[M/R] Eternum: Blood of the Gods

[La Volpe]

Dun Moriga-Afragia~

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

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

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

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

[Death of Korzan]

Afragian Desert

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

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

He looked upon the half made pyramid and smiled.

"Nam tora chan shentu."

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

Below Dun Moriga and the Dwarven Kingdoms

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes...my Liege."

[Aureyon]

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

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

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

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

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

He knocked on the door.

“Brother?” he called.

And waited.

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

---

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you ask mother where he is?”

“Can’t find her too” he sighed.

“Alright, give me ten minutes”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The one who was more aggressive initially stepped forward.

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

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

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

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

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

[Azazeal849]

(OOC - More to come soon!)

NEW GIZA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We serve the gods." Ovidius said sternly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * *

SHARKTOOTH BAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * *

EMOR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tha...thank you, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gaius frowned again, considering his wife's words.

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

Seppia bit her lip, and said nothing.

* * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chip of steel was still there.

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

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

[Minasm]

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

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

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

"Cass?!"

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

Where is she?

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

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

"Why are you even here?"

***

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

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

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

"Vardren! I need to ask you something!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

[CrumpetCannon]

The Afragian Waters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wagers?" He ventured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Captain gets first bid."

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

"... Two sixes."

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

"Four sixes."

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

"Six sixes."

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

"... Bluff."

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

"Dobbson takes this bid."

~~

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

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

"Two fives."

His opponent didn't miss a beat.

"Four fives."

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

"Five fives..."

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

"Spot on!"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm very good with dice."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Minkasha]

West of Dun Moriga - Fulminata Camp

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * *

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

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

“Decius.” she cried in a whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

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

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

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

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

---

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

A knock on the door.

“Master Kalle. You’re being summoned”

“By who?”

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

“What!?”

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

“Let’s go immediately”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Afragian Waters - HMS Aptitude

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

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

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

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

The two sailors looked at him blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

[Death of Korzan]

The Afragian Coast

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What ungodly business do German's have with pirates?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit

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

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

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

You'll have to do it without them

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Lowlands of Dun Moriga

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

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

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

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

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

[Minkasha]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"ZAHNERI" her minion appeared.

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

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

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

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

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

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Branjaskr, The Free South – Village

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Combrogia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Azazeal849]

DUN MORIGA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That man is cold iron.” Iset said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ovidius frowned and lowered his cup. “Orcs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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