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

[Prophet]

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

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

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

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

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

[SQJ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Jacogos]

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

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

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

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

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

[Evil Troy]

~Sigard~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Repent!]

An unfriendly chill shot down Zelvad's spine as he walked with Bria through the streets of Sonata. For the first time since leaving Ascara, he was now in an outfit more fitting to the Norgardian climate. His red hair draped over his right shoulder was in a tighly braided ponytail, a feat completed with requested help from Bria of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She agreed.

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

Then with that they pressed on....

[Kris]

Sigard


"STOP IT!", Jared snapped his fingers and the two opponents were tossed to each side of the room. They felt unseen energy waving around them as they were both unable to move.

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

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


***


Secret meeting room, somewhere in Sigard


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

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

"Lord Fergal", Gwen uttered, her voice was somewhat without confident as her body shivered slightly.

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

Once he stepped inside the dark chamber another man followed suit, however, Joseph didn't know who he was.

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

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

They carefully stood up as Jared started to talk again.

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

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

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

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

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


***


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

The three shot their eyes at Joseph.

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

[Koti~]

The devil shall call upon me to lead his army, for I shall bring him a legion of souls when I die, all in the name of his glory I sing.

-Sigard-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-3 days later-

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

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

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

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

“Where can I find him?”


-A quick hike later-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Sigard, current day~

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

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

[Kris]

Norgard

The wind whispered a melody of beautiful whistles as it was howling the evening chilling cries of the dark. Many would depart for the night, rushing to the warmth and safety of their homes were it not for the simple task of decoration and preparation.

The stones of the city had to be polished.

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

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

Because, the time has finally come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Done with the help of the amazing Keeper)

[Housemaster]

~Issac~

-Capital Sonata, Norgard-

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

"Give it back."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Winds of Winter
-J.G Wiser-

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

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

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

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

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

[V]

Norgard, Capital Sonata, Within the castle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Following Day; The Wedding Day; Sonata, Norgard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baxter made his way towards the door.

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

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

"Pick it up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I understand," he said coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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