[M/R] Eternum: Blood of the Gods

[CrumpetCannon]

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

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

"Orders, Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Battleships in position, sir!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was all the warning they had.

[The Bartender]

New Giza

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

[Azazeal849]

EMOR

Gaius Octavius continued to chant, focusing all his willpower on the chip of broken axe and the icons of Nemesis that he had arranged around it. For a moment he thought he saw a shimmer of light flicker around the chip, but just as quickly it faded. This was the fourth time this had happened. Dropping his arms to his sides in frustration, Gaius abandoned the ritual incantation and swore aloud.

After nearly an hour of relentless channelling, his eyes burned and his joints ached from the magical overflow. Gaius dug the heel of one hand into his temple, trying to massage away his pounding headache. As he surfaced from the magical plane and became aware once again of his surroundings, he realised that there was someone else in the room with him.

"Gaius." Seppia said gently, stepping up behind him and threading her arms around his chest. "Come and eat. The slaves are serving breakfast."

"Nemesis won't grant me a vision." Gaius sighed. His voice rose in anger as a violent strike of his hand swept the axe chip and the magical foci around it off the table and sent them skittering across the tiled floor. "She won't answer!"

Seppia flinched, and hugged him tighter in an attempt to calm him down. "Try again later. After you've had a chance to rest."

"The killers aren't resting." Gaius growled. "When I find those Southern barbarians I'll see their hearts parted from their fucking chests."

"And I'll be there holding the knife." Seppia promised, before losing patience with her husband's outburst. "But right now, our son is wondering why his father isn't at the breakfast table."

Gaius tore his eyes away from the now empty table, and felt a pang of guilt as he turned round and saw Titus hovering by the door in his striped tunic, his eyes fixed on the artefacts that Gaius had angrily scattered across the floor.

"Dad?" Titus asked uncertainly, his eyes flitting between Gaius and Seppia.

Gaius squeezed his wife's wrist by way of apology, and slid away from her to draw his son into his arms. Titus was about the same height that Marcus had been, and the same skinny build, though even as a child Titus had his father's angular face. For a horrible moment Gaius was back at the funeral, except this time it wasn't his cousin's family but his own wife and son on the pyre. If Southerners can reach Emor, how easy might it have been for them to reach our villa instead of cousin Lycinia's? How easy might it still be?

"I'm sorry, Titus." he said, stiffly, as he kissed his son's curly hair. "You...you're precious to me."

Gaius made a conscious effort to enjoy the normality of breakfast with his family, but soon after the slaves had cleared away the plates he gathered his cloak, and slipped the recovered shard of the Southerner's axe into his pocket. In the paved thoroughfares and narrow side streets of Emor, the morning routine of praying, commuting and doing business went on as smoothly as it ever had. But Gaius could see subtle differences. People were avoiding the plaza where the Marcius villa had stood, changing direction and hurrying past long before they reached the barriers set up by the royally-commissioned rebuilding workers.

There were signs of the wider conflict across the imperium too. There were fewer traders, and those that remained were arguing vehemently over prices that had been driven up by the disruption of the Hercinian trade routes. There were a lot more beggars slumped at the sides of the roads, and as Gaius passed them he noticed a disproportionate number of blonde-haired Combrogi among them. Thousands of refugees had limped into Emor from the conflicts in the provinces - far more than the city could accomodate. Gaius had heard that some of them were selling themselves into slavery to try and feed their families, and the rich farmers and miners of Namor were eagerly snapping up the free labour.

The exploitation of the imperium's desperate and vulnerable was a matter for the emperor and his senators, not Gaius Octavius. As he exited Emor's southern gate he passed one of the sullen refugee camps arrayed outside the city walls, where a bread distribution line was only stopped from becoming a riot by the presence of a dozen blue-cloaked men of the city watch. The Southerner-like hair and features of the frustrated Combrogi refugees soured Gaius' mood, and he urged his horse into a trot as he started down the southern highroad. Nemesis had to answer him. Whatever her involvement in the current war, she was the balancer of the scales, and a crime as grievous as the one inflicted by the Southern assassins demanded balance. Decius Marcius and his family had committed no crime against the gods. Something else had to be protecting the killers. If his spells to locate the assassins were failing, then he needed a stronger magical focus to cast from, to overpower whatever counterspells the assassins were employing. There was no stronger focal point in all of Namor than the mages' guild.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he reached his destination, but the road leading up to the guild's perimeter wall was a morbid one - the vertical posts that had been hammered into the ground for the Roman prisoners' crucifixion hadn't been taken down.

The guild is now an execution ground for traitors, is it? Gaius thought sourly. Not even subtle, emperor Galen. That's low, even for you.

The crucifixion posts left the place with a grim, threatening air, but Gaius could still feel the ambient magic tingling in his fingers as he approached. He kicked his horse forward in anticipation, and that was when he saw the guards. There were eight of them, men of the 3rd Invictus legion with its spread-winged hawk painted across their grounded shields.

"Halt." one of them instructed him as soon as he got close enough to talk without shouting. "What business do you have here, citizen?"

Gaius tossed his cloak over his shoulder to better display his rich tunic and chains of office, including the gold seal of the mages' guild.

"Gaius Octavius, patrician of the imperium and emperor-sanctioned practicioner of the magic arts." He looked up at the partially ruined round-tower that was just visible over the curtain wall. "I wish to harness the risidual magic of this place to locate an enemy of the imperium, so they can be brought to justice."

The legionary looked up at him, stony faced. "My apologies sir. As of this morning, all magic is now banned within the homeland of Namor, except by express written permission of the emperor. Do you have such permission?"

"I do not." Gaius returned angrily. "What prompted the senate to ban all magic?"

"The murder of the Marcius family, sir." the legionary said, his tone still studiously neutral. "The killers arrived and escaped without being seen or stopped by anyone. The senate has concluded that they could only have done this with magical help."

Gaius' expression turned cold. "I see."

"And sir?" the legionary added as Gaius wheeled his horse around to leave. "If it hasn't arrived already, you'll be receiving a letter from the senate soon. All registered members of the mages' guild are being ordered to surrender any magical artefacts in their possession to the emperor."

Gaius didn't say anything, but the expression of indignant fury on his angular face spoke enough. Yanking his horse's reins to one side to complete his turn, he raked his heels back into the animal's ribs and galloped away.

* * * * * *

Seppia sat thinking for a long moment after Gaius finished explaining what had happened at the guild.

"I suppose he thinks it's to protect us." she said at last, absently waving away the Combrogi house slave who was pouring their wine so that they would have privacy.

"No." Gaius growled as the slave retreated. "Emperor Galen is cracking down on mages. He's been wanting to curb us for years. He didn't lift a finger to save the guild; it was only those few troops that you, Julia and Lycinia, bless her memory managed to sweet talk that-"

"And why did the guild need saving?" Seppia pointed out. "Demons don't just appear this far away from Tartarus. Didn't the chief magus confide in you just a few months ago? That he was worried about the emperor finding out three of his recent graduates had run off south to join Korzan? And that he was afraid magus Cornelius was planning something reckless to keep the guild relevant in the face of all the new engineering breakthroughs?"

"Watch it." Gaius snarled, pointing a threatening finger at his wife. "Our son barely escaped the place. Are you calling him a traitor? Are you calling me?"

Seppia looked shocked, and then angry. "No." she said coldly.

"Well what do you want me to do?"

"Do as the senate orders, of course." Seppia said, stiffly. Her pretty face was hard and drawn down. "Let me handle this."

She drank her wine, and stood up with a rustle of silks. Before Gaius could say anything else she had stalked agitatedly out of the room, signalling curtly to her body slave to accompany her to the bathroom.

Gaius drained his own cup, thumped it down on the table next to his couch, and almost immediately felt guilty.

* * * * * *

NEW GIZA

"I don't usually receive visitors this late in the evening." Shanaar said neutrally. His voice was deep, and unlike most of the other Egyptians carried a notable trace of his original accent when he spoke Namorian.

The Egyptian general was sandy-skinned and heavily built, his strong hands curled around the arms of his chair. His face was long and aquiline, with a hooked nose and piercing eyes that fixed on Ovidius in the same way an eagle might home in on a desert rat it had just seen bolting across the dunes below. Something about him made even the seasoned spy nervous. Here was a man with power, ambition, and - if Iset was to be believed - the ruthlessness to raze whole countries without flinching.

Ovidius himself stood before the general's seat in a simple black tunic; unarmed, and with two Egyptian soldiers flanking him, their hands resting on the hilts of their khopeshes. The stone chamber remained warm even as night drew on outside and the temperature continued to drop, bracketed torches and a fire in a clay-brick hearth providing heat as well as light. The walls were covered with painted symbols of Isis - thrones, sycamore trees, a woman with feather sleeves holding an ankh.

"The political situation being what it is," Ovidius said levelly, "I thought it best to be circumspect."

Shanaar's eagle gaze dropped to the jackal icon hanging around Ovidius' neck. "You followers of Anubis and your shadow games." he grunted, with a slight smile. "You've given me the keys to your kingdom, Namorian. What new intelligence do you have for me?"

"Good news, general." Ovidius said, inclining his head slightly. "I thought you should know that the priestesses of Ra are here to negotiate support for you, at the sun god's command."

Shanaar raised his eyebrows, the only visible hair on his carefully shaved head. "Explain?"

"You're the one the gods have chosen. Ra has instructed them to talk Ahsha into supporting you."

Ovidius was nonchalant, but he knew that he was in trouble if Shanaar did not believe the lie. He and Suriyana had proved their loyalty by laying Afragia bare to invasion, but they were still newcomers to the Egyptian court. He resisted the urge to let out a breath, however surreptitiously, as he saw a flicker of triumph cross Shanaar's face. The Egyptian general must have believed him, or at least wanted to, because he couldn't completely hide his satisfaction as Ovidius told him of the gods' favour. Then Shanaar laughed; a low, threatening sound that didn't alter his facial expression.

"Your priestesses heard Ra's command, while the high priest himself did not?" Ovidius felt his stomach drop. "Either he's not fit for his station or he's more ambitious than I thought."

Ovidius suppressed a second sigh of relief as the Egyptian general leaned forward in his chair, the gold chains around his neck chinking together softly.

"I admire ambition, young Namorian." he said. His tone was suddenly very dangerous. "But not when it is directed against me. If that is truly why your priestesses were talking to Ahsha, why were you talking to that snake Iset? My rival who, like you, is a follower of the jackal god."

Ovidius forced himself to focus. He hadn't expected his conversation with Iset to go unnoticed, and he was ready for it. He had gained Shanaar's trust with information once; now he could do it again.

"That's the other thing I thought you should know, general." he said. "Like you said, I follow Anubis, as does Iset. She thought to make me an ally. She wanted me to use my status as a native to win over the other Afragians in New Giza, so that they'd support her. She wanted them...and me...to help assassinate you."

Once again Shanaar tried to hide his emotion from Ovidius; this time it was anger. The spy saw Shanaar's fingernails dig tighter into the arms of his chair. But the Egyptian general was still suspicious.

"And what do you gain by telling me this? If you're a potential threat, what if I have you killed now?"

Ovidius sensed the guards to either side of him shifting, fists curling around khopesh hilts. This time it was him who couldn't completely hide his unease.

"I am Anubis' servant." he began, swallowing as subtly as he could to moisten his dry throat. "Iset isn't. She isn't the impartial judge that the jackal god represents. He works in the shadows, but he still has honour, and so do I. I might only be here as bodyguard for the priestesses, but I agree with them. Neither of the other candidates are capable enough to lead an army and win the war against both Afragia and the orcs. This is clearly the gods' will. They chose you, and they chose well."

Shanaar looked at Ovidius for what seemed like an age, hunched forward in his chair like a vulture over its prey. Then, very slowly, he leaned back. Ovidius felt some unspoken signal pass to the guards, and they dropped their hands from their weapon hilts.

"And so did you, it would seem." Shanaar said, smiling tightly.

Twelve fucking hells! That was too close.

Abruptly, Shanaar drove his palms into the armrests of the chair and jerked to his feet, his hands curling into fists. He moved as fast and as suddenly as lightning.

"That vizier is a snake!" he spat, suddenly furious. "Named for Isis, claims to serve Anubis, and would be better off serving the demon Apophis! I am Isis' chosen! Me! She wouldn't have raised me to where I am now if she didn't want me to rule! And this snake pit of a royal court refuses to accept it! At least soldiers have honesty! And honour! That bitch Iset will burn for this, and at the hands of the god she claims to represent! I'll send her to him myself!"

Ovidius was suddenly very aware of the Anubis amulet around his neck, its weight suddenly seeming to pull him down. He works in the shadows, but he still has honour. No-one's less deserving of wearing his badge than me. But there was no turning back now. Shanaar's anger had burned itself out, and now he stood with his back to Ovidius, his chest heaving as he leaned against the edge of a nearby table.

"It might be wise, general." Ovidius said quietly once the general had fallen silent. "To make it clear to everyone that Iset was the aggressor here."

Shanaar paused, then exhaled sharply and spun to face Ovidius. His face was calm again, but his eyes still smouldered murderously.

"And what would you suggest?"

"A trap." Ovidius answered.

[Epostle]

Gabrielle

Gabrielle’s comment didn’t seem to put Salvius at any kind of ease. It didn’t matter to Gabrielle due to the fact that there were more important matter to resolve. First of all, Gabrielle was bound by cuffs that seemed to restrained any magical affinity… again. Second, Gabrielle was wondering when the next time that the little dark elf Numiera was going to snap again. Having her snap at a time like that would not only ravage Gabrielle himself, but what of the others? Sure they were strong, but what was inside that girl wasn’t anything to be trifled with. The power intrigued Gabrielle no doubt, yet Gabrielle felt a bit uneasy about it, knowing that it comes during times of injury.

Gabrielle began thinking to himself about how the entity in her reacted. It must be some kind of self defense mechanism to prevent further harm to the hosts body. Possibly parasitic, but hoping mutualistic in nature. The tendency to use a dark magic to harm an enemy but letting them be unaware at the same time made it seem more of an assassins approach. That is the normal approach to shadow magic. “It who thirsts within the darkness to consume its pray,” Gabrielle said out loud and to himself in his normal monotonic manner.

“Salvius… I just want to be perfectly clear when I say… I didn’t want Kuronus to die or be hurt. The way I said it was abrupt and harsh. I forget the easiness of the heart at times and how it can be swayed from one thought to another. However, I wont take back what I said about him dying an honorable death for us… that being said… I was like you. I wanted to go back and save him, but knew if we did that, we would have thrown everything he was going to sacrifice for us. I just want you to know, anything Kuronus did for us was not in vein, and I’m sure he survived. The beast within him would most definitely make sure of that.”

“One thing I want to know, Salvius, before we get this strangers answer to your question, in which I want to know to, what do you truly know about the Gods and the Demon Lords? It seems pretty fascinating on how people view them and personify them, though they probably never met them before.” Gabrielle asked as he took some sand along Numiera’s castle and began to add upon what she had.

Shacorai

“Chaaru… I can’t hear you… nor can you hear me. I feel the presence of the night within you somewhere deep inside you… and I question… are you so easily controlled?” Shacorai was asking the mindless Chaaru, though he couldn’t hear Shacorai. A long history between Chaaru and Shacorai had sparked a hate amongst each other.

Though Shacorai and Chaaru hated each other, Shacorai couldn’t help but to hate Chaaru’s sword, Gluttony even more. The fact that Gluttony wasn’t around Chaaru anymore made Shacorai feel uneasy, even for a demon. Walking through his nether, Shacorai began to laugh and smile. “Enough about that, what I’m interested in right now are the people who are following us.” Shacorai fixed his sight at them.

“Yessssssss….” He hissed in his demonic pleasure of knowing that there were always more pawns to play with. “Mar’s, you were foolish to let that mortal fool Marcius wield me. You have done nothing more than bolster me and freed me from my jailer, and for that, I thank you. Through the hate of the battle for Hircine… I have broken through to the plane of recovery.” Shacorai said peacefully. “Give me more hate…”

[La Volpe]

Kuronus couldn't help but shiver slightly as he made his way silently into the tunnels he'd just escaped from. He moved slowly, placing his bare feet precisely with each step to minimize the noise he made. "Of all the tales I'll share... This will never be one of them.." the ranger grumbled, trying to ignore the rather unpleasant chill creeping up his body from between his legs. The ranger stopped for a moment, trying to shake the odd feeling that was quickly growing within him. Then it hit him... It was quite, far too quiet. There was nothing he ranger could do but continue forward though, he'd be damned if he left behind his gear for the dwarves to destroy or reuse.

All around the Ranger, blood and gore covered the floor. The sound of his feet padding in puddles of blood echoed through the caverns echoed across the walls and alerted anything nearby to his presence, though there was nothing living nearby. The walls were also coated in thick layers of crimson, shrouding the gray rock surfaces with ichor, sometimes bits of flesh dangled from the walls, though it was unknown which part of the body they had come from.

Kuronus had to constantly fight to keep down the bile trying to escape his stomach like a demon from hell as he made his way forward. He was no stranger to this amount of death and gore... But the enclosed space of the dwarven tunnels seemed to triple the potency of the smell emitting off of everything around him. He did his best to avoid the larger piles of shredded corpses, not wanting to step on any bones and cut himself, knowing fully well how deadly blood can be to one with open wounds. Stopping for a moment, the ranger looked around himself, trying to get a baring on where exactly he was, and where he had to go to find his gear, he was over feeling gore between his toes.
The trail of remains seemed to take a turn down the tunnels and seemed to be a gruesome bread crumb trail that wound down the halls and back to where Kuronus had started.

The ranger was no stranger to large amounts of gore and death, but he couldn't help but get a odd uneasy feeling the farther he went into the tunnels. Winding back and forth for what seemed to be forever, Kuronus began to loose hope that he'd ever see his beloved gear again, or even see the surface again. Just when the ranger was on the verge of giving in and turning back, a flash of silver caught his eye.

Upon the ground ahead of him, laying with a pair of trousers sat Kuronus's blade, unblocked yet smothered with gore made not of it's own sharp edge. It stuck out like a sore thumb, even underneath the bleed and bone fragments left behind after the wolf mans slaughter. This part of the tunnel seemed to be the most brutal, with the dripping sounds being made from blood as it trickled down the walls and onto the floor ever so delicately.

Without hesitation, the ranger pulled his beloved sword from the gore pile where it lied, a sense of calm slowly creeping into him. Wiping the gore off as best as he could, Kuronus rested the sword against the tunnel wall, and donned his missing pants, ecstatic to feel the uncomfortable draft suddenly vanish from his nether region. With sword in hand, and a pair of pants finally on, Kuronus looked around himself at what could only be the origin point of the blood bath he'd been following. It only took him a moment to discern what had caused this. It was a creature he knew all to well, and one he'd seen the handy work of more times then he'd like to remember. The only possible thing that could have been. Him.

[Minasm]

As the steep Dun Morigan hills began to disappear from sight, both Vardren and Cass began to grow suspicious of their host. While his demonic influence seemed almost positive, they were given very little information as to who exactly had summoned them, or to where exactly it was they were going. In fact, when they first encountered Chaaru, Cass had almost attacked him out of instinct--Vardren stopped her, much to her protest.

"Chaaru..." Vardren felt the words roll off his tongue, savoring the sound for a moment in the vast forest expanse of Cambrogia. The ride had been silent for a long while, which was surprising given Cass was with him. It had been comfortable, in fact, until Vardren realized just how far they had gone. It was not unnerving to him; it was rather irritating, in fact. Chaaru had given them nothing to prove his connection to their own visions. For all they knew, he could've been just as crazy as they were, and nothing more than a wanderer.

The thought of wanderers drew his attention back to the coffin strapped to his steed. The noise had stopped, so he assumed his poison was done with its work. Vardren turned away with a scowl--he missed his favorite part of the ordeal to follow his sister's maniacal dreams.

You had them too. Remember?

"Devourer." he said at last, "We have traveled with you without question thus far, but I do wonder... what have you to prove that you are, in fact, the man we are to be following? I don't care about who you are, or where you came from, but since we are traveling together I do wish to know where we are going."

Cass perked up at her brother's voice, staring intently at Chaaru for a reply. When Varden finished, she piped up herself; "Don't lie to us. We may have come from the middle of nowhere, but we can practically smell a liar." Cass giggled at her own words before leaning forward in her saddle. She too was curious about the Devourer, but Vardren had already told her not to speak to him before, and until that moment, she didn't want to disappoint him.

Chaaru stopped and turned towards the two humans, his completely black eyes somehow staring at the pair of them inquisitively, his mouth opened and his foreboding voice rolled from his tongue: "Smelling a liar is poor practice. Mortals lie all of their lives, some more than others. Like a dog chasing that which kills - in some way, we all kill. You do not believe that I am Chaaru?.." His voice was joined with another's, dark and more sinister - yet oddly comforting to the two siblings. The man-that-was-not-quite-human held out his palms to touch the heads of the two vampires, and as he made contact they were pulled violently from reality.

Cass found herself in a warm living room, circular in shape and with a fireplace and a long padded chair - supposedly popular with Earthborn aristocrats within Eternum; the floor had a rug covering it, made of the finest silk that Afragia could offer. Above the wide fireplace - which crackled like a pig on a spit and burned with the intensity of Ra's sun - a large panel sat, broadcasting the suffering of mentally ill patients inside hospitals; stressed out children; depressed suicidal maniacs. Upon the walls were multiple paintings. One of a male figure with a feminine upper body, his face gaunt and covered with a slight beard, his head was covered in long brown hair and his eyes were a deep chestnut. Behind the calm and placid visage that left you almost wondering 'what does the smile mean' there was a maddening feel to the painting.

Next to it sat a painting depicting multiple dogs sitting around a table, with one other participant playing a game of cards with them - the same male from the painting that lay on it's left. He always looked towards the recipient, as if he knew something Cass didn't.

The paintings and illustrations continued, some of the emperors and kings of Namor and it's provinces, but all with different faces - the same face. A coughing sound came from the chair as that face rose, peeking over the cushions.

"Bloody hell, what's a mortal doing in the 'Hoth-cave'?!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows raised and his brown hair drifting downwards in a perfectly chaotic fashion. Though the rest of his body save for his nose, eyes and the top of his head did not show themselves, it was obvious that the face matched the paintings. The chestnut eyes squinted at Cass.

"Who are you? What do you want?" The man asked, at a lackadaisical yet fast - almost rude - tone and speed. "How'd you even get in here?! Did Ra leave you behind or something?"
Cass had been staring intently at each painting with a strange animosity: it certainly felt wrong that so many paintings had the same face: they might've been in different settings, but because they all had the same key element she could hardly call them different. She supposed that was the way of things, although it frustrated her greatly.

With a child-like curiosity, she moved from painting to painting, only stopping to occasionally watch the large monitor above the fireplace. So enamored was she, that she hardly registered the fact that she was no longer in Cambrogia on horseback. In fact, it was not until the sudden, and manly, voice in the back of the room spoke that she at last understood her predicament.

"Mortal?" It had been a long time since she had heard the word, not to mention it had been even longer since she had been one herself. "I'm not a mortal. I'm a vampire you twit. Now if you could just be quiet for...for..." Cass gazed at his face, and immediately associated it with the blatantly redundant paintings on the wall.

"You! You're the man with the face!" Cass gestured to the paintings erratically. "Why would you ruin these things like this? Can't you see you're in too many places at once?"

Places... what place am I in?

"Wait a minute... I was just in Cambrogia. How did I get here? Do you know where the Devourer is? Where Vardren is?" Cass began to seize up--where had she gone off to? Her absentmindedness had always been a problem, but this was simply too far. Vardren was certainly going to hurt her when he found out she ran off with some man--presuming that was what happened to begin with. Cass was about to cry when she remembered the man had asked her name. She then realized how terribly rude she had been but a moment before and inwardly cursed her own escalating insanity.

"I-I'm Cassandra. You may call me Cass if it please you. I'm sorry for being angry with you, but I need to get back to my brother in Cambrogia... Who are you?"

So quickly did her personality vary between hostile and complacent that not even she knew whether or not to attack the man. Violence was generally her default course of action, but something about the man with the face seemed oddly comforting to her. Additionally, she didn't want to do anything to further complicate her chances at finding her brother again.

"Ohhhh! The Devourer sent you...heavens; I heard Destruction had a bit of a tiff with him not too long ago..." The man rose, shirtless and wearing only silk boxer shorts. His hand rose and ran itself along his small stubbled. Another arm rose and ran through his hair, brushing stray strands back into his mane...And then another arm rose and scratched the hair on his chest...

The Man jumped spectacularly out of the chair and landed on the floor, with only two arms at his sides and the body of a normal man, the chink of what sounded like glass seemed odd. A small crack had appeared under the left eye of the nude-male; he ran his hand over the crack and the sound of an egg shell being broken came from the movement. When the hand moved it seemed that the crack had been erased from existence.

"So...Cass was it? Jesus you mortals have such weird names. My names Hothian...uh...lord of you know...madness and stuff." The Demon-Lord turned and poured out a liquid from a bottle - it seemed to defy all physics, and it lacked any discerning colours, simply making Cass feel small...as if the whole universe had been poured into a glass. Hothian took a spoon and dipped it into the liquid before pulling it out of the glass, acting like stringy cheese and being tough to move. He dropped it into his mouth and smiled at Cass, the whole situation seeming mad. "So." He slapped his lips as he chewed on the...thing. "What can I do for you?"

HOTHIAN!

"I-I-I" Cass had to grip the leathery chair to steady herself. It couldn't be real. She must have been dreaming. Even though she didn't want to believe it could be so, the man was all too real. Cassandra began to hyperventilate at the thought of meeting her god: what more could she possibly live for? All the conflicting thoughts--the rage, fear, and excitement--that controlled her mind came forth at once rendering her weak at the thought of it all.

"I'm your biggest admirer! I've read all the books about you--well, all the one's I own at least. Is it true your world is as delightfully random as they say? My brother, Vardren, opened my eyes to your truths, and I have been a devout follower ever since. I love madness too, and...well... there is just so much I wish I could talk to you about--rather, there are so many different voices inside of me that all want to talk to you at once about different things. Is that strange? Have I completely put you off?"

Soon her admiration turned to obsession; the paintings all over the walls were suddenly a hundred times better for bearing the face of her god, and the room a thousand times warmer for having housed him. Cass slunk to her knees, running her hands over the carpet to savor its warmth. After a time, she realized that the devourer must have sent her with a purpose.

"You ask if there is something you can do for me," Cass' eyes lingered on his manly visage, her appetite piqued by his radiant glory. "-but you've already done enough. On the contrary, all I've done is be terribly rude. I'll be punished for this for sure, but until that time comes, is there something... anything I can do for you? I can't say I have much world experience, but I'm good at dancing, cooking, and maiming. Surely you must have something you want done back in the mortal realm?"

Oh how I wish I could be here forever...

Cass lingered, waiting--no, hoping--for him to address her again. She hoped he wasn't offended, but at the same time, was curious to see what he would do if he ever was. She had read tales of the madhouse, and although to any sane person it would be a terrifying destination, to her it was a paradise. Perhaps the only thing more wonderful than meeting Hothian, would be getting a glimpse of his realm for herself, but even she wasn't foolish enough to beg for that privilege.

Hothian looked back and seemed to roll his eyes, turning away from the girl, who was obviously obsessing over the demon-lord. He groaned silently and turned around once more, fully clothed in a swirling edwardian tuxedo, random objects flying across the material, giving it no distinctive pattern. "Look, I mean I appreciate it an all but...you kinda interrupted me during my favourite show..." Hothian put his arm around the smaller woman and walked her to the door. "So uh...here's the uhm..." He pressed his finger against her left breast and she felt a flicker of energy within her. "The uh...knowledge of all the electric guitar songs in existence and uh...how to play them all..." The perplexed god looked at the girl and opened the door to the abyss. "I mean, it's always nice having visitors and all but, I mean, you can understand right? I mean we're friends aren't we." The demon lord wasted no time in an answer, giving her a dazzling, attractive, crude, insane smile to the girl before shoving her out of the door and into the abyss before brushing off his hands and closing the door behind him.

As the girl was rocketed back into reality, Chaaru looked upon here with his dark eyes before smirking. "My lord allows me to gift worshipers of his brethren with 'visits'." The Dark-Elf turned to Vardren. "However, it would appear that Beelzebub is busy with...preparations. Come, we have a long journey through the forests." As the two looked up, they noticed that the moon had risen and night was falling fast, the forests of Combrogia awaiting their entrance...and a huge orange beam of light that seemed to pulsate with pure energy awaited them.

"The first Ark has been opened. You are to come with me and be transported to an area where your skills may be more...useful." Chaaru continued to walk, allowing the two to notice a group of Combrogian-like men riding on horseback from afar - straight towards the party of three.

Vardren stared silently at Cass--she was swinging her head in a ridiculous up and down rythm--the likes of which he'd never seen before. What had Chaaru done to her? Then again, Chaaru spoke of some sort of... visit. If he truly held demonic sway, then perhaps he had shown Cassandra something of the sort.

"Sister." Vardren spoke, "What is this visit the Devourer speaks of?" Cassandra looked up all of a sudden, painfully aware of her surroundings. With a defeated cry, tears came streaming down her face. Obviously, she had been somewhere else after all.

"Oh brother... I saw him! My love..." Cassandra clutched her bosom, only stopping her sobs to utter a combination of profanity an laments. "Will I ever be happy again?" Vardren looked at his disheveled sister with displeasure. This was entirely unlike her, yet there was only one figure she had ever desired to romance, and that was Hothian. He knew that much at least.

Whether this Chaaru is a liar or not, I cannot say. Either he has demonic power beyond everything I have ever known, or he was smart enough to persuade my sister she was with Hothian. Perhaps the latter is more likely, but I suppose he's earned our time, at least for now.

It was then the riders finally came into Vardren's view. Licking his lips, the vampire really hoped they were hostile. He was beginning to get peckish.

"Cass. Brace yourself--it looks as if we might have company. You do love company don't you?" Both vampires watched Chaaru with analytical skepticism. He was leading the way now, and whether or not Vardren wanted to believe it, aiding the Devourer was the only way he was going to get closer to his goals.

[Aureyon]

Ech Zilidar- North Wall

“Sir, the North-Eastern wall has fallen. We are doing what we can to hold back the orc invaders, but they will soon break through our lines!” a dwarf stained in blood, spoke swiftly and out of breath. The dwarf eyed the one he was delivering the message to, and awaited a response from him.

Clinking could be heard as the recipient of the message turned and eyed the messenger, with proud and noble emerald eyes; the eyes appeared to be a light with a fire that seemed to burn as strongly as Vulcan's forges. The iron-beard dwarf inhaled deeply, and began speaking in his gruff and powerful voice.

“Do not let them into our city. The Namorians have sent a legion to aid us, but they will be delayed. The paths to Ech Zilidar are...difficult, We must hold out.” his voice echoed in the silence that had fallen over those present at the exchange between the two warriors.

“Aye, sir.” the messenger said before departing back towards the North-Eastern wall.

The iron-beard sighed and turned to the assembled dwarves, all dressed in battle-worn armor, that was rent with dents and openings where enemy weapons had met the armor. If it were not dwarven-made, many of those standing in this pavilion would not be with him right now. Thankfully, they were gifted with the craft, by Vulcan himself; though this particular dwarf was not, he was gifted in a different way.

“Commanders, we must defend the walls to the last man. We cannot allow them to break through to Vulcan's Anvil. If they get that far, we will make our final stand upon the forges of our ancestors. Do not waste unnecessary resources on keeping the walls intact, they can be rebuilt. The lives of our people, and our heritage are far more important. Defend your sections of the walls until they can no longer be defended, and then fall back to Vulcan's Anvil.” he paused, and looked at the dwarves around him; 10 stern-faced, sturdy, and well-armored dwarves faced him, eyes alight with loyalty and respect.

“For Vulcan!” the iron beard roared, the deafening roar of ten dwarves echoing amidst the silent pavilion, and the sound of rushing feet as the commanders made their way to the walls designated to them. The dwarves were stretched thin, but they would have to hold out until help arrived, or until every last dwarf was slain.

“General Jornak, sir, you're needed at the North Eastern Wall, immediately”, nodding the Iron-beard sprinted towards the wall and eyed the defenders engaged in a stalemate with the orcs, and their allies. Upon arriving, he found that the commander that had been in charge of defending this wall was dead, and that they were losing ground quickly.

“Summon the mages”, Jornak said quickly to the messenger, who promptly zoomed off into the distance for the dwarven mages.

“Drork...Forni, come here!” he called out, the two closest dwarves rushing to him from the defensive line. “Aye, sir?” they spoke in unison, and looked upon the Hero of Dun Moriga with respect and admiration.

“Pour the oil along the walls on the outside, and pass it along. I want the wall covered from top to bottom in the oil.”, Jornak commanded with authority and power. A plan was formulating in his mind already, and had been upon arriving at his destination. He would create a wall of fire that would at least halt the invaders for a short time until it could be put out, in which case a new wave of attackers would begin assaulting the breach, only to find the dwarves having rallied together, and prepared to push back.

Jornak watched as the wall was covered in the oil, thick and rank with a stench that wasn't foreign to his nose. He had grown up in Ech Zilidar, and to smell oil was a common thing. It was a popular item in most dwarven communities, though not often was it used as he would use it now. His attention was diverted as the messenger returned with three mages, and he frowned slightly...

“This is all we have?” He questions a slight concern flashing across his face, before it solidified into impassiveness once again. If this were truly all that remained of the dwarven mages, then things were about to become increasingly difficult for them.

“Aye sir. All that could be spared on such short notice. All sections are reporting massive attacks, and breaches are coming about everywhere. We have already lost the western half of the city to the orcs and their foul kindred” the messenger spoke, spitting on the ground in defiance of the enemy entering Ech Zilidar.

Jornak nodded, and took the information with relative ease. He stepped away from the messenger, his eyes glazing only a moment before returning to his current location, and he turned back to the mages, and the messenger.

“Tell all remaining forces to abandon their posts. Fall back to Vulcan's Anvil, get the people to the Anvil and seal them inside. We can at least protect them from this evil.” he spoke to the messenger, and nodded as the poor dwarf zoomed off again. He turned to the mages,

“I need you to light the oil on fire that is over the walls. It will buy us some time to retreat and rally.” Jornak spoke simply, and watched as the mages did their job, and within a few minutes the entire North-Eastern section of Ech Zilidar was coated in a thick smoke; and as he predicted, the invaders fell back from the burning wall, and regrouped to calm the confusion and disorder spreading through their ranks.

The dwarves themselves cheered, and rallied in front of Jornak Iron-Beard, and the echo of “Iron-Beard” could be heard prominently across the section of the city. He silenced the crowd with a single hand lifted into the air, and he began his speech.

“My friends, Vulcan honors us this day. He has given us many enemies upon which our axes and blades will fall. He gives us the gift of fire to rally our spirits, and he gives us the gift of brotherhood and camaraderie as we face down this darkness. We are the dwarves of Dun Moriga, Our Spirit is of Eternum, our Essence of Fire and Metal, and our Hearts of the purest stone. We will not falter in our defiance against this evil, we will prevail, or we will die trying. Our ancestors would be honored today, no matter the outcome. We fight for our families, for our freedoms, and for our HOMELAND!” Jornak finished with a mighty roar and a arm brandishing his war-axe raised in the air.

The dwarves now rallied, and given hope, began to must a defensive line. “Shields in front” a voice echoed, “Pikemen”behind to provide support echoed another, and a final voice said “Guardians behind as the last resort”, this voice in particular was Jornaks', and he joined the dwarves as a last line of defense. The were now organized and greeted the enemy with renewed vigor.

“Lord Jornak, sir. You are wanted in the Elders Council, immediately” Jornak nodded a the message and turned to his left, to a dwarf, heavily armored in a brilliant luster metal, and he commanded.

“Defend this position. Retreat to Vulcan's Anvil if all else fails. The city and it's residents are being moved to the Anvil. The rest of the army will be waiting there. Abandon the siege weapons if you must, but sabotage them, we need not give the enemy anymore advantage over us”, he finished, and turned to leave the field of battle for the Elders council, curious as to why they would want to see him, of all people.

[Azazeal849]

SHARKTOOTH BAY

"It who thirsts within the darkness to consume its prey." Gabriel said out loud and to himself, in his normal monotonic manner.

"What part of shut up didn't make it through that mask of yours?" Salvius growled without turning round.

"Salvius...I just want to be perfectly clear when I say...I didn't want Kuronus to die or be hurt. The way I said it was abrupt and harsh. I forget the easiness of the heart at times and how it can be swayed from one thought to another."

Caught off guard, Salvius just stared at Gabriel incredulously. Fuck the gods, was that an attempt at an apology? He even forgot to get angry at the customary earthborn superiority implied by the final sentence.

"However...I won't take back what I said about him dying an honourable death for us. That being said...I was like you. I wanted to go back and save him, but knew if we did that, we would have thrown away everything he was going to sacrifice for us. I just want you to know, anything Kuronus did for us was not in vain, and I'm sure he survived. The beast within him would most definitely make sure of that."

Salvius grunted by way of agreement. Well, I asked him to start speaking sense. Apparently, here it is.

"One thing I want to know, Salvius, before we get this stranger's answer to your question - which I want to know too - what do you truly know about the gods and the demon lords? It seems pretty fascinating how people view them and personify them, though they probably never met them before." Gabriel asked as he took some sand along to Numiera's castle and began to add it upon what she had already built.

Salvius looked at Gabriel warily, suddenly wondering if there was something more to the earthborn's question. He was thinking of Gaea's words when the earth god had revealed itself to him, and warned him about the dangers awaiting underground. He still hadn't told any of the group about the vision. You have great power inside of you, Gaea had said. Salvius hoped that was true. He would need it when they reached Tartarus - if the bastard earthborn admiral that their jailer had mentioned ever got back, so that they could talk their way out of this cell.

Gabriel's question however seemed guileless enough, and in the absence of anything better to do, Salvius sat down with a sigh and watched as Gabriel and Numiera continued to build their little sand castle. Who knew, maybe even an earthborn could learn.

"The gods generally don't bother with folk like me." he said after a moment. "They know I can take care of myself. I don't think anyone that I know personally has seen one of them, either. Well, there was one centurion from 5th cohort who swore he'd met Venus in a Hercinian whore-house, but he was pissed at the time." Salvius chuckled slightly. "Still, there's plenty of people who have seen gods, even just in Namor province. They say Mars appears to the emperor at the start of every new year so he can give Mighty Galen his vision for the imperium. Wonder if he told him about this whole shit-storm before it kicked off..."

The centurion paused reflectively.

"They say Mars appears differently to different people - I've always imagined him looking a bit like old legatus Marcius. That kind of natural authority that you instinctively know not to fuck with. As for demons..." He chuckled again, darkly. "I've never seen one of them either, but if half of what I heard is true then our quest for the Stones is going to get interesting. And if nothing else, we'll all get to meet at least one god on the way into Tartarus. Ra doesn't usually have much to do with us Namorians, mind. He's more of an Afragian god. Tell you the truth, I was almost hoping that princess Nesara would stay with us once she'd sorted things out in Ech."

He fell silent for a moment, his thoughts turning to the Afragian princess and a conversation he and Kuronus had shared on the way into Dun Moriga.

"So what do you think about the princess joining us?" Kuronus had asked. It had been Altius' turn to give Nesara his horse and the praetorian was walking alongside her, holding the reins as he led the animal through a patch of loose stones. Nesara had persuaded Salvius to let Numiera go hunting for game, albeit under the centurion's terse instructions not to wander too far, which left Salvius and his friend to scout the road ahead of their small group. Although they remained vigilant, both men were less tense now. They seemed to have left the vikings far behind, and the ominous presence that had been shadowing them seemed to have departed.

"She outranks me." Salvius shrugged, causing the scale armour under his cloak to chink as it shifted. Higher in the mountains the air had turned cold, and his breath misted the air. "Until going after the gods-damn Stones takes us another way, I can't exactly stop her from accompanying us as far as Ech."

"You know," Kuronus said, getting a sly look in his eye, "I think she likes you Varro. Offering to give you a backrub back at camp, before those barbarians rudely interrupted?"

Salvius let out a bark of laughter. "She's a weird sort of princess, but I don't think she's that weird."

Kuronus gave him a wolfish grin. "But...?"

"Huh. You mean if we didn't both have a duty to do, and if she wasn't so far out of my league, and if she didn't know that as well as me?" Salvius paused, pretending to think. "Yeah, she'd get one."

When both men had finished chuckling, he added, "I'm still not sure what to make of her, but there's no harm in seeing her to Ech. After that there's always Amelia back in Emor."

Kuronus cocked a dark eyebrow. "And how much would she set you back?"

"Hey, I don't pay for it. She does it for love."

"What is she loving, exactly? Because it sure as hell isn't your face."

Salvius grinned toothily and patted the hilt of his cavalry spatha. "Maybe it's the size of my weapon."

The memory from their trek towards Dun Moriga left a bitter taste in Salvius' mouth. Nevertheless, he had to admit that if the earthborn Gabriel was telling the truth, then they had one thing in common at least. They both hoped that Kuronus and Nesara still lived, even if the chances of them finding each other again were now remote. Sorting things out in Ech seemed like a tall order now, even for a princess who had counselled Salvius to never abandon hope.

Without his sword to hand, Salvius touched the iron scales of his armour to dispel the bad luck of his dark thoughts.

* * * * * *

ECH ZILIDAR

While the rest of the group Nesara had arrived with had been sent down to the prisons, the princess was treated in an entirely different manner. She had conversed with King Vagrund about who they were and what was the purpose of her being with such mixed company. The relations between Dun Moriga and Afragia were very close, both living in the same manner - underground for the most part. The two kingdoms had co-existed very well together for many generations. For Nesara, King Vagrund was thought of much as a relative she would see a few times a year. Knowing her way from one palace to the other being second nature as it were. Knowing better than to expect him to just let her company free by request. The princess was escorted kindly to guest quarters usually reserved for her or others of like title to wash and rest as the King would have to consider all she told him of the stones, and her need for help for her own people as well.

It wasn't until she was summoned to council by the elders, that the King's fate and those of the group had been exposed to those at the table. This news took an effect on her, having known the now late King for so long. Nesara however has been to these councils before. As such, for one to be called quickly meant only a handfull of things, well aware of the invasion of the orcs as they had passed them by earlier in a mad race to the gates.

"Princess Nesara..." the oldest dwarf, Argam, addressed her while sitting down at the head of the long table, the lady to his left out of respect, "though our King's death had come at a...ill conceived time, we are glad for your safe arrival since our messages to Afragia have, as you know, been either intercepted or worse."

"I am only too glad to lend my support and voice to the Elders during this time, Lord Argam." Nesara said with a tone of voice that expressed her deepest sympathy.

"Such shall be needed during this council my Lady. We ask that you be present for the burial rites tonight of our late King as I know he would have wished. Time is pressing in many ways so I'm afraid the week long customs for our King's funeral will have to be forgone." There was mumbles of many voices heard as some expressed their saddened agreement of this, others directing anger at the orcs, others still mumbling a prayer to the fallen ruler upon the mentioning of his name.

"Of course Elder Argam, I would be honored to attend his last rites and help however I can tonight. Your wish for my presence is most humbling." The princess said after taking a sip of the dwarf mead which was in every goblet at the long table.

"Now we must decide who his successor will be, those fighting out there need a leader who will give reason for their efforts, besides to protect the citizens." A separate elder spoke, seeming to want to get this over as quickly as possible. Most council meetings of the Elders took days before for any decision of this magnitude would be reached. However the blood that covered Ech Zilidar was a strong reason to discuss matters with haste.

Before the call of elders was reported to take into the scrolls who all were in attendance. The grand doors of the throne room, which were heavily guarded, opened up to grant access to the council's representatives from Namor - senator Agrippa and praetor Graccus.

* * * * * *

As praetor Graccus stalked through the jewelled halls of Vagrund's palace, he couldn't help but feel that he was in the wrong place. As the emperor's representative in Dun Moriga province - what was left of it - it was his duty to sit in on the emergency meetings of the dwarven elders, but his old martial instincts were pulling him back towards the front line. The gates had held, but a section of the northeast wall had collapsed under a battering of siege engines. Chaos had resulted as the orcs rampaged through the city, outflanking some defenders and forcing others to abandon their positions in the confusion. Gods only knew how many Dun Morigan civilians had been butchered in their homes. The dwarven general Jornak had stabilised the situation and bought time for the remnants of the Ferrata and Moriga legions to fall back, but the situation was now dire. Graccus could hear the howling of the orcs even from inside the palace now, along with the screams of civilians who were clawing their way towards the relative safety of Vulcan's Anvil. The praetor reflected blackly that even if he had remained with his men, there was little he could do to force them into position any faster than their own centurions. The civilians were cramming the streets, making it impossible for Graccus' troops to redeploy effectively.

Graccus found himself cursing the late king Vagrund's name - for his mad sally into the catacombs after a handful of prisoners who had slighted his honour, when the city above needed his leadership, and for the end of Ech Zilidar that his death seemed to have heralded. Graccus had tried to keep the news of Vagrund's death from spreading through the city, but it had already been too late by the time he himself had heard of it. As the emperor's word and will, it was also Graccus' job to countersign the elder council's order to abandon the city. But Graccus sensed that there would be no evacuation of Ech Zilidar now. Vagrund's death had driven the dwarf soldiers into a nihilistic rage, and many of them had stubbornly held their ground when the orcs poured through the north wall. The orgy of suicidal heroics had slowed the orcs long enough for Jornak to close the breach with fire, but it had also bled the defenders white.

Around Graccus, the jewels set into the walls sparkled in the light - channelled down from the surface by an intricate system of mirrors. Nearer the central chamber, the reflected flicker of torchlight made the gemstones glow as red as blood. These walls had stood for thousands of years, but now, Graccus knew, it was only a matter of time before the lights of the Dun Morigan capital went out.

Graccus was brought back to the task at hand - the possibly final meeting of the dwarf elders - by the toga-clad man waiting for him by the door. Of all the people Graccus had expected to see in Ech Zilidar's final hours, the Namorian ambassador to the Afragian court was not one of them.

"Senator Agrippa?" Graccus said, trying to mask his surprise.

"Praetor." the other man inclined his head, as calmly as if the crisis outside wasn't even happening. Senator Lucius Agrippa was a craggy, weather-beaten man; tanned by years spent in both Namor and Afragia, so that he looked out of place in the sunless dwarf caverns. His face would almost have been fatherly if it wasn't so stern, and was topped by curly hair that had faded to grey. His eyes were appraising and intelligent beneath his thin eyebrows.

"I thought you would still be in Afragia?" Graccus asked stiffly. He had only met the senator once before, during a state visit to the Afragian capital, but it had been sufficient to make him dislike the man. Unlike most of the imperium's senators, Agrippa had gained his office not after military service but by political connections and simple oratory skill. His interest in acting as ambassador to Afragia no doubt stemmed from the silver mines his family were invested in over there. Praetor Graccus liked to think that he was good at reading people, and although Agrippa had talked often of prosperity and stability, he struck Graccus as a man who was always quietly seeking ways to advance his own means. Recently though, Agrippa had overstretched himself; being a key player in brokering the alliance with the earthborn, he had earned the emperor's ire when the alliance proved to have more strings attached than expected - which was probably why he was hiding out here in the east.

Senator Agrippa stepped aside so that Graccus could walk alongside him to the throne room door. "I came here looking for the princess." he explained.

Ah, Graccus thought, Of course. The senator had managed to ingratiate himself to the young monarch by vetting her loyalty to the imperium before her coronation, ensuring her ascension to the throne. Out of favour with the emperor, he had simply stepped back into the aegis of another patron.

"How did you know she was coming here?" Graccus challenged the senator. "Word from the Afragian council was that she was headed to Namor."

"I didn't." the senator admitted, with a paternal smile. "I got caught up in the siege when I tried to stop for supplies at Azulfa, and ended up here. But as luck would have it, the princess came to me."

"And ended up trapped with the rest of us." Graccus said darkly, not reciprocating the smile. "What did you want with her anyway?"

If Agrippa was offended, he didn't let it show. "I wanted her to reconsider and return to her people. The plebians aren't the most rational of herds, and their morale suffered when they saw their monarch leave just as the raids on the border were getting worse and worse. Some of the ingrates even suggested she was fleeing to save her own skin. I wanted to council her to return to Afragia and let me carry her message to the emperor in her stead."

And claim all the credit when the relief army arrived, is that it? Graccus thought. "The only way back to Afragia now is through that gods-damn horde. We need to evacuate west - get the civilians out."

"I agree with you." senator Agrippa said, levelly. "But evacuation isn't the elders' first order of business right now."

Even though he had expected it, praetor Graccus felt his heart sink. "I see."

Agrippa pushed the golden door before them inwards, and a view of the throne room beyond opened up. The walls were still hung with paintings and dully-glowing pink sapphires, but the king's emerald throne stood empty, and the fur-carpeted floor in front of it was set with a long table carved from onyx. Around the table were seated the dwarven elders, and princess Nesara.

As a show of welcome the dwarves along with Nesara all stood from their seats to welcome the last two who had been called to the council.

"Ah good timing." Elder Argam smiled, slowly sitting back down at the head of the table and motioning with a hand for the two to take the last two seats. “We were just about to start talks of the king's successor; the more voices on the matter the better.”

"Elders." Agrippa said, bowing deeply to the council and then to Nesara. "Princess."

"Council." Graccus added, with a rather more curt nod. He knew the Dun Morigans valued their ritual proprieties, but now seemed a bad time to not get straight to the point. "With all due respect to you and to Vagrund's memory, now isn't the time to be choosing Ech Zilidar's king. We should be choosing how best to save its people."

There were mutters around the table as Graccus sat down. Lord Duro, a sharp-faced dwarf with silver hairs flecked through the black of his hair and his neatly cut beard, leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

"Praetor." he said quietly. As the emperor's delegate in overwatching the dwarf government, Graccus still commanded some respect. "As you must know, the king is the embodiment of all Dun Moriga's power, the example who all dwarfs look up to. Without him the people of Ech Zilidar are nothing. Whether our people fight or flee, there must always be a king."

"The situation out there is untenable." Graccus argued. "From two legions I now have less than nine cohorts battle-worthy, and they can barely move. Jornak is rallying the royal army at Vulcan's Anvil, but the only people still manning the walls are a few suicidal die-hards. They've got no-one resupplying them, and as soon as they run out of ammunition the greyskins are going to realise it and pour over, and that's not counting the breach in the northeast wall. It is my military opinion that Ech Zilidar will fall within days, if not hours."

This time, as the praetor had expected, there was a stronger reaction from the elders. Lord Argam was shaking his head. Senator Agrippa was conspicuously silent, taking a sip from his mead as he glanced round the table and settled his eyes on Nesara.

"Jornak will hold them." lord Duro said. "He must. This is our home, our capital. All our culture is here!"

"Did the emperor appoint a coward to lead his legions?" demanded a dwarf with a beard twisted into blonde braids, less measured in his response.

"No, he appointed a realist." Graccus countered, his own goblet sitting untouched by his elbow. "Whether we stand or retreat, the civilians have to be removed from the city. I would suggest the Great Western tunnel to the surface, and then west towards Combrogia."

"Send them away?" said the dwarf with the blonde beard. "They wouldn't agree to it even if we did! Now is the time for every dwarf to take up arms! I say make Jornak king! Everyone who can hold a sword would rally behind the Hero of Dun Moriga, and then we'd have a chance of stopping these orcs!"

Princess Nesara listened intently, as Graccus tried to convince the elders to save the dwarves by means of retreat and escape. Dwarves were all for honour, for tradition; she had to hold herself in check not to shake her head at him for even suggesting the matter that fell of deaf ears.

However...it did bring up a thought. Looking to Agrippa, who was already shooting her a significant look from his own seat, she said: "Senator Agrippa, how many of my troops, including reserves, are there. Total, not available, I want the full count estimation."

Elder Argam with his white hair and time-weathered face pitched an ear to her; he knew she wouldn't have asked without a reason behind.

“Five hundred men of the royal guard, under your personal command.” Agrippa said, playing his part. “Another six thousand regulars, and perhaps ten thousand who could be levied at short notice. In fact, the Afragian senate was already considering calling the muster when we lost contact with the surface city of Kerma. And of course there are the other five cohorts of the legio Ferrata.”

“Which would have been more useful here.” praetor Graccus murmured bitterly.

“This is irrelevant!” snapped the blonde-bearded dwarf. “I put forth again: Jornak should be our new king.”

As the conversation continued, lord Argam nodded to his right, to a dwarf of light red hair with plenty of blonde mixed into the beard - not yet white with age as were the others. The red-haired dwarf slammed his silver goblet down a few times to call order to the matter after Jornak's name was suggested again, demanding silence so Argam could speak and be better heard.

"The Hero of Dun Moriga cannot be king. There is one law that none of us can ignore, even in such pressing times as this. Jornak, though his honour and self have proven true to the kingdom, is unwed. Every potential king must be married to assure his bloodline is carried. Jornak has sacrificed such for duty. No, he cannot be our king."

"Ah, but with the orcs! The dwarves at Anvil can overlook such right now.” The dwarf with twisted blonde braids brought to the table. “He can always wed after the war to still uphold honour to his bloodline and the laws."

Nods from a few of the others followed suit to this suggestion, but they were equally matched by shakes of disapproval.

"No,” said one elder, “I can agree to the decision of shortening the burial rites for our fallen king. But not this! He has to be married! What of Dermot? He already has a 10 year old son and a dear wife. He isn't Jornak but his mind is suitable for kingship."

"I will not put my vote for the confounded Dermot!” spoke lord Duro, the dwarf with salt and pepper hair, who managed remarkably to hold his tongue against Graccus, but not this. “He can be persuaded too easily at times. He won't hold to the ancient laws if the right voice got to 'im!"

Nesara was thinking hard as they delegated and spoke of worthy candidates - harder after Agrippa's answer – even as she cast out two other names herself that she thought were good dwarves for the title. She did know of Jornak, and had met him a handful of times before. He held the common dwarf's ears as well as the elders', which was what they needed now. But ancient laws - older than the funeral rites of kings - stopped him dead from being voted. Even though kingship was no longer hereditary in Dun Moriga, the laws remained.

"My lady Nesara, you seem to have something in that mind of yours?" lord Argam said to her in a soft tone.

He was right, her thoughts needed to be voiced. But...if the council of elders agreed, this meant great sacrifice on her part. Then again, it would also give her the support she needed...among other things, good and bad. Nodding to lord Argam, she spoke with respect towards all at the table, while showing to all the ways of a true leader.

"Dun Moriga and Afragia have been closely interconnected for many generations. Though now we both are in need of each others' aid for support. The fallen king will not go unhonoured tonight; if what I have to say agrees with the council."

Gathering everyone's attention, she looked to all at the table while she spoke.

"We all know reinforcements are needed in both our lands, yet we cannot afford to spare even one life. However there is another way...Afragia's capital of Tu Zenita Duksal has prospered greatly from its links to the dwarven city of Lun Garath, where our peoples first made contact. Its heavily fortified walls still hold strong to this day. What if we combined forces then? Take everyone here to Tu Zenita Duksal. We can make that travel using the secret passageways and make it. The dwarves that fight here will fight, as your history still holds its own strength there. When our numbers are stronger we together shall fight back and reclaim Dun Moriga. The numbers would work, and there are enough resources like silver still yet untapped to supply the efforts and weapons that only you know how to access.”

“Combine the armies?” Graccus asked, cautiously.

Senator Agrippa steepled his fingers and smiled mildly at the praetor. “We are all allies under the Pax Namoria are we not?”

“A joint military venture, without Emor's approval...” Graccus said, trying to put his worry into words. “The emperor may not like it.”

“I have vouched for the princess' loyalty in the past,” the senator countered. “And I am quite happy to do so again. And you are a praetor, with the emperor's mandate – if you agree then what is the problem? What is vital is that the power structure of Dun Moriga and Afragia remains intact, so that we can recover from this war. Stability, praetor. Endurance. The imperium has weathered storms before and it will weather this one.”

The senator's words were very pretty, but right then Graccus actually found himself hoping that when the orc attack inevitably spread towards Afragia, the greyskins would burn down Agrippa's precious silver mines before they were halted. Two provinces would wield greater influence than one...and he would be at the right hand of its princess. Fuck the gods, Dun Moriga's burning and he's setting himself up to be king of the ashes.

“Now.” Nesara said, “I said the fallen king would not go without due honour, and I hear the name of Jornak raised by many voices here."

“He is still unmarried, princess.” lord Argam reminded her gently.

Giving a pause to stand up, princess Nesara held her hands softly together in great poise. "If we combine forces, then let us combine kingdoms as well. Honour king Vagrund with a royal marriage and the crowning of the new king."

She looked to both lord Agram and then to senator Agrippa, her eyes daring him to even try to object. He and the senate council had been pleading her to take a suitor in marriage for some time now.

"I give myself, as princess Nesara Kamienrah of the kingdom Afragia, daughter of the late king Tankroun and queen Missiera, to the council to wed to Jornak if he is to be king tonight.”

As he caught the look between Nesara and Agrippa, and the senator's surprised expression, praetor Graccus belatedly realised that the princess' plans went even deeper than Agrippa's.

“Is this...truly your wish, princess?” the grey-haired senator asked. He was the only one to speak in the silence that followed Nesara's words.

Nesara nodded solemnly. And then, to Graccus' surprise, senator Agrippa smiled. It was an approving, fatherly smile, but for some reason Graccus didn't like the look of it.

Twelve hells. We've either just saved the imperium, or damned it.

[Death of Korzan]

Dun Moriga

The rays of the sun pounded vibrantly and violently against the hull of the Destroyer class battleship. It floated high within space, the UNSV Waterloo – as it was called - rotating around Eternum. The ship had arrived months ago, when the call for Earthborn aid in a war against the South was answered with a tenuous ‘no’, whilst a ‘senator’ battleship would rotate around the planet, providing emergency aid for the planets inhabitants if they needed it at any point.

Within the flight deck of the ship, various alerts began to sound. A single man in a satin outfit, coloured scarlet in nature sat at a desk bashing at different buttons and running his fingers along a translucent ‘screen’ that hovered in the air. An image of a huge golden beam erecting itself from the magnificent forest of Combrogia – as the natives called it – showed itself on the screen. The man began to make seemingly impossible calculations, aided by an AI system that lurked within the ships main database. His face begun to pale as the calculations provided answers to his questions. He sat up and stormed off to the captain’s post on the bridge, data in hand.

As he arrived at the door to the bridge, he placed his hand on a monitor and a quick light ran itself along his limb before giving off a DING. The doors hissed and slid open, smoothly and quickly. The man ran into the room and towards a man dressed in grey formal attire – the clothing of a Destroyer class Captain.

“Sir…I have something odd to show you.”
The captain turned to the man, his eyes squinting at him before nodding his head – ushering him to continue. The younger male flicked his hand and from a metal circlet around his wrist a hologram of the events transpiring on Eternum appeared, the Orange beam of energy. “By my calculations…this energy beam is flowing faster than the speed of light; even our Hyper-drives couldn't keep up with this stuff.”

The Captain paused for a second before turning around to another group of people, all sat at computers around the room. “Lieutenant Croft, I want you on the phone to the Military Deck – I want to know why they’re using and where they’ve got faster than light technology.” The Lieutenant stood and saluted.

“Yes Captain Ceylan Sir!” The Lieutenant sat back down and began to type onto a touch screen in front of him, relaying the message to the Military decks.

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

At the end of the mountain road, the entrance to the Great Western tunnel loomed wide, continuing straight as an arrow down into the heart of the mountain. The entrance was marked by an elaborate stone arch carved with both the imperial eagle and the stylised hammer of Dun Moriga. Fulminata scouts guarded the tunnel entrance, but no native watchmen or toll-masters were in evidence. They also hadn't seen any traders on the mountain road, nor even any refugees. Something was very wrong.

Dux Marcius swung down from his saddle using his good hand, and gazed through the throng of soldiers at the tunnel. It was smoothly cut, the floor reinforced with paving stones, and wide enough for two wagons to travel abreast. The way ahead should have been dark, but a cunning system of mirrors reflected sunlight down the tunnel to guide their way, and torches stood ready in wall brackets for when night fell. Another ominous sign, Marcius noted; the oil-soaked rags that had been wound around the tops of the torches were dry - the torches did not appear to have been lit or tended to for several days.

The main road was wide and straight, Marcius knew, but nearer to Ech Zilidar it turned into a warren of easily-defensible corners and sentinel gates, while the traders and their carts had to make do with an arterial road that curved round the city and emerged into the cavern some distance from the walls. There were no easy ways into Dun Moriga - no direct routes for attackers to exploit.

Around Marcius, his tribunes followed suit in dismounting. Legate Septim was behind them - as promised, his red-crested Romans would follow the Namorian vanguard down into the mountain. Varinius had wanted a swarm of Zhnegra's crocolykes to precede the column and scout for any surprises, but the saurians were sluggish and less effective in the cold underground. Behind Marcius, Cassius helped Elisavet down from her horse. In truth, being near the woman who had told him of his family's death caused Marcius intense pain, but he could not turn away a messenger of the gods.

"Second cohort will lead the way." Marcius ordered without turning round. "Scout teams to spread ahead through the diverging tunnels to make contact with the dwarfs at Ech."

"Very good, general." prefect Lucullis nodded, saluting crisply and turning away in a swirl of his blue cloak to relay the orders.

"Dux Marcius, sir!" a voice suddenly rang out. Marcius wheeled away from the tunnel entrance, to be confronted by gun captain Agron of the legion artillery train. Clean shaven and clad in a cut-down suit of Namorian lorica, the dwarf was square-jawed and powerfully built.

"Sir," the gun captain continued, stopping to thump his fist to his chest and then extend the open palm in salute. "I have a request for ye."

Marcius nodded. "Yes?"

Captain Agron straightened, his right hand resting on the pommel of his gladius. "Sir, my gun crews and I ask permission to be in the vanguard. So we can be the first to get to grips with whatever is threatenin' our homeland."

The dux's expression remained stony. "Permission denied, captain."

For a second, the dwarven gun captain didn't seem to process the words. Then his mouth fell open in outrage. "Sir!" he protested, "Ye'll have no use for the cannons in those tunnels!"

"The caverns?" Marcius snapped. "Afragia? Wherever the legion is needed after that? I will need the cannons then, and the trained legionaries to man them! What in the twelve hells use are you to me if you're lying dead of an ambush somewhere outside Ech Zilidar?" He took a breath, and snorted it back down his nose. "You and your men will remain with the artillery train."

Agron's mouth worked soundlessly for a second, but he evidently couldn't find words that were civil enough to address the commander with. He closed his mouth without speaking and stood rigidly to attention, fuming.

"Sir." Varinius' gruff voice put in. The older tribune had never had any qualms about voicing his opinions, even to his superior. "If we win, Ech has plenty of dwarfs who can use a gun. If we lose, we're fucked anyhow. This is their home. Let Agron and his boys have a go at the bastards threatening it."

There was a pregnant pause. Marcius tensed his jaw, looking at Varinius for a long moment before turning back to Agron.

"Your gun crews can accompany the vanguard." he told the dwarf at last. "But follow Varinius' lead. I want battle discipline to be maintained."

Agron nodded stiffly, still angry at Marcius for his earlier refusal. "Thank you, sir."

Marcius turned on his heel, striding away from the knot of officers in search of space to think. As he turned away, Varinius and Cassius exchanged a look, puzzled by the dux's uncharacteristic vehemence.

From above the huge group of troops came a hum so substantial that it shook the Earth. From the clouds dropped an Earthborn transport ship, not fully weaponized but enough to destroy the whole legion if it willed it. It was shaped like a stingray but with rockets that constantly shifted and changed position as the pilot willed.

"Sir we have a visual on the nearest presence of the Empire." The Pilot spoke, his hand holding onto a holographic joystick that moved the ship around before settling at a point a few metres above the ground, over a stretch of land that had not been swarmed by the forces of the Namorian Empire. A rotating plasma cannon, holding a huge amount of power dropped from the bottom half of the ship, pointing it's intimidating form towards the front line of the Namorian ground troops. From the sides of the cockpit, where a single pilot was visible, two globes opened with a hiss and a clunk, before stretching out and revealing the fully rotating guns, manned by two people.

Hercules and Achilles smirked, finding tragic humour in the fact that technically the force commanded by Dux Marcius was outgunned, outmatched and would be obliterated within mere seconds by the human ship. The actual comedy was that the ship barely held any combat strength versus an actual Earthborn cruiser, not to mention the UNSV Waterloo...

From below the ship a small deck opened out, revealing a rectangle shaped slope that ran up into the darkness of the ship. From the top of the metal slope - which was within the bottom of the ship - walked a huge soldier, holding a huge gun, larger than most. At its side was a counter for plasma charge and power, though the numbers would be largely unknown to most of the force, other than those who would have learned the Earthborn language English.

The huge troop walked down the slope slowly; deliberately; delicately... His feet stomped at the ground and created clanking noises, echoing through the hull of the ship. His face was covered in a helmet and his very figure - at 8 foot tall and maybe more, with an obvious excess of muscle - seemed to intimidate some of the troops, though the immortals and the Crocolykes did not move a muscle, staring down the Earthborn in his face. As the soldier walked, his helmet began to fold off of him, the malleable metal seemingly melting off of his face and revealing his sharp, commanding features; oddly attractive yet clearly roughened by combat.

"I request that I speak to your commanding officer." His voice was deep and posh in nature, his use of Namorian very well interpreted; it were as if it were the Troops first language.

"Oh bloody hell." tribune Varinius cursed quietly. "Earthborn."

Some of the legionaries around him, who hadn't seen the earthborn or their technology before, touched iron or clutched at amulets as if fearing that they were in the presence of another agent of the gods. With the Fulminata's original 2nd cohort badly mauled at Hercine, most of them were tall, blonde-haired Combrogi from the reinforcing 7th legion - but even they looked small compared to the earthborn marine. Beside Varinius, gun captain Agron curled his hand warily around his sword hilt.

The lines of legionaries parted as dux Marcius appeared, surfacing from his private reverie and striding to meet the armoured giant with his indigo cloak thrown over one shoulder, the eagle clasp with its captive hammer and sun shining in the glare of the dropship's engines. The commander's face was stony as he glanced briefly at Hercules and Achilles, standing nearby. He had seen them smile, and he did not like it. Letting his cloak cover his injured right hand, he rested his left on his sword pommel and came to a halt three paces in front of the earthborn soldier. Varrius, the glowering bodyguard, ghosted to his side.

"I command here." Marcius said, his tone formal. He was dwarfed by the earthborn's armoured battlesuit, but he met the other man's gaze levelly. "My name is Decius Marcius, dux Orientem of the imperium of emperor Galen Hippocrates Claudius. On behalf of the emperor and the people of Emor, I extend their greetings to our valued allies."

"I am Marine 2435614, codename: Axum." Axum gripped at his rifle, his fingers slowly flicking themselves out, as if ready to press down upon the trigger. "I have come to inquire as to how the Imperium has acquired faster than light technology."

The Marine turned to the huge orange beam and looked at it before turning his head and looking at Marcius, his face portraying a coldness that was never warmed within him.

"I have also been sent as an emissary by the United Nations of Earth. We state that if we discover you are hiding evidence of other space-dwelling life upon your planet then there will be serious...repercussions. The official government of Earth has not enacted violently to your planet; though our corporations mine and farm here."

Axum turned his head and squinted at the Dux, a much smaller man than he. "Where have you got this technology?"

Marcius had to fight his confusion, even as he bristled at Axum's threat. He followed the marine's gaze and turned to look back at the amber pillar of light, still visible above the mountains that now lay behind them.

"I must confess," he said calmly, determined not to show weakness even as he was forced to betray ignorance. "That I don't know what is causing that. If it's a sign from the gods, then it's one that they have not seen fit to explain to us."

Axum huffed and turned his back to Marcius, his helmet remolding itself around his head. "If we find that the Imperium is keeping such huge secrets from us, then I must consign to warn you: there are 3 million more genetically engineered Marines just like me - stronger, faster...better than you. Keep that in mind Namorian. We will fall upon your empire as an axe does upon the trunk of a tree."

Marcius sensed Varrius tensing up at his side, and the rustle of steel and leather as around him the hands of tribunes and legionaries alike drifted towards their sheathed swords. Marcius wanted to do the same, but he resisted the temptation. Careful, careful. No weakness.

"Keep your axes pointed South." he told Axum, "Where they belong, and I won't have to show you how ill-considered that threat was."

The Marine paused slightly before touching his right index finger to his ear, communicating with the pilot. "Affirmative, we're going in." Axum turned once more to look at the Dux, the intimidating helmet lying on his head giving him a skeletal look. "Perhaps we shall meet on better terms, Decius Marcius, dux Orientem of the imperium of emperor Galen Hippocrates Claudius," The title was layered in sarcasm and disrespect. "And from the leaders of the United Nations of Earth, we bid you good luck on your mission - whatever it may be." The Ship lowered itself until the huge genetically engineered soldier had enough space to climb aboard, before it sealed itself up and shot off, heading towards the orange beam.

As the legionaries around Marcius began to straighten after flinching away from the roar of the engines, Varinius spat on the ground and cursed the earthborn.

"The crocolykes didn't seem impressed." Cassius said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to lighten the mood.

"After slaying a flesh and blood dragon, downing one of their steel ones might be entertaining." Marcius said nonchalantly.

In truth the commander was seething, but he managed to hide it as he injected his voice with a confidence he did not feel. This deal with the earthborn is getting worse all the time. Gods help praetor Maximus and the southern army.

"There have been a lot of enemies," Marcius said, raising his voice to address his nervous, angry troops. "Who claimed they were stronger than us. We proved every one of them wrong. I have no use for earthborn luck, and I have no use for earthborn threats. Especially now we stand united - Namorians, Combrogi, dwarfs..."

"Dun Moriga!" gun captain Agron shouted, and there was a throaty cheer from the dwarfs among the ranks.

"Even crocolykes and immortals!" Marcius finished. "The will of Mars be done!"

He drew his ceremonial gladius with its IPQE engraving and pointed it towards the arch and the wide tunnel that lay behind it, shifting the men's focus from the earthborn back onto the mission at hand.

"Down there is another enemy who thinks they are stronger than us! Living or undead, they must be very brave or very stupid. This is our land, won with our blood and our sacrifice! Together we've freed the west, now it's time to free the east! Soldiers of the imperium, advance!"

The centurions managed to berate their men into a short and hoarse hurrah, before the blue-cloaked legionaries hefted their indigo shields and began to advance towards the Great Western tunnel.

Marcius stood his ground and let the river of armed men flow around him, his eyes fixed on the still-smirking Hercules and his champion Achilles.

Earthborn, Greeks, Crocolykes...I'm in a nest of vipers. Gods help us when we don't have a common enemy to unite us.

Marcius looked into the future, and saw just one conflict after another. Maybe the gods would smile upon them and see the imperium preserved and safe. More likely, he himself would die before he could see the end of it. Despite his strong sense of duty, Marcius found that the thought wasn't as unwelcome as it might have been.

Odin’s Grotto

Trees clattered and crashed as the tree-man waded through the forest at high speeds, his body lumbering through the dense foliage as his unnatural face was slapped by branches. Her heart was racing, unknown to what was happening Before long the tall seplengais and the odd human he was carrying broke out into a huge glacial valley, that within it sat the beautiful natural home of the Druada: Odin's Grotto. Within the basin of the valley and in the middle of a large open area in the city, a huge group of Eldrani riding upon Horses stood. Their mount's legs shuffled as if awaiting a command and the stench of death still swept over the forest.

"The Druada are mobilising. Come little one, we must go down." The huge Seplengais began to move down the slope of the valley, on a huge stairway that seemed centuries old. Over the trees the ever present orange beam of light was visible and oddly foreboding, it's power being pulsated through the land and a heavy grinding hum being emitted from the beam.

So much was going on, adrenaline rushed and new stimulus continued to arrive the deeper she got into the forest. With no time or memtal compasity to reflect, she held on tight to the tree man.

As the Seplengais rushed down the side of the Valley, sounds of horns bellowing in the distance - in the general direction of the beam of light - came echoing through the valley. The Eldrani, now closer to the pair - who were as far from similar as it gets - were perturbed by the noise. A figure at the front wearing regal armour blew a horn of his own, less crude in sound, in fact it were as beautiful a noise a horn could make.

From the trees ahead came a huge rustling, until many more tree-men - like Clawbark - had pulled themselves out of the ground, roaring and colliding branches, some snapping off. Clawbark roared himself, almost knocking the small human off of him. With the near threat of falling off, she couldn't help but scream in the loud chaos. As he raised his arms, magic seemed to seep all over him and the human found herself covered in solid bark, an armour to hide her modesty - as strong as steel and as light as leather. Her blue eyes looked at her body in shock, it didn't seem to hurt her, her entire psyche was blown now, just letting things happen.

Finally Clawbark reached the ground and joined with the rest of the army. It was forged of a variety of Eldrani, though one figure stood out of the crowd. She seemed clumsy among the Elfin men, advanced armour on her body, with her hand on an alien looking rifle. Ahead of the army stood the man in Regal armour, he lifted his blade; an action that was shared among the troop.[color=gold] Fumbling horribly her hands continued to remain clasp to Clawbark. All was beyond the black haired woman's comprehension.

"I..." her mind was shut down and she fainted from the stress.

Blackness.

Clawbark however did not notice that the smaller humanoid had fallen off and began to bellow and stomp his feet with his brethren. The Orange light pulsating within the air began to make new noises, sounding like cannon fire. The figure at the front of the force screamed: “These humans have come into our forests, desecrated our land and now have activated something that we cannot comprehend! They do not fear us, nor do they respect us! I, Lord Kurosavi shall change that; we will not cower before them, we will not die to their blades of their bloodsucking agents of the night! We will stand and fight; stand and die if need be! Combrogia. Is. Ours!”

With the end of his heroic speech the crowd of troops roared in appraisal and began to follow Lord Kurosavi as fast as they could towards the orange beam of light and towards battle.

Combrogia

As Chaaru and the two approached the riders, the first thing that was notable about them was their pitch black irises, the same as Chaaru's were - stained with black that seemed unnatural, as if rearing to swallow the sun whole. The Devourer spoke in a confusing language, with various guttural yet beautiful sounds coming from his throat, which were then relayed by one of the barbarians. He grunted to the other and they turned. Chaaru looked at the pair of them and held his hand on his blade before nodding at them. "They are taking us to the Ark. I am confident I can trust you to not try to kill any of them?" He said warily, his eyes glancing over the twins...especially Vardren.

The vampires glanced uneasily at the riders. It wasn't their appearance that shocked the siblings--they had long since stopped judging the appearances of others--it was a simple anxiety stemming from the fact that neither of them had ever been forced into complacency before. Usually the people they met, they either had to kill, or killed anyway. Cass's fingers hovered at her ring-blade, her eyes locked on Vardren's movements. If her brother decided to make a move, she would follow him, but not before that moment.

Vardren locked eyes with the Devourer, retracting his hand from the hilt of his blade with some unease. After a time, he stretched out his arms in a mocking bow."Lead the way, Chaaru. I wouldn't even dream of harming our new friends," Vardren cracked a smile and leaned back in his saddle. "Cass." He called behind him. "Don't worry my dear. These gentlemen are our new friends and don't need to be put to sleep." The girl responded with a disappointed pout. "Oh, how terribly saddening. I haven't had any real fun since bustin' you out of that dwarf fortress." Cass let her arms slack at her sides. The girl looked longingly at her ring-blade, fingering the barbed points with glee.

"Carry on, Devourer." Vardren eyed the others as he spoke, however, intrigued by their soulless eyes and foreign tongue.
Chaaru exhaled before turning back to the men and softly speaking to them in the same language. One of them nodded and they shifted out of the way, revealing the path into the forest. As the trio walked down it the sound of Horns within the forest and the guttural hum of the Orange beam became more apparent until eventually the trio came to a clearing. The lack of trees gave a huge level of vision to all three of them, and revealed at least 8000 men within the clearly, huddled together and giving a large level of space for what lay in the center, a Anvil like structure, as wide as a carriage but only around a meter high. On the top if it's surface was an Orange circle that gave off the huge orange beam.

Standing next to the object was a large man, his armour made of Dragon-scales and looking relatively new. Chaaru and the two siblings moved towards him and when they arrived at the item the Viking man looked up at them with his pitch black eyes. "I am Beowulf. Our lord told us that you would be coming, that you could help our cause. In a minute or so, the Ark of Excalibur will finish aligning with the focal point of Absolution, and then we may join our allies across the world."

The sound of an elegant horn sounded in the distance, in response to the horns the Vikings drew their swords and stood ready, in case of an attack. "We may have to do some fighting before hand...but we will all make it through with luck. Now that the Ark is set it cannot be displaced or deactivated."

Vardren scoffed at Beowulf's words. Luck had never really favored either of the vampire siblings, and he certainly didn't believe that it would begin helping them then.
"While it may be true we are on your side, neither my sister nor I has any idea what you mean by 'ark'. Certainly Chaaru has mentioned it several times on our way, but what allies exactly shall I expect to find on the other side?"

Cass looked on with ambivalence: while she wanted to support her brother, her loyalty to whatever cause they had stumbled upon was solidified the moment she met Hothian. Not wanting her brother to seem abrasive, Cassandra spoke up from behind them. Her voice was tentative, or rather fearful of her brother's reaction, yet she felt that no matter what the 'ark' was, she had to believe it would deliver her to something greater than stalking wanderers in the mountains with her brother.

"We mean to cooperate, and are certainly intrigued by your people-" Cass waved her hand at the soldiers as she spoke, but kept her eyes locked on Beowulf's. "-but we'd rather know just where it is we're going. Tell us that, and I'd be more than happy to fight at your side--hells, I'd be happy anyway. Vardren wouldn't though; he's a little more... picky." Cass was about to begin rambling when she saw the look on her brother's face. Vardren stared at his sister with a mixture of shock and mild irritation. He would've hit her across the face for slighting him with her words had the topic of battle not been more concerning. They had all heard the horn as Beowulf spoke, and although he hardly knew the strangers, he did have an itch to use his weapon.

"My lovely sister speaks at least a little truth. You have our attention, but if you mean to keep us here, we need a little more than a vague allusion to some ark thing." Without realizing it at first, Vardren had drawn his sword from his side, the runes along the blade glowing softly in response to being activated. Vardren cursed under his breath: his body betrayed his blood-lust too well and, regardless of Beowulf's response, he certainly did want to kill whatever was coming their way. "If a battle approaches, we'll fight under the stipulation that we'll be informed afterwards. Does that sound like a fair deal to you, sir Beowulf?"
Before any answer could be given, all hell broke loose. The trees opened up with roars as Seplengais crashed into the ranks of the Vikings. Lord Kurosavi and his large group of Horsemen rode into battle, expertly dispatching the invaders - a few of the Eldrani fell to their blades, but the majority of instant casualties were from Beowulf's ranks. The man roared with anger and rushed forward, battle-axe in hand. He ran straight for a Seplengais before beginning to climb it's leg.

"Whatever happens, stay by the Ark; in 5 minutes we will be leaving." Chaaru spoke calmly, his voice still betraying an invading darkness within his conscious; echoing horrible - even causing slight anxiety within the two vampire twins. He turned and drew the demon blade he wielded, though it seemed to be missing something - though the siblings could not put their finger on it. As soon as he entered the battle he began to cause a whirlwind of blood and death, cutting at Seplengais and Eldrani's alike.

Arrows flew through the air at both sides, some aflame and some not, the invaders were slowly being brushed aside, though they only wanted to hold their position and keep the Ark accessible. The Ark in question began to pulsate brighter, the Orange beam beginning to shift into a darker, more purple shade; something was happening, and it was happening fast.

"Now we don't even get to kill things?" Cass's voice betrayed a sense of disappointment as she watched arcs of crimson blood erupt from all around her. The purple glow of the arc seemed to expand around the twins as they watched the battle with only minor interest. Vardren noted the apparent skill on both sides, only ever so slightly surprised that they were attacked as quickly as they had been. Beowulf was surprisingly savage--a trait the vampire's both noticed and admired. In fact, so entertaining were the first few moments of glorious battle that neither vampire immediately reacted to Chaaru's command. Vardren and Cass both tore their eyes away from the assault to look at the ark with some apprehension. They still did not have their answers, but time was running thin. Surely they could make a run for it, but as Vardren looked to his sister he witnessed a strange fire in her eyes--the likes of which he hadn't seen for years. Slowly, she approached the ark, like a child learning to walk for the first time.

"Cass...?" Vardren's own voice cracked with unease at the sight of her. He had never quite lost his grip on her before.

"We're going brother. Chaaru said so himself." Beowulf's forces were thinning, the attackers growing bolder. Arrows whizzed past Vardren's face and into the brush below. Somewhere behind him, the sounds of metal on metal alluded to an increasingly close battle, yet he did not reach for his sword. He too approached the ark, if tentatively so. An arrow skimmed his cloak, yet he hardly registered it: even he was beginning to feel compelled by the soft light of the ark.

Wherever I'm going, my allegiances must remain the same: My gods and my sister are all that matter; the rest is expendable.

As he made a silent promise to himself, Vardren took his side by his radiant sibling, whose own eyes were downcast towards the source of the brightness. For the first time in a long time, Vardren reached out and grasped Cass's shoulder (almost reassuringly) and felt her warmth. Although she flinched at his touch, a strangely comforting smile took over her features, as if to affirm that the both of them were in agreement.

As the two siblings became close to the Ark, a flash of light blinded them before they were hit with a sudden freezing touch upon them. As the brightness in their eyes dispersed, they found themselves within a frozen wasteland, spears pointed towards them, held in the hands of men armoured in black. A figure stood ahead of them, hand resting on the pommel of a broadsword which lay jammed within a layer of ice upon the frozen land.

As they looked behind themselves, they could see another Ark pulsating, with a purple beam of light cascading into the air. The figure in front of them turned his head inquisitively, getting a good look at the two vampires in front of him before removing his helmet. His hair was as white as the moon and braided beautifully, the front had a regular parted fringe, yet the back was braided into various dreadlocks that linked together to create a wild ponytail. The man’s skin was dark black, with his eyebrows the same colour as his hair. His nose was pointed and sharp; his lips thin and piercing and his eyes as black as tar. His ears however were the most interesting of his features, for their tip stretched out almost 8 inches at the top, thinning out until eventually narrowing to a point. He opened his mouth and the most elegant yet brutal tone escaped him. The noise made the two twins feel as if they were being obliterated yet reborn again, and signified that whoever this man was, he would not hesitate to cut the pair of them down, nor would he find great difficulty in doing so.

“I am Dozral Arthrafi, Son of Set and King of the Dark Elves. Welcome to ‘The Southern Wastelands’.” The Dark Elf smirked before pulling his blade from the ice and turning away. He barked something in the same language that Chaaru had been speaking to Beowulf’s men with and a Dark Elf underling ran forwards with two thick fur coats, putting them over the shoulders of the two Vampires. “Someone get them a tent within Beowulf’s camp. When their forces have come through the Excalibur – Covenant link, we’ll begin."

[Minkasha]

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, The Lady Jarl’s Bedchambers

It was only midday but Else was tired. In fact, she was exhausted.

‘Pandora's Box will be forged...and you, will open it for us.’ The very words made her shiver in fear. It reminded her of the letter. She sought seclusion in her room, leaning up against the stone wall her mind was shutting down. Gods and Demons, she was damned by both. The Lady Jarl squeezed her fists.

Her children…

‘My son will harvest the life of two of your own. One son. One daughter.’ She screamed and roared, throwing her firsts into the air, her grace was gone. Her sanity was breaking. By all the forces of this world she was just a woman. No matter the throne, she was just a forsaken woman. Palms covered her weak eyes. What can she do?

Forcing herself back into control, she sat upon her large bed. Blankets and quilts Karla had crafted and furs from the animals Korzan killed kept the bed warm.

Was there anything beyond terror? Beyond exhaustion? Else’s soul found it if such a state existed. Gracefully her hands lifted the crown from her head, its beautiful metal and jewels shined off the light from the eternally snowy world outside and the fireplace. It was Korzan’s legacy.

In the passing year not even her children had seen her with the crown off. The Lady Jarl was the leader of her people, a sign of strength, and proof of just how free the south was, even for a woman. A woman could defend her honor, her family, and her nation. The crown was placed on a wooden end table next to the bed. Letting time pass she stared at it…she longed for her husband. Her mind always pictured his blood covered body sitting on his throne every time she gazed upon the crown. A single cut of a dagger could change everything.

Sparing herself the image, she shut her eyes and began to unwind the tail of pleated hair around her head. Blonde locks unraveled past her shoulders, her mind pained. Zahneri will watch them now; she had done so for their entire lifetimes…the Lady Jarl just needed a moment.

Agony pushed her into slouching, fingers rubbing the temples. What was she to do? There seemed to be no right or wrong in this world, only power. Power was what threatened to kill her children, power was what threatened to ruin her nation, and power was what deemed her soul unworthy of help or salvation.

And what of her children? Were they to be tossed into Tartarus? Where was the morality? Where was Odin for his grandchildren? Her body shook, and with her spirit breaking, tears splattered into the lap of her royal garb.

“Why are you here, demon?” she sobbed to the powerful succubus who stood next to the fires. Blue eyes leered at Zahneri through blurred vision.

“The white haired woman is causing trouble for your second son. H-” a dainty hand waved at the demon dismissively.

“Just kill her and be done with it” Lady Jarl Else hissed. Zahneri vanished in her smoky ways. The ruler of the Free South laid upon her bed, no thoughts could remain constant, with her in solitude, she stared at the ceiling.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Karla’s Bedchambers

She pulled the thin line of wool out herself, her legs quivered. The moon’s time was passing. Her face dripped with sweat, sun-kissed roots drenched with it. The second princess to the Odisen throne fought her monstrous desires. The lust always burned worst at this time.

Secluded in her personal washroom, her body and soul yearned, teeth bit down upon a finger till it bled. All this suffering was because of blood. Kalle had told her at the begging of all this. Zenita flowed through her.

She was a demon.

She was a monster.

And now more than anything did she crave for sexual deviance. Her will was a thin string, desperately trying to cling to self-control and her chastity.

This wasn’t her choice, but by the GODS did she want it. Feverously her tongue began licking the clasped finger.

There was a knocking at the door. It must have been her mother.

“Go away mother, please!”

“I-I’m sorry prinsessa, it is me Åge. I’m your personal slave now, I have tucked in Nea for her mid-day nap” the voice was nervous.

Åge..the young man that had been catching her eye…no…no….no WHY DID MOTHER DO THIS AFTER ALL HER SELF IMPOSED ISOLATION WHY DO THIS? Karla’s heart was racing even faster, nude body coiled on the stones, breathing rate accelerating.

“Prinsessa, are you alright?”

Yes….Yes….Yes…”No”

“Shall I come in to assist?”

No…No…NO…NO! “Yes” oh the gods no matter how much she moved, squirmed, the feeling wouldn’t cease. The prey was too close. Past her own frantic sounds, she could hear the door slowly opening. Hands grasped at herself, he was drawing near.

“Prinsessa!” the lanky young man ran down to her beautiful form “You are bleeding” his eyes moved from her cringing, well-crafted, sweaty face, to the dripping finger. Her bodily charms were not to his natural fancy, which he knew would be helpful in being her slave. It was uncomfortable that the great Lady Jarl had replaced Selma with him, she was experienced…and a woman. But he trusted in the Lady Jarl’s judgment.

Karla couldn’t help but hold onto the man, he began to hold and support her and it was with that touch that all was lost. Hungry, she slammed her lips against his, he began making sounds of surprise.

“My Prinsessa!” STOP KARLA STOP!...but she didn’t want to. A smile crept across her face between the stolen kisses and with a sexually charged stare she took what she wanted. Her loins cramped and suddenly began to tingle. Her being could feel Åge’s new receptivity to her advances, hands moving about her.

She was a demon.

She was a monster.

And regrettably, it felt phenomenal.

Branjaskr, The Free South – Odinsen Castle, Snowy Grounds

Maxwell dropped his training axe. Jóhann was relentless; he had enough forming bruises to prove it.

“Ha!” Jóhann raised a wooden axe into the air. “Today I have bested Maxwell!” The young brother gave him a ‘hmph’ and scrunched his nose. Jóhann winked back. Maxwell’s face changed “…what?” Maxwell was looking behind him.

While turning to face it Jóhann already felt a pang of worry. His eyes saw it, past the large snowflakes, past miles upon miles of land…so far away that he couldn’t even see Eternum's surface…there was a beam of light. This purple light, while looking so small he could lift a finger and cover it…must have been beyond comprehension in size to see it from here.

“Brother, what is that?” Maxwell sounded nervous, afraid even. Jóhann grit his teeth.

“I don’t know little brother. But mother needs to know. Come on” he gave his brother a stern face, throwing him out of his fear as intended, and they ran across the castle to the front entrance. Slaves were too distracted to bow to the princes; all of them were staring at the purple beam. It was freighting to look at, but some dark sense of destiny compelled them to stare.

They stood before the throne; their mother was nowhere to be seen. The domestic slaves, ignorant of what was happening outside bowed calmly. All Jóhann could see the lavish craftsmanship of wood and stone that composed of the room and its decoration. There seemed to be no hints of the rest of their family. He tapped his brother, pulling him out of some distant thought.

“Maxwell, come on” he urged him again and they ran to his room. “Stay here” he commanded before walking in on his sister amusing herself with all four of the concubines.

“Hello brother, they’ve missed you” her hand ran down the belly of a woman.

“Hella, get dressed. Something is happening outside” any feature on her that looked playful dropped, Jóhann never acted this way. It had to be serious. Leaping from the bed she threw on a dress and shoes she had on the floor, they had been sitting there most of yesterday up till now. The seduced concubines whined while they held each other on the bed.

The eldest siblings joined Maxwell outside the room.

“What is it?”

“It’s some sort of purple light!” Maxwell’s voice cracked, Hella looked at him concerned. In her matching quick pace past slaves and visiting hurtugs, she looked to Jóhann.

“Should we get her?”

“I have been trying…she hasn’t shown up”

“Where is mother?”

“Don’t know”

“Should we go to her room?” Maxwell squeaked. The two eldest stopped, they hadn’t been near that room since dad died….

“No, let’s find Kalle” Jóhann led the charge.

The Afragian Waters – HMS Aptitude

Was this how Tommy was going to die…again?

Attacking their fleet was a gigantic white whale, he was pretty sure he pissed himself when the thing showed itself and actually shadowed him and a few ships entirely while it was in the air. His Admiral ordered fire upon the thing, damn Tommy for having his pistol stored in his locker.

“FUCK!” the guys from the world war taught him that. He dashed on the nearby men and stole one of his harpoons to throw at the thing. Dashing as quickly as he could, he ran down a level of the HMS Aptitude to one of its many cannons and began to help load cannons while a shipmate fired. “WHAT IS THAT!?” Tommy couldn’t stop yelling, his whole body sweating and running through the motions.

“A LEVIATHAN” the crewmate yelled past all the other shouts, splashing water, gunfire, and moans of the creature. Tommy couldn't help but scream in duress as the entire ship shook. The Leviathan was under them.

‘Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck’ he was terrified of death, more so after dying once before.

DUN MORIGA

The Champion of the Goddess felt strangely ostracized after hearing the alien man call himself Earth-born. What had happened to the planet she lived on so long ago? It couldn't matter now, it was not the surface of a planet she walked on that was important, but rather the path she followed: and this was with Aphrodite.

And Aphrodite's path led her to Decius Marcius, she could see through him, through his masks and his leadership front. The man's heart was destroyed. Elisavet had given him necessary space as she recovered from her life changing journey, but this stage of closed off pain needed to end so that this man may take a step towards healing.

While the Dux was in thought she quietly approached him. Varrius, the general's ever-present bodyguard, stepped back to give them a respectful privacy, while retaining his vigil. Marcius heard his bodyguard move, and turned. Elisavet was hesitant to meet his gaze. This was the first time they spoke privately since...then. To even be near him brought her pain, his pain.

"Earth is not the same as it used to be..." her womanly voice spoke to him tenderly, her allusion to the tremendous air ship. Elisavet stopped side by side with Decius, looking at the heroes Hercules and Achiles. "I was...am...from their time, when Earth was much like this..." she trailed for a moment, thinking of her own loss, eyes watered, but would not tear. "But everything continues to change..." Quickly, she glanced over at Decius but kept her body forward facing as to not crowed him. Jade eyes moved up the sky, casually she took in the environment while allowing Decius time to express his thoughts....feelings, if he wished.

"Cassius would no doubt wonder if our world will end up like theirs." Marcius muttered, only glancing briefly at Elisavet before turning back towards the advancing legionaries. He was clearly still agitated, and Elisavet wondered if he was actually watching the legionaries or just staring into space. "Gods forbid."

He shifted slightly to look at Elisavet properly, and she in turn shifted to meet him equally. Jerking his head surreptitiously towards Hercules and Achilles, Marcius asked, "If you're from their time...can they be trusted?"

The female warrior's face instantly shifted to a pondering one. Now she looked to Decius while speaking.

"In our time, they were seen as heroes...near worshiped and praised for their perfection" she shook her head. "They were supposed to represent what we as Greeks strive to become but Hercules was just as human as any other. His anger was a lethal mix with his strength, but he often sought for his own redemption time and time again..." The shield that shined the symbol of womanhood proudly was stroked by her other hand, touch gliding down its circular, golden, edge.

"Achiles also let his anger guide where his blade went..." she sounded unsure, a gaze to her shield gave her comfort. "I never knew either in person, but if their struggles and epics taught me anything, it is that ego and power never mix well and the necessity of love, compassion. My culture had an unhealthy passion for the tragic, and that created so much self-undoing. I hope in the passing time Hercules and Achiles have attempted to discipline their hearts as much as their bodies."

There was an empathy to her tone, she gave the two men no judgment, but Elisavet was not going to spare the truth either.

"Hmm." Marcius grunted, and his face became stony again. "I trusted my wife when she assured me that legate Septim was an honourable man. I assume I can trust a messenger of Venus to tell the truth about those two."

Elisavet saw that look again on his face and her own showed worry across her Venusian features.

"That face..." She put a hand to her heart in pain. Her watery gaze held true onto his soul. "How long can that mask hold...?" her voice was just as wounded. "You are a man of power... but still a man. When will you show your true face?" So much of her nature struggled to contain her urge to hold him, be tender to him.

Marcius' left hand formed a fist, as if she had struck a nerve - or touched upon a truth that he did not want to acknowledge. The dux snapped his head briefly left and right, as if making sure that they could not be overheard.

"A commander has to show strength." he said through gritted teeth, "And nothing else. We've fought immortals, dragons, the pale demons...and any one of those battles could have ended in disaster. And now I'm about to lead my men into yet another battle with the unknown, with allies that mere weeks ago they called enemies. Our only other allies, the earthborn, just openly threatened us. If I show one iota of doubt that mine is the right course of action, how do you think my men will react?"

He swallowed, reining in his emotions.

"I have a duty." he said, more quietly. "In that, we're the same. Yours is to Venus. Mine is to Mars, to the emperor, and to..." His throat seized up and he looked away, glaring at the paved road.

Elisavet stepped closer while his gaze was turned, her voice beautiful in its femininity, love, and gentleness.

“Decius, by the Goddess…my duty now is to you.” Her eyes sparkled with a caring focus. “And you alone.”

Her head slightly tilted to the side, her bangs fluttered gracefully with the movement, she kept her eyes to his face.

“Strength….strength shows itself in many ways. You may lead men to kill and conquer, but can you face the pain that you try to deny? To acknowledge your emotion is NOT doubt…but the truest conviction and the greatest power you can have.” Her voice shook now, to feel his emotions was heart wrenching, she couldn't put her hand down from her heart in fear it’d lose control of itself.

"You are truly Venus' creature." Marcius replied quietly, and for a moment he sounded almost admiring. "But we're at war." His voice dropped to a savage whisper. "What use does mourning my family do right now?"

He remembered Lycinia's letters to him on campaign; always supportive, always encouraging him to focus on his duty. Come back to us a hero she had said. The memory twisted in his gut - cold as a knife blade, sharp as one's edge. To bring him back to the present, she slid a warm hand up his opposed cheek and guided his vision back to her.

“Now, it will give you direction, power, and strength that you never thought possible. You have seen, and endured so much…” the hand was removed “and the more and more you put on that mask, the more you prepare yourself for a shattering, graceless fall when it is cracked.” Golden arches furrowed.

“You want to be without doubt? You want to continue to overcome your struggles? Then you fight with your heart” The slender hand traveled from hers to Dux Decius’ a tear fell down her face. “And You. Will. Be. Powerful Decius Marcius” she told him boldly before pulling away her hand to wipe away her tear.

For a moment she looked away at the surrounding men before she continued. “I serve you Decius: I will never stop protecting you, and my heart will share whatever burdens you may face. But you must lead us and continue down this path…” she breathed deeply, and exhaled slowly “I will leave you for now if you wish to be alone.” A respectful note to his emotional makeup, a blinking of her eyes produced another falling tear.