[M/R] Eternum: Blood of the Gods

[Minkasha]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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.