimes yielded more than words.

"We fight for who pays us." the soldier with the swarthy face said at last. He was still turning Ovidius' coin over in his hands. "Ahmeni here might talk about the imperium marching back over here to kick off a liberation, but the only fight here in the foreseeable future is going to be between those three damn pharoahs."

Ovidius chewed his cheek by way of agreement. "And which one do you think will win?"

"Who cares?" put in a fourth Afragian bluntly. He glowered at his companions from beneath a heavy brow. "We never asked for any of these Egyptians, even if they do like to sing and dance about how we worship the same gods. And whether Mighty Galen gets his ass in gear with a counter-invasion or not, a soldier has to eat, same as the rest of 'em. I don't care if the three pharoahs kill each others' immortal asses until the end of time - Korzan's balls, I don't even care if they keep us penned up in the city and we never see the imperium again, as long as they keep compensating us a living wage."

There was a mutter of agreement from the other soliders - all except the first man, Ahmeni, who clenched his jaw and shook his head. He clearly still believed in a Namorian counterattack. Ovidius however seemed satisfied.

"Quite so." he nodded, and produced the rest of the coin pouch that had been tucked into his belt. He tossed it into the centre of the table, and Namorian silver spilled out between the clay cups. "An advance payment, gentlemen. For your time in agreeing to meet up again sometime soon. Perhaps tomorrow? Somewhere more upmarket?"

Suriyana was just beginning to relax a little, when she noticed a man at the next table get up, flick a coin towards the bar, and slip out through the tavern door. Ovidius noticed it too, and although the spy's expression didn't change, he turned on his heel towards the door.

"One second." he murmured to Suriyana. "See if you can't arrange a meeting point with these guys tomorrow afternoon."

"Aulus..." Suriyana began, her usual self-assured exterior faltering. But Ovidius was already gone.

"So what about you, sweetheart?" the sun-tanned soldier asked her before she could follow. "You one of Anubis' chosen as well?"

Rallying, Suriyana managed to regain some of her sardonic humour, and picked an answer that she thought would amuse them. "No. I just keep his bed warm."

The tanned soldier smirked. Ovidius' coins had already disappeared under the table, but the tanned soldier had palmed several as his share. He held them up towards Suriyana, making a fan of them with a deft twist of his thumb. "You know, sweetheart, I'm a fair bit richer than I was half an hour ago."

"You'll need to be richer than that." Suriyana said, matching his smirk with a lop-sided smile. "Which you will be, maybe, if you meet us in the market tomorrow after the Hathor ceremony."

The smile fell off her face like a mask as she walked out of the tavern. Qia'bul peeped and fluttered onto her shoulder, the bird familiar's warm weight providing her with a bit of much-needed comfort. She found Ovidius in a dark alleyway two streets down, as she knew she would. The man who had sneaked out of the tavern lay at his feet, his cloak tangled around him and soaked with blood. It looked black in what little moonlight penetrated down into the alleyway.

"This isn't right." she told Ovidius straight away, even as she fought down the queasy feeling in her stomach. "We're supposed to be doing this for Ra. He wouldn't approve of this."

Ovidius turned to look at her, his eyes dark beneath his hood. His handsome face was resigned.

"No," he corrected her, "We're doing this for mistress Lycinia and the imperium. Iset and Shanaar are bending the laws of their patron gods for their own advantage. Are we any different?"

"Isis chose you." SUriyana said earnestly.

"Then she already knows what kind of man I am." Ovidius sighed as he kicked the body of the would-be informer off the road, leaving a streak of black on the sand. He began to check his own clothing for stains. "And so do you. You serve Ra, but so does that earthborn Anne, and she came up with half of this plan. Even a god of light casts shadows. Come on. We can't stay here."

Suriyana chewed her tongue as they hurried away. It was Ovidius that broke the silence as they slowed their pace and walked back into the lamp-lit plaza near the temple of Ra.

"If you want to know how empires are really saved, Suri." he whispered to her regretfully, "It's shit like this."


* * * * * *

EMOR

"Seppia Julia Octavi?" the toga-clad official at the door questioned, fixing Seppia with an intense stare.

Seppia nodded impatiently. It had taken her days to get this audience with the emperor. Galen Claudius had grown cagey about audiences lately, and even appeals to him while he was presiding over the senate floor were a battle to get. She had stood before the emperor once before, with her cousin Lycinia, and that had been in the emperor's own palace. Seppia didn't like to remember telling the story of the demons at the mages' guild, who had so nearly killed her son. Remembering Lycinia's calm, confident face now that her ashes lay in a mausoleum alongside her children's was only a little less painful.

In a way, the motivation for her audience hadn't changed. Once again she was worried for the life of her son, and now for her husband too. Seppia knew that Gaius wanted to see their mutual cousin avenged just as much as she did, but right now Gaius Octavius seemed to be his own worst enemy. She had managed to slap some sense into him that if magic was needed to catch the killers, then petitioning the emperor to exempt them from the ban was the most rational course of action.

The official at the foot of the senate steps glanced at the limestone sundial in front of him, and motioned her forward. "The emperor and the senate will hear you next."

Seppia climbed the marble steps of the senate, which stood in dazzling, light-reflecting contrast to the lesser brick buildings across the Plaza Optimus. The bustle of the plaza and the chuckling splash of the fountains outside faded away as she stepped through into the building, muted by the huge double doors that rumbled closed behind her. The sounds of the plaza were replaced by the rising and falling of voices as she crossed the hall into the semi-circular council chamber. The marble busts of past emperors frowned down on her from either side as she walked. The swell of voices ahead of her suddenly subsided, though she couldn't see why because her view into the senate chamber itself was blocked by the gaggle of petitioners and spectators who stood at the other end of the entrance hall.

"Seppia!" a young woman's voice called out softly from amongst the crowd, and Seppia turned towards it to see her friend Julia sidestepping out of the crowd towards her. Julia Vespania Agrippi was the youngest of Seppia and Lycinia's mutual friends, and she had convinced her husband - centurion Marcus Agrippa of the 2nd legion - to lend his troops to their investigation of the mages' guild. Fresh-faced at 16, she had threaded opals through her dark hair and donned a matching blue dress for her trip to the senate.

Julia took Seppia by the hand and guided her to the front of the crowd, where a pair of indigo-cloaked praetorians controlled access to the senate floor. The floor itself was currently occupied by a trio of sleek Hercinian cat-men, clad in robes made from ostentatious gold cloth. The men and women of the senate were arrayed above them in their tiered semicircles, their purple-striped togas of office rippling as they sipped drinks, fanned themselves and adjusted their positions for comfort on the cushioned benches. Seppia saw the emperor himself sitting in a partitioned box at the centre of the first tier, flanked by four praetorians. Galen Hippocrates Claudius was an old man, running to fat, but his authority was evident in his dark eyes as he frowned down at the cat-men. In spite of his controlled bearing, he seemed tense. He looks even more stressed than last time I saw him.

"What are you doing here?" Seppia whispered to Julia as she looked up at the emperor.

"I'm listening." Julia whispered back, pointing surreptitiously towards the three Hercinians. "I was hoping I could catch one of the cat-men on the way out and get them to take a message back to my brother."

Julia's family were unusually widely dispersed across Eternum. Her brother Quintus was a soldier in the 7th Rapax legion, or at least he had been - the Greek invasion had decimated Hercine's two garrison legions. Dux Marcius had led the counterattack, but with new threats to face back east, he had been unable to gather much information on the fate of specific legionaries before departing again. Seppia could understand her young friend's concern.

Julia also had family out in Afragia, where the situation was even more confused: her marital uncle Lucius was serving as ambassador to the Afragian court, waiting out a certain amount of resentment in the senate after the earthborn alliance he had encouraged the emperor to broker had turned sour. Devoted to her husband, Julia wouldn't say a word against his uncle despite the scandal. Seppia couldn't judge; as the wife and mother of two members of the always distrusted - and now formally outlawed - mages' guild, she was no stranger to scandal herself. She followed Julia's gaze towards the Hercinian ambassadors in their elaborate robes.

"The cat-men might not respond well to running errands." Seppia cautioned her friend. The Hercinians were notoriously arrogant.

Julia adjusted the hair around her temples, taking care not to smudge the powder she had used to conceal the adolescent shine on her face. "No," she admitted as she motioned to a body slave, who handed her a leather purse. "But they always respond well to money."

Seppia turned her eyes back to the cat-men as one of them began to speak, his deep growl of a voice coloured by a rolling Hercinian accent.

"Governor Castus is demanding that we fund the reconstruction!" he snarled at the assembled senators, "But he can't do his job of controlling the bandits. Everywhere's chaos after the war. We've managed to restore the trade columns, but they're losing thousands worth of goods to brigands on the road! And the crocolykes are the worst - just a week ago some of those reptilian scum burned down one of my establishments!"

"Crocolykes?" the emperor spoke, leaning forward in his throne, "What is this?"

The Hercinian looked up at emperor Claudius, blinked nervously, and reined in the vehemence of his language. "Crocolyke activists, my imperator. Inspired by that orange fiend from Zamibia, Zhnegra."

"The cats don't seem to have much gratitude for the people who came to their rescue..." Julia muttered to Seppia.

It had been the unexpected intervention of Zhnegra's rebel army that had turned the tide during the siege of Hercinia. Dux Marcius had granted the rebels clemency and promises of citizenship, and now the other crocolykes still oppressed in Hercine province were evidently wondering why they couldn't have the same.

"The crocolykes are your slaves, are they not?" the emperor was saying. His frown deepened into a scowl. "Are you telling me you can't control your own slaves?"

"Imperator!" one of the senators hailed the emperor, standing up as she spoke. "The solution to both problems is obvious. Governor Castus needs more men to keep the peace."

"Governor Castus needs a competent replacement." a senator from the opposite side of the chamber scoffed. "He's no administrator, he's only a tribune. Surely when dux Marcius gave him the position he didn't intend for it to be permanent!"

The emperor waved his hand irritably for silence. "We hardly have a ready supply of governors, let alone fresh troops! Or had you all forgotten that we are at war?"

"If they had any sense," Julia whispered, leaning closer to Seppia, "They would let the crocolykes join the garrison. More men for peacekeeping, and some suitable reward for the crocolykes."

"I can see at least two problems with that." Seppia murmured back. "Firstly, giving crocolykes swords...and then telling them to police their own people? Secondly, what would you offer them? They wouldn't settle for anything less than citizenship, and the cat-men would go ballistic over that."

Julia looked put out. "They're not as savage as you think, you know. My brother told me about a crocolyke who had taught himself the Hercinian accountancy system and started up his own bank for the slaves."

Seppia resisted the urge to shake her head at her friend, thinking that she'd believe that when she saw it. One thing was clear, at least: order was far from settled in Hercine, despite the immortal threat having been resolved.

"It is in all our interests that the trade routes between Hercine and Namor get moving again." the emperor was saying to the Hercinian ambassadors. "We will consider your situation and take appropriate action."

The fur on the back of the Hercinian ambassador's head bristled upwards at the curt dismissal, but his ears flattened as he met the emperor's eyes, and he gave an exaggerated bow before retreating from the floor. His two fellow traders followed.

"If we didn't need them for the labour," Seppia heard the cat-man mutter as he padded off the floor, tail switching beneath the loose folds of his robes. "I would have all of the filthy reptiles culled."

Although she was no champion of crocolyke rights, Seppia couldn't resist biting the inside of her cheek. It was the Hercinians fault more than the crocolykes - after the Corvus revolts, the emperors of Namor had at least figured out that not kicking a slave so much made it less likely to bite you. Not only had the cat-men missed that lesson, they had let a whole population of crocolykes escape into the Zamibian swamps, where they had been periodically causing trouble ever since. Seppia reckoned that most of the problems in and around Hercine - from rebellions to bandits to the stir caused by the orange crocolyke from those self same swamps - could ultimately be traced back to that. The recent immortal invasion had merely upset the balance.

"Seppia, daughter of the Julii clan, partner to Gaius of the family Octavius." an administrator suddenly announced, bringing Seppia back to the present. Hercine was very far away compared to her own immediate problems.

"Good luck!" Julia whispered, squeezing Seppia's arm as she hurried away to accost the Hercinian ambassadors.

As the praetorians waved her forward, Seppia stepped down onto the tiled senate floor, slightly hesitantly. The emperor's harassed expression showed that he had clearly had enough of the Hercinian cat-men, and he certainly didn't look in the mood to be granting favours that contravened his own proclamations from less than a month ago. She had to try though. All the same, she wasn't the confident speaker that Lycinia had been, and she coughed to clear her throat before she looked up towards the emperor and his senators.

"Ave imperator." she began. "The law you recently passed says that magic can not be practiced in Emor without your express permission. I'm here to ask that permission for my husband."

There was a ripple of murmurs from the senators, but the emperor silenced them with an angry swipe of his hand. He leaned forward in his chair to look down at Seppia.

"Why?" he asked simply, his face inscrutable.

Seppia had prepared her answer, but she still had to moisten her dry lips before she spoke. "Last time I spoke to you, your majesty, I had just nearly lost my son. But last month my cousin dux Marcius lost his entire family. We still haven't found the murderers. Let my husband use his magic to bring them to justice."

The senate murmured again, and Seppia couldn't tell whether it was in agreement or opposition. Decius Marcius was the hero of the west, and his wife had saved Emor from the Romans - her murder had greatly angered the Emorian nobility. But after demons had been unleashed at the mages' guild, anti-magic sentiment in Emor was at an all time high. She looked to emperor Galen Claudius for an answer.

For a long moment the emperor's face was a stern mask, and then he said one word which made Seppia's stomach drop. "No."

Seppia felt her heart beating faster. She opened her mouth, trying to find the right words to protest.

"The reason you nearly lost your son," the emperor said, "Was because of the treachery of mages like your husband. It could only have been the treachery of mages like your husband that let these murderers get out of Emor unseen. I won't hear of it. Not even from a family as honoured as yours."

The old man slowly levered himself to his feet, addressing the senate.

"This is still the Namorian imperium. The murderers will be found and punished, just as the traitors of the mages' guild were punished, and just as the ones who are causing trouble in Hercine will be punished." He turned his imperious gaze on Seppia. "Your husband is a Namorian citizen - if he wishes to help then he may, but no magic! The ones who robbed us of one of Emor's best and brightest will be brought to justice, but by Namorian law!"

The senate erupted with a wave of applause. Angry, hurt and now afraid, Seppia hugged her arms and wondered what she was going to tell her husband.

The huge doors that opened into the council chamber suddenly bashed open, with one huge tall silhouette standing in the way of the sun. Some of the Namorians cried out in surprise, and others clutched at amulets as they thought that one of the gods was walking among them. A brush of warm air filled the chamber, followed by the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor. As the figure approached, it was noticeable that he was not a nimbus-wreathed god after all, but he was still clearly not of this world. He stood at over 8 feet tall, with heavy, almost liquid-looking metal armour covering his body. In his hand was a large weapon that would have contradicted even the scientific knowledge of the greatest dwarven battle-craftsman. As the figure walked forward, his helmet drifted off his body, revealing chiseled features, short hair cut closely to his head and piercing green eyes - filling his skull with mystery...yet so many answers.

Guards drew their swords and stepped forward, though the soldier didn't acknowledge them. He merely seemed to beckon them on with his eyes, as if to say: Come to me if you want, you shall meet only death.

"Emperor." He spoke - his voice full of raw brutality, drifting through the air in its most primal form. "I bring questions from the United Nations of Earth, questions that I need answering."

For a second, the emperor stood as frozen as his guards and senators. Then he found his authority, and his voice.

"Out!" he roared, making fierce slices with his hands towards the tiered senators. "Everyone! Now!"

There was only a moment's silence before senators, spectators and petitioners all began to scramble as one for the exits. Seppia was swept along in the crush, and her last sight of the senate floor was the emperor and the earthborn staring at each other coldly, more like enemies than allies.

Azazeal849
03-03-2014, 11:13 AM
(OOC - White text is mine, gold is Fires', cyan is Setsa's, and green is DoK's)

GREAT WESTERN TUNNEL, DUN MORIGA

Nesara had been reunited with Jornak after the latter had extricated his rearguard from the city, and at the urging of the overly-mouthy tribune Varinius they found themselves halting in one of the tunnels many hubs while the Namorian commanders hurried to meet them.

The pause to wait for everyone to arrive was met with mixed emotions from the dwarves. Some were grateful for the rest, however short it might be, while others were anxious to keep moving until they reached the capitol of Afragia. For Nesara, it allowed a moment to check on a few soldiers that had rejoined them who were wounded. The wounds were not serious for the most part, having been tended well enough. The woman, the Queen, gave each of them the will of hope and pride, for what they had done and for the future. The soldiers would need such to keep moving onward. Whatever the Namorian reinforcements had been planning, the actual situation in Ech Zilidar had clearly changed it. Blue-cloaked legionaries with the Fulminata thunderbolt on their shields held their posts uncertainly, guarding the many branching tunnels from the Great Western, while the Dun Morigan population streamed past them in a seemingly endless tide.

A clatter of hooves against the stone of the tunnel floor announced Decius Marcius as the press of legionaries parted to let him through.

"Princess?" he said in surprise as he recognised Nesara. He reined in his horse, dismounted and pulled off his plumed helmet, his bodyguard Varrius and his second in command tribune Cassius falling into step behind him. "We had no word from you since your letter."

For Nesara, the face of Marcius was a great thing to see. It had been a long while, with only one initial letter of communication between the two.

"Marcius, a pleasure to see you again." Rejoining senator Agrippa on horseback, she rode up alongside Jornak who had by then been presented with his own horse.

"If you will forgive me, general," Agrippa put in, "Who are they?"

The grey-haired senator had stuck close to Nesara during the evacuation, and he seemed strangely unmoved by the timely arrival of the imperial reinforcements. The source of his question were the other figures who had ridden up behind Marcius. Two wore bronze armour and tall, T-visored helmets; another was a woman with the symbol of Aphordite embossed on her shield in strips of bronze; and the last was a stern-faced man whose armour almost matched Marcius', except for the fact that his cloak and crest were a striking, unorthodox red. Strangest of all was an amber-skinned crocolyke, loping along beside the horses with a great mace clutched in his clawed hands.

"Allies." Marcius answered the senator, curtly, before turning back to the Dun Morigan royals who had arrived with Varinius and gun-captain Agron. "Your highness," he said, nodding to Nesara, and then to Jornak. "Jornak Rex, I need to know the situation. What we're facing, and what state your own forces are in."

"My husband can answer such." said Nesara, "As he has rallied the troops at the anvil while I dealt with the Elder Council of Lords."

Jornak placed his right arm over his heart and bowed slightly, which was something this Imperial would likely never see again. Although, in Jornak's eyes, this Imperial seemed to have a greater backbone and far less political agendas than did the cowardly Agrippa. Jornak had a firm distrust of the two imperials that had taken part in the naming of the new king of Dun Moriga. One was hot headed, and the other was too silent, both of which would warrant a closer eye by the King.

"Marcius, is it?" he asked. "We are few in number, but we dwarves are a stout and strong-willed folk. If it be a fight you are looking for, look but behind and you will find that which you seek. These grey skins attacked my city, and hunted my people like animals, and I will see them dead. We have but four legions of the Ech Zilidar military, and a single unit of royal guards. The Imperial legion has taken casualties, but they are still alive as well, and we have a few battalions of the city militia." Jornak paused and looked behind him, at the burning city of Ech Zilidar.

"I have only recently come into Kingship, and everything has been hastened, so forgive me if I am unable to give you an accurate estimation of the number." Jornak spoke, his voice layered in shame at the loss of his city, and at his inability to know the status of his own army.

"Understandable." tribune Cassius said, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watched the semi-organised refugee column stream past them.

"And how many of these grey-skins?" Marcius asked, his expression stony.

"A hundred thousand, possibly more." praetor Graccus answered. The garrison commander was standing to one side near Varinius and Agron. Although Agron had raised his arm respectfully towards Jornak when the new king approached, Graccus' focus was on his fellow Namorians. "And some of them are three times the size of a man. They have siege engines, and artillery too. They've broken every city in Dun Moriga, one by one."

"A hundred thousand?" Marcius repeated. His voice was level, but his left hand went to the hilt of his sword, touching the iron to avert the ill luck of the revelation.

"They outnumber us two to one." Cassius said grimly, adding Jornak's count to their allied army and coming up with a number that still barely exceeded 50,000. "But," he added, glancing at the silent red-crest and his two bronze-armoured companions. "We do have the immortals."

"We won't give up Dun Moriga without a fight." Marcius nodded, although his eyes showed less enthusiasm as he followed his tribune's gaze.

"With due respect, general." Graccus warned. "We already fought - at Lun Garath, at Azulfa, and here. And we lost. The most sensible course, now we've got your army to cover us, is to lead the refugees up the Great Western and head west towards Combrogia. That way, if the fucking grey-skins follow us, at least we'll be fighting them above ground."

"The king and queen," senator Agrippa put in quietly, "Have already agreed to make for Tu Zenita Duksal. The head of the civilian column is already moving through Vulcan's heart in that direction."

Graccus squinted at Agrippa suspiciously. "Hiding behind walls isn't the answer." he said acidly. "In case you failed to notice, it didn't work the last three times."

"All the same, the senator's right." tribune Varinius offered. "It'd be a hell of job to turn the column round now - in the tunnels, and with these grey bastards snapping at our heels."

"Where are they now?" Marcius asked.

"Crawling all over Ech. Jornak Rex blowing up the Anvil will keep them confused for a while, but they could easiy break out into the tunnel network - much quicker than we could deploy our whole army into the caverns to make a rearguard. Even then there's enough tunnels for them to loop round and harry the column all the way to Zenita."

"Then we counterattack." Marcius said decisively. "We came here to fight, and even if we can't retake Ech we need to fix these grey-skins in place long enough to give the column a head start."

"It'll take us some time to funnel our whole army down into the city, sir." Varinius opined. "We caught the grey-skins by surprise once; we won't have that next time."

"I've been to Ech before." Marcius said. "Down in the streets they can't bring numbers to bear on us."

The dux sounded confident, but he must have known that coordinating his own legion in the narrow streets would be no easy task. Units could outrun each other, get bogged down, get outflanked.

"We'll need a reference point." Varinius said, sensing that very problem.

"Varon's causeway." Marcius said, naming a primary street that ran north to south roughly half way into Ech Zilidar. "We fight our way to there and hold."

"They can throw men at us all day." Cassius said confidently. Graccus looked at the young tribune as if he had gone insane, but didn't say anything.

"They can try." Marcius growled, turning to look at the two men with T-visored helmets. "Hercules, if your men follow the main tunnel of the Great Western, they'll come out on the enemy's northern flank. I trust they will be able to handle things from there."

The shorter of the two Greeks, ever stoic, simply smirked behind his helmet. Marcius' intended plan was simple - the Namorians were the anvil, holding the orcs in place and drawing more of them in. Hercules' troops, a steamroller of long pikes, would be the hammer. If the dux felt reservations about entrusting the vital second phase of his plan to the immortals, he didn't dare let it show.

"Legate." Marcius added to the red-crested officer on his other side - a tall, tanned man with iron-hard eyes. "Your legions will support mine."

Satisfied with the turn of events, Jornak had a fire of expectation and battle-readiness dancing in his eyes. He turned away from the assembled peoples, and spoke directly to his wife, the Lady Nesara.

"My Queen, I ask that you refrain from joining this battle. The refugees will need your guidance to ensure their safety in these tunnels, I will leave the royal guard with you, though i hope you will never have the need to call them to battle." His fiery eyes fell upon Graccus and then turned to Marcius in a single bound. "The dwarves will enter the city first, and the Fulminata will follow behind, as support. We dwarves do not take kindly to invasion, and we will see that the Grey-skinned devils meet the edges of dwarven weaponry."

"As is your right." Marcius replied neutrally, while tribune Cassius nodded in agreement with the dwarf king.

Beside Nesara, senator Agrippa leaned to one side in his saddle to whisper in her ear. "Does he really respect our king's wishes?" he murmured, "Or is he just happy to let Dun Morigans die first instead of his own troops?"

"Princess." Marcius said, turning his dark eyes on Nesara and causing the senator to break off. "Regina." the dux corrected himself a moment later, "I have another question that concerns you personally. Were you able to meet my centurion Salvius on the eastern road? His mission might be vital to our campaign, and I would know any news you have on his progress."


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR

Within the squirming Orc ranks, the trolls boisterously rolled forwards, their feet striking the paving of the streets with such power that they cracked under the weight of the huge greyskins. They roared as flecks of rocks tore their skin, creating little weeping cuts in their legs. These trolls were armoured heavily, yet did no carry any traditional weapons - instead within their arms were long logs of wood, crude but perfectly cut to proportion with the Trolls' dirty grey hands. The trolls spewed spittle everywhere as they roared out, the elephant-like noise audible even to those within the tunnels above. They carried something that looked very much like an anvil; it hummed with ancient power, emanating from a circular, orange disk upon the top surface. Veins of orange light pulsed with power all over the odd construct; it gave off a sinister aura to those who were near it.

The Trolls moved towards the furnace as their feet began to trample through fire - usually it would have burned their flesh from their bones, but the extent of the armour covering them slowed the process; still they roared in pain and disapproval. The fire flickered in their black eyes as they approached the centre of the exploded furnace before dropping the anvil-like object down on the floor. As they did so, it began to hum louder and louder, as if something within it was firing up and restarting.

Almost instantly, a beacon of orange light burst from the centre of the object - searing through the roof of the mountain and pulsating with energy. All within the cavern could feel it, as the terribly glorious beam of light reflected blindingly from the Orc armies pure black eyes.

Aureyon
03-13-2014, 03:51 PM
Ech Zilidar; City Streets.

It was a long trek back to Ech Zilidar, and it was a solemn journey as the dwarves rallied behind the banner of their King. It was not tradition for the King to be on the front lines, but Jornak would see the grey skins fall beneath his axe, afterall he was not made king because of his good looks.

“Dwarves, today we will lose many of our brothers, from both the Dwarf Kingdoms and the Imperium. But, if we are to lose this battle, let us not die without bringing honor to Vulcan’s name. We are his children, We are his legacy. As long as a dwarf yet breathes, Dun Moriga will survive, as will our new allies in Afragia. Muster your strength, and your courage. For we descend into darkness, and some of us may not return to the light.

For Vulcan! For Dun Moriga! FOR ECH ZILIDAR!” Jornak finished, raising his war axe into the air, and leading a maddened dwarf army into the fray against the grey skins.

The dwarves managed to stun the orcs with their mighty battle cry that echoed across the city and tunnels surrounding them, appearing as if there were more dwarves joining the fray than there actually was.

Dwarven steel met grey skin steel, and the sound of battle erupted around them, Jornak had a messenger run to Marcius, asking him to flank them as they drew their attention from the device they were setting up in the heart of the anvil. If he could get to the anvil, he could destroy the device with is axe. It was an abomination, and it did not belong in Ech Zilidar, heart of the anvil.

Loosing a might cry, Jornak struck down two orcs with a single blow, taking a black shaft from an arrow into the shoulder. The wound was only a minor itch against the adrenaline and battle rage that was pumping through his veins and giving him a vision of red.

Azazeal849
03-14-2014, 03:45 PM
ECH ZILIDAR

The city reeked of fire and death. The streets were choked with smoke haze, and the granite buildings echoed with a confusing milieu of screams, roars and the ring of steel against armour and shields. The Namorians, their blue scarves pulled up round their faces against the dust, added their own percussion - hob-nailed boots hammering against the paved roads as they advanced. Their swords were out; their signature pila left with the baggage train. This was close and dirty work. Butcher's work. As they marched they trampled over the bodies of dwarfs and greyskin orcs, their blood running into the grooves of the paving stones. The dead orcs were hunched, muscular creatures - all hairless grey skin and hooked black nails under their armour of bronze and leather. Their twisted bodies were distorted further by the furious slashes of dwarf weapons. The mutilations of the dead dwarfs were even more horrific, heads and shoulders split by gaping wounds and severed limbs lying several metres from their bodies.

Jornak's royal guard had spearheaded the attack, and as Varinius had predicted, it had been like kicking a hornet's nest. Deep, hollow warhorns sounded ahead and to either side as the enemy summoned more of their troops into the city, but the disorientating smoke was still buying them a little time. Of course, that same smoke also worked against the Namorians. There was only one tactic they could use, and that was to keep moving forward and killing anything they came across until they reached the waypoint of Varon's Causeway.

Varinius urged the leading century on, following the old market road that seemed to be leading straight towards an indistinct orange glow in the middle distance. It speared up past the intervening rooftops towards the shadowed ceiling of the cavern, too high and too regular to be fire. Varinius cursed under his breath. Through the row of buildings to his left, he heard the chink and thump of the red-crest Romans advancing down the parallel street. To his right men of the 4th century swarmed from house to house, looking for both the orcs and some sort of vantage point. Suddenly (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_FTdg-uL9c) there was a rising wave of shouts and a violent crash, and the men on the roofs were shouting down to their comrades below.

"Halt!" Varinius roared. The houses to his right were a solid, impassable tenament block, but he knew that the legionaries in the street beyond had just engaged the enemy.

No sooner had he said it, a wall of dark shadows appeared across the road ahead. Black eyes shone like glass through the haze. Varinius saw spears and hooked falx blades, before the shining eyes fixed onto the blue line of legionaries ahead of them and the half-shrouded orcs let out a shrieking war-cry.

"MIRDAUTAS VRAS!"

Suddenly the wall of shadows was rushing at them, and then more orcs were boiling from the doors and roofs of the tenament block, some even hurling themselves out of windows into the street below. There was no time to even get a proper look at the creatures, only time to act.

"Attack!" Varinius and the unit centurion roared simultaneously.

Even to men stopped dead by shock and horror, the response to the command was instinctive. The ranked-up legionaries shouted defiance and surged forward to meet the charging greyskins. The two lines smashed into each other with a sound like the end of the world.


* * * * * *

Gun captain Agron swore violently as he drove his gladius up through the torso of the orc blocking the stairs, only kept from falling backwards by the hand of the man behind him shoving against his back. He shoved the orc instead and stumbled over its collapsing body up onto the first floor landing. Each house was now a private battleground, a handful of orcs and a handful of Namorians crushed close enough to smell each others' breath and sweat, with only a vague understanding of the more open battle in the streets outside. Agron and his dwarf auxillaries were near the front of the Namorian attack, but king Jornak and his own men had forged ahead without waiting.

Agron understood the mixed looks he got from Jornak's soldiers. He had made his choice - to shave his beard, to wear the Namorian armour and to swear loyalty to the emperor first and his own king second. But, gods be damned, he was still a Dun Morigan, and this was his city. As an artillery captain, Agron was more used to the stink of powder smoke than the awful abbatoir reek of close quarter combat, but he was so full of adrenaline and rage that the change hardly registered. The orcs had already sown this house with the stench of blood, piss and shit during the initial assault - on the landing a dwarf soldier lay dead with his half-reloaded musket under him, and beside him were two civilians, their arms and fingers hacked to pieces where they had tried to shield their faces.

Agron spat the most venemous curses that the multi-lingual imperium had to offer as a tall Combrogian legionary pushed past him into the next room, leading with his curved shield. There was an orc at the window, reloading a short composite bow that it had been firing down into the street below. It turned and panicked as the Namorians came barging in, and there was a thrum and a crack as a black arrow head stabbed through the inside surface of the first legionary's shield. The Combrogian used that same shield to bash the orc up against the wall, before ramming his gladius through its face.

Agron paused to stick his head through the small, square window and get his bearings. The snarling, struggling lines of Namorian and greyskin were almost directly beneath him, the packed ranks blending into a mass that made Jornak think of two bulls locking horns with each other - one blue, one grey. The crush actually helped the Namorians with their shorter swords, while the orcs had trouble making room for their longer spears and scythe-like polearms. A tide-line of corpses built up between the lines that neither side could easily cross, but this in turn gave the orcs space to use their weapons. When they did the results were horrific - the curved falx blades split armour and helmets, or hooked under shields to sever legs with a single jerk. One orc hacked a legionary almost in two through the shoulder, the man's shield simply peeling in half as it came up to stop the blow. The orc's own lack of a shield proved its undoing, and it was stabbed from both sides as it fought to free its blade from the man's breastbone.

Both sides were losing men, but neither could push the other back, and it only became harder as the tide line of mangled dead and sobbing wounded grew higher. It was the Namorians who stood to suffer from such a stalemate. Agron and his men had a plan to break the deadlock, but they needed to be deeper behind the front line.

"The wall!" the captain said, pointing. The houses on this street were one continuous joined block, but unlike the granite outer walls, the inner walls dividing the apartments were simple mudbrick. Using a blood-splashed table as a battering ram, they made short work of the nearest barrier. No sooner had they bulldozed a hole then a snarling orc appeared on the other side of it, the thrust of its barbed spear glancing off the steel rim of a legionary's shield. Agron personally hacked off the clawed hand holding the spear, and the legionary finished the job before clambering through with two more Fulminata following him. A fourth turned to guard the stairway.

"Come on!" Agron snarled to his own dwarfs, who were hurrying up behind him. They were artillery crews, and although there was no room for their cannons in these crowded streets, there were other tools of their trade that they could use. Several of the struggling dwarfs carried heavy packs of round black shrapnel shells, each one primed with a shortened fuze of powder-stuffed beech wood. It was inelegant, it was dangerous, and right now gun captain Agron didn't give a damn.

He lit the first shell personally, handing it to Damak who immediately tossed it through the window, down into the scrum of orcs pressing towards the deadlocked front-line just twenty metres up the street. A second shell followed, and a third was already in Agron's hand as the first one detonated. Two greyskins and pieces of several more were flung into the air in a macabre geyser, turning the smoke haze pink. A dozen more orcs around them stumbled, and then the second bomb threw a bloody cone of flesh and bone fragments into the air. The forward pressure of the orcs' charge vanished, as they reeled and sank down in tangled heaps. Agron laughed vindictively at the chaos.

"Burn, you bastards!"

"Watch out!" one of the legionaries warned. Even as the pressure on the Namorian front crumbled and the legionaries surged forward, some of the orcs were breaking towards the buildings rather than back up the street. "They're coming up!"


* * * * * *

Protector Varrius shoved Marcius roughly aside as a legionary was thrown from the apartment window above a blacksmith's, landing with a crash in the crowded street below. Belatedly looking up, Marcius saw a swirl of movement behind the window as the orc that had thrown him battled two more legionaries. Even higher, orcs leapt between the flat roofs and shoulder-charged into the Namorians trying to act as spotters for the men below.

The fight in the street was even more desperate - men stumbled as they instinctively tried not to trample their own dead and wounded. A centurion lost his footing and fell cursing, his shield pressed against his body as a roaring orc tried to batter through it. The centurion managed to free his gladius and hacked it round with a shout, cutting through the orc's ankle so that now both man and greyskin were on the ground. A Namorian soldier reached them first, putting his sword through the orc's spine.

Maintaining formation was difficult as the orcs hurled themselves at the Namorians. One tried to stab over the rim of a legionary's shield, but the man jerked his head back just in time and severed the orc's arm with a swipe of his gladius. Another orc managed to bat a legionary's shield clean out of his hand, and lunged forward to pierce the man's banded armour with a spear thrust. Eventually however, the Namorians were able to reform their battered line and push forward. The orcs fell back, vanishing into the smoke.

"Halt!" Marcius shouted as the cohort he was leading finally stumbled into the wide, open street of Varon's Causeway. The smoke was thicker here, and tongues of fire were still licking from the windows of some of the stone buildings.

"Rotate ranks!" Marcius ordered, gesturing with the sword in his left hand. His men - shields splintered, swords red, and eyes slitted against the dust haze, hurried to obey. "Send couriers along the line - I want to know where our men are and if the rest of the western district is secure!"

It had been a brutal fight, and that was just against the swarms of orcs who were spread out all over the city. There had been no sign of the giant trolls...yet. All the same, the twisting streets and stiff resistance had pushed Marcius' attack further to the north. They had temporarily lost contact with Septim's Romans, but now that he looked south Marcius saw that the red-crests were already at the Causeway, digging in to hold as he had ordered them to. Marcius might not trust the immortal Romans but there was no disputing that they had been brutally effective - sending the orcs reeling, and then fleeing in panic as the Roman dead reanimated before their eyes and rejoined the fight. Marcius could not see Septim himself among the red soldiers, but the last time he had seen the legate he had been leading from the front, driving ahead alongside his legion's golden eagle standard.

Marcius paused to accept a skin of water, and looked around at his attendant staff. All of his officers were stained with smoke and sweat, and one or two with blood, but Elisavet stood out as divinely untouched by the rigours of battle. Looking at the demigoddess made him recall what she had told him before the fight. You want to be without doubt? You want to continue to overcome your struggles? Just then, a dwarf in the livery of the Dun Morigan kingsguard came running through the legionaries towards him.

"Dux Marcius!" the messanger addressed him without preamble. "The greyskins have set up some unholy device in the ruins of Vulcan's Anvil. King Jornak is pushing towards it from the west, but he needs your men to flank it from the north."

Marcius looked south again, this time over the Roman soldiers and the granite buildings around them, and saw the faint glow of something orange scattering through the haze. It rose up and up towards the smoke-shrouded roof of the cavern, a fiery pillar of light that was all too familiar.

"An artefact?" one of Marcius' tribunes repeated the messenger. "Is that what caused the flash over Combrogia?"

"Something tells me we'll be seeing more of the earthborn." Marcius growled quietly, before raising his voice to a bark of command. "Vulcan's Anvil lies to the east of the Causeway. If there's a greyskin salient there, we need to remove it and shore up our flank before they counterattack in earnest. This holds true regardless of any sorcery the bastards are working down there. Praefectus Lucullus?"

"Sir?" the legion's craggy-faced third in command answered.

"Take charge of the defences here. First cohort will follow me south along the Causeway to attack Vulcan's Anvil from the north."

"Sir!"

Marcius turned to Elisavet. Whatever magic was creating that light, it seemed foolish not to have the gods' own magic on hand to advise and possibly counter it. "My lady, I would appreciate your presence."


* * * * * *

The streets of Ech Zilidar were not the ideal place for cavalry, but tribune Cassius had made them work for him. The south side of the city had been relatively clear of orcs, and the young tribune had taken advantage to sweep through the merchant district, keeping to the main streets and literally riding over the pockets of orcs in his way with a wall of horses. 4th cohort followed in his wake, clearing the side streets and the buildings of dazed survivors.

Cassius called a halt to the thundering attack when they reached Varon's Causeway, where they were confronted by the blinding pillar of light. Here, the smoke of the burning city was blowing away from them, drawn upwards by the cavern skylights. The mirrors that channelled sunlight down into the dwarven city were choked with soot, but the glow of the light pillar lit up the streets around Cassius like summer lightning. The pillar was the same warm orange as an Eternum sunset, but there was something sinister about it as it reflected off the grey stones of Ech Zilidar. This was hellfire light. The light of the apocalypse.

Orcs filled the plaza inside which Vulcan's Anvil had once stood, and only now did Cassius appreciate the scale of the greyskin army. Cohort after cohort of greyskins were marching up the wide thoroughfare that led from Ech Zilidar's western gate, and they had demolished the buildings to either side to make the road wider still. They filled it, wall to wall, as they advanced into the corona of the orange light. There were orcs, yes - each one nearly as tall as the wiry Combrogi - but now Cassius could see hulking, misshapen creatures three or four times as big, and monstrous arachnids with horse's heads skittering alongside. The combined tread of the army was thunderous. All of them were marching in serried ranks straight into the column of light, briefly silhouetted before vanishing into it, and they weren't reappearing.

"Mars' teeth!" the young tribune swore under his breath.

CrumpetCannon
03-20-2014, 01:03 AM
The Afragian Coast

The surface of the water exploded with such immeasurable force that sea spray misted the faces of sailors before they even saw the waves that signalled the Leviathan's approach.

Sickly grey skin rose upwards like a monstrous pillar of decaying marble, the Beast's skin was scarred with hundreds of darker grey craters and scabs, the remnants of old battles decades past, they shared the space with the newer injuries of the current skirmish. Harpoons stuck out at odd angles and bobbed tragically on their axes as the Whale's momentum carried it upwards and away from the water surface, gaping bullet holes dotted the hide like blackheads, leaking unspeakable things and occasionally giving off some sort of smoke.
The Leviathan stood now, as if on it's great tail, which was still underwater, supporting the massive weight somehow. Sailors stood transfixed as they watched this display, exchanging glances without lowering their arms, the Whale remained still for less than a second, and then it twitched it's fins, each wider across than the length of the Aptitude.

Then, ever so slowly, it pitched backwards.

Clemente, driven by duty and honour and other such ultimately hopeless sentiments, sprang forward and cast his harpoon towards the Leviathan's hide as the sailors around him shouted and cried in alarm. The Whale fell terribly slowly.
The lone harpoon whistled towards the bulk, the side hook embedded beside the main barb cutting through the damp air and creating a misty contrail that corkscrewed neatly.
Just a second later the projectile was joined by others as sailors cast their own harpoons towards the Beast, following the example of their Admiral, soon the air was filled with the stench of whale hide and the encroaching mass of hundreds of barbed weapons.
Helicopters joined the fray, swooping dangerously close to the Leviathan to offload their own potent missiles, which interspersed with the flying harpoons and continued towards the hulking creature.

Finally, gunshots cracked and stuttered across the waves as riflemen emptied their barrels and helicopters utilised their massive payloads of high caliber machine gun ammunition. The whir of ammunition signalled the arrival of the harpoons and the missiles at the Leviathan's skin.

Fire erupted across the tattered skin of the forcefully humbled sea-dweller. The Leviathan's doom was spelled out in smoke trails and the sickening miasma of burnt flesh, the stench forced many ocean-hardened sailors to the edges of their respective ships to empty their stomachs in unison.

Next came the screech, it was a sound like no other, the deepest trenches and the lowest caverns beneath the ocean's surface came bellowing forth from the Leviathan's cracked and ruined maw, a long dormant fear of the mysteries of the ocean scrabbled and tore at the minds of all present, and many would later recall the terrible nature of the Creature's last exclamation. They would swear the shrieking, undulating dirge was a cry for help, what manner of immense being the Whale may have been calling upon for desperate aid is a mystery that none have tried to explore.

Nothing could stop the corpse's descent, not even the might of the combined British Royal Navy could hope to cease the last dying act of relentless attack.
What remained of the Leviathan crashed down into the near still surface, exposed bones and flayed chunks of flesh downing entire vessels, crewmen screamed and shouted their lamentations as their ships were torn asunder by the mere falling tissues of the truly monstrous creature, and those outside of the danger zone cried out for their lost comrades, uttering lines of prayer even as modern rescue vessels were deployed to search for any survivors among the damp flotsam and boat sized fillets of dark, effluvial whale meat bobbing sickly along.

Clemente rose on unsteady feet, gripping onto one of the masts for support as his prized ship rocked wildly. The Aptitude had been just outside the area of the Leviathan's final hurrah, and had avoided being crushed underneath it, but it could not escape the force of the waves that sprung up around the Creature's ruined frame as it collided with the surface with all the force of a hurricane. The aptitude had been sent rocketing away, grinding against other ships that had been subjected to the same punishment, and had lost a lot of paint and lacquer to the coarse hulls of other vessels.

A day's worth of repairable scratches. A small price to pay alongside the dozens of lives lost today.

The Admiral wanted nothing more than to retire to his cabin and drown in liquor as an alternative to drowning in the endless abyss in every direction, but he had duties to attend to, rescue operations to oversee, and the mending of frayed morales to see to for a start. For a start.


* * *

<"Admiral. Sir, are you alright?">

Crackling words drifted upwards to Clemente's ears -weary and sore from the Leviathan's death wails- with the kind of urgent laziness only modern, for want of a better word, machinery could pull off.
It was his radio, the only object that he carried on his person at all times that was not from his time period, it allowed for instant communication between officers and was, unfortunately enough, useful.

Technological advances that he had never asked for meant that he need only push one button and reply as if speaking to himself. It would take a while for Clemente to get used to the whole process.

"I'm here Fenchurch, as alright as anyone who almost had a whale dropped on them could be."

There was a silent pause as Fenchurch, almost a mile away in his own quarters, no doubt held the receiver away from his mouth to sigh in some mixture of relief and consternation.
The curious little machine crackled again.

<"And what of those who were unfortunate enough to have experienced the same treatment without the 'almost' part?>

The boat beneath him wobbled erratically and Clemente was forced to sit down upon a plastic panel that passed for a seat. The Admiral had chosen to aid the rescue efforts, and was presently aboard one of the small search and rescue vessels deployed by the larger metal battleships, the kind with orange life-rings and nylon ropes and engines and other such modern equipment that made the Admiral feel thoroughly out of place.

"They're being fished out of the water and given some sort of orange blanket."

<"It's a type of thermal towel, keeps them warm.">

"It looks rather comfy."

<"It's mostly concerned with saving their lives.">

"Naturally."

Clemente hooked the radio to his belt and threw a rope to a floating sailor, it had some sort of curious loop at the end, which the sailor fit himself into, allowing Clemente to safely tow him towards the boat. The whole process looked quite ridiculous. He stooped over the bulbous (inflated?) side of the vessel and hoisted the man upwards, sopping wet and dripping, onto the dark grey plastic of the boat's deck.
After draping one of the thermal blankets over his shoulders, Clemente sat opposite the sailor and started asking him questions that he had memorised by watching the seasoned search and rescue teams around him, they were mostly concerned with whether the rescued person could remember their name, state the country they were in, or whether they could feel their legs. That was an important one.

The questioning did not take long, and so Clemente found himself sitting idly with nothing to do while the crewman piloting the vessel manoeuvred it around a huge piece of stubborn whale blubber towards the next group of floating sailors in need of a blanket. He found himself regarding the sailor he had just rescued closely, taking note of his blue uniform, dark eyebrows and distinct abundance of arms.

"What manner of beast was that, Sir?"

Clemente had seen this man in the midst of the carnage, seen the whale shatter his ship on top of him, seen the wooden stake that was once a mast tear straight through his shoulder before dragging him below the waves to what he probably thought was his grave.

"A Leviathan. Old privateer's legend, a whale the size of an island and a bloodlust to match, horrid creature that struck from below and left no survivors."

The Admiral considered that last claim while gazing at the sailor before him, who had all his limbs intact along with his life.

"It seems you've proven those silly old tales wrong."

The sailor, still wet and visibly confused, reached into his pocket and quite appropriately fished out a crumpled mass of wet paper, judging from the markings along it and the strange grey-brown water that dripped from it, it had once been a packet of cigarettes.
Ever hospitable, the Admiral reached into his own pockets and retrieved a small metal tin and a compact wooden pipe, which he slipped into the sailor's mouth before he could protest.

"Try some of mine, it'll put to shame that dirty hash you and your cigarette sucking fellows call tobacco."

Clemente ignored the sailor's dumbly startled look and dropped some dark brown mound from the tin into the pipe bowl, lighting it with a match procured from a coat pocket.
Afraid of making the wrong move and offending his superior, the sailor sucked numbly on the pipe in his mouth, his shell shocked eyes never leaving Clemente's.

"It's... Good."

"It ought to be, that's fine stuff. You'd be lucky to find it anywhere but a proud little corner shop in Easternmost London."

"What brand is it?"

Clemente frowned.
"It's Benson and Dupont's."

The sailor smiled almost triumphantly around the pipe. He lifted the soggy mass of card.
"We smoke the same brand."

Clemente took the sorry little scrap of mashed card and inspected it closely, and there it was, clear as day, the little red and brown logo that depicted the tobacco brand that he and the sailor both smoked, centuries apart.
He leaned backwards and sighed, dropping the useless thing to the deck, where it squelched rather pathetically.

"Hm, this does make it taste a good deal better... Sir."

"Then why didn't you just smoke from a pipe in the first place?"

"Well, Sir, pipes kind of went out of fashion a couple hundred years ago, in my time at least."

The Admiral snorted, looking out towards his fleet.
"Well, you can keep it. You can bring it back into fashion."

The sailor raised both eyebrows, sitting up a little straighter.
"Are you sure, Sir, won't you miss it when you next need to smo-"
Clemente had reached into his coat once more and brought out a longer, much more professional looking pipe, and had already deposited it between his teeth, filling the bowl with a clump of Benson and Dupont's finest.

"It pays to have a spare." He said around the thing, "I carry at least three."

The sailor shrugged with his eyes, an impressive display, and filled his lungs with the cloying, aromatic smoke.
Both men exhaled, the inky product of their habits carried away in the warm sea mist before either man could see the intricate shapes the other had made.


* * *

It had been several hours since the Leviathan attack, and all the shipwrecked seamen had been rescued and put aboard other ships to rest or make themselves useful if they so desired. The battle was own and there had been no casualties, technically.

Clemente stood once again on the deck of the HMS Aptitude, this time at the wheel, which thanks to a gentle coastal current and the calm buffeting of the wind he rarely had to turn, it was a therapeutic duty, often dull, but distinctly pleasurable, and the Admiral, who aboard his ship carried the title Captain, used it as a window for rest and contemplation.

The whale had been monstrous, a creature of myth and old sailors' tales that Clemente himself had never actually believed in, brought to life by the suspicious and supernatural workings of this planet. That last word spat out from Clemente's mind like the name of a hated enemy.

As for how he had fished that clearly living sailor out of the water after seeing him die in the line of duty... Whatever dark presence brought them back to life on this accursed planet clearly wanted them to stay that way, for the time being at least.

What kind of twisted afterlife is this?

The cry of land came down from the Aptitude's crow nest, the Admiral and his ship had been leading the massive fleet, sailing a ways ahead towards land, it was no surprise that his crew would spot port first.

Clemente turned the wheel ever so gently, angling the ship into a gentle current towards land, which came into view minutes later as a wavy line on the immediate horizon, the heat radiating off the Afragian sands like the waves of the sea. The last few hours of travel in the Afragian waters had been palpably hot, and now it was only going to get hotter.

The crew cheered and upped the pace of their work, eager for landfall and the fresh water that awaited them at Sharktooth Bay. Clemente reached for his radio, letting Fenchurch know of the encroaching land.

"Get everyone ready for arrival, Fenchurch. Sharktooth Bay is in sight and becoming clearer by the minute."

<"Understood, I'll radio the base and let them know of our approach.">

Mere minutes later, they were close enough to make out the makeshift port that stood upon Sharktooth Bay, and could even spot tiny figures moving about amongst the wooden walls and towers there, making preparations for the fleet's arrival.

As the ships came into view on the horizon, a bell sounded out all around the encampment. Men came out from all of the buildings and flooded the area, looking upon the fleet as it returned - albeit missing ships. The HMS Aptitude lead them into port and as the ship docked itself ever so slowly, men flooded around the hull, unloading items and people from it's stocks. As the Captain of the ship came in sight a rugged man lumbered towards him before standing rigid and flicking his hand up to his forehead as a sign of respect. He dropped it startlingly fast.

"Sir, some of our redcoat boys found some natives on our journey - we thought perhaps they could give us a bit of you know...information on where we are." The man smiled, his brow and chest - which was uncovered in the heat - were laden with beads of sweat. "I figured you'd like to talk to them."

Clemente pondered this information, he had long since put away his pipe, and the sweet smell of dry land and all it's trappings had cleared his sinuses of the effulgent odour of the sea somewhat. He loved the open ocean dearly, but he cherished any return to solid ground, and besides, this wasn't the ocean he was comfortable with.

"Natives? Interesting. Yes, I would very much like to see them, if you could lead me to where they are being kept."

The Admiral fell in beside the man in his rugged garments and started walking, reading the man's gaze and slight movements to know where to go next. The ground -or rather sand beneath him was coarse and sunk down slightly with each step, it wasn't entirely dry land, but it would do for now. He found himself wondering just what natives of this place might look like, the land and sea shared characteristics with the Africa that he had spent some time sailing within during his youth, but was distinctly different in its own way.
Communicating with them would be different, he thought at first when considering them as foreign peoples, but then he had remembered the man's wording.

"I figured you'd like to talk to them."

I don't speak African, and I'd assume any Englishman here would know that much about me, these 'natives' must speak The Queen's English, or as close to the language as could be expected in this alien land.

Men hurried by them, going to and fro in their various duties. The camp was alive with activity, everyone doing their part without faltering despite the seemingly hopeless and never before documented situation; you could always trust the Britons to make the best of a bad situation, and being stranded in as strange a place as this was as bad as it got.

"A strange lot, were they, these natives?"

"Right weird lot." The rough man smiled, his London accent shining through the gaps in his teeth. "One of them was dressed in armour and everything - looked like he'd just come out of Rome, but he was clad in all blue. Another one of them had these weird horns in her head, she was creepy as my second ex wife was, probably more." The sand stroked at both of the figure's feet as they continued to wade through the shifting sands towards the dingy prison cells that lay at the very pits of Sharktooth Bay.

"Another one them had some weird feel about him, I can't really describe it. And another...well he just felt odd; kept hold of this weird scythe as well. Threw him in another cell so he didn't decide to go beserk and kill the others, you know?" The man puffed up his chest in front of the Captain, hoping he'd be impressed with his quick thinking in the situation.

The Admiral nodded absentmindedly as the man talked, his eyes fixed on the nearby cells where the natives no doubt lay.

"A man dressed in blue Roman armour? Horns? My word, man, it sounds like these people are no more natives to this land than we are."

This was strange, stranger than it had appeared at first glance, no, this was peculiar. He just barely caught what the man said about the next few figures, and that made his eyebrow rise further.

"He had a scythe and looked funny, so you threw him in a separate cell? Well, I commend your actions, sailor, but you make it sound as if you put him in the cell without taking the scythe away." Clemente threw his head back and laughed heartily, it went on for a second or two and then died very suddenly in his throat. "... You took the scythe off of him, yes?"

The man stood, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Uh..." He stammered as he looked hard at the ground. "Shit." The rugged man smashed open the door to the dirty and foul stockades, pointing his gun around the room as he looked upon the prisoners.

Sometimes stupidity among sailors was inevitable, and really, even officers had occasional days ridden with slip-ups and mistakes, it was all part of the job, but Clemente had never experienced such outright incompetence before.
And now the sailor had burst through the door and aimed his weapon about as if something had gone terribly wrong, now, something had indeed gone terribly wrong, but thanks to the man's brazen entry and complete lack of tact, the armed natives now knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

So they forgot to confiscate a weapon and that's awful, but if I'd walked in calmly and this fool had remained outside, we could make it look like we aren't currently sweating out of anxiety and terror, just heat.

The Admiral could have easily diffused the situation, made it seem like it was no big deal that one of them still had a deadly weapon, then it may look like he didn't care at all about the scythe and was clearly far too powerful to be worrying about sharp things being in the same room as him. But now the prisoners knew that the Navy knew that they had a weapon, and they knew that that was a massive mistake and that the red-coated people holding them weren't in any way competent or powerful.

This is just awful.

Clemente, faced with no other alternative, stepped into the dimly lit and dimly decorated and altogether dim shack, keeping a hand on his own pistol and hoping they prisoners wouldn't realise that both weapons were single shot firearms and that they therefore technically outnumbered their jailers.

"If you can hear me it means you're alive, and if you can understand me it means you speak English, and if you are alive and can speak English then there are no excuses for not hearing me say 'if you don't move a muscle you won't get shot'. I hope you speak English."

Just as the woefully inept sailor had said, there was an honest to God Roman, fully armoured and everything, with blue garments in place of red ones, not that such things mattered right now. There was the horned woman, who seemed distinctly small and out of place next to the legionnaire, building some sort of sandcastle. There were two other men, one of whom looked particularly shady and grasped a scythe just as the sailor had said, he sat in his own little barred alcove, which apparently qualified as a 'separate cell'.

"If by some stroke of luck or blind fortune one of you does speak English, or at least French, I want you to tell me where we are and what we are doing here, then you can tell me what you are doing here."

If he pulled this off, it may just save their illusion of being the slightest bit in control of the situation.

Death of Korzan
03-25-2014, 10:16 PM
Emor

The hall echoed with heavy footsteps. They reverbed across the marble and grew louder as the tall imposing human approached the emperor, who remained upon the imperial throne. The Earthborn was incredibly imposing, his body's stature much larger than the Namorian leader's.

"My superiors have sent me to ask some questions of you, emperor." The soldier stood ahead of the emperor, not bowing as his subjects did, but standing more like an equal - though within the genetically modified soldier's mind, he saw himself as the superior over the almost prehistoric, rotund man.

The emperor's eyes narrowed. "As you already said." he growled, "What in Mars' name do you want? And now, of all times?"

The Earthborn soldier smiled slyly as he flicked his hand up. A holographic image of the skyline of Combrogia appeared, coloured a sickly orange-green. From the trees glowed a huge purple beam of light, glittering menacingly through the sky. Its purple seemed to stand out among the rest of the area, purple clashing with green. Various statistics that meant nothing to the Namorian emperor appeared upon the hologram and they too floated within the air.

"This beam of energy is firing at over the speed of light. This technology is faster and more capable than even our hyperdrives." The Earthborn pursed his lips and bored his eyes into the emperor's. "So the question of you is...how."

The emperor turned slowly pale as he looked at the image - not in fear of the magic-like projection, but of what it showed. Purple light, the same purple as the ink on the crumpled scroll he had kept close and read obsessively ever since receiving it from an injured Combrogi.

Nemesis, what new way have you found of fucking me now?

"Combrogia is lost to the invaders." Galen Claudius managed after a moment. "My empire has had no authority there since governor Boar Skull was killed. Perhaps a new army can be found to liberate it, but any sorcery that is happening there now is no doing of mine!"

"We can assure you, emperor - we will come down hard upon the imperium if you are hiding something from us." The Earthborn glared at the emperor with inquisitive eyes, as if hoping the old man would crack and tell him something, no - anything.

The emperor paled again, though this time it was with anger. Perhaps a couple of months ago he would have counselled prudence, as he had to Marcius when Anne von Bayern had come bursting into his throne room under similar circumstances. But the stress of the war and of watching his forefathers' empire hang in the balance had taken its toll on Galen Claudius - and, moreover, Anne von Bayern hadn't so blatantly threatened him.

"I am hiding nothing!" he blustered at the Earthborn. "Furthermore, I am Galen Hippocrates Claudius, imperator of the Namorian empire! Your masters have a deal with my empire - with me! What right do you have to threaten me?"

The soldier's eyes blazed at the blustering emperor as two thick crescent blades seemed to fold out of the vambraces of his armour, glittering in the light. The soldier held up the blades on both of his wrists and gritted his teeth before growling under his breath at the emperor.

"My right comes from the Galactic Empire of Earth. An Empire with more history than your planet even knows. With more technology than you in your measly, whimpering cur of a life could even dream to claim. With more power than you could hope to harness."

He took three large steps, the third cracking the tiling underneath his feet. The praetorians around the floor and at the emperor's side clawed for their swords, but the emperor seized the wrist of the closest with a sweat-slick hand, stopping him from drawing his sword. His eyes were wide with fear. The soldier stood there, impossibly tall in his shimmering, liquid armour, like the son of some very alien, very dangerous Earthborn god.

The soldier's eyes were fiery with rage and passion, as if he genuinely disliked the Emperor, though for no reason. "My right comes from an empire stretched across exactly 242 planets involving 81 solar systems. My right comes from the superiority of Earthern-mankind over all obstacles. What right do you have to question mine, Namorian."

The marine spat at the gluttonous figure of the emperor before he turned and allowed the blades to retreat back into their place.

"We shall continue to survey the planet, but if we find that the imperium is harbouring extraterrestrials then we shall liquidate it. You will be no more. You find yourself allies with Earth - but you are not allies with me."

The marine began to walk out, his feet crunching along the ground as his armour covered his face again, giving him a chitinous, skeleton like look once more. The emperor just stared after him, his mouth working like a landed fish.

Demons take senator Agrippa for advising me to ally with these people, demons take that fucking soldier, and demons take that treacherous whore Nemesis!

"Imperator?" one of the praetorians murmured. "Are you alright."

The emperor took a shuddering breath, mopped his brow and nodded, untruthfully.

And what of you, Galen Claudius? Will they curse you as the man who presided over the destruction of the Namorian empire?

Odin’s Grotto

An unknown time passed and she slowly stirred. Her body could feel the grasses and leaves among her hair and tickling her face...

A hand was pressed to her cheek, rubbing gently while she looked around trying to remember what happened.

Above the girl stood an extremely attractive being. Long star tipped ears flicked off of his head and brown hair flowed down his shoulders elegantly, moving in the wind peacefully and settling back into place when the gusts dispersed. His eyes glittered with a fathomless curiosity as he looked at the wood armoured girl and she herself couldn't look away from him. Beholding his sight made her eyes tingle with pleasure. He ran his finger down the center of the chest piece as it glowed green - the armour then beginning to crackle and split.

"Et nomasto salethao et nomaetoa sunethac..." The man continued to chant as his finger ran itself down the chest and leg piece of the magical armour. She wished she could understand the words he spoke. Somehow she understood Clawbark, yet she didn't even know what language she was speaking. As it split open, it seemed to fold aside as if made of paper - losing all of it's weight and strength. The odd man pulled the armour aside, revealing the human's naked skin as he surveyed her for injury. Her Nymph flesh was bruised around the right side of her ribs and her shoulder, the side she fell on. Being stripped did not bother her, she felt a sense of trust with the man with star pointed ears.

She dropped her hand from her cheek to touch him when she gasped in pain from her shoulder. Instinct guided her to hold it.

The man recoiled back at the noise, blinking like a wild hare at the woman. He ran his fingers lightly across her bruised ribs before looking up at her with his purple eyes and she remained still under his inspection. "You are hurt, lady." His voice was soft and soothing, young and old, passive yet almost animalistic and aggressive. He began to run his finger up the seem of the armour once more, chanting the same words as his finger turned green and began to join the wood back together.

Her face was hidden by hair while she kept her head low. She was lost in feeling of her first pains.

"Clawbark" the name spilled from her lips with desperation.

As the Tree-man's name was uttered the man who was tending to her cringed in what looked like pain. He drew his hand away and seemed to flex his fingers. He dropped his head, letting the soft strands of his hair flick out of place and ahead of his eyes as his finger rose up and pointed to a huge cloud of smoke puffing from the air - only overshadowed by a vast purple light that seemed to pulsate with menace.

"The Forests are quiet for the first time, lady." The woman lifted her head to look at him. The signs of sorrow about him made her heart sink. Stealing a glance at the purple light imbued her with a sense of fear that ran up her spine.The Nymph began trying to stand on her own. All around her was mystery and chaos.

As the Nymph began to push herself up, the man pushed her down lightly, setting her back upon the ground. His intervention was questioned by her expression. "No. You must sit, you are hurt - you could be bleeding internally. I shall get others." His purple eyes glared into hers with a sense of odd care and sincerity - something not often found within the forests of an unknown world. He stood up and turned before bounding off, his long locks puffing up in the air as he pushed off of the ground with bare, calloused feet.

Forced still made her mind run. To all she felt out of place. Why was she born in this world? Her existence felt wrong. Shielding her eyes with a hand she struggled with her heart. What had become of her only friend?

Minutes passed, seconds felt like hours and all that accompanied the Nymph was the deathly silence that filled the air. All around her smoke seemed to drift through the forest and stroke at her features, the smell of blood and sweat dirtying her nose and any form of purity that the forest had withheld to itself.

After a few of these long minutes the slender form of the short and odd man ran through the thick, slightly shaded air. Two females holding intricately designed staves followed, with billowing red and green hair that seemed to sweep the all-consuming fog away.

"This is Atumna and Summara." The man gestured to the women, who held the same odd ears as he did, though their eyes were piercing blue instead of the deep galactic purple that lingered within the attractive man's own eyes. She looked up to them, not sure how to proceed. Her face was marked with pain and confusion.

"Clawbark was to take me to the Elders...before this happened" she looked around her defiled surroundings.

"Do not worry. You shall meet with the elders, lady; but not before you have taken rest and been tended to. What is your name?" The beautiful male looked once more into the Nymph's eyes, as if hunting for some lost fragment of information long forgotten by all but he and her. She stared back, her own mind looking for an answer. It made her tear.

"I do not have one..." she looked between all three. "I was just born" she closed her eyes and shook her head and gently lowered it again, her shoulder continued to yell at her being. The falling tears intensified.

"Please do not play games with us, we only wish to help." The three strange figures looked down at the Nymph as they placed their hands all over her wounds, filling them with a magical sense of warmth. "A human female of your age surely has a name."

"I do not know what to tell you..." she sighed with their touch. "I came from a large...flower" she was trying to gesture the shape of the bulb that birthed her. "And then Clawbark found me."

The man looked upon the Nymph, squinting his eyes and weighing up the woman's confirmation. He nodded and looked back down at her frame, running glowing hands along it and filling it with warmth. The touch was a reassuring boost to the rest of her life thus far. "No name. Tsen Tsaven - one without a face. Fitting. I am Glarao Savissen, son of Lord Kurosavi." At the mention of the name Glarao paled, but he hastily continued with his work. "Do you remember anything else human?"

Tsen Tsaven took the name without argument, having no sense of identification.

"All I know is that this day has been my first day alive, that I am a woman, but ..." the warmth allowed her to focus away from the pain. "I wish I knew why I was born in that field of flowers..." she shook her head again. "Thank you for your help, all of you" she looked at all of them. "I am sorry I am of little help..." she sighed.


New Giza

The huge doors that opened out into the court of Shanaar echoed open; the thick wood that formed them creaked and groaned as their huge weight was shifted until they finally stopped as momentum was lost. A single figure stood within the doorway, being more of a silhouette than a corporeal mass. They took three slow, deliberate steps as their body silently bathed itself within the light of the hot Afragian sun.

He was suited in Namorian armor. His cloak was torn and his armour bloodied; he lacked a shield yet his blade still sat at his waist, dull in colour – as was the rest of his body. His face was flushed and untanned, with his eyes coated in thick oily blackness, hiding any discerning colours or details. His face wrinkled at the edges of his mouth in a psychotic and random fashion, the wrinkles giving him a slightly ambiguous appearance. His pale face was displayed ever clearer by the sharp nose that cast a shadow across his face, with a good solid shape though arguably too large to be attractive. His lips were pursed and purple in colour – resembling the bags that sat neatly underneath his squinted eyes.

The most terrifying thing about the man however, was his shadow. Lacking any form of humanity, the outline of it looked more like a bipedal beast; with long arms that stretched from the shoulder and ended with hands that were armed with hook like claws. Where the human face should have been a wolfish snout lay, baring its teeth and lulling a black shadowed tongue out of its mouth. Two clawed feet stamped like dogs feet against the warm floor, resembling a hound’s back legs.

The man bared his teeth and smiled, the pearly white colour that accompanied them looking out of place upon his rather sombre form. “Greetings.” He said, before tilting his head like a wolf preparing to strike at its prey.

Emor – Dun Moriga Border

The sound of a blade being sharpened against rock resounded across the camp. Plumes of smoke filled the sky as they climbed as tall as the buildings that lay within Emor – which sat just across the horizon. The sharpening was coming from the blade’s wielder, a blonde man with a huge beard of the same colour; his eyes were frosty blue and his nose crooked and broken – otherwise he was beautiful. He himself was topless and pale, though developing an odd tan; his muscles flexed sublimely and he was clearly in shape, though the man – judging by his stature – was clearly no native to these lands. He sharpened an axe-blade in particular, curved and crudely crafted – it looked worn and tarnished, as if passed down through a few generations in order to meet the one barbaric looking man.

Standing around at the other side of the camp sat a shorter ginger woman, freckles dotting themselves around her face. Her hair flowed freely down her cheeks and curled wildly into disarray as it reached the middle of her back. Her eyes were stark green and seemed to glitter with the sun, hiding deadly intent beneath them, though they were currently masked with the visage of guilt and shame as she sat staring at her hands as if they were coated with the blood of innocents.
She looked up at the third member of the group, another tall man with dark brown hair and a clean shaven face. His eyes were bright and wild, yet cunning and sophisticated – far from barbaric like his two companions. His jaw was firmly set yet not as hard and shaped as the axe-wielder, instead it seemed a lot more partial to the cunning face of an aristocrat…or a mage. His slender body was covered with thin silk robes, partially burned at the edges in order to rid the clothing of its long arm-pieces.

“Belingat.” The woman said, looking down at her hands still. A whimper seemed to escape from her mouth, drifting through the air. The mage looked up at her, cocking an eyebrow.
“What is it Straten?” He replied, his voice curious yet not cautious.
“Why.” Straten looked up at him and her face turned to something filled with Venom and spite. “Why did we kill her children as well?!”
Belingat paused and frowned at her. “Because the Mother of balance told us that we had to.”
“But did we?!” Straten rose up from her place and marched forward towards Belingat. “Did we have to slaughter her and her children and her slaves?! Just to demoralise one leader, just to sour his good luck?! We are Korzan’s Avengers, Odin damn you – not Nemesis’s scapegoats.”

Belingat raised his hand and deftly slapped the woman across the face, leaving her stunned, her palm pressed against the new glowing red skin. “Know your place, archer. The God’s business is not ours to refute.” He turned back towards the sun and grit his teeth. For he would continue to deny that the broken bodies of the Marcius family still filled his mind, poisoning him with terrible emotions.

Azazeal849
04-03-2014, 07:18 PM
SHARKTOOTH BAY

"If you can hear me it means you're alive, and if you can understand me then there's no excuses for not hearing me say 'if you don't move a muscle you won't get shot'. I want you to tell me where we are and what we are doing here. Then you can tell me what you are doing here."

Salvius raised his head to regard the newcomer. Clearly another Earthborn, from his accented Namorian and outlandish dress. But this Earthborn's pale skin was weatherbeaten and prematurely lined, and the grey that had begun at his temples was rapidly spreading outwards. His short, barbarian's moustache and beard however were black, and covered a strong chin. The man's blue eyes were carefully controlled, giving away little.

"I take it I have the honour of addressing the admiral our jailer told us about." Salvius growled. Well, at least this one isn't quite as much of an arrogant prick, although these Earthborn just keep finding new ways to talk nonsense with absolute conviction. "I can't tell you why you're here, but I can tell you we're here because we were accosted by your red-coat friends at the Afragian border. I have to say, it's not the treatment I was expecting from an ally."

The jailer standing next to the admiral snorted. "Ally?"

"You are Earthborn are you not?" Salvius frowned, with less venom than he had intended as he abruptly became less sure of himself.


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR

The smoke had thickened, blowing towards Marcius as he led 1st cohort south down the Causeway and towards the orange pillar of light. The men added to the smoke with plumes of dust kicked up as they stamped forward at the double. Romans and Fulminata legionaries either held their ground or fell in behind them from the streets to their right, questions and orders flying back and forth as command staff tried to grasp the wider situation. To Marcius' surprise, the Romans and his own men were shouting encouragement to each other.

Elisavet reined in her horse to the Dux's side. Too much was still unknown in the chaos they had leapt into.

"Decius, I can scout ahead if that will aid you." Elisavet hadn't had the opportunity to demonstrate her usefulness on the battlefield yet. She had no men to command as the leading males around her did. For Decius' sake she wised to contribute more.

Marcius glanced at Elisavet, and then at the smoke-shrouded road ahead. To either side of the causeway, heavy fighting was still audible. He wouldn't have sent any of his own men out into the smoke alone, and in truth he did not want the last remaining sign of the gods' favour gone from his side, in spite of the raw pain she brought with her. But a messenger of the gods was not to be ignored, and telling one to be careful when they understood their own abilities better than he did was to insult them.

"As you wish, my lady." the commander nodded, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed together in a thin line.


* * * * * *

"Orders tribune?" a centurion asked as he reined in his grey stallion beside Cassius. Cassius was still staring at the marching ranks of orcs, too many and too well-formed to break with a single charge. "Tribune?"

At the second insistence, the Fulminata's young second in command made his decision. "Send gallopers back to the other cohorts. Let them know what's happening."

"Spears!" another centurion warned, pointing. A batallion of greyskins had peeled off from the column marching into the blazing pillar, and was now filling Varon's Causeway ahead of them, barbed halberds levelled towards the Namorian cavalry. Cassius cursed under his breath - horses could outrun infantry easily, but they couldn't stay here. The wall of steel was advancing steadily down the thoroughfare towards them, and no horse on Eternum would charge home against a thicket of barbed spearpoints.

Cassius was just about to order his men to retire and wait for the heavy support of 4th cohort, when there was a mighty shout of "Roma invicta!" and a wave of red cloaks and red shields came boiling out of the side streets, slamming into the orc column. Like a red wave smashing into a grey one, they sent shockwaves rippling through the enemy formation as orcs fell into each other, thrown by shield strikes or scrambling back as they tried to swing their weapons round. The red-cloaked Romans stabbed and slashed past their tall shields, driving into the orc formation over a carpet of bodies and severed limbs.

For a brief moment the orc advance ground to a halt in disorder, and Cassius knew that a moment was all they were likely to get.

"Charge!" he bellowed, turning his horse back round with a squeeze of his knees and spinning his long cavalry sword over his head with his good hand.


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

Ovidius tensed, gritted his teeth, and let out the breath he had been holding as a long, low groan. Opening his eyes and raising his head to look down the bed, he smiled at Suriyana as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pulled herself up beside him. She smiled back, but it seemed somehow half-hearted compared to her usual cocky grin.

"What's the matter?" he asked, rolling over on one side to face her.

Suriyana didn't bother to lie to him. "Stressed." she admitted.

Ovidius grinned as he bent to kiss Suriyana's stomach, gently pushing her thighs apart with his hand. "Don't worry, I can help with that."

"No, Aulus." Suriyana said distractedly, turning onto her side and propping herself up with an elbow. "Not right now."

"Sorry." Ovidius pulled back, frowning briefly, before using his hand to stroke Suriyana's long hair instead. "You're worried because of what we're about to do, yes?"

"Yes." Suri admitted.

"I know what you mean. A few years ago I'd never have been thinking of sex before a mission either." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "You're such a natural at this cloak and dagger thing, I keep forgetting you're not the same jaded bastard that I am. Sorry."

"It's not that." Suriyana said, taking a lock of Ovidius' curly hair and pushing it behind his ear. "I just can't help thinking that we're not doing the right thing."

Ovidius paused thoughtfully. He had long stopped asking himself that question. It was impossible in this world for someone to raise themselves up except at another's expense, and he was sworn to protect mistress Lycinia - and, by extension, the wider interests of the Namorian imperium. No matter how similar the Egyptians were to their own Afragians, under Shanaar or Iset they were an intolerable risk to the empire. Lord Marcius had told them all what the immortals were capable of. No matter how sympathetic vizier Iset's reasons were for seeking the throne, as long as she planned to invade Afragia she remained an obstacle that had to be removed. High priest Ahsha was hardly predictable as an ally, but at least with him as pharoah there was a chance for peace. A few lives, a few evil and dishonourable deeds for the security of the greater whole - that was the way that the cynical politics of empire had always worked.

"If anything we're saving lives." Ovidius told Suriyana gently. "We're preventing a war. We can't fight the Egyptians and the orcs."

"Dominus said that the immortals can be reasoned with. Why aren't we talking to them, instead of manipulating them and planning to murder them? This whole thing is wrong, and if it doesn't work it could backfire on us horribly."

"It could." Ovidius admitted. "But the gods have been with us so far."

"We're insulting them by wearing their symbols while we do this." Suriyana said, her eyes dropping to the jackal icon that still hung around Ovidius' neck.

Ovidius exhaled slowly down his nose. "We've been over this ground already. If the gods cared how we carry out their will, they would have struck down Shanaar and Iset already, and probably us too. Isis gave me a mission? I'm carrying it out as best I can. If Isis comes back to us - or Mars, or Ra - and tells us another way of doing this then I will. In a heartbeat. But until then, I'm going to carry out mistress Lycinia's orders."

He sighed, and leaned forward to kiss Suriyana's dark-skinned forehead. He was no hero of the gods, in spite of what she said - he was their courier, at best. Lycinia Marci didn't need a hero either; at least not in him. She needed eyes and ears, and occasionally a knife in the dark. Suriyana though...she was committed to her god of light, and now she was even learning his magic. And through it all she remained loyal to her mistress, even though here in the remote east of the empire she had ample opportunity to run. If anything, she was the one with the potential for heroism.

"You're Ra's disciple now," Ovidius said earnestly. "Not just in costume like me, but in fact. If I'm worthy of a godly vision then surely you are. Surely he'd have told you something? This is the last act - let's just get this over with, and then we can leave the rest to the diplomats and go home."

Suriyana let Ovidius pull her into a hug. "Maybe." she whispered.


* * * * * *

"My general." the messenger reported, bowing low. "High Priest Ahsha and Ra's ambassadors from the native lands await you in the city hall."

A grim smile crept up Shanaar's long, aquiline face as he received the expected news. Just as the assassin-priest had said, his two priestesses had been able to talk Ahsha round to the righteousness of his cause. Had he been unable to hear his god's words, or had he been so blasphemously arrogant that he had simply ignored them, in order to pursue his own claim to the throne? Shanaar hoped that the high priest had been suitably chastened by the two priestesses speaking Ra's true vision. Ahsha was clearly no longer fit for his office, and once his throne was secure Shanaar would have him replaced by someone else. Someone who was truly faithful and attuned to the sun god. Perhaps his battle priest Taita. Perhaps even the native priestess who had spoken to Ahsha on his behalf.

But all in good time. First, that snake Iset would be judged by the jackal god she claimed to represent.

"You two," the general said, pointing out his two most trusted bodyguards. "Come with me."

It had been agreed that he and Ahsha would take no more than two bodyguards each to the meeting. Not just for security, but also for secrecy. Of course, Iset would know of the meeting courtesy of the double-agent Ovidius, and such a small guard would no doubt provide a tempting target to the treacherous vizier.

Shanaar was not worried by the probability that Iset would storm the meeting with more men than his two allotted guards could defend against. As Shanaar and Ovidius had already planned, the native cat's paws that she intended to use - a cynical attempt to keep her own hands clean - would really be working for him. The traitor betrayed...it was a sentence that Shanaar felt the great judge Anubis would approve of.

The true Anuban Ovidius had devised it; a test akin to Anubis' feather of justice, in honour of his patron. If Iset was greedy and stupid enough to take the bait of attacking the meeting, then she would be struck down. If she did not, then she would live - but she would also be forced to step down as Ahsha and the influence he wielded were leveraged behind the throne's rightful claimant, Shanaar. Either way, Shanaar would win.

Clenching his fists in anticipation until his knuckles cracked, Shanaar rose from his chair.

Suddenly, the huge doors that opened out into the court of Shanaar echoed open; the thick wood that formed them creaked and groaned as their huge weight was shifted, until they finally stopped as momentum was lost. A single figure stood within the doorway.

...

"Greetings." he said, before tilting his head like a wolf preparing to strike its prey.

"Abomination!" one of Shanaar's guards snarled, his khopesh flashing in the firelight as he raised the crooked blade and started forward. General Shanaar's arm snapped out like a striking cobra and caught the man across the chest, arresting his charge. The force of the blow cartwheeled the man backwards and left him gasping on his back on the floor. Shanaar rose to his full height and stepped forward, his eagle eyes narrowed and his arms held tense away from his sides.

"Set?" he rumbled softly.


* * * * * *

Neither Suriyana nor Anne were with Ovidius when he stepped into the inner chamber of Iset's villa, dressed in his dark tunic and cloak with his bronze dagger at his side. Instead, he was accompanied by eight of the former soldiers he had met at the tavern a few days previously. The ninth hadn't shown up to their meeting in the market, but Ovidius had found him and taken care of him to maintain their plan's secrecy. Each of the men was swathed in a cloak - unremarkable now that night had fallen and the temperature had dropped, but its true purpose was to hide the armour that each man wore. Some had Namorian style lorica; the rest wore the treated crocodile hide of the Afragian militia. All of them carried short, thick-bladed daggers.

The inner chamber into which they marched was large and square, hung with drapes and painted with hieroglyphs and artistic scenes. Four of the jackal-headed warriors stood in the corners of the room, growling softly. Iset herself was atop a stone dais in the centre of the room, her hands resting either side of a small idol of Anubis as she stared at a particular fresco on the far wall. It showed a family of five atop a temple staircase, looking down upon a city of adoring subjects. Iset wore a crocodile-skin breastplate over a loose, manoeuvrable robe, her dark hair tied back in braids to keep it from interfering with her sight or movement. As Ovidius and his mercenaries shuffled into the room, she raised her green eyes from the wall and looked at them.

"These are your men?" the Egyptian vizier asked, looking at the rag-tag group that Ovidius had brought with him. They were only eight, but each man was muscular, scarred, experienced. They looked back at Iset silently, betraying no hint of the secret orders that Ovidius had given them.

"Yes." Ovidius nodded. "My lady, I've just found out that Shanaar is meeting with Ahsha in the magistrate's villa. They intend to discuss Ahsha's support for Shanaar's claim."

Iset's normally serene face flashed with shock, and then anger, but she quickly controlled it. "The priest is withdrawing his own claim...to support Shanaar's? Why would he do that? How do you know?"

"Because it is my priestesses who intend to broker it. My lady, I'm going to have to call in the favour of protection against their wrath sooner than I intended."

"Why would Ahsha throw in his lot with the general?" Iset asked. She had regained her composure, but her small hands were clenched into fists on top of the stone table that held the Anubis idol. Ovidius could imagine the turmoil of the beautiful vizier's thoughts. With her two rivals united against her, her chance of seizing the throne, as well as all she planned to achieve afterwards, was rapidly slipping away. But her desperation was something that he could exploit.

"Why?" Iset asked again, seemingly to herself.

"For material reasons, not spiritual." Ovidius said. "Shanaar has the biggest army, and a resolution to the current succession crisis prevents a war."

"Power alone does not make a man fit to rule." Iset said quietly. "Anubis will judge them both."

"His will; our hands, my lady." Ovidius intoned. "But we need to act now."

Iset cocked her head at him, frowning. "With so few men?"

"Shanaar and Ahsha still do not trust each other. Even with my priestesses as mediators, they only permitted each other to bring two guards each. We won't get a better opportunity."

With a sharp gesture, Iset motioned to the four jackal warriors who stood in the corners of the room. They barked and stepped forward to form a protective square around their mistress. "Then find your men some real weapons from the armoury downstairs, and let's go."

Minkasha
04-07-2014, 08:38 PM
Glarao, Atumna and Summara ran their hands all along the smooth wooden tree-bark that covered Tsen's skin, filling her body with a certain numbness. When this was done, the Eldrani man slipped his arms delicately underneath the newly named woman before curling them upwards and flipping her into his arms. She was light - especially for Glarao who was used to hefting huge yet beautiful swords with finesse.

"Come lady, we must take you inside, else you shall catch a chill."

Tsen nodded, looking at Glarao bewildered. The warmth kept her body paused.

"Combrogia, that is what Clawbark called this forest. Is it your home?" she felt relaxed in his hold, peace from her shoulder.

"Yes...the forest is our home and we keep it. Though times recently have not been good to the forest people." The Eldrani continued to look forward, not paying attention to the facial expressions of the curious female. "Clawbark was one of the Sepplengais, those who we - the Eldrani - take an oath to protect in favor of their protection over us. For thousands of years we have kept these forests safe, even through the great wars of empires not within these woodlands."

"This land is sacred to us, and we sacred to it - for we both feed off of each other's prosperity."

There was so much to this forest, she kept her focus on Galaro while he spoke, trying to learn all she could.

"Eldrani..." she studied his face. "Why is there a purple light? Is it part of a great war?"

"We do not know what the Purple light is, nor of it's power or what it means by it's very presence in these peaceful lands. All that we know is that the Barbarian men placed it, and now our people lay slaughtered like cattle." Glarao grimaced with anger and hatred. "There is great war everywhere child - history itself is a war between men who believe themselves right in their opinions. It is the product of misconduct and lack of self control - Eldrani rarely indulge in such conflict, but the forest called to us and we answered. And now we lay dead and the forest lay quiet."

His dark words, and pain brought her to silent weeping. She didn't have the spirit to ask anymore questions and looked away. Her mind was submerged in woe.

As the pair became as quiet as the forest, Glarao began to ascend up a set of wooden steps, circling around a large tree grown perfectly into shape. As the two entered into the tree's inside they were embraced by a warm, homely feeling. All around luxurious furniture that seemed to work in some way to preserve the natural state of the tree; cloth lay upon tables that were simply outcrops of the inside of the bark. On a long outgrowth lay a fur mattress. Flowers kept themselves on the floor at the edges of the rooms and there were no true walls between them, only dividing rises in wood - grown into the tree like everything else was. It was beautiful in an alien way, unfamiliar to any but the Druada.

Walking to the bed, Glarao set Tsen down upon the fur mattress and stood over her. "Stay and rest, later I shall return and take you to meet the Elders. We hopefully fixed any issues within your body, but the bruising to your external frame must heal alone." Without a hint of a goodbye Glarao turned around a trotted down the steps, back to Atumna and Summara before walking away from the elegant tree-house.

Unable to reflect on what has happened Tsen fell asleep. With the passing hours her mind was in a state of pure darkness, so weary. When she awoke her first thought returned to Glarao. Pushing herself up Tsen felt some discomfort at her ribs and shoulder but was able to move without delay. She looked for signs of anyone in the beautiful room she was kept in.

The sun was up in the sky and the smoke had turned an ashen white, signalling that the fires were done. In the distance the huge purple beam of light still glimmered grimly above the Grotto. The area was bustling, with a few Sepplengais rushing in and out of the area. A huge area in the center of the Druidic sanctuary had been cornered off, with various bodies covered in sheets lain within - a temporary storing area for the dead. Sadness seemed to bounce off of the actions of the Druada that scoured the dead and dragged more from the forests; the smell of blood filled Odin's Grotto and even in the bright beautiful sun the day seemed dark and decrepit.

In this after effect of war, this was how she awoke to her second day of life. Tsen slowly stepped out of the room she slept in and kept her body language small. Her eyes looked about, seeing loss everywhere. She had no idea what she was to do with the life she was given...the dead had a cause...she had no meaning behind her existence. Maybe she could at least help. She went looking for the nearest Eldrani she could find to offer aid.

As Tsen walked around by Eldrani, some actively avoided her. There were a few Eldrani who even spat foul words in their native language, scorning her kind for what they had done. She had no idea what was said, nor did she know what was doing wrong, she tried to walk away from them, unsure of herself. The bodies had begun to have to be piled up now, as there were so many dead that there was no space for them all to have their own place on the ground. Disrespect was cast aside in favor of hygiene and the health and safety of the living.

Some Eldrani barged past the human woman as if she weren't there, their faces contorted with a mix of hatred and confusion. As Tsen continued to walk around, a hand gripped itself around her arm and as she turned around she was met by the familiar face of Glarao. He seemed pale, with dark panda rings underneath his eyes - painting his eyelids with the black oily visage of fatigue. "Come, every moment spent here is an insult to the grieving."

Tsen looked to the royal Eldrani eye's.

"I am so sorry, I just wished to...help as you helped me" she didn't fight his grasp. Tsen felt so horribly incompetent, another emotional burden on top of the confusion and sadness. Without resistance she followed to whenever Glaraor led her, she tried to keep quiet, not wanting to upset the other Eldrani around them.

"It is fine Tsen - our people are going through a state of helplessness. We are not educated on the principles of war as your people are." Glarao continued on his path through the Grotto, avoiding crowds of Eldrani; avoiding those who were deep within the confines of their grief.

"I will take you to the Elders now - surely they will know what we must do with you."

Tsen's anxiousness built.

"Clawbark said if they did not know of my birth...no one would" she quoted ominously.

"If you were born of a flower of this forest, then they will know the merit of your birth - if not then your birth had no merit. Or maybe your birth was purely of chance...or luck." The Eldrani turned to her, purple eyes boring into her very being, she froze under the gaze. "Or maybe, you yourself are merely a test for my people - or maybe we are a test for you." The Eldrani continued to walk.

"I wish to be no one's test, I just want to know the truth"

"Regardless, Clawbark was right - if they do not know, then no one but the Gods - and even then they may not know - will be able to discern your identity." Tsen kept quiet, heart racing to meet the Elders

Is the two of them walked, a huge stone dome became closer and closer - overshadowing the other buildings and looking extremely out of place within the city of wood. The two of them walked into the building and were instantly surrounded by a stone ecosystem that seemed odd compared to the outside world. The stones were moist and cold, with beads of dew running down them at all times before sinking into the porous stone floor. The building would have looked more at home within a human or dwarf city - but within the home of the Druada it was simply odd.

Eventually the two of them came to a large door made of some green kind of metal. It was covered in intricate patterns depicting trees and nature, though it was ever changing. The current picture showed a huge anvil like object shooting a large beam high into the sky; around it the floor was littered with broken twigs and the bodies of Sepplengais too big to move. On the opposite door it showed Odin's Grotto, the centre filled with several mounds, too unclear to pinpoint what they were on the door - though Tsen had already seen them through her own eyes.

Before the two could pass through the door, a man standing at around 7 foot seemed to walk in front of them wielding black plated armour that seemed otherworldly.

"Guardian, we seek an audience with the Elders." Glarao spoke as he dipped his head and upper body as a sign of respect. The Guardian looked at him with his eyes squinted, measuring his worth. He then looked upon Tsen and his eyes squinted further. As his eyes bored into the back of Tsen's, he pulled his Claymore free and let it clash with the ground. She jumped with a sudden jolt of fear. She held a hand up to her chest.

"Human. What have you come for?"

"I...wish to understand the mystery surrounding my birth. Clawbark was to take me to the Elders for their help before..." she didn't finish the sentence, sadness tailing her tone of voice. "I came from a large flower in a large field and" she looked at the guardian with fear, but with conviction, she needed to know "I'm only two days old. I have no understanding of anything, including myself"

"Humans do not mature as you have after two days old. Why are you lying to me." The Guardian lifted his sword and held it in mid air - pointing the sharp and glinting blade towards Tsen. Tsen kept herself still at it's end. "The Elders are grieving for their lost, at the hands of humans." The Guardian turned to Glarao and tilted his head. "I would have thought you would have known all about this, Savissen."

"Maybe I'm not Human, I do not know. I was pointed this direction and have no where else to go." She dropped the arm shielding her chest, just letting go. This was a turning point in her existence. Either she'd get to learn the truth or live in the unknown forever.

The Guardian stood facing her, his eyes fiery and unknown. He stepped away and to the side as the doors behind him clanked upon. "The Elders will see you." Her heart was beating fast, she could feel the throbbing in her ears. Tsen looked to Glarao and the Guardian.

"Thank you" she stepped inside, looking to see who the Elders were.


The door opened up into a long hallway with long wooden roots covering the walls, sharp gems embedded in their skin. The ground seemed to glow golden underneath the sun that poured in through a skylight and the gems glittered magically in the light. At the end of the hall it opened up into a large room, though Tsen couldn't see anything beyond the entrance. The unknown did not stop her from proceeding.

As she stepped into the room, the floor cracked under her feet - cold amber welling up and setting the cracks, almost as if the floor were rebuilding it's light surface. This happened with every footstep that her and Glarao took along the glassy floor, though it never caved in on them. The hall almost throbbed as they walked through, the energy pulsating within the rock walls.

After the short walk through the gorgeous hall, the pair arrived in the final room. It was huge, making up most of the building. Three gargantuan thrones sat at the sides of the room with large tree-man sitting in them, all almost ancient enough to be part of the chairs themselves. Their roots grew along the wall in order to draw nutrients from the stones, explailning the constant sapping moisture running down the grey slabs.

"Human..." A deep voice reverbed across the room. "Your people have caused us...great pain. Why have you come..." It pained Tsen that all this death and war was continuously associated with her. Though maybe she was Human...she knew what war was, what a blade was used for...but the Eldarni were a mystery to her. Why did she know some selective things?

"I was born yesterday in a large flower..." she used both hands to outline it "among a great field of flowers that all looked the same. I have no memory of who I am and Clawbark found me." A hand ran through her bangs quickly "He told me that my birth was a mystery to him, I asked for help because I'm lost and he told me he would take me to the Elders. I am here because I am confused and find myself here with no understand of why..." she shook her head "though so much has happened in the small time I've been alive. Clawbark and I saw the flash, he dressed me" she gestured to her armor "And when he began running, I...must have fainted...fell off his back..." she shook her head again, she needed to stay focused, emotions and staining memories poking at her active thoughts.

"We have felt your birth, within the trees it lingers so bitterly." A more melancholy voice echoed through the room, bouncing off of the walls. "It was unknown; disturbing almost. What you had done." One of the Seplengais stirred in his position, the wall cracking as his roots came up before they were returned back to their place. Her heart felt a sharp jab of the Elder's words.

One of the Seplengais hummed to himself, deep in thought. "Humans born from plants...I have never heard of something like this before." Tsen kept quiet for a long pause, collecting herself.

"What...had I done...?" She asked for clarification, worried.

"You have broke the conformity of nature. Something that should not, could not happen within the confines of this land - happened." A light hearted voice that definitely did not come from the ancients emerged through the room, remaining static and almost refusing to echo. Footsteps came from behind as a man of clearly primal origins walked elegantly into the room. His back was covered in the white fur of a skinned animal that was seemingly unidentifiable - even Glarao frowned and tilted his head at the garments. The man's eyes flickered with intense orange, almost matching molten metal in the liquid image it held. His arms and legs were muscular and obviously very strong, each one being as thick as tree trunks.

"You," He said, his odd voice perforating the room. "Do not belong - Daughter of Hyacinth." She looked at the man, the Elders and Glarao baffled.

"I am not sure....what I did but I apologize" Tsen's voice was much weaker compared to the man of fur and muscle. Her blue eyes turned back to the molten. "What do you mean...Daughter of Hyacinth?" her curiosity stepping past her fear.


"You were born in a field of hyacinths - flowers of Apollo. My son and daughters watched." The fur-clad man purred. 'Apollo' the name struck familiarity in her heart, a hand placed back, wanting to hold onto that feeling.

"Begone wolf-god." One of the Elders spoke, fury and terror lining its voice. "You are unrecognized by us, a blight upon the pantheon." The 'Wolf-God' turned and glared at the Elder.

"Do not patronize me, Seplengais. If I am not recognized then I would not have been born." Tsen had no idea what their center of conflict was, and she also did not wish to cause trouble for either one. She turned her head to Glarao, letting the others have their conversation uninterrupted.

"Who or what is Apollo?" a whisper to his Eladrin ear.

"Apollo is the God of Merriment and Music. It is said that he grows Hyacinth flowers in places of great lost love." Glarao did not speak, he kept his hand on a small blade that sat at his wrist as he looked upon the wolf-god. Her eyes rested on the noble's blade. The tension in the room was thick.

"...and what am I to do now? How did I break conformity? Why a field of Hyacinths? Who or what am I?" she raised her hands in desperation, trying to get past all the fighting that surrounded her.

All of the figures in the room turned to her as it turned to silence. The air was filled with the chill of nothingness as one of the Elders opened his mouth and spoke. "You are, something. Something we cannot place our finger on."

Tsen looked at the Elders, defeated. All she knew was that she was...a something.

She bowed deeply.

"Thank you. I do not wish to cause any more trouble" She looked at the pleasing Glarao "I have already offended and now...I seem to offend nature itself..." she put a hand to her chest with closed eyes and cleared her throat. "Is there a way I can speak to...Apollo? His name...feels familiar to me"

"Apollo does not reside with us, nor do we know where we could find him. The Lord of Music finds himself at boredom within our forest home." Glarao said, looking at the ground. "Regardless, he has enough women cooing for him, even some of the Eldrani go on pilgrimage to find him - some even to bed him." Tsen shook her head in frustration.

"I have no intention to bed with Apollo...but if I was born from his flower...there must be some connection" she turned her body to face the embarrassed looking Eldrani. "I need to know the truth of why I live, is there anyone you may know that can help guide me to Apollo?" she raised a hand to Glarao "I will go on my own, and not be a bother to you anymore" the hand fell back to her side.

Glarao looked and bowed to her before stepping backwards, letting her take forefront. The Elders paused, a deep sigh resonated from one of them before it spoke.

"There is always Emor; the human city - their Emperor could know something about his location." The Elders stopped for a moment as a deep hum set over them, in communion.

"Yes...that would no doubt be the best place to look, human." She stared at the Elders, lost, before a flash of recognition came.

"Clawbark told me of Emor...the Namorian Imperium" she repeated the Seplengai's words. "How can I get there?"


"Only through the forests, but you will need a guide." One of the Elders exclaimed.

"I shall guide her." said the Wolf-God, a grin covering his cheerful face.

"No, wolf-god. You shall not." The Elder replied. "Leave us."

"He could not be my guide?" She asked the Elders with genuine confusion, their differences unknown to her. "I would be grateful for his assistance"

The Elders paused for a moment before replying. "If you wish for this...abomination to be your guide then so be it human - we have had enough of your kind in our woods for the time being. Begone as soon as you can." Tsen bowed again, shrugging off the daggers tossed at her heart.

"Thank you for everything" when she rose she looked to Glarao "Truly" She walked over to the hulking man, her new guide.

"I...must ask you...how do I disrobe myself?" she gestured down to the tight wooden armor, seemingly bound to her body.

The man looked Tsen up and down before bursting out with laughter. When he stopped he wiped a finger underneath his eyes and smiled at the confused woman.

"I dunno?! Do I look like a druid?!" He bellowed, laughing again. Tsen simply nodded, missing the humor, before she turned to Glarao. The same question was asked, she had no idea how to get out of the armor when needed.


Glarao looked at the woman, almost dumbfounded - slightly insulted. First she had said she would go on without him helping her, then she would accept the aid of a monster, and then she comes back and asks him for help.

'Humans are confusing beings.' He thought to himself.

"It is armor." He mused. "It removes like any other Armour. Just pull it off of you, though I have no idea why you wish to be nude." She quickly shook her head side to side, being misunderstood.

"I apologize, this armor had only been put on and off of me through means I did not know how to repeat. Thank you" she bowed quickly and left, uncomfortable. Back at the wolf-god's side she ran a hand through her hair. "Alright, please guide me..." she blushed "quickly if you'd be kind enough"

"Certainly." The man gave Tsen a wolfish grin before howling, the noise almost ear breaking. It sounded as if it was something that should definitely not come from a man, but more from a beast.

Epostle
04-08-2014, 10:47 AM
While Gabrielle was helping Numiera with her sand castle, he couldn’t help but to overhear Savlius and the stranger talking. The sand castle was coming along nicely until he started hearing the word ally. The way it was said sent a bad vibe down Gabrielle’s spine. It was really cold, especially in the riddles that he spoke of. The chill was horrendous, but it shifted a truth out of Gabrielle when he started piecing together what was going on. The Earthborn are supposed to be allies to this new planet. How naïve of these new humans, Gabrielle thought to himself.

“Salvius, there is much you must learn about Earthborn. To be honest, making an ally to a power like the Earthborn is not a good choice. I’d rather be executed than to make amends with my race.” Gabrielle said, finally breaking from his monotonic gestures. It was more of an angry tone that anything he has let out so far. To find out that his race has made it here has only told him one thing, they’ve finally obtained power.

Gabrielle then stood up and walked up to the side of where Salvius was. Gabrielle was rather determined to get some questions out of his own people, but at the same time, he knew he was going to get the answers that he didn’t want to hear. “So if you’re not our ally, then what do you want?”

Azazeal849
04-11-2014, 02:02 PM
EMOR

"Are you sure you won't come?" Seppia asked as her body slaves gathered together her towels, oils and sugaring cream for the baths.

"I need to go and see Decimus about our contract." Gaius said, shrugging apologetically, "The price of grain is being driven through the roof thanks to the disruption of trade and all these bloody refugees. I'll stay overnight and make my way back in the morning when the roads are safe."

Seppia nodded. "Alright. Take care." She stepped forward and embraced her husband. "And thank you for not doing anything stupid."

Gaius kissed his wife's forehead, and resisted the urge to look away until she had slipped out of the door. It had been several days since Seppia had brought back the crushing news that the emperor would not allow him to so much as lift a finger in pursuit of justice. Emperor Claudius must have known as well as he did that the chances of identifying and capturing the Southern assassins were negligible, now that they had slipped out of the city into wider Namor. Gaius, to his shame, had reacted badly to the news. He had struck the nearest slave across the face with enough force to knock him to the ground, and he had even shouted and cursed at Seppia as if it were her fault for telling him to wait and then failing to change the emperor's mind. She had, quite rightly, refused to talk to him for some time after that.

But even after he had apologised for the uncouth outburst, he had more to be ashamed of. He had made a decision - one which he had not shared with his wife. When the emperor's officials had arrived to relieve him of his books, his amulets and his mage's chain as the new ban on magic came into legal force, he had only handed them part of his inventory. He had kept the items which offered him one last chance for justice: a handful of magical foci, a few protective wards, and a book that he had recovered from the basement of the ruined mages' tower. At first Gaius had just wanted to know what had caused such swift and total destruction, to know exactly what magus Cornelius had done that had had the chief magus so worried. But after he had unravelled the depth of magus Cornelius' folly from the blood-spattered tome of dark magic, something had made him keep it. A warning, he had told himself.

Glancing over his shoulder to confirm that he was alone, Gaius unlocked the slide drawer of his desk and pulled out the book, wrapped in an old tunic. He disentangled it from the garment and carefully opened it, to a page where the dead magus had highlighted a series of blasphemous spells with mad, scrawling circles of his stylus. Now, Gaius thought, he was committing two kinds of treason - one against his emperor, and one against his once-mighty order of fellow mages. He left the house weighed down with the items of his arcane trade, and with the now-familiar weight of the axe shard burning a hole in his pocket. If the magic of the gods was not powerful enough to reveal the assassins to him, perhaps the magic of another power would be.

The road south from Emor was still full of travellers, though there were far fewer merchants now, and far more refugees. Gaius used his horse to push his way through, circling round the occasional cart or carriage, and relying on the plain cloak that covered his expensive toga to avoid attracting attention. His trained messenger owl - one symbol of his magus rank that the gods-damned emperor had allowed him to keep - hovered silently overhead, following unobtrusively. He knew precisely where he was going. He had often passed a small farming hamlet on his way to the mage's guild, now abandoned as the occupants sought shelter behind the stronger walls of Emor in the wake of the demon scare and the more recent approach of the immortal Romans. With the current uncertainty and turmoil in the imperium's heartland, it had not yet been reoccupied. When Gaius reached the tiny cluster of houses, he found the doors already broken in by bandits. Inside however they were relatively intact, as the crofters had taken or hidden anything of value when they left. Several weeks of exposure to the environment had aired away the usual, comforting smells of human habitation.

Gaius tied his horse up well out of sight in the hamlet's tumbledown stable, left his owl to perch patiently on a post outside, and entered one of the buildings. He would put the empty hovel to a higher purpose. And, more importantly, he would do so where there was no chance of his family or anyone else nearby being injured. The risk to himself he accepted - for Titus, for Seppia, for his murdered cousin, and for vengeance.

It was past sunset by the time he was finished preparing. The broken door was wedged closed, and the window was covered with Gaius' bundled cloak to hide the tell-tale light of the candles that he had set up to provide illumination inside. The floor was marked out with a chalk circle surrounded by runes of power that would allow unholy creatures to enter the circle, but not to leave. The room was further protected by iron amulets hanging from the walls or placed on the floor, all pointing inward. A protective amulet of Mars hung about Gaius' own neck, and he had an iron gladius at his side as a final protective measure. Magus Cornelius had been an old fool - overconfident in his desperation and ignorant of the forces he was trying to control. After the magus' stupidity had destroyed the guild and nearly killed Gaius' own son, Gaius himself would make no such mistake. At the centre of the circle was the shard from the murderer's axe, the focus for the spell.

It was cold inside the abandoned house, but Gaius was sweating as he picked up the book and began to read aloud. An hour ago, when he had first been learning the incantation, he had stumbled over the Tartaran words. But now he had committed them to memory to the point that every syllable still thrummed in his head. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. As he chanted he felt the room vibrate, and the amulet of Mars began to burn hot against his chest.

"If you know who killed Lycinia Marci and her children," he repeated between every invocation, his voice echoing off the bare walls, "Come forth now!"

Aureyon
04-11-2014, 07:57 PM
Tu Zenita Duskal, Afragia

The sounds of the bustling city around her caused her paranoia to rise beyond normal levels, her eyes constantly darting to and from the people that she passed on her way to the palace in the city. If she had learned anything, it was that she could not trust anyone on this path to either her salvation or doom, but she was determined to rid herself of this disease, one that was slowly eating away her very existence -- both physically and mentally.

She pulled her clothing tighter to her body, only wincing as she felt the disease eating away at her skin. It was like someone was taking a razor and peeling away her skin, piece by piece and inch by inch. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was unpleasant and uncomfortable, almost like an itch that could not be scratched away. As she made her way towards the palace in the distance, she found her path obstructed by two men who appeared to be of the town guard.

“State your business, Namorian” the armored man on the left stated gruffly, his chest blown out so as to make him appear much larger than he was in reality. In truth he looked like a blown out puffer fish.

“I am here... I am here... I am he-” Juno paused, unable to remember why she was here, in Afragia in the first place. She could not figure the reason behind her traveling Eternum and coming here, to the center of Afragian power. What was the reason she was here? Why had she left her children?

“Well? Speak up!” The man, again, commanded in a tone resounding of authority and strength.

“I am here to speak with the Princess Nesara, on matters of a personal nature.” she answered, once again remembering why she was here. The forgetfulness was getting worse, the disease seemed to be progressing at a faster rate as the days wore one.

“Well, my lady” the other man spoke kindly to Juno, “ the Princess is no longer in Tu Zenita Duskal, she is in Dun Moriga with the Dwarves. You are more than welcome to stay here and wait for her” he finished with a soft smile playing upon his features.

Juno froze when she heard that the Princess was not in Afragia, her heart fell to the floor, and she lost all strength as she crumpled to the ground in a heap of clothing. Sweat beaded her forehead as she struggled to keep awake, and she could faintly hear the kind man asking her if she was alright. However, she could not reply as her strength was no longer in her limbs. She could feel the darkness of sleep calling to her, and she relinquished control, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

Ech Zilidar, Dun Moriga
“Don’t let these bastards break our line” Jornak’s voice roared out over the sounds of battle and bloodshed. The dwarves were hard pressed, fighting the grey skins for control of the city again. It would be the highest dishonor, if he, as the newly appointed king failed to keep the city in dwarven hands. Fortunately, he did not plan on giving up this city unless he absolutely had to-- he would crush all those that would step in his path of vengeance.

You see, Jornak had always had a blood thirst when it came to battle, ever since he lost his friend Davekrir in battle. He alone stood against an onslaught of enemies, and he alone held them at bay until reinforcements could come and aid him. But, here and in this time, Jornak had a fear that was gnawing at his stone heart. He was afraid that he would lose Dun Moriga to the foul grey skins, and that this would mar his rule as king.

It seemed that the tide of grey only continued to swarm over the tired dwarves, and the front line was beginning to collapse as grey after grey fell upon dwarven steel. The dwarves needed rest, for though they were powerful and stout, they were not tireless.

“Reserves! Move up, and allow the front line to fall back. We need to keep our strength” he commanded again as he surged forward into a new wave of greyskins. It was only him for the first few seconds before the sound of fresh dwarven warriors battered into the lines of the greyskins. The smell of blood and death permeated the air around the dwarves, and the streets ran thick with both red and black, as both dwarf and orc fell to the others strikes.

It was then that a faint vibration shook the streets, causing an already weakened foundation of a nearby house to collapse and throw up a cloud of dust and the rankness of death. Some unlucky dwarves were buried under the weight of the collapsed house, and killed instantly, their insides scattered across the ground.

The vibration in the ground only picked up as the looming figure grew closer to the dwarven lines, and the orcs seemed to be chanting and cheering. As Jornak looked from beneath his helmet, he saw a massive black shape coming towards the dwarven lines. He held his breath, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around him. He heard the grunt and then roar of a mighty beast, and yelled out, just before a large club came whooshing from the cloud of debris.

“Scatter!!” and as the dwarves scattered a club struck the ground causing a crater to form in the ground, and the dwarves to back away in awe and fear....

Minkasha
04-16-2014, 09:21 PM
Namor, Northern Eternum - Abandoned Hamlet

Zahneri was yanked from her duties. Feeling herself losing sense of location, her vision went black and before her was a Human male. He radiated with magic, her summoner.

Forced into this location, Zahneri kept quiet as she pondered her options. The Elder Succubus glared deep into the man's eyes. He was evidently one of the tyrant northerners, with curly black hair and olive skin, clad in one of their trademark togas. He was in his thirties as Humans judged the years, or perhaps his forties. He didn't look like a classical Demon summoner, although the stifling magical pressure of the iron amulets spaced around the hovel she now stood in was real enough. Whoever he was, he had a powerful hold on her; she was pinned. Unable to leave the circle was provoking a deep irritation from Zahneri: the Demon was almost angry.

This seemingly unremarkable man had to be a mage of the North. They who spent their lives squabbling in their tower, in desperation trying to unearth hidden powers, trying to find the meaning in manipulating what their short lives would never truly allow them to understand. While this fool seemed to have her ensnared, men were her forte.

Whatever the man had been expecting, it clearly hadn't been her, with her bat wings, sensuous mocha skin and high-cheekboned face crowned by black horns. For a heartbeat, he just stared at her in shock and a little fear as the black smoke of her apparition cleared. Then he let the book he was holding fall to the floor, as he dropped one hand to the gladius scabbarded in a belt cinched around his toga.

"Demon." he snarled in a voice thick with contempt. "You're going to tell me who killed Lycinia Marci, and her children Marcus, Diana and Aurelia."

Now here was something interesting for Zahneri to respond to: she had no clue who either the murdered individuals were or the ones who slayed them. But by judging the man's stance, passion for those slain, and his poorly thought out plan of threatening her with a blade, he was desperate and biting off much more than he could chew.

The runes of her scandalous armour were glowing a soft colour of molten orange and pink; it was fighting the magic holding her. If this summoner approached the circle...she'd maul him. But for now she was going to play along. Keeping her body still, the Elder Succubus feigned the gripping hold of the circle.

"What you are looking for are three Coldbloods, exiled Southern men." Her voice was more than pleasing to listen to, a guilty pleasure that eased out deception well wrapped. "Their names are unknown, but their faces and location, not."

She saw the poorly-concealed spark of triumph in the mage's eyes before he answered.

"What do they look like?" he snarled. "And where can I find them?"

He was wary, that much was clear; but he had missed the soft glow of Zahneri's armour - or at least, the significance of it.

"Three men, each face hardened, and cold. One has a cut down the right side of his face. Bald. A Southern mark of exile burned on the right cheek. His crime: bloodlust, murder. The second, the youngest, short stature and stout build. Long brown hair. A Southern mark of exile burned by his lips. His crime: rape. The third, large and physically intimidating, with crooked nose and hateful eyes. Blonde hair. A Southern mark of exile burned directly on his forehead. His crime: bloodlust, murder." She paused. "Location would be near impossible to describe, for magic was involved and now they are back in the snowy wastes. With a map I may be of more assistance."

"Bald, cut down the face...short with long dark hair...brands..." The mage was muttering to himself as he feverishly committed the stream of false details to memory. Zahneri could see her plans moving into action, a battle of wits. Abruptly, the mage paused. "Wait. The dark-haired one was tall, not short." His eyes suddenly blazed. "Do not lie to me Demon! I already caught a glimpse of these people by scrying the murder scene, before their magic foiled me!"

He stepped backwards and reached for the saddlebag he had brought with him, hissing through his teeth as he groped through it. Not taking his eyes off Zahneri meant that it took him several seconds to find what he was looking for. Eventually, he tugged out a stick of charcoal and a sheet of goatskin parchment. He rolled the charcoal up in the parchment and hurled it into the circle at Zahneri's hooved feet.

"If you need a map, draw it." he spat at her. "But if you lie to me again, I swear to Mars that I will leave you here, and have this hovel walled up in granite, and you can spend the rest of eternity trapped in that fucking circle." And while the mage had no idea what he was doing, Zahneri thought, he would inadvertently cripple the Odinsens if she was unable to protect them. It was necessary for her to lure herself into freedom.

In his gaze she never flinched; as a Demon, she did not breathe, making her near stone in stillness.

"Your own magic remains a mystery to you. I may speak, but I cannot move." Her face remained cool, alluring; her eyes never faltered from the Human's. What would he do in the throes of his anger? She could already see his frustration, and his doubt after she had wrong-footed him. The mage took a step towards her.

"Then describe." he said coldly. "Tell me where they are, who sent them, and what magic they are using to hide from Nemesis." More and more, he was revealing more than she was. The higher powers were involved in this murder? Why was the woman and three children of such importance? And most importantly, why did her mistress have no clue of these Southern avengers?

Zahneri took purposeful pause and, giving ruse, made her face show a small hint of struggle, confusion.

"...Snow..." How could she verbally express the exact location within an expansive snowy tundra without the person knowing the land? The struggle was there for the mage to see. "The camps where Coldbloods live are deep in the most inhospitable areas. So spread out that they remain strangers to another. All that surrounds them is...snow and mountains...their masters were those who wished to hurt the North as the South has been wounded. A human by the name Hurtug Ole of Rogaland village." Now she sprinkled in some truths, truths in the fact that the Coldbloods did indeed live solitary lives and that Hurtug Ole was a living, breathing man, and Rogaland village stood.

"Rogaland..." the Human growled under his breath, and for a moment that dangerous, exploitable look of triumph returned.

"If their ways of magic remain hidden from Nemesis, then nothing but a God or Demon Lord will know." More doubt to cast into the fight in the man's heart. Zahneri only had one precious piece of the puzzle, lose her and he'd be left with nothing.

The mage no longer seemed to be listening. He appeared galvanised now that he had a target for his wrath in Hurtug Ole. His hands balled into fists.

"Fortunately for you, Demon." he said as he stooped and picked up the book that he had dropped onto the floor when Zahneri had appeared. "It's not your blood I need to get justice."

He opened the book at the page marked by a black twist of cloth, and began to chant a spell. By the time he had voiced the first few words Zahneri knew what it was - she felt a tugging at her physical form; weak at first, but then insistent, and then vice-like. It was a banishing spell, intended to send her back from whence she came. The walls of the hovel seemed to shimmer and run like liquid.

As the summoner reached the end of the incantation, he thrust his hand towards her, his fingers splayed as if to physically push her away. With dark smoke, she was gone.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

As she reappeared beside Alya in the youngest child's room, Zahneri's fellow servant Demon looked at her confused. Nea was now playing with the stand of diamonds in the white Demon's hair. Without word, Zahneri took all three of them to the Lady Jarl's chambers. Else looked at them with surprise.

"A Northern mage just summoned me without my consent."

Else raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"The death of 'Lycinia Marci, and her children Marcus, Diana and Aurelia'" Zahneri recited.

The leading woman of the Free South stood still for a moment.

"I misled him, my mistress."

"He could be of use to us..." Else stared deep in Zahneri's eyes, Nea's giggles in the background.

"Capture him, and make sure he cannot associate you with us." Zahneri nodded. Gaining permission to use both Alya and Oerin to help, she teleported the three of them back to the hovel the mage had just dismissed her from. Away from the binding circle, the three Demons looked for the Human.

Namor, Northern Eternum - Abandoned Hamlet

Gaius Octavius took a couple of deep breaths as he satisfied himself that the Demon had truly gone. His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest, but he felt elated. The spell had worked – better than he could have hoped, and now he had his first real lead despite his supposedly benevolent emperor thwarting him at every turn. More importantly, he had survived. Where magus Cornelius had failed, he had succeeded. He could tell by the adrenaline coursing through his system that he would be looking over his shoulder for some time, but it was almost impossible for Demons to manifest far from the gates of Tartarus without being summoned. He would be safe. His willpower had paid off, and he had triumphed.

Immediately, he scooped up the parchment that had been left untouched at the Demon's feet and began to scribble a letter with a hand that was still shaking with released tension.

My beautiful Seppia,

I have news that you must hear. Near Decimus' villa I found a blacksmith, formerly of the legions. He was able to identify a rune on the axe shard I found as the mark of a settlement called Rogaland – a fortress of the barbarian South ruled by one Hurtug Ole. He is the one who murdered our beloved cousin. Keep your amulet of Mars close, sweetheart. When I get back, we'll find a way of making those Southern bastards pay.

Always yours,
Gaius

The blacksmith was a pre-made lie. The amulets he had insisted that his wife and son wear ever since Lycinia's funeral were a precaution. Gaius could feel it: this was only the beginning of his vengeance.

He hurried to the stable, secured the parchment to the leg of his owl, and cast the bird skywards. There was a brief flash of white as it spread its wings, then it glided away into the night as silently as a ghost. Gaius returned to the hovel, leaving his horse snorting and pawing at the ground, and set about collecting his iron pendants. He scrubbed the chalk circle from the floor, and then knelt and began a prayer to Mars, wanting to be sure that any lingering taint of the Demon he had summoned was thoroughly cleansed from the home.

He was half way through the prayer, when he heard an awful whinnying shriek from the stable, followed by a tearing sound and a violent crash. Gaius leapt to his feet, his adrenaline spiking as fear curdled into suspicion, and then rage. He ran to the door and pulled it open with a jerk.

The door was only half open when the bladed wingtip came scything towards him. There was no time to dodge it, only a moment of sick realisation to understand death's approach, but less than a metre from his face the wingtip jarred against empty air. There was an unearthly screech of surprise, and Gaius himself was flung back against the far wall of the hovel, into a chair that snapped under his weight and sent chips of wood flying everywhere. Gaius yelped as the amulet around his neck burned red hot, searing his chest. He pulled himself to his feet with a roar of anger, and thrust his arms forward towards the broken door. Fire boiled around his hands and lanced forward in a twisting stream, enveloping the silhouette in the doorway with grasping red fingers.

“That was a mistake, you stupid Demon bitch!” Gaius snarled as he lurched forward like a man fighting a hurricane. The roaring geyser of fire seared out across the grass, pushing the burning Demon with it. “You're trying to fuck with a master of the Mages' Guild, and I will not...be...fucked!”

He poured even more of his willpower into the inferno, but then he saw a flicker of motion at the corner of his eye, but then the blaze momentarily parted, and his stomach dropped as he realized that the Demon writhing at the center of the fireball was not Zahneri. To his left and right he saw movement. The Elder Succubus was flying in to strike him from the left, fingers held out in a claw, and to his right was a white winged, and sparkling entity he could not make out all the details. From the right freezing ice magic was being shot at him. It struck him in a blinding hail and he instinctively twisted away, shielding his eyes. The fire subsided to crackling embers as he lost control of the spell.

Oerin was screaming in pain while the two female Demons attacked from the sides. He had taken the master's blast directly. Even with the glowing runic armor protecting him from magic, fire was a terrible weakness to him. Doing his best to crawl out of the blast, the youthful appearing Demon crashed onto the ground, smoking.

Gaius felt a staggering impact as the Elder Demon's claws rebounded from his wards, and then again. Half twisting and half falling, he swung his arm round with a shout and sent a ball of white fire arcing towards Zahneri. It flashed harmlessly through a black afterimage of the Demon, as she vanished in a swirl of smoke.

More crackling streams of ice washed over him, and he pushed back with all his willpower; fire welling around him and flashing a cloud of boiling steam into the air as the opposing elements fought for dominance. Another juddering impact and a painful flash of heat from the amulet around his neck drove him to his knees. It was followed by another, and another. The impacts pressed Gaius down hard on his back, stealing the breath from his lungs and replacing it with a solid rock of pain.

Fighting to escape the tangling embrace of his toga, he saw Zahneri appear in the air above him in a burst of black vapour. Her four bat wings were spread wide like a monstrous cloak. He rolled away, and Zahneri's hooves slammed into the earth behind him, yanking him back as they ripped into his trailing toga. No longer able to roar defiance, Gaius focused what was left of his willpower and twisted back to hammer his left fist into the ground by Zahneri's feet, causing a pillar of fire to leap up around her. Again the Demon was too fast, and her black smoke mingled with that of the fire as she disappeared yet again.

Gaius could only snarl in a rictus of impotent hate. Coughing, blinded by the smoke of his own magic, he felt the air around him suddenly drop to subzero. The breath froze in his throat as he was thrown against the wall of the hovel on a bow wave of ice shards. Every nerve in his body was burning – burning with fire, burning with ice, and he no longer felt the burning of his protective amulet as his skin charred and the collar of his tunic caught fire and crisped away.

His arms were pinned to the icebound bricks either side of him. He tore them free, leaving strips of frozen skin behind. A desperate pulse of fire magic banished the ice cloud long enough to reveal his antagonist – it was the white-winged Demon, still hiding behind its nimbus of pale light. Gaius summoned all his rage and desperation, and crushed it into bright flares around his hands, feeling the bones in his arms singing with pain at the magical overload. He bull-rushed the Demon, tackling it through its sparkling aura, latching onto the thing at the centre of the incongruous light. It was so bright and pure that it was obscene. An innocent's cloak for a devil – a light which would have disfigured hell. Gaius knew he was losing his grip on reality; the neck he had wrapped his fingers round felt as soft and slender as a girl's, but he couldn't see the Demon's face because fire was boiling up from his hands, engulfing its head.

She might have been clawing at him; he wasn't sure. His fingernails were melting and his bones felt like they were about to explode, so that he didn't register the open gashes on his arms or the cuts beneath his shredded, smoldering toga. Zahneri was back, flashing around him, her claws and barbed wingtips flaying away the last of his magical defenses.

The girl-Demon was screaming, and he was screaming, as the amulet at his neck burst into lambent flame. Gaius felt a sharp impact between his shoulder blades that sent liquid fire streaming up and down his spine, and then suddenly he and the girl-Demon were apart and he was on the scorched ground with Zahneri looming over him, clawed hands raised. Gaius raised his own hand in a last attempt at defiance, even though he had already burned himself from the inside out. Just as fire began to sputter between his fingers, three of them were sheared off by the Demon's claws. For a moment, Gaius looked in disbelieving silence as the outer half of his hand flopped away. Then the blood spurted and the pain rushed over him, bright and sharp compared to the dull burn in the rest of his body. He shrieked at a higher pitch than he thought himself capable of as he clutched at the mutilated stump.

Victorious, Zahneri could hear the dulled screams of the Raven Demon outside and the grunts of pain from the Swan Demon. Pain would help teach them to improve their fighting capabilities, pain was a great teacher.

Reaching down, she clutched the mage and looked to Alya. The white Demon had her hands moving up her body, mending herself. Able to stand, she walked over to Zahneri, slowly regaining her graces.

"Ensure he doesn't die..." Alya reached out and began to soothe the man's pains. His skin returning to cover his bones, wounds closing, energy restoring. Counter intuitive to his opinions of Demons, the magic felt very tender and loving. Senses returning, he could feel the white Demon and the agonizing adolescent outside felt more than Demonic, a blend of energies. A mix he wasn't sure, never experienced before in anything. The best way Gaius' intuition could understand was feeling both a light and darkness about them. A blend of Demon and Divine.

"What..." the mage gasped feebly. The symphony of pain had receded, leaving just the piercing solo of his ruined hand. "What are you...?" Even Alya had no answer for that question.

"The hand?" her beautiful voice asked instead. Zahneri stood and pulled the man to his feet.

"Would you like your hand back?" The Elder Succubus taunted, nibbling on his earlobe. The human tried to jerk his head away, his lips curled in revulsion. "Ask..." Her tongue began to toy with the side of his neck. "Nicely." An arousing jest was shot his way. Zahneri wanted his control, willingly, first. It was much more enjoyable.

Gaius raised his remaining hand. Drained of magic, he was only able to shove Zahneri weakly away from him.

"Go...go fuck yourself, Demon." he gasped feebly as he swayed on his feet. Zahneri slammed him up against the wall forcefully. Her head craned to look at Alya; the white Demon had a disgusting look of sympathy on her face.

"Get the other and heal him. He's useless squabbling." The Elder Succubus spouted viciously. Alya looked at Gaius one last time and brushed her hand against his arm, the warmth moved through him again and the missing bits of his maimed hand returned. Zahneri glared, but said nothing.

In a swallowing darkness the two vanished from the hovel.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Else’s Secret Basement Chamber

Gaius felt the sudden cold biting at his skin. With a hard shove he was tossed on the ground. His surroundings were dark. Two torches kept the room lit; it looked to be some sort of basement. Tightly packed stone bricks made the ground and floors. Healed but still weary from magical overexertion, Gaius forced himself to remain silent. It was not an easy focus to maintain. His head ached, clouding his thoughts. He was frustrated, and angry, and still shocked that the Demon bitch had been able to return and defeat him so quickly. It was impossible! He had done everything right! He was filled with a sense of foreboding as he began to wonder where he was, and what would happen to his family in his absence. How long until they found out what happened...until they learned the truth? And that was if he even figured a way out of here. Keep it together, Gaius. Whoever these Demon bitches are, they made a mistake in letting you live.

Zahneri walked around him slowly. She remained silent. A few minutes passed and then Alya appeared in the flash of a breathtaking, dim star. Once again Gaius felt the gentle, paradoxical warmth of the swan-winged girl - who until a few minutes ago had been a Demon trying to kill him with ice magic. Looking at him with baffling kindness, she reached out towards his face. Gaius instinctively flinched away. His movements, like his thoughts, were still weary and sluggish, but he managed to seize her wrist with the hand that she had so recently healed. Zahneri gave a low growl, darting forward and pinning the mage's hands back against the wall. Gaius spat at her, the water hissing and boiling away as it landed on the Demon's softly glowing armour. The swan Demon shushed him gently as he struggled, cupping his face with her hands.

Gaius felt a momentary sense of dizziness, before both Demons released him and withdrew. Alya felt much more. As the Human fell back against the stone floor, gripping his head, she felt the scintillating whirl of all the memories she had just lifted from his mind. Now she understood the significance of the woman Lycinia to this Human, and the things that he had done to try and avenge her. She saw the exploits of that woman at the Guild, and her husband's tale to Gaius upon his return from the west. She listened as Gaius had while the husband painted a picture of war, against strange forces, and with stranger alliances formed. She saw the earthborn woman who had attended the reunion, and she saw Zar Stormwraith. It was difficult to make sense of - this great northern empire was winning stunning victories but also suffering catastrophic defeats, and all the while the joint force of northerners and earthborn was sailing south towards Branjaskr. Looking through Gaius' eyes, she grasped the true scale of the army as it marched from the muster field beyond its shining home city.

She saw the cracks that divided that city through Gaius' wariness of the "sky men", of the distrust he and his fellow mages faced from the other northerners, and his memory of the worried chief magus as the old man unwittingly predicted a fellow acolyte's catastrophic folly. She relived Gaius' disbelief as the Mages' Guild fell - and the burning rage at the near loss of his son, which had made him unable to face joining his wife at the emperor's palace. The bitter memories soured further with the death of his cousin and her family, the torchlit funeral outside Emor, and Gaius' helpless anger as his attempts to avenge were met with greater and greater obstacles. Alya saw his brief glimpse of the group calling themselves Korzan's Avengers as he worked his spell in the ruined villa, the vision that had ultimately led him to Zahneri.

She saw more personal things - a marriage, the birth of a son, the years spent learning magic, a childhood...so many memories spiraling back for so much longer than she herself had been alive. And it was beautiful. A life she never lived, through him. In her enchanting ways, she left the dungeon. An hour passed for Gaius, life still looking at its worst low. Everything seemed stacked against him. Only Zahneri's cold gaze lingered over him to give him company in the unknown. The cold was starting to get to him, his Northern body used to the comforts of much warmer temperatures.

Left to shiver, the time passed slowly, but the white Demon eventually returned.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Her touch made his vision flash and now he was splashed with warmth and light, and there was the comfort of furs under his feet. He was standing in a cozy sized room; across from him was a large fireplace bordered with beautiful arched stone, and the Elder Succubus who stood near it. To the left of the fireplace was a large bed with furs and quilts; the far left held a wooden door. The right had an indented corner of the room, and a vanity dresser rested close to the fireplace. And to his very far right was an ornate wooden table, small and held up against a shortened wall before a large bay window - a tall and wide diamond grid that gave a great view of a fortress city. There was an unknown purple light in the distance past the city; far away, but none-the-less it was eerie.

Sitting at the small table was a blonde woman. She appeared to be in her thirties at most. Well decorated with jewelry, sapphires clutched tight to her neck, hung from her ears and shone from her crown. The royal gestured to him to sit across from her. Laid out for him looked to be a warm stew, and several warm winter coats rested on his chair. After the cold, dark and airless basement, Gaius felt like he was being assaulted by his own senses. The furs were soft under his sandled feet, and the smell of the stew was warm with spices. His first thought was that this had to be some sort of illusion, conjured by the Demons. He was still mentally exhausted, but his abused body had recovered enough for him to sense the tingle of magic - or rather, the lack of it. According to his carefully honed mage's sense, the scene around him was real. Guardedly, he put his hand on the chair - his left hand; he still couldn't bear to touch things with his so recently mutilated then healed right - and pulled it back to sit across from the woman. Why was she here? What was she? Another Demon shrouded in innocence, like the swan girl?

The royal woman began speaking in a guttural language he couldn't understand, but the white Demon quickly translated.

"Desperation, it is what drives most to summon Demon-kind. When men fail you, and Gods give you the bitter cold of their disinterest. Even after you dance for them, throw yourself low for them, try to appease them, hoping to gain their attention or as the Gods would like to call it - praying. You're left powerless, unable to do the things that burn deep inside you, and you turn to the one final choice. Demons listen, but you are damned for it..." The blonde took a pause, her face mournful. "There are always consequences."

Gaius' hand instinctively drifted to his neck, to dispel the woman's blasphemy against the gods. Then he remembered that the Mars amulet that normally hung there had immolated during the battle at the hamlet.

"Consequences..." he repeated, his voice weary but suspicious. "And what would you say mine are?"

"Only the cruelties of life, fate, can reveal that. I am Else Odinsen, wife of the passed Korzan, son of Odin, Lady Jarl or as you Northerners call me, High Queen of the South."

The northerners, Gaius reflected, called her much worse than that. That he was sitting across from the wife of the imperium's longest standing enemy beggared his belief, and he tried hard not to show it.

"You are in the Free South, and as such, I give you my promise you will leave here alive and well, in good faith that if we part permanently, you will leave your curiosities as such. But we need to speak first." Else looked at Gaius with equal regard. "You may speak freely, and honestly." Her eyes looked at the unworn coats and untouched food. "You must be very cold. Our winter is eternal."

Gaius looked at Else as her Demon finished translating. He couldn't bring himself to thank the queen of the barbarian south, so he settled for cautiously pulling one of the furs over the top of his ragged tunic and toga.

"What 'curiosities' am I supposed to leave behind, exactly? I know that a number of Southern soldiers snuck into Emor and murdered my cousin and her children in their own home. That..." He glanced towards the fireplace where Zahneri stood in all her lascivious glory. Were these Demons servants of the Southern queen? The barbarians were even more debased than the soldiers' tales painted them. Or, the uncomfortable thought struck him suddenly, They are just as desperate as I was.

"...that thing..." he continued edgily, "Told me that they were sent by Hurtug Ole of Rogaland.

Else looked to Alya until the Demon finished speaking.

"She lied. Neither her or I know who sent the men who murdered the Marcius family. These Demons are...the results of my dealings with Zenita." The Lady Jarl left it at that. "As I said, desperation..."

Gaius squinted at Zahneri suspiciously, and then at the white Demon by the queen's side.

"How do Demons like these remain stable so far from the gates of Tartarus, anyway?" he asked.

"Tartarus is not as far away as you believe." Else gestured outside her bay window. "Look, a ray of light suddenly appeared from nowhere just yesterday. My Succubus knows it to be Demonic in origin. And coming from it is an army with great magic. While our meeting was by chance, I hope to unite us with a common goal: to keep our families safe. Whatever is being spawned from the light, wishes to kill ruthlessly."

Gaius' first instinct was to laugh. You fight the imperium for twenty years, and now, when the wolves are at your door, you ask us to help you?

His scorn was tempered slightly as he thought about the implications of a Demon plague in the south of Eternum. The fools in the senate would no doubt approve of two enemies of the imperium destroying each other - but for a mage like Gaius, who understood how much worse the disaster at the Guild could have been...

And that was in the most heavily warded place in all of Eternum. What would happen if the Demons manifested somewhere where they could run unchecked? The Pass of Neptune would be no meaningful barrier to such creatures.

Gaius stared into the purple light for some time, before turning back to face Else.

"What do you propose?" he asked the Southern queen.

"I can do many things to help you study the ray. I can even take you beside it" The Lady Jarl gestured to Alya and Zahneri with her head. "I know your magic has been banned up North. It is not so here, I can get you whatever you want to practice your craft. You are the most powerful mage I know, any input you have on the ray is invaluable and when they are on our doorstep. I would ask that you help fight whatever has come from the ray. We have more than a week's time" She leaned forward, looking powerfully into Gaius' eyes.

"For this, I will help you find your vengeance. While I want Northern blood, it was not that family's, and not how I wanted it done. These 'Avengers' have only provoked more hatred for my people, more danger. And with the Earthborn, already at the North's side, they acted poorly and insulted my late husband's name with their brutality. My husband was a honorable hero, not slayer of untrained women, and children. When you find out who they are, I will let you give justice as you see fit, I will not stop you."

Else leaned back in her chair, well cut sapphires dangled from her ears. Gaius was silent. The Demons were almost forgotten as he stared at queen Else with widening eyes.

Minkasha
04-21-2014, 07:55 PM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Gaius and the Lady Jarl were able to make an alliance. Fusing the powers of the High Queen’s demonic servants, they were able to make a synergistic means of cross planet travel for Gaius to use: utilizing Oerin’s ability to make magical raven, it would serve as Gaius’ way to communicate telepathically with the South. When Gaius desired to be teleported back down into the snowy lands, all he had to do was speak with the newly gained familiar and one of the servants would grab him soon after.

With this convenience set, Else left Gaius to rest in a guest room within the castle. The raven now remained by Gaius’ side quietly. He was to be returned home when he awoke.

With Alya’s quick return, hours were spent sharing the information she had gained unknowingly from Gaius. The more was shared, the more Else’s mind began to spin.

From the ocean 100,000 men were coming to siege her. While she assumed the North to be a great fighting force…their population must exceed even her greatest ideas. The entire Free South only consisted of 50 thousand people, 10 thousand being sworn military under her rule. Her people are warriors, strong warriors, down to the maturing child….

But death was sailing straight to them.

And this was excluding the Earthborn, the Immortals and the Tartarus army marching from the purple light. The Lady Jarl stared out her window to the snow, rubbing her temple. The tension in the room was thick, Zahneri was also there to hear, waiting for orders from her mistress.

Else hadn’t realized how surrounded she was. Her gaze turned to the Elder Succubus and Swan Demon.

“I have a plan for you…”

Emor, Namor – The Emperor’s Palace, Throne Room

The pale sharp rays of the Moon lanced down upon Emor, overrun by Combrogian and Hercinian refugees, seeking a safe haven from the wars beyond the Walls of the Empire's Heartland. The Emperor sat on his throne, fingers dipping distractedly into a bowl filled with honey smothered roast pork. Fat dripped and slid around his fingers as he stuffed them into his mouth, sucking at them grotesquely. Around the hall stood various Guards, wearing the Sapphire Blue of the Imperium, with ornate helmets and Broadswords crafted by the Dun Morigans many years ago sitting on their backs - shields were no use within the confines of the hall and would have taken too long to gather up before any real threat to the Emperor made itself known to the hall.

The delicate rays of the moon themselves slightly trailed through the beautiful glass that adorned the ceiling. The white rays glinted off of the tiles and rocks of the hall, and before long the Emperor's echoing claps also bounced off of them. Servant girls from Afragia walked out of a doorway nearby, concealed by a jutting-out wall of stone that was mirrored on the opposite side of the hall, giving the room an even more ornate and lavish visage. The girls took the now-empty bowl - sticky with honey and smelling of smoked meat - while another held a plate full of pastries. The Emperor toyed with one of them, looking at the black nutmeg scattered upon a sweet custard layer.

"What do you call these?" the Emperor mused, his blue eyes looking up at the servant girl.

"The earthborn call them custard tarts, your majesty." the young woman answered in a small voice.

The emperor grunted, toying with the small pastry for a moment more, before violently throwing it at the slave's face.

"Get me a Namorian dessert, damn your eyes!" he roared, bashing the tray out of the slave's hands and sending broken pieces of pastry crust skittering across the floor. "Do I have to suffer the influence of those earthborn shits in my own kitchen as well?"

The slave cringed and fled the hall, too frightened to even consider cleaning up the mess first. As two more slaves shuffled forward to correct the mistake, their eyes fixed stoically on the floor, the emperor was left staring at the broken bowl of food. Relenting quietly, the fattening man sucked at the custard that had stuck to his fingers, clapping his lips together in a disgusting fashion. None of the guards dared to make comment, instead lasting in an enduring silence.

Food was the one comfort left to Galen Hippocrates Claudius. In a desperate desire not to look weak he had sent half his strength away to finish off the leaderless south, and only left himself weaker than ever in the process. His deal with Nemesis had fallen through; his deal with the earthborn looked to be going the same way; and he had no way of knowing the progress of the mission to retrieve the Alcamor Stones that dux Marcius had so ambitiously touted several months ago. The emperor was beginning to think that even a successful conclusion to the mission would come too late, and that was if Marcius' champion wasn't already lying dead somewhere with the vultures picking over his bones. Galen Claudius wouldn't be surprised - as things stood, the gods seemed to be simply lining up to jam cock in ass.

The only people Galen felt that he could trust were Vagrund of Dun Moriga, Nesara of Afragia, and dux Marcius - who he had sent in a desperate attempt to head off the next immortal threat. And, for weeks now, he had heard nothing from any of them. What if the Romans and Greeks had turned on them?

The immortals were just the latest in a string of allies he couldn't trust. Galen wanted Namorian power to be supreme, as it had been in his father's time, but it seemed he couldn't trust his own people either. "Governor" Castus was by all accounts making the worst mess of rebuilding Hercinia, and the emperor was sure that the mages were still plotting to regain the power they had so self-destructively lost. The commoners, afraid and uncertain, were the worst; even with the immortals gone, unrest was rising in the capital as the refugee camps became an ever-growing cesspit outside the walls. The emperor had seen senators and nobles alike muttering in the council chambers when they thought he wasn't looking - talking of beggars, brigands and the threat of yet another crocolyke uprising.

I'm surrounded by fucking traitors! the emperor fumed silently, his sticky fingers drumming agitatedly against the arm of his throne.


* * * * * *

Gaius Octavius had given the South more than he could ever know.

Under the shade of night Alya and Zahneri appeared deep in the heart of the Northern government. In collision to the opulence of the Emperor, Zahneri began to twist the will of all. Passion filled fantasies taunted the decorative guards and more than humble slaves into action: last one standing would be rewarded with an eternity of unbridled pleasure.

Battle broke loose. What was once peaceful began to fill with hostility and bloody violence. In short time, the slave girls were slain first, despite their attempts of being evasive, and while man killed man, Zahneri made her approach to the Emperor himself.

The Elder Succubus saw the fat man, already he had no will against his own desire for pleasure. Magic kept him still, staring at her with endless fascination. He ignored all the spontaneous murder around him: what existed was only this mocha skinned being who embodied everything he could ever ask for.

First touch, her hand swept across his cheek and he gasped. The screams occupied none of his mind.

"Great Emperor..." Zahneri's temptation...domination began. "You have begun to impress me" a bright, almost too large of a smile came from him. "You alone have braved facing the Earthborn, endured the Senate. But they mock you. They insult your power, thinking they are stronger or play tricks in shadow to undermine you." Anger bubbled inside the large man of Northern power. "How can I desire a man who lets foreigners or underlings adivse and command him?" The Elder Succubus leaned on his body now, hands wrapped around her greedily. "Be a man..." her honey voice whisperd, lips hovering over his. "Be the man who leads alone. When the Earthborn and Senate lay dead. I will be yours alone, love you, lust for you, crave you" her cheek brushed against his face, mouth at his ear. Zahneri felt his quivering of anger and arousal. "Impress me, earn me through blood"

The Emperor stood, fury in his eyes as he stepped away from Zahneri. Whilst he was furious, a glazed look seem to cover them and as he blinked his mouth contorted with the very anger than was betrayed within the glassy orbs. He called for silence, and the lust-filled men -only seven of the twenty men who were posted within the hall remaining - stopped fighting each other and turned tentatively towards the Emperor, though their gaze betrayed them to look at the scantily clad Succubus who stood behind him.

"Men, take up your swords! The Senate has betrayed me - your Emperor!" The Emperor's voice called out and echoed within the hall, the Guards hit their fists against their chest, saluting the leader of the vast Imperium. "They have committed treason of the highest order by defying me of my right to command this Imperium with the power and authority that those before me did!" The Namorians' bashed their chests again, broadswords remaining their other hands, readied and shaking - lusting for blood.

"Treason is punishable by death! As Emperor of the Namorian Imperium I beseech you!" The Emperor held his arms aloft as he spoke, adding emphasis and power that stretched beyond his own words. "Go to the homes of the many traitors who make up the 'Senate' and slay them whilst they sleep, along with their families and their loved ones." The Emperor gritted his teeth as the men walked away, ready to carry out his orders. "Only men without honour commit such treason - and in my Imperium, men without honour receive no honour with death." Zahneri smirked, the North was going to fall to its knees. Her mistress was going to have her revenge, and this was most pleasing.

Returning his gaze to the last man who was leaving his presence, he called out. "You there, stop." The guard turned instantly and stamped his foot hard against the tiled ground before pressing his fist against his chest. "Yes my Emperor! What orders are you to grace me with?"

The Emperor pointed at him, his eyes still empty - besides the misconstrued rage that Zahneri had filled him with. "I want you to issue my orders for me." Galen paused and frowned, reflecting on the Succubus's magical words before looking up expectantly at the Soldier, who's pose was ever-straight and well learned. "The leaders - Kings and Councils - of the Namorian states are to be issued with execution warrants from my hand especially. They are now to be declared traitors to the Empire and are to be given no solace or peace within our borders - may only steel greet them. The Roma District is also to be burnt down - throw its women, children and guards into the fires and keep them burning." The Emperor turned and sat in his throne, stuffing another tart into his mouth as the guard turned and walked away, carrying out his orders within his own lust filled craze. Galen leaned forward and studied the door, unable to do anything else as he was held in the confines of Zahneri's influence.

Alya remained quiet and in the background, but a deep thought continued to bother her.

"Even the families?" Zahneri glared at her.

"Have no mercy for the Imperium, they are not innocent. No..." the Elder Succubus turned back to the enthralled Emperor, a finger pressed on his lips. "They are very naughty people, greedy people, lusty people. Come, look into his memories, see the truth" Tentatively, Alya appeared next to him and touched him. His memories flooded her mind and the overwhelming sense of conflict and pride flowed into her. She saw visions of cities burning; Legions kneeling at his stead; His conversation with a certain Namorian as they had a highly armoured Earthborn crash through the doors ahead. The memories were vivid, beautiful, but all the while they perturbed Alya, making her crinkle her nose as the feeling of desire - not one for sexual appeasement, but one for power appeasement - colonized every brain cell within her demonic body. It made her feel wrong.

From the Elder Succubus a caress went down the side of his face. "The more you show leadership, the more my desire burns my Emperor" she gently grabbed one of his hands. "Let me be your secret, your lover from the shadows. Never speak of me..." she took one of his fingers and put it to her lips. "Keep your lips tight..." and in lewd phallic act she moved it in her mouth, slowly pulling it out, eyes never leaving her target's. "And I shall too" she winked before she vanished in a cloud of smoke. Alya looked at the disappearing carnage on the floor being taken away by Zahneri and reflected on Gaius' and the Emperor's memories before she too left in a dim sphere of beautiful light.

Galen sat in his chair, always facing forward though in his enthralled state he was ever-mindful of his finger, placed within the burning hot mouth of the Succubus and stained with her demonic essence. He felt liberated. And now, thanks to a sudden boost in confidence, he would soon be liberated by so many other leaders who looked down upon his glorious rule.

"Yes...my secret." He mumbled as he leaned back, the smell of blood and the occasional sound of a door being kicked down cascading through the city.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

The Emperor firmly wrapped around her finger, she appeared beside her mistress. She looked high strung, not as collected as she usually was.

"It is done, mistress" Else was staring out to the purple light. Even if her proud and powerful people could face off the Northern seamen, whatever was spawned from the light would sweep in and destroy the Free South. Zahneri, Oerin, and Alya were strong servants, but they could not fight off 100,000 men. To make this even worse, if her children contributed to the fight, as expected of them, the mages Else has been keeping away all their lives would sense the demonic qualities that flowed in their blood. The demons could not help fight for the same reason, if detected, her devout people would turn on them. What greater insult to their religion could there be than to corrupt the lineage of the sacred grandchildren of their patron god?

Else, was alone with two fatal forces attacking her simultaneously. Gaius would only help so much, and his magic would not make the difference to overcome the seamen if seduced to fight them.

The Lady Jarl continued to rub her temples with slender fingers. She was going to have to find some outside, magical help to have any chance. She was going to have to go back to the being who has single-handedly enriched and cursed her life, Zenita. The Demon Lord didn't respond to her last summon, Set did, with a disturbing prophecy.

Slowly, she turned about face to look at her sensuously armoured and silk draped companion. Else never dared think to send Zahneri back to her home realm in fear she'd never come back. But this was necessary.

"I need you to go before your maker and discover why I cannot communicate with her and beseech her for aid. We are doomed to die, Zahneri"

The Demon woman remained silent, the thought of returning to the realm she had not seen since her creation was...interesting.

"Immediately, mistress?" Else stood in front of her and kept eye contact, the unknown in front of both women.

"Yes...Zahneri"

"Yes my mistress?"

"Come back to us as soon as you can" Zahneri bowed and vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

Else looked to Alya who was tentative.

"What have you discovered about the North?"

"They are a power hungry people, my mistress" Else nodded in agreement.

Zenita's Realm

Magic pulled Zahneri back to her land of creation. The smell of sex filled the Demon's nose almost instantly, which to the Elder succubus was a typical scent, though it seemed heightened by the realm that it perfumed across. The echoing sounds of lengthy orgasms and lust perforated Zahneri's ears and for some very odd reason the Succubus felt comfortable - as if she were within her own home.

Ahead of her sat a huge red bridge covered in thin twig-like veins of pink. They hummed with lust and made Zahneri's mouth water at the sight. As she looked around her, she saw that the ground below the bridge was made up of a liquid so still that it resembled the finest and most erotic of satins - coloured hot pink, though not gaudy, but more or less finding an odd place within the lustful decoration of the area. The bridge itself stretched on for a long while, leading towards a large rounded building, like a thin coliseum. Zahneri took a few steps forward, but she heard whispering in her head - she fluttered her eyes and held her hand to her skull, lust filling her mind with depraved mental images of those who she would never name.

A few more steps down the bridge and Zahneri almost lost her footing and fell from the Bridge; both of her hands were pushed up to her head and the Elder Succubus, who believed that she was a master of lust, was trapped within her own mind. Her lips and brow crinkled up as her mind was assaulted with visions of pinning Gaius: using his desperation to satisfy herself. The mutilated man continued squirming, her hoof crushing the reaming bits of his hand, twisting, forcing that pained face to her loins. She could see the lips convulsing in torment upon her womanhood, doing everything he could to earn back his hand, breaking the vows he had to his wife, only screaming, begging and licking...The visions in the end stopped assaulting her, and the Elder Succubus picked herself back up and wandered back down the bridge.

Her feet dragged her into the round building, its masonry very similar in appearance to the bridge, with dark pink-purple bricks with veins of white hot pink lust smothering them like ingrown vines. A footstep echoed through the room and Zahneri felt an anvil of lust weigh down upon her chest. As she looked up she saw the woman. She had the supple breasts and fertile form of her mistress' eldest daughter, the long and straight blond hair she could yank on and pouty lips that continued to taunt her well versed tongue. Upon her head sat 4 horns, the front two looking like they would be more at home on an adult bull, whilst the back two were small and shaped like baby shark's teeth.

"Hello Zahneri..." The Demon purred, her eyelids flickering as she looked upon the Elder Succubus. At her voice, Zahneri almost melted - pure lust washing over her and souring her mind. She could not help but want the Demon Lord. She could only crave however, she was broken and in shambles with this emotion. Zahneri fell to her knees, panting, she hadn't realized just how deprived of sex she was until this moment. For over 28 years, the only encounter was with her young master, Kalle. Year after year, dry, it was consuming her. A part of her Succubus nature was forced into awaking before her creator, her sexuality.

"Why is it that you have come?"

At first, Zahneri couldn't even speak, moist body lulling about, a pleased victim to the emotion hitting her cold heart and shriveled up ability to desire. The sex starved Elder Succubus was on hands and knees now, looking up to Zenita with great hunger.

"My mistress..." she fell to the floor, arms caved in. Her hands wanted to wander across her body, lower..."she...she beseeches you for your assistance" The four bat wings of her body spanned out fully, made stiff and erect. "There is a light...purple...two armies are to strike my mistress, if they succeed, they will slay everything. The North...and the light...she asks for your aid..." Her face buried itself into the ground, a drug out moan escaped from her. Her body uninhibitedly dripped and drooled on the surface below her.

Zenita took a seat on a throne that appeared behind her - formed from hands, female and male. They caressed her form as she placed a finger to the side of her mouth, nibbling on the nail on occasion She sat forward with a smile on her lips. "Your mistress asked me for children, so that she could keep her husband - am I correct?" The Lady of Lust spoke, her voice still sounding laden with sex appeal and debauchery.

"YES!" Zahneri's stamina was shattering, the voice more than an aphrodisiac.

"My charge was to give your mistress her children. I know what is coming towards your mistress's home. I know what will likely kill you all." Though her words damned her mistress, each syllable was bringing Zahneri closer to fruition. Zenita placed her head in one of the hands, placing her hand upon another and squirming to get comfortable. "I never promised anything more than children, and if your Mistress truly believes that we are friends, then she is certainly mistaken." The Demon Lord leaned back, smiling. "Besides, do you not wonder where the rest of your...brethren, are?" The Demon Lord waited patiently, the Elder Succubus before her was squirming and screaming.

Zahneri rolled about, legs rubbing together until finally the last question asked of her sent her flying with a wet ecstasy. But her body wouldn't stop, a woman's form allowed for so much more, the rise was beginning even as the fall wasn't finished yet.

"...I serve my mistress" hands dug in her hair, face up upon the ground there was no control to her anymore, no grace, just forced experiences that were never gifted from her servitude with the Humans. "I only serve, as I was made to, I do...not ask" eyes were shut, tearing, her own mind reeling. "My mistress...she...she" the voice continued to rise in pitch. "Asks...why has Set spoken to her during..." the Elder Succubus screamed, over the cliff again, her body pouring with sweat and needy desire. "her ritual to you...?" her inner thighs rubbed faster and faster with self given lubrication.

The Demon Lord sat forward, smiling. "Because what he wants, is the only way that I can be with him once more." A look of sadness crossed the Lady of Lust's eyes, but it was pierced and let go as quick as it arrived. She leaned back once more and crossed her arms. "If you want to know why you saw him...well - why don't you just ask him yourself?" The Lady clicked her fingers and all disappeared, before reforming quickly.

A single figure stood ahead of Zahneri. His body was clad in a shroud of black, though behind him at a very close distance sat a purple light smashing through the air - though it didn't give off the same menacing feeling that the one within her Mistress's land did. Zahneri was spared from the magically provoked lust , she felt huge bursting pulses of terror flooding through her body as she pieced together what she was looking at. Rolling to her side, the black silks that flowed down her arms coiled around her body, thick dark hair fell down her shoulder, wings were now held low as a dog's tail when fearful. Unbeknownst to her, the figure turned and locked his eyes on the Elder Succubus. Zahneri struggled to gather herself enough to focus on thought rather than sensation. The high still having to slowly come down.

"Why...why have you spoken to my mistress?" Zahneri was fighting the urge to bear her teeth and hiss at the figure. Loins burned, but her being trembled with wanting to flee.

Set stood with the darkness of his realm surrounding his body, his bright black eyes were glancing at the quivering Demon and a smile crossed his skin. An aura unmistakably sinister glimmered off of his form as he twiddled with a sword - a dark rendition of a Namorian blade to be precise. "I spoke to your mistress-" The Demon Lord looked at Zahneri with his eyes, now filled with anger. "Because she a dead mortal walking." He took two striding steps towards the Elder Succubus and lifted her with his hand - making no contact with her skin but using a tendril of darkness to instead do the lifting. Set's left hand instead labored itself in a sensual brush of the Succubus' upper cheekbone, slowly running his pale fingers down her breasts and down the wet insides of Zahneri's legs before leaning close.The Demonic servant forced herself still and docile, feeling the touch holding where she wanted it most.

His words were cold and unloving - almost a mirror opposite of Zahneri's mother. "Would you like to know something Succubus?" Set whispered into the ear of the Elder Demon, slowly and soothingly. She grit her teeth, she said nothing. A pointed glare was being thrown his way

The Lord of Darkness's nostrils diluted as he opened his mouth, lips clapping together slightly as he wet his lips.

"So are you."

As the words flowed from Set's mouth, he faded away, leaving the roaring sound of something coming through the light towards her. Fear filled the Succubus's body and for the first time she burst out into screams as an army appeared in the distance - she turned and saw the black and burning ruins of Branjaskr in the distance, with the heads of her mistress and her children all around her. The purple beam was now blood red and menacing.

'A dead mortal walking.' The words echoed into Zahneri's mind and her very being changed - the warning being etched into her very existence. She was then suddenly, and painfully thrust back to where she came.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Zahneri crashed onto the stone floor. The Lady Jarl was startled and quickly looked over from the table by the bay window. Else could see the horror on Zahneri's commonly inexpressive face.

"We are going to die, my mistress...Just as you said...We are going to die..."

Aureyon
04-23-2014, 04:35 PM
Southern Wastes; The Free South

Cold mist flickered across the water that laid quaintly and quietly over the submarine. The water below the surface shifted and molded itself around the tubular object, it's drivers navigating the vehicle around the frozen ocean's dangers. The engines hummed and vibrated within the hull of the submarine; the mechanical rumble being joined with the biological sounds of boots clanking against steel floors. Lights hummed and flickered and men speaking in German muttered under their breath as their narrowly survived the unforgiving pass of Neptune.

Within one of the many cold metal cabins sat a particular woman, devoid of the attire that the crew held - she did not wear a bowl shaped helmet on her head, nor a bandanna. She held no beard or lost limbs, nor did she hold German as her first language. The door's to the room she was confined to were guarded by two men, one of them was German and the other was one of Blackbeard's finest men. The only similarity between them was the inky darkness coating their eyes, but they worked as a finely oiled machine and did not waiver nor lose interest in guarding the Demi-God within their enclosure.

Soon enough within the cold chamber, seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours before the Demi-God had visitors. Two German men marched down the corridor and soon arrived at the Demi-God's prison cell before saluting the two guards.

"Blackbeard will, dass sie aus dem Schiff mit ihm. Er denkt, sie könnten einige Verwendung mit der Dunkelelfen sein."

'Blackbeard wants her off the ship with him. He thinks that she might be some use with the Dark Elves.'

The two guards nodded and opened the doors to the cell, allowing the two men to walk in and take hold of the Demi-God's arms. They hoisted her up and began to walk her out of the cell, their feet breaking the crashing silence of the ship - being further broken by the loud bang of the door closing and the two guards tailing Syf's 'saviours'.

Syf had been sitting in the room for Gods knows how long, her thoughts often seeking solace and comfort in the memories that she retained of Kalle, and Branjaskr. Reflecting back on how she acted while having a place in the Southern Capital, she could see how her actions may have led her to be in the situation that she is in now. However, she also felt that the actions taken against her to preserve the Odinsen family secret was a bit harsh.

Her mind searched for a solution to free herself of this metal prison that she had been placed in, and while she was grateful to be saved from the cold harshness that was the Southern Ocean, she did not like being in a metal cell that was countless leagues under the water. She had never been a fan of the water, but she could survive it; this particular part was near crippling on her actions though. If she chose to attempt to break free the ocean would claim her, or she would no doubt be killed by those that are on this boat.

As her eyes scanned her surroundings she could see the dark metal that prevented the oceans dark and malicious waters from taking all within. The decor was minimal, only lighting her surrounding every few seconds by the lights that blinked never endingly. She could hear odd sounds that she could not place running through the lining of the boat, and placing her hand on the cold metal, she could feel the power of the ocean flowing against it. It was a wonder that the metal ship was holding up to the power of Neptune's home.

Her heart was losing hope, and the glow that seemed to surround her dimmed increasingly as her sense of hope was lost. It was then that she heard footsteps making their way towards her cell, and the door opened revealing the harshness of the interior and machinery. Her eyes burned at the sudden increase of light and she closed them briefly only to hear the men speak in a language she had never heard before.

She felt arms enclose around her arms as she was lifted and forced to walk wherever her 'saviors' were taking her. She had a sudden feeling of fear, but her face masked it with impassiveness; if she were to die now, she would not show that she was fearful, she would die honorably. That was when her mind began to hum, like a gentle and soothing sensation was flooding over her, and beating down her walls. However, as she looked around, it appeared that the guards were not aware of the humming that increased ever so slowly.

Steps were all that followed. A thick grey metal stairway leading up to an opening in the roof of the Submarine. The two German men gripped Syf with their powerful hands and pulled her up them - whether she was complying or not - and back into the freezing air of the South. Snow dropped from the grey sky and Syf was met with the sight of the huge glacial plains of the continent and a huge ray of purple lying not too far to the south of the Submarine. As she looked around, the whole area was covered in ice, leading the young Demi-God into thinking that the metal vehicle had been piloted out of the oceans and through various tunnels into the mainland - she would have been right. Ahead of her stood Blackbeard and a large group of men - probably the whole submarine's load. They stood watching Syf before one of the German men pushed her off of the submarine, her body slamming into the ground with a thud. The Pirates and German's laughed, though Blackbeard quickly shut them up as he drew his sword and looked at them expectantly.

"Any of you bastards want to swap with the lass?!" He stared at the men, his black eyes squinting in judgement at each man. "You keep your mouths shut boys, never know if there could be any...scouts around here." Blackbeard sniffed the air before laughing loudly, his men timidly joining him. "Come on boys, get the wench tied up - we've got a long march ahead of us."

Syf glared as the men threw her from the metal boat and onto the ground with a rough thud as she hit the ice. She heard the captain speak and the men grew quiet around her, and as she began to stand to her feet she heard that she was to be tied up and drug along like a mule following its master, well she would be no mule.

As she stood and brushed herself off, her form began to brighten slightly as she spoke,

"If I am to be a prisoner, I will walk of my own free will. It is clear that I am cold and soaked by the ocean. I would not survive were I to run off in the icy landscape on my own, so here I will remain. However, I will not be tied as if I were a mule, I am a woman and I will be treated as such." She stated defiantly, and with an edge of power to her voice. Her form was shimmering slightly, as if something were trying to break free from imprisonment. Her silver eyes danced across those assembled challenging their will.

Blackbeard tilted his head and smiled, his disgusting teeth forming into a sickening grin. He turned and looked at his crew, eyes raised in feigned surprise. "My my..." The Pirate said, taking a few slow paces with his sword out. His eyes measured the cutlass's long and fine blade - a black tassel of horse hair sat at it's hilt and dangled towards the ground in an almost oriental style. "See, I had a feeling that you'd say that." Before Syf could react, a heavy blunt object smacked her upside the head, knocking the Demi-God to her hands and knees.

Syf expected the onslaught that would follow her words, she had come to expect as much from this world; It was clear that not many knew how to respect and treat a woman, nor a demi-god, in this place. As she fell to the ground and coughed violently. The object that she had been hit with caused her vision to blur slightly, and tears to come to her eyes. Waves of black rolled across her vision threatening to overcome her, but she resisted.

"You seem to misunderstand what your predicament is, bitch." Blackbeard delivered a swift kick to Syf's ribs, causing her to roll over in pain. "You are-" He held himself as he delivered another even more violent kick to the woman "My prisoner." Another one of his feet landed, this time in her gut, winding her. Blackbeard leaned down towards the girl and looked at her, brushing his rough hand over her soft cheek whilst giving her a look that almost resembled affection.

Just as she had expected another kick, the man known as Blackbeard stroked her face soothing, but there was a danger behind the action, almost as if it were a warning. And sure enough, the man began speaking again.

"Such a pretty face..." He stood up and turned back to his men. "Next time you speak, I'll draw a picture with my knife on it." The Pirate turned to the two German's behind Syf and nodded - they leaned down and placed the shackles over the woman's hands and legs, the metal binding them tightly. A chain linked the two cuffs around Syf's ankles by around a foot, giving her enough space to walk but nowhere near enough to flex her legs and run off - even though Blackbeard knew that she would not survive in this place, just as she had said.

Syf could not bring herself to speak, but felt as the cold iron was placed around her wrists and ankles, she gritted her teeth, standing erect and in defiance yet again to the men who thought of her as a prisoner. No doubt she would be able to outrun these people, but her words had rang with truth, she could not survive freezing and alone out in the wastes of the South.

Her body began it's healing process, rectifying the damage that Blackbeard had caused internally, and returning her strength to her limbs. Her body only began to shimmer increasingly swiftly, now visible to Blackbeard and those around him. It was clear that something was attempting to break free from within her, but it was not yet strong enough to do so. However, a flash of violet appeared and faded as quickly as it had come where her eyes were.

One of the Germans noticed the glowing, whilst Blackbeard was ignoring it, and smacked the butt of his gun against the Demi-God's head once more. She fell to the ground and crumpled up, falling into unconsciousness. The Two Germans who had stood behind her once defiant body hoisted her up with huge strength and carried her along, almost unhindered by the girl. The frost-bringing breeze whipped around the men as they marched along the glaciers towards the huge purple beam. Silence filled the area with it's all-consuming embrace and Syf's mind was completely numb to it all, enjoying the solace of unconsciousness instead of the unforgiving frost that the South had to deal with.

"Das ist der Arsch der Welt, ich schwöre." Occasionally one of the Germans would say to each other, most of them would reply with grunts and nods - no conversation was ever maintained in the frost bitten events. The only thing that seemed to keep the black-eyed sailors moving was their seeming determination to reach the purple pillar of light. It glowed with a wash of uncertainty, it's alien light flexing itself across the continent - visible for all to see. It was terrifying.

Syf jolted awake, she attempted to move her arms to stretch and met only the sharpness and constricting feeling of shackles. Looking around at her surroundings, she could see that they had clearly been walking for quite some time. The fog that filled the air covered her vision but she could tell that they were much closer to the beam of light - she could feel it within the air and the Ice. In the distance Syf could hear the most ungodly noise she had ever experienced - roaring and chittering, screaming and yelling, hissing and the smashing of blunt weapons against ice. It sounded as if she were about to be walked into a crowd of violent monkeys.

The roaring became louder and louder until those that were making the noises came into view. Huge beasts as big as houses, holding clubs in their hands and nasty looking helmets atop their huge bulbous heads. Smaller creatures sharing almost the same image, yet wielding long, barbed spears and small crude shields - their beady eyes traced Syf as she was carried through the area. Tents came into view and eventually the curious disgusting creatures disappeared from view - instead they were replaced by nicer looking tents and more human creatures. They were tall and broad, with iron armour and beards tracing down from their chins to the middle of their chests. Their eyes were also coated in black, but they seemed to be more human - most of them grinding their swords into sharpness or sparring with each other.

The final part of the camp that Syf was dragged through was filled with decadent tents covered with furs and oddly glowing materials. The creatures who walked around this part of the camp where, without other words to describe them, gorgeous. Long ears stuck out of their heads, which were coated in a thick silvery mass of hair that was usually styled into an artistic shape. They looked upon Syf as she walked through and made no reaction, simply seeing and then walking away. The cold didn't seem to affect them like it did Syf.

Eventually however, Syf was put down. Her knees hit the ice first and before she could move her arms a chain was put around the shackles - tying her to a large pole of wood that sat in the top left hand side of a large clearing in the camp. Behind her pulsed the huge beam of light from an object that resembled an anvil, tinted with the dark inklings of the supernatural, with glowing runes and parts of it shimmering like liquid. Eventually, after tying her up securely enough, the men left her charge and she found she was unable to move. She turned her head left and right and caught sight of a figure different to the others she had seen.

The man war next to nothing, a ripped tunic with a battered golden pauldron sitting on his shoulder. He had long ears sticking out of the sides of his head, yet his skin was not as pale as the others who were in the camp. His hair was brown not white, and his mouth was not as crude as theirs was - instead, he was grimacing in pain. From his eyes lanced multiple vein like protrusions from beneath his skin. They were colour black and seemed to throb from beneath, causing the man to shudder. His eyes were completely black, though there was clear movement from underneath the landscape of darkness that shielded them, as if the man were terrified and looking for an escape. His lips were chapped and split and his leg seemed to hold a large wound.

He did not speak, he simply remained. He simply existed.

Syf scanned her surroundings constantly fighting the chains that held her securely to the pole, and as she turned her silver eyes towards the purple light, she could feel the darkness coming off of it in waves, and even the strange dark creatures seemed to be unaffected by the darkness that radiated from the pulsing light. It was strange indeed, but her curiosity was peaked when her eyes found a similar creature just sitting in the snow, clearly in pain.

"Are you ok, creature?" She called out to the dark-skin, her grey eyes shifting to violet and back repeatedly. Her form glowed brightly against the purple beam that seemed to be trying to overpower the light that surrounded her; a beautiful golden light that seemed to burn away any darkness around her, or that would otherwise reach her.

As the light surrounding her body continued to glow brighter, Syf changed slightly, a wave of memories crashing over her like a river over rocks. The sheer amount of memories that were released seemed to only make the golden light shine even brighter, her hair lengthening, and her skin taking on a slightly darker tint to it.

Various images flashed before her minds eye, an image of Loki and Hades, of the undead, of darkness, of torture, of a beautiful blonde haired woman dressed in ancient Greek garb and carrying a spear of gold; yet Syf could not place a name to the woman's face, though it was surely a familiar face to her.

"Please, do not speak." The figure whispered, his voice rich with vibrancy but strained with pain. At closer inspection of his leg, Syf notices that it was not made with one wound, and it looked like it was created with a sharpened knife, slowly sliding through flesh and tendon. "Please." The man pleaded with her again until he looked up, terrified black eyes staring her. "Please don't!" He still whispered, though his words were coated in thick urgency and terror, though eventually he dropped his head.

Syf continued to receive visions of this woman wielding a spear. She flickered in her head and occasionally it seemed as if she were mouthing things through Syf's mind, though she was only met with the cold gusts of wind that howled through the glacial plains of this continent. Even still, with the quietness she could still hear the figure next to her quietly mumbling to himself.

"Please don't speak. Please don't speak. Please don't speak."

"Peace, my friend. Take warmth from the light of the Gods, feel their defiance of this...this darkness" She jerks her head towards the purple light, as she had no mobility to any of her other limbs.

"Help me to get free of these chains, I can take you with me; To Branjaskr, to safety." She pleaded with the dark-skinned man. Her eyes shifting to violet a final time before remaining that color. Her mind began to hum intensely, a hum that was becoming a discomfort to her. It was beginning to seemingly sear her brain, as if a name was burning away all remnants of darkness and magic that kept her true identity locked away.

The woman appeared in her mind again, but still she could not hear what she was saying, though the image was becoming clearer as the intensity of the golden light began to grow.

"Don't you get it woman?!" The man turned viciously towards Syf, his eyes full of torment and agony. "The Gods have damned us! This is the Den of Despair. There is nothing for us anymore. The Gods have damned us." The man yelled out to himself as he began to pull against his chains. The sound of footsteps came near as a large brutish man walked forward with a large knife in his hands. He walked towards the figure and looked down at him before delivering a swift knee to his stomache.

"Shut it, my Lordship." The brutish man bellowed out in laughter as he slowly knelt down and looked into the Lord's eyes. He took one of his big meaty fingers and shoved it into the long ragged wound on the man's leg, to which his eyes widened and his mouth opened as he cried out in pain. "Does this hurt, my lord?" The Brutish twisted his fingers and let the blood well up in the wound as a sadistic grin crossed his face. "Does it make you want to squeal?" He dug in deeper, drawing more blood and staining the ice and snow that lay on the floor a deep crimson, the lord remained silent now, a last strand of defiance to this brutal prison-warder.

"Squeal for me, pig." The Prison-Warden said as he pulled up his knife. Below the darkness of his eyes, the Lords terror was betrayed as the knife delved into his leg and flicked violently back and forth, turning the blood and gore into a pastey mulch. The man screamed out this time repeatedly as blood flowed out of the new wound like water running out of a river source. He yelled out further and further until his throat was raw, and only then did the brute take his blade out of his leg, leaving the wound around 5 inches linger and almost reaching all the way up the back of his leg.

"You best be quiet girl, or you'll be getting the same." The brute spoke to Syf as he turned away and walked back to his post, leaving the bleeding and broken figure of the Lord panting in pain.

"Don't speak...Don't speak...Don't..." The man slipped into unconsciousness, the pain and shock taking his mind from his body.

This truly was an ungodly place.

Syf closed her eyes as the screams of the lord reached her ears and her heart welled with sadness for this creature who suffered at the tortures of this brutish, and sadistic, abomination that was clearly the overseer of the prisoners. Her eyes hardened, and the mystical violet flashed with a look that altered her features entirely. She didn't appear to be the impassive creature tied against a pole by chains and shackles. Her look radiated death and danger.

The humming intensified beyond reasoning, her brain nearly succumbing to the waves of darkness that threatened to overtake her as a single name found it's way to her lips.

"Nike"

It was as if something had clicked inside her head, a lightbulb seemed to appear within her head as a symbol at the revived memory of her birth right. She felt as if the gods - or a certain god - was looking down upon the girl. A single strained word resounded within her head, powerful, booming and beautiful. It reverbed around her skull and seemed as real as a sword piercing her skull - paintful yet almost liberating from the current situation. The voice only delivered one word, though it filled her with hope and courage, it willed her on and influenced her very actions in that particular moment.

"Pull."

Syf did as the voice told her, she pulled against her restraints, feeling them give way under her divine strength. Once free of her chains, she walked towards the lord and began to pull against his chains, keeping her eyes on the Warden just a few footsteps away from her and the lord. Blood poured down his legs in a steady stream, but she had promised to free him from this prison, and that was what she was going to do.

As she broke his chains, her form shimmered violently, giving way to abysmal armor and a silver helmet appearing on her head; Leagues away, her spear shimmered violently before shimmering out of existence on the Namorian ship, only to reappear in her hands a few minutes later. She broke the lords chains and whispered

"Awake, my friend."

As if by some godly intervention, the man opened his eyes - the beautiful purple of his orbs flickering beneath the imposing blackness that covered them with their oily taint, looking for Syf. He seemed distant and pale, his eyes filled with emptiness. There was no sorrow, no pain, no anguish.

He seemed...broken.

"Don't...Don't speak." The man lay on the floor, head held backwards. As Syf knelt over him, she could hear the purple beam throb. As this happened, she turned and saw more of the disgusting beasts she saw earlier flooding through the purple gate, shrieking and navigating their way around the two poles - not noticing the Demi-God and the 'Lord'.

The man eventually rose up, placing his palms against the ground and looking at the cuffs around his wrists. "He...he'll kill us." The prisoner grimaced, looking as if he were about to vomit in terror. "He'll find us and kill us. He'll kill us...he'll find us and then kill us..."

"Look." The same godly voice sounded itself within Syf's mind, and as she did the fog split in front of her, revealing in the distance the small frame of Branjaskr. Through all of the brutality and darkness that surrounded Syf at the current moment in time, Branjaskr seemed like the most amazing place that she could be at the moment.

Syf's heart rejoiced at the sight of Branjaskr in the distance, so much so, that she turned back towards the lord and lifted him into her arms, his legs hanging over one arm and his arms over the other. Her spear was shortened and placed on her hip, as she began to silently make her way through the camp, careful to avoid the dark-skins that seemed to be numerous. The further she got away from the purple light, the faster she moved.

Her eyes kept watch for things around her, but she kept a closer on the lord that she was carrying through the frozen wastes.

"You will be safe, lord. You will be safe" she stated as her eyes trained on Branjaskr leagues away from her.

Azazeal849
04-27-2014, 07:46 PM
BRADEBUKT, THE FREE SOUTH

"Finn!" The shout from the top of the guard tower was almost hysterical. "Finn!"

Watchmaster Finn Aadland stopped in his tracks, shook snow from his heavy cloak, and frowned up at the man leaning over the log wall that ringed the top of the rickety-looking tower.

"What's the matter with you?" he called up gruffly. His voice was frosted with the accent of the frozen South.

"Sails! On the horizon! Northern sails!"

"How many?" the man on the ground asked urgently.

"Fucking hundreds, Finn! I can't even count them!"

The watchmaster let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're drunk, Reidar. The whole damn imperium doesn't have that many ships."

"I'm telling you, they do and they're here!"

Finn snorted down his nose, his breath misting the cold air. They had been expecting the Namorian invasion for some time, but Reidar had always been jittery, and the failing light could play tricks on the eyes. If it was just a scouting force, or worse, just one of their own damn fishing fleets, Finn decided he would relieve Reidar of his duty by the simple expedient of throwing him off the tower.

"So where are these hundreds of imaginary ships headed?" he shouted up at the lookout.

"Straight towards me!"

A little unsettled now by the other man's panic, Finn put his gloved hands on the ladder and began to climb hand over hand up the slippery wooden rungs, pulling himself over the top with a muttered curse. He shaded his eyes with one hand as he waited for them to adjust to the sunset rays that were leaping bright gold over the water. Bradebukt was a wide, deep bay on the free continent's north coast, a natural harbour sheltered by the ice-locked hills to the east and centred on the river estuary that wound sluggishly down from Branjaskr. The walled town of Akershus overlooked the bay from the high ground on the delta's northern side, and a number of smaller fishing hamlets were scattered below. The day was almost done and so most of the fishing boats were already grounded on the stony beach, a few men and women still working to unload their catch. Those people didn't seem to have noticed anything, Finn thought sourly - although granted his watchtower atop the cliffs had a much better vantage point than they did.

"I swear, Reidar..." Finn grumbled, then broke off as he began to make out dark shapes on the horizon (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGF3SKbYH80), slowly detaching themselves from the bank of clouds that hung low over the water. Small squares of white and grey, and some of sky blue - the shape and colour of Namorian war sails. First he picked out a handful. Then they drifted apart and he picked out dozens. Then, as his eyes adjusted, he could make out scores. Below the sails were dark, wave-battered hulls - broad transports and sleek quinqueremes. All, as Reidar had said, heading straight towards them.

"Oh bloody buggering hell!" Finn swore violently, seizing Reidar and shoving him towards the ladder. "Go tell the hurtug! Now!"


* * * * * *

The pale sun sank beneath the sea, quenching itself in the western horizon and turning the sheen across the water from molten gold to spilled blood. The wind pulled strongly at the sails, and the flooding tide drove the Victoria onwards towards the shore. Praetor Maximus stood at the warship's bow, his men now ranked up behind him as the rowers continued to haul at the oars. The legionaries had cast off their heavy cloaks and felt caps, now clad in full armour as they knelt for balance with their shields grounded and their carefully oiled pila laid flat against the deck. At Maximus' side was the laticlavius tribune of the 11th legion, and a dark-skinned Afragian mage wrapped in thick furs.

"There." Maximus said to his two companions, pointing to the walled town further inland. "That will be our base of operations."

"And them?" the tribune asked, indicating a thin line of armed men and women who had formed up all along the stony beach. They carried bows, axes and swords. There couldn't have been more than a few hundred of them; barely enough to cover the stretch between the red-painted river mouth and the cliffs to the east.

Maximus smiled wolfishly. "What about them?"

Some distance ahead of the flagship, the vanguard of the Namorian fleet had moved into firing range. Maximus saw Invicta with its dagged hull fire first, followed by black darts leaping from the prows of Phasma and Vindicta. The Southerners small bows were outranged by the bigger ship-mounted ballistae, and they made no reply as the black shafts began to rain down. Several scattered short, one flew over, and then Maximus saw one gouge away a file of the thin defending line.

At once, the line of Southerners vanished. They didn't fall back, or scatter - they simply seemed to take a step forward and disappear into the earth. As the bolts continued to whistle and thump and skitter off stones, it took Maximus a moment to realise what he was seeing.

"They dug a trench." he murmured. "Clever bastards."

"Why aren't they retreating?" Maximus' tribune asked, frowning. "We'll have them flanked in minutes."

The mage on the praetor's other side pulled his hand out of his cloak just long enough to point out the straggle of men and women fleeing up the hill towards the walled town. "That's why."

The beach was now bristling with spent ballista bolts, and the steel rain only relented as the leading warships approached the shore, blocking the firing line of those behind. Invicta and Concordia were at the beach, while Vindicta and Phasma were driving straight up the river estuary to land troops behind the Southern line. As the whistle of bolts was replaced by the low groan of wooden hulls grinding against the beach stones, the Southerners reappeared. Up close, the fact that they stood almost a foot taller than most of the Namorians was all the more obvious; they were huge men, bulked up further by chain mail and thick furs - big, bearded and wild-looking. The women standing among them were tall and blonde and fierce, long hair braided tight beneath their helmets. Together, they let out a defiant roar.

To Maximus' consternation, for a few seconds, the Namorian attack seemed to stall. The ships remained grounded on the beaches, and the legionaries within them didn't move. Then there was a single shout and a flash of gold as a man vaulted over the bow of the Concordia and splashed into the shallows. It was the standard bearer for Maximus' own 11th legion, the golden aquila held high in both hands as he waded alone towards the shore. In that instant the spell was broken, and men began to pour over the sides of the Concordia and the other ships around it. They shouted to match the Southerners as they rallied around their standard and surged forward.

"Soldiers!" Maximus shouted as the Victoria rowed up to a coastline already crowded with warships. "We go forward to the greatest war of our time - the final war. We go forward to end the barbarian menace in the south once and for all. With this war, we establish Emorian hegemony over all of Eternum! And there will be rewards for the men who forged our victory. There will be peace for all. There will be prosperity for all. Forget plunder - win this war, and you will have EVERYTHING!"

At that moment, the bows of the Victoria rumbled as they ran aground on the stony beach. As one, the legionaries within rose to their feet.

"Come on, you bastards!" a centurion bellowed as he led the men over the sides, and Maximus leapt with them. He landed with a splash in the icy water, fell to one knee with a curse as his foot slipped on a stone, and ignored the knife of pain as he rose and started forward. Ahead of him the Southern line was standing its ground, loosing arrows at the sea of Namorians advancing on them from all sides. Arrows found their mark or stuck quivering in blue plywood as the legionaries raised their shields to ward them off. The Namorians checked, and then skipped forward to reply with a black volley of javelins. The whistle and crunch of impact was followed by a sinister hiss as gladii were drawn from carefully oiled scabbards. The Namorians shouted as they charged, and the remaining Southerners shouted back.

The Southerners had stepped back, using their shallow trench as a barrier, and Maximus saw the first rank of legionaries drop into it, holding up their tower shields as a platform for the men behind. Those men seemed to hit a brick wall as Southern axes crushed helmets and sent men flying backwards, but then the Namorians were on them from all sides, short swords thrusting and hacking. The Southern attempt to delay the landing was heroic; even Maximus could admit that. But it was also ill-advised; and now, it was doomed.

"For the emperor." praetor Maximus growled as he and his bodyguard stalked up the beach, past the inevitable massacre. As the last of the Southerners roared and cursed and died, the Namorian general set his eyes on the walled town overlooking the bay.


* * * * * *

EMOR

For a second Gaius Octavius thought he had been immersed in liquid fire, but then the painful sensation passed and he found himself sucking in a breath; not the icy, wild-smelling air of the South, but the warm breeze of the Namorian capital, comforting with its familiar smells of lamp oil, animals and human habitation. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes to find himself outside the gates of his own villa, although this long after midnight the street outside was deserted. The raven that the young demon had conjured fluttered to perch on the crossbar of one of the lamps standing by the gate, and cawed loudly into the silence.

"You wait here." Gaius growled at the bird. "I can only answer so many awkward questions at once."

He let himself inside with a key from the saddlebag that now hung over his shoulder, and padded into the atrium, still subconsciously flexing his right hand. He still wasn't sure what had made him accept the Southern queen's offer. Perhaps he had just been stalling for an opportunity to escape. Perhaps it was the greater threat of a possible demon army. Or perhaps it was the lure of revenge. He could protect his family and give his cousin Decius closure, even if they might never understand his actions themselves.

"Who's there?" called a familiar voice from the bedroom, where a soft firelight was still flickering. Gaius pushed aside the curtain to see Seppia sitting wide awake on the bed, still dressed. She was attended by one of the house slaves, who was holding Gaius' owl. Seppia herself clutched the scribbled note that he had attached to the bird's leg.

"Gaius!" Seppia exclaimed, rising to her feet as he stepped through the curtain.

"Out." Gaius told the slave curtly. The young Combrogi hastened to obey.

"I thought you were staying overnight?" Seppia said as she ran forward and pulled Gaius into a hug.

"I intended to." Gaius lied, then nodded towards the paper clutched in his wife's hand as she drew back. "Things changed though, and I couldn't wait."

"This is..." Seppia said, struggling for words as she thumbed the scrap of paper, "This is a step, but how are we supposed to make this barbarian Ole pay when he's half a world away?"

"I'll borrow another bird and have it carry a message south." Gaius said. "Praetor Maximus can...take special care of the hurtug when the army reaches Rogaland. As for whoever he sent, they might still be in Namor."

"But we've still got no way of finding them."

"I've made...allies." Gaius said carefully. "The same way our cousin Lycinia did."

Seppia frowned at him. "And what does that mean?"

Gaius hesitated, and knew he was in trouble because his wife had the ability to read him like a book.

"Gaius, what are you talking about?"

"Brigands." Gaius lied again. "The blacksmith didn't mind doing work for some...shady customers, but since he vouched for me they didn't care who I was as long as I paid them."

"Brigands?" Seppia spat, her eyes wide. "I'm not giving our money to brigands who rob, murder and rape their way around the trade roads! Those people kill good Namorian citizens!"

"Send vermin to kill vermin." Gaius argued, and reflected that that much was also true for his real allies. "They're more likely to know of any outlaws or rogue mages operating outside the city. And if we can find them..."

He was interrupted by a muffled crash from somewhere out in the street, followed by a scream. The scream came again, and then again, drifting in through the window of the villa. Both Gaius and Seppia turned towards it, brows furrowed.

"What's going on?" Seppia asked.


* * * * * *

"Senator Aemilia had the right of it, Amana." senator Novius said, nodding to emphasise his point as he toyed with his wine glass. "She knew that the only way we could stabilise Hercine is to send more troops, but instead the emperor wants to keep the three home legions here, sitting on their arses! If we could deal with the bandits we can get supplies flowing again, and make some sort of meaningful recovery. And if we can send all the Hercinians safely home, it'd solve half our refugee problem into the bargain."

Amana nodded as she reached for the wine jug and refilled her master's glass. She was a bright-eyed, quick-witted girl from Hercine, and Novius preferred both her conversation and her company to that of his wife, who only seemed to have time to talk about the latest bath-house scandal.

"If I may, dominus," the slave ventured, "The crocolykes would be more than willing to defend their homes, if we gave them what they want. The army from Zamibia saving the day at the retaking of Hercinia changed everything, and if we can't accept that there'll be another war."

Senator Novius shook his head. "The emperor isn't about to give crocolykes rights. What would be next, all the slaves here in Emor?"

He cocked an eyebrow at Amana, who smiled knowingly. Although she was a slave too, being the master's favourite meant that she lived better than some freeborn Namorians.

"No," Novius went on, shaking his head and smiling slightly. "The emperor would never do it, never mind those damn cat men who still hold all the power in Hercine."

"They're stuck in the past, dominus. Smart men look to the future."

Novius chuckled, "And you, my dear, are too smart for your own good."

He looped his fingers under the twist of silk that belted his slave's tunic, and had just begun to pull her towards him when there was a loud rattling at the gates of his villa.

"Open in the name of the emperor!" someone was shouting.

"Mars' teeth!" Novius cursed, reluctantly letting go of Amana. "At this time of night?"

He got up and quickly shook out his toga as Amana stepped out into the atrium and crossed the tiled courtyard to fumble with the gate keys. When Novius followed her out, he saw that the man still rattling the gates wore the blue cloak and distinctive sun-patterned breastplate of the praetorian guard. If it had been anyone else Novius would have turned him away with a curse, but the emperor's personal guards couldn't be so lightly dismissed. This one had a Dun Morigan broadsword slung across his back, and he was breathing heavily. Novius saw him shivering and twitching in the light of the lamps outside his villa.

"Praetorian?" he gaped in confusion as Amana unlocked the gate and dragged it open. "What time do you call this?"

As soon as the gate was open the praetorian barged through, drawing a thick-bladed dagger from his belt. He seized Novius by the shoulder, and drove the dagger into his belly.

Novius opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't scream; he couldn't even think - it was pure, freezing agony; cold as the knife in his guts, sharp as its edge. The pain became a blinding white wall across his vision as the praetorian twisted and then jerked the dagger free, pulling the senator forward onto his knees.

"The emperor sends his regards." the praetorian said, as he put a hob-nailed sandal on Novius' chest and kicked him to the floor. Watching sideways as his cheek hit the cold stone, Novius saw Amana still standing there, her eyes almost popping out of her head. She opened her mouth and shrieked.


* * * * * *

"Praetorians!" decanus Glaber barked.

His chosen subordinates sprang to their feet, so fast that they knocked over the dice table they had been hunched over. They weren't expecting to be called up until the changing of the guard, but they knew better than to cross Glaber.

"Sir!" they snapped in unison.

"The emperor has a job for us." Glaber continued, his face contorted with manic glee. "We are to clear out the scum from his capital city."

He saw his men's eyes light up at the prospect. The praetorian guard was made up of loyal, uncompromising men, but in some of them the higher pay and status of the position bred arrogance and brutality. Decanus Glaber had been one of the worst such men even before Zahneri had twisted his mind, and he attracted similar men to his command.

"Which scum, sir?" asked Calavius, Glaber's second in command. His bulldog face was split by a grin. "Awful lot of it to choose from."

A former legionary of the 2nd Valoria, Calavius had found his mind narrowed rather than broadened by touring the occasionally restive provinces that surrounded Namor. He hated the Combrogi, he hated the Hercinians, and he hated both of them even more now that thousands of them were gathered in mewling, stinking refugee camps around the city walls and clogging its streets with beggars.

"You're right there." Glaber agreed, "But we're starting with the Roma district."

One of his men openly spat on the paved floor. Few in the guard - or the home legions for that matter - had been thrilled at the immortal Romans taking over one of the military camps left unoccupied by the legions marching south. Many had been thrilled even less when a trickle of Namorian citizens had begun to filter into the so-called Roma district, curious about the similarities between themselves and the red-crests and wanting to learn more about them. By now there was a veritable colony of tourists, scholars, dissident youths and outright whores camping there, alongside the few Romans who hadn't marched away to profane dux Marcius' cause with their offensive mockery of a Namorian army.

"It's about time we got rid of those shifty red-crest pretenders." another of Glaber's men growled. "But what do we do with the citizens?"

Glaber's smile widened to a grotesque rictus, the demonically-implanted lust glowing behind his eyes. "What do we do with traitors who sleep with the enemy?"


* * * * * *

Centurion Attius of the emperor's own 1st legion cursed under his breath, crushing the vine staff in his hands so hard that it almost snapped. He had had no damn luck of late - first assigned to the distasteful business of crucifying Roman prisoners, not as a legitimate punishment but as a political statement to what was left of the mages' guild, and then captured when the whole bloody Roman army showed up out of the woods. He had been set free after the recent peace agreement, but it seemed that his troubles were still not over.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" he snapped, pushing through his legionaries to confront the source of the commotion.

"I have orders for you." replied a man dressed in praetorian's blues, the muscles in his neck twitching as if he was having trouble swallowing as he locked eyes with Attius. "The senate has betrayed the imperium. They must all die."

"What?" Attius asked, completely wrong-footed. "Who?"

"All of them!" the praetorian snarled.

For a moment, Attius just blinked at him. If all his troubles stemmed from Mars-damned politics, then here was the worst one yet. No doubt someone in the palace had been drinking too much, and had declared some sort of personal vendetta in a fit of pique. A soldier's job was to obey, but what kind of imbecile would take seriously an accusation of betrayal against the entire Namorian government?

"What the hell have you been drinking?" he demanded. The praetorian was practically foaming at the mouth.

"I have orders!" the praetorian insisted.

Orders from the fucking wine fairies, Attius thought disparagingly. But if there was some other drunken joker behind this then he would bloody well be having words with them too. He squared up to the praetorian and drew himself up to his full height.

"Orders that make no fucking sense." he growled, narrowing his eyes impatiently. "Now you listen to me, you son of a shit-for-brains crocolyke. On who's authority are you doing this?"

In one smooth motion, the praetorian drew the Dun Morigan broadsword over his shoulder and hacked it down across Attius' chest, from his left shoulder to his right hip. The centurion's banded armour burst apart and service medals severed from their chains crashed noisily to the ground, followed a moment later by the man's knees. For a moment Attius gaped in complete shock at what had happened to him, then he vomited blood as his bisected heart spilled its contents in every available direction. He crumpled, dead before his head bounced against the mosaic floor.

Attius' legionaries stared in horror, until all at once they regained their senses.

"Get him!" one of the Namorian soldiers yelled, practically ripping his gladius from its scabbard at his right hip. The praetorian just laughed as he swung his broadsword at the first legionary charging towards him, crushing his cheek guard and spinning him face first into the wall.


* * * * * *

Marcus Agrippa had heard the shouts from the camp sentries, and upon seeing the fire for himself, had hastily ordered his men to fall in. Leaving his optio to rouse the rest of the garrison from their barracks, he led his 80 men at the double towards the Roma district. The fire was coming from one of the barracks buildings at the western edge of the camp, and as he charged through the open and unguarded camp gate, Marcus heard the screams. Beneath his prematurely salt-and-pepper hair, his strong boned face contorted into an expression of horror.

There was blood on the earth outside the burning barracks, bright in the firelight. Namorian citizens, some still naked from their beds, were running in all directions screaming their heads off, fleeing a group of soldiers who were seizing the civilians by their necks and beating them to the ground with the pommels of their gladii. The soldiers were in full armour, bearing the insignia of the emperor's own praetorian guard. In the middle of it all was a laughing decanus, pointing in signal to a praetorian who had two young women by the hair and was dragging them towards the burning barracks.

"Praetorian!" Marcus shouted at the insane man leading the rampage. "Have you lost your fucking mind!?"

The praetorian by the burning barracks halted uncertainly as he noticed the number of 2nd legion veterans suddenly bearing down on them. The women in his grip continued to kick and scream, but the manically grinning decanus simply sneered at Marcus.

"This is the emperor's business." decanus Glaber snarled. "Back off, centurion, if you know what's good for you."

"The emperor's peace is my business." Marcus shouted back. "Century! Gladium stringe!"

The young women couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen - about the same age as Marcus' own wife Julia, and that more than anything else was what set him off. As 80 swords hissed from their scabbards behind him, the centurion drew his own weapon.

"Take them!" he shouted, charging straight for decanus Glaber. He weaved inside the sweep of the man's ceremonial broadsword and barged him to the ground with a slamming impact of his armoured shoulder.


* * * * * *

As confusion reigned in the imperium's capital, the seventh praetorian urged his horse on along the western highroad. The road ran straight as an arrow towards Hercinia along the north bank of the river Minerva, which formed a twisting ribbon of silver in the moonlight. The praetorian's white-coated mount, the emperor's own horse, was reputed to be the fastest in the whole imperium. They would see.

The praetorian's face was a rictus grin of barely suppressed hunger and anticipation as he galloped along the paved highway towards Hercine. The traitors who professed to govern the emperor's client states would pay, and the first would be the incompetent Castus. He would fall, and then the other traitors, and then the foolish emperor himself, until the seventh praetorian was the last man left alive.

And then, just as the demon in black had promised, he would claim his reward.

Azazeal849
05-02-2014, 08:17 PM
<Co-post on behalf of...almost everyone! Light blue is me, cyan is FM, white is Minkasha, gold is DoK.>

ECH ZILIDAR

"Eighteenth! Eighteenth Fulminata!"

"For Emor!"

The Namorian cavalry smashed into the reeling orcs like an avalanche. Cassius' stallion knocked a greyskin flying with the force of its momentum and leapt through the scrum to try and find space, but the orcs were crushed too tight together, and it stalled. Alongside Cassius, other horses were trying to wade through the press, kicking out savagely with their hooves. For a horrible moment, Cassius thought he had made a fatal error.

Speed is life - the first maxim of every cavalry commander. If he was stopped he would be hemmed in from all sides and the orcs would cut his horse's legs from under him. But even as he hacked desperately left and right with his spatha, the orcs broke. Already shell-shocked by the flank attack from the immortal Romans, the noise and carnage of the second charge was the final straw. Orcs near the back of the formation began to throw down their spears and falx blades and run, while those packed closer to the Romans began to claw madly to escape the crush, some stabbing and trampling on their fellow greyskins to make way.

The melee around Cassius dissolved as the orcs streamed away in a panicked rabble, and now he was free to move, and there was nothing in front of him except fleeing enemies who didn't know that they were already dead.

"Charge!" the young tribune roared, and once again the cavalry urged their mounts forward, swords flashing red as they hacked into the skulls and spines of fleeing greyskins. Speed was life - keep the momentum going; don't give them a chance to recover.

The Namorians surged on, surrounded now by the brilliant orange light that saturated the plaza beyond the road, and out of the glare Cassius saw units of greyskins halting in confusion, disordered by the fellow orcs trying to flee through them. He squeezed with his knees to wheel his horse towards them, shouting to his allies and pointing his bloodied spatha towards the orcs to let them know he was coming to kill them. The strung-out stampede of horsemen began to curve as they turned to follow him, and Cassius' horse leapt again as it cleared the anvil that stood at the centre of the light-saturated plaza, surrounded by piles of dead greyskins.

The horse stumbled as it landed not on paved rock, but on fresh snow. A blast of icy air hit Cassius, and his whole world seemed to turn white. He was vaguely aware that some of his command were still around him, men shouting in alarm and horses shrieking as they sank into snow and lost their footing, but then something came leaping at him out of the snow. Cassius slashed at it instinctively, and it was only as its head went spinning away that he realised it was not an orc, but something black and lithe and clad in serrated armour.

He shouted a rallying call, trying to make himself heard over the din, but the shouts around him were turning to screams as more of the black figures leapt up to hack at the men with long spears. Lines of blood splashed out across the snow as the mysterious creatures darted with terrible speed.

Cassius did the only thing he could, and kicked his bewildered stallion to urge it out of the drift. He whipped it into a gallop with the flat of his sword, and swung the blade back just in time to fend off another black figure that lunged a barbed spear point towards his face. Its face was ebony dark and terrifyingly beautiful, features set in a grim mask. Its eyebrows and hair stood out shocking white, but its eyes were black and hard as a shark's. There was no humanity behind them at all.

There were tents around Cassius, big bearded men pouring out of them and shouting questions as greyskins swarmed on all sides and the black killers behind him keened to each other in high, ululating voices. The few Namorians still on their horses were, like Cassius, scattering to escape, and most of them were failing.

Cassius didn't know where he was or how he had got here, only that his men were dying and he was next.

Fuck fuck FUCK!

Ahead of him, the tribune saw a woman in silver armour turning towards him in shock, twisting awkwardly as she supported a crippled, spindly figure. It was the only easy-looking escape route among the enemies swarming around him. He wrenched his horse round towards them.

Don't stop! Speed is life!


* * * * * *

Syf turned as she heard the sounds of alarm behind her, hoping and praying to all the Gods that her escape had not been discovered. She knew that if she were to be followed she would not make it very far with the mind-broken lord in her arms. But, as she found her eyes gazing back at the prison camp, it was not one of those dark-skins coming after her. It was a man clad in a blue, and he was not the only one; there were a few more, but their lives were ended swiftly by the various beings within the camp.

As Syf looked back towards the blue-clad man, her eyes found themselves counting those that were trailing behind him, a few grey-skins and the dark-skins that moved with unnatural agility. She looked towards the lord in her arms and stated simply,

“Forgive me, my friend.”

She placed the lord on the icy ground, ensuring that he would be safe before turning and running towards the blue-clad man and his pursuers. She moved with unnatural agility, much like the dark-skins, and neatly somersaulted with a heavy push of her left foot, over the blue-clad man and his horse, the plume of her helmet grazing his. As she was in the air, she managed to unsheathe her sword and bring it down upon the nearest grey-skin, shearing its head cleanly off with the momentum of her descent.

She rolled as she landed, barely avoiding a war-axe that split the ground where she was less than a second ago. She parried two slashes of sharp and finely crafted swords, before her left leg was punctured by an obsidian tipped spear. She let out a cry before bringing her sword down in a swift and deadly arc on the dark-skin that handled the spear. As she did this, her hand seemed to guide itself to parry yet another attempt to maim her with the same finely crafted sword, while pulling the spear from her leg in a gush of warm blood.

Her moves were graceful and deadly, making it clear to the observer of the small battle that she was no stranger to swordplay. As she slayed the last of the blue-clad man's pursuers, she fled the scene; running as fast as her wounded leg would carry her, leaving a trail of blood behind her as she ran.

It was a matter of minutes before she was a mere 3 yards from the blue-clad man, and the lord that she had took from the prison camp. She paused by the body of the lord and looked back to the blue-clad man as he approached, calling out to him.

“Can you carry him on your horse? I cannot hold his weight.” She motioned to the wound that continued to seep with her blood, forming a minute crimson ribbon down the dark leather of her left boot.

The man, whose horse had pulled up in fright as Syf leapt over it, recovered enough of his wits to leap down from the saddle and haul the fragile form of lord Kurosavi up onto the stallion's back. Clearly, he knew that this was no time for questions. Pulling himself back up, he spun his mount round and rode back towards Syf, offering her his hand.

"You speak Namorian?" he shouted over the chaotic din of the camp as he hauled her up behind him.

”I speak the common tongue of the ancient Romans, yes.” said Syf. ”If that is what you call Namorian, then yes I do speak it.”

Syf realized that this man with the blue-plumed helmet must be a warrior for the Namorians that she had heard much about while spending her time here in the south. And his arrival here was sure to bring a surge of panic among the locals, after all the two cardinal empires were at war with one another.

The Namorian turned his horse again to avoid three armed men who had just burst from a nearby tent, and sent it plunging towards the nearest edge of the camp. The horse was snorting heavily under the weight of its three riders as a greyskin reeled out of their way, and another tried to swipe at them with its sickle-bladed falx.

The Namorian yelped in surprise as they cleared the camp perimeter, only to find themselves sliding down a steep slope. The camp was on a plateau - a fact they had missed in the confusion. With the horse unbalanced by its load, it was only the blue-clad man's expert control and not a little luck that sent them skidding safely to the bottom instead of tumbling in a broken flail of limbs. A blast of icy air hit them as the wind sprang up, bringing with it a flurry of snow. The stallion bucked, nearly throwing all three of them, and the blue-clad man had only just regained control as they heard the shouts from above them. Blackskins appeared at the lip of the slope they had just left, leaping nimbly down while men in furs and armour readied bows. An arrow zipped past Syf's helmet, tugged off course by the wind and burying itself in the snow to her right.

Their horse whinnied, almost throwing them all for a second time, and bolted blindly into the gathering snowstorm.


* * * * * *

From behind the soldiers who fired down at the trio, Chaaru ran out from the crowd - the empty blade of Hate in his hand, vibrating with demonic energy on more. His blackened eyes looked at the pair of escapees and the man who had leapt from the Ark of the Covenant's transporter beam. His face curled into a frown as he lurched around and sprinted back to the Ark, his feet pounding heavily against the snow as his extreme speed let him return within seconds.

"Where the fuck is the prison keeper?!" The Cannibal Dark-Elf yelled. He turned to a few Dark-Skins and young Dark Elves who were hastily gathering up weaponry to chase the escapees before yelling at them. "Let them leave, they have a week long march to the nearest settlement and they're not used to the cold like we are. They'll die within the night." Chaaru turned again, his black eyes scanning over the equally dark eyes of his comrades. "Now I'm asking again - where the fuck is the bitch-boy of a Prison keeper..?" The Elf's teeth were clamped down hard upon each other, his fists were curled and even though his eyes were masked by Set's black smog there was anger merely emanating from them. A single grotesque dark-skin lurched forward, with bucked teeth and a misshapen head. His black eyes looked towards the ground.

"You're the prison guard?" Chaaru asked politely, tilted his head and smiling slightly at the Orc, who's 9 foot tall stature dwarfed the inquisitive Dark-Elf's own frame. The fat Orc nodded and opened his mouth, about to speak before having the blade of Hate cut cleanly through his neck. The only sound that came from his body was the thump of his head upon the floor. Chaaru looked down at the blade and ran his tongue along the bloodied end of it, savouring the taste before spitting on the floor.

"You Orcs taste like dirt." The Ancient Dark-Elf looked at the Dark-Skins, who backed away slightly at the disturbing image. Chaaru straightened his armour up slightly and turned to the gathered forces, ignoring the masses who were still filing out from the transporter.

"I'm going in to clear this path - we never ordered horsemen from the Northern Continent, so our position must be compromised." Chaaru looked plainly at the Orcs, who didn't even roar in reply but instead lowered their heads and walked away, their feed doggedly brushing the ground underfoot into the stray patterns their repeatedly broken toes shared.

Chaaru turned and looked towards the Ark of the Covenant before walking forward and dipping his hand into the thick liquid-like energy. He smiled as he felt the warmth from the ray and smelt the blood and flesh from the warzone on the other end of the portal. It enticed him, and with one great sigh he pulled himself through into Dun Moriga.


* * * * * *

The Namorian urged his beleaguered mount on through the deep snow, lurching blindly into the whiteout that had sprung up around them.

"Where are we?" he shouted to Syf as he sheathed his sword, needing one hand to control his horse and the other to stop the unconscious Kurosavi from falling off.

“You are in what the natives here call, “The Free South”. How you got here, I do not know; but I am curious to find out.” she answered his first question, a slight Grecian accent tainting her voice.

"Your guess is as good as mine, my lady." the Namorian said, gritting his teeth as he succeeded in slowing his horse to a more sustainable canter. He didn't seem happy about the answer Syf had given him at all. "The South? Oh gods..."

He paused as he belatedly got a good look at the crippled elf.

"Wait a second. This is the Eldrani lord we met in Combrogia!"

She did not reply to his last comment about the “Eldrani” because she had no idea what he was talking about. She remembered, however, that she was headed to Branjaskr, the Capital of the Free South.

“Keep heading in this direction," she said instead. "We will come upon Branjaskr soon enough. I believe there is one there who will aid us.” She spoke with finality as she conjured the image of Kalle in her minds eye.

"Aid me?" the Namorian asked pointedly, glancing briefly back over his shoulder at her. He had a point - with his olive skin, he could never have passed as a Southerner even if he got rid of his distinctive armour. Then again, it was not like they had much choice. They stood little enough chance of reaching Branjaskr, and less of reaching anywhere else without the supplies they needed from the capital.

"I hope you know what you're doing." the Namorian said, and gave his stallion its head along the path Syf had indicated.


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR

Squeezing tight to the side of her horse, Elisavet moved ahead. Her horse moved over the corpses of Dwarf and orc. Conflict was before her, being led by the Dwarf named Jornak. Along the bloodied and devastated promenade, the champion moved past all that could be seen and into the unknown.

Marcius saw her waving, before her thick pleated tail of golden hair disappeared around a pile of rubble.

The area was too quiet, too still. The air was thick with dust, sulphur and the rancid smell of death. The dusty 'sky' was filled with fire and smoke - the flames of battle lapping up whatever they could. Around her the sounds of swords clashing against swords and the occasional scream of an Orc being cut down could be heard - the creatures scrambling away from the Roman onslaught, realising that the Romans didn't stay dead as the Namorians did.

The area that Elisavet was looking into was nothing more than a dead end, scattered with charred bodies; remains that had been burned by the Orcs as a sign to ward those away who wished to face them. The pile was huge, about double the size of Elisavet's body. Flies flickered around the mound and occasionally landed on the depressing pile, spitting their filth on the bodies.

It was then that a faint vibration shook the streets, causing the already weakened foundation of a nearby house to collapse and throw up a cloud of dust and the rankness of death. Some unlucky dwarves were buried under the weight of the collapsed house, and killed instantly, their insides scattered across the ground. Elisavet looked to the mess, feeling her heart break.

The vibration in the ground only picked up as the looming figure grew closer to the dwarven lines, and the orcs seemed to be chanting and cheering. As Jornak looked from beneath his helmet, he saw a massive black shape coming towards the dwarven lines. He held his breath, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around him. He heard the grunt and then roar of a mighty beast, and yelled out, just before a large club came whooshing from the cloud of debris.

Behind Elisavet - as she wheeled around as fast as she could - a trio of huge 40 foot trolls smashed through a pair of buildings, with the one in the center's club crushed into the ground. They roared in the Dwarves faces before flicking their wrists and swiping 20 Dwarves across the floor. The Giant grey 'machines' marched forward stalwartly, grunting and roaring as they absorbed blow upon blow and slash upon slash of metal on their feet and legs before bringing down another group of Dwarves in a single blow. Elisavet had lost sight of Jornak in the commotion, though behind the trolls the new, larger waves of Orcs were clear to see. She couldn't make out what to do with such chaos ensuing. A hand went to her sword on her back, debating if she should charge in.

With their great power, even with her strength she feared she'd be able to help little. Grasping a riderless horse she gave silent prayer to the warriors and charged back to Dux Marcius. Her horse dashed through all the destruction, following the will of its rider.

Arriving before Decius, urgency decorated her face.

"Jornak is being attacked by Orcs and..." She gestured a hand as high as she could "Three large beings, taller than anything I have seen Decius! I fear greatly for Jornak, they kill dozens in a single swing, and carry club weaponry."

Marcius clenched his jaw, thinking of his past encounters with giant beasts from the depths of the underworld. The dragon - the divine wolf Silverwick had brought that down. The giant squid, back when he and legate Septim had still stood as enemies - aside from the cursed sword Hate, only the Namorians' pila had made any real impression on it, and the Fulminata had discarded theirs in anticipation of close-quarter street fighting. He needed ranged weaponry. He needed his dwarven auxiliaries.

"Where are gun captain Agron and his men?" he barked at his couriers as he snapped his arm into a signal and the elite of the Namorian legion hurried forward.


* * * * * *

Gun captain Agron was already in the thick of the fight. The earth-shaking roars outside were just one more voice in the cacophony as they drove up into yet another orc-infested building, clearing the enemy archers from its upper floors. Greyskins were boiling from the adjactent stairway, and Damak had just lit another shrapnel shell to hurl down among them when the building around them caved in. Broken masonry and roof beams rained down around Agron, as something of impossible size staggered against the tenament. An arm bigger than the thickest Combrogian oak came ripping through the ceiling, opening the room to a flood of light and smoke, and revealing the roaring creature outside. Agron and his rag-tag group of Namorians and drarven grenadiers were on the third floor of the building, and they were still only at the level of the monster's shoulder.

Some of them yelped and scrambled away, while one of the legionaries tried to hack his gladius at a finger that was thicker than his whole arm. Damak's shell went bouncing across the floor, the fuze hissing and spitting like an angry cobra, and Agron caught it out of sheer instinct just as the monster reacted to the legionary's needling attack by seizing him in its giant fist. Agron and another dwarf found themselves swept up too, and suddenly they were crashing through granite and mudbrick; up, up and out into the dust-choked air outside. A huge face filled Agron's universe, a misshapen grey lump that looked like it had been crudely carved from stone, with two obsidian daggers for eyes. A great horizontal fizzure opened in the stone as the face roared at him, bursting the gun captain's eardrums and reducing his hearing to a high white shriek that mirrored the scream of pain that was torn from his lungs. He couldn't draw breath to scream again as the hand that held him and the other two soldiers contracted, squeezing with crushing force.

Agron felt his trapped left arm crunch the wrong way, and his ribs splinter under the pressure of his own armour. He thrashed with his free right arm, realising that he had somehow kept hold of the shrapnel shell. The fuze had already burned down into the touch hole. Again, it was more instinct than a last act of defiance that made Agron hurl it at the monster's face, straight between the slab-like teeth of its roaring mouth.

Burn, you bastard! was his last conscious thought as his world exploded.


* * * * * *

The goddess blessed woman, Elisavet, spoke up to grab Decius' attention now that his ears just heard word of Agron's death.

"With Hercules, and Achilles at my side I know we can slay the beings!" She held strong into Decius' gaze. "If they are not dealt with, it will matter not the successes with the orcs." Her horse was restless beneath her, sensing the tension of the battle field. Her hands, guided with love, stroked the horse to soothe it. Her eyes looked down at the creature, caressing the side of its face. The horse was finding peace under her hands. "By the Goddess, I will hold off the large beings until they can join me." Her hand flowed down the chocolate face, her eyes moved back up to the Dux. "I must protect you."

Marcius gave a stiff nod, although next to him his bodyguard Varrius gave Elisavet a dark look.

"Send a messenger to the Greeks." the dux ordered as they rode on. "Summon Hercules."

Galloping back through the city and circling round through the tunnels to the north side of the cavern where the Greeks were would take time - perhaps too much time, but the fearful look on Elisavet's face was hard to argue with.

"We still need to secure the Anvil." Marcius went on with a deep frown. "To stop any other greyskins from overruning Jornak."

With Elisavet in front, the column redoubled its pace.

"You must continue to lead, and I must do my part. Guide us to victory Decius!" A slap of her reins sent her dashing ahead. The sounds of hooves was loud...powerful in her ears. Her heart was racing, she was heading straight to the horde. White materials, earrings and blonde hair flowed in the air in her heroic charge. Violence was not deeply rooted into her nature, but protecting others was.


* * * * * *

Jornak was thrown back, his armor now carrying a sizable dent from the impact of the giant club. The world seemed to fall silent as his body hit the ground, forcing the air from his chest. Dark spots danced across his vision, but he would not succumb to the darkness, he couldn’t; his people needed him.

He stood, shaking the daze out of himself, and focusing on the sounds of battle around him. The smell of battle alone was overwhelming, the smell iron-like smell of blood, the thick smoke from gun-fire, and the mush of innards scattered across the streets. His people were dying and there was nothing they could do but to continue fighting on in hopes that the tide of darkness would be pushed from their home.

“Vulcan give me strength!” he roared as he charged back into the madness of battle, his axe swinging wildly, hacking grey limbs from grey bodies. A grotesque shower of black rain showered down around him as he hacked and slashed; fueled with the rage of his people, he had hacked a path to alleviate the pressure on the Dwarf army.

Hope filled his heart, but that hope was taken as quick as it had come as the same giant came upon him again, swinging the massive club wildly. He was just about to charge the massive creature when the sounds of battle ahead of him reached his ears, and through all the tide of darkness, Jornak saw that a woman bearing the mark of Venus charged into the thick of battle, grey skins being hacked apart with a single swing of her weapon; seeing this caused him to fight even harder, she couldn’t stand against the horde alone.

At this point, Jornak’s guard had been decimated, only a few surviving and even then just barely. He was nearly alone ahead of the army as a giant closed in on him and sought to bring its massive club down on him.

He narrowly avoided the blow, that kicked up a cloud of dust as it created a crater in the streets; seeking his chance, Jornak ran swiftly up the club and onto the arm of the giant beast. He let out a violent yell as he brought his axe down on the creatures arm, just above the elbow, cleaving the creatures arm in two in a single blow.

A massive roar of pain could be heard as the giant felt the loss of its arm, and it began to trample both friend and foe alike. Jornak had to end this quickly, or his army would be crippled by the trampling giant. He charged, again, into the fray, stripping his armor off as he leaped into the air and took hold of the giants fat.

He swung his battle-axe, embedding it in the giants back -meeting the blow with a roar from the giant- and drew his hand axe to create a the simulation of a ladder, as he began his ascent up to the giants head. As he reached the head, he brought his battle-axe down on the creatures head, but it rebounded sending it flying across the streets, landing gods know where.

The giant attempted to grab Jornak with it’s grotesquely made hand, but he managed to evade the creatures grasp, only to bring his hand-axe across the creatures throat, releasing a river of dark blood that flowed in a waterfall down the creatures massive stomach.


* * * * * *

Trampling over dead orcs and carnage, Elisavet made her way to the screams and the loud roars. Her body moved with the speeding horse, the jade gems of her eyes seeing the orcs in mass before her. Rushing as quickly as she could ahead of all the military men, she prepared herself for attack.

The savage entities ahead of her radiated ferocity, not showing any mercy or fear to the woman. Her horse leaped into the air, and with her shield arm she drew her sword and pointed it into the air in mid leap, a rallying call. Behind her, all the men saw the powerful female figure boldly show the symbol of Venus on her buckled armour before she was swallowed by moving darkness.

Surrounded by orcs, her blade was cutting necks, upper limbs, and torsos of in one swing. Her attacks carried greater strength than one would have thought possible of someone with her Venusian build. The surprise continued to evolve into leverage as she cut a path through the large orcs surrounding the Anvil. Blood now splashed across her face and legs, slipping off her pristine white religious toga.

It was at this moment, when Elisavet was coursing her way around the outskirts of the anvil, that she saw the terrible truth behind the machination. The Orcs that she was cleaving through - whilst shocked - were simply guards, as she looked down the large slope that held the anvil like object that spewed forth such dark purple light. Immeasurable amounts of Dark-Skins were flooding through the gate way. Around 500 of the huge Trolls were pushing their way through, chains holding their arms to their bodies. Catapults, flaming battering rams and horrible horse-spider creatures were shoving their way through, larger than warships but smaller in height than the trolls.

The army filled Elisavet's heart with terror and sadness, slighting her with the dread of death, when something even more dreadful happened. She felt it within the Earth, echoing for miles across. The purple beam of light shook for a second, as if something were passing through it at extreme speeds. A flicker of light hit the ground and a noise that sounded a lot like the sound of something being sucked out of quicksand echoed into the chambers. Through the crowds of blackened Orcs and their terrifyingly large army stood something alien. Something powerful. Something so very powerful that it resounded within Elisavet's mind.

Something else had entered the plains of the battle - and unlike the rest of the army, it's intended destination wasn't the beam.

Minkasha
05-08-2014, 08:41 PM
Elisavet, of Sacred Flesh, felt the coming darkness. It sent panic through her body. Her bloody blade had consumed a great deal of orc flesh, but there was a near infinite amount for the weapon to feast on. Her horse pushed on, but it was rushing straight to the great evil her mind could not let go of. Forcing her horse to slow, it struggled to heed her command, shaking her in the process. Marcius could see her killings dripping from her skin and hair in splotches.

Overcoming the sounds of screaming and horses, she yelled. "You must stay back! Something truly evil has appeared! EVIL, Decius!" she stressed. Her mind felt the unnatural desires of consumption, and the true lack of compassion or ability to love in this unknown being.

Marcius halted and looked down the gentle slope of the causeway, his eyes wide. Around him, his staff officers and soldiers halted in similar horror. In the wide plaza that Elisavet had just ridden back from, all the statues ringing the square had been pulled down, and the surrounding buildings had been demolished to allow the passage of a seemingly neverending tide of greyskins. The pillar of light that he could now see originated at the centre of the plaza was blinding, throwing the orcs into silhouette as they marched. In ranks fifty wide they marched into the glare and disappeared, vanishing as if incinerated by the cold amber light. Marcius felt fingers of ice grip his heart as he saw several of the monsters Elisavet had talked about - each one was as big as the giant squid that legate Septim had conjured at Minerva, and there were dozens of them.

Even though just one of the beasts could have carved through the Namorian formation like a charging elephant, they were paying no heed to the newly arrived enemy. Like their smaller brethren, they simply marched one by one into the light. The tread of the orc army was a steady roll of thunder, but none of them paid any attention to the Namorians, relying on a screen of smaller orcs that blocked all sides of the plaza with levelled spears. Dead men and horses scattered across the plaza spoke of recent fighting, but the orcs had reformed their cordon, and now Cassius' cavalry were milling in fractured groups at either end of the causeway - held at bay by the spear wall. Marcius could see Romans and dwarfs among the buildings, as well as the corpses of two smaller examples of the giant trolls, but his allies were holding back from the plaza, awed by the finally-revealed scale of the enemy army. Elisavet had spoken of something evil - Marcius could see a hundred kinds of evil seething below him.

At that moment, a single pale figure in angular armour exploded out of the centre of the orc army. Chaaru took one small jump, another one that was larger than that, and then a huge leap that scaled over the top of even the heads of the trolls, who stood at at least 70 foot each. Finally, after launching himself gracefully through the air for a few seconds, the Dark-Elf landed in a clear space on the causeway, not far from the halted Namorians. He landed on one knee and one hand, with an impact that smashed the paving stones into a spiderweb of cracks. Clad in overlapping black chevron plates, he slowly raised his head to look at the Namorians with eyes that were nothing more than pools of black ink. His face split into a jagged, all-devouring smile. His approach brought terror to Elisavet's heart. Quickly she rode so that she may be between Decius and this...she didn't know. Her eyes of love and compassion could not drift from the black spheres of evil manifest.

Her sword was kept to her side, hand gripping fiercely. The level of power radiating from this new enemy was atrocious. This being of darkness would slaughter Decius and his men without hindrance.

"I am Elisavet, of Sacred Flesh." The tip of her blade pointed to the humanoid monster. "I will not let you bring harm to these men." The warrior priestess held herself true and virtuous.

"Sacred flesh?" the dark elf said, smirking wider. His teeth were needle-like fangs. "I've never tasted sacred flesh before." His cruel taunting twisted her stomach. Such wickedness.

With a feline spring, the elf was suddenly up and running onwards Elisavet, his right hand closed around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist. Her horse charged forward, shield held in front of her. The two forces were moving at each other at full speed. Chaaru leapt, one minute sprinting up the rubble-strewn causeway, the next corkscrewing through the air above Elisavet's head. His sword, a black single-edged sabre that was shot through with veins of red, leapt into his hand and swung at her neck. The shield of Aphrodite rose to block it, and there was a black flash which gave way to one of gold as the power of gods and demons collided. Elisavet felt a sickening presence, a glimpse of cities burning and a rumble of mocking laughter as something awoke from dormancy within the blade.

Chaaru landed behind her, nearly stumbling and breathing heavily for a few moments as he recovered from the unexpected power of the goddess.

"So..." he said after a moment, laughing breathlessly. "Aphrodite commits her agents to the war, does she?"

The blade in his hand vibrated, alive, as the dark elf stood his ground. Caught off guard by Elisavet's power, he now waited for her to make the next move. She glared at her combatant. Dismounting, she travelled on foot closer to the evil.

"No, the Goddess wished someone to defend the graces of love when beings like you pollute life with greed and self serving aggression." Elisavet took a defensive stance. The Champion would not strike first. "This is why I wield blade."

Chaaru didn't answer, but when he saw that she was surrendering the initiative, he laughed maniacally and darted forward, black waves pulsing from his sword as he drove it forward in a savage series of cuts. His saber found its mark at her shoulder when the Goddess shield misdirected the blade. A grunt of pain escaped from her, her blood adding to the Orc blood on her skin.

"Don't just stand there, you bastards!" Marcius suddenly barked to his transfixed soldiers, who were still standing mesmerised. He shouting down from atop his horse as he urged it forward. "Help the messenger! Percute!"

The direct order unfroze the veteran legionaries. With a defiant shout, they surged down the slope towards Elisavet and Chaaru.

The power of Aphrodite forced Chaaru into another emotional shock after striking her. Elisavet saw the wide-eyed look and took advantage by headbutting him back, which quickly silenced his foul laughter. Black and blonde hair flew about in their collision. The Dark Elf took a few steps back, glaring at her, and she shot her right leg straight up into the air, hitting Chaaru directly under the chin. The hit flipped his head back with the Goddess given force in her strike. In equal speed, Elisavet brought her foot down again upon his skull, her gemmed gladiator sandal sliding across the surface of the ground. The Dark Elf's black hair was wet with spilling vitality.

Looking up, Elisavet saw the Fulminata legionaries charging to help her. The Champion looked to the approaching men with great worry. Sidestepping the downed Chaaru, she moved an arm across the air defiantly.

"No! STAY BACK!" she counter-ordered. The Dark Elf found her weakness for others to his advantage and shoved his saber straight into her unguarded back. Lurching forward, Elisavet coughed heavily and fell to a knee. But she was not stabbed; the silk toga somehow absorbed the entire blow, no cut to the thin material. Feeling the backlash of Aphrodite's protection yet again as he struck, the mind of Chaaru had to fight back and forth between the pull of Goddess and Demon. Swarming in his mind, the forced, reeling emotions were causing him a great madness.

Chaaru's dark saber spun wildly in the air, an expression of this lost sanity, and another brightly lit clash of blade and shield came forth. Rotating and pushing herself from her kneeling position, Elisavet used her shield to bash Chaaru on the side of his head. Her strength sent him flying several feet into the air before crashing to the ground. Elisavet stood strong, pushing past the throbbing pain in her back.

"Fuck you, cunt!" he spat at her from his fallen position. He raised one fist towards Elisavet. He was too far to make contact, but black fire flickered and boiled around his fingers, forming a serpent of dark energy that jolted out to strike Elisavet across the chest. A line of blood suddenly began to spill across her breasts, pain struck her terribly. The leather sheath was cut and dropped to the ground. The dark elf rose to his feet as chips of stone around him began to shift and corkscrew upwards. They dissolved into dust as the ethereal wind forming around Chaaru became a howling gale.

"Enough of your weak little tricks, you bitch!" His voice held all of the original Chaaru's rage, but none of his sadistic humour. It was pure malice. He raised his hand again and a second whip of black energy flicked out, lashing against Elisavet's shield. "Behold the great devourer!"

The tornado widened, engulfing Elisavet and a few of the closest Namorians. They screamed and fell, armour and flesh flaking away as ribbons of dust that were sucked up and devoured by the whirlwind. The men behind them reeled back in horror as a high-pitched wailing filled the air, echoing between the ruined buildings. Even Elisavet's horse was not spared the incinerating death, a blow to the Champion's morale.

"It's him!" someone shouted in fear. "It's the demon who killed Silverwick!"

Behind the lines of recoiling legionaries, Marcius' horse reared in fright, lashing the air with its hooves and almost throwing the dux to the ground. Marcius fought for control with his good hand, his eyes locked on Chaaru. Another tendril of black slithered out from Chaaru's hand, coiling around Elisavet's sword arm and pulling her deeper inside the flaying whirlwind, but it was the sword vibrating wildly in Chaaru's other hand that Marcius could not tear his eyes from. It was Hate.

Chaaru's magic began to peel away at Elisavet, the armour of her sensual garments began to spark fleeting golden lights. The Goddess' magic was protecting her, preventing her instantaneous death, but it was not perfect. Being sucked in, against her will, pains were sprouting. At the left side of her ribs, a hole in her Venusian skin began to pour out blood. The Champion was screaming, sweating with pain. Marcius' men could only watch the beautiful battle maiden being pulled straight into certain death.

Her arms did what they could to jerk away, but the Dark Elf was too strong. The greedy dark tendril around her blade snatched what it wanted, thrown the ground. Step by relectuent step, she was nearing the madman and his laughter, drunk off his own power. The closer she was pulled, the more she saw the cruelty in his pitch black eyes.

The wound at her side was gaping, blood spilling from her. Wetting the side of her body it was a freighting sight, dripping down her entire body. Chaaru fed off her screams, and with final yank brought her to him. With defiance, she punched the Dark Elf across the face, but he only seemed to laugh now in his whirlwind of death. Grasping her, he spun her around and drew her close.

He wanted this to be personal.

"I'M GOING TO EAT YOU, WHORE!" Hate was pulled up before her, attempting to slice her neck. Her tender hands grasped the persistent blade. All her strength was put into keeping it away from her, Chaaru dug his face into hair, mouth to her neck, his nose tickled by her intricate earrings.

Before all the men, she was weeping in her fight for her life. The blade Hate was absolute devastation to Elisavet. Visions of lovers both young and old, parents and their children, whole families were being separated by the sharp point of this blade. Each vision showed their fears, their feeble attempts to save each other, how meaningless their loving sacrifices were. It showed visions of men, women and children all being consumed by the being who was laughing in her ear. It was dreaded, her hands were oozing, blood moving down her arms.

Teeth punctured her skin and she shrieked, the blade almost touched her neck with her moment of shock. For the powerless men, this show was lethal in its anticipation. The messenger was going to die, and fear bubbled in their guts at the realization. Some were becoming sick, their gagging choking off the silent prayers to Mars. Marcius himself was trying to kick his horse towards them, but the animal shied away from the lethal whirlwind. The dux vaulted down from the saddle, only for his bodyguard Varrius to seize his arm and pull him back. Both men were shouting at each other, their voices lost in the howling wind.

Past everything, the Champion struggled to gain clarity. She had a duty to her Goddess, she had someone to protect that she loved. Wet eyes opened, and looking past the blade near her face, past the flying debris, she looked into Decius' eyes. She felt his pain, she understood the man he could become overcoming it. Her eyes searched for his heart. Her jade eyes were powerful in their love, vulnerability and courage. The Namorian commander seemed to freeze to the spot. She could only guess what he was thinking. The sword that had been his poisoned ally - that had nearly destroyed him - wielded by a returned nightmare that had almost done the same, about to snuff out the last sign of the gods' favour. When he had no allies left to turn to, only the black hole left by a murdered family. Even as the wider battle hung in the balance, now mirrored by her own life, Elisavet saw the emotion in the dux's eyes, and it looked like despair.

Hate cut deep into her hands, and fire burned through her body. Chaaru was eating her alive, blood all over his mouth and in her hair. A loud roar of power belted from her and she slammed her foot right into his shin, breaking it. The Dark Elf screamed and fell. She pushed Hate away from her, as blood sprinkled all over the ground.

Looking for her blade, she ran as fast as she could to it. The wound in her side was larger than her hand now, her muscle being ripped apart. To even move her shield arm provoked her to cry in pain. Her right hand grasped the blade. She quickly turned her entire body to face the crawling Dark Elf.

One of his slender hands reached out, as dark magic aimed to hold her. Elisavet raised her blade behind her, and with the Goddess' grace she threw her sword. In the middle of her warrior's display, the ribbon holding her bloodied pleated tail of hair was eaten by the hungry wind. Her hair unwound and flew about with force. The blade spun vertically at Chaaru, moving straight past his magic.

The tip of the blade pierced his forehead and didn't stop until it was firmly out the other side. A crunch was heard as the hilt slammed into the Dark Elf's nose and broke it, cutting his face in half. The Champion fell to her knees, her eyes not looking away from her defeated opponent. The dark elf's skull had burst apart, the peeled halves still wearing an expression of outraged surprise. It may have been the pain blurring her vision, but for a brief moment Elisavet thought she saw a second face swimming behind the blood and exposed brain matter. It was gaunt and red-eyed, smiling a broken-mirror smile. An instant later Chaaru collapsed, dissolving into a heap of wriggling maggots that squirmed away into the cracks of the broken pavement and were lost from sight.

You'll have to do better than that... she thought she heard the dark elf's voice whisper, though maybe it was the last breath of the whirlwind as it died away. Elisavet's sword clattered to the ground.

"Fetch a medicus!" someone ordered behind her. It was Marcius, shouting to one of his bodyguards as he came running forward. He went to one knee beside Elisavet as he used his good hand to steady the kneeling champion. His bodyguard Varrius bent to help, but hesitated and then backed away uneasily before he could touch Elisavet's shoulder.

Marcius carefully lowered Elisavet to the ground, clasping his hand over the bleeding wound in her side. He turned his head to look at the legionaries still holding back behind him - kept in place partially by discipline and partly by awe at what they had just witnessed.

"First cohort!" Marcius pointed his bandaged right arm down the slope towards the orc troops still marching resolutely into the pillar of light. He roared the order to hide the fact that his voice was almost cracking. "Take that plaza!"

The legionaries shouted an affirmative, shields thrusting forward as they advanced at double speed towards the orc spearmen blocking the plaza entrance, two hundred metres below them. They parted and reformed seamlessly around Marcius and his knot of officers and bodyguards, but few could resist turning their heads in fear or awe as they passed Elisavet. In an island of calm amid a sea of advancing legionaries, Marcius kept his hand pressed to Elisavet's side. Blood welled around his fingers.

"Stay with me, messenger." he told her, his forehead deeply furrowed. He closed his eyes for a moment as his staff instinctively drew back a pace, giving the injured demigoddess space.

"Perhaps you were right." Marcius said slowly as he opened his eyes, releasing a trail of tears down his cheeks. He held up his injured right hand. "When I got this...when the demon sword almost overwhelmed me...it was the thought of my-" He paused to swallow. "The thought of my wife and children that saved me."

He was speaking low, and the tramp and jangle of the hurrying legionaries masked his voice from the others around them.

"That demon you just defeated carried the same sword. And now I've seen love defeat hate for a second time. Perhaps you were right."

The messenger smiled. Her vision wasn't clear but she kept hold of Decius as best she could. His words were a powerful sign of hope to her, breaking her mind from the dark visions Hate forced her to witness. She hadn't the strength to speak, but she gave the man a small nod before shutting her eyes and thanking her Goddess for Decius' safety.

As the tide of blue-armoured legionaries continued to surge past them, the shouts and screams began anew as first cohort slammed into the orc cordon.

Aureyon
05-09-2014, 12:56 AM
Ech Zilidar

Jornak had been overcome by the tidal waterfall of black, his body being coated as thick as oil in water with the foul smelling liquid. Several dwarf guards were surrounding him speaking in their natural language, but he could not hear them as his mind was fuzzy struggling to maintain consciousness amid a field of madness and destruction.

He looked around him, the bodies of his brothers, his family, his people scattered throughout the streets in a river of gray and tan, beard and tusk, hair and fur. It was a gruesome sight to see his brethren tore apart, limbs scattered across the streets, hanging on lamp posts, the horrible odor of burning flesh flooding the field in a almost smoky haze; none were spared the violence of the grey-skinned demons.

As he stood, his eyes found their way onto the body of a dead dwarf infant, clutching to its mothers breast as if attempting to escape the horrors that it had seen, to see the lifelessness of the child brought true sorrow to the warrior's heart, a sorrow that so many of his people had been slaughtered under the cruel invasion of the grey-skins. Where were the Gods in this fight, Where were the Gods when their people needed them most?

These thoughts ran true through his mind as he leaned heavily against one of the dwarf guards surrounding him. He turned to the men assembled around him, in his little circle, a respite from the madness continuing around him. He wanted to just stay in this circle, to escape the horrors that were continuing to happen around him.

As he was about to speak, he was struck frozen, by the image of Davekrir, his truest friend that had been slain in battle many years ago. His heart beat wildly as his friend waded amid the sea of darkness towards the circle that had been formed around him.

Jornak rose, and made his way from the circle, oblivious to the chaos around him as he stepped across the field of battle, narrowly missing flying debris and axes as if everything around him had been slowed to a snails pace. He was oblivious to his men calling to their King, calling for a retreat from the creature lumbering toward them.

He only saw Davekrir, his mind was filled with memories that had long been locked away, and he only sought the comfort of his long dead friend...and lover. He had hid their relationship from the dwarf community, as it would not be understood among his family and the other noble houses, but his love for him had lessened none since the death of him.

He raised his hand to place his palm on the cheek of his dead lover, but his hand only passed through, at which point Davekrir gave a sad smile and spoke only a single sentence before fading into the smoky haze around the battlefield.

“Save your people Jornak, do not give up hope.” And with that single sentence, it was as if the world came alive around him. The sounds of battle assaulted every last inch of ever sense that he possessed and his guard's words finally reached his ears.

“Sire, we must flee the field. We have lost too many men to hold out any longer, if we lose anymore the army of Ech Zilidar will not recover.”

“Sound the retreat, but have my guard remain with me. We will finish the last beast and then a full retreat to the refugee column will commence. Have our reserves aid the Namorian allies, the rest of us will protect the refugee column.” Jornak ended with a tone the echoed finality.

The dwarf horns sounded, echoing off the cavern walls of the city, magnifying it to near sonic proportions, as the retreat was called and the dwarf army began to pull back out of the city and in the refugee column.

Jornak turned to his men, his eyes meeting those of the last few members of his royal guard.

“My loyal guards, I cannot ask you to stay and fight for your king when I have not been king long enough to earn your respect. But, I do not ask you to fight for me, I ask you to fight for those who have fallen--” he motioned to the scene of devastation around him, knowing the remaining giant was closing in on the last few dwarves that remained by Jornak’s side “-- for those who cannot defend themselves, for the pride of Ech Zilidar, for our Mother Eternum, and for our Patron Vulcan!”

As Jornak finished his speech, his words were met with the cheers and renewed vigor of his last remaining men, and they charged into battle; ducking and weaving, avoiding the swings of the giants' club.

Axe met flesh, club met armor, dwarf met beast, and the battle continued until only the giant and Jornak remained standing.

Without a second thought, Jornak ascended the makeshift ladder created by the dwarf weapons and again ended up on the neck of the giant beast, raising his battle-axe high above him in an curved position.

“VULCAN!!!!!!” Jornak roared as he swung his axe, seemingly flooded with renewed energy, and his axe met the creature's neck, passing cleanly through it and shearing the head off entirely. Jornak rolled as the creature fell to the stone streets with a minor earthquake caused by the impact.

The last thing he saw before he succumbed to pure exhaustion and injury was the figure of Davekrir, smiling before finally disappearing forever in the smoke that was created by the fires raging in the city.

Azazeal849
05-14-2014, 03:04 PM
<Gold text belongs to DoK>

ECH ZILIDAR

Namorians stabbed and punched with their shields, orcs split armour and severed limbs with their hooked falx blades, and another tide line of bodies began to build up at the north end of the plaza. The cramped fight devolved into a pushing match, but at a roared order from a greyskin leader, fresh orcs peeled off from the march column to thicken the cordon, and the line held. The melee slowed as both the Namorians and the orcs tired. The Fulminata retired, rotated ranks, and charged again, in the brutal attrition tactics that were feared up and down Eternum. But they could not break the orc line, as more and more reinforcements continually peeled off from the march column - just enough to hold the Namorians back. Eventually even the Fulminata's elite 1st cohort had to admit defeat.

They withdrew up the hill, dragging their wounded, and the orcs simply let them go. They snarled and jeered at the retreating Namorians, but they did not budge from their positions to pursue. Reinforcements arrived from 5th cohort with Varinius at its head, but over the next few hours Marcius could only watch as three more times the allied army attacked, and three more times they were beaten back. Casualties were relatively light, but fatigue was far more crippling. After fighting street by street to the causeway that marked the central meridian of the dwarf city, half of the Fulminata legion could do no more, and the other half were either guarding against counterattacks or had already been spent trying to break into the orc-held plaza. The crocolykes were a final reserve that Marcius was reluctant to commit to a seemingly futile task, and Jornak's dwarfs had already withdrawn after being mauled by the giants. The Romans were immortal, but their unwieldy four legions were either too far behind to help, or just as tired as their Namorian counterparts.

The flanking attack, as Marcius' couriers soon reported, had not gone as planned either. Hercules and his Greeks had poured from the northern end of the cavern, feeding company by company into a methodically expanding hemisphere of pikes. But the orcs had employed the same tactic of throwing a delaying wall of bodies against them - instead of cutting the orc army in two and driving one half against the city and their waiting allies, they had become bogged down some distance from the city walls. The Greeks' implacable advance over a carpet of greyskin corpses slowed, and then halted altogether as even the immortals reached their limits. Hercules roared in frustration as time and again his lightning bolts blew craters in the enemy ranks, only for them to immediately refill.

Eventually the battle petered out, and the allied army could only slump against their shields and watch as the rest of the orc army filed through the plaza with impunity. Last of all the orc rearguards withdrew, fighting off a final half-hearted push from the Namorians on one side and the Greeks on the other, and the distrustful allies were left staring grimly at each other through the still-burning pillar of light as the last orcs disappeared. None were brave or foolish enough to follow them into the light. A guard was set around the empty plaza, and the rest of the allies paused to lick their wounds.

A preliminary count of the dead showed a tactical victory, but dux Marcius wore a grim mask as he contemplated a far more strategic defeat. He barely acknowledged senator Agrippa as the adviser to queen Nesara picked his way through to the command post.

"General." the senator said. As he rose from his respectful bow, his thick eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. "At least we bought time for the refugees to escape towards Tu Zenita Duksal. The queen sends her sincerest thanks."

"Thanks might be premature." Marcius growled, still staring fixedly towards the pillar of light that blazed above the rooftops. His left hand touched the iron hilt of his gladius to ward away ill luck. "We don't know where all those greyskins went."


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

"Greetings." he said, before tilting his head like a wolf preparing to strike its prey.

"Abomination!" one of Shanaar's guards snarled, his khopesh flashing in the firelight as he raised the crooked blade and started forward. General Shanaar's arm snapped out like a striking cobra and caught the man across the chest, arresting his charge. The force of the blow cartwheeled the man backwards and left him gasping on his back on the floor. Shanaar rose to his full height and stepped forward, his eagle eyes narrowed and his arms held tense away from his sides.

"Set?" he rumbled softly.

"Set? No no..." The darkened figure walked forward, grinning with his dark foreboding stare - as if he had seen the future and it involved sickening events. "I'm not him. I could never be him."

"Yet you have the storm god's aura."

"I am Altius. I have come to ask questions of you."

"Altius." Shanaar repeated, testing the sound of the name. "That sounds like one of the native names."

The man grinned. "Correct."

He held out his hand and stroked the thin silk that adorned one of the walls, a banner of Shanaar and those who followed him - showing all the power and strength that the leader held, with his army being the largest.

"My questions, in fact, may be rather peculiar to you." The man looked back at Shanaar, his eyes coated in darkness. "In fact...they might seem, how should I say this...bemusing."

The blackened soldier stroked his hand through his hair and smiled at the men positioned around Shanaar's chambers, almost as if he were a child in a candy shop. He drew his own sword, a darkened gladius, and looked at it.

"You know, I think your blades are rather interesting - tell me, why do you use such...odd weaponry?" Altius grinned at Shanaar, though his voice was laden with happiness - whether it was feigned or not, Shanaar could only guess.

The general frowned, but decided to indulge the strange visitor. A messenger with the aura of one of the gods, on the night where he would checkmate his biggest rival and ascend the throne, could only be a sign - even if he was sent by chaotic Set instead of his patron Isis.

Shanaar held out his right arm, and after some hesitation one of his still-standing guards pulled the khopesh from his waist and handed it hilt-first to the general. Shanaar hefted the blade, with the ease of familiarity and the dexterity of lethal skill. He held it up towards Altius; the hilt, the tip of the shallowly curved blade, and his arm all in line with his eye.

"The khopesh." he explained, and executed a smooth, viper-quick lunge with the sharp outer arc of the blade. "For slashing."

He jabbed the tip forward, a quick lethal thrust. "For stabbing."

He recovered, then slid the blade forward again, this time out to one side. "And for hooking round shields."

He mimed sliding the blunt inner curve around the edge of an opponent's shield, skewering their arm. Then he turned the sword and jerked it back, where the barb at the bottom end of the curve would catch the shield and rip it away from the injured opponent's grip, leaving them open for the deathblow.

Shanaar twirled the khopesh to reverse his hold, and handed it back to his bodyguard. "This is the blade that is going to conquer this world, for the glory of Egypt."

Altius looked at the blade and smiled before drawing his own. "See, this is a proper blade."

He flicked it around and deftly swung it with the experience that he had gained as a member of the Fulminata legion. His show was mesmerizing, yet natural - there was nothing fancy about the way that he carried his sword, nor the way he swung it. The weight on the blade was what would be expected of a gladius, and the power behind the man's arm was normal and not increased by the clear corruption Set had placed upon his body.

"Impressive." Shanaar growled, his face expressionless.

"Oh yes!" Altius said. "I had some question for you - all this talk about swords is making me lose track, I beg your pardon."

"Then ask them." Shanaar rumbled softly, beginning to lose patience in spite of himself.

"Yes yes, no need to get pushy." Altius laughed as he put his sword away, before shifting his body stance and all of a sudden becoming much, much more sinister. He lifted his hand as a fog of darkness formed itself into three figures.

One of them was dressed in similar armour to Altius, though he looked more commanding and more rough; he was taller than Altius and more muscular - resulting a very imposing figure. He held short black hair typical of the legion, and a cleanshaven face, showing off his square jaw and blocky features.

Another of them was a masked male with no discerning features that could be seen - he held a hood that laid across his forehead, though his blonde locks of hair were clearly visible. He stood at around 6 foot tall. Two scabbards sat at his waist, though one of them was empty. The visible areas of his body were coated in layers of scar tissue - showing previous battles that he had fought in.

The final member of the trio was a small girl with 5 horns laying on her head, pointing backwards. Her eyes glowed bright orange, even when created by the darkness that Altius had power over. They glowed with vigour amongst the darkness, almost like torches in an abyssal cave. Unlike the other two, she wore no armor but only a plain, cotton blouse coloured green. She were a brown leather vest over that and a short skirt - also green - as well. On her feet were a pair of leather boots.

"I need to know if you have seen these 3...they're my friends." Altius smiled.

Shanaar's guards quailed away from the show of power, but the general himself merely narrowed his eyes. He stepped forward, circling the projection.

"Another native...one of the ancients...and an abomination." he murmured. "No, I haven't seen them - in this life or the previous one. What do the gods want with them?"

"Hah...the Gods want nothing of them." Altius turned and began walking towards the door - now that his questions had been answered he had no more purpose to be there than a citizen with no folly. "It's what I want with them that you should be thinking about, Egyptian." Before leaving, Altius paused an held up his hand, an index finger poised towards the ceiling before he turned once more to face the would-be emperor again, his eyes now glowing golden like the 'abomination' that Shanaar had pointed out. "Enjoy whatever power you may have while you can, Egyptian. For soon I shall strip you to bones and throw you back to the Underworld."

Before Shanaar could even speak, Altius had left.

"You dare...!" the general spat, his eyes blazing. He rushed to the door, but Altius had already disappeared as if he had never existed.

"General..." one of Shanaar's bodyguards ventured, hesitantly. "This creature of Set is clearly warning us. Perhaps we should..."

"NO!" Shanaar snarled venemously. "I am Isis' chosen! Set seeks only discord, sowing the seeds of doubt. Fuck him and fuck his messengers!" When one of his guards made a warning sign against the blasphemy, Shanaar struck him across the face, knocking the man to the floor.

"We go to meet with Ahsha!" the general declared through gritted teeth. "With the goddess and the jackal god as my witnesses, I will be pharaoh! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5gwOxCzyJk)"


* * * * * *

The tension in Ovidius' chest increased to a thumping crescendo, then abruptly fell away into a diamond-hard point of focus as the doors to the town hall heaved open. Iset strode through first with the four wiry jackal-warriors at her side, defiant in her crocodile-hide armour. Ovidius and his chosen men followed, grim and merciless as they spread out to block the only exit.

When Ovidius had last been here, the hall had been laid out for a feast; now the circular chamber was almost bare, with only the alcoves of the gods' shrines spaced around the perimeter, their simulacra-carved doors lit up by torches that were bracketed on the walls to either side of each. Inside the shadowed ring of the main floor, a pool of light bathed six figures standing at the room's centre. Ovidius recognised Anne and Suiyana flanking the high priest Ahsha on one side, with Shanaar and two of his guards stood opposite. One of the two sorceresses had projected a dim halo of light over the high priest, whose proud face was inscrutable under the chiaroscuro. In the more natural, flickering light emanating from the torches held by Shanaar's guards, Ovidius could see that Shanaar himself was as tense as a caged lion. His fists were clenched away from his sides, and his eagle eyes were flashing in the firelight - something had angered him.

Anne looked controlled, and to her credit so did Suriyana, though Ovidius could only imagine what his lover was feeling. He wanted to catch her eye, to reassure her, but he could not risk giving the game away at the last moment. No turning back now.

Shanaar was certainly playing his part - his surprised outrage looked almost genuine as he spun in time with the others towards the sound of the doors banging open.

"General!" Iset snapped at Shanaar before either of the other egyptian leaders could speak. Her eyes narrowed at the visual confirmation of the supposed conspiracy against her, her sandals clapping lightly against the floor alongside the more sinister click of the Anubans' clawed feet. "I need to speak with you."

Shanaar's lips pulled back into a sneer as he matched Iset's venomous look. "To what end, vizier?"

"Yours." Iset answered, as all four of her jackal warriors bounded forward.


* * * * * *

EMOR

As the morning sun beat down on the Namorian capital, the Basilica Claudia was in uproar. Outside the great rectangular complex, rows of harassed-looking city watchmen guarded the entrances, searching the incoming citizens thoroughly for concealed weapons. Inside the basilica's two storeys of arched walls, the shops, banks and government offices were open as normal, but it was the vast central hall of the public courthouse from which the shouting came.

With the hunt for the Avengers weighing on their minds, Gaius and Seppia would not normally have been present, even though such trials were open to the public. But the seemingly unprovoked rampage by several of the emperor's praetorians the previous night had drawn half the nobility of Emor, including most of the senate and even the emperor himself. Five praetorians had acted alone; seemingly deranged, they had been hacked to pieces before surrendering to the city's peacekeepers. A sixth, one decanus Glaber, had done likewise, but seemed to have roped several other praetorians into his mad killing spree, and soldiers of the 2nd legion had managed to take three of them alive.

Those three now stood in chains in the centre of the floor, flanked by guards from the city watch. They were loudly protesting that they had acted under orders, but were unable to cite where the unhinged Glaber had got his own orders from. Meanwhile several citizens, a centurion whose face and arms were visibly lacerated from subduing the traitors, and even a sobbing Hercynian slave girl were giving evidence. That the men would be found guilty and executed was almost beyond question, but the real argument began as the casualties from the bloody night were revealed.

"Namorian senators have been murdered in the empire's capital, in their own homes!" senator Aemilia was shouting at the top of her voice. "And not just any senators! Novius and Rufus both recently abstained from the vote on denying aid to Hercine. And what of the men who killed them? Six praetorians don't just go rogue, on the same night!"

Seppia flinched. She could sense where senator Aemilia was going, and many others in the courtroom seemed to have guessed too. One by one they were lapsing into shocked silence, but the senator carried on regardless. Through it all the emperor sat immobile on his throne at the head of the hall. Galen Claudius looked somehow different to Seppia - no longer irritable and stressed, he seemed determined; cold. But it wasn't the cool, glacial calm of sudden inspiration or the reassurance of the gods - it was the sharp and deadly cold of a knife about to be drawn.

"What are you saying, senator?" the emperor said, his voice a low growl in the now-silent courtroom. The senator beside Aemilia tugged on her arm in an urgent suggestion for her to sit back down, but she ignored him.

"I am saying, imperator," she went on. "That twenty men who were on guard in your majesty's throne room last night have disappeared. Six of them were the men who last night killed two senators critical of your majesty's policies, along with a number of citizens who showed an interest in our Roman allies, and gods know how many loyal soldiers who got in their way."

The praetorian guards were standing in disciplined silence, but their eyes were switching around the room. Some were openly glaring at Aemilia.

"Are you suggesting that you value the Romans above your own people, senator?" the emperor asked coldly.

"If none of the praetorian officers know anything of this," Aemilia replied, in too deep now to retreat even if she had wanted to, "And that seems to be their claim, the order could only have come from one man."

"You think I ordered this?" said the emperor, in the same dangerously cold voice. "What you are suggesting...might be construed as treason. You're not a traitor, are you senator?"

There was a deadly silence.

"C-c-court will reconvene in ten minutes!" blurted an official standing at the emperor's side, and waved his hands as if he was physically trying to clear the tension from the air. Hundreds of voices erupted as people hastened to obey; some whispering, some shouting. Seppia saw senator Aemilia stalk out of the room, and the emperor whisper something to his praetorian commander as he stood up. Seppia felt fingers of ice close around her heart.

Seppia looked to her husband, and then to her friend Julia who had been seated two seats down from them. The young aristocrat looked worried sick - it was, after all, her husband in the witness stand; the wounded centurion who had apprehended the men that senator Aemilia was now accusing of acting on the emperor's orders.

"Gaius," Seppia said, having to swallow before her dry throat could produce the name. "I need your owl. I have to write to cousin Decius."

Gaius nodded, forcefully, but seeming somehow distracted. "You do that. I'll go and speak with our allies."

"Now?" Seppia asked, her mouth falling open. Then she remembered something else as she wondered how here husband was going to ride to meet the brigands who were supposedly their lead to Lycinia's murderers. "You didn't come back with your horse last night - how will you get there? What happened to him anyway?"

"He was tired, and I was in a hurry." Gaius explained brusquely. "I had to borrow one of our allies' horses and give it back at the gates. As for now, I'll hire one."

He stopped to squeeze his wife's hand and kiss her forehead, and then he dashed off into the crowd hurrying out of the courtroom. As he disappeared through one of the arches leading out the south side of the basilica, Seppia's eye was drawn to the strange sight of a raven fluttering and cawing atop one of the pillars.

Minkasha
05-14-2014, 11:44 PM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Jóhann‘s Bedchambers

Hella (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARhm8-g8OzA)swallowed down the air gasped into her mouth from the woman’s head she cradled on her chest. The lover was starting to still, her shakes and sounds ending in long drawn sigh.

“Well done, sister” The eldest kissed the woman’s lips gently, the concubine returned it weakly. “You are a fast learner, should have joined us sooner” Karla lifted her head from between the woman’s legs, her sharp eyes glared deep into her sibling.

“Do not compare me to you, you’re disgusting” her shined lips spat. “This whole family is disgusting…” Hella giggled, a hand swept away the sweaty hair from the concubine’s forehead. “I do not have a choice”

“Oh, but you do little sister” an anger provoking smirk came forth. “You could go back to harming yourself the way Kalle does. You were doing well….” A hand moved through the concubine’s wet hair, strands falling between the fingers. “Until you got Max’s pojkvän killed”

Karla sent her open hand straight to her sister’s face, but it was caught, a grasp around the wrist. Concubines giggled and caressed each other around them.

“That was mother’s doing! She manipulated me!” Hella would not return the passion in her gaze, that classic smug look holding. Droplets of womanhood were collected gently with a fingertip, inserted into her mouth to taste it. A small sound of pleasure gave way from its exquisite taste.

“You chose to be free sister, he was only the bait...” Hella held the wrist that was trying to break free. “And that’s why you are here with us” she turned her head to Jóhann who was sloppily occupying two of their charmed lovers. “Would you agree brother?” While he seemed rather distracted, he managed a nod.

“What freedom is there? We are cursed! Trapped!” She shivered while her older sister’s finger moved slowly across her lower lip. Another taste was put into Hella’s mouth with sounding satisfaction.

“No, we are powerful, we are free” Hella let go of her dear sister and pulled the spent woman close to her. “It is these people who are trapped, weak” Karla was made ill by her two eldest siblings, but she couldn’t deny the rush of power and expansion she felt when its explosive heights. As much as she wished to lie to herself…maybe her sister was right. Her hand instinctively rubbed the wrist, hoping somehow that could clean away the filth. “You do not know how to use your power. When you do, you’ll feel free”

Karla’s mind spun with all her years of detached suffering: the burning, the yearning, the wanting to take and be taken. Could she return to that now that she’s dived deep into her bloodline sin?

“How do I use my power?” she was defeated…she was who she was. Karla’s surrender pleased Hella greatly, the smirk grew. She was reminded of Zahneri’s instruction.

“Our power is here” her finger moved to the concubine’s center and the woman perked up with a shudder. “Focus here, our magic is here” the finger taunted and teased, soft body shook up against soft body. “When you feel the warmth…focus on who and what you want…and you will have it”

Karla was wide eyed, shifting from woman to woman. Finally she honed on the concubine. Her magic was a weak tingle at first, but she continued to build and build, it was becoming pleasurable.

“I want…power” anger poisoned her words; the concubine pulled herself up and held onto Karla.

“I will do anything you ask, mistress” It was freighting how easy that was…she really was powerful.

With this she could make her own freedom. She saw the truth in the frantic desire on the woman’s face.

Ech Zildar, Dun Moriga – Field Hospital

The Medicus could not treat Elisavet at the location she lay. Quickly, men moved her from the bloody spot on the causeway to the stretcher. There was an air of panic shared by all the aiding men. The messenger, the demon slayer paling, and fast. Someone tried to grab her blade, but was unable to touch it. A sense of reverence stayed his hand.

“GO NOW!” he provoked the legionaries. Saturninus was holding pressure to her wound. A pale blonde woman among the tan skinned, and dark haired men. Somehow her extreme polar opposite aesthetic added to the awe of this Venusian woman, but it also made the contrast of her blood and her skin that much brighter and undeniable. The men were keeping the stretcher as steady as they could, but it was inevitable for the stretcher to shake slightly with their heightened speed. Each motion brought a greater sense of guilt and worry as Elisavet whimpered in pain in sync.

In one of the remain buildings in the city, the field hospital was set. Elisavet was far from the only bloodied and groaning person, all around her was pain and loss. Placed on a table, Saturninus paused for a moment. Treating a woman on the battlefield was nothing he had done before, especially a messenger of Venus. He prayed for Mars for strength of will to keep himself steady through this and he deeply hoped he was not acting in any disrespectful way towards the demigoddess.

Reluctantly, but most certainly professionally, she was stripped of her toga from the waist up. All of the other men felt uncomfortable and didn’t dare look at her. No one could remove the shield, the medicus was going to have to work around the obtuse object. Her vast golden hair spilled about and off the table, shield arm dangled off to the side. Blood was dripping from the side next to the medicus’ feet.

Saturnius ran on instinct: applying honey and achillea to her various wounds to prevent infection, using boiled needle and twine he sutured the grievous wound at her side, left shoulder, left side of her neck and both of her hands. The work was strenuous, she had been given wine laced willow to help with the pain, but she seemed so lost from consciousness that it didn't matter. And her silence was a terrible sign, as morbid as that was.

Boiled bandages were being wrapped around her, instantly turning shades of red a bit at the wounds. Her entire torso had to be wrapped up to her neck, as well as her hands. Medicus Saturnius looked at his work and thought over and over again if there was anything else he could do. But truly it was up now to the messenger and the gods. She was dirtied with blood but he dare not touch her more than what was mandatory.

A messenger was sent to dux Marcius to report on her treatment, she still hung in critical state.

While her body was still, her mind was filling with a surfacing darkness.

Branjaskr, The Free South

From outside villages, Southerners were starting to seek shelter behind the stone walls. Some remained out of bravery, or anger, but none were judged for their choices. The demands to arm every person within the capital was growing increasingly more difficult. More and more Branjaskr was looking to be the last stand of the Free South.

Azazeal849
05-20-2014, 04:22 PM
EMOR

The cool stone walls of the office gave some relief from the rising temperature outside the Basilica, but the refreshment wine on the table lay untouched. Centurion Marcus Agrippa was shifting his weight from foot to foot, seemingly fighting the urge to pace. One arm was around his young wife Julia, and the other kept coming up to run stressed fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. Also in the room was Julia’s friend Seppia, a quill and parchment in her hands, and the senator who had summoned him here.

“With all due respect, senator.” he told Aemilia, who was watching him with folded arms and grave eyes. “What in Mars’ name were you doing, accusing the emperor like that?”

“You told me that decanus Glaber claimed to be on the emperor’s business when he murdered his way through the Roma district.” Aemilia answered him defiantly.

"All praetorians are on the emperor's business. And his name is a great way to stop people from questioning you. If he wasn’t acting on his own mad impulse, he must have told those three wretches down in the dock who had really given him the order. So why do they claim not to know? They have nothing to lose at this point."

At Marcus’ side, Julia looked from her husband to the senator and back again. Aemilia was one of quite a few senators who had become openly critical of the emperor’s decisions as the imperium’s problems continued to pile up. But this went beyond abstaining from the vote on policies they disagreed with, as was the generally accepted means of protest. Directly accusing the emperor of being behind last night’s murder spree was suicide – politically and quite possibly literally.

"Someone could have talked to the survivors in prison, promised them mercy...” Aemilia argued. “It might have even been a fellow praetorian trying to protect what's left of the Guard's honour."

"The praetorians are loyal to the emperor more than the imperium.” Marcus said, folding his arms to match the senator’s stance. “That's why they're praetorians."

"But surely some of them will question the orders of a madman."

“Those praetorians were mad for sure.” Marcus admitted, gritting his teeth at the memory. "But what makes you think the emperor is?"


* * * * * *

Amana was not usually one for tears, but she had just had her world ripped out from under her. She had escaped the villa and the mad praetorian with her life, but senator Novius and his wife had not been so lucky. Her dominus had had no living relatives, which meant that all of his property - herself included - now belonged to the state and were to be sold at auction to the highest bidder. Whoever bought her was unlikely to afford her the same favour and privilege as Novius had. And as if that wasn't enough, she was to be dragged up before the court to recount the whole nightmarish ordeal against the murderer's supposed accomplices. As much as she wanted to see the killers punished, she had no desire to relive those harrowing events so soon. Even as she thought about it, the scene in the courtyard of her former home flashed before her eyes.

"The emperor sends his regards." the praetorian rasped as he drove the knife home.

Amana hadn't been able to understand at the time, but she had blurted it all out to the first city watchmen she had found all the same. Now, in the court, one of the senators had openly accused the emperor himself of being behind the murders. Amana was a sharp woman, but even the dimmest minds in the Basilica Claudia could have worked out that the situation was spiraling towards trouble. Senator Aemilia's case was circumstantial, but convincing - and more than a few people in the courtroom must have realised that, even if they were too scared to speak up. Once they had had a chance to converse during the current intermission, they might become braver. Amana didn't like that. Her report of the praetorian's words, which she had until then taken to be just the ravings of a madman, might now be construed as evidence backing up senator Aemilia's claim. And that put her right in the middle of the battle between Aemilia and the emperor.

Amana wanted nothing more than to withdraw her testimony and get away, but the decision was not a slave's to make. Now she had been summoned - or rather, roughly dragged by her upper arm - into a back office by one of the blue-cloaked praetorians. Only one man could have commanded the soldier, and sure enough, inside the office the emperor himself was waiting. Amana forcibly sniffed back her tears as the praetorian shoved her inside the door.

The room was dominated by a desk, strewn with papers and a large plate of emmer breads that had been drizzled with olive oil. A carafe of wine, already half empty, sat nearby. In the far corner a second praetorian stood guard, this one with the high plumed helmet of a centurion. A cushioned chair behind the paper-covered desk had been pushed roughly back, and in front of the wooden table Galen Claudius was pacing like a caged animal, sweat darkening the collar of his toga as it fell in white folds across his barrel chest and large belly. Amana immediately went to her knees. She didn't dare to meet the emperor's gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. Even being sold on to a new master was preferable to losing her head here and now.

She waited fearfully for the emperor to speak. There were only a few reasons she could think of for Galen Claudius to summon her here, after what had just happened in the courtroom.

He can’t hurt me. she reasoned with herself. Not when I’m an announced witness. After Aemilia’s accusation, it’d be suicidal. Somehow, the logic didn’t seem to help much.

"You are the slave Amana, formerly of the house of Novius?" the emperor spoke.

Amana kept her eyes on the blue and silver mosaic tiles, but she could tell from his voice alone that Galen Claudius was simmering with barely controlled anger. She licked her lips to try and moisten them, but her tongue was dry.

"Y-yes, imperator." she managed after a moment.

“And you are to give evidence at this trial?”

The question felt horribly like a trap. Amana chose her words as carefully as she could, as a twist of fear coiled up from her chest to pulse against her windpipe. “I am required to, imperator.”

"Not any more." the emperor told her coldly. "I made a purchase ahead of the official auction. You now belong to me. And as such, you will no longer be giving evidence in this trial."

The fear marginally relaxed its grip on Amana’s throat, in spite of the emperor’s icy tone. Clearly there was some political game afoot here, but for the moment she was simply grateful to not be thrown into the witness stand. Personally, she supported Aemilia's faction as her dead master had - but without his protection she was terrified of the prospect of being thrown right in the middle of the feuding Namorian elite.

“Thank you, imperator.” she murmured. Perhaps being sold to her master's old enemy wouldn't be so bad - if she kept her head down and got a chance to prove her talents...perhaps she could even take some of Novius' ideas straight to the highest authority...

“Don’t thank me, slave.” Galen Claudius snapped at her, shocking her out of the thought and filling her once more with fear. He narrowed his eyes. “Get her out of here.”

The praetorian outside the door stepped forward once more to seize Amana’s arm, and she stumbled away, only too glad to be out of the tension-laden office. Galen Claudius groped for a round cake of emmer bread and bit into it, then paused to suck the olive oil from his fingertips. He lingered on the forefinger, remembering the heat of the demon’s mouth, and he shivered slightly. My secret...

“Novius was a traitor.” he growled to the centurion who remained standing behind him. “And anyone who lived under his roof was the same. After the trial, I want that slave killed. Publically.” His eyes narrowed. “And as for Aemilia and the others...”


* * * * * *

THE FREE SOUTH

The wind was howling, and the cold numbed Gaius’ hands even through the thick wool of his gloves. He clung on tightly with his frozen fingers, even though he was securely tied to Alya by a leather harness. The size of the drop below them was dizzying. Even with the snow swirling to mask their true altitude, every now and then the storm would subside and Gaius’ heart would lurch as he caught a glimpse of the ground below. Every peak and cliff of the rocks jutting out of the snow was laid out below him like a vast mosaic, and the black-clad soldiers swarming among the tents looked no bigger than ants.

There was nothing below his dangling fur boots, only a mile of empty air, and nothing holding him up but the harness and the steadily beating wings of his demonic warden. The white feathers swooshed as they cut their way through the buffeting air currents. Gaius hung on tighter despite himself. He had expected the proximity of the demon to repulse him; a stinking, coppery odour or a burning against his skin, something that mirrored the corruption inside. Instead, Alya was pale and soft, with hair that smelled slightly of cinnamon – almost human, except that she remained unnaturally warm despite her lack of protection against the snowstorm that had already frosted Gaius’ hood and cloak white.

All of a sudden, Gaius heard a ringing in his ears, and a familiar prickle against his skin. Tearing his eyes up from the drop below him, he saw a sickly purple light darkening the whiteout.

“We’re getting close!” he shouted over the wind.

Alya reversed her wingbeats and pulled upright in the air, hovering on a rising current. She was just in time, because at that moment the swirling snow parted once again and they found themselves almost on top of the pillar of light – its magenta lance striking up from the camp far below until it was lost in the clouds overhead. Gaius tried to follow it up, had to close his eyes against the stinging snowfall, and looked down instead. From his lofty vantage point, it was remarkably easy to pick out the ebb and flow of movement among the camp. The black ants milled to and fro, but at the base of the light pillar they were surging outwards in an expanding circle. They were surging out of the light. Gaius was gripped by a sense of foreboding at the revelation, one which made him temporarily forget his fear of the gulf between him and the ground.

“The light is a portal!” he shouted to Alya, “A magical portal! This is where they’re coming from!”

As he looked down at the camp that was sprawled across the plateau below him, almost as far as he could see in all directions, Gaius realised that the assessment wasn’t quite accurate. The mustering army had to number over a hundred thousand, bigger even than the army that his own imperium had sent to invade the South. And at the southern extremity of the camp, as obvious from this height as pieces moving on a chessboard, some of them were beginning to strike camp and assemble into the solid blocks of a march column. The invaders weren’t coming. They were already here.

And now they were on the move.

Epostle
05-22-2014, 02:58 AM
In the days of old, back when things still remained as they seemed, Sovereign in all his glory was up and walking about, thinking of many things that had transpired between Odin and his father Braiga. It was night at this time, the stars were next to non-existent as demon energies desecrated the very air in it’s redish-brown aura. The air reeked of both demon and demi-god blood, with stained and blighted the very ground he stood upon, only to realize that it would be centuries before any of the ground would return to its luscious green self.

Bodies of demons, demi-gods, elves, and many more species were littered around the area, though were carefully moved away and out of the mini-cave like area. The mountain had a pass in it, which was one of the many ways demons would have been able to proceed into the the Garden of Eden. The cave was dark and deep, though was cleared when Sovereign and his sibling arrived there. He couldn’t help but to only watch as war continued throughout the area below. Shrieks and screams of those being slaughtered could be heard a distance away, still echoing throughout the air as if nothing else existed.

A campfire was made atop the ledge which the cave stood upon. It was high in the air, high enough to were no ground soldiers would come to reach unless they climbed. Then it would be a suicide run to climb up that high. Sovereign and Love stayed upon the mountain ledge, Sovereign was pacing about while Love was sitting, dangling her feet of the ledge of the high mountain. Sovereign couldn’t wrap his head around Odin’s decision on abandoning the Lotus Empire. It wasn’t too long after the thoughts had finally build up along with his anger, that he kick off a small rock off the ledge.

Love saw the actions of her brother and stated happily “What are you doing little brother? What’s got you so troubled up here? We can actually sleep and rest for a moment before we head back down to the kill zone.” Sovereign turned to look at her and spoke angrily “Are you that daft? Don’t you see what had happened sister? Odin has removed his blessings from our empire, but why? I don’t understand it…” He paused as he began to rub his head a bit trying to calm back down.

“I understand what you’re saying.” She said as she silently and intensely stared down at the killzone. “I am not the one to fully understand Odin’s decision, but when a god says no, that’s usually all it comes down to. Wouldn’t you mind grabbing the food off the fire, I’m quite hungry and you’ve been really slow at cooking it.” She told him jokingly. He looked at her and smirked as he said “Yes ma’am, would you like me to rub your feet or better yet, bathe you in gold as you delightfully dance in it like a mad woman?” He then walked over and began stirring the pot of food. It wasn’t much, just a few raw veggies with water. “Our food rations are lowering, especially the further out of the empire we go.” he said cautiously, measuring the amount of food in the pot.

She then got up off the ledge, stretched out and yawned as she began to state “Indeed they are, but that’s because you and Drath keep eating it all. Though more Drath than you, especially considering his size.” She said, once again joking and smiling as she said that. She began to walk over towards the fire in order to have a better light. It was really warm outside due to the massive war and fire going about everywhere. “Do you think that maybe father angered Odin?” Love said taking the time to be serious with Sovereign for a moment.”

He then tested the food to see it we ready, but to no avail. Hearing Love’s question while trying to finish the food, he looked to her and said with a serious and intense tone, “So you’re not the only one who guesses that notion huh? I guess I’m not the only mad one around here, am I?” He said, waiting for Love’s response. “Well, you know how our father is. He is a powerful ruler and has no shame in anything he does, which leads me to believe that maybe he told Odin something that he couldn’t get the cooperation on.” she said thoroughly thinking the situation through.

Sovereign shook his head, stood back up leaving the spoon in the pot swirling as he stated “I don’t know… it’s damnable it is. Why though… why would father do something so wreckless? Even so, what could he have said that even mad e a god turn his back on you? I don’t buy it for a moment.” Love walked up behind Sovereign as she placed a hand on his shoulder and asked softely “Have you ever thought that maybe we’re nothing more than pawns… like maybe we were sent here to die?”

Sovereign quickly turned to her, brushing her hand off and stated, “Impossible! As much as our father loves us, how could you even speak that way? He is the one who clothed you, raised you, trained you…” She then let out a silent reply, “Which makes me think that maybe we were only raised as tools of war… and serve no other purpose. Now that Odin has forsaken us… what are we really? And what of Gabrielle… you know that he’s hurt by this notion. He hasn’t been speaking to us for the past 4 days, ever since you even mentioned the name Odin…” He then smiled at her and said “We’ll be fine. Gabrielle is taking it a bit rough… but that’s because he placed a lot of faith in Odin. To see him take his hand off the empire and to leave him like that, no longer acknowledging Gabrielle as his son isn’t exactly something you just shrug off.”

Love looked down and away from him as she turned and walked back to the pot. She then looked into the cave where the others were resting, only to have more thoughts raise in her head. “You know that Gabrielle hasn’t been acting right. I know that he’s taken it hard… but he’s… different. He’s no longer lovable and vibrant… but has grown colder. His killing techniques have become nothing less that brutal, rather than merciful and painless. He’s our youngest brother and is only 18 Sovereign… 18… he knows not much of the world and how it works. He has only known the loving embrace of Odin… but he’s been stripped of that, and our father doesn’t look at him anymore when he give our missions out. It’s almost as if father lost interest in Gabrielle…” She paused and stopped looking at the cave. She then looked up to the sky once more as she stated, “He’s my younger brother and he’s bonded with me more than even you Sovereign… if anything were to happen to him… I would never forgive myself…” She said as a few tears ran down her cheeks.

Sovereign in shock, gently rushed towards her, turning her around and wiping the tear off her cheek. “I know what you mean, but it’s going to be ok.” He then hugged Love as she began to vent out her frustration about the whole scenario. “We’ll all be ok… and if it carries any meaning to you, I’ll make sure nothing happens to Gabrielle or our other brothers and sisters. Our family will stand strong forever… we are the strongest warriors that our empire has for now. There’s no way we could lose… not with our combined might…” Sovereign said softly.
-End-

Death of Korzan
06-04-2014, 02:29 PM
Ech Zilidar

In the field hospital Elisavet lay alone on her separate table, kept away from the men. Saturnius had been sweating, his tools dipped in boiling water to be sanitized time and time again while he continued to do his best to help the men.

The medicus couldn't help but look over his shoulder periodically to see the becoming demigoddess in her deathly state. He could see tense look on her face but could only assume it was for the pain she felt.

The Champion was seeing without seeing, in her unconsciousness she was not alone...

"I can smell your fear." A deep voice came from within the head of Elisavet, echoing into the abyssal depths of her consciousness - rebounding off of the walls of her mind. "You lust for it, you crave it's cold touch upon your soul." Elisavet could see nothing within her sleep but fire, burning at the sides of her vision and making her feel hot and ragged. "I can smell it so."

Elisavet shielded her face from the flame. She did her best to push away this flame's effect but her shut eyes could still see the light, her ears heard the crackling.

"My body and my will are my own!" She fought the unknown force. "By the goddess, I will not bow to you" Nothing made sense. Her heart clutched strong to her faith for resolve. Where was she? It were as if she were in a nightmare.

"You have never been your own, lady of Aphrodite." The voice chuckled deeply, filled by a million years of hatred and anger, as if it were aimed towards Elisavet. "And now, you will never be your own." The words made the Champion back away. Her hand went for her blade, but it wasn't there. The flames continued to overheat her. Elisavet wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. It was difficult to breathe.

What was this dark voice, what was its purpose?

"Who are you?" her eyes scanned about, looking for the source, only flames danced about. Her body was tense.

"Wouldn't you like to know..." the voice laugh deeply, throatily - a noise that would surely make even the hoarsest of men cough and splutter in their own vocal depths. "I am merely an occupant - and you are merely a host."

Hand held around her throat, the voice...the flames...She felt defenseless, her shield was not with her as well. What had happened? Naked, surrounded by flame and maddening voices. Elisavet couldn't grasp reality, it was all hazy.

No matter if she turned about, the flames seem to follow. The bright light and heat continued to beat at her endurance. Ignorance of the evil did not make her passive "No. I am no host of yours!" looking up only gave way to darkness. The ebbing of her strength, the fear and the evil were pervasive though her psyche. "Get out!" The voice paused for a second, before it bellowed out and a long, chitinous blue hand reached out and wrapped itself around the Elisavet's throat, pinning her hand underneath. Out of the burning darkness came the tri-tipped head of a demon, his body ebbing off power and terror as he grinned at Elisavet - his six eyes glistening with glee. Her eyes were wide at the sight of such a foul thing.

"Actually...I think I'll stay." Her teeth clenched with tension. With her free hand she struck the evil across its six eyed face with all her strength. Her long hair flailed about with her defensive actions.

"You have no right!"

However, whilst Elisavet thought that she had struck the demon, beneath the flames at the corner of her eyes she had not realized that her fist had gone straight through the monster's 'body'. The creature laughed again within her head. "You have guts, wench. Perhaps when this is all done I shall rip them from you, and feast on them." More laughter followed.

Her vision was fading, choking in his grasp. The Champion tried to kick and punch but her blows only seemed to phase through it. Each action was costing her the precious air she had left. Her skull was pulsing with stress and the need for oxygen.

"Aphrodite..." in her own mind, she fell back into blackness.

Saturnius looked at Elisavet once again and noticed something very grim: her skin was near gray in its pale color. Dashing over, he felt her face, she was hot to the touch, drenched with sweat. Was she suffering from infection? He couldn't check without undoing her bindings and she could not endure anymore blood loss without guaranteed death.

Powerless, he stepped away from her with grim expression and continued back to the screaming and moaning of the wounded men.

The Southern Wastes, Far Within the Dark Elf Peninsula

The hum of engines filled the air as the snowy buffets generated by the wind ceased, the frozen water melting against the overbearing heat of the Engines. The cosmic sails sieved easily through the air, steading the craft. From the front windows of the ship Axum and 4 other Marines stood, flicking over their weaponry and scanning over each other’s armor, making sure that they had no gaps. Axum’s face remained hidden by the almost skeletal metal that covered their heads, flowing freely across their bodies, as the material was strongest in a liquid state, though it was only held by a heavy magnetic field that surrounded the circumference of the soldiers.

All of the Marines looked through the portcullises of the Ship, looking at the arching ray of light that sat next to their ship. The transport ship sat around 500 feet in the air, and thanks to the glistening, freezing blizzard wind, they were masked in their velocity from the massive ground-force below, the ground-force that had shown up on the ships’ vital scanners.

The genetically modified Earthborn looked at each other through their helmets, nodding as they pulled up their weapons. A resounding beeping noise filled the compartment as the bay doors opened up, revealing the howling screeches of the blizzard. The sounds of beasts and all manner of things that were a product of only myth seemed to roar alongside the Blizzard, combining their cacophony with that of natures, as if their darkness was one that coincided with the world’s true nature – a thought that would terrify most men.

Another beep sounded within the bay, as the 5 men readied themselves, placing their heavy boots upon the metal floor, leaving a resounding noise as they did so, one that filled the room and seeped into the ears of every man in its vicinity – almost like a companion to the rising adrenaline within the giant-Earthborn. Each Marine looked at each other and brought up their guns once more. The final beep resounded and all 5 men leaped forwards, their feet clattering against the steel flooring. The wind blow across their faces as they launched themselves forward and into freefall.

The screaming wind smashed against their faces, providing enough air resistance to slow down their descent. Each man readied his gun, their armour’s magnetic affinity holding it to his hands, making sure that it never dropped from their grip. The Blizzard wind never parted, not until the men were in sight of the Earth – or rather, were in sight of the crowd of creatures below them. Each Marine stretched out their limbs and allowed the wind the stroke against their liquid-armour, forcing it to shoot outwards almost like sails, creating air resistance.

“We have visuals on the bogeys sir.” A voice sounding over the frequency the soldiers were using. “Do we engage?” Axum floated downwards, his mind drawn to the comment. Axum clenched his fists on his weapon before replying.
“Negative, wait until descent is finished, check hostilities before engaging with the targets.” Axum replied, to which his men became silent. The icy floor was creeping up on them, and it would only take minutes for them to land on it. The roars of beasts from below became louder, louder than the air and louder than the screaming blizzard. They became all that the men could hear, as if they were some kind of haunting monster that would lurk within their nightmares. A troll looked up, his huge bestial form glancing up at the descending men. It roared with anger and hatred and hefted up a huge chain mace before swinging it wildly.

Arrows began to pepper the air and navigate themselves towards the men, though none of them had the speed nor the accuracy to catch the descending men, and any that did reverbed themselves off of the magnetic armour as it created the negative pulse needed to push the metal tips away from them. With the ground only within 10 feet, Axum shifted his weight to his feet and closed his arms and legs, landing with a resounding thud.

Within seconds of landing upon the icy ground, the sound of battle commenced. Axum lifted up his gun and looked through its cherry red scope at the advancing numbers. They were grotesque, with grey skin that looked rotten and unwashed. With two quick strokes upon the trigger, large bolts of energy flowed from the rifle, slamming hard into the two beasts and knocking them on the floor – two fist sized holes burned through their chests.

Both creatures writhed but where silenced as a large dagger-like feet stomped through their chests, pulling from their bodies a final sigh – heralding their deaths. The Anequine looked at Axum through its beady, insect eyes before screeching – the noise sounding like a mix between the giant insects of Raxos Prime, and a typical horse from the Homeworld – though they were mostly extinct on Earth, instead being found on the Mars and Luna colony worlds. The massive beast lurched forward on its chitinous eight legs, roaring again through its upper-horse body. The beast began to scurry forward, its legs crushing the smaller, grey beasts as they began to sprint towards the 5 men.

Axum turned to his comrades, who were firing their weapons towards the crowds who were encircling them. He noted that they were pinned down by the enemy, but he did not take any notice of that fact and surged forward. His rifle released multiple bolts of cherry-red energy that cascaded into some of the running troops, killing those that it touched like a finger from the God of Death itself. There was no distinction between who it killed – it was an unforgiving blow, regardless of who stood in its range. As the huge half-spider half-horse came within 30 feet of Axum, he placed the rifle upon his back; allowing it to enclose itself into a smaller form, giving Axum the mobility he wouldn’t have had with the rifle smacking his legs.

Flicking out his hands, two crescent blades drew themselves from his wrist armour, with two grips that his fingers wrapped around. Grinning underneath his armour, the genetically modified Earthborn launched himself forward towards the beast, floating through the air and landing on its gross sticky neck. The long grey neck of the beast was covered in slime, being disguised by the furry hide of the monster. It roared and bucked as Axum shoved his hand-blade into the throat of the Anequine, causing it to roar out and leap up and down, a much more vigorous attempt to throw the smaller creature off of its back.

With an air of expertise, Axum swirled himself around the creature’s neck, pulling himself onto its insect-like back. This area was notably less slimy, though between the gaps of the chitin plates that covered it there was a thick layer of grease being rejected from the creature’s pores, a defence mechanism against arrows – though the soldiers did not fight with bow and arrow.

Axum pulled back his arm and drove his wrist-blades far into the creature’s back, causing it to bellow out and roar in pain as it bucked up and down. Twisted the weapon and gaining more of a purchase, the Marine grinned as his body was flicked up and down over the monster’s back, his weapon holding him painfully in place, causing the beast the cry out.

Looking down at his comrades, he could see a steady bulk of bodies forming around them, though something perplexed him, as every time that they fell, a few pulled themselves from the piles and again ran at his men. Though they were not tiring – this worried the soldier, though he could not put his finger on how.

As Axum looked around at his own target, he noticed it’s legs being climbed by various other beasts, some ugly and grey, but five of them being beautiful, with haunting dark faces and bright white hair; ears that stretched around eight inches and narrowed out to a dull point at the end. Their eyes, along with everything else that the men had encountered, were coloured in an abyssal black – like swirling inky water ready to swallow those who stare into them for too long. These particular beasts pulled themselves up the fastest, and soon climbed onto the Anequine’s back, all five of them pulling two exceptionally crafted blades from two dark leather scabbards that sat at each one’s waists.

Axum withdrew his blades from the Anequine’s back and flicked them out, allowing a fair bit of gooey ichor to ooze off of his blades, splattering against the back of the beast, steaming hot and burning to the touch. The five beautiful figures seemed to circle the Earthborn for a moment, before leaping in. One of their blades collided with Axum’s wrist blade, as another was parried and was quickly answered with an exceptionally fast stab to the creature’s ribs, puncturing the armour of the figure and causing it to fall over, blood flowing from the wound. The Anequine’s bucking caused the figure to roll off of its back, and soon enough it’s sharp and thin legs stabbed through its throat, ending the beautiful being’s life.

Axum roared out in pain as one of the uglier creature’s crude blades crashed into his armour. Turning and looking at where his comrades are, he could see only 3 remained, with piles and piles of dead bodies surrounding them, though still some of the beasts pulling themselves from the pile, only to receive curt blows to the head from the Earthborn’s pulse rifles. Axum could see his other comrades being dragged away by multiple crowds. Resisting as darkness swirled around them like living creature’s and swallowed them in its depths, a vigorous, lonely ocean of black.

Axum cried out for his comrades, most of which he had been ‘born’ with, before swirling around the smacking the enemy who had hit him in the face, his blades plunging through its eyeballs and causing the creature to cry out before falling down, the wrist-blade puncturing it’s brain. Another blade his Axum’s back and caused him to fall to the floor on his knees, though the Earthborn rose up quickly and shoved his blades into the dark-being’s stomach, leaping down off of the Anequine and pushing his blade into the creature in it’s descent. Landing hand first as the blades punctured the ice underneath his target. Turning around, Axum drew his rifle and raised it, running sideways as the Anequine swivelled around.

Arrows flew towards him but were forced backwards by the magnetic field around the genetically modified warrior. The horse-insect beast roared at Axum, who roared back as he fired his rifle, the creature cried out in pain as half of his equine head was blown off. The monster scuttled backwards and cowered, before roaring again and bounding forward once more towards Axum. Eyes widening, almost in disbelief. Axum squeezed his finger on the trigger once more, causing more energy bolts to smash into the creature. It squealed and screeched as it thumped towards him, before collapsing, Axum being underneath it.

Gasping as the soldier realised the beast’s intent, the Marine began to run towards the open land as the creature descended even lower. Looking forward towards where his comrades had been, there was simply one figure who stood, though the corpse piles were beginning to rise as the creatures seemed to pull themselves up. The figure was tall, imposing and beautiful, with armour forged from an unknown mineral, forged of darkened metal with a flowing spider-web of what appeared to look like gold flowing through it, flowing freely through the cracks.

The figure stood with his hand poised and filled with darkness; simply waiting for the soldier, his head covered with a draconic helm yet still giving off a most foreboding presence. Axum roared as he escaped the dying clutches of the falling Anequine and leaped forward towards the armoured figure, who looked up at the falling enemy and raised his hands. Both wrist-blades shot outwards from Axum’s armour and glinted vibrantly against the sun as the Blizzard slowly parted.

The screaming of the wind died down, leaving only the roar of beasts and Axum, as he leaped into darkness and all went black and cold – as cold as death, but not quite.

The Southern Wastes

The air was cold and unforgiving. From within a cave in the ice, within one of the large drops on the glacial mass of the continent sat a metal bulk filled with memories and sadness. The bulk hummed and a few red-hot lasers, outmoded by newer designs, cut away at ice, the extraction mechanism repurposed simply to provide water. The ship - notably Earthborn in design – was largely empty, though five figures sat within the Ships confines, warm and homely, unlike the glacial outsides.

The ships engine bays had been repurposed into farming modules, with vegetables native to Earth being grown within the room in order to sustain the figures. There was plenty of food to go around for the group, though the lack of animal’s was supplied through various barrels filled with Tilapia fish, being brought out when required, though there were dozens of them flowing through the various metal barrels.

The lights of the ship worked, but they were only activated on the inside, as the ship was running off of its backup solar generators, the Dark Matter engines generators being exhausted months ago. From outside of the ship stood a single man. He was young, around 27 years old – a bow in his hands and arrows scattered on the floor; the arrow-heads made from frost covered flint the young man had found in the holes of the ice that surrounded them.

Carved into the blue wall was the crude portrait of a man’s body, his face laden with arrows, particularly his eyes. The young man drew back on the string and took a slow breath, calming himself and steadying his hand. His squinted with his eyes and slipped his fingers off of the taunt bow, letting the arrow fly. The flint tip smacked into the icy wall just wide of the figure’s shoulder, embedding itself in the ice.

The man sighed and walked forward, pulling his arrows out hard from the wall, some sticking more than others as the ice got to them. Packing them all up into a tatty knapsack, the young man returned to the ship’s hull, where he pressed against a few buttons and stood still as the panels in front of him opened out, the warm air of the ship blowing against his face. Stepping inside the spacecraft, the man looked around and sighed, a dejected noise – laced with sadness and dishevel, but also a certain air of contentment and optimism.

Removing his furred jacket and furred boots to reveal a tight white shirt, the young archer walked through the entry bay, the doors to the decontamination chambers permanently stripped off and used to create more useful materials. As he walked through the ship, many of the repairs became obvious, and many of the stripped down areas became obvious also – gravity suspension pads, needless wiring and tubing among that which had been repurposed. Holding onto his items, the archer walked towards the male sleeping quarters – still keeping to the same bed he had been assigned when the ship had left from Starport Alpha, the huge FTL dock in the Earthborn Home system.

Walking towards his bed (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VQXL35bGwk[/url), the man looked around at his bunk and rubbed the plaque that sat above his drawers. ‘Private. Robert Craig’ it read, the name belonging to the archer. Robert sighed and dropped his arrows and bow down onto the floor before slumping onto his bed, laying back and looking at the grey ceiling. He imagined the flow of space around the hull, as if the ship and its crew were returning from such a long, long journey. But all of it was fake, and he knew the reality of his situation. Reaching out his arm, Robert clutched onto his draw and pulled the top one out, digging through items of clothing until he reached something hard and cold – a metal picture frame. Pulling the frame out, Robert sat up and looked at it. It was as picture of him and a beautiful young woman, pregnant – around 6 months so by the looks of it. Robert smiled, a small tear flicking at his eye as he pressed down upon one of the metal buttons below the picture. The image changed and began to move as it showed the same lady in the picture.

In a distinct Welsh accent, the woman began to speak. The audio was a tad fuzzy and slightly unco-ordinated, the age of the image seemingly having a decaying effect on the quality, though Robert still found solace within her voice. “Hello Robert. How’s space? I hope you’re having fun up there in the big black yonder, while little old me is stuck here on Earth.”

The woman spoke and smiled towards Robert, though she was looking into a camera at the time. “Things here are okay. I miss you though.” Robert’s fingers traced along the moving picture, causing it to stutter. He took a quick breath in to stop himself from letting tears leak from his eyes.

“I love you.” The woman said, before smiling at the camera. “And when you get home, you’re going to have someone else who’s going to want to say hello as well.” The woman rubbed her tummy and grinned at the camera. “I can’t wait for you to get home, Robert. Have fun! And for god sake don’t do anything stupid, I know you too well.” Robert smiled, tears running down his face.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I love you too.” Robert said to the camera as he watched the woman cover her mouth and giggle, the movements making him smile.

Robert sat in his bed for another 10 minutes, looking at the picture of him and the lady, giving him enough time to wallow in sadness before placing the picture frame back into his draw, covering it with socks and boxer shorts. Standing up and rubbing his eyes, the young private walked towards the doors to his quarters and out of them, heading towards the rec room of the ship, one of the few rooms that had not been repurposed.

The corridors at this point were cold and lonely, the ship that once held so much personality and adventure now simply serving as an iron trap for the Welshman, who wished that he could return home to his wife. As he approached the rec room, the doors slipped open and revealed the 5 who sat within its confines, 2 of them playing a game of ping pong together, one of them reading and the other 2 talking. As Robert entered, one of those who were talking rose up and cracked his neck. “Private.”

Robert flicked his hand up to his head in a salute. “Captain Greenswald, sir.” The Captain laughed, and beckoned for Robert to drop his hand, which his did so.
“You don’t have to call me Captain anymore, Welshy. Joeseph or Joe will do, I’m finished with formalities.” The older Captain sat down on one of the seats, before looking up at Robert. “Me and you, we’ve got some travelling to do. Archie finished up his reconnaissance on that massive eyesore over the hills – turns out it’s some sort of lightspeed generator, god knows what the Southerners are using it for, if it’s them using it at all.” Robert frowned at the ground before looking back up at his commanding officer.
“But sir…how do we come into this?”
“It’s simple boy.” The Older, Australian spoke. “We’ve got to get over to the capital and at least warn the Southerners – try to get some good favour, make sure they don’t gut us for one more day.” Joeseph stood up and stretched again, before walking towards Robert and planting his hand on his shoulder. “You got a day son, don’t worry. We head out tomorrow morning – on our gliders it shouldn’t be more than a few hours journey.”
“Alright sir, whatever you say.” Robert said, before lowering his hand and slumping down in one of the seats, tired and depressed.

Odin’s Grotto

The sky sat at a beautiful equilibrium above the head of Isabella. The large grounds in front of her, covered in the bodies of those had died filled her with a sadness like she had not felt for a while. She knew that whilst she did not hold any knowledge of those who had given their lives in order to try to stop the marauders, she knew that their sacrifice was one that was just and meaningful. She felt almost proud to be in their vicinity.

The air was full of the groaning of trees as Sepplengais approached from out of the forest’s edge and roared into the sky, a mixture of sadness and anger filling the air from their wooden forms. The scene was beautiful and saddening, yet also terrifying at the same time. The area was brimming with tension and rage, no birds sung and no breeze blew – the land was quiet save for the grieving of the Druada. Isabelle kept her handgun on her at all times, the situation simply seemed to call for it.

However, once the Sepplengais had finished roaring, the air was once again filled with the drabness and sadness that accompanied death. Turning away from the viewing port, Isabella took slow steps down the wooden stairs crafted into the tree that her quarters surrounded. The sound of wings fluttering from below entered her mind, and the quiet voice of the male Cicerin echoed up the steps. “Good morning Human.” Isabella stopped slowly creeping and instead walked normally, coughing as she cleared her throat.
“Good morning…” The young lady spoke confidently, looking out onto the lower balcony and at the saddening view that it gave.

The Cicerin watched her for a time, before walking up next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. The girl was immobile, and the hand wasn’t moved for a time. “Chosen. Your people had no part in this – please, do not feel saddened by the loss of our people, for it shall help us grow stronger. Their sacrifice was not in vain.” The Cicerin muttered, dropping his head, for the view saddened all the Druada, but now was not a time for the Chosen to be sad.

“I know. And I know that I should not be sad, but I can’t help but think – what if that was me, what if that was me and my sister and my men laying there in the middle of the woodland with our loved ones fretting about us. I just wonder how it would be, if it were me instead of your people.” Isabella turned her head and looked down at the ground. “Come, we have work to do if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, my chosen lady. We have much to do.” The Cicerin answered, face contorted into an expression of misunderstanding – for the Druada could not comprehend Isabella’s thoughts. They turned and began to walk out of the building, and towards an area far from the stench of death, and far from the torment that that stench brought.

Minkasha
06-11-2014, 05:55 AM
*Double post ask for GM to remove*

Minkasha
06-11-2014, 06:13 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South - Odinsen Castle, Maxwell's Bedchambers

Åge. The name she forced herself to remember. The last thing she saw of him was his hesitant face before she sent him off. Else was struck painfully by how she saw her youngest son. Everything challenged her ability to sleep, eat, and think clearly: the doom of the purple portal, the tensions in her family, the heart break and mourning her son now had to go through. He had already lost his father.

But as the Lady Jarl this was hidden behind her face of control. As a ruler and a mother, not only did she need to give structure to her children and her people, but also hope. And while her people were fighting against the odds to arm themselves and brace for the coming evils, her son needed it more than anyone.

She knocked on her son's door. He didn't speak. Opening the door was to relive her own experiences of pain and loss. She saw the Demon, it looked back at her with black beady eyes. She turned to see Maxwell. The adolescent was curled on his bed. Their eyes met and Else feared she'd weep then. But she had to be strong and hold him.

The connection of bodies was wordless, arms around each other. The squeezing, the crying, the release. Saying goodbye, how could she tell him to do so when she couldn't. Korzan's face still passed through her mind every day, every time she donned the crown, walked the halls of the castle. Her husband was here. The image was a cruel lingering of someone who would never come back.

And now she was with Max, replaying it all over again so soon. Hope had to come, hope needed to inspire action. Maxwell could not lie about in his room with death lingering. He had to be strong and brave. He needed to fight.

The Lady Jarl listened to her son's sobs, felt them on her chest. By the snow covered window, the raven watched with a twitch of his head and a flutter of his wings. Everything was changing. Zahneri doing as commanded to ensure her children survive. Fear struck her soul; her children may live, but have no life.

"He's gone" her hand stroked his head while he spoke. "He's gone, father's gone, I'm powerless! They die and I can't do anything" Another knife thrust into her heart. How could she tell him that Zahneri's actions were for his safety? The world was filled with selfish Gods and Demons ready to feed on the needy. The world was not a place where someone was meant for success, but submission. And this was the fight: fight as it plucked every cherished thing one by one.

One son, one daughter, that was next. Damn them and their prophesies.

"What do I do?" his face looked up to hers. There they were, those features that showed his broken spirit.

"You fight my son" lips kissed his forehead. "You fight with everything you have to make the future you want. Fight to keep what reaming precious things you have left"

Sobbing. Silence. Sobbing.

"Is that what you do?" another stroke through Max's hair.

"Every day. Your family needs you. Your people need you. Kjære, danger is coming. You must be strong. You must live."

An hour passed, the chest of her dress stained with his tears.

"I will fight" Else was proud of her son. The Lady Jarl gave a small smile. "When does the pain go away?" the voice was weak, needy.

"It never does elsked"

Branjaskr, The Free South

In the coming days the population of Banjasker boomed. From the ten thousand to the new fifteen thousand as people from neighboring villages arrived. Together, they were going to make that final stand, but others kept to their homes. They were left with respect, stuck in their ways, maybe they were desperate for the warrior's death. It was uncertain, their own fates tossed down by their own hands.

Else forced her eldest children, and Karla, from their shared bed chamber, the sight was appalling. The Lady Jarl now feared that Karla found her womanhood too quickly. The oldest were just the negative influence she knew them to be. But this had to be all pushed aside. For now they were the proud, clean, and mighty faces of the Free South.

Among the people, all the royal children, spare the five year old Nea, were aiding to help arm their people. Scattered, each was running about, shining brightly with their God and Demon Lord given charisma. Kalle, and Else were keeping close to Maxwell during this. Their eyes kept on him, unknowingly.

Leathers, and swords were passed about from hand to hand. Families were coming together to make sure each of them became battle ready. This was a land of warriors, and they were more than willing to prove it. The mass of people was a strangely organized swarm of sweating, exchanging and shouting. Many gathered about their royals, seeing them all out was truly a rare sight, and one far from unpleasant.

Then that moment came. The moment when Maxwell was handing a man his blade for the coming struggles and his face began to cringe. A quick look shared between Else and Kalle moved the older brother to intervene, taking Max away from the watching eyes. Kalle shielded Max from those around them. The populace parted and knelled and the gates opened wide.

Branjaskr, The Free South - Woodlands

Back in the forest, Max lost control of himself and simply could not walk anymore. The teenager crashed against a tree, sliding down. His fight was painful, the wound couldn't heal shut.

"Åge...Åge...Åge!" Maxwell's cloudy breath shouted out to the wind. The smoke of his words drifted into the air, leaving him too. A nearby raven continued to follow and watch, it put Kalle on edge. He drew his axe, trying to shoo it with a few swings. The bird cawed back and Max dashed for it.

"Max!" Kalle chased, the raven in the air after.

Where was he going? Max didn't know, but his legs told him that running would give him peace. The chase between broken brothers, furs flapping, snow clouding their vision. Time and time again Kalle shouted out for his younger brother.

Face first, Max landed in the piled white fluff. Kalle kneeled by him, the raven landed by on the ground. The annoying thing blinking rapidly, kept staring at his brother.

"Get away! Leave him be!" Kalle swung an arm at the thing, another loud caw.

Over Max this small fray evolved.

"Stop!" his voice cracked, both instantly stilled. Man and animal looked at each other confused at their shared stillness, the bird could understand? Dismissively, Max turned to the raven. "Show him your true form" The bird looked to Max before a black cloud took over its place in the winter land.

In that instinctive moment Kalle feared for Zahneri's return and scooped up his brother. What he saw was somehow even worse than Zahneri, or so were the implications of the thing. Another long stare as Kalle took in the features of the entity. The dark olive skin, the unusual large raven wings, the spiraled strips of stone armour that decorated his body and the talon feet that pierced the snow.

Kalle drew his axe, this time, much more seriously.

"WHAT IS THIS!?" Was this some spawn of Zahneri? Why was another Demon within his family? The axe shinned from the sunlight. Oerin continued to look at the older Odinsen with that same look of concern and confusion.

"I am Oerin, master" Kalle grunted at the thing.

"You are a Demon!?" The question sounded much more factual than inquisitive.

"I..." the raven Demon looked away "am me"

"Mother gave him to me" Kalle looked down at his brother shocked. "To protect me" Max already seemed well adjusted to this, focused on his loss instead. The second prince continued to glare at the revealing being. It was muscular, but took the shape of a youth no older than his brother. What was this winged thing? And most importantly, what did his mother have to do with it?

Kalle found Oerin unnerving, and his similarities to Zahneir only provoked anger. The sobbing forced him to look away from the supposed Demon. Oerin only stared at the axe tip still held firmly pointed his way. Sadly for Kalle, this was not the time or place to talk about this shocking discovery.

"This way Max..." Kalle glared one more time at Oerin before leading his brother away. A black cloud later and the raven followed in the sky above.

THE FREE SOUTH

The Fulminata legion had never been deployed to the frozen southern continent, at least not while Cassius had served with it, and the young tribune felt as if the very marrow of his bones was freezing solid. They had been on the move for nearly a week, although it was only by good fortune that they had lasted more than two days. Floundering in the snow, they had run into an enemy hunting party returning from the forests that sprang up not far from the plateau camp. They were burly red-haired men in chainmain and furs, of the same kind who had shot arrows down at Cassius and Syf during their escape, and they rode lean horses who had already grown in their winter coats. The encounter had proven to be a blessing in disguise, as Cassius and Syf had managed to overpower the three men and take their equipment. The men's furs were greasy and smelled of bear fat, but they increased their chances of survival dramatically. Food was less plentiful, as the hunters had been on their return trip and had exhausted most of their three-day supply of food and fodder. Cassius had been able to carve a pack full of meat from the dead reindeer the men had been carrying, but they had only been able to scrape together enough corn for one horse, and even then only for a couple of days. They had ridden the hunters' mounts hard until nightfall, and then had been forced to turn them loose.

In truth, Cassius' stallion seemed to be dealing with the cold better than he was, but the abrupt change in climate had spooked him, and now that the fodder had run out he was stumbling and shivering. At night time, Cassius had given his horse the stinking fur coat as a blanket and made do with his blue Namorian cloak. He had reasoned that he couldn't wake up any more stiff, sore and frostbitten than he had the previous days, although the harsh climate had quickly proved him wrong. With their horse weakening, Cassius and Syf had been obliged to switch from speed to stealth, walking alongside their mount while only the unresponsive Kurosavi slumped against the stallion's neck. The snow-covered forest seemed to carry on forever, and the white shroud blanketing the earth seemed to lend the place an unnaturally still and quiet aura. The rustle and call of wildlife was infrequent and deadened, and the snow underfoot swallowed the sound of their footsteps.

It was on the fifth day, when the cold ache in Cassius' fingers had become a sharp pain beneath his bearskin mittens, when the silence was broken by the sound of movement up ahead. After travelling through the silent forest and speaking little in all that time, the soft scuff of a third set of snowboots seemed deafening. Cassius signalled sharply to Syf, and tugged his stallion's reins to pull it and Kurosavi behind the cover of a snow-covered thornbush. His limbs seemed to weigh twice as much in the cold, but he forced himself to move, throwing himself behind the thick black trunk of a sentinel pine. He reached down to his sword hilt and curled his gloved hand awkwardly around it, shaking the blade as quietly as he could to make sure that frost hadn't caused it to stick in the scabbard. Listening, he could now hear two sets of footsteps. Very slowly, Cassius peered around the tree.

Suddenly there was the loud caw of a bird. Instinctively looking up, he saw a raven rather hellbent on keeping its attention on him.

"Stay back, Max." Syf could hear. She knew this voice. Her senses picked up the presence of the Demonic...could it have been him? With the raven ratting out their location, around the corner came Kalle and behind him an adolescent with similar features and platinum hair, and red eyes showing his recent weeping. Both now had their axes drawn. The raven stared at them now, silent. Somehow, it felt threatening, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Syf stepped straight out into the clearing between the trees, a smile on her face. Kalle gripped tightly to the shaft of his weapon. Just how many tall, white haired beauties existed in his snowy world?

"Be at ease, prins Kalle. I said before that no harm would come to you while I was with you and that has not changed. I have escaped from the invaders' camp and brought two others with me." She gestured with her spear towards where Cassius was hiding. "You will have to speak the Northern language to this one though as he does not seem to know the local tongue."

"Who..wha..." Kalle's voice was weak. She spoke just like her.

Cassius didn't understand the guttural Southern language that Syf was imitating, but he did realise that there was no more point in hiding as the two young men's eyes instinctively followed Syf's speartip. Hoping that these were in fact the friends that Syf had spoken of, he stepped away from the tree and gathered his stallion's reins. He led the horse into the clearing, with Kurosavi staring blindly into space on its back. Now that he got a better look at them, Cassius could see that the two Southerners were even younger than he was. One was clearly still a boy, despite the axe in his hand and the bulk added by his snow-covered furs. His eyes were locked on him and Kurosavi.

He opened his mouth to ask Syf a question, but the armoured woman was looking up at the raven perched on the branch above them, a scowl in her violet eyes.

"Be gone, demon." she said, "I will protect the prins while I am here; I have no need of you."

The second prince was struggling to hold his weapon steady. The images of Syf flashed in his mind: the last time he saw her, how he had to run and how he slept with the Demon that was her slayer. Anger and shame were weighing him down heavily.

Oerin became quiet but still focused on the woman.

"Who are you!?" Kalle extended his axe out to point at her boldly, more to throw out his anguish rather than intimidate. His ice blue gaze couldn't look away from her purple. This wasn't Syf, her face and voice different. Kalle didn't know what to think. Right now he could only function on base instinct.

While Cassius looked uncertainly from Kalle to Syf, the woman merely smiled and reached out to gently take hold of Kalle's axe blade and lower it towards the ground. The axe gave no resistance, now pointing to the snow and dangling in Kalle's hand.

"Prins Kalle, do you not recognise me?" Syf's brow creased into a frown. "I admit that I look a little different since you last saw me, but I suppose I should thank your mother's Demon for trying to have me killed. It was foolish of her to do so, but on my trials since I was able to remember who I really am, a daughter of Nike."

She straightened proudly.

"Your people may reject me, but I can still help you, my prins. The demon army will be not far behind us and we must prepare. But first, I need your help."

She gestured again towards Cassius and lord Kurosavi.

Kalle's eyes slowly drifted from her to the tan skinned man and the figure he couldn't make out behind him. For a moment he only stared, mind puzzled by everything. Maxwell himself had been looking at all of this with the same uncertainty the Namorian had.

"Go inside, Max." Kalle instructed, not wanting his mourning brother to stay in this unfolding strangeness.

There were no sounds of snow crunching steps behind him. Turning, he looked down at his brother.

"Go inside." he pushed him again in a gentle voice. Maxwell didn't speak, but his eyes said more than enough and he quickly began to dash away. The wings of the raven flapped and more snow fell from the tree to the ground as Oerin flew in tow. Kalle watched them until he could no longer follow them through all the evergreens.

That was when he looked to...Syf again. Zahneri failed? He never knew such a thing was possible. A glance at the Northerner told Kalle of the man's struggle in the eternal winter. It was surprising he had not already died.

Kalle nodded to Syf, took her hand, and began to urge them to the capital. Past the entrance gates, Branjaskr was booming with action. People, many more than Syf last remembered, were rushing about, armour and weapons in hand. The Eldrani and the Northerner were concealed by the hoods of their cloaks, but there was no help in hiding the altered Syf.

Among the masses, rag-tag winter folk looked at their prince and the woman with great concern. They remembered the previous white haired woman and her need for honourless assault, as well as her ability to break herself free from jail rather easily.

Kalle continued to pull Syf along, not daring to let her speak or do something more to draw attention. Truthfully he feared that Zahneri would suddenly appear, and in a black cloud of smoke, this incarnation of Syf would cease just like the first. The long stone huts and the snow became a blur as they crossed the last gate surrounding the castle. Horse hooves left a path right before the large doors of Korzan's built home.

No guards manned the front; they were all helping with the armament movement. Until they were safe in the castle, Kalle had only seen the face of the sickly figure as he carried him. The second prince nearly dropped him in surprise when he saw the being's totality. Rushed to a room near his own, the mystical pointed-ear man was laid down and covered. He looked horribly sickly, despite his charismatic features.

The heat of constantly burning fireplaces kept the foreign guests warm. The Northerner gratefully stripped off his fur mittens to warm his hands, which where mottled red with first-degree frostbite. He watched as Kalle threw on as many blankets and furs for the other...man as he could.

"You must be freezing, my lady..." Kalle's voice gave clear indication to his confusion as he turned back to Syf.

Syf lifted off her winged helmet and shook out her hair. "Fear not, my prins. I do not feel the cold as badly as ordinary people. Likewise I believe that my two companions will live, although the one the Northerner calls lord Kurosavi seems wounded in mind as well as body..."

She cast a sympathetic look towards the slender humanoid, who had burrowed under the furs and curled up into a fetal ball as if trying to make himself invisible.

"He was the demons' prisoner longer than I. The ones who took him are coming south; men and demons and dark elves."

She paused to let the news sink in.

"What has happened in my absence?" she asked after a moment. She put out a hand to touch Kalle's face. "Are you still...afflicted?"

Kalle jerked his head back, gently pulled the hand away, and shut his eyes. Why must she do this?

"Please, my lady, don't." Kalle would not meet her gaze. "I worried about you. Never stopped thinking about what she did to you, and now you return mysteriously...different." His eyes, full of shame, briefly looked to the Northerner. "With people I've never seen before, and you speak of my...affliction?" He was so shocked by her, scared by what she knew and angered by his own actions and her touch.

"Stop. For your own safety, stop." Black coils that bounced with his head now hung low. Syf's hand was released and his shoulders rose and fell with tense breathing.

Syf's eyebrows knitted together in consternation. "Oh my prins. Behind every strong man is a strong and wise woman. Let me be yours. I can help you even as I help your city prepare for the coming war, even if I need to do so in secret. Not all of your people...appreciate my talents."

Kalle understood Syf's allusion: his mother. And truthfully he knew she was up to something now that Oerin had revealed himself. Demons were starting to come from thin air now. Oerin's purpose was to keep the family safe...but did that also mean he would try to kill Syf too?

The second prince looked back to the woman's face and studied her features. Zahneri wouldn't answer his summons; she had been missing for days now, but the danger was always there. After deeply inhaling, Kalle's focus was put back on the Northerner and the mysterious man lying sickly in the bed.

"How do we keep you and your...companions safe?"

"I will need a quiet place to work." Syf said, beginning to pace the room as she formed her plan. "A cabin or such, outside the town, and preferably somewhere that we can recover our own food and water. It would not do for you to be seen carrying supplies out to us too often - nor for myself and my companions to be seen on the streets of Branjaskr where we might be recognised by those who mean us harm. But I can pass my designs back to you, and you can then give them to your blacksmiths and masons so we can make the castle strong enough to repel the coming invasion."

"What's going on?" Cassius asked in Namorian from beside the fire. Now that the conversation between Syf and Kalle seemed to have smoothed out, he felt confident enough to voice the question. Kalle looked at the man, but harshly. He studied the features of the man, seeing his father's killer in them.

"We are going to help princeps Kalle to defend his city against the demons." Syf explained in the Northerner's language. She left the Namorian to consider the idea of helping his empire's supposed enemies, but didn't give him a chance to respond.

"This man is a tribune in the Namorian army, and he has fought the demons before," she continued, switching back to Southern for Kalle's benefit. "And he tells me that this lord Kurosavi can control the trees themselves - that is, if only he can be healed enough to regain his powers."

A flicker of a smile crossed the woman's face.

"I will strive to do so, because there are many trees between the demons and Branjaskr. But first, a safe place for us to work."

"The Grotto, it would keep you safe." Kalle paused, thinking. "It has no shelter, but it is warm, and does not snow inside."

Syf smiled, and reached out to take the prince's hand in hers.

"You have a noble spirit, prins Kalle - something too rare in this broken world." She leaned close to press her forehead against his, an act that shocked the man. "If the affliction becomes too much to bear, I implore you, allow me to help you. I would not see you suffer for a demon's influence, nor another innocent." Kalle swallowed hard, he could feel his heart fluttering at the proposal. His cheeks flushed.

"My...lady..." the idea was left unanswered.

Demons and Dark Elves, his life was filling with dangers. With a nod he put a great deal of trust into Syf. No doubt, without her knowledge, his family and people would surely die.

Branjaskr, The Free South

Maxwell ran through the woods, through the rushing people and weaponry carts. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ll0NecOin8) The subjects all looked at their third prince with great worry as they saw him running, leaving tears to fall on the snow behind him. The raven followed far overhead and into the front doors when Maxwell walked in. The torch lit cold stone halls, helping him follow his master...but it wasn't back to his bedchambers.

Even the house slaves were few and far between, the larger world too busy. But Maxwell's path was much more personal. Among the house slave's quarters Max was quickly able to find the room Åge used to live in. Truthfully, he'd not been here for months, always assuming Åge would find his way to him. And he used to...but that wouldn't happen now.

Oerin landed on his shoulder and Maxwell swatted at him with a furious glare. He wanted to be left alone: no more good Demons or bad Demons. He wanted to be purged. Looking about the room, his eyes longingly held over the former house slave's dresser and bed. The room was windowless, the only light coming from the outside hall.

There was no fire lit in this room. Maxwell's skin could feel the bite of the cold on his face, the emptiness across his soul. A few steps took him inside. It was disturbingly quiet. The room held that feeling that only confirmed the truth: his lover was dead.

Stumbling across the room, it hit him all over again. His vision was blurry, his swaying violent. Talons clanked across the stone and Oerin held him steady.

"STAY AWAY!" Maxwell yelled, shaking him off. The newborn Demon didn't know what to do and let his hands back to his side. His eyes kept on Max, watching him rummage through the dresser and grab some of the clothes.

Keeping quiet, Max moved to pull out a decorative plate he knew Åge hid under his bed. This was one of his mother's best crafted dishes, a gift from a villager for her wedding. His blue eyes looked at the hilly and layered border with silver lining. He remembered when Åge would always look at it while his mother ate with it.

He felt proud when he stole it from the kitchen and gave it to him. The joy was worth everything. He ran his fingers across the bumps, remembering his fingers moving down Åge's back and up the small curve. That was also the night they shared a bed together for the first time. A few more wet splotches added to the sparkle of the dish.

Oerin, new to existence, new to himself, did not know what to say or do. Before him was his master on his knees, bent over and crying onto a plate. He only stared with a saddened look of defeat. Being ignored, Oerin followed Max back into the forest.

Max first dug a square hole, the depth and size that would have held Åge's body. He couldn't focus on anything else; he had to do the burial ritual. With anger fueling him, Max dug the hole and laid the objects down in hours' time. Sweat and snow covered him. His body telling him to retreat to heat.

However, he wouldn't let go of one last thing. The plate, and a few garments of clothing laid at the bottom. A strand of brown hair waved with the winter wind, a hair he found of him later on the floor of his bedchambers. To Max, it was the most precious thing he owned. His hand was becoming numb in the cold weather, ungloved to experience the hair for the last time. Tree branches arched over where he was kneeled, this act under earth for grandfather Odin to witness. Snow began to layer the bottom of the grave.

Gently, he put the hair down on the plate and pulled out a dagger. Oerin looked at Max with raised brows of worry. Rushing over, he tried to stop Max but he had already cut himself across the wrist. Blood splattered across the dish and nearby pants.

"Blood bonded, I forge an oath" he chanted, never looking away from the bloodying plate. "I will avenge you Åge. I lov-" Oerin had now squatted down to grasp the bleeding wrist. Max tried to yank it away but a warm tingle claimed him and he stared at his heated wrist.

Red hit snow, now Oerin bled. Maxwell's glare looked to the Demon'sown wrist and saw a smaller cut similar to the one he had inflicted on himself. Oerin kept his eyes low and let go, his master yanked away.

"Max, what are you doing?" Maxwell stared at his healed wrist, the wound gone.

"I am killing Zahneri (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2UjdjWBd3Y)"

Azazeal849
06-13-2014, 01:43 PM
EMOR

Marcus Agrippa pulled distractedly at his collar, trying to stop the fabric rubbing against the shallow cut on his neck that decanus Glaber had given him. His evidence at the trial discharged, he had cast off his ceremonial toga and stalked straight back to the second legion camp outside the city. He had no love for the emperor after the latter had effectively had his uncle exiled to Afragia, but nor did he want any part of senator Aemilia's mad rabble-rousing. He walked hand in hand with Julia until they reached the wall of wooden stakes that surrounded the camp, the closed fist of the Valoria legion rippling on the banners above the gate.

"Wait here." he told his young wife, squeezing her hand before barking the password at the sentries and heading from the gate straight to legatus Rufus' tent. He pushed through the flap almost before the guard at the door had announced him, but his intended words died on his lips when he saw his commander's expression.

Legatus Rufus was a compact, powerful man - his close-cropped hair was greying and beginning to thin at the crown, but he was still imposing. He was also a man of volatile moods, quickly provoked to both laughter and anger, and right now anger was drawn down on his face as black and heavy as a thundercloud.

"Look at this, primus pilus." the legatus spat as he slammed his silver cloak clasp down on a letter that lay on the map table. "The emperor is relieving me of duty. Me! It's a fucking insult!"

Marcus peered down at the letter to see what his commander was ranting about. It was as Rufus had said - the letter was a notice that he was to be pensioned off. It was a generous pension, but a dismissal nonetheless.

"Replacing me with that upstart Furius!" Rufus fumed. "He's a praetorian, and the praetorians haven't been on campaign for 8 years! What the fuck does he know about soldiering?"

Furius was a tribune of praetorians, which made him the emperor's man. If legatus Rufus wasn't so busy being prickly about his honour, he might have found the appointment odd, and its timing even more so. Marcus frowned as he thought about the trial he had just left, but before he could open his mouth to voice his concerns, one of Rufus' tribunes came bursting into the tent. The man was sweating as he thumped his shoulder and then extended his arm towards Rufus in a hurried salute.

"Apologies for interrupting, sir." the tribune began, "But you need to hear this."

The legatus glowered at him. "Need to hear what?"

"Sir, something's happened at the Basilica Claudia."


* * * * * *

The three rogue praetorians had been sentenced and dragged away without further evidence, as the emperor angrily declared the trial closed. As the crowd rose either to leave or to protest, however, praetorians in blue cloaks and sunburst breastplates stepped forward. In an instant they had surround the front row boxes where the Namorian senate were seated.

"What is the meaning of this, imperator?" senator Aemilia shouted across the floor of the basilica.

"Leave me out of this!" senator Vibius squeaked, to Aemilia's disgust, as he tried to push his way past the unyielding praetorians. "I never said anything!"

"If one of you defies me," the emperor shouted back from his throne at the front of the hall. His stone-cold demeanor had returned, and his eyes were like slivers of glass that drew blood from the senator's futile protests. "Then you all do. The senate is hereby disbanded! Praetoriani! Have the senators escorted to the city dungeons. And make sure that senator Aemilia is kept far away from the others."

The proclamation was made in full view of the crowd, who erupted into shocked gasps and shouts of disbelief. Toga-clad praetorians who had been hiding among the front rows suddenly spun and drew their weapons, forming a cordon with the crowd on one side and the emperor and the surrounded senators on the other. They pushed the crowd of nobles back, and one soldier made splinters of a young woman's teeth with the hilt of his sword.

"You're admitting your guilt, imperator!" Aemilia shouted over the clamour as two burly praetorians seized her by the wrists.

"I'm dealing with traitors." Galen Claudius shot back coldly.

"Fucking disperse!" a plumed praetorian commander bellowed, swiping his sword around the hall. "This show is over!"

Seppia was swept along with the crowd as they surged back towards the arched exits. Luckily she was already near the door, otherwise she might well have been knocked down and crushed. Her heart was hammering in her throat and in her ears as she was buffeted out into the sunlit streets, the press around her dispersing in a confusion of slipping togas and fluttering dresses. Seppia cursed the bad timing of her husband leaving, and immediately struck out back towards the Via Saturnus, her first thought to return to their villa and protect their son. One hand bunched up her skirts to avoid tangling her feet as she ran; the other held on tight to the writing paper she was carrying. If Marcius returned to Emor it would mean having to tell him about his wife and children, before she could give him the satisfaction of having brought the murderers to justice. It might also leave the eastern provinces he had been charged with protecting dangerously vulnerable. But none of that mattered when the sword of Damocles now hung over the city of Emor itself.


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR, ONE WEEK AFTER THE BATTLE OF VULKAN'S ANVIL

It took several days for the Fulminata legion to pause and lick its wounds. Legion medici and the nurses from the followers camp went to and fro with their bandages and their carefully boiled tools, carrying analgesic tonics, stews of antiseptic herbs, and boxes of maggots for the unfortunate few whose wounds had turned gangrenous. In converted hospitals around Ech Zilidar, men slowly recovered, or else shivered and sweated and died, adding to the funeral pyres that had been set up beneath the cavern's vast skylight. Most of the dead civilians and the legion's own several hundred casualties had already been cremated. The fires only burned low and intermittently now, thin coils of smoke drifting upwards to be sucked away by the dwarfs' cunningly designed ventilation shafts. The orc corpses, several thousand of them, had been piled and set fire to out among the ruined dwarf bastions, far outside the breached city walls. Even so, tribune Varinius could still smell the reek of the greyskins lingering in the air several days later.

"Fucking demon-spawn." the tribune grumbled as he picked his way down a street that was still black with dried blood. He rubbed his shoulder where an orc's mace had struck him a glancing blow, tearing away part of his layered lorica but merely bruising the flesh beneath. At least the orcs didn't come back to life, the way some other recent appearances on Eternum did. Rotating his shoulder to loosen the stiff muscle, Varinius reflected that the undying Greeks and Romans must be enjoying their unnatural healing abilities.

Still, the immortals had fought well - as had the dwarfs, even though Varinius was still mulling over the death of Vagrund and the ascension of this new king Jornak. He had already questioned some of the survivors from the Ferrata and Moriga legions about the former, though he had merely gotten more of the same second-hand rumours about treachery and a monster in the city catacombs. As for the latter, Varinius looked forward to asking senator Agrippa about it. Word had it that the Dun Morigan refugees had reached Tu Zenita Duskal, but now queen Nesara had sent her pet senator back to Ech. Varinius understood that it was to retrieve the injured king Jornak, who was still recovering in one of the makeshift hospitals after being found lying next to a dead giant near the anvil plaza.

Light washed over Varinius as he turned up the deserted street towards the king's palace. The sunlight that bounced down through the ventilation tunnels was dappled and grimy, the reflecting mirrors fouled by smoke from the burning city. Nevertheless, there was little need for the torches that burned along the building fronts - the orange light pillar still cast its baleful glow over the city. A few brave or foolhardy men had been able to walk through the light without harm, although even a whole team of men and horses had been unable to move the sinister anvil that they had found at its epicentre. Refusing to believe that the orcs were simply gone, dux Marcius had ordered the plaza guarded day and night. For the moment, a cohort of Romans under Septim's laticlavius tribune had the duty.

Marcius had set up his temporary headquarters in the deserted royal palace. The ruined tenament across from it was serving as a stable for the legion's cavalry, shrunken now by losses sustained during the counterattack. Butchering the dead horses had yielded a welcome alternative to the tubers that the dwarfs grew in their strange hydroponic mirror-houses, but finding new mounts in ruined Dun Moriga was a difficulty. Far worse was the loss of the cavalry's leader; the legion's second in command. No-one had been able to find or identify Cassius' body, and he had last been seen in the charge on the anvil plaza before the endless waves of orcs had pushed the Namorian cavalry back.

Young fool, Varinius thought, unconsciously shaking his head as he made his way between the rows of dulled gemstones that lined the palace walls. He found Marcius reading a vellum scroll in the vast Elders' Council chamber, the end of the table before him strewn with letters and with reports written on wax tablets. His bodyguard Varrius was standing quietly to his right, while prefect Lucullus and a small staff of blue-cloaked assistants pored over maps. Marcius looked up when he heard the guards at the door step aside, and the scribes who were writing for the dux until his wrist healed paused in their work.

The dux raised his stern, lined face towards Varinius, folding away the letter he was currently reading, but leaving the others on the table. Squinting at the names at the top of each, Varinius recognised them as letters of condolence to the families of tribune Cassius and gun captain Agron. Strangely, the report to the emperor of the battle lay half-finished and discarded not far from nearest scribe's hand.

"Sir." Varinius saluted gruffly, then nodded towards the letters. "Honouring the dead?"

"I plan on avenging them." Marcius said, gravely but with conviction.

The Fulminata and their allies had inflicted losses on the orcs, but they had lost their laticlavius tribune and their captain of artillery, and their demigoddess patron had been wounded. Worse, the orc army had escaped through what could only have been some sort of demonic portal. Namorian scouts were ranging further and further afield in an attempt to find them again - through the empty tunnels of Dun Moriga and the abandoned charnel houses of its fallen cities; above ground west towards Combrogia, and east into the Afragian desert. None of them had been able to re-establish contact with the greyskin army.

The orcs could now be anywhere - perhaps even at the gates of Emor itself. The pressure should have cracked most men, but dux Marcius seemed more determined than Varinius has seen him in weeks. When he wasn't writing reports and issuing orders for the reorganisation of his battered legion, he was leading the men in drill practice or checking impatiently on the surgeons' progress with the wounded. He had visited the townhouse where Elisavet still lay several times. He wasn't the only one - many of the Fulminata legionaries had come to nervously gaze at Venus' messenger, and the guards at the door hadn't bothered to deny them. Even Varinius had gone once, and to his mind the unconscious demigoddess had looked in a bad way; breathing shallowly through the constricting bandages that kept her wound closed. The medici insisted that she was stable, and there was nothing to do but administer the antiseptic herbs and wait for her fever to break.

"Agrippa is on his way." Varinius reported as he stepped up to the table and joined prefect Lucullus in poring over the map.

"Agrippa is here, tribunus." a voice answered, as the grey-haired senator pushed through the door at the opposite side of the council chamber. With him was praetor Graccus, who wore a glowering expression. The senator however was looking around with interest, as if he was comparing the room's appearance under Namorian occupation to how it had looked when lord Argam and the other Dun Morigan elders were in session. Agrippa smoothed his toga and bowed deeply to dux Marcius and his command staff.

"Senator." dux Marcius acknowledged, before inclining his head towards Graccus. "Praetor."

"My thanks for seeing me today, general." Agrippa said. "I had not thought to talk with you until tomorrow. Do you good men not sleep?"

"No." Varinius grunted. "That's why we defend the empire while everyone else watches it go to shit."

"The orcs appear to be playing hide and seek with us, senator." dux Marcius said, resting his arms on the table and laying his good hand over his bandaged one as he spoke.

Agrippa raised his bushy eyebrows. "Where?"

"I don't think that's how the game works." Varinius said with a grim smile.

"How is queen Nesara?" Marcius asked, as he made a surreptitious signal to his old friend to leave off. As Varinius lapsed into silence, he noted that Marcius had been careful to use Nesara's new title. Queen of Afragia now...and of Dun Moriga.

"Her majesty is worried about her new husband." Agrippa answered. "Both she and her people would like to see him returned to Tu Zenita Duskal. The dwarf refugees would be heartened to have their king back among them."

"They will." Marcius said levelly, "As soon as he is well enough to travel." He pulled his chair around to face Agrippa, the wooden feet grinding softly against the fur-carpeted floor. "I cannot pretend that this marriage between princess Nesara and Jornak of Dun Moriga doesn't surprise me, senator. For one thing, it was not sanctioned with Emor."

"I know." Agrippa said, inclining his head apologetically. "But Vagrund rex was newly slain, and his people were reeling. Dun Moriga needed a new leader, before the dwarfs lost heart and fragmented into groups no longer capable of united action. As for Jornak having to be married to take the throne...well, dwarf laws are dwarf laws. They acted as best they could to save their realm, general."

Marcius nodded his understanding, his face still neutral. "But." he said, "Marrying princess Nesara of Afragia doesn't just grant him the kingship - it unites two of the empire's protectorates. Imperator Claudius might hear of this and interpret it as a power play."

"I know that too." Agrippa replied, rubbing his forearm with his other hand. "I cautioned Nesara of it. But I did agree with her reasoning that Jornak's betrothed had to be someone of significance, otherwise the marriage would have been seen as a farce rather than the needed boost to the dwarfs' morale."

So it was Nesara's idea, was it? Varinius thought, hiding his surprise behind his customary frown.

"I understand the delicacy of the situation, general." Agrippa went on quietly. "But I have vouched for Nesara's loyalty to the empire before, and I will gladly do so again."

Beside Agrippa, praetor Graccus shot the Namorian commanders a look.

"Hmm." Marcius grunted quietly, his piercing eyes regarding Agrippa over his hooked aquiline nose. After a moment, the dux gave a brief nod. "We can talk properly in a few moments, away from all this paper." He called two legionary guards forward with a crook of two fingers. "My men will see you both to food and wine."

Agrippa bowed again without hesitation. "My thanks, general."

The senator carefully concealed the flicker of a question in his eyes, but Varinius saw it all the same. So did Marcius, and he evidently decided to indulge it.

"I need to make plans for moving the Fulminata back west." he explained.

Agrippa blinked, and so did Varinius.

"I understand." the senator said after a significant pause. "Military concerns are the most pressing."

He bowed again, and followed the waiting guards out of the door that still stood open behind Varinius. Praetor Graccus sketched a shorter bow, his hand on the hilt of his gladius, before sweeping out of the room after Agrippa. If the senator's pause seemed to be out of worry that the Fulminata's stabilising influence was about to be removed from the east, then praetor Graccus obviously had a different interpretation.

"Pressing concerns." Varinius heard the praetor openly hiss as the two emissaries disappeared up the jewelled corridor. "You'd be overjoyed if the army left and your princess could secure her little coup."

"You continue to wilfully misjudge me, praetor." Agrippa's voice drifted back as the men disappeared round a corner. The senator's normally unflappable politeness was now undercut with frustration. "I don't serve Nesara - I serve the stability of the imperium."

Is that so? Varinius thought warily. He was a straightforward man in thought and in manner, and he could see far more of himself in praetor Graccus than in the enigmatic Agrippa. He looked at Marcius, but if the dux had heard the exchange as well he didn't show it. In any case, Varinius already had a far more pressing question.

"We're heading west?" he asked, giving voice to the surprise that he had tried to keep hidden in front of the ambassadors.

No new scouts had returned that Varinius knew of, but he was suddenly reminded of the earthquake and the beam of light that had erupted from the Combrogian forest - the one that had come just as the army was forced to leave Combrogia behind for Dun Moriga. That beam had borne an uncanny similarity to the one that now hovered over Ech Zilidar. Had the dux decided that it was a coincidence worth investigating? Perhaps Marcius planned to rush back so that he could intercept the orcs if the first beam turned out to be the destination of their temporary portal. Yes, that would make sense. More sense than sitting here on the off chance that the bastards come back.

"Combrogia?" he guessed.

"Emor." Marcius answered, wrong-footing the grizzled tribune completely. "I'm going to take the Greeks, and the crocolykes as well so I can keep an eye on them."

He fixed Varinius with an intense stare.

"I am leaving you in charge of keeping the peace here out east. I need someone I can trust. Co-ordinate with Graccus and his men from the Ferrata and Moriga legions. Septim and the Roman legions will stay with you to counter any major threats - like if the orcs decide to retrace their steps, Mars forbid."

Varinius opened his mouth and closed it again as he followed Marcius in touching the iron pommel of his sword, to avert the bad luck of his words. He could understand why Marcius would want the Romans kept away from the city they had so recently tried to conquer, but none of the rest made sense. Marcius was the appointed dux orientem, not him. And praetor Graccus would no doubt be dismayed at half of his reinforcements marching away west, just when the ordering effect of a strong military presence was most needed. The orcs were still missing, the entire dwarf population remained homeless, and their king's marriage was causing a potentially thorny situation to develop in neighbouring Afragia.

"With respect, sir, I don't understand." Varinius said.

Marcius unfolded the letter he had been reading when Varinius had entered, and handed it to him. "My cousin's owl arrived with this half an hour ago."

The dux's grim expression was now fused into granite. Varinius glanced at the vellum before smoothing it out to read it properly. The signature at the bottom was that of Marcius' cousin, Seppia. Varinius read it, and was only half way through by the time he felt the blood drain from his face. By the time he reached the end, his stomach felt like it had been seized in a tight fist.

"Fuck the gods!" he swore violently.


* * * * * *

BREDEBUKT, THE FREE SOUTH

Thin flags tugged and fluttered in the wind as pale-faced Southerners ranked up behind the palisade. Armoured in fur and chainmail, they watched as archers stood up to the parapet and gazed nervously southwards. Behind them, the streets of the fishing village were deserted as those who could not fight huddled inside the town's wattle-and-daub longhouses. It had been scarcely more than an hour before the invading Northerners had surrounded the town, legion after legion surging forth from an armada of ships until the craggy snow-covered ground on all sides of Bredebukt was flooded with a tidal wave of blue cloaks and blue shields.

Reidar licked his lips, and glanced over his shoulder at the rag-tag company that was gathered behind his own militia. Every man and woman who could hold a weapon stood there now, most of them unarmoured, and perhaps only half armed with proper swords and axes. The rest had fishing spears, or else hatchets, smithing hammers...even just simple wooden clubs. Some looked coldly determined; others were positively green with fear.

Reidar didn't know how many of the villagers had escaped into the forests to the south, only that the ones still here were now trapped. He clenched and unclenched his fists around his sword hilt, and looked instead to Finn Aadland, the one man in the town who still looked quiet and confident, even after most of their fighting men had been butchered trying to hold up the Namorians. Finn was glowering down the hill towards the beach, where the bodies of their fallen comrades were now hidden by the unfurling mass of the Namorian war machine. He hawked and spat over the old wooden palisade.

"What they do to any of our people," Finn shouted, his voice carrying across the entire south wall despite the driving wind that sought to smother it. "They also do to us! If they can attack Branjaskr with impunity, or Gullhomen, or Ostfold, then our honour means nothing. We stand here, and we fucking fight!"

The words drew a defiant shout from the ragged garrison, and fists holding spears and clubs were punched into the air. As the cheering died down, Finn squinted over the parapet and narrowed his eyes as he saw a small company of men advancing from the Namorian line. Three men on horses led the group; two in high plumed helmets, and the third a dark-skin who wore thick furs over a distinctive red toga - one of the Namorians' thrice-cursed mages.

The three were surrounded by a knot of infantry marching in step. One wore a sandy pelt over his cloak, and carried a long staff topped by a solid gold eagle. Another held a banner which bore the inscription LEGIO XI MARTIS, above the same wolf's head icon that was emblazoned on the leading men's shields. A third carried a long signal horn that looped under his arm and up over his shoulder like some great brass cobra. The three horsemen at the centre of the formation reined in their mounts, and the colour party halted roughly halfway between the palisade and the ranks of silently waiting Namorians.

"The southerners don't seem scared of us." the tribune beside praetor Maximus observed as their horses stood stamping and blowing in the ankle-deep snow.

"We're all not scared." Maximus replied. His grey eyebrows were heavy beneath his helmet rim, and his breath misted the air as he snorted down his nose. "Until the end."

The commander of the Namorian army cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted towards the flimsy palisade that surrounded the fishing village.

"I have you surrounded," he boomed in rough Southern. "And I have over seventy thousand men at my back. You have a wooden palisade. There's only one way this can end. Surrender now and I will let you live. Defy us, and every man and woman behind those walls will die. I won't make this offer a second time."

Behind the wall, where the Southern flags still rippled defiantly, Finn's eyes briefly met Reidar's before he turned to look at the armed civilians around him. Behind them, the faces of children and the elderly peeked nervously through longhouse windows.

"Better dead than slaves." Finn growled. He gripped the pointed stakes that formed the palisade and hauled himself up to shout back at the Namorian leader. "Are you fucking joking?"

The praetor's response, though shouted to carry it to the wall, was ominous in its deadpan delivery. "I wouldn't have come all this way, to this frozen shit-hole of a country, just to tell a joke."

Somewhere on the wall, there was a twang as a Southerner fired an arrow. It arced high above the village, and then plunged towards Maximus and his entourage. The praetor twisted his torso, leaning hard over in the saddle, and the arrow zipped past his chest to skid through the snow ten metres behind the colour party.

"On your head be it, then!" Maximus shouted, as the infantrymen around him instantly closed ranks to form a wall of shields around the three commanders. Maximus nodded to the cornicen behind him, who put the looped brass war-horn to his lips and blew a single, rolling note. As the sound faded, it was repeated by other horns in the sea of blue surrounding Bredebukt, and translated by the shouts and snapped hand signals of legion officers. Maximus and his colour party cantered back to the safety of the Namorian lines as the Southern arrows began to fall in earnest. To either side of them, cohorts of legionaries began to march, shields rolling up over their heads as they bunched together into testudo formation.

Slowly but relentlessly, the solid blocks of shields ground forward. Arrows glanced away or stuck quivering in layered plywood. A lucky few found gaps, and there would be a scream or a curse as one of the scales in the armoured shell fell away, before the shields of the men to either side closed to fill the gap left by their fallen comrade. Lithe Hercinian cat-men darted behind the advancing testudines, returning fire on the Southerners with their own composite bows.

The carefully orchestrated advance reached all sides of the walled town almost simultaneously. As each testudo reached the walls it began to unfold, like a dragon unsheathing its claws. The first rank of men braced themselves against the palisade and locked their raised shields against their shoulders. The second rank crouched, their shields similarly raised over their heads. The third rank knelt. The fourth and following ranks stormed up the makeshift ladder formed by their comrades' shields, and leapt over the spiked palisade to land inamongst the Southerners behind with gladii slashing and shield bosses punching into exposed faces. The avalanche of blue crashed over the walls of Bredebukt, and the screaming began.

Minkasha
06-23-2014, 01:52 AM
The Free South - Tartarus Forces Enchantment

The winds of the tundra whipped at the fur shield of a tent walls, whilst through the entrance of the temporary building the wind aggressively lashed out and buffeted the already bitterly cold skin of Vardren Hezdial. Paying the gust no attention, the Vampire set to work on the strapped down dead body of an Orc. The thing had only been dead for an hour or two, killed by raiders from another world, leaping down into the camp with a ferocity that would match any man that Vardren had killed before. He had watched from afar with great curiosity - his hunger to know what created such beasts of men flowing through his veins, but his awareness of the complications of intervening in such an attack seemed to stick within his mind, stopping him from drifting towards the short battleground.

However, Vardren persisted and simply went to claim some of the bodies - interested to know the ins and outs of the dark beasts. The Dark Elves and their King had forbade the Vampire from getting any of their kin's corpses, but the commander of the Orc army, a rather tall monster of an Orc named 'Shurk'kule', apparently meaning 'Blood-Drinker' in 3 of the 7 Orcish tongues - Vardren had scoffed at this, though had kept the hidden irony hidden within his own mind, his sister far too busy drooling over her lord. Seeing him had changed her, she had become much more singular - drifting more delicately into her madness, more predatory. She was driven, and this worried Vardren, who had always pulled his little sister along with him like she were a toddler - a very brutal and deadly toddler.

Regardless, the younger Vampire sat with her legs crossed upon the fur lined floor, her eyebrows scrunched as her eyes - which were usually filled with childish desire - scanned the floor as if searching for answers. She was filled with determination - she could feel her lords finger upon her torso as in his glorious madness he had gifted her with a power she could not comprehend nor utilise. Vardren turned away from his sister and back to the Orc's body, using one of his long nails to cut through it's hard flesh, it's skin becoming more of a leathery consistency as the beast aged in death. The Orcs seemed to rot quickly, their skin becoming like thick bags to retain the stinking flesh - they truly were disgusting.

As Vardren went over the body of the creature, the entrance to his tent seemed to widen and the sound of armor shifting in place came. Vardren looked up, the gusts that were blowing hard against him being blocked off by the figure of a Dark Elf sentry, his hand remaining at his swordblade the whole time, either for custom or for security.

"Our King wishes to entertain an audience with you, Blood-drinkers." The Dark Elf spoke, his voice flowing through the air like a foreboding yet beautiful dread. "He tells me that there is work to be done, and he understands that you two get...hungry." Vardren didn't have much desire for consumption of food, a hand still playing along the corpse below, but knowledge in its stead.

Hidden behind his bird-like mask, he finally turned his head up to see the dark Fey being. His sister however, walked over with a hand on her hip, her large circular blade dragging on the ground. Its sharp jagged edges made it bounce and wobble while being dragged, making the most annoying sound against the ground. Concentration broken, the Vampire choose to listen to her.

"What he want?" her weight shifted to one side of her hip.

"Now now sister..." his hand pulled from the Orc, glove covered in decay. "They have been...hospitable" spare the bodies, sadly "let's not cause trouble" Cassandra rolled her red eyes with an unnecessary sigh added. Much of what she did was found to be unnecessary, so Vardren learned through their lifetime together.

"If you would follow me." The Dark Elf turned and exited the tent with the Hezdials in tow. Once outside of the tent, the thick blizzard winds of the south whipped harshly and unforgivingly upon the three figures, none of them being able to feel the extreme temperatures thanks to the the Hezdial's vampiric resistance to the temperature, and the conditioning and upbringing of the Dark Elves.

As the trio trudged through the snow-covered camp, they received an array of odd looks - Orcs baring teeth and hissing through their throats before returning to feast on their raw meats - some of manflesh and others hog and horse, a particularly large Orc stood feasting on the muscular arm of one of the many horsemen who had rode through the Ark after the Orcish legions. His noisy chewing was interrupted as he smiled grimly at the two vampires, blood gushing through his teeth before he shoved a large thumb in his mouth and sucked on it - making the most of his gruesome meal.

A meal that made the two twins hungry, for they too were creatures who required blood to sustain them.

The twins also came across other beings, large men and women with helms of iron and axes, all with pitch black eyes that swirled with all the vibrancy of the underworld's abyssal depths. There was nought to be felt within those charcoal depths but barbarism and loathing. There were the huge trolls who looked upon the twins with no emotions, they were far too busy straining against their chains, seeking release from their slavery - and the Anequines, who did not even regard the twins as the 30 foot spider-horses fought over the body of a horse, before ripping it to pieces and attacking each other.

Eventually however, after travelling through the camp for a few minutes, the trio came to a regal, large tent - bigger than the others. The sound of fire flickering inside was apparent, even over the screaming of the wind and the pattering of the snow upon the white ground. The Dark Elf escort stretched out his arm and pulled aside the tent opening, revealing the flickering fire and four different figures, one feasting on a hog's leg, the others slowly turning and looking expectantly at the entrance to the tent.

"Welcome." The Dark Elf King spoke, beckoning to the two. Even before the king of the dark Fey, his...impressionable sister would not find a bit of decency.

"When do we get to cut things up?" Cassandra's mind drifted off to the large arm in the Orc's grasp. Vardren's long beak turned to point at his sister as he stared at her, his mask holding back the look of annoyance.

"I imagine soon. Be patient..." the Vampire looked to the Fey "And be quiet" The robed man walked past his sibling, his tools of dissection clinging and clanking until he was before the Fey king. "You summoned?" It was always his job to save face, ironically while his was always hidden.

"We had some escapees." Dozral, the King of the Dark Elves spoke. "Prisoners we held within our clutches. One of them is having...treatment - but his being was fighting against it. We need him back with us, back home." The Dark Elf King turned and looked at the two Vampires, joining the others in their watchful gazes. "You hunger for the blood of men, do you not?"

"Your language is poetic, but correct"

"And the blood of women too!" Cassandra had corrected Dozral. Another glance shared between brother and sister. "Sorry." she looked down, toying with her circular weapon.

"And what do two escapees have in common with our hunger?"

"Well. One of them is a Demi-God, if their blood is sweeter or not I do not know." The King smiled, knowing the right way to deal with the killers. "And the other is nothing more than a Foreigner, from the empire in the North. It's cold out there - if you can find them, kill them all but the non-human. He could prove interesting." The King walked towards Cassandra and Vardren and squinted his eyes. "Perhaps I could communicate with my Father, have his ally and your patron give you another 'enlightening' audience." Cassandra squealed with delight, but Vardren wasn't so joyous. The cold would kill any living Human. This wasn't a task to reward them, this was to get rid of them.

"Oh Brother...please!" Cassandra was now nearly on top of him, whispering desperately. He would not look away from the Fey king. There was temptation, his sister completely taken. He himself couldn't help but wonder the effect disease had on those with godly blood. How...curious...

"It is unlikely your escapees live. The snow has taken many, why not two more?"

"Because, the men of the South already know that we are here - my father felt the presence of a Demon of their control. He would have killed her had the bitch not escaped his grasp. But who does not know of us? The Northerners." Dozral's face was stern now, this was not an offer; it was an order. "If the Northerners do not know of our presence, then we can let them destroy eachother. Blackbeard's forces have detected an extremely large presence landing upon the shores of this pitiful wasteland. Let them butcher each other." Dozral turned away from them both now, looking over the table in front of him, a map strewn across it.

"My father and his King shall rise from their ashes, and then this universe will be ours."

Odin's Grotto - Combrogia Forest, Combrogia

Tsen had been walking along side the large man of with molten eyes. There was an uncomfortable energy between them, at least as she saw it. The darkness of having to walk past all the Eldrani corpses, and the glares they received on the way out of the out of the beautiful, and bloodied wooden city was hurtful for her. She felt victim to so much in her little time of life.

Time and time again she couldn't help but look up at the man she was walking with. He was a god, something she somehow understood: a powerful being beyond anything a mortal could ever be. There was so much mystery about him, there was so much mystery about herself.

Occasionally as the two passed through the city they would be passed by legions of Eldrani riding upon Horses, both of the natural type and some forged completely from Wood, with eyes glowing with a luminescent amber glow and with mouths that sported long, thin razor-tipped tongues. Those that rid on the Ent-Steed's wore robes and their eyes also shone with an amber luminosity, glaring through the thick wave of depression and darkness that seemed to coat the scenery, giving even the lush green of the forest lands a coat of grey.

When walking through the city there were even a few of the robed Eldrani meditating around trees with Golden leaves and swirling vines upon them - each of the snakelike vines wrapping around their wrists and throats, their eyes wide open and glowing a bright shade of green, almost blindingly bright.

"What is this?" Tsen asked, her eyes looking at the Eldrani inquisitively. "What are they doing?"

"They are scrying." The man replied. "The Eldrani are a vengeful people, they are likely looking for their Lord, Kurosavi - you have met his son already. They also search for the invaders who caused this death - the murder of any Druada is a sad moment in their history, and war is not customary of them unless against the enemies of Eternum, her 4 sons and the Elemental Lords of the Wind, Water and Life. These men however-" The man did not speak for a second, pausing in thought. "The Priests of the Druada have seen their danger."

The man continued to walk onwards, pacing through the city and paying the angry visages of the people no heed, for he knew of the suffering and hurt that they all felt - it was hard not to, as it clung to the atmosphere like cloth to a drowning man. "They wish to rescue their lord, and destroy the forces of the invaders - running from the Druada has given them no doubt in mind of their enemy - it is a great disrespect, and not a humbling one. Especially when they have left that-" The man pointed to the towering orange beam that hit the sky and succeeded the clouds in height "behind in their wake."

The Druidic sanctuary wasn't that far behind them when Tsen had to speak.

"What is your name?"

Tsen's companion continued walking, never faltering - the furs on his back flapped within the forest as the winds of the North flowed through past his body. "I am Lupinus." The man simply replied, never turning his head, just directing the two travellers through the tick encompassing forest, avoiding the march of the Sepplengais as they waded through the foliage around them, jumping over bodies of Eldrani and Sepplengais and Namorians from Skirmishes long passed. The smell of rot and earth filled the noses of Tsen and the God, and it was not a pleasant smell. Death was truly everywhere.

"Lupinus" she repeated the name between staggered breaths, the non stop walking taxing. "Why are you helping me Lupinus?"

"I am helping you, because you would die without my help." Lupinus did not turn to face her still, he continued to pace onwards, snapping twigs underneath his feet. "I once met a man like you. He was an oddity - I could tell he would play a part in the destiny of this world, a world that I have known for such a little amount of time. He was strong, benevolent - powerful and loyal to his country and it's cause. I helped him, only slightly - I did not give him a weapon, I did not give him guidance, I merely helped him with a gift, and I will help you in this moment as well, not with a gift, not with a weapon, but with guidance, for I believe that we all have a part to play in this world's destiny - but how are we to know that destiny when we cannot know ourselves."

Lupinus finally turned to her, his beautiful flowing eyes staring into her features, as if reading her like a book. "You, Tsen Tsaven, you are an oddity." And his words stuck offense to Tsen. The Elders found her odd, this god found her odd. Tsen whipped her head forward quickly, black hair able to spring about as she defensively broke eye contact. She was what she was....whatever that was, why did she have to feel so...

She sighed, a part of her knew that Lupinus was right about at least one thing: without him, she would have died somewhere in this woodland.

"I break the 'conformity of nature'" Tsen quoted his words, keeping herself facing forward. "I wish I knew what that even meant"

"It means you are not meant to exist. It means you are in good company, for that makes two of us." Lupinus replied, pushing through a few branches with his rough hands, ripping through trees, being careful that he wasn't ripping through a Sepplengais in a stationary position. Tsen followed behind him, keeping herself small between the foliage.

"How do you know that? How do you know I wasn't meant to exist?"

"I can smell it on you." Lupinus stated before laughing quietly to himself. "The smell that accompanies a foreigner, but you're not foreign are you, because I can't smell anything other than this forest on your feet. The Dirt of Combrogia, it's a toxic smell. I can't smell the sand of Afragia, or the dry land of Emor. So you are not meant to be. I can smell it."

His words quieted Tsen. The only sounds become the movements of branches, and leave and the bristling of nature beneath their feet.

But there was something out there, without any form of doubt. Something stood in the bushes, both a bow drown and a heavy heart - a shoulder jarred and pained by a wound created months ago, and a heavy lack of belonging - much like Tsen and Lupinus. The God stood still for a moment, his back tensing up as he looked directly into the bush.

All was quiet, the birds did not chirp, the trees did not rustle and the ground did not groan with the movement and uprooting of the slumbering Sepplengais in the distance. Such great oak and spruce trees and risen from the ground, leaving great craters in the earth where they had once harnessed the nutrients that Eternum gave them in order to grow stronger and to live longer. The God turned his head and cracked his fist with it's own palm before flexing it out. Right before Tsen's eyes Lupinus dropped to the floor and arched his back upwards, voluntarily or involuntarily she did not know. His fingers arched out and bone cracked and remoulded itself. His jaw stretched out, with two jagged tusks of bone ripping through his lower Jaw's skin and reaching slightly over and ahead of his bottom teeth, which had now accompanied his lower face in turning itself into more of a canine shape, twisted and turning into that which resembled a wolf. His legs changed into that which would belong to a wolf as well, and a coat of brown hair matching Lupinus's own head and facial hair slid across his body - sprouting rapidly from his skin. The shift in the form of his legs brought Lupinus a new ground of heigh, bringing him to 10 foot easily.

He was majestic, yet terrifying all the same. Tsen had jumped back in fear of the shocking, and confusing unfolding events. His eyes locked with the archer in the bushes, who had seen things almost as terrible in his time. Lupinus grinned at sniffed at the air. "I can smell your sweat and the strings of your bow, archer. I can smell blood and war and death upon you - I can smell the blood of a God within your veins." His voice was changed now, deeper, richer, rougher..."Go on, fire that arrow. I dare you."

The Archer paused for a moment, no comment came from him. He drew back on his bow, a gift from his mother, and slowly allowed the arrow to be coated with a slender bolt of electricity, glowing purple at it ran along the arrow. Before releasing however, a snap of a twig sounded behind him. The Archer span around as quickly as he could before a furred body crashed into him.

Lupinus smiled as the Archer and another Werewolf barrelled through the bushes, the Archer on the ground scrabbling for his bow and the Werewolf standing over him, roaring at him. "Easy, Neve. We don't want to kill him." The Werewolf looked at Lupinus and roared, before stretching back and roaring to the sky, a roar that turned to screams of pain and anger as the fur over the beasts body violently returned to the human's body, and it's skeletal structure changed to fit that of an ordinary woman - the Werewolf now looking like a young Combrogian woman, the only oddity about her being the lack of clothing and the large bite mark in her right shoulder. Tsen couldn't help but stare at the naked female.

"Come my daughter, let the man stand."

She kept her gaze at the woman, scanning her body. There was a distinct difference that made Tsen feel odd: her loins were different. The longer Tsen looked, the more puzzled and uncomfortable she felt and finally she caved in to looking away. Why was the woman so different from her?

A few leaves crunched below her feet as she moved closer to see the man on the ground.

As Tsen moved closer, the Archer drew up his bow as quickly as possible and flexed the arrow backwards on the bow, an arc of electricity tracing up the shaft of the projectile. "Get back!" He yelled out, teeth grit. Lupinus roared in response, and his 'daughter' growled under her breath.

"Relax Demi-God, we are not going to kill you. Especially not her." Lupinus smiled as he followed suit of his daughter, fur receeding into a human form once more.

"Are you native?" The Archer yelled out again, scooting backwards with his legs until he was at a far enough distance that the naked woman could not lash out at him. This man was no coward, but he was smart. "Are you native gods damn you?!"

"And what gods would that be, boy?" Lupinus grinned. "Your mother? I'm sure she doesn't give a damn about you."

"You shut your mouth about my mother." The Archer grit his teeth and fired off an arrow, to which Lupinus stepped slightly to the left, not to late and not to early, just in time to allow the arrow to zip past his face. He smiled.

"Her huntresses don't seem to care either, I can smell them now - how long have they been tracking you daughter?" Lupinus didn't even turn to his daughter, he simply spoke and was confident in her response, she imitated him perfectly.

"2 weeks now father." She responded, her chest puffing up slightly with pride, easily seen on her bare chest.

"2 weeks? I thought the Huntresses were supposed to be the best in the land, your mother is getting rusty, and that's not a normal wound in your shoulder is it." Lupinus tilted his head inquisitively at the young Demi-God, who simply drew out another arrow and allowed purple electricity to flow from the bow and into the arrow. "They did that didn't they, with a Silverthorn arrow I bet - no, I'm sure. I can smell the stench of it." Lupinus wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That bow's about the only damned thing your mother's done for you I'm guessing." Lupinus took a slow step forward, then another, and then a stride. Until he was 3 feet from the Archer on the ground.

"Well come on, are you going to fire the arrow or not."

"Wait!" Tsen had called out urgently, raising a hand forward. "Please, please don't do this" she looked at the two men. "So many have died" she swallowed hard, nervous. "Please..." she called out sadly.

"It doesn't matter, he's not going to fire it anyway, because if he does he knows he can't kill me, and he knows that the huntresses aren't too far away. I think it'd be in his best interests to join us until we leave the forests, wouldn't you agree?" Lupinus looked down at the Archer, who's arrow was now being drawn backwards and was soon after placed back in his quiver. "Good..." Lupinus said, holding out his hand and dragging the Archer up.

"Now, we should likely get moving, we're half an hour ahead of them, but the Huntresses move quickly. They're tracking you two as well." Lupinus looked over at his daughter and at the Archer, who's name was still beholden to himself. "so that gives them an extra advantage, so I guess we'll just have to lay low and keep moving, and we'll be out of Combrogia in no time."

"Have you any sign of my siblings father?" Lupinus' daughter spoke, her voice surprisingly regal for the area, perhaps she was not native to the forests.

"No, I have not seen them since they went on their great hunt. Those that cannot control their gift seem to have avoided the hunt however. I have only heard of one since the hunt."

"Kuronus?" The girl responded, face shrouded in worry.

"Yes." Lupinus began to trudge forward, though his face was now coated with thought, and the air laden with tension. "And now Vulcan wants my head."

Azazeal849
06-24-2014, 02:58 PM
EMOR

"Get back!" centurion Drusus snarled as he shoved his shield boss into the face of the nearest refugee, a tall but emaciated Combrogian. His sunburst-marked praetorian's armour was hot and heavy in the midday sun, and the clawing, begging mass of grubby refugees had pushed his frustration to boiling point. As soon as the gates of Emor had opened and the bread wagons had begun to crawl their way down towards the refugee camp, the dispossessed people from Combrogia and Hercine had begun to swarm down on them like flies. The fact that there were twice as many wagons as normal only increased the speed of their fevered gathering. Of course, every one of the wagons was empty, but the refugees didn't need to know that until the rest of the praetorians had closed the ring around the milling crowd.

Drusus didn't disagree with the principle of the emperor's orders, even if executing them was going to be a bitch. Half of the refugees barely spoke any Namorian, many of them were an infection risk because of the diseases sweeping through the poorly-sanitised camps, and all of them stank. At present they were nothing but a drain on good, honest Emor citizens, who were already facing squeezed food supplies thanks to the war. And the owners of the farms and mines that formed the industrial heartland of Namor were always looking for more slave labour. Let the parasites work for their bread, the emperor had decreed, and centurion Drusus had to agree. Why should trueborn sons of Emor have to take food from their children's mouths, to feed beggars who hadn't been able to defend their own home provinces?

The challenge would be in getting the refugees into the prison wagons without undue bloodshed. The mob of hungry refugees didn't notice at first that the praetorians had formed a shield wall around them, but it took the threat of drawn swords to get them to sit down and listen to the tribune in command of the detachment. After the announcement was made and realisation set in, the predictable riot ensued. First there were shouts, and then stones, and then, as the mob finally registered that the praetorians had surrounded them and cut off their escape, there was a charge.

A mob of angry men and women hurled themselves at the shield wall. When the first of them ran straight onto the praetorians' swords, however, the rest reeled and staggered back, cowering and screaming and crushing each other in their fear. A man fell at Drusus' feet, curled up around a stab wound in his belly, and the centurion put his own sword through the man's throat to stop him clawing at his leg. Drusus thought that the operation was going about as smoothly as could be expected, until a second wave of reckless beggars threw themselves at the wall, bending the four-deep line backwards with sheer numbers. Centurions on horses urged their mounts forward to plug gaps in the line. As Drusus cursed and shouted at his men to hold their ground, he registered a thunder of marching feet and the chink of armour.

Reinforcements. he thought with a sigh of relief. He looked up, but instead of a support column marching from the city gates he saw that the legions had broken camp from their sprawling field barracks and were tramping down the highroad towards them. Drusus looked for the insignia on banners and shields, and saw the fist of the 2nd Valoria, as well as the falcon of the 3rd Invictus legion.

When they marched resolutely past the second praetorian task force, that was still struggling to subdue the women and children who had stayed put in their foetid camp instead of rushing down to the bread wagons, the praetorians' commanding tribune kicked his horse out of the melee and confronted the men riding at the head of the armoured column.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. "Who gave the legions orders to mobilise?"

"That would have been me." replied a balding, bellicose man riding a grey stallion. As the praetorian cordon finally broke the refugees and left them in a wailing, cowed mass behind a breakwater of corpses, Drusus turned to follow the exchange more closely. With a start, he recognised the centurion at the balding man's side as one of the men who had given evidence during the debacle at the Basilica Claudia.

"Legatus Rufus?" Drusus' tribune urged his horse forward another pace, until it was directly across the path of the legion horses. In pure terms of rank the legatus was the senior, but the praetorian guard stood above the ordinary legions - attested by the fact that they were the only professional soldiers permitted within the walls of Emor itself, the part-time joke that called itself the town watch notwithstanding.

"The emperor," Drusus' tribune growled, "Ordered you to stand down and pass your cloak to Furius, commander."

"The emperor," Rufus growled back. "Can go fuck himself."

Drusus saw his tribune's eyes bulge. The man leaned over in his saddle until he and the balding legatus were almost face to face.

"This is treason, Rufus!" the tribune shouted. spit flying from his mouth as he groped for his spatha. "The emperor will have a price on your head!"

"Really?" Rufus' own sword was already in his hand, and before Drusus' eyes it swung down and took the tribune in the side of the neck. It rose and chopped down again to send the man tumbling from his horse in a bloody heap. "Then why don't you ride on ahead and tell mighty Galen that I'm coming to collect it!"

Drusus and half of his men were still staring open-mouthed as Rufus kicked his stallion into a gallop, and the horsemen at the head of the legion column came riding over the tribune's body straight towards them.

"About face!" Drusus spluttered to the men who were still watching the cowering refugees, "Raise your fucking shields!"

A moment later, the horsemen came crashing through his hastily-formed line with the weight of two infantry legions behind them.


* * * * * *

When senator Aemilia heard the commotion through the thick walls of her cell, she had assumed that the city's frustrations had boiled over into a riot. When she heard steel clashing against steel, she knew that something was seriously wrong. When armed men splintered the doors of the city jail with a battering ram and came howling through into the cellblock, she thought that she was about to die. A guard came reeling into view and crashed into the wall, clutching at his throat as blood spurted through his fingers. Another fell sprawled right in front of her cell, a heavy iron ring of keys spilling from his hand and skittering across the floor. The keys were picked up by a centurion in a blood-spattered cloak, as men with the Valoria fist on their shields came swarming round him down the corridor.

"Agrippa!" senator Aemilia exclaimed as the centurion turned towards her and revealed his face.

Marcus Agrippa gave her a grim look through the sweat and dirt staining his cheeks, a look that told her this was not something he did willingly. "I guess we're all traitors together now, senatora."

He fumbled with the guard's keys for a few moments before finding the right one for Aemilia's cell. There was a clunk as the lock disengaged, followed by a screech of rusty hinges as Marcus dragged the door open. Bewildered, Aemilia followed Marcus as one of his men took her by the arm and pulled her through the crush towards the smashed gatehouse. After the gloomy prison, the sun was a dagger against Aemilia's eyelids as she stumbled out into the open street. As her eyes adjusted, they revealed to her a scene of chaos.

The street was a swirling melee, legionaries fighting praetorians as ordinary citizens ran hither and thither trying to get away. Aemilia found herself ushed towards a protective circle of Valoria legionaries who had formed around a small crowd of civilians. She recognised some of her fellow senators, as well as prominent nobles including Marcus' young wife Julia.

"Primus pilus!" a mounted soldier shouted to Marcus as he forced his horse through the crowd, almost running over Aemilia until her legionary guardian pulled her to safety. "The 1st are mobilising from their barracks!"

The 1st were the legio Imperator, the emperor's own. Aemilia quickly noted that there were none of their laurel-wreath shields among the fists and falcons of the insurgent legionaries.

"Fall back!" Marcus barked immediately. "Before they trap us in the streets! Where's the legatus?"

"There, sir!" the mounted legionary shouted. And then, "Look out! Praetorians on the right!"

Aemilia looked around, following the man's pointing hand, and saw a squadron of praetorian guards with sunburst breastplates surging down the steps from the plaza secundus. They were led by a man with a tall tribune's plume on his helmet. Then she saw legatus Rufus, distinctive in his own dorsal-plumed helmet and billowing cloak, shouldering through his own men to get at the tribune.

"Furius!" Aemilia heard him shouting over the chaos of the wider melee. "Furius, you bastard! I will have you!"

Aemilia saw the legatus bull-charge the praetorian soldiers, hacking at two centurions who closed ranks to bar his path. Before she could see more, she was swept away in the crush as the Valoria legionaries began to withdraw back down the via justitia.


* * * * * *

BRANJASKR

Gaius Octavius clenched his fists as Alya reached out to touch him. When Gaius had told the swan demon that he needed to return to the South and speak to queen Else, she had complied quietly enough; even though their last meeting had concluded with the Lady Jarl instructing him to wait for her summons.

To the twelve hells with her summons! Gaius thought savagely. He had held up his end of the bargain - he had cooperated with Alya to study the purple beam and the army that lay below it. He had confirmed to Else that the beam was some kind of portal. He had told her the size and the disposition of the enemy army.

Though he had feared an incursion of demons, the reality had been even stranger. Not just demons, but pale, fey creatures that radiated black magic; twisted grey monsters that varied from man size to as tall as the spires of Odinssen castle; and strangest of all, men. Men in fur and mail and boiled leather, not unlike the Southerners themselves, but nevertheless reeking of the same black magic as the rest of the horde.

The demon army might not have had the appearance that Gaius had expected, but it was every bit as dangerous as he had feared. He chewed the inside of his cheek as Alya prepared to take him across the globe. The ethereal girl, who kept her demonic nature so perfectly hidden behind her aura of innocence, reminded him that he should already have learned not to trust in appearances.

But the demons were not his only concern. He had done all that the Southern queen had asked. Now she owed him her own part of the bargain. The winds of magic blew only weakly in the frozen South, but as a result the rare Southern mages had a finesse with their spells that few members of the Namorian Guild could match. After what he had seen today in the Basilica Claudia, Gaius was convinced that his cousin's killers were not only still alive, but still working their evil in Emor. Only magic could have allowed the murderers to escape the Marcius villa unseen; only magic could have cloaked them from his own scrying spells so completely that he had been forced to call upon demons for aid. And only powerful magic could have twisted six praetorians so far from their senses that they were drawn to massacre dozens of their own citizens in one night.

Senator Aemilia is a fool. The emperor would never have ordered such blatant murder - and her accusations are only making things worse. The Southern assassins are to blame for this.

Alya took his hand. A flash later, he was back in the comforts of queen Else's bedchambers, feeling the fire and cold clash in his body. Else had her back to him; she was gazing at the purple beam outside her window. Gaius hesitantly paused to look at it himself. The portal was a rather sickly promise of things to come.

The queen stood alone, to Gaius' relief. The mere thought of the lascivious black demon sent a twinge of pain through his right hand, right along the line where his fingers had been severed only to be healed again moments later by Alya.

Consorting with demons and Southern rebels to defeat demons and murderers. Talk about fighting fire with fire.

"Queen Else." he said, relying on Alya to translate for him while he made a perfunctory bow. "My apologies for...interrupting, but we had a deal. My help in return for helping me find my cousin's murderers."

It was as if the Lady Jarl did not hear the rapid syllables of his speech, nor the smooth talking of the swan Demon. She remained still, the purple portal pulling at her to stare, Zahenri's fear refusing to leave her memory.

In some foreboding sense, Else felt as if she was staring at destiny. Was this the Pandora's box?

Gaius could see the queen's slender shoulders rise in a deep breath. Her jewelry sparkled from the light of the fire.

"And that deal is still in motion." She turned to face him, her expression stern but with hints of pain in it. "Until they lie dead at my gates or Branjaskr is lost in battle, the deal is still in motion."

"Circumstances have changed." Gaius said, dismissing the Southern queen's pain in the throes of his own frustration. "The killers have struck again - more women and children dead. I'm of limited use to you if I'm constantly worrying about my own wife and son waking up with a knife to their throats!"

He paused to look at the purple lance burning in the misty distance, his eye drawn by the same dark power that had mesmerised Else.

"I can weave anti-demonic wards around the castle walls for you," he went on, turning his frown from the window back towards the Southern queen. "But the work will be much faster if I have the peace of mind to be able to stay here for more than a few hours at a time. You said you condemned the actions of these murderers. Help me find them before they strike again."

"You think my resources are infinite? That in the middle of preparing my own people for possible death from the twelve hells I can just as easily aid you now?" In her foreign language, there was a sharpness in Else's voice, that was lost as Ayla translated the rhetorical question. The queen was stepping closer to him, an aggressive power in her walk. "You wish to stay in the winter lands of the south? I assume your family as well?"

"No." Gaius controlled the urge to laugh mirthlessly. Bring my family here, to this haunt of demons? Not likely. "I wish for a sign of good faith."

He looked at Else. In spite of everything he knew of the Southerners, he was once again struck by the air of nobility that she about her, and the anger born of caged desperation was something that he was all too familiar with.

You have to protect your people...and I have to protect mine. If you're stalling because you're as helpless as me to find these killers, then we have nothing more to say to each other. But you're not helpless, are you? I know you're not. And just as you know that I can't afford to ignore the threat this demon army poses to my homeland as well, you need a mage to shore up your defences.

"A sign of good faith." he repeated at length, narrowing his eyes at Else. "Perhaps the temporary aid of one of your demons? I specifically crafted my summoning ritual for one who had knowledge of my cousin's murderers. Your demon appeared for a reason, even if she lied through her teeth."

Else remained still for a moment.

"You are looking for opportunity where none exist. Until this conflict is over I cannot help you find these individuals among the many I rule over." Her fingers rubbed at her temples. "You want a sign of good faith, here is one: honesty. The best I can offer is having ravens scour the land. If they are not in Branjaskr or the nearby villages then it will be clear that their intention is not to aid in defending their people, and they will be easy to spot."

Gaius' eyes flashed at first, but as the queen and her translating demon went on, he calmed a little. As she finished, he just nodded.

"Very well." he said at last. "I'll need names stretching back six months. The assassins used magic in their attacks, but they may have travelled north by more mundane means."

Else looked to Alya with a raised brow. The two conversed briefly in the Southern language, with Alya shrugging.

"Names of whom?" Else asked at last.

"The names of everyone who's missing." Gaius said with grim determination. "And the names of three dead men."


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR

Sprawled under the sheets that covered her, Elisavet had been squirming. It was a new development in her feverish state. Masika couldn't understand. After healing Elisavet upon her first arrival with the legion, a twist of fate had brought her back into the Afragian medica's care for a second time. Having a woman treat a woman was logical, but this time taking care of the demigoddess was a much more difficult task; she was wounded and fevered, and no food would stay down her, only the sugar water. And the constant visitors made it impossible for Masika to undress the woman to clean her.

Clang...clang...clang...

The constant sound came from the messenger's shield as it clashed with the wooden surface that she lay upon. In this ravaged environment, that constant sound reminded the camp follower medica what had taken place here.

It was a miracle that Elisavet still lived. Still stained with blood, dried on her hair and skin, the poor thing still looked terribly pale. The Afragian had never seen a living person with such a color. A dabbing of cloth on the woman's face wiped off more sweat, the only part of the messenger's body cleaned of carnage.

Masika's ears picked up the sound of men approaching. More legionaries that had been let through. Her brown eyes looked to the men; they were shaken, a look of uncertainty on their faces. She opened her mouth to speak, when from behind her a wailing scream erupted from the previously unconscious Elisavet. The sweat and blood stained rag, along with the bowl, dropped to the ground as Masika ran to the messenger's side.

"LEAVE US!" she yelled at the men standing behind her. She heard their footsteps - quick and rapidly quieting. Masika held Elisavet by her unbandaged shoulder to study her, a look of concern on her face.


* * * * * *

Elisavet saw was swallowed by night-terrors, not nightmares. There was no blackness behind her closed eyes, but visions of her former combatant. The champion's imagination of what the sickly could do was ravaged by the brutality in her mind's eye.

They were blurry at first...the sounds of a distant distressed cry...a laugh of gross delight. But over time they became something more, and it always was in a pattern. At first it was the choice of prey, lurking in the shadows of foreign looking structures finding those exposed. The chase followed, many never lasted long, that was when Elisavet could feel the pointed ear man's lust of consumption build upon itself. A study of their running legs, a temptation, asking to be eaten.

The visions tortured her more still, forced to see the cornered individuals become victims of things she could not describe. And again and again she saw ways the body could be desecrated that she had never witnessed. She had screamed up to the nebulous universe around her to stop. She tried to cover her eyes and ears, but had no hands to do so. In this reality she had not been Elisavet, but a viewer of absolute truth. With each cut, cry, beg, and bite the champion began to intimately understand that this wasn't what the dark being wanted to do...but did.

Always was that sound, that sound of the six eyed monstrosity and his vibrating laugh. Spared only when she woke to her own screams. Elisavet felt a crushing pain across her breasts and ribs, tears moving down the sides of her face. A hand desperately, gracelessly, teared at the bandages covering her torso and her bosom spilled free. Purple kissed across her ribs, and around the suture that bound the gruesome wound at her left side.

She couldn't hold any sense of understanding, only a thrashed and wounded sense of injustice that brutality had beaten her morality. A dark-skinned medica ran into her field of vision and covered the messenger up with a pull of the blanket, her other hand pinning the bloody blonde. The terror was infectious, though for much different reasons. She must have thought that the fever was making Elisavet mad.

"Lie still!" the medica shouted, her dark eyes wide. Elisavet recognised the full lips and the freckled button nose of the woman who had cared for her on her first night in the Namorian camp. The medica was panting in shock, and paused to push her black hair out of her eyes with a nut-brown hand.

"You're safe, my lady." she said after she had gathered her wits. "In Ech Zilidar."

The champion sat up, her blessed body easily able to push past through the medica' pin. The bandages around her chest fell from her.

"Where is Decius Marcius?" she looked around for her sword with worry. Elisavet could feel the darkness inside her, chilling her very bones. Her body shivered, hairs standing up.

The medica gave a breathless laugh, which seemed incongruous to Elisavet until she realised that she was almost perfectly emulating her last encounter with the same medica - waking up with a start, and immediately asking after the dux.

"He is fine, my lady." the medica soothed, after catching herself and regaining her composure. "If he's not drilling with the men then he'll be in council with the other commanders. He'll be relieved to know that you're awake. But now please lie down - you'll tear your stitches out."

She put a hand on Elisavet's belly and another around her shoulders, and gently eased her back down onto the table. The blond gave out sounds of discomfort until she laid flat.

"I must speak with him..." her voice quivered weakly. "Please." Her plea shot her eyes to the brown woman's.

"Not with your tits hanging out, you mustn't." the medica countered matter-of-factly, to the demigoddess' blatant flash of shock. She gave Elisavet's hand a reassuring squeeze and turned to gather a spare bowl and cloth from the work bench, the pre-boiled water pungent with antiseptic herbs.

"Just let me get you cleaned up and check your wound," she told Elisavet. "And then I'll get chief surgeon Saturninus to go to the dux and tell him you're awake. He'll be here right away, I promise."

"Do what you must." Elisavet would not look at the woman, only the ceiling above her. "I must know what Decius has seen."

"You will." the medica promised as she got to work inspecting the wound under bandages that had gone too long unchanged. There was no pus, which was a good sign, but the demigoddess' fever had to be coming from somewhere.

"You know," she said, smiling to hide her concern, "I wish I was on first name terms with the dux..."


* * * * * *

Decius Marcius was already armed and armoured by the time the chief surgeon found him, the plazas around his palace headquarters buzzing with activity as the combined task force of Fulminata and Combrogia legionaries mobilised. Horses whinnied, centurions barked orders, and somewhere outside the crocolyke Zhnegra was leading his saurian comrades in some sort of guttural war chant. The Greeks were making their own preparations in the Malleus quarter, merely sending Marcius a curt message that the immortals would be ready to march by the time first light filtered down through the dwarven mirror shafts.

The implied insolence was almost palpable, but then again there was nothing about this march that was ideal. The army was compelled to divide, leaving Varinius and Graccus to stabilise the east with a force that now consisted mostly of Septim's Romans. The demonic threat was not ended, and Marcius hoped that this ancient foe would be enough to keep the Legate and his men loyal. He wished he still had Lycinia's council to assure him of Septim's honour, and the thought of his wife twisted the still-aching wound in his heart.

I have to trust her. the commander thought as he ran his thumb across the gold hammer-and-sun medallion around his neck, and recalled the bittersweet memory of Lycinia handing it to him a lifetime ago. Not doing so only insults her memory.

The legion would march, even though it would do so without several hundred men who were still too badly wounded to fight. The urgency of the threat in cousin Seppia's letter left no room for delay. Marcius pulled his gladius half out of its oiled sheath with his left hand, and lingered over the ceremonial inscription on the hilt before sliding it home again. Imperator Populusque Emorus. Emor was the beating heart of the imperium; its seat of power, its cultural center, and the home to most of the legions' families. If Emor fell, then all the achievements of the mighty imperium fell with her. No concern was more urgent than the threat of impending of civil war; not the eastern provinces, not the legion's wounded - not even Elisavet.

It had pained Marcius to make the decision. It was a blow to the legion's morale to lose another sign of the gods' favour, and he had seen it instantly in the men's demeanor when they were told that they were to march away and leave Venus' messenger hovering uncertainly between life and death. The loss was also a personal one, for although Elisavet's appearance had brought news that had almost crushed Marcius, she had also eased a small part of the burden that he could never share with his soldiers.

He had duty to carry him forward - on its own it was not enough, but with her last act Elisavet had proved what she had been trying to tell him from the beginning - a human heart could triumph over the demonic; even a wounded one. And so, until the gods decreed otherwise, Decius Marcius would fight on alone.

Almost as if the gods had heard his thoughts, it was at that moment that chief medicus Saturninus was escorted into the old dwarven throne room. Even a week after the battle, the grey-haired surgeon's eyes were shadowed from the fatigue of dealing with the wounded.

"General." the man said, snapping to attention and raising his arm in salute. "The messenger has awoken. She's asking for you."

Marcius wondered if the lift in his spirits was evident on his face as he thanked the medicus and left camp prefect Lucullus in charge of the final preparations for leaving Ech Zilidar. He found Elisavet where he had left her, in one of the smoke-blackened townhouses that now served as a field hospital. The Afragian medica from the auxillary camp had done her best to clean up Elisavet, but even under clean white bandages her tired and bruised visage stood in shocking contrast to her familiar Venusian beauty. Marcius clenched his jaw.

"A moment, if you would medica." he told Masika. The Afragian bobbed a silent curtsey and left.

Elisavet watched the woman leave wordlessly, her garments, accessories and shield placed aside and her body hidden under the sheet. At that first moment alone, the champion studied Marcius' face and she received her answer: he had not seen what she had. Even as strong as Marcius was, there would not be that strength in his stance, or on his face. It brought a great hope to Elisavet, but great concern for herself and her ability to do as Aphrodite had asked.

Sitting up, her covered legs and free-flowing hair spilled over the side of the table. Her right, bandaged hand held the sheet; in truth her hand across her breasts also served as a soothing aid to the crushing pain of the bandages she had to experience again. Masika had been sympathetic and did them looser to allow for breathing however. Her one bare and one bandaged shoulder rose with a deep breath.

Elisavet's eyes rested on the man's armour. "You look strong, Decius."

A wan smile tugged at the dux's mouth. "Thank you." His expression took on a grave look, as if he wished that he could say the same of her.

Another chill blasted through Elisavet's body and she shivered. "Aligned with your heart, you look stronger than ever." Her eyes kept on his face a gentle smile came. "Where does it guide you now?" The man looked ready to depart, was she to be left behind?

"Back to Emor." Marcius said, and moved forward a couple of paces to set his helmet down on an empty table. "Something serious has happened."

He glanced over his shoulder, as if to make certain that his bodyguard Varrius was guarding the door against eavesdroppers.

"My cousin writes that eight nights ago, several soldiers of the praetorian guard went on an unprovoked rampage across the city...and through the Roma district." His hand drifted to the iron hilt of his sword as he considered this second reason from keeping Septim's Romans far from Emor. "A number of people were killed, including several prominent senators. A senatora called Aemilia accused the emperor of authorising the killings, and he responded by arresting the entire senate as traitors. By all accounts, law and order is on the verge of breaking down. This was a week ago, and so we have no way of knowing what's happened since."

Marcius paused, subconsciously flexing his bandaged hand. He could bend the fingers half way now before the pain became severe, but he still could not form a fist. The thought frustrated him as he looked back up at Elisavet.

"Are you fit to travel, my lady?"

Elisavet slipped off the table to her feet, the sheet wrapped around her fertile form. Her bare feet sounded softly and stopped before the dux.

"Apparently so." she lightly jested. "But I cannot fight." She looked to her shield arm, impossible to lift without crippling pain. "Where is my sword? It would be insulting to Aphrodite to leave behind." Eye contact was made again, her sheets dragging as she walked to her shield.

"The men all felt too ashamed to touch it." Marcius explained, "So they wrapped it in a cloak and gave it to the medici." He glanced back towards the door and called out. "Medica!"

Masika appeared at the door, her eyes flicking nervously to Marcius before widening in surprise when she saw Elisavet standing. "Yes sir?"

"The lady's sword, if you would."

The Afragian nodded an affirmative, disappeared back outside into the townhouse hall, and reappeared a minute later with a long bundle of dusty blue cloak.

"Here you are." she said as she placed it next to Elisavet's shield. The champion's eyes rested heavily on it. "My lady, I strongly advise against you trying to use that until your stitches have closed up."

Elisavet nodded slowly, still seeing the Great Devourer.

"Do not worry. I shall not..." For some time, she feared. "Decius, I hope I can be of use to you off the battlefield."

Marcius' weather-beaten face creased into a smile. "Surely a daughter of Venus should know that the greatest deeds aren't performed on the battlefield. You helped this army long before we crossed swords with the greyskins."

Before Decius, Elisavet's drying hair waved elegantly from side to side with the shake of her head.

"I am no daughter of the goddess." Her other arm bent at the forearm to touch her silk garments, her arm movements minimal to avoid pain. "But her appointed defender, and a high priestess..." Elisavet's fingers moved across the soft, goddess-crafted fabric. There was a notable drop in her tone, sorrow. "I fight for her, and you, just the same...regardless..."

The images of the eaten people kept haunting her, and their screams. A cry escaped from her; shamed, she kept her back to him. The visions weighed too heavy on her soul to hold herself together any longer.

Marcius took a concerned step forward, although like the rest of his men he hesitated to touch her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, as Masika darted forward far more assertively and tried to coax Elisavet back onto the bed. The champion shivered again, fingers clutching at the white silk.

"I think I am going mad..." The cold was aggressive now, staying longer than before. Elisavet's body was tense. Maskia was trying to move her back to the bed; she felt warm to the touch, but looked as if the cold had been nipping at her. "When I fought that Demon, his sword forced me to see...unspeakable things. And now, they won't leave my head!" The champion was now back on the table, where her crying intensifed. "I keep seeing what that monster does, and the screams, and the laughing."

"She's fevered." Masika told Marcius firmly as she reached for a jar of somniferum. "She needs rest."

"No." Marcius snapped in reply. He felt a twinge from his injured hand, thinking that he knew exactly what Elisavet was seeing.

"Elisavet!" he said, using the champion's name to make her focus on him as Masika tried to restrain her quaking shoulders. "That sword was Hate. It attacks your mind but it can be beaten." He stopped short, trying to translate the images of family that had pulled him back from the brink of the sword's influence, and floundering for what memories would hold the same power for a demigod. "Focus on your goddess." he urged at last. "Focus on your mission. Focus on what makes you you."

On a desperate impulse that overrode his sense of blasphemy, he seized the sides of Elisavet's head and forced her to look at him. Her eyes were wide with shock, blonde hair flowing through his fingers.

"Medica, the sword!" he snapped at Masika.

Masika looked up, fumbling with the lid of the sedative jar. "What?"

"Let the messenger hold her sword!"

The bundle was given to Elisavet and her weaker arm held it firmly. Pulling it from the cloth the blade still had blood covering its magical metal. Gripping the hilt, her mind saw the six-eyed blue monster.

"The Demon, the six-eyed Demon!" The champion shook her head, trying to control her thoughts. Shutting her eyes, she instantly became quiet. A minute passed, her shoulders stopped moving so rapidly, her crying lessened. Her hand she realized, couldn't feel what it was holding. She let the blade rest at her side.

Elisavet's wet eyes opened to see Decius' still staring directly into her's. Reaching out, she placed her hand on top of his at the side of her head. She couldn't feel the warmth of his flesh, even the pressure of contact: touch had been taken away from her. The champion was speechless.

"Can you hear me?" Marcius asked her. His face was a stony mask. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes."

Marcius clenched his jaw. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was not quite right. Elisavet had never held the demon's sword. And the creature within Hate had never appeared to him as a six-eyed demon. Then again, he only had experience of wielding Hate, not of being on the receiving end of its deadly kiss.

He locked eyes with Elisavet once again. "Hold on, my lady. We're not leaving you. Can you stand?"

Thier hands had not moved apart, the champion still hoping to regain feeling.

"The Demon in my mind..." Doubt filled her voice. "Told me I am its host. I will not be one willingly..." Elisavet looked down. "I may be a danger to you now, Decius."

Marcius felt sick. It was almost as if the sword had found a way to avenge itself on him, repeating the slow possession before his eyes even after he himself had escaped it. He would not let the demon win.

"We need a mage, or a priestess of Venus." he said aloud. And where are we going to find either of them in Dun Moriga? "Stay with the army. Stay strong. We'll find a way to help you."

Elisavet lips lightly parted. She looked ready to protest but instead sighed, hand gripped tightly to his.

CrumpetCannon
06-26-2014, 09:43 PM
Sharktooth Bay, Afragian Coast

It is one of the many, many innumerable curiosities of life, whether young or old, rich or poor, black or white, every person alive on this world or the next knows well the sinking feeling of missing the last step.
Those many eternities contained within that one fleeting moment, lurching forward, feeling your world come to a juddering halt and a breakneck start all at once, as if the rug has been yanked out from under you. You're thinking of it now, that feeling that we all know, that deep yet oh so shallow drop in your stomach, your heart plummeting inches at once to compensate for that lost space, that isolated stretch of stair collapsing inwards and out of existence seemingly as you step your foot down just a tad too far.

What makes this universal spasm of prehistoric terror so unique is its versatility, like a stubborn sense of dread it will follow you everywhere, it is not confined to the last step, and will try its very hardest to catch you off guard when you least expect it.
That's what its all about, at its core it is the very basis of our emotional spectrum, love, fear, elation, dread, they all are personified by this sinking feeling so long as the base emotion is potent enough to harness it. One eternal truth about the sinking feeling is that no matter the emotion displayed, the deepest factor is the primal feeling that something is terribly, awfully wrong.

The current Admiral of the Fleet and supreme commander over the Royal British Navy knew this feeling well, had experienced it in many flavours, sometimes sweet like honey and sometimes bitter like one's mouth after a night at the bottle and several other glass receptacles.
Right now his heart shuddered and his stomach dropped because realisation had taken hold of them and tugged hard.

"You are Earthborn, aren't you?"

The backwards Roman -no, Namorian, the knowledge blindsided the Admiral- spoke the question with the barest trace of uncertainty in his trained voice. Clearly barking orders was a universal talent between armies and their respective commanders.

Namorian. The blue Empire. Southern tundras on a divided planet. Eternum. Yes, Eternum.

Memories flashed back to him like unwelcome stabs of icy forgotten knowledge, it had been so long ago and yet felt like last week in the grand scheme of things.
How many years had it been, five hundred? A thousand? Two? The afterlife hadn't been like he'd expected, he certainly hadn't been prepared for the sheer population of the place, when people thought of Heaven they conveniently imagined some pearly villa all to themselves, with no other human in sight save the occasional visit from whatever deity they chose to pray to at night. What the afterlife had been instead was a limitless space serving as home to an infinite number of peoples from every religion, creed and ethnicity, terrestrial or otherwise, the sheer number of souls in that place had been choking, you could hardly move and yet were free to go wherever you chose, more of a Purgatory than a definite afterlife.

The underworld was infinite and yet had felt crowded, creating a surreal reality that was far too easy to truthfully describe as otherworldly. So many cultures from Earth and beyond stewing together, the ultimate broth of knowledge, desired or otherwise. With naught else to do but speak and make peace with themselves, many of the dead shared the infinite knowledge of existence with their fellow damned.

Clemente had learned to speak German, that had taken three dead years to nail fluently. Mandarin had come later and had been easier as a result, an immeasurable amount of time in which to learn everything there was to learn made language feel like a minor hurdle. Spanish was two years, Norwegian was just one.
Of course, Earthen languages felt common when spoken parallel to the dialects from beyond the stars. Clemente had not learned Japanese because Old Shong had been more powerful and challenging. What were the many simple African languages to the velvety subtle and royal tone of the Eunacial peoples?

With the language came the knowledge of that world's customs, geography and wildlife, many flights of fantasy took him on sprees of learning that lasted anywhere from a week to seventy years.
Not just languages and worlds, either, the unflappable Admiral could list the name and nesting patterns of every bird that flew past his ship's helm, recite entire passages of dialogue between famous fictional characters depicted many hundreds of years past his own time on Earth. Useless earthly information was especially appreciated and treasured amongst the dead, as everything is without use in that Purgatory.

Neuroscientists and psychologists from multiple worlds had theorised that the human brain's capacity for knowledge was limitless, and that was technically true for Clemente and many billions of others who had resided in that library of an underworld.
The problem with such knowledge is that it decays over time, and time was all the dead had to entertain themselves with, learned knowledge never truly dies, but it does rot, over periods of years or millennia it will become weaker and harder to recall, pushed to the literal back of one's mind after centuries without revision.

As such, it took the undead Briton and unofficial scholar of practically everything almost an entire minute to process the fact that the armour-clad prisoner had spoken Latin, Namorian rather, a language that he had learned many centuries prior and rather fleetingly compared to others. Strangely enough, Clemente has spoken the language before the Legionnaire before him, as if he had recognised the blue accented garb and poise of the man without even cognitively realising it, he put it down to his subconscious working things out before his more conscious processes.
Certainly curious.

The Namorian tongue came to Clemente with no small amount of difficulty, the process of remembering the intricacies of the language was slow and cumbersome, marred by the creaky and aged centres of his mind that housed such tragically old information. It came out wrong, slightly mispronounced and clumsy, but altogether understandable.
"Earth is the planet I was born and raised on, yes..."

Another scrap of information flitted into the jigsaw puzzle that he was piecing together in his head.

A war, the Empire and the Southern wastes, yes, something about Earthborn, we've been to this planet on the wings of metal spacecraft, of that much I am sure, were we diplomats or were we conquerors? Damn. I have to tread carefully around this subject

"Although my men and I are unlike any of the sky-fliers that make their business on and around your world. We are from a time long gone."

The legionary frowned at him. "What in Mars' name are you talking about?"

The Admiral tried not to frown. Had he arrived in a time before his kind had visited the planet? He had been resurrected, something he hadn't thought possible, so he couldn't rule out the possibility of time itself hiccuping.

"You are Namorian and so this must be Eternum. During my... Scholarly years I learned of the war that will occur here, or is going on right now, the Empire against the South, with the Earthborn watching from the sidelines, more foe than friend."

“Salvius, there is much you must learn about Earthborn. To be honest, making an ally to a power like the Earthborn is not a good choice. I’d rather be executed than to make amends with my race.” Gabrielle said, finally breaking from his monotonic gestures. It was more of an angry tone that anything he has let out so far. To find out that his race has made it here has only told him one thing, they’ve finally obtained power.

Gabrielle then stood up and walked up to the side of where Salvius was. Gabrielle was rather determined to get some questions out of his own people, but at the same time, he knew he was going to get the answers that he didn’t want to hear. “So if you’re not our ally, then what do you want?”

This one in the mask couldn't have been Namorian, he held himself differently, and his accent was very telling.
"I am not affiliated with the Earthborn that make themselves known on this planet, nor am I in contact with my homeland. We found ourselves upon this planet after some manner of event pulled us from the Underworld. We are, for all intents and purposes, stranded here."

Clemente considered the motley crew that had stumbled too close to his countrymen's temporary hold, equal parts dangerous brooding and wary innocence. A trusting man would lower his weapon and speak to the captives unhindered by the barrel of a pistol, and a fool would do the same thing after asking himself what was the worst that could happen.
Clemente eyed that scythe, he was neither a fool nor a trusting man, and was painfully aware of the worst case scenario should he lower his weapon.

Without shifting his gaze from the Namorian, Clemente tapped into the instincts that carried him to the title of Admiral and addressed his subordinate gaoler, who was foolish enough to lower his weapon but dumb enough to unload it first for good measure.

"Private." Clemente guessed curtly, knowing that the soldier he addressed would sooner discover penicillin than ascend any higher.

"Sir!" The Private was stuck between keeping his musket barrel fixed on the prisoners and snapping to attention, he managed a sorry half salute with his elbow of all things.

"I want a contingent of riflemen ready outside this jail in two minutes. And for God's sake get some that can shoot straight, the last thing we need right now is boys with soap behind their ears and no idea which end to point at the men in different coloured clothing."

The gaoler saluted properly this time, dropping his rifle to his side and exclaiming in affirmation before rushing out of the shanty and hurrying for the nearest group of tents.

Clemente was left alone with the captives, painfully aware of how silent the place had become without the gaoler's sickly breathing punctuating every sentence.
One pistol shot against all of these formidable looking individuals, hell, an entire pouch of the round slugs may not even be enough to get past that Legionnaire's armour.
He told himself that even if they rushed him and got out of the gaol they'd be staring down the barrels of an entire port of Englishmen with varying degrees of finger itch, and prayed to no one in particular that they were rational enough to reconsider such foolish action.

They didn't seem to be doing much, though. The legionary was exchanging looks with the others, as if wondering what the English orders Clemente had just given the private had meant. A small advantage for him, then - he knew his prisoners' language, but they evidently did not know his. Clemente laid his free hand on the pommel of his sabre just in case, casting a wary eye around the room for the umpteenth time before addressing the Namorian once more.

"So I stand upon the sands of some backwoods Eternum desert, what with how your long dead kin talked about this place I had assumed that Eternum consisted solely of the Empire and the encompassing South."

"You are in the Empire." the legionary grunted. "This is Afragia province, although you won't find many people this far north. Most of them stick near the rivers or underground."

Clemente nodded his head slowly, deep in thought.

"I never thought I would actually visit the far off worlds that I spent so long poring over after my death, I had entertained fantasies of this sort of thing, of course, but to actually stand on another planet..."

He blinked, realising that the barrel of his gun had dropped a few degrees as his arm had relaxed. The weapon was raised once more and he spoke evenly.

"It's actually rather boring, now that I think about it. Of all the many exotic worlds I could have ended up on, I get the one that for all intents and purposes is a repeat of a chapter of Earthen history and cultures. No offence, gentlemen and lady."

["#ADD8E6"]The legionary gave him a lop-sided smile. "None taken. I've heard much worse from other Earthborn." He glanced significantly at the man in the cracked ivory mask.[/COLOR]

Following his gaze to stare at the confirmed Earthborn for a while, Clemente found himself keeping half an eye on the comparatively small and horned girl, her curious little sandcastle looking particularly earnest in the browning light of the setting sun that drifted through the gaps between the roof boards.
She was a contrast, alright, she looked so strangely innocent, and yet she gave off some terrible aura that hinted at something darker. He glanced at her horns once more, he didn't want to know which world she came from.

"If I may be so bold, what exactly was such a varied group of misfits as yourselves doing trudging around a place like this?"

"Why do soldiers go anywhere?" the legionary shrugged, with another lop-sided smile. "Orders." He straightened and looked Clemente in the eye. "I'm centurion Salvius of the 18th Fulminata, acting under orders of legatus Marcius and the emperor. I lost a few companions on the way and picked up a few more. We're headed for the gates of Tartarus."

Clemente refrained from questioning Tartarus but he did half raise a brow. He was familiar with many cultures' meaning of the word, and wasn't quite ready to go into the Eternum definition, it could be a separate Underworld or it could simply be a place which was named very passionately. He turned and fixed the masked Earthborn with a look, silently asking if he had anything to add.

"Well... if you must know... " Gabrielle began to speak as he remained on the ground, refusing to look at the other man. He then let out a big sigh and said, "Well, thanks to our cunning, we were able to make it out of a rather nasty predicament in Dun Moriga. We were already captured there because the king was nothing less than a tyrant. I called the king out on a few things, which led to him being hurt and sore, which led to our first prison casting." Gabrille was throwing a little enthusiasm into the speech, though it was for more dramatic sarcasm than anything esle.

"And so, we escaped out of there thanks to something belonging to a servant of the jackal god... so then we tried to escape, but possibly lost one or two of our members in the process." Gabrielle began to laugh a bit at the next coming part. "And then my dear good old friend over there in the corner decides it would be an excellent idea to call out the damned thing, get us all knocked out, and get us thrown in here." Gabrielle paused for a second as he turned his head to Salvius.

"So long story short, we both suck at talking to people, whether it's due to me not getting along with people, or from this other person being a bit nosey when he shouldn't, we are here." Gabrielle then looked at Numiera, remembering how she got hit by a hammer from one of the dwarves. "Admittedly though, my predicament got many of our members hurt, and for that I'm sorry." Gabrielle then put his hand on Numiera's shoulder as he said what he needed to say.

"I see."

The Admiral nodded and exhaled shortly, and took a step back towards the door of the gaol, hearing the unmistakeable trudge of many footsteps outside. Passing through the doorway without turning his back on the four captives, he finally allowed his gun to drop to his side and turned to look appraisingly at the redcoat troops standing to attention outside. That's the stuff, these were veterans, unwavering in their discipline and with rifles polished to a sheen by the rough usage on the battlefield.

"Bring your arms to bear."

With the almost sensual whistle of metal slicing through the air they did so, shouldering their muskets and aiming as one towards the gaol, Clemente breathed easy with the knowledge that one volley would reduce the shanty to firewood and the occupants to something beyond paste.
The Admiral nodded to his troops and turned once more to the captives, speaking from the doorway.

"Think of this not as a prisoner escort but as a friendly precaution."

"Of course." said the legionary called Salvius, who did not look convinced in the slightest.

"I believe we might be able to help one another. It simply wouldn't be proper to continue our council inside this sorry shack, come, walk with me around the camp as guests, and we can further discuss our relationship."

Salvius was still looking warily at the redcoats, but this time there was a flicker of cautious optimism.

"Well." he grunted. "Couldn't hurt for us all to stretch our legs." He stepped carefully out of the makeshift prison, and motioned for the others to follow.

Gabrielle was not believing what he was seeing, though in some ways, he knew that eventually he and his party were to leave out of this rotting cesspool of a dungeon. It was unearthly hot in there, despite the waters, which made things worse due to its humidity. Gabrielle then said to the soldiers response "I would never dream of this being anything like a prisoner's escort... oh no... it's much more subtle with guns staring you down every inch."

Clemente tactfully ignored the comment walked smartly towards his contingent and stood with his hands behind his back, every inch the stoic British officer that commands an army as if it were the most straightforward thing in the world.

Gabrille then motioned Numiera to stand up with him as he whispered leaning down to her "Come on, stay by me. I wouldn't think they would hurt you, but I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen again ok?" Gabrielle's tone was sincere. "I know I got you hurt earlier, but that won't happen again ok?" He then put his hand out to her in order to help her up.

By now the sun was beginning its final decline below the horizon, descending slowly towards nighttime and the milky moonlight that it carried. Soon it would be cold, just as the African sands of Clemente's own world would jump between blistering and freezing with the motion of the sun and the moon.
As it was, the entirety of Sharktooth Bay was cloaked in that dull amber glow that passed the torch along to the night, and although the climate was swiftly cooling the Afragian air was still hot enough that the reds would silently fidget beneath their heavy coats for a while longer.

Clemente returned his pistol to its place at his belt, the weight of the thing causing him to consciously straighten his posture to avoid stooping ever so slightly, his right arm still ached from holding the mass of metal and wood aloft at shoulder height for so long a time. Next time, he told himself, a sword would be more appropriate and likely more intimidating.
He patted the hand guard of the weapon in question and smiled at his guests in a very host-like fashion.

"Lets be off."


* * * * *

They walked along the edge of a cluster of tents, one of the larger ones where hundreds of British soldiers from all ages and walks of life bunked and trained together. The sounds of laughter and crackling fires highlighted how late it was getting, some wound down after a long day on duty by sleeping, others by drowning themselves in whatever liquid the canteens told them was alcohol. The regular snippets of raucous singing and no small amount of boisterous debate was carried on a soft sea breeze, the kind that you could experience with all of your senses, watching it caress the sparse patches of grass and whistle through gnarled tree trunks and linger refreshingly on your palate.
It was a breeze that Clemente had experienced for all of his last life and it looked like that would be the same for this one. In a way he was glad to be at the helm and out at sea once more, but life carried far more joys than the open ocean, as he well knew, there was a reason he had spent his last twenty years of life inland, living a life that allowed more time for loved ones.

A weight appeared in his coat pocket, a dull ache rested there as a reminder of what he was without in this alien world, a phantom pain to signify the absence of his most treasured possession, one that no regal coat or finely crafted sabre could match.

Fenchurch had handed the Admiral a digital watch one day, a well-meant token and a helpful little device. As a façade sign of respect he had waited until he was back on board the Aptitude before throwing it overboard.

Clemente ignored the empty space in his pocket and motioned for the party to stop. Flanked by red hued sentinels, the captives turned apparent guests looked very worse for wear, he could hardly imagine how dehydrated they must be on top of their exhaustion.

By this time, Gabrielle had undone most of his clothing to reveal nothing more than his under apparel. His under apparel was nothing more than a pair of short pants, which were of a dark clothe that dangled down tightly down his legs, reaching mid ankle. His robes were long gone at that point, for Gabrielle sought out to in a way pay back for what he did. Instead of holding himself above the quest group like he normally did, he decide to strip into nothing more than his bare feet and his mask. The sand stung with every step, his breathe was becoming more of a heaving due to the intensity of the walk.

The sun was beating down upon all over his body, surely eventually sunburning him a bit, but it wouldn't be as bad as most would take it. Every part of his body their was some sort of scar that always resembled not that he had be wounded in combat, but mistakes he made in combat and its consequences. Sweat was rolling down his chest and down to his stomach, but he proceeded to stay within reach of Numiera in case she had any trouble.

The redcoats were not much better, their concealing garments made the short trek a demanding training exercise as much as a routine escort, a few of them dabbed already sodden rags to their foreheads.

"We'll stop here for a short while. By God these watering holes are spaced far too few and far between."

He indicated a nearby freshwater stream from which a station had been erected with the purpose of storing and supplying the soldiers stationed in the Bay with the water that bubbled mercifully forth from some underground spring. The water station was manned by two grey uniformed soldiers from a more modern time period, they held half-concealed sub machine guns beneath their loose, grey camouflaged vests and started cutting open a plastic wrapped stack of bottled water at the approach of the thirsty group.

At the Admiral's nod, the redcoats advanced towards the station while keeping their eyes and a few of their rifles on their charges, gratefully accepting the bottled water and chugging the clear liquid with gratified abandon.

Being stubborn in his ways along with his discipline, Gabriel simply replied "No... they can have my rations. I will not sit... I will not wait... I will observe and talk if needed..." Gabrielle was showing a bit of his pride as well as humility in the fact that he would rather see the party be of standard rather than him. He also at this point just wanted to stand around and feel the nature around him, though it wasn't much to a normal eye, but to him, it was a vast beauty of anything the world could offer.

Glancing uneasily at the sweating Earthborn but choosing not to question what may well have been some sort of custom for the man, Clemente accepted his bottle of water with a nod and a murmur of appreciation, opening the plastic receptacle on the second attempt after twisting the lid the wrong way. Modern ingenuity took some getting used to, the Admiral had adjusted well to inventions such as this but always twisted the wrong way regardless of how many times he made the same mistake.

At least he could comfort himself with the fact that he was doing better than some. Salvius, who had been looking across at the tent full of laughing, talking soldiers with an almost wistful look on his craggy face, turned in time to catch one of the bottles as a redcoat called to him. Once the legionary had a chance to look at the bottle, he stared at it as if the man had tossed him a wild stoat.

He turned it over in his hands, squeezing the unfamiliar material and watching a bubble slide from one side to the other beneath the clear plastic. Then he tried to prise off the cap, which led to a hissed curse until he saw one of the soldiers twisting theirs off. He imitated, pausing with a frown as the seal cracked, and then finally removing the cap. Glowering at the bottle, he drank.

The legionary swallowed, and then looked up at Clemente in surprise. "It's still cold."

The Admiral smiled, as if he had been waiting for someone to bring it up.

"Absolutely astounding, isn't it? They're kept in 'cool-boxes.'" he tested the word like someone saying it for the first time. "They're refrigerated, no ice needed, just some power and some creativity. You'll see quite a bit more of this kind of thing aboard the newer battleships, some of the technologies I have seen these past weeks are above my understanding, I still haven't grasped microwaves."

He chuckled and took another sip. The water was cool and refreshing, blessedly kept below the scorching temperatures of the desert by the little blue boxes, another vital modern concept that he was extremely thankful for.

Speaking of modern concepts, a familiar crackle from somewhere around belt height told the Admiral that he was about to receive incoming communications. The still drinking guests gave him some odd looks as he unclipped the radio from his belt and held it up some distance from his mouth.
The machine crackled once more before finally establishing the actual connection.

<"Admiral, Sir?">

Clemente nodded in response before remembering that he had to speak to let his attention be known. He held down the little red button and replied somewhat awkwardly, still not quite used to talking to someone a mile away.

"Yes Fenchurch? What news?"

<"Sir. Repairs on the ships damaged by that damnable whale are effect and proceeding quickly, and the maintenance and refuelling of aircraft scrambled during the attack is underway, engineers are making do with our lack of mechanical supplies and assure me that all aircraft should be air and seaworthy within a day.">

Good news, the Admiral hadn't been expecting that, it was the radio's fault, the thing always seemed to bring more news of delays and mechanical failures than news of progress.
He pressed on the little button again.

"Splendid. And what of the sailors rescued after the battle? Are they being seen to?"

<"Most are already shipshape, Sir, and are being confined to a day's bed rest only as a precaution. A select few appear a bit more shaken up, but it's nothing a bit of care can't iron out.">

"Good, I don't want any lasting damage left untreated, make sure to carry out full psychological evaluations. Anything else to report, Fenchurch?"

There was a slight pause, Clemente knew it well, it seemed that Fenchurch's dialect over the radio was half slight pauses these days.

<"With all due respect, Sir, some of the other lesser Admirals have been having... discussions. They question the organisation of the fleet's defence during the whale attack and seem to think it could have been coordinated better.">

Clemente frowned, a feeling of unease and some small nugget of indignation rising up in his chest. He spoke with a bit more venom than he intended.

"That's your way of saying they think it could have been commanded better, isn't it? Perhaps by someone other than me?"

Another pause.

<"Admiral. Please understand that I hold you in the highest respect and that I would rather serve under no one else but you. It has merely fallen unto me to deliver to you the news of the other Admirals' discontent, I share none of their views on the matter.">

Clemente sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, holding the button down after a short period of gathering his thoughts, which were racing through his mind like a wildfire.

"My apologies, Fenchurch. I shouldn't have projected my emotions onto you, I beg your forgiveness and find no issue with saying that I could hope for no better a Captain or advisor as yourself. I suppose the Admirals desire a meeting with me?"

<"I thank you Sir, for your leadership and your kind words. The Admirals are already requesting a meeting of all the assembled higher Officers for noon tomorrow, they hope you can attend.">

Clemente was sure that if the radio's incessant crackling didn't mask emotion and tone so much he might be able to detect the gratitude in Fenchurch's voice, as it was, the Admiral felt like he was speaking to a machine.

"Very well, let them know that I will be in attendance and will strive to address their concerns. This is going to be a long one Fenchurch, make sure there's enough cigars around the table to kill a small developing country."

<"Naturally, Sir.">

The party followed without argument. Salvius was still hanging on to his water bottle, apparently having decided to keep it.

"I've seen a few Earthborn talking into boxes like those before." he commented. "They said they were for sending messages. Could one send a message back to Emor?"

"No. As far as I know these are sibling machines, they only work between me and my direct subordinates, I have another that broadcasts to the command tents within each small camp. It all relies on technology far ahead of my time, but unless your Emor also possesses a radio, we could not reach them from here."

The radio crackled as Fenchurch chimed in to the conversation.

<"The technology relies on receivers on each end that process the others' message and plays it back. You'd need to establish a receiver in Emor along with the proper hardware to submit messages, otherwise you'd just be talking into a chunk of plastic and metal.">

Clemente nodded, smiling slightly, turning back to Salvius.

"There you go. I'm sorry we couldn't help you contact your commanders, that's one avenue where even our technology is of no use."

The transmission was severed, and Clemente looked up from the radio to find all eyes on him. He clipped the thing back onto his belt and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Everyone had their fill? Splendid, shall we move on?"


* * * * *

Night had fallen and spread its icy reach across the Bay, transforming the makeshift port into a veritable tundra, fires were lit in their droves and fought against the bitter sea winds that sought to whip the flames out of existence, the threat of extinguishment prompted many servicemen and women to tend their fires beneath large three walled shelters built for that exact purpose, with the open wall facing away from the ocean and the chilly talons it sent inland, the wind was kept at bay long enough for everyone to get properly warmed.

The Admiral and his guests were sat around just such a campfire warming their hands and filling their stomachs with hot stew prepared in bulk by the various canteens dotted around the vast camp. Their guard joined them, keeping one eye on the guests as they shovelled the meal into their mouths with unmatched haste, forever focused on their task despite how casually their Admiral commander sat and tried to spark idle conversation with the captives.

Sat on and around desert logs sandpapered down to a smooth surface, the mismatched dining fellows made the most of the warmth and comfort. Beneath the twinkling stars one could gaze out over the entirety of Sharktooth Bay and count the many small individual fires and huge collective bonfires set up by the British for the night, concentration wasn't required to pick out the many sources of noise that peaked from the biggest fires, soldiers and sailors and engineers and staff that sang and drank the night away, unwinding in the classic way as old as time itself. Clemente noticed that Salvius was grinning quietly to himself as he listened to it, and was glad to see the Legionnaire more at ease.

Setting his bowl aside for a moment, the Admiral rubbed his palms and leaned back slightly on one of several logs, releasing a content sigh as the warmth of the broth filled his body. He considered his guests closely for what felt like the hundredth time that day and made an attempt at conversation.

"You'll all be provided with beds for the night, I won't be so cruel as to have you sleep on the floor of those cells."

He didn't mention that he would keep guards stationed outside their tents throughout the night, figuring that that much was obvious and didn't need to be said. "If Salvius had worked out the unspoken proviso, he merely shrugged at it.

"I'll take that offer."

Gabrielle was surprised at the mans generosity as he still continued to think about the mistakes he has made upon entering Eternum. Gabrielle was still up on his feet as he said toward the man's generous gesture "No..." He paused for a moment as he kind of got his feel for the rest of the area he was in. "I don't need a place to sleep. Give my extra space to them, they'll need it more than me." Gabrielle was trying in his own way to give them the bedspace, though Gabrielle's monotone answer made him sound a bit rude by it.

"Though we are... being brought as though we're friends... I wouldn't expect you to be kind to me. You haven't deserved to be kind to me just yet." Gabrielle pride was somewhat getting in the way during that mind speaking that he normally does. "You can't butter me up like that, even if you offered me these generous offers."

The Admiral had almost expected such a reply from the Earthborn, who he was already predisposed to act cautiously around and bluntly towards. He recognised those who saw and addressed the world the way it was.

"If you'd rather sleep out on the sands and die of cold then that is none of my concern, but rest assured as long as you remain in this camp you will be watched for my own peace of mind, I can't have you wandering about causing trouble. No amount of bravado in front of your comrades will alter your standing among my men.

Clemente, tested but satisfied with the way the day had gone, began inspecting each of his guests individually, of course his gaze settled immediately on the horned girl and her distant but intent facial expression. She was an oddity amongst these oddities that had found their way into his temporary domain, and he could no longer stave off the temptation to find out more about her.
He reached his hand into his inner coat pocket and retrieved his pipe and tobacco, filling the bowl and lighting it with a match from a small box marked with the Royal Navy's insignia. He threw the match into the fire and gave a few experimental puffs before fixing his gaze on the half-breed.

"And what is your name?"

It was an uncomfortable several moments before Clemente realised that he would get no answer, clearly the girl was less comfortable in these surroundings than her companions. He would let her have her silence, but would never drop the possibility of it all being an act.

The Admiral locked his eyes on the next guest, the intense human who seemed to be a master of brooding, he looked as if a thousand and one plans of escape were being formulated in his head, a thousand of them involving murder and one of them involving some form of infanticide.

"And you, what do they call you?"

"Hmph, that seems to be the question I'm asked a lot these days, though I understand the position you're in. You wish to know my name, why? Is it because you think you could get more out of me that way?" Gabrielle's comment was a bit snide in many respects, but he was still holding some distrust in the man. Whether saved by him or not, Gabrielle couldn't help but to be weary of the man that was before him.

"I prefer to know the names of the men that I make dealings with, just as I prefer to know the names of the smart-mouthed braggarts that I send before a firing squad. You can hold your title to your chest if that is what you want to do, but where I come from there are consequences for those who speak as such to an Admiral."

Satisfied to a degree with the information he had learned from the group, or the lack thereof, Clemente chewed lightly on the stem of his pipe, savouring a long drag as an errant breeze pulled at his hair. The wig was back on board the HMS Aptitude where it belonged.
Deciding that enough time had been spent on introductions and frivolities, however brief, Clemente leaned forward once more, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees. He fixed the Namorian with a calculating stare, one that Officers and Commanders in all militaristic forces used to regard those of equal rank or regard.

The Legionnaire carried himself well and seemed to act as the leader of the group, so he was the one that Clemente addressed with the beginnings of official discussion.

"Down to business, then. You and your associates are clearly here on a mission, God given or government issued, it doesn't matter, I know next to nothing of this world, but I am a man at home in warfare and I know how the air tastes when war is brewing. I can tell just by looking at you that the weight of the fate of world is balanced upon your back, your goal is vital in some way or another."

"You could say that." Salvius replied levelly.

The Admiral pulled the pipe out of his mouth and resisted the temptation to wave it around expressively, instead expelling a mouthful of cloying smoke that was swallowed by the coastal air.

"You are a group in need of assistance and I am a man with more ships under my command than there are hairs on all of your heads, and more able-bodied men at my beck and call than there are stars in this night sky. Around the War Room table we call that a mutually beneficial state of affairs, an opportunity for exchange."

The pipe was returned to its place between his teeth, and the fire crackled petulantly as another gust of wind lashed at it.

"There is a saying amongst the more new-age members of my Naval legion: 'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours'. I believe we could all benefit greatly from such an arrangement."


* * * * *

Salvius was out of his depth, and he was trying hard not to let it show. A helpful Earthborn? Maybe there really is a first time for everything. He was glad that the Admiral's food and water had alleviated the worst of his dehydration headache. He would need to be able to think clearly. If there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was to broker a deal with as many strings attached as the Earthborn's aid with the southern invasion.

"Alright." he said, "And what exactly would you be looking for in exchange for your help?"

And now the Admiral's fingers were steepled, his eyes bright with the prospect of the trade.

"I am in need of relations, friends, to be more frank, and I believe your Empire may well be open to such an offer." He blinked as suggestively as was possible. "If someone were to put in a good word, in a manner of speaking, with your Emperor, I would be extremely grateful."

He patted down the sleeves of his shirt, attempting to flatten the creases and failing.

"We need to get home, and your kin may possess knowledge of how to bring about such a movement. And if that is impossible, then it would pay to have allies in this hostile land."

He leaned forward once again, eyes locked with the Namorian's.

"My aid for in return for your words in the Emperor's ear. What say you?"

Minkasha
07-08-2014, 06:12 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South

The Northerners and their bureaucracy, how presumptuous for them to assume that the entire world functioned as they did. Alya took Gaius back to those conquering lands, leaving Else to scoff at the mage’s request. A list of names? She stepped out of her room in frustration. Her people were not one of paper and property. A name was what one wanted to be called, a way to have a man’s or woman’s accomplishments passed down through story, not a signature, not a way of control.

Simply put, the man was asking for something she could not provide. Her glare swept over a house slave who kneeled before her grace. Why was she trying so hard to appease this high mage? A small part of her had to ask, she could have taken what she wanted but now she was vulnerable. With Zahneri away she only had the persuasion of diplomacy: and Else had forgotten how irritating it was. Gaius’ aid was vital.

The Lady Jarl knocked on her youngest son’s door, her assumptions served her well as she entered. But her boy looked…mad. He was walking in a circle, teeth grinding, fists tense and his face…that was what Else could not keep her eyes off of. She saw a striking fury, her boy was growing, but into what?

Max had taken no notice of his mother, thoughts of Zahneri’s bloody body fueled him. Oerin was standing near him, concerned. Else waited, but her child only continued to circle on the large furs. A hand placed on his shoulder finally got his attention.

“I’m busy” If only fleeting, back to the circling and the gritting teeth. Her hand fell from him, the royal leader moved to the Demon. Oerin looked away; her eyes were more interested in his black feathers. Yanked out, the Demon did as Else commanded and scattered six birds out into the sky, each going in their own individual directions. Their first test was to brave the fires of the chimney and its smoke to fly free, and they succeeded, immersed in the winter sky…and gone. Else hoped to search provided something, perhaps then the mage would be more compliant.

Her son wasn’t going to go anywhere, he was lost in his own world and perhaps that was best for him. Letting Oerin continue his duty, the Lady Jarl returned back with her people, furs wrapped heavily around her. The crown collected snow upon her head; she was back in the mass of snowflakes and Southerners.

But her ears picked up word of something disturbing: a tall white haired woman was being walked through her capital. Of course, helped by her second son. People had spoken it at a great distance from their leader, but Else was observant. She could see the faces of discomfort, hear the voices of bewilderment.

And Else was quiet bewildered herself. Not that her son, ever the shining knight, plunged into helping what she could only assume to be Syf, but rather the failure of Zahneri’s murder. The cascading mess Syf’s wild mouth would cause would be disastrous. The swords of her own people pointed back at the family now would not only destroy all morale. It would destroy all of the Free South’s final chance for survival.

Else did not have to brush her way through her people, they parted for her. Swords and axes laid low, all on one knee, not a single one could read her face. Her movements were a quickening grace; snow crushed and stone stepped on below her. Fires in pits kept her warm, the weather slapped her cool, and another flame walked back warmed her again. Her eldest children were passed, they understood quite clearly to leave their mother alone. When she found Kalle, back turned and pulling blade from cart, the Lady Jarl’s graces were tested.

She held back a hand, wishing to pull her son into the castle by his ear.

“Inside” Kalle jumped, and faced her. “Now” Kalle knew his actions would catch up to him. The two Odinsens walked back to the castle’s protective gate with that same mask of grace and focus. Their minds were scattered, one with rage, and the other with fear and uncertainty. They walked past the wood doors, over the carpets, beyond the halls of stone and up their hard, spiral steps.

As if bound to the room, Else was back in her chambers. Her son already looked so guilty.

“WHERE IS SHE!?”

A cloud of black smoke appeared near the foot of the bed. The Humans looked at Zahneri with great surprise, her body crashed on the ground, limbs and wings out loosely. Else’s eyes narrowed.


* * * *

Maxwell knew he was beat. Zahneir was faster, more powerful, and dishonorable. Nothing he could think of gave him her head. Over and over again he saw himself lose, Åge unavenged. Oerin’s mind was distracted. In the castle Oerin could feel the presence of two other Demons, beings like himself. He didn’t know how or why, but they felt different than how Zahneri did. Not interrupting his master’s circles, Oerin pondered on Alya, the white winged kin. Though their time was brief was short he couldn't forget the awe in seeing her.

It was a pleasant distraction, kept the doubt of his existence at bay. But another Demon entered the castle. It was her. After over a week she finally returned.

“Max” Oerin spoke up, hesitantly. This is what Max wanted? There was no response, just the sounds of muffled boots.

“She has returned. Zahneri is back in the castle”

“WHERE?”


* * * *

“Is it done?” Else had flipped over the Demon woman, saw the weakness in her features.

“Yes my mistress” Something else was also quite different, what was once such scandalous armour now changed. Stone covered her entire torso, spare the skin of her upper chest, keeping to her lewd display. Kalle spotted the mysterious transformation himself. To study Zahneri made him uncomfortable. She was able to pull out anger from him with only her image. Else continued to look at the Succubus’ armour, something which had remained static for all 28 years of the Demon’s life.

“What is this?” The Lady Jarl didn’t have time for extra complications now, Syf already was already enough to endure. And now Zahneri was too weak to deal with the problem herself, limitations.

“My body is changing, accommodating, my mistress”

“For what?”

“A child” Kalle near hurled at the words, fists tense, sweat emerging from the pours of his back. A palpable silence struck the room. The second prince could feel the anger shooting out from his mother, and it was frightening.

“Whose?” Else asked.

“Kalle’s, my mistress” Again the room died to silence, Kalle wanted to run. He felt himself a coward before his mother, and the consequences of his actions. He gagged, sickened by reality.

There was no time for Else to react, an axe was chopping through her door and there was a youthful roar. Else stood to her feet, Kalle reacted just in time to see Max bust open the door in his frenzy, wood clanking on stone.

“MAXWELL!” Else was lost in her shock, her crumbling family. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Oerin flew over Max’s shoulder and revealed his form. Max stormed into the room, his eyes wouldn’t look from the downed Succubus, this moment was perfect. “MAXWELL!” Else yelled again, her voice not reining her son in as it had so many times before.

The axe was raised, Zahneri too weak to defend herself. “MAXWELL ODINSEN!” The axe came down; a ting of clashing metal stopped the weapon. Kalle’s arm shook with the strain of keeping the axes away from Zahneri, a one arm quick draw against Max’s two armed rage.

“What…are…you…doing?” The platinum blonde looked up to his brother, seething. “This is my blodshämnd! SHE DIES!” Kalle had to choose: either save Zahneri’s life and dishonor his brother the worst way imaginable, or let his…

Max pushed his axe down, Kalle now pulling against with both arms. The Lady Jarl looked at her two fighting children with wide eyes, powerless to stop them. The black haired brother pushed his sibling with the hilt of his axe, knocking him to the ground, axe lowered now.

“I cannot let you wound her” Spit hit his foot. He did not flinch, nor blinked.

“WHY!?” Max tried to stand, Kalle knocked him down on his ass again, the cold touching his supporting hands. “WHY!?”

“Because she is the mother of my child” Maxwell’s face showed exactly what Kalle feared: first his father, then his lover, and now the loss of his role model.

Max was speechless. Kalle couldn’t look him in the eye anymore.

“KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER OERIN!” Maxwell barked with the greatest prejudice he could ever muster. Oerin looked down at Zahneri, stiff, unsure what to do. Hastily he took to her but Else had stepped in the way, a glare holding the Demon back. “KILL HER!” he jumped to his feet and lunged at his brother. “YOU DEMON PLOUGHER!”

Oerin couldn’t, wouldn’t move. The Lady Jarl’s hold was too strong, he heard his master cough and he looked over to see Max recovering from a backhand. Crying, Max held his cheek, vision blurry. His mother wouldn’t do anything. She too was denying his vengeance. He was humiliated by his own family.

“I HATE YOU!” From his back sprouted the bat wings of his Incubus ancestry, magic burned holes through the furs at his shoulder blades. Kalle reached out the offending hand to his dashing brother. He was going straight to the large bay window.

“Maxxxxxx!” He yelled out to his younger brother, the glass shattered and the third prince flew off. Oerin ran, talons making an off putting scratching sound before he flew out the window. Else hastened to the window, looking below to see the slaves outside the castle who were analyzing the broken shards and looking up to see the winged lads. Else memorized their faces, she had work to do.

Else gabbed her athame from her end table wordlessly, heeled stepped clanking loudly. Taking no precaution to avoid Zahneri, she stepped on the Elder Succubus’ wings and slapped her son in such a way the sound was thunderous.

“Where is she?”

“The Grotto” The door slammed behind him.

For a long time Kalle stared down at Zahneri before he picked her up, arms under her knees and neck, and placing her on the bed. His eyes gently rained, his fingers and palm feeling the rough, etched, rock above Zahenri’s occupied womb.


* * * *

In the sky, Oerin and Max spun horizontally, a war between them. Oerin was trying to pin Max, to control him during his emotional burst and Max was shoving and hitting to keep the Demon away. The air was muting all of Max’s screaming, being lost behind them. The winter air was cutting at the Human, but he wouldn’t stop. He would not be denied his final thing, his freedom. He had already lost everything else.

The two danced, wings flapping with power. The stretching skin of the bat, the black feathers of the raven in contrast. Their arc up into the air was ending, they had left the borders of Branjaskr’s gates and now over the Grotto. Max, steering their path, was not knowing where they were going, the aerial travel new and terrifying. They dived down, down and down, they were going to crash unless Oerin intervened. The Demon did his best, letting himself be a victim to Max’s hits while he focused on the enlarging ground below them.

Two swans were gently brushing necks, their union a beautiful symbol of their love. A dark shadow was over them, the gentle waves circling out with the light paddling of the birds. Sounds of struggle started to intrude the nature sanctuary and the swans scattered into the air just as the two boys crashed into the lake.

Bubbles and waves erupted until Max and Oerin shot out from the surface. Max gasped for air, Oerin placed his hand on Max’s cheek for there was a cut from the glass. Altruistically, the wound transferred owners and Max’s fist exacerbated the pain with a hard punch across the face.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He yelled in the Demons face, Oerin raised his hands and opened them, blood smeared across the side of his face. Max swam across the waters of his grandfather, out of the water he began to strip the sopped wolf fur. It all splattered with heavy wet sounds on the beautiful and free grass below him.

He made his way to a tree, paying no mind to which one it was.

“That…DEMON PLOWER!” he raged again, his axe acted out his pains on the tree. The wooden beauty was defenseless, chips being taken off, deep lines being left. At Max’s feet blasphemy and pain surrounded him. Oerin watched for a moment, let his head limp in shame and flew off in his raven form to keep his distance.

THE FREE SOUTH - Odin's Grotto near Branjaskr

Cassius wasn't afraid of leaving prince Kalle's hideaway in the castle, but only a fool would have been comfortable. There were too many people in the town that sprawled underneath the walls. Too many eyes. Too many potential enemies. The fact that they were riding with the Southern prince deflected inquiries, but they still drew stares - some at the silent, blank-eyed Kurosavi; some at Cassius himself, even though he had taken the precaution of discarding all of his expensive Namorian equipment in favour of plainer Southern furs; but most of all at Syf, riding proudly beside Kalle with a cloak doing little to hide her silvered armour. Their looks were not friendly, though whether it was simple unfamiliarity or something more dangerous Cassius could not guess. Even his stallion seemed to sense the tension, as every now and then he would snort and toss his head restlessly. Cassius leaned down to softly pat the animal's neck. Under the pretext of keeping warm, he wrapped his arms inside his bearskin cloak and kept one hand on the hilt of the awkward Southern sword that had replaced his spatha.

Syf rode silently along-side Cassius and Kalle. It felt as if it had been a lifetime since Syf had seen the southern prince with her very own eyes, and in a way it was a life time ago that she had encountered him. She had been convinced of an entirely alternate identity than her true one, by gods that harbored a vengeance against her and her mother. And, now, as they drew closer to this sacred grotto, Syf felt all the more alone. She had not seen her mother, aside from the vision that helped her to escape from the demon encampment.

Her shoulders visibly fell as they neared the grotto, and her features took on a sorrowful stance. She had promised that she would aid in the defenses of Branjaskr, but she had also seen what creatures had been called to fight in the name of Evil and Death. There was no way that they could hold out against an army born and bred for death.

The cold was causing a throbbing ache in Cassius' half-healed arm by the time they reached the grotto that Kalle had spoken of, deep in the woods to the west of Branjaskr. From the outside, the grotto looked like a mass of trees within a small drop in the land. The entrance was almost coated in shrubbery and leaves that covered the interior of the grotto, with the dirt path into the sanctuary of the life god covered in a thick coat of snow, almost making it impossible to see and follow - it likely would be without Kalle to guide the trio. The trees were all the same type on the interior - the regular firs and spruces of the Southern Wastes, the few trees that could survive within the harsh climate - though it was apparent that behind the congested entrance and the coating of leaves that blocked it there were differences in foliage to the outside world..

Cassius swung himself down from his horse, landing with a soft thump in the shallow snow. He and Syf helped the unresponsive Kurosavi down from his own mount, but Kalle remained ahorse. He said something to Syf in the Southern language, his voice low.

"What did he say?" Cassius asked.

"That he doesn't feel worthy of entering the sacred space of his grandfather." Syf answered.

And we are? Cassius thought, bemused. He ducked under a low pine branch and led the way inside.

As Cassius entered inside, a breath of warm air fluttered over his form and the sound of running water ran through his ears. The smell of honeysuckle, star anise and roses filled the air as bright red fireflies flickered around the trees. The ground below Cassius became less snow-covered and instead more stony, until it became a pathway. A large elk raised its head from within the bushes and trumpeted loudly before galloping away into the forests.

Bees flickered within the trees, and birds will long sharp bills fluttered in the sky, dipping their heads into huge honeysuckle bulbs and lapping at the nectar that lay inside. There was no need for torches or fire - the grotto seemed to illuminate itself. A soft glow lit the scene, seeming to emanate from the plants and animals themselves. The grotto was alive with life, even at its entrance.

"Wow." Cassius said quietly, looking around and then back at the snowy entrance as Kurosavi numbly followed him through the gap in the trees. The temperature was much more comfortable here, but the beautiful scenery disconcerted Cassius slightly. This was clearly an enchantment of the gods - but this place belonged to the deities of the South, not to his own Namorian pantheon. He felt almost like he was intruding in a foreign temple, but aside from the startled elk all seemed calm.

Cassius stripped off his thick gloves, and rubbed his hands together to warm them before he drew a sheaf of reindeer-hide scrolls from under his cloak. Some held plans of the Odinssen castle, while others contained maps or crudely-sketched inventories of the Branjaskr garrison and supply stocks. Prince Kalle had liberated them from somewhere within the castle, though how he had managed it the gods only knew. Cassius looked at Syf, who had led their three horses by the reins into the grotto and was now busy unpacking the blankets and bags of provisions from the animals' saddlebags.

"I suppose we'd better get started." Cassius said as he handed Syf the maps. His instinct was to explore deeper into the grotto before setting up their camp, but this was tempered by an unease at intruding too far into this godly place, or of straying too far from the entrance. In the end, boldness won out.

"One second." he told the others, unpinning his Southern cloak and rolling it up. "I'm going to scout around."

Following the beauties of the grotto, Cassius was easily able to be dazzled and bewildered by his location. Everything clashed with the snow that had previously been gnawing at his hands. Great wonders and creatures that should not have existed in such a harsh environment lurked in the wilds. As Cassius looked around he saw large brown wolves standing within the brush, looking at him not with hunger, but with curiosity at the appearance of a foreigner.

These are the gods' creatures, Cassius thought - he was treading softly, but ordinary animals would have either challenged him or bolted when they sensed his approach.

More birds fluttered around, and moths as big as Cassius's hand came out of the mess of foliage at either side of him, seeming to glow so brightly that they left their pattern lingering in the air above him. Roots of the trees stuck out of the ground and looped around the huge bramble bushes that wrapped themselves across the area, while strange pig-sized animals with long snouts, pricked-up ears and shells that were banded like Namorian lorica feasted on berries that glowed in the darkness. There were more elk too.

Plump cherries hung from trees that were spaced amongst large oaks, with birds plucking them off the trees before racing back to their nests. A waterfall cascaded into a small stream nearby and a family of large dog-sized lizards lazed around it, occasionally dipping their heads into the water at breakneck speeds and coming out with a fat salmon in their mouths, the fish still flicking their tails about.

As Cassius went in further, he suddenly heard a disturbance: a voice-cracking scream. Where Cassius' quiet advance had not disturbed the creatures, the scream was startling, and the elk and the birds all ran away to hide within the safety of their habitat, away from the high-pitched cry. Left alone, Cassius listened for a second scream. None came, but it had been human, and had sounded close. Chasing after it, Cassius pushed though branches to a clearing surrounding a pond with a stream sliding into its northern bank.

Cassius saw a trail of sopping wet fur garments, leading from the pond to a large and old tree that stood in the centre of a semi-circle of marble archways that looked older than the tree itself. The tree's surface had been marked by the beatings of a sharp weapon; an axe that was still lodged in its bark was the clear instrument. A hand was slowly slipping down the nicks and wounds of the old tree. Fallen to his knees before it was the boy Cassius had seen with the prince.

Much like the tree, he too looked wounded; his naked body weakly leaning forward against the tree, shoulders shaking, screaming nonsense.

"Demon vännen Kalle!" the boy shouted at the top of his lungs, over and over again.

"Bloody hell." Cassius cursed in surprise. He didn't understand a word the boy was speaking. He turned his head and shouted back through the trees. "Syf!"

As soon as he spoke and gave away his presence, the adolescent jumped up from his vulnerable position. He yanked the axe from the tree and began to yell at Cassius. His face was flushed, his eyes showing a wet, piercing blue fury. Cassius' instinct was to go for his sword, but he held one palm up to the naked boy instead. The Southerners might hate his people, but he wasn't about to kill a boy, and certainly not one who looked so startled and distraught.

"Calm down..." he told the lad, hoping that his tone would placate the boy even if the Namorian words were lost on him.

Syf was busy unpacking their items, which included some food and some fur blankets that would provide them with some warmth during the cold nights of the Southern Wastes. Her attention was broken from her task when she heard a scream that sounded as if coming from a young child. As far as she knew, Cassius, Krosavi and herself were to be the only ones in the grotto, and so she continued to listen for more screams. But, none came, instead she heard yelling. When Cassius called her name, she ran swiftly through the trees and emerged in the same clearing that Cassius was in.

"Syf." Cassius breathed gratefully as the demigoddess came running into the clearing a moment later. "What's he saying?"

Syf's eyes were not on Cassius, and she faintly heard the question that he asked. She did not respond, for her breath had been caught in her throat. The other person in the grotto was another child of the Jarl's, and she knew this one to be called Max.

The boy, seemingly cornered by two adults, raised his axe and held it with both hands. For a moment he just kept staring at Syf, seeing her intricate armour and powerful stance. He had taken two steps back, clearly fearful of the white haired woman, when before him a black-feathered bird dived from the air and exploded into a dark cloud. Out of the cloud reared a frightening half-human creature, twisted yet eerily beautiful. It took the form of a young man, his bare arms and chest corded with muscle, his legs ending in eagle-like claws. Huge black wings flared from his shoulders, fanned out like a threat display. The creature's stance was protective, poised on one knee and one hand as if ready to lunge at Cassius and Syf. His face was darkly beautiful; clean-shaven, chiselled, and hostile.

Cassius' borrowed sword was in his hand in an instant, the protective iron thrust out towards the crouching half-man. He didn't know if this was some mystical guardian of the gods' sanctuary, but its aggressive intent was clear. The naked boy, seeming nearly as shocked as they were, shouted again in the Southern tongue.

"What are you doing!?" Syf heard the boy say in his constantly cracking voice. His words seemed to be directed to the Demon in front of him.

"Protecting you." the demon responded in the same tongue, firmly, keeping its position perfectly still.

"Syf?" Cassius asked again, warily, shifting his stance into a side-on guard with his borrowed blade still held out to meet any lunge from the glowering bird-man. The sword was lighter than his cavalry spatha, and he held it easily despite his frost-nipped fingers. "What are they saying?"

"Leave, now." the protector threatened, speaking Cassius' native language.

Cassius blinked in surprise, then regripped his sword, poised on the balls of his feet. Speed was life, even when not on horseback. And while he hadn't come looking for a fight, a Namorian soldier didn't back down from one.

"We are here by the leave of prince Kalle." he said, daring the bird-man to challenge him further.

Syf had been aware of the exchange, and her eyes had narrowed when the demon entered the grotto; even she knew that the presence of a demon in this godly place was unnatural.

"Be at peace, young Max." she said. "We are not here to harm you, nor are we here to disturb you." Her eyes turned to the demon that had been summoned by Max's angry cries. "We are not going to hurt him, so stand tall little demon."

If the demon were to look into Syf's eyes, he would see that she was sincere in her words.

And then she said to Cassius, "The demon is the boys protector, no doubt conjured and born from the magics of Else. They are here to protect the children during this invasion."

"Demons that protect?" Cassius scoffed through his frown of concentration, "I'll believe that when I-"

The air suddenly grew very still, and the sounds of birds chirping ceased - all that was left was the trickle of water and the blowing of the leaves. No sound permeated from any life within the grotto - it were as if it had all been extinguished, all been murdered in an act of silence. The grim heaving sound of soil upturning ripped through the silence as fast as it had came however, and coupling it came a voice older than the trees themselves. It bellowed out with such wisdom and anger, yet also with patience and knowing.

"Enough!" The voice roared out. It sounded human - though it was obviously not, for its size seemed to fill the area, shaking the trees and almost pushing the visitors of the grotto onto their backs as the vibrations moved the ground with their power.

Cassius was the first of the frozen quartet to speak.

"Prince Kalle gave us permission to be here." he said, swallowing and trying not to let his eyes drift away from the bird-demon and the troubled adolescent behind him. "Who are we talking to?"

Syf did not speak, even as the ground began to rumble and a mighty voice rang out across the expanse of the magical place. The voice echoed of power and age. She paid it no mind; she knew that it was what kept this grotto safe from the outside elements and dangers. It was what allowed life to truly thrive in this place, and it was what allowed the creatures to grow so large.

The blonde boy began yelling again. "Grandfather! Grandfather is that you!?" The bird half-man's eyes scanned around.

The voice lost its knowing, paternal edge, as a terrible chuckle echoed through the woodland, seething past the trees and whispering through the hair of the guests. Horrible titanic sounds echoed through the woods, as from around the tree that lay against the marble arches came spouts of sodden brown dirt, ripping up from the ground as two long arm-like branches drew themselves from the earth. From the top of the tree, forming from a mess of branches and leaves, came two bright green-gold eyes, glaring at the four figures with such tenacity and such a cold, alien stare that none of them could even fathom the emotion that lay within the deep eyes.

"You speak to the Harbinger, Guardian of all in this wood." the great tree-beast rumbled, speaking in both Namorian and Southern simultaneously. "You are trespassing. Tell me which one of you cut me, so that I may peel your skin from your flesh in return."

The bird demon had moved to yank on the wrist of his charge, trying to get them away, but the lad was stubborn. "This is my grandfather's land! Where is he!?"

A horrible laugh echoed from the Harbinger as the beast shifted forward, its wooden arms digging into the ground as it brought its gargantuan eyes level with Cassius' own face. Cassius had no terror of men, or even of demons, who could still bleed and die. But nothing could have prepared him for an encounter with a hostile god. The tribune felt his bowels turn to water and the strength go out of his sword arm, but he forced himself not to drop it. He knew the answer to the Harbinger's question, but he could not watch an adolescent boy be ripped apart - even the son of an enemy nation, who counted a demon as his protector.

"It..." he said, then had to pause to loosen his throat so he could speak clearly once more. "It wasn't the boy. Let him go free."

"These trees have eyes you know...foreigner." A vine wrapped itself around Cassius' leg and began to squeeze tightly, trapping the blood within his veins and causing his lower calf to become numb with the loss of sensation. "And they are all my eyes. You may confide in me, small fleshy one - I am but one of the tree-folk of the forests, sent here to guard over our father's lands. Tell me...who bore an iron axe into me."

He already knows. Cassius realised with a sickening lurch. This is a test. A test...a test of what?

The vine flexed and wrapped itself further up Cassius's leg, and all around him it seemed as if the trees were lurching towards the group, casting dark, foreboding shadows over them all.

"My roots run deeper than your family's bloodline, fleshy one." the Harbinger rumbled. "Before your species even existed on this world - before this icy hell even knew what frost was. I am an emissary to the proud Druada - I am the Guardian of our final enclave within this inhospitable waste - I am the Harbinger of my people."

The sound of cracking twigs alerted the group as vines began to slowly but powerfully trace themselves up their calves, slipping up armour and wrapping their strong bodies around the group.

"This land has eyes, human. Who cut me? Tell me, so I may cut them." With this sickening remark came the appearance of a long sharp vine snaking across the ground, tipped with a tapered blade as long as a Combrogi's arm; just as wide at its meeting with the thick green tendril, needle-thin at the point. The Druada's eyes still burned into Cassius' face, the green-gold reflecting off his tanned Northern skin.

He knows. Cassius thought again. At the sight of the blade he felt a portion of his strength returning, a spike of adrenaline flooding his system. But I'm not going to give the order for a teenage boy to be peeled alive.

"Let the boy go." he said again, more steadily this time. He closed his hand around his sword hilt, but Syf interrupted him before he could make a possibly fatal mistake.

Syf was not surprised to see the beast rise and confront those that had stepped into his realm. She listened as it questioned who cut into its wood, and then demanded an answer so that it may rip the flesh from the bones of the one who committed the act. Before the vines could fully root her to the spot Syf decided to step forward, obstructing the beast's view of Cassius.

"Forgive me, Lord of the Grotto; it was I that damaged you. I sought to create a fire so as to cook some food for myself and my companions." She waved over Cassius, Oerin, and Max. "I meant no offense to your awesome power, Harbinger."

She bowed before the great creature, and removed her helmet and allowed her pale hair to fall over her shoulders, and slowly began to remove her armor. In a matter of minutes, Syf was all but exposed to those within the grotto, only being covered by a thin white garment. She spoke again, her eyes cast to the ground.

"I, Syf, a daughter of Nike, submit myself to your divine judgment for my actions against you."

The large and ancient Sepplengais sighed with satisfaction as a long, prickled vine dragged itself up Syf's back, making multiple cuts within her skin. "You made these wounds? You hit me with a weapon as crude as an axe?!" The vine held a bulb on its head that unfurled when reaching Syf's upper body before sitting behind Syf's unprotected head. A thin vine slowly furled itself around her throat and sat there, applying no pressure, whilst the long, barbed limb drew itself up from the ground and poised itself around 15 centimetres from Syf's throat.

Syf's altruism was not well received by the boy and his protector. Rather, in the background Cassius could see the terror from the first and firm determination on the other's face. The Demon's hands now also bore hooked talons; the bird man was cutting through the vines surrounding his charge, after freeing himself by reverting back to the form of a raven and slipping clear of the vines before returning to his humanoid form.

"ODIN! Grandfather!" The terrorised lad kept screaming, even when freed from the ensnarement. Cassius could feel a sickly sense of righteousness for his and Syf's actions, validated by seeing the weeping teenager being carried and flown away from this sadistic creature of nature. But just as they were on the verge of escape, the Harbinger lashed out.

"Be silent, Demon-Kin. Otherwise I shall cut you too, and your abomination." New vines wrapped themselves around the boy, whilst a tree seemed to tilt forward and ensnare Oerin, causing the demon to struggle against his bonds.

"Weak, arrogant, fleshy creatures you humans are."

Whatever test the Harbinger had set them, they were clearly failing it.

"We were offered sanctuary here." Cassius forced out through gritted teeth as the vines tightened around his legs. "So we could help the Southerners fight an army of demons. There could be a hundred thousand of them, and if they win through to the capital they'll sweep through this place too!"

Syf offered no reply, as she had no chance to do so before the foolish child-prince ?Max yelled out for his grandfather. It didn't take long and the great tree had already taken hold of Max and Oerin with its mighty vines. Syf could see the terror in the young boys face, and she would not see the boy hurt, not while she could take the brunt of the force if she needed to do so. It would be a repayment for the kindness that Kalle had shown her when she first appeared in the wastes.

"Great Lord of the Grotto, Harbinger of Life Incorruptible, I plead with you to let the boy go. He is but a child, and his terrified of the dark power that flows through his veins. I have admitted to my actions against you, and the ax was but a means to an end as I have lost my weapon when my life was nearly extinguished by a different demon."

She would not know if her pleas fell upon deaf ears, and she ignored the sharp pain as the vines tore into the skin of her back, and blood began to pour in steady streams. She paid no heed to the vines resting around her throat as she began to speak again.

"I would give my life freely to see the boy unharmed, and as penance for my actions and those of my companions. We were offered sanctuary here, and it is true that an army is all but on your doorstep. Please, take what price you must from me, but allow the rest to go unharmed. I offer you anything that you wish to take from me."

Again her head dropped to the floor, her eyes focused on the ground as a sign of respect for the elder creature.

"Soft, weak creatures." The vines had arrived at everyone's throats now, and began to wrap themselves around them. "Perhaps, I shall kill you all." Harbinger laughed throatily as more sharp vines brought themselves down from his evergreen branches, his green-gold eyes staring intently at all, even Oerin. Realising that the game was up, Cassius belatedly began to hack at the vines with his sword, but he had only severed one before another snapped down and coiled around his sword arm.

"And now," the Harbinger rumbled in a voice like an earthquake. "Die."

Syf did not move as the long, bladed vine whipped downwards at breakneck speeds - only to stop around 2 centimetres from her face. There was no sounds but the creaking of wood as Harbinger leaned forwards.

"What is this?" The spear-like appendage darted forward again, only to be repelled. This time a shimmer of black energy spurted from the point of attack, sliding out across the invisible barrier that split Harbinger's deadly weapon from the group. As Syf turned, she was only met by the sound of crunching leaves, and an aura of pure, swallowing blackness. Stumbling like a dead man towards the trapped group was Kurosavi, black scars on his skin seeping down from his eyes like tears. His skin was greyed and his eyes fogged and dark - though not the pure black of the Dark Elves. His mouth lay open in a snarl, tongue unseen behind his pearly white teeth. The golden beauty of his armour was lost, shattered - the metal faded to a steel grey as if his armour shared a symbiotic relationship with its wearer.

"This is a punishment." Kurosavi spoke, two voices reverberating at one time. One was Kurosavi, weak and fighting; the other was calm and dark - as if the evil supplanted within him during his torture had a voice, a consciousness...sentience. Kurosavi opened one of his tightly clenched fists, and drew the hand towards him. As his hand moved, the trees around became blackened. The veins of the leaves became skeletal white, a stark contrast to the dark shade that the leaves and branches had taken on. The stones on the floor all became onyx in colour and form, the pond turning back as its bed became littered with the black gems, simple pebbles transformed by the darkness within Kurosavi. The trees groaned before accepting the darkness, and the vines around the necks and arms of the group turned to ash and scattered on the ground.

Kurosavi snapped his hand upwards, and from the dirt sprouted gigantic vines of black and glowing orange, laden with thick thorns.

"This tomb is yours, Harbinger." Kurosavi spoke, filled with the eerie mix of calm, power and terror - the potent mix of emotions creating such great tension.

"What would you know of tombs, dark one!?" Harbinger spoke, "I shall make you a tomb!"

It tried to move forward, before a huge vine slammed into it, wrapping itself tightly around Harbinger's arm and driving it into the marble arches, binding the Druada to the man-made construct.

"Unhand me!" roared the ancient being, pulling against his bindings to no avail. The thorns were already sticking into the Druada's bark and ripping through the body inside, the wounds leaking copious amounts of thick amber sap.

Another thorn-covered vine drove into Harbinger's other shoulder, pushing it against another column and binding its other arm to it, jagged thorns ripping through tough bark like a hot knife through butter. Harbinger roared as it pulled against the restraints once more, again to no avail. A curt smile crossed the dark-blue lips of Kurosavi - an almost sadistic smile, though one detached from the dead eyes of the Eldrani. Kurosavi opened his second hand and lifted it, very slowly, and from the ground rose another thick vine, this one with a sharp barb at its tip. It was identical to the one previously poised at Syf, though larger and darker in shade. Kurosavi waited for a moment, then closed his fist. The dagger-like appendage drove into the left eye of Harbinger in a crude fashion, causing the beast the scream.

Kurosavi commanded the vine to stab deep into the face of the Sepplengais, again, and then again. The tree-man was screaming in pain, and after the sixth blow it was begging for mercy. All the while Kurosavi stood still as a dead oak. The stabbing continued until Harbinger was barely recognisable, its face turned into a mess of wooden mulch. Kurosavi remained standing for a moment before tumbling to the ground and returning to his feverish, disturbed state - as if he were knocked unconscious by an invisible entity. As he fell the darkness receded, though the onyx rocks remained black, and some of the trees retained their black and white leaves.

And then, all was silent.

"So much for diplomacy." Cassius coughed as he rubbed his neck. The Combrogians of the 9th legion had told stories of the dark and terrible magic that their forest spirits were capable of, but that hadn't prepared him to see a mighty tree-demon screaming. Screaming and begging. It was a couple of seconds before he tore his eyes away from the pulped mass and remembered the Southern boy, and the bird demon that was still encaged in a globe of bent and blackened tree branches.

"Tell him why we're here." he rasped to Syf, gesturing towards the boy with his sword. "We won't be safe for long if people other than your prince Kalle start finding out where we're hiding."

He limped along the edge of the pond and took a knee next to Kurosavi. The elf lord was ash-white, his grey eyes blank and staring into space once more.

With the breaking branches, Oerin angrily ripped them off him and dashed to Max to do the same. After everything, Max couldn't comprehend anymore. He was stuck, hands covering his face. A glare was sent out to the others in the forest before the raven Demon took his charge, spread his large wings wide and took flight.

Syf breathed an audible sight of relief when the giant tree-lord was swallowed by the black vines, and a she turned to thank her savior, a look of concern passed across her face. She knelt down next to him, and turned back towards the tree just as Max and Oerin disappeared further into the grotto. She knew that she would have to go after the little prince, and his demon.

"I will not be long. I must go and find the boy as you've said. I speak their language, and it might be better if it was just me unarmed." she stated simply, before turning and going after the boy and his demon through gods knows what part of the Grotto.


* * * *

Oerin took Max further into the Grotto. He wasn’t sure where, but the further away from everything they had just endured the better. Landing at another open field of grass deer scattered. Gently he let go of Max who instantly fell to his knees, broken. Oerin and Max were both covered in small cuts from the vines. The Demon once again touched Max to take the wounds.

Maxwell’s fury, sorrow, and pity were in a whirlwind. Not even his grandfather would aid him in the worst moment of his life. And yet, Oerin’s warm healing touch only pulled out the lad’s arousal. Oh how he craved to plunge himself back into sweet heaven, but it was taken. He ached with a mourning desire, eyes and loins wept for the lost. In his naked form, Max’s needs were not unseen, Oerin remained quiet. It was disgusting, Max knew he was a freak, how could his need burn now? Burn hot when his heart was so…passionless, dead. It was an insult to Åge.

Slowly he pulled his hands away to look up to Oerin, eyes locked. Blue studied brown, he remembered his brother, the ill provoking Demon plower. His mind sent a million apologies to his lover who rested in the underworld.

“Why did he do it?” Max asked, a timid voice. Their faces grew closer, the warmth making all his marks fade away. “Why did he do it?” Oerin moved his now nicked arms to softly lay his master on his back, the grass rustled below. Wings dipped low to shield Maxwell from outside sight, swirling rock receded up the arms, and down the back slowly. “Why did he do it?” Max asked again. Oerin laid himself on top of his charge, the heat, the desire being felt across his darker flesh. The divots of his toned torso slid on the smoother body. Max’s hands held hard to the Demon’s shoulders.

“Why am I doing it?” His lower lip bitten, a needy hesitation. Blades of grass tickled the moving feet, legs posed more welcoming. Birds flew around, the sun shown down on them. Adrenaline rushed through their throbbing blood vessels.

“I do not know, Max” A moan, a whimper, a tremor, a kiss.

Aureyon
07-12-2014, 04:12 AM
Tu Zenita Duskal, Afragia

Juno regained consciousness in an unfamiliar place merely hours after having collapsed on the streets in front of the palace that would house the Princess Nesara, only that Juno was to find that the princess was not in Afragia; she was visiting Dun Moriga. Though awake, she kept her eyes sealed tightly shut, listening to the sounds around her and allowing her mind to come to terms with everything that was racing through it.

As her mind began to steady, and her surroundings became clearer, she opened her eyes and winced as they were assaulted by the light that glowed unnaturally within the building.

"Be careful my lady" came a familiar voice next to her, and as she turned her head, she found herself looking upon the same guard that had so kindly told her that the Princess was no longer in the city.

"I assume that I collapsed, again." Juno spoke hoarsely, as if her voice were dried by the desert sun.

"Yes my lady" the kind man answered softly, his voice tainted with a slight sense of worry. Juno only nodded at the confirmation that she had indeed passed out in the middle of the streets. It only meant that her disease was progressing more quickly as she danced nimbly on the line between life and death. She had but to give in to the disease and it would obliterate her existence from the face of Eternum; it would be as if she never existed.

The guard opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by the approach of one of the many healers within the healing house.

"What is the result of your observations, Priestess" the guard inquired immediately, never giving Juno the chance to ask the very same question.

"She is sick." The priestest spoke. Her dress was flowing in the breeze, almost seeming incorporeal and as if defying the laws of physics, with bright red eyes and silky, dark and chocolate covered skin covering her body. Her nose was well formed, thin and jutting out - possibly pointing out a past Namorian relative - whilst her eyes were deep brown, unremarkable in contrast to the rest of her body. Her left arm was coated in various tattoos and paints, blues and whites adorned it in a clumsy yet artistic fashion. She smiled, revealing clean teeth that would be considered horribly dirty in contrast to the Earthborn, who had well developed healthcare in comparison to those of Eternum. She held out her arm to grab the hand of Juno.

As she effortlessly pulled the girl up, she kept her steady as the other guard positioned himself under her delicate arm, holding her steady. "Come, bring her inside." The Priestess spoke, smiling at the dizzy girl. "Do not worry, you will be safe with us."

Juno could only bring herself to nod in regards to the Priestess' statement. Her world continued to spin slowly around her, as they made their way to a beautifully decorated building; framed with various marking and paints across its walls, with wide windows that were open allowing the warmth to the day to ease the suffering of those within the building.

Upon walking into the building, Juno's senses were assaulted by the scent of lavender and spice. It was a scent that calmed her suffering and allowed her to feel at peace with the things around her, it was no doubt enhanced by some strange magic, but it was a welcomed feeling within her.

The interior of the building itself was decorated with golden silk canopies around the beds of the patients. The beds themselves were quite lavish for a healing house, with cloth blankets almost as smooth as the silk, and thin enough so as to allow the breeze to pass freely though them. There were a series of golden candelabras -unlit- set up in an orderly line along the walls, and various vases filled with exotic flowers that further gave life to the room, and brought peace to a house that was the last bastion before death took hold of the sick.

Juno, herself, was taken to a bed just off from the entrance, and directly under a hanging garden that smelled of lavender and sage. As she was laid on the bed by the Guard and the Priestess, she closed her eyes; allowing the scents to enter her body and relax her into a sense of security and hope.

"Forgive me, Priestess, but it was quite clear that she was sick. I meant to ask if there was a way to ease the woman's suffering. She seems to have trouble remembering certain things, and she's clearly, very weak" the Guard pressed his case further. He didn't know what drew him to this Namorian woman, he only knew that he felt that his path was the right one, and he would trust in that.

The Priestess brushed the blonde locks of hair out of Juno's faced and smiled sympathetically. "She is suffering." The woman sighed and looked up at the guard, who's dark skin seemed furrowed. "It is called 'The Rotting Disease'...unless you want me to repeat its actual name - in which case it is long and mostly easy to forget. It also happens to be...impossible to cure, or at least the 'means' to cure it are nigh on impossible." The Priestess huffed, she never liked dealing with terminal cases - death depressed her and made her think of how short her own life is.

"Is there nothing we can do?!" The Guard said - he had no idea why he was pressing this in such depth, but for some reason he felt drawn to this, as if something within him was making him help this mysterious foreign woman. The Priestess pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, searching through her years of experience and learning to try to remember anything that could possible slow the disease. Her hand darted up and she grinned.

"We could slow it I guess, run down to the store room and get me some Moonblossom, Desert Lily, Some black honey drop and some camel fat." The woman spoke before quickly flicking her hands at the Guard, making him turn around and run to the store room. The Priestest turned back to Juno and stroked the side of her face, smiling sympathetically.

"Do not worry girl; Sheba's going to take good care of you - I promise."

Juno only nodded in response to the priestess, still not entirely trusting of her, and her eyes continued to stare at the events, and people, around her.

After a few short minutes of scouring the store room for the supplies that the priestess had asked for, he had made his way back to the Namorian, and the priestess. It was clear that the man had concern for the woman laying in the bed, and the concern seemed to be as authentic as the walls supporting the building around him.

"Here are the items you requested, Priestess" he spoke as he presented the items to the her, his eyes remaining on Juno.

"Excellent, you are a good man." The Priestess snatched the items swiftly from the hands of the Guard before pouring them individually into a pestle and mortar and grinding them into a thick, oily paste that smelled of Lavender and Fat that had been left for too long. With two fingers the Afragian woman began to lightly apply the salve to Juno's forehead and joints. "The salve is a great tradition in these caves and my family - this will help her cool down and become less restless - but only for a time."

The man only nodded, not fully trusting in the properties of a salve against a disease such as the one that the woman before him carried within her. He had never seen, or heard, of the likes of such a disease in his lifetime; and he feared for the woman's life. He looked into the restless face of the woman before him and sent a silent prayer to Ra to help ease the suffering of the Namorian, and then turned back to the Priestess.

"How do we treat this disease, my lady? It is not of this world surely. The gods would not allow such a disease to run rampant through Eternum."

"You would be surprised at the cruelty of the Gods. But no, you are correct - this is a disease of Beelzebub." The Priestess did not look up at the Guard as she rubbed the mixture further into the pores of Juno's skin, the mixture turning into a thick gel and hardening over her skin. "It is not an ailment that can be cured - not in this world at least. She would have to travel to Beelzebub's home within Tartarus - though that is a treacherous route." The Priestess finally graced the guard with her wisened stare, eyes squinted and attempting to read the man.

"Why do you want to know anyway?"

The man's stare turned to the woman as he began to speak, "I do not know Priestess. There is just this calling from deep within me that connects me to this woman. I do not know if it be the will of the gods, or demons, but I know that I must travel with her on this treacherous route to seek her salvation. My heart tells me this much."

The confusion was evident in his features as his eyes remained on the woman currently sleeping on the bed. He truly did not know what called him to this woman, only that his heart was telling him that this was the path that had been chosen for him. He had felt the connection when he first laid eyes on her as she was walking through the streets towards him and his companion.

"There is this worry within me that I cannot explain. I must see her to the realm of Beezlebub, and see that she becomes whole again. My heart commands it of me." he finished as his eyes turned to face the priestess again.

"If that is your wish, then I shall not stop you - but she needs treatment to help her now and get her on her feet, else you'll be carrying her the whole way and by the time you arrive she'll have died."

The guard only nodded, his attention returning to the Namorian woman laying on the bed in front of him. He looked out of one of the windows briefly before turning to her and stated "I have to return to my post. I will make plans to accompany this woman when she is better, but I do not know the way to Tartarus."

"You do not know the way to Tartarus, yet you wish to take her to Beelzebub's realm and avoid death along the way? You are a rather brave man to be a guard - did the Imperium never interest you?" The Priestess smirked as she looked down upon Juno, who laid silent. "She does need her rest, so you'll have time for your shift."

Shahik could only chuckle solemnly in response to the Priestess' remark, "No, the Imperium has never interested me. They are a corrupt empire, and all Empires have their time to fall, I fear the Imperiums' time is coming soon." he finished somberly before heading towards the exit of the healing house, his head turning one final time to address the priestess

"Ensure her safety, my lady." Before he continued out the doors and into the sun-baked streets of Tu Zenita Duskal.

Azazeal849
07-27-2014, 07:22 PM
NEW GIZA, SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER

"General!" Iset snapped at Shanaar before either of the other egyptian leaders could speak. Her eyes narrowed at the visual confirmation of the supposed conspiracy against her, her sandals clapping lightly against the floor alongside the more sinister click of the Anubans' clawed feet. "I need to speak with you."

Shanaar's lips pulled back into a sneer as he matched Iset's venomous look. "To what end, vizier?"

"Yours." Iset answered, as all four of her jackal warriors bounded forward.

No sooner had the canine warriors begun to move, there was a blinding flash. To one side of the stone hall the two priestesses had become twenty, forming a dazzling circle of protective illusions around high priest Ahsha and ushering him back away from the fight. Suriyana had mastered the spell under Anne’s guidance, and Ovidius felt a surge of pride in his lover’s achievement even as chaos erupted around him.

“Block the doors!” he shouted to his armoured mercenaries.

In the flash of magical light, one of Shanaar’s bodyguards checked, his guard dropping as his free hand instinctively jerked up to shield his eyes. In that split second the first jackal warrior was on him, and the man screamed as he was borne to the ground with the Anuban’s serrated teeth locked around his collarbone.

The other baying dog-men leapt straight for Shanaar. The general’s face locked into a snarl as he ducked low, and the first Anuban’s charge turned into a tumbling forward roll as Shanaar's khopesh hacked its legs out from under it. Shanaar let out a mighty roar as he rose, still driving forward, and met the second Anuban’s oversize khopesh with a ring of clashing metal.

The third Anuban jinked aside and made a skidding turn on its digitigrade feet, snarling and snapping as it came at the general from behind. Only Shanaar’s second bodyguard saved him, yelling a curse as his blade rose two-handed to deflect the scything downward arc. The Anuban’s blade shrieked along the length of the bodyguard’s sword, before ringing against stone as the redirected force of the blow drove it into the floor. The Anuban snarled and swiped at the bodyguard’s head with its free hand. Its hooked claws flensed half the man’s face away, splattering blood across the tiles.

“Kill him!” Iset shrieked.

Shanaar’s khopesh and the second Anuban’s oversize blade clashed, spun apart and clashed again. Even as the other two jackal warriors finished tearing out the throats of his bodyguards and came at him, Shanaar weaved under his opponent’s blade and delivered a savage uppercut that opened the Anuban from belly to jaw. The Anuban was lifted into the air, curving back in an almost graceful arc before slamming into the floor with a wet slap.

Shanaar turned on his heel, and threw himself backwards to avoid the onrushing strikes of the last two Anubans. One blade slid harmlessly past his shoulder; the tip of the other sang across his breastplate, parting the bronze like it was nothing and flicking a thin trail of blood into the air. A sharp gasp escaped the Egyptian general, but even as he reeled he caught himself on his back foot and lunged forward. The sudden reversal totally wrong-footed the nearest Anuban, and its howl of frustration turned to one of mortal pain as Shanaar barged inside its guard and lunged his khopesh into its belly.

Shanaar’s momentum carried the jackal warrior off its feet, and he pivoted to let it catch the falling blade of his last opponent as it swung towards him. The last jackal warrior yapped and snarled as Shanaar spun away, leaving the creature fighting to free its blade from its dead comrade’s back. Shanaar was still fast on his feet, but unsteady, half doubled over from the wound to his chest. His eyes blazed defiance at the last Anuban as it finally jerked its khopesh free, swinging it wide and flicking the blood from the blade as it stalked towards him.

The Anuban rained blows, driving Shanaar back towards one of the shrines that ringed the chamber. Shanaar parried, sliding away from the attacks rather than trying to meet them full force. He tried to strike back, but overextended himself as the Anuban twisted aside from his lunge. The Anuban seized Shanaar’s throat with its free hand, but realised its mistake as Shanaar turned his khopesh and pulled the sharp outer edge back across the Anuban’s side, ripping it open. The Anuban let out a piercing howl, still grappling with Shanaar as it sought to break his neck, but two heavy chops from the general’s khopesh split open its canine head and sent it crashing to the floor.

Iset’s mouth had fallen open. Rubbing his bleeding neck, Shanaar limped over to the first Anuban, which was whimpering as it tried to drag its broken legs away from the fight. He put one foot on the crippled creature, reversed his sword, and drove the red-stained point down through the back of the Anuban's neck. The last jackal warrior died with a long, shuddering spasm, and lay still.

Shanaar slowly turned and fixed his eagle’s gaze on Iset, his left arm clasped against his rent breastplate. Blood oozed between his fingers as he took a lurching step towards the vizier.

“You said you needed to speak with me.” he rasped through bloody teeth.

Iset looked at Ahsha, safe behind his halo of light, and then back at Shanaar as he advanced on her with a predator’s glare in his eyes.

“Ovidius!” she called out, taking a step backwards.

Iset saw Shanaar’s eyes flicker away from her own to focus on something behind her, and a look of triumph crossed the general’s aquiline face, but she didn’t understand what it meant until the bronze dagger slid up beneath the bottom edge of her crocodile-hide armour and buried itself in her kidneys. Her breath left her in a ragged gasp. She groped for the sword at her hip, but Ovidius’ hand clamped over her own and prevented her from drawing the weapon. The Namorian assassin-priest was pressed up against her back, and she fell against him as the strength went out of her legs. He lowered her to the floor almost gently.

Too numb with shock and pain to even scream, Iset clawed weakly at Ovidius with her free hand. Her grasping fingers pulled aside the neckline of his dark tunic and the amulet of Anubis spilled out, an exact match of the one pressed to Iset’s chest beneath her armour. The simple cartouche filled Iset’s world, every shred of her mind rejecting the impossible betrayal even as the pain boiling up from her spine told her that it was all too real.

“Anubis…” she stammered in Namorian, her voice a ragged whisper, “Will…judge…you…”

“Shhh.” Ovidius murmured back, almost tenderly. “Go to your family. They’re waiting for you.”

The vizier’s life left her in a slow gasp. Ovidius stood up slowly, the blood on his clothes black under the long shadows cast by Anne and Suriyana’s light.

Shanaar was the first to break the silence, and he did so with a croaking laugh. It began almost as a pained cough, but gained in strength as he limped towards the motionless body of his rival. He raised his arms and brandished his bloody khopesh high.

“Hail Isis and her chosen son!” the general proclaimed. He lowered his arms and fixed Ovidius with a wolfish smile. “Well done, priest. With you and Ahsha behind me, our armies will sweep across the mountains and unite this land under Egyptian rule. You have done the gods’ work, and my first act as pharoah will be to reward you all.”

“No.” Ovidius said grimly, “It won’t.”

At the spy’s signal, the men of Namor and Afragia who had been silently barring the doors throughout the fight stepped forward. Swords hissed from scabbards as they surrounded Shanaar.

“We don’t bow to no fucking pharoah who wants to enslave our people.” one of them growled softly. Ovidius recognised him as Ahmeni, the man who had been talking of a Namorian return to Afragia when they had first met back in the greasy tavern.

Shanaar’s teeth bared in a snarl, his eyes snapping back to Ovidius as realisation dawned.

“You fucking traitor!” he spat.

“No.” Ovidius growled as he snapped the Anubis icon from his neck with a jerk and let the broken chain fall to the floor. “Fucking Namorian.”

Shanaar let out a roar of rage as Ovidius’ mercenaries rushed him from all sides. His khopesh found the throat of the first man to reach him, and hacked down through the shoulder of a second before he was driven to his knees by a rain of blows to his neck and shoulders. Through the press he locked eyes with Ovidius, and for a moment looked as if he was gathering the last of his strength to hurl his khopesh at the grim-faced spy, but then the point of a sword exploded from his chest and the khopesh skittered across the floor as Shanaar was pitched forward against the cold stone.

The circle of priestesses around Ahsha snapped together, like a mirror shattering in reverse, as the protective light around them died. Anne Von Bayern solidified into a single tall figure, with a flicker of a smile on her sharp features. Behind her, Ahsha’s face was an expressionless mask. Suriyana, on the other hand, looked like she was about to be sick. Ahsha was the first to speak.

"You lied to me." the high priest said, rounding on Anne. His tone was dangerous, although his face remained surreally calm. "You said that Shanaar would be pharoah, and I should support him. I will not be a pawn in your game!"

"We play Ra's game." Anne returned in Egyptian.

"Ra's game." Ahsha repeated in a low growl. "And at what point in this game comes the knife in my back? You claim to know the Sun God's will better than I?"

Anne raised her hand and pulled away the silk bandana that covered her eye, revealing the hollow of phoenix feathers behind it. She unwound the bandages beneath her sleeves and shook out her feathered arms.

Ahsha's stoic expression never wavered, although he was unable to form words to reply.

"Forgive the lie," Anne said in a deceptively sincere voice, "All was done as Ra commanded me, to sit his chosen representative on the throne and face the coming darkness."

As a gaunt hush settled over the hall, Ahsha turned his gaze from Anne to Suriyana, and then to Ovidius and his mercenaries. The rag-tag group of Namorians and Afragians, after stooping over their two fallen comrades and realising there was nothing more they could do for them, were looking at the high priest warily.

"I have seen greater forces moving." Ahsha rumbled, breaking the silence. "And we must stand together or not at all. You will have your reward - gold, and safe passage back to your homelands. When you see your rulers again, tell them that pharoah Ahsha of Egypt desires to talk to them of peace. But I want you all gone from my kingdom."

"What about those two?" one of the mercenaries asked. He gestured towards the corpses of the Egyptian leaders and their respective bodyguards. "They won't stay dead for long, and when they come back they'll be pissed."

Ahsha cast his stony, unmoving gaze over his former rivals.

"They have shamed their patron gods." he said, and from his tone it was difficult to tell whether he thought the rest of them hadn't done the same. "Even now I can sense Anubis reining in his jackal warriors."

We did it. Ovidius thought, feeling a simultaneous surge of triumph and relief. There was little room for regret, and he didn't want to invite it by looking down at Shanaar and Iset's dead, accusing faces.

They weren't bad people, but they would have razed the imperium to the ground if we had let them live.

He turned his attention to Suriyana and Anne, who were still standing silently behind the high priest.

"What about Anne and Suri?" he asked Ahsha, dropping the pretence of religious titles and honourifics now that the endgame of their plan was played out. Perhaps he should have called Ahsha pharoah, but he had little stomach for the political murk that would no doubt follow their actions tonight. He had done his part; bought a chance for peace between the empire and the immortals with a few lives, and now he wanted to put this whole sordid ordeal behind him and go home.

Ahsha turned his head towards Ovidius, unnerving and almost inhuman with his flat, unreadable expression.

"Unlike you, pretender, these are true priests of the gods. They serve Ra as I do. I may not agree with them, but I cannot deny them the right to stay or go as they wish."

Anne smiled again. Ovidius exhaled a long sigh and looked at Suriyana. Her sharp, clever face still looked hollow.

"It's over, Suri." he said, trying to comfort her. "We did it. We can go home. It's over."

Suriyana hugged her arms, and said nothing.


* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR, PRESENT

The broken windows of the former noble's residence had been covered by iron gratings until the glass could be replaced, but the sound of hammering and stone rolling against stone carried up to the study where praetor Graccus was enjoying a brief respite. The Romans and the remaining Namorian legionaries worked in rolling shifts to guard the pillar of light, which still glowed at the midpoint of Varon's Causeway. The remainder of their force put their engineering skills to good use - clearing Ech Zilidar's rubble-strewn roads, buttressing ruptured water wells, pulling down ruined buildings and closing the breach in the eastern wall. Hopefully, civilian workers would soon arrive from Afragia to restore the water flows, re-seed the hydroponic farms and make the city habitable again. The Roman leader Septim had expressed dislike for remaining here rather than seeking out the next threat, but had bowed to the necessity of guarding the light portal. Even if dux Marcius, half his army, and now even the new dwarf king had broken camp from Ech and left Graccus to deal with the aftermath.

Why senator Agrippa had remained also, Graccus could not fathom. Jornak had been declared fit to travel two days ago, and was probably arriving in his new palace in Tu Zenita Duskal this very day. Given that Agrippa had conspicuously declined to go with him, Graccus had a theory that the enigmatic diplomat had some other agenda - possibly observing on developments here in Ech, no doubt to report them back to queen Nesara.

Senator Agrippa currently sat as an unwelcome guest in Graccus' study, frowning at the difference between the closed dwarven room and the airy tablinum that he was no doubt used to in his own villa. The frown lessened as he contemplated the fine glass goblet in his hand, holding it up and rotating it to let the firelight filter through the ruby liquid inside.

"They say you can tell a people's character by the quality of their wine." the senator mused aloud. "Hercinian wines are sharp and sweet and bold, Dun Morigan wines are heavy and unyielding, and Afragian wines are wonderfully subtle and layered."

He bent his lined face to the glass so that his nose rested above the rim, gently swirled the glass, and took a sip.

"I've tried them all, but I have to say I always appreciate the familiar, homely taste of a good Namorian red."

"Really." Graccus said coldly. He shoved aside the papers covering his desk and drained his own glass in a single gulp. "Where did you find that stuff anyway?"

"In the cellars. It will all spoil with no-one left here to drink it, and that seems like a needless waste to my mind."

"Wouldn't your queen be annoyed that you're sat here sipping wine instead of escorting her husband back to court?"

Agrippa favoured Graccus with a paternal smile. "Our new dwarf king doesn't have the best opinion of my company, but I can be of use reporting on the restoration of his homeland."

"Hmm." Graccus grunted as his earlier suspicion was confirmed. "We are rebuilding his cities, and standing guard in case the orcs return, even though these forces could easily be put to use elsewhere. See that the self-important little shit remembers that."

"If Afragia raised further troops," Agrippa argued, "They could guard the portal themselves and free up the legions to march."

Graccus chuckled darkly. "They're already skirting the line of Imperial authority. A new army that answered only to Jornak and Nesara would definitely be crossing it."

"A strong Afragia that can see to its own defence serves the imperium, especially now. The orcs may return. There is still an unknown threat out east. And stability is needed to allow them to deal effectively with the dwarf refugees."

"That's your plan?" Graccus asked doubtfully.

"Order. Stability." Agrippa replied. He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of wine.

"And you just so happen to be placed next to a powerful new queen."

Agrippa shrugged. "Order, stability, opportunity. I've always worked with the empire's best interests in mind - is it so wrong to take a reward that's offered for that work?"

"The empire's best interests, or your Afragian queen's?"

Agrippa massaged his forehead, as if he was tired of restating the point. "Nesara can be trusted to remain loyal. She has been so for the last 5 years of her reign."

Graccus gathered his vellum papers and stood up to leave, having had enough of both the senator's wine and his company. "I don't know - she's had a taste of real power now, and power goes to the head."


* * * * * *

TU ZENITA DUSKAL, PRESENT

It had been a week, but seemed like years since Jornak had been able to move from that damned medicae gurney. His joints and muscles were as stone, and his head was swirling with nausea. It would take some time to adjust to walking again. He hated the fact that he had to be treated by an imperial medicus, but he couldn't say that they weren't effective in their treatment. Now here he was, walking ahead of the remainder of his army while the imperials and their red doppelgängers squatted over his ruined homeland. It was enough to make his blood boil, but his fellow dwarfs were the real prize, and they now resided in the Afragian capital. Now his thoughts were only on the destination before him; Tu Zenita Duskal.

The Afragians had not built Tu Zenita Duskal from the ground up. While hollowing out caves to escape the heat of the eastern summers, their ancestors had stumbled across the ruins of an abandoned dwarf city. Making use of the existing caverns and the buildings which still stood, they had rebuilt it into a home for their own people. The wind blowing down through the ancient dwarven ventilation shafts had given the city its name - in the Afragian tongue, Tu Zenita Duskal meant the place of the whispering stones.

Many of the tunnels which spiderwebbed out from the city had collapsed and become blocked, but clearing them out and following them had eventually led the Afragians into contact with the Dun Morigan dwarfs. The dwarfs had been impressed by the Eastern men's talent for mining and masonry, and a peaceful coexistence had flourished. They had fought together in the war that had seen both provinces conquered by the imperium, several centuries ago, and although the Afragians had since adopted much of the Namorian culture they still enjoyed good relations with the dwarfs.

No-one now living knew the name of the original dwarven city beneath Tu Zenita Duskal, or why it had been abandoned, but the lines and arches of Dun Morigan stone-working techniques were still easily to recognise beneath the Afragian columns and frescoes. The familiarity pleased Jornak as he stepped through into the airy chamber that constituted queen Nesara's office. His new wife was sat at a desk carved from a single slab of marble, a cup of green tea perched delicately next to the papyrus scroll she was reading. Light projected down through a skylight, fed from a surface-to-cavern mirror system directly copied from the dwarfs, and the warm evening glow shimmered against Nesara's gossamer robe. A pair of brightly plumed birds twittered in a cage standing in one corner.

"Husband." Nesara smiled as she looked up. She rose to her feet in a whisper of silks and crossed to the door, taking Jornak's hands in her own with formal politeness. "We were all worried for you. It will lift the hearts of both our peoples to see you returned safely."

Jornak bowed before Nesara, and rose to meet her smile with one of his own. He listened as she spoke, and then began speaking for himself. "It will take a lot more than a damned grey-skin to kill this old bastard." He chuckled at his own worlds.

"Come and have a look at this." Nesara said, releasing him and beckoning him over to her table to show him the parchment she had been examining. It was a report from the garrison commanders, along the eastern border where the rivers and scrubland of surface Afragia gave way to desert.

Jornak's face scrunched up in confusion as he eyed the report laid out on the table before him. The night-time raids that had left a trail of terror-frozen corpses through the eastern villages seemed to have petered out, although apparently the peasants still feared to venture outside the town walls, and the riverside fields still lay unharvested. It was odd that the attacks and raids had ceased to happen against Afragia, and in truth it worried him. He was sure that this was the silence that came before a storm, which is why he replied:

"It would be prudent, I believe, to send more troops to our borders. We do not want another Ech Zilidar here in the heart of your home country."

"A sound idea." Nesara nodded. "Though the border is long, and we have scarcely 8000 men of the Royal Army to call upon."

Jornak stroked his beard, his face contorted in thought.

"Things are changing, Jornak." Nesara said slowly. "If the orcs and the raiders really have gone...for all we have lost, our people might be the most secure in all of Eternum right now. While Hercine lies in ruins and Emor fights to secure its borders, our people can have hope. The question, though, is what to do with it."

"It is time to weaponise this hope." said Jornak. "There will be no future for Eternum if we continue to stand apart from the rest of the world. We must bolster our defences, and then we set forth to rid this world of the evil that had taken hold of it, starting with our neighbors that have fallen silent."

Jornak knew that this was no time to be preparing for another war, but if they did not do so then their safety would not be ensured for very long. They were only safe because someone or something on Eternum willed it to be so.

"We could call a levy and begin training more companies of troops." Nesara said, a delicate finger pressed to her lips in thought. "However, as senator Agrippa said to me shortly before our wedding, the imperials may not approve. They would say that in defending ourselves we gather too much power."

She raised her gaze towards Jornak, a searching look in her eyes.

Jornak nodded at his wife's words, while lost in thought about the events of the previous week. He had been torn from a common status of little importance to the world and elevated to the king of the dwarfs - and by marriage, king of the people of Afragia. The weight of this pressure had just now deigned to hit his mind, in a brutal and merciless attack that left him in a mental fetal position. While his exterior did not show it, he was overwhelmed - he had thousands upon thousands of lives to protect, and he would have to look past his prejudiced views, and to ones that would ensure that the Dwarf and Afragian peoples would survive the coming darkness.

However, his thoughts on Imperial authority would not change, even as he heard his wife mention the senator and the emperor's view on their marriage and actions from this point forward. It was then that he paused in his thinking and began speaking, his voice icy in sincerity and decision.

"My queen, I mean this with the utmost respect to your views and your thoughts, but those damned imperials can lick the underside of my boots." His eyes burned with a fiery judgment in them. "How can they protect our people if they could not protect the dwarf cities? How many of my people fought and died to ensure that even a tiny part of our culture remained in a world that would sweep it away without thought? No. We must look to our own survival and salvation. Call for the levy; I will marshal the dwarfs that are willing to fight still, and we will create an empire to withstand this tide of darkness."

He paced in front of the table, sure that his words would find their way to imperial ears within the hour. It was known that he did not approve of imperial noses in his affairs, and thus it would be only natural for them to try and have an imperial spy in his presence at all times. He was no fool, but he was not a coward either; he would be frank in his thoughts and opinions. If they don't like it, he thought, tough.

Nesara smiled gently at him, as if he had given her exactly the answer she wanted to hear.

"Strong words, husband." she said, "Spoken like a true king. And words which I think will find traction with many of my people. I have been a loyal servant of the emperor since my coronation, but we stand at a crossroads where I must choose between that and what is best for the people that I represent."

She pulled a second scroll from her desk; a roll of the elected senate which formed the second part of Afragia's constitutional monarchy.

"And now that our kingdoms are joined and your people under our hospitality for the foreseeable future, it is only fitting that they be represented too." She traced a finger down the striated papyrus. "I have a mind to reshuffle the senate. The Namorians on the council can make way for lord Argam and the other dwarven Elders. That way there will be no opposition to the levy, and Dun Moriga's interests can be fairly represented in our new joint kingdom."

She gave Jornak a conspiratorial smile, which turned to a frown as her finger stopped at a certain name on the senators' list.

"What of senator Agrippa though? He says he will help convince the emperor that our intentions are no threat to the imperium - which is wise when praetor Graccus' army stands not so far away in Ech Zilidar, with those mysterious red-crests at his side. Graccus is no friend of ours, of that I am certain, but Agrippa...he has been my advisor for some time, but I can never be sure of his motives. It seems to me that he does the right thing, but never for the right reason. And with his silver mines on the eastern slopes he wields much influence."

Jornak's eyes flashed at the mention of Graccus, and softened slightly at the mention of Agrippa. He was positive that he did not like Graccus, but his wife was fairly fond of Agrippa, and he would have to tread carefully on this road.

"My lady, those red-crests are the key to this. They do not trust the imperials any more than we do. If we can convince them to come to our aid, we can rid the East of imperial influence and we can build an empire to withstand the growing tide of darkness, with both Ra and Vulcan guiding us to an age of prosperity and peace."

He pondered on the thought of Agrippa for a few moments before speaking again. "We must convince him to allow dwarf eyes and hands to supervise and work the mines on the eastern slopes. After we have done this we will seize the mines from him and his influence will be shattered. These are you-" He paused in his words. "-Our people, and we must do what is best for them. We cannot solidify our futures with a failing empire at our backs. Corruption and greed are rampant in the imperium, and if their capital falls, there will be a power struggle. And, we will be caught in the middle."

He stepped away from the table and looked out among the empty space of his thoughts before turning back to his wife and sorrowfully speaking once more.

"We cannot lose any more of our people. They are what survives of our heritage and our cultures. We must protect that at any cost."

Death of Korzan
08-07-2014, 07:28 PM
Allied Army Camp, West of Dun Moriga

Two days forced march from Ech Zilidar had taken the Fulminata and their allies out of the scree slopes and gorges of the Dun Morigan foothills, and back into the rolling countryside that surrounded the Via Orientem highway. The tell-tale signs that summer was on the wane were already in evidence. Although the days remained hot, the heady blossom smell was gone from the air, and the nuts and berries had already begun to ripen in the scattered woods that flanked the road.

Most of the allied army were glad to trade the dry, dusty caverns of Dun Moriga for the fresh air, but not all. Morale among the dwarven artillery contingent was low again - not only had they lost their captain, but they were marching away from their homeland while its cities remained ruined and the future of its people uncertain. Marcius and his senior officers had unanimously agreed not to share the reason for their rapid departure until they were more sure of the situation back in Namor, but that had only made the dwarfs more restive. A dwarf called Joren had replaced Agron as artillery captain, a man whose loyalty to the empire Marcius trusted implicity, but he was struggling to keep morale up among his gun crews. Three gunners had already been flogged for insubordination.

When evening fell, the army pitched their fortified camps on a trio of hills to the south of the road, with the followers' camp straggled around a narrow river that ran between them. As the light faded, the beam above Combrogia forest continued to glow balefully in the distance, a slash of purple against the darkening sky. If the orc army had reappeared there, the scouts ranging ahead of the legion would soon be galloping back to report it. Their route to Emor would take them right through Combrogia, and then they would see what they would see. Hopefully the Druada lord Kurosavi would have news for them, if he still stood custodian over the abandoned forests.

Marcius was pushing his troops to the limit on the march, but he had precious little idea what he would do when he reached his destination. Whether contact with the orcs delayed his advance or not, the situation in Emor that his cousin had described to him was not one he relished navigating.

Lycinia would know what to do in a heartbeat. he thought, and immediately felt a sharp ache settle in his stomach. As he reached his tent at the centre of the fortified camp, he merely nodded to Varrius to hide the lump in his throat. The bodyguard dutifully took up his position outside the tent flap, and Marcius pushed his way through, raising his good hand to tug at the scarf that separated his armour from his burn-scarred neck.

As Marcius stepped into his tent, he was suddenly greeted with the figures of three people, a woman and two men. One of the men held a clean shaven face, with wild black hair and dressed only in a loincloth. The rest of his body was covered from head to toe in blue woad. He stood at an immense height of 9 feet, with a muscular body and a large battle-axe slung across his back. He looked towards Decius as he entered his quarters, eyes swirling with the colour of gold and wild with fury.

Next to him stood another man, just as tall but with a darker skin complexion; browner than the olive-skinned Namorians, lighter than the dusky Afragians. His hair was black and flowing, though it was well kept - as was his beard, which hung long and freely from his chin, a graceful sight to behold. His eyes were thin dark almonds that held the wisdom of ages. His armour was banded like lorica but layered and overlapped like scale, different to all styles Decius was familiar with. It glinted beautifully in the torch light.

The woman of the group was also impossibly tall, though not as tall as the men. She was dressed in armour much more familiar to Decius, as most of it matched his own. At her waist sat two long gladii, pressed into their scabbards so that they would not be free to cut those around her. Her hair was long and as black as the blue man’s, and she had golden eyes of the exact same form. She was gorgeous, and she seemed intelligent beyond comprehension.

Marcius slowly removed the hand that had darted instinctively to his sword hilt. He did not need to recognise the newcomers to know that he was once again in the presence of gods.

The towering blue wildman looked upon Marcius with great regard, his face furrowing in curiosity at the Namorian. The savage nature of his being was hidden behind his bright gold eyes.

"So you are the mortal my father has been pining over..." His voice was thick and gruff, yet also young and spiritedly. As he spoke it cast some sort of spell over Decius – inducing a surge of adrenaline and a feeling that he could take on an army alone.

"Be kind Camulus, brother - his virtues are no doubt good." the woman said, her hand rising to touch Marcius’ shoulder. As she did so a pair of white wings sprung from her back, fluttering slightly with discontent. "Besides, someone who has lost as much as he has could not have evil within him - though he does feel...broken."

"It does not matter Bellona.” said the third man. His voice was accented differently to the others, and his eyes were a deep brown instead of orange. “He has great technique. Your father and I are speculative to see where he takes it, though fate is Nemesis' to dictate...and she seems to have gone rogue.”

He turned to address Marcius.

“I am Guan Yu, the tiger of Asia. I am the god of technique and combat art...and one of the best warriors of all time."

Guan Yu smiled, a kind, trustful smile shared especially between friends.

"I come with the children of Mars - Camulus, lord of savagery and slaughter; and Bellona, lady of virtue and justice. You are making waves, Decius." Guan Yu spoke, his wisdom flowing through his words like electricity.

”I have only tried to do my duty.” Marcius answered, his heart still thumping from the battle aura that surrounded Camulus and his companions. “To Mars and to His imperium. What would He ask of me?”

"My father asks nothing of you, mortal." Camulus spoke to Decius, tilting his head at the well drilled man. "He is too busy with the other Gods trying to find Nemesis and Odin, all the Gods are preoccupied. Far too preoccupied to glance upon this distasteful 'strategy' that you employ within your troops." Camulus kicked at the ground and scowled at Decius.

"I do what is necessary to win." Marcius said carefully, unsure of whether the God was disparaging his tactics or the fact that he had made allies of the crocolykes and the resurrected Earthborn. I will not apologise for that, whatever my reservations. Only Lycinia's foresight on the matter had allowed them to hold Dun Moriga, no matter how pyrrhic the victory. Cassius' too.

And now they're both dead. he thought, clenching his good hand into a fist.

"Ignore my brother, he finds the Imperium's battle tactics...distasteful." Bellona walked forward and brushed her hand across Decius's cheek. "He finds it distasteful...he's a barbarian at heart."

"I am not a barbarian!" Camulus whipped out his axe and roared at his sister. "I am a warrior! Just like father!"

"How did Mars come by the sword Hate?" Marcius asked, as much to head off the confrontation as to satisfy the question that had plagued him since the start of the campaign. "And why did he give it to me?"

“Hate...” Guan Yu spoke, his face slightly crinkled as if the god was almost reluctant to speak about the blade. “Hate is an ancient sword. It was wielded by a man named Gabrielle, during an era on Planet Earth thousands of years before my own birth.”

The God of Battle’s eyes hit Marcius’ own, squinting at him as if to glean information from his body language.

“Long ago, there was an empire named the Lotus Empire, led by a son of Odin named Braiga. Destruction, one of the Four Horsemen, managed to summon a millennium of stored strength in a push to take the Universe, and allowed his son Shacorai to lead the way. You’ve felt his presence before, haven’t you?”

Marcius unconsciously flexed his bandaged right hand, the fingers curling half way before the re-knit tendons knifed with pain.

“Yes.” he said, remembering the demon and the visions of burning cities that it had poured into his head as it sought to overpower his consciousness with its own. Hate. Hate. Hate. The scar where he had cut his own wrist to free it from the blade twinged with phantom pain. He had heard of demons being imprisoned within artefacts before, although it had only ever been attempted by the most powerful and foolhardy of mages, and the now fallen Guild had banned the practice many decades ago. He wondered how the demon Shacorai had met its fate - and what had happened to the man who had tried to wield him. Was he dead? Had he been as fortunate as Marcius? Or was he now the corrupted creature that called itself Chaaru?

“What became of this Gabrielle?” he asked the three demigods who stood silently regarding him.

"He lives." Camulus interrupted Guan Yu before he could speak again. "He is helping your scout get to Tartarus."

Salvius lives too. Marcius thought, and felt his spirits lift. While he knew that his centurion bodyguard could be trusted not to abandon his duty while he still drew breath, it was good to receive his first news of the man since their departure from Emor. If their gamble paid off and he was able to retrieve the Alcamor stones, then it would be a fundamental power shift. Not only would they be able to protect Emor from the demons, but the Earthborn too, and anyone else who threatened the empire. He only hoped that it wouldn't come too late.

In contrast to Marcius' raised spirits, all three gods shifted uneasily, eyes darting to each other.

"Though Gabrielle is not so important." Camulus went on. "Not when we have other things to think about Decius."

"And what would those be?" Marcius asked carefully, frowning himself in response to the demigod's grave expression. There were several pressing concerns he could think of, but the gods no doubt knew more than he did.

"You've seen them haven't you Decius. You know exactly what we're talking about." Bellona spoke, her voice curt yet unsure.

"The Arks, Decius." Camulus spoke, eyes locking straight with Marcius' own. "I think you know, deep down you must know what is going on - perhaps you ignore it, or perhaps you're even more of an idiot than we thought. But you must know."

Marcius felt himself bristling slightly, but he controlled it, just as he had in front of the Earthborn. No weakness - especially not before the gods.

"The beams of light." he said after a moment's thought. Even the Earthborn had feared them, although they had channeled their fear into blustering aggression. "Where did they take the greyskins?"

The air was full of electricity as Camulus opened his mouth and stepped forward. "The South, Decius. The Greyskins were taken to the South. They wait there for the final pieces of the puzzle to fit together, just as they did at the fall of Rome on Earth, and the fall of many other planets in their attempts to save the Universe from Kronos."

Marcius frowned. His first thought was that the Southern barbarians were welcome to the Greyskin horde. A two-front war could only aid praetor Maximus who, unlike Marcius himself, had the numbers to defeat the demons in the field. But the stakes were high...possibly too high. The gods would not have deigned to appear before him otherwise.

"And what are those final pieces?" he asked, losing patience with the half answers. "What must I do to stop them?"

"You cannot stop them from forming - there are only 3 pieces left. My father comes bearing a gift though." Bellona walked forward and stretched out her clasped hands. A golden shimmer filled the gap, shifting itself into the shape of a long gladius. "The Tooth of Mars, his most holy blade - it is a gift, compensation for Hate and for what is to come." She pressed the blade forward into Decius' hands.

"You know, mortal." Camulus spoke softly, an odd contrast with his gruff masculine voice. "My father once said to me that sometimes Great Mortals lead Gods into war. There will come a time soon, when you are needed most by Gods and Mortals alike. When that time comes, we will call upon you once more - and you shall call upon my father with his blade. And in that time of great destruction, we will ride together into the valley of death, and know that the Universe will thank us for our sacrifice."

Marcius looked down at the golden blade. Light slid like oil over its surface, reflecting back a rainbow of colours. It was perfectly balanced, a comfortable weight even in his off hand. Heavy enough to batter down an enemy's guard, yet light enough for a rapid thrust or parry.

It might not be possible to march south and stop the demons, even disregarding their current mission. It might not even be possible to warn praetor Maximus in time of what he was about to face. Nor could Marcius help his champion Salvius on his mission to Tartarus. Marcius did not like being out of control of so many converging fate-lines.

He turned the sword over in his hands. This was a preparation for the endgame, for when the fate-lines came together. But it seemed that he had the gods' blessing along his current path. Here was a blade that could unite fractured Namor. That much he could do.

"Thank y-" he began, but when he looked up he was alone in his praetorium.

Pulling an oiled leather scabbard from his chest of spare equipment, he carefully slid the blade home and strode back out of the tent. As Varrius stepped silently forward to follow him, Marcius spotted prefect Lucullus making a round of the camp, his vine staff swinging loosely back and forth in his hands.

"Praefectus!" Marcius called out.

The legion's third in command turned. "Sir?"

"Go and find Elisavet." Marcius told him. At her own insistence, Elisavet now slept in the followers' camp, far away from Marcius in case she did him harm. "And tell the men to fall in."

Lucullus nodded, but Marcius read the confusion in the other man's face. Still infused with the aftereffects of the gods' presence, he smiled grimly as he held up the Tooth of Mars for Lucullus to see.

"I've got something to show them."

The UNSV Waterloo

“Exploration craft Archer Foxtrot this is UNSV Waterloo, please respond – over and out.” The radio staff sat back in his cushy chair, his arms wrapping themselves around the back of his head. Next to him sat his colleague, a young Indian woman named Sahit – her eyes looked at him inquisitively, before she opened her mouth to talk.

“That’s the 30th time you’ve tried to hail the ship Jackson.” Sahit paused and pursed her lips. “You don’t think that they’ve gone rogue, do you?”

“4 of those Solanix Genetic models, rogue?” Jackson sat back and sighed to himself, drumming his palms against his thighs. “I dunno…Solanix gave us their best trainees – but apparently the new models are unstable, too strong or something.”

“So don’t you think that you should speak to Captain Ceylan? Let him know that we can’t reach communications with them? They have no ties to this ship but letting 4 Genetics roam free on a primitive planet isn’t a good idea – what do you think their technology could do to them?” Sahit spoke, placing her hand carefully on Jackson’s shoulder and rubbing it in order to comfort him.

“I will watch the comm’s for you whilst you are gone, just quickly go and let him know of the situation – try not to get thrown out of the airlock, okay?” Sahit laughed to herself before lapping his knee playfully. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

Jackson stood and smiled before giving Sahit a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Thanks Sah’ – see you in a second.” His let his hand linger on his chair for a second as he stood and stared at the metal floor, his own worries sinking deep into his mind, the only noise being the humming of the engines – a noise that reverbed throughout the whole ship, no matter where you were.

‘What if they have gone rogue.’ Jackson thought. ‘What could they do to the indigenous?’ And with that thought, Jackson hurried to the Bridge, every step an urgent one.

The ship itself was a sprawling mass of titanium, with huge nuclear reactors powering the hyperdrive systems that allowed the ship to bend space around it – shooting the ship through solar systems at extreme speeds. The technology was rather common among the Human Empire, an Empire of which sported the colonisation and slow terraforming of multiple planets and the discovery of new life – nothing of a human intellect across the stars though, no other species to interact with…not until Eternum was discovered.

Jackson’s hand darted out in front of him as he pressed down upon the gel hand imprint upon the wall next to the door – as he did so the machine scanned his genetic code and hissed open. “Communications Officer Jackson Robertson, Canadian unit reporting on deck.” Spoke the ship’s AI system, lovingly referred to as ‘Remington’. The corridor was full of engineers and ordinance officers who were busy running systems checks and analysing the data received from the pillars of light that had appeared upon the surface of the foreign world. As Jackson entered the bridge, he couldn’t help but stare out at the huge bridge windows and down upon the planet below – the two massive continents of The Imperium and the Free South smattering themselves across the vast blue ocean.

Jackson found himself mesmerised by the planet – the view from space always gave him some fantastical feeling of being ‘small’, something that would normally terrify or belittle other Earthborn, but instead comforted Jackson and made him feel like one small cog in the machine of the universe – not loathing the small part that he figured he had to play among the stars and people of the cosmos. Turning the corner of the Corridor towards the Bridge, Jackson saluted; stamping his foot down upon the ground and bringing the side of his hand up to rest against his forehead.

“Captain Ceylan, sir.”

“What is it, Comm’s Officer?” The Captain replied. His skin was a deep tan from his Turkish heritage, and his eyes pursed in a deep seated curiosity – from all of his years being the UNSV Waterloo’s captain, he knew that Comm’s Officer’s only came to the Bridge at his command, or if something unexpected was going on.

“The Genetics sir.” Jackson replied. “We’re not getting any replies from them over the Radio transmitters.”

Ceylan squinted at the ground and turned to the front of the Bridge, where the view was broken up very slightly by holographic screens and the various operators who ran their hands over its ‘surface’, shifting coordinates and data throughout the ship’s mainframe.

“Okay I want eyes on the transport craft they took down to the surface – we possibly have 4 AWOL genetics on surface.” The Captain shouted out. “Officer Kennedy, get me a track on that craft as quickly as possible. By that I mean get me a track now!” The urgency rang throughout the Captain’s voice, as if he knew of the danger that the Solanix Genetic Soldiers could pose to the population of the planet. Everyone knew the power of the Genetically modified soldiers – they could punch through mechanised infantry armour, heal extremely fast and lift 900 pounds without breaking so much of a sweat. They were faster, stronger and much more ruthless than their natural counterparts – and that made them 10 times worse.

Five minutes passed, with the Bridge in a state of total uproar before one of the Bridge Officers called out. “Captain, I have a satellite rebound off of the ship, she’s outside the Province of Emor – though her trajectory seems to be heading on a B-line towards the indigenous population’s capital.” All was quiet for a moment, a brief fleeting second before Captain Ceylan pressed one of the many buttons upon his Captain’s seat and spoke.

“I want a full squad a fighters down on the surface, ready to intercept Transport craft Archer Foxtrot as soon as possible. Get it done.” Ceylan turned to Jackson and smiled. “You did good kid, now I’ve got to hope that you’re not the only one who does well.” He turned back to the screens in front of him and Jackson’s eyes followed his, finding them resting against the screen proposing the trajectory of Archer Foxtrot as its icon slowly crept towards Emor.

Combrogia

Isabella landed on her knees with a solid thud, breathing heavily through her mouth as sweat dripped down her slick forehead – gliding down stray pieces of hair plastered to her skin. Her legs quivered before she collapsed on her back, exhausted from the intense work. “You must stretch your arms and mind much more.” Her Cicerin escort spoke. “Earthborn – you seem to have even thicker skulls than the other non-Druada. Maybe your technology has made you numb to the wild.” The Druada walked over and slapped her wooden staff against Isabella’s thighs, causing her to yell out before crawling up by her hands and knees. “Good!” The Cicerin exclaimed. “Some spirit I see! Up, up you get.”

Isabella grit her teeth, she had never been through something like this – basic training itself was tough, but it was a test of the body; of strength, speed, stamina and endurance. This was a test of both the mind and the body, a perfect synchronisation of both attributes – Isabella was being asked to attune the world around her, feel the trees as if they were part of her very own body. It was hard work, especially for someone from Earth – where grassland was sparse and most of the world’s oxygen was created synthetically by machines. Growing up on Earth – a city world – meant that Isabella, as her Trainer stated, was wildly numb to the wild; she was struggling to even make head to tail of what she was being asked to do.

But there was no alternative for the young Earthborn girl. She had been told that she was the chosen – chosen for what she did not know, but she was in company with a people that even she did not recognise or know, nor had she ever been briefed on them before she landed on Eternum. “Come on, again. Stretch those arms out – focus girl, focus!”

“Madame Lostero – I am tired!” Isabella cried out to her teacher, her named having been picked up earlier in the day. “I need time to rest!” The Earthborn girl fell backwards before sighing and laying upon the floor, throwing her arms in place – she remained like that for a few seconds before a hard thwack from Madame Lostero’s staff connected with her side. Isabella jerked upwards and yelled out in pain.


“There is no time in this world for ‘rest’.” The demanding Bee-Woman spoke, her tufted skin rising in irritation as her wings fluttered endlessly. “While you rest, those that killed so many of us continue to live on – no, no rest for you. Stand, girl of Earth – try again!” Isabella rolled her eyes and groaned, she shouldn’t care about the Druada anyway, but something deep inside her churned and wrenched her towards their cause – their burning desire for revenge seemed to open something deep and primal within the young girl, and whether or not it was a desire for combat or a desire to help those who had lost much, Isabella could not find it within herself to walk away from these people.


Stretching out her arms, Isabella grit her teeth and closed her eyes, attempting to cling onto something outside of her own mind and body – focusing on everything around her, Isabella thought of her sister, her squad – that that had died especially; she thought of her parents and her homeworld and these thoughts, whether through magic or simply through human willpower, seemed to press Isabella on - and for the first time, through her determination she felt something alien, something away from her own thoughts, something empty yet so very much alive. As quickly as Isabella felt this she threw all her concentration onto the object, almost losing herself within the item.

Isabella began to taste blood in her mouth and the sensation of severe dehydration from within her head – an ache pounding within, trying to drag her concentration from the exterior being. Isabella could feel her mind slowly closing off as she opened her mouth and began to stammer silently. “Let go child.” Madame Lostero spoke. “Let go!” As the Cicerin woman urgently repeated herself Isabella felt herself fall backwards onto the ground, spitting blood over her jaw and letting it run down her cheeks as she slowly drifted in and out of unconsciousness. Her last glimpse before she fell into the deep darkness of her own mind was the form of half a trident, formed from beautiful looking green metal – half of the weapon sticking out of the slick ground that had formed a slurry.

Feeling proud of herself at last, Isabella let herself drift away into an ocean of uncertainty within her mind.

Odin’s Grotto, The Southern Wastes

Lord Kurosavi lay upon the ground (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTc61A-EFoU) as silent and as grey as a cadaver – the pulped ruins of Harbinger strung to the archways ahead of Kurosavi’s body. Neither of the two great beings of nature moved, Kurosavi’s chest occasionally lifting as he took brief and shallow intakes of oxygen. Fireflies fluttered around him and landed upon his skin, lighting his body up. The Eldrani’s arm’s occasionally tensed up as if under attack, Kurosavi’s eyes noticeably shifted underneath his lids and occasionally he would make noises akin to those of a suffocating man – yet the Druada was only drowning in the darkness imbued inside his once prideful body by his captors.

More fireflies landed upon the Eldrani’s body, butterflies glancing lightly across his face before two landed upon his eyelids and stretched out their wings. Birds chirped all around the area and the black and white leaves that hung off of the surrounding trees rustled as Deer and Elk walked into the clearing, sniffing at the body and grazing around him. Vines coloured bright greens and blues began to crawl up unto his arms, wrapping around his skin delicately enough to not cut off blood flow. Kurosavi’s breath seemed to increase suddenly, as the ground began to light up beneath him – flickering in synchronisation with the Eldrani’s shallow heartbeat. More vines snaked their way through the Earth and onto his arms, some wrapping around him and others attaching themselves like symbiotic parasites – each vine moving like a leech, drawing the evil out of the Eldrani’s body.

His face did not change however, the black lines coursing from his eyes across his cheeks did not disappear, nor did the pale skin upon his face return to its plush normal self – remaining as grey as it had been. Leaves sprouted from some of the vines, starting at a bright natural green before becoming black with darkness and falling off of the vines. Some vines fell away from Kurosavi’s body, having turned a deep abyssal shade of black, wilting and dying on the spot – other vines quickly emerged from the ground in order to replace those that could not deal with the amount of darkness within.

Large leopard like animals with green leathery skin and teeth like daggers emerged from the forest towards Kurosavi, licking at his wounds – their feet and heads covered in wooden armour that would be common for the Druada to wear into battle. As they licked at his wounds they began to seal up – the infection in the wound upon his leg withdrawing and the rotten flesh within falling out of the crevasse as new tissue sprouted and reconnected like fabric to the rest of his body. Veins stretched out like tentacles before knitting themselves together and beginning to pump blood through the limbs again. The large predators quickly skulked back into the forest once the wounds had been healed – leaving the Druada in a bed of vines, sapping away at the Darkness within him as his tormented being shook beneath his physical form.

The Afragian Desert

A single lone figure marched through the Afragian desert (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kD8LcP3m8fg) – angered by his failure. He had been so sure that his prey would have moved to the Egyptian city – confident that they would have approached the nearest area of civilisation after leaving the war-torn home of the Dwarves behind. Dark black eyes scanned the horizon as he stood tall over one of the many sand dunes, leaving the city of New Giza long far behind him as the moonlight shone upon his cursed body. A long stolen shawl covered his face from the worst of the blowing sand, though he could not feel it with his numb skin. A smile crossed the man’s face as he continued to press through the sand, its golden layers splitting at the touch of his armoured boot.

Altius’s gear seemed to clatter and scratch together as the sand got in between its different nooks and crannies, sounding like a tormented car engine being forced to run. The dune was thick and steep, but the seasoned Namorian soldier had no problem scaling it, though he stumbled once or twice he did not fall. His black eyes hid all but his determination as he looked on at the ocean of sand that lay ahead of him, confident that he would soon come across an opening into one of the vast Afragian tunnels leading to their capital city.

And there, the wolf would either find his prey, or they would eventually find him.

Sharktooth Bay, Afragia

The night was quiet and still, the cool sea wind coming in from the ocean and chilling the British Camp – blowing smoke away and fires out. Most of those who inhabited the camp were asleep by now, though a few watchmen stood guard over those who need to rest. The fleet were docked or sat stationary within the water, and those that could not be housed within the lodges built upon the sandy banks instead lived within the metal or wooden quarters of their ships – though with the destruction of various vessels overcrowding was becoming a slight problem for the British, especially when no one could die permanently.

Deep beneath the water shifted something different – the wildlife within the water came towards the object but quickly scurried away. It was large, tubular and metal – a submarine. “Sir, wir haben eine visuelle auf sie.” One of the many men within the submarine spoke – their commanding officer standing over them, black eyes scanning over the different electronic displays that lit up the room.

“Wunderbar.” The Commanding officer spoke before standing and turning back onto the walkway, feet clanking against the metal floor. “Bereiten sie die raketen, senden wort zum rest der flotte - ich werde Kapitän Teach benachrichtigen und relais seine befehle.” The Commanding officer received a salute from the man of lesser position and replied with on back, before marching down the centre of the room and through one of the bay doors, opening metal hatch and stepping through into a claustrophobic space. To his right sat a ladder, in which the German officer clung onto, his leather gloves keeping his grip firm around the metal. The small room in which the ladder stood seemed never ending as the German walked down, his slick uniform folding up as his legs shifted – eventually however, he reached the bottom.

Stepping past various other soldiers and some of Captain Teach’s crew, the Commander held onto his pistol – the Pirates of the ship were known to be a no-nonsense bunch and whilst he could not die, the Commander still did not want to know the feeling of cold steel through his body. Trying not to breathe through his nose, the German moved past the various rooms, with Pirates filling bunks – playing cards with other Pirates or German soldiers. As the German continued to move through the hallway, he eventually came to the doorway at the end of the hall, before pushing it open with his left hand.

“Who is it.” A thick, rough, accented voice spoke from behind the door. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqlddXTcRWQ#t=5m40s)Pressing the rest of the metal door open, the German Commanding officer was met with the ‘regal’ attire of Captain Teach, his long black beard shifting delicately down his chest, covering up the lace shirt that he wore. Two flintlock pistols sat on the table, primitive in design to the Commanding officers, though intimidating and deadly none the less. Blackbeard’s deep black eyes stared intensely into the German. “What is it?”

“We have arrived sir.” The German spoke after saluting, his voice easily showing the fact that English was not his first language. “The British are within sight.” Blackbeard leaned forward, the Captain’s eyes black, yet not shrouding his intrigue and delight.

“How many.” The Pirate responded, face twisting into a smile, showing off his rotten teeth from beneath his beard.

“They have a large force and a huge fleet of ships.”

“What about firepower?”

“We outnumber their fleet, but they have a single ship at least 100 years younger than our youngest ship, we expect it to outgun and out-power most of our own battleships.”

“Interesting my boy.” Blackbeard stood up, grinning. “Tell the other ships to position their sites upon the lady – get the boats ready and let’s get our boys and that Ark onto land. Mobilize your flying ships and let’s blow them sky high.”

“Aye, Captain.” The Commanding Officer stood and saluted once more before turning, closing the steel door and leaving to give the orders to the other ships in the fleet. Blackbeard stood, placing his guns in their holsters and his cutlass into its sheath before opening the door once more and yelling out to the crew.

“Alright you sons of whores! Get off your asses, we’ve got good men to kill!” Blackbeard yelled as men stood and walked out of their rooms, yelling as they picked up sword and gun and began to head for the door into the outside world – the alarms going off within the ship to state that it was approaching the surface.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The lights of Sharktooth Bay were bright as submarines rose out of the water around it. The crew of the Warship Bismarck stood, black eyes scanning the water, awaiting a target to be given. Their Commanding officer stood by, radio in hand ready to receive orders from the Fleet’s Captain, Edward Teach. All was silent and tense, as if the air could be broken by the faintest of whisper. The only sound that echoed through the night was the noise of lapping waves, caressing the metal hull of the ship with such loving, graceful movements. The cannons were manned and ready to fire, and nearby an aircraft carrier had planes ready to leave the ship. Submarines were reportedly loading their missile bays, and even the smaller battleships and gunboats were preparing for an all-out siege.

Old age Pirate ships were busy in the process of loading cannons, though they were too far out to make any attack and would have to head closer into the battlefield in order to engage with the British ships of the same time-period, as the cannon-fire that would devastate a wooden ship would likely do very little damage to a ship with a metal hull.

“Wir haben aufträge für Sie. Kapitän Teach hat mir befohlen, Ihnen zu sagen, die größte, die jüngste schiff der flotte zu engagieren - bringen Sie es nach unten.” A German voice flickered through the radio, understandable but still fragmented. The Officer listening to the radio turned to those manning the cannons and cried out in English so that those that were not German that were manning the Cannons would be able to understand him.

“Target the youngest ship in their fleet!” Cannons rotated towards the beast of a ship that the British held, missile turrets covered it, along with a dock for planes and multiple cannons – though it still only had a metal hull and enough damage would cause it to sink. “Ready!” The Cannons of the Bismarck slipped backwards as they prepared to fire, the other ships of the fleet did the same, and the submarines converged silently around the ship – magic hiding them from any echolocation.

“Fire!”

The Cannons shuddered and the silence was shattered brutally as the huge British ship was suddenly covered in fire and explosions. Submarine missiles rocketed into the ships lower hull, causing it to creak extremely loudly as metal separated and split apart. The ship was sturdy and strong, yet the constant bombardment from the multiple ships caused it to sink, the centre of the ship breaking in half. The sound of screams from those within the ship could be heard and soon alarms from the British outpost began to echo across the land and sea. The sounds of planes revving their engines, with propellers flicking through the air began to join the cacophony of screams and cannon-fire as planes took to the air, flowing from the Carrier ships within the Fleet. The bombers in the air began to drop bombs upon the land, blowing up houses, some missing their targets all together.

The wooden ships within the fleet began to move towards the wooden ships that hadn’t be decimated by the cannon-fire of the Bismarck and its various speedboats and U-Boats began to set course for the shore, carrying German soldiers and pirates, armed to the teeth with guns and blades.

And on one of the U-Boats sat Blackbeard, and the Ark of Noah.

Minkasha
08-10-2014, 02:06 PM
Odin’s Grotto, The Southern Wastes

The confrontation of the Harbinger still fresh in her mind, she eyed her surroundings as she walked through the Grotto. It seemed that the forest had fallen silent with the defeat of its protector, and she felt as though just a little of the magic the forest held had faded along with it. Nevertheless, she had a task to complete and despite the fact that her life had just nearly been extinguished again, she would complete it.

Her life being threatened was beginning to come as somewhat of a norm for her, since her arrival in the South. However, she had not made the wisest decisions during this time, and it has resulted in her near death, and capture at the hands of dark powers beyond her knowledge. At this point, she wanted nothing more than to be back in her own time, the time of her father – in Ancient Greece. There she meant something to the people she was surrounded by, her name was known well and her mother had been a prominent part of her life then. But, here in this world, she had seen little of her mother- and as she thought this, tears began to well in her violet eyes causing them to shimmer like a pool in the sunlight, and water stained her face as it fell to the forest floor.

It was in this moment that she caught the sounds of groaning in the area just ahead of her position, clutching the Ankh around her neck with an iron grasp; she prayed that no more demons would appear before her today. She had been in contact with far too many Demons in this place and she had not the heart to face another one. Drawing closer she could sense more of the Demonic, hear the slapping of flesh and the voices were quite audible now. She had found Max more involved with his protector than she expected. Syf stayed hidden within the shadow of the trees around her, careful to avoid detection through the encounter that seemed to be going on within the clearing. She was careful not to watch, suddenly feeling very exposed as she heard the sounds coming from the front of the tree that hid her. The young prince was loud, the sounds of his chopped moaning with the slapping of their bodies left little to the imagination. Syf wrapped her arms around her stomach tightly, almost as if protecting herself from the foulness of the action.

Painfully, she kept herself diminutive, waiting, hearing Max’s sounds steadily rising in pitch. She had no choice but let the boy be willingly defiled by the low toned grunting Demon. Her nausea peaked when Max shouted out the climatic scream, almost feeling the pleasure that waved through his adolescent release. Arms held around her near heaving stomach, enduring the exchange between young prince and Demon. There was a sound of one of them spitting.

“Would you like more, Max?” The protector's voice was chipper. One of her hands went for her Ankh, hoping it to end. There was a rustle of movement, one of them hitting the other with their open hands.

“Just get off me” Syf frowned slightly upon hearing the young Max dismiss the Demon. He was so much like his brother Kalle that she felt it her duty to comfort or at least console him during this time. The Demon began his own strained sounds of groaning and Syf had to cover her mouth in disgust. Max cried out, but she kept herself still. “GET OUT! GET OUT!” A few moments of silence passed, grass crunched with one of them moving. "YOU DON'T DO THAT IN PEOPLE!” Syf grimaced in disgust at what had just occurred between the prince and his Demon. It was something that she would never have approved of, but it was not her place to judge what this boy did. She only wanted to ensure his safety; that was her goal here.

“I am sorry, master” Time passed so much slower while Syf waited for Max to quiet his groaning and protest, fingers rubbing across her talisman. After it appeared to have died down, she stepped out from the shadows with eyes cast to the ground so as to preserve the young prince's dignity, before she called out to him.

"Young Max? May I have permission to speak with you a moment?" She cast her eyes above her, eyeing the sky as she awaited an answer from him. The boy gasped and she felt the Demon moving straight to her at fast speeds. Defensively, she spun back behind the tree she emerged from. Pieces of splintered wood flew past her. The shadow cast by the evening sun showed the winged Demon to be standing wide with talon hands, the tip of one of his black wings was in her eyesight. Now that she was standing back out of the clearing the Demon was not perusing her. After several minutes of remaining hidden behind the tree, she stepped out of the shadows and into the furthest edge of the clearing, ensuring that she remained out of the clearing, but close enough to where she could speak to Max easily - and he to her if he so chose. Her violet eyes found their way to the Demon who was clearly upset, and there was a look that would befuddle the creature; a look of disgust, but also shame. In truth, Syf knew not why she had any sympathy for the demon at all, but something within her felt as though it could relate to the feelings surely going through the Demon's mind at the present time.

The winged Demon kept himself between her and Max, but she could see the blurred movements of his pale body in her peripheral vision. His arms and legs awkwardly sliding him across the grass further back. She could not help but feel pity for the boy as she caught him sliding across the grass to avoid coming closer to her. There was something within her that clicked when she thought of the young prince, something maternal - though she had never been a mother.

"Go away!" Syf could pick up the deep levels of embarrassment in his voice. The Demon before her squeezed his talons into hooked fists threateningly. "Be at peace Demon", she called out softly as her violet eyes found their way to the raven-like creature again. " I do not wish to harm or further embarrass the child, nor you. I only wish to converse with him, if you would but allow me entrance into the clearing." Her words were phrased as a question to the Demon, and though her pride flared at having to ask a Demon permission for anything, she held her soft gaze firm.

Her heart ached to see the little prince in such an emotional mess, and it broke further when she detected the embarrassment that rang from his words as thunder before a coming storm. He reminded her so much of her brother that had once lived in Greece with her father; though he was not of her bloodline. Her father had married another woman after Nike had claimed Syf as her child, and it was through that union that her younger half-brother -Alexandros- was born.

She had so much love for her half-brother that she often went out of her way to help him, and often times she was the one who took care of him. This was what drove Syf to take care of the young prince now, to make up for what had happened to her brother centuries ago. Afterall, it was her fault, and she would never be able to forgive herself; perhaps that is why she has remained strong all these years.

But where there was empathy, firmness was reciprocated. The Demon did not move.

"Who...who are you?" A grimace of pain crossed her face as she heard the tremble in the young boys voice. She wanted nothing more than to embrace him and to ease his embarrassment. He reminded her so much of her brother.

"I am Syf, little one. I do not believe that we have met before this, but I was once in Branjaskr before my life was threatened by the elder Demon, and nearly extinguished - there were words said on my part that were not so wise in the circumstances that were present at the time." She answered him softly.

As she spoke of this elder Demon she saw a flash of weakness in the protector's face. For just a moment his eyes lost their predator focus and broke contact with hers. Max kept quiet for a pause, letting the sounds of insects and distant birds fill conversation. She knew she had struck a chord with her statement.

"I hate her. I hate her! I HATE HERRRRRRRRRRRRR!" he started from a tremor to a scream into the sky. "DEAD! SHE SHOULD BE DEAAAD!" Now his protector started taking steps backward, talons digging into the dirt. Seeing Max past the Demon she saw the young prince sitting in a ball, weeping. To hell with the consequences she thought as she stepped into the clearing softly, but not letting her guard down in case the Demon attempted to attack her again. The protector had taken to the sky, landing next to Max, but he looked unsure what to do next.

Her focus was split between the two in the clearing with her - though most was on the young prince whom her heart was crying for at the moment. As she made her way over to the prince, she knelt down and sat him up, pressing him close to her and embracing him in a comforting hug. At first Max stiffed in her hold, becoming dead quiet. But soon she could pick up the sounds of Max's sniffling and feel his violent shaking as he started to pour out his heart again.

"It is okay, little one. You and I share a common hatred towards the elder Demon. But, if I may ask, what has brought upon this strong hatred towards her?"

"SHE KILLED MY ÅGE! I HATE HER! THAT DEMON BITCH! ÅGE!" he deteriorated into incoherence. Syf squeezed the boy tighter to her, as a mother would her own child, wishing so much that she could take away this boy's pain. She began to hum a soft melody from Greece (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBZ7Ogb8EJ4). One that she had often times put her brother to bed with.

"I too have lost someone dear to me, though not by the hands of Demons. I once had a younger brother you know. It was due to my arrogance that he was murdered." her voice cracked in her voice as tears welled in her eyes, and fell softly from her face. "But, we must remember that the Gods will reunite us with out loved ones in the afterlife - until that time we must live as they would wish us to live, no?" she questioned him though her voice was much softer than before.

A sharp tug was felt when she saw the protector keeled down and trying to grab him closer to his own body. Syf looked icily towards the Demon but it quickly faded as she remembered that this was not her little brother, and that this Demon was the boy's protector. Max was jerked around and yanked himself both from Syf and the Demon. His blue diamond eyes glared at his Demon and then her. There was a tragic beauty about the tearing crystals, one she could imagine seeing in Kalle's eyes. She made no motion to embrace the boy again, however she did remain fairly close to him.

"I have nothing to live for..." he turned his upper body to look at something. Following his vision, Syf saw the purple beam in the far distance, past all the trees and their scattered green branches fighting for all the space in the sky. "Just leave me alone..." he curled back into a ball. She listened in silence as the boy spoke to her, and half-heartedly ordered her to leave him alone. She did not move to embrace him again, even as her violet eyes found the foul purple light in the sky -though the light made her want to shudder, she remained firm in appearance.

"Max" she called to him as she had heard his name from Kalle once before. "Would your deceased loved one want you to just give up like this? What would they do in this situation, face the coming darkness or turn tail and run?" she spoke with added harshness, trying to push Max from his depression.

"You are a Prince of the South, little one. You are the one people will look to in the coming days, their prince - their protector. You have everything to live for." Her violet eyes swam with sincerity and sorrow as she looked at the emotional turmoil that was the boy before her.

Hopeful, she waited for response, but got none. The Demon stepped forward, now standing, looming over her.

"You need to leave"

Syf looked to the Demon impassively, and then offered a slight nod before turning to leave the clearing with soft footfalls on the grassy landscape. She turned back one final time, this time speaking to the Demon, "Please take care of him. He needs comfort in this time of turmoil." It was not a request belittling the protector's skill at comforting his charge, but more along the lines of a personal request. She truly did not want to see the boy hurt, or in any more pain than he was already experiencing.

Turning away to leave the two, she felt the Demon's eyes burrowing deep into the back of her skull.

Branjaskr, The Free South - The Lady Jarl's Bedchambers

The broken bay window was covered with nailed wooden planks, the door held shut with a stool. In his heavy winter furs, Kalle protected himself from the cold trickling past the wooden cracks. Small pools of water were forming from the melted snow on the rock floor.

Kalle could not spring himself into action, finding himself only staring at Zahneri. He was reeling through a set of emotions that only looped: Anger, confusion, curiosity and the heaviest was shame. Shame he stooped so low, shame that he had to destroy his brother's honor, shame that this child of his would live with the same affliction he had. But it was the honorable thing to do.

His mother had not returned, he suspected she would not for some time. He was stuck staring, seeing the warm breath leave his mouth in clouds, yet nothing move from her lips. At times it looked as if she were dead: eyes closed, body still. In all his years being watched over by her he had never seen her so...feeble.

"Is Oerin one of your children?" He broke the silence. Zahneri's singular airy laugh startled him, her body jolted with an ounce of movement.

"No, he is nothing but a weak mistake, master" Kalle pursed his lips and rubbed his forehead.

"You cannot be a servant. You are my child's mother" Fixing his posture he looked down upon her again.

"As you say..." Zahneri teased, Kalle kept his irritation to himself. The two of them remained silent for quite some time.

"What is Oerin?"

"A weak Demon, bound to your family"

"How?"

"With the magic and blood of Jóhann and Hella" Kalle blinked a few times in surprise

"...What have they done?" The words soft, aimed to the pain and fear in his heart.

"Conjure servants"

"Servants?" Ice blue eye wide. "More than one?"

"Three"

"Where are they?" his voice perked at this. How could he have not seen a single one?

"One is bound to Nea. One to Maxwell, and the other leaves for the Grotto"

"The Grotto..." He stood, wishing to pull the stool from the door. Stuck, he turned to his side to see Zahneri laying defenseless. She needed him, the faulty door would surly let someone see her...

Guilt turned into illness as he sat down slowly. He was leaving Syf to save herself. Where was the honor in that?

Odin’s Grotto, The Southern Wastes

Syf long gone, Max was able to uncurl and unclench himself. He felt it squirm about in him. Shamed, he stood up and his mouth quivered with the queasy feeling of the mess down his leg. Ignoring Oerin, he slowly and with limped impairment, walked along the clearing. Oerin trailed behind quietly, his various small cuts across his body itched as they healed.

Fighting the urge to scratch, he couldn't help but look down to where the warm center of Max was and feel a new itch build. Those experiences the first post natal highs he ever felt, and that connection...he had to look away with reddened cheeks and lowered eyes after noticing the trickle. He had did his master wrong. He hadn't the intention...it just happened.

Stepping through large flowered plants, low branches and flying bits of pollen Max was able to follow the sounds in his ears to a river where reindeer were calmly drinking. One raised its docile head, a lull and stupid gaze at the two. Peacefully, it went back to drinking.

Stroking one, Max gave a wan smile before entering down stream. Oerin, stripped of rock, entered soon after. Oerin stepped closer, Max's hands reaching down under the water's surface behind him, but a dagger throwing glare was jabbed his way.

Keeping apart, the two boys bathed themselves.

Minkasha
08-13-2014, 05:16 PM
Odin's Grotto - Combrogia Forest, Combrogia

Tsen's curiosities were muted once peace was weakly established between her godly guide and the mysterious bowman. Ever fearful, she could feel the tension roll off the hooded archer. Their travels were relentlessly quick, something her new body struggled to adjust to and finally a climatic point came. Tripping over a root hidden among all else caused Tsen to fall squarely on her face, limbs spread out gracelessly.

"I beg, a moment" she lowered her head, leaves, dirt, and twigs all over her body and lodged in her lively black hair.

"We don't have a moment." Lupinus growled, trudging through the dirt and broken twigs. "This forest is becoming sick. Sick with vengeance - sick with anger - sick with my sister's taint."

"Father." Lupinus's daughter - who's name Tsen still had not managed to catch - spoke up, a worried tone flickering within her words, hiding in her voice like a meek mouse.

"Daughter, we knew it was only a matter of time before she pushed us out of our home." Lupinus smiled at her, though a sombre glare filled his eyes. "With our other brethren thinking that we are nothing more than abominations - well - I knew this would happen eventually."

The dirt, uneven path slowly began to form into a array of straight brick, starting with the occasional inlay inside the tan, dusty soil and eventually forming into a solid, intricate road. Lupinus roared loudly, sounding less like a wolf and more like a strong, powerful man as his feet touched upon the stone tentatively. His daughter took a step, though flinched at the warm touch before continuing on her way. The forest slowly parted and the trees became less frequent as the sun glinted through their gaps, revealing a beautiful river strewn in front of them.

"There is a bridge to the left if we follow the road, but it is laden with bandits and refugees. I say we swim." Lupinus spoke, before turning to Tsen. "Come, the water here isn't too deep."

His summons were not too provoking. Groaning she got herself back onto her knees. It felt near impossible to stand. Bitting her lower lip hard, Tsen through all her willpower into pulling herself up to one knee and a hand. The process slow and God, Werewolf, and archer were left waiting, witnessing the end of her stamina.

"Perhaps we should leave her." Lupinus's child spoke, eyes flickering to her father.

"What, leave a babe in the woods to care for itself? Your cruelty is deep, Mirella." Lupinus growled under his breath, eyes looking down upon Tsen. Holding out his hand, the God sighed as he hefted the woman up and steadied her - her body clearly suffering the ordeal of their journey. In Lupinus' generosity, Tsen's insecurities grew. "Come, we must march - Attaxia knows that we are here, and our resident Demi-God is still being hunted - I can still smell his mother's hunters in the air."

Dragging a foot into the slow meander of the River Minerva, Lupinus trudged across the bottom, feet lifting scum and rocks from the bottom of the river. Following behind, Tsen felt trapped in her armour, skin begging to breathe in fresh air. It was another sensation adding to her crippled pace. Her eyes only kept forward, all she could focus on was going forward. The others around her were continuing their trek with little trouble. Her body and ego were being ravaged with each step.

"What do you mean, my mothers hunters...?" The Archer suddenly spoke up, his thick accent filling the air. Lupinus sighed, not with discontent but more at the break of tension that the Archer's silence had created.

"Your mother, Artemis - her group of hunters have been hunting you and my daughter since the battle of Hercinia. They think that it is good sport - and obviously you and my daughter are a rare commodity in these lands." The Wolf God replied. "Though they aren't the worst of our problems."

"This Attaxia that you speak of - it's her isn't it." The Archer replied. "Who is she?"

"She is my sister." Lupinus replied, his eyes filled with sombre and anger as he slowly slipped into the water, the liquid coming up to his waist. "She is the Goddess of Blood - she held her domain in the high reaches of Dun Moriga, infecting those around with her bloodlust - creatures unstoppable without penetration to the heart."

"Father, must we talk about her?" Mirella, eyes filled with pleading. Tsen a specter in the conversation.

"He must know, he asked." Lupinus replied calmly as the water stroked at his fur. "She holds a deep seated hatred of me, as the other Gods hate both of us. Her children and her began to slowly crawl across the Dun Morigan surface land and into the dark, forgotten edges of Combrogia - her children slaughtering mine and feasting on their blood. She still hunts us now."

"So what do we do?" Artemis's son asked, his voice filled with urgency.

"We hope that your mother's chosen Huntresses can stall Attaxia and her children - and we wish that she gives them a quick death."

With that, the Demi-God fell into silence.

Death of Korzan
08-20-2014, 01:59 AM
Snowfall battered the hooded face of a man (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VQXL35bGwk) standing atop a large snow-smothered hill as he gazed upon the tranquil, silent landscape behind him. Standing tall within the far West and slightly to the East sat the huge beam that had worried the land’s inhabitants so, it’s reaches stroking the sky and massaging the clouds in its massive celestial grasp. Removing his eye-guards, the man tapped at a small keypad on his wrist as he looked out at the marvel that lay beyond the snow and ice, reaching into the sky higher than even the largest buildings of his home-world.

Captain Greenswald was a native of Earth, a man of South Africa heritage who did not know the meaning of the cold. Even now his skin crawled as the immense frost tore at his thermal-protection gear with such ferocity and violence that it could only be equalled by that of only the most dangerous wildlife that the Empire of Earth had discovered – such as the Teraxor Alphas of Fangor Prime II, with their height and weight similar to that of an elephant but with a body physiology that sported the image of a freakish alien tiger – or at least what tigers had been illustrated as, as they had been pronounced extinct in the year 2032 – turtle like carapaces smothered with pink pollens from the huge Glendar Trees that sprouted on the garden world. As Greenswald tapped upon the keypad at his arm, the machine next to him seemed to reduce its humming until it began to make no noise. A set of solar wings that had been outstretched at the front-magneto sphere folded into themselves and slid themselves along the body of the vehicle.

Soon, another purring noise joined Greenswald on the hill as another Glider floated up to join him, its solar powered engines drinking in the shrouded sun’s beams. “Captain, you’re going to have to ride slower, this cold’s biting at my fingers.” The other rider spoke, removing a bandana around his mouth to reveal the clean-shaven face of the Captain’s crew mate Robert Craig. The South Africa smiled to himself as the Welshman complained.
“I was always told that it was cold in the Northern Hemisphere Private.” The Captain spoke, grinning and drawing in breath – but not too much for the cold would tear at his lungs and throat.
“Yes, cold sir – but not this cold.” The Private replied back sharply, though he meant no offense.

The Captain looked over the hill and away from the huge finger of light in the distance and hold up his arm as a hologram shot out of it – the image was fuzzy as its technology was becoming old and dated, the 5 years spent away from the Empire taking its toll upon not only the men and women of the crew but also their technology. “If we continue heading north we’ll reach Branjaskr today or tomorrow. Hopefully the Queen doesn’t tear our heads from our bodies.” The Captain climbed onto his Glider and turned to Robert. “Have you got the stone?”

Robert seemed to be unnerved at the items mention, but turned in his pack and lifted out a large bulletproof glass case, titanium handles and plates stopping a large hovering purple and black stone from leaving. The stone itself was smooth, a work of beautiful craftsmanship if done by manual hands and not by the magic that this world’s inhabitants seemed to have no problem showing and producing even though the Earthborn could not. Greenswald grimaced as he looked at the nefarious item, its darkness swirling through the purple body and flickering every time one of the men moved – black fingers seeping out of the stone and stroking the glass barriers attempting to reach the men.

“Put it back.” Greenswald said. “Private!” He shouted at the Welshman, whose eyes were fixated on the stone with such intensity. The Captain closed his eyes and took hold of the Stone’s container when he felt its presence begin to stroke his mind. Before the Stone could do anything however the Captain dropped the malevolent object within the strongbox strapped to the back of the Gliders. Shaking his head and squeezing the pressure from his nose, Greenswald looked down at his fingers and marvelled at the blood now soaking his upper lip – flowing from his nostrils. Grimacing before leaning down and wiping the warm liquid onto the snowy floor, the Captain turned to his chosen companion and grunted. “Remember what happened to O’Connor when he touched that thing.”

“I remember Captain – I’m sorry.” The young man saluted before wiping his own nose, blood coating his lips also. The Stone had a strange effect on the men, for its temptations were dark and black with hatred, and the pain that they wracked upon the men was great, as even within the orbital casing the Stone still spoke to them. Robert turned and gripped the two steering controls upon his Glider, pulling it upwards and allowing it to sprout wings. Greenswald did the same as the solar engines roared to life, their low humming akin to a giant Bee.

‘10th stone of Alcamor…more like 10th stone of hell.’ Greenswald thought to himself as his Glider shot forwards, skating through the low air just above the ground at high speeds. The Private followed him as they headed towards the jaws of the Frosty Queen of Branjaskr, Else.

Minkasha
08-27-2014, 02:56 AM
The Free South, Open Winterlands

Vardren was cursed with curiosity. To have his curiosity piqued it required deep inspections of others. And to find the beauty that was more than skin deep it required him to use tools to remove the outside: the outside that was always in the way.

On his back, stuffed in coffin the size the spanned from head to back were these tools. The Vampire’s curse kept their pace slower, chains clanking as it pinned it to him. Each step in the snow reminded him of his curse, the chain that pulled on his neck, the chain at his stomach.

As the cold struck him, blowing at his garments, he wasn’t curious these days, but hungry. Under his mask, behind his lips, his fangs wished to dig deep, to be the tools to sate him. He wanted…needed to take life-force. Hunger always made him…off. The first sign was the twitching in his hands, a building frenzy rising to overcome his sanity. Whatever remained.

Raising the beak of his mask he inhaled, blood, and close. That was all the invitation he needed. A sign of hope in the long expanse of snow. Something lived for him to kill. Guiding his sister had been a strange blessing, she was quiet for once, just walking along. Her eyes told a glazed story, she was gone. Dreaming? Or was the hunger making her crazed too? Cassandra was always crazed, yes, this was true.

The yelling winds kept them stealthy from the stranded torch of vitality. Snow was finding its way back into the prints they were leaving, they were nonexistent as far as this living individual was concerned. The sound from its beating heart kept calling the Vampires to come, and come they did.

Another blessing: hopelessness. Blood was frozen, oozed out of a reindeer who had the misfortune of being gutted. Laying on its body was his meal, a woman. She was shivering, the kiss of frost on her features, in her dancing hair sticking out from her hood.

The torch had looked two the two figures in hope, but as they got closer, that face changed. Vardren investigated her, what was her story? Light supplies rested on the reindeer. The way the bags looked opened and discarded, they were empty now. A Southern woman sent out, was the Free South curious? Curious about the purple light? Curious...

For this torch it was just her and the snow. Varden could see the flame flickering.

One of his vile hands touched her cold cheek.

“I’ll end this for you” The look in her blue Southern eyes was one of defiance. She attempted a jab at his beaked face, but her wrist was grabbed, neck snapped. The torch was blown out, still warm. Her wrist slipped from his undead hand, crunching snow.

Gently pulling back her hood he craned her neck. His mysterious face was stung by the light, eyes squinting. Lips parted, teeth plugging in. As he suckled on, tasting the slipping life, he could hear his sister moaning. At first it was dismissed at one of her usual nonsensical noises, but his sister was persistent.

“What are…” Varden had craned his neck to see his sister fondling her left breast “…you doing?” He was growing irritated. He liked the quiet sister that was keeping company in the travel so far.

“Oh…right here” Her fingers were swirling on the outer part of her breast. “He touched me right here” Cassandra sighed and smiled at her brother. “Hothian touched me right here. I have decided I am going to play Rock You Like A Hurricane for him…” she sighed, playing the electronic notes in her head.

“Focus on feeding, not…Rock You Like A Hurricane” Varden wondered how his sister would survive without him. Wiping blood from his lips he followed his nose again, there was a new scent…miles and miles away…it was sweet and delicious…unknown.

The wind was his ally, bringing this far far scent to him. He smelled woodlands, and a Northerner, perhaps the Northerner, but more importantly he smelled the demigoddess. His lips smirked before they disappeared behind his metal mask.

Varden found the distant demigoddess to be quite the curiosity.

Azazeal849
08-30-2014, 09:18 PM
(Cyan text is DoK's, yellow is Mink's - thanks guys!)

EMOR

The sky was clear, the day was warm, and the air was choked with the smell of smoke and blood. Seppia forced herself to keep a neutral expression as she picked her way up the hill, holding up the hem of her skirts to avoid snagging on the loose rocks of the path. Titus was gripping her hand fiercely as he trotted to keep up, and around them the rest of the Emorian nobility walked in stony silence.

The atmosphere in Emor had never been more tense and fearful. Shops stood closed, and the few people who walked the streets hurried furtively, always looking around and behind. Two praetorians stood at every street corner, and more of them no doubt lurked among the sparse crowds with their gladii concealed beneath the togas of common citizens. Men of the still-loyal 1st legion guarded every gate.

Unthinkable. Unthinkable that two whole legions had rebelled in a single day. After raiding the city jail, the apostate 2nd and 3rd legions had been driven from the city by the remaining loyal soldiers. After that they had slipped away south, taking most of the previously-imprisoned senators with them. A very ugly night had followed as all manner of miscreants had taken to the streets, frustrations boiling over as the chaos offered them an opportunity to vent them. There had been looting, vandalism, arson - even rape and murder. Not a few of the perpetrators were criminals who had managed to slip out of their cells when the rebels broke in and freed the senators.

A number of plebeians from the worst-hit districts had fled the city in panic, as well as the families of many of the rebel legionaries who feared retribution - Seppia's friend Julia among them. Many of the refugees who the praetoriani had been rounding up for indentured labour had fled too. Some would no doubt turn up as bandits around the Namorian countryside within a week. Others might have trailed forlornly after the rebel legions, though what kind of welcome they would find Seppia could only guess. Legions seldom wasted time and resources protecting their camp followers - but then, legions seldom spat on their oaths of allegiance either. Seppia still couldn't quite believe it, especially after centurion Agrippa had openly challenged Aemilia's accusations.

The emperor's reaction had been one of apoplectic rage. Once the riots had finally been quelled, the perpetrators both living and dead had been dragged to the hills beyond Emor's northern gates, where the banded cliffs of sedimentary rock met the northern ocean. At the emperor's order, twin lines of praetorians had formed a corridor leading up the hill, and the grim procession which Seppia and Titus now found themselves part of wound its way up from Emor to witness the emperor's retribution.

Nearly four hundred wooden crosses had been erected atop the hill, overlooking the sea. On each one hung a human body; naked, whip-scourged and broken. Men and women, young and old, all lashed by their wrists to the crossbeams and nailed hand and foot by thick iron spikes.

Strangely, there was almost no screaming. Some of the most recently hung prisoners were moaning and twitching, but those whose arm muscles had already given out were sagged forward on their crosses, their breath coming in horrible, shallow gasps. For some, it was difficult to tell them apart from the ones who had been hung up already dead.

There were leather-collared slaves who had used the confusion to try and flee or to raise their hands to their masters. There were rioters and escaped criminals who hadn't had the sense or else the luck to slip out of the city. There were even one or two patricians, the families of the most prominent senators or traitor officers - stripped of possessions and rights and hung up to die like common slaves. That more than anything else seemed to horrify Seppia's fellow nobles, but none of them dared to say anything. In the front rank were captured legionaries of the 2nd and 3rd, battle wounds still fresh. Many of the soldiers had already been dead, but they were hung up just the same; a symbolic rejection from the brotherhood of Emor that would see their bodies unburied and their names struck from history.

One of the crosses had been raised higher than the others. As Seppia followed the path set by the praetorians, not wanting to look but fearing the repercussions if she didn't, she recognised the man on it as legatus Rufus of the 2nd Valoria. He was clearly dead, blood congealed around half a dozen sword wounds. Seppia had heard that the legatus had charged into combat with one of the praetorian tribunes, but had been cut down by the younger, more agile man. All the same, the emperor had insisted that his body be hung up with the other traitors.

Looking past the dead legion commander, Seppia's eyes settled on a cross in the second row. On it was the young slave who had been going to testify at the trial of the praetorians. The queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified.

Who's motives can I still trust? she asked herself silently. The emperor was becoming steadily more brutal and indiscriminate as things spiralled apart around him. While her husband still focused on vengeance for cousin Marcius' family, Seppia began to worry for the future of all Emor. How long would things stay safe for her son, if this crisis was not resolved?

She pulled Titus closer to her.

"It's alright." she whispered to him. "It'll be alright."

Overhead a wheeling sea-bird shrieked, as if laughing at the lie she had spoken. The sound brought Seppia to a decision, and she balled her free hand into a fist. Unlike Lycinia she was no born diplomat, but she had to try.

The sea-bird was quickly drowned out however, by a more foreboding noise. Through the smell of death, blood and the salty ocean spray came the smell of metal, fuel and the roaring sound of technology beyond the grasp of the Imperium.

"Sky men!" some of the nobles shouted, as a large Earthborn transport sailed over the heads of those in procession and towards the city at intense speeds, shaking the ground with its engines and causing a lasting ringing tone in the ears of those on the ground.


* * * * * *

"The patricians stand behind you, imperator." the toga-clad official assured Galen Claudius. "But they are frightened."

"They are weak." the emperor snapped in reply. His fat hands, splayed across the map of Namor province, curled into fists. "I will show them leadership."

The official chewed the inside of his cheek. "But, your majesty, two legions...we have the 1st, but the city watch are no professional soldiers. And there is too much unrest to risk sending the praetorians out of the city."

"There will be far less unrest after the rest of the useless mouths are culled." the emperor countered. "And we have an army, fool! Dux Marcius! The one general I can still rely on in this snake pit of an empire! Send a courier immediately. He is to return and crush these traitors."

The emperor seized a clay figurine from the map, a model legionary with the numeral II etched on its shield, and squeezed it until the representation of the 2nd legion shattered in his fist.

"Your majesty..." his advisor ventured, "The East...?"

"Fuck the dwarfs." Galen Claudius growled. "And fuck the Afragians."

The eastern provinces would soon not be a problem - his order to have king Vagrund and princess Nesara removed would be arriving with his eastern garrison any day now, and then praetor Graccus would appoint strong, loyal leaders to oversee the provinces. Leaders who answered to emperor Galen Claudius alone. And then...and then...

The emperor looked down at his hand, and realised that it was shaking.

"Ave imperator!" a praetorian called out as he marched into the palace atrium, shattering the emperor's chain of thought. Galen Claudius turned towards the intruder with a cold look in his eyes.

"What?"

"My emperor, an Earthborn delegation arrives."

Arrogant shit-eaters. What do they want this time? The emperor pushed away from the map table and slowly straightened. The memory of his last encounter with Axum still stung. He would not allow his dark admirer to see him so weak a second time. They'll get no concessions from me.

"Send them in." Galen Claudius answered frostily, before beckoning his adviser forward with a sharp gesture. "Have a slave fetch wine. And watch how a real leader deals with upstart allies."


* * * * * *

The transport ship floated through the air (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TulBh6klMuU) and down into the courtyard, engines resting to a slow rumble - the ship tilted to the left and knocked over a statue on it's descent, crushing the stone underneath its huge metal bulk. As the ship levelled itself and stopped its advance the bay doors at it's backside slid open, with Axum leaping out, crescent blades on his arms flicked open. The Pilot of the ship left it's minor-AI system to keep the ship running and floating as he turned from the ship's controls and towards the bay doors - watching his two other companions reaching out to lift their payload. before stepping out.

The object in question was large and shaped almost like an Anvil, with orange veins over the item that squirmed and shifted like liquid - flowing through the black metal. In the centre of the item was a large orange semi-circle - flat side up - comprised of the same seemingly liquid material. The payload's seemingly dark nature came across as extremely forboding - though the Earthborn held the same aura through their mighty presence.

The ship's turrets were trained upon the palace doors - as large as they were they wouldn't hold off even the slightest touch from one of the Ship's cannons. The doors themselves slid open, two soldiers pushing them open for the Earthborn. Axum walked into the palace first, his blades revealed and his helmet turning and looking into the very souls of the guards within the palace - like an irreverent God of sorts.

Following him into the room came two similarly dressed Earthborn, both of them as tall as Axum and much taller than all of the Eternuns within the Palace. Behind them stood the pilot, the same size again as Axum, yet his armour lacking the crescent blades under his wrist - instead the pilot wielded a huge gun, the butt of it resting against his shoulder as his knees bent, pointing it towards the Namorians within the room.

As the Earthborn approached the centre of the room the two carrying the payload dropped the item onto the floor and began to press the different veins in the centre - shifting them in place like flowing water, the object making loud noises as links were created upon the surface.

"And what," a sharp voice cut across the open-roofed atrium, "Is that?"

The guards who hadn't been awed into paralysis by the Earthborns' appearance snapped to attention as emperor Claudius emerged from the inner villa, a crystal goblet of wine in his hand. His blue eyes narrowed as he recognised the leading marine's distinctive armour.

"Ah. Axum." the emperor growled.

"Emperor." Axum replied, gaze never turning to the Emperor but instead boring into the large item that sat upon the floor of the palace. "Me and my men travelled to one of the lights. And we were shown many things - many great things from aeons passed. We were told whisperings from the darkness, secrets from the shadows."

Axum finally turned, his helmet sliding off of him to reveal pitch black eyes. "Power, from Tartarus."

The Anvil-like object suddenly let off a huge reverbing sound - the Palace shook violently for a few moments before the Anvil launched a powerful beam of yellow light into the sky, illuminating the tiled roofs of the palace wings that surrounded the atrium.

Axum's helmet slid back onto his face, hiding his blackened eyes once more as he turned to the beam of light. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

The emperor's mouth fell open, and his breath sucked in as a ragged gasp. The crystal goblet fell from his hand and shattered against the floor, spilling a fan of red across the blue and silver mosaic tiles.

"Kill them!" he shrieked. "Kill them now!"

The order unfroze the praetorian bodyguards stationed around the room, who leapt forward. As slaves scattered in all directions, and as his advisor stood rooted to the spot with his mouth working soundlessly, emperor Galen Claudius reeled towards the door.

Axum roared out as he flexed his arms backwards at the approaching Eternuns, his hulking size dwarfing the armoured men. The sound of the Pilot's blaster echoed out as two plasma bolts echoed out of it's tip, smashing into the chests of two men and creating large smoking holes within them, dripping with the sickening mix of molten metal and flesh. Axum lunged forward and buried his blade through the chest of another approaching guard before a sword thwacked against his back, shaking violently as it hit his tough armour. Axum turned to him and grinned before lifting him and throwing him back down against the floor - relishing the noticeable crack that came from the impact.

The sound of his men dying behind him propelled emperor Claudius onward as he burst through into the rear rooms of the palace villa, and ran straight into a slave girl coming the other way.

"Out of the fucking way!" he bellowed at her, shoving her aside so roughly that she cracked her head against the doorframe.

Stumbling on, the emperor dragged his overweight body to the stables and burst inside on protesting legs.

"Get Blazefoot saddled!" he shouted at the grooms as they leapt to their feet in shock. Panting heavily, he pointed at the two blue-cloaked praetorians standing guard. "You! Summon Furius, tell him to bring a whole cohort! And you! If anyone tries to come through that door, kill them!"


* * * * * *

Axum grinned as he held up a legionnaire by his throat before crushing it within his hands - a lone sword pinged off of his flowing armour before the sound of another plasma bolt being ejected from the pilot's rifle stilled the annoyance.

"Commander, we have finished programming the Ark - the transportation field will open within 240 seconds." the one female member of the team spoke.

Axum nodded. "We hold this position. At 60 seconds we head back to the ship and prepare to head through the ark."


* * * * * *

The crowd that had gathered to stare at the beam of light lancing up from the emperor's palace scattered as a force of praetorians came thundering down the street. At their head was tribune Furius, who took one look at the toppled statue and the paving stones scoured black by the dropship's downwash, and ordered his men forward through the palace doors. They stood open - gaping and unguarded. With the tribune at their head, the first of the praetorians rushed through into the open courtyard and found a dozen of their brothers sprawled dead on the tiles. Some of the praetorians paled at the unnatural wounds which had desecrated the bodies, and behind him Furius thought he heard one of his men trying valiantly not to be sick. The third Ark cast a baleful glow over the scene, its light roiling upwards in a blazing torrent. The only sound within the palace came from the hallways leading off from the atrium, where a pair of slaves were wailing fearfully.

Furius gritted his teeth and hissed out a sharp breath. "What in Mars' name happened here!?"

"Nothing happened!" a voice snapped from behind Furius. In a clatter of hooves the emperor himself came riding through the palace gates, praetorians drawing hurriedly to either side to make way. Atop his white horse Galen Claudius should have looked magnificent - instead he looked as pale as death, his face sheened with sweat and his dishevelled toga clinging to his fat frame.

"Nothing happened here!" the emperor said again as he dismounted. "The Earthborn came to pay tribute, do you hear me? That," He jabbed a thick finger towards the eerily glowing Ark. "Was a gift. A show of support against the traitors. Now search the palace, find any witnesses to the contrary, and have them taken into custody. Quietly."

The emperor's blazing gaze left no room for argument.

"Your will be done, imperator." Furius said gravely, and slashed his arm towards a group of men to set them to rounding up the house slaves. Another squad hurried to bar the door.

"We still have all of the magical artefacts we confiscated from the mages?" the emperor went on sharply.

"Yes, your majesty."

"Bring them here. I want that thing warded, and I want it studied. Now go, Nemesis damn your eyes!"


* * * * * *

BRANJASKR

Gaius' hands tingled as he pressed them against the stones of the inner wall. The great slabs of rock were uneven and freezing cold; rimed with frost and cracked by repeated thaws as meltwater infiltrated the stones and refroze, slowly but surely levering them open. As Gaius chanted under his breath, the frost began to recede and condense, adding a few more drops to the slow corrosion. Gaius pulled his hands away and moved on to the next section of the castle wall, a pair of golden handprints briefly glowing against the stone before fading away.

The winds of magic blew only weakly here in the south, and it took all of his concentration to channel the anti-demonic wards. It had taken him an hour just to make his way around the western bastion, and his head was already aching from the effort. He shuffled on, swathed in furs, just one more artisan inspecting the defences as the people of Branjaskr continued to go about their feverish preparations. The castle and the town below it were becoming crowded; more and more Southerners arriving every day as they fell back before the demon army's advance and mustered to their capital. Gaius wondered if Else's demonic ravens had spotted any conspicuously missing faces among the throng. The thought of how close and yet how far he might be from identifying his target made him clench his jaw tightly.

He glanced round at Alya, who was trailing him around the castle walls like a watchful ghost. She too was swathed in furs, a leather hood pulled low over her eyes to hide her nature from the Southerners around them. Again, Gaius tried to fathom how she could walk among humans without generating the aura that all other demons had - the brimstone stink, the high-pitched ring at the edge of hearing, the tangible drop in temperature and the sheer feeling of wrongness that set mortals' teeth on edge.

That wasn't the only oddity - it hadn't escaped Gaius' notice that Alya had replaced the raven as his contact with queen Else, though why that might be he could only guess.

"You know," he said quietly to the demon girl as he finished the warding incantation on the next stretch of wall. "When these seals are complete, you and the queen's other demons won't be able to move in or out of the castle either. I hope you've decided which side of the wall you want to be on."

"Oh yes...I forget..." She was a Demon. Often she felt like something else, something not like Zahneri. Looking at Gaius was to see his every memory again. The highs and the lows. Son, cousin, lover, husband, father - she felt them all. "How are your hands?" Alya could not forget how easy his fingers were sliced off by the commanding Succubus.

"Fine." Gaius lied. The magical flow was beginning to burn along his palms and under his nails, and most especially along the phantom line on his right hand where Zahneri had cut him. The touch of a demon always left a deeper mark than mere physical damage. Even now he wondered what Alya's supposedly healing touch had done. He turned and leaned against the wall, arms folded, frowning at the she-demon.

"I've never known a demon to heal before." he said guardedly. "They all seem to prefer killing. Then again, that horned bitch didn't look too happy with you when you did it." Alya showed signs of conflict on her face.

"We all serve our mistress, we just do it differently." Alya copped out. "You say the word Demon with such anger and prejudice. I wish you would not call me that.

"I say it with prejudice well earned." Gaius countered. "Mages have even more reason to be wary of demons than the rest - the artefacts we use draw their attention. History's full of mages who let their guard down for just a moment and were ripped apart for it. Only a few months ago, a fool called Cornelius let demons into the mages' tower outside Emor. Nearly a hundred men, women and children died, and my son was almost one of them. After all that, I find it hard to believe that you're serving your mistress with all your heart, no matter how many wards and binds she's put on you."

He didn't understand her heart at all, Alya thought as the Namorian unfolded his arms and pushed off the wall.

"But for the sake of argument, what would you have me call you instead? If you're not a demon, then what are you?"

"I wish I knew...I was born...and then I began my duties. I have only seen the sun rise several times."

Gaius paused. "You were born here? On the surface?"

"Yes. Though how I do not know how." As instructed, she kept the children unknown - a half truth. "Is that strange to you?"

"Yes it is." Gaius admitted levelly. He was quiet for a moment as they made their way to the next stretch of the wall. "How are your ravens progressing in their search for the murderers?" he asked at length. He refused to dignify Korzan's so-called Avengers with the name they had given themselves.

"It is not within my power to see what they see." The thought of the other kin gave Alya little comfort. Her black winged counterpart provided more questions than there were answers.

Gaius' frustration was obvious from the way he clenched his fists, but a second later he merely uncurled them and pressed them against the next stretch of wall to begin the warding incantation again.

"And what is within your power?" he asked Alya, as he paused for a moment to let the frozen stone cool the uncomfortable burning in his hands. Alya placed a hand on top of his, and he flinched away, but the soothing warmth of her touch eased the pain away.

Alya paused. She could mend the wounded, fly across the skies, had mastery over ice, instantly appear where ever she wanted, even look into other's memories, but these things were never done because she desired.

"Whatever my mistress allows me to do."

"And the mages' guild would call your mistress wise." Gaius said. "Most demons given free rein choose to work against their summoners." He caught himself subconsciously rubbing his hand where Alya had touched him, and folded his arms to hide it. He gave Alya a flicker of a smile. "But since you're not most demons, what would you do - given the opportunity?"

The fingers of Alya's mittens rubbed together, fidgeting in thought. She looked nervous, and it seemed to take her a moment to come up with an answer.

"I would fly away." she said at last.

Gaius' smirk faded, surprised by the answer in spite of himself.

"Fly away?" he probed cautiously.

Alya looked up to the sun, and her hood shifted slightly to reveal a string of diamonds, seemingly woven into her hair. They sparkled as the sunlight caught them, and the light reflected from her long oval face so that she almost seemed to glow. For a brief moment, she was breathtaking.

Gaius felt his heart rate quicken, and he wasn't entirely sure of the reason. Alya bore none of the hallmarks of demonhood that he had been so rigorously schooled to recognise. And yet, there was no other credible alternative to explain her nature. She was not natural, for no natural humanoid on Eternum bore wings. She was not a god's child, for no god - not even the feral Southern gods - would suffer their daughter to fight alongside creatures like Zahneri. If she was a demon, then something was seriously wrong with the natural order. If she was not...then things were even worse. Alya continued to stare up at the sun, obliviously.

"Somewhere far away..." she finally answered Gaius' question. "To a place where I would never be called...Demon again."

"You might have to fly a long way." Gaius told her.


* * * * * *

ODIN'S GROTTO, THE FREE SOUTH

The forest had lost its soothing aura since the encounter with Harbinger, and Cassius was glad to have a task to keep him busy. With no way to speed Kurosavi's recovery, and no way to guarantee Syf's assertion that the Southern boy and his raven demon would be no more threat to them, he was glad to have a practical problem to focus on. With his back against a tree and his sword belt lying within easy reach, the young tribune pored over a pair of inked deerskins; one containing Kalle's rough tally of the Southern army, the other a map that he had already liberally scattered with charcoal notes, crosses and arrows.

The demon army was far too large to break with the forces prince Kalle had at his disposal, and so it would have to be ground down on its march South. Large armies travelled slowly, and slower still through broken, snow-covered terrain. Cassius had already identified the demon horde's likely path across the map, and a number of valleys, channels and blind zones that would work to the defenders' advantage. The Southerners had little in the way of cavalry - but in the thick forests that covered most of the wildlands south of Branjaskr, lightly-equipped men could fulfil much the same role in harrying the enemy.

If the enemy commanders had any sense they would have scouts and outriders, but in dense forests they were almost as blind as any other man. Southern light troops, lying low, could ambush and kill them. Unless they were willing to risk marching blind, the enemy would need to slow down while they sent out new eyes, and after a few such ambushes Cassius was sure the men would be reluctant to take such a duty. Cassius knew how badly even a few casualties could sap the morale of a mortal army. But demons aren't mortal. They had no choice but to try and see.

Cassius finished annotating his map and glanced over at Syf, who was sketching something on another sheet of deerskin. Pushing to his feet and looking over her shoulder, Cassius saw that it was a design for mounds of earth outside the walls of Branjaskr castle, sloping up towards the walls before dropping away sharply into a deep ditch just short of them. After a moment's thought, Cassius began to appreciate the simple ingenuity of the design. The slope hid the lower parts of the walls and deflected the fire of any siege engines upwards. The upper ramparts could still be hit, but the foundation stones were protected - it would be far harder to bring the whole wall crashing down and make a usable breach. The slope and the ditch behind it also provided a formidable obstacle to siege towers and ladder parties.

"We'll see what stops them first," he told the Greek demigoddess with a grin, pulling on a second set of furs to brave the colder environment outside the grotto. "My ambushes or your earthworks."

He gathered up their combined papers and began to carry them to the grotto entrance. Kalle had told them to leave the plans under a certain stone beside a deep-rooted oak tree, the trunk of which he had surreptitiously marked with a knife. One of the prince's allies would then pick them up and leave provisions in return, without Syf and Cassius having to expose themselves to further danger. In spite of everything, Cassius felt his spirits lifting as he wrapped the papers in a leather bag and stuffed them under the stone. No matter how many plans they made, it was going to be a hard fight - almost unwinnable. Those were the kind of fights that Cassius relished most.


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA, SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER

The sun beat down like a hammer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1FpfXXEkoA), and the mirage of the surrounding dunes shivered under the impact. The glare was enough to hurt Ovidius' eyes even as he shaded them with one hand. He turned away from the bronze-skinned Egyptians who were working to load up the camel train, and headed back into the shaded alleyways between the buildings. The men would be sweating to load and saddle the snorting beasts for a while yet - he still had time.

Against all the odds, it was over. The streets were still full of unrest, and for a short while there had been a very real threat of Shanaar's army sweeping down on the city to avenge their general, but none of the lesser commanders possessed the ability to inspire and unite the troops the way that Shanaar had. Iset's jackal warriors were conspicuously absent from the streets - Ovidius had seen some striking out into the desert, and others barricading themselves inside the temple of Anubis, but none had shown themselves since then. Given how he had insulted their god by fraudulently wearing Anubis' sigil, he was more than a little glad of the fact. No-one seemed to know what had become of Shanaar and Iset, after Ahsha had removed their bodies from the governor's villa.

Ovidius still couldn't be sure how much they could trust Ahsha, but so far he seemed to be the moderate leader that they had hoped for. He had successfully placated the restive Namorians and Afragians, by lifting the quarantine and allowing them to stay or leave New Giza as they chose. Many were even now packing to leave with Ovidius and Suriyana, but some had elected to stay and attempt to coexist with their strange, immortal counterparts. The first envoys, Ovidius' erstwhile mercenaries, were already on their way to Emor, Ech Zilidar and Tu Zenita Duskal. It was all showing signs of coming together. Which meant that Ovidius' work was done.

He turned into the back alley that he used to scale the wall of the temple of Ra without being seen, and a few minutes later he was inside. The air within the solar was stuffy in the heat of the day, but made radiant by arrays of mirrors and prisms, crystal-kissed and candle-bright. He found Suriyana in her priestess' bedchamber - her belongings, Ovidius saw, were only half packed, and instead his dark-skinned lover was standing in front of her dressing table with its small icons and statuettes of Ra. She was staring at her cupped hands, where Qia'bul chirruped as it fluttered from one palm to the other. The bird familiar saw him as he entered, flapping up into the air and chirping. The fluttering announcement of his presence stopped him from startling Suriyana, so that she didn't jump when he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Are you ready to go home?" he asked her, nuzzling his nose into her hair and enjoying the cinnamon scent. To his disappointment, Suriyana didn't respond to the affection.

"It feels wrong to just leave." she said, dropping her hands to her sides now that Qia'bul was no longer perched on them. The familiar fluttered over to one of the bedposts and perched there, regarding them both with beady eyes.

"Our job's done." Ovidius said, resting his chin on Suriyana's bare shoulder. Her ebony skin was cool and soft, though having not shaved this morning his own was no doubt rough and sandpapery. "We won."

"By stabbing people in the back." Suriyana murmured.

Ovidius sighed, realising that they were about to tread ground already covered several times since their arrival in New Giza. He tightened his arms around Suriyana's waist, the squeeze intended to comfort. "Quite often we have to choose between fighting fair and winning."

"It's not right. It's not us."

Frowning now, Ovidius released Suriyana and gently turned her to face him. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were shining - as if she were fighting back tears. Ovidius wanted to take her in his arms again, but something in her face made him slide his hands into the pockets of his tunic instead.

"This is me, Suri." he said, unable to offer her anything more than a shrug. There was no point in lying about who he was. "This is the work I do."

For a moment, Suriyana seemed unable to meet his gaze. When she did her face was desolate, but her voice was firm. "I can't do it any more."

Ovidius wanted to tell her that she didn't have to - that they were about to go back to Emor, and that he'd make sure domina Lycinia didn't force her to play a part in the murky world of cloaks and daggers ever again. But something in Suriyana's tone told him that she wasn't talking about the mission any more. He felt his stomach sink, fighting for something to say. The metre between them suddenly seemed like a very long way.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked at last.

Suriyana shook her head, the tears finally spilling over and running down her cheeks. "I don't know."

Ovidius looked her in the eye for a long moment, the silence stretching out between them as the voices and clattering of the city filtered in through the window, a white wall of noise. "Right." he said neutrally.

He turned on his heel, Qia'bul flapping up out of his way with a frightened squeak as he passed the bed and strode out into the corridor. He left Suriyana in her oasis of light, staring after him with her fists clenched at her sides and her front teeth biting down hard on her lower lip. Ovidius didn't look back as he quickened his pace, dodging his way out of the temple and past the oblivious Egyptian priests who patrolled it. His heart was thudding in his temples by the time he found himself once again in the alleyway, and a hollow feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. The bitter thought struck him that Suriyana was probably right.

You're a fool, Aulus Ovidius. The light of Ra was never meant for a man of the shadows.

Setsa
09-02-2014, 02:57 AM
Tu Zenita Duskal, Afragia



So it was decided, things would change not for reasons of a revolution. But for the survival of many who now looked upon them to provide protection and prosperity. Standing up would she move to look at the King in the eyes. Her own soft and kind, "do not feel you must tread lightly with words for me. I can handle reality of thoughts far better than most know. As for Agrippa, I think the best way is to work along your suggestion. But he is of the age where after serving for so long, it's time for him to enjoy family that he has. We can pay the reasonable amount for his ownership of his mines. Take full control of them, and he may do what he wishes with his life long as it poses no threat to us." Jornak only nodded at his wife's words, and though they gave way to the compassion and love that filled her heart for those around her, he could see where this would be dangerous for the both of them. But, he did not speak his thoughts, he allowed them to remain in his own confidence.


A gentle smile would form upon her lips, " A levy can be arranged for tomorrow to form one solid council. But there are a few other things that weigh on my mind that I seek to talk to you about. As I know the small group I original came with to Dun Moriga was making way to see the stones. Having just began their journey, now broken up, I wonder how we can help them or if it's too late. As their questing fate also ties into the future of our Kingdoms."

"My mind seems to insist on sending out messages via the Desert Hawks to those involved. If to bring them here or to least keep breath of their current place and situation." Touching his forearm lightly would Nesara sit down upon a cushioned bench against a window that overlooked a courtyard below. Too high for anyone to see up or hear from below. "I also realize this is the first time you and I have had time together, and I have been reminded that there are...duties of consummation that have yet to be fulfilled...my King."

"Do as you must m'lady." He answered in return to her words, "However, as for the duties of being a wife, I believe the safety of our empire should be the forefront of our minds at the moment. The time will come when we will need to do as you've said to satisfy the elders of my race and yours, for now we must focus on the tasks at hand."

His words were not cruel, but soft and spoken in such a way as though they felt comforting and reassuring, but more of a command over a request. It was true that there were things needed to make the wedding official, but there was nothing more important than the safety of their up and coming empire. It would take a lot of preparation to become as strong as was needed to become a guardian against the darkness.

Agreeing to what Jornak was saying, it was a relief to her knowing for certain that this was above all. A marriage to strengthen and protect their people first and foremost. In time they'd learn to respect one another's strengths as the years moved on. "Then I shall see to the levy being called as soon as everyone can arrive. Including Agrippa so he can be relieved of his duties here at least, what the Emperor will have him do though afterwards... Well, Agrippa doesn't know everything so we are still protected."

Standing up once more would Queen Nesara look to her husband. "If you wish to have your own study rather than to share mine then it shall be done in haste so we can begin to set things right. I shall leave the decision to you as I accept either way without any objections Jornak. Anything you need as King is yours by request. I myself shall see to the letters to seek out the others that brought me to Dun Moriga... It's time we take hold of things together again. Pray that the gods are with us..."

Jornak snorted slightly before stating, "Nonsense, this will be adequate enough for the both of us. We are one now, and the people shall expect it to be as such." His eyes turned out towards the window and the rough landscape of the Afragian capital, and his mind was reminded of the many similarities that this place shared with Ech Zilidar. His heart fell in his chest as he was reminded of the fall of the last dwarf city in Dun Moriga, and shame filled him as water in a container.

"I wish to call for an audience with the peoples of Afragia and Dun Moriga." He stated as he turned towards his wife, "It would do them well to see our union made publicly official, and I wish to see our people, to study them, to help them." His words oozed with a hidden objective, but it was clear that he would not make clear what that objective was until the point in time where it was needed.


"Then by all means set it up, you are King after all and it would be good for the people to see us both together and among them. Perhaps a festival to celebrate our union? It would least liven their spirits and encourage them all to interact and ease the burdens in their hearts." Nesara would suggest, sitting in a chair as they conversed.

"Yes, a festivity sounds like a fine plan. There needs to be a time for revelry int times of darkness, it is what feeds us hope. We must take care to honor Vulcan and Ra for their guidance through these dark days." He answered in kind to his wife.

The festival would take days to prepare, but it would alleviate some of the morale loss that the dwarf people have suffered at the loss of their cities and livelihoods.

Azazeal849
09-02-2014, 08:10 AM
(OOC - courtesy of Setsa)

TU ZENITA DUSKAL

"What is this I hear about raising a citizen levy?" Agrippa asked as he toyed with his food. The senator's voice was calm, but his stress was evident from the way his forehead creased as he spoke. The silver-haired Namorian sat across from queen Nesara in one of the mirror-lit towers of Tu Zenita Duskal, the room kept from becoming stuffy by a pair of servants who wafted long feather fans over the diners. The table was spread with fruit, spiced nuts and small, decorative pastries soaked in honey, but senator Agrippa was eating little.

"We have need of one." Nesara answered simply. Unlike Agrippa she had no reservations about the food, and busied her hands with paring the skin off a redfruit.

"Yes," Agrippa agreed, putting down his fork next to his untouched pastry. "But we also need patience. I haven't written to the emperor yet, and ideally I would want to speak to him in person."

Nesara smiled gently. "I would not be doing this if it were not in the best interests of my people, old friend. Nor would I be so obtuse as to invite the wrath of the emperor we both serve...unless circumstances had changed to make the emperor's wrath a factor of lesser concern." She pulled a pot of tea towards her and poured the steaming liquid into the clay cup next to her plate, delicately bobbing the pot to catch the drips.

Agrippa pressed his hands together and rested them against his mouth for a second before replying. "If you would have my advice, regina, the orcs may still be out there, but we only swap one threat for another by provoking the emperor without explanation. I know that having the legions in Ech Zilidar as your primary defence must gall your husband, but once I make a case to the emperor..."

"What if we did not need the emperor any more?" Nesara asked pointedly, cocking her eyebrows. "Two sets of envoys arrived in my kingdom today. The first, former men of the border garrisons, bearing the greetings of pharaoh Ahsha and the Egyptians. They have taken our city of Kerma and renamed it New Giza, but they have treated its occupants fairly, and now they wish for an alliance. The second envoys, arriving in a metal chariot of arcane power, were men calling themselves the British."

"Who?" Agrippa asked blankly.

"Immortals, old friend. Like the red crests who marched alongside brave dux Marcius, but who failed to save the home of my husband's people, who I must now count as my own. They may be undying but they are not undefeatable, and soon the imperium will not be the only ones able to call upon such allies. They say that Pharoah wields powerful magic, and the British describe weapons to me that could rival those of even the Earthborn."

"My lady..." Agrippa snapped in abject shock, but then lowered his voice and began again. "My lady, I caution you. The imperium is not your enemy. Don't let Jornak Rex exert too much influence on your thinking. He is your husband, yes, but his opinions are highly biased."

"You forget who I am." Nesara said in her soft tone of voice, looking directly at Agrippa. "And whose blood runs through me. I am far from mortal myself - did you not think that I would not seek council from the gods that I was born from? If not me then of my father? I am far stronger than you realise."

She smiled gently.

"My mind is my own, old friend, as it always has been. I cling to hope, and it is hope of a better future for the peoples of Afragia and Dun Moriga. My people have hope, but it is being eroded by news of defeat in Hercine and Dun Moriga - news of a corrupt and failing empire that can no longer defend its protectorates. I have listened to my people, I have searched my own heart, and I have taken an opportunity to lead my people towards a new golden dawn."

"Have you considered the risks?" Agrippa asked sharply, finally abandoning his diplomatic tone in the face of such extreme propositions. "Graccus still has three demi legions. Even without the 20,000 Romans at his back, that's enough to crush the Royal Army, and this conscript force you're planning to raise. Moreover, he is just waiting for an excuse to throw you and Jornak Rex off your thrones. And the senate..."

"I am taking steps to remove members of the senate who represent foreign interests and replace them with wise lords who will put the people of Afragia and Dun Moriga first. The dwarf Elders will form half of the new council."

Agrippa opened his mouth to object. Nesara continued to talk over him.

"Lord Argam, wise and wizened, shall be master of law. Lord Duro shall be master of the treasury. Lord Galba shall be master of the mines. I think that a good first step to giving the dwarven refugees their lives back will be to give them employment. I plan to appoint dwarf supervisors at all the silver mines on the eastern slopes."

Agrippa's bushy eyebrows rose in shock at this far more personal blow. "Those are my mines." he protested.

"Will you not step aside for the greater good of the people?" Nesara dabbed at her lips with a napkin and stood up, carefully smoothing down the layered silks that made up her gown. "You will be compensated a fair sum, so put your mind at ease on that account. Return to your family. Enjoy the retirement that you have so richly earned in the emperor's service, and in mine."

Agrippa looked at Nesara as if he no longer recognised her. His normally-controlled face twisted into a grimace of fury. "The emperor wouldn't have crowned you without my vote of confidence! Now you're going to stab me in the back?"

"I was going to be my people's crowned ruler whether the emperor approved or not, as it has been for my ancestors before me." Nesara glided over to Agrippa and placed one hand over the fist that he had balled on the table cloth. "Please don't fight me, old friend. I do what I do for my people."

Agrippa exhaled down his nose. The importance of the plebians was one thing he and Nesara had never seen eye to eye on. To Agrippa they were too wild, too short-sighted and too easily swayed, but Nesara always went above and beyond their necessary placation to treating their love as the ultimate prize. Perhaps the old, conservative senator did not have the right mindset to see it, but to him these latest actions spoke of a more personal motive. Perhaps he had never really understood people, but he understood empire perfectly.

"You do what you do for yourself." he told her coldly.

Nesara cocked her head. "Are you so innocent of such action?" she asked him, and swept out of the room.


* * * * * *

REBEL LEGION CAMP, SOUTHERN NAMOR

Some government in exile, this. Marcus Agrippa thought as he looked around the makeshift benches cramming the command tent.

There were few places that he would have liked to have been less than sitting in on this meeting of senators and military commanders. Rebels and traitors or not, he was out of his depth. It should have been legatus Rufus holding court here, but legatus Rufus was dead, the legion praefectus was dying of his wounds, and the tribunes had fled rather than pledge allegiance to their commander's mad rebellion. Thinking back to the raid on the Emor prison, Marcus couldn't help but wonder if, on some level, Rufus had wanted to die even if he had succeeded in killing Furius. He had, after all, committed the worst kind of treason. Rufus could be short-sighted in his wrath, but the idea that he had deliberately abandoned the senate, the refugees and his own men to their current situation was one that Marcus refused to contemplate seriously. Doing so would mean losing all respect for his former commander.

Whatever the cause, Marcus was now the ranking officer of the 2nd Valoria, and that put him de facto on equal standing with legatus Sertorius of the 3rd. Resplendent at the opposite side of the tent, in his blue cloak and steel armour embossed with the falcon of the Invictus legion, Sertorius was well known as a man of ambition. Marcus doubted that it was altruism for the founding principles of the imperium that had led him to join the insurrection. Threatened with replacement by a more "loyal" officer on the one hand, and offered a chance to seize the whole imperium with the other, the real reason for his choice was not hard to work out. Maybe the emperor was right to worry about that one.

He glanced at Julia who sat at his side, tangle-haired and shiny-skinned after several days on the road without bathing, but still youthfully beautiful in her husband's eyes. Ever the idealist, she had called it Marcus' duty to balance the selfish goals of the other commanders with his own. If Rufus had broken faith with the emperor to salve his own pride, and Sertorius for opportunity, Marcus had gone along with them to protect the soul of the imperium - its senate, its people. Then again, it was no secret that he harboured a grudge against emperor Claudius for banishing his uncle. Perhaps he was as self-serving as the rest of them, and just a little more self-deluding.

If their military command structure was precarious, the senators they had freed from prison were worse. Wholesale persecution had driven many of them into the radical senatora Aemilia's camp, but many more simply wanted to keep their heads attached to their shoulders, and some thought that the whole rebellion had been a catastrophic mistake. Marcus could hardly argue against that, but he knew that their ideas of reconciling with the emperor were worse than futile now.

"The emperor is a godly man, as are we all!" an old senator by the name of Domitius was pleading. Marcus recalled that the man had been a member of the collegium pontificum, with particular ties to the priesthood of Minerva. "Surely he will honour that and be willing to talk rather than split the gods' imperium?"

"Claudius, a godly man?" scoffed a balding senator who sat near to Aemilia. "Oh yes, he's so devoted to the gods that he eats a meal for each one of them every time he sits down at the fucking table."

"We've burned our bridges, like it or not." Aemilia herself reasoned. Like most of the senators she had not had the luxury of retrieving her purple-striped toga during the flight from Emor, but she still looked as stern and resolute as ever in a simple cotton dress. "And even if we hadn't, there's no negotiating with this tyrant our emperor has become."

"So we replace him?" asked an overweight young senator as he vigorously fanned himself against the warm air inside the crowded tent. "With who? Both praetors are away, and Claudius himself has no heir."

"Summon Graccus back from the east." suggested senator Vibius. The nervous old senator was one of Aemilia's new converts, vehemently opposed to the emperor ever since the indignity of his arrest. Aemilia herself had so far been tactful enough to accept his support while it lasted, and disguise her obvious disdain for the man. "He is a man of principles."

"Yes, and those principles won't endear him to a bunch of traitors like us." the balding senator countered. "What of dux Marcius? He's a war hero. The people will support him if he is declared dictator. Not to mention he has the Fulminata and the immortals at his back."

"We don't need either of them." put in an austere senatora with curly grey hair and crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. "Our imperium has answered to one leader for too long. It's time that the senate took back its power."

"We need Marcius on our side." Aemilia opined. "He has enough troops to make himself the kingmaker of this war. We'll have to offer him something."

"Half his troops are crocolykes and immortals!" scoffed a younger senator from the second row. "They could turn on us at a moment's notice! Not that we aren't fucked whatever we do because you decided the best option was to flee Emor and declare a fucking rebellion!"

The tent erupted with angry shouts; indictments and insults flying back and forth while Aemilia shouted for order. Marcus turned his head to the side and gave Julia a grim look. His young wife rolled her eyes and, to Marcus' surprise, signalled to Marcus' ceremonial cornicen who was idling behind them with several other guards. The trumpeter raised his eyebrows, glanced at Marcus, but when Julia hissed at him a second time he put the curled brass instrument to his lips and blew a rolling blast that set the confined space ringing.

In the sudden silence as the senators flinched and clapped hands to their injured ears, Julia stood up. She wasn't tall, and she looked young and skinny compared to most of the room's occupants, but her eyebrows were drawn down in a determined frown.

"See," she said caustically, "This is what the world would be like if masturbation didn't exist. Now if you're all finished flinging hormones at each other, maybe you'll address the obvious. If you're going to be a government, you're going to need somewhere to govern. Refugees need homes, and two legions need supplies."

Even being a senior officer's wife only went so far, and there was a certain amount of scoffing from the back benches until Marcus leapt to his feet in support, his hand on the hilt of his ceremonial gladius and his eyes dangerous. "Well?" he challenged the senators.

"Where?" the grey-haired senatora asked simply.

"Hercine." Julia said. "The crocolykes will be sympathetic."

"You and your bloody crocolykes!" the young senator in the second row snorted. Julia's affinity for the cause of crocolyke rights wasn't unknown in political circles, and most were not as tolerant of the idea as her husband. Marcus was about to round angrily on the young senator, but Aemilia forestalled him.

"The lady has the right idea." she opined, nodding. "The balance of power in Hercine changed when Marcius made allies of the Zamibian rebels."

"The crocolykes still don't rule Hercine." a wavy-haired senatora in the front row pointed out. "The cat-men do."

"It's chaos there at the moment." put in legatus Sertorius in a deep voice. Heads turned in surprise towards the legion commander as he spoke for the first time, and Marcus saw that the man was smiling tightly. "They'll be glad of two stabilising legions. And, on the other hand, they aren't in much of a position to resist us."

The debate began again, but with both legion commanders supporting his wife's idea, Marcus could see which way the wind was blowing. Still, a sense of foreboding coloured his thoughts as he leaned down towards Julia's ear.

"You might get your way, sweetheart." he murmured to her as he locked his eyes on Sertorius, "But not for reasons I like..."

Minkasha
09-04-2014, 12:01 AM
The sun bared down upon Tsen as she marched through the grassland. There was an air of something new with Emor, as she and those escorting her through to the Imperium's capital marched onwards from the province of Combrogia. The Great Forest itself lay a days march to the North of Tsen's current location - having rested for the night at the woman's inability to walk as long as the others. The Night itself had been cool and calming, the soft breeze from the Southern Sea rolling all the way through the grasslands - with little to no obstacles being able to slow the gusts, there were bouts of gale force winds, though most of it was calm and delicate.

The Archer that Tsen and Lupinus had run into had seemingly broken his phase of silence and had decided to slowly become involved in the conversation, talking about the Battle of Hercine - he described great cannon fire and powerful warriors; a dark creature almost killing the commander of said attack and the death of a glorious wolf beast that had saddened the heart of the Son of Artemis; this news seemed to make Lupinus pause in thought, though the Wolf God showed no signs of emotion towards the dead animal and he quickly smiled and continued. Tsen learned much of Eternum's great heroism. The tales naturally finding a place in her heart. But sadly Apollo was still a familiar mystery

The day seemed to be be drifting away fast however and nothing of any importance seemed to have occurred until Lupinus had skulked up a hill and seen the city in the distance; complete with a huge Purple spire of light just the same as Combrogia had. The light was supernatural, somehow Tsen knew that it was not a natural occurrence. The group continued to move towards the city however, even though the foreboding light echoed a feeling of malice across the plains.

"Stop." Lupinus muttered abruptly, raising his hand up at the others. Zar - as the Archer was called - drew his bow slowly whilst Lupinus's daughter and he simply sniffed at the air. "There's people, up ahead - they know we're here." Tsen, as much as she wanted to, didn't shrug to spare herself the pain of even more muscle soreness.

"Do we have to be concerned?" The human asked with questionable unease, her senses telling nothing compared to the others, blind. Life had been so...lonely, maybe others could be pleasurable.

"That depends on you." Lupinus turned to Tsen, eyes glaring into her inquisitively, as if to ask her what she would want to do. "You will have to lead this group soon."

"Eh?" She looked caught off guard by the wolf-god's words. "What do they smell like?"

"Snow; blood...steel." Lupinus scowled slightly in confusion. "Foreigners most likely. There's 3 of them." The tawny grass of the rolling plains continued to stroke at the group's feet - Zar's fingers strumming along the string of his bow, lightning curling and stroking at the notched arrow, his armour glinting underneath the warm setting sun whilst Lupinus's daughter continued to pad her feet lightly against the ground almost like a cat - muscles shifting beneath her skin.

Tsen tensed at his words.

"Should we try to avoid them?"

"Again, that is up to you Tsen. I will not be the guide of your destiny - you must choose; if we avoid them then we must take a detour along the bank of the River Minerva - there could be worse there."

"And what of your destiny? And theirs?" the archer and Werewoman were in her eyesight now.

"A God's destiny is insurmountable to a Mortal's destiny, for as long as Odin allows us, we always have one - Mortals can die in the flick of fate, like a candlelight in the sun; and then it is either Paradise, Asphodel or Tartarus that await you." Lupinus looked upon Tsen. "My destiny is with my son, Tsen - beyond this point I will lead you no further; you are now the captain of your fate, and the fate of those who follow you. My daughter will remain to keep you safe."

"Father!" Mirella whispered in protest.

"Be silent, daughter, I have made my decision." Lupinus turned to Tsen. "I apologise."

Tsen shook her head.

"Don't, thank you for everything you have done Lupinus" A hand moved to her chest. "I wish you well in being with your son."

Lupinus nodded and turned away, looking upon the sun that now creaked across the sky. "Remember Tsen, keep yourself safe - my daughter and the Archer can only do so much. If those with Red and Purple in their eyes come for you, run as if Death itself was at your tail." With those words Lupinus began to slowly skulk across the grass, never turning back as he retreated without a sound.

"My lady." The Archer whispered as he crawled up next to her. "Where is he going? What are we doing?" Tsen kept her eyes on the departing guide.

"He's leaving" Finally she turned her head to the archer. "I am going forward. You may follow if you wish. But I must find Apollo"

"We don't really have much choice in the matter." Mirella whispered, seeming bored of the whole ordeal. It was only now that the sound of a crackling fire became aware to Tsen's ears and the smell of cooking meat filled her nostrils rather than the pine smell of Lupinus. "So what's the plan - do we say hello or do we head around these foreigners."

"Maybe they have been put in our path for a reason" Tsen bravely walked forward to greet these three beings of snow, blood and steel.

As Tsen crept over the small green hill that she and her companions had been hidden behind she was greeted by only two figures sitting around a campfire. One was dressed in silks and had his palm raised - a shard of ice sticking out of it and prepared to fire; evidently the man held some arcane ability within him. His face was clean shaven and contorted with a mixture of anger, shame and possibly a hint of terror. His brown hair stuck to his head, which was dirty with mud.

Next to him sat a woman, taller than Elisavet but smaller than the man next to her - her hair was coloured bright ginger and seemed to curl down her her cheeks before turning wild and untamed. Her eyes were beautifully green and her small delicate nose and cheeks dotted with multiple freckles.

Tsen heard the growl of Mirella behind her, and as she turned she saw a huge man - much taller than the others - standing with his axe behind the trio. He was stunning to look at, if not for his broken nose - with a thick blonde beard covering the bottom of his face. The axe he held in particular looked ancient, as if passed through multiple generations and improved with every wielder - a family heirloom perhaps.

"Put your weapons down and come out where we can see you." The Silk-Wearing man purred. "All of you."

Tsen, unarmed, came out into full view. Was this a mistake?

Following her very slowly came both of her companions, Mirella unarmed whilst Zar very reluctantly placed his bow onto the ground.

"Excellent, it's nice to meet some co-orporative folks around this sunny shithole." The man in Silks pulled up a wine-skin and took a swig from it before gesturing to the log at the other side of the fire. "Feel free to sit." Tsen took the opportunity, her eyes bounced to her companions, who followed, though with less eagerness than the young woman.

"You're from the South aren't you." Mirella said coyly, shifting on the log. "I can smell you now too - the ice and the cold."

"I am Tsen Tsaven" her introduction given to the man and woman around the fire. "Whom might you be?"

"My name is Belingat; hers is Straten and our big friend over there -" The mage gestured to the large blonde man who sat on the floor with a sharpening stone, running it along the blade of his axe. "Is Eoric." Belingat took another swig from his wine-skin before smiling at the trio. "And yes, we're from the South. Is that a problem?"

"No, I just know that the South and the North don't play nicely." Mirella spoke, knuckles white thanks to her hard grip upon the rough bark.

"No...indeed we don't." Belingat looked up through his brow at the three.

"If I understand correctly..." Tsen thought out loud before looking Belingat in the eyes "We are much closer to the North from this position. Are you Southern hunters of some sort? It is fortunate you have avoided the dangers deeper in the forest. Many have lost their lives"

Belingat stared silently at Tsen for a moment, before leaning in towards her, eyes squinting in curiosity. "Are you taking the piss, or did your móðir drop you on your head when you were a wee child?"

Tsen blinked a few times, shocked, before shaking her head. What was she to say? This world was so confusing.

"No? I could not think of other intentions to why you would be here" She finally submitted truthfully. "Maybe you are on some journey as I am?"

"Tsen, do me and Zar a favor please?" Mirella looked at Tsen, head slightly tilted and a smile coating her face. Looking to the Werewoman she raised her brows, showing attention.

"Yes, of course. What would that be?" Swirling bangs were brushed behind her ear to help her vision keep focus on Mirella.

"Shut up." Mirella smiled before turning back to Belingat. Tsen looked around uncomfortably. "She has a point though, what is your business in these lands?" While they spoke the Human had moved herself next to Zar to whisper into his ear.

"What does Mirella mean? Shut up is a phrase I've not come across before"

"It means to stop talking." Zar whispered back in Tsen's ear as the Southern Mage and the Lycan spoke.

"You've come to the North to explore you say?" Mirella spoke, eyes tilting upwards.

"Of course, why else would humble folk like us come here - the ice and snow aren't the nicest climates to weather." Belingat spoke, though Zar's brow noticeably furrowed as he looked upon Straten, who seemed to emanate guilt from her very being.

"Right..." Mirella turned to Zar and Tsen, biting her lip in thought.

"You're welcome to stay for a few days with us - we haven't been able to get through into Combrogia thanks to the Wolves." Straten finally spoke, eyes only just moving from Zar to look at their Lycan companion. Belingat opened his mouth to object but quickly shut it, smiling at Mirella.

"Yes, feel free." He said through almost grit teeth before turning to Straten and glaring at her.

"If you don't want us to stay we can leave and find somewhere else." Zar raised his eyebrows as he removed his helmet, revealing long locks of black hair that tumbled down just above his shoulders and piercing blue eyes like gems.

"No no it's no problem at all - we're not going anywhere anyway, bandits and worse around these parts - more numbers the better." Belingat spoke, rubbing his hands over the burning fire.

Tsen kept her focus on Straten, noticing her sadness, and not much else in the social environment. How long was she to 'shut up'? For she had desire to understand the woman's sad outward appearance. Still keeping to her awkwardness she tapped her hands on her lap.

Small talk was poor at best. Mirella continuously sensing something untrustworthy of the three Southerners whilst Zar and Straten engaged in small-talk, seemingly bonding as Eoric silently brought the group food, small cuts of rabbit came off the fire for all to share. For the advantage of staying safer for the night, they stayed, but Mirella knew well it would be wise to leave quickly, even if Tsen was the supposed 'leader'. A leader they were going to have to drag along.

Mirella was not pleased with her father. The night was coming up, giving them a great excuse to leave the camp to bathe in one of the River Minerva's many tributaries - the River Condatis, named after one of the many minor River Gods. Tsen had followed Mirella, Zar staying with Straten, engaged now in conversation with her over a friendly archery contest - Zar besting her though enjoying the competition anyway. Mirella hopped in the water with a cold splash, though it did not disturb her.

Tsen had begun to strip her druidic armor, placing the pieces among the small flowers neighboring the waters. But when it came to remove her pants she had stopped, remembering Mirella's difference. Somehow it made her feel guilty and she wasn't sure why.

Mirella was not much interested in Tsen's behavior, just trying to relax. Turning around the Human had stripped herself and finally dipped in with hands between her legs. The cold made her quiver, feeling her the spot between her legs not enjoying it most of all.

While Tsen was doing her best, the curiosity continued to build, her eyes resting on Mirella more and more.

"Are you going to continue to stare at me?" Mirella licked at her palm like a dog before dipping it back under the water and folding her arms behind her head - cracking her neck and exposing her breasts to the stars in the sky. Insects floated around in the air, buzzing and fluttering within the moonlight - large hand-sized silver moths shifted within the air, each of their 6 wings stroking the breeze - which whispered and wailed within the night. As Mirella was turned, Tsen could see a large arrow wound in her left shoulder-blade, not bleeding any more but still fresh; Lupinus's senses had been correct, she and Zar were being hunted.

"I need to ask you something, something I think is important" Tsen finally admitted.

"What is it Tsen? If you're going to ask me the definition of shut up then please do not - I've had a tired day and I long for the forests, I beg of you not to waste my time." Mirella impatiently spoke, pulling her long hair to her left shoulder before lifting some of the fresh water to her mouth and drinking it loudly.

"No...I already asked Zar that..." Tsen was looking down, fearful. Splashing water on her face and breathing in deeply she looked back to Mirella timidly. "We are both women...but why are you so different from me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I can fight and you can fall over after walking a few miles." Mirella still did not turn around, spending her time occasionally licking at her arms before dipping them in the water and rubbing them. "Or maybe because I am the gifted of Lupinus and you are a human." Finally, Mirella turned to look at Tsen, eyes showing disinterest. "I'm not sure what you're getting at here."

Tsen squeezed her wet hair, letting the water drip down her body. Nervously she shook her head.

"I...think...I need to show you" Walking to the edge of the water she slowly put her hands down on the ledge. "When I was born from the Hyacinth flowers, I was this way" She pushed herself up, as painful to her sore body as that was, a few grunts escaping her. "I thought all women were like this...but then I saw you...and maybe...maybe they are not like me" Her heart was thumping quickly with anticipation.

Finally she turned around and revealed herself to Mirella.

"So that's why father was so interested in you." Mirella looked upon the woman's manhood and smiled at her, eyes quickly shifting back to her soft, feminine face. "It's quite small, but I guess that's to be expected." Tsen only raised a brow in confusion, does size matter?

"Why am I like this, and you're not? Are you not a woman?"

"Yeah, I'm a woman. So are you - you smell like a woman, you walk and talk like a woman; you act and look like a woman. You're just a man downstairs - which is odd but I guess so is being born out of a flower." Mirella smiled at Tsen. "I'd stop worrying about it Tsen, everyone is unique in their own way - most would argue the fact that I can change into a bipedal animal is more odd than you having a man's tools."

"I'm a man...downstairs?" Tsen got back in the water. "But I know I am a woman. What are you...downstairs?" Mirella had such odd phrases.

"If I am not a man - then what else can I be Tsen?" Mirella turned and began to walk out of the flowing water, modesty being exposed to the elements as she sat down upon the tufts of grass and river-sand as she looked up into the sky and at the searing towers of light from Combrogia and Emor.

"I hope Apollo can tell me why I am as I am" She longed to see him.

'You and your obsession with Apollo.' Mirella thought.

"So do I, Tsen. So do I."

Azazeal849
09-05-2014, 08:07 AM
AFRAGIAN COAST

It was still an hour before dawn, but Salvius and his companions were already shaking out their damp cloaks on the deck of HMS Fox while a pair of seamen hauled up their equipment from the rowboat that had carried them out to the anchored vessel. The Fox was one of the smallest immortal ships, comparable in length and complement to a Namorian trireme, but far bulkier, and with 20 black-iron cannons ranked along its deck. The ship's commander, who bore the unlikely name of Chatfield, had described the ship as being named for a small, bushy-tailed predator of his home planet, renowned for its cunning. It seemed like a fitting animal to be slinking along the coast of the northern continent, carrying Salvius and his companions to the gates of Tartarus much faster and more quietly than if they had made the journey by land.

Salvius was glad to be on the move. Their hosts had been accommodating by Earthborn standards, but the delay had chafed him. It had taken a day to hammer out the deal with admiral Clemente, and another to make all the arrangements. Now a British delegation was roaring its way south in a convoy of mechanical chariots, bound for the Afragian capital of Tu Zenita Duskal. Ech Zilidar was not an option following the orc siege, but Salvius had figured that if the dwarfs had been able to retreat they would have done so to Duskal. With luck Nesara would be with them. Salvius had been able to convince Clemente that the Afragian princess knew what was going on, and so could be trusted to pass Clemente's diplomatic overtures on to the emperor, along with an appreciation of how useful these new allies could be against the unknown horrors ravaging the empire. Hopefully, she would also be able to inform commander Marcius of how the quest for the Alcamor Stones was progressing.

Salvius tightened the leather thongs that secured the plastic water bottle to his belt as Numiera scrambled over the gunwale. Earthborn invention or not, he had liked it so much that he had swapped it out for his original waterskin, although he had been disappointed to discover that without the refrigeration box the bottle did not repeat its sorcery of keeping its contents cold in the Afragian sun. He watched as Gabriel climbed the ladder and shrugged off the helping hand of a British seaman, instead moving to one side where he stood with his blind porcelain mask fixed watchfully towards Numiera.

"What's his problem?" the British seaman asked Salvius in Namorian. "I've just met him and I'm already sick of him."

"Yeah, he has that effect on people." Salvius shrugged resignedly, turning his gaze out towards the open ocean as their rowboat cast off back to shore, its yellow lantern swinging. The night was quiet and still, the cool sea wind coming in from the ocean and chilling the British camp. The Fox creaked quietly at anchor, the wind moaning through its furled sails. More than half of the crew were still asleep below, although men going about the deck still talked in hushed voices, and one of the radios that the Earthborn used was crackling with distorted voices up near the vessel's stern.

Suddenly, Salvius had his night vision blinded by a series of bright flashes on the seaward horizon. Men spun round, shouted and pointed, and then the radio by the wheelstation went wild.

"Torpedoes! Torpedoes in the water!" the arcane device blared, the English words completely lost on Salvius. A few moments later and the distant flashes were completely eclipsed by a much closer chain of explosions. With a noise like the end of the world, the vast battle carrier at the centre of the British fleet was hidden by a vast curtain of water, followed by red and yellow tongues of flame as huge chunks of the ship's superstructure went spiralling off into the bay. The pillars of water slumped, revealing the flagship snapped clean in two by the overwhelming force of the attack.

"I hear the machinations of war again…" Gabrielle said as he began to feel the after effects of the shockwaves that were of torpedoes. Gabrielle knew what torpedoes were, what they sound like, how the operated, but to see them here put him at a somewhat alarmed state. It had been a long time ago since he heard something like this be as close as it was to him. At this time, Gabrielle was somewhat reeled by the blow of the torpedo as he began to run to see who or what fired it off. Gabrielle then began to make his way towards the action, slowly, but with his own intent.

"What the fuck!" a sailor near Salvius screamed, "Holy shit, they just sank the Belfast!"

Some sort of alarm began to blare from the naval base onshore, running up the scale to a wailing high note and holding there, louder than any military trumpet. A fizzing sound marked a trail of flares shooting up from the nearby ships, casting a lurid glow across the choppy water. In the sudden blaze, Salvius spotted a line of sails bearing down on them from the open sea.

The war trumpets were sounding as loud as if Gabrielle were next to him. He could only see the broken wreckage of what was once a full ship. Many pieces were scattered in the water, drifting about. "I wonder if Chatfield knows who or what is doing this... then again..." Gabrielle took a moment to pause and carefully evaluate what could have been going on. Then he could hear the yelling off in the background... it sounded like Salvius... of course.

"They're right on top of us!" he shouted at captain Chatfield as the Briton came stalking past, roaring orders at his crew. "I thought you said your ships could detect anything for miles!"

"They can!" the captain snapped back, as the ship's bell began to ring furiously and a young drummer boy hammered out a rapid tattoo. "They called it radar!"

Salvius pointed at the burning wreck of the Belfast. "Then with all due respect, captain Chatfield, what the fuck is wrong with your ships today?"

The Fox was a frantic hive of activity - men running to load guns, haul up the anchor and loose the sails - but the ship itself and those around it seemed to be reacting with appalling slowness. Although engines were roaring and searchlights were scissoring across the water, none of them seemed to be moving. On the Fox's landward side, a sleek battlecruiser brought its turrets swinging ponderously round, the name HMS Hood visible on a hull that was lit up by the red glow of the burning Belfast.

A machine with a spinning blade whickering above its fuselage hammered overhead, ejecting a long tube into the water. Salvius saw its wake run right underneath the Fox, and mere seconds later another explosion of water twisted up from the angry sea, bringing with it shards of metal torn from some unseen target beneath the waves. Another chain of flashes blinked on the horizon, and this time one of the steel-hulled British ships replied, spitting fire and thunder from its monstrous gun barrels. Once again Salvius was reminded of the terrible power of the Earthborn. They were like demigods, raining fire on each other from so far away that they couldn't even be seen.

"Hard a'port!" captain Chatfield shouted. "Let the youngbloods handle each other, our target's the sail ships!"

At that moment, the air was filled with an indescribable shriek. It grew louder, droning steadily downwards in pitch until the noise was a physical force crushing against Salvius' ribcage. He instinctively covered his ears, just as something ungodly whistled overhead, shivering the Fox's mainmast to pieces with the mere proximity of its passing. It seemed that the target was not them but the vessel behind, a great grey blade of a ship with a globe-topped pyramid dominating its forward superstructure and the text HMS Daring etched across its bow. A furious column of water leapt up 50 metres short of the destroyer, as if Neptune himself was thrusting a fist up towards the sky. The destroyer rocked in the wake of the near miss.

There was a whooshing roar, and for a moment Salvius thought the destroyer had been hit by a follow-up strike, but the source of the noise was revealed to be a pair of long grey darts detaching from the Daring's topside. They went streaking into the sky on tails of white smoke, one after the other, and vanished into the night.

"Incoming!" a sailor warned, as one of the enemy sail ships peeled off and headed straight for the dismasted Fox. A wall of smoke and fire belched from its flank, and the Fox replied with the cracking thunder of its own portside cannons. The smoke whipped back over the deck, and with it came the whistle of enemy cannonballs, sending splinters spalling from the hull. Salvius saw blood splatter and heard men scream, but somehow he escaped injury from the whirlwind of flying debris.

"Repel boarders!" captain Chatfield shouted through the smoke, and then again in Namorian for the benefit of Salvius and the others. "Repel boarders!"

Salvius' pack had been kicked to one side as the sailors cleared the deck for action. He ran to it, snatched up his shield from atop the pile, and dragged his cavalry sword from its scabbard as the immortal crew ran to the port gunwale. The deck shuddered violently, and the smoke parted to show the enemy ship slamming up alongside the Fox, its deck crowded with howling men. They wore no standard uniform, and carried no standard weaponry, though Salvius saw axes, dwarf-style flintlocks, and short thick-bladed sabres. As they came leaping across, Salvius pushed his way to the front and slammed the iron boss of his shield into a snarling face, arresting the man's forward momentum and sending him plummeting down the gap between the two hulls with a scream.

Another pirate buried his cutlass in the top edge of Salvius' shield, shearing through the steel rim and splitting a long crack through the layered wood. The blade stuck, and Salvius took the opportunity to hack down through the pirate's wrist. Blood jetted and the man reeled, the sword cartwheeling off in the opposite direction from the force of the strike with the hand still gripping it. Salvius twisted his sword in the man's unarmoured belly and shoved him back, just as a pistol went off not two metres from his head with a deafening bang.

"Gabriel! Numiera!" he shouted, "Where in the twelve hells are you!?"


* * * * * *

Gabrielle was still not close enough to Salvius in order to give any real help, especially when he had his hands full to, or so he wanted everyone to think. While upon the ship, Gabrielle was blocked off by a couple of snarling men. They gave Gabrielle an odd impression rather than a scary one however. One of them said "Just make it nice and easy, and you wont have a slow death..." They both began to laugh as Gabrielle stood in front of them both.

"What if I choose a slow death?" Gabrielle said mockingly, making the men in front of him a bit angry. One of them let out a grin as he shook his head and said, "Then I'll be happy to oblige you" They both yelled at the top of their lungs with their blades drawn. The foot steps they made were clunky as they ran towards Gabrielle. Their blades were in the air as the both began to come down with a downward slash as Gabrielle jumped back a bit. It wasn't a far jump, just a couple of feet as he lightly landed. "You two have terrible form... like children with toys you are..."

Then men then began to grow angry as one reached for his pistol. Sensing this, Gabrielle quickly moved in on the man and slit him from the stomach up with a rising slash, forcing the man in the air as blood rained from his body. His scream of pain followed slightly before he hit the ground. At this point, Gabrielle kept his position after cutting the man, with his blade up in the air above his head, his body slightly slouched over, as if he was looking at the man, reveling in his death.

"I cut you like a pig!" The other man still had his blade and was coming with a side power attack. Though the attack had a lot of force behind it, the attack itself was sloppy, and made of euphoria rather than a true strike. Gabrielle, then brought his sword back down quickly as it clashed. The man was grunting, trying to get a power advantage over Gabrielle, as he began to sweat, smile and laugh as he said "I'm stronger than my partner you killed... "He laugh for a second until he realized that Gabrielle wasn't making a sound, or even began to take it seriously.

"It's saddening it is... I was expecting someone a lot stronger to come after me... but I got you 2..." Gabrielle then brought the blade from it's locked position, sliding down the mans blade with a few sparks behind it, as he went for a slash of his own. The man tried to retaliate, but Gabrielle was too quick. Gabrielle's blade had side slashed the man through his stomach. His entrails fell out as he could do nothing but choke upon his own voice. He stared at Gabrielle for a moment before he lost complete concsiencsness and fell to the ground upon his own entrails. The blood was massing up and pooling out. Gabrielle's blade was coaxed in the very blood the man let out.

"It's always the foolish ones who attack me with no plan... no form... no meaning...." He said as he was finally hearing Salvius's ranting about where he was at. "I think he misses me" He said to himself as he began to walk his way over rather than run towards the situation. He found Salvius near the stern of the Fox, features set in a teeth-gritted snarl as he rammed his sword forward through another pirate's guard and into his throat. Almost immediately he had to flinch aside as a pistol ball punched a neat hole through his shield, but a British marine with a bayonet bore the offending pirate to the ground and bought the centurion some space. It was only then that he noticed Gabrielle, advancing calmly through the melee and swatting aside any pirate that tried to stop him with cool, almost dismissive strokes. Salvius' eyes widened slightly, and for the first time something approaching respect crossed his face when he looked at Gabrielle.

"Where's Numiera?" he asked the masked Earthborn, shouting to make himself heard over the din of the melee.

Both men looked up and saw Numiera up in the Fox's rigging, wedged against the crossbeam of the still-intact foremast and shooting down at the pirate ship's deck with her repurposed dwarven bow. But she was so absorbed in her archery that she didn't notice the pirates swarming up their own rigging, and now two of them were leaping across towards the halfbreed.

Salvius swore, and grabbed the arm of the nearest British immortal with a gun. "Up there!" he pointed.

The blue-coated marine raised his musket and fired a hasty snap shot, the gun sizzling and then spitting a jet of smoke and flame up at the men in the rigging. The ball whickered across the crossbeam at one pirate's feet, which was sufficient to make him lose his balance and fall with a shriek. The other man reached Numiera, who turned too late and raised her bow in desperate defence. The pirate's cutlass sent the weapon spinning away out of her hands.

Numiera reeled, somehow regained her balance, and then suddenly threw herself at the pirate, sinking her teeth into his neck. The man screamed and tumbled from the rigging, landing on the deck below with a heavy crunch. As Gabrielle and Salvius watched, the dying pirate started seizing violently, a black stain spidering out across his face and neck.

As the other pirates heard the screams of the one getting his neck chewed off, the ones who weren't already engaged with British sailors turned towards Numiera's direction. They all looked reluctantly at the beast, and saw that it was going to be a real problem if not dealt with.

"Kill it!!!!" a few pirates yelled as they ran towards her, leaping into the rigging with their cutlasses in their hands. The sounds of yelling and feet pummeling the deck caught Numiera's attention. With blood dripping from inside her mouth and down her jawline, she looked up and gave a spine-chilling growl. Numiera stood up, crazed looking and thirsty for the blood of her enemies. Her teeth gritted together, before she let out a loud roar that temporarily drowned out everything else that was going on in the battlefield.

The next thing the pirates saw was her slumping over before she took a tremendous leap. She landed on top of the broken ruins of the mainmast. Unable to get to her, the pirates began to take out their flintlocks.

"Aye, put a few holes in the little bitch!!!!" one of the pirates yelled.

Before they were able to fire off their rounds, they began to realize that the air around them was getting colder, and they began to see something black moving below Numiera. As Numiera crouched on all fours atop the mast, a black substance was leaking slowly down across the splintered wood. As it hit the deck, the substance took a mind of its own and began to attack with glossy black spikes, impaling the pirates three rows back.

The pirates diverted their attention to the substance, shooting at it and attempting to cut it with their cutlasses, but the substance proved stronger. The spikes then began to proliferate and sprout more spikes. Below Numiera, metal was now being cut through as well as flesh. The roaring and shrieking continued as it saw the pirates being impaled.

It wasn't too much longer before the pirates began to run, scrambling back to their own ship, but by this time it was too late. The substance was proliferating to the point that the deck around the mainmast was beginning to resemble a forest, hung with bodies that had spikes shooting out of them in all directions. Blood was staining the substance as well as the deck below them, though no-one could even see down through; it was so thick.

Gabrielle, astonished by what he was sensing, said, "Salvius, don't go near her, no matter what you do."

Gabrielle was in shock and awe as he began to comprehend what was going on. The energies he felt were similar to those of Chaaru, but even darker. Thinking to himself, Gabrielle began to come up with answers.

I see, so it's a panic button. When in danger or threatened, something inside of her awakens and begins to take control, something primal, but also intelligent it seems.

He looked to the British, who were edging back and looking up uncertainly at their unexpected ally, and at Salvius, who was holding his spatha in a white-knuckle grip.

"It would be safer to let her run this episode through, Salvius." Gabrielle said quietly, making sure that the beast wasn't going to attack them. "Let's also try to get our allies not to stand in her way and prepare for a counter attack. This new friend of ours could be what we need in order to turn this around, so long as we don't provoke it."

Captain Chatfield appeared beside the two, a stream of blood running down from his hairline. It caked his left eyebrow and dripped down his cheek as he hand-signalled to his men, never taking his eyes off Numiera.

"Lieutenant, have a prize crew take command of the enemy ship. Marines, get those bastards below before they reanimate." He turned to Gabrielle and Salvius. "You'll go with lieutenant Baker. He'll use the battle as cover to see you down the coast. One, we've no longer got a mainmast, and you'll make better time. Two, I want that demon off my ship."

Minkasha
09-05-2014, 05:11 PM
Snowy Wastes - The Free South

Vardren and Cassandra made considerable progress to the grotto, considering their bodies could endure continuous travel. The moon and sun passing over their heads in sparring bouts. At times when Cassandra began to speak, Vardren had kept her quiet with the suggestion of another song to play for Hothian. Now Cassandra had composed a list: Rock You like a Hurricane, Back in Black, and Every Breath You Take. Of course Vardren had no idea what any of these performance pieces were, but the glazed look in her eyes and the silence were things he could appreciate.

The closer to the grotto they got, more scents came with it. More temptations than just the demi goddess existed, there were two others. They too smelled sweet, and worth investigation. It was clear they were not ordinary mortals.

ODIN'S GROTTO, THE FREE SOUTH

Out of snow they entered the grotto, the nuisance of the cold gone. Here in the night Vardren’s traveling case of dissection tools wasn’t the most subtle thing. A thing so obvious even Cassandra spoke up about it. Leaving it hidden under leaves and branches, they followed the nearest scent. The demigoddess would be around for a few more hours.

Vardren wanted to peek inside the other two first.


***

Night in the grotto was quiet, but not silent, rushing river water and insects always kept company. Oerin sat in an evergreen tree, watching Maxwell sleep near the river. Another night he watched over his master in the grotto. Each had been met with the same attitude from his master.

He was focused on how the moonlight was shining off his light skin. His thoughts wouldn’t leave their shared union, the conquest. There was something pulling in the way Max had pleaded for it in his submission. But it wasn’t with his words, Oerin’s stomach flipped nervously, no, it was with his face: the shades of red and pink in his cheeks and engorged lips.

A raven circled around the moon, the Demon resting his head back on the trunk of the tree with a dreamy look in his eyes. That was it, that face, that desirable face he felt pleasure from his master making. In slumber his master looked…sad, reflected in Oerin’s heart. For a moment he watched his raven companion flap its wings in the night sky. In the night Oerin’s mind finally found peace, the head mistress’ continuous summons ceased. Now his mind was only filled with his ravens and his master.

The raven gently spiraled down, a glide Oerin’s eyes followed until the bird landed in his open palm. The black bird was his sole friend. There seemed to be little more to give him comfort. Maybe this was how life was. Eyes back on Max, maybe this was how it was supposed to be. He kicked back and forth his leg that dangled off the thick branch, the raven cawed.

The grotto had become silent. His instincts felt a prick of suspicion, too silent. He looked around, a bush rustled. An upward push of his hand sent the raven flying to it and soon after there was a loud snap, his connection with the bird ceased.

Flying down to Max, he landed on his three pronged talon feet in a squat. Grabbing the sides of Max’s arms tenderly he tried to wake him. A groan later, Max’s peaceful face was a hateful glare, again.

“What?” He asked with spiteful suspicion.

“Danger, Max” Oerin whispered, Max finally stopped fighting the hold. Sitting up both boys looked at the large bush as the very danger revealed itself. It was in the form of two individuals.

One was a woman with snow white skin, two large pigtails of a gray shade, a beauty mark on her right cheek and an insane look held on her face accentuated by bright red eyes. Swirling in her hand was the strangest weapon, some sort of circular blade with jagged edges.

The man was a robed figure, the only visible skin of his arms and fingers looking a sickly green. On his hip were surgical tools and on his face a silver bird mask that glinted off the moonbeams. Two long metal chains dangled to Eternum’s surface from his right hand, the raven in the left. Together the duo infuriated Oerin, wings expanding out, he bared his teeth. His hands could feel Max shifting nervously.

“You guys smell so wonderful! I wonder what you taste like!?” The woman jumped in the air, bending her legs, fanged teeth shown in her unholy and delightful smile.

“Run” Oerin turned his head back to Max’s face, Max was confused, fearful. “Run!” The master quickly jumped to his feet and began running down the riverside. The duo was trying to chase but Oerin stood in the way. “You fight me” he growled.

“Nope!” The woman tried to run quickly past him. His reflexes were able to work fast, sending a shin into her face, crashing back onto the ground. “Oww!” Two lashes of searing sensation burned down his chest, and he grit his teeth in pain. Against the shine of his tanned athletic body, red started to drip.

“A most interesting face” The sickly intent of the voice molested Oerin’s mind, a perverse evil. Another lash of the chains grasped his arm and the red woman was already running off. Escaping the chains, Oerin in his bird form tried to chase her but the chains somehow slammed him straight to the ground. His smaller form took the blow much worse, disorienting him. His swirling vision could only watch her run after Max.

Turning back, he looked over his shoulder to glare at the man. He dropped the raven corpse.

“I have a fondness for birds” The chains were coming down again. Rolling to his side the avoided the attack, metal slapping earth. Lunging, his talon hand sought to strike him but the man was faster than anything he would have suspected. Midair, the chains whipped his back and he slammed to the ground, biting his tongue. The Demon yelped in pain.

Blood poured out his mouth and was spotting on his back. Oerin had no choice but to fight him, he wouldn’t be fast enough to run away. Adrenaline taking him, the raven Demon lunged forward again, away from the attacker and took into the air. The grass was becoming watered by small drops of Oerin's blood. Flight make his wounds suffer a cold sting.

Curving back, Oerin dived from the air to slash down the man’s face. The mask’s beak broke, spinning in the air until it crashed in the grass, his talons had scratched down the chest. Ripping away the robes and the sickly colored flesh brought out blood. The attacker never made a sound, unable to see the face behind the mask.

Charging at Oerin, the Demon blocked a jab, and grabbed the chains. The links scattered with his hooks violently breaking them. A punch landed at his cheekbone, another at the center of his chest. The raven Demon could not keep up with the punches, rapid flurry of sickly flesh struck him. His body was flailed around without his control, each contact leaving the heat of swelling. Sore muscles struggled to flex.

Raven claws acted out the young Demon's anger, cutting across the attacker's sickly mask. Metal and flesh scattered under the hooks. Spreading over the grotto landscape were shards of what once made the attacker so intimidating, how he was just a bloody, indistinguishable face.

Oerin thought he was gaining advantage, his wrists were pinned and slammed up on a tree. Plunging in his neck were the robed man's teeth. Screaming, he felt himself growing weaker, being sucked away. Laughter tickled his punctured skin. His wounded, bruising body shimmied but Oerin was this bloodsucker's prey. For once he felt the cold, his sight getting blurrier. Limbs evolved into lethargic bystanders to the conflict. Oerin's features grimaced.

The world of wood and bush started to rotate, spin, raven wings flapping with protest. His body felt the lips, the excess blood moving down the mold of the muscular chest, the greedy fingers crushing his wrists.

Swallowing them in darkness, the dark cloud of transformation appeared and disappeared again. The raven barrel rolled, losing control of himself at such fast speeds. Behind his attacker he changed back, stumbled and moved down into a crouch to lunge. Revenge was sweet, cracking bark with the collision between bloodied man and tree. Cut after cut, Oerin was becoming more and more desperate as time was wasted fighting this man and not protecting Max. Talon hands serrated and bounced the impossible to tell face, painting both with red.

A wild swing turned Oerin's world into light, his nose screamed and heat poured down his lips. Falling to the ground he saw the attacker trying to moved down to him, yet Oerin's heart protested. Gritting and hissing, the young Demon shoved his foot into the man's chest, his talons digging deep around the heart. Leaves rustled with the force, the Demon propped himself up, pushing with his hands above him. In this acrobatic position the other claw struck and found the face, two talons in the eyes and the other finding up through the roof of the mouth.

Warm liquid was coughed up over the feather's of Oerin's ankles, this was victory. Clenching his foot, talons grabbed the the heart and with a muscular yank it sprung out of the once masked man, life force sickeningly set free, the beating thing gushed up onto the talons and down Oerin’s leg.

Acrobatically the victor pulled his lower half of his body over himself and tossed the body and heart into the river. Finishing the handspring, he landed on hands and feet, glaring down the riverside where Max was running. Not wasting time, he took flight. Spitting up blood, he roared for his master. Every action came at the cost of exhaustion and delay, but that did not stop him.

“MAX!”

Blood and body were in the water, being washed away carelessly.


***

Fleeing, Max was charging ahead as fast as he could.

Giggling was on his heel. Looking behind, he could see the crazed woman was actually skipping merrily.

“You have a girl’s butt!” She laughed, keeping the pace she wanted after him. “It jiggles! Left-right-left-right-left-right” she continuously did this as the two continued their fatal game of cat and mouse, the cat focused on what she found to be a plump posterior.

Max’s sense of danger overrode his anger and embarrassment. Jolly death was chasing him. His mind screamed for help, but there was no one to save him this time. No mother to take care of everything, no older siblings to shield him, no Demons to appear from thin air and take him. It was just him and this insanity that relished over his ass.

Her irritating voice grated against his mind, scattering what thoughts he could have in this situation. Naked and objectified he sprinted forward, the river a long division in the grotto. He wanted to run into the trees but feared that she’d catch up to him faster, as it was, it looked like she was keeping herself slower on purpose.

A strike of lightning moved through him: he could fly! Panting for breath he forced his breathing and inhaled deeply. Empowering himself, black smoke spawned from his shoulder blades and his wings emerged. Spreading out, they began to flap, getting off the ground.

“Hey! That's not fair Big Butt!” She spun around and with a toss unleashed her blade ring. Cutting through his left wing the blade cut close to Max’s body and he flinched to the right in shock. The wings vanished and an invisible pain stuck his left shoulder blade. Falling back down and stumbling, he crashed into a tree and turned around to see her smiling at him.

He stared at her wide eyed, was this how he was going to die? By some strange red eye being in his own grandfather’s sacred land? Watching her with a racing heart, Max saw her pick up her blade. His ears were filled with loud thumping.

“Alright…” The blade spun around one of her circling arms “Blood time!” behind her a rustle of bushes and trees occurred without her noticing. The situation escalated as the largest brown bear he had ever seen came out.

The bear was nearly her height, three times the width. Finally she noticed it, and turned around to face it.

“Shoo” she told it, not sent into the state of panic Max was by its incredible size. Grabbing her blade she jabbed one of the jagged edges into the bear. But there was no cut, gently brushing with the brown fur. “Huh?” She tilted her head before the large mouth clasped around her right thigh and pulled.

Tearing her upper leg apart she screamed and fell onto her back. Her vision flashed with the back of her head slammed down.

“Bad bear! I said-” The light faded and heading down upon her was a paw larger than her face.

Max was fortunate to be nude, pissing all over the ground as the giant brown bear smashed the woman’s brains each way. The body went limp. Max’s knees were shaking. His body was layered with sweat. The brown bear walked over the dead woman and a large black cloud appeared.

Stepping out was a man of 6’8’’, a hulk of muscle even taller than his brother. The man’s round and intimidating blue/green eyes focused on him absolutely. His skin only a few shades darker, features wide apart but even.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it!” Max yelled up at him, feverish with despair. A large hand grasped around his pale neck. The man only continued to stare as Max choked, smaller hands clutching at his wrist.

“Master” The Demon’s low voice said coolly as Max passed out. As requested by the mistress, Xal scooped the boy over his great shoulder, returning him home.

Causally walking over the headless woman and down the river, Xal felt the presence of another Demon much like himself. Oerin dived down from the sky, battered and beaten, spitting more blood on the grass before him. His lips glistened red.

“Kin” Xal said threateningly, the raven was much younger and smaller than he expected.

“Kin” Oerin said, furious. Oerin jumped forward at him, flying with a hand behind ready to strike. Grasping raven-kin’s face he slammed the back of the Demon’s head against a tree and let the unconscious body violently crash to the ground. Raven-kin was squirmy. Xal was born with a dislike of small squirmy things. Hoisting Oerin over his other shoulder, he took both boys.

At the edge of the grotto Alya stood patiently, in hand were the plans drawn by Cassius and Syf. By the ground where the plans were hidden, provisions were left. Xal looked to swan-kin and she outreached her hand. They left in beautiful, flickering starlight.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Maxwell's Bedchambers

In Maxwell’s room Else watched Xal place her son on his bed, her heart full of ache. She saw bruise marks on the neck and glared at Xal’s poor handling. Oerin was dropped to the floor, blood on Xal’s back.

Alya gave Else the plans first and the Lady Jarl’s eyes honed on the swan Demon as she tended to her son’s neck. When the bruises finally faded away Else looked down at the plans. While she would have been more than pleased to let Syf, and, apparently a northerner, starve, Else was…desperate.

Scanning the plans she found them fruitful, eyes narrowed in on them, shifting back and forth from each. Alya had healed Oerin and Else commanded for all of them to leave, Oerin left unconscious in a corner slumped over. Alya and Xal magically left, now it was the Lady Jarl and her son.

Placing the plans on the end table she grabbed clothes from the tall and shapely wardrobe. Carrying them over to the bed she placed them down and began to pull the pants up past the ankles. Finally she cried over her missing son, grateful for his safe return. Buttoning up the sleepwear she pulled her boy to her chest and kissed his head.

Power kept her son safe.

Showering him with tears and kisses she finally pulled covers over him and lit the fire in the fireplace. At the doorway, plans in hand, she stared at her platinum haired boy before she looked over to Oerin and stepped out, gently closing the door behind her.

This family would not fall apart, she wouldn't allow it.

Setsa
09-05-2014, 06:42 PM
The meeting with Agrippa was, as to be expected, tense. To tell a Senator that his claims upon the mines and services to Afraigia were no longer needed. Was a pill of rough news to swallow no matter how one took it. But her and Jornak agreed upon these actions to further the kingdom.

Kingdom……

No longer just hers, but theirs, she shared it’s burdens and responsibilities with another now, the dwarf King. Having once again done what was felt to be best for her people. Just like she had always done even before her father’s death.



“One must always put the people first my lovely daughter, for we can only prosper with them..together.” The then only 12 year old Nesara, sitting beside her father in an Oasis would nod. The large, muscular man who seemed near godly in appearance would have cupped the side of his child’s cheek. “But always remember that your strength, and prayers are your own.”



“Always shall I remember ...father”.....



The Queen whispered as she leaned against the frame of the study that now held two grand desks. Arms folded together over her chest. Remembering the wisdom of the beloved past King. Alone in the room, the woman softly approached her desk...running a finger over the gold symbol of Horus, then of Ra that were carved and painted into the wood. This desk having been her father’s and father before him. Now it was hers since the day of his passing.

Knowing what had to be done, she would walk behind to sit down in her chair. Placing before her several pieces of papyrus paper, to grasp her ink quill. A pair of Desert Eagles resting comfortably on a large perch. Watching her….



To those known as Salvius and company…

First off do not fear for my safety, I am here in my capitol writing in full health and mind. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought the same goes for all of you as well. Though much has changed here for the kingdom. Dun Moriga has fallen by the orcs, as well as the dwarves’ King in battle. Council of the Elders and I was held as this was news that could have killed us all. For preservation and safety for those that remained...to give them hope…

I was wed to Jornak Iron-beard so that he could take up the throne. Dwarven laws had to be satisfied…

A tear dotted the paper just after that sentence… One that would be noticeable upon reading, showing the sorrow in this that no one knew was inside her.

Therefore both kingdoms are now one so that we could with the God’s blessings, survive.
Please know that I did this just to assure my people survive, the Emporer… Something isn’t right from the whispers that have reached here. Marcius is alive, he managed to get to Ech Zilidar with his troops. Though we only talked briefly while making way with the refuges to here. He seemed whole, take relief in that my dear friend… He’s alive as afterwards he remained back to keep Ech Zilidar protected and to see the rebuilding process begin.

Ever since news reached my ears of the escape of you and those I hope are still with you. With one here to assure Afragia stays safe, I seek to rejoin you and those that together made the company heading for Tartarus. The Gods are persistent in my dreams that this must be, and I am one who won’t ignore their requests.

A Pharoah Ahsha of the Egyptians and ones calling themselves the British are coming as I write to seek an audience with me. If you know anything of them please tell me. Alas I shall leave to reunite with all of you in a few days. Do write back urgently as to your location and what you have seen.

May our eyes meet in happiness soon…

Nesara



No formality in title was given, as this letter had nothing to do with it… She had known Salvius for years now since her coronation... Now he had became one friend that she knew could always be trusted. Marcius as well though she viewed him much like an older brother. Both were dear to her in different ways that only the men knew.

----------------------------------




Writing another letter to Marcius now explaining her reasons for agreeing to the marriage being strictly for her people’s survival. As the Orcs were sure to hit her capitol next if it wasn’t for what actions were taken that day or two. Even in that it was clear it wasn’t her personal choice… She had made sacrifice of herself for her people and nothing more.

Writing that she also sent a letter to Salvius and her intentions to meet with them to continue the journey to Tartarus. But the last paragraph held words that showed the true being that only they knew.

My brother….please I ask that you are not mad at me for what I have done. I pray you are still well as the tension in the air here is much like that before a great storm. If you find in your heart still the love for me… Know that I am in your debt for staying back to assure I and the dwarves escaped by means of the tunnels soundly. My trust and kingdom is yours if ever you are in need...no matter what Jornak says. I know the Elders would hold true to what I say here and give you little qualms if any. Keep strong, keep in touch with me...please.

Stay Strong, Sound, and Safe my Brother…

Nesara



Both letters holding endings that only they have spoken to each other in past times. Such ways to assure no question of who she was would be thought. The Queen folded both letters with a spare sheet, sealed by her ring and tied securely to the leg case upon a Desert Eagle each. She’d kiss one’s head, then the others. Whispering whom they were to fly to before returning to wherever she was.

Opening the window would both wait for her to step aside before they each took flight out to deliver as asked of by their mistress… She watched until they were far from sight before turning around and left the study. Making way to the temple of Ra having asked four most trusted guards to come with. They'd make way to the lone building that being so late in the night. Was empty as expected, the guards posting at the entrance to assure she wasn't disturbed and no one entered, even the King.

Having covered her head with a white sheer veil since she left the study. Nesara would soon approach the alter, bowing before coming up the few steps to kneel before the alter itself. The doors closed it was only her illuminated by the torch light that kept the temple warm. Removing the veil back to rest against her hair and over her shoulders. Would her blue eyes looking down to the floor before the large statue of Ra that stood behind the alter. Statues of other gods standing to either side of Ra with Horus being to his right.

Hands resting palms down upon her lap would she finally speak to break the silence.



"I have done everything I could for my people. Even marrying a dwarf so he could become King for his own people who needed one for their lives. But I am here still pure. As the Queen of Afragia, Daughter of Tankroun ...of Horus... Asking for the God's guidance and blessings as I give myself here tonight to your wisdom..."

Looking up would then her blue eyes shine.

"I am ready...to stand as the daughter of Horus.."



A secret kept to herself that she vowed never to speak of until the time was right.

Aureyon
09-06-2014, 12:41 AM
Tu Zenita Duskal

Jornak had long since left the palace and was traversing the streets of the Afragian capital, slightly aware of the bows and stares he received as he made his way towards the dwarf refugee’s camp. His proud features stood out among the faces of sorrow and grief, both Afragian and Dwarf alike. It was the moments like these that Jornak was truly thankful for the closeness of their peoples, because he was sure that they would not have welcomed his people had their relations been different than they currently were.

His proud look was maintained until he reached the dwarf camp, and he truly saw the impact that the battle had bestowed on his people; there were cries of mourning as many wives were still being informed that their husbands did not make it to Tu Zenita Duskal. The cries were murder on one’s soul, their very cries resounding off the halls of their Ancestors, a cry of both prayer and grief. It brought tears to the dwarf kings eyes. It was not just a loss of meaningless lives, it was the end of many bloodlines, and a culture that had thrived for generations. They had lost everything, and now they were nothing more than nomads - a people with no home.

“My King” an elderly dwarf woman called out to him as she made her way towards him, hobbling along slowly. Jornak paused and met the gaze of the woman, his eyes softening in compassion and his arms reaching out to aid her in her movements. “M’lady.” he replied.

“It is good that you are well. Davekrir would be smiling if he were here to see this day. You were his best friend, and there were not many days that he did not speak of your, gloat upon you, honor you.” her words seemed to hold a hint of knowing in them that sent a chill down his spine. But, as he looked in her eyes, he saw that she meant no ill will, only to talk.

“I’d like to think he is proud of my actions, Lady Stonehammer.” he stated softly, his voice fading at the statement of the woman’s family name. She was the mother of Davekrir, and Jornak knew her well from the stories that his late lover had told of her. She was a woman of pride and prestige; her influence was strong and her words were lined with gold, in that everyone listened to them.

“Aye. I think he is. You’ve done much for those of us who remain, and now I hear tales of you and the Lady Nesara declaring the east a sovereign nation?” She inquired slyly, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

“Your informants have told you correctly, my lady. It is time to rid our lands of Imperial influence once and for all.” His eyes flashed in defiance and hatred, and just as quickly returned to a fairly neutral gaze.

“Very good. That was a brave move on your part, and a dangerous one. The empire will surely send its assassins after you now. Do be careful.” she stated simply, before turning and hobbling off once again, leaving him to his thoughts.

Jornak eyed her until she disappeared among the hundreds of dwarf women and children that sat around a large camp fire that burned brightly; Items of importance being thrown into the fire- an offering to Vulcan.

Shaking his head, he turned away and continued on his original objective, searching for a specific dwarf; a master of intrigue and other special services. And, it wasn’t very long before he found the dwarf that he was searching for, internally glad to see that he was till alive. This would make things far easier in the long run.

“Master Freayfir.” Jornak greeted the shrouded dwarf with a neutral tone, careful to hide any and all emotions that he may have within him at the present moment. This dwarf was particularly intuitive and could detect even the slightest hint of emotion in words, and would use that to his advantage without hesitation.

“Ah, if it isn’t the mighty Jornak. What warrants the appearance of our noble king?” his words rolled across the skin like an itch that could not be scratched. He was mocking Jornak, but he couldn’t give in to the mockery, he wouldn’t.

“Yes, and the business is private, not to be spoken of in public where many ears are listening.” his voice was low and held the promise of interest to the shady dwarf.

“Very well, you may enter my humble abode.” the dwarf returned and swept back a tent flap, revealing a rather lavish interior filled with many things of value - much of it belonging to the natives of the city. Jornak chose to overlook this, and continued towards a mahogany table in the center of the tent.

If one looked closely enough, they would see shadows within the shadows; members of the criminal ring that this dwarf ran; everyone knew he was the head of the ring, but no one could ever manage to lay a finger on him - partly out of fear, but mostly because he had many agents and many connections high up in the political world.

“What did you wish to speak of that was so private?” the shady dwarf inquired simply. His tone losing all hints of mockery it once held, being replaced by seriousness and frankness.

“The Imperials may be problematic in my plans.” Jornak replied as equally frank as he was addressed; at his words, the dwarf across from him raised his eyebrow and let an evil smirk cross his face.

“Ah, so this is a contract visit.” the dwarf’s voice was filled with a malicious undertone that matched the glint of death that filled his eyes. Jornak only nodded before speaking again, “Partially, yes.”

“I require your services if my plan fails, and if the Imperials get in the way of my plans.” Jornak held no hint of joke in his voice as he stated his objective. “If they get in my way, I want you and your associates to kill them discreetly. You will be payed handsomely in terms of partial immunity against our laws.” His words were met with a chatter from the shadows at his method of payment, but they were quickly silenced by the raising of a hand.

“How partial is this immunity?” Freayfir questioned.

“You will be granted pardons if you are caught stealing, recruiting, or fencing items for others.” Jornak said as his eyes hardened into the color of emerald gems. There would be no room for objection, and it was clear that the terms would not be negotiable.

“Very well.” the shady dwarf spoke after a lengthy silence, “We will remain within your shadow, so that we are ready to strike when and if we are needed.” He stood and shook Jornak’s hand before leaving the tent. It was meant that it was time for Jornak to leave, the deal was struck and the terms had been set.

Now the game began.

Azazeal849
09-19-2014, 11:46 PM
(OOC - orange text is DoK's, gold text is Mink's - thanks guys!)

HERCINIA, HERCINE

Haggard and shiny-skinned, tribune Castus stared at the stack of wax tablets on his desk for a moment longer, and then in a fit of frustration swept them all onto the floor with a vicious strike of his arm. As the wooden tablets clattered against the tiles of the governor's villa, Castus dropped his head and squeezed the heels of his hands into his eyeballs until he saw coloured blobs dancing against the black of his screwed-shut eyelids.

He dropped his hands back onto the table with a thud, and reached for the wine cup that he had already drained twice. After emptying it for the third time, he looked at the cloak pin that sat next to the carafe. He massaged the pin between thumb and forefinger, rubbing the imperial eagle and the sword - the emblem of his 5th Hercinia legion - that it held in its claws. He was the highest ranking officer left in the 5th, but instead of leading men in battle he was here, saddled with the post of acting governor. As a soldier he was used to giving orders and those orders being obeyed. He was utterly unprepared for the snake-pit of conflicting interests that made up the Hercinian merchant clans and banking cartels. Order needed to be restored. The city of Hercinia needed to be rebuilt. Trade between Namor and Hercine had to flow once again. These all seemed like perfectly practical and surmountable problems to Castus, but running a city was far different from running a legion - especially when that city was a melting pot of arrogant cat-men, fearful humans and restive crocolykes.

Castus had taxed the merchant clans, to pay for the rebuilding of Hercinia's walls and the rehousing of its displaced. It was the obvious solution, but the cat-men in the merchant clans had resented it bitterly, and their crocolyke slaves, charged with the labour, had been worse. Hercine's crocolyke population had never been docile, not since a number of them had rebelled and escaped into the swamps of Zamibia. Resisting all attempts to drive them out, the Zamibian crocolykes had been both a thorn in the side of the imperium and a disruptive beacon of hope to their brothers still under the yoke. Ever since the second battle of Hercinia, where a Zamibian army had appeared and helped defeat the Greeks, their orange-skinned leader had fanned that hope into a fire. The name of Zhnegra was now a rallying call for crocolykes secretly whispering of freedom. General Marcius had had the sense to offer the Zamibians something to pacify them, but the Hercinian cat-men had flatly refused to follow suit, and as a result the unrest among the slaves had swelled to a simmering discontent.

Castus was caught between a rock and a hard place - he couldn't pacify the crocolykes without alienating the cat-men, and it was the cat-men who ran most of Hercine's bureaucracy and drove most of its trade. As it was, he had had to recall more and more legionaries to peacekeeping duty in Hercinia itself. The effect on his men's morale was corrosive, and it was a tie-up of resources that he couldn't afford. Bled white by the Greek invasion, the remnants of the Hercinia and Rapax legions were spread thin across the province, forced to focus on strategic towns like Vigilatum and Constantinium. The few Fulminata men that general Marcius had deigned to leave Castus were nothing like enough to redress the balance. The smaller villages might have only a dozen legionaries each to defend them, and along the unguarded highways, bandits reigned supreme.

Seeking greater security, many people were abandoning their homes for the safety of Hercinia's walls. Many of them brought slaves with them, and they were bringing the number of discontented crocolykes in the city towards a dangerous critical mass. Getting the refugees out of Hercinia city, and back into the fields, had seemed to Castus like the quickest and simplest way to restore normality. But to do that they needed to get rid of the bandits, who had boiled up like maggots in the instability following the Greek invasion, and were now extorting tribute from every trade caravan that didn't travel with a significant escort. The sea lanes remained open, which was one of a precious few mercies, but the overland flow of goods between Namor and Hercine had collapsed. Silver, oil and timber from the islands piled up in the warehouses of Hercinian merchants who didn't own their own ships, and they called foul on Castus for disadvantaging them compared to the merchants who did. To the governor's utter consternation, the sea traders had closed ranks with their brethren, threatening to halt their own exports unless their brothers' interests were defended. Damn these cat-men and their protectionist clans!

As a consequence, Castus' few remaining legionaries were forced into the ridiculous situation of providing escort for the trade caravans, instead of actively hunting down the bandits. Meanwhile, the highly visible backlog of precious goods piling up outside the trader establishments had only further incensed the crocolykes, and plenty of the plebeian class besides.

Peacekeepers, escorts, bandit-hunters...the answer to all of Castus' problems was more men, but the emperor had flatly refused his repeated pleas to dispatch the 3rd legion. Damn the old, fat fool, Castus thought. Damn him, damn the cat-men, damn the crocolykes, and most of all damn Decius Marcius. He defeats the Greeks and marches home a bloody war hero, and leaves me to pick up the pieces.

"Governor Castus." a voice interrupted, shattering his train of thought like a bullet through an ice sculpture. Castus looked up, and saw a man in a worn travelling cloak standing in the doorway of his tablinum, backlit by the torches that hung from the walls outside. The man was breathing heavily, as if from exertion, or anticipation.

"Who are you?" Castus demanded, springing to his feet so fast that he knocked over the cushioned oak chair he had been sitting in. "How did you get in here?"

With a flick of his wrist, the stranger threw his cloak over his right shoulder, exposing the sun-embossed breastplate and enamelled sword belt of the emperor's praetorian guard.

"Ah." Castus grunted resignedly. It was too much to hope for that the messenger was here with any good news. More likely Mighty Galen demanded a status report, wondering why Castus hadn't yet performed miracles with his decimated garrison legions. He extended his arm in a half-hearted salute.

"Ave imperator." he said grimly, "What does his majesty ask of me that can't wait until morning?"

The praetorian didn't answer. Instead, he squinted down at the tablets littering Castus' floor. When he looked up, he was grinning crookedly. He began to cross the hall at a brisk stride. Castus' instincts made him take a step backwards, but he didn't think to shout for his guards until he saw the blade appear in the praetorian's hand. It was the long, hooked talon of some Zamibian predator-beast, as long as a dagger and almost as thick. It was bound to a wooden handle by simple twine; a typical crocolyke weapon.

Castus reacted in time to grab the praetorian's arm, but he wasn't able to stop the man from driving the blade up into his gut. His eyes bulged, and the breath that he had been drawing to shout left him in an explosive gasp.

"The emperor asks for order." the praetorian snarled breathily. He ripped the dagger free and then stabbed it in again, causing the governor to vomit blood. "He asks for obedience." He pulled out the claw blade a second time and hooked it down into Castus' shoulder, driving him to his knees. "He expects all Hercinians to respect imperial authority."

He grabbed Castus by the hair and threw him to the floor, knocking over the table and sending the carafe and wine cup bowling across the tiles in pieces.

"And, because you have failed to deliver all of these things, he asks for your death."

The killer dropped down beside Castus, put a knee on his chest and seized his throat with hooked fingers. Castus heard a roaring in his ears and felt the veins in his temples bulging as the grip choked off the blood flow to his brain. He could feel blood soaking through the expensive blue cloth of his toga, running down to pool in the mosaic tiles beneath him. His whole right arm was dead, the nerves in his shoulder severed by the third strike. With his left, he clawed at the praetorian's wrist in an instinctive, futile effort to break the hold on his throat.

"But," the praetorian rasped, grinning manically as he lowered his head, until Castus could feel the man's hot, shuddering breaths on his face. "I have no intention of giving the emperor what he wants."

He waved the red-stained crocolyke dagger back and forth, almost playfully. Then it flashed down, and Castus felt a heavy jolt as it drove between his ribs and into his heart. The first sensation was shock, followed by white, paralysing agony. For a brief moment he thought he felt a pushing and sucking as his heart tried to continue beating against the blade that had impaled it, but then it stopped, and he knew he was dead. The pain began to fade, along with his vision - closing down until the praetorian's rictus grin was all he could see, hanging above him.

"Only one man can claim the horned mistress," he heard the praetorian whisper. "And that man will be me."

The praetorian was long gone by the time the guards burst in, and saw the long Crocolyke knife buried in Castus' body.


* * * * * *

EMOR

Seppia felt nervous snakes coiling around her stomach as she looked on at the assembled guests. She had done her best to lay a banquet worthy of the gathering, paying well beyond reasonable prices to scrape together luxuries that were becoming rare in war-wracked Emor. There were stuffed dormice; cucumber salads dressed with sweet and sour glazes; honey glazed fruit and nuts; baked fish and spiced pork; all laid out on an open square of long tables surrounded on three sides by satin-draped couches. Slaves - both Seppia's own and a few she had been forced to hire for the occasion - hurried back and forth and struggled to keep the many cups topped up with the best wine that Seppia had been able to get her hands on. The assembled nobles seemed happy enough, but the banquet was just the setting; she had to win them over, and good food or not, no-one else was going to help her do it.

Lycinia had always been the confident speaker, but Lycinia was dead. Julia, energetic and idealistic, had fled the capital with the rebel legions. Seppia couldn't blame her - being the wife of a senior deserter put her in grave danger, and the memories of the crosses up on the cliffs outside Emor were still seared into Seppia's mind. All the same, Seppia wished Julia was here with her now - even if her presence in the rebel camp was one of the few things that made her plan tenable. Of Seppia's close friends, only Servilia remained in the city, and the way the austere older woman cocked her eyebrow at Seppia when their eyes met across the triclinium made it clear that she was as wary about Seppia's plan as the rest of the nobles. Galius and Aulia Marcius, the latter originally an Octavia and Seppia's aunt in law - she thought she could count on them. Quintus Caelestus too, Lycinia's elder brother, a well-known critic of poorly planned military actions. But what about the others? Seppia had no relatives in Emor, save a sickly father who spent most of his time mistaking his slaves for friends who had died years ago.

Even Gaius was gone - and for several days now. Perhaps he believed that finding Lycinia's real murderers would quell some of the unrest in Emor, but that seemed so short sighted after recent events that Seppia cursed him and worried for him in equal measure. Every time Titus asked when his father was coming home was a knife between her ribs. But the fact remained, he was not here now. Seppia stood alone. At that moment, a selfish part of her mind wanted her son beside her to stiffen her resolve, but it would be so unfair to drag young Titus away from his studies and into this potentially treasonous mess that she dismissed it almost instantly.

Seppia took a deep breath, and stepped into the centre of the open square formed by the tables and couches, waving aside her house slaves. She coughed into her hand, which achieved little, but Servilia came to her rescue by tapping her knife against her wine goblet to draw attention. As the nobles looked up from their private conversations, a hush falling as they looked towards Servilia and then at Seppia, Seppia felt the snakes in her stomach writhe harder. This was worse than speaking to the senate floor, even though that had been to the emperor himself. Then, her request had been considered impudent. The one she was about to make now might be considered treason. No matter how careful she had been to exclude the more hawkish or staunchly loyal nobles from her guest list, that risk remained. Any of the nobles present who had taken a good look at their fellow attendees might well have guessed her purpose already.

"Thank you all for coming." she said nervously. "After the emperor tried to arrest the senate, I appreciate the risk."

"And yet, you called us here." said a grey-haired patrician, chewing slowly on his spiced pork.

"And yet, here you are." Servilia countered from the other side of the table, narrowing her eyes at the man.

Seppia swallowed as the patrician fell silent. "This can't go on." she said earnestly. "Hercine and Dun Moriga slipping away, and now a gift from the earthborn that no-one's allowed to talk about, but that caused half of the emperor's personal guard to disappear and the emperor himself to move to his villa in the north district."

There were mutters around the table. No-one in Emor knew whether the pillar of light that now shone above the emperor's palace was a sign of providence or damnation, but few were comforted by it.

"We can't afford to fight each other as well." Seppia went on. "The emperor's wish to hunt down the rebel legions isn't tenable."

"The emperor is Mars' chosen, Seppia Octavi." a stately old woman cautioned from the corner of the table.

"And he's wrong." Seppia urged in return. She stopped to swallow again, her own words causing her throat to run dry. Flexing her fingers to make sure they wouldn't shake, she pulled a scroll from the belt hidden under the folds of her dress. "The emperor is our leader, but we still have influence, and we have to use it if he's doing more harm than good to his own imperium."

There were shocked murmurs around the table at that, but Seppia pressed on and unfolded the letter. There was no point in holding back now.

"I've penned this letter to Julia Agrippi. She's a friend and, more importantly, she's the wife of the 2nd legion's commander. It says that I am willing to negotiate a deal with the rebel senate. By itself it's not worth much - but with all your signatures at the bottom it might be enough to make peace before there's any more bloodshed."

"An...amnesty?" said a voice, and Seppia turned to see that it was Servilia's. "For traitors?"

Seppia hadn't revealed her whole plan, even to Servilia. That her closest friend at the gathering seemed openly shocked by it made her heart sink. If her closest ally thought her idea too extreme...Oh gods, what have I done?

"No." she argued desperately, her eyes pleading at her friend. "Not for traitors. For our children. A civil war now will break the entire imperium."

"And if we go against his wishes," warned the grey-haired man who Servilia had previously silenced. "The emperor could break us."

"If we stood together..." said a shrewd, elegant woman with her hair coiled into an elaborate beehive. "The emperor couldn't challenge us all."

"He has an army." the first patrician countered. "He can challenge whoever he wants."

"We can't make peace with the rebels without deposing the emperor." said another. "That's treason!"

As the protests and objections mounted, Seppia felt like crying; the snakes in her stomach eating her from the inside out with fear. If they disagreed...if even one of them told the emperor what she had done...her life...her son's life...

"Seppia is right." said a deep voice from the top of the table, and Seppia turned to see Galius Marcius coming to her rescue. As the father of a war hero and his equally heroic wife, now martyred, his words carried weight. She dared to let herself hope once again as her uncle-in-law went on. "My son and daughter fought to hold this empire together, and made enemies into allies to make it happen. Now my daughter is dead, and my son is still fighting in the east. We can't fail them."

Galius Marcius fixed Seppia with his dark eyes, the ones he shared with his son, and gave Seppia the smallest of nods.

"I don't know if the stress of this war has finally broken our emperor." Quintus Caelestus spoke up. "But he's no longer the leader we once looked up to. He's acting paranoid; even psychotic. If we don't remove him, he'll bring our whole city down with him." He followed Galius Marcius in offering Seppia a nod. "I'll sign your letter, cousin. For Lycinia's sake."

"I agree that this civil war must be ended, and soon." said the grey-haired patrician. "But the emperor will never let us do this."

"No." Servilia agreed slowly. "He won't."

Seppia looked back at her friend, and saw that her expression was stony. What is she thinking?

"So what are you all suggesting?" asked the patrician, looking around. "That we make a deal with the senate and depose the emperor?"

Servilia turned to meet Seppia's eye, and they held each others' gaze for a long moment. At last, Servilia sighed. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to Seppia. Thank you.

"If that's what we have to do." Seppia's friend said grimly.


* * * * * *

ODINSEN CASTLE, BRANJASKR

Gaius worked through the night to the following morning to complete the wards. It had taken him several days, but he had finally completed the anti-demonic shielding, and even now his highly attuned magical sense could feel the walls of the castle humming with power. He checked himself - 'complete' was not quite accurate. He had left one small gap in the portal, at the castle's northern gate. He needed Else's demons to retain their ability to teleport in and out of the castle for one last mission. He needed to see his wife and son.

For now, though, he needed nothing but rest. Staggering back to his chamber, he flopped onto the bed of furs. They smelled of must, and of the bear fat that the Southerners soaped themselves with instead of good Namorian olive oil, but he didn't care. He was bone tired, but he was almost reluctant to sleep. His head was full of thoughts of Seppia and Titus, and of the instability back in Emor that put them both in danger. I have to get back to them. Make sure they are alright before I deal with these Avengers once and for all. I have to get back to them. The words went round and round in his head as the stone walls around him began to blur, and despite the rising sun outside, he was soon spiralling down into unconsciousness.

When he did sleep, he dreamed of them. They were separated by a swirling black void, but he could see them as clearly as if they were standing face to face. Young Titus stood with his curly hair ruffling in the breeze, his mother's hands resting on his shoulders. Seppia herself was smiling; the shy, slightly gap-toothed smile that he had fallen in love with. It was a smile that had been rare in the last few weeks, and Gaius knew that that was at least partially his fault.

He wanted to cross the void and take his wife and son in his arms, but even as he looked around for a way, three figures detached themselves from the shadows behind Lycinia and Titus. One was a savage giant; blonde, bearded and broken-nosed. The second was tall and serpentine, shrouded in rippling silks. The third was a flame-haired woman with eyes as cold and hard as emeralds. Each of Korzan's Avengers held a dagger in their hand.

The dream stole Gaius' voice, and all the strength from his limbs. He could only watch as the serpentine man and the wild woman seized his wife and son. The blonde giant laughed as they drew their knives across his family's throats. Seppia dropped to her knees almost gracefully, her gaze fixed and resentful as she stared right through Gaius.

"Where the fuck were you?" she accused him, her voice thick from the blood bubbling at her lips.

Gaius opened his mouth to protest, to plead, but even as he did so the scene faded away, melting and shredding like an early morning mist.

"Gaius." A soft, tranquil voice spoke within the mind of the man, the sound echoing across the man's soul and rippling through his body like a coastal wave.

"Gaius."

The name came louder this time, as if echoing towards him through the abyss of his dreams. As the scene ahead of him faded, a new scene grew in its place - like a weed after quelling the growth of a sick flower. Gaius looked upon bright blue lava, stinking of sulphur and fell energy, whilst below him sat dark black volcanic rock - a dagger of rock jutting out over a cliff. At the end of the dagger of rock stood Lycinia, skin ghostly white and eyes faded with marks of fatigue - over her body sat a ghostly white robe that flickered as if with the breeze, though there was none that Gaius could feel.

"Gaius..."

"Cousin?" Gaius breathed, finding his voice returned to him at last. "I'm trying to find them! I swear to the gods I'm trying!"

"Let me help you Gaius..." the spirit spoke, smiling slightly - a smile that Gaius was mournfully familiar with. "If you will help me..."

Lycinia drifted towards Gaius, robes floating and stroking at the ground as he realised she was seemingly levitating over the volcanic stone. The sound of bubbling blue magma was the only other sound that interrupted the tranquil nature of the moment; leaving Gaius to feel as if this was more real than it seemed. It felt almost like one of his scrying visions, although his dreaming mind was slow to make the connection.

"How are you here?" Gaius asked blearily of his cousin's ghost. "How am I talking to you?"

"It is Odin's will - he rescued me from the darkness of Hades' hold and brought me here so that you could save his grandchildren, Gaius - and also so that you could save Decius and end those who brought so much harm to him. Only you can do this - it is the Gods' will..."

The ghost whispered, words bounding from the stone, but not physical; instead they seemed to manifest simply from within Gaius' mind.

"Odin?" Gaius asked. Odin was no Northern god, but after the other allies Gaius had made, it scarcely seemed to matter. Lycinia understood; he knew she did. Save Decius...the Gods' will...

Running the words through his head a second time caused something to finally click. His magic sense was now tingling insistently - strong enough to cut through his sleep-fogged mind.

This isn't a dream any more. he realised.

"You have been fooled, by the Succubus Mistress Zahneri." Lycinia finally stopped gravitating towards Gaius, revealing her eyes to be completely white - shocking Gaius slightly. "She teleports to deliver information to the Lord of the Underworld. Finish your wards - negate those within the castle from doing this. When you wake, you will find a scroll that shall teleport you to Emor, and prevent others from following you...but first you must save Odin's grandchildren. Do this for me Gaius, and he has promised to show you where my killers are...."

"A scroll..." Gauis repeated dumbly. Around the apparition of his dead cousin, the blue lava bubbled and spat.

Blue lava. something at the back of Gaius' mind said; indistinct, like an echo of the dream he had just left. Something Lycinia had said; the lord of the underworld...blue lava. It slipped away again almost as soon as he had registered it, as if a part of his own mind was deliberately trying to suppress it. Blue lava. He could hear a high-pitched ringing at the edge of his hearing...what did that mean? He couldn't remember...

"How?" he asked automatically, his mind suddenly clear once more. "How do I save Odin's grandchildren?"

"You must take yourself...to the oldest Odinsen...and the baby Odinsen." Lycinia's face did not change from her agape, white eyed look - her mouth never moving as her voice echoed from her being. "From this world I shall cast a charm to protect the Odinsen family from what is to come - the army in the South is not a Demonic army, but rather an army of Hades and Set, deployed against the living and the Demonic alike."

Demonic...lord of the underworld...blue lava. The twelfth realm of Tartarus. Kronos. In Gaius' waking mind, the name should have instilled a jolt of fear. But here in this dream-not-a-dream it slipped through his brain like water, struggling to leave a meaningful impression.

"The baby Odinsen?" Gaius asked. His line of thought was suddenly much clearer. Odin's will...to save his grandchildren. Korzan...king of the South - enemy of the imperium - demi-god son of Odin. "The lady jarl has children?"

Perhaps he and Else were more uncomfortably alike than he had known. Perhaps the Southern queen struck pacts with demons not just for her murdered husband and her kingdom, but for her family.

"Yes. Six. The oldest is Johann. The youngest is Nea. But beware. She is guarded by the demon you know as Alya. And there are others within the castle - Zahneri...Oerin...and one you haven't seen - Xal."

Gaius hesitated. "Where can I find them?" he asked the apparition. "What's the best way past the demons?"

"You will know where to find them when you wake from this slumber, Gaius my dear cousin..." the spirit of Lycinia spoke. "Your best way past is to keep them from knowing..."

Keep you from knowing! Blue lava! Tartarus! Kronos!

"The queen?" Gaius asked. In spite of his mistrust for the Southern leader, he did not hate her enough to wish the betrayal of demons upon her. "Shouldn't I tell her about Zahneri?"

"The queen cannot be trusted. She is as corrupt as the demons that plot against her. She will never let you go home to Emor and your family - ask her." The ghost flickered slightly, before reaching out her hand and guiding it across her cousin's jawline. "She cannot be redeemed, but her children can. When the debt is paid, I shall shower you with happiness from within Paradise - go, Gaius...go."

Kronos! the smothered voice in Gaius' subconscious screamed. But just as the name finally began to find purchase in his drifting mind, Gaius felt as if he was falling backwards, tugged away by invisible ropes. A moment later he jerked awake in his box room. The sunlight filtering through the shuttered window, and the hammering and shouting outside told him that it was the middle of the day.

"Lycinia!" he gasped, vomiting up the name as he stumbled out of his bed and saw that part of his dream had come true. A scroll lay next to his bed - not Southern hide but fine Namorian vellum, tied with black string. He fumbled with the tie and eventually succeeded in ripping it off, unravelling the scroll to read the words within.

The scroll eventually unfurled, revealing the calf-skin interior dotted with small intricate runes and inscriptions. The spell itself was complicated to understand, though seemingly easy to cast and involved a very powerful gravity well placement in order to stop teleportation through portals and other means. The other spell seemed to hold a set of co-ordinates - seemingly leading to Emor. The runes themselves were beautifully written, slick and easy to understand yet elegant and beautiful - dancing across the vellum parchment like small people on a ballroom floor. As Gaius stared at them, they almost seem to swirl and move; rippling like...

Blue lava.

Gaius stumbled back and fell into the tangle of fur blankets that he had just risen from. He clutched at himself - face, neck, chest - searching for physical signs of corruption. Finding none, he collapsed onto the bed, his hands shaking. Even he, a mage trained for years to recognise and resist the demonic, had nearly succumbed. What had saved him? What had protected him?

Odin...Lycinia? No, she couldn't be there - not in the 12th hell of Tartarus, impossible, impossible...

...but...the only other possibility was that he had attracted the attention of one of them. Mars have mercy!

And yet...and yet he was unharmed. Gods or demons, they wanted him for their purpose.

Their purpose... Gaius stopped. What of his purpose? Rising to his feet furiously, he balled his fists.

They all presume to fuck me - Zahneri, Else, Odin, Kronos... I am a magus of the Namorian guild! My family's lives are on the line. My dead cousin still cries for justice. I've sacrificed everything to get this far and I will not, not, be fucked!

Gaius seized the scroll once more, and began feverishly to commit the incantations to memory. It would be the ultimate gamble, with only two possible outcomes: victory or damnation. At that thought, Gaius began to laugh aloud. For one already half damned, where was the risk?

Reading the the scroll one last time to make sure that the exact words were burned into his mind, he focused a brief surge of magic through his hand and sent flames welling up around the vellum. It caught, shrivelled, and disintegrated to ash.

Gaius strode out of the bedchamber and headed for the castle walls, letting the ash crumble to the floor in his wake.


* * * * * *

Night had fallen again by the time Else summoned him. In the sky above the castle the moon was a hard, frozen pearl, but it was invisible from Else's bedchamber. Sometime since Gaius' last visit, the window had been smashed and then awkwardly boarded up. Other than that oddity, however, all seemed normal. The fire crackled in the arched hearth, sending orange shadows dancing across the walls. As always the lady jarl's bedchamber was warm and inviting, but the location still felt vaguely alien to Gaius - more so now, with the unexplained damage and the dream weighing on his mind.

As Alya quietly laid plates of venison in front of himself and Else, he regarded the high queen; his empire's mortal enemy, his ally in mutual desperation. This enemy who was always draped in noble dress and jewelry that betrayed the title of barbarian. Her noble persona was cracked; her eyes looking away, somewhere beyond their current meeting.

"You look preoccupied." Gaius observed, leaving Alya to translate. Else looked up at Alya, and then back to Gaius himself.

"Yes, having an entire nation to protect from an impending Demon army does pull on the mind." The Lady Jarl began cutting her food.

"So much that you smashed your bedchamber?" Gaius said, his eyes flicking towards the conspicuously boarded-up window.

Else denied him the satisfaction of an answer - the door that Max had smashed in had been quickly replaced by one from elsewhere in the castle, but the other fallout of his short-lived rampage was still evident.

"Are the wards in place?" she asked instead.

"Yes." Gaius nodded. "Apart from a small portal remaining over the northern gate."

"Why?"

Gaius put down his knife. "Before I seal the castle entirely, I would ask that you send me back to Emor so I can see my family."

There was a long pause as the royal slowly chewed a hunter's felled, and prepared prey.

"And leave Branjaskr exposed?" Silverware gently landed next to the plate. "No."

Gaius paused in his chewing, just for a second. She will not let you leave. Ask her. He resumed, swallowed. "Hardly exposed. One night isn't much to ask, considering the services I've already rendered you."

The Lady Jarl held down her position of power with a shake of her head.

"The army of the purple portal is fast approaching, and can strike at any time now." While the Southern Queen spoke, a frown formed on Alya's lips; a reaction that did not escape Gaius' notice, but one that he decided not to draw attention to as the swan-demon translated.

"I can place the final seal from outside," Gaius offered, "If you send Alya here with me. Outside the castle, she will be free to teleport and return without hindrance."

"And she would be unable to enter the castle." the Lady Jarl's brows furrowed, "And that is unacceptable."

"I see." the Namorian mage said, pulling another small chunk of meat off his knife and chewing slowly. "Alright then. The ravens you sent out - have they found any conspicuous absences from your villages? Do you have their names, like I asked you for?"

"Only the Coldbloods now are outside the gates, they are still searching." Alya looked over to her mistress, speaking with worry and confusion before finally she laid her eyes on Gaius with something akin to pity. "There will be no names to provide-"

Gaius, having already caught the look, cut her off with a fierce slice of his hand.

"Why," he growled, his eyes narrowing at Else. "Does this deal seem more and more like you're making promises to the air? Like you're pissing on my reasonable offers and giving up nothing in return?"

Else had placed her hands upon her lap, tense fists out of sight.

"I promised to give you aid. I am. If the search's results are not to your liking, you may go explore the Southern Wastes to your liking." The ruler stood abruptly, leaving much of her meal untouched.

"No." Gaius spat as Alya nervously finished translating. "If the search results are not to my liking, I can undo the wards that are giving you a fighting chance against the invaders. Consider yourself fortunate that I understand what stopping this demonic army means for all of Eternum, not just for you."

He mirrored Else in rising from the table.

"I'll close the northern gate. You'll have your wards, queen Else, but consider the respect you owe me next time you send out your ravens, or next time you think of denying me the sight of my family."

Gritting his teeth in an attempt to hide warring emotions, he sketched an ironic bow before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. The Southern language struck his attention, and suddenly he was struck with the now all-too-familiar blinding flash of Alya's magic. When it cleared, he found himself back in his personal bedchamber.

Gaius couldn't help but feel the belittling of the Southern bitch; she was putting him in time out.

"I apologise." The swan Demon now walked into his veiw, her white-feathered wings fluttering. "I must watch you, Gaius."

A tiny spark danced around Gaius' clenched fist, as if he was briefly considering to vent his frustrations by conjuring a fireball and hurling it through the glass window.

"Of course you must." he grunted wryly. The spark died and he took a seat on the bed, possibly soothed in spite of himself by Alya's calming aura. "You know, I think I now understand what you were talking about the other day. The lady jarl seems to want us both as servants at her beck and call."

Alya continued to watch him in silence. The mage steepled his hands and leaned forward to rest his mouth against them. "For what it's worth, I don't blame you. I saw how uncomfortable you were in there."

Standing in front of Gaius, she fumbled with her hands.

"My emotional state matters little, Gaius." Facing away she stared at the stone wall. Making distance between her and the mage, she spoke, "But...thank you."

She was born to serve; that was what she needed to focus on. Against the cold stone she gazed upon Gaius. He wasn't born for this, no - he was born to Appius and Melitta Octavius in their villa outside Emor, with a destiny of his choosing. She watched him sit with contempt. He had made his choices, unfortunately.

Gaius exhaled down his nose, a humourless smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You know, in Namor it's usually only family and friends who call you by your praenomen. Then again, you seem to be the closest thing I have to a friend around here." He pushed his hands into his knees and stood. "You could still take me to my family."

Alya crossed her arms and turned her head away, uncomfortable. "You know I cannot do that. You could put my mistress in danger."

Mistress... Gaius thought, Do you mean Else or Nea? He cleared his mind of the thought before it could betray him, and pursed his lips as he tried a different tack. "They say that demons don't feel emotions, at least not in the same way that we do. But you're not a demon, are you? Perhaps you'll understand. I didn't ask the queen for leave to travel home on a whim. I can't admit it in front of her, but as long as my cousin's murderers remain abroad, my own wife and son are in danger. Can you imagine the thing you care about most being ripped away from you, and you able to do nothing to prevent it? It's a fear that eats away at the soul."

He produced two pendants from his pocket; icons of Mars similar to the one he had once worn, fashioned from the materials Else had made available to him during his study of the demon army and his work to fortify the castle against them.

"I have to give them these. I've woven the most powerful defensive spells I know into them. Combatting this demon army surpasses all other concerns, but if I can't be with them I want them to be safe." He paused. "And if you can understand this, I want to hold my wife and son one more time before the enemy's arrival makes it impossible. When there's a chance I might not survive to see them again."

The swan Demon's eyes watched the pendants dangle from the mage's hands. Gaius' memories arose unbidden in her mind, of how he had first fallen for Seppia. A chance meeting at an otherwise boring Vulcanalia feast; the way Seppia had been talking and laughing with Gaius' outgoing cousin Lycinia, with her hair falling in delicately styled ringlets around her face, and the way she had turned away shyly when she caught him staring. She remembered Titus' birth; Seppia sweating and exhausted but happy, Gaius with disbelieving tears in his eyes as he pulled his wife close and reached his other hand out to his newborn son, feeling the boy's tiny hand close around his finger. His grip was so soft, yet so surprisingly strong. Gaius' emotions became hers and she shuddered.

Stepping closer, Alya studied the man's eyes, feeling as if she knew him from the inside out. Extending a hand, she touched his shoulder and they were gone.

Emor. Gaius closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if drinking in the relief of being home. Above him the stars were twinkling torches, their constellations familiar instead of the hard, cold points that dotted the Southern sky. The mage turned and looked Alya in the eye.

"Thank you." he said. "Wait here. I won't be long."


* * * * * *

Slaves were going back and forth in the triclinium, tidying away the leftovers of what had looked like a highly impressive feast. Gaius was momentarily taken aback, though not so much as the slaves.

"Dominus!" exclaimed one of the tall Combrogi, and immediately ran away through the house. A minute later, Seppia appeared in the corridor, bleary-eyed and tangle-haired, a thin gown wrapped around herself. She just gaped at him. Gaius smiled and stepped towards her, only to have his hands pushed away.

"Don't give me that look." Seppia said warningly. "Where in the twelve hells have you been?"

"What's wrong?" Gaius asked, feeling chastened and slightly confused by the welcome.

"The rebellion is what's bloody wrong." said Seppia. "And the fact that our emperor's gone insane."

"Rebellion?" Gaius asked, thrown. "What rebellion?"

Seppia stared at him as if he had been living under a stone. "The emperor tried to arrest the whole senate. Two legions rebelled, freed them and made off west. How in Mars' name could you not have heard of that?"

"My search with the brigands took me into deep cover, in the Combrogian forests." Gaius lied. It was so easy to do to a demon, but so hard to do to his wife. And he couldn't let even a hint of it show, because Seppia could read his moods almost instinctively. "I've been completely out of contact. Why would the emperor do that?"

"I don't know." Seppia shook her head. "He had six hundred people crucified - legion officers, their slaves, their families...he's becoming more erratic and brutal by the day. He's lost his mind."

Gaius shook his head in disbelief. Emperor Galen Claudius was a stern ruler, without question. High strung, yes; to the point of paranoid perhaps - but always cautious, always shrewd. Such extreme action seemed beyond what he was capable of. It was almost as if - almost as if he was bewitched. A terrible suspicion began to grow in Gaius' mind. It would take a powerful spell, to be sure, but if -

"We need to save Emor." Seppia said, interrupting his thoughts. She pulled a scroll from the ribbon belt that was holding her gown closed. "I have a letter here signed by half the nobles. If you can get it to the rebel camp for me, we can stop this madness before anyone else dies."

"I...can't." Gaius said helplessly. He couldn't tell Seppia about the threat of the demon horde without also revealing his new alliance with the Southern queen and her own demonic servants. "Use my owl. I have to get back to my allies."

"You're not leaving again?" Seppia said, looking apalled. "Didn't you hear, the imperium's on the brink of civil war!"

"I'm trying to help the imperium, and most of all I'm trying to keep you and Titus safe."

"Surely the best way for you to do that is to stay here, with us."

That's the worst thing I could do. Gaius thought ruefully. I can't kill the Avengers before they get to you. I can't defeat the demon army. And if Else's hellspawn come after me, I'll lead them straight to you.

"I need you to trust me, Seppia." he said pleadingly. He pulled the two amulets from his pocket, holding them out to his wife. "I made these for you. Please wear them."

"Titus needs you, Gaius, not a fucking charm." Seppia snapped at him. "He's old enough to understand what's happening here. He's scared, Gaius. What am I supposed to tell him when every day he asks where you are?" She held the pendants back towards him, the leather cords dangling from her fist. "How are we supposed to wear these with the magic ban in force, anyway?"

"Under your clothes." Gaius said impatiently. Her other question cut him too deep for him to even try to answer it. "Like I said, for the gods' sake, trust me."

Seppia shook her head at him, arms folded across her chest. "You're asking me to trust you, when you won't even trust me with the truth? What are you doing, Gaius? Where in the twelve hells do you keep going?" She threw her arms wide. "Is getting revenge on Lycinia's murderers more important to you than me? Than Titus? Are we still your reason, Gaius? Or are we just your excuse?"

"I'm doing all of this for you and Titus!" Gaius snarled, his temper finally snapping.

"You've got a hell of a way of showing it!" Seppia hissed at him. The gap-toothed smile that he loved so much was now a snarl, teeth locked together in utter contempt of him.

"Demons!" Gaius finally burst out. "There are demons in the rebel South, an overwhelming army of them, and the only way I have a chance of stopping them is with demon allies of my own! I'm making the exact same mistake as magus fucking Cornelius!"

"The South...?" Seppia gaped, so totally wrong-footed that any sort of emotional reaction was left spinning in the wake of the revelation. "You...but...praetor Maximus...the army...did you say demons?"

"Now you know." Gaius said savagely, hating her for the way she had looked at him, after all he had done. "And if I meet Cornelius' fate, at least you can tell them, and the north will have time to react. And then at least it's only the South that will burn rather than the imperium and the people I love."

Seppia physically stumbled and fell against the mural-painted wall, forced to put out one hand to steady herself. Her jaw worked silently, her face a kaleidoscope of shock, fear, rage at the lies he had told her, and a desperate desire to change his mind. Gaius couldn't stand to look at it and turned on his heel out into the atrium, one of the Combrogi house slaves practically leaping aside to get out of his way. He began to run as he heard Seppia shout his name, calling after him in desperation.

Gaius forced himself to ignore the pleas. There were a million things he should have said, and a million ways he could have said them better, but it was too late now. Alya was waiting just a few streets away, and he needed his mask back in place. At least his family would be safe now, even if they hated him for it. And, he thought sourly, there was one other thing. The emperor. He had a new piece of the puzzle as he strode back outside to continue his knife-edge game.

The game was all that remained now. He needed to focus every last shred of his will and attention on it, or else he would fail, and all of this pain and all of this sacrifice would have been for nothing.


* * * * * *

A halo of white light danced across the walls as Alya and Gaius materialised once again in the cold north tower of Odinsen castle. Gaius was subdued, pensive, but he honoured Alya with a slow nod as they drew apart.

"I won't forget that you did that." he said, solemnly. "Come on, it's time for me to keep my word to the queen and close the final ward."

The night was sharp and cold as they stepped outside, a dagger of ice that cut to the bone. The wind wuthering around the castle ramparts stole the sounds of their footsteps as they made their way across the courtyard to the north gate. Alya, posing as a queen's handmaiden, explained their business to the men on watch in the gatehouse, and after a minute they allowed Gaius to work his incantation over the final hole in the castle's defences. As they turned away from the great iron-barred doors and walked back to the castle, Gaius suddenly stopped in the middle of the courtyard.

"Come with me." he told the swan demon quietly. "I need to show you something."

It was nearly midnight, and the number of boots that had already tramped the snow in the courtyard flat alleviated any worries of their prints being singled out. They went unnoticed by the guards on the walls, who were more concerned with keeping warm and gazing south for any hint of the demon army approaching.

Gaius led Alya to a seemingly random stretch of the wall, remarkable only in that it was one of the segments that had been recently repaired to Syf's specifications. Alya held back, wary of the physical damage of approaching the wards that covered the walls. Gaius however beckoned her forward, extending one hand towards the stone. Instead of touching the newly cemented rock, his hand appeared to sink into it.

"An illusion." the Namorian mage explained. "With people working all over the walls, it wasn't hard to convince them that the hole here had already been repaired. We used a similar spell to hide the entrance to the mages' guild back in Namor."

He moved his hand across and then down, tracing the invisible edges of the hole for her.

"There's illusions and spells of silence on both sides of the hole, and I've temporarily removed the wards." The Namorian mage sighed tiredly. "If you want to fly away, do it now and I'll make sure they can't follow you. One of us at least should be free."

Alya was quiet for a long moment. "No Gaius." Her voice had now become stern. "My existance is to serve, and to serve acknowledges that I too deserve to exist."

Nea's laughter echoed in her mind's ear.

"As long as I stay..." Pain lulled from her words. "I have purpose."

Gaius smiled, almost sadly. "How very...human."

With a sudden lunge, he shoved her hard through the invisible portal. The swan demon's cry of surprise was almost immediately smothered by the silencing spell he had woven around the entrance. The mage looked over his shoulder, and then stooped and slipped through the portal himself, squeezing into the narrow, winding crack that led through the base of the castle wall. He stepped from darkness into blazing light as the wards he had etched into the sides of the fissure flared into life. Alya lay helpless at the centre, held frozen and immobile by the same wards he had used on Zahneri a lifetime ago. Gaius regarded the swan demon, pausing just long enough to check the binding wards' integrity.

"I'm sorry." he said. "If you really are more than a demon, then you'll understand why I have to do this."

He turned and stepped back out through the inner wall, from which there was no trace of the demon girl trapped within. With a press of his hands either side of the cloaked opening, he cast the final ward, sealing the last gap in Branjaskr's magical defences. Even if Alya somehow broke free, there would be no way for her to get back inside the castle. Pulling a third amulet of Mars from his pocket and slipping it around his neck, Gaius sighed as he relinquished the shielding spell that he had been working over the deepest recesses of his mind, and turned back towards the castle.

The best way is not letting them know... Gaius thought, recalling the words of his cousin's apparition. The vision from Odin - or, far more likely, the false vision from Kronos - had given him good advice. The demon lord wanted him to succeed. Gaius wondered what the lord of Tartarus would think of his next actions.

I will go along with your game, hellspawn, but because it serves my purpose, not yours. I am Gaius Octavius, magus of the Namorian guild, and I am no demon's pawn. From now on, you all play my game.


* * * * * *

The spirit in Gaius' dream had spoken the truth - whatever corruption the placement of the knowledge implied, he knew exactly where the Odinsen children were. Luck was on his side as he crept down the west wing corridors; it seemed that the servants and guards both avoided this place. He stopped instinctively before the double oak doors of a master bedroom, very slowly lifted the old iron latch, and pushed the door open just wide enough to slip inside.

The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, but Gaius could just make out the bed that dominated the room. Spread-eagled across the pile of furs were a group of men and women, fast asleep, their pale skin almost luminous in the dim light.

Three blonde youths dominated the pile, lying apart and self-assured while the others curled their naked bodies around them like helplessly smitten lovers. The aura of the group was potent, even in sleep. Gaius could feel the dark magic radiating from the pile of bodies like a greasy mist against his skin, and it made him bare his teeth in disgust.

Zenita has her claws deep into these poor bastards. Let's hope that some of them can be saved.

Gaius waved a hand slowly from left to right, his voice a soothing whisper as he chanted a brief incantation. With the sleeping spell ensuring that the young lovers would not wake, he picked his way around the edge of the pile, passing each of the blonde youths and their harem of brainwashed slaves in turn.

Karla. he knew instinctively as he passed the youngest of the sleeping women. Hella. he thought as he passed the second, statuesque and breathtaking in her unconscious beauty. He did not touch them. They were not part of his instructions.

Johann. The eldest Odinsen scion was lean and sculpted, every muscle perfectly displayed on his naked form. Gaius felt the aura now like he was immersed in oil, every nerve in his hand hyperstimulated as he reached it out. Fighting against the fog descending over his mind, he placed his palm on the sleeping man's forehead, and recited the first set of words from the scroll that he had seared into his memory.

Without a sound or a flash, only the merest sigh as the empty blankets slumped to the floor, Johann Odinsen was gone. Pulling his hand back and flexing it in relief as the simultaneously magnetic and repellant aura of the youth faded, Gaius turned and stole out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The second task was harder; guards and late-working slaves patrolled the lower floors. Even with the destination supernaturally planted in his mind, Gaius had to stop and double back on himself, withdrawing into the shadows of empty rooms and alcoves until the footsteps faded. When he finally stood before the second room, Gaius knew before he entered that he was in the right place. He could sense Alya's strange, subtle aura, lingering around the door. The dream had been right once again - when she hadn't been with him, Alya had been here guarding Else's youngest child. Gaius wondered once again, briefly, what Alya's true feelings on her duty were. Realising that he had stopped, drinking in the swan-demon's lingering presence with a vague sense of longing, he shook his head sharply and crept inside.

It was just like any other young noble's bedroom - a warm fire, toys, dolls, charcoal scribbles on bits of hide, a wardrobe, a tiny bed. Casting the same sleep-deepening spell as before, Gaius paused for a minute over Nea's bed. Round faced and wispy haired, she looked so peaceful. Gaius clenched his jaw when he felt the faintest stirrings of black magic radiating from the child. This one too? The Southern gods had no mercy.

And do you, Gaius Octavius? the mage asked himself silently. Allegedly, he was sending the child safely to Emor. In his heart, he knew that the chances of that really being the case were slim. He vascillated, raising his hand to Nea's forehead twice, only to drop it to his side again both times.

Victory or damnation? He gritted his teeth. A false choice - it always was. He whispered the words, and Nea was gone.

It seemed so simple, after the fact. Gaius straightened, exhaled a deep breath, and ran the second part of the scroll's incantation through his mind; the part that would whisk him away - allegedly also to Emor - and leave behind a magical gravity so dense that nothing could follow, even if his wards over the castle were compromised.

Not yet. he thought grimly. First, I have to have a talk with queen Else.

Minkasha
09-20-2014, 03:30 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

Gracelessly, the Southern ruler had her body limp across the matted up quilts and furs. Sleep had been dreadful. The stress, it was amounting to be overwhelming, to become her mind. Else’s head ached terribly and with a groan her hand went to her temple, a gesture she was doing unconsciously now. Circles over her tense muscles, her jaw in pain too, shooting pains down her neck and shoulders.

She was a ruler and she was feeling the weight of it. She wasn’t the only one not getting rest: her Housecarl and Landswoman bringing life to the plans she had provided to them, all of the city working to fortify itself. The week had come and gone, still no sign of the invading army. Let it be, Branjaskr already completed its initial phases of preparation. But their delay also made her worry.

Rolling across the ruined covers her skin reflected the light of the flickering fire. Else missed her husband. Now of all times she needed his strength. Korzan, her love, her hero, her other half, and the rock to the family’s stability flew away when death claimed him. What would Korzan have done in her situation? Was there some noble way to save The Free South that she could not have seen? Or did he fail the same basic lesson?

Power. All that mattered was power. It was affirmed in her mind while her bare feet hit the bear fur. Getting to her vanity was difficult this morning. The sunlight had not come in yet, she could see it through the dark slits between the wood of her window.

Crashing on her wooden chair she looked at herself. The same woman she had been for quite some time, Korzan always complimented her aging…but she felt ragged…so old. Brushing her hair without Zahneir looming over the shoulder of her reflection was once a lonely thing, now a relief. The thought of the Demon woman touching her purest son made her skin crawl.

But Kalle’s deviant behavior was far from the top of her problems now. She was finding it near impossible to now balance the duties of motherhood and rulership. It was showing in Karla, Kalle and Max. Their falls from grace were her pains to bear, she should have been able to help them behave better.

Slowly pleating her hair in the lit reflection, Else stared at the crown waiting to be worn. I need your strength, husband. If she was going to pray to anyone, it would not be God or Demon. Help me keep our children safe. Always cautious Else kept sanity knowing her children would seek shelter in the new constructed lodging far across the Southern Wastes.

Chains hooked together, earrings fell into place, dress stretched to the ground, the tail of her hair hooked around her head and most importantly the crown now sat on her head. Staring at her reflection the Lady Jarl breathed in deeply, trying to keep her mouth loose and rolled her shoulders. The fight raged on, even before the actual battle.


***

Leaving her chambers she walked decisively to the closest tower, following the stairs down to the third floor where Nea’s room was. From here Nea enjoyed the view of Branjaskur, without the purple light to haunt her. The patrolling guards knelled before their ruler as she walked down the torch lit halls.

Else was careful to grasp the handle and slowly push, not wanting to wake her. The oak door moved smoothly with her gentle guidance and she entered. Careful steps lead to the bed, at first the mother raised a brow, perhaps not seeing things clearly. The bed seemed strangely flat, no small body to uplift the sheets.

But Else was the one with power, she knew…she knew that she was simply mistaken. But, she felt a cold shiver prick her chest. Impatiently her heels went from loud thuds on stone to muffled on fur rugs before she moved quickly to the bed. Grasping the sheets she pulled them back, even though it was clear she was not on the bed.

Looking around the small room she circled three times, seeing the same scenery and no child.

“Nea?” Else swallowed hard, kneeled down to look under the bed. Nothing but cold stone bricks.

“Nea!?” The Lady Jarl tossed aside the worry of waking her child, speaking louder. Nea’s room was disturbingly quiet, her ears moving past the crackles of the dying fire.

Stepping out the room she looked down each side of the hall. “Nea!?” She yelled, guards turned to face their ruler with concern. The woman of power rushed to one pale older patrol, holding up her dress slightly to do so.

“Where is my daughter!?” The voice carried accusation.

“Lady Jarl!” he kneeled instantly. “In her chambers”

“Try again!” Her voice rose, pulling more attention. “I said….where is my daughter!?” The guard clearly had no answers. “Get the wolves! Follow her scent! She can’t be far!” Paranoia was starting to creep into Else’s mind.

This was her nightmare turned real. Running her mind kept up with her legs, Nea couldn’t have gone far, being only six years old someone would have seen her stumbling around. Perhaps she was with her siblings? Her heart clutched to this, yes, this was the truth.


***

The Southern Queen felt as if she was spinning she spiraled up the stairs so quickly. Bursting into the room of her eldest she was greeted by the sight of an exposed ass of a man bent over the bed, head being shoved between her eldest daughter's thighs.

Hella and Karla jumped, the second daughter pulled away from the breast she was attending to. The mother’s blue eyes zipped around the room, showing no care for their actions.

“Where is Nea!?” Her daughters jumped at the sudden use of her loud voice, the brown haired man had his head yanked away with Hella crossing her legs.

“In bed?” Hella answered with confusion, looking away, ashamed in front of her mother. Else was already marching up the three steps to leave the room.

“Get dressed and help find her!” She ordered before slamming the doors behind her. The running turned into sprinting. The crown kept firm by the hold of her straight posture and gravity’s constant power.


***

Beata was walking down the hall, the slender brunette held a bowl of soup in one hand and a plate of meat in the other. Her eyes lit up when she saw her ruler before turning to confusion to see the woman running through the castle.

“Lady Jarl, I thou-” Else shoved a hand her way, behind her the Southern Queen heard a slam against the wall and several crashes and something breaking. The girl cried out, quickly forgotten when she barged into Kalle’s room.

Zahneri laid on the bed feeble, Kalle was pensive, looking out the window to the purple light, the small moving people below, and ever falling snow.

“WHERE IS NEA!?” Now moved into full-fledged yelling, Kalle jumped to look at his mother and the Demon slowly turned her head to look to Else. No one answered.

Crawling on the bed, Else mounted over the Demon woman, knees on each side of the dark skinned woman’s torso. One pale hand around the throat, uselessly for the Demon who never drew breath, and the other was raised high.

“I SAID! WHERE-” The hand moved as if it were lightning itself, striking defenseless Zahneri across her jaw. Twenty eight years of coexistence meaningless now. “IS-” And again, the bed bouncing with the force, Else threw her upper body down and into the motion. “MY-” each slap loud and the Demon did not change the neutral expression of her face. “CHI-”

Kalle grasped her wrist. The crown fell off her head, bouncing twice before rolling away. She turned her fury across her son’s face. The walls were closing in, her vision was spinning. Where? Where? WHERE!?

“MOTHER! STOP! YOU CANNOT TREAT HER LIKE THAT!” Kalle was quick to defend and his haggard, beautiful mother manically tried to pull from his firm grasp.

“WHERE IS NEA!? WHERE IS YOUR SISTER!?” Now he was shocked.

“Not here!” Watching his mother awkwardly crawl off the bed, stumble, and charge out the doors he quickly ran up to the slowly shutting oak before looking at Zhaneir. The Demon woman was simply staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry” He whispered to her before, picking up his mother’s crown and shutting the door behind him and going into a sprint.


***

Max’s sleep was interrupted by a sudden burst into his room. A loud caw came from Oerin as he sat on a knob of the end of the bed. Another caw began before it ended with a croaked finish. Shocked, he saw his mother with mad wide eyes grasping the raven tightly with both hands while his older brother shared stood there doing nothing.

“WHERE IS NEA!?” The bird croaked, soon after slammed against the stone. Black smoke came and Oerin lay on the ground, rubbing his arm. “WHERE IS NEA!?”

Else wanted to rip the Demon boy’s doe eyed look of confusion from his face.

“I do not know my miss-ah!” He yelped in pain as the woman ripped off more feathers, some flying in the air, a bald spot sprouting on his left wing.

“Mother!” Max called out in worry, in spite of himself.

“FIND HER! SEND OUT THESE RAVENS AND FIND HER!” Oerin scrambled on his knees, front talons dragging on the stone while his hands erratically went to grab all of his scattered and plucked feathers. Else watched him intently, scaring Oerin terribly, until at least twenty more ravens flew from the fireplace. Oerin’s mind was now becoming boggled with the constant connection with so many, saying nothing as the strain stared to ache his mind.

Running around the castle, slaves and guards were picking up the energy of their divine family. Morale was dropping fast, everyone becoming jittery. Else, Max, Kalle and Oerin resting on the Lady Jarl’s shoulder were rushing as a group. For this one moment they could work together, for Nea it was possible.

An epiphany struck her, knowing for a fact that Nea wouldn’t be in the secret sacrificial room where Xal waited without the help of either Alya or Zahneir it was conclusive that everything she had power and control over did not have her child. Any guard noticing her in the castle would already have reported it, if Nea had made it outside, the people of Branjaskr would have returned her back inside immediately.

There were only three people who Else did not have power over in the entire Southern Wastes: Syf, the Northerner Cassius, and Gaius. Alya was missing, ignoring every summon she sent out.

“Max, go back to your room” She saw the angry offense on his face, as well as confusion.

“But Nea!?” Kalle couldn’t look at Max due to his shame, yet he nodded to the younger sibling’s words.

“I am dealing with it. Now, go” Max caved in, easier than she thought, and the boy began to walk away. Slaves and Guards kept their respectful distance. No one had a clue of what was happening. A mystery becoming apparent in the castle.

Else looked at Kalle’s axe and the young man placed his fingers on its hilt instinctively. Oerin flapped his wings, the bald spot still on the inner side of the left.

“Stay” the whispered to the command the raven stopped. Gaius must be the danger to this family, how could she not see it? How could she have ever given any trust to the Northerners after they took her husband?

The stone of the castle looked to be waving back and forth, Else’s head thudded loudly. Yes, yes, it all made sense: Gaius somehow studied the castle as he placed the wards. She should have watched him more intently.

“There is another Northerner here. In the castle” Kalle’s heroic face flinched, hurt by the whispered deception. Though by now, he should have known better. “And now he has Nea!” Running to Gaius’ room the fury she felt for the mage burned hotter than any flame he could ever conjure.

Kalle, following the words of his mother, could not wait to strike him down. His hand gripped tightly to the legacy of his father. This weaving of webs had to end, for his the sake of his family, and his people. His eyes looked over to his mother’s rushing form, things had to change.

La Volpe
09-20-2014, 08:21 PM
Dwarven Tunnels/ Afragian Desert


The tunnels seemed to blur into a continuous series of cold grey walls, a winding stone snake that seemed to never end. The ranger had lost track of how long he’d been in them, with no way to track time, his journey seemed to be a single night that never ended.

“I swear to whatever god may hear this… If I ever get out of these damned tunnels, I’ll never step foot beneath the earth again.” Kuronus cursed as he ran. He was thankful he’d found the rest of his gear farther down the tunnel, he molded leather boots made traversing the rough stone much easier than when he was barefoot. Coming to a stop, Kuronus scowled as he came to a forked path. Dropping his hand onto the hilt of his beloved sword, Kuronus looked down both paths as far as he could, trying to discern which direction he should take. The ranger began to pace back and forth, rage quickly flooding through him, with a snarl he slammed his fist into the tunnel wall, cracking the surface and sending a loud echo flying down both tunnels.

Closing his eyes, Kuronus slowly began to count to one hundred, taking a deep breath every ten numbers. He felt like a fool, letting his rage get the better of him at a time like this. This was not the worst spot he’d ever been in, yet he was acting like a child who was lost in the woods night. As he reached one hundred, Kuronus let all of his heightened senses drift out, searching for the slightest clue as to where he must go. Just as he was about to give up hope, a faint scent foreign to the immediate area hit him.

Warm, dry air. The ranger smiled slightly, slowly opening his eyes as he turned to face the tunnel the scent had came from. Breaking into a slow run, Kuronus felt a new surge of energy fill him as freedom now was within grasp. The bleak tunnels that had been a prison for him, quickly became a blur as he ran faster and faster, following the increasing smell of the surface he missed dearly. The darkness that had surrounded him was suddenly broken as he rounded one of the many turns, replaced by blinding light.

Kuronus let the light wash over him, grinning madly at his long overdue return to the surface. Quickly pulling himself back together, he looked to see where it was he had resurfaced at. Sand… Everywhere the ranger looked from the tunnel mouth, he saw sand. Somehow his misadventure in the dwarven tunnels had led him out into the Afragian desert. Slowly shaking his head, the ranger pulled the large hood of his cloak up and stepped back within the cave entrance to check his gear. He didn’t have much, least of all the most important thing he would need to survive where he was venturing into. Water.

He looked back into the winding tunnels he had just managed to escape, then to the sea of sand that awaited in the opposite direction, the direction he must go. To venture into the Afragian desert, even with a proper supply of water was a dangerous choice for most, and to go with barely any was borderline suicidal. But what choice did he actually have? He’d lost too much time as it was finding his way out of the tunnels, and the gods only knew where Salvius and the others had ended up in that time.

“I must raving mad to do this…” He muttered to himself as rose to his feet. Tightening his sword belt, Kuronus stepped back into the desert sun, with no solid idea as to where he was actually heading he began walking, praying to whatever gods would hear him that he found people, or any form of civilization quickly, so he wouldn’t have to worry about his severe lack of water for very long.

"Hold on my friends... I'm coming." He whispered to himself as began what he deeply hoped was a short trek in the Afragian desert.

Aureyon
09-21-2014, 07:18 PM
In the light and peace of the temple where she had been placed, Juno awoke with her eyes aching and her mind pulsing, sending tremors of pain down the length of her body. She slowly began to sit up, looking down at the paste on her arms and though it smelled terrible, it eased the biting pain that would otherwise eat away at her consciousness.

However, it did not ease the disgust and shame that she felt as she glanced at herself in the body-length mirror in that had been placed beside her bed. The woman that was staring back at her was unrecognisable; a body that was covered in medical paste and with skin as pale as the dew that settled on the fields that supplied Emor with its food; eyes that seemed to be devoid of all life that once was within them and hair that was as coarse as rough cloth and as stringy as the thinnest twig.

She was monstrous, and this realization reflected back at her in the eyes of the stranger in the mirror. A look of pure shame and disgust, a look of alienation.

“Why don’t the gods just end me now?” She questioned aloud as she fell to her knees and her gaze turned towards the open window and the sky beyond the building. Her eyes held a deep sorrow within them, one that was as deep and dark as the icy Southern Oceans.

"Come on girl, up you get." The loud noise of sandals thwacking against the stone floor resounded across the stone walls - Juno likely forgetting that she was still underground. Another sound, of metal armour clacking together arrived with the sound of the sandals, and as Juno turned she saw Sheba and Shahik walking behind her - the sandals on both of their feet, whilst the armour of the city guard adorned the broad-shouldered body of Shahik, his cocoa coloured skin glistening with sweat as he hauled a large bag full of an assortment of items for travel.

He flashed Juno a smile, as did Sheba - who carried nothing on her person but her body and the clothes on her back. "Good morning Juno, do you remember us?" Standing as told, she kept her gaze upon the floor as she only gave a nod in response to the guard's inquiry.

It was made evident of her shame by the her downward gaze, and the grasping of a pearl sheet to wrap around her body and hide the source of her shame. It was clear that this disease was taking its toll on her physically and mentally, her eyes lacked the life that they once held, and she found herself yearning for an end to it.

But, her mind found itself drifting back to the ones who still counted on her, her children... the last real remnants of her late husband. The mahogany silk hair of her youngest, Luviana, a girl whose face had still held the virtues of youth and innocence. This brought a slight smile to her face, and reaffirmed her desire to get to the Underworld and find the realm of Beezlebub, and the heart of a Fungi.

Juno, give me the strength to return to my children alive and well., she found herself praying as she eyed the Priestess and the Guard who had been so kind to her so far.

"By Shahik's count, we'll be able to get to the Valley of the Sun in less than a week - though it will be taxing and difficult for all of us." Sheba looked at the young, diseased woman, a sad flash floating across her face. "Are you sure you want to do this? The realm of the Demon Lords is said to be a scarring place - the things we may see, not even your disease will make you forget." Shahik turned to Sheba and smiled.

"They say that when Alcamor looked upon Kronos's face he laughed, and then proceeded to shit himself." The Guard was grinning, recalling stories of the old Afragian Mage who had cast his name into legend. "It will be interesting to say the least."

"Yes...interesting." Sheba turned and tilted her eyebrows up at the man, who was busy giggling at his story. "Whenever you are ready Juno, just say the word."

Juno listened to the two converse, all the while remaining eerily silent until it became her turn to speak to them. "There is much to fear in this world: Demons, Gods, Shadow, and Evil. But, there will be nothing that can stand in my way of getting back to children. I will face down hordes of demon spawn, and even Beezlebub himself, if that be the will of the Gods."

Her words were meant to sound strong and brave, but they rolled across those present like a dew over plants, soft and alien. Her words were no doubt influenced by the disease, but the fire that burned in her eyes countered any lifelessness that lay within.

"Yes, I am sure that I want to do this. My children need their mother, they have no father. I will get back to them" She turned and knelt to where her old ragged clothing was laying, and retrieved her husbands sword that gleamed in the light that it caught.

"I am ready." She answered firmly, her eyes hardening in determination.

Sheba and Shahik looked upon the woman with all-seeing eyes, before smiling. "Come then, get dressed and we will leave within the hour." Sheba spoke.

"We shall have to be quick and quiet - I'm not meant to leave my post in the city." Shahik spoke, scratching the back of his head and frowning slightly, looking up from beneath his brows at the two women.

"You've been leaving your post the whole time Juno has been here - stop being a child." Sheba laughed to herself as she turned and walked outside, Shahik grinned before turning away and leaving in order to give Juno the privacy she needed. Only offering a smile as they left, she turned and waited for the room to clear before she began her preparations.

After a few short minutes, she emerged from the healing room to where her companions waited, her body fitted with a black silk gown with silver hieroglyphs dancing across the arms and legs in an exotic display of beauty; no doubt the dress came from trade with their hostile neighbors, The Egyptians. Her head was covered by an equally beautiful veil that showed only her eyes and forehead, hiding the rest of her from the world around her. The glint of metal could be seen as the wind picked up and blew the gown backward, and her husbands sword could be seen fashioned around her waist.

This was the strongest she had looked in days, and she felt as though she could conquer any task given to her. But, she still had to carry with her a walking stick, and it was clear that her weight was being carried with it. But, the look of determination in her eyes masked any and all weakness that would normally show from her.

"The arrival of the refugees from Dun Moriga have made most of the guard very taxed - if we head out of the Surface portcullis then we should be able to get past most of them." Shahik spoke as he turned and began to walk, pulling his robe, coloured white to reflect the sunlight - though the only sunlight that was visible was through the small slits in the cavern's roof. "Then we head South-East until we hit the Earthborn Mines."

"Why can't we just go through the front entrance?" Sheba asked, slowly walking after Shahik.

"Because if we do we could be stopped - I could be arrested for shirking from my duty." Shahik spoke without turning, pulling a small green slab out of his pocket and sticking it into his mouth.

"Spitsweed?" Sheba asked, inquiring on the small green item.

"No, something one of the market traders bought from one of the Earthborn businessmen down at the Mines whilst he was coming back from the Coast. They call it 'Chewing Gum'." Shahik's teeth clamped down loudly. "It's strange stuff - is this what they eat on their world I wonder..."

"The dwarf refugees would have more knowledge of these tunnels than the people of Tu Zenita Duskal, surely. Wouldn't it be wiser to seek assistance from them on a more swift path through towards the mines?" Juno questioned as she matched their pace with a soft thud of a walking stick as it hit the groud.

The city around them was bustling with life, but it seemed that there were very little in the ways of the guards. This brought some amount of relief to the Namorian woman as she followed her friends through the city.

"Perhaps we should get leave from the Dwarf King or the Princess Nesara?" she inquired again, her eyes on the priestess and guard beside her.

"No, with the attack on Dun Moriga, the guards are all being kept inside the city to protect our new King and Queen. I don't care too much for the new half of our ruling class anyway - a Dwarf leading our people, it's almost satirical." Shahik smiled, but it lacked any emotion that would warrant it; just a shift of face for the sake of it. "No...the tunnels don't reach the Valley of the Sun anyway - they don't even cut through the Oases of Malavern - it'd be quicker for us to walk in the heat instead of trying to find an exit through the old tunnels."

"Those are dangerous words, Shahik" Juno commented as she continued walking, her eyes forward. "Those are words that could stir a dying flame;is it not better to be protected, and ruled, by a dwarf rather than to face the dark times ahead alone?" She stated before turning her eyes to his, and the look in them was one of slight disturbance and understanding at the same time.

Her face was a mask of neutrality as she looked at him, but her mind was filled with many different thoughts, both of her children and of their path forward. She would be home soon enough, and the troubles of the world would be behind her.

"Any words said by anyone are dangerous words - in these times the same as any." Shahik smiled. "Come - we have a long journey ahead of us, it would be best to get out of the Earth's embrace." Juno nodded respectfully, and let the topic die, as they began to make their way through the tunnels towards the surface.

It was a few hours later that they had found their way to the surface, the heat hitting Juno like a stone column had fallen on top of her, weighing her movements down to near crippling speeds. But, she pushed on through, her body adjusting to the intense heat, and her garments taking the brunt of the heat as it washed over the small group.

In truth, she hadn't thought she would make it to see the skies of Eternum, once she had descended to Tu Zenita Duskal; she didn't think that she would have the energy nor the drive to continue on. But, she had found friends who were willing to help her traverse the realms of the underworld in search of the one thing that would save her; the heart of a Fungi, a creature of Beezlebub's creation.

Her heart seemed to leap with joy as she came upon the realization that her task was near completion, there would be trials and dead ends, but by the Will of the Gods, she had made it this far. She was determined to make it the rest of the way.

"Gods give us strength as we draw closer to the realms of the dead." She stated solemnly as they began their journey across the mountains of sand.

Minkasha
09-23-2014, 03:58 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Gaius' Bedchambers

The flames of torches lit their faces and soon darkened, only to repeat the process with the rush of royal feet. Kalle was now fully enthralled in his mother's fear for Nea's life. Having to run back up the forth floor of the castle, patrol men and women kept looking at them with concern but did not pursue.

Their breathing echoed up the tower, absorbed by the decor of paintings and rugs laid out through the halls. Passing Else's door, Kalle felt a stinging pain in his heart - his whole family was crumbling. They couldn't lose Nea. They'd already lost too much.

Two more halls and Else suddenly stopped, already grabbing for the knob. Kalle pulled back her shoulder and gestured the crown in her direction. It was one of her diplomatic weapons, if diplomacy was going to be needed. There were no guards on this floor; it was now them and what lay on the other side.

In her full royal visage, the Lady Jarl twisted the knob and shoved open the door. The metal knob slammed loudly against the stone, the door bouncing back as they charged in. Their eyes searched around, past the large bed, the fireplace, around the window. There was nothing.

But when their blue eyes rested in the final corner, they saw Gaius sitting in a rather pretentious way in his furnished chair. Oerin flew down and transformed, his hostility apparent though his entire body. Kalle stepped past his mother and drew his axe. Fingers squeezed the hilt tightly, painfully.

The face of this man, this arrogant-looking man, who was just allowed to sit here with what was enough free reign to hurt his family, angered him to his very core. How could his mother let this happen? How could his mother let this man even get close to Nea?

"WHERE IS NEA!?" the Queen yelled, her anger translated well by the raven Demon.

"WHERE IS ALYA!?" Oerin asked of his own desires; he couldn't sense his swan-Kin.

"Alya?" Gaius answered, looking at the group darkly with his jaw resting on the knuckles of one fist. "She flew away. She asked me to open one last ward before I finally sealed the castle, and because it suited my purposes, I obliged her."

His eyes flicked from Oerin to Else.

"Take a lesson from an order that's older and wiser than yours, lady jarl; demons always try and betray you, sooner or later. If you have any dealings with them at all, make sure you have a plan to neutralise them first."

Oerin spoke the words in the Southern tongue, eyes down. The poison of self doubt crept into his soul, his posture changing into a docile one.

The Lady Jarl shoved past the Demon lad and glared furiously upon the man who sat in the comforts she provided for him.

"Where...is my daughter you bastard!?"

Gaius glanced towards Oerin as he repeated the demand. "She's safe. Whether she remains so is up to you."

Gritting her teeth, the woman raised her hand.

The Namorian mage leapt to his feet, forcing Else to step back. "Lay a hand on me," he snarled at the group as he raised his arms to point at Else and Kalle, "And Nea and Jóhann will be dead before my blood touches the floor."

He glared at Else, holding the stance as the Southerners checked.

"You doubt my words, Lady Jarl? Fucking test them."

Else's face changed like the waves of a quickly dying tsunami. There was the rage, unforgiving, ready to strike. But as Gaius continued to hold his stance that rage flourished into anguish, and a look of pain so deep on the mother's face that the mage felt an undeniable sense of victory over the Lady Jarl. He had power. Power over the woman whom had waved it over him. That's right, you Southern bitch. It's my job to save my family and the empire, and this time you're actually going to help me do it. As of now, this is my game, not yours. As of now, I'm your fucking dominus!

Else's hand squeezed into a fist; Kalle's hand grasped it, forcing it to lower. Gaius regarded the young man properly for the first time. Kalle, his new instinctive knowledge told him. He carried the same oilslick aura as the other corrupted children, though noticeably more subdued. He was dark haired where his mother was blonde, and had lighter, clearer eyes - eyes that shared Else's pain, but also a determined self-control.

"What do you want?" Kalle did not shy away from the Northerner's eyes. He was going to have to repair whatever damage his mother had caused with this villainous man. Emotion, something his mother was drowning in, would not save his siblings.

Else's mind was screaming. Madness, unshakable madness was sweeping through her. Jóhann and Nea?

One son. One daughter. That was the bounty, what was to be plucked from this already broken family. They were not alive to barter for, Set was clear on what he would do to them. Gaius was his dark agent.

"You...! YOU MURDERER!" Kalle squeezed his mother's wrist tightly, she was becoming wild. The Southern Queen tried to lunge for Gaius and it was her own son who pulled her back, yanking her body away. The second prince's axe dropped to the ground, as he had to use both hands to push her into Oerin.

"Hold her."

Oerin placed his arms around Else's torso, pinning her arms, having to hold the mistress in her frenzy. The woman managed a headbutt straight into Oerin's face, cutting his forehead with the crown. The headache he was having was exacerbated, eyes shut in pain.

"You are wild, mother! If you cannot control yourself for their sake," Kalle pointed to the door. "Then leave!"

Without the benefit of a translation, Gaius watched the queen's outburst coldly, seeing his own rage reflected back at him like a splintered mirror.

The Lady Jarl shot the family's scorned, blue-eyed dagger toss of a glare at her own son. Her breathing was heavy, but she was no longer struggling.

Kalle held eyes with her for a pause, nodded and turned back to the mage. "What do you want?"

Oerin's speech sounded strained as he translated.

"That depends." Gaius said levelly. "First, does your mother have anything she'd like to share? Anything she might previously have been holding back? About Korzan's Avengers? About the emperor of Namor?"

Oerin translated and Else spat on the ground in defiance.

"He's a murderer! That's all I know about him!" Oerin couldn't add the same energy into the translated words as woman in his grasp, distracted as he was with pain. Kalle looked between the northerner and his mother in confusion. Korzan's Avengers?

"What is he talking about? What have you done mother?" Else didn't respond. Kalle walked up to her, closing the gap and shutting out the man from their conversation.

"What...have...you...done?"

His tone was hushed. Else still kept her mouth shut, but her eyes said much more.

"You need to tell me! Tell him!" Kalle's finger led to the Northerner in their home. "No more lies!"

"Let go of me." The Lady Jarl demanded and Oerin instantly complied, blood dripping down his brow from the gash. Stomping past the men, she was before the mage again.

"I look forward to the day I can kill you Gaius." This time she did not raise a hand, only her eyes striking him. "I know nothing of the Avengers."

Gaius' face hardened. If you really don't know, then what use were you ever to me? Is exploiting the desperate a game to you? "And the emperor?"

Else's nostrils flared, lips pressed tight together.

"He murdered my husband. He is another man whose life I wish I could end." Her words were more a threat than an answer; maybe the threat was her only answer. "I never laid a hand on your family! How DARE YOU!"

Kalle yanked her back again, gripping her shoulder. Gaius exhaled slowly down his nose, as Oerin numbly finished translating.

"Inaction can kill just as surely as action." He looked at Else, his mouth a contemptuous sneer, before turning to Kalle. "Your mother offers justice for the dead, delivers nothing, and presses further demands. I put my trust in her and she tried to make me her pawn! That stops now. She tried to play petty power games when my family's lives were on the line. Now that the stakes are even, I expect her to honour our deal!"

He straightened, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Kalle held his gaze, cool and firm.

"What I want," Gaius finally growled. "Is for you to keep working to find the names of these murderers who call themselves Korzan's Avengers; and this time," He narrowed his eyes. "Actually fucking try. A blonde giant, a hatchet-faced mage, and a woman with red hair. Find them. Perhaps you might want to interrogate Zahneri a little more thoroughly on the matter. Demons betray. When I called for a demon who knew who had killed my cousin's family, there must be a reason why she appeared instead of another."

The mage pulled a letter from the belt of the tunic beneath his furs, the thin roll of scraped reindeer hide sealed with a simple blob of wax.

"And I want you to take this north, until you find the Namorian army that must have landed on your northern coast by now. Give it to their commander." He passed his hand over the roll and it briefly shimmered with yellow light, which faded as he held the letter out to Kalle. "As a courteous warning, I strongly suggest that you advise your courier not to try and open it himself. Do this, and I'll return your brother and sister from Emor, unharmed."

Kalle took the scroll slowly, not letting his guard down from either the Northerner or his mother.

"You are a deceiver. You are Set's servant!" Else burst out. Her gesture to Gaius was accusatory. "You have taken from me one son and one daughter! Just as Set swore to me. You have NOTHING to barter with because they are already dead!"

Kalle's shoulders started to rise, and Oerin took a step forward; aggression was flowing in Gaius' direction.

"The shadows spoke to me," Else shrieked. "They said he would reap my children, and YOU are his reaper!"

Kalle spoke something Gaius could not understand and the Demon handed him his axe, the scroll tossed over his shoulder upon the bed.

"Set?" Now anger birthed itself in his heart.

"Set. Set?" The Namorian mage threw back his head and laughed. "Do I look like one of his slaves? Can you feel the corruption emanating from me?" He held Else's gaze for a moment. Unlike others I could name? "Am I burning up at the touch of this?"

He briefly parted the neck of his tunic to show the new icon of Mars hanging there.

"Oh, you're a slow learner, Lady Jarl. I told you, demons lie. And unlike you I have no intention of ever being in thrall to one. If the shadows are speaking to you, I'd be more worried for your own soul than mine."

Else could feel the tension in her temples with how tight her jaw was shut, as Gaius rounded on Kalle.

"An army of demons approaches Branjaskr, prince Kalle. This is fact, whether you believe me or not. Now, would you rather try and fight them alone, or with the legions of Namor at your back?"

He jabbed a finger at the letter Kalle had discarded.

"I'm one of them. They'll listen to me. That scroll is sealed with an immolation spell and written in a script that burns the eyes of demons. They will not be able to read it, but they can still stop it from reaching your potential allies if you do not send it soon."

Kalle's ice blue eyes flashed with aggression, body still. There was little he understood - so many secrets from both his mother and this mysterious man. They both might as well have been strangers to him.

"You have kidnapped my siblings in the middle of the night, somehow serving the will of Set. Both you and my mother have much to atone for."

Else looked up to her son with shock. Gaius merely smiled. That we do, prince Kalle, that we do. Though I doubt that it will be you I answer to.

"I have heard your demands." The handsome prince narrowed his eyes. "Now leave."

Gaius cocked his head. "I believe that these are my quarters. If you want to talk alone?" He raised an arm towards the door. "Your siblings' lives are in your mother's hands, as are my wife and son's. Your life is in that letter. Take it or sign your city's death warrant; as long as the demon army is defeated, it doesn't matter to me. I am through playing games with you Southerners."

Taking his mother, the second prince guided her to the door. Kalle spoke, but it wasn't translated. Let go, Else grabbed the letter and walked out the left open door. The Demon boy transformed and flew up and out of the fireplace. Kalle himself looked at the Mage one last time, walked out, and shut the door behind him.

Gaius spent a long moment staring at the closed door, his tongue pressed up against his front teeth. Such a pity that the young prince did not lead the south, instead of his mother. In spite of - perhaps because of - his demonic taint, he had objectivity, honour, control. Gaius found himself almost hoping that the young Odinsen could be saved.

Mars knows I won't be.

His thoughts turned once again to his wife and son, but this time instead of a focus and a balm their faces were a suppurating wound, serving only to bring him a raw, distracting pain. He had only one purpose now - to destroy the demons before they claimed him.


***

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

The tension between mother and son was immeasurable. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9Ho0SJnoAI) The silence short lived, two turns and a swing of a door and now they were back in the Lady Jarl’s bedchambers. Their enemy, so close and yet so far. Else had stepped in slowly, staring down at the scroll in hand. Kalle shut the door behind him, keeping himself steady when his breaking point had been destroyed.

“HOW COULD YOU!? HOW COULD YOU TRUST THE WORD OF A DECEITFUL MUDERER!?” Else screamed at her son, flailing her arms in this rage. The second prince turned his attention to the broken window.

“And you are not, mother?” A dramatic gasp entered the room, the Lady Jarl’s angry face intensified with the accusation. “Enough is enough.” The room’s chill began to make him shiver under his light furs. “What have you done to bring this man into our home? We are powerless against him” Kalle’s black coils bounced with a sharp turn of his head “And what if he goes after Max next? This ends now, mother” She stood back, sitting on her bed.

“And what do you intend to do, son?” In Kalle she saw so much of her late husband, especially with the firm face he held against her.

“Rule. Because you have dug traps so deep, not only are you falling, you are taking the family down with you” Kalle had looked away, standing in front of the fireplace, hands rejoicing in the heat. “I was…we were afraid, told from a young age that the world would hurt us for who we were. And we trusted you to keep us safe. You sold your soul for us, doing even the darkest of things…even if it broke our hearts” There was a special girl that came to mind, his first crush and lover, only one of the romances killed within the family for the sake of safety. He could never remember her name, his nature started young.

Else listened, seeing the fire illuminate his noble figure. Her eyes were straining, watering.

“Father’s death…we were even more fearful. After all our years living with the paranoia you had instilled in us we saw it wasn’t enough. Without father, we had no leader, no one to show the North our strength.” Kalle’s lips quivered, finding the words to speak. “But you, mother…you were there, you always were. And when you wanted the crown, we gave it to you without hesitation”

The mother’s skin of her cheeks felt the warmth of a wet sorrow, her body the cold of her youngest son’s destruction.

“And that, was my mistake. I was weak. I needed to hide behind you. You always made sure we were. But now…look at this” His fists squeezed, slowly traveling to his sides. Weeping son and mother met eyes. “Look at us. Not even in two years of your rule, things are unfolding so unholy, so terrible that I fear father’s legacy, and our people, could be lost. And now…and now Nea and Jóhann have been taken by a strange man, welcomed into our home, by you. A man I did not even know existed, until I learn my siblings are gone. They hid behind you, Nea needed to, and you have damned them”

The crowned woman hid her face in her hands, the shame cutting so deeply.

“I pray to grandfather that they are alive. I have no choice but to trust him. But mother, I cannot trust you, never again” Turning his body, he kept close to the radiating fire, his body warmed enough to feel its emotional quakes and winter shivers. “Now speak, tell me the truth! Tell me how many webs you have spun?”

The bedroom door opened to two teary eyed sisters.

“The wolves cannot find her!” Hella was desperate.

“The scent ends in her room. As if she never left…” Karla kept her eyes to the ground.

“And brother! Brother is missing as well!”

“I know” Kalle looked stoically to his sisters. “Stay” Both women watched their mother cry at her bedside. “Mother has much to explain to us”

Over Branjaskr the sun began to rise in the hour it took Else to confess. It was in the last two months that things spiraled out of hand. At first, it was Åge, a boy she knew Karla desired, someone who could show if Karla had the afflicted blood. The bait was taken, but it was Max’s lover, and that wasn’t something she intended. And her sins piled from there. She confessed to the attempted murder of Syf, hearing the dangerous threat Set gave and telling no one, the creation of Demons for power, the manipulation of the Northern Emperor through Gaius and finally to the shaky alliance she shared with Gaius in order to fight whatever was coming through the purple portal.

Karla had stormed out when Else admitted to manipulating her and Hella listened by the door, sharing glances with her brother. Else laid on the bed, looking up to the cold, frost touched ceiling. Warmth was returning back into the bedchambers now that Kalle had hung thick quilts over the nailed wood. Not once had either child spoke.

Left in the silence, the weak mother rolled to her side. In the moment it all made sense, she had the power, but now to look back she could only see herself falling and falling and falling into somewhere she did not know. She felt so exhausted, stressed, weak. To fight against the Gods and the Demon Lords felt impossible, but they were the ones who wanted to hurt her children.

Or so she believed. Kalle’s words had brought light to something she wished she never had seen: she brought Gaius into this. By extension, his sins against her family were actually hers.

“You are tired, elskede” Kalle could see in the lithe figure of his mother. He pulled sheets over her and their eyes met again. Their relationship had changed, and so suddenly. No longer was she looking into the eyes of young man with a possible hopeful future, but now a man who was going to stay true to his convictions.

In that flash of revelation the Lady Jarl ceased, feeling the metal taken from her head. Else could finally close her eyes and breathe. Kalle stood strong; the fire gleamed off the encrusted sapphires from the metal circlet.

Hella was taken aback by reverence for her younger brother.

“Forfeit your claim to the crown, sister” He was the man to rule, he was going to be the one help continue to bring the change Korzan sought. Slowly, respectfully, she nodded. Kalle quickly left the room, crown and scroll in hand.

Hella looked at her mother. This was the first time she could ever think of seeing her looking weak. Her breathing was irregular, crying under the covers. The eldest sister turned away, to know the man who had taken her brother and sister was only just down the hall was enraging. Had he been an ordinary man, she could have tortured him senselessly. But power was power, stomping down the steps of a castle spire she knew she useless. Power was power and she did not have enough…


***

Max was curled into a ball on his bed. Again, in his darkest moments of life he cried while watching the snow fall. It had become his greatest pastime, and not willingly. But his heart continued to find new ways to twist and writhe in unbearable pain. Life was tragedy after tragedy, and each one felt as fresh as the one before.

Many things were wrong with his mother, but she had one thing right: it never does get easier. His heart and soul felt so black, staring out to the pure white of eternal winter. He yearned and feared solitude, soon enough he wouldn’t have anyone to run anyway from, all dead. The one remaining person he cared was now…gone.

Nea, was gone. For Nea he would have done anything, everything. Instead here he was, repeating the cycle of crying and watching, watching and crying.

The fires of his fireplace were suppressed, being pushed down by wind. Frantically he looked over, hearing a caw echoed in the smoky stones. Emerging was Oerin, and he stepped out from a black cloud, standing on his talon feet.

Max fixed his eyes onto Oerin’s face and noticed the wound. For a moment neither said or did a thing. Oerin gazed at the falling tears. The third prince went into his bath chambers and gestured the Demon to follow. Oerin watched his sad looking master wring a cloth from a basin, the dripping water loud away from the crackling fire.

“Come here…” Max instructed and Oerin kneeled, across the other side of the basin. This was one of their first conscious moments since being taken out of the grotto, history shoved back by the more urgent. “Did you find my sister?” Max’s voice was shaking, wet cloth gently dabbed the wound but still the Demon winced in pain. The black wings fluttered, a hand put to his head.

“No, master”

“What is wrong?” Red stained the cloth.

“The mistress…she asks me to commune with many ravens” He winced again, sucking in air. “It hurts, my master” The platinum blonde gave a grim nod.

“Is there no trace of my sister?”

“There is, a mage has her” The cloth stopped moving, held against the skin. Mages were dangerous, they could feel the affliction. Mother had warned them.

“Is…is she hurt!?” His hand clasped on the cloth, water rippling as it returned home in the basin.

“No, master…I do not believe so” Oerin’s hesitation wounded Max, his face looked hollow and pale with dread. The prince stood and Oerin followed suit.

“Where is this mage!?” He bolted to the door but Oerin held him.

“I cannot let you go near him. For your safety, master” Max fought, Oerin’s taut arms holding him successfully. Max struggled, a long fight with no positive outcome. Finally his tired body gave in, stuck in Oerin’s embrace.

“I cannot do anything…” He felt so powerless, even with the blood that ran though his veins, he was, amazingly, powerless.

The more he kept still the more he felt the ripped body against his back, the bulging rock of Oerin’s codpiece. Cheeks burned, teeth biting the outer corner of his bottom lip. “Let go, I won’t go after this mage…” He crashed on his bed, and groaned into its fur cover.

“Master?” Oerin had asked, Max feeling a fire burning in him.

The door opened and Kalle looked at the two lads, ignoring the flushed face of his sibling. Walking around the bed he handed to Oerin the scroll from Gaius and hide parchment.

“Can you write in the Northern language?” Kalle kept himself focused.

“Yes-ah master” Another ache of pain struck his mind, the birds flocking and flying around the city in a senseless search. People were watching them, Oerin could see.

“The ravens?” Oerin nodded.

“Do what you must to rid yourself of them and begin to write” Throughout Branjaskr the ravens began to explode into small clouds of smoke. Oerin’s tan hand picked up the plucked feather pen. The older brother watched over his shoulder, the raven Demon sitting at the desk before the snowy window. “Address the letter to tribune Cassius…”

Max watched in wonder of the future events to come.


***

Spreading through Branjaskr was a morale boost of an unusual origin. The raving ravens, the ones flying nonsensically through the city were watched with awe. It was a distraction, seeing these signs of Odin among them, flying down to their rooftops, into their homes, looking at all of them.

Odin was watching them, Odin was giving his blessing. The ravens boldly flew above the masses, scanning over all of them before vanishing and fur tattered men and women raised their hands in the air in hallelujah! To Landswoman Kia who was stroking her war trained wolves, reading over the attack plans Else had produced, it was indeed another sign of his favor. The Lady Jarl was quite respected for her intellect, but these tactical plans were genius. The Lady Jarl herself said she was inspired by their great patron god.

Odin be praised.


***

In his heavy furs, prince Kalle walked out of the castle's front grand wooden doors. He could only hope he was doing the right thing for his family and his people. Everything seemed so bleak, but victory nor happiness were ever going to be gained from how things were handled. Kalle had always looked up to his father, a hero in every way. Kalle idolized him, as did his people. Fair, just, strong, open, loving, and true. The black haired noble struggled to manifest those things in himself.

The castle gates were open and he stepped through. His body spasmed and he put a hand to his chest, caught off guard. The demonic wards...The burning in his blood helped him remember what made it so difficult to be like the man he admired. Pushing past the pain, a cold sweat hit him, the cliff was ahead. Stepping away, he looked back at the gate one last time and detoured off the rock path into the wild snow and distant trees. He breathed deeply, slowly climbing the flat layers of rocks up and out of the hillside the castle sat upon.

When the sun was at its highest point, Kalle stood proudly at Courage Point. Looking down, he saw his people digging furiously outside his walls, packs of wolves patrolling between long and narrow stone homes whose roofs were hidden under white fluff, his people now armed and ready for the invasion.

It was slow to start, one woman to notice the prince standing there. She pointed, and then two pointed, and exponentially everyone stopped their tasks to walk to the cliffside that was so far above them. Kalle was standing proudly, one leg forward and raised on a higher leveled rock.

The crown was resting in his arm at his side. His heart pulsed with dignity and pride for his father. Staring ahead, he looked firmly at the purple light that never stopped looming over his people. In the winter the people huddled together, whispers of speculation abound.

“My mother took this crown-” He extended it for all to see “when her children needed time to grieve for their father. She took the burdens when they should have passed down to those of Odin’s blood. But Odin’s blood must be what rules. Let my grandfather unite us against the forces that come our way!”

The people below felt the bubbling eagerness in their stomachs, the sign of the ravens and the dawn of a new ruler. Kalle, the one the masses looked up to the most. Kalle, the noble of the people.

“I Kalle Odinsen, take this crown” It was raised over his head, snow falling upon its surface “And in the name of my father, the noble Korzan, and grandfather Odin, take the throne!” The circlet pushed down some of his famous black locks, swept to the side by a finger so his eyes may gaze down upon his endearing subjects. And Jarl Kalle radiated the hope the people needed and loud cheering boomed. Booming louder than the gusts of winter, booming and roaring for better days to come.

Korzan’s legacy would continue, uninterrupted.

Death of Korzan
09-30-2014, 08:15 PM
Eternum Orbit, UEA Waterloo

The ship bustled with movement, those on the ship danced around its body like ants inside a hive, insignificant to the monolithic size of the war engine. Stars glinted in the backdrop of space, shining bright in the pitch black of the unknown. Below the ship lay the blue, green and white world of Eternum, its two huge super-continents being bathed in the light of its moon as the majority of the landmass turned away from the sun.

The sound of machinery and the multiple fleeting sounds that the various consoles of the ship made sure that silence was never an active thing within the ship – feet clanked against the steel grating that lined the floor and hands flickered over holographic screens showing data regarding multiple things – the engines, the hyper-drive core’s temperature, the pillars of light emanating from the planet below; a planet considered to be primitive in technology to the Earthborn.

Within the bridge sat Captain Ceylan with his crew, who were busy flicking their hands across monitors and analyzing the new light that had appeared within the capital city of Emor. “How are we doing on tracing those Genetics?” Ceylan asked – his Turkish accent rolling from his mouth clearly, a sign that he was under stress. Genetics on the loose on a primitive planet could only mean that terrible things could happen; past failed Genetic subjects who had been released had only caused death and destruction – it was of concern to Ceylan that they hadn’t been abolished in Earth-Space already.

“Sir we have no sign of any Genetics within the city, it seems that they left with the release of the new beacon.” Spoke one of the Captain’s officers. “We’re trying to track them now but it seems that something is blocking us, I’m getting nothing but jargon in our sensors.” Ceylan stood and pulled his fingers across his brow.

“Come on Aykut, think…” The man murmured to himself in frustration. “Are we still monitoring the transmitter’s energy fluctuations?” The Captain yelled out to his crew, his voice laden with sympathy instead of aggression – an odd trait that the man seemed to carry.

“Sir the transmitter is still being monitored – nothing goes in or out without us knowing about it.” A young Irish voice spoke up, another one of the Captain’s officers.

“Excellent, keep monitoring. I don’t want anything in or out.” Ceyland sat back down, his hands on the Captain’s seat – fists gripping hard onto the arms of the chair, causing the man’s tan knuckles to turn white with the pressure.

‘Come on Aykut, there are lives at stake here…’

Emor, Palace Courtyard

There was a quiet, solemn stillness in the air. The darkness of night seemed to swirl into the sky, swallowing the stars and space whole with its never ending hunger and its giant, putrid maw. The wind blew across the Courtyard, sprinkling dead, sodden leaves across the stone floor. The trees rustled with contempt, branches bare due to the stripping power of nature. Still, the darkness that came with the cold was perturbing, and with a flash the Darkness was no longer alone. The Courtyard held two new bodies, and the sound of a baby whimpering and then bursting into tears filled the air. The Darkness whispered, slowly, intimately – and the child stopped crying and swallowed, gulping in the black miasma that filled the air.

Johann lifted his head from the stone, having landed with a thud from appearing in mid-air. His heart felt oddly heavy – which was a strange feeling as his eyes fluttered upon and looked upon the building that stood in front of him. Marble towers far more regal than the stone ones that formed Branjaskr sat in front of him, spires stroking at the clouds in the sky. A pressure placed itself upon the young Odinsen’s head, forcing him to fall backwards. His lust burned from within his heart, the evil of his birth wishing to crawl out of him and find something, anything. The young man did not know where he was, but he quickly felt something smother over him – layers of something gaseous and greasy, yet ice cold. Johann felt lips upon his, and his eyes opened with shock as he saw the very night slipping into his mouth and nose. 5 outstretched dots on his chest – fingerprints – began to glow bright blue as his head was filled with blackness.

Johann screamed out, blood beginning to trickle down his nose and from his tear ducts sloppily, dribbling into his mouth and down the side of his faced towards his eyes. The man thrashed about as the darkness pinned his arms to his side, wishing to subdue him. The young man was choking, drowning in the Night’s embrace. He turned to his sister in desperation and saw her looking at him, the small child’s eyes boring into his – and they were black, swirling with malice and darkness.

“Johann...” The very air seemed to call out to him as the blue spots on his chest turned deep black and the young man ripped his head backwards, palms smashing flat onto the ground in desperation – fingernails ripping themselves off as he scratched at the stone bricks that made up the ground, blood pooling out of the tips of his fingers as the raw flesh was exposed underneath. The man’s hands drove themselves at his neck as he broke the hold on his arms and legs. He turned and wretched onto the floor, spittle drawing out of his mouth, but none of the darkness that had filled his core.

“You were born to serve, Johann…” The Darkness whispered to him. “You were born, to become something greater. To fulfill greater purpose!” Johann’s hands rose to his head as he arched himself backwards, screaming into the night as his eyes were shrouded rapidly with an unbreakable vale of darkness – his body becoming numb and his senses being lost as his body was adopted by something more powerful than he. He felt his legs rise up as his body – now no longer his own – turned around and looked upon the purple beam that filled the sky behind him, swirling into the night with no abandon, swallowing all that it could. What once was Johann moved towards the body of his younger sibling and helped her up, the small child hobbling upwards – though clearly she was not in control either. The small child’s tiny hand wrapped around Johann’s as his own hands gripped tightly upon her, their loss of control not tempering the relation they had as brother and sister. A deep resonating sound filled the air, coming from within the palace and towards the purple light gracing the sky; Johann turned once more, Neah following suit to look towards the huge, intricate door of the Namorian Palace.

The doors shifted open, grating against the ground as a single figure appeared from behind. He wielded armor that was not metal nor magic, but instead dark black – with veins of a liquid that seemed somewhat like Gold running across it, defying the gravity of Eternum and instead slipping in and out of cracks upon the armor, moving away from the epicenter at the middle of the figure’s chest-piece. His hair was bright white, glimmering against the moon and swaying with the wind with such beauty that Johann felt that his eyes were looking upon Apollo, God of Beauty. His eyes however were Abyssal, filled with such hatred, anger and darkness that even the sun would not fill them with light and instead the eyes seemed to promise to swallow the sun whole should it try to do so. His eyebrows were long, stretching slightly off of his face to a point, the same celestial white that his hair held. A smile crossed over his lips, silvery against his midnight-black skin. The man’s left hand was placed upon a large sword at his waist that seemed to share the same alloy composition as his armor, a deep black with golden veins running along it, pulsing as if the armor was alive. The man’s ears were likely the most peculiar point of his face, sharp and to a point, at least 8 inches long and stretching into the air.

“Thek thum, vadaris.” The dark being spoke. “Children of life.” Johann felt his skin crawl, though he himself could not feel anything anymore, just his eyes shifting around as his body moved like a robot. “Johann, do not make this so difficult – your mother always knew.” Johann struggled from within his own mind against his bonds, though nothing happened.

‘Always knew what!’ The young man screamed from within his mind.

“She was reluctant to tell you I presume, how my father – Set – came to her, at orders from the true King.” The…thing…smiled, bright white teeth glinting through the air, looking menacing against his dark features. “How he told of two of her children, and how he would forge Pandora’s box and that she would open it and herald our return.” The beast raised his face, smiling at the sky as if taunting the Gods.

“You were born for this, Johann.” The being reached out his hands and pulled back with them, as if gripping a chain. Johann felt a tug at his very being as he walked forward, Neah following – though her face was devoid of expression. “Come now…let us go.” The Dark-Being turned and walked back into the Palace, with Johann and Neah in tow – their invisible leashes dragging them. They slowly approached the purple light, pulsing from the large anvil-like object in the centre of the huge walkway. A throne sat at the opposite end of the hall, empty and dejected.

Johann wanted to scream, he wanted to cry and rip the throat out of this man. But he couldn’t, and soon – as he was dragged into the purple light, he was gone.


Eternum Orbit, UEA Waterloo

“Sir we have six blips on our tracking in that area – strangely enough two don’t seem to be affiliated at all with the portal.” The sound of machines beeping and alarms going off within the room filled the air, Captain Ceylan grit his teeth in frustration and rose up from his seat, looking down at the planet through the bay windows.

“Making an exit journey or an entrance into the transmitter?” The Captain spoke, hands rubbing across his tired face – these faster-than-light pillars of light had kept him awake from most of his nights as he had tried to work out how a primitive people like those that lived upon Eternum could possibly gain technology that surpassed even the Earthborn’s own.

“Sir we have one of the targets making an exit journey into the compound, and then three – one possibly being our first blip on the radar – taking a return trip back to wherever they came from.” The same officer spoke, turning her face to look at the Turkish man.

“Sir these energy levels are fluctuating amazingly – that was big, whatever it was.” Another man spoke, an American. So many voices filled the air around Ceylan – being a captain was hard, but this was excruciating for the man.

The Captain deliberated for a moment, eyes closed as he sought his mind for an option. There was only one that he could think of however, though he could possibly be court marshaled for it. “Set course for Emor.”

“Sir?” The men and women in front of the Captain turned, their consoles suddenly becoming still as they looked in wonder at the man – did he mean it? An Earthborn ship larger than a transport had never journeyed to the surface, especially not a fully armed Dreadnought Class war engine.

“Set course, I want us over the top – this is too far into our business for us to sit above the planet like birds watching their prey run wild. I want troops ready and habitation pods ready to be dropped on my command.” The Captain sat down and peered forwards towards the planet. “That’s an order.” The man calmly spoke, his stress not showing through his visage. The men and women in front of him all slowly turned their faces and began to press the multiple screens that sat ahead of them, fingers running over solid holograms with incredible speed.

The ship’s alarms began to go off as people rushed to their stations, the hyper-drive engines began to hum to life as the engineers began to switch on the Fission reactors that helped them to run – there were 18 in total, and all 18 were working at their highest potential as the hyper-drive engine was brought to life.

“Slipping into hyper-drive in 3.” The delay between seconds seem to take hours, no – years. Ceyland gripped onto the arms of the chair and grit his teeth, staring down into the planet. “2…1.” The moment that one of the officers finished the countdown a huge blast of sound echoed through the hull of the ship. The stars at the edge of the bay windows elongating to extreme lengths, slipping past the windows until they were no more but blips in the distance. Immense G-force engulfed those on the ship and the Captain was pushed back into his seat by the pressure as the ship seemed to stall before launching itself into the Planet’s atmosphere.

Suddenly the ship burst forward, the sound of multiple sonic booms as reached incredible speeds, smashing through the atmosphere of the planet and shifting clouds as the huge bulk of the war engine entered the planet.

“Sir we have reached terminal velocity with Hyper-Drive sustainability, we are approaching Emor Airspace and should be hanging over the city within 10 clicks.” Ceylan sat back his chair, the G-force that had been laid upon him lessening upon the entry into the planet’s atmosphere. The ship finally broke through the bank of clouds that had shrouded the ship from those on the surface – revealing the bright city of Emor and the spear of light that emerged from the centre of the city. The sea lapped at the shore and at the cliff-sides, where multiple crosses were hung up – corpses strung to the wooden effigies. “Sir we are officially in Emor airspace – we are calculating the best location for drop pods, all results are pointing to the Northern edge of the city.”

“Fine, take us there, I want drop pods on the location and men inside the city as soon as possible – I don’t care if we have to fight our way through, whatever is going on here is breaching the agreements that we made with their Emperor.” Captain Ceylan spoke, his voice at last taking on a stern tone – the man reached his hands up to caress his brow in frustration; what was going on…

‘Have relations between Earth and Emor fallen so low?’ The Captain thought to himself before looking back up through the bridge’s windows. The ship itself was bigger than the entire city of Emor – the hyper-drive engines at the back of the ship taking up most of the room. People began to flock out of their homes and point at the sky, in which the giant metal machine hung within the clouds. Some screamed and others marveled, the foolish praised the Earthborn arrival as a sign from the Gods.

Within moments the ship stopped drifting across the sky and the great blue fires of the Hyper-Drive engines ceased, leaving the behemoth hovering within the dark nights sky.
One of Ceylan’s officers sat forward and began to run his fingers along the hologram in front of him. “Drop pods being released in 3…2…1.” There was a pause of silence before the woman giving the countdown turned to the captain. “Drop pods have been launched successfully sir – establishing ground contact with natives.”

The Pods themselves were huge, around as big as a house and shaped like a teardrop – the bulbous end of their shells rushing down from the ship towards the ground. Those that were within the drop-zone ran screaming as they saw the pods falling from the ship – and those that saw them running ran too. Soon the majority of the city’s population were fleeing into the walls as the Drop-Pods smashed into the ground and pushed up the dirt.

The Drop-Pods stayed upright as they slammed into the ground, digging themselves a bowl-shape upon impact in order to store themselves and keep themselves standing straight. Lights flickered on the metal construct as it folded outwards, and shifted in shape. A metal surface dragged itself out of the Pod’s side and ground along the floor, neutralizing the grass and any life-forms underneath it. From that rose up a thin fabric wall, bulletproof and impervious to most types of damage. The Pod then shuddered as gas filled the interior and then was sucked back in – neutralizing bacteria and sterilizing the habitation platform – though the crew of the UEA Waterloo were immunized to most of the disease that was found on Eternum – the majority of it being similar to those on Earth; some worse and others not as bad.

As the habitation units were fully crafted, men and women, wielding guns and plasma blades jumped out of the cockpits, 15 in each Pod. These men and women instantly began to set up stations for other troops being sent down – the first Drop point being the designated Weapon’s dock, and the second being the first medic bay and the third being the Captain’s quarters – if he chose to journey to the surface at all. The rest of the Pods were designated for habitation for the multiple troops being dropped upon the surface.

As the last pod was dropped on the ground, the officers turned to the captain. “All Drop-Pods have been released sir, the compound should be fully operational in the early morning.” The Captain leaned forward and looked towards the moon, now standing so far, far away.

“Good – I wouldn’t want to keep the Emperor waiting; someone’s going to have to answer for whatever’s going on.”

Odin’s Grotto, Combrogia

The Grotto at night was beautiful – the flickering lights that danced along the sky, shooting stars filling the night and the shifting golden trees that moved in sway with the wind. Isabella sat out at her windowsill, arms resting against the wood. It was comforting, the breeze moved across the face of the young girl – abducted from her world of metal and technology and brought into this beautiful land, devoid of artificial light and weapons of global destruction, a land of swords and magic; a world of excitement and an escape from the monotony of Earth. Isabella sighed as she looked behind her at her bed and at the Leaf-Green Trident that sat on the soft woven covers.

The blade had risen from the ground, formed of a type of metal that the Druada use – given to them by the Gods of the Wild. Isabella had been learning how to use it efficiently alongside her own studies – feeling the forest around her was of no difficulty to her and she seemed to be picking things up quickly, being able to manipulate clumps of vines and branches of trees with her own mind. She felt more than she was before she was taken on by the Druada – she felt like a different, stronger being.

Isabella’s own thoughts were suddenly broken by a cough from her left, her eyes quickly turning and looking upon the Druada who stood there. He was an Eldrani, this was obvious from his long star-tipped ears, his brown hair rolling off of his head and over his shoulders and the right side of his face, lacking the coverage to hide his distinctive ears however. The young Eldrani’s eyes were a deep galactic purple, seemingly filled with flecks of white – almost like stars, yet they were filled a sadness so visible that it seemed to shroud Isabella’s own previous curiosity at the beauty of the Grotto. He stood at around 5’11, with a well-toned body and two green swords at his waist within scabbards. He wore a fine Wood and Root-Iron armor, the green material that made up Isabella’s Trident weaving itself through the enchanted wood like vines upon a tree-trunk.

“My Lady.” The Eldrani spoke, his voice smooth like silk. The Eldrani closed his long lashed eyelids as he bowed before the Earthborn women, who was slightly taken aback by the beautiful creature’s show of respect. “It is the time of seeing.”

“The time of seeing?” Isabella squinted with curiosity, confused by what the young man meant. “What is this ‘time of seeing’?”

“It is not something that I can explain my lady – please, if you would?” The man held out his hand, gesturing for Isabella to take it. It was smooth – unblemished by war or wounds, yet it was also unmarked by heavy labor – the man was either some part of a royal family or incredibly lazy. Isabella stood for a moment before placing her small hand inside the man's, gripping onto him as he nodded at her and smiled before turning and marching out of the door with the Earthborn soldier in tow.

As Isabella left her abode, she was taken aback by the scenery around her. Birds were dancing upon the trees – glowing underneath the moonlight, feathers puffing out as they grouped together. Large Silver Elk as big as Shire Horses chewed at the ground in huge herds, mating at whim underneath the bright light of the moon. The trees themselves shone with such luminescence – blues and purple hues raining from the sky in a cacophony of beauty that shocked the young woman and stole the air from her lungs. The Trees themselves groaned and shook underneath the wind, releasing leaves that floated towards the floor like beautiful confetti. The bark of the tree’s held long veins of celestial blue, running from the base of the tree and from the tips of its roots all the way to its highest branches and through the orange leaves that adorned them.

Along much of the grass sat a few Humans, Crocolykes, Hercinians and Dwarves, most of the humans clearly being of Combrogian descent, though some showing the tan skin of Emor Province and others with the skin color and facial composition of Afragia – which was an oddity within the Grotto and their presence seemed to confuse the animals who sat around them. Elk walked towards them and sniffed at their bodies whilst birds floated down from the trees and landed at their shoulders, stretching out their long glowing wings within the moonlight. Big Cat’s padded into the Grotto from the tree-line, though they simply growled at the strange group of humans and sat down on another patch of grass.

“What are they doing here?” Isabella pointed at the myriad of strangers within the Grotto – none of them looking up to give the Earthborn woman a glance.

“They are waiting for their father apparently.” The Eldrani spoke. “They say that he came to them in a hunting dream, calling for their aid – they call it ‘The Great Howling’.”

“The Great Howling…” Isabella glanced down at the floor before looking back up. “I guess I shouldn’t be asking what they’re doing here – I shouldn’t even be on this planet.” A tinge of sadness filled Isabella’s heart – no matter how beautiful the Grotto was she still felt homesick, lusting for her home in Germany and the seemingly endless city scape that dominated the skyline of most of planet Earth – the rest being blanketed by nuclear fallout and the designated oxygen farms utilized by the planet.

As the women looked up, she was stunned once more as she found herself approaching a large opening in the tight path she had been following. The stones at her feet began to disappear and Isabella soon found herself to be walking along soft grass – her shoes indenting upon the soil. In the middle of the opening sat a large brazier and around it stood multiple Eldrani, arms raised in the sky and linked together as they sung to the heavens – their voices stroking at the sky. The somber tones of the Eldrani voices brought tears to Isabella’s eyes – the woman quickly wiping them away.

“Come, my lady. Sing with us – see with us.” The young Druada walked forward and raised his arms before locking his hands with the Eldrani next to him. The brazier ahead of her continued to change color, as if trying to find an image within the fire, yet unable to find a missing key to the network. Isabella took a deep breath and stepped forward until she was within the circle around the large fire, before she rose her hands and locked them with both of the Druada around her.

As soon as Isabella enclosed her hands she felt a rush of energy fill her. Everything around her became apparent – the pheromones from the animals nearby, the heat of the Brazier – now seeming almost boiling hot upon Isabella’s skin, though not uncomfortably so. The Druada song seemed to trickle into Isabella’s ears like syrup and soon the woman found herself chanting the lyrics – whilst she could not understand what they meant she seemed to sense what their deeper meaning was and this seemed to comfort the young woman.

Soon the forest was filled with the chanting from the Druada, and Isabella slowly opened her eyes, looking at the Brazier as it slowly flickered – the flame seemingly unnatural. Shining orbs of light dropped down from the trees and twinkled within the air before launching themselves at the flames, their beauty being burnt away as they scattered into stardust. The emotion was thick within the air and Isabella felt like crying and rejoicing at the same time – she felt the emotions of the Eldrani around her as if they were all one cohesive being, she cried from within at the death of their people, she rejoiced at the wildlife around her – she felt herself drifting from Earth and becoming more at peace on Eternum; the Eldrani of course experienced Isabella’s memories of Earth and found themselves shocked, the world covered in metal, stone and concrete – the only trees being held in large locations across the world forbidden from mankind.

Suddenly, a loud gust of the fire drew Isabella’s attention, along with the attention of the Eldrani around the brazier. The fire itself had mostly dimmed, though in the center of the brazier it now glowed with a bright turquoise fire, the flames forging out and creating the distinct shape of a body laying upon the ground. The form was clearly Eldrani – though he seemed comatose, vines sapping at his body. “Father!” Isabella’s young escort cried out, staring at the flames. “He’s alive!” The image seemed to heal some of the pain within the young man’s eyes, though the flames quickly shifted onto another vision.

A face was formed from the fires, a gorgeous face. Locks of hair – the fires not showing what color they held – flowing off of his head and curling; large lips upon his face and well-placed cheekbones. This face quickly flickered out of view though as something different appeared within the fires.

The image within the fire showed a forest burning – it showed Combrogia burning. A huge army surrounded the entire forest – millions of beings setting fire to the trees that made up the bulk of the Forest land. Most of the Eldrani reeled from this vision and fell backwards. Isabella felt herself drawn to this vision as it flickered as a huge Earthborn machine fell from the sky, its flaming body breaking in two – Isabella could almost hear the metal crunching and the engines imploding as they began to smash into the turquoise ‘soil’. Soon enough the flames departed, leaving the Brazier empty and devoid of life. A deep silence set upon those around the still hot Brazier and as the moon was covered up by a cloud, Isabella’s escort stood and wiped a tear from his eye – the burning of the forest clearly hurting him emotionally.

“I will inform the Elders of what we have seen – they must know of these visions…” He suddenly turned to Isabella, who was still cringing over the entire experience – the things she had seen seeming so real and so vivid within her mind. “You should all return home – it seems that a darkness lurks upon our night of Kringrost.”

Sharktooth Bay, Afragia

Clemente bolted upright as the sound of cannon-fire echoed from across the nearby waters (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ynC7m4voio). The screams of men filled the air and Clemente rolled out of bed, his body thudding against the floor. Groaning, the man lifted himself and pulled on his jacket – he had been sipping on old rum for the past few nights and now he felt as if he had been beaten around the head with a wooden plank. The Admiral pushed open his door, sleep still sticking to his eyes and was met with the blazing inferno of what had inevitably become a siege. Multiple ships, of wooden design and of a more futuristic design were navigating themselves into the bay; large contingents of ships were burning and sinking into the deeper waters of the bay, causing bubbles to float to the surface.

Men screamed all around the bay, the bloody mist coating many of the remaining ships as boarders threw themselves onto the wood and steel of Clemente’s fleet. The Admiral raised his hands to his head and took a deep breath of exasperation – who could have done this? Did the natives bring this navy upon them? No – they couldn’t have, the British Admiral knew that the natives’ naval strength was incomparable to the firepower that was currently tearing through his fleet.

Taking a few quick strides, Clemente approached the wooden banister of his ship, looking at the ocean below – the water churned with such turmoil that it almost matched the events occurring from beyond its reach. Spinning around quickly, Clemente marched back into his quarters and grabbed his sword before leaving and retreating down the steps onto the decking. “What are we dealing with?!” The Admiral yelled to one of his crewmembers – a man not of his time wielding what he called an ‘mp40’.

“Looks like pirates or something!” The man spoke, his voice sounding Northern – possibly Scottish. Clemente clapped the man on the back and pulled one of the radio transmitters the other more modern captains had given him.

“How’s it looking out there boys?” The Admiral spoke, watching as his crew fired cannonballs across the water at the attacking ships, hitting one of them directly in the flagpole, causing it to crack and fall down.

“Its not great, we’re under intense firepower, there’s a lot of small landing craft heading towards the shores – one of them seems to be carrying some sort of payload, perhaps dynamite?” One of the fleet’s Captains replied.

“Dynamite?” Clemente spoke in surprise – turning as a hook reached up and clung to the wooden barrier at the side of the ship. The metal item dug deep into the wood, carving chunks out of it as it secured itself before becoming still. Clemente whirled round and drew his sword from its scabbard as the first border climbed upon the ship, a knife between his teeth and a sword at his waist. The Admiral dove forwards and sliced as the man raced towards him, lopping one of his arms off. The pirate screamed and fell to the floor in agony – though more pirates began to swarm the deck. There were dozens of them, leaping into Clemente’s crew.

The British fought back with pistols and rifles, a firing line being set up upon the coast – gunning down the first pirates who reached the shores, though this line was quickly broken by the German troops who landed, grenades and machine guns mowing down the Redcoats. Planes fought in midair, bullets clattering against the planes and tearing them to pieces, causing the immortal men to fall to their temporary deaths. The German and British Battleships traded fire – the element of surprise devastating large portions of the British Fleet, though the British had more ships.

Clemente glanced over at the ruins of the Belfast, the ship would have been detrimental to the success of the navy, and its hyper advanced systems would have likely blown the German Navy out of the water – literally. However advanced the ship’s weapons were did not defend it from the massive firepower that was thrown at it, and now the behemoth was slowly sinking below the waterline of the Afragia Coast, being drowned by Neptune’s seemingly all-encompassing maw.

Reflected in the flames of the sinking ships however laid the constantly moving swarm of small vessels, both German’s and Pirates riding within them. Clemente continued to scan across the water, his vision panning all the way to the coast, where German’s boats were sliding up onto the coast, releasing men who immediately began to open fire upon the drowsy British men, cursing under his breath Clemente turned back to his crew.

“All hands on deck!” The Admiral roared, courage filling his being. He was a member of the British fleet, gods damn it. He was charged with the lives of the British men and women upon this damned planet, and whilst his people could not fall in battle Clemente was determined to put a stop to those spilling their blood. Sprinting up the stairway to the navigating wheel, Clemente wrapped his hands around the helm’s wheel and yelled to those who were not fighting unwanted boarding parties.

“Lift the sails! Bring up the anchor!” Clemente roared, those not fighting warily following his orders and allowing the large flag to stretch out, catching the heavy wind and jolting the ship to life. The Admiral pulled one of his flintlock pistols from its holster at his waist and blasted a pirate who had come too close to comfort in the chest, knocking him down upon his back and killing him. The Admiral span the wheel and glared down at the coast – mowing down small boats that did not move out of the ship’s way.

“Nobody insults the British…nobody except the British.” Fishing a flask of rum from his pocket, Admiral Isaac grinned as he steered his ship directly towards the coast – blocking out the sounds of explosions and gunshots all around him, taking a long deep swig of alcohol. “Raise the flag! I want these bastards to know exactly who they’ve fucked with!”

As the last boarder was kicked from the deck the men turned to their Captain, who basked in the light of the moon as if he were more than mortal. The men rushed and strung the billowing flag of the British Empire up from the top of the mast, reflecting the light of the stars and the fires of the battle off of it.

“For King!” Clemente chanted. “And for Country!”

Whistling bombs hit the water at either side of the ship, causing large waves to engulf the deck. Machine gun fire tore through the wooden hull, causing leaks from within. The Admiral ignored these annoyances though as his ship fast approached the coast. When the sand was within a few metres Clemente braced himself, fingers gripping tight onto the wooden wheel. His crew looked expectantly as they stopped turning, though quickly look at the approaching sands and grabbed onto parts of the ship. One of the men was sniped through the head by a hidden sniper, head exploding and gushing with blood as his body fell to the floor.

The ship suddenly groaned as it ran itself up along the shallow sand, slowing itself on the yellow sediments. Gunfire began to ricochet off of the wooden vessel, tearing holes through the thick wood. Clemente pulled his flintlock pistol and fired at one of the Germans who had turned from their conflict with those within the remaining buildings of Sharktooth Bay – many of them had been destroyed by bombers, though it seemed that the German force within the air was being maintained and slowly whittled away by the British forces.

“Admiral, I have men from the central perimeter of the camp saying that they’ve spotted the payload – its definitely not dynamite.” Clemente’s radio informed him of the situation and the man groaned – why couldn’t it have been dynamite; nothing on this planet was ever simple. Clemente jumped off of the side of his ship and onto the soft sand, turning to watch the naval battle occurring behind him before returning his attentions to the land. The other men of the HMS Aptitude leaped off behind him and ran up the sand, some having their heads taken off by snipers; some carrying rifles and laying on the floor to take their shots, careful not to let the sand inside the weapon itself and others pulling out flintlock pistols and firing it at those in front.

Isaac continued his run before throwing himself to the ground as a rain of machine gun fire from a plane above rattled down along the coast, catching two of his men and forcing them to the ground in a bloody mess. The Admiral cursed under his breath as he watched his crew being gunned down; unable to stop moving, Clemente rose up from the ground and shot forward, catching a German in the throat by a stroke of pure luck. A pirate ran at him from a nearby fight after decapitating a young man wielding a bayonet. In his anger, Clemente raised his sword and brought it down into the man’s shoulder cutting into his collarbone and forcing him to the ground, to which the Isaac delivered a solid kick to his chest in order to force him to the ground and leaving him to bleed out.

Isaac pressed himself up against one of the many wooden buildings, the majority of it having been bombed out and destroyed. Looking through the smoke rising from one of the shell’s previous walls Clemente could see British men behind sandbags firing upon a single dark figure shrouded in pure blackness. Ahead of the figure lay two corpses and large glowing object much like an anvil. As the last of the invading troops were killed, Clemente rushed out – noting the risk he was taking – and moved towards the dark figure as it pandered to the anvil-like object, stroking at it with such eagerness.

“Captain, what are you doing?!” The radio within Clemente’s pocket sprang to life, one of his own crew talking to him through another link.

“My duty.” Clemente raised his flintlock and fired, the bullet seemingly being swallowed by the darkness. The figure turned slowly as the darkness was drained from his body and into the anvil, a huge pulsating yellow light bursting from its center and reaching up to the clouds. The ground vibrated like a heartbeat once every few seconds, shaking the Admiral’s body ever so slightly.

“I remember you…” Clemente’s eyes darted away from the mesmerizing and towards the figure – as he did so a layer of disgust covered his conscious and the Admiral raised his flintlock.

“Edward Teach – I should have known that it was you, you undesirable cur.” The Admiral grit his teeth as he pulled the latch down upon his gun, pointing the barrel straight at the man, who raised his hands – his eyes, as pitch as they were, made Clemente feel so little and weak.

“You’re the one who stabbed me in the shoulder, trying to help your Captain...” Blackbeard pulled down the right side of his shirt, revealing a sword mark. “Still got the scar…”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you Teach.” Clemente took a slow step forward, making sure not to cover too much ground.

“Well, that’d be simple lad…it’s because you can’t.” The Pirate laughed as darkness began to stroke at his legs and arms again. “But I’ll see you dead when it all ends.”

Clemente growled as he fired his bullet at Blackbeard, the bullet being shrouded in darkness and disappearing – the pirate laughed. “What do you mean ‘when it all ends?!” Clemente asked in desperation, drawing his sword in frustration.

“Judgment day, boy.” Blackbeard’s form was now shrouded in complete shadow, his voice becoming a mere figment as he slowly disappeared from the area – dark magic robbing Clemente of a chance to take Teach’s life. “It’s coming…you know it, and I know it.”

Suddenly, there was a surprising air of silence, no more explosions; no more gunshots. The only thing to break the silence was the flickering of flames and the groans of sinking ships. Clemente’s radio burst to life as if suddenly made sentient – causing the stunned Admiral to jump in shock.

“They, they just disappeared?! Does anyone have eyes on the targets?!”

“Negative, they just disappeared in some sort of smog!”

The voices collided with each other across the frequency, Clemente refusing to add his voice to theirs, reluctant to do so as he could almost sense that it would be on his head that the blame for the siege would be placed. The Admiral’s eyes traced up the yellow beam as it slowly sunk into a deep royal purple before crackling in the sky like a quick bolt of lightning. The vibration from within the earth slowed and then stopped – though this object was clearly supernatural and that perturbed Isaac.

Taking a deep breath, the Admiral pushed his hair back with the palm of his hand, running his finger through the sweaty strands before placing his Damascus Sabre within its sheath and sitting upon the sand.

“Someone organize a role call – and get me something to drink.”

Epostle
10-07-2014, 08:20 AM
(Azazeal=White, Epostle=Green)

Standing a hundred metres outside the city, Varinius nodded quietly to himself as he watched the repairs to the outer wall take shape. Still festooned with scaffolding, the breach made by the orcs had nevertheless been almost half repaired, and similar reconstruction was underway on the damaged gates. The sounds of men hammering, chiseling and hauling on ropes was still audible even from this distance.

Varinius took a brief detour from his inspection, wandering further away from the slowly rebuilding city so that he had peace and quiet to think. His bodyguards, eight men from the remaining Fulminata garrison, followed silently. Everything seemed uncomfortably fragile. The alien beam of light still glowered over the city, threatening to bring back the orcs and smash everything they were attempting to rebuild. The trouble between Graccus and the new dwarf king hadn't been resolved, and apart from the option of cracking heads, Varinius was not the ideal man to solve it. He also hadn't forgotten what the dwarf soldiers had told him about the former king Vagrund's death - that it had been the work of Namorian traitors rather than orcs. Varinius had already dispatched men to Tu Zenita Duskal to ask questions of the dwarf survivors. But by far the worst threat was to Emor itself, which if Marcius' cousin was to be believed was now a powder keg since the emperor had allegedly arrested the senate. Varinius didn't know the context of the insane move, and dux Marcius was going to have to figure it out on the fly, while also potentially having to fight off the orcs with his other hand. His friend and commander was marching once again into the dragon's jaws, only this time Varinius was not with him.

Seeking distraction, Varinius turned his attention to the underground scenery around him - such as it was - as he continued to walk. The cavern stretching out before the city was unnaturally bare, broken only by the skeletal ruins of the outer bastions. The criss-crossing web of roads that covered the cavern floor was now splintered by the tread of the greyskin monsters and their war machines. The bodies of all sides had been removed and burned en masse; the ashes of the dwarfs and Namorians waiting for two planned mausoleums to be constructed around them, while the orc bones were simply buried. The detritus of war was now finally gone as well - imperial weapons reclaimed, orc ones taken as trophies or else melted down for nails and other construction materials. Some would no doubt find a pleasing metaphor there; the brutishly destructive orcs having their tools put to constructive use by the civilised, enlightened imperium.
That sounds like something Cassius would have said, Varinius mused, and the thought brought a frown to his face. Cassius had thrown himself into every battle as if he genuinely believed himself invincible, but against the greyskins it seemed that his luck had run out. Though they were almost polar opposites, Varinius still felt a pang at the younger tribune's passing, and he had not envied Marcius the task of writing to the boy's family.

Angry now, Varinius turned and walked further away from the walls, into the twisting crevices that dotted the northern wall of the cavern. His bodyguards fell back to a distance, sensing that he wanted to be alone to think.


* * * * * *

Within the deepest dens, where the broodmother rested, she was grieved about what had happened with the dwarves. Battle had erupted everywhere within the mountains, but with little interaction from the Nerubians themselves. She was seated upon her webbed and bone-molded throne as she had a goblet in her right hand, as the other hand held up her head as the elbow was rested upon the arm of the bone throne. The goblet in her hand twisted and turn with every movement with her hand. The goblet of liquid churned and spun silently in the cup as she sat deep in thoughts.

"Broodmother Mira!" One of the patroling male guards yelled as he was running to her. When he approaced her, he kneeled almost instantly, waiting for her permision to talk. Like most of the guards, his skin was more greyed out and pale. His hair was long and ruffled, dark purple in color as his eyes were bright green. This did not resemble every guard however, for some had authentic features, but depending on the rank of the guard also changed the aspect of their appearance slightly.

Mira's attention was still focused on the thoughts of what happened with the dwarves. She heard the guard, but it took her a while to answer. She let out a sigh and answered "What is it you want Baalin... speak now for my mood is weary." She then tilted her head back with her eyes partially closed, seated in almost an upright position as she looked down upon the guard, discarded her goblet without even drinking.

"With the many other reports, many of out scouts and patrols had minor encounters with injured orc squads. Though we were able to take them out, few of them escaped only to go into the beam." He then raised and crossed his arms as he also stated, "Also, I'm worred about you and your wellbeing..."

Her eyes suddenly widened as she heard something about a beam. So it was as she thought, it was a portal. "How far did the orcs make it into our lair?" She was slightly concerned at this point and didn't know how to act upon it yet.

Baalin's reply was uplifting and stern. "They didn't even make it past the webbed carapaces. However... we have other troubles."

"What are these troubles you speak of Baalin?" She answered angrily as she crushed on of the skulls on her throne. It disentigrated into dust from the age it had been there and fell upon the ground.

"There is a Namorian walking within our tunnels and has extended rather far. They refer to him as a tribune for the emperors army." He said hesitantly as he saw Mira's anger. "There are many troops where he came from, even if they were mostly brought down in size by the orc invasion. If I were to propose something Mother Mira... maybe we could talk to him since the other failed..."

"That other you refer to... is no more to me... this one however..." She quickly toned down her anger and began to think a little more clear. Her eyes slightly rolled left and right as she pinch the inside of his lip a bit, thinking of what she was to do. Then a smile came upon her face... "So there is... how about you go and meet him... but do so with a small squad, I don't wish to intimidate him too much..." She laughed a bit in relief.

"It will be done... but hear this word of caution... they are Namorian and are slightly swayed by the remaining dwarves that are still living... meeting him will have its consequences if things don't pan out... though I wished to know what you're thinking Mother Mira."

"Please..." She replied softly, "... allow me to save that detail for later... I must talk to him before I say anything. Also, if he refuses to come with you, tell him my offer can... make a difference."


* * * * * *

A skitter of dislodged pebbles made Varinius look up sharply. Up a winding scree of loose rocks, at the mouth of one of the jagged tunnels that lined the cavern wall, something jinked back into the shadows. Varinius only saw it for a moment, and so all he could make out was that the creature was humanoid. Humanoid, and grey-skinned.

"Orc!" the tribune shouted, his gladius leaping from its scabbard in a flash of silver. His bodyguards, responding to the cry, abandoned their respectful distance and came rushing to his side.

"Tarsus!" Varinius barked at one of the men. "Ride for the city! Tell them there might still be orcs in the tunnels. Fabius! Hold here. If we're not back in an hour, ride after him and mobilise the Fulminata. The rest of you, with me!"

One of the bodyguards lit a trio of torches from his horse's saddlebag with rapid strikes of his flint, and bearing the burning wicks before them the Namorians plunged into the tunnel.

The twisting crevices became smaller the further they traveled down the tunnels. It came to a point where they were hearing echoes from their own footsteps, and the tunnels were slowly becoming more prevalent with webbings. When they started getting wider and thicker, Varinius began to get wary.

"What in the twelve hells?" he growled, touching one of the strands. It was so thick and strong that it failed to snap under his fingers, springing back and quivering as he pulled his palm free of the sticky surface. He remembered seeing spider-like creatures among the orc horde, and was suddenly aware that if one had escaped down here, he might need more than six men to face it.

He turned to order the men back, but at that moment one of his men muttered, "Broodmothers."

"What?" Varinius snapped, unfamiliar with the word.

"The dwarf gunners used to tell stories, about spider-people who lived in the deep caverns of Dun Moriga. Man-eaters. They killed them wherever they found them, and there's been so few sightings of them recently that half the dwarfs think they're extinct."

Orc monster or spider-people...either way, Varinius thought, they would need to come back with more men. Suddenly, there was a rustling from further down the tunnel. Without need for an order, the Namorians instantly drew together around the torch-bearers and locked their shields, swords pulled back ready to thrust at whatever appeared. The rustling became footsteps, slow and unhurried, and then a humanoid figure emerged into the light.

“Hold, Namorians.” Baalin spoke calmly as he raised his hand in halt. His armor, made from form-fitting pieces of bone, was catching the torchlight, though it dully shone; just like bones only a bit more polished. The bonemold armor that Baalin wore covered almost his entire body, except for mouth, eye sockets, and the crevices that allowed for the movement.

Baalin had brought a few of his kin with him too. Two of the kind he brought were just like him, standing in bone-mold armor with their blades pulled in a defensive measure. The other three beings were the overgrown spiders. These spiders came up to Baalin’s knees and were more greyed out in color, just like Baalin’s skin only with a bit more fur. The spiders had their own armor around the thorax and head area. Their legs were also armored for enemies that would be quick to slice off a leg or two.

The spiders let out their hisses and squeals as they were being provoked by the swords. Drool-like venom drips from their mandibles as they opened and closed in movement as they moved their legs around, almost in a skittering motion. “If we had wished to attack you, then you would have been at a major disadvantage. These are our mountains, and we know every route, crevice, corridor, exploit… and things that no one would ever know about these mountains.”

Waiting for the men to sheath their weaponry, Baalin began to walk slowly closer, keeping his guard up at all times just in case the Namorian’s were to try to catch him with a cheap tactic. “I am Baalin, head guardian of the Nerubian clan, and personal guard of Mother Mira.” Baalin was carefully studying the men and their armors. Certainly the Namorian armors were crafted in a much different fashion than that of the Nerubian clan. The steal and leather that was used to make the Namorian armors intrigued Baalin, but knew that the steal armor that they wore had its flaws like most metal work. “I was sent here by the command of Mother Mira to talk.”

"It's a trick..." one of the bodyguards hissed, the man who had told Varinius of the dwarf campfire stories, and now had his prediction proved correct. "They just want to lure us down into their nest."

Varinius silenced the man with an angry grunt. "No..." he said, after thinking for a long moment, "Like it said, if they wanted to attack us, they could have done it already with surprise on their side."

He fixed Baalin with an appraising gaze beneath the rim of his plumed helmet.

"Sheathe your own sword, head guardian, and we'll come and talk."

Baalin at that time tried to weigh the options of lower his weapon. Was this worth gaining their trust, or would they simply turn and stab him in the back? The redeeming factor of this trade was the one refered to as Tribune. "You're a smart Namorian. And this nest you refer to is a little underwhelming on how you refer to it. We will sheathe our weapons, but be warned, there are a lot more of us watching you and your men for any suspicious movements. Any acts of attempted assassination will be dealt with swiftly based upon our commandments."

Baalin and his fellow guards had sheathed their weapons for the time being as he then turned and threw a hand gesture to follow. The tribune and his men began to follow Baalin carefully through the dens.


* * * * * *

It did not taken Baalin long to lead them deep into the lair, where they finally came to an opening. It was almost like a secluded city that had never been seen before. The Namorians dropped their torches as they entered a cavern lit by firelight, and by a strange phosphorescent glow that seemed to come from a pale slime that streaked the walls. Many more of the Nerubians were out and about as they attended their tasks. They wore salvaged rags and sometimes the bone-mold material that the soldiers wore. Many were gathering supplies while others were molding them into something to be used for later. The city had a few skulls surrounding it from various creatures, including dwarf, human, some of the newly-discovered orcs, to even a few dragon skulls - creatures of Tartarus that had once inhabited the mountain.

The streets were made of cobbled stone and bone, which seemed to be one of the Nerubians' primary resources. The buildings were made up of the same mixture, but were also festooned with the same thick webs that Varinius had seen earlier, only here the webbings were revealed to hold water where it would make its way through the cracks of the mountain. With all the bone buildings and bone-clad inhabitants, the cavern was a scene of death, but also of the same life that would be seen in any other city, albeit pure Nerubian life.

Though not put at ease by the Nerubians' gruesome architecture nor their grey-skinned similarity to the orcs, Varinius' eye was drawn to the strange humanoids; in particular one who wore more elaborate garments than the others and was surrounded by a knot of bodyguards, who were arrayed in a simpler, lighter version of the bone-mold armour that Baalin and the guards wore.

"That is a Reader." Baalin told him, noticing the tribune's scrutiny. "Mage, I believe is the term that you Namorians would use. And there is a Necromancer, one of our battle-mages."

He pointed out another escorted Nerubian, although this one was old, with his skin wrinkled and hair greyed from the aging process. He wore a mix of rags and bone-mold, suggesting a more military role than the other Reader.

"As you can hear and see Namorian, life echoes through these streets. What you call a man-eater has established what you would refer to as a community... only more of an underground metropolis."

"What we call a man-eater." Varinius grunted, his tone cautious. "I have to ask - if you're not, then where did the dwarfs come up with the name? And," He glanced around at the elegant but macabre buildings that lined the cavern. "Where did all these bones come from?"

Baalin couldn't help but to smile at the man's curiosity. "The dwarves have always been a prejudice race, always condemning those that do not settle within the bounds of normality. They are... slow to change, though we were the ones that had to change. Our name came from when another member of a different brood feasted upon the dwarves and men alike. Not being able to tell the broods apart, they automatically condemned us... when it was the Frok'trine brood who had came close to us. As for the bones... they come from the scavenged parts that have died within these halls. Whether it be from our own, from slain adventurers, to the very animals and beasts that hold around these parts... they all served the same cause." Baalin then continued on.

"We have established trade and laws like any Namorian city," Baalin stated as he walked them through the ever expanding metropolis. "Though they be refered to as commandments, and differ in their stature. We do have children that walk the streets... pure born as you would assume."

"Pure-born?" Varinius murmured, shooting a sidelong glance at the bodyguard who remained his only other source on the matter.

"The dwarfs say that their Broodmothers can have children by any sapient species on Eternum." the man whispered back. "Dwarfs, men, Hercinians, crocolykes... They lure them into their beds to propagate their race."

"Our trade is simple, but effective." Baalin went on. "Where the Earthborn have established a...banking system, we had abolished and condemned it. Our civilisation does not take upon the greed that you Namorians and Earthborn do. We deem it despicable that one should hold so much power. We do have a balance that allows us to trade bone and rag materials for food, water, and whatever other services that people wish to provide."

"That might be why you're all still dressed in rags and bones." Varinius growled, in no mood to be lectured. A barter economy was all well and good, until you needed the kind of complex transactions and easy-to-regulate units of measure that an empire required. He jerked his head towards a row of what looked like houses on the opposite side of the street. "And who pays for all this?"

"The homes are free to those seeking a home, though as big as this place is, there are only so many homes we can have. You'll normally see 10 or more Nerubians in one household, but it is our way... for now."

Within the streets the homes were rather cramped, but served their purpose in sheltering both able and disabled alike. Many of the Nerubians peered out their windows, looking down upon their overworld oppressors as they passed.

"Our healthcare is diminished," Baalin said, "For down here, the holy magic has faded to almost nothing. We rely on the nature that is preserved within our caves, such as the fungus you can see growing, as well as the mosses. We have no true ways of "mending" wounds, but our anti-vemons and anti-bacterial serums are wonderous through the experiments we have conducted. Even we Nerubians get sick...with diseases not heard of by Namorian medicine."

"Uh huh." said Varinius, picking apart the self-gratification and thinking that he might have an idea of what this Mother Mira wanted to talk about.

Medicine, mages, trade; the imperium had those. Living space - they could give them that too, as it would likely be decades before the smashed cities of Dun Moriga could be rebuilt, and much longer before the dwarfs could repopulate them all. Varinius chuckled quietly to himself as he wondered what the new king Jornak would have to say about that. This could be a thorny negotiation. Nevertheless, with Baalin subtly hinting at things the Nerubians needed, it seemed as if they might be setting up some sort of reciprocal offer. So the question is, what do these clever bastards have in mind to offer us?

Finally coming to the end of their travels, the guards stopped outside a main building which was amazingly carved out of a spur of the cavern. It was hewn into the shape of a giant skull and covered with carvings, possibly to reflect which tribe of the Broodmothers was represented within. The holes in the rock were filled with webbings, hung with jewels in commendation of what the temple represented, and the value of what was inside. The Nerubian citizens and guards all congregated at the back of the traveling party. Staring and gazing, they seemed surprised that the Namorians weren't dead yet.

"This is were our beloved Mother lives." said Baalin, "Inside she awaits your party, but note that you must leave your weapons outside with us in order to protect her. Also be noted that though your customs are different, we expect the upmost respect for ours. And one final word of advice, if you are to lay any hand upon our Mother without permission, it will be the last thing you'll do before it is cut from you. As long as we're clear, please follow me." A hand signal came from the guard as the giant skull mandible fell from its place and dropped to the floor, opening a doorway to the entrance of the lair. In the guard began to walk, expecting the other Namorians to be well on their way.

Varinius frowned after Baalin as he disappeared, then looked back at his bodyguards, all of them nervous at the crowd of silent grey humanoids who were blocking their line of retreat.

"I'm damned if I'm letting go of my weapons." one of them hissed quietly, his grip flexing on the handle of his shield. "If that lot turn hostile..."

"They'd have bloody well done it already." Varinius snapped at the man. "Now keep your hand well away from your sword hilt, disarm and follow me."

The tribune unclasped his sword belt, thrust the ornate gladius and dagger into the hands of one of the impassive guards, and unlaced the chinstrap of his crested helmet. Cuffing the sweat away from his forehead, he tucked the helmet under his arm and advanced into the skull temple after Baalin.

Within the skull sanctum was a huge opening, revealing that the spur of rock was hollow. The mined-out interior was buttressed and laminated with the bones of different dead beasts that had long lost their flesh and been picked clean. More skeletons were stood upon pedestals along the walls, like statues held together with webbing; many of the skeletons were titanic beasts of legend, perhaps indicating past triumphs of the Nerubian tribe.

Beyond the spur, concealed from the city by the wall of the cavern, was a sheer fault line. Bridging the gap was pure silk webbing that had been carefully spliced and layered in order to remain sturdy. A long drop-off was to both sides, reaching to unknown depths. On the opposite side of the fissure, the pale slime-glow of the city was augmented by many green-lit wisps. Their greenish hue grazed the walls of the cave beyond, giving a sense of light into the room, mixing the phosphorescent light blue with the green that they were colored. The walls of the cave were plated with huge pieces of bone, etched with carvings that looked almost as old as the mountain itself.

The ceiling of the cave was non-existent; instead it travelled what looked like mile upon mile upward through the mountain. Instead of breaching the surface to admit the sun, a large green sphere hung near the apex being circled by more of the ghostly green wisps, almost as if they were living things being drawn to it. The length of the cave led to what looked like a throne, made of pure bones. Each armrest was topped by a skull, though one of them looked like it had been crushed. Upon the throne itself rested the broodmother Mira herself, slumping back in the throne, gazing at the men that were entering.

Baalin approached the throne, knelt down and spoke to the broodmother in their own language, his tone respectful.

“Mother Mira, I have brought along the imperials as requested.”

Mira was still just lazily gazing at the men in front of her, studying them for a second.

“Interesting. So…” she said as she sat up in her chair and stretched out a bit. She brought her hands together, as if beginning to think of what to say, before speaking in Namorian: “Tell me, tribunus…you wandered alone, with a few men, into my realm without so much as considering what lay within them. Tell me, what exactly were you doing?”

"I just love sightseeing." Varinius replied scathingly. He stopped short of provoking the broodmother with the knowledge that the whole garrison would mobilise if he did not return within the hour, and exhaled a deep breath into the airless cavern. "I took a calculated risk. Your guard said you wanted to speak, so here we are to speak. He talked a lot about your people needing more space and more magic, and I got to thinking that you might have some sort of deal in mind."

The tribune's blunt face showed a flicker of a smile.
"And if nothing else, it seems like a waste of everybody's time for Baalin to take us this far, within spitting distance of his sacred charge, before trying to have us killed."

"And so he did as I thought he would... good. Then it should come to no surprise that our people are not in the best of shape, though ironically we have a stronger grasp upon the basic needs of living than the dwarves do at this time."

Varinius didn't smile. Mira proceeded to stand and slowly walk down the steps.

"Dwarven pride runs deep within their souls. Never wanting to give up...and never wanting to change the way things are. Their hearts are as solid as the stones they use to construct their cities, and their wits are as sharp as the steel they forge."

"That they are." Varinius agreed as he turned his head to follow the broodmother. Which is why you and I will have to tread carefully here, darling.

"Their pride and their king led to their current downfall...willingly turning down our offer to help them and to co-exist within the same walls and to promote free travel where we please."

"You offered them help?" Varinius said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"We sent the one called Gabrielle as an emissary. The dwarf king rejected him because of his prejudice."

"Because of the Frok'trine brood?" Varinius asked, remembering what Baalin had said.

Mira had finally made it down the steps, and she put her hands behind her back and began walking behind the men in a circle.

"We don't want to make that same mistake...nor do we want to cause something that will end everything within this mountain...this place of death and despair. Our calling has always been that of peace and co-existence, but our ways have branded us as...tribal." She said the word with great reluctance and anger. "We have always held true to our ways...however...the dwarves didn't see eye to eye with us, just because a certain mongrel of a different brood...decided to take it upon himself and began to eat everything...and even carrying the half-eaten carcasses back to the dens the dwarfs dwelled in. It was a terrible embarrassment to all of our kind."

Finally completing the circle, Mira stood face to face with the tribune in smiles. She lightly grasped Varinius' chin as she said, "But now...we have our chance to finally become more than that...to establish a true alliance with your empire...but...we need something, so we can give you something back."

She then backed off and walked back up the steps, once again placing her hands behind her back.

"If you could give us a city...let's say...the sunken dwarven capital...we can give you something in return. Per say...an alliance...no...that would be too little to give you..." She turned and smiled at the men. "We could give you an alliance...and...an army."

"An army." Varinius grinned, oblivious to the nervous glances of his bodyguards. "Now that's interesting." The gods really must love us if they keep dropping new allies on us just when we need them - even if they do have a twisted sense of humour about it.

He regarded the grey-skinned broodmother in her wisps of silk, and thought of Zhnegra and the crocolykes. Stranger things had happened in this fucked-up campaign.

"I can't promise you the capital." the tribune said, furrowing his brow.

Mira rolled her eyes when Varinius spoke the words, and sighed. Not impressed by his answer, she crossed her arms and kept watch of him. Mira noticed that he had something else on mind that he was going to trade for, but what would it be?

Varinius did not disappoint her. "One of the other cities though - it'll be years before the dwarfs can even start rebuilding them, if they ever can at all."

He paused for a second. Not Azulfa - just by looking at a map, Varinius could have told Mira that that would be too hard a sell to the Dun Morigans. The crystal city sat astride a bottleneck between Ech Zilidar and the rest of the dwarven realm, which Varinius expected would be an intolerable security concern. That was even if they left out the fact that Azulfa had been one of the most prized jewels of the dwarf civilisation, which would increase the inevitable insult of a perceived enemy moving in on dwarven territory.

"What about Lun Garath?" the tribune offered, naming the city where Graccus' 10th Moriga legion had been based, prior to its retreat to Azulfa, and ultimately to Ech Zilidar. "Provided you can help me salve Jornak's pride a bit by returning the dwarf bodies, and any important artefacts that the orcs didn't wreck or carry off...I could recruit men to help you with the reconstruction, and set up a trade route through the Azulfa pass to get you the materials you need."

Also, Varinius thought privately, putting a Namorian cohort on the narrow pass would provide a clear separation between the two, and discourage any shenanigans by either side.

Mira dropped her head in thought, wondering why they would give her Lun Garath instead. Mira knew a lot about the mountain and what some of the other outer cities were. She knew she would never begin to be able to negotiate for Azulfa, due to the sheer amount of value the dwarves had put upon that specific area. But Lun Garath was further away from her current position than Ech Zilidar was for sure, somewhat complicating things for her and her people. It wasn't too bad of a deal though, since her brood were great tunnelers and knew how to build things with lackluster materials.

The pass through Azulfa would be difficult too, considering that their less than friendly neighbors would surely try to compromise the pass. But then, she thought that the Namorian may have thought a way around that.

"If I make this deal, then I can expand the city as desired? I won't be rash and expand too close to the other cities. I also ask if I can build freely underground as needed, so long as it doesn't cause any harm to our neighbours."

"I don't see why not." Varinius replied.

"And I would have a seat of power within you alliance. I wish to stand as a political power, and not just some toss-away city. If we can at least negotiate these terms, I will take the city of Lun Garath."

"Hmm." Varinius said, and was silent for a long moment. Now there was a concession that might cause rather more practical problems. Letting the provinces govern most of their own affairs, with a Namorian garrison as tacit reminder of who they were ultimately subordinate to, had long been imperial policy. But those provinces had been conquered and Namorianised for many years previously. It had been a long time since the empire had had a true ally; an equal partner, rather than a protectorate. Then again, look at the crocolykes. Look at the immortals. Look at the gods-damn Earthborn.

Things were changing, and the so-long-unchallenged imperium would have to change too to survive. Marcius knew it, and so did his wife - Marcius had said as much to Varinius even as they fought tooth and nail to hold on to the old imperial ethos. The enemy of my enemy might be next in line for death, but before that the first enemy had to die. And this enemy - orcs, dragons, pale blood-drinkers - was beyond any they had ever seen. They had to save the northern continent from burning to ash before they had the luxury of worrying about what would come after. Varinius wondered how hard he would have to bash Graccus and Jornak's heads together before they realised as much.

He hooked his thumbs into the binding straps of his breastplate and frowned at Mira.

"There is one question I'll need answered before I take your offer back to Ech. How big is this army of yours?" Mira's thoughts stopped for a moment, and she raised her head up and looked upon Varinius. "No offence, but I can see some of my colleagues asking if we're making an ally or saddling ourselves with a protectorate."

He suppressed a mirthless, sardonic smile. Or rather, how easy are you going to make it for me to convince praetor Graccus? And, in the moderately likely event that king Jornak blows up over this deal, how much leverage will we have to convince him to cool his heels and remember the real enemy?

A plain look came across Mira's face as she listened. It was an odd look, one that seemed to suggest disbelief in what she heard.

"Hmph..." She raised one of her hands as a cabal of the Necromancers that Varinius had seen outside stepped out of the shadows at the back of the chamber. They began to spread out around the walls and obediently stood in place, smashing the ends of their twisted and knarled bone staves upon the hard stone.

"The army I'm giving you isn't just my people alone... but to be accompanied by the remnants of the lost."

"The lost?" Varinius repeated, eyeing the Nerubian battle-mages warily.

From behind Mira came several other guards. They were holding the bodies of some of the fallen members of the previous battle. Ten or so bodies were neatly piled next to each other in a line. The dwarven bodies were mangled, but evidently well enough intact to fulfill their purpose - whatever that was.

"You apparently haven't studied us much, imperial." Mira mocked gently.

"Next time we'll take the in-depth tour." Varinius growled, still watching the Necromancers suspiciously.

Mira pointed her index finger upward with the hand she had raised, then quickly brought her finger down. Within that very second, ten wisps of green smoke came darting down, with an ethereal sound whistling like the wind as they flew in random motions around Varinius and his party. Though harmless to the party, after a few moments, they darted back to the dwarven bodies, each wisp sinking into one of the bodies.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. All was quiet and calm once again, until one of the dwarf's fingers began to move. The corpses began to slowly rise to their feet, moaning and groaning as their well-preserved bodies began to make haste towards Mira.

"Mars' teeth!" Varinius hissed, as several of his men swore in horror and edged closer together, backing away from the reanimated corpses. This wasn't the magic that animated the immortals. The empire's enemies turned allies were unnatural, yes - but they were vital, self-aware, alive. These dwarfs moved like puppets on strings, mortal wounds still gaping open and their eyes glassy and empty. They were empty shells, propelled by external force.

"How is this done?" Varinius demanded.

"This isn't even a fraction of the army I can give to you." said Mira. "It also allows me to give the dwarven bodies back to them... but not before they fulfill their duty and secure victory for their lost honour."

Mira then flicked her wrists, and the wisps once again left the bodies of the dwarfs and floated back up. The dwarfs collapsed, the macabre forces that had animated their forms dissipating.

Varinius still found himself breathing heavily. Mira offered them a potent psychological weapon, yes, but it was just as horrific to friend as to foe. Could he accept this twisted parody of his immortal allies as a weapon? Could Graccus? Could Septim? What of the dwarfs, whose own dead warriors would be flaunted before them like a sickening taunt?

Mira calmly began to walk back down the steps towards Varinius, only to his side this time rather than to his face. "Now that we more than understand each other...shall be on our way to meet the terms of our negotiation? It would be rude if I didn't meet the other men I am to come to terms with. I couldn't have that."

Varinius ground his teeth, realising too late the corner he had backed himself into.

"One week." he said at last. "Come to the gates of Ech in one week, and we can discuss your deal with the praetor. You can bring as many men as you think you'll need. Only for the gods' sake don't bring any of those things." He jerked his head towards the now-motionless dwarf corpses.

Mira heard the words of the man but didn't like them. A disgruntled look came across her face as she backed up a bit and sat upon the same steps she had went and down on multiple times already. Taking in a deep breathe, she replied "Fine... I'll be there in a week and will have the brood ready. I am trusting you... you know." She looked up at him and then gave a hand gesture signaling him to leave.

Baalin and the rest of the guards approached Varinius and his men and said "It's time for you to leave. We will escort you as far as we can, at least far enough to where you can get back on your own. If you would hurry and follow us, you can resolve the matters of which have been laid before you." Baalin then began to lead the way out of the temple, beginning to take home the Imperial's, and making sure they weren't up to anything rash.

******************************
Mira was sitting upon the steps thinking to herself in deep thought. "I hope this goes well, and to finally rise above the tyranny of the dwarven oppressors once and for all. This was a large gamble, showing them where the city was... I'm hoping I'm not wrong about this... for if I am... death will befall us."

"Any thoughts mother?" One of the court necromancers asked her while making his round through the temple. "You seem troubled?"

She kept her head down and place her palm upon her forehead. She spoke agitated towards the necromancer "It's all fine Rash'vir. Politics are a lot harder to negotiate... especially with someone that is allied with something strong enough to wipe us out."

The necromancer smiled and kneeled down, "That's no way to act. I mean, we've been through worse. I remember when the colony was at a lowly 20 or so populace. Then again, rescuing you at that young age was what helped us in the future. Though you are the youngest mother, you have done more than the Frok'tine, Vash'zill, or even the Giir'ajr broods, though we aren't necessarily as big. Won't be long, we will establish ourselves as a super power of our own... even rivaling those oppressors, if not more."

Mira then stood up and stated as she began to walk down the narrow path that led to the exit. "That all may be true... but ours is the only brood to try to try to establish a true alliance with a power. When the other tribes learn of this, they will come." She said as she continued, while being follwed by the head court necromancer Rash'vir.

Azazeal849
10-08-2014, 06:01 PM
ECH ZILIDAR

Has anyone else seen this?" Graccus asked, his eyes wide as he stared at the letter. The words remained fixed and immutable, signed by the emperor's own hand.

"No, praetor." the messenger replied. The man was still hollow-eyed and dust-streaked, having ridden hard all the way from Emor. "I was specifically ordered to hand this to you and no-one else."

"A wise choice." Graccus murmured, stuffing the scroll into his belt and dismissing the messenger with a distracted nod. "Crastus will see you to food and wine. Ave imperator."

"Ave imperator." the messenger replied, managing a crisp salute despite his fatigue and retreating from the room.

Left alone, Graccus paused for a long moment, frowning deeply, before turning on his heel and striding back into the elders' chamber with his blue cloak swirling in his wake. The former council chamber of the dwarven leaders was all but empty now, only Varinius and the Roman legate Septim occupying the long table. Graccus' steps echoed around the empty stone chamber as he returned to his seat. The dwarven king's throne was gone, carried with Jornak to his new seat of power in Tu Zenita Duskal. Graccus had had half a mind to refuse him the gift. Without the emerald throne as the focus of their reflected light, the sparkle of the gemstones lining the walls was subdued.

Varinius cocked an eyebrow as Graccus returned. The grizzled old tribune sat uneasily, the Fulminata lightning bolt at his shoulder and one nail scratching agitatedly at the table, but not nearly as uneasily as Graccus thought he should considering he had just thrown another huge variable into the mix with his proposal from the so-called broodmother Mira.

And she is to come here in a week to negotiate the deal, he says. Twelve hells!

Until today Graccus had almost never concerned himself with the Nerubian spider-people. He had thought them just a minor pest and occasional scapegoat for the dwarfs; some of whom, in the early stages of the invasion, had gone so far as to blame the Nerubians for the sudden appearance of the orcs, or of colluding with them. They cited the fact that the Nerubians had not preyed upon the greyskin army - as if a scattering of opportunistic predators wouldn't have had the sense to avoid such a horde, or if the results would have been obvious if they had. Now of course, Varinius was saying that they were not a smattering of isolated cave-dwellers at all, but a gods-damn army.

Timely though their appearance might be, Graccus thought that he himself was right to be suspicious of the spider people. Making their move now, right after the dwarf people had been dealt a knock-out blow by the orcs, just reeked of opportunism. For all that, Graccus couldn't say that the idea of putting the obstinate Jornak in his place with his own bitter enemy wasn't extremely tempting. Especially given the contents of the emperor's letter.

"News of import?" Varinius asked, spying the scroll tucked into the praetor's belt.

"Quite possibly." Graccus answered, sitting down and looking gravely from Varinius to Septim. The red-clad Roman commander had been a silent observer for much of the meeting, but his very presence was unsettling; the subtle wrongness of his scarlet cloak and his strange breastplate iconography heightened instead of mitigated by his otherwise perfectly Namorian features and armour. "But first, what can you tell me about Afragia?"

Varinius shrugged irritably, and shook his head. "I don't know what you expected him to do, but Jornak threw out our messenger's demand and is going ahead with his plan to raise a militia."

Graccus exhaled so sharply that it was almost a snarl. "That dwarf is a mad dog!"

"Jornak's not that hard to figure out." Varinius replied bluntly. "Push him with force and he pushes back, just like we would if we didn't want to look weak. Don't waste your time getting into a dick-waving contest with him."

"And do what instead?" Graccus demanded, irritated by the tribune's abrasive attitude. Dux Marcius might let him get away with this shit, but I'm a gods-damned praetor!

Varinius massaged his temples, and gestured to Septim. "We have four immortal legions, plus your Moriga and Ferrata. Jornak must know that a straight fight won't end well, especially if the Broodmothers weigh in on our side. Use your fucking intelligence and give him a way to back down without losing face, so we can focus on guarding the anvil and making sure that Marcius still has an Orientem to be the dux of."

"Will Nesara let him back down?" Graccus asked pointedly. Jornak might be a mad dog, but it's the hand holding his leash that really concerns me. Nesara plays the game better than him...and probably better than us if we let our guard down.

Legate Septim, who was still sitting quietly in thought, suddenly leaned forward and coughed. "If you will allow me."

The Roman smiled and stood, running his hands along one of the jutting crystals within the wall.

"The dwarfs have lost their homeland - their 'face' as you called it, is all but shattered. They have been forced to take refuge in a foreign city, forced to call their allies more than just a neighbouring people but now a people of a joint union between their states."

The Roman began to move from his position, feet silent across the floor.

"The dwarfs have lost their army; their cities; their homeland; their pride; their forges and their morale. Jornak - however idealistic and outnumbered he is - is a potent weapon." Septim's fingers continued to delicately trace the shapes of the various gems that were embedded within the stone wall, feeling the contrast between the rough scratch of the stone and the smooth cold of the gem. "If you let Jornak and Nesara run rampant, well..."

Septim crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his armour scratching against the stone.

"If you do nothing; if you leave the king and queen to their own devices, then your imperium will lose control over both Dun Moriga and Afragia. The king will raise his militia, he will train them and they will rally behind his nationalistic words and defeat your empire and send you back home." Septim tilted his head and frowned slightly, looking at the ground before opening his mouth. "And now, let's say that the imperium regroups and defeats both provinces' forces - as Varinius says. By then the damage is already done - Dun Moriga and Afragia will have been free states, an empire by their own royal right and power."

"Afragia was always the loyalest of the provinces." Graccus said irritably. "The only change is their new monarchs. If we remove them, make an example of them..."

"Nesara is very popular, if I recall correctly." Varinius replied caustically, his chin resting on one fist. "The other option, of course, is that she's been quietly fermenting this for a while. But whether she's an opportunist or a sly little viper who played us all for idiots doesn't really fucking matter at this point. We need to keep the peace, not create another war-front."

Septim stood once more and placed his palms against the table, strumming his fingers along the stone. "If you reconquer the states and make an example of their rebellious leaders, there will be unrest among the common folk." The Legate frowned, running his fingers across his forehead in thought. "Once the plebeians taste independence, they will never return to the imperium as loyal subjects - they will never give up Jornak's dreams."

"But!" The Roman suddenly stood and paced around to the other side of the table. "If we march upon Tu Zenita Duskal with Namorian legions, the dwarfs and Afragians will know their enemy is within the imperium. They will strike back with all their might - and win or lose, you will have lost them."

The Legate stopped and turned towards Graccus, his piercing blue eyes staring down at the Namorian.

"They will never stop fighting for their dead royals - they will never stop fighting against the imperium's regime. They will never stop fighting to be the independent state that their new king wishes them to be."

"He's right." Varinius said, raising his hand towards the praetor before reforming a fist and resting his cheek against it, his other hand going back to digging a nail into the table top. "Wherever we go from here, praetor, things won't be the same. Things haven't been the same since we started making alliances with crocolykes and back-from-the-dead Earthborn." He glanced at Septim. "No offence."

"It's not that simple." Graccus said, finally pulling the scroll from his belt and laying it flat on the table for the other men to see. "I have a message here, signed by the emperor himself, saying that he wants Jornak and Nesara's heads. And I can't say I wouldn't oblige him even if he wasn't the gods-damn emperor."

"Let me see that." Varinius said sharply, pulling the letter towards him and reading it for himself. "Son of a bitch." he swore quietly.

"As you can see, gentlemen." Graccus said stiffly. "We have an order. Or rather, a mandate to carry out the action we should have taken weeks ago."

"Don't you see, praetor?" Varinius retorted sharply. "This can't be a response to Jornak and Nesara's power play. News of it probably hasn't even reached the capital yet. This was sent beforehand." He cursed again. "Marcius better get there in time."

"Marcius?" Graccus said, his brows knitting in confusion. Then the truth dawned on him, and he slammed his fists on the table in anger. "What in the twelve hells do you know that I don't, Varinius?"

Varinius sighed, grinding his teeth. "Marcius received word from Emor that the emperor has arrested the senate."

Graccus gaped at him. "What? But the old laws...he'd never..."

"Something's gone to shit in Emor." Varinius said, as reluctant to admit the fact to Septim as to the praetor. "And while he searches for the greyskin army, Marcius is going to try and find out what."

He pushed the letter grimly towards Septim. "What are your thoughts, legate?"

"It's hard to say - I've never met this emperor of yours." Septim squinted at the letter, reading the latin - or Namorian - that adorned the scroll. "What I can be certain of is that change is coming - for better or worse. And it is coming like the tide."

The Legate placed the scroll back down and took a deep breath.

"We should concentrate our resources upon gaining control of Afragia province - men are needed to guard the pillar of light and the old Dwarven forges, but the problem of the joint Afragian-Dwarven union will only grow the longer we let it." Septim sat down, clearing his throat. "It is evident that Jornak intends to fight against the imperium's claim over 'his' land, with this increase in military through the militia he intends to raise. However a Namorian march upon the land with only cause unrest. That is why I ask that you allow me and my men to march upon Tu Zenita Duskal."

Graccus looked up sharply; Varinius with interest. Septim stared levelly back at both men.

"I would ask that you cede Afragia province temporarily over to my control and the control of Rome, until matters with the emperor - if there are any - are resolved." The Legate took great care choosing his words, knowing full well what the two Namorians would be thinking. "My men cannot die, so there would be no Roman casualties - no matter how many men Jornak wishes to throw at us, we would continue to rise up and fight. Once the royals have been intercepted, I shall order them to be imprisoned and held until your emperor's will is affirmed or denounced."

Graccus' mouth fell open for a second time. "Cede Afragia?" he hissed.

"Hear him out." Varinius growled slowly.

Graccus looked from one man to the other. Having fought against as well as beside Septim, Varinius probably had more reason to distrust the Roman legate than he did. And yet he was convinced. Or perhaps I'm the only one new enough to the situation to approach it with a clear mind.

Septim strummed his fingers upon the table before leaning back. "We would rebuild Dun Moriga and Afragia, and when Emor returns to claim the lands from us, the people of these provinces will look to the imperium as a rescuing hero - civil unrest would be minimal, if anything."

There was a harsh barking sound, which took Graccus a moment to realise was Varinius laughing.

"That might just work." the tribune nodded, a tight smile on his weathered face. "Fucking genius. And we stay here to finalise the deal with the Broodmothers?"

Graccus was silent. He had to admit that it seemed like a way out of a thorny problem. But for the second time in this lofty council chamber, he couldn't help but wonder if he was accepting a decision that would either save the empire or damn it.

And that worked out so fucking well last time.


* * * * * *

THE EASTERN HIGHROAD, WEST OF DUN MORIGA

The clouds on the horizon were the pale, glowing yellow of molten gold, but the dramatic skyline made little impression on Aulus Ovidius. His only tangentially related concern was ensuring that the road did not pass too close to the ominous, vertical streak of light that had been visible since Dun Moriga. Having traded his lurching, bad-tempered camel for a more familiar horse in Tu Zenita Duskal, he had parted ways with the Egyptian emissaries and moved on west. He stared at the ground ahead, lost in thought as he let his horse pick its own way down the eastern highroad. After twisting down from the Dun Morigan mountains, it ran stark and straight towards the sunset, though now the horizon was hidden by the massed trees of Combrogia forest, looming steadily larger as Ovidius plodded home. What he would do when he got there, he still didn't know. For one thing, he wasn't sure what he was going to tell mistress Lycinia. Judging by what Suriyana had said to him, and the fact that she was honest to a fault, he didn't expect her to brand herself a runaway and refuse to return to her domina - even if it would be the easiest thing in the world now to lose herself in New Giza. On the other hand, she had said it doesn't feel right to just leave. Was she coming back after all? And when?

Ovidius couldn't bring himself to feel any spite towards his former lover, but at the same time he didn't want to lie to Lycinia that she was dead - to protect her from being searched for - only for her to return to Emor after all and leave both of them in hot water. Unfortunately, the idea of Suriyana coming back to her home - and him having to face her every time he met up with Lycinia - was scarcely more appealing. Maybe he would pull up his anchors and move to another city. There was little tying him to Emor now but his work for Lycinia, and he could find that anywhere. As long as men kept secrets from each other, distrusted each other and wanted each other dead, there would be work for men like Ovidius. We can't all be like you, Suri - even if the world would be a much better place if we were.

The thought of her made a lump constrict in his throat, and he had to cough into one sleeve and cuff at his eyes. It was then that his horse checked and pricked up his ears, and Ovidius himself registered a second set of hoofbeats clattering against the paved road. He turned and saw another horse riding up behind him at a swift trot, a black and white mare carrying a stocky old man in a fine traveller's cloak. The cloak was well made enough to make the man travelling alone incongruous. The sunset lightened his silver hair and deepened the lines on his craggy, fatherly face. The man raised his bushy eyebrows in greeting as he saw Ovidius turn.

"Salve." he said, raising a hand.

"Salve." Ovidius responded tonelessly, sensing no threat from the man but having little inclination to break words.

"It is good to see another Namorian, at any rate." the old man said. His heavy saddlebags jangled and sloshed, weighed down with provisions for what looked like a long journey. If the man carried valuables, he had the good sense to hide them from obvious view. He reined in his mare beside Ovidius and introduced himself. "Lucius Agrippa, senator of Emor and the Afragian council."

He uncurled his hand to display a gold signet ring.

Ovidius offered the senator enough of a respectful bow to avoid offence. "A senator? What are you doing travelling alone?"

"Exceptional times call for exceptional measures." the old man said, with a tired-looking smile. "And the queen of Afragia, my erstwhile patron, is being exceptionally foolish."

In spite of himself, Ovidius was intrigued. The Afragian capital had been in preparation for some sort of festival when he arrived, but his usually sharp and permanently attentive ears had been rendered dull and uninterested by recent events. If princess Nesara is calling herself queen now, there must have been a wedding. Maybe that's why they were celebrating. Hopefully her crown cost less than Ahsha's. He wondered how that event had brought senator Agrippa onto the road to Combrogia without an escort.

"Foolish, eh?" he asked. "So why aren't you in Duskal, trying to advise her better?"

The old man exhaled, slowly. "Because she has dismissed my advice, stripped me of my estates, and announced an intention to declare an independent kingdom."

Ovidius raised his eyebrows. He was beginning to wonder why the senator was revealing all this to him, but was certain that lady Lycinia would want to know about it regardless, and was suddenly vaguely angry at the self-imposed fugue that had caused him to miss the news in his passing visit to Duskal.

"It was disconcerting," the senator nodded, agreeing with Ovidius' shocked expession. "Not to mention discourteous. And unfortunately," He stretched, adjusting his seat in the saddle. "The ranking praetor in the region doesn't think much of me either. I sent him a letter urging him to wait, for the greater good of the imperium, but whether it'll get through - or whether he'll listen if it does - I don't know. I thi- are those legionaries?"

The sky was amber now, fading upwards into a bruised purple. The sun in his eyes and his morose, head-down fixation on the cracked paving stones had stopped Ovidius from seeing clearly into the treeline ahead, but now he looked properly he could make out movement at the edge of the forest. A squadron of men in indigo cloaks were clustered at the treeline, near the road, moving to and fro between a campfire and a group of horses tethered nearby. A flash of silver armour as the humped, blue-cloaked figures turned to look back at them confirmed Agrippa's observation that the men were soldiers.

"Picket line, looks like." Ovidius said, squinting towards the trees.

As Ovidius shaded his eyes, one of the men guarding the road where it entered the forest mounted up on a big black horse and came cantering towards them. As he came closer, Ovidius made out his decurion's insignia and his tanned, pugnacious face. He squinted at the two travellers suspiciously, his eyebrows drawn down over his muddy brown eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked them, "And what's your business on the road?"

"Lucius Agrippa, senator of Emor." Agrippa said stiffly, producing his signet ring for a second time. "And this is...?"

"Aulus Ovidius." Ovidius provided warily. "Courier for house Marcius."

The decurion's eyebrows shot up almost to the rim of his steel helmet. "Dux Marcius?"

Ovidius mirrored the officer's gesture. "If he's been promoted. He was a legatus when I last left Emor."

"I assume you and your men are of the Fulminata legion who recently departed Ech Zilidar?" Agrippa put in.

The decurion, faced with a senator and an agent of his own legion commander, abruptly became rather polite. He nodded. "Yes sir. Do you need an escort?"

"To the dux himself, if possible." Agrippa nodded. "I have news from Afragia that I think he will want to hear."


* * * * * *

THE FREE SOUTH, 50 MILES NORTH OF BRANJASKR

The snow had abated, and the hard peaks and valleys of the eroded landscape were softened by a blanket of white. The road - what passed for one in the backwards, barbarian South - had already disappeared beneath the snow. It did not concern praetor Maximus. The Namorian legions forged their own path. Behind the praetor, where the sun hung like a frozen pearl in the clearing sky, legion engineers were laying down proper lines of communication between the captured towns of Bredebukt, Straumen and Akershus. Ahead, where the mountains were lit with a strange purple glow, legion cavalry circled distantly - scouting; hunting. Many of the villages the legions had stormed through were deserted, the occupants fleeing north to the supposed safety of their capital. At first the Southerners had tried to carry their harvest and their valuables with them. But after the slow moving columns of men and animals had been repeatedly overhauled and butchered by Namorian outriders, they had taken to hiding or simply burning their stores to deny them to the invaders. Leaving the following units to sweep the burnt-out villages for hidden supplies and rebuild them to Namorian purpose, Maximus had driven on southwards at a steady, relentless pace. To him, it didn't matter whether the Southerners stood or fled; whether they carried or hid or burned their crops and livestock. The only delayed the inevitable conclusion. The South's thirty-year defiance of Namorian rule ended here and now.

Surveying the terrain ahead with several of his staff officers and chief mages at his side, praetor Maximus saw one of the milling cavalry squadrons cluster together and then turn back towards the armoured column of wool-swathed legionaries. As they drew closer, Gaius saw that they were escorting a fur-clad rider, his horse stumbling and blowing hard as it tried to keep up with the fresher Namorian mounts. He had evidently ridden a long way.

"Ave imperator!" the squadron commander snapped as he saluted Maximus. He pulled his horse up so sharply that the beast reared and whinnied, but the commander brought it deftly to heel without falling. He gestured with a fur-gloved hand towards the rider on the tired horse. "This man just rode out of the forest. He claims to be from the fucking 18th legion."

Maximus snorted. The Fulminata had never served in any of the previous, failed Southern invasions. Moreover, the last he had seen of Marcius' legion, it had been tasked with putting down the sudden and mysterious attack on Hercine. He looked closer, and just as he was about to give the order to have the poor excuse for a spy executed, he realised with a jolt that he recognised the man's face.

"Twelve hells!" the praetor thundered. "Tribune Cassius?"

"Ave imperator, sir." the young tribune said, shifting awkwardly under his heavy furs to offer a salute. His right arm seemed slightly stiff.

"This is sorcery, praetor." one of Maximus' staff officers warned, his hand closing around the frost-rimed hilt of his sword. "This man cannot be who he claims to be."

"If he is an imposter, I can't sense it." the dark-skinned mage on Maximus' other side offered quietly. He frowned at Cassius through the scarf that he had wrapped around the lower half of his face.

"It was sorcery that brought me here, praetor." Cassius said, turning in his saddle to point towards the purple glow that stained the southern horizon. "But I couldn't say whose. My legion was fighting an army of grey-skinned monsters in Dun Moriga, when I found myself teleported here."

"Monsters?" Maximus repeated, as several of his men superstitiously touched iron amulets and sword hilts.

Cassius nodded. "Armies from the underworld are springing up all over the imperium. Some we were able to negotiate with. The greyskins though...they can only be demon-spawn. That purple light is a portal, and they are using it to teleport here to the South."

"Why would they do that?" the mage asked.

"I don't know." Cassius shook his head. "But there's nearly a hundred thousand of them, and even more were already there when I was carried through with them. Agile, pale-skinned creatures with black eyes. Barbarian humans, probably also raised from the underworld. All of my men were slain."

"How did you escape?"

"I found my way to the Southern capital, with the help of an Eldrani lord and a demigoddess named Syf."

"Eldrani?" the mage breathed. "The forest spirits walk again?"

Cassius nodded gravely. "They helped us in Combrogia. I can only assume that their lord was accidentally brought south the same way I was."

"You found your way to Branjaskr?" Maximus broke in incredulously. "And the barbarians didn't take you prisoner?"

"No praetor. Syf seemed familiar with one of their nobles. They gave me this to take to you."

Cassius reached inside his furs, and pulled out a scroll sealed with a plain blob of cracked wax.

"Stay back!" Maximus' chief mage said suddenly, starting forward and seizing the scroll from Cassius' grip before the young tribune could react.

"What is it, Faustus?" Maximus snapped.

The mage called Faustus clutched the scroll to his chest and stared at it for a long moment, before running one hand across it and muttering a brief spell. Finally, he breathed a sigh that misted the cold air and looked up at Maximus.

"If someone had opened this, praetor." he said gravely, "The resulting fire spell would have immolated everyone in a ten yard radius."

Maximus' eyes blazed as he rounded on Cassius. "Those Southerners sent you to kill me!"

"No, praetor I think not." Faustus said, even as hands flew to sword hilts all around Cassius, and the tribune raised his hands to protest. "Your name was inserted into the spell as a key. Furthermore..." He cracked the wax seal with his thumb, and flattened out the rough, cold-stiffened hide to read it. "The letter is written in a code designed to repel demons. This is one of the Guild's codes. The writer was a Namorian mage, and he very definitely didn't want this message falling into the wrong hands."

"What does it say?" Maximus growled, still not fully convinced. He knew as well as Faustus the rumours - unproven but persistent - that some of the Guild's scions had snuck away to join the rebellious South; driven away by the Guild's waning power in Namor.

"To praetor Maximus," Faustus read, pulling his scarf further up round his neck with his free hand. "As I write to you, a demon army of unprecedented power closes in on Branjaskr. The Southerners mean to make their stand here, and Korzan's treacherous queen has even enlisted demons of her own in an attempt to stem the tide. I have made a dark pact to aid her, but I fear that I am now as corrupted as she is. I warn you; do not approach Branjaskr. Let the barbarians and the demons murder each other. If the Southerners cannot stop the demon army, perhaps they can blunt it. I will try to bleed the demons as much as I can, but the task of stopping them once and for all will most likely fall to you. My prayers no longer carry any weight, but they go with you all the same. If you prevail, and if you return to Emor in triumph, I would ask just one favour of you. Find Seppia Julia Octavi and her son, and tell them that I am sorry. Ave imperator, Gaius Octavius - mage of the Namorian Guild."

There was a brief silence, which was broken by Cassius.

"Another Namorian?" the young tribune asked, his mouth falling open. "There was a mage in the capital?"

He seemed incredulous that, after being taken in himself, his Southern hosts had not told him of their second guest. To Maximus, that was a point of suspicion, but the corroborating stories of the tribune and the mage led him to a single conclusion.

"This Octavius advises us to wait." he said slowly. "And so we shall."

"Praetor." Cassius protested. "Syf and I spent some time improving Branjaskr's defences against the coming attack. The mage apparently has done the same. This greyskin army laid waste to Dun Moriga, and now it's even more powerful. Our best chance is to fight with the Southerners. Flank the demon army while it's pinned against the walls of Branjaskr."

"The letter says that the Southerners are using demons themselves, to the point that Octavius fears his own corruption. Even if they were not, I can find no fault with his reasoning. The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend. Whoever wins, we will still have to fight them - and so the weaker they are, the better. Let the bastards bleed each other white."

Cassius fell silent in the face of the praetor's unassailable authority, but he was clearly biting his tongue. Maximus recalled that Marcius' legion had never fought the Southerners directly, and he wondered if the tribune's brief time among the barbarians had unreasonably tainted his thinking. The young man needed to be reminded of true Namorian values, and of their emperor-ordained mission.

"Tribune." Maximus said at length. "Your knowledge of both the demon and Southern camps will be valuable. After debriefing, you will be given command of a reconnaissance wing, to report on the demon army's movements around Branjaskr."

That, the praetor reasoned, should keep the young pup focused - and away from potential trouble with the rest of his command staff. He pointed a warning finger at the Fulminata tribune, fixing him with a steely gaze.

"Mind my words though. Your mission is reconnaissance only. Do not, under any circumstances, engage the enemy."

Cassius' face was a neutral mask. "Your will, my hands, praetor."


* * * * * *

BRANJASKR

Sick of staring into the purple wound across the southern sky, Gaius Octavius pushed away from the window, turned around, and let himself slide to the floor with his back to the cold stone. He pressed his knuckles into his eyeballs and squeezed hard. His head was still churning, turning the same thoughts over and over. The beam of light; the portal. The demon army - possibly of Set, possibly of Kronos, perhaps even both - winding steadily north out of it. His wards, crackling invisibly around the castle; the strongest barrier he could conjure, and yet fragile-seeming against such a concentration of dark power. Alya, the enigma he would now never solve, trapped beneath the foundations of the castle. Johann and Nea; tainted by their mother's magic and yet undeserving of their fates - sacrificed in his double gamble against the demons and against queen Else. Allies and enemies, blurred beyond distinction. All for the survival of Emor and, ultimately, for the family who might never forgive him.

He thought of Else, his own dark mirror. I understand now why we hate each other so keenly, lady jarl. We're alike. We'd do anything for our families, up to and including the murder of innocents. We look into each others eyes and see ourselves. How could we react any other way?

He closed his eyes and leaned back, resting the back of his head against the uneven stone.

"You have done well...slave." A deep, evil voice flashed within Gaius's head, and before he could even move a deep churning feeling was set upon the mage, as if he were falling through empty air. Opening his eyes, Gaius instinctively scrambled back as he found himself upon the edge of a cliff, the drop below swathed in acrid, dun-coloured smoke. He felt a sharp pulse of heat against his chest, and realised that it was his warding amulet, though when he looked down he could not see it around his neck.

A vision. he thought frantically, trying to calm the jagged racing of his heartbeat. This is another vision.

And it was happening while he was awake. While men slept, when mortal minds existed half in the real world and half in the realm of the gods, that was when it was easiest for gods and demons both to reach out and touch them. Reaching out to seize a waking mind took a great deal more energy and power, and demons rarely expended that without a reason in mind.

He groped back, straining his senses to feel the stone that he knew was really beneath his hands, and instead bumped into something freezing cold to the touch. Turning his head slightly, Gaius found himself face to face with a demon as black as night, with swirling darkness engulfing his form. Yet, there was no detectable aura of Set upon him. The beast's eyes held a dark, blood-red colour, that shone and projected itself outwards, seemingly into Gaius' very soul. Foot-long horns adorned the beasts head, standing tall and then curving towards the centre of it's cranium. Two proportional yet skinny legs were shrouded by the dark mist covering the malevolent creature's form.

The demon slid an arm out and grabbed hold of Gaius by his arm, before holding him up. The monster at least 8 feet tall - possibly taller.

"Stand, mortal." it cooed, its voice papery and raspy, yet full of the power expected of such a beast. The black demon dropped Gaius upon his feet, and looking past the demon's form Gaius could see two more figures on their knees, arms strung out to each side as if crucified, held in place by heavy chains that stretched away and vanished into the yellow haze. The chains glowed red hot, thin wisps of steam curling off them and mixing with the smog. The wrists of the prisoners were charred black.

The first figure was a tall, stocky man, with a large grey beard running down his chest to the top of his abdomen. His head held a lush mane of white hair that slid down his back. His muscled body was cut, fresh wounds oozing golden ichor - the blood of the gods. The god's eyes constantly changed; cycling between a deep purple, a bright green, and then a dull, depressing grey. The male god looked up at Gaius, eyes filled with sadness and self-loathing as the black demon circled behind his crouching figure and lashed out with a barbed whip, cutting new wounds into his back.

The figure next to him was also male, though he held a darker image. His body was covered head to toe with huge lacerations, crosshatching him like a grotesque work of art. Ichor was constantly pouring out of his wounds, feeding the ground below him. This god seemed almost numb, never looking up at Gaius - his cropped hair did not cover his eyes though. They swirled majestically, holding the colour of the most beautiful chocolate. He too received multiple lashes from the demon, though he did not seem to react at all, even as his pale skin released more ichor with every stroke.

Both of the tortured prisoners were held in place by their ever-hot chains, while their legs placed inside small holes filled with blue lava. The large black arch-demon behind them whipped at their forms constantly - cutting new wounds as the old ones faded and healed.

Blue lava. Gaius thought, his mind free of the cloying influence that had come over it during his last encounter. The demon before him, huge and powerful though it was, was only a vassal. Its voice did not match the first one that had spoken.

"Your actions have pleased me, Gaius..."

As if on cue, the deep voice came from behind the mage, who spun around only to be met once again with the cliff's edge, the sheer drop sitting around 20 metres away - beyond that point the air was thick with smog and sulphur, the foul mix shrouding the Namorian's eyes.

"It is intelligent of you to please me...a good slave should strive to please his master..."

Gaius' jaw twitched as he bit down hard, but he forced himself not to voice the first defiant response that rose in his throat. No. Not yet. Careful. To anger the demon lord would be unwise, but to insult its intelligence by pretending to grovel would be almost as dangerous. He smoothed his face into a neutral mask, and ensured that his voice carried the same lack of inflection when he spoke.

"A slave could serve better," he said, voicing the question even though he was already quite sure he knew the answer. "If he knew his master's name."

"You know, who I am." the voice responded, its gargantuan tones filling the air with thick, heavy waves of dread. They coaxed themselves across Gaius' form like liquid gold - heavy, dazzling, and burningly, agonisingly painful. The mage stumbled to one knee and spat blood, red droplets scattering across the cliff edge.

It's only a vision! It's only a vision!

"All beings know of me." Laughter filled the chasm and echoed off the cliff face, deafeningly loud within the mage's ears.

"I am the Devourer; the Conqueror; the Slaver - I am all that you mortals see and all that you think. I am time and space and everything in between."

As the entity spoke, real fear added into the smooth waves of artificial dread running along Gaius, mixing like a fatal boiling pot of emotion. He had learned everything the Guild had had to teach about the threat and the trickery of demons; he had committed to memory every possible defence; and yet even he had underestimated the full, unrestrained power of one of their twelve Lords.

Stay calm. His power is limited in the mortal world, and that's where you really are. It's only a vision! Focus!

He could feel his amulet pulsing hotly against his chest, or maybe it was just the phantom pain conjured by the entity's voice.

"I am Evil; I am hatred so foul; I am incomprehensible. I am Kronos."

Kronos. Blue lava. Kronos! The false Lycinia...

Lycinia. Emor. Seppia. Titus. Remember your mission!

Gaius forced his bleeding eyes open and looked down into the chasm below the cliff, where a blue glow was now taking shape through the thick chemical smog. A blue glow, and a dark shadow.

"I have waited so long for you Gaius." Kronos purred from within the smoke, his form obscured by the toxic fumes. "Over 13 billion years and finally you are born to carry out my will."

"You are hate." Gaius slurred thickly, tasting iron and sulfur on his tongue as he spoke. "It's an emotion that I know well."

The Demon Lord paused for a moment, before chortling slightly - the noise deep and full of malevolence.

"Your desire to show defiance towards me is...admirable. But then, it is that same desire that has shackled you in my chains..." Kronos sighed with contentment from beyond the mist.

"Perhaps you're right." Gaius agreed, cuffing blood from his lips. But perhaps not quite yet. Demons lie; even demon lords. And if I can convince this demon lord to believe his own lie for just a little longer...I can buy time for people who, unlike me and Else, are worth saving.

Kronos' last word - chains - was still echoing faintly around the cliff top. Gaius turned his head, his eye inevitably drawn to the slaver demon and the two tortured gods. How did a demon overpower a god? Perhaps there's another piece of the puzzle here.

"I am right, mortal." Kronos purred, cutting across Gaius' thoughts like a knife. "You would do well to remember that..."

"Were they the same?" Gaius asked the deadly cloud of smoke, still looking at the two captive gods. They were too mutilated to be recognisable, even from the most reliable temple mosaics. "Who are they?"

"You look upon the model of mortality and the defender of the Underworld - Odin and Thanatos, my trophies of your realm." Kronos sighed with triumph, leaving Gaius with the impression that the demon lord had paused to lick its lips with glee. "Soon, I shall add your entire pantheon - including my petulant son. Maybe when I'm done devouring your universe, I'll add you to my collection..." Kronos spoke, his dark voice coated with sadistic glee.

Thanatos... Gaius thought, adrenaline surging as he made the connection. Is this why armies of ancient Earthborn have been springing up all over the north? But then...what of Pluto?

"Humour me, slave..." Kronos paused in thought. "What is it that you mortals find so...alluring about the gods?"

A metallic sound, like the shaking of gargantuan chains, sounded through the air and caused Gaius' ears to ring painfully. Chains. Gaius thought. He remains bound.

The gods who spoke to mortals in the earliest days told them of a time before their own birth, when Kronos had conspired with his whore Zenita to create the first sun god - Ra - in order to defeat his demonic rivals. But the plan had backfired, and after the other demon lords were defeated Ra had turned upon Kronos. Striking a deal with the mercurial Horsemen, the four demon lords he had so recently defeated, Ra had cast down Kronos and sealed him in one of the twelve realms of Tartarus. The other lords had swiftly followed him into captivity, including Zenita and the four Horsemen, sealing light's victory over chaos. You are not as powerful as you think, Kronos.

"Is it their morality?" Kronos rumbled. "Their friendliness? Or is it their need of your kind...a pitiful weakness?"

Gaius coughed again, and cuffed the blood from his chin. Despite the pain throbbing in his head and needling his skin, he managed to smile grimly. "We both know that the gods don't necessarily have any of those qualities. Some do, but the one thing they all have is power. Power to give us life; power to take it. Power demands respect."

"Do I not hold those powers, Gaius? Do I not deserve respect?" Kronos asked. "I can see it in your mind now, the lies that you've been fed upon my defeat - how my son and those pathetic Horsemen 'cast me down'...there is not a single moment that I do not see..."

Gaius could not see beyond the miasma filling the gap in the air between them, but he was fairly sure that the demon lord was grinning to himself. Good. He had meant to appeal to the demon's ego with his reference to power - and for a brief moment, he thought that it had worked.

"I forged the Sun from my own body, bringing his disgusting light into my kingdom!" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLw5MX7bZqI) Kronos roared, his voice laced with anger. The sound of rattling chains ripped through the air, the material bindings upon Kronos shaking in strain. "I fought for millions of years with him, allowing him to battle me from within my palace - giving him blow after blow against me."

Whilst Gaius could not see it yet, the smog in front of him was slowly but surely lifting, revealing more and more of the monolithic cavern beneath the cliff. It revealed that the azure glow from below the cliff emanated from a vast sea of blue lava, seething and bubbling. The shadow beyond it remained hidden. Whatever it was, it was huge.

"I let Ra defeat me, as I saw that he and his bride would give birth to far more interesting beings than the God of the Sun..."

The sound of a chain snapping brutally crashed through the air, and a huge metal binding crashed down out of the smog above Gaius, landing on the ground far behind him and then dragging itself over the cliff edge, digging large trenches within the dirt.

"I let that insolent cur march around and speak of his victory against me for over 13 billion years!"

The sound of another chain snapping emerged from beyond the smog, crashing into the ocean of blue lava and causing colossal waves to lap at the cliff upon which Gaius found his safety. "Even a lowly mage believes that I am so weak as to be fooled by his trickery and lies when in truth I see right through you Gaius..."

The being's dark silhouette painted the smog now, gigantic in form. "I navigated you down this whole path, in your sickening attempts at 'free will'. I ruined your attempts to contact Demons - I brought you into contact with the succubus weakling."

Kronos cackled with laughter, and the vast silhouette in the smog raised its arms to the horizontal, like a dark mirror of his bound prisoners.

"I have touched your mind since birth, forging it to serve my own will - you knew that Lycinia couldn't possibly be in my realm, yet you carried out my will anyway, however begrudgingly." The smog drained around the giant demon lord, and Gaius sucked in a quick breath of terror as all was revealed to him. "I have touched the minds of all mortals and all gods since the dawn of Ra's rule. Mortals respect power, Gaius? I am power!"

Gaius dragged himself backwards along the ground as he looked upon the most magnificent and brutally terrifying thing that he had ever seen in his life.

Standing taller than a mountain was Kronos - his skin was crimson red, the bloody colour clashing with the blue lava that swam at his legs and bubbled at his body. That body was chiselled, and as bulky as the most muscular men. Two large tubes of metal - bracers - were moving themselves across chains towards the Demon Lord's outstretched arms, sliding into place and melting themselves into the crimson skin. Two metal pauldrons, each one possibly as big as the entire city of Emor, were swiftly dropped upon the Demon Lord's shoulders.

The Demon Lord's face was terrifying. He looked like the most beautiful man to ever grace history, yet there was something horrifying about him. His eyes glowed bright white, the light flowing from their vessels across his face like fire, floating and flickering with the breeze. A sharp yet well-formed nose sat upon him, and two shapely lips sat below them. His jaw was strong and solid, with the determined set of a born commander. Two massive horns rose up from the beast's head, stroking at the air above his scalp.

He looked nothing like the sketches Gaius had seen in the books of the mage's guild - their teachings claimed that Kronos was nothing more than a trickster and a fiend, a whimpering cast-down king who bowed at the whims of Ra and allowed him passage through his realm. They were oh so wrong. The Demon Lord standing before Gaius was powerful beyond measure, and was slowly being given armour - preparing for war.

Kronos grinned, revealing bright white teeth that reminded Gaius of a shark lunging at its prey.

Just looking into the demon lord's face sent a dagger of pain through Gaius' head. He dropped to the ground, blood oozing through his fingers as he tried to shield his eyes from Kronos' beautiful, terrible face. He couldn't have broken Ra's chains! He couldn't! It's not possible! A small part of his mind screamed at him that all demons were liars; that some or perhaps all of what he was seeing was not necessarily true, but it was all but drowned out by the mind-snapping horror of the vision before him. The artificial pain sparked through his nerves, saturating him to breaking point. Somehow, the small part of his mind found his voice; forcing him to face the agonising sound of Kronos' words one last time, for the last piece of the puzzle that he needed before he died.

"Johann..." he whispered through bloody teeth, his lips trembling like a landed fish struggling for its last breath. "Nea...the lady jarl's children...you wanted them...why?"

"Life and darkness, Gaius." Kronos chuckled, gigantic hands massaging his long-bound wrists. "I have waited for billions of years for a moment when two children of life and two children of darkness would walk the mortal land - and now, I have more than I asked for."

The Demon Lord outstretched his hand and atoms came together forging a beautiful dark-blue sword, as large as an Earthborn battle-cruiser.

"It is destiny, Gaius. With my control of Nemesis and my control over the four horsemen, I not only control equality, but the apocalypse. For over 13 billion years Ra has lorded his victory over me, believing that it was valid; denying the obvious truth that I simply let him defeat me. Now the scales must be made equal."

The Demon Lord smiled down at the mage, his face laden with glee.

Nemesis. Gaius thought, and finally realised the truth of the demon lord's words. He had beseeched Nemesis to find the Avengers, but she had been working with Kronos all along, guiding him relentlessly towards Zahneri, the South, and here.

"What happens now?" he whispered.

"You have served me well, mortal. However, I have no more need for you."

The Demon Lord waved his hands and Gaius fell onto his back, screaming as memories were imparted into his head.

"In return for you service to my cause, slave - I will give you what you have asked for; the location of those you wish dead - and the power to bring them to their knees."

Gaius felt something hot and slick and agonising bleeding its way over his skin, forcing its way along his already-burning nerves and through the insides of his veins. It was liquid fire. It was gaseous ice. As the power flowed into Gaius' body his forehead began to bleed, two horns slowly piercing the skin above. His muscles rippled and became larger and more defined, whilst the skin layered over the top of them became became darker and took on a light crimson tinge.

"Unlike the gods, Gaius - I keep my promises. When you return you will cast the spell I requested of you, and then you will return to Emor. Once you have killed your targets - if you so choose - you may deliver my power back to me, though it is barely a fragment of my strength..."

Kronos turned and raised his arms again, atoms coming together once more under his influence in order to produce a huge throne, rising up amid crashing waves of the blue lava. All over the throne were the shifting images of screaming faces, and as Gaius looked he felt something tug in his body. Somehow he knew that Kronos spoke the truth. Even through his teachings that all Demons were liars, he knew that Kronos did not lie.

With a jolt, the vision imploded, and Gaius felt cold stone against his back. He sucked in a breath like a man held underwater to the point of drowning, and slumped down against the wall. It's over. You're alive. In the gloom of the bedchamber, painful white lights danced in front of his eyes. He dropped his head into his hands.

And felt two sharp points protruding from his temples.

Gaius lurched to his feet, and stumbled towards the silver mirror that hung from one wall. Hands splaying either side of the mirror for balance, he stared at his reflection. The face looking back at him was his, but bore two black nubs the size of a thumb-joint near his hairline, and his olive complexion had darkened to an almost copper tone.

"No..." he whispered, running his hands over the horns and his changed skin. "No!" he snarled louder, and slammed his fist into the mirror. The horrifying image splintered, with a red smear at its centre as blood welled between his knuckles. Gaius doubled up and vomited across the cracked stones of the wall.

"No!" he coughed a third time, more weakly. Yes, a voice in his head responded, and he felt a hysterical laugh rising in his throat. He had already known that he was damned - now the product of his ruthless and desperate actions had an external manifestation.

As the physical pain of the vision receded, he felt a needle of heat against his chest, and tugged the protective icon of Mars out from underneath his tunic. Hanging by its string tie, he cradled it in his hand. Almost immediately, he felt the pain begin anew in his palm. The amulet, enchanted by his own hands with wards against physical blows, against magic and against demonic essence, was itself reacting to the corruption which now partially infused him. He dropped it to rest on top of rather than inside his clothing, and felt the heat reside to a tolerable level.

He almost ripped the icon entirely off and cast it across the room. What good were those spells when it really mattered!? He felt his rage boil at the futility of his actions in the face of Kronos' manipulation, but even as he clenched his injured fist, squeezing more blood through the gashed knuckles, he knew that the rage itself was also futile.

Kronos, Nemesis and the Four Horsemen...no single mortal could halt that alliance.

And yet, he still lived. So what was he to do now? There was no line left to cross, and there was nothing more he could do that would alter events here in the South. A demon lord of untold power was rising, and only gods could hope to stop him now, not mortals. As for Kronos' army...it was praetor Maximus and jarl Kalle who would decide that outcome, not he. The immortals in the North; the demon that had enslaved the emperor; Odin and Thanatos; the other two of Kronos' cryptic "children of life and darkness" - he knew now that there was nothing he could do about them that wouldn't play into the hands of the powers he was attempting to defeat. What did that leave? Gaius laughed breathlessly. Why, his original mission. The obsession that had brought him here, pulling events around him down in destructive, ever-decreasing spirals. After he, his wife, Zahneri, Else and Kalle had all failed, Kronos had provided him with the knowledge he needed to punish his cousin's murderers.

With grim focus, Gaius limped across the room. Seizing one of the rune-littered scraps of hide lying on the decaying blackwood table, he took up his quill and began to write. Carefully, from memory, he slowly copied down the spell that he had been given. And then, once he was sure that the runes were meticulously exact, he began to strike through words and change them, copying the modifications onto a second scrap of hide. When he was finished, he held his hand over the hide to gauge the magic. With a curse, he threw the scrap aside and began again.


* * * * * *

It was nearly midnight by the time Gaius stood, his gashed hand still unbound and its blood smeared across the table and writing materials, holding two perfected spells amid the scattered hide scraps of his rejected prototypes. One held the binding spell and the teleportation spell, with the runic co-ordinates of Emor altered to the new ones Kronos had burned into his head. The other held only the teleportation half of the spell, with the runes bound to the names of Johann and Nea Odinsen. He swept the table clear and placed the second spell in the centre, where he was sure that Kalle would find it.

It is futile for me to try and oppose the demons any more, prince Kalle, but perhaps not for you. Perhaps the young prince would be able to get far enough outside Gaius' wards, and the binding he was about to cast, for one of the Southern mages to enact the spell. Perhaps he could save Johann and Nea, though whether that would slow the demons now was far from certain. And if he could not...well, I have already sacrificed your siblings, prince Kalle, and I have already sacrificed your city as a breakwater against the demon army. What further stain could your blood leave on my already ruined hands?

With the second spell still gripped in his bloody fist, he began to chant. The walls around him seemed to tremble, like a rippled image, and just as he felt the heavy magic of the binding spell begin to manifest he was ripped forward through reality. With a part of his new form repelled and burned by the wards that he himself had placed, it was the most intensely painful moment of Gaius' life. He screamed into the void between dimensions as he was hurled forward against the ground, and landed on a carpet of rough grass and fallen leaves. The air had changed; thicker, warmer, and full of the smells of autumn. Nocturnal animals chirruped and rustled. Gaius raised his head, and saw the edge of the Combrogian forest looming before him. The trees were forbidding sentinels in threadbare coats, their orange and yellow garb washed to flat amber by a column of amber light. Gaius looked at it, and felt a stab of fear which almost instantly melted into silent resignation. If this was another portal for the demon army, there was nothing he could do about it. Turning, he saw one of the river Minerva's winding tributaries chuckling by. Possibly the Volturno or the Condatis, depending on how far east he was. Beyond the water, a campfire glowed softly.

There you are.

He had expected to feel exhilaration. He had expected to feel righteous anger, and a thirst for justice. Instead, it was a cold, calm fury - directed as much towards himself and towards Kronos as to his newfound victims - that suffused Gaius as he regarded the homely glow. He cast off the thick furs that he no longer needed, keeping only the hooded waterproof cloak, which he pulled low over his eyes to hide the worst of his disfigurements. Tugging a reindeer skin glove onto his left hand, and then another onto his blood-crusted right, he balled his fists and struck out towards the camp.

Minkasha
10-09-2014, 08:29 AM
Branjaskr, The Free South

Sweat and fur, lined by the thousands. A hundred drums were stuck with wooden knob, a resounding sound summoning the endurance of Branjaskr’s people. Dirt and snow took flight with shovel, landing before the castle gates in new unity.

Mound after mound stood over thirty feet tall, taller than the ice bred stone of their walls, and fifteen sixty feet wide. Landswoman Kia worked side by side with the Jarl, heartily each being symbols of strength and hope for far away, from the hill top castle, the Namorians had come within sight. Demon or greedy Northern men, it did not matter, they were here. Clouds of hot breath came from chapped lips, thuds of smacking their tools against the mounds to firm their forms heard by the collective. It wasn’t desperation that drove them to their musically hastened speeds. It was courage, strength, honor, and Odin. It was the hope of their future. Among the mass Hella and Karla were doing their part as royals, of the sacred bloodline. Each served as a star of Odin’s power with them.

The Namorions kept their blade hands still, the sun being taken across the sky until the moon kissed everyone with her light. The wolves patrolling Branjaskr’s wide snow blanketed paths howled.



Her children…they were dead. Else hadn’t moved, finding no motivation to exist. She was their mother, and she had failed. Gaius’ hideousness stained her mind. Fantasies of his death turned her very spirit. Yet in the same breath, her noble son, the light of her womb, his judgment came just as swift to stab her in the heart.

Odinsens, children forced into creation because their bastard grandfather would have left their mother barren than aid. The god of life, denied her. Pillows splotched with tears, he now denied caring for what came for from this negligence. Weakly, as if she were nothing more than a lanky wraith draped in her dress, did she arise.

Sliding out from under her blankets the suppressed cold of the broken window made her shiver. But her focus wasn’t on her body, but instead the weapon of her late husband. The glaive was hidden under her bed. Reaching out, hands and knees in the darkness, her fingers felt its always smooth surface. Grasping on the handle and pulling it out, she was greeted with the same weapon she had hid what had felt like so long ago. Not a speck of dust to hamper its handsomeness. It possessed a sturdy black metal shaft, somehow light to hold. The blade sharp curved and jagged. Already her imagination painted it with Gaius’ blood. In her hands it was easy to carry. Her dear son, Kalle, could not see what she saw. There was no one to trade for. She had stilled her venomous strike, but no longer would she be burdened by shame. Set’s servant would die.

Donning a cloak the mother hid her form, creeping as a shadow. Keeping firm to the carpets of the hall, her steps not heard. Her heart raced, bloodlust driving her forward. Else had to stop herself from wanting to run down the hall, the short difference from her nemesis. The rush gave her conviction as a mother. The door got closer and closer until she was hearing the pounding of her heart before it.

Putting a hand on the thick wood, she pushed the ornate doors, the moonlight and the smell of vomit to catch her senses. Reflective blade pointed forward, she waved it around while it followed her aim. The deceiving mage wasn’t anywhere to be found. Blood and mirror shards caught her attention and in its broken reflection she watched her weeping face. Lips moved on their own, lost in history.

“Through the truth

Lies a thousand lies

Hidden beneath a web of spiders

Darkness looms over Ra, God of Light.


I simply come to exact fate and fairness,

That fate and fairness which my mother demands,

The Gods and the Mortals have had their time,

Chaos must come forth and the Arks must be activated,

Only then may Pandora's box be opened.


I leave this with great regards, for I near my own judgment.

Do not fester, and do not hate

What it is you were born to suffer.”

The words belonging to the letter that sat on her husband’s corpse with mocking grace the night of his murder. It was the very same words that foretold so much more…if only she had seen. Blood stained glass shards fell to the stone ground, glaive shoved deep into the mirror. Else screamed, but the falling glass gave off sounds of quick applause before there was a stillness in the reeking room.

The ruined mirror and Else held long contract, the former Jarl feeling as if Gaius’ gaze was coming from it. There was a rage that would not die, a pain so great she never imagined after the death of her husband that there was anything greater. But there was, and this was it. A glazed look dimmed her eyes, slowly leaving the room. Her feet made no effort to avoid Gaius’ mess, the door carelessly left open.

Stumbling back into her bedchambers, the artifact of her husband was dropped onto the furs of her mattress. Taking parchment out, and ink to write…she took only a moment’s pause before she wrote calmly, sitting at the very table she had introduced the monster into her life.

Fire crackling, it was soothing. It was helping her relax, let go. Quill down, she reread the runic symbols of her ink, nodding. These were her words she wanted him to read. Standing proudly, Else made herself comfortable at her vanity, staring at herself again.

Else staring at Else, a sorry sight, but there was a smile on her face. Now in this new state of being she could relish in all the memories she shared with her husband, with her youngest and oldest child. She had done everything to protect them. Kalle made it so obvious she could no longer continue her life’s desire. Sweaty palm and fingers gripped tight to what was an instrument to her path of damnation.

“I am sorry, husband” In her own eyes she searched for him. “I will not be joining you”

He wasn’t found. Loss filled her soul’s gateways.

A final throat sliced, warmth spilling over jewelry, down the embroidered edges of her dress. The choking sensation, the pain, the fear and the regret…were these the things Korzan had felt when his time had come?

Thudding down on the vanity’s surface, the mother finally lost something out of her own choosing: her life.



Zahneri stared up at the bricks above her. Her cheek felt the burning and eventual throbbing of bruising. The sensation bothered her blank concentration of time’s passing. The Demon had watched the brightness grow, shrink, and come back now with a white hue. For now, Zahneri simply was.

The door was swung open with a man’s heavy breathing, closing just as fast. Without having to see, she knew it was Kalle. Listening to his footsteps, she did not await his command. He had relinquished his power over her. Her full lips never moved, nor his. Kalle was leaning onto the wall of the bay window, collecting himself.

“You must release the Emperor” She could hear him removing the fastenings to his clothes.

“Is that an order? Are you my master?” An even toned question. Kalle kept quiet, walking around the room. Her eyes caught sights of him now that he stood by the bed before the dresser, peeling away clothes. He wouldn’t look down to her.

“No. No I am not” Musk perfumed the air with the more he took off, sweaty skin playing with moonlight. “But what my mother had you do is amoral, deception.” He was angry, Zahneri could hear it “Something my father would be ashamed of. It isn’t the way of the Free South”

“It has been for the last twenty eight years” Another simple truth and this time Kalle had dropped his coats and walked away with a hand running down his face. With his bare back to her, leering brown eyes saw the healing scratches, her marks.

“Release the Emperor from your magic, Zahneri”

“And if I have no desire to?” Her ears picked up no response. Eyes never left the brick directly above her, focused on it intently.

Finally his voice broke her concentration, again. “Who will you listen to?”

“To the one who gave me purpose” Creaking of the dresser being opened came into the room, followed by the shuffling of clothes, rapid footsteps and the slamming of the door.

Now it was her, the brick, and the moon’s light once again.



The new Jarl stormed out of his bedroom. How could she act so defiantly? The fact she did it so dispassionately rubbed him raw. Blind vengeance plagued him in every direction and now his mother was going to stop it. She was going to command Zahneri and end all of this. Mother started this, she could end it.

The castle patrols were scarce tonight, morale at an all-time low with the sudden disappearance of both Jóhann and Nea. Regardless, they knelled to their Jarl, proud. Running up stone steps and thundering down the fourth floor, he barged into her room, forging delicacy now that this floor was empty except for Gaius across the way.

“Mother yo-” Kalle had stopped instantly, any thought exploding into nonexistence. The hand on the slammed door began to shake, ice blue eyes as wide as they ever been. He saw her there, blonde hair laid over the edge of the vanity, hand fallen down to her side, pools of blood around her throat and dripping onto the stone.

His vision was shifting in and out, his eyes rapidly blinking in shock. “Mo-…mo-…” Slowly, carefully, with rising dread did he approach her. Else wasn’t moving. The copper smell was strong. Each passing second was burned into his brain, feeling its permanency. Standing above her he could see her open mouth and faded eyes staring at the burning fire. “MOTHER!” Kalle, the second son yelled, squeezing her shoulders.

Forcing her up, he was on his knees, both to make eye contact and to make a futile prayer for her life. “MOTHER!” Her body was limp, chin falling into the blood covering her chest. Pulling her close, his face sought shelter in the side of her neck. Had he done wrong? His mind was reeling, heart shattering a thousand times over. Why? The word repeated itself another thousand.

Balling and screaming into her, Else did not hold him. The passed mother’s only movements were the light shakes flowing into her dangling limbs from her quaking son. The young man held her tight, feeling her soft body, still warm.

One by one this entire family was being ripped apart.



Max hadn’t left his room all day, Oerin stared out the window. Oerin knew little of Max’s sightseeing, enjoying the taught muscles that ran down his back. Frowning, but Max didn’t look away. There was an electric pleasure to study the masculine, shapely body. It passed the time. It kept his ill feelings and concerns of his sister, and now missing brother, away. Sex made everything bad stop. The flashbacks of their fleshy affair on the Grotto grounds helped surge that philosophy in his heart.

There were so many bad things he wanted to stop.

Oerin’s black wings flapped, the gust of wind made Max’s messy hair dance.

“Master, she wouldn’t just leave, would she?” Turning, he revealed a face filled with insecurity.

“Who?”

“Alya, Master” The teen accidently let his eyes drift down the pecs and abs, forcing himself to look away he tried to dismiss it all. “She was protecting Nea…” Max, hearing Oerin’s sadness, watched the raven Demon hang his head low. “She wouldn’t just leave her!” Gaius’ words echoed…she flew away. “We can’t do that!” Was such a nature in him too? Could he leave Max without rhyme or reason?

“She did, and left my sister vulnerable” Max’s words were harsh, only followed by a sound of hesitation “I guess…” Oerin had a firm look about him, stepping closer to the bed.

“I would never do that to you, master” Oerin witnessed his master’s cheeks redden and he was unsure why.

Max’s bedroom door was pushed opened and once again came his brother, the man he admired and despised simultaneously. Hella had come in behind, weeping. In his grasp was father’s weapon, tears down his cheeks. Panic struck Max.

“Nea!?” Kalle shook his head. “…Jóhann?”

“It is mother” The Jarl cleared his throat and stood strong. “She is dead”

Max’s mouth dropped, a flash taking over his sight.

Azazeal849
10-15-2014, 09:38 PM
SOUTH NAMOR

The exile senate were in deep discussion. Granted, Marcus Agrippa thought, they had done little else since leaving Emor. Despite riding all day, Aemilia's senators seemed to find the energy to sit and talk long into the night. Marcus had begun to wonder if fruitless debate somehow sustained these men and women instead of sleep. Legatus Sertorius had summoned the will to attend almost every meeting as well, though that was perhaps not so surprising - Marcus expected that the ambitious commander felt he had a personal stake in making sure the senators' plans stayed on track. Although the plan to offer aid to Hercine and appoint it the separatist capital remained solid, what happened next - and who would rule if and when emperor Claudius was deposed - was not.

Some in the bench-lined tent were stifling yawns, but Marcus himself was alert and attentive. The reason was Julia, who was about to throw another curveball into the proceedings with the letter she had just received from Seppia in Emor. The owl that had borne the letter had drawn attention as soon as Marcus had carried it into the tent, but Marcus had let his young wife be the one to unveil the message.

She's got that look on. he observed, hiding a low chuckle. The one where she's about to make a point and damn the consequences.

The light of the high-standing torches flickered over Julia's youthfully determined face as she held up the letter and the list of signatures that were scrawled over the bottom. They were brave to do that - in the wrong hands, that's a self-damning list of traitors' names.

"Eighteen of Emor's noble families." Julia spoke up. "House Marcius, house Caelestus, house Octavius...powerful names in Emor. They all want peace, and they're willing to let us have it if the emperor is deposed."

"If." interrupted the austere old woman who had spoken in support of a new ruling senate at their last meeting. Her tone was cautious. "The nobles will listen to our terms, but what armies do they command? There are still the praetorians and the 1st legion to consider. One assumes that they are as loyal to the emperor as ever."

"We can't afford a bloodbath." senator Aemilia agreed, her face lined by tiredness but her eyes shrewd as she observed from the front podium. "Moreover, our first priority is Hercine."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the benches. Word had reached them yesterday - that governor Castus of Hercine had been found murdered, seemingly with a crocolyke weapon. The Hercinian cat-men had immediately instigated a bloody revenge pogrom, ordering one in every twenty crocolyke slaves in the city to be put to death. Instead of securing the power of their merchant clans, which had rested upon the Namorian governor, the brutal act had applied a match to the powder keg of crocolyke tensions, and a full-scale uprising was now in progress. The rogue senate's plan had now been forced to alter radically. Instead of offering a stabilising influence and being looked on as saviours, they had to pick a side. Julia, predictably, had already made up her mind which.

"What is there still to discuss about Hercine?" she said, flushing slightly. "We support the crocolykes. There's more of them, and their cause is right."

Marcus was pleased to note the quiet nods from several of the senators, some of them murmuring agreement that offering the crocolykes terms was exactly what the hero Marcius had done. Julia's credibility on the council had gone up somewhat with Aemilia's tacit backing. Marcus was proud of her. I don't always understand why you feel such empathy for those lizard-men, sweetheart, but things will be changing now whatever happens. And with a bit of luck, we might even find your brother when we get to Hercinia.

There was just one major dissenter, and he raised his voice now.

"We support them, and we just trade crocolyke rebels for Hercinian ones." legatus Sertorius snorted, his deep voice edgy. "If we pick one side, there will be chaos either way. We need to bar both parties from ruling and take complete control."

Marcus turned to glare at the commander of the Invictus legion. He knew exactly why Sertorius was suggesting that. Who gets the cat-men's wealth if we take control and confiscate it? It was foolish and short-sighted to try and set up a new government on the backs of universal hatred by the locals, and everyone in the tent knew that. Even if they didn't share Julia's altruism, everyone could see that the crocolykes were the lesser of two evils. Everyone, it seemed, except legatus gods-damn Sertorius.

"You're the only one who keeps pushing that idea, legatus." he said, standing. "Last time I looked, the senate operated on a majority vote."

"True." Sertorius admitted blithely. He stood with arms folded, his dark eyes switching to focus on Marcus with the same intensity as the falcon that formed his legion's symbol. His voice took on a dangerous tone. "But this army marches where it is ordered. I command the 3rd legion."

"And I," Marcus said warningly, "Command the 2nd."

There was a tense silence. Even senator Aemilia said nothing. Marcus held de facto command, a position that he maintained for the ease of command that familiarity with his troops brought. But, as a primus pilus, he was distinctly outranked by legatus Sertorius. Barring an appointment from the emperor to promote Marcus, which wasn't going to happen any time soon, Sertorius was within the bounds of Namorian law to assume the title of dux and take command of both legions. The only real thing stopping him was uncertainty about how the troops of the 2nd Valoria would react.

As the silence stretched out, the hands of guards on both sides of the tent drifting nervously towards sword hilts, Julia padded quietly across the floor and took her husband's hand. She gave Sertorius a defiant look. The legatus' return look was critical, appraising. He narrowed his eyes.

"You're thinking with the wrong head, Agrippa," he growled scornfully at Marcus. "When you're supporting that teenager of yours."

Marcus lowered his head a fraction, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. "Say that again." he challenged softly.

"Senators!" The yell shattered the tension of the standoff so violently that Marcus and several other soldiers almost ripped their swords from their scabbards. A young cavalry officer had just burst into the tent, oblivious to the crisis that he had temporarily averted. "Namorian troops to the south! The 18th!"

Even Sertorius forgot his anger, turning his full attention onto the newcomer. "The Fulminata?" he rumbled in disbelief. "Marcius?"

"Yes sir!" the cavalryman nodded enthusiastically, still blissfully unaware of the tension in the room.

Marcus caught the brief flash of frustrated rage in Sertorius' eyes. He couldn't help but crack a tight, wolfish smile. Sertorius might outrank him, but dux Marcius outranked them both, and moreover he was a war hero that even Sertorius' own troops would be reluctant to stand against. Let's hope he believes us about what's happening in Emor, otherwise we're all royally fucked. After Marcius had defeated four times his number of immortal Romans at the river Minerva, slain a dragon and a kraken, and bested an ancient Earthborn hero at Hercinia, Marcus did not fancy the senatorial army's chances; even without the immortals and crocolykes and gods knew what else that the dux now counted among his troops, and the blessings and the demi-god guardians that the pantheon seemed to shower upon him.

"I'll ride to meet the dux." said Marcus, before Sertorius could raise his voice again. He looked at Julia, and lowered his voice. "Come on sweetheart. Lets go and try convincing the dux not to have us all executed as traitors."

Julia bit her lip, suddenly pensive. "Will we have to tell him about his family?"


* * * * * *

COMBROGIA

The pillar of light cast a baleful glow over the surrounding trees, pulses of light flickering upwards like fiery dancers. They pirouetted one after the other, before leaping upwards to vanish into the midnight sky. The ark's glare smothered the light of the stars, as if the heavens themselves were recoiling. For all its terrible beauty, the light told Decius Marcius one thing: the greyskins were not here.

Something clearly had been - a vast clearing had been hacked around the anvil that focused the light, such that half the Fulminata legion could have camped there had they been suicidal enough. The rich loam of the forest floor was trampled, and in some places visibly stained with blood. There were dark splashes across tree trunks and in the shadow of roots where the autumn rains could not reach to wash them away. There were no bodies though. And no sign of the Eldrani who had previously escorted Marcius through the forest. Marcius' army was making a forced march through the night to get clear of the forest before pitching camp. He had also sent outriders and crocolyke scouts ranging through the trees and beyond, but all was silent in the haunted forest.

Marcius stood with his indigo cloak hanging from his shoulders, fluttering gently in the artificial breeze created by the ark's vortex. His bodyguard Varrius stood stoically at his shoulder, his eyes constantly flicking between the light and the distant treeline that ringed the clearing. Every now and then, he would also glance warily at Elisavet. Venus' messenger had insisted on accompanying them, even though her condition had not improved. The paleness of fatigue and dark shadows under her eyes had sapped the demigoddess' unearthly beauty. She hid herself under a loose stola, the unremarkable attire worn with cloth flowing down from her head to keep her form cloaked from sight. She stood several paces back from Marcius, keeping the wary distance that she now always did when she wasn't confining herself to the follower's camp, far from his sight. The separation pained Marcius - and not just because he was failing her by not finding a way to release her from the dormant demon's hold. As well as the sympathetic pain he felt for the suffering, humiliated demigoddess, sharpened by his own near-possession in the recent past, her sudden absence starkly reminded him of how much she had served to comfort his still-tender wounds.

So many secrets. he mused ruefully. Elisavet was still the only one among the army who knew about his slain family. And, since they had sworn medica Masika to secrecy about Elisavet's condition, and told no-one else but his own bodyguard...it was only a matter of time before people started asking questions. The sign of Venus' favour visibly keeping her distance from him could only generate fear and concern.

Also clustered around them were prefect Lucullus, Zhnegra for the crocolykes, and Hercules representing the Greeks. The ghost-light of the ark deepened the lines on Lucullus' face, making the senior centurion look older, gaunter. Marcius wondered vaguely if the light was having the same effect upon him, unmasking the stress of recent events and the increasing weight that bore down on his shoulders like the chains of Kronos. Both Zhnegra and Hercules stood as stone, the light flickering like witchfire in the reflections of their eyes. Beneath the shadowy rim of his T-visored helmet, Marcius thought that Hercules' blue eyes looked almost as black and inhuman as the crocolyke's.

The last two among Marcius' knot of attendance were senator Agrippa and Aulus Ovidius, the man who he had sent into the far east to avert the Egyptian crisis. Ovidius had been sent ahead, he had explained, while Anne remained to monitor the situation along with Marcius' Afragian house slave. The spy's news was a rare piece of comfort - Ahsha was now pharaoh, and he was willing to discuss terms of peace with the imperium. Any mental weight removed by Ovidius had been piled anew by Agrippa, however. Queen Nesara's eagle still sat in Marcius' tent, awaiting a reply that he had yet to compose. She says her kingdom is at my disposal...but plots succession from the imperium that I am sworn to protect. How do I answer that? I only hope Varinius can somehow keep the peace.

It was another unanswerable quandary, along with the situation in Emor, and the whereabouts of the greyskin army. Marcius looked back at the swirling pillar of light. The others were doing the same, and no doubt they were drawing the same grim conclusion as he was. No Eldrani, none of Beowulf's pale blood-drinkers, and no greyskins. And knowing that each light beam served as a portal, it was not hard to guess why.

"If they were here." the dux mused aloud, "They've gone south too."

Dealing with the orcs was in Maximus' hands now, Marcius thought. Maximus might have an iron will, and a full 14 legions at his back, but still he prayed that the grim, uncompromising praetor would be able to handle it.

"Your plans now, general?" Zhnegra rumbled in his guttural crocolyke voice.

"We'll leave a picket around the anvil, as in Ech Zilidar." Marcius answered. "And continue the march for Emor at first light."

"First light." Hercules said tonelessly. The army would have precious few hours to rest. "Even my immortals get tired, strategos."

"First light." Marcius replied, a hard edge entering his voice. "Emor can't wait."

Marcius couldn't be sure in the flickering light of the pillar, but he thought he saw the Greek leader smirk. He was spared further confrontation, however, by the sound of hoofbeats and a pair of scouts clattering into the clearing, their shields slung across their backs.

"Dux Marcius!" one of them said, raising his arm in salute. "The 2nd legion is to the north of us, marching towards Hercine."
Marcius exchanged glances with Lucullus and Elisavet. "The Valoria? Why are they abroad?"

"They send ambassadors, sir." the scout explained, and waved forward another group of horsemen from the trees. With a flanking escort of Fulminata cavalry, a pair of riders cantered into the clearing and reined to a stop. The horses whinnied and shied away from the glaring column of light, and the riders almost fell as they stared open-mouthed at the display. One was a senior centurion with rank insignia emblazoned across his breastplate and belt, and healing cuts on his face and arms. Beneath his plumed helmet his dark hair was flecked with grey, making him look older than the late thirties at which Marcius estimated his age. His companion was much younger, dainty-featured and still trying to regain the weight she had lost during adolescent growth spurts.

"That's just like the pillar of light above the palace." she whispered to her companion as they dismounted, too low for Marcius to hear. She fingered the small icon of Mars that hung around her neck, under her pinned-back travelling cloak.
Belatedly, Marcius recognised her as one of Lycinia's friends from her intricate social circle. He felt his heart sink, and it sank further when the young woman met his eye and then looked away uneasily.

She knows.

"Hail, dux Marcius." the centurion beside her said, touching the blade of his hand to his shoulder and extending his palm in salute. "Primus pilus Marcus Agrippa, brevet commander of the 2nd. This is my wife Julia."

"Marcus?" senator Agrippa breathed from Marcius' side. "Marcus!" He strode forward as the centurion dismounted, and embraced him.

"Uncle Lucius?" the centurion gaped, momentarily distracted from Marcius and the other ranking officers standing before him. "What are you doing here?"

"Troubled times in Afragia." the senator replied, shaking his silver head. "But the dux will explain." He stepped back and indicated Marcius with a gracious wave of his hand, bowing apologetically for the interruption. Marcius nodded acceptance before turning his attention back to the younger Agrippa.

"Brevet commander." he said, picking up on the centurion's last comment. "What happened to the legatus, and the tribunes? Why are the Valoria on the march?"

"The Valoria and the Invictus." Marcus Agrippa clarified. He took a deep, uncomfortable breath. “The emperor attempted to arrest the senate, replace the commanders of the legions, and sell the Combrogi and Hercinian refugees into slavery. There was…a rebellion. We liberated the senators and fled the capital.”

Marcius’ face, which had been grave as Agrippa described the emperor’s escalating madness, darkened. “You turned traitor?”

Agrippa met the dux’s gaze, his jaw clenched. “I did not give the order, but I am the highest ranking officer left in the Valoria. And, I will not disagree that something had to be done.”
“The die is cast, general.” senator Agrippa offered. “These rebels cannot go back. We must ask now what is best for the empire. You are a war hero, and you have the sword of Mars. People would follow you, if..."

"If what?" Marcius interrupted harshly. He did not like where he thought this was going.

The senator looked at him steadily. "If you were to declare yourself dictator."

“You’re suggesting that I abandon my oath to the empire.” Marcius spat.

“I am suggesting that you have the influence to provide stability."

"You are chosen by the goddess Aphrodite, and by the god Mars." the shadow of Elisavet spoke up, her voice lined with weakness and only now drawing attention where once she would have done so effortlessly by her very presence. "You have the strength to lead, Decius. The empi-"

The demigoddess had to stop, the bindings crushing her chest also took her breath away, lingeringly so. There was an awkward moment of silence, as Marcus and Julia looked at Elisavet in confusion, and Marcius clenched his jaw.

"The lady Elisavet." he introduced her for the ambassadors' benefit. "Venus' messenger to our cause."

Venus' messenger. Marcius thought, with a twinge of sympathetic pain. She has suffered a lot recently for her goddess, and for me.

Elisavet drew in shallow, audible breaths to push herself forward to the front of the group. Her bandage-covered hands were at her chest, showing the struggle, while the darkness cast by her hood spared her the humiliation of more people seeing her unhealthy face.

"The empire," she continued at last, "Needs a leader like you. It needs you. Continue your path to power so you can lead all of us, united, to follow the gods' will."

The exertion of speech was enough to leave her panting again. Marcius weighed her words silently, refusing to let the conflict show on his face. He had come to rely on Elisavet's advice, but he had not expected her to agree with a plan like senator Agrippa's; a plan that suggested he join a rebellion and fight against his fellow Namorians. He had known that something was seriously wrong in Emor, but he had expected to unite Emor with the sword of Mars, not by usurping the emperor he had sworn to serve and taking his powers for his own. I am still missing the whole story here! The gods' will...what in the twelve hells is the gods' will!? They give me the sword of Mars to call on them come the apocalypse, but they do not tell me when that will be! If that is my fate then why not send me south, after the demons!?

"My duty is to preserve Claudius' empire." he growled. "Not divide it."

"It already stands divided." Marcus said gravely. "And will stay that way as long as Galen Claudius remains in power. I've seen him, and...I do not think that he will recognise any authority any more, not even the sword of Mars. We have to take power from him, and that means putting someone in his place."

"That someone won't be me." Marcius vowed flatly.

"It’s not a question of whether you plan to keep the post or not." senator Agrippa put in. "It’s a question of keeping the imperium together until a permanent solution can be found.”

"That may take a while." the skinny young woman Julia cautioned. "Some of the senators want to return the senate to power, some want to see one of the praetors take on the emperor's role, and more than a few want you." She gave Marcius a significant look, and inclined her head. "The one thing they can agree on right now, though, is that emperor Claudius has to go."

"Are you all blind?" Marcius snapped sharply at the two ambassadors and at senator Agrippa. "Whether it's madness or gods-damn Earthborn influence that's made the imperator act this way, he's clearly not in his right mind. I don't want to have Mars' chosen leader murdered or imprisoned, and that's what it will take to make me dictator!"

"So don't kill him, lord Marcius." Ovidius spoke up, softly. The spy stood hugging his arms near the back of the circle, the light of the ark not fully penetrating his hooded cloak. "Take him alive."

"We would still have to fight through loyal Namorians to do it." Marcius growled. "I came here to avert bloodshed, not to cause more."

"Where a legion can't pass, a few men might." Ovidius replied, giving Marcius a significant look. Though he was shrewd enough not to mention Salvius' secret mission directly, Marcius instantly understood the reference to his own conversation with the emperor, many months ago. Lycinia must have told him, he thought with a pang.

"I could get a few men into Emor unseen." the spy offered. "We could sneak into the emperor's palace, abduct him, and bring him back here. What happens after that is past my remit, but I'm sure we could do it."

"There might be a lot of chaos in Emor right now." Marcus Agrippa warned, "But there's also a lot more guards. The praetorians are out in full force."

Ovidius showed the flicker of a grin under the chiaroscuro of his shadowed hood. "No-one knows Emor like me."

Marcius folded his arms in thought, glancing surreptitiously at Elisavet.

"A man of Mars will still lead the people of Emor, Decius." Elisavet whispered. "Whatever happens."

Marcius exhaled slowly, his hand laying gently on the hilt of the Tooth of Mars. He offered Elisavet an almost imperceptible nod of thanks.

"Tell me what you need, Ovidius." he told the spy at last. "And prefect Lucullus will make sure you get it."

He glanced at Lucullus. Ovidius and the Fulminata's senior centurion exchanged nods.

"Forgive me dux Marcius, but there is something else you should know." Marcus said once the matter was decided. "The cat-men have lost control of Hercine. Tribune Castus is dead."

Marcius looked up sharply. "What!"

"What did you expect?" Zhnegra put in before anyone else could react to the news. The crocolyke leader's deep, snarling voice cut across the clearing. "General Marcius may have offered my troops fair terms, but my brothers in Hercine remained as slaves! They deserve justice!"

"We want to give it to them!" Julia snapped, unexpectedly. She stared down the orange crocolyke, two feet above her height and several times broader, with a fearless look in her young eyes. "Our army marches for Hercinia, to support your peoples' rights."

Zhnegra regarded Julia with his coal black eyes, unmoving and unblinking, but his voice betrayed surprise when he spoke. "What was your name again, young one?"

"Julia Agrippi." Julia answered stiffly. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't call me young one."

"It was her who talked the senate into it." Marcus added, with a hint of stony pride as he put a hand around Julia's waist.

It was a tiny gesture, but watching it caused something to unexpectedly hit Marcius, like a knife in the gut. Seeing them there, the soldier and the budding diplomat, reminded him once again that he would never see his son wear armour, or watch his daughters grow up through gangly adolescence into womanhood to forge their own paths in the world. With Julia standing there determined and skilful beyond her years, his wife's youngest friend seemed almost like an echo of Lycinia herself. He would never touch her again, as Marcus was so easily touching Julia now.

The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. He turned away, forcing himself to focus on the current problem, and trying to reconcile this latest chaotic development. Hercine fallen back into chaos. He massaged his forehead, his stiff right hand brushing the hilt of the sword of Mars for protection. Castus dead. They needed to act, and they needed to act now. And his gut reaction, to put down the rebellious crocolykes as he had done in the past, was no longer an option. He looked at Elisavet. The answer was obvious, even if it clashed with his own fears and prejudices. Only one person could rein in the crocolykes without open war.

The concealed messenger gave him an approving nod; this was the choice he had to make.

"Zhnegra." Marcius said suddenly, turning with a swirl of his cloak towards the amber-skinned crocolyke. The words came slowly, requiring control to avoid any instinctive emotion seeping into them. "I need you to go to Hercine and stop the fighting. You may take control of the capital, but you may not harm the cat-men." The dux's expression was jade-hard, stopping just short of being threatening.

"A second ambassador, perhaps?" senator Agrippa suggested carefully. "A Namorian observer?"

"I'll go." Julia said immediately. Agrippa's face was neutral, but as the senator exchanged a glance with his nephew, Marcius thought he saw a flicker of a smile. Struck once again by the familial bond, he turned away.


* * * * * *

"Now." Marcius said, trying to keep the raw edge out of his voice as he addressed the smaller crowd inside his praetorium tent and laid Nesara's letter flat on the table. It was a decision he could put off no longer. "What do we do about this?"

Ovidius, divested of his concealing cloak, frowned as he studied the letter, and then turned to look at the great golden eagle that sat on a makeshift perch in the corner of the tent. Unhooded, the bird gazed back at him with one keen eye. "Pharoah Ahsha is on our side." he offered. "For now at least."

"Yes." Hercules replied with the ghost of a smirk. "But will the queen try and get him on hers?"

Without his helmet, the Greek leader was blue-eyed and handsome, his short beard carefully trimmed. Alone among Marcius' generals, he seemed to have been not worn out by the war, but invigorated by it. His wry, mocking humour was constant. Marcius had grown used to the Greek leader's vaguely insolent manner, but it didn't endear him any further to his immortal ally. He also couldn't help but wonder on the man's private thoughts about Hercine, which Hercules had won, and then lost, and which was now slipping out of his vanquisher's hands in turn.

Marcius looked at senator Agrippa, as the older man leaned forward to squint at the parchment and, suddenly, let out a laugh of what sounded almost like triumph.

"What?" the dux asked guardedly.

"This changes things, dux Marcius." the senator replied. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the triumphant smile still playing across his lips. "The East can be left alone - for now at least. Look at this letter. You have Nesara's goodwill, far more than I ever did. 'My trust and kingdom is yours', she says. Once you're dictator, and once Emor is safe, use that goodwill to negotiate a beneficial deal."

"You are very accommodating of a queen who sold you out, senator." Hercules observed idly.

Agrippa shook his head, impatiently. "A military response might not be the best option right now. Lord Marcius, you must order praetor Graccus to bide his time. We need alliances and stability. Let Jornak rex have his five minutes of fame, if that will placate him until Emor is secure."

And then you will get your revenge, is that right? Marcius wondered privately. Though the senator's advice seemed good, he remained unsure of the man's motives. I have the sword of Mars, and if Salvius succeeds we will have the Alcamor Stones too. That will be our hidden asset, but will we have it before the pieces that Guan Yu mentioned fall into place? It was inevitable, he said. Are we on the right path here, or are we wasting what little time we have before the final battle?

Once again, he turned to the pale, drawn figure of Elisavet for advice. "My lady, what is your view?" Elisavet looked to be distracted in her own misery, taking the arm she could move and rubbing her forehead with a downward tilt of her head. "My lady?" Marcius tried again.

Elisavet looked up, with an effort. "Keep focused on..." An airy pause plagued the flowing conversation. "...taking control of Emor. Diplomacy will be one of your greatest weapons at the height of your power."

Power, Marcius mused. A two-edged sword if ever there was one. Elisavet too held power, and it had singled her out as a target for demons. Looking at her, he could see that she was struggling just to stay part of the gathering. She needed medica Masika. No, she needs a priestess, to drive out the demon - but I doubt we'll find one of them until we reach Emor.

"Then that's what we'll do." he said aloud, dismissing the assembled commanders and advisors with a nod. Crossing the tent, he gently offered Elisavet a supporting arm. In spite of the risk, he thought that he owed her the courtesy of an escort back to the medica.

"Come on, my lady." he said quietly. "You need to rest."

Minkasha
10-27-2014, 04:14 PM
ALLIED ARMY CAMP, COMBROGIA

Elisavet delayed touching Marcius' arm, holding it in her eyes with concern.

"Take it." he pushed her. "I know what you're going through, and I know it can be beaten." He showed her his other arm, still bandaged and scarred by the struggle against Shacorai and Hate.

The messenger relented. Slowly rising, Marcius could feel the brushing of bandages and cloth with Elisavet using the arm more as a prop to stand rather than simply a guide. The weight against him revealed the body he had seen when she first arrived, her caged chest touching his warm flesh. Elisavet kept her face hidden, gazing down and away.

"Thank you, Decius."

Varrius followed the two warily as Marcius took a back route through the camp. Smells of oil, sweat and worn leather mixed with the more palatable aroma of cooking as they wended through the quarters of one of the Combrogia cohorts. Now as much a part of Marcius' legion as the dead Fulminata they had replaced, the exhausted men were resting against their propped boar shields, recovering from the long forced march. A few recognised Marcius and Elisavet in time to salute them as they passed.

"The main temple of Venus is just west of Emor, not far away now." Marcius said as they paused by the gate at the end of the via decumana. Marcius signalled for the guards on duty to open it, and waved away the additional men that stepped forward to escort him down into the followers' camp. "When we get there, the priestesses should be able to help you."

The champion of the goddess didn't respond, struggling with the journey. They made their way down from the hill where the legion was camped into the bustling ad-hoc mess of tents below. It wasn't usually imperial policy to feed or protect the various hangers-on that its legions accrued, but an increasing number of them had been gathering at the army's tail all the same since Dun Moriga. Some of the medics and traders following the army were now accompanied by their whole families, and a steadily growing number of refugees who had reasoned that just being in proximity to a Namorian legion was better than no protection at all. Marcius wondered exactly how many such people were following the rebel legions and their dispossessed senate.

"I am terrified..." Elisavet admitted at length. "Terrified to close my eyes..."

"You can't show the demon fear." Marcius advised grimly. "You've made it this far."

They skirted the camp, hoping to avoid the people who flocked to Elisavet for the gods' blessings every time they saw her.

"I have asked the goddess for guidance." Elisavet said. "But..." The travel winded her quickly. "She has been quiet..."

"I think the gods are gathering their strength for what's coming." Marcius said, remembering the words of Guan Yu. His hand found the iridescent pommel of the Tooth of Mars. Great mortals lead gods to war...

With his foreshadowing words, the grip around his arm had tightened, and channeled through skin and bone were the demigoddess' shivers of fear. Marcius stopped and turned towards her in concern, just as a woman's voice sounded from behind them.

"Dux Marcius?"

Both Marcius and Elisavet looked round, to see Julia and Marcus Agrippa threading their way round the camp towards them.

"Apologies, general." Julia added as they made eye contact. Both the young woman and the centurion at her side looked drawn and grim. "There was something we needed to discuss with you, in private..."

Marcius clenched his jaw, and the same stiff tension ran through the arm that he was using to steady Elisavet. After Julia's uneasiness a their first introduction, he knew what it was that she wanted to discuss with him. He had no desire to bring up his murdered family again - not now. Unable to think of a way to head off the conversation, the general felt his heart sink as he realised that his until-now private grief was about to become very public.

Elisavet raised a hand in gentle protest, the other gripping the dux reassuringly.

"Please," she told Marcus and Julia. "I know what you will say, it was my goddess bound duty to tell him." The demigoddess glanced at Marcius' chest, to his heart. "Let him be for tonight."

Finally unveiling her face by raising her chin high, she held her weary eyes on the two Namorians. They gazed at her for a moment in wonder, before their eyes flitted back to Marcius.

"You already knew?" Marcus asked carefully. Marcius hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Julia's face crumpled. "Oh, Decius..."

Marcius raised his bandaged hand, rather less gracefully than Elisavet had done. "It's...fine. Thank you, for coming to tell me. But I'd rather not speak about it - at least not right now."

Julia opened her mouth as if she was about to argue, but a gentle squeeze of her hand from Marcus made her close it again.

"Okay." she said, slightly lamely. "Well, if you do need to talk...you know where we are."

"We haven't mentioned it to anyone else." Marcus added.

The general nodded. "Thank you." he said quietly.

At a loss, the centurion and his wife retreated, looking just as uncomfortable as Marcius felt. Marcus made a stiff salute before turning away. Marcius exhaled quietly, knowing that he had merely delayed the inevitable. With his pending return to Emor, the time to keep his loss a secret was running out. Inevitable. the voice of Guan Yu echoed in his head, once again.

"And thank you." he told Elisavet softly.

They turned and continued in silence through the followers' camp, where the bustle of cooking and setting up tents was winding down as people took shelter and attempted to catch some sleep before the impending dawn march. Making slow progress, they eventually reached the tent that had been set aside for Elisavet, still with two legion guards posted outside to keep the pilgrims at bay. As Varrius took up station beside them, Marcius called for Masika; but the Afragian medica seemed to be elsewhere - possibly taking Elisavet's trip to meet the commanders as a chance to get a little rest of her own. As they ducked inside out of sight of the guards, Elisavet began to cry and rub her eyes out of exhaustion. Marcius, taken aback, helped to ease the messenger onto the bed that had been raised on a wooden scaffold, over the wet grass of the tent's floor.

"I will not do it..." the demigoddess began to protest, her body laying on the bed's inviting surface. An aching pain struck her across her chest and she crossed an arm across herself to deal with the pain with modesty before Decius' eyes. "I will not sleep. I already know what greets me if I do!" Her body fidgeted as if she were a child fighting the inevitable.

"You don't have to sleep." Marcius said sternly. "But any fool can see that you need to rest."

He looked around the tent, hoping that Masika would reappear soon. Perhaps the medica could make up a dose of somniferum that would allow Elisavet to avoid dreaming - although the sedative's cloying embrace would hardly help her exhaustion.

"I do not care, let me be a fool!" She groaned, not yet realizing her eyes were already shut. "I won't watch more people be his victims!" The Great Devourer, each tormenting vision showing why he was called so. The messenger paused, trying to control herself.

"Just go, I should be alone, I cannot burden you more." Her hand rested over her eyes, her shallow breathing returning "I have been selfish enough with your time."

"I seem to remember offering you this time freely." Marcius' aquiline face softened slightly. "Consider it a repayment for the support that you and the goddess have given me. This campaign would have gone badly without the pantheon's help." He gave a small, wry grunt of amusement. "Well, it would have gone even worse than it already has."

Marcius was rewarded with a small airy chuckle, and a flashing smirk on Elisavet's lips.

"I know my past lifetime was never like this." Elisavet's stress turned into another repressed giggle, eyes abandoned by her shielding hand to gaze into his. "What did I get myself into?"

Well, Marcius thought, Sarcastic humour is probably a good sign right now.

"I have been asking myself the same question for some time." he admitted, exhaling as he lowered himself into a wicker chair that sat conveniently close to the bed, bringing his head to roughly the same level as Elisavet's.

"I know you have..." Elisavet's heart pained for what his burdens were. "But you are the centre of history."

"In its centre, certainly." Marcius corrected her, sardonically. "But you're implying rather more control of events than I actually have."

Elisavet's lumber left arm clung to her shuddering bosom. "There is greatness in you, I see it..." She paused for a moment, staring into his eyes as if looking deeper into him. "Every day..."

The intimate eye contact lasted just a fraction too long, and Marcius' eyes switched down to the sword of Mars scabbarded at his waist. "Thank you." he murmured. Realising that it was an insufficient response, he raised his head slightly, though not quite meeting Elisavet's eyes.

"My apologies." he said quietly. "It's just that you sound a lot like Lycinia."

"Lycinia..." The demigoddess reflected on the woman. "I wish only to help you continue the path she started with you, forgive me..." She finally looked away, granting Marcius peace. "I do not mean to wound you..."

"It's not your fault." Marcius said, slightly stiffly.

He noticed that Elisavet's eyes were starting to flutter, drooping as she struggled to keep awake. He decided that now would be a tactful time to retreat, find Masika, and have the medica make up a dose of somniferum so that the messenger's sleep would at least be dreamless.

"I'll let you rest." he said, levering himself up on his good hand. "And see if I can find that damn medica."

"Please, stay..." Elisavet shut her eyes tight, she knew she couldn't fight for much longer. "Until I...sleep." Her body shuddered with the idea, of entering the dreamscape of cannibalistic savagery "Please..."

Marcius hesitated. He owed the demigoddess that much, at least.

"Alright." he said, sitting back down. "Are you sure you don't want a sedative to help with the dreams?"

There was no answer, and he realised that she was already asleep. Smoothed out of pain, her pale features took on the deceptively peaceful look of the already dead. As he instinctively pulled the blanket up around Elisavet's cold shoulders, an unbidden thought struck Marcius - was this how Lycinia and their children had looked on their funeral pyre? He felt his throat constrict, and turned with a jerk to leave the tent and go looking for medica Masika. He didn't want to contemplate Elisavet dying, and he definitely did not want to draw any more painful comparisons between the messenger and his murdered wife.


* * * * * *

It was an uneasy mixture of concern, duty and guilt that caused Marcius to leave prefect Lucullus in charge of the day's orders and make his way down to Elisavet's tent while the legion struck camp. Dressed only in his tunic and cloak, he made his way down the hill with the fully-armed Varrius in tow. The ground was sodden with cold, autumn dew, and the pre-dawn light was tainted by the amber slash of the ark above Combrogia forest.

A rain of water droplets shed from the cold leather tent flap as Marcius pushed it aside. The interior of the tent was chilly, and smelled of somniferum and thyme. Medica Masika sat beside the bed, grinding antiseptics with a mortar and pestle.

"Dux Marcius, sir!" the Afragian woman greeted him in surprise, jumping to her feet and trying to dust down her apron.

"At ease, medica. How is she?"

Masika turned her brown eyes towards the bed, where Elisavet was still huddled under the blankets. "Actually, sir, I'd cautiously say that she seems better."

Stepping closer, Marcius saw that some of the colour had returned to Elisavet's skin, although she was still breathing shallowly. Suddenly, with terrifying speed, the woman sat up, in a fit of tears and coughing. Hunched over, her weaker arm was held at her chest, the other covered her face.

"Ra's mercy!" Masika gasped, her freckled features wide with shock. She ran past Marcius to support Elisavet's shoulders. Elisavet turned her head and held eyes with Marcius. Despite her revived complexion she was weeping, her expression distraught and her whole body quaking.

"I..." she lunged to her feet, leaving poor Masika to stumble back against the bed, and rushed over to the bundle in the corner that held all her religious artifacts - her sword, her shield and her other accoutrements. The demigoddess picked up the bundle with her stronger hand. "Isis has revealed I am a danger to you, Decius. I must get as far away from you as soon as possible."

"What?" Marcius reeled, while Masika shrilled protests. The commotion brought Varrius and one of the legion guards running into the tent, where they pulled up short with their hands hovering uncertainly over their swords.

"Isis?" Masika asked, "Not- not Venus? For the gods' sake, my lady, just..." She tried once again to take Elisavet's hand, but flinched away as her usually well-meaning touch was suddenly repelled by the messenger's aura.

"The temple of Venus," Marcius tried to argue, grappling vainly with the unexpected development. "It's only a couple of days away now, we can-"

"No!" The strain of her flexing muscles was seen through her skin. "You do not understand what has happened to me." The demigoddesss swallowd hard, audibly, her voice grim and low "And what it means for you."

Elisavet's bolt for the exit was cut off by her restrictive bandages, forcing her to hold her chest while gasping for air. Varrius and the other guard backed off a pace, uncertainly - not blocking the messenger's exit, but not quite getting out of her way either. Masika stood back, shaking her head helplessly as her mouth opened and closed without words.

"Then tell me!" Marcius snapped, at the same horrible loss as the medica. "What happened? What did Isis tell you?" Elisavet stared at the flaps of the tent, hiding behind the layers of golden hair that flowed down her body.

"That I am carrying your child - Hate did more than violate my mind, it took your pain, your anger and made it into something dark...alive" the demigoddess tilted her head down. "The six eyed Demon wasn't a Demon...it was your misery taken by Hate. It was the Demons of your heart, seeking life through me, as it cut me deeply in my fight against The Great Devourer."

Elisavet, clutching herself, pushed past the men in front of her.

"If this dark child dies, so shall you" the messenger fled the tent, leaving the others in total silence.

Minkasha
11-08-2014, 01:58 PM
Branjaskr

It was a sound at first, the sound of living and breathing struggle: the drums, the digging, the commotion of people. And the sight was astounding, thousands working together. He wasn’t able to count them, but through the snow laden distance, could see the mass perfectly. Pale, fur dressed people of all ages struggling together to make momentous mounds of dirt. They were like pyramids, but rounded, being slapped together by the back of shovel’s icy metal. The three fully constructed taller than the castle gates they stood before. On the right and left these simple honor bound people were constructing more, covering the city’s northern side, facing the purple beam.

Greenswald took a shallow breath of the cold air before pressing forward on the control sticks of the Glider, rocketing himself forward and causing the hum to increase. Trees shot past the face of the South African and his Welsh crewmate as they glided across the ice and snow. Due to the cold whipping wind Greenswald and Craig both had to hold scarves over their faces in order to lessen the chance of hypothermia. As they raced through the tree line and into the open they were met and astounded even further by the huge hills that were covering the gates to the city. "Jesus...Else's been at work hasn't she." Robert said, mystified by the piles of rock and soil.

The sound of a bow knocking cut Robert short however and Greenswald and his Welsh compatriot turned to the sound. "Stay where you are, foreigners - what have you come for?" Behind the bow was a man, well muscled and standing at around 6'0, taller than the Captain but shorter only just than Robert.

"We're here to speak to the Queen, we have something for her - information and an object that might interest her..." The Captain replied, never averting his eyes from the foreigner - the arrow wouldn't pierce the clothing that Greenswald wore, though it would hurt a lot instead. The Southerner stared for a few seconds more at the two Earthborn men before turning and disappearing behind the hill. A few of the Southern men and women who were working on building them looking with terror and majesty at the Gliders - the machines still purring and humming as their engines swiveled and shifted in unison with the magneto sphere.

Minutes passed, and the archer did not bring the Lady Jarl, but rather, a Jarl. On back of gigantic reindeer, by Earthborn standards, the Jarl rode up the hill, several metal and fur clad army men and women behind him.

Captain Greenswald stood and watched as Kalle appeared upon the hill, the Earthborn man smilng. "Kalle!" He cried out. "It's me, Greenswald!" The young man standing in front of the Captain was older than when the South African had last seen him - his black flowing locks were even longer, whilst his face had filled out even more than it had 5 years ago. Kalle looked slightly broader and taller than Greenswald last remembered, though time had not been forgiving to the Earthborn and he had not remembered much from his days in the home city of Korzan.

Kalle's face shifted into confusion, the Jarl looked stressed at his arrival. It certainly wasn't what Greenswald expected. The singular black haired male among the blondes of the Southern people kept his voice low and cool.

"Welcome, I had thought the worst of you. What brings you back?"

Greenswald's eyes looked left at Robert before the Welshman coughed to himself. "I think it would be best if we spoke inside - in private." Greenswald's face took a very serious tone, his eyes almost filled with somber. "Is your father around for me to speak to?"

The reindeer shook their heads gently to get the snow off their necks while the Southern soldiers became disturbingly motionless. Jarl Kalle let the snow fall for a long pause, his face unwaveringly dispassionate in the snow. The ice blue of his eyes swirled with emotion, the only sign of life in his still body.

"No."

Greenswald looked into the young man's eyes for a second before realization hit him. "I'm sorry Kalle - I didn't know..." Greenswald's face looked down at the ground, Korzan having been a good friend to him. "I must insist we go inside though Kalle - you're going to want to hear this." The Southerners turned to their Jarl and he nodded.

Escorting the Earthborn through Branjaskr, Greenswald and Craig were hit with hostility. On each of their faces was struggle and strife. Packs of wolves growled at the passing strangers, teeth bared. The aggression was odd for Greenswald, who remembered Branjaskr being a quaint city under Korzan's rule, men and women living freely and traditionally, taking partners of different and same-sex - strides which took Earth centuries to reach had already been achieved in the South. The air itself seemed to now be polluted with dread, and it left a foreboding rise of hair upon the back of the South-African's neck. Dismounting from their Gliders, the Jarl personally escorted them into the throne room. Greenswald looked around the room, the last time he had been here it had also been a much happier location, with brazier burning with oiled torches and the smell of meats being roasted on fires - the throne was empty however, and Kalle was the only Odinsen in sight.

"Where is your family, Kalle? Do they not want to say hello? Too busy I suppose with royal duties." The Captain remarked, running his hands along the stone walls before turning to Craig and smiling - glad to be out of the cold and into the slightly warmer temperature of the Castle.

"Korzan was assassinated. Few days prior, my mother has committed suicide over the sudden disappearance of Jóhann and Nea. The name 'Nea' was not one that Greenswald was familiar with, scanning through his head and thinking of all the Odinsens - when finally it clicked within his mind. When he had last seen Else, she was pregnant.

'Nea must have been the baby child...' Greenswald though to himself. "If you speak to my siblings, please do not discuss family". Kalle sat back in his throne, the circlet showing his position of Jarl now hitting Greenswald, the memory being somwhat repressed accidentally over the 5 years as other memories had taken the small detail's place.

'Jarl Kalle...what a surprise...'

"What did you wish speak about?" Smiling with understanding at Kalle's lack of want to speak of his tragic family, the Captain turned to Robert and coughed. The Welsh Man walked outside for a moment before walking back in a minute later carrying what seemed to be a glass chamber - within the glass chamber was a black and red stone floating in the centre. From the stone there seemed to be sparks of pitch black energy flowing from the body of the rock, stroking at the glass and occasionally striking out at it.

"We have information on that massive light in the distance - and we were wondering if we could maybe cut a deal with you, as an old friend to an old friend..." The Jarl was staring at the stone, his face finally cracking with confusion. The Odinsen gripped tight to the arms of his throne. Greenswald held Kalle's complete attention.

"...How?"

"One of our crew members had it - he said it was a gift he received in his dreams. He said it spoke to him, and when he touched it he felt power beyond belief." Greenswald looked at the stone and ushered at Robert to put the case down upon the floor in front of them.

"Before long, he went berserk before turning to ash - maybe he wasn't worthy, or maybe this...thing is evil. Do you have any idea what the hell it is? The only thing we know of it is that it's called a 'Stone of Alcamor' - useful bit of information there for us..."

"That...that...is from an old legend. Alcamor, the best mage to ever live, sacrificed each of his emotions to try and save his wife. When the Demon Lords took his emotions, each turned into one of the stones..." The Jarl had leaned back in his wood chair "But Kronos ate his soul in the end"

Greenswald looked down at the stone and grimaced. "Not a very cheerful story aye Kalle..." The Captain looked back up at the King and stretched his left arm out behind his back, cracking his fingers. "We wanted to do a trade - along with the information we have...mainly because of the information we have about the purple light in the distance."

"What is it that you want, Greenswald? Please be quick"

Robert spoke up from behind Greenswald. "That purple thing shooting across your sky itself is travelling at 350 678 237 meters per second." The Welsh-man pressed a few buttons upon his wrist-piece and a small, flickering hologram of the beam of light. "In case you didn't know that's faster than the speed of light, much faster - that's faster than any Earthborn ship can travel, even whilst using hyperdrives."

Greenswald interrupted. "We put together some makeshift drones and surveyed the area - we're estimating that there's a force of around 400000 troops, including some siege...beasts." Greenswald looked up at Kalle. "We were hoping that maybe you might be able to house us in the city - me and my crew I mean - we'd be able to take care of ourselves and we were hoping you might want the Stone in exchange. We could also offer defense - we still have some battle-rifles and could aid archers on the walls..."

"You are welcome" Kalle, tilted his head to the side and downcast, running fingers across his forehead, the scratching sound of his black hair loud. "But I cannot guarantee my people will do so with open arms, nor can I guarantee your safety"

'He looks so much like his father when he does that...' Greenswald thought in his head, a edge of sadness filling the body of the South-African - he and Korzan had got along well, Greenswald had slowly been teaching the King how to use a battlerifle, whilst Korzan had been teaching him how to ride on deer-back and how to wield a broadsword effectively. "Don't worry, my people will take care of themselves, we'll keep ourselves to ourselves." Greenswald nodded towards the King.

"We will store the Alcamor stone in the basement. Pray to Odin that it will be enough"

Greenswald smiled and bowed to the King - his friend. "You'll make a good leader Kalle - me and Robert shall return back to our ship and alert the rest of our crew."

Greenswald could not get much of a response from the young Jarl, only a nod given and an offer to escort them out of Branjaskr’s walls. Taken, Kalle had guided them back to their Gliders to only see youths, perhaps from the ages of 14 to 17, investigating them. They looked exhausted, their bagged eyes taking a reprieve to gaze upon things that baffled and amused them. The clumps of dirt that clung to coats, hair and skin alike were only testament to how desperate Branjskr was.

The Earthborn had patted the hair of a young girl before mounting the Glider and slowly hovering away from the gawkers. Moving at a slow pace behind Kalle and his reindeer, Greenswald had noticed the man’s shoulders shake and his head jerk just slightly as they left the castle’s gates. The Jarl hadn’t looked back, and continued down the hill quietly. Slipping his mind, Greenswald was distracted seeing the masses each doing their part: if they were not shoveling the dirt outside, they were shoveling snow to keep open paths through the city.

The hum of Earthborn machinery and heaved snow filled his ears. While everything was loud, the Southerners doing their duties, it was coincidentally too quiet: no one was speaking to each other. The rare whisper was caught, followed by the city folk gazing at the Giiders, but that was it. Branjaskr, as crammed with people as it was now, felt barren.

But the Jarl was keeping his back strong, showing life and strength for his people. Kalle was truly connected with his subjects, they shared the same emotions of courage and pain. Though Greenswald could see the Odinsen masking his. The tragic history of the family did not leave the Earthborn’s mind. A family of eight reduced to four.

Wolfmasters kept back their trained packs from the Earthborn with great caution, maybe even prejudice, as they got nearer the borders of the city. Steadily the sounds of drums and shouts had grown, but with crossing the final gates, the Southern shouts were loud once again. These people were without pause, they would not break under the physical strain.

But would they have any energy left to fight the actual battle? The voice of reason, and albeit sprinkled with pessimism, had to ask.

“I have quarters for you and your men in the castle. I hope they will do, I can only imagine how the Earthborn live and what their comforts must be” The Jarl pulled him back to his departure. The South-African laughed.

"I wouldn't worry, we've been living in the wreckage of our ship for the last 5 years or so - I'm sure your palace will be perfectly comfortable for us" Greenswald smiled at the man, leaning over and clasping his shoulder with his left hand. "I must thank you Kalle, you've been a good friend to me and my people."

The Gliders sped off faster than Kalle had expected, his eyes traced their journey until they disappeared back into the forests. In that moment he had to pray for he didn't feel the strength that he radiated to his people. Inside was a grieving soul, overwhelmed with the tragedy, and strife. A thought of Else clutching to him in youth came to mind and the cold of winter made his wetting eyes sting with greater pain. Clearing his throat and walking over to the defensive structures, he grabbed a shovel and dug away. He buried his suffering.

Azazeal849
11-13-2014, 01:30 PM
ALLIED ARMY CAMP

Elisavet, clutching herself, pushed past the men in front of her.

"If the dark child dies, so shall you!" The messenger fled the tent, leaving the others in total silence.

"What...?" Masika gaped helplessly. "Ra's mercy..."

"Wait here." Marcius instructed the medica as he pushed through the tent flap and took off after Elisavet. He spotted her limping away through the tents and caught up with her in a few long strides, the messenger slowed by her wounds and the constricting bandages.

"My lady." he said in a low voice, cutting in front of Elisavet to block her progress. "There must be a better solution than flight."

Even as he spoke he could hear phantom laughter - the cold, malicious laugh that he had banished from his mind ever since the battle of Hercinia. The demon Shacorai continued to haunt him, even after he had forcibly driven it out.

The demigoddess shook her head, almost violently.

"There is nothing to be done, I felt it!"

"Guan Yu spoke of a man called Gabriel." Marcius argued, remembering what the demigod and his fellow ambassadors of Mars had told him. "The demon sword's true master. If the priestesses of Venus cannot help, perhaps he can."

One or two heads had begun to appear at tent flaps, rubbing their eyes as they tried to work out what the commotion was. Elisavet just stared at Marcius, tears running down her perfect cheeks. "I will not allow you to toy with you life!"

She attempted to sidestepped the dux; he blocked her again.

"What am I supposed to do!?" the messenger cried at him. "Staying here..." Elisavet swallowed down her emotions to speak in a whisper. "Means I'll be unable to hide what has become of me."

"Then we keep our enemy close!" Marcius hissed. It was a strategy he had used before; with the Earthborn, the immortals, the crocolykes...and most importantly with the original sword Hate. You will not win, Shacorai. I will not let you. "I can't think of anything worse for you or for the imperium at large for you to wander off alone. Besides..."

He broke off, his eyes dropping to Elisavet's bandaged stomach. He was back on the battlefield outside Hercinia, bleeding the darkness of Shacorai back into its steel prison. If only he had known that when he purged his body of the demon, it had taken something with it.

"You say that this...thing is a product of my hate, my failings. It is my duty to fight it as much as yours."

Somehow, his words not only failed to give the messenger peace, but angered her. Her arching gold brows furrowed in disgust.

"You are a great leader and tactician, but this isn't a battle. It is my body being taken against my will!"

The cracking, womanly voice was drawing curiosity; whispers began filling the ears of Marcius and his men. Varrius and the two assigned guards edged quietly forwards to surround Marcius and Elisavet, while Masika watched from the door to her tent with one fist pressed to her lips.

"But I will endure," Elisavet finished defiantly. "You have yet so much to do and now I'm in the way of that. Now, I endanger it." She tried to walk away again, only for the dux to grab her arm.

"Elisavet!" Marcius snapped, urgency and frustration overriding courtesy. "You don't lessen that danger by leaving. I don't need you to remind me of my fucking duty, but let me try and help you!"

The demigoddess stared at the hand holding her, chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.

"I'm only a burden to you now..." Jade eyes, caging a wounded soul, reached to Marcius. "Focus on what matters most. Your people need you, they need your pure heart to guide them!"

"I will do what the gods ask of me." Marcius replied sternly, before his tone softened. "As a man who owes you a debt, I do not want you to face this trial alone. And as a commander..." He clenched his jaw. "As a commander I cannot let you go alone, in case you release this demon on the people of Namor."

He struck gold with his words, or more so her heart; pain and shame unveiling upon Elisavet's face. Speechless, she turned her head away, only to realize people were staring at her. Hitting a breaking point, she closed her eyes.

"We should go back inside." Marcius murmured as he surveyed the gathering crowd. He beckoned the legion guards closer and led Elisavet, more gently this time, back towards the tent.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, my lady." he said with determination as he put a supporting arm on Elisavet's shoulder. "Your only mistake is assuming that we're going to let Shacorai win."

"You dishonour me." First the messenger spoke calmly, but it erupted into anger. "This is not about win or lose! This is about ensuring you live! How dare you think I doubted you!"

"And you dishonour me." Marcius spat in response. "The ultimate prize isn't my life. The ultimate prize is the imperium!"

Scanning the tent, Elisavet's eyes narrowed on Masika. "Take these bandages off me!"

"I'll give you privacy." Marcius snapped, turning on his heel and stalking out of the tent back towards the half-disassembled legion camp, his bodyguard in tow. The two remaining guards closed ranks by the tent flap.

Masika stood twisting her hands for a moment, then stepped forward and gingerly began to uncoil Elisavet's bandages. With Marcius gone, the demigoddess' shoulders started to quake.

"After everything I gave him, I'm trapped in here just the same."

Masika paused in her work, and made a slightly awkward attempt at comforting Elisavet by wrapping her hands round the other woman's shoulders.

"The dux cares for you, my lady." she said, gently. "Deeply, I think. But I don't think he understands. I know you're trying to protect him, but I think the idea of sacrificing you and possibly others to protect himself offends his sense of honour."

She shook her head, resumed unwrapping the bandages, and shivered.

"I can't even imagine what you're going through right now. Is it true? Is there no way to kill the demon without also killing the dux?"

The messenger sighed as the wrappings finally began to give way from her bosom, holding her tender breasts.

"From Isis herself, it is true...and there is something else I couldn't say..."

Masika gently pulled the last of the bandages free and stopped to examine the stitched flesh beneath with a critical eye. It had healed well, but the wound was now the lesser of the medica' concerns.

"What couldn't you say?" she prompted Elisavet, with the earnest expression of one who promises to keep a secret.

"The child has a second father: the Devourer himself."

"Oh gods." Masika breathed, appalled. She shook her head in sympathetic pain and curled her finger and thumb into the Eye of Horus, holding the Afragian warding sign over her heart as protection for them both.

"I do not know what to do..." Elisavet whispered.

"Shai is cruel to you, my lady." Masika said, taking Elisavet's hand in an attempt to comfort her. "If killing that thing didn't put the general at risk, which I know you can't do, I'd give you rue and cohosh right now. No woman should have to go through something like this against her will."

She shook her head again, and handed Elisavet a towel to preserve her modesty as she went about giving the wound in the messenger's side a final clean.

"I do agree with the Dux on one thing." Masika added after a moment. "You can't flee and be left to deal with this all by yourself. But keeping you here like a prisoner is no solution either."

"Decius has forgotten whom commands me. It certainly is not any mortal man, but a goddess. I think he needs to be reminded." The demigoddess stared off into a void, anger in her gaze.

"I have a feeling that he'll remember on his own before long." Masika answered reasonably. "Trying to serve one god is hard enough; trying to please several at once...that's enough to drive a man to madness."

She put down her cloth and sighed quietly.

"I don't think the dux would have made it this far without your support, my lady. Perhaps that's part of the reason he doesn't want to see you go."

Elisavet clutched the cloth tighter to her chest.

"Then...he is being selfish." She looked over her shoulder to Masika. "I am the one who will be blamed for carrying the child, I am the one who will be shamed by his men..."

"His men are soldiers." Masika said with a hint of spite, "And soldiers are pigs." She frowned and shook her head again. "What do you want, my lady? That's the question that no-one seems to be asking."

"...for Decius' heart to feel love once again. I wish to see him become the strength of Namor..." The blonde turned away shamefully. "And now my being here will weaken him in the eyes of his people."

Masika hugged her arms. "Perhaps the two of you can compromise? If you and I go ahead to Valdorum, then you can reach the temple there fastest, which is what the dux would want, and be away from any condemnation you don't deserve. We just need to talk to Marcius. Nine out of ten solutions begin with words, yes?" She gave Elisavet's hand a squeeze. "He'll give you what you ask. He does respect you, after he's put his own pride out of the way."

Elisavet stared down at the bundle containing her religious artefacts

"Yes, we will do this." Bending over carefully, her free hand began to unravel the cloth, enjoying the sensations in her hands once again. "I would ask you a favour..."

"Anything." Masika said.

"Bandage my hands once again..." The demigoddess intentionally kept her palms face away from her. "I cannot endure seeing what Hate has done to me...the scars..."

Masika took Elisavet's hands, and once again examined the deep wounds left by Chaaru's blade. They had healed well, but the dark lines gashed across her palms were still an ugly, bruised purple. Elisavet had been lucky to regain her full dexterity after the wounds, though the ragged scars would likely be permanent.

"Of course." Masika said soothingly. She took up a fresh roll of bandages, pressed the end gently into Elisavet's left palm, and began to wind the soft linen around her hand. "You know, sweetheart, scars are nothing to be ashamed of. You earned these protecting the general. What that demon did to you was horrible, but you sent him screaming back to Tartarus in return. Just think how many lives you've saved." The messenger only pursed her lips together and kept her eyes low.

The medica pinned the bandages in place and began on Elisavet's other hand.

"I swear to you by Isis and Ra, my lady, we'll get that abomination out of you. One way or another."


* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

It seemed like a lifetime since she had last been at the oasis where she had first unlocked Ra's power, but it was a haven of sanctuary for Suriyana. Shaded from the harsh sun by the alaar trees that grew around the sparkling water hole, she stripped down to her shift and sat on the warm sand at the water's edge, hugging her knees. Removing the clasps and bangles around her forearms revealed the slave tattoo on the inside of her wrist. She stared at it for a moment, rubbing the blue-inked skin self-consciously.

Qia'bul chirruped as he settled down on the overhanging branch of a thirsty, sun-bleached alaar. His intelligent, beady red eyes never left Suriyana, and looking back at the familiar she tried to decide if his gaze looked guardedly vigilant, or just benignly protective. Ann had never pushed Suriyana, at least not after her first alarming offer to spirit her away and make the young Afragian her apprentice. Even after Ahsha's ascension she had mostly left Suriyana to her own devices inbetween training, never pressuring her to take on more responsibilities of the Ra priesthood. A part of Suriyana was drawn to the calling, even though she had first adopted it only as a cover. The priesthood now ruled New Giza under pharaoh Ahsha, and being part of it would give her the power to make sure no more bloodshed came of the revolution that she had helped to create. She had never had that kind of power before though - and nagging doubts had been growing in her mind about Ann. The Earthborn priestess had done much to help them, and Suriyana's masters trusted her - but the ease with which she had accepted this mission, and her obvious lack of remorse or doubt about planning and executing Ahsha's coup...Suriyana couldn't help but wonder if she too would become a pawn in the older priestess' game.

If I haven't already.

She turned away from Qia'bul and looked instead at the quietly rippling pool, her fingers tracing softly through the sand at the water's edge. Hesitant about the responsibility and the potential trap she feared she would take on, she had limited herself to the tasks available to a lay member of the temple. Using a house-slave's talent for organisation, she had ensured that New Giza's Egyptian and Eternan soldiers both continued to receive the pay due to them. It was useful work, preventing discontent among some of the city's more volatile groups, but her reticence to take a greater role in the city's government was beginning to raise some eyebrows.

She had other concerns too. Not only was this level of continued involvement at New Giza above her experience, it was also above her remit. Perhaps her actions here would garner enough reward from one donor or another to buy her freedom, but until then Lycinia Marci was still her domina, and it was her duty to return to her and report her sordid mission's success. Ultimately, staying here was not her decision to make. Even the tolerant Marcii would not suffer a slave who directly disobeyed them. Suriyana wished she knew what Ovidius was planning to tell Lycinia when he finally returned to Emor. Was he planning to return at all?

Thinking of the dark-haired spy and their all-too-brief affair brought a sinking feeling into Suriyana's stomach. Yes, their views and morals were fundamentally incompatible, no matter how well his roguish personality had initially clicked with hers. Yes, their attraction had been based primarily on lust, no matter how good he had made her feel, or how well-meaning his offer to pay for her freedom had been. Still, it had cut her to turn him away, and by the barely masked hurt on Ovidius' own face, it had cut him even deeper. Suriyana brushed at the moist corners of her eyes with her fingers, pressed her palms together and rested her mouth against her hands, wondering what she should do.


* * * * * *

Nesara was on horseback, having travelled with no-one else for days now. She had slipped out of the capital when no-one expected it, only saying very little in explanation to Jornak on the very night when he question where she was going. She was dressed in a new, light, sand-coloured cloak, and the soft white garments of harem pants and an off-the-shoulder tunic with a light leather corset around her waist. She looked like any other Afragian traveller, except for the simple gold band of royalty that rested on her head - deliberately hidden by the layers of her hair so that it showed only across her forehead.

"The Stones must be retrieved, and order set back into Eternum." she had said. "I am going by myself to join the others who seek them. Ra wills it."

She had not mentioned the letters she ha sent out to Marcius and Salvius, as the eagles would both return to her and only her. Moreover, the queen had not been pleased with Jornak when she had found out about his little meeting with the dishonourable dwarf Freayfir. As soon as she had left the temple of Ra the guards at the entrance had told her, having received the news from a defender of her family who was her eyes and the ears among the citizens. Jornak's deal might give them insurance against hostile leaders, but thieves given free reign in return would expand the black market, impoverish the city, and enrage the people. In that moment, Nesara hadn't cared who Jornak was - she had slapped him good and hard across the cheek.

"How dare you make such a deal.." she had railed at him. "How DARE you!" Her blue eyes had showed the seriousness of the matter, and that she would not forget this.

"You may be king but you are bound to Afragian honour now, just as any person working the fields or fighting for you!" she had said, as guards came rushing from both sides to make sure the dwarf didn't lay a hand on his wife, and vice versa. Nesara had said something very clear to him then. "You will not bring this new kingdom down...you will not corrupt it. Pray the gods will have mercy on you for the foolish choice you made, Jornak." Then, turning around with guards following close to assure her safety, the queen had walked away from his sight.

Now by herself, the thoughts of what had happened at the temple drove her onward as she waited to welcome her eagles and their responding messages. She travelled to an oasis that she knew of from years ago, near the city of Kerma - called New Giza now that it was co-habited by the Egyptians, her powerful new allies.

Yet when she reached sight of the oasis, it seemed that another was already there, as alone as she was. She looked to be a few years younger than Nesara, and had the dark skin tone that suggested a surface heritage rather than the milky coffee colour that Afragians from the cavern cities displayed. Her black hair was pleated, hanging down the back of her simple white shift. Not taking chances, Nesara pulled the hood of her cloak down enough to hide the band of her royal title. Urging her horse to a faster gait, she signalled that she came in peace.

The young woman occupying the oasis jumped to her feet, startled by the approaching hoofbeats. Something small and brightly coloured zoomed down from a nearby tree to buzz around her head, chirping. Nesara might have taken it for a bird, until she saw its long snout and its seahorse tail tipped with red feathers. The creature settled on the young woman’s bare shoulder, fixing beady eyes on Nesara.

“Hello?” the younger woman hailed Nesara, in Namorian. “Who are you?”

Emor dialect, Nesara noted...such led her to believe that the young woman had lived elsewhere from here for quite some time. And there were symbols of Ra on the cloak and bangles that lay at the woman's feet. A priestess of Ra? Perhaps at one point in time...Nesara also saw that the mark of a slave was also present on the inside of her forearm.

Swinging her leg around the back of the horse, Nesara dismounted to stand on equal sand, face to face. "I am Nesara. Greetings I give to you, in peace, follower of Ra."

"Nesara." the stranger repeated, stooping to pick up her bangles and clasps. "After the princess?" She snapped the ceremonial jewellery around her wrists with just a little too much haste. Together with the attempt to distract her with a question, it told Nesara that she was trying to hide the slave tattoo.

"Something like that, I suppose." Nesara smiled, directing it at both the stranger and the creature chirping on her shoulder. "What would be you and your friend's name, I would ask in return?"

"I'm Suriyana." the stranger replied. "And this is Qia'bul, my familiar." The bird-like creature on her shoulder cocked its head.

"Ah well, Suriyana, it's a pleasure to meet both of you." Nesara said graciously. The woman called Suriyana moved back into the shade of the trees surrounding the oasis and sat down, beckoning Nesara over and offering her the water skin that she had propped up against an alaar trunk.

"What are you are doing here?" Nesara asked as she accepted the water. "Be still - I ask only out of concern, as this desert land is very inhospitable." It will not do to press this young woman about her slave mark just yet.

"I suppose," Suriyana said, after she had taken a drink herself and re-stoppered the flagon. "It's because I needed somewhere quiet to think. Trying to decide what I'm going to do next."

"It seems that we are both here for similar reasons then. Whether Ra has planned this or not I cannot say. However, I do have means to travel south. After a quick rest here you are more than welcome to come with me. Surely company for us both wouldn't be a bad thing."

A smile was on Nesara's lips as her face brightened. Whether the woman accepted her offer or not made no real difference, but in the meantime she supposed she would share her lunch with the woman and her bird-like familiar. It was the least she could do after the offering of the water skin to share. At least neither of them would starve nor die of thirst this night. She sat down beside Suriyana, underneath the shade while her horse took the chance to drink at the water's edge and graze upon what vegetation was available.

"I don't know about that." Suriyana said, mustering a grim smile as she pulled apart some of the queen's bread with her fingers. "I've got...commitments back in Emor that I can't put off for a whole lot longer." She shrugged evasively and changed the subject. "Where are you headed in the south, anyway? People don't normally travel alone round here."

Taking a drink of water to wash down her bread, Nesara handed the skin back to the other woman. "It's important that I reunite with a few that had to go on without me for some time. I understand well the responsibility and commitments that can weigh a person down. So I shall not insist that you come with me. Only instead wish you well with whatever decision you make and your future henceforth." It was a simple enough way to wish the priestess (slave? former slave?) well, even if that meant she continued the opposite way back to Emor.

Suriyana looked at Nesara for a moment, searchingly.

"Thanks." she replied. She had swallowed her bread, but still seemed to be chewing the inside of her cheek - as if she was trying to decide something.

"There is something else I could do for you." she said at last. She shuffled onto her knees by the water's edge and tucked her shift underneath her. "I could scry for you. Find out where your friends are now and if they're alright."

"That would be of great benefit." Nesara smiled eagerly. "How long have you been studying the magic of Ra?"

"A few months." Suriyana said, as she shimmied a little closer to the water. She had left out the part where Anne had only taught her this particular magical technique a few days ago, but this seemed like as good a place as any to test it. Besides, here was a welcome chance to do some unambiguous good.

She placed her hands on the damp sand by the lip of the pool to steady herself, and leaned out to gaze into the still water, at the point where the baking sun hit the water and scattered its reflection back towards her. She took a deep breath and concentrated, trying to imagine the magic from the air around her absorbing into her skin and channeling out through her hands into the focusing medium of the pool. She didn't speak - as Anne had told her, Ra knew what it was she asked, and if he chose to answer her, she would see.

The brilliant sunlight shimmering across the water began to hurt her eyes; but as she watched, the painful green and purple blobs scattering across her vision began to coalesce, running together like oil in a painting and slowly solidifying into what were recognisably human shapes. One became a solid, craggy man in Namorian scale armour, the once-silvered plates now looking as battered as his square, rough-hewn face. The second man was tall and mysterious, a long cloak blurring the shape of his body just as a cracked white mask hid his face. The mask had no eyes, though the man did not appear blind as he watched his companion sharpen a long cavalry sword on a chipped whetstone. The two men looked to be holed up in a dim cave, and Suriyana heard the phantom sound of surf crashing even though she herself was a hundred miles from the nearest coastline.

"I didn't want to bring this up while the Earthborn were still around," the one with the sword said in a low baritone growl. "But what are we going to do about Numiera?"

He nodded his close-cropped head towards what Suriyana had taken to be a bundle of rags slumped at the very back of the cave. Just as she turned her mind's eye towards the bundle, it shifted to reveal a small, black and red head topped with...was that a horn!?

"You seem to have forgotten, Salvius." the cloaked man said. In contrast to the soldier, his voice was a dry monotone, and his Namorian was devoid of any accent that Suriyana could place. "It would not be wise to touch her in her current state."

"Regardless." the man called Salvius growled. "I saw what she did to that barbarian sailor, and I got to thinking that it looked awfully similar to the bite that killed Altius. Now what the fuck, exactly, am I supposed to make of that?"

"I will not let anyone harm her." the masked man said, still in the same quiet monotone. His hand rose to rest on a sword hilt that hung at his shoulder. A second, empty scabbard was slung crosswise to the first. "That includes you, Salvius."

Salvius gave the other man a disgusted look. "Keep your hand off your sword, Gabriel. I might not like children but I'm not about to murder one." He frowned at the sleeping figure at the back of the cave. "Even if Numiera really stretches the definition of child..."

"Gabriel, Salvius and Numiera." Suriyana murmured aloud, her eyes still fixed and staring as she immersed herself in the vision. "Are those the friends you were talking about?"

"Yes!" Nesara nodded, though keeping her voice low so as not to interrupt the other woman's vision. "But there should be two others. Altius and Kuronus?"

"Kuronus?" Suriyana repeated the unfamiliar Combrogi name, just as a harsh raptor's cry made both men in her vision spin round. They were just in time to see a desert eagle come swooping into the cave, its golden feathers fanned. It reversed its wings to slow itself and flapped to a stop on the sand between the two men. There was a tiny scroll tied to its leg.

The masked man's reaction was hidden, but the soldier's surprise was obvious, and Suriyana was the same. Only mages knew the secrets of training messenger birds, and only the Afragian royal court trained eagles.

"It's from the princess." the soldier said as he teased the scroll out of its holder on the eagle's leg and unrolled it. Suriyana blinked in shock. The soldier frowned as he skimmed the letter. "Fuck the gods. Vagrund's dead. And Nesara is now queen Nesara by some dwarf called Jornak." The soldier shook his head, grinning humourlessly. "Fucking hell. That's not all either. She's coming back to meet us."

The floating image shattered as Suriyana tore her eyes away from the pool to look at her unassuming companion.

"Oh." she said, with a lack of inflection that was almost comical. "You're not just any Nesara. You're the Nesara."

She instinctively lowered her eyes from Nesara's face to the sand at her feet. In spite of her awe, she shivered. What business did queen Nesara have with a Namorian soldier, a masked man who looked more than capable of murder, and a demon?

Nesara chuckled, and reached up to pull the golden circlet out from under her hair. "It would seem that I have been unmasked. I hope that you will forgive me the deception, but it is easier to travel this way without interference. It grieves me to be seen to abandon my duty to my people, but I leave them in capable hands, and the will of Ra stands above all."

Capable hands. Nesara reflected. If Jornak was not up to the task, then she trusted dear lord Argam to intervene. And if all else failed, she had servants in Tu Zenita Duskal who were loyal to her and her alone.

"What will?" Suriyana asked, still feeling excruciatingly self-conscious. "Er, your majesty?" She corrected herself.

"Myself and my companions that you saw in your scrying must make it to the Valley of the Sun, and pass through the gates of Tartarus to retrieve the Alcamor Stones from the demons who have stolen them. Only the most powerful magic can save Eternum from what is coming."

"What's coming?" Suriyana asked.

"Something worse than the mercurial immortals or the greyskin orcs who ravaged Dun Moriga. Something that will wipe out every hard-won victory that we have achieved so far. Perhaps the gods warned Decius Marcius of this too, when he set his best man Salvius to the task. I travelled with him and his chosen companions for a while, and Ra has decreed that I do so again. It was not an easy call to accept, but retrieving the Stones will do more good than any of us could accomplish on the surface alone."

"Decius Marcius." Suriyana repeated quietly.

Nesara would have been surprised if the priestess was not familiar with the general's name, although her tone suggested something more personal. "You know him?" she prompted.

Suriyana nodded carefully. "I worked with his family."

Nesara smiled quietly as the pieces fell into place. Slaves are prevalent in Namor, and a man such as Decius must have many. This one used to work for him, if indeed she does not still do so. She decided once again not to press the issue with Suriyana, as the younger woman must have attempted to conceal her slave brand for a reason.

"Your 'commitments' back in Emor, I assume." she said instead. "Listen, Suriyana, I would not want to interfere with your chosen path, but I do now believe that Ra has brought us together for a reason. Moreover I consider myself a good friend of general Marcius, and can explain to him personally why you did not return, if you wish. I believe that your magic could be of great use to me and my companions, and so I will ask you once again to come with me. Speak freely."

Suriyana looked uncertain. "I'm not sure, your majesty. To tell you the truth...I'm partly responsible for what has happened in New Giza, and I'm not sure if I can just leave now."

"Your heart is noble," Nesara said kindly, "But if we do not do this, New Giza will fall to the forces of evil and darkness as surely as the rest of Eternum. Ra has willed that I act, and that I have met you now is no accident. Are you not also a servant of Ra?"

Suriyana glanced at Qia'bul, wondering if the familiar would communicate some sort of reaction from Anne. The bird just peeped and fluttered forward to land on her shoulder.

"Alright." she said after a moment.

"In your vision," Nesara asked. "Where were my friends?"

"I'm not sure, your majesty. In a cave, somewhere near the sea."

"We are closer to the Valley of the Sun, and on horseback we are also the swifter. If we leave now we might yet be able to rendezvous with them there." Nesara rose to her feet in a graceful rustle of fabrics. "I have spare provisions, and my horse is strong enough for us both."

She offered Suriyana her hand, and the young slave took it.

CrumpetCannon
11-23-2014, 05:46 PM
Sharktooth Bay, The Afragian Coast


Smoke drifted lazily upwards from the bowl of Clemente's pipe, twisting and dissipating into the darkness of the air like milk trickling into a cup of hot tea.
Presently the Admiral was standing at the very end of one of the few small landing piers that hadn't been destroyed in the skirmish, all around him Britons were running to and fro, reporting to senior officers, making whatever repairs they could, and fishing other sailors out of the waters of the bay. The camp at Sharktooth was still in utter chaos, despite the disappearance of the blasted pirates and their German allies, and the entire bay was cloaked in the strange light that emanated from the enigmatic artefact at the centre of the camp.

Clemente had ordered everyone away from it, for all he knew it could be some devastating weapon, his mind filled with vivid images of great crested clouds of nuclear devastation described to him by many sailors from a more advanced time. The nazis who aligned themselves with Teach were from a period of time before the invention of such horrors, but in a world such as this there was no telling what kind of technology -or worse, magic- an army could get their hands on.
Speaking of nazis, why had they joined forces with pirates? Clemente knew much about pirates from his service and had heard all there was to know of nazis, so reasoned that the two factions had formed a motley pairing based upon their respective evils alone, but it was impossible to tell exactly what, or in fact whom had brought the two together.

There were too many questions at once, too many mysteries as per the nature of this planet, a great storm of secrets and plots that coalesced into a toiling whole. The Admiral could not begin to pierce the veil of unknowns that seemed to suffocate him on this planet, there were things at play here that he could not even begin to imagine.
So for now, he simply stood and watched the gently lapping waters of the bay as illuminated by the fires that still crackled on the ruins of wooden boats scattered across the surface, bobbing with the motion of the waves like twinkling fireflies.

The weight of the walkie talkie at his belt was a heavy omen, it had crackled with the voices of frantic officers as they reported the damages to him and asked for instructions in return, but to the Admiral it served a different purpose. It was an audible checklist of those who had either survived the carnage or who had come back from the void, there were a few of his direct underlings who had yet to make themselves heard, and so he worried.
Of course he knew that none of the Royal Navy stationed here could truly die, but he was well aware of the number of men and women who had gone down with their ships and had yet to surface. Being trapped in vast metal tombs under hundreds of feet of water, forced to swim through labyrinths of corridors in search of an exit, struggling past the fire in your lungs, Clemente could hardly imagine the torture for an immortal, to drown over and over again, unable to escape entombment. He had sent out underwater recovery teams to free those trapped, but there were only so many scuba suits.

Clemente tipped the contents of his pipe into the water, where it became indistinguishable from the ash already floating on the surface, and put the polished pipe away, sighing dejectedly. Running his fingers through his hair, he reached into his coat and brought out something he hoped would better calm his frayed nerves, something with a twist-off top.
Sipping balefully from the small bottle, Clemente reflected on the disaster for another few minutes, until his sullen cloud was swept away by the sight of a dark shape breaking the surface of the water some way away.

Almost choking on the sweet alcohol, The Admiral hurriedly screwed the cap back on and tucked it safely away, searching around for something to reel the poor soul in. Carried by the gentle waves of the bay, the shape sailed lazily towards the shore, eventually coming into view so that the Admiral could see that it was indeed a body.
He finally found a nearby pole and used it to deftly guide the poor soul towards the pier and to safety, when the figure was close enough Clemente dropped the pole onto the pier with a clatter and leaned down to hoist the man onto the pier, laying him down on his back.

Sopping wet and pale, the sailor was of officer rank, garbed in the white collared shirt and ranked shoulder decals of the more modern age. He was a man of rough, tanned complexion and greying hair, with a large jaw and completely level eyebrows. Clemente knew the dead man well, and sighed with some small amount of relief, sitting down next to the corpse to wait, somehow the bottle had found its way back into his hand.

Mere minutes later, the corpse garbled and coughed up water, supported by Clemente, the newly revived officer pitched onto his side and vomited water and bile, clearing his lungs of liquid. It took a great deal of time for the purge to bear fruit and for the officer to start breathing air again, and at that point Clemente rose to his feet, taking the officer with him and putting him down on a nearby crate, his back supported by a taller crate stacked alongside it.
The Admiral then sat down beside his subordinate and fished around in his pockets absently.

"Fenchurch."

The officer gulped in huge lungfuls of air, wiping his sopping hair from his eyes.

"Sir."

Clemente grinned uneasily and held out the bottle of spirit for his fellow Admiral to take. Fenchurch fixed the bottle with a careful stare and relented, taking the neck of the glass and imbibing a generous gulp of the liquid, coughing once more.
There was silence between the two for a while until the lesser Admiral spoke, handing the bottle back to Clemente.

"How long has it been since the attack?"

Clemente grumbled quietly, loath to dwell on how much time had passed, considering the slow progress made.

"Maybe an hour and a half. Two."

Fenchurch nodded but did not answer, instead resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his damp face with wrinkled hands like a man trying to rid himself of an unwanted feeling of dread. Clemente found the silence undesirable and asked a question of his own.

"How many times?"

"Seven."

The speed of Fenchurch's reply unnerved the Admiral, and so he took another sip instead of answering.

"The first was when the torpedoes upset the balance of the boat and my head hit the corner of a table. The second was when the water carried me into a bulkhead and my spine shattered. The third was when I started to breathe nothing but water. The fourth, fifth and sixth were the same, as I tried repeatedly to swim out of the wreck, made a bit of progress each time. The seventh was just after I clawed my way out of the ship and saw the surface hundreds of feet above me, last thing I saw before my vision turned dark again was the fires on the surface."

Clemente nodded morosely, not wanting to interrupt.

"It's strange, waking up with your lungs full of water. I was only conscious because of this curse, which seemed not to care that my brain had no oxygen to work with. I should have severe brain damage right now."

"Then I should count myself lucky that my favourite Admiral can still string a sentence together."

Fenchurch growled out what could have been a chuckle, gazing out across the water and lingering on the image of the vessels still caught beneath the surface.

"Your favourite Admiral is still useless if he no longer has a ship to command. The Belfast was the greatest ship in this armada, as far as we know it was the single most powerful war machine on this planet. Now it's nothing but an elaborate reef."

Both men stood upright and faced each other, bathed in the new light of the slowly rising sun, which just barely swallowed the lights from the gradually extinguishing fires.

"Our prize vessel may have descended beneath the waves but its captain has survived. You reached the rank of Admiral for a reason, Fenchurch, you're one of our most valuable assets."

With that, the two of them began to walk back to the camp, shoes and boot heels eliciting groans from the wooden pier.

"People love to talk of captains going down with their ships, it's thought of as an honourable way to go. Having experienced it for myself I can confidently say that it is less than dignified."

Clemente gave a short chuckle and brought out his pipe once more, filling the bowl with heady tobacco.

"I'll keep that in mind next time I get the urge."

* * * *

"Any ideas?"

There was a silent pause as Clemente opened his mouth and loosed a thick bubble of smoke that was quickly carried away by the cold coastal wind.

"At first I thought it was a weapon, but if Teach and his German friends wanted to overpower us, they were in the perfect position to do so without this thing. They had us on the defensive."

"Perhaps it's a weapon capable of killing immortals for good, and that's why they set it up and then left. They could activate it from a distance and watch us go up in smoke."

Clemente shook his head, taking another deep drag from his pipe as he gazed intently at the curious golden object and the pillar of near-blinding light that shot upwards from it, apparently going on forever.

"I don't think so. Whatever this thing does, it's already doing it."

Fenchurch made a low noise of affirmation, lifting his foot to take a step towards the object before thinking better of it and standing still, eyeing it with palpable suspicion.

"So what do we do with it?"

"Nothing. It's not our problem."

The captain of the HMS Belfast raised a brow and looked to his superior, a question painted on his face. Clemente was more than happy to elucidate.

"Something tells me they didn't plant this here to take action against us, but rather because this area holds some geographical importance. The way the light goes upwards from this specific point reminds me of Earth satellites, only it's 'broadcasting' from the ground up."

He crossed his arms slowly, brow knitted as the cogs behind his eyes turned.

"It's as if they're marking this location for something, and would have done so whether we occupied this place or not, the only reason they attacked us is because we were in their way. This artefact does not concern us, not that we could figure it out anyway."

Fenchurch's lips twisted into an expression of uncertainty, he turned to look at another area of the bay, towards where the rescue boats were coming back to shore carrying soaked passengers.

"So we wait to see what it does?"

Clemente smiled almost gaily.

"Heavens no. I don't know about you, but I don't want anything to do with this thing and I certainly don't want to be here when it accomplishes what it was put here to do."

"So you want to set sail and leave this thing behind?"

The Admiral nodded deliberately, eyes flicking to Fenchurch.

"Any other suggestions?"

The lesser Admiral cleared his throat, scratching an elbow in the desire to do anything with his hands.

"I'd suggest taking it out to sea and dropping it into the deepest trench we can find, only I get the distinct feeling that it'd float."

* * * *

They stood aboard the Aptitude, the smell of damp wood and salty sea air filling their nostrils as the sun cresting over the horizon began warming the Afragian coast to its usual daytime levels. The heat of the early morning suffused the entire camp in a comfortable blanket that helped to rouse spirits after the previous night's activity, by this point everyone had been rescued from under the water and had been ship shape and active enough for their clothes to dry in the sun's caring gaze.

Naturally, the more critical members of Clemente's assembly had expressed a wish to commune with him, no doubt to point the finger of blame at someone and bring up the prospect of staying behind rather than leaving the camp they'd established. Their usual meeting room had perished along with the Belfast, giving Clemente time to stew in his own guilt as they sought other accommodations.
He had no desire to meet with the other members of the committee that he and Fenchurch belonged to, though he had no qualms with debate, he found their attitude severely lacking, they seemed to look for reasons to vie for leadership. They'd use this latest defeat as a means to make Clemente's life difficult.
Which was not to say that the Admiral himself was not hungry for answers.

"I still don't understand it."

He paced back and forth on the deck of the Aptitude, hands clasped behind his back, holding his Admiral's hat in a tight grip.

"How did we not see them coming? Did we not have lookouts?"

Fenchurch was there to answer, easing the Admiral's worrying somewhat.

"Yes, but the pirates arrived under cover of darkness, and we can't rule out the possibility of them using magic to teleport here, just as they apparently teleported out."

Clemente stopped in his tracks, head tilted at an angle for just a moment. Then he resumed his pacing.

"But what about sonar? I heard all about detection techniques of modern ships, surely the Belfast and the smaller battleships could have picked up the submarines?"

"We were in port, the crew doesn't man the sonar and radar consoles when the ship is docked. Not to mention the fact that every available man and woman has duties to attend to in camp."

This did not appease the Admiral in the slightest, though he had to admit that their lack of foresight was perhaps somewhat justifiable when it came to the attack.
No. Justifiable was the wrong word, just barely understandable was more appropriate.

"Well then, no use fretting over past mistakes. We've learned from this and from now on we'll keep men posted inside the ships to monitor the surrounding area, even when at port."

He grumbled, staring at the noticeably smaller fleet.

"It'll be easier now that we've lost so many ships, more men to station in the remaining ones... Small comfort."

Fenchurch walked over to the ship's wheel and laid his hand against it, apparently quite happy to be stood upon a piece of naval history. He smiled despite his superior's mood.

"I've assigned everyone who was shipwrecked new posts aboard other ships, they fit quite comfortably so overcrowding is not an issue. We can have all supplies packed up and boarded within two hours, at which point everyone will be ready for another expedition, I'm sure."

Clemente nodded, joining Femchurch at the wheel and adopting a more contented expression.

"So the entire fleet is more or less ready to mobilise. Splendid."

"Yes, I've been meaning to ask about that. Where exactly will we be headed?"

The Admiral allowed himself a grin, looking out towards the open ocean and at the sun that now hung above it like a great, ancient lantern.

"I spoke with the Namorian fellow, Salvius, and we reached something of an agreement. He told me of someone in the capital of this tropical kingdom, a princess, who would carry my words of diplomacy to the Emperor."

He nodded, apparently to himself, and continued speaking.

"I sent a few planes to the capital he mentioned, carrying my message. The Namorian Empire and its esteemed leader should be receiving word of our existence soon, and with luck and with Salvius' own words, we will be granted a position of favour with the Emperor."

Fenchurch inclined his head, catching on to the Admiral's meaning.

"So in the meantime you want the fleet to make for the capital, not the one of this kingdom, but straight for the capital of the Namorian Empire itself?"

Clemente took on a fully fledged smile and strode peacefully over to the ship's railing, where he looked out at the sun and the ever inviting sea that it presided over forevermore.

"Precisely."

He leaned his head down to plant the decorated Admiral's hat upon it, turning back to face Fenchurch in all the trappings of an Admiral of the Fleet.

"We set sail for Emor."

Azazeal849
11-26-2014, 12:04 PM
EMOR

"Gaius!" Seppia shouted, bundling on a cloak as she stumbled out into the street outside their villa. "Gaius!"

Her voice echoed faintly from the weathered mudbrick of the buildings on the other side of the road. She looked left and right but the street was empty, the flickering oil lamps that stood outside the tenements mocking her. She ran a few paces, changed her mind, and then whirled about and raced barefoot as far as the crossroads to the Luna district. All of the streets were deserted.

"Gaius!" she shrieked again, desperately.

A naked man appeared at a first floor window, bleary from sleep. He staggered slightly as he pulled back the sackcloth curtain. "Shut the fuck up you drunken whore!" he yelled down at Seppia. "Before I come down there and punch your teeth in!"

Running feet behind Seppia made her turn, and she saw two of her slaves stumbling up to her with a second cloak, a shawl and a pair of cork-soled shoes. Seppia became suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the cold, rough stone beneath her feet, slimy with the effluvia of the streets.

"It's not safe here, domina." the slave urged.

Feeling that she was in danger of bursting into frustrated tears, Seppia silently allowed her bodyslaves to dress her in the middle of the street and usher her back towards the villa. At the gate she stopped.

"I need a minute to think." she said, pulling her layered cloaks tight against the night-time chill. "Go and make sure the noise didn't wake Titus, will you?"

One of the slaves murmured an affirmative and disappeared through the villa gates, while the other silently followed Seppia as she wandered round the back of the domus. They came out on the waterfront, near the reinforced bank of the river that wound through Emor's western quarter and made its estuary just north of the city. Moonlight and the amber glow of the sky beam danced across the water's surface, warring for dominance. Seppia adjusted her cloak against the wind blowing in from the coast, and let the fresh smell of the breeze calm her as its thin fingers ruffled her fringe. She couldn't help her husband now; and whatever his reasons he couldn't help her either. Keeping Titus safe was her responsibility now, as was rallying the nobles to make some sort of peace with the rebels. And, now, she had to warn them all about the demons that her husband had seen - a threat he considered so grave that he wouldn't even stay to safeguard his family in the middle of a brewing civil war.

Resolute now, Seppia turned. As she did so, she caught sight of a boat pulling up at one of the jetties about a hundred metres away. Moving silently on the flooding tide, she had not noticed it before. As she watched, a group of cloaked figures began to disembark from the boat. She caught a flash of silver beneath their cloaks, and one of them stopped with one foot on the pier, pulling back his hood to look warily around. The jetty was shadowed from the amber beam by the tall tenement buildings behind it, but there was just enough moonlight for Seppia to make out the man's face.

It was Marcus Agrippa.



* * * * * *

"Mars' teeth." one of the soldiers accompanying Ovidius and Agrippa murmured as he looked up at the cliffs north of the city. "Claudius really has gone insane."

The six hundred crosses and their broken, rotting victims were just visible above the roofline; deeper black slashes against the horizon, painted fire-orange by the sky beam. The unnatural glow flickered across the roofs of Emor, almost making it look like the crosses and the city below them were burning.

"We're being followed." Ovidius whispered sharply, snapping the man's attention away from the grisly sight. "No, don't look round!"

"The side street, there." centurion Agrippa hissed, without breaking stride.

Maintaining their furtive pace, the cloaked group of infiltrators turned left down an alleyway that led down towards one of Emor's slum districts. The streets down here were not so well maintained, and no oil lamps hung to lighten the shadows. As soon as they were out of sight of the main road, Ovidius ducked to one side and flattened himself against the wall. Watching as his companions melted into the darkness either side of the road, he pulled up the hood of his cloak to soften his outline and listened to the soft footsteps striking against the pavement. Two people. One lighter, one taller and heavier. He edged to the corner of the wall.

As the first figure leaned around the corner, one hand braced cautiously against the wall, Ovidius lunged. He hooked one arm around a narrow neck and hauled the person to the ground, the dagger in his other hand punching up beneath the stalker's ribs. The point of the knife jarred against something unyielding, and a moment later the bronze blade exploded into pieces with a flash of sparks. In the brief flicker of light, Ovidius saw his victim's face.

"Wait!" he snapped, as loudly as he dared. His companions froze in confusion. One of them had seized the second figure, a wiry young Combrogian, and another had been about to run his sword through the tall man's gut.

Well, shit. Ovidius thought as he stared down at his victim. Perhaps Isis was still sending him guidance as her supposed champion. Guiding, or mocking.

Seppia looked up at Ovidius, her eyes wide and her dark hair tangled across her face after the fall had sent her shawl flying. She was panting in shock, but fear quickly turned to anger as her hands came up to give Ovidius a hard shove.

"Get off me!"

As she rose and pulled her cloak straight around her shoulders, Ovidius noticed the rune-etched amulet dangling free around her neck. It was still glowing with the energy it had released to stop his fatal knife attack. He belatedly remembered that his mistress' friend was married to an ex-Guild mage. Good thing she was wearing that - but things must be rough around here if she is. Especially after all the shit the magi caught after the incident with the demons.

"Where's Marcus?" Seppia hissed as she tucked the charm back inside her dress and brushed furiously at her hair to straighten it.

"Seppia?" Agrippa exclaimed, starting forward. He snapped his hand towards the two men holding the Combrogi, and as they lowered their weapons the man shrugged free of their grip, glowering murderously.

"I thought you fled the city!" Seppia said, Ovidius and the other infiltrators now forgotten as she grabbed Agrippa's scarred arms. "What's happened to Julia, is she with you?"

"She's on her way to Hercine," Marcus replied soothingly. "With the crocolyke ambassador."

"The croc..." Seppia looked thrown, before rallying with a look of hope. "Did she get my letter? The petition from the nobles?"

"It's with dux Marcius now, and we're here to act on it. We're here to meet with the emperor."

Seppia's face hardened. Clearly, Ovidius thought, she wasn't fool enough to believe that if they were simply here to talk, they wouldn't be sneaking into Emor in the dead of night. The noblewoman seemed to war with herself for a second.

"You won't find him at the palace." she said at last. "That beam of light cut right down through it. He says it's an omen, but no-one's allowed near it."

Marcus glanced at Ovidius, and then back at Seppia. "Where is he then?"

"He moved into his summer villa on the capitolium hill."

"Right." said Ovidius, straightening his cloak. "Change of plan."

"Wait." Seppia said, grabbing Agrippa's arm again. "There's something else Marcius needs to know."

"What's that?" the centurion asked.

"News from the south."


* * * * * *

ALLIED ARMY CAMP, TEN MILES SOUTH OF THE MAGES' GUILD

The warm autumn wind had begun to carry the biting promise of winter as it blew across the small hillock some distance outside the army camp. The chill breeze tugged at the corners of Marcius' indigo cloak, and the dux folded his arms into the garment to ward off the cold, tugging at the heavy material with his still-clumsy right hand. He had come alone, without even his ever-present bodyguard.

"I thought that neutral ground was more appropriate." he explained, turning into the wind to face Masika and Elisavet as the two women crested the small hill to join him. The demigoddess was as majestic as she was furious. Rivers of gold flowing behind her, she boldly walked in her white sensual Venusian garments. Her eyes honed onto Marcius with a woman's scorn. The setting sun's light was shining off her shield and the shapely blade in her bandaged hand.

"I wanted to apologise, my lady." Marcius said after a strained pause. "For this morning. Given what you're going through, I should not have let myself become angry.

"Look upon me Decius." Elisavet said. Restored to her original beauty, and clad only in her low-cut, high-hemmed tunic, it was perhaps the greatest eye contact challenge in history. "What am I?"

Marcius' eyes dropped to the symbol of Venus picked out in shining bronze across Elisavet's shield. He lifted his gaze, sliding guiltily away from the deep exposed V of her neckline to meet her beautiful, terrible face.

"Venus' champion." he answered her earnestly.

"And a woman." Masika pointed out, standing with her hands quietly folded at the messenger's side.

"Women will not be subjugated under man's rule." Elisavet said. Her honey-dipped voice carried an edge as sharp as her blade. "I will not be kept hidden away for a man's desire. For your safety, and preservation of reputation, I leave for Valdorum, with Masika as my aide."

She looked, Marcius reflected, as determined as she had during her battle against Chaaru, and just as unlikely to give ground. He frowned.

"For you to stay wasn't about my desire." he said, keeping his voice low and controlled. "It was about wanting to help you."

"But Elisavet herself deserves an equal standing in the decision." Masika countered gently, glancing at the taller, striking demigoddess standing proud beside her. "Does she not?"

"I am blessed by Aphrodite herself, she has bestowed wisdom onto me of the heart. Do not believe that yours remains a mystery to me, Decius. I am her appointed warrior, and yet you wish to secure me, thinking I need protecting. This, I doubt greatly."

Marcius opened his mouth to argue, and then dropped his gaze, ashamed. Though Elisavet had needed and wanted his help during her time of vulnerability, she was no longer an invalid. And he should have known better than to try and hide his true feelings from an avatar of Venus.

"You're right." he said slowly. "Part of my reason...for wanting to keep you close...is the support you've given me since my family's death." He sagged to his knees, and coughed to clear his throat. When he raised his eyes again, they were glistening. "Forgive me human weakness, my lady. I had no right."

The demigoddess slowly planted the tip of her blade into the earth, letting it stand in full divine glory while she approached him and knelt. Tenderly, lovingly, she took his left hand and smiled at him. Her touch was masked by the bandages she wore, but was still warm - a woman's touch. Marcius was shocked to realise that it had become something almost alien to him; his wife ripped away from him by his military duties and then forever lost by tragedy.

Behind Elisavet, Masika sensed that she was no longer needed to smooth troubled waters and tactfully withdrew. Marcius didn't notice, his gaze dropped to the hands holding his, Elisavet's thumbs gently rubbing against his skin.

"Not weakness." Elisavet soothed. "As long as you can feel emotion, you are strong. You can bring yourself back to a place of love and happiness. You, above any man I have seen, have this potential."

Marcius did not want to insult the goddess and her messenger further by doubting her. Even so, the pressure now was greater than ever. It won't be long now before I can no longer hide the news of my family's death. Emor stands on the brink of civil war, and to avert it the senate expects me to take on the role of dictator! And the gods...they give me Mars' sword to summon him at the final battle. The greatest trials are still to come.

He looked down at the hilt of the Tooth of Mars, and wrapped his bandaged right hand around it. The still-healing tendons in his wrist twinged with pain, but he was able to close his fingers around the sword.

And the stakes are too high for me to falter now. He lifted his eyes to meet Elisavet's and rose slowly to his feet, the demigoddess rising with him, withdrawing her hand from him.

"I will try and do your faith justice, my lady." he said quietly. He forced himself not to glance down at Elisavet's stomach as he thought of the parasitic demon, still feeling shame for the monstrous product of his own leached hate that was now her burden to bear. "And if there is anything I can do for you in return, you need only ask."

The demigoddess gave off an airy sound of content, and offered him a close-lipped smile as she shook her head gently.

"No. Thank you, Decius."

The blonde woman placed her lips upon his left cheek, her lashes and strands of her hair tickling his skin along with the warmth of the contact. Elisavet gave Marcius one last Venusian smile before stepping back and retrieving her sword, the soil unable to dirty the blade. Turning, her gold cape of hair flew gracefully with her as she walked back down the hill. Masika fell in beside the demigoddess as she glided away, until both were lost from view in the encroaching darkness. Marcius watched Elisavet until the night swallowed her, his left hand subconsciously rising to touch the still-warm spot on his cheek.


* * * * * *

A hard shake awoke emperor Galen Claudius from his sleep. He jerked upright, only to be restrained by something hard and cold against his throat. The something was a bronze dagger, digging hard into the rolls of soft fat beneath his chin. He made a choking noise.

"Apologies, your majesty." said a voice, and as the emperor's eyes adjusted he saw a young man with dark, curly hair looming over him, his outline blurred by a black cloak. It was his arm that held the dagger.

"What the..." the emperor rasped, spluttering in fear and rage. He tried to shout for the praetorian guards, but the word came out as a strangled whisper.

"They're not coming." the man told him.

The emperor choked, spit bubbling around his lips. "What is the meaning of this!"

"You're coming with us." the man said matter-of-factly.

Panic turned to fury, and the emperor lunged forwards, fighting to untangle himself from the covers.
"NO!" he snarled. "I am the emperor! The dark m-"

A fist crashing into the side of his face cut him off. His vision exploded in a white flash and he fell back against the pillows, blood dribbling down his collar where the knife had cut into his skin. A moment later the same knife found its way back under his jaw, and this time it dug in harder.

"Strictly speaking, we don't need you alive." the man advised him. "If you so much as make another noise, I'll cut your throat." He hauled the emperor up into a sitting position, and Galen Claudius saw that there were three others in the room, armoured in grey steel beneath their cloaks. One of them he recognised as the grey-haired centurion who had given evidence at the rogue praetorians' trial.

No! the emperor thought desperately. I am POWER! I have to prove it to HER! He shot a seething look at each of the intruders, marking their faces so that when the time came he could watch them die a traitor's death.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous crash that shivered through the floor beneath their feet. The man with the knife seized the emperor tighter, while one of the other assassins ran to the window. Even from far back Galen Claudius could see the hills northwest of Emor, and the giant steel pods that had just crashed down onto them. The pods themselves were huge, as big as a house and shaped like a teardrop, the bulbous end of their shells rushing down from the sky towards the ground. Sheep who had settled down within the drop zone leapt up and scattered with a din of bleating that could be heard from the city, and the shepherds that saw them running screamed and ran too. They fled towards the walls as more pods smashed into the ground and pushed up the dirt.

"Earthborn." the grey-haired centurion said with foreboding.

"Time to move." agreed the man with the knife. "Come on, you fat bastard. Up."

The emperor opened his mouth to spit defiance, but his vision was smothered by a black hood being pulled over his face.


* * * * * *

THE VALLEY OF THE SUN

"Wait." Salvius hissed suddenly, throwing out his arm to bring his two companions to a halt. With a soft scrape of metal on leather, the centurion drew his spatha, steadying it with his free left hand. His shield had been split and holed into near uselessness during the battle at Sharktooth Bay, and as the crew of the Fox had not had the materials on hand to repair it he had simply abandoned the weapon.

He looked around slowly, listening to the hot wind send grains of sand scraping across the weathered rocks of the ravine. Then the sound he had heard came again - hoofbeats, muffled by sand, moving at a slow canter. Salvius pointed silently, and he and Gabriel ghosted into the rocks either side of the ravine. Numeira ducked behind a boulder and gripped her stolen bow nervously. Since she had woken from her coma she had been her normal self, apparently with no recollection of what she had done, but Salvius had not been able to stop keeping a wary eye on her.

A horse trotted into the ravine, moving up from behind the group. They're following our footprints. Salvius realised, and cursed the fact that they had had no time to erase them. They would have to spring the ambush before the pursuers figured out that they had gone into hiding. He tightened his grip on his sword, but just then he recognised the woman sitting tall on the horse, with a darker-skinned woman riding behind her. Thank the fucking gods.

"Queen Nesara!" the centurion called out, rising up as Gabriel and Numeira did the same.

Nesara had slowed her horse to scrutinise the group's footprints, but now she looked up and smiled, pushing back the hood of her sand-cloak.

"Salvius! When we picked up your trail I feared that you had pulled ahead and reached Tartarus without us."

"Not yet." Salvius turned his head curiously to the ebony-skinned woman riding behind Nesara. "Who's this?"

"Suriyana." said the woman, swinging her leg over and sliding down from the horse's rump. A small bird-like creature that Salvius had not noticed flitted up into the air as she moved, before settling back down onto her shoulder.

"She is a priestess of Ra." Nesara added.

Salvius inclined his head stiffly. "Hopefully that'll see us in good stead when we meet the man himself at the gates of Tartarus..."

The eagle that Salvius had loosed to hunt an hour earlier suddenly reappeared with a shrieking cry, and came gliding down into the ravine, wings fanned. It fluttered to a stop on Nesara's arm, flapped its wings for balance, and rested. Nesara laughed and kissed the bird's head.

"Sorry, I didn't have anything to write back with." Salvius grinned apologetically. "But I held onto it for you."

"It is of lesser consequence now that you can tell me in person." Nesara said with a glimmer of humour. "What befell you all after we were separated? And for Ra's sake be at ease." she added as Salvius straightened as if about to deliver a military report. "We are equals in this quest now, and I would have you treat me as such rather than as a queen."

Salvius chewed the inside of his cheek as he sheathed his sword and relaxed his stance slightly. "Someone helped us out of Dun Moriga. I never got his name before we were separated. We ran into those British you mentioned in your letter - some kind of Earthborn, though not the ones we call allies. They were dead men, risen from the underworld."

"Just like the Egyptians." Suriyana offered, as she squeezed her hands inbetween her legs in a surreptitious attempt to massage her chafed thighs.

Not a bad-looking girl, Salvius noted. And - admittedly more important - she seemed sure of herself, even if she wasn't used to riding. For all the suspicion the Mages' Guild received from regular Namorians, Salvius had always been glad to have a battle-magus at his back during his legion days. A sorceress dedicated to the conqueror of the underworld was a solid bet against the demons they would soon be facing.

Either in Tartarus or out here. Salvius reflected grimly, with a brief glance at Numeira.

"General Marcius and his army also move with such people." Nesara nodded, adding to Suriyana's statement.

Salvius raised his craggy eyebrows in surprise. "I'm guess godly and not-so-godly things are popping up all over the continent nowadays. At least some of them are on our side. As I guess you already know the British want to be our allies - though from what we saw at the coast they've got their own enemies too."

"I pray that my husband can deal with them." Nesara said, and for a moment she looked uncomfortable, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I thought he had the cunning to make Afragia great once again, but he was also willing to cross lines that I was not. I pray to Ra to show him the true path, for I can no longer intervene when my calling lies with you. Ours is the mission that will see Eternum through the storm and onward to a golden shore."

"Gods willing." Salvius murmured, touching the iron hilt of his spatha as he reflected on their mixed fortunes so far, and the fact that retrieving the Stones from Tartarus itself would require a good deal more.

"But what of Kuronus and Altius?" Nesara went on. "They were missing from my companion's vision of you, and I see also that they are not here."

"They stayed behind to cover our escape." Salvius said, a little stiffly. "We haven't seen them since Dun Moriga. Numeira..."

He paused as he glanced again at the half-breed girl, who was hanging back hesitantly from the rest of the group. Nesara and Suriyana's eyes inevitably followed his towards her, and the girl fidgeted nervously under their scrutiny. Salvius touched the iron pommel of his sword again for luck, reasoning that not telling them was more dangerous than keeping it quiet.

"Numeira has started manifesting some sort of demonic power." he resumed after considering his words. "Gabriel's keeping an eye on her, but it's unpredictable."

Nesara and Suriyana continued to look at Numeira, and there was an uncertain silence.

Gabrielle, who had until now been silent, shifted away from the rocks and strode towards Numiera.

“I completely despise the way you look at her.” he called all of the others in his group out, including the new ones. Gabrielle’s patience had about run dry. His monotone was beginning to shift from one end to the other slightly. His breathing began to build faster, the more he thought about how they looked upon Numiera when they talked about her in that sense.

“She has lost control before…and yes, she was the one who wounded your friend, Salvius.” Gabrielle was trying to think of a good way to say what he wanted, but was running into a wall. “That was something I had known of for a while, and chose to hide."

"What?" Salvius barked, his new-found respect for Gabrielle sliding back towards anger. "Why?"

"Because you have no idea what she’s truly capable of.” Gabrielle turned away from Salvius, and back towards the newcomers.

“Sometimes by the way you look at her, I can only wonder if you knew what a real monster was… what a real demon could do.” Gabrielle started walking closer to Nesara and Suriyana, his breathing getting a bit harder as each second passed as his anger grew. The bird familiar on the second woman's shoulder flitted up into the air, hovering back and forth warily. Gabrielle stared it down, probing its magic and that of its owner. It had been a long time since Gabrielle had felt this way, but Numeira reminded him of none other than his friend and enemy…Chaaru.

“None of you know anything about is going on! I knew of another who had this problem, and who I kept control of for years!” By now his words were nothing but yelling, and he began to pace back and forth. “He was a dark elf."

"A what?" said Suriyana, as her familiar settled slowly back on her shoulder, satisfied that Gabrielle was merely angry and not a threat.

"A creature of old Earth…a long time ago, an army of demons not only destroyed the dark elven culture as it was known…they also nearly destroyed him. This dark elf…just a child as you would call him, had his arms and legs cut off and eaten, and was left to suffer and die. But he was too strong for that, and others saw this. The child was picked up by a group of human cannibals."

The three onlookers instinctively grimaced, but Gabrielle continued on.

"They taught him to survive…only this group no longer feasted not only upon their own kind, but also upon demon flesh."

Numeira looked from Gabrielle to the others and back again, her hands twisting nervously around her bowstave. Suriyana was frowning, and Salvius had clenched his jaw as if he was fighting the urge to spit.

"That was the worst kind of folly." Nesara said, shaking her head and making the Eye of Horus with one hand.

"The demon that this child ate…changed him forever.” Gabrielle tacitly agreed. He had known that he would get a gruesome response from some of the party members, especially knowing what could become of other races if they were to consume meat as tainted as that of demons. “It wasn’t long afterwards, that this new…" His voice rose in anger once more. "demon as you would blatantly call him, grew his limbs back - slowly, with every demon he ate…he ate to the point where not only was he fully recovered, but completely hardened to the point that they had personified him as a demon himself.”

Gabrielle took a slight pause, knowing his words were born of anger. His heart wavered at the thought of what the others had mistaken Numiera as.

“That dark elf child who had known misery most of his life had finally taken the strength to avenge his people…and to completely destroy the very same demons that had survived the initial purging. But also…he could find a way to slay an arch-demon…and gave it the same repose that the demons gave to him…to be eaten alive.”

Gabrielle then stopped, and began to walk back towards Numiera, feeling a great ordeal of emotions that he had to fight to keep under control.

“It was a long time afterwards that I met the dark elf…and against him I had one of the hardest battles for survival. It was in this battle that I had befriended him, and together we become a force…but also, together, we found the remnants of his non-demonic persona…his true self…or as true as you could get at that point. He was almost cured, but then we got separated…something that I have long lived to regret…but I have faith in him as he did me."

The woman called Suriyana hugged her arms. "The ends don't always justify the means." she said, sounding like she was speaking from experience. "But you did the right thing to try and save him. What was his name?"

"That dark elf's name…was Chaaru.” Gabrielle, though knowing that it wasn’t the wisest idea, decided to sit next to Numiera. “I see potential in her. I want to know her power. I want to see her grow. I want her to control that power so that others can turn to her…not away.”

"Then let it be so." Nesara said after a moment's silence. She slid down from her horse and offered her hands to both Gabriel and Numeira, bidding them to rise. "None know better than I that hope is never lost. Our friend has hope in you, Numeira, and therefore so do I."

"Keep her close." he told the masked warrior, before turning to Nesara. "Regina?"

"Call me Nesara." the young queen corrected him. "I may still wear my crown, but all of us here are equals before the gates of Tartarus now."

"Nesara..." Salvius began again, hesitantly. Even knowing the unorthodox regent, a lifetime of deference to authority made the simple name taste somehow wrong in his mouth. "You know these lands better than us. How far are we from the Valley?"

"Not far." Nesara grinned.

She walked to the end of the ravine where the ground sloped sharply downwards, and pointed. The others followed her to the edge, and looked down.

Into the Valley of the Sun.

Minkasha
11-28-2014, 12:10 AM
Branjaskr

“You fight with everything you have to make the future you want. Fight to keep what remaining precious things you have left”

Those were the words that burned in Maxwell’s mind as he had watched his mother’s corpse meet a similar fate upon the pyre. She humiliated him, restrained him from the outside snowy world, but also taught him right and wrong. Yet here she was, a disintegrating testament to just how futile that fight was. This time the cruelties of fate didn’t swipe her life, she did. His eyes never left the wound on her neck, his fair mother and the fatal cut on her neck. Just…like….his father.

Being left in these thoughts to spin around in his consciousness took the teenager through indescribable rages and depressions, all which brought him to do the exact same thing: nothing. In his room he continued to do…nothing.

Staring at the twinkling brown eyes of the Demon that only stared back had become a sort of strange past time. They had done so for hours, but prompted no action. Maxwell was annoyed how the handsome Demon would only continue to blink every few seconds, attentively waited for him to say something or slightly tilt his head like a bird waiting to see what would happen. He wished Oerin would leave, but that had become increasingly unlikely with how determined the thing was to staying. Finally the platinum blonde was able to turn his head away.

“Tell me about the mage who took my siblings…everything you know”

“His name was Gaius, master. He was a Northerner, master. The letter he wrote was sent out to the Northern army and they have not attempted to bring messenger birds to us or the North, master. An-“

“You don’t say master after every single thing you say! Gods…” Maxwell laid back on his bed, staring up blankly.

“I’m…sorry…” A pale index finger was raised in Oerin’s direction and he quickly changed the subject. “And using means different than Zahneri, he teleported. From the strength of the magic I could tell it was far, ma-“The finger was wagged to silence him.

“North…I have to go North” Maxwell was pulling out his drawers and tossing random garments onto his bed. “I will go to those Northern bastards, find Gaius and force him to return to me my siblings”

“But master, that would be extremely dangerous and I could not go with you”

“Don’t care, I have to do something. Nea needs me!” The Odinsen could hear the scratch of talon to stone, he was drawing closer.

“Among the skies, the chill would be even worse. You could never make it through Neptune’s pass, ma-” In a fit, Max turned to face the Demon, only to see that he was right behind him. He was startled, but steadfast in anger. Being of equal height only fueled the tension, glaring into Oerin’s eyes.

“That’s right! I’m your MASTER! So don’t tell ME what I can do! I can walk out of this castle and you CAN’T because you’re a DEMON!” The pale one watched the tan skinned counterpart step back and keep his head low, he was learning his place. Finding a small victory in his personal life, Max continued rummaging through the tall dresser for items to take with in the long journey. Kyrtills, undertuics and trousers flew messily in the air and onto the fur sleep comforts. Maxwell hated that most of the best sewn garments were from his deceptive bitch-sister Karla.

Orien could only stand and watch as his master was hastily shoving garments into a leather bag, their clumped cloth filling it. His master was reckless and inside his heart the Demon felt a burning anger at how much of a danger he was being to himself. Max pulled on the hinge of his door and was stampeding out, Orien staring at the leaving figure, puzzled and emotional.

'No, I cannot let this happen!' In his own recklessness, Orien ran out of the bedroom, chasing after, clanking and scratching stone with each progressive step. His master still only gave his back and in fury the Demon grabbed Max’s arm, flung open the nearest door and threw his master inside as the hinges creaked. The bag flew from Max’s hands, falling open and clothes spilling out.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” his master’s voice cracked, thrown into one of the empty guest chambers.

“Saving you!” Oerin kept his arms out, shielding the door. He could only watch as the pain swirled in his master’s blue eyes.

“I DON’T NEED SAVING!” Max shoved the Demon into the door, the fit body slamming against the wood “MY FAMILY DOES!” They exchanged glares, a punch sent across Oerin’s face, though it did not shake him. Max swung wildly, a few more blows landing just as uselessly until his wrists were pinned. Spit slapped on to the tan being’s cheek, a dripping insult. “I HATE YOU!” The Odinsen screamed yet Oerin would not speak, not let the adolescent pull his hands free.

“I will not let you kill yourself!” The Demon pulled the wrists down, not knowing it would cause Max to step forward in attempt to keep balance, their bodies crashed together. Against his skin he felt his master’s hot breathing caressing him with each huff. His chest could feel the rapid beating of Max’s heart, making his muscles flex in response to the budding tension. “I will not let you kill yourself…” he had whispered this time, seeing the sparkles of sorrow cover his master’s eyes.

Slowly Oerin let go of one wrist, Max’s hand balling up and his arm stiff. Still holding the struggling stare, both hands were freed, neither moved. Tears of rage and self-pity betrayed Maxwell’s strong front, a shiver of his body betraying his honor when he felt a strong hand touch the small of his back and slide up. There was no protest.

The hand slid up his back, arm pulling him in tighter. Maxwell could feel the shaking tension in his fists, not knowing what to do with himself.

“My sister…” He tried to reason with the raven Demon but now he felt another arm wrap itself around his hips, anchored against him.

“You wouldn’t be able to face the mage, master…” The voice purred, lips drew closer, bodies getting hotter.

“My-” the fiery contact silenced his words. Lip locked, Oerin spun, sending Max hard up onto the door. The lust left to simmer under the waves of depression was peaking, a hand moving to the string of trousers, pulling the fastening strings hastily. Ripping sounds of Maxwell’s tunic pierced the guest room’s chilly winter silence, his body on display.

Fingers brushed down the pale goosebumps, quaking hips making the wooden door thud in succession. Oerin’s mouth left Max’s moving to the neck, the collarbone, the chest, the sternum and on, body kneeling. The Odinsen shut his eyes and threw his head back, wincing in flustered pain with another rattle of the guest room door. Teeth bit onto his lower lip, nails dug deep into the back of Oerin’s head and for the first time since their last deviance did he now feel ecstasy: wet and warm.


**

The drums of preparation had struck time and time again, a rally to the people. But even music could only draw so much energy before the body had to accept reality. And the new Jarl had to witness it with his own eyes when the sweaty man beside him collapsed into the icy dirt. Gazing around could he now see the exhaustion on their faces. Even the drummers were shaking their heads in attempt to keep awake.

Kalle raised his hand, the drums stopped and thousands of weary faces turned to him, a few more bodies crashing to the ground with the musical inspiration taken away. The Jarl’s raised hand gestured to the gates and there wasn’t a single protest, thudding feet kicking past the new layers of snow that over took all their previous footsteps. The Odinsen had to attribute his strength to his blood, seeing both of his sweaty, matted hair sisters able to walk away with straight backs and some grace about them. He too felt tired, but no threat of collapse was looming over as now a young boy walking with him crashed into the snow.

His ice blue eyes focused down sadly on the youth and scooped him up, the young adolescent already unconscious. He turned his head to look over his shoulder to see how much more work was going to be needed to complete Syf’s plan. No doubt had she been here they would have known a more effective way of building these odd defensive structures. A pang of forlornness came and lingered, ebbing away as his mind thought of the white haired woman. He knew she to reside in the Grotto but he had no time to see her, his presence needed for his people. Though he could have used her council greatly, he wished for her company as well. He couldn’t dwell too long on the eccentrically charming woman, needing to take this this boy back to his dwelling. A woman and her partner, not of kin but of same household were able to identify him.

Walking past the hordes of broken people, and through the opened gates he followed these dragging women to their stone longhouse. The first ones inside, little heat comforted them for the fire had been long burnt out. On the eastern long wall were rows of beds in a straight row, one after another. On the west wall was a long bench, covered with sheep’s skin and various other furs for padding and warmth, accompanied by a smoothed long and narrow wooden table. Down the middle furs kept their feet apart from the mercilessly cold stone. Above, the tall pointed celling was supported by wooden beams across and long its walls. Just as the woman gestured to the boy’s did she not hesitate to climb into her own, the other woman following, only after asking for the Jarl’s forgiveness in her exhaustion.

Tucking him in gently, Jarl Kalle studied both the women and the boy, was he doing the right thing?

He couldn’t help but remember Syf’s attempts to help with the blacksmith, leaving both confused and unable to decipher her mysterious ways. Was he wasting the strength of his people on something they were not grasping? Truth be told, he did not understand fully their effectiveness, carrying on the work of his mother. But this awaking of thought told him that this could not be so. No, he had to speak with Syf and understand for himself what these great mounds did – even if it meant entering the Grotto. He only hopped his grandfather would forgive him for entering with his dirtied blood…

But just as pressing was the Alcamor stone, the dark thing resting still in the throne room. Leaving his people to make the struggle to their longhouses, he took strides up the snowy path leading to the castle. At hill’s top did he stand before the castle’s gates, wide open and no guards to see him look at the entryway with dread.

Sighing, he clutched his heart, feeling the furs under his palm and stepped forward. It took a great deal of willpower to suppress his shakes of pain, gritting his teeth. Jarl Kalle felt as if he blood was lit aflame passing through its wards. In all the ways he felt pain he prayed that the oncoming force would be strongly suppressed, feeling a greater torment than he did. The Namorians, the Demonic forces marching to Branjaskr, it was climaxing to something – but what was that going to be?

His sisters had taken off already, no doubt having felt what he did, though he had yet witnessed a sibling pass the gates with his own eyes. He entered his home undisturbed, house slaves asleep and guards surly dragging themselves home as they were among the labor force.

Stepping into the basement, he took another pause, this time preparing for an emotional pain. Entering his mother’s secret chamber, pushing aside large wooden boxes and lifting a hatch that had painted on it the same designs of the stone floor, he walked down the steps into the four walls that had become the center of his mother’s undoing.

Inside stood the final Demon, Xal, he learned. The Demon stood perfectly still, looking as if he hadn’t moved since last time Kalle had checked upon the creature. The tall Demonic man stared at Kalle and awaited command.

“Your strength is needed…” the Jarl spoke softly, unsure of what he was doing and feeling at unease with speaking to him.

“Yes, master” the low voice of the bear Demon grumbled, his wide features and face shape strangely akin to the animal he transformed into. The lightly colored dark skin man followed behind the Jarl, blessed to be seen by none until they were standing in the throne room.

Staring at the contained Alcamor stone, the Jarl’s eyes lingered on it. Its dark tendrils waved from its dark earthen center, lunging at its container, yet a sense of darkly infused hope came from the stone. If only he could harness its power could he help his people and wipe away their burdens and fears.

A sweat was breaking from his brow, wiping the black coils that were pushed upon it by the circklet. Fingers twitched, thinking himself able to spare his people in one fell swoop with the existing legend before him. In his gaze and in his mind was nothing but him and the stone…

“Master” Xal’s voice broke the Jarl’s trance and Kalle jumped. “What do you need of me?” The young man blinked away his brain’s fog and rubbed his forehead.

“Uh, yes…please take this” He had gestured with his free hand to the stone “into the basement where you stay. Do not take it out of its container and let no one touch it” Kalle sighed, hearing the heavy steps of the Demon.

“As you wish” By himself, the Demon was able to lift the wide container and left the throne room, leaving Kalle to reflect on what just happened to him. He knew his mother’s twisted agenda, but he did not know what evil was until that moment when the stone nearly took him. A shiver of fear went down his spine at the thought, Xal, a Demon, had just saved him.

“You take after your father very much, Kalle” it was a man’s voice, one he had known well.

“Thank you, Yngve” Luck was on his side, Xal and his Housecarl not crossing paths. The Odisen turned to face the man both he and the Demon equally tall and strong in stature. “I wish he were here to guide us, I do not think things would have been as…difficult as they are now” The old yet athletic man did not seem to agree, scoffing away his concerns. His chain link armor and furs shook with each step he took closer to Kalle.

“That is impossible to say. Who knows where we would be if your father was still with us? No one, all you can do is focus on the now. You have good instincts and a good heart, young Jarl, follow them” He clapped his hand on Kalle’s shoulder. Kalle gazed into the eyes of the grizzly man, remembering the happier times of sparring with him and his father. Yngve was a hero in his own right, a fellow liberator that had been a great help to Korzan. A fleeting desire of Yngve wearing the crown came, only his boyish dream of wanting to be like his father taking it away. It took the Jarl a moment longer to see past the wrinkles of age to the lines of weariness the gray haired man hand. “Like what you see, boy?” The man had laughed and the Jarl glanced away with a sly smile, a bright moment in all the surrounding hell.

“Forgive me, tiring times”

“You can say that again, the moment the doors shut the entire city became dead quiet”

“The Northerners have not attacked, whatever may come from the purple light has not either – how much more time do we have?”

“If the Northerners were smart they would let us engage with the forces of the purple light” It was impossible to hide the massive number of Demonic forces from the people, their mass visible atop the castle’s hill.

“Two evils, taunting us” The Jarl sighed.

“Two evils giving us some time to rest” Kalle shook with each pat. “Even a Jarl needs rest”

“And so does a Housecarl” the Odinsen was quick to reply, the warrior tossing his head back in a hearty laugh.

“Can’t I’m afraid. The Landswoman is a lucky lady, able to stay nice and cozy with her lass tonight.” One of his callous thumbs gestured to his chest. “I have watch duty” Kalle shook his head.

“Then Housecarl, I take your duty and claim it as my own. You sleep, I will watch our people” Yngve clapped his hands together in excitement.

“I may just be able to sleep my own lass tonight as well!” They shared a laugh and Kalle shooed him off. Before he left the castle, there was one last thing he had to check, reluctantly: Zahenri. Watching the large man shut the throne room doors behind him, Kalle swallowed hard. The Jarl had done his best to avoid her since the death of his mother – keeping her to his room for her safety and sleeping in an adjacent guest quarter. His eyes were glazed over while he walked to his room, hand pausing over the handle.

Clutching to the spiral carved wooden pillar, Kalle pulled open the door and walked in to see her as she was before. As a Demon of seduction, even in her feebleness there was a teasing pull from her. Where the Succubus used to simply stare up and remain as cold and still as the ice dripping from the castle’s walls, now she greeted his entrance with a hot stare.

Ever since his transgression, his mind could no longer see her as the dark, foreign watcher under his mother’s reign. Once a boy who shuttered at her ebony sight, whose stomach churned with fear now twisted with desire as a man and her heavy gaze told him that she knew. Those penetrating brown eyes wouldn’t let any mystery remain his to keep. The Jarl, leader of the Free South, had no choice but to take his eyes away.

“Are you well?” he closed the door behind him, hoping for once Zahneri would speak, but those luscious lips have not moved in quite some time. He sighed, slipping his hand from the handle his eyes rested on the hand he couldn’t pull away from the wood’s surface. His morality was being swirled, drops of venom to slip into his spirit. A thousand times over Zahneri’s life was one that should not exist. For every victim in Emor’s bloody and Demonically crafted civil war was a reason for her life to cease. But in her womb, grew a reason to pause the falling blade, even if a reprieve. Until birth, death was an inevitable consequence of his convictions.

“Which is stronger, your hatred of me or your lust?” The Jarl turned to her, surprised to see the Demon was able to sit up, one leg draped off the side of the bed, the magical and erotic armament she wore failing to cover the teasing creases of her pelvis and thighs. The light reflecting from her sharp black finger tips pulled him back to focus, the hand gliding up her thigh. Glaring into her eyes, his black brows furrowed.

“Your strength has returned” There was anger in his voice, a heat growing in his cheeks. The four winged woman crossed her legs, hoof clanking against stone, a smirk on her face.

“No, far from. Though I’m no longer your cripple to gaze upon when you wish”

“All you say, and do, is poison” Kalle stepped onto the furs that circled around the bed’s frame, fighting the pleasure of her figure. Zahneri placed a hand on her stomach.

“Is your child also poison?” The sharp features of her eyes and brows never danced with expression, but her head slightly tilted, a mock gesture to emotion. Kalle clenched his jaw, feeling his temples throbbing. Standing, the woman took long and slow strides up to the Jarl, dark silk bands flowing. “I have no care for what you say. You gave up your power over me” The Elder Succubus grabbed the Jarl’s face harshly, fingers and thumb shoving his flushed cheeks against his teeth, sending a small pain through the skin. Her nails threatened to cut him, diamond tips a light press away. The Jarl had flinched to grab her, hand hovering over her wrist. Eyes were locked, Kalle’s delicate nose pointed up in fear, his eyes wide. “I have but one command to follow: protect the Odinsen children. That is the eternal will of my mistress” The nail of her thumb cut his flesh, the warm life-force forming a small pool at the offence, dripping down her tip. “And you make it impossible with that pathetic, sad look in your eyes"

Kalle jerked away from her grip, feeling the sting on his face and in his heart. Mercilessly, she continued. “You are the Jarl. Act like it”

“I follow the footsteps of my father!” He yelled in defense. Zahneri laughed, her tone of voice cruel and alluringly raspy.

“Your father wasn’t a fool. Your father knew who he was and accepted it” The Succubus towered over the shrinking figure, slapping him to the ground. A hoof rested on his loins and he stopped moving. “You ploughed me hard on that stone wall. You chose me because you knew I wouldn’t say no” Her tall and shapely body was Kalle’s to behold as she overpowered him, eyes narrowing and hand on her hip. “Because I was obedient!” Her hoof swept harshly across his lips, making the young man spit up blood, splattering on bear fur and cold rock.

Mounted onto of the black haired man, Zahneri let the armor of her torso slowly descend. Kalle stared in shock, the Succubus could feel the rushing blood, see it flowing out his mouth and down his cheek. “You have a Demon’s lust-“ His head was slammed down on the ground, circlet falling off and his coils spilling away from his fair face. “a Demon’s blood” her tongue lapped the blood from his lips, Kalle caught moving his face closer to hers. She pulled away with another condescending laugh. A claw tore away at his pants, showing the leader’s jutting opinion of the woman. “And soon a Demon’s child” He screamed as she forced herself upon him, more cuts into his straining throat. Grubby hands played with breasts and she stared him down, slowly riding. “You ARE a Demon!” She spat on his bloody face and he moaned, moving faster. “Accept it you weak bastard!”

Death of Korzan
12-12-2014, 06:00 PM
The Afragian Desert, Afragia Province


The weeks that followed Juno and her companion's departure from the Afragian Capital passed near uneventful save for a brilliant streak of yellow across the sky that filled her mind with a sense of terror and foreboding. At first, the heat was bearable and she had been able to manage a healthy degree of both hot and cool with the garb that she had been given for travel in the mountains of Afragian sand - often her mind found its way back to her garden courtyard and the sounds of fountains regurgitating water deep from within its foundation in a never ending cycle of comfort and peaceful ambience.

She missed her children dearly, and it was for this very reason that she was travelling to the land of the dead to find the cure that would save her life and allow her to return to those that needed her most. She wouldn’t let anything stop her, let alone a demon and his horde of minions – Beelzebub would fall to a mother’s wrath should he stand between her and her children, this she vowed to the Gods above and Demons below.

Despite the strength of her will and the conviction in her heart, this heat had begun to take its toll on her body. Her strength was failing and the only thing that kept her moving was the thought of her children, she couldn’t leave them, not after so much had happened- not after everything she, and they, had been through.

She had to pause in her steps as she focused ahead of her and saw the growing distance between her and her companions from Tu Zenita Duskal. She was slowing them down, and she knew that, but they were also here to aid her- though she knew not what motives drove them. Her lack of strength could be seen as clear as day by the sheer weight she put on the wooden stave she traveled with. Her face was leaking tiny streams of sweat and dust, turning her face into an exotic earthen mosaic.

And, looming before her in the distance was to be her greatest challenge of the day- a rather large mountain of sand that towered well above them. Shahik turned to Juno and looked at her as she began to struggle up the sands, he golden sediment flowing between her sandals and causing her to trip as it became soft and unruly. Slowly padding down the hill, Shahik held out his hand to Juno.

"Come on, I've got you." He spoke, smiling at the woman. He was used to the sands, having grown upon one of the few surface villages before moving down to the capital city for a better life. "I won't let you fall." Nodding gratefully, Juno took the mans hand and struggled to her feet, her muscles screaming in protest.

"Thank you, Shahik" she said with her words slathered in weakness, and with his help she conquered the mountain of sand and was breathing heavily by the time they reached the top and saw the full expanse of the desert beyond them.

"Where do we go now?" she questioned to both members of her quest.

Shahik lifted his arms, his finger poking through the air and pointing at a very distance expanse of black and grey. "It's an Earthborn mining station, they've been stripping the land of resources for years." Shahik squinted his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth before spitting upon the sand.

Sheba turned to the pair and smiled. "We can go around or through, though I can't promise they won't reprimand us if we go through - though it is much faster."

Juno breathed a sigh of relief as she crested the mountain of sand and peered across the vast desert before her. The mining station had caught her eye the moment she defeated the sand mountain, and though it would appear as an oasis to others who were on friendlier terms with the Earthborn, she did not trust them. However, she feared that if they didn't pass through the mining station, at least for a brief reprieve of the blistering heat, her strength would fail and her quest would end before it really ever began.

So, her decision had been made, in the matter of a few short minutes of silence as her mind scanned the situation and the likelihood if making it through without interference. "We will go through the station. The Earthborn will not sway me from my course."

"As you wish Juno." Shahik smiled at the woman.

"Onwards then..." Sheba spoke, her voice laden with a slight sense of apprehension at the idea. The Earthborn were well known for their power and whilst they held commune and agreements with the Emperor the sky-men were still feared by those of Afragia province. Emor seemed to look upon them more admirably - a tool to be used when required; a dog to be released from its leash. Though there was always the question of whether or not the Earthborn could be leashed and some saw the alliance as a wistfully brokered deal of death for the Empire rather than one to further it's cause and reign to the whole planet.

Plodding along across the ground, Sheba and Shahik's feet began to slowly press against the golden sand as they manoeuvred down the huge sand dune that they had just climbed. They walked at an awkward diagonal angle; as the slope became steeper and steeper Juno's two Afragian guides attempted to lean backwards to align themselves with the hill's slope - digging their heels into the sand rather than the sole of their sandals.

The desert, it seemed, would begin to manifest it's many trials to Juno and her group. The brief trek down the mountain of sand was rapidly quickened by the tumbling of feet over head as her body rolled down the mountains as if she were a boulder rolling down the hillside, ending with a soft and muted thud as her body met even ground and was enveloped by the blistering sands.

After a few moments of collecting her bearings, she chose to move forward through the sands rather than await her companions, her pride forbidding her from looking back to see the expression that her companions wore from the scene they had just bore witness to. A few short meters away she stooped to pick up her walking stick that had been flung from her grasp in her descent down the sand hill.

Her eyes remained steeled on the mining station in the distance, slowly drawing closer to them with every step taken towards her destiny, and where her fate would be decided. She took a deep breath of warm air and wheezed slightly as the warmth further dried her already arid throat.

She had the foresight to pack lightly for the desert, but she had managed to underestimate the location of Tartarus from the Afragian capital city, so she had brought a single casing of water that had been drained long before this point. It was at this time that she truly regretted being raised in the lackadaisical society that was Emor.

If she survived this quest, she would be leaving her life as a Namorian and seeking refuge elsewhere on the gods-abandoned world. Her thoughts were taken from her as her attention was called elsewhere by the predatory cry of the desert birds, creatures that distinguished between neither human nor animal, feeding on both, even going to lengths as attacking unaware travelers. Thankfully, the mining station was only just off the horizon, building becoming clearer as they drew near to the foreign settlement.

As the mining settlement came closer and closer, the noises of the machinery being used became louder and louder, large robotic sounds echoing through the desert air - banging with deep resonating cracks. Above buildings stood huge four armed droids. In the centre of their head was a single green line that continually seem to exude a green beam of energy towards the ground, cutting up the rock and exposing whatever minerals the Earthborn were after. Small arms shot out of the massive construct's chest, pulling at the rocks and shoving them into a large grinder and furnace at the centre of the machine's abdomen.

It was like looking upon the work of the Gods.

"Look." Shahik turned to Sheba and Juno, pointing up at a small nodule that sat against the fence. "They call it a camera - they tried to install them in Tu Zenita Duskal but they decided against giving us their technology; if it sees us they'll know we're here." Sheba looked up at the camera and stood for a few seconds with her two hands in the air - the air around the trio shimmered for a moment before becoming still and vapid.

"There, now we should be able to pass by unnoticed by the 'cameras'." Sheba said, smiling to her two companions. "Though we should not look to make too much noise, I have only masked our presence in form, not in sound."

Shahik grinned at the example of magic that Sheba was showing and nodded his head at her. "Where did you learn this?" Sheba looked at the man and then to Juno and smiled at them, glad of the marvelling effect her advanced magic had created.

"The Mages Guild of course - now come, else I will become far too tired and lame to hold this visage." The Afragian stood and walked straight up towards the outskirts of the mining facility, with Shahik and Juno in tow. Shahik frowned at the mention of the Mages Guild - he had heard of the institution before, though he had never seen it with his own eyes, he himself never leaving the confines of the desert and it's various undercities.

As the three cloaked individuals walked slowly towards the gates, Shahik draw from his waist his sword and cut it across the fence around the perimeter, breaking through the metal until a small entrance has been made. Shahik walked through first, keeping his eyes motioned in all directions to seek out any threats. The constant noise of the mining machines in the centre of the Earthborn quarry filled the air, making it difficult for the Afragian man to seek out any help from his sense of hearing. Sheba, picking up on Shahik's anxiety spoke up.

"Do not fear, Shahik - if we cannot hear them then I am sure they cannot hear us." Shahik turned to look at the healer, face shrouded with disgruntlement and fear.

"If you say so Sheba - though I don't believe that these Earthborn are completely without sense." Shahik sheathed his sword and began to push his way up towards the large mining constructs. "Come, we need to head this way to the other side of the complex - once we're there we'll be able to cut ourselves out and find our way to the Valley of the Sun." Shahik's eyes flickered to Juno, who only he and Sheba could see and was clearly faltering due to the harsh weather and travelling that the trio had been covering.

Rushing towards the woman, Shahik wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hoisted her up, leaving the lady to dangle her arms over his back whilst his forearm grappled with her waist. "Do not worry Juno - me and Sheba have you." The Namorian woman did little in response, mumbling a little in her illness induced unconsciousness. Turning back towards Sheba, Shahik nodded and started forward towards the mining machines once more, ignoring their nigh-on godly power as they ripped ore from stone and material from waste product. Sheba followed, eyes always on the sky, watchful of the flying machines the Earthborn employed swooping in at any moment's notice.


Odin's Grotto, Combrogia

The air was acrid and filled with an all-encompassing silence. The trees did not move on the spot and nor did their leaves rustle with the winds. All was silent without the Combrogian forest save for the thud that came from the Ark within the centre of the woodland. The Druada were all but quiet however, moving within the trees and maintaining their perimeter around the mysterious beam-projecting object.

Many of the larger Sepplengais had come to attempt a removal of the eyesore from its location but the emitter did not seem to want to be moved, or rather – it refused to. The silence returned upon the land, now sparse with Combrogians and grieving the loss of so many Druada to the invader’s forces. Upon the ground still lay the fallen bodies of Eldrani and Sepplengais, now looking little more than curious broken bodies lying atop vast, rotting logs.

Isabella looked over the death and destruction, the battlefield filled with the smell of death, and yet it was being celebrated and grieved at the same time, as a place of new life and a place of glorious, terrible death. Eldrani in hooded cloaks weaved around the corpses carrying small shivering saplings – baby Sepplengais removed from the soil, cold from the exposure to the harsh forest wind and lacking something to maintain their sentience; lacking a soul. The saplings were placed inside wounds and grieves upon both skin and wood and they shuddered no more, quickly nestling into the slain bodies upon the battlefield.

The Earthborn woman looked down upon her blade and still found her eyes filled with wonder at the bright green metal – upon her calling the blade had pulled itself out of the soil to her, a great feat for any Druada to achieve after the short time that Isabella had been training, and yet the Earthborn woman still felt that she was almost further from the mystical people that roamed the forest and guarded it with such prestige and care than the war when she was when she had landed on the planet.

The Earthborn woman drew herself slowly away from the scene, walking backwars until she felt two hands lightly place themselves upon her shoulders. “There is no need to flee, my lady.” A soft voice spoke into Isabella’s ear. “We are all here, all Druada celebrate the deaths of those faithful to the forest. Their forms return to lady Eternum, and their souls join the trees in deep slumber – it is a moment for celebration.” The German girl turned her head around, looking deep into the galactic eyes of Glarao Savissen. Grimacing and feeling the warmth of tears fill her eyes, Isabella leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the waist of the Eldrani. The man was taken back for a second before he returned the gesture and slipped his arms around the Earthborn’s shoulders, squeezing her softly and running his hands along her back.

“Why…” Isabella cried, her eyes being used to death through the many training videos and the few conflicts that had occurred on Earth and the other colonies with the Alliance. Though this was something different, the forest beings seemed to ebb their life away through the trees and to some sort of greater purpose – their loss had only seemed to pain Isabella further and further, until she almost felt numb.

“Nothing lasts forever, Ëlsunares.” The Eldrani man spoke. “All things must come to an end in the world, and there are must always be something to take its place, whether big or small – that is the way of the universe, something not even Gods or Demons could hope to control.”

Glarao Savissen clenched his arms and gave Isabella one last squeeze before releasing her. “Entropy, it is more a gift than a curse. To bring life to new orders and beings is the biggest gift that the Universe has given to all beings.” Stepping away from the woman, Savissen reached into his pocket and drew out a small silver sapling, marbled with purple streaks of colour through its almost liquid trunk. Across the small twigs that would eventually become branches were flourishes of bright orange and reds and all the colours of the sunset. Glarao reached his hand out and pressed the sapling light into Isabella’s palm.

“This is the tree of Tasan – one of Ra’s greatest warriors. One of my people. Only one is planted after every battle to sate the plant’s bloodlust.” The Eldrani smiled, proud of his heritage, however gruesome it seemed. “I would give you the honour, my family have been planting for years – with the Elder’s wishes of course…” Isabella looked down at the sapling, the small sentient tree shifting in the soil, trying to find some purchase of warmth from the cold air.

“I had hoped that I would be able to plant the sapling within my father’s wounds – so that he would be reborn as a Great-Wood.” Glarao frowned, his face contorted with a smile that betrayed his true emotions. His eyes lingered beyond the physical world, straining his thoughts to scour the land for any sign of his missing father.

“Great-Wood?” Isabella asked, running her hand delicately across the supple bark of the sapling. “What is a Great-Wood?” The Earthborn woman turned and looked deep into the recesses of Glarao’s galactic purple eyes, tracing the star-like features that glittered and sparkled next to his irises.
“They are the greatest of the Sepplengais, the strongest and the oldest and the wisest – I had hoped that my father would join the Elder Council when his time came.” Glarao leant down and picked up an Eldrani blade-handle from the soil, brushing dirt and dried congealed blood off of the handle before staring at the intricate design.

“He is alive, Glarao – I know it.” Isabella smiled at the odd man, the Eldrani species having similar yet alien features compared to the simple human physique Isabella laid claim to.
“But at what cost…” Glarao replied, reaching down and placing the blade handle into the hand of one of the many corpses – the shattered blade laying scattered across the floor.

Isabella grimaced before turning away and lightly placing the Tasan sapling into the bulk of a fallen Sepplengais. Glarao came up from behind and ran his hand along the trunk of the fallen guardian, humming deeply and muttering words of Eldrani to himself. A glow came from the Druadan’s hand and dispersed within the bulk of the fallen Sepplengais. Before Isabella’s eyes long strands of vine trailed their way up the sides of the host, pulsing as they filled the bulk of the downed warrior with nutrients – the Tasan sapling ceased to shuffle uncomfortable and burrowed its roots deep.

Glarao stood and took a deep breath of the air, turning to Isabella before looking down at the corpse of the great tree guardian. “He was called Clawbark.” The Eldrani muttered, running his hand along his eye, removing a single silvery tear from his skin. “He was one of the best Druada I know. He and father were good friends – Clawbark was like a second father.” Isabella moved her arm forward and placed her hand within Glarao’s before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Do not cry Glarao.” The German girl spoke. “There is much sadness in this world…”

“Yes…there is.” Glarao spoke, withdrawing his hand and walking away from Isabella. Turning and walking away into the night.

The Southern Wastes

Snow fluttered heavily to the ground, covering the already white floor with heaps of the powder. Blood stained what little snow hadn’t been dropped, with body parts and fleshy scraps left along the floor. The roaring of trolls and giants filled the air and the hissing of the Anequines as they hungered for flesh and gave birth to their live young within the packed snow joined the roars. Alongside the giant beasts walked other monsters. Orcs walked among the trolls and Anequines, spitting and fighting each other, chewing the limbs of deer and man. A few large Orcs sat around a pot and a crude firepit stewing bones and laughing to themselves as they threw teeth into the snow.

The Orc camp was full of poorly made tents, barbarically strung together by the orcs themselves. Siege weaponry sat at the outsides of their camp – Ballista’s; Catapults and huge metal Rams built solely to destroy barricades. The tools of war had worked well to whittle down the Dwarven Kingdom of Dun Moriga – there was no questioning that the siege weaponry would have no trouble breaking down the walls of the South.

Next to the Orc Camp lay a large glacial outcrop that looked out upon the vast expanse of land between the camp and the basin of Branjaskr. Upon the hill stood two figures, one dressed in royal robes, with 8 inch long ears stretching out and meeting a point through his hair, which flowed white and long – spasming and dancing with the erratic wind. Behind him walked a larger, broader figure – an Orc-Lord. He held a helmet shaped like a Ram, with curling horns running down along his cheeks, which were butchered through combat and hiding sharp, crude teeth. The Orc, unlike the Dark-Elf royal had iris’s within the black of his eyes; the Dark-Elf had none for the touch of Set was strong within him.

“My Lord. My Thrukvash.” The Orc spoke crudely, more used to the vicious and venomous tongue of the Orc. “My Ȗrgroc grow tiresome. They hunger for the flesh of men. It’s been long since we killed the last Dwarf child and sucked the marrow from his bones.” The Dark-Elf royal turned and looked upon the Orc-Lord, who with all his might cowered underneath the scowl of the Elven King. “I meant no disrespect my lord, I swear it by the great dark of your black-sun. I promise!”

The Dark-Elf King raised his hand to silence the Orc and the witless beast did so, keeping his eyes pointed to the ground so as to avoid the great King’s wrath. “Tell me, Kromar.” The King circled the Orc, eyes squinting at the Lord. “Are all five Arks in place? Have Noah, Excalibur, Covenant, Osiris and Uranus been activated?”

The Orc-Lord raised his eyes finally to meet the pitch black orbs that sat within the Dark-Elf’s head. “Yes, my lord.” The foul thing stammered, brown spittle running down the Orc’s chin and dirtying the snow below him. “Blackbeard sent a message to one of his ships he left behind – his messengers arrived a day ago. The Ark of Noah is in place and activated.” The King smiled before turning back towards the distant space between him and Branjaskr.

Silence settled upon the pair for a moment, before the Dark-Elf began to trudge down the hill and past the Orc-Lord. The Dark-Elf took deliberate steps, his feet pushing and compacting the snow under his feet slightly, though the snow never rose above his shoes. “Master, where are you going?” The Orc-Lord shouted, turning to watch the back of the Dark-Elf king as he skulked back to his camp.

“Rally your forces, Kromar.” The King replied, causing the Orc-Lord to stand in momentary shock, before realisation hit him and a wide and foreboding smile took his face – lips stretching over misshapen and rotten teeth.

“We make for the city at dawn.”


The Afragian Desert, Afragia Province

The sun was slowly setting over the dunes of Afragia and the desert was becoming cold as the heat ran from its soft sandy peaks. Juno shivered underneath her clothes as the moon began to slip over the horizon behind her back like some ravenous wolf hunting down its prey. Sheba walked with a sense of fatigue far greater than her compatriots, the spell to obscure their forms from the Earthborn and their technology having taken a lot of energy from the woman. Shahik stood ahead of both of them, scouring the horizon and looking up at the emerging stars constantly in order to make sure he was following the correct path.

“Come on!” Shahik called to the two weary women behind. His own legs burned like the fires of Tartarus, yet he felt that he had enough energy to shave some time off of their journey still. The Earthborn mining camp had been a nightmare, whilst concealed they had been stuck inside for hours finding their way around the compound. No one had been hurt luckily – though to come near the huge mining machinations was terrifying.

It was something that Shahik would never forget.

Looking into the distance, Shahik spied something glittering amongst the sands. A small red dot in the distance, fluttering and fading before growing with light suddenly – following a distinct trend. The light was not so far that it would be considered a star, in fact on further inspection Shahik noticed that the light was not far at all. It was a warm light as well, Shahik could see the smoke coming from it.

It was fire.

Turning around to the two weary women who were still trailing behind, Shahik shouted up to them. “Come on! There’s someone down there; maybe we can barter for some food or some shelter and warmth!” Turning back upon the dune, Shahik sprinted down the sandy slopes, feet digging in and pushing the sediment out of the way. The fine golden grains shifted down the mountain slope, dragging more and more of the material with them as they sped down the dune, chasing Shahik as he bounded upon the flat desert land, feet loosely moulded with the dry powder.

Shahik pulled his feet from the ground, looking across at the fire – it was close, the Afragian could almost see the flames flickering. The man drew his sword and walked over cautiously, making sure that he could stay in sight of the two women behind him. The fire came closer and closer and soon enough Shahik was able to identify what lay around it. Around the fire sat a large dry log and multiple furs and quilts. Upon some of the quilts sat raw meat, whilst upon a spit over the top of the fire sat a mess of meat, fat dripping into the fire.

“I heard you coming down the dune, I thought I’d put some food on for you.” Shahik gasped in shock as he looked past the flames and at the figure who sat upon the log. He wasn’t tall or peculiar in any sense. His hair upon his head was a mess – unkempt and unclean. His face, or what was visible of it was coated in a thick layer of mud and sand whilst his nose was sharp and jutting. Around the man’s head and across his eyes sat a piece of cloth, shrouding his vision. Upon his body sat the armour of a Namorian Legionnaire, though it seemed beaten up and held bumps and cracks in some parts of the metal.

“I…I thank you. I think.” Shahik frowned at the man, who in turn gestured for Shahik to sit next to the fire. The odd man passed a plate to his guest, in which the Afragian took and studied carefully. Upon the plate sat a few cuts of meat – all roasted nicely. They smelled amazing and before long Shahik found himself shovelling the meat into his mouth, savouring the flavour and the juices.

“Bit of a strange place for a guard of the Whispering Stones to be marching.” The Legionnaire spoke. “What’s your business out here stranger?” Shahik stopped for a moment, looking up at the Namorian, his whole body frozen.
“What’s it to you?” The Afragian replied in kind, putting the plate down in front of him and tilting his head before scowling at his host, who laughed.

“It’s nothing. But if you’re planning on carrying on in the same direction the only thing you’ll find is the Valley of the Sun.” The Stranger spoke carefully, placing a cut of meat into his mouth slowly, tentatively.

“And?” Shahik continued to stare at the Legionnaire, scowling further at his questioning. “What does it matter? Perhaps me and my companions –“ Shahik looked to his left and out towards the dune. Sheba and Juno were only a few feet away, nigh on dragging themselves towards the fire. Shahik felt a twang of guilt as he placed a piece of meat into his mouth.

“Well…if it’s the Valley of the Sun you seek, then perhaps we can help each other out.” Shahik’s host cooed. “One of your companions is sick, I can smell it on her. The rot.” Shahik sniffed the air as well though he could not smell the lingering death upon Juno’s form as she fell to the floor beside him, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly. “There are more ways into Tartarus – there are quicker ways than upon Ra’s boat…”

“What do you speak of stranger?” Shahik looked hard at the Namorian, squinting his eyes – though he was unsure as to whether or not the traveller could see him at all, let alone his change of facial expression.

“The Child’s Road.” The Stranger lifted his head, facial features parallel with the Afragians. Shahik smiled before laughing to himself.
“The Child’s Road is a myth – there’s no such thing.” Shahik smiled, chuckling at the Namorian. “Can you even see? You wear the headgear of someone robbed of their sight – you speak of finding the mythical road of Alcamor, yet you can’t even see.”

“Do not assume things that you know nothing of, Afragian. If I could not see then I would not know that you were a guard of your Whispering city would I.” The Stranger smiled wildly, revealing dirty teeth behind his lips as he reached out and pulled tender meat off of the spit. Sheba, who had been quietly sat next to Shahik was quickly offered a plate and she reached out to take it, quickly shovelling meat into her mouth. “I have a deal for you. You protect me as we travel through The Child’s Road, and I’ll show you and your party through to Beelzebub’s realm.”

“I appreciate the offer but we don’t need your help – especially not on wild hunts for mythical non-existent pathways.” Shahik scowled, finishing off his plate of meat and placing it down upon the furs that sat in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by his host.
“The Valley of the Sun is an 11 day march from here, and that’s without stopping.” The Namorian placed down his plate and leaned forward, resting his dirty chin upon his knuckles as he looked upon the two Afragians in front of him. “Your friend has 8 days to live, and that’s if she’s lucky. In 4 days she’ll forget your names. In 7 days she’ll go into cardiac arrest. By my judgement, we have less than a day’s march until The Child’s Road – so really I’m not seeing how this is a difficult decision for you. You can come with me, or you can fail to save your friend…”

Shahik narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, looking right where he envisaged the Namorian’s eyes to lay. “What is your name, Legionnaire? Who are you? Enough asking us questions and answer one for us instead.”

The Namorian smiled, his grin slightly perturbing Shahik and Sheba. “My name?”
“Yes. What is your name Namorian?” Sheba replied, her voice finally joining the conversation as she finished the last of her food. Her eyes were narrowed upon the Namorian, hand placed at her waist over the top of a small dagger that she had kept concealed from her entire group – just in case something went wrong.
“My name…” The Namorian smiled at the two. “Well…”

“You can call me Altius.”


The End. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9SIS6wBxpI)