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Thread: [M/R] Eternum: Rise of Kronos

  1. #11
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    Branjaskr, The Free South


    Limping single-mindedly through the snow woven between the uneven patterned longhouses, Gjord’s thoughts were largely uninterrupted while the capital was working to get itself up. Or, to his observant eyes and sharp mind, needlessly misguided and near broken. War was coming and hardly an Odin-made soul was out to show for it, Branjaskr’s spirit was being dulled.

    His suspicions only grew; a man’s proclamation of power wasn’t the beacon of hope to match the macabre purple one. A demon’s hands were gesturing its spell, taken the Southern strength and twisting it, killing all possibility from within. Their prince and princesses, their Jarl, were demons.

    Conspiracy had been coming together bit by bit in Gjord’s mind, the self-inflected wound from youth slowing his pace in the main walkway that was just inside the walls of the gates, looping through Branjaskr. The bone of his left thigh ached, but the aging Southern mage was bent on returning the South to its true state of freedom.

    Here the snow had been crushed and shoveled aside, the adolescents and young adults able to stand keeping it so. Their panting, cloud making breaths more sparse than usual as their peers still recovered, they paid no mind to Gjord who walked on. He saw the etched lines in their young pale skin, wildly misguided were they all. Interwoven rope displayed an assortment of decorated wooden tokens each no larger than a man’s ivory comb and marked with their runic language. The black characters were a sash of his achievements in the wintery world of magic. Though his craft had become increasingly ostracized and misplaced within Branjasker’s newest generation. And it was intentional, this, Gjord came to know now.

    His footstep trail took him to one particular growing young man whose aura repulsed him thoroughly. Greasy, tainted, and muddled with the flickering zest of the divine. The blackness was swallowing all of them, cautiously he watched the prince shovel away.

    “Here” He said softly when a woman in her mid-thirties came to his side, together watching their royal blooded. Gjord’s strong nose wrinkled in his sneer, the grease coating his senses unearthing an old betrayal done by a woman who had chosen to slit her own throat than face the oncoming. The former Lady Jarl’s children were all taken wholly and his wife must come to understand. “It burns in the younger, as well”

    Hanne clutched to the raven claw talisman resting at her bosom. The energy was so palpable she swore it invaded her senses; the taste of salt and grimy layer imposed on her skin similar to a man’s foul sweat dressing her soul. She had whispered to her sister her concerns, but Liv was taken by her wife’s passion to follow the Jarl. Either way, they were damned. Unless, regrettably unless, they took action.

    The blood taint made her heart shutter, a hero’s legacy was dimming in her heart. Korzan’s descendants defiled him, or was it he to them? A question no Branjasker would want to ask, his struggle making this capital exist.

    “He’s just a boy” Hanne said hesitantly, her vowels slower while she willed the taste from her tongue.

    “And boys grow to men who rule” The older mage turned his eyes to a raven perched on a snow blanketed roof by the prince. When his blue met the black, the bird fluttered the snow off itself and cocked its head. It stared. The bird was no cleaner than the boy. Hanne remembered the feint tingles of magic that had come over her when Odin’s birds flew through the capital; both mages stared at the raven. Truly, it was not Odin’s creature. The raven cawed and another came to land, bouncing on its talons to walk by its brother, perch, and watch: two for two. Hanne swallowed briefly.

    “The birds are his familiars?” The female mage asked her spouse quietly, fearful of a magic not seen in the South nor rumored in the North.

    “More his watchers” He kept himself silent while a man approached, head low and his steps swaying while he struggled onward to his destination. Gjord’s eye followed the man’s back before turning back to his wife, ignoring the dual caws. They faced each other and she went for his gloved hand, holding firm. “We do this for the South”

    “For its freedom”

    **


    Odin’s Grotto, The Free South

    Syf beamed a smile to the new Jarl, watching him stare at the trees. Kurosavi’s eerily sick and twisting form had given her little comfort or company. In between her rambling to fill the forestry of life, Kalle returned, more frequently, actually, daily now that her zipping mind realized. He was such a handsome person, body and soul, yet she hadn’t missed the finer details in his aloofness with her.

    “You have noticed now as well?” She finally asked of the Jarl, allowing him to continue holding his hand to the bark of an evergreen.

    “It’s distinctive” Kalle spoke back as his covered hand cupped what looked to be an ample cheek of the tree’s shut eyed face. Syf saw that his touch was tender, selfishly a fire in her wanted it. She pulled back her fine white hair, approaching in a simple wool dress he had provided the day before. Syf stopped behind him. “I wonder if there is some connection to my grandfather with these” This had been the fifth face near the clearing he had seen thus far among the trees. It was beyond coincidence. Syf’s hand joined his in cupping the face, holding the other cheek.

    “As creations of life, all things could be connected to your grandfather” Syf began “The snow, the grass, the North and the South, everyone and every living thing -- no doubt these trees are connected, in generality, the specifics I couldn’t begin to fathom with my memory being unlike it used to and my mind being newly… renewed”

    The Leader of the Free South couldn’t help but let his lips pull gently into the slightest smirk hearing Syf having to breathe deeply to get her wind back. He hid it when she went to study his face, her six foot height keeping hers next to his. He turned his neck so his growing black coils kept their eyes apart; a lively fluff before keeping in place. A minute longer they held the face together in silence, Kalle’s ice blue gaze studying the circular likeness intently.

    “What is life’s purpose?” The focus he gave the tree made it indistinguishable if he was asking Syf or it, but Syf took it upon herself to provide an answer.

    “To live openly and true, how else should life be lived?”

    “No, life’s purpose. Why does it exist?” Life had been taken down and down again, ripped out of his life, needing to be protected by the cruelties that proved endless.

    Syf pondered, her former life was a blur, staying with her memories of emotional height, and often the dreary. In the Underworld she was maliciously tortured, in her new life she has been victim of attempted murder, kidnapping and threatened with abuse. She had, in this new life, watched the Grotto twist and turn with evil, see a purple demonic light herald death, and see a beautiful man have to fight with his soul day in and day out because of who he was. She had yet to see life in its full glory just yet.

    “Would you rather everything dead?” Syf’s amethyst eyes lingered on his cupping hand. He would never take off his winter gear, choosing instead to sweat in discomfort. She also pondered this as well.

    “No” The imagery of all slew and gone upset Kalle easily.

    “Life has avenues of experience that are irreplaceable” Syf’s hand slipped from the tree’s cheek to its small bark button of the assumed nose, inching closer to Kalle’s. “Must life have further definition?” Her answer did not give Kalle any satisfaction. Her words too...much of the mind, there wasn’t the immortal soul in her answer.

    The Jarl drew back and Syf let her hand fall slowly, watching him with concern and curiosity.

    “I’d would want it to” Kalle respond earnestly, looking into her divine eyes. Their conversation stopped when a raven flew through the trees, unnaturally letting itself go through the thick of the branches, and perch on Kalle’s shoulder. It cawed manically, stealing the Jarl’s attention and took off straight out of the clearing. On reflex Kalle clenched his jaw, the raven’s sounds going off wildly in the spreading distance.

    Syf knowing full well the entity behind the bird frowned. She sighed and stood limply.

    “It would be wise if you followed it, farewell Kalle” Her words hadn’t ended when the sweaty young man rushed into the trees after. Alone again the daughter of Nike bare footed herself to the boundary of corrupt and untouched grass, Kurosavi lost from sight in the vines now. Her head cocked just so in contemplation, “How would you have answered his question?”
    Last edited by Minkasha; 07-02-2015 at 01:02 AM.
    Thank you MayhemsCurse <3


    Spoiler: Memorable Quotes 

  2. #12
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    ECH ZILIDAR

    "Hours have gone by, but we still don't reach an agreement." Baalin said under his breath. He dug his nails into the chair that was giving him both comfort and exhaustion. The negotiations had started promisingly, but now his head was aching from having to keep track of all of the arrangements, as well as the constant arguing that had begun to rise up during their negotiations.

    “So let me ask you this..." he said louder, his hands rising from the chair arms to emphasise his words as he talked. "And I'm sure we would all like to know at this point. Why in the 12 hells would you want to put a garrison in the ruins of Azulfa? The only sense I could make out of this is nothing more than to regulate our movements. We are a free people.”

    Azulfa, the former crystal city of the dwarf realm, sat astride the main tunnel between Ech Zilidar and the other cities to the north. It had allowed the city to grow rich on taxing the trade route between Lun Garath and the capital but, more importantly, it formed a strategic bottleneck. Indeed, the dwarfs had pinned their hopes on protecting Ech by holding that chokepoint, though their plan had failed when the greyskin army deployed its giant shock troops.

    The Nerubians hadn't bothered to press for the right to settle Azulfa, even though it might have provided them an even better foundation than Lun Garath. They recognised the imperium's security concern of relying on the Nerubians' forbearance to reach the rest of the dwarven cities. It frustrated Baalin that praetor Graccus did not seem to want to reciprocate.

    "Have you people never heard of border garrisons?" Graccus snapped. The praetor's face had turned slightly red under the fractal light of the royal hall, partly from stress and partly from the wine that he had been drinking.


    Broodmother Mira fidgeted, wanting to stand up and take a walk around due to the lack of comfort in her seat. She rolled slightly to one side and then back, stretching out her aching back until soft pops rang out. “I agree with Baalin." she added to her bodyguard's point. "I see no sense if you are to trust us that you would do something so insulting. If we are to have an alliance, it will have to be one of trust. You don't see us going and building what we want between all the roads on your lands.”

    "It's not just security." Graccus shot back. "It's also the regulation of the trade route, and there's hundreds of artefacts and relics that will need to be recovered."

    Rash'vir meanwhile was drinking down his fourth mug of refreshment. The Nerubian mage looked almost completely oblivious to all that had happened so far, as if he were just enjoying himself as the debate kept going back and forth. He placed his hands on the table and looked around for a moment, as if wanting to get a better feel of his surroundings. He loved the way that the place had presented itself.

    “If I do say," he put in offhandedly. "This place isn't too bad.”

    At the other side of the table, in the seat that had once been occupied by the dwarven lord Argam, Varinius let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "Well, at least someone's happy. Come on, this is just going round in circles and I don't know about you but my arse has gone to sleep. Lets break for a few moments and top up the wine."

    Praetor Graccus waved his hand in irritable agreement, and Varinius took that as a signal to push back his chair and shout for the soldier who had been roped into acting as their waiter. After the man had hurried off to fetch more mead and Afragian tea, Varinius moved over to Rash'vir, who had simply leaned back in his seat while the others got up to stretch their legs.

    "How did you end up in this delegation anyway?" the tribune asked, an amused smirk on his lips.


    Rash'vir stretched in his chair and smacked his lips, enjoying all the food and drink that he had consumed. Considering Varinius' question, he simply laid back and stated, "I need to be."

    "The voice of reason." Varinius grunted, and openly rolled his eyes towards the chair that praetor Graccus had vacated. "I can understand that."

    Rash'vir slowly rose out of his seat and began to walk towards one of the monuments standing along the walls of the room, between the bright light-crystals. He stopped and examined the marble face of a severe-looking dwarf in Namorian armour.

    "I'm not necessarily a blood part of the brood you know." he said. "I merely helped it become what it is today, and in turn it helped me."

    Varinius cocked an eyebrow. "You're not a Nerubian? Then where did you...ah." He stopped, and chuckled, recalling the stories of how the Nerubian mothers lured men of all species into their nests to grow their brood. His eyes strayed towards broodmother Mira who stood talking with Baalin as the returning Namorian soldier handed them both more mead. She was armoured from head to heel in contoured plates of bone, but her strikingly beautiful face was still very much in evidence. The tribune chuckled again. "Not my type personally, but I can't fault you. So where did you come from originally?"

    Rash'vir was still admiring the statue as he heard the man's question. A smile came upon his face, but so did a slight discomfort. "That my young man is a story no one had really asked me, except Mira herself...and Baalin once upon a time."

    Rash'vir looked away from the monument, walking slowly around and looking upon the masonry of the room. He was fond of how it was created: shaped, molded, and yet, it somewhat reminded him of home. He glanced at Mira, and couldn't help but chuckle at Varinius' presumption of their relationship.

    "You know Mira isn't that old right?" he grinned. "In fact, a few members of the council, including Baalin and myself, weren't brought in by the...ah, normal Nerubian means."

    Rash'vir cleared his throat. It was still dry even after all the drink he had, but he assumed that came with his age.

    "The Brood is not very old, but the people who fill its ranks are older than the Brood itself. I guess you could say it was an accident."

    "Wouldn't be the first one around here recently." Varinius cocked an eyebrow. "What kind of accident?"

    "When I was a young lad, I joined the mages' guild."

    "The mages'..." Varinius squinted at Rash'vir. "You're a Namorian?"

    "It was always the calling of books and magic that had my interest, and still does today. I ascended through the ranks and became one of the few true masters of my field."

    Varinius folded his arms and leaned irreverently up against the statue of the old dwarf hero. "From what I've seen of your brood, my first guess would be that your field was necromancy." The tribune's neck twitched slightly. "But that's fucking impossible."

    Necromancy was no longer practiced by the Namorian mages' guild. It had always been a fringe science - shunned by the majority of Namorians, and never practiced openly - which had only increased the dark rumours that surrounded it. It had ultimately been banned after the dynastic war which had brought Galen Claudius' grandmother to power; the pretender Lucius Desticus - now reviled as Desticus Scelestus, or Desticus the Accursed - had swayed the Guild's shunned order to his side with promises of official recognition, and had conquered much of eastern Namor until he and his army of unholy corpse-men had been crushed by Gaius Maximus and his own contingent of fire mages. Since then, practicing necromancy had been a capital crime in Namor. Though it was a crime that had almost never required de facto enforcement, an intense stigma remained across the imperium, even decades later. Even the pragmatic Varinius was not wholly opposed to praetor Graccus' own, more vocal reservations.

    But the civil war between Desticus, Claudius and the rest had been 3 generations ago, and for Rash'vir to have attained rank as even a semi-legal necromancer he would have to be almost impossibly old.


    Rash'vir smiled grimly. "My mastery of the undead arts was great and could rival anyone using any kind of elemental magic, but it wasn't easy. Necromancy is a tricky business."

    Rash'vir then nodded his head towards Mira, who was too busy talking with Baalin to notice anything the men were saying. "Mira over there is my apprentice, and has grown splendidly, but she has a long road ahead of her. Power is one thing, but the wisdom to use it...that is a harder thing to teach." His eyes took on a faraway look. "Those were the words that one of the one of the great magi at the guild used to warn me me. It made me realise that no matter how strong someone can be, it doesn't mean they should stop learning."

    "Good advice." Varinius grunted warily.

    Rash'vir chuckled, detecting the other man's slight discomfort. "I guess I better get back on track with this because... well...this part is an up and down trail."

    Rash'vir went to the table and grabbed himself another drink, Varinius pushing himself up off the statue to follow him. The former Namorian mage took a big gulp, making his throat expand with the amount he had just consumed.

    "Not too long after I accepted my title, I renounced my position, gave it to another, and took my leave. The guild was amazing, but nothing could ever quench my thirst for knowledge...to become one with death itself, so I could finally understand what life really had to offer."

    "One way of looking at it, I guess." Varinius said, cautiously.

    Rash'vir took another big swallow of his drink and let out a satisfied aaah, letting the other man know that he was not offended.

    "After that," he went on, "I was considered an apostate mage. I claimed allegiance to no one, but worked with others to contact the dead and other work that suited my abilities. After the war of course this work began to dry up, so I moved east. I was making my way down the highroad to Dun Moriga when I noticed a smell of something burning. Rushing towards it, I found Southern raiders attacking a small village. They were burning, pillaging, raping...I heard later that they had evaded the Namorian garrison and caught three or four other villages beforehand. I made sure that this village was the last."

    Varinius gave a slight jerk of his head, as if arresting a sudden impulse to spit on the fur-carpeted floor. Rash' it's own face took on a grim look as he turned half away for a moment.

    "I was too late to save the villagers, but by raising them I gave them their revenge, after a fashion. After returning them to their rest I wandered through the village, thinking that everything was lost and gone, but then I found a little girl that changed my life forever."

    Varinius turned his head to follow Rash'vir's gaze, and saw that his fatigue-crinkled eyes were looking straight at Mira. "Her? What was a Nerubian doing up in a human village?"

    "I don't know, to this day." Rash'vir admitted. "But I realised what she was when I saw that she bore marks upon her arms and legs, runic in nature. They were the runes of death and nature...and of the spider. She was afraid when I found her - shivering in fear, not only because of what happened to her village, but because of what I did to those men with her own neighbours' bodies. Perhaps if I had known she was watching, I would have used another magic to rout the Southerners...but as it was too late for that I did what I could. I asked her to come with me. At first she refused, and ran off. It wasn't until a few days later that I noticed someone following me. I would hear the bushes rattle, water splash, and sometimes thuds. After I worked out who it was, it made me chuckle. The girl was clearly desperate, but I had to let her come to me on her own terms. Once I thought that she had gathered the courage, I spoke aloud that if she wanted to follow, then she could."

    Rash'vir put his empty cup down and turned back towards Varinius with a tired smile.

    "She didn't know what she was, nor why things had happened to her. I told her that these were things no-one could explain, but that we could help others so that they don't have to suffer the same fate. After hearing that she agreed to come with me, and my days of being a travelling mage were over. I became her guardian."

    Rash'vir couldn't help but to chuckle as he shook his head, thinking of some of the times they had had together.

    "This didn't stop me from my learning. Together we took the best of human and Nerubian ways. If it wasn't for all that we have built together, I can only wonder what other whimsical fate Fortuna would had bestowed upon me."

    "Quite a story." Varinius admitted. He seemed about to say more, but at that moment praetor Graccus re-entered the chamber. Looking only slightly less agitated than before, the Namorian governor resumed his seat. Following his lead, Mira and Baalin put down their cups and trudged back to the negotiating table. Varinius huffed a breath, and clapped Rash'vir on the shoulder.

    "Something to pick up later maybe." he said, before striding back round the table and looking to Graccus. "If I may kick things off again, praetor?"

    Graccus grunted by way of assent.

    "Alright." said Varinius, hunching his shoulders and resting his splayed hands on the table. "What have we got so far? The Nerubians are to be given permanent settlement rights to Lun Garath, to rebuild as they please, as long as they stay away from the other dwarven cities."

    "And return any relics and bodies that are still in Lun Garath." praetor Graccus growled. "Those dwarfs died before Jornak turned traitor and they deserve to be burned decently, not used for your black magic thralls."

    "In return," Varinius went on, biting the inside of his cheek. "The Nerubian army will muster in support of the imperial legions when and if required. Praetor Graccus will have overall command, but the Nerubian generals will carry out their orders in the manner that they see fit. Are we all happy with that?"


    Baalin looked around as he thought about the terms. "Seems a bit steep, but I see no choice for any other action that will get us anywhere. So consider it done." Baalin wasn't too happy with this particular settlement, but if that was all they could get, he could compromise for the time being.

    "Good." Varinius said, with a crooked smile. "Now, as to representation, a villa in Ech will be designated for the use of a Nerubian ambassador, who can bring broodmother Mira's concerns straight to the praetor. A similar Namorian consulate will eventually be set up in Lun Garath. Is everyone happy with that?"

    Mira, with her own wry smile, could only have hoped to hear such words. Finally, a time for true partnership and something that did not completely belittle her and her kind. "I can work with this, so long as each ambassador is well armed and be treated with respect and kindness on both fronts."

    "The laws protecting ambassadors hold across the whole imperium." Varinius reassured her. "But I don't think we will grudge your emissary the right to an honour guard, if he wants one."

    He looked at Graccus, who merely shrugged and grunted in what was presumably agreement.

    Mira nodded. "Very well."

    "Alright then. And I assume everyone is happy with the opening of a trade route through the Azulfa pass. And allowing any builders who want the work to move between Ech and Garath to help with the reconstruction, provided that they are fairly compensated?"

    That was an odd one, of course - with the Nerubians' purely barter-based economy, paying any Namorian masons could get complicated. On the other hand, Varinius and Graccus hadn't even begun to put out the call for skilled and unskilled labourers to make the full rebuilding of Ech possible - and being able to pay any Nerubian builders in something other than coin, which they had little of to spare at this time, was particularly convenient.


    "Trade routes are fine." Mira nodded again. "I do however want the traders armed to the teeth to guard against bandits and other inconveniences that come along the way. As for the goods, our bonemolds are strong and some of them very rare. We also carry other advantageous wares that your empire would pay those so-called coins for."

    Mira slumped back in her chair, putting her hand as a prop against her cheekbone. She worried that the empire's coin-based economy would bring greed upon her people, but for now this was what was needed in order to bring in the supplies her people desperately needed. Of course, she was not about to show the desperation openly.

    "Perfect." Varinius grunted, and turned to Graccus once more. "So now our only sticking point is putting troops in Azulfa, and I'm starting to agree with this lot." He gestured towards Mira and the others with a jerk of his head. "Our real threat here is those demon bastards. If they come back through the beam, we might really miss the troops who are sitting on their arses out in 'zulfa, doing nothing but pissing off the neighbours. At most we'll need a century to man the trade checkpoint and comb 'zulfa for anything the demons didn't loot."

    He turned to the three Nerubians.

    "What do you reckon?"


    Baalin smiled for the first time, a crooked smirk, and let out a hearty laugh. He was ready to lead troops into battle, but what kind of battle he was still planning. "The monsters may have numbers, strength, and brutality on their side, but no-one has fought a Brood before. There is a reason why we still stand in these mountains, while the dwarfs that wrongfully boasted their ownership are now fled."

    Praetor Graccus scowled, and opened his mouth to loose some sharp remark that no doubt concerned hiding and skulking while Dun Moriga burned, but Rash'vir managed to speak first.

    "You laugh so quick but don't remember who will be against us, Baalin." the Nerubian mage said as he looked upon his broodmother's chief bodyguard. "Those dwarfs aren't going to let us have peace so easily. They're a proud race and stubborn." He looked back at Varinius. "What has become of your dwarven allies anyway? Shouldn't they at least be attending this meeting?"

    "Not enough of 'em left in the city." Varinius shrugged. "They're all busy showing the rest of my idiot soldiers how to use a Dun Morigan cannon."

    He lowered himself back into his seat and reached for the wine cup that the attendant had left at his elbow.

    "The legion dwarfs are pissed about what the demons did to their homeland, I'll not deny that. But they're loyal to the emperor first and foremost - they wouldn't be in the legions, else. So don't worry, Gramic's boys will give you no trouble."

    Gramic was the new commander of the Fulminata's dwarven artillery, promoted into the boots of the previous gun captain Agron, who had blown himself to hell in the process of taking down a giant during the battle for Ech Zilidar.

    "And as for Jornak's faction," Varinius went on, and a dark cloud descended over his craggy features. "Like I said before, they gave up any say in the matter when they decided to turn traitor and set up their own state in Afragia."


    "Hmmmm..." Baalin said aloud listening to the man's words. "I'd love to have my hands around that Jornak character. King Vagrund was bad enough, but from what I'm hearing, he's betrayed his kind outright." Baalin didn't take too kindly to anything traitorous. The mere mentioning of words like that made him frustrated, especially if it was someone who he may have to confront in the future. "So that still leaves the question of how will we deal with Jornak and his lot?"

    "Well like I said," Varinius smiled grimly, "Dux Septim and his Romans are on their way to Duskal to have a frank exchange of views with king Jornak. After they re-capture the province, Septim has promised to hold it for us until the end of the war when we will take it back, so that the imperium can be seen as liberators rather than conquerors."

    "If Septim is good enough to simply hand us Afragia back." Graccus grumbled.

    "He gave us his word." Varinius shrugged. "That's the best we can get."

    "So you trust him?"

    "Perhaps not." Varinius admitted with another wry smile. "You don't have to make formal alliances with people you trust. But he's fought with us this far, so why betray us now? He lost his original home to the demons and he knows the threat they represent."
    Welcome to my masquerade.


  3. #13
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    RIVER HAPI, EASTERN AFRAGIA

    The river Hapi, named for the fertility god of the Afragian pantheon, ran from the southern uplands to the northern ocean, flanked by a narrow strip of green as it wound its way through the thirsty desert. As autumn wore on the water had become low and sluggish, still waiting for the rains to break over the uplands and bring the seasonal flood. Rice paddies were planted along the silty water, and in the drier ground behind them stood desert fruit trees. The trade of food from along the river was important to the Afragians, who unlike the less populous dwarfs could not feed their underground cities with hydroponic gardens alone. The river also formed a natural defensive line bisecting the desert, and a number of ancient border forts still guarded the main crossings. After the rise of the immortals had brought death in the night to Afragia's eastern settlements, then-princess Nesara had petitioned Afragia's Namorian task force - 5 cohorts of the 6th Ferrata legion - to mobilise and stiffen the border defences. As the last of the panicked survivors from Kerma, Apis and Amarna had finished streaming across the river, the legionaries had deployed along the western bank and waited.

    And waited.

    The detachment commander, a squat, pugnacious man by the name of Veturius, had been shocked when he had received the news that the invaders had stopped their attack and were now suing for peace. Apparently, there had been a change of leadership. Veturius had been even more shocked at the news that Nesara and Jornak - some upstart dwarf who had been proclaimed king by what was left of the Dun Morigan elders - had committed base treason and declared Afragia free of Namorian rule. Overnight, Veturius and his men had found themselves isolated in a hostile land. The soldiers of the Royal Afragian Army deployed alongside them had deserted en masse and returned to Tu Zenita Duskal, while the border forts had closed their gates and left the legionaries without supplies. Veturius was enraged, as were his men.

    Unwilling to simply retreat ignominiously towards Dun Moriga, Veturius had ordered his men south. If the Afragians would not give their Namorian custodians food and water then they would take it, and what's more they would show the eastern barbarians the price of treason. Veturius' cohorts had spread out across the roads leading from the riverside farmlands to Duskal, flagging down every trade caravan and instantly strangling more than half of the food supplies to the underground capital. Veturius had been tempted to send men west to siege the silver mines around Ayut, but he was wary of overextending his forces in hostile territory, and moreover his legionaries could not eat silver. Therefore, he had simply planted the Ferrata legion's elephant standard on the high ground dominating the approach to the Hapi farmlands, and dared the traitors to drive him out.

    The plan appeared to have worked. With his back to the rising sun, Veturius squinted towards the dust cloud that indicated an enemy force marching towards him. His heavy eyebrows drew down into a scowl as he cuffed the desert sand away from his face and turned to look back at his own troops. Three cohorts of Namorian heavy infantry were drawn up on the forward slope of the hill with their scorpion artillery arrayed behind them. Small knots of bowmen - a few Afragian auxiliaries who had remained loyal - were deployed to either flank, while two reserve cohorts remained concealed on the reverse slope. The Namorians had cast off their cloaks and packs and had their pila in hand, and the creaking of scorpion cables being wound back could be heard over the sifting desert wind.

    "Those are heathen bastard traitors coming towards us." Veturius barked as he stomped back to his horse, mounted up and cantered it back towards his command post. "You are the emperor's executioners. Fucking kill 'em!"

    His inelegant, invective-laden speech was answered with a short and hoarse hurrah.


    * * * * * *

    The arrogance of the Namorian remnant left in the East was beginning to affect Jornak's people, and with the queen gone, it was left to him to defend his lands. This was why he had left the comfort of his palace. He needed to show that the East would not be bullied, or starved as the current matter was, into submission. He would not allow the East to fall so soon.

    This was why he was in the heat of the desert, to deal with the last stubborn trace of Namorian influence within his borders. They had the gall to disrupt his supply lines, and directly affect the capital; that would not do. He had left the royal guard behind in Tu Zenita Duskal to hold off the Namorian allies that were no doubt passing through the tunnels, taking with him some of the newly-raised militia and the cream of the Afragian household cavalry.

    "You!" Jornak called to the commander of the Royal Afragian Cavalry, "Use the dust cloud and loop around behind the Namorian bastards. They will have artillery. You must destroy it before the main force reaches their lines. Do our gods and your queen proud." His command was simple and concise.

    The dust cloud would be wide and thick enough to allow the cavalry to move with effectiveness, Vulcan willing. Meanwhile, three battalions of militia would continually drag harsh brooms across the desert, thickening and widening the dust cloud around them. The intent was to shield further manoeuvres from hostile eyes.

    * * * * * *

    "What the fuck are they doing?" Veturius growled as he squinted towards the advancing easterners. The world seemed to be holding its breath as the enemy marched closer, the sound of their ranked footsteps an insistent, determined drumbeat. In spite of their proximity, the Eastern army seemed to be kicking up an inordinate amount of dust and sand, making it difficult to gauge their strength. The cloud and the hazy blocks of troops behind began to spread out as they advanced, as if to envelop the Namorian position.

    "Fire at will." Veturius barked as the advancing army reached 300 metres.

    The breath the world had been holding was let out as a sharp hiss as the scorpions on the hill loosed their bolts. Thirty long black darts whistled in a shallow arc and smacked into the dust-shrouded Afragian line with a sound like a butcher's cleaver striking home. The metre-long bolts were heavy enough to punch through shields and lorica, and the Afragians' light desert armour proved little obstacle. As the first casualties of the battle screamed and tumbled into the dirt, another volley whipped into the air, and fifteen seconds later another. As the militia checked, closed ranks and carried on, the companies of loyalist Afragians on the shoulders of the hill darted forward and began to add their own composite bows to the steel rain.

    The arrows fell, hissing like striking cobras; some skittering off the hard ground and others biting into flesh. The militia slowed, instinctively sheltering behind their oxhide shields like men advancing into the teeth of a storm, and many of the unprotected sweepers who had been providing the army's smokescreen scampered nervously back into their ranks.

    "Cavalry." one of Veturius' officers suddenly warned.

    Fixated on the centre of the Eastern line, where the majority of the arrows were falling, Veturius turned. As the dust began to clear a little, he saw horsemen cantering along behind the extended line, spilling out to hook around the flanks of the Namorian force.

    "Pull the flanks back!" Veturius shouted, "Double time!" The order was relayed in a frantic blast of trumpets, and the centuries on either end of the Namorian line snapped a quarter turn and hurried to close the yawning gap between the front line and the hill crest.

    Riding clear of their infantry line, the Royal Afragian Cavalry broke into a canter. The Afragian bowmen on Veturius' flanks, who had seen the danger quicker than their commander, began to run pell-mell back towards the safety of their own line, while the scorpion operators swung their weapons round on their mounts and began to fire instead at the onrushing horsemen.

    From the centre of his army, Jornak saw an Afragian rider snatched clean off his horse by one of the deadly-accurate bolts, and in several other places horses were screaming and shying and rolling over, but the charge on the Namorians' right flank thundered on, becoming a gallop that rode right over the archers still running for safety. The horsemen stabbed down with spears and longswords, showing their former countrymen no mercy. Having butchered the first company of enemy archers, they proceeded to crash through the still-forming cordon of legionaries on the northern shoulder of the hill and gallop on towards the scorpion battery, whose operators were already running for cover.

    Watching in shock as the Afragian cavalry thundered straight towards his position, Veturius and his command staff spurred their horses back over the hill crest towards the two hidden cohorts on the reverse slope.

    "Advance!" he bawled as he galloped past them. "Contendite vestra sponte!"


    * * * * * *

    With his front line now fast approaching the foot of the hill, Jornak saw his first squadron of cavalry darting inamongst the abandoned Namorian artillery, keeping away from the back of the Namorian line that had already about-faced and formed a double wall of shields, pila thrust out like makeshift spears. The cavalry squadron on the Namorians' left flank had not been so lucky - finding their charge slowed by the steeper slope on the south side of the hill, they had run into a shieldwall of Namorians who had been able to close off the exposed flank. Too sensible to ride uphill into the formed line of javelin spears, they wheeled away and rode back towards Jornak's right flank, pursued by a shower of arrows from the Afragian bowmen who had managed to find safety behind the legionary line.

    At that moment there were trumpet blasts and shouts, and a second wave of Namorian infantry poured into view over the brow of the hill, charging down towards the first squadron of Royal cavalry. Seeing the sudden danger, the horsemen abandoned their attempts to hack apart the scorpion bolt-throwers and scattered back down the hill. A few found gaps or leapt to freedom straight through the Namorian infantry, but the previously-broken line behind them had reformed, and now they were hemmed in from all sides. As the Namorian reinforcements charged down to crush the trapped horsemen, the front line further down the hill still stood with javelins cocked; waiting for the advancing militia, and seemingly undeterred by the fact that they were outnumbered 3 to 1.

    The militia themselves were steadier now - ranks closed now that the Namorian bows and scorpions were no longer firing at them, and Jornak knew it would take precious minutes for the enemy to recrew what was left of their artillery.


    Still, watching the cavalry fall to the Namorian defense, Jornak's emerald eyes became pools of molten green as the heat of anger burned within them. Sending a galloper out to the remainder of his cavalry, he ordered them to station themselves on the hidden side of the dunes just outside of the bulk of his forces. The dust cloud should have proven enough cover for what was left of his cavalry to get in position and await his order.

    The first line of militia lowered large pikes in a wall of glittering sharpened points, clearly placing their trust in their new king. Hope was a powerful ally, and the hope of being free from Namorian rule was something that seemed to catch the hearts of many men - and even some women - in the Afragian capital. Jornak would not oppose the growing approval for the new empire; in fact he supported it avidly, even going so far as to send out riders across the continent to proclaim their new sovereignty.

    "Archers!" the dwarf king called with a booming voice, hoping to disorder the Namorian line in the final seconds before contact. He watched as a cloud of arrows whickered and whistled down upon the Namorian bastards. They raised their curved shields, some of them falling with cries and curses as they were hit.

    "Pila iace!" came the answering shout, and the Namorian front ranks hurled their javelins. There were more cries as ragged gaps appeared in the front of Jornak's phalanx. The pikemen marched on. The Namorians didn't run, as implacable as the glaring, tusked elephant faces painted on their shields as they passed javelins to the front ranks for a second volley.

    This will be a bloodbath. Jornak realised. I can beat them but I will lose half of my own army in the process.

    Jornak gave a signal, and the word was passed along the line in barked commands. His entire army faltered, checked, and then stopped mere yards from the Namorian line. Before the Namorians could hurl more javelins into Jornak's militia, a blast of trumpets announced the king stepping down from his chariot, the iron rings in his beard clinking together and adding a musical tone to his steps.

    The Afragian troops moved to the side, creating an alleyway without breaking rank, to allow their king to pass. There were many faces that featured looks of confusion, but others showed pride, and many displayed outright approval. Their king was going to lead them into battle. Granted, it wasn't the smartest of moves, but Jornak hadn't gotten the hated title of 'Hero of Dun Moriga' for his cautious nature.

    As he reached the peak of his battle line, he stepped out into the open and held his hands up to the Namorian line. He cleared his throat and called out, "Let us solve this with no more bloodshed! I would hate to see the sands run red with a river of Namorian blood."

    The sarcasm seeping from his last sentence was as thick as sap from a tree.

    "I call for single combat. The victor claims the field, and those that lose return to their damned gods-forsaken city." he shouted, his words making it clear that he expected himself to win the fight, "General to general. What do you say?"

    For a long moment there was only silence, and the Namorian legionaries glaring at him over the steel rims of their shields. Jornak knew that honour duels were sacred to the Namorians' chief god, even if they hadn't fought one on a battlefield for generations. He also knew that while his newly-levied pikemen could not beat the seasoned legionaries without grievous losses, his Namorian counterpart must have likewise known that he ultimately couldn't win. Without knowledge of the Roman threat tying up half of Jornak's army, the Namorian bastard could only have assumed that Jornak's new empire would send another army, and another, until he and his isolated men were beaten. But here was a chance to cut the entire secession off at the head, by killing Jornak as he willingly offered himself up for single combat. It must have been a tempting offer to the Namorian commander, and Jornak was counting on it.

    His hands remained open to the sky, but his eyes were ever watchful of the Namorian line for any hint of movement. If he was in danger, he would see it before it came.

    "You're the honourless piece of shit who calls himself king of the East?" a rough voice shouted from somewhere behind the Namorian front line. Jornak's eyes narrowed as he saw a rider on a grey horse arrogantly picking his way forward through the loose Namorian ranks. Around him, wounded Namorians with arrow shafts still protruding from their torsos and limbs were crawling towards the rear, or being dragged there by comrades.

    "I am king by the appointment of the dwarven elders, and by the acclaim of my brothers of Afragia!" Jornak shouted back, his green eyes blazing. "Don't you lecture me on honour, Namorian, while you sit on this road and try to starve the women and children of my capital!"

    As the rider trotted closer, Jornak saw that he was a stocky, ugly man, with a low-sloping brow and thick lips drawn back in a sneer. His helmet was plumed with an indigo crest, and his matching cloak was pinned back with a clasp in the shape of the Ferrata legion's elephant symbol. Campaign honours and medallions of command hung down the front of his banded armour. He was sweating heavily in the heat.

    "You," the Namorian snarled, "Are a traitor. And you will die as one."

    Jornak spread his arms, showing his contempt. The Afragian sun glittered off his armour and danced across the iron rings clasping his thick red beard. "You can't beat me. I fight for my people! What do you fight for, gold?"

    "Loyalty." the enemy commander spat, turning his horse to the left as he rode clear of the Namorian line. He began to trot obliquely towards Jornak.

    "And the rewards that brings from your fat fool of an emperor." Jornak taunted, his mouth curving into a grim smile.

    The Namorian commander put his hand to the scabbard at his hip, and slowly drew forth a long cavalry sword. The blade became a line of white fire as it caught the light.

    "Oh, I'd gladly fight a traitor like you for free." the Namorian growled, and kicked his horse into a full gallop towards Jornak.


    Jornak smirked and held his ground, remaining as erect as the countless columns that held up the vast tunnel system connecting Dun Moriga to Afragia. The spectators to this duel would not see a trace of fear in the dwarf king's eyes.

    As the Namorian drew closer at a swift pace, the dwarf king lifted his axe and turned the flat of the double-bladed axe towards the Namorian line. The sun glinted off the glistening blade as if diamonds were embedded within the metal. With a quick turn of Jornak's wrist, the sun was reflecting off the axe and directly into the eyes of the charging horse. It whinnied and bucked, throwing its rider to the sandy dunes. He landed with a crash of armour, and there was an audible gasp from the Ferrata legionaries. Their commander rolled onto his side, coughing and fumbling for his dropped sword. A hearty chuckle could be heard escaping the lips of the dwarf king, making it evident to those who were witnessing the events that he was toying with the Namorian. Further along the line, a Namorian centurion ran forward to seize the bolting horse.

    Veturius scrambled to his feet, still coughing. He was limping slightly, having evidently twisted an ankle in his fall. Still he came at Jornak with a roar of anger, swinging two savage cuts at the dwarf king's head. Jornak turned both aside with his axe shaft, then swung the weapon in a wide arc that sent his opponent stumbling back on his injured foot. Jornak didn't pursue. The susurrus from the Namorian line rose to something between a groan and a hiss.

    Jornak saw the Namorian general forcibly rein in his anger. He was taller than Jornak but not as broad despite his stocky musculature, and on foot his long cavalry sword was less of an advantage. Jornak was also better armoured, with heavy plate pauldrons and vambraces protecting his arms. Sweat was beading on Jornak's brow from the desert heat, but he showed no discomfort.

    Jornak could see his opponent's eyes calculating. He's either going to try and tire me out, which will fail; or go for my legs, which I will expect.

    In the end, Veturius didn't quite do either. He came in low, and then used his greater reach to lunge straight at Jornak's face, aiming the point of his sword at the gap between the king's helmet and gorget. The hisses of the watching armies rose to a roar, with shouts of "Come on!" and "Fucking kill him!" ringing out from both sides.


    A flicker of annoyance danced in the emerald pools of the dwarf king's eyes, as the Namorian general sought to end the fight rather abruptly - much to Jornak's disapproval. He twisted at the last possible moment, but the Namorian dog was fast and his sword drew a river of blood as the sword met its mark and tore through a rather significant chunk of Jornak's right temple before glancing away from his golden helm.

    Jornak roared in anger and brought the shaft of his axe down on the Namorian general's wounded ankle, with a force that would seem as if a mountain had fallen upon it. There was a crunch, and a strangled cry from the Namorian as his leg went out from under him. There was a gasp from the Namorian line.

    "That was your last mistake, general." Jornak snarled as the Namorian tried to drag himself away, still weakly hefting his sword. Jornak kicked it away. "I watched as my people died in the streets of Ech Zilidar...I watched centuries upon centuries of dwarf culture and memory being swept away by a grey tide of death and destruction."

    He stepped away from Veturius, before turning back towards him and throwing his golden helmet to the ground with a significant clatter. It revealed a face and beard swallowed by a crimson tide from the wound in his forehead.

    "Where were the rest of Emor's legions when the first of the dwarf cities fell? Where were they when the second and third fell?" The dwarf king's voice abruptly took on a softer tone at the memory of his fallen heritage. "Emor cares nothing for the people beyond her own walls. That is why I have chosen a new path for my people. Afragia and Dun Moriga, united under a single purpose - survival."

    He ended his speech, grounded the butt of his axe in the sand, and offered his hand to the wounded Namorian general. The man just looked at him incredulously.

    "I want no more blood on my hands Namorian, not even yours. I want to survive, and I want my people to survive. That is the purpose behind most every action that I take."

    Taking a weakened breath, making it evident that the blow to his head was affecting him more than he realised, he began to speak again.

    "What is your name, Namorian?"

    "Sextus Veturius." the Namorian replied through gritted teeth. His ugly face was running with sweat, and his jaw was clenched with pain. Seeing that the duel was clearly over, a cheer went up from the Afragian pikemen. More joined them, until it was a rousing, thunderous roar. The Namorians, shocked and sullen, were silent. Several mahogany-skinned Afragians ran forward to assist their king. At the same time, a subdued pair of bodyguards shuffled forward from the Namorian line.

    "You have earned my respect," Jornak rumbled softly, "More so than any of your kin. I wish you no further harm, Veturius Fire-Heart."

    His hand remained extended towards the opposing general, an offer of truce because they had both been weakened by grievous wounds, perhaps him more so than the Namorian. Jornak's head was pounding from the blow, and he could feel his strength ebbing away as if his life blood was escaping his body through the wound.

    What he said was true, Veturius had earned his respect. In truth, Jornak had come here to kill the Namorian force, but something had changed. Whether influenced by the divine, or simply the knowledge that of he remained much longer his wound would begin to bring more than a sharp and steady ache to his head, he did not know. He only knew that killing Veturius here and now would not help his case.

    "I..." Veturius struggled, his teeth still gritted tight. "Will abide by the laws of Mars...but I will not shake the hand of a fucking traitor."

    He grimaced in pain as one of the bodyguards threw the general's arm around his shoulders and hoisted him up, dragging his shattered ankle. The other guard gingerly retrieved the general's sword. Veturius was unable to meet Jornak's gaze as he hobbled away and disappeared into the Namorian ranks.

    "Gladium reconde." went up from the blue army a moment later, and with as much dignity as a beaten force could muster the Namorians sheathed their swords, snapped a quarter turn to the right, and began to withdraw from the field.
    Set by Naraness
    Spoiler: Extra Information 

  4. #14
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    EMOR

    Dawn came too soon for Ovidius, a dagger of light against his eyelids. He winced and shielded his face with a forearm as he rolled over onto the other side of the bed, facing the wall. The dry straw smelled slightly musty through the fabric of the bedsheet. With his recent mission to Afragia, it had been some time since the bed had been slept in. And even longer since I first tumbled Suri into it, that day the Romans arrived.

    He pushed the thought angrily to the back of his mind as he kicked off the thin blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand. The shaft of sunlight that had woken him was still spearing in through the ragged curtain that hung across the window. Outside, a clatter of footsteps, hoofbeats and creaking cart wheels told him that Emor was once again going about its morning routine as best it could through all the food shortages and political upheaval. It had perhaps been a mistake returning to the capital - Ovidius' mistress Lycinia was dead, and her husband had less use for a spy now that he had all the resources of Namor at his command. The rut that Ovidius had found himself in since dictator Marcius' ascension was growing - and his limited store of coin was steadily shrinking.

    The people outside all had to carry on, and so did Ovidius. With a sharp exhalation of breath, he took hold of the curtain and raked it back to let the daylight in.

    He froze. The vista outside his window was not the familiar, dusty street of the Via Forum. Instead, the sky burned. Kaleidoscopes of red, yellow and orange filled the air as the planet's atmosphere - and by extension, its life - was extinguished in the fire. The ground below the red morass was cracked and ruined, broken only by the black snow of ash that fell steadily from the blazing sky. It settled in vast drifts upon the buildings that stood in front of the spy, causing the once-strong roofs to fall and shatter, broken by the weight. Chunks of stone floated up from the ground and hung suspended, bobbing upwards and downwards as if dancing to the orchestra of crackling, booming flames that dominated Ovidius' ears.

    I'm in Tartarus. was his first panicked, irrational thought. Someone's killed me in my sleep and I'm in one of the twelve hells.

    He opened his mouth to pray for the first time in a decade, but no sound would come out. There were no human noises at all beyond his own room - only roars and shouts of inhuman beings that lingered beyond the fire; the swooping sounds of wings flitting through the air; the clashing of swords and the rending of flesh. The cacophony was only broken, suddenly, by the sound of feet moving towards Ovidius from behind.

    He spun round, reaching instinctively and uselessly for the dagger belt that he wasn't wearing. Sidling up to him was a woman, although Ovidius could only tell so by her hands, as the rest of her form was shrouded in a robe that masked her face and body from his eyes. The woman looked across the horizon, sighing to herself before she clasped her delicate hands tightly together and placed them at her waist.

    "Not the sunniest of days, would you agree?" she posited. The voice was strikingly familiar, resounding through Ovidius' mind until finally settling upon his last visit to the Mages' Guild and the goddess who had contacted him there.


    "Isis." Ovidius whispered, remembering vividly the figure which was now hidden beneath the cloak - clad in rainbows, dusky-skinned and smoky-eyed.

    What do you want with me now!? he might have demanded, if he hadn't been too afraid. Are you here because of what I did to the Egyptians? To Shanaar and Iset?

    "Is this Tartarus?" he managed to ask, his mouth as dry and hot as the ash flurries blizzarding outside.

    The Goddess pursed her lips for a moment, eyes gazing deeply into the flames that licked at the brick of the tenament opposite, attempting to gain some sort of purchase upon the bleached and crumbling stone. Without turning towards Ovidius, Isis spoke, her voice seeming to boom through the air and into the man's mind.

    "No," she mused; her voice filled with thought, sounding far away. "This is Eternum. Or at least, one of Eternum's many possible futures." Isis paused once more, continuing to stare out into the yonder. "Perhaps - at this moment in time - its most likely future? Only time can confirm these things."


    Ovidius tried to moisten his dry lips, and coughed instead. His heart and mind were both racing. He remembered Marcius' cousin Seppia warning him of the demon army in the south, though he had not wanted to believe that things were as dire as Isis was now showing him. No, this isn't possible - not after everything we've done!

    "But our immortal allies?" he protested, "Lord Marcius' sword...?"

    The Goddess nodded as if in agreement. "Aye." she muttered, as if filled with sudden disdain at the abhorrent display ahead of her. "But there is little that undying mortals and a sword could do against the King Who Cometh."

    "Then what can?"

    Isis turned slightly around and rested her forearm against the sill of the window - the barrier that seemed to be the only thing stopping them from falling into the abyssal, flaming darkness beneath them. As she did so, Ovidius gained a glimpse of the goddess' face. It was hard to put a finger on it, though her eyes glowed brightly, shimmering with different colours and emotions as prophecies and possible events crossed her mind. Ovidius wondered if the goddess' indistinct visage was a mirror of the increasingly uncertain tides of prophesy that she commanded.

    "Of course, this is only one of the futures. I can see it now - the gods and their champions, riding towards the King Who Cometh with wild hearts and fire in their eyes."

    She coughed to herself - as if the smoke was having an effect on the goddess' lungs. Isis grumbled under her breath slightly. "The future is a very uncertain place; you know that, don't you Ovidius?"

    The question seemed more like a statement than an enquiry.


    Yes. Ovidius thought. I thought Suri and I had a future. He swallowed the bitter thought, doubting that that was where the goddess' interest lay.

    "I've done my best to follow your instructions." he said instead. "The Romans are our allies now. And the Greeks, with their champion Achilles." Yes, but he was only the second most powerful warrior. The first fights for War, who rides with the demons. "And the Egyptians..."

    He faltered again, almost resenting the doubts that Isis' words had planted in him. And damn you Suri for trying to put me up on a pedestal, with all that talk of being chosen of the gods and how I had to be better than this.

    "I'm sorry for what we did to make them our allies. But I'm no hero. I'm not Decius Marcius." Lord Marcius somehow finds the strength to carry on and rule an empire when Lycinia and the children are dead. "I'm not sure he needs someone like me, and I still don't understand why you do either."

    He looked out of the window again, but the hellish glow of the flames and the steadily rising heat almost instantly forced him to turn his head away. How am I supposed to stop that?

    He sighed. "But if you need me, use me."

    "Ovidius my dear," The Goddess lifted one of her hands and moved her open palm towards the spy. "All Gods need their Champions."

    The red, burning ruins and the sulphurous smoke that peeled off of them and into the room was suddenly washed away, swept up by the winds of prophecy and replaced with a black canvas, seemingly empty and ancient. Ovidius struggled not to lose his balance from the sudden vertigo - there was nothing out in the morass that was being thrown ahead of him, nothing but unnerving emptiness.

    "Twelve champions." said Isis.

    Several flickers of light formed, suddenly, within the darkness, as if the goddess' words had coaxed them out of hiding.

    "A Champion of Prophecy." One of the lines glimmered with a colour that was hard to focus on, as if it was unclear. "Two of Death." Two grey lines flickered into existence, easier to see against the black backdrop. "Two of Life," Alongside the grey appeared two Green lines. "Two of War, one of Love, one of the Forge, one of the Sky, one of the Sea, and one of the Hunt."

    The lines flickered and shifted through the darkness, carving a path through the abyssal black as though it were fresh Namorian butter and they were a heated knife.

    "Twelve Champions, to save our world and all other worlds - to lead men and to join Gods in legend." Isis placed her hand upon Ovidius' shoulder, and her touch filled him with visions of universes and stars and eons of emotion.
    Ovidius gasped aloud, overpowered by even these merest glimpses into what could be and what should be.

    "Or to fail," Isis said, and Ovidius was snapped back to the empty void with only the glowing lines hovering before him. "And be destroyed by Kronos."

    Twelve champions. Ovidius thought suddenly, But I count fourteen lines.

    The two rogue lines, both coloured black and icy blue, were only visible thanks to their lighter outlines. Something caused Ovidius to feel a visceral sense of dread as they shifted closer and closer towards him - remaining unnamed, but lingering within the air alongside the others.

    "What about those two?" he asked. It was only after the fact that he realised he had spoken in a whisper.

    As Ovidius made the remark, the two lines stopped moving, as if entranced by his mentioning of them. Shimmering within the darkness they stood still and silent, and all that the supposed Champion of Isis could feel was the intensifying dread that boiled up seemingly from nowhere as he looked at them.

    "The Champion of Ice, and the Champion of Darkness." Isis said, regarding the two lines with a tone that sounded almost disdainful - though her face, thanks to its wrappings, did not allow for any facial reaction to accompany what her voice portrayed. Something about that seemed wrong to Ovidius.

    "A war of 7 Kings and 14 Champions," the goddess went on, her seeming dislike of the change in numbers becoming more obvious as her disdain showed through further. "One wielding a glaive of ice and steel; one wielding the glory of Mars. One with the fires of Vulcan in his heart. One leading the hunt and another leading his people from the whip."

    Ovidius didn't like the sound of that, but he kept his silence. Isis breathed in deeply, as though she were exhilarated by the dangerous future that she was proposing.

    "To save us all from the Midnight King, they must join the King of Gods."


    Ra, Ovidius thought. Ra was the first of the gods, born pure despite his springing from the demons Kronos and Zenita. Ovidius' father, a freed slave, had sometimes cited that story to him when he was a child, saying that purity and greatness could spring from the most unlikely places. I didn't half let him down. Ovidius mused, thinking of the work that had driven him from his father's house. Though I wonder what he'd have to say about all this.

    "Not so hard then." Ovidius said, unable to resist the ironic understatement. "How am I supposed to get to Ra? It'd take me a month to ride back to Afragia, and I don't have the money to buy passage on a ship."

    "To Ra?" Isis laughed to herself. "No, we don't have a month left, I'm afraid. But I do have another job for you - closer to home."

    Ovidius exhaled down his nose, mentally preparing himself. "Name it."

    "There's a slight dilemma going on involving a certain Champion of the Sky." Isis mused. "See, the poor young lad seems to have spent a lot of his time recently being the prey of some rather nasty little hunters." The vision in front of Ovidius changed once more to show a young, armoured man with a sleek bow in his hand, running across the plains of Namor. The burning pillar of light that sat within the emperor's palace glared against the azure sky, though Ovidius judged that the city still lay at least a day's ride away.

    "Wait a second." Ovidius said, as he looked at the running man in his contoured armour. "That's the son of Diana that lord Marcius brought back with him from Hercine. That's Zar Stormwraith."

    Isis nodded her shrouded head. "Now, he was already in a bit of a sticky situation - being that a certain Goddess of the Hunt who we won't name has decided to outright say no to the prospect of having a son..."

    The goddess sighed as she watched the man running across the fields towards the city. As the vision drew closer, Ovidius saw that his armour was dented, torn up and scuffed in places; as if claws had been trying to rip through it.

    "But now," Isis said grimly, "Instead of a few of Artemis' huntresses chasing after him he's being hunted by one of those pathetic, heretical excuses for gods that Odin thought it would be a good idea to spawn - her and her entire brood, including the huntresses, who she butchered..."


    "A new god?" Ovidius asked, not liking the sound of that one bit. Isis was right, it did sound heretical - not to mention impossible. Or is it? Apparently not, like a lot of other recent events I could mention.

    "Attaxia." Isis nodded. "The bat queen. Mistress of the blood drinkers." She sniffed, as if she found the titles gauche. "And now, slayer of huntresses. T'is a shame, I liked some of them - I did warn them though, to be fair: a sharp death at the hand of a bat. Though to be honest I had no idea what I was talking about myself."

    Isis laughed to herself, shaking her head back and forth beneath her shawl. "Ah, the future is a very uncertain place Ovidius, very uncertain indeed."


    I'm glad you can laugh. Ovidius thought, though he was not reckless enough to say it aloud. "Alright." he said. "How do I kill these things?"

    His dagger had shattered against Seppia Octavi's protective charm when he had mistaken her for a tail, but even if it hadn't he doubted that bronze would do him much good against Attaxia's "brood". It certainly didn't do much against that possessed mage in the Guild. That unpleasant night seemed a lifetime ago now, although it had had one silver lining. No. he told himself firmly, Don't think about Suri. Not now.

    "A simple stab to the heart, preferably with a blade forged of silver." the goddess of prophecy mused, her face once more turning to look at Ovidius, and once again washing waves of uncertainty over him as he couldn't quite put a finger upon the features of her face. "Though I don't need you to kill them, I just need you to stop them from killing him."

    Fast in, fast out? I can do that. To hell with fighting more demons. "Alright." Ovidius nodded.

    The scene in front of him changed once more to show a small cave entrance dug into the side of an unassuming hill - no more than few feet wide, yet clearly deep judging by the blackness that emanated from its recesses. There was little light around the hole, though it seemed to glisten with the stars in the sky.

    "I need you to take him here, just outside Emor's western gate - disciples of mine have been preparing the temple for quite some time," Isis suddenly laughed to herself. "Though we weren't sure which one of the gods to prepare for."


    "You went and dug a temple right next to the burial grounds?" Ovidius asked, folding his arms.

    "Well at first we thought that we'd dig it right next to the Temple of Mars but then we realised that people wouldn't take much appreciation to that." The Goddess of Prophecy groaned, but laughed soon after. "Besides, few people want to spend their time by a burial ground, and my followers' attire tends to make people think that they are spirits, lost and unable to reach the Underworld."

    Ovidius raised his eyebrows. There were indeed Emorian citizens who shunned the burial grounds because of fear of the unquiet dead, but until now he had dismissed it as superstition and thought no more of it. Dead men don't follow you - just their memories, if you let them. Though since the immortals, that was just one more rule that had changed in the last year.

    "Alright." he said again. "I'll get Zar to the temple. Then what?"

    "Then," Isis turned away from the air in front of her - the canvas of prophesy that they had both been staring at. "I'm going to need you and Zar Stormwraith to wait for the Priestess of Ra, on her chariot of fire and steel."

    * * * * * *

    THE GATES OF TARTARUS

    Suriyana stared at the shadows, watching them grow longer as they stretched across the narrow gorge and the gaping black cavern at its end. Ra would appear at sundown, or so it was said - to sail his ship through the twelve hells and emerge triumphant with the dawn. The River Styx that supposedly lay inside the cave was said to be long and winding, connecting the world of the living with the world of the dead. The snaking, burning hot river ran through both the Underworld and Tartarus, the realm of the demons and the damned, so that the King of Gods could bring sunlight to all - to keep the living alive, to gift the dead with his light, and to burn the damned with his fury. If Suriyana listened carefully, she almost thought she could hear running water and the crashing of surf, but it was just as likely that it was merely the desert wind; blowing dry and warm through the shadow-hatched canyon.

    She watched the tunnel entrance warily out of the corner of her eye. The cave did not look as evil and imposing as Suriyana had imagined it, but she had still known instantly that there was something wrong about it. It seemed darker than the shadows around it, as if it was physically sucking away the light. Suri felt dizzy whenever she looked into it for too long, but she felt just as uneasy not keeping it in her view, as if at any moment something horrible would dart out of the cave mouth and drag her back into the darkness.

    She wondered if it was something in the winds of magic that was making her feel so uneasy at this junction between worlds. Gabriel and Numeira did not seem overly concerned; the masked man was showing the young half-breed his sword, and guiding her through a few simple practice cuts. Perhaps demons and demi-gods are immune to it.

    That theory did not quite add up though, for Nesara and Salvius also seemed untroubled. They were sitting by the campfire, the young queen bundled up in the centurion's cloak. Now that he was getting used to Nesara's request to treat her like an equal rather than royalty, Salvius was talking as he might to an old friend - albeit with a little less cursing and slightly fewer lewd anecdotes than Suri had come to expect. As she watched, Suri couldn't help but notice how often Nesara would reach over and touch the centurion's arm while they talked. Feeling a little like she was intruding, Suri looked away - and almost immediately regretted it because now there was nothing to watch except the dark and menacing cave entrance.

    "No, you're not imagining it." Anne smirked as she smoothed her gown under her legs and sat down next to Suriyana. "I can feel it too."

    Her right eye was narrowed in the direction of the cave. Her left was an ugly red hole, surrounded by a ring of feathers. Qia'bul chirped quietly, as if in agreement. Suri had noticed that while her bird familiar still perched on her shoulder, its beady eyes were almost always fixed on Anne.

    "Is it magic?" Suri queried, "Or something else?"

    "Ra is the light." Anne said, and pointed with a feather-plumed arm towards the cave. "That is his enemy's realm."

    Suri became aware of a dull thudding sound that slowly joined the cave's uneasy aura, resounding through the ground like an anticipating heartbeat. As sundown came closer and closer, the thudding quickened, as if the sun-parched cavern was becoming excited at the prospect of the King of Gods sailing through. It was as if it were not a simple rock formation, but the mouth of a huge, sapient and malevolent creature.

    "What a horrible adventure you're all having." a woman's voice suddenly rang out from beside Suriyana and Anne.


    Suri scrambled back with a gasp, Qia'bul chirping in shock as he buzzed around her head. Anne spun round with her teeth bared, a blaze of light leaping up in her hands. By the campfire Salvius lunged for his sword shouting "Bloody hellfire!", and Nesara sprang to her feet.

    A figure had appeared before them. She looked towards Suriyana and Anne, her face concealed by a gossamer veil and the rest of her form by voluminous wraps of cloth. Her gender was only discernible by her voice, which seemed to carry some monotone uncertainty about it.

    "Though I suppose that it's only necessary that you should follow Varro Salvius and Gabriel Odinsen into the darkness itself."


    The group hung back uncertainly from the figure, creating a ring of space. Salvius and Gabriel were holding their swords uncertainly, while Anne's hands were still pulsing with dangerous light.

    Suriyana was the first to reply. "Who are you?"

    "I am a lady." the woman responded.

    "Thank you for the fucking obvious." growled Salvius.

    The newcomer looked at the entrance to the underworld, her face still masked and hidden away from the prying eyes of those she addressed. "A follower of the Mistress of Foretelling; the Goddess of Prophecy; the Dream-Weaver. She goes by many names."


    "Isis!" Suri breathed, and immediately dropped to one knee. Anne hesitated for a moment, then snapped her glowing hand into a fist to dissipate the spell she had been charging. Nesara and Salvius looked at each other, and the latter slowly lowered his sword.

    "Get up." Anne told Suri out of the corner of her mouth. "It's just a messenger, not Isis herself. And we serve Ra."

    "Isis is the consort of Ra." Suri retorted, but she obeyed. Qia'bul chirruped and alighted on her shoulder. Suri couldn't take her eyes off the woman. There was something strange about her, as if she had lost any semblance of security - as if she had lost something a long time ago and had never quite found it again. What could make a mistress of fate so uncertain?

    "I have been following you all for quite some time now." the woman said.

    "I hope you liked what you saw." Salvius observed, though his ironic tone had lost its edge - even the hard-bitten Namorian respected the gods. "What made you pick now to come and talk to us?"

    "Destiny." The servant of Isis spoke, turning to look at the group - though her face remained concealed behind the mesh of fabric that washed over her. "Both grim - black and deadly and putrid to behold - and bright."

    "I have often counselled my companions to always cling to hope." Nesara spoke up, in her carefully enunciated Namorian. Like Suri, her tone held a certain amount of reverence as she addressed this messenger of the chief Afragian goddess. "So tell us, lady of Isis, what we have to do to bring about the brighter future that you hold in potential."

    "Do your duty, to emperor and gods."

    The woman seemed to let out a deep breath, before silently breathing back in to fill her lungs once more. Her face, though still hidden, gave the impression that she was regarding the entrance to Tartarus with deep discontent.

    "Three of your stories come to an end before this path of destiny is over." The messenger to the Goddess turned and looked towards the group, and as she did so the veil dissolved to leave only the shawl around the sides of her head. Her face was gorgeous in nigh-on every way, twisting into many different, uncertain forms as she contemplated the men and women who were to travel to the lands of the twelve Demon Lords.

    "Three lights to shut out the shadow will flicker out themselves, though if this is the first you have heard of it, then I don't question any of your ability to continue on this path that you have oh so dangerously taken." The messenger of Isis smiled, though not grossly or uncomfortably, but kindly; regarding the men and women with as much warmth as such a prophecy could provide.


    Gabriel tilted his masked head, and something about the movement suggested an ironic smile. "And that is the good news?"

    Beside him Numiera said nothing, clinging to the tall warrior's belt like a child onto its mother's skirts.

    "Ra and Isis guided me here." Nesara said, her face grim and her hand up by her throat, but her voice steady. "I will not turn from their path now, whatever that may mean for me."

    "You don't become a soldier to live forever." Salvius agreed, exhaling as he returned his spatha to its scabbard with a dull snap. "Besides, nothing's set in stone."

    Suri looked from one to the other, feeling cold, but too ashamed to speak up. She knew that the underworld was a dangerous place, from which no-one absent Ra's light was ever supposed to return from, but it was another thing to be told by a handmaiden of prophesy that some of them would never see the sun again. Salvius is right, nothing is set in stone...but... She wished that there was a pool nearby so she could attempt to read her own uncertain future, but the gorge around them had been dry and scorched for miles now, as inimical to life as Tartarus itself.

    "I won't be one of the three." Anne said, with none of Suriyana's trepidation. She smirked as she looked at the messenger, as if her warning was a joke that only Anne was clever enough to understand. "I have seen myself meeting with Ra and flying home across the Afragian dunes. I'm not going to die."

    "Maybe not." The Lady of Isis muttered. "Or maybe you will - I see many destinies where many of you die; one destiny where all of you die, where all things die. Maybe not." The woman turned away from the group, walking back the way they had come as if she was finished with their exchange. "But have a care, priestess of Ra. Your path may not be quite the one you imagine."

    As she walked, she faded away - evanescing like a morning mist.
    She left silence in her wake.

    The quiet was broken by a scrabbling of fabric shoes against rock as queen Nesara found a handhold on the side of the gorge and began to pull herself up. Her eagle fanned its wings and launched into the air above her with a cry.

    "Where are you going?" Suriyana asked, alarmed.

    "I want to see the sun." Nesara replied as she scanned the rocky outcrops above her and reached for her next handhold. "One last time."

    * * * * * *

    EARTHBORN GROUND BASE, OUTSIDE EMOR

    The wall of the Earthborn encampment loomed above Marcius, the pre-fabricated panels fitting together as smoothly as mosaic tiles. Each one was crafted from some kind of white ceramic, reflecting the heat of the autumn sun. Above the ramparts, the rounded bulk of the ship that carried the earthborn where only gods had once walked was just visible, grey and gleaming.

    Marcius waited, motionless atop his horse as his honour guard and the cordon of Greek soldiers looked on. He had sent Perseus ahead to request an audience with the earthborn, and the Greek acting commander had reported that their leader had accepted the request. Marcius hoped that the earthborn would not keep him waiting, as an arrogant lord might to show his disdain for an inferior petitioner. He was not in the mood for any of the earthborn's petty games.

    A humming noise suddenly emanated from the wall, accompanied by a blue light that formed a square around one of the interlocking wall sections. The light pulsated, engulfing both Marcius and his honour guard. The horses whinnied and shied in fright, but a moment later the blue light disappeared into the air, and so did the hum - though it was quickly replaced by the sound of various locking mechanisms clicking together. Though it took a few moments for the commander-turned-dictator to notice, Marcius looked upwards to see that the section of wall was now disintegrating into itself; small squares of the panel folding backwards before disappearing, exploding into tiny blue cubes and cuboids that floated impossibly through the air before turning translucent and finally disappearing. The wall never moved, but the evaporating squares of the panel began to move faster, seeming to roll backwards to produce the entrance, the squares continuing to digitise and disappear. Several of Marcius' Namorians clutched pendants or gripped the iron hilts of their swords for protection against the powerful sorcery. Marcius refrained from any such displays of fear. Not because he wasn't afraid, but because he had to.

    Behind the now opened doorway stood a cluster of earthborn. Some were armoured in contoured plates, with their strange and deadly weapons trained on Marcius and his honour guard. Others who were pressing their fingers lightly upon floating squares of information, cascading with text in languages that Marcius couldn't hope to understand. A woman walked out from the crowd, and smiled towards the encampment's visitors. She was attractive and well kept - possibly a military woman, judging by her lean physique - and above her hand hovered what looked like a small tray, formed from familiar metal but with the arcane blue light that had formed the door stretching over the frame. Impossibly, the light was solid, for upon the floating table were several headsets, each of them small and easily wearable.

    "I'm sorry, but a lot of the crew don't speak Latin." The woman spoke in perfect Namorian, smiling as she held the table slightly closer to the men. "Captain Ceylan thought it would be easier for your and your guards to wear one of these each."


    Marcius had seen such devices before, worn by the earthborn themselves during their occasionally heated meetings with emperor Claudius. They must be wondering what happened to him. Marcius thought silently, Though they are doing well not to show it.

    "Very well." Marcius said aloud, nodding to the earthborn woman. "Varrius, you're with me."

    Marcius' grim-faced chief bodyguard followed him in climbing down from his horse, stepping up to the dictator's side with one hand on his sword pommel and his dark eyes roving between the earthborn. Twenty bodyguards will do no more use than one inside their walls, if they are planning treachery. And too many bodyguards shows fear.

    Marcius turned. "Perseus?"

    As expected, the Greek hero whom Hercules had left in charge while he was in Hercine was not far away. He watching from a few paces back with his arms folded. The resurrected Achilles stood on his right hand side. Perseus grinned behind his tall helmet, and silently jerked his head towards his fellow Greek. Both men handed their spears to one of their silent soldiers, and strode forward with a chinking of bronze and leather to join Marcius.

    Marcius let his eyes linger on Achilles for half a heartbeat. He had not forgotten how the Greeks' best warrior had tried to kill him at Hercinia, nor that he had mounted legatus Scipio's head on the half-melted standard of the Rapax legion. But his enemies are mine for now, and if Mars told it true he was the second best warrior to have ever lived.

    "I will listen to what they have to say." Perseus said dryly, picking up one of the headsets from the floating table. Achilles, Marcius and Varrius followed suit. Marcius couldn't help but pause to brush his fingers over the surface of the tray. It felt solid, and yet it was made only of blue sunlight. There were many things that the imperium still didn't understand about their earthborn allies - and that was what made them most dangerous.

    "Lead the way." Marcius told the earthborn woman.

    The woman nodded and turned around. The guards at the door followed suit, dropping and holstering their weapons as they followed after the group.

    "We were quite surprised to meet the Perseus." the woman exclaimed, turning around and smiling at the group of men. "I mean, it's not every day that you meet a supposed 'demi-god'. You've managed to send the entire UEA into an uproar - you don't want to know how many media cruisers we've had to stop from getting into this system."


    "Wait until they hear about the Achilles and the Hercules as well." Perseus grinned raffishly, glancing at his companion. Achilles was stoic.

    "The gods are still strong here." Marcius said to the earthborn woman. "If you stay long enough, no doubt you will see it for yourselves."

    The woman rounded a corner, smiling and speaking in a different language to a few people who stopped to see the natives walking through. The camp was incredibly high-tech, and Perseus was constantly running his fingers in appreciation across the polished metal pods that made up the buildings. A large amount of the camp was covered by the shade of the landed Earthborn battlecruiser - that vast construction that allowed the Earthborn to travel amongst the stars where only gods once walked. The sleek-liked leviathan glittered in the sunlight, and occasionally it boomed with noise. Marcius could not decide if he found the marvel of earthborn engineering beautiful, or monstrous.

    "You know there's requests for us to take you to Earth." The woman turned and looked back towards her four guests. "There's people who want to know about our history." This time she purposely looked at the two Greeks, though she quickly snapped back to Decius. "And there's also people who want to know about your history."

    The woman began to walk slightly brisker as the group approached one of the metallic pods - this one larger than the others.

    "You know, I think the strangest thing I've heard is a call for you to host a game-show on New Australia."


    Marcius did not quite understand, and it made him wonder if the female soldier was mocking him. He kept his silence.

    Eternum changed when the earthborn arrived, and it won't ever be the same. It changed again last year when the demons and the immortals rose. And it's up to me to make sure the imperium's future isn't as ash.

    "I am not leaving Eternum." Marcius said at last, shaking his head. "Not while the arks still glow, and not while an army that would give even your soldiers pause gathers in the south."

    Not ever, he might have more truthfully said, but he wanted to bring the ever-tightening circles of their conversation to a point.

    "Well, I guess that's up to you - there's nothing quite like the lights of Earth though." The woman smiled, though it faltered slightly as she turned away to continue tapping upon her board-of-light. "Though I've never been there myself, it costs 5000 credits to travel there let alone live or holiday there - I'll probably never earn enough money in my entire life to pay for a month's rent on Earth!"

    As she pressed a few more of the panels upon her screen, a face suddenly appeared ahead of her, looking with inquisitive eyes towards the woman.

    "Captain Ceylan sir," she addressed the face, "The men you wanted to see?"

    "Emperor Claudius?" a voice that seemingly belonged to the panel spoke out. The woman turned around, looking at Decius with squinted eyes filled with uncertainty.


    "Dictator Marcius." Marcius answered, speaking half to the woman and half to the sorcerous projection. "Assuming the emperor's responsibilities until further notice."

    "New management," the face muttered, and turned back to the woman. "Send them in, we have much that needs discussing."

    Turning to the group of men behind her, Decius' escort smiled and stepped aside, ushering the men towards the large metal pod with a smile upon her face. "The captain will see you now."


    "Gratitude for your help." Marcius nodded stiffly to the uniformed woman. He curled and uncurled his injured right hand thoughtfully before stepping past her towards the door that had just irised open in the wall of the metal dome. Varrius, Perseus and Achilles fell in silently behind him, though Perseus offered the Earthborn woman a jovial wink as he passed.

    Inside the chamber was a work desk not so dissimilar as to be unrecognisable to Marcius, although as well as papers and paraphernalia it held flat squares of solid light and a standing oblong device with a brightly glowing front. The walls were hung with pictures, though as Marcius watched one of them changed from a night sky to a spinning marble of green and blue, and another one moved with scrolling text in a language that Marcius could not decipher. A broad-faced man with darkly tanned skin and grey hair that matched his starched grey clothing stood looking at the pictures with his hands clasped behind his back, though he turned towards Marcius and the others as they entered. He picked up a device identical to the one Marcius was wearing and hooked it round his ear, before fixing his gaze on Marcius and saying something in a rough, clipped earthborn accent.

    "Dictator Marcius I presume." Marcius' headset translated a moment later, in a flat, androgynous voice.

    "You presume correctly." Marcius answered. "And you must be captain Ceylan."

    "And I understand that two of your friends," the captain smiled before pointing towards Perseus and Achilles. "Are like me - Earthborn. So the UEA Board and myself are wondering, how do a bunch of mythological humans appear on Eternum, half-way across the Galaxy?"

    The captain pulled out a glass container and unscrewed the cap that sat on top, before pouring two streams of clear liquid - seemingly straight onto the desk. As he did so however, blue light seemed to curl up in a glass shape to catch the alcohol, and as the captain wrapped his fingers around it the solid light detached from the table. Adding a splash of water from a carafe on his desk caused the drinks to turn milky white. The Turkish captain held out one of the blue 'glasses' to Decius, then poured three more streams for his companions. Varrius the bodyguard silently shook his head, and Achilles followed suit, though Perseus took the light-glass and turned it in his hand appreciatively, examining the shimmering creation.

    "Perhaps, dictator Marcius," Ceylan went on, "You could run me through what exactly is going on, because there's a lot that we need to talk about."


    Marcius took a sip from his drink, dismissing the nagging doubt at the back of his mind with the reasoning that the earthborn had far more expedient ways to deal with them than poison. The liquid was warm and spicy, and tasted strongly of aniseed.

    "You may have seen for yourself by now that the gods we hold sacred here are real." Marcius began. "And there has been some kind of discord between them. That is what has returned the Greeks and the others from the underworld, spawned an army of greyskin demons, and is responsible for the beams over Emor and elsewhere."

    Marcius paused, frowning slightly as he recalled his unpleasant conversation with the Earthborn soldier Axum.

    "I know that you earthborn have ways of seeing that almost rival the gods. You must have witnessed some of this."

    If not yourselves, then hopefully through Anne. Marcius took another sip, thinking of his one reliable ally among the earthborn. Although, according to Ovidius, she is still in Afragia with the Egyptians.

    "The beams are some kind of portal, allowing the demons to travel between them. For now, they are focused on the Southern continent, but the gods have warned us repeatedly now that it will not end there. They talk about the demons spreading not only across this world, but to others too. As such, I would request that you honour the terms of your alliance with emperor Galen Claudius and aid us in destroying them before that can happen."

    "That explains why they are faster than our best hyperdrive systems." the Turkish captain muttered.

    Marcius watched the earthborn commander, trying to read his thoughts. The man was earthborn, and he commanded the power to wipe out whole armies - that made him dangerous. Marcius took a breath, and then sighed it out, remembering. Fight with your heart, Decius, Elisavet had told him. Lycinia showed me the way. She made friends out of dangerous men. Although the thought of his wife pained him, Marcius found himself smiling slightly.

    Captain Ceylan looked to be deep in thought for a moment, before peering upwards at the men. He raised his hand curtly, and from the table rose a large image, also composed of the bright blue light that the Earthborn seemed to constantly utilise. Judging by the craggy, snow-covered terrain it was a map of the South, but it was far more detailed and lifelike than any map Marcius had ever seen. This must be how the world looks to eagles - though even they don't fly so high.

    The map showed a seething black mass atop the snow, which Marcius realised was the huge crowds of the demon army, camped around a brazier of light that shot towards the sky. The Southern ark.

    "One of our satellite ships caught this image a few weeks or so ago; none of these humanoids seem to show any nativity to either of our planets, at least as far as we know."


    A few weeks. Marcius thought. Large armies move slower, but the greyskins could have mobilised by then.

    "They wouldn't." he said aloud to Ceylan. "They are creatures of the underworld."

    Walking closer to the table, Marcius examined the map. "Praetor Maximus already stands in the field with fifteen legions, but he may not be able to beat this horde alone. And more importantly he cannot cut them off from retreating back through their ark portal to Combrogia or Dun Moriga - or possibly straight onto the streets of Emor itself. If you can use your thunderbirds to capture the ark and attack the greyskins from behind, then we can catch them between our forces and crush them."

    "The only problem with that is I don't have the jurisdiction to attack any force upon the surface of this planet." The Captain poured himself out another glass of raki, swilling the liquid around in the blue 'glass' as he brought it to his lips, then draining it. "Besides, we can't seem to get close to the 'Arks' without our ships stalling on us and crashing; which is odd, seeing as their engines were built to be reliable in almost any atmosphere."

    "Could you land further away?" Marcius countered. The Earthborn ground weapons were just as devastating as their steel thunderbirds. "Approach from the south on foot?"

    Grimacing as he threw the rest of the beverage down his throat, Ceylan placed the glass down. The blue light shifted back into the table, like water soaking into a carpet. Ceylan took a seat and drummed his fingers against his chair.

    "Look, dictator Marcius." the Earthborn man started. "Your world, it's...well, it's wondrous. There are things that I have seen here that I haven't see on any other worlds." The tanned man placed his hands behind his head as he thought deeply upon his words. "Now I can't say for sure whether Zeus is going to start lording his kingly rule of the gods on us or whether you're all - like us - a bit superstitious in your young age, civilisation-wise I mean."


    "Our gods are real." Marcius said, keeping his voice even. "I have seen them with my own eyes. And here is evidence of their work: demons," He pointed towards the glowing map, and then indicated Perseus and Achilles. "And immortals."

    Taking a deep breath, Ceylan shrugged his shoulders and looked towards Decius with sheer sympathy. "Nevertheless, I just can't send a mark fifteen battle-cruiser to attack something upon your planet without authorisation from the UEA Council. It just can't be done."

    Marcius flexed the fingers of his wounded hand. Interesting - that the soldier Axum had blustered about instantly annihilating Marcius and his army, only for their leader to now claim that the politics of the situation were far more complex. And so the game begins.

    "Very well then." he said levelly, fixing Ceylan with an intense stare. "How would we go about obtaining authorisation from your council?"

    The captain looked towards the Namorian's eyes, judging them as he stared intently. "I would have to travel off-world to speak with them on Earth, though a decision could take some time to come to."

    "Time we may not have." said Marcius. His gut reaction was anger, betrayal even that their so-called ally's promise of support had proved so hollow. Wait, though. How would Lycinia handle this? "The demons and their allies have already cut a swathe through Combrogia and Dun Moriga. Come and see the devastation for yourself, if it will speed your council's decision."

    "That's quite alright Dictator." The Captain stood up, stretching once more and walking forwards towards the three men, flicking his hand left to show more images; the battle of Hercine; the Namorian invasion force in the South; the Mages Guild burning. "If you've told me that it isn't you then I guess you must be telling the truth, otherwise you wouldn't have requested to meet with me." The Turkish Commander opened a box and lifted a small soft cube coated in confectioner's sugar to his mouth, chewing on the lump before taking another one out and offering it to Decius. "I'll present this to the Council, and leave my men here to help you. They're armed and if need be ready for combat, though I can't spare any air support or tank support until I get the authorisation needed."

    Marcius turned the sweet over in his hand, causing some of the light, floury powder to fall and dust the floor, before following the captain's lead and placing it in his mouth. The gelatin was flowery and sweet, though not as sweet as the captain's words to his ears. Up until now, he had wondered if all Earthborn weren't arrogant, confrontational and treacherous - even Anne von Bayern had been two of the three. The enemy of my enemy...dies next. he recalled. How long ago had that been?

    All the same, he could only hope that the defeat of the demon army would not alter their outlook. Making allies during war was easy, he knew. War simplified things, distilling agendas and passions down into pure necessity. Keeping those allies during peacetime, on the other hand...

    One thing at a time. First comes survival, for the imperium and its people.

    "That," he answered at last, relaxing as he offered Ceylan his first genuine smile, "Is a compromise I can live with, captain."
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 08-21-2015 at 05:36 PM.
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    Royal Hospital, Tu Zenita Duskal

    “It has been many hours since he has wakened, Isfri." a voice whispered in the distance, the wind carrying his words to his unconscious king. "How much longer can we expect him to sleep? There are enemies in the tunnels, red-cloaked soldiers heading towards our city,”

    “He has been wounded severely, Alfrin.” came the reply of a woman some distance further away, the serene power of her voice making her the authority on the current matter, “The damage to his physical body was severe for even the stoutest of our kind, and his mind is compensating for the wound by allowing his thoughts to process it subconsciously. He has a great strength within him - not many could have made the return journey with a wound such as his without succumbing long ago. He will awaken when his mind deems it time. Until then, we will remain vigilant over him.”

    “As you say, my lady,” came the rough, grumbling affirmation from the man who had spoken earlier, and with a swish of cloth and swift footfalls the two left the room.

    Silence enveloped the unconscious dwarf king in a shroud of ethereal peace, and his mind drifted into the infinite blackness that awaited him.

    [I]Jornak awoke to a gentle breeze trailing across him; soft rhythmic motions that seemed to dance upon his skin. A few moments later the spell of tranquility was broken, and he jerked to his feet to find himself in the sepulchral hall of kings. Last time he was here he had sealed king Vagrund's casket himself, Jornak remembered, before his men had collapsed the entrance to stop the greyskins from desecrating the tombs. The question of how he had gotten inside did not seem consequential to his dreaming mind.

    He turned to his left to see a vaguely humanoid swirl of golden mist standing next to him, its indistinct head bowed towards the patch of cold stone where he had been lying. With a soft giggle it vanished into thin air, and left a sense of melancholy within Jornak's heart.

    As his emerald eyes scanned his surroundings, his jaw opened slightly in an expression of surprise and wonder. The weathering of time had been stripped away from the hall, leaving towering columns of the brightest abalone to shine against spun gold drapery, which rippled gently in the air pulled through the hall by cunning dwarf ventilation systems. At an equal distance between the columns and drapes stood statues of dwarf kings, fashioned from the purest of marble. Noble and silent, their eyes seemed to fall upon Jornak as he began walking through the infinite hall.

    It was a few hundred feet down the hall that he was paralysed by what he had found. It was a statue of his exact likeness, with emeralds for eyes and a crown of ruby and diamond. But there was the inscription beneath the statue, and it was that inscription which struck him silent.

    Jornak Iron-Beard
    Hero of Dun Moriga, Champion of Vulcan, Emperor of the East, Kin-Slayer
    Here lies the last king of Dun Moriga.

    “It’s a haunting sight isn’t?” a familiar voice reached his ears. Jornak almost started - he hadn't even felt the presence behind him. As he turned, he came face-to-face with Davekrir, his old lover and warrior-partner. Only this wasn’t the Davekrir who once lived and fought alongside him; this dwarf shimmered with an aura of soothing fire, and his hair was as black as the night itself. His eyes seemed able to gaze into Jornak's very soul, and the dwarf king found himself falling to his knees at the sight of those unyielding sapphire eyes.

    “How…how are you here?” he managed to say, once his tongue was his own once more. He remembered his last vision of Davekrir; in Ech Zilidar, just before he found himself succumbing to his wounds. He could not bring himself to meet the eyes of his former lover, and instead focused them upon the floor, trying to occupy himself by examining every detail of the god-like craftsmanship.

    “I have come because you called for me. The gods are not blind to your actions Jornak, and they have deigned to give you a glimpse of the future you are creating.”

    The ghostly spirit paused as it directed Jornak’s attention towards his statue once again.

    “You are leading our people down the path of annihilation, and it is not just the Dun Morigan people that will fall. You are now ruler of Afragia as well, and they look to you for guidance. They have lived for thousands of years under the safety net of Emor, but you changed that when you decided to seek out sovereignty for the eastern nations. They have placed their hope in you, and you are leading them to death.”

    Jornak remained in silence, letting the words of his former comrade soak in and flinching at every painful truth that resounded within each syllable. He knew that his actions for his people were not fueled by the desire to consolidate the power of the East, and to bring about a new era of prosperity and promise. They were fueled by the fires of hatred; hate because of the fall of his city, because of the exodus from his homeland, and because of the lack of Emor’s presence at the fall of Dun Moriga.

    “You are not a terrible person Jornak; I know this from my own experience with you. You want what is best for your country and your people, and that is admirable in itself, but you are going about it the wrong way – deep down you know this to be true. Offering the mafia cartel immunity to the law is the surest path to destruction; you need to end that pact before it really begins. You will make an enemy, but you will be all the better for it without their aid. The dwarf I knew would never make deals with the cartel; he was far too noble and wise for such a thing. End it."

    Jornak bowed his head.

    "You are expected to be wise and have the interests of the people at heart, not your personal desire for vengeance. The fall of Dun Moriga was destined long before our people inhabited it, even before the Nerubians made their homes in the mountains. You could not have prevented the fall, even if you were to wield the power of the gods themselves."

    Jornak opened his mouth to protest.

    "Relinquish your hold on the hatred that burns in your heart, my love. The staying of your axe against the Namorian general was the first step towards letting the hatred go; you felt the approval of the gods in your heart when you performed this feat. Continue on this path, and you will forge a brighter future for all of the East.”

    The younger dwarf finished his speech and extended a gentle hand to the chin of the dwarf king, coaxing his emerald eyes to rise and meet his own, soft with the warmth of love.

    In a matter of moments the world tilted, and Jornak's mind was enveloped in the infinite blackness once again.

    When Jornak awoke, he found himself in a bed of silk and cloth, the warm sandy air of Afragia gliding roughly across his skin in place of the ethereal breeze he had felt in the Hall of Kings. He made to rise, but stumbled as his world shook and his vision blurred with spikes of black. An aching pain was growing in his forehead. He reached up to his temple and felt the soft mush of an Afragian poultice, covering his wound to prevent infection. A thick white bandage was wrapped around his head two times over, tied tight and secure.

    Gathering his bearings, he once again began to stand, and this time he succeeded in walking very slowly towards the exit, only to be met by the rustling of cloth and running footfalls as a dwarf woman rushed up to Jornak and steadied him.

    “Your majesty, you should not be moving about. The surgeons removed the blood clot from your brain but you still need to rest.”

    Concern and disapproval were etched in every word that left her wizened lips, as plain as if they were runes written in stone. Her golden attire and sharp eyes lent credence to the fact that she was a healer within the royal hospital - he was back in Tu Zenita Duskal. Clearly, this doctor was the only one available at the time, which was no surprise as there were many injuries had been afforded to the Afragian army at the river Hapi battle.

    Jornak allowed the woman to coax him back a few steps, before he stiffened and began to speak, “I am fine, woman. Do not treat me as if I were a child. I know well my own strength and limits.”

    Even as he said it, he caught another dizziness spell and had to lean heavily on the woman for a few moments until it faded.

    “Clearly.” was all the woman afforded him, as her features took on a fully disapproving mantle. But, she knew all too well the stubborn nature of her king, and knew that she would be fighting a losing battle if she were to try and make him do something that he did not want to do – tales of people who had tried surrounded his name as thickly as oil in water.

    So, they remained standing still for what seemed like several minutes, before Jornak carefully pushed the woman away from him and stood on his own two feet, using his own strength. As he did so, he felt the dizziness return, but it was not as overwhelming. He felt a surge of strength enter his limbs and he took a shaky step forward, and soon after another step. After several repetitions, like a toddler taking its first steps, he found that he was able to walk fairly normally again.

    “See there, woman?” he called to her as he neared the door, his emerald eyes turning to find the doctor once again. She gave him a disapproving glare, to which he responded with only a crooked smile and a soft bow before leaving the hospital.

    Two human nurses, dark-skinned Afragians, stopped in their tracks to stare as the door shut behind him. He caught their soft, awestruck mutterings about the stubbornness of Dun Morigans and their inhuman resilience to wounds. He left the hospital with a wide smirk gracing his lips, sunlight reflecting off whitened teeth that had not seen the sun in many days.

    It was certainly a good day to say the least. And, hallucination or no, he had not forgotten the words of Davekrir in the Hall of Kings. The words were still echoed in his mind as if his fallen lover was still speaking to him.

    Be a wise king. Be the king I know you to be. The words seemed to echo through his thoughts, prominent and repetitive. It was with this in mind that he would begin his next task -the dissolution of Freayfir's mafia cartel, and the ending of their contract.

    This first step was likely going to be the hardest part of correcting his mistakes, Jornak reflected. In the meantime, he had some thoughts in mind for the Nerubian mountain-dwellers that still lived within the tunnels of Dun Moriga.

    He needed to make contact with them, and begin to make peace between the dwarf people and theirs. It would not be easy, but he believed it to be in the best interest of his people, both Dun Morigan and Afragian alike. With this in mind, he found his way to the palace and to the nearest messenger hawk – the birds that only the Afragians had the skill to train. To the bird's leg he attached a hand-written letter, inviting Ech Zilidar's current leadership to Tu Zenita Duskal for a discussion of future relations. Not without a great deal of effort, he included the name of the Namorian praetor Graccus in his invitation to the meeting.

    If there was to be peace for his people, he would need to begin by mending the bridges that he had broken, and if possible placate the Namorian presence that remained in the East - if only until he had enough support to solidify his claim to the new empire. Things would not return to the way they had been, with Afragia and Dun Moriga as simple vassal states to the imperium. He would not fully give in to the demands of Emor, but if met with certain amiable conditions, he might be able to accept and thus begin to build a new civilisation from the ashes of an old one.

    Written by Sunstrider and polished by Azazeal849. A heap of thanks to him for helping me to get this flowing nicely!
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  6. #16
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    COMBROGIA

    They were heading north, following the paved highroad that ran as straight as an arrow through the rolling hills of Namor. "We have business on the docklands." Eoric and Belingat had explained. Their female companion Straten had spent most of her time with Zar in the last day before his departure, hunting for food with him and talking about archery and his journey through the woods. Tsen could understand - his stories had often engrossed her as well as the others in her party as he spoke about his mother and her Huntresses, the battle of Hercine, and the Namorian hero Decius Marcius - though at the mention of Silverwick and his death at the hands of the creature Chaaru, Mirella had given a long, sad howl to the moon, which had left Tsen with a knot in her stomach and a lump in her throat to accompany it. By now Zar was no doubt far ahead of them, running to warn the Namorian imperials of the curse that had befallen their emperor. Eoric and Belingat's distaste for the idea of helping the northerners was palpable, even against a demonic foe, but they had not interfered.

    "Look." Gaius said, pointing north to where the ruins of a once-tall tower had just appeared over the horizon.

    Tsen followed Gaius' pointing hand, and her eyes didn't have to go far to see what he had pointed to, her gaze not leaving him. She was totally fascinated, at this person who was in a way a piece of herself. Her soul was curious, hungry for her truth. It was selfish, but it was the only direction she had to follow now.

    "That's the Namorian mages' guild." Gaius explained. "We're not far now."

    Mages. the black haired woman thought to herself. All she saw now was a debilitated building; a curtain wall and a huge round tower whose upper battlements looked somehow uneven and ragged. Patches of the tower were blackened as if by fire, and some sections of the curved walls even looked like they had been blasted outward. She looked at Gaius again. Gaius, son of Apollo, was young - she saw it on his fresh-faced features - but still he was someone who had lived in this world for much longer than she. He must know something, right?

    "What happened to them?" she asked.


    Gaius paused in his tracks, hugging his elbows thoughtfully.

    "From what I understand," he answered, a grave expression shadowing his radiant face, "Some of the magi feared that their trade was becoming obsolete. The collegia opificum, then the dwarfs, then the earthborn - all of them were bringing new inventions to the empire that supplanted the traditional roles of magic. They began to search for ways to increase their magical power and retain their prominence. Earlier this year, one magus tried to make a pact with a demon from Tartarus. Instead of harnessing its power, he accidentally released an army of hellspawn into the guild tower. The spells woven into the walls you can see there stopped the demons from spreading, but they killed most of the magi and their students - many of them children. Apollo wept when he saw it."

    Belingat stepped up next to Gaius, an angry look creasing his aristocratic features. "How could the Namorian have been so stupid. No mage from North or South has ever benefited from a deal with the creatures of Tartarus."

    Gaius looked at Belingat as he stalked away to rejoin Eoric and Straten, rubbing his temple with the fingers of one hand.

    Tsen debated inside. The blood and bodies she had already seen, the war that was all over this world. What answers or truth was she going to find with Apollo? Gaius’ expression put her at unease.

    “I do not remember him caring about magic.”

    "Who?" Gaius turned around, having only half heard.

    “Apo...llo.” Tsen’s expression twisted. How did she know that, feel that?

    A field of grass rippling…a golden-skinned hand outreached to her, and the sun bright behind the human shadow before her...

    The figment of a memory came so strongly that she swore she had felt the wind across her skin, and the blades of grass under her steps. It made her all the more certain of what she felt. Apollo didn’t care for magic. She stared back at Gaius, expecting some sort of answer from Apollo’s son.
    The young man looked confused for a moment, then smiled sadly as he understood her meaning.

    "You're right, he doesn't. But few gods like to see children murdered."

    Tsen stared a moment longer. Each palpation of her heart was felt through her chest, in a memory haze. She stared at the tower again, looking at the fallen bricks. The young man's sad expression held in her mind.

    "Why did Apollo leave your mother to die? Did he not love her?" Hadn't the gods seen enough death? Tsen's blue eyes gave Gaius a glance; hadn't they seen enough loved ones die?

    'Take my hand...'


    "I used to ask the same question," Gaius replied, shattering the memory just as it began to crystallise. "Until I realised it would drive me mad."

    It almost seemed to Tsen that there was now a trace of bitter anger behind his sad smile.

    "None of us can undo the past - mortals or gods. And my father...well, few of his affairs have ever ended happily. Leucothia, Coronis, Hyacinth..." Daughter of Hyacinth, the wolf god's growling voice smoothed across her consciousness.

    Past strands of black hair she stared at Mirella, who had just hiked up behind them.
    The wolf-woman looked upwards towards Gaius as the name of the mythical prince Hyacinth, perhaps recalling Tsen's mention of her birth within a field of the flowers.

    "Aye." she said. "Apollo has not had the greatest of luck in his affairs."


    "What happened?" Tsen asked. "Did Apollo no longer love them?"

    "Oh, my father loved them all." Gaius said wistfully. "But not all of them loved him back, and some that did suffered for it. Leucothia had her love betrayed by her own sister, and she was buried alive. Coronis came to love another in my father's absence, and he had her killed in his jealousy. And Hyacinth died in an accident engineered by the god of the west wind."

    Then fate, or whatever made events happen on this planet was forever cruel, Tsen thought. Her fingers slowly traced over the wood of her armour; it was smooth, but not the reassurance she needed. An ill-fated God, and she was born of his flower. Was she too just another of his tragedies?

    "I thought he was a god of merriment..." Tsen's words were pained - it was a betrayal of the name that had once made exuberance pump through her. "Not a murderer, not some who let his loved ones die." Tsen stared at young Gaius with tears in her eyes. "Not someone who lay with many lovers, and let his children be the protectors of his interests."

    Gaius' youthful face was lost as her vision teared over and she stormed off to follow the trio who had gotten far ahead.

    "Apollo, I do not know why he asked you to watch me; I'm sorry he is your father."


    Mirella shot Gaius a complicated look before following, leaving the young man to stand hugging his arms and looking up once more at the distant ruin of the mages' tower.

    "I'm sorry too." he murmured. "For everything that's going to happen."
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 08-15-2017 at 11:41 AM.
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    THE GATES OF TARTARUS

    By the time Nesara reached the top of the cliff, the sun had already half dipped below the horizon, and the few clouds that streaked the desert sky were burning salmon pink. The young queen methodically rubbed the dirt of the climb off her hands, and sat down facing the distant sun. Ra's majesty was leaving Eternum once again, and this time Nesara would be joining him in his quest through the Underworld. It was both thrilling and terrifying. Ra would rise again, for the first god would never fail, but how many of them would rise again with him? Isis had warned that death awaited the quest, and although Isis had sometimes schemed against Ra to bring her own son Horus to prominence, Nesara had sensed no lie from the goddess' messenger. An eternal darkness threatened, and gods and mortals had to put aside their differences to face it.

    If she didn't return, as the messenger had insinuated, then what would the new dawn bring? Jornak would be left as the sole guardian of her people, and her faith in the dwarf had been shaken when he handed her beloved capital over to thieves and cut-throats to further his schemes. He is stubborn too, and quick to anger. Will he be able to make peace with my brother Marcius if I am not there to temper his words? Nesara looked down at her hands; rough in the palms from honest work, but soft and elegant along the back. Jornak's hands, she remembered, were all leather - the hands of a blunt warrior through and through. She had offered her hand to Jornak before the gods, to save her people. But had she made a mistake? Could Jornak ever truly love her people? He knew that he would never be capable of loving her.

    A scramble of boots against rock and a muttered curse made her turn away from the setting sun, just in time to see Salvius hauling himself over the edge of the gorge. He had unbuckled his greaves and scale cuirass to aid the climb, although he still wore his sword belt over his faded indigo tunic.

    "You did not have to follow me." Nesara told him archly, her perfect lips curving into a smile.

    "Bodyguard's habit." Salvius returned, matching the grin. The last rays of sun playing across his face deepened the lines and scars of his craggy features, making the centurion look old, strong, weary and determined all at once. Nesara smiled again and beckoned him over to sit beside her, glad that the hard-bitten centurion was there to share her thoughts with. He was as tough as Jornak and as dutiful as Marcius, but most importantly he could laugh. Nesara firmly believed that even death needed to be mocked sometimes, because within laughter there was hope.

    The desert was rapidly cooling, swinging from one extreme of temperature to the other. Nesara felt goosebumps prickling on her tawny skin, and she hugged her arms against the sudden cold.

    "Here." Salvius said, pulling the clasp from his travelling cloak and draping it once again across Nesara's shoulders. The thick wool was rough but warm, and carried the same earth-and-leather scent as the legionary himself. Nesara snuggled into the cloak, comforted. The centurion's strong arm wrapped around her as he took a seat next to her, and Nesara felt her stomach give a slight flutter. Ahead of them the sun wallowed lower, melting into the red-tinted dunes on the horizon.

    "Is this our last night on Eternum?" the Afragian queen wondered aloud.

    Salvius looked down at her, sidelong. "Possibly. I'm not planning on it being, though. Too much still to do."

    There it was; the gallows humour, and Nesara found herself smiling again.

    "Myself also." she replied. "But I am growing very tired." She let out a slow breath. It was not an admission she could have comfortably made to anyone else. "Tired of trying to manoeuvre so many factions into the best outcome for my people...the Afragian senate...the dwarven elders...praetor Graccus...these mysterious Egyptians..." She sighed again. "Ra's instruction to rejoin your quest to Tartarus seems almost blessedly simple by comparison, even with the prospect of never seeing his sun again."

    "Isis' messenger didn't have a fixed answer for us." Salvius pointed out. "So you could say it's no different to going in blind, like we were going to...which makes me wonder if I'd still have to have climbed up this bloody cliff after you."

    Nesara chuckled slightly, and slid herself a few inches along the ground to cuddle closer into the centurion. She adjusted the cloak to drape part of it over his bare legs and hooked her arm around his knee, enjoying the prickle of his hair against her forearm.

    "Where will you go next if we survive this?" she asked.

    Salvius grunted as he considered his answer. "Depends." he said, squeezing Nesara's arm gently with the hand around her shoulders. "We'll need to get the Stones back to dux Marcius, and figure out how to use them against those demon bastards. If we manage to pull that off..." He shrugged with a rustle of fabric. "My term of service is nearly up. I still don't know if I'm going to take my pension or enlist for another ten. But I don't imagine signing up as old Marcius' permanent bodyguard is an option any more - he's had half a year to get used to my replacement."

    "You could guard me?" Nesara suggested, cocking a playful eyebrow.

    Salvius was quiet for a moment, as if paying a silent respect to Kinyou and the other royal guards, who had left the position vacant after giving their lives back in Combrogia. Then he chuckled. "I wouldn't mind that, though you might have to put up with me calling you domina again." He shuffled round slightly on the sand-dusted stones, half turning towards Nesara. "What about you?"

    Nesara sighed again. "All the trouble with Dun Moriga and the imperium won't go away. Tell me Salvius, do you think I did the right thing for my people by forming my own state to better counter the demons?"

    Salvius' mouth pressed together in a thin line, and he turned his eyes to the molten sunset for a few seconds before replying. "That's not for me to say, my lady."

    "That's a bodyguard's answer." Nesara teased him, smiling wanly. Or a diplomat's one, she reflected, and smiled again before disentangling one of her fists from the cloak and lightly punching the centurion's chest. "And you are my lady-ing me again. Stop it."

    "As my lady commands." Salvius grinned, which earned him another gentle slap before Nesara's face returned to its serious mask.

    "Even if dux Marcius is willing to listen to me," she went on, "Jornak might yet undo it. He is proud, and he hates the Namorians."

    Salvius stroked her arm through the cloak. "He's also your husband. He'll have to listen to you."

    "He does not feel anything for me, nor for my people - he made that clear when he gave Freayfir's mafia free reign over Tu Zenita Duskal, so as to gain their aid against praetor Graccus." Nesara exhaled, smiling wanly. "Such is what I have to look forward to if I survive the coming trial. Marriage to a dwarf I stopped respecting when he let criminals loose on my city.”

    “So a life of really shit sex then.” Salvius nodded, deadpan.

    Nesara gave him a meaningful look, her thumb stroking gently up and down the centurion’s leg.

    Salvius seemed to consider for a moment.

    “Fuck it.” he decided, and twisted his hand in the neck of Nesara's loose blouse before pulling her down onto the smooth stones in front of him.

    * * * * * *

    Suri fought the urge to grin as Nesara and Salvius came climbing back down the rock face, carefully avoiding each others' eyes. She couldn't see what went on at the top of the gorge from her low vantage point, but she wasn't deaf, and the two hadn't exactly been silent. Her inclination was to shrug and smile - they had been dancing around for days now, and even a queen had needs.

    The young Afragian felt a pleasant warmth tingle down her spine at the thought, followed by a colder sinking in her stomach as her thoughts strayed towards Ovidius. In spite of all the things he stood for that she wanted no more part of, a small piece of her wished that he was here to hold her, fuck her and help her forget their possibly imminent deaths the way Nesara and Salvius had. She indulged the wish for a brief moment before putting it out of her mind.

    She offered Nesara a nod and a smile as the Afragian royal jumped the last few feet and landed with a scrunch in the loose gravel at the bottom of the gorge. As Suri looked up at the greying sky, the last rays of sunlight flickered and died against the canyon walls.

    There was no sound, no gust of wind, no change in their surroundings. But Suri felt a sudden thrum sweep out from the cave, passing through her without any physical vibration but still somehow setting her teeth on edge. The phantom rushing of water seemed to grow louder.

    "It's time." Anne said, sparing a glance to smirk at Salvius before stepping in front of Suri and leading the way confidently into the cave.

    Suri doused the fire and waited for Salvius to re-tie the buckles of his armour, as much to delay the moment as anything. The cave still reeked of supernatural danger, and she was afraid. She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and looked round to see Qia'bul settling there, fluttering its wings as it perched. The small familiar cocked its head at her and chirruped.

    Taking a breath, Suri followed the others into the cave. All light was swallowed as soon as they stepped across the threshold, and Suri fumbled for a moment before remembering the illumination spell that Anne had taught her. A globe of light shimmered into being above her hand as she brought her mind to focus.

    "Thanks." Salvius murmured, as he and Nesara fell back a step to take advantage of the light. Numiera and Gabriel seemed untroubled by the dark, and Anne strode boldly ahead as if she already knew the way.

    Feeling more confident now, Suri followed the others down into the earth.

    The walls of the cave were made of sandstone, which gave way to what looked like black glass as the tunnel sloped downwards. Its glossy, uneven surface threw back broken-mirror reflections of Suri's face. As the cave twisted to the left she felt air on her face, and as she continued the chuckling of water became a roar as the tunnel opened out into a vast underground cavern, too large for Suri's ball of light to illuminate.

    As the group paused, an answering light began to creep across the edges of the cavern, flickering between the rock formations that scattered the floor and ceiling. Limestone stalactites, blue-green and slick with moisture, became jagged teeth among the shadows, and a river that rushed through the centre of the cavern was revealed as a shifting tide of black. Sitting at the near bank of the river, held in place by translucent ropes that seemed to be composed of soft blue moonlight, was a boat.

    Ra's vessel sat upon the water delicately, almost as though it were levitating above the churning waters of the Styx. Its golden hull glittered as the water around it roared and rolled passed the boat, waves splashing up the hull as though they were attempting to grasp onto its majesty. The ship was as large as the huge earthborn galleons that Salvius had described to them, though it was far more beautiful than the centurion had made the British tallships sound. Shards of blue and red light seemed to be embedded within the main mast and the outer hull, shining even brighter than its golden timbers. Along the rigging in place of ropes were threads of bright white gemstones, which looked smooth to the touch. The sails of the ship, much like the rope that kept it moored in place on the bank, seemed to be composed of sparkling blue light. The ethereal sails billowed and strained in an invisible wind, as if the ship itself was eager to be off.

    Standing around the glowing mooring ropes were multiple figures, men and women, each one shining brightly. Most shone a violent yellow, though some were red and a few were only visible as a shimmering white outline that seemed to cover the outside of their form. Each of the figures had their eyes upwards towards the visitors, their faces friendly and inviting, yet seemingly uninterested. Their eyes burned brightly against their shining auras; yellow in yellow, red in red.

    A crunching of footsteps made Suri turn to her left, where a legion of men had suddenly emerged from another hidden passageway carved into the cavern wall. The jagged crack they marched from was shadowed, the men passing from the darkness into the light as the shadows fled from the glowing beacon of Ra's ship. The column of men were led by a man on a horse; a tabard lay across his chest over a suit of gleaming plate armour, bearing a red cross upon a bright white background. Another man walked at his side, clothed in green and picking his way with a long staff that divided at the top into three curling heads. A large boarding plank was slowly lowered from the side of the golden ship, operated by more of the glowing men, allowing the troops to board the vessel.

    As Suri and the others looked onwards towards the glorious vessel, their eyes were drawn towards the deck as a radiant figure appeared. There stood the king of gods, emerging from his quarters to welcome the men and women aboard his ship. He stood at least ten feet tall, with his body covered from head to toe in ceremonial armour – elaborately detailed and glorious. His hair was long and blonde, having seemingly been bleached by the sun, whilst his eyes glimmered with every colour known and unknown to man. His nose was aquiline and fitted his face well, creating a union with the god's high cheekbones and well set jaw.


    Suri felt the urge to go to her knees again, even though they were still some distance away and the god was not even looking directly at them. She settled for looking downwards and away from him, feeling strangely unworthy of his gaze, and stared instead at the last few soldiers marching up onto the ship. Six of the white figures filed up behind the soldiers, pale and translucent against the golden light of the ship, but still distinct enough to pick out their features. Leading the half-dozen were a boisterous pair of children; a boy and a girl, seemingly playing soldier as they marched behind the rows of troops. They were both in comfortable clothes and the girl was wearing a Namorian helmet that was far too big for her, while the boy carried a small dagger at his hip with his hand resting carefully upon its handle. Following the two was a young girl, her hand hidden within the tight grasp of her mother. The woman slowly turned her head towards the group, the first to notice them. The light and the distance obscured her features, but she regarded them for a moment before following her children up onto the boat. Suri, not realising that her mouth had fallen open, made the eye of Ra with her hand and raised it silently to her heart.

    Gabrielle walked up beside Salvius and placed his hand upon his shoulder in an almost comforting way. His voice was soft and he seemed to carry a calmness about him, as though the beauty of Ra had melted away his normally abrasive demeanour.

    "We made it Salvius." the Earthborn spoke. His mask hid his expression, but Suri had the sudden impression of a smile from the strange yet powerful man. "I wonder if the others would find it so...beautiful."


    “Kuronus and Altius should have been here with us.” the centurion replied quietly. His face was stony, and Suri thought she saw tears pricking at his eyes. Beside him, queen Nesara was whispering a prayer.

    “Well.” Anne broke in. The elder priestess wore a strange expression; part awe, part anticipation, part triumph. “We didn’t come all this way just to stand and watch.”

    With the light playing across her pale features and scintillating off the iridescent feathers that ringed her empty eye socket, Anne led the way towards the boat. Suri quickly followed, with the two men falling in behind. Numiera came last, hovering uncertainly in Gabrielle’s shadow.

    As the travellers approached the ship, the glowing men turned their attention towards them once more, this time with their faces filled with questioning animosity. Suri hesitated, Numiera shrank further back behind Gabrielle, and even Salvius let his hand drift a little closer to his sword hilt. The glowing eyes of Ra's retainers fixed themselves upon the human visitors before Ra's did, though when the King of Gods trained his eye upon the party - and notably upon Numiera - there was a difference to his gaze; as though it were as hot as the Afragian sun yet as calm as a light summer's breeze.

    Suri instinctively went to her knees. One did not stand before the gods, let alone endure their gaze, without showing proper respect. Beside her Anne followed suit, followed a moment later by Nesara and Salvius. Qia'bul took flight from Suri's shoulder and began buzzing around her head, chirruping excitedly. Suri wondered if her companions were as awed as she was, and belatedly thought she understood why Ovidius had reacted so skeptically when she urged him to accept the blessing of Isis. Who would have thought that she - a simple Namorian house slave, turned apprentice priestess, turned shameful political saboteur - would be now standing before the king of gods? She felt spectacularly privileged, and spectacularly unworthy.

    Taking a large step forwards towards the edge of the deck, Ra looked down upon the group, smiling towards them. He raised one hand gracefully, and Qia'bul flitted away to settle on his outstretched finger.

    To what do I owe the pleasure? The king of gods spoke, though his mouth did not open and his words were closer to music than conventional speech.
    It was several seconds before any of the group could muster a reply.

    "We come to ask leave to travel upon your ship, oh lord." Nesara said at last. Somehow, she managed to retain her royal poise. "I am Nesara Kamienrah, and I have the honour to be queen of the Afragians. I prayed for guidance, and my prayers have led me to your service."

    "We seek the Alcamor Stones." Salvius added. He was taut-featured, using the same rigidly formal tone that Suri had once heard him use towards Nesara. "To give the imperium the strength to defend itself. I am Varro Salvius, in service to Dux Decius Marcius and the emperor of Namor."

    Suri felt Ra's gaze fall upon her, and came the closest to blushing that she had in many years.

    "I'm...Suriyana." she said, smiling lamely. "Just Suriyana."

    Ra looked upon the quest group with entertained eyes, still smiling at them.

    It has been long since I have been gifted with the company of mortals - save that of Patrick and George. the sun-god spoke, his serene voice continuing to cascade through the minds of the visitors. Though a journey that needs an army is a dangerous journey indeed.


    "We understand the dangers, your radiance." Nesara said, clasping her hands and making a delicate bow. "We have heeded the warnings and judged the needs of Eternum to be greater."

    "And Earth." Anne put in, standing tall. "I come to you as a priestess of the Rising Sun. There are a few who keep to your ways on Earth, but not many, and their rituals have been contaminated by 3000 years of neglect. I wish to take your true teachings back to them."

    Suri blinked. So, she thought, That was your real game, was it Anne?

    And that is why you have come to me? Ra muttered, his voice filling with something that sounded almost like disinterest as his teachings were brought into conversation. My children and I left your world over two thousand years ago - the notion that some of Earth's children still worship me is surprising.

    The Sun-God paused mid-thought, his delicate eyelids narrowing around his glowing eyeballs, cordoning off the powerful light that was emitting from within.

    You have greater purpose than to be lectured by me however, Priestess of the Rising Sun; a task, from me for you to complete.


    Anne's eyebrow, the one that wasn't hidden by the sunburst of feathers around her missing eye, flickered slightly. Suri had come to associate it with her teacher's impatience at being denied something she wanted. Suri would never have thought to see it displayed in front of the sun-god himself. She sucked the inside of her cheek and said nothing, watching her teacher carefully.

    "Name it, my lord," Anne said at last, her voice softly courteous.

    A journey, back to the city of Emor to ferry two men to the Kingdom of the Sky. Ra smiled warmly at the woman, pleased at her compliance yet evidently aware of her slight annoyance.

    The sun-god sees all. Suri remembered, from her parents' Afragian litanies. His light burns away all shadows.

    My child Isis has shown me this, Priestess. Ra went on. He paused as the man with the red cross on his surcoat walked to his side, whispering unheard into the god's ear as he regarded the party with his normal human eyes. There is no greater task than breaking court with the three kings - if my foretelling daughter is to be believed - and I do not think Horus nor Loki have her in their confidence.

    Ra smiled once more, his face burning itself into the minds of all who looked at him. His beauty was unrivalled, and almost painful upon the mortal eyes of the group.
    Even Anne dropped her gaze.

    "I..." she stuttered, lost for words for the first time. Suri and the others looked at each other, realising that they were about to lose one of their number to this second quest.

    Do this for me, Ra said, And I shall promise you my teachings, and a place among my crew when you must make home in the Underworld.

    Anne froze for a moment longer, and then dropped to her knees and bowed her head. "I will do as you ask, my lord."

    As she looked from Salvius - who was biting his cheek - back to Ra, Suri wondered if this was why Anne had predicted her own survival so confidently. Maybe the sun mirror showed her it, because she wasn't destined to travel with the rest of us. Suri wasn't sure if she felt envious, or privileged to remain, or just confused.

    "And the rest of us, my lord?" she asked, and felt an involuntary drop in her stomach when she realised that she had blurted the question aloud. In Ra's presence she felt far more like domina Lycinia's house slave again, rather than like an aspiring priestess of the sun god. Slaves didn't speak out of turn in front of their masters. The tattoo on her wrist, the slave-mark that she had once hoped to buy her way out of with honest labour, tingled in sympathy.

    If you intend to take the Alcamor Stones from my vile forebears, then you will need Alcamor's Breastplate. Ra spoke, his voice continuing to echo through Suri's mind - and, she could only assume, through the minds of all of those that he addressed. Its glory was insurmountable and incomparable to anything the the physical world could offer - other than perhaps the physical state that the king of gods had composed for himself. The sun-god turned his head slightly towards Gabrielle, as if looking through his skin at the darkness and light that filled his form - and all other forms - before muttering to himself and looking upon Salvius instead.

    You are unstained, Varro Salvius - if you wish to claim the Stones, you would be the best wielder of Alcamor's breastplate.


    Looking between Gabrielle and Salvius and wondering what inner darkness the god could see, Suri noticed Salvius' eyes dart momentarily towards Nesara, as if he was thinking of questioning the god's definition of unstained. Nesara gave him the tiniest shake of her head, the corners of her mouth flickering upwards.

    "Alcamor's breastplate." the centurion said instead. "You have it?"

    The story of the high mage Alcamor was one that was ubiquitous across Eternum. There were many versions of the story, but in the one Suri had heard Alcamor had been doomed when the demon lords grew fearful of his power, and sought to strike at him through his one weakness - his secret love. In some versions of the story she was a quick-witted Hercinian priestess; in others she was a favoured Southern slave girl, and no two versions could agree on her true name. In most tellings however, Alcamor reacted to her kidnapping by approaching a famous Dun Morigan smith, and commissioning him to forge runes of Alcamor's own design into a cuirass of demon-repelling iron: the breastplate of Alcamor. Knowing that even he could not defeat the entire armies of the twelve hells alone, Alcamor had sought a deal with the lords of Tartarus. Drawing his own emotions into physical form through the breastplate, he had created the twelve Stones. Demons drew power from emotion, and he offered one of the Stones to each of the twelve demon lords in return for safe passage. One by one the demon lords had agreed, but at the last, in the blue lavascape of the twelfth hell, Kronos had betrayed him. Taking advantage of Alcamor's weakened state after pouring so much of himself into the twelve Stones, Kronos had drained Alcamor of his remaining essence and killed him. It was said that Alcamor lived just long enough to see his lover die before his eyes.

    The fable had different meanings to different people. To the commoners of Afragia it was a heroic tragedy, the story of a man doomed by love. To the mages of the Namorian guild it was a warning against the lies of demons, and the dangers of untrammelled magical power. Suri had often wondered if the true moral was that Alcamor had been a fool to think himself the only one capable of entering Tartarus, and that he and his lover might have both lived if he had only sought help.

    "Where did you find it?" Nesara asked, her eyes on Ra as she interrupted Suri's train of thought.

    It was given to me, by Zenita the Whisperer.

    Suri's lips parted in shock. It was an established part of mythology that the Mistress of Lust had held an incestuous love for her son since his birth, but it was incredible to think of Ra having anything to do with his estranged mother - even the acceptance of gifts. From a demon, she thought, and began to wonder again about her own recent actions in New Giza.

    The Sun-God paused momentarily, his kind features deepening as he looked upon Suriyana, and she had the uncomfortable thought that he was looking into her mind and musing upon the words that flowed through it.

    Gabrielle though had another question on his mind. "How are we supposed to use it?" the masked Earthborn said, pointedly.

    You will wield it, as you would any other breastplate. Ra replied simply, his eyes training themselves upon Gabrielle in an almost threatening manner as he watched the man whom he had previously deemed as 'stained'. He seemed to be staring right through the mask that had adorned the man's face for the entirety of the party's quest. The Stones are violent and powerful - they would burn your mortal forms before you even had a chance to release them from your grasp. The king of gods spoke, his voice pertaining its regalness and beauty as he gave it an edge of pre-determined danger, his words a warning to the group.

    No mortal could hope to use the Stones on their own - without a container, they would remain lost to the 12 realms of Tartarus, as they have been for 2000 years.


    "We stand here to assist as we may, your radiance." said Nesara, putting her hand briefly on Salvius' arm.

    It is in Varro Salvius that this question must be answered. Ra spoke, smiling once more at the 'unstained' man - once a soldier, then a bodyguard, now a crusader for all of Eternum. For the stones contain all of Alcamor's lost emotions; his loves...his hatreds. Ra paused momentarily, looking downwards for the first time since he had first turned his eyes towards the quest party, as though he were ashamed to maintain his gaze as he spoke. Even his evil - which, as with any powerful man, was strong enough to gain a stone of its own.

    The golden king stood and watched as his glowing crew finished with their preparations aboard the ship, and began removing the glittering ropes from the shores of the cavern, seeming to tempt the River Styx into dragging the ship wholly into the Underworld and the chasms of the Realm of the Dead. The stones will take a hold of you, and try to spoil your mind and claim you for themselves - this is no task I would wish upon anyone, hence why I am happy to let my Father and his pets keep Alcamor's lost treasures.


    "Dux Marcius and the emperor believed that the Alcamor Stones were our best hope of beating the demons." Salvius said, although his face was a carefully composed mask - the kind people wore when they didn't want to show doubt or fear. "And they ordered me to fetch them."

    "Is there any way the rest of us can help?" Suri asked, thinking of her limited mastery over magic.

    You could keep him alive whilst he bargains with the Lords of Tartarus. Ra smiled slightly, as though he found morbid entertainment in the fleeting lives of mortals. Tales told of the demonic kingdoms of Tartarus spoke of each realm being a fortress unto itself, which was why the sun-god's glowing protectors were necessary to defend him as he gifted his light upon those who - arguably - did not deserve his warm, kind embrace.

    Without protectors, Ra warned, He is surely - and ultimately - at the whim and power of Tartarus.


    "For future reference," Salvius addressed the group, his stoic mask temporarily cracking, "I'm quite happy for you guys to cover my arse while I pick up the stones. No soldier ever won a war by himself, and even the best legionary goes from hot shot to cold shit without his wingmen either side."

    A grim smile tugged at the centurion's mouth as he turned his eyes on Gabrielle.

    "And gods help me, that offer extends to you, earthborn."

    He held out his hand, and Gabrielle chuckled slightly as he grabbed the centurion's forearm in a warrior's handshake.

    "It wasn't that long ago that I was here." the masked earthborn said, "Granted, I had my second sword that time, but I didn't have four companions. The Horsemen should fear."

    Nesara smiled at the brash sentiment. "The boat looks ready to depart." she pointed out, folding her hands to bow gracefully towards Ra. "If it is your will, lord of light, may be come aboard?"

    Ra peered down kindly once more at the mortals, before raising his gaze and turning his eyes towards the roaring river ahead. Looking down one final time with his all-seeing eyes, the god-king opened his arms and smiled - a smile that only a father could hold, as Ra was father to all things.

    I bid you welcome, heroes of Eternum, to the bright star Askilon.


    * * * * * *

    SOUTH OF EMOR

    Zar Stormwraith would have laughed, if the ragged heaving of his lungs would have allowed it. Just when he thought that things couldn't get any worse, they always did. And every momentary blessing that came his way turned out to be a curse in disguise. He might not have gotten his mother's aid in the battle of Hercinia, but he had gotten her attention. The hunter-goddess Diana had never taken too kindly to her bastard son, and she had made that plain when she had forced him to flee Emor with her demigod huntresses hard on his heels. He thought he had given them the slip in Combrogia, with a little help from his new ally Lupinus, and had believed that his new charge was to look after the Hunter's latest ward. Now a scion of Apollo was sticking his nose in, and Zar's new mission was back with his old acquaintance, Decius Marcius. That would have been fine, if Diana's huntresses hadn't caught up with him along the way. And even that would have been fine if the pale demons hadn't leapt out of nowhere, torn the huntresses apart, and then begun chasing him.

    Just when I think I'm about to get something big, it turns out to be balls. the archer reflected as he ran, his muscles aching well past their normal endurance. Sounds like the sex life of the unluckiest girl in Namor.

    He skidded to a halt, turned and drew an arrow from the satchel on his back with one smooth motion, as much to give his screaming legs a respite as anything else. The arrow sparked as he nocked it and hauled back his bowstring, and whistled as he released. His nearest pursuer was poleaxed off his feet, shedding a spray of lightning, but just as before he scrambled back to his feet with the snapped-off arrow protruding from his neck. Every one of his pursuers sported at least one arrow, spearing from throats and stomachs and burning red eye sockets, but they would not die.

    Zar almost laughed again as he whirled round, urging his failing legs to obey. He could not run much further - even if his body was not about to collapse under him, he was fast approaching the city where gods knew how many innocent Namorians would get caught in the crossfire. He was just beginning to scan the horizon for a suitable landmark to make his final stand, when his sensitive ears picked up hoofbeats thundering towards him. Not from behind - from ahead.

    He raised his gaze and saw a grey horse galloping towards him, ridden by a wiry Namorian whose black cloak and curly black hair were flowing and snapping behind him in the wind.

    "Zar!" the man was shouting, "Zar Stormwraith!"

    Zar almost stumbled in his stride as he belatedly recognised the man he had briefly met at general Marcius' villa. Ovidius?

    He turned, skidding on the soft earth as he reoriented towards the Namorian. A snarl at his back told him that one of the pale men was going to catch him before he made it. He turned and had a brief vision of a gaunt face, pale teeth and a burning red eye with a snapped-off arrow piercing it before the creature leapt at him. Too close to nock an arrow, Zar let himself fall backwards and planted both feet in the pale man's stomach, sending him sprawling over Zar's head. Backward rolling, he saw the pale man roll, twist and regain his feet like a cat, jaws gaping to scream at Zar until Ovidius' horse barrelled into him from behind. The pale man sprawled forward and disappeared with a crunch under the horse's hooves.

    "They won't die!" Zar shouted in warning. The other three pale men were not as fast as the leader, but they were fast enough and they were gaining on him.

    "Aim for the hearts!" Ovidius shouted back as he reined in his horse next to Zar in a shower of earth.

    Zar zeroed in on the nearest pale man, a muscular brute with a Combrogi's dreadlocks and a Namorian spatha in his hand, and there was a flash like a lightning strike as his arrow flew. The pale man was snatched backwards into the air, skidding back against the ground with the still-sparking arrow protruding from his chest.

    "Are you coming or what?" Ovidius shouted at him, leaning over in the saddle to offer Zar his hand.

    "I'm not so accurate on horseback."

    "I'm not planning on staying to fight!"

    He cursed as he wheeled the horse around hard, dodging the pale man he had run down. The demon was already trying to rise, clawing at the horse’s legs with a broken and twisted arm. The animal shrieked and nearly threw them both. Leaning hard over in the saddle, Zar pulled another arrow free of his backpack and stabbed it into the pale man’s chest. As he twisted it through the ribs, the demon dropped like a stone.

    "So,” Zar panted as he fought to regain his balance, “Who told you that particularly useful bit of combat information?”

    "Isis did.” Ovidius shouted back over his shoulder as he urged his horse into a gallop. “Which is also why I’m here saving your arse, if you’re wondering.”

    Zar laughed aloud, while behind them there was a howl of frustration as the remaining pale men began to fall behind. "Perhaps I’ll get the chance to return the favour.”

    "I’d rather not end up in the shit in the first place!” Ovidius replied dryly. “But you might have to. Isis wants us to wait for one of her priestesses by her temple outside Emor. It sounds like she’s got a distinctly suicidal mission for us.”

    "My favourite kind.” Zar countered cheerfully. “I need to beg an hour though, when we get back to Emor. I have important news for lord Marcius!”
    Spoiler: My RP links 

    PM me for novelised versions of any of my RPs, or ones that I have participated in. Set by the awesome Karma.


  8. #18
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    NAMORIAN ARMY CAMP, 40 MILES NORTH OF BRANJASKR

    The fire glowed brightly but seemed to give off little heat, or perhaps the cold had simply penetrated too deeply into Cassius' bones. It was a still, cloudless night, and the stars scattered above the camp were like frozen pinpricks in the deep black. The moon was a pearl of ice. Even the bowl of thin stew that Cassius had wrapped his gloved hands around seemed to be giving off precious little warmth as it rapidly cooled in the frigid air. In the large pen towards the edge of the camp, Cassius could hear the horses snorting and stamping beneath their blankets, and wondered if they were as cold as he was.

    "The venatores aren't bringing back as much game as they used to." one of Cassius' neighbours complained as he swirled the dregs of his own stew around his bowl.

    "What do you expect?" growled another, pulling his two woollen cloaks closer around himself. "This fucking forest wasn't built to feed fifteen legions, and half of the reindeer will have moved away by now. Go hunt 'em yourself if you're so keen."

    "With the demon army lurking out there?" the first countered. "Not bloody likely."

    Fed up with the uneasy welcome he always received in the officers' tent, Cassius had elected to eat with his fellow cavalrymen. Of course they were not his men - not really, with the Fulminata half a world away and all of his companions who had stumbled through the portal with him now dead. Nevertheless, cavalrymen were the same brash creed across the legions, and Cassius knew both how to inspire and befriend them.

    "We'll see if we can't drive some of the herds back on our next sweep." he put in. "Better to have the deer penned up in our hands than feeding the greyskins."

    If the praetor lets me lead another sweep. he thought morosely. He would follow his orders, but he would not apologise for his actions outside that Southern village. Times have changed. If we don't stand with the Southerners, then we'll fall separately.

    "Tribune Cassius?" a muffled voice sounded from outside the circle of fire. Turning to look down the stark row of tents towards the praetorium, Cassius saw a man walking towards him. He recognised the mage Faustus by his fur cloak; only the dark-skinned Afragian's eyes were visible - his head covered by a bearskin hat and his mouth and nose by a scarf that was already frosted with ice where his breath had frozen.

    "Magus." Cassius nodded, putting down his bowl and rising to his feet to offer the mage a salute.

    "I have need of your services." Faustus said simply.

    Cassius didn't fail to note the mage's use of the word I. "Does the praetor command?" he asked cautiously.

    "I have the praetor's sanction."

    Cassius looked back at the knot of soldiers still sharing the campfire. "Don't wait up on me, boys. Finish your dinner."

    "Aye, tribune."

    "Now what's this about?" Cassius asked as he pulled up the hood of his cloak and followed Faustus back along the wide road that delineated the western quarter of the camp. The ground was cleared of snow but frozen solid, and Cassius' toes remained uncomfortably numb despite his thick woollen socks and the cloth bindings that were wound around the shins of his woollen trousers.

    "I have been thinking about that mage Octavius, the one who sent his letter with you." Faustus answered, his dark eyes glinting in the light of the passing campfires. "I still cannot fathom how he ended up here unless he was one of the apostates who joined the South, but his talk of demons within the Southern capital disturbed me greatly. We may be underestimating the threat in the face of the more immediate demon army."

    The mage paused and tucked his gloved hands into his armpits, blowing ice crystals through his scarf.

    "Moreover, whatever his history, I do not wish to leave a fellow magus who has offered us aid to the mercy of such creatures."

    Sensing an opportunity, Cassius halted beside Faustus. "Like I told you before," he confessed. "I never saw this man Octavius. But I know someone who might have."

    * * * * * *

    Whatever spells kept the grotto clear of snow were evidently still working, and the temperature change was palpable as Cassius pushed through the thick hedge barrier into the deep hollow beyond. Elsewhere the trees had grown icy teeth, snarling down from the skeletal branches, but here the evergreens were soft and free of snow. Cassius pulled his hood down and gratefully stripped off his gloves as Faustus stepped down beside him, the mage moving warily in the presence of the magic that he could no doubt sense. The undergrowth rustled as small creatures scampered away from their sudden intrusion. They were still the gods' creatures, but now instead of watching Cassius they fled in fear.

    Ever since Lord Kurosavi killed the Harbinger.

    Without the light of the moon to filter down and guide him, Cassius squinted into the gloom.

    "Syf?" he called out.

    Hearing no answer, he pushed deeper into the glade, following the stony pathway. Faustus followed a few paces behind him, looking around warily. The air became warm, even humid as they followed the slope down to a body of water. When they eventually reached it they found Syf within the clearing, clad in her winged armour. Cassius had to wonder if she ever took it off. Her dark hair flowed down to her mid back and she looked distracted, using a knife to chip away at a wooden figurine she was making.

    "She has the aura of the gods." Faustus murmured.

    Cassius nodded. "She says she is a daughter of Nike, which as far as I can tell is her people's name for Victoria."

    He looked at the ground where Syf was kneeling and saw a wooden model laid out on the grass - small, but impressively detailed. Cassius was able to recognise it as the castle at Branjaskr, even though he had only been inside the Southern capital for a short period of time. Carefully squared-off wooden blocks had been arranged in a wall around the castle, with miniature stakes placed round about them. Syf was clearly still working on her fortifications to keep the demon army out of Branjaskr.

    "Syf." Cassius hailed her, stepping out of the trees and walking down towards the water.

    It was a passing moment until the white haired demi-goddess actually came to be aware of the Namorian. She turned to see the horse rider. Her violet eyes glittered with happiness and she smiled.

    "Company that I've not seen in some time. This is very refreshing for me, the wood never talks back." She laughed, though in the face of the coming darkness she had submitted personal needs for the greater cause. And, unfortunately, the noble soul that she wanted most to acknowledge this submission of ego, did not. "You appear well enough, am I to assume you came to no harm?"


    "Well, I came close a couple of times." Cassius replied, returning the smile. "Nothing worse than I've already come through though."

    In truth, Cassius thought, there wasn't much that could come close after riding clear of the heart of a demon army, travelling into the very capital of Namor's Southern enemies, and being confronted by the Harbinger in this very grotto. Now there's a story to tell Dux Marcius when I see him again.

    He knelt down in the grass next to Syf and nodded towards her wooden carvings. "What's all this, then?"

    "A distraction, and an actualisation of my plans..." Syf looked away with her violet eyes. "I was lonely." She cleared her throat and pointed to move on the conversation, "With the addition to what you and I had come into strategical conclusion with, I also had them implement an arching barrier of spikes to be hidden in the snow."

    Cassius chewed the inside of his cheek, but decided not to press the issue that Syf clearly wanted to avoid. No doubt it was hard hiding out here with only the comatose Lord Kurosavi for company, and presumably the occasional visits of the southern prince Kalle to take away and enact her plans.

    "How is Lord Kurosavi?" he asked, as he looked around again and saw no sign of the Druada lord, unconscious or otherwise.

    Syf withdrew her hand from her display, to point at a mass of flora and vines that could have been construed as some sort of lakeside bush.

    "The forest has enveloped him. I have studied it, but discovered little. I believe it is something that the lord himself wants, even if he cannot speak on his own behalf. So, I have left it untouched."

    The demigoddess frowned at the display, the guise of life around the corrupted man.

    "Tragically beautiful, is it not?"

    The world had been full of tragic beauties lately,
    though Cassius was not sure if this was one of them. If he awakens, what will emerge? He thought of the Harbinger again, howling as Kurosavi ripped mercilessly into it, and felt a chill creep up his spine.

    "I've brought someone with me who might be able to help." the tribune said, rising to his feet and gesturing towards the rocky path that twisted away into the trees.

    Faustus emerged in a whisper of robes and furs. He had cast off his cloak and scarf in the humid warmth of the Grotto, unmasking a strong-boned face with sober, coal-black eyes. His skin was acorn-brown and the same smooth texture, contrasting with Cassius' wind-roughened olive and Syf's flushed ivory. The expression on his newly revealed face was unreadable. To Syf, such an expression was one she found the most interesting because it became a puzzle to put together their motivations.

    "This is magus Faustus." Cassius explained. "A wizard of the Namorian guild."

    Syf stood proudly.

    "Hello mage Faustus, a pleasure." She gave him an alabaster white smile and straightened her posture. A tall woman, she towered over both Cassius and the mage. "I am a daughter of Nike. You have thoughts passing through your mind. What are they?"


    "Nike...Victoria..." Faustus mused, his eyes falling to the telescopic spear that hung at Syf's waist, the leaf-shaped blade covered with arcane runes. He glanced briefly at Cassius. "So, it is as you said."

    The mage turned his dark eyes towards Syf and cautiously inclined his head.

    "I have many thoughts, daughter of Nike. Of the rulers of Branjaskr, of the demons they are rumoured to call servants, and of a fellow Namorian by the name of Gaius Octavius."

    The demigoddess wrinkled her nose, seeing mental rivers she had not wanted to cross. A map filled with pins and string could not have even begun to give clarity to the mess that had become the jarl's family. The words he shared - rare and perfunctory, nowadays - always held within them the subtext of something else being withheld. The shining soul would not give her all the pieces - which made it feel ever more impossible to help him smile genuinely.

    "Your thoughts are still vague, mage Faustus." Her critical amethyst eyes gazed upon him strongly. "What is it that you are explicitly thinking?"


    The mage's smooth forehead furrowed as he frowned. "My commander is aware of the demons bearing down on this city. The tribune here," He motioned towards Cassius before re-folding his hands. "Believes that we should be discussing alliance rather than trying to face them separately. But we received a letter from a mage calling himself Gaius Octavius, warning that the Southern leaders have fallen in with demons themselves. The enemy of my enemy is not my friend if he too is in thrall to the powers of Tartarus."

    Cassius too was frowning; as if he wanted to speak, but he let the mage finish his piece. His bright Northern eyes flicked watchfully between Syf and Faustus.

    "Praetor Maximus has not granted me leave to call any sort of truce," Faustus warned, "But he has agreed to let me find out if this Octavius and his words are genuine. Cassius tells me that you have spent some time with the Southern rex. I wish to know what you have seen."

    "I have seen that he is the noblest man I've ever known." Syf held no reservation to reply hastily, and her words were decisively spoken. If Cassius had not spoken about the events that took place in this grotto, she reasoned, than he too saw light in the Odinsens. "I would have never given them aid, should I have come to the glinting thought of their envelopment in demon-kind."

    The jarl's blood radiated the sinful demonism; any mage or demigod could sense it. But there was a man beyond that, with the kindest, strongest heart that pumped that blood though his veins.

    "The jarl is a man to be admired for his virtues." She crossed her arms. Should the Namorians' prejudice be aimed at the South, her own was to the North. A memory of a none-too-kind Roman culture, its living descendant capable of just as much malice. "The Southerners fight because they want to be no man or being's thrall. They are to be their own people; free of any leash or looming powers."


    "That remains to be seen." Faustus said neutrally.

    The mage was silent for what seemed like a long moment. He was looking not at Syf now, but at Cassius, while the young tribune was frowning at nothing in particular. He probably thought he was being impassive, though the impression was more of not being sure what kind of expression he was supposed to be wearing.

    "I suppose," the mage continued as he paced slowly around the pool where Syf had been kneeling, coming to a halt near the bundle of vines that formed Kurosavi's cocoon. "That I should welcome the news that we do not have two demon enemies to fight. But I can't help but wonder..."

    He stooped to cup water from the pool with his hands, letting it trickle through his fingers.

    "If that was the case, then why would someone claiming to be a Namorian mage send the praetor that warning? All bound up in fire spells and demon-repelling runes, as if they were desperate for something evil not to find it?"

    Syf only gave the mage a thoughtful expression. Deceit wasn't something she practiced or had skill for, though that didn't mean she couldn't recognise it. She knew, for example, from the answer she had eventually prised out of Kalle, that Gaius had told him that his message to the Namorian army was to urge an alliance. If the mage Faustus spoke the truth now then that had been a lie, and Gaius was no true friend of Kalle's. She wondered if some similar deception lurked behind this second mage's neutral expression, as he calmly bathed his hands in the warm water of the pool.

    In any case, her own actions only came from the need to protect a man who would easily be misunderstood. He had the dark blood, but he should not have to bear the judgment of its associations. He is above them.

    "I cannot say why the mage you speak about would say these things, for I was never involved with him."

    The Demigoddess went on to look at Kursoavi and the black grass, which she gave a loose gesture towards.

    "But there is a lot to be cautious about when it comes to darkness in these lands. Even this land isn't protected, nor the great one trapped inside the vines."


    To her relief the distraction seemed to work, because Faustus dropped his inquiry with a mild nod and turned instead towards the bundle of vines.

    "I assume that the great one is this lord Kurosavi you were talking about." he said as he passed a hand slowly over the vines, as if feeling for something emanating from them.

    Cassius nodded. "The leader of the Druada. He aided dux Marcius at the battle in Combrogia. Somehow he must have been captured and brought here through the portal."

    "A fate I would wish on no-one, to be made the plaything of demons." Faustus replied softly. He closed his eyes as he hovered his hand over the vines a second time. "I can feel deep scars beneath these vines, and the lingering touch of..."

    The mage shivered suddenly, violently.

    "He was corrupted. I would demand that you kill him here and now, except...except that I can feel the darkness receding."

    "He's exorcising himself?" Cassius ventured, skirting round the pool to kneel next to Faustus.

    "Healing energy is flowing from the forest through these vines. I'm not sure if it is being pushed or pulled."

    Another frown furrowed the mage's smooth features, his eyes still closed. He brought his other hand up, holding them steady over the middle of the green cocoon.

    "I can feel..."

    The vines moved.

    As the mage scrambled back, the large green tendrils began to shift and writhe against each other, beginning slowly but soon accelerating, as though fighting to rid themselves of each other. An ominous creaking filled the air, as though the trees around were leaning in to watch as the cocoon seemed to peel backwards, each green vine sliding slowly back into the earth. As the snaking foliage retreated back into the ground, it revealed the lithe figure of the Druadan lord who had lain beneath the plant-life since he had massacred the Harbinger. However, whatever the woodland had done to him had seemingly not retured to him his original visage.

    The Eldrani lord was a pale, morbid grey, his skin tone more fitting to a dwarven iron-forge than typical Druadan colouring. It was accentuated by the abyssal black colour that had stained his lips. The hair on his head was still long and gloriously well-kept, though now it had turned black, splicing into the long grass so that the area around his head was an almost indistinguishable mixture of hair and foliage. Kurosavi's golden armour was stained, turned a dull grey darker than his skin colour, and robbing it of much of the majesty it had once held. The new aesthetic was nigh-on brutal. His sword sat within its scabbard at his waist.

    His body remained mostly the same, other than a clear increase of muscle mass upon his form, and the noticeable disappearance of his injuries. The horrific wound in his leg had seemingly healed, but new scars had appeared on his face - harsh black lines that slid down from his eyes as though he had wept acid. The rest of his facial features had remained the same, though they seemed to hold some sort of sleeping grimace upon them, as though the comatose man had already seen how changed he was.

    Once the foliage had retracted fully, the forest returned to absolutely silence, leaving the man upon the ground in peace, the blackened grass stroking at his skin.


    "The lord has taken to a powerful transformation." Syf said absolutely, while staring at the rebirthed figure on the floor.

    What became of him reminded her of the warping of demon blood. Corruption. And yet, like Kalle, the demi-goddess found him to be beautiful in spite of his darkened state. His power also wasn't missed by her senses, and she looked to the mage Faustus as she gestured down at lord Kurosavi.

    "Whatever forms of arcane manipulation you can use, utilise them to awaken him. He must not be allowed to be comatose any longer, nor out of the demonic fight."


    "The corruption may not be fully gone." Faustus cautioned as he pulled himself gingerly across the ground to return to Kurosavi's side.

    "Whatever the vines were doing they seem to have finished." Cassius pointed out as he knelt down next to Faustus, beside the unconscious Eldrani.

    Faustus pursed his lips thoughtfully, his caution warring against his desire for answers. "Very well." he said at last.

    Carefully, the mage placed his hand over Kurosavi's face, fingers splayed around the Eldrani's forehead and below his eyes. He began to recite a spell under his breath, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration.

    There was an overbearing feeling of melancholy that seemed to soak into the already silent air as Faustus' fingers lingered upon lord Kurosavi's face, his rich brown Afragian skin contrasting sharply with the corpse-grey of the corrupted Eldrani Lord. At first the three humans thought that nothing was happening, but then they began to register the sound of the trees - creaking softly, almost as if they were groaning and moaning against the action of the mage. A breath of wind whispered through the grove, growing in volume. The soft, delicate soil that surrounded the roots of the ancient foliage seemed to writhe and twist against the dirt it called home, giving Syf and Cassius the uneasy image of a bag of snakes buried underneath a thin layer of earth. Suddenly there was a creak and crack, and they looked up to see that the branches of the ancient oaks, firs and spruces were shaking, as though the trees were straining against ancient bonds that had made them still for far, far too long.

    "Stop." Cassius advised Faustus urgently, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword.

    "No." Faustus hissed back, his eyes still scrunched closed. "The demigoddess is right - and we need answers."

    As Faustus held his fingers upon Kurosavi's face, the Eldrani lord's features began to twist and change, as though he was being drawn out of his sleep - his long, demon-induced nightmare being drawn out of his body like venom from a snakebite. His expression changed from a grimace to a rictus of intense pain, his mouth opening wide as though he were screaming. The trees screamed for him, their fevered groans filling the supernaturally warm air.

    Large chunks of soil began to uproot themselves from the ground, giving way to icicle-covered roots. They stretched out across the stained black grass, like octopi searching for prey within the black morasses of the deepest ocean trenches. Large blue bulbs started to bulge out of the trees, pushing the old, writhing bark outwards as they flowed upwards from somewhere within the ground. The affected trees became silent as their forms changed, though those that hadn't become pregnant with the icy blue growths merely became louder, their roots continuing to rise out of the ground. They pushing the bulk of the other foliage out of the ground as they wailed, roots thrashing like tentacles. Though it was hard to discern, Cassius could have sworn that some of the plants had begun to take on vaguely humanoid forms.

    Kurosavi's eyes were still closed, though as his lips moved sound began to return to his previously comatose body. He breathed as the trees shifted and moved, until eventually speech began to flow from his mouth once more. His voice was much darker than Cassius remembered, and the tongue was not of one that he knew, nor even one that Syf knew. Faustus was thrown back violently as the lord continued to speak, his eyes flicking open and revealing shattered orange irises, no longer filled with starlight as they once had been. Searing pain filled Cassius and Syf's heads, as pictures of burning trees and a gigantic man with a beard made of ice filled their minds.

    "I see." Kurosavi's voice filled the air, seemingly echoing from the trees. The trees that hadn't bulged with their ice-blue growths were now digging themselves out of the ground, standing up upon frosty, old legs made of multiple intertwining roots. "Ein gwalath tien fon." Kurosavi seemed to roar now, his voice joining the trees. "I see."

    Cassius and Syf belatedly realised what the Eldrani lord meant when they looked around at the trees. The bulbous growths had taken on the aspect of newly formed eyes, glowing bright blue. The trees were still now, but they maintained menacing stares as they peered into the clearing towards Cassius, Syf and the fallen mage.
    Faustus was picking himself up from the ground, his tunic and trousers stained by the churned earth. He was cradling his hand, as if Kurosavi's awakening had burned him at the point of contact. Cassius looked at the mage, and then back at Kurosavi as the Eldrani silently rose to his feet.

    "Lord Kurosavi?" the young tribune ventured, his hand moving away from the hilt of his sword. "Do you know where you are? Do you recognise any of us?"

    "Two men and a woman." The Lord spoke, his voice dark and threatening, joining with the rustling of the grass and the moaning of the trees to form a crescendo of anger aimed directly towards Faustus, Cassius and Syf. "Have you come to kill me?"

    Cassius glanced at Syf with a foreboding expression on his youthful face. He held out his hands to show that they were empty.

    "No." he said. "We're here because we want to help you. Like when we carried you out of the demon camp, remember?"

    "The demon camp..." Kurosavi looked towards the ground, as if he were trying to find his thoughts and memories from within his blackened, tortured mind. Anger filled his shattered irises and the very wind that flowed through the grotto shuddered, making all of the trees silent. Their glowing blue eyes flickered over towards the three humans, with the uneasy suggestion of recently-awoken minds unsure of what Kurosavi's anger was aimed at and how to neutralise it.

    "Yes." The Eldrani lifted his head and started at the three. "The forest remembers; even as it sleeps, it sees."


    Syf tightened her fists to endure the memories stirring in her mind, bearing it with little outside reaction other than pride. She saw the great lord and his woodland, turned dominion.

    "It would be selfish to expect him to remember much after the torment he must have gone through." Syf told Cassius, knowing very well what pain did to memory, when the agony kept the body company day and night. Agony broke the cerebral.

    "I am sorry for what has happened to you." she told the changed Kurosavi, "I kept by your side during your transition into this current form. I had no way to speculate that this would be what became of it. I'm sorry I couldn't spare you from it."


    The Eldrani lord looked over to Syf, staring at her as he tried to piece together his sentence. Squinting his eyes, his face finally settled and lost its grimace, as if clear thoughts were flooding back to him.

    "The daughter of Nike." he identified her, before turning to the others. "Cassius the horseman...and you, the mage Faustus."


    Faustus frowned, his head tilting to one side as he regarded Kurosavi. "Did you hear my name while you slept, lord? Or does your magic run even deeper than I can sense?"

    The trees bristled slightly, their glowing eyes swivelling as they turned their attention away from the three humans and towards their unmoving compatriots. The still trees stood silently pregnant, distended by ice-blue bulges that had grown to the size of horses. Instead of answering Faustus, Kurosavi turned and walked towards one of them. He ran his soft, grey hand along the large lump. The bark appeared to have loosened and split, so that it sloughed away at his touch and revealed a glistening, membrane-bound sac. Inside was a curled-up figure, suspended within a jelly-like fluid. The figure looked mostly Eldrani, but like the glowing womb around it it was coloured ice blue, with frost licking the tops of its tapered ears. The very tips were long streaks of ice, no flesh or skin residing beneath.

    Faustus clutched at an amulet around his neck, and muttered a prayer. Cassius on the other hand frowned and took a step closer to the gestating tree, his expression more curious than fearful.

    "What is that?" he asked Kurosavi.

    "They're so old." The lord of the Druada seemed lost in thought as he replied, his hand caressing the slimy membrane that held the creature suspended. The icy creature's beauty was enamouring, androgynous and alien, a contrast to Kurosavi's own dark allure. "They've been sleeping for such a long time. The trees whisper and mourn them, but the old roots cannot wake them."

    Kurosavi turned and smiled, a warm and vital expression on the face of a corpse. "You look upon the Warden of Hyperborea; the sullen, sleeping soldiers of Eternum's first war."


    Cassius looked at the others. Though it was known that the Druada, the Dun Morigans and the Hercinian cat-men had existed on Eternum since before the first humans fell from the sky and were scattered across its surface, all knowledge of that time was shrouded in myth, and what came before even more so.

    "What war?" he asked.

    "The forest shows me." Kurosavi said, his voice still detached and vacant, as if his mind was half within another world. "A time when my ancestors lived not only in Combrogia but all over the North, and here in the South too, building the grottos of Odin. The forest shows me the first conflicts between Druada and man."

    "Does it also show you the demons?" Faustus interrupted softly, raising his arm to point south through the trees. "Right now, thousands of them are swarming north from some kind of portal. They will overrun this continent, and perhaps the North as well, if we do not stop them."

    The lord's eyes trained themselves upon Faustus, his fire-glow eyes glaring into the mage's as he took in the information. It was almost as if his 'sleep' had left him dazed; as though he were still trapped within the vines that encircled him, dulling his senses at first wake.

    "Yes. We see orc and man and...horrible evil."

    "What is orc?" Syf asked, cocking her head with a bird-like curiosity.

    "You know them as greyskins." Kurosavi shuddered slightly, drawing his long, elegant blade from its scabbard and looking over it. His eyes widening as he looked upon his own tainted face, reflected in the blade. Removing his gaze from the mirror-bright metal, the Eldrani looked back at the trio before him.

    "But there is worse. A royal beast of Set, ridden upon by a champion of darkness who even now leads that great army towards this city."

    The trees rumbled with apprehension before they began to shift once more, their heavy footsteps shaking the earth as they dragged their roots towards their dormant brethren. Taking the sharpest of their branches, they pushed the tips into the gestating cocoons, bursting them and releasing the bodies inside. As the trio watched the released creatures began to stir, their armoured bodies shifting as they awoke from their ancient sleep.

    "The forest has spoken, and named me their leader." The Eldrani lord stuck the sac behind him with his sword and it too burst, fluid gushing out of the puncture before releasing the body inside. It fell to the ground, where it began to shift and move. "We will march to war with Man upon these lands, as we once marched against him."

    The icy figures all began to stand, turning their gorgeous, inhuman features towards the trio. A select few, numbering in only a dozen reached towards the ground and lifted long, blue-green blades from the surface -pulling them the earth as though they were gifted to them by Eternum herself. Raising the buried swords in salute, they marched towards Kurosavi and flanked him, an ethereal honour guard.

    "But we will need Namor," Kurosavi turned to Faustus once more, training his eyes upon him. "And the South," Now his gaze moved to Syf, watching the demigoddess intently. "And Hyperborea, if we are to stop this evil."


    Cassius looked to Faustus, nodding quietly. Faustus, who was looking at the icy soldiers with a kind of wary awe, returned the nod before turning his dark eyes on Syf.

    "As the lord says. You must find this jarl Kalle, and bring him here at once. We will bring our horses to the warmth and the water - it seems we may be here a while."

    With that he turned and strode away through the trees. Cassius stayed to salute Kirosavi and offer Syf a heartfelt good luck, then followed.

    "She's not a very good liar." Faustus said suddenly, once they had left the clearing some distance. When Cassius opened his mouth to protest, the mage cut him off with an upraised hand. "And neither are you, tribune. I don't know what you are hiding from me about this jarl Kalle, but I will see him for myself."
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 10-10-2015 at 07:48 AM.
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  9. #19
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    OCTAVIUS FAMILY VILLA, EMOR

    Taking the filled wine cups from one of her Combrogi slaves, Seppia stepped out into the warm evening air of the atrium. Titus and his friend Camilla were still outside, playing with Camilla's new puppy. It was a scruffy brown thing with floppy little paws, and both children were laughing as Titus ran back and forth, switching his feet as the puppy tried to chase his sandals.

    Seppia was glad to see her son laughing, even if it was only for a little while. Between the slaughter at the mages' guild and the horrific scene on the crucifixion hill, he had seen more than any child should have to. Gaius' absence did not help matters, although Seppia swung by turns between praying for her husband to come home and hoping that he never did. What was he thinking? Making allies of demons...why didn't he try to find another way? Why didn't he ask me? Why did he lie? Who's this angry, obsessive stranger who came home instead of my husband?

    She looked around for Marcius, and saw him sitting on one of the benches beneath the overhanging roof. He sat with his mouth pressed against his clasped hands, watching Titus and Camilla. There was something pained about his expression.

    Seppia felt something tug in her chest, a pang of sympathetic recognition. She had come close to losing her son, and it had nearly killed her. How must her cousin feel, to be reminded that he would never see his own children play in this atrium again? She put one of the cups down on the bench beside Marcius, and used the free hand to squeeze his shoulder. Up close, she could see that flecks of grey had found their way into Marcius’ hair over the last year, and the burn scars on his chest were still visible at the collar of his tunic. He looked suddenly, strangely old – old and wounded.

    "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

    Marcius glanced up, and dropped his hands down onto his knees. He managed a wan smile. "I will be." he reassured her. The age seemed to recede from his face a little, even if Seppia couldn’t help but notice the stiffness in his right hand as it laced fingers with his left. The torn tendons had almost healed, but not quite.

    A sound like rolling thunder filled the air, causing the children to halt in their game and Camilla to scoop up the puppy as it let out a frightened yelp. Seppia and Marcius looked up and saw something vast and black rising above them, far away beyond the northern wall of Emor. The star cruiser rotated slowly on its flaring thrusters, turning the huge electric-blue circles of its main engines towards the city before soaring skyward with a teeth-jarring rumble.

    "Let's hope that praefectus Ceylan does as good a job convincing his council as you did convincing him." Seppia said quietly as the bright glow of the ship's engines faded to a single point and then was lost in the greying sky.

    "He left a cohort of his soldiers with us." Marcius answered. "And each of them had half the power of a demigod. That will count for a lot if the worst should happen."

    "Even demigods can't create food out of thin air." Seppia countered. “Even after we defeat the bandits we can’t grow back the grain they stole and burned. And winter’s on its way.”

    “True enough.” Marcius admitted, in a tone that suggested he had considered the problem, but not yet found an answer. “We have a lot hinging on Zhnegra’s talks with the Hercine crocolykes, and on the senate managing to agree on the bread subsidies.” He exhaled down his nose and contemplated the mosaic tiles around his feet before looking back up at Seppia. “If you can think of any other ways to broaden our chances, don’t hesitate to come and tell me.”

    “What about the lady Elisavet?” Seppia asked, sitting down next to her cousin as she watched Camilla and Titus coax the puppy back into their game. She had heard of Marcius’ godly advisor, but had never seen her since she had departed the Fulminata camp before its arrival at Emor. “Might she know what to do?”

    “She might. But it would be against her wishes for me to…impose on her right now.” Marcius paused and considered. “That said, I won’t deny I’ve been toying with the idea of sending a messenger, to see if she is alright.”

    Seppia, feeling like she was missing something, opened her mouth to ask a question. But at that moment, there was a rattle of iron as someone banged for attention on the gates of the villa. Titus and Camilla looked up, and following the childrens’ gaze Seppia saw a tall man standing there; elfin-featured, with long dark hair falling to his shoulders.

    “That’s Zar Stormwraith.” Marcius said, rising to his feet in surprise as Seppia crossed the courtyard to let the stranger in.

    “My lady.” the man greeted Seppia with an extravagant bow. A tall hunter’s longbow was strung across his back, and his skin was dusty and sweat-streaked, as if he had come a long way to get here. “Apologies for the intrusion, and for the state of my own appearance, but I have news for dictator Marcius."

    “What news?” Marcius asked, frowning in spite of himself as one of Seppia’s Combrogi slaves helped her to unlock and open the gate.

    Zar’s thin face split into a grim smile. “News from the god Apollo, lord Marcius. Concerning his suspicions of what really happened to your emperor.”

    * * * * * *

    HERCINE

    Marcus Agrippa rode in silence, his jaw set as he led the 2nd legion along the western highroad. The Greek leader Hercules rode behind him, although Sertorius - the second appointed praetor and overall commander of their combined legions - had opted to lead his men along the parallel Corinthian trade road. The marching 3rd legion was silhouetted against the low sun as they thudded along, their tread a steady drumbeat in Agrippa's ears, but he did not bother to look at them as he led his own 2nd legion down their own path.

    The highroad ahead was already occupied. The embankments to either side of the road were lined with blue cloaked legionaries, but the contrast with his own fresh, well-armed and uniform troops could not have been more stark. The remains of the Hercine peacekeeping force were dirty, pale and rag-tag. Agrippa saw shields marked with the sword of the 5th, the tiger's claw of the 7th, and even one or two lightning bolts from the Fulminata detachment that Marcius had left behind after the battle of Hercinia. The men looked bone-tired, huddled in their blue cloaks or leaning on their grounded half-cylinder shields as they watched the passing horsemen with hollow, crinkled eyes.

    "Centurion." Agrippa called, picking out the first man of rank that he could see. "Who commands here?"

    The man stepped forward and saluted wearily with his vine staff. "Prefect Galerius does, sir. But he is currently with the rearguard about a mile back."

    Agrippa felt an uneasy sensation settle in his stomach. "The crocolykes have mobilised?"

    "No sir; as far as I know they haven't left Hercinia. But the praefectus didn't want to leave our backs unguarded while we fell back east."

    "Retreating with your tails between their legs." Hercules observed, raising an eyebrow behind his T-visored helmet.

    The centurion shot him a filthy look, but Agrippa had to agree with the Greek leader even as he held out a warning hand. No doubt the centurion and his men had had little choice - spread thin across the province on tribune Castus' last orders to clear out the bandits, they would have been poorly placed to intervene in the crocolyke revolution at the provincial capital. Dictator Marcius' legion had only taken the city with good tactics, providence and the unexpected aid of Zhnegra's army. The chances of the scattered garrison successfully doing the same must have been remote.

    Agrippa and Sertorius' combined legions might have achieved it, if Agrippa could bring himself to endure Sertorius' presence long enough to form a battle plan, but that was not why they were here.

    "Have you seen a crocolyke honour guard marching towards the capital?" he asked, swinging his leg over his horse's back and dropping to the ground in a jingle of armour.

    The centurion broke his smouldering eye contact with Hercules and instead turned a quizzical expression on Agrippa. "Towards the capital? No, sir. Though we might have missed them - we only rejoined the main road yesterday."

    "The crocolyke leader Zhnegra and Julia Agrippi are headed to Hercinia." Agrippa explained, injecting a note of pride into his voice as he spoke his young wife's name. "They are going to negotiate a peace, if they can." Gods willing.

    "Did you say Julia Agrippi?" a voice rasped from the ground near the centurion, several paces along the row of weary soldiers. "Julia Vespania Agrippi?"

    Agrippa looked round to see a wounded man sitting between two sullen legionaries, while a third knelt beside him. The man's head was wrapped in blood-encrusted linen, covering his right eye, though a scabbed gash that ran vertically down his cheek hinted at the kind of damage might be beneath. His right hand was similarly maimed, wrapped in bandages from palm to wrist, and clearly missing the last two fingers. As Agrippa watched, the man struggled to his feet. With his features obscured behind dressings, wounds and a dirty straggle of unshaven stubble, it took Agrippa several seconds to recognise him.

    "Twelve hells." he breathed quietly, "Is that you, Quintus? What happened?"

    Julia's brother shifted and stood up a little straighter, the kneeling man behind him rising to support his back. "When the Rapax returned to Hercinia, sir, I was put on peacekeeping duty." His voice was thick with bitterness. "Then the crocolykes rose up, and one of them took a broken sword to my face. Praetorian Sulla pulled me out of the melee."

    "I'll tell Julia that you survived." Agrippa promised. "She's been worried about you."

    Quintus let out an uncharacteristically terse grunt - nothing like the brash, laughing man that Agrippa remembered. The newly-minted legatus let his eyes switch towards the man supporting Quintus, and belatedly registered the sunburst on his breastplate - confirming the rank with which Quintus had named him.

    "What's a praetorian doing all the way out here?" he asked, frowning.

    The praetorian raised his gaze. He was a wiry, hatchet-faced man, with a twitch in his neck as if he was constantly struggling to swallow. "The emperor's eyes must see all, legatus." he rasped.

    "You should see what's been going on back in Emor." Hercules chuckled from behind Agrippa.

    The praetorian spasmed again as he looked up at the Greek leader. "Sir?"

    "You'll hear soon enough." Agrippa said flatly, heading off both the praetorian and the mocking Greek. "Decius Marcius has assumed temporary dictatorship of the imperium. The emperor's orders to clear the province of bandits still stand. That is why my troops are here also. When prefect Galerius returns, we'll discuss how best to do it."

    "We're not going to retake Hercinia, sir?" the centurion asked, looking like he was resisting the urge to frown. Nearby, the praetorian made an odd hissing noise.

    Agrippa gritted his teeth. "Julia and the crocolyke leader are going to negotiate a peace." he repeated. "Namor has bled too much already, and more dangerous enemies are on the horizon."

    Swaying on his feet in front of Agrippa, Quintus Vespanius let out a hacking cough, and stifled it with his unmaimed hand.

    "With all due respect to my sister, sir." he said. His voice was the growl of a wounded dog looking to bite back. "They're a bit late."

    * * * * * *

    THE BURIAL GROUNDS, WEST OF EMOR

    The cave was out of sight of the western highroad that arrowed away from Emor, and well hidden between two of the gently rolling hills that weaved around and behind the burial grounds. Ovidius was no longer surprised that it had gone unnoticed. The spy had found a flat rock that served as somewhere dry to put his belongings, but he was reluctant to sit down himself. He paced slowly around the foot of the hill, alternating between listening for Zar and looking up at the cave, its mouth a black hole in the moonlight. Ovidius had felt his way around the outer excavations, but he had not tried to explore deeper inside the half-finished temple. He knew better than to go prying around a domain of the gods uninvited - at least without the help of a torch.

    A rustle of footsteps against grass made Ovidius instinctively reach for his new dagger, the leather sheath creaking softly as he half-drew the blade.

    "No need for that, Ovidius, it's only me." With his sharp senses, Zar evidently saw Ovidius before the spy could see him. The hunter stepped out of the darkness, moving like a panther in his light leather armour. His bow was strung and ready, but hung loosely in his right hand.

    "What took you so long?" Ovidius said dryly, thrusting his dagger back into its sheath. "It's bloody cold out here."

    Zar grinned. "I was busy being awesome."

    Ovidius tried not to roll his eyes at the facetious remark. "What did lord Marcius say when you told him the emperor might have been spellbound?"

    "He's going to reinstate the mages and get them to have a look at him."

    Ovidius wondered what the senate might have to say about that, as Zar turned slightly away from him and squinted at the cave mouth behind.

    "Is that it?" the hunter asked.

    "I'm fairly sure this is the place. There aren't many holes this size in the sides of the foothills."

    "And now?"

    "Apparently we wait. For a chariot of fire and steel."

    Zar chuckled. "That sounds like the Earthborn to me."

    As if on cue, a distant rumbling reached the two men, rising in pitch and volume as it grew closer. Ovidius shielded his eyes with one hand as he was suddenly bathed in a halo of light. A familiar raptor-prowed shape loomed above him, silver grey and haloed in running lights as its screaming turbines swivelled towards the ground and allowed the Earthborn craft to descend. Ovidius was less awed this time, having flown in such a machine once before on the way to Afragia, but the noise was still like a huge hand constricting his ribcage, and the jetwash was a dragon's breath against his skin.

    The rear ramp of the lander unfolded in a smooth ballet of technology as the lander settled on the hillside. A silhouette appeared, which resolved itself into a familiar one-eyed figure as it stepped out into the pool of light beneath the shuttle's tail.

    "Great timing, Anne." Ovidius commented, as he worked his jaw to try and get rid of the ringing in his ears. "Though you didn't have to blind and deafen us too. I take it Isis has had a word with you?"

    Anne smirked, as if the whole situation was a joke that only she was clever enough to understand. "She has indeed, my two champions." She turned her body and held out an arm towards the silvered ramp of the dropship. "Your chariot awaits."
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 11-17-2015 at 05:05 PM.
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  10. #20
    The Big Meme
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    The Afragian Desert, Afragia


    “Speed up.” Altius cried out, his feet tracking through the sand far faster than the other three. Juno lingered constantly upon Shahik’s shoulder, the muscular guard’s face embraced by the harsh marks of the grading of the sun and the sand. Sheba lingered on between their Namorian escort and the other members of her party, watching both the mysterious man and the horizon with an eye akin to that of an eagles – scanning the sand-dune choked horizon for a solitary outcrop of rock. Turning around the face the three once more – though Sheba was only a few feet, around fifteen to be exact, away from him – Altius yelled out to them once more. “You’re going to have to hurry up otherwise we’re going to miss the Ferry.”

    “Ferry?” Shahik muttered to himself, frowning slightly as he rolled his shoulder, careful not to drop the Namorian woman who rested her cheek upon it, her form weak and close to death. The Guard could feel it, she was ice cold against his skin, and her pink complexion was slowly drifting into a mottled grey akin to that of the old stone statues found in the deeper, unpopulated parts of the younger Afragian cities, where the entrances to their old shells had only recently been uncovered beneath the sand and the fallen debris. “What’s this Ferry?” The young man shouted out in reply, his voice notably under strain.

    Sheba turned around to look at him, her feet still shifting through the powdery sands as she trailed after their armoured guide, her mind still running with questions of how the seemingly blind man was finding sight with his eyes shrouded in cloth. “The Child’s Road is where the Ferryman lives and works, a form of Death.” The woman smiled uneasily at the Guard, her dark features shifting to display her discomfort at the path they were taking.

    “A form of Death?” Shahik’s face contorted into one of horror at the thought of being faced with one of the many forms of Dreaded Death. “Why would Death waste his time as Ferryman?!” Shahik found himself confused with the thought of the Reaper of Souls finding himself manning a back road into the Underworld and beyond.

    “Because he was-.” Sheba stopped, having walked straight into the awaiting arms of Altius, who held her upright so as to stop her from falling into a large pit that lingered in front of the two of them. The woman turned and gasped, looking towards the man’s eyes – or wherever she assumed they would be, as they were hidden behind the dirty cloth that he had pulled around them – thankfully, as though he could see her expression.

    “The Child’s Road is the birthplace of Death.” Altius muttered, his voice heard by the approaching figures of Juno and Shahik, the woman’s eyes barely open and her hair clumped together and unappealing to the eye thanks to the buffeting winds of the desert. “That is why it leads through the land of the dead and to the land of demons.” Altius paused for a moment, contemplating on his wording before opening his mouth once more to speak, this time looking into the eyes of Shahik and Sheba, as both of them were now gazing at the large pit ahead of them. “When Ra found that he could not kill Kronos and the Demon Lords, he forged Death from his father’s remaining servants – all of which had surrendered, peacefully and afraid of his wroth – and a piece of his own heart, much to the chagrin of his son, who cultivated the first gardens in heaven in outrage. Death was sent – through the empty Underworld, which had no residency aside from Hades, who found himself alone in its depths – to Tartarus to slay the Demon Lords, though he could not; Kronos was, has been and always will be too strong for death to take him.”

    “That’s a lie.” Sheba retorted, her voice filled with a refusal to believe their guide’s story. “Kronos is a trickster Lord, who fooled the other Demon Lords into following him, and was given mercy by Ra – who found himself too righteous to kill his own father.” The older woman guffawed, eyes still drifting over so slightly towards the large pit that remained in front of all four of them, as though she were slightly questioning her own retort. “The Child’s Road was the birthplace of Death, yes – but he was bound to Hades outright, as a servant in payment for Hades desertion to the realm of the dead, where he had once been an Avatar of the Sun.”

    “Death and Hades were both deserted.” Altius ignored the woman, looking only at Shahik this time. “The young ferryman joined Hades, his kindred spirit in abandonment – Hades from his purported ‘duty’ and Death thanks to Odin’s refusal to welcome him to the World of the Living – to populated their realm with weary souls empty of Odin’s gift of life.” Turning to the pit and looking into it, the seemingly blind man smiled, looking down upon the strangely unending darkness that lingered within. Turning back to both Sheba and Shahik – the woman looking offended whilst the guard merely seemed confused – Altius stepped aside and motioned his arm towards the jagged hole that lay ahead of them. It wasn’t a huge pit by any standards, being able to fit maybe three to four people within its span at once, though it was noticeably deep and gave off a feeling of emptiness and sorrow that none of the party could describe. It was – for all who peered into its depths – incredibly unnerving.

    “The entrance to The Child’s Road requires both a sacrifice of Blood and Time, given in physical form and taken in kind.” The Legionnaire muttered. “Drawn from a mortal form, which means I cannot grant us entrance myself – the task must lie with one of you two.”

    “Why – all of a sudden – must we give our blood and time?” Shahik frowned once more, this time joining Sheba in her outright offense to the man, who merely stared at both of them without a trace of emotion lingering within his eyes. “And why can you not?”

    “Because my form is not fully mortal, nor were my parents.” The man smiled at the three of them, his lips curling only slightly, as his was a face of pity, not joy.

    “A Demi-God?” Sheba muttered, losing the fury within her eyes to the outright shock that filled them in its place, reaching her hand out slightly to block the sun so that she could see the man for what he was. “Son of who?”

    “A minor God – regardless, my blood is not entirely mortal, therefore I cannot give it to grant us entry.” Altius dismissed the question almost instantly. “A sacrifice of time is something that she-.” The Demi-God pointed towards Juno, who in turn lazily lifted her eyes towards her two companions as though apologising for the sacrifice they would have to make. “Cannot give, as you know.” Both Shahik and Sheba’s mouths twisted as they thought upon the sacrifice that one of them would have to make, knowing that Juno would never be able to give any of the finite time she had left within her.

    “I’ll do it.” Sheba muttered, stepping forwards tentatively. “I’ve had my years, 52 of them.”

    “I do not know how many you shall lose.” Altius cautioned, pulling a well forged knife from his belt and holding it out towards the woman. “But a valiant gift to give.” Sheba’s eyes lingered on the blade and its smooth, sharpened edge – watching the blade glint and wink in the sunlight – before quickly snatching it from the Legionnaire’s fingers – who parted with the weapon willingly. Taking a step forwards towards the bottomless chasm, the woman let out a shaky breath before slowly stretching her arm out over the edge of the pit, bringing the blade up to meet it across the width of her wrist.

    She stood, staring at the weapon as it pushed into her skin, held there motionless, ready to be drawn across her flesh, parting her dark complexion for the crimson beneath to flow freely. The promise of a loss of years was stark to the woman, especially when their guide did not even know how many were required for entry. Whilst Sheba was relatively old, she had hoped to watch her grandchildren grow up, to walk through Combrogia, to see the great Temples and the Palace of Emor – all things that she wanted to experience; the thought of this sacrifice taking those chances from her scorned her, though she was so sure that it was for a good cause, herself and Shahik having joined Juno after seeing how desperate she was, and after – not but a year or two ago – she had received a letter from a mysterious woman written in beautiful, vibrant purple ink telling her to wait for the sick woman, as though it were foreseen by the Gods.

    Sheba stalled however, her mouth glued shut at the horror of time passing her by. The maw of the pit seemed to open and widen as though attempting to suck her into its cavernous depths. The sound around her dulled, replaced by the loud beating of her heart. She lifted the blade slightly, placing it at the edge of her wrist so that she would have enough space to draw it across so as to be sure that a cut would form. Then, suddenly – and unexpectedly, so much so that it caused the woman to jump backwards with fright – Shahik stepped forwards, a determined look on her face and his sword in hand pressed against his palm. He draw it backwards in one deft movement – his determined features forging a scowl that attempted to cover up his pain – before holding his hand over the pit and clenching his fist, letting his blood drop into the swirling darkness. He turned his head towards Sheba and nodded his head towards her before releasing a strained gasp. His skin became looser and far more wrinkled, joined by his sun-bleached hair quickly greying at the edges of his hairline – his eyes became more sullen, though there was still youth to them, unlike Sheba’s. The man’s form became far older and more blemished, quickly changing from that of a man of his early twenties, to that of a man in his late forties.

    It happened to suddenly that the guard had not inhaled for the entire transformation, causing him to fall on his back, landing upon the soft sand beneath him. Juno remained standing, though only barely – a pitiful sight as the woman attempted to cover up her skinless ankles with what robes remained there. Sheba darted towards the fallen man with urgency whilst Altius peered over the side once more into the crater, watching as dark, inky water rose from the darkness slowly. “The gate has opened.” The seemingly uninterested man muttered, watching the liquid rise until it had filled the pit at least half way, stopping finally in its advance. “We must jump, else we will miss our chance.”

    Shahik had sat up by now, his eyes blinking slowly as he looked around him. “My eyesight’s worse.” He said, looking down at his hands, which were still sand-bitten, though they held a maturity that the man’s skin had not held before the sacrifice.

    Sheba turned her head angrily towards Altius, who did not meet her gaze as he watched the water churn silently beneath him. “Shahik has fallen, legionnaire – we won’t be going anywhere until he has eaten something.

    “You would give another twenty five years then?” Altius muttered, still watching the water, ever so sure that it had slightly lost some of its volume. “The gate is already closing, if we don’t leave soon we will miss this opening.”

    Shahik placed his palm upon the sand and heaved himself up, shaking his older head groggily. “I didn’t give up twenty-or-so years just to lose out to a bit of exhaustion.” The Afragian turned towards Altius before peering into the pit, grimacing as he watched the water slowly but surely recede. “And we have to jump into…that?”

    “How else did you imagine we would find ourselves at the birthplace of Death itself?” The legionnaire muttered. “A walk through the desert until we find it on our travels? No.” The man drew his attention towards Sheba, who stood behind – having taken charge of Juno, the woman seeming far lighter than she once was. “She must eat, as quick as possible.”

    “But the gate is closing?” Sheba marched forward defiantly, the young woman being slightly dragged along through the sands, the small sandals adorning her skinless feet creating trail upon the sediment. “You said that we must jump.”

    “You cannot eat food whilst on the Road – otherwise we will have to wait until we enter the Kingdom of Strife, and I cannot say whether or not our food or water will turn to dust and poison in our throats.” Altius responded, prompting Sheba to lift her flask up to Juno’s lips, forcing her to drink the thin stew that lay inside – the woman feeling that the liquid meal would be more useful than water and vegetables to sate the party’s hunger and thirst upon the journey, though this had also given her more questions about their guide as he had refused food and water on every occasion. “Jump Shahik.” Altius muttered, motioning towards the swirling black waters, which had now drained half-way.

    The aged man watched the water slowly sink back into the walls before looking at the wound upon his hand, which had dried, sealed and scarred over as the man’s body aged, likely in an effort to prevent the same wound being used to open the gate again. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, the man jumped, his feet angled directly towards the floor before he fell, disappearing silently from vision. Sheba’s eyes followed him before they turned towards their charge, who was coughing quietly as the Afragian woman quickly and accidentally poured the food too liberally. Drawing the container away and watching as the woman opened her mouth and alleviated it of what stew she could not keep down, Sheba brought the flask to her own lips. Altius motioned towards the pit once more, smiling slightly. “Fate hangs in the balance, Sheba of Afragia – will you jump, or will you leave your companions to die?”

    Sheba pulled Juno along with her as they both approached the side of the crater. Looking towards Altius – her eyes glinting with wild fear – the older woman of the two opened her mouth to speak, yet closed it as the seemingly blind man turned to face her, as though he held eyes that could see into her old soul. “I’d advise you fall backwards – things don’t work the same as they do here.” Sheba turned herself tentatively and watched as Altius did the same – turning his back towards the draining water, almost all of it having disappeared from the pit now. “Now would be a good time for courage.” The man smiled once more, an unnerving, wolfish smile, full of bright teeth and hidden intention. He fell, his feet having tilted and dropped him off of the edge and into the mouth of the Earth. Sheba turned her head, took in a breath and fell with him, following him into the unknown.

    There was as flash of black and a stinging cold rush of pain that hit her hard before disappearing as quickly as it had come before Sheba felt the air around her change in temperature. A freezing breeze washed over her body before her vision returned to her, albeit fuzzy and unfocused, as though she were gradually going blind. The woman’s feet waved around in mid-air for a moment before they collided with uneven stone, causing Juno to slip and fall slightly, though Sheba kept her mostly standing. As her eyes began to focus a bit more, the woman looked down upon the black stone she stood upon and then across at the swirling, inky-grey water that surrounded it, lapping weakly at its miserable shore. A burning brazier stood at the centre of the island - upon a small hill which began to creep upwards just behind the shoreline - glowing a bright, haunting purple. Beside said Brazier stood two men, Altius and Shahik – though the latter had grown a long, untidy beard and looked far skinnier and far more afraid than he had upon the surface. Shahik rushed as quickly as he could down the stone hill towards his companions, wrapping his now-skinny arms around the pair of women. “I thought you’d left me.”

    “Time works different in this realm.” Altius calmly spoke, his face unchanged – if not looking far more disturbing thanks to the glow of the purple light. “Here, we will never yearn for nourishment nor sleep – and any that you could receive would be filled with whispering intrusions. Here, Juno could live for another seventy years, though that could feel as long as a thousand, or as short as a minute.”

    “How long have we been gone for?” Sheba quickly asked, her eyes looking into the slightly maddened look upon Shahik’s face, the gaunt man grimacing before burying his head into the woman’s shoulder and beginning to sob uncontrollably, managing to mumble ‘thank you’ prayers to Ra, Anubis and Odin.

    “It has been two weeks since I last saw you and her.” Altius muttered. “For him? Seven years.”

    “But he looks no older?” Sheba looked at Altius with disbelief as he walked forwards, holding onto a dark, black bell.

    “You don’t age in Death’s realm.” Altius laughed slightly before ringing the bell – the noise being more of a long wail than a ring, though it were slowed down to immeasurable levels, growing in volume as time passed. “We are so close to him now that we are considered always about to die, we will not grow a second older whilst we are here, we will simply fall and die if it is our time.”

    “And where is he?” Sheba muttered.

    “He is everywhere.” Shahik slumped his shoulders and moved backwards, planting himself upon the stone floor. “Death is everywhere here Sheba, especially in the water.”

    “Yes,” Altius cringed slightly as the drone of the bell reached its highest octave, akin to a child’s scream. “You must not go into the water.” The man looked into the shimmering liquid with a noticeable fear upon his face – the first time that Sheba had seen him unnerved. “The Ferryman however, is coming – though when he shall arrive is something that I cannot tell you.”

    “Then we wait.” Sheba placed Juno upon the stone before planting herself upon it with exasperation – though she had never felt more energised and alive.

    “Indeed.” Altius quietly replied, his covered eyes scanning the black horizon, on the lookout for Death’s waterborne chariot. “We wait.”

    Weeks passed the four before anything changed. Altius had been right, whenever Sheba had longed for food she found her flasks and knapsacks empty, as though it had dissolved. The freezing weather made her wrap up, though she neither grew warmer nor did she succumb to the terrors of the cold. The sleep that she longed for was plagued by venomous whisperings in languages that she could-not-yet-could comprehend, belonging to voices and intelligences older and far more intelligent than hers. Altius remained awake at all times, standing vigil over the water with his hand upon his concealed blade. He never spoke, nor made a sound – sometimes Sheba questioned whether he even breathed – yet he was always listening; the Afragian woman had become fully convinced that the man could see them despite his apparent blindness. She had, on one of the first few days, asked Shahik if they were already in Tartarus, though he refused to answer, only looking at her and smiling sincerely – he knew her unspoken fear.

    Finally however, the water at the edge of the darkness shifted, the water slowly changing from a wispy grey to a complete abyssal black. Both Sheba and Shahik – and Juno, though she was pulled delicately upwards by Shahik, who had taken charge of her once more – rose to join Altius, who was, as always, standing as close to the water as he dared, his ‘gaze’ glued to the horizon. From the darkness came a small boat and the endlessly echoing sound of rowing. As the huge vessel emerged from the darkness – revealing itself as a massive longship – its master did also, a shrouded figure with no discernible physical features beyond that of his black attire.

    As the Ferryman slowly approached the shore, the water beneath his boat froze into stone, stopping the ship at the shore of the island. There was silence for a moment – other than the still echoing sound of the Ferryman’s previous rowing – before the Ferryman lifted one of his arms and revealed a skeletal hand and an outstretched finger pointing towards the burning purple brazier. Sheba looked across at the purple flame before turning her eye to Altius, who had begun to approach it. “We must have a flame to light up the darkness, I shall take the charge.”

    “So now there is a task that you can take?” Sheba muttered disdainfully, having grown stir-crazy and sick of her surroundings.

    “To hold this flame is to bear the pain of the past, for it does not glimmer hot nor cold, but with infernal memory.” The legionnaire called out, his voice joining the Ferryman’s rowing in a seemingly never-ending echo that hurt Shahik and Sheba’s ears. “You should be thankful that I will hold it instead of you.” The man reached downwards tentatively before he placed his hands upon the brazier, crying out as it overwhelmed him slightly. Trembling, the man stood once more, lifting the seemingly weightless object with ease. “Get on the ship, he will give us passage.”

    “How can you know for sure?” Shahik muttered, his disdain being replaced with sheer depression as he watched Altius slowly walk down the hill and onto the ship, his form seemingly being stared out by the Ferryman – though his eyes were, much like Altius’s, shrouded from view. “And does he not require payment?”

    “Death is lonely – no one prays for Death or goes on great quests for him.” The Namorian man muttered, placing the brazier upon the floor and breathing a sigh of relief. “He is a gentle God, far better conversation than my father at least.” Dipping his now free hands into one of his pockets, Altius drew a ragged piece of blood red fabric from within, dropping it into the lap of the Ferryman who turned his head towards the three upon the shore. “I have given payment to him, now come.”

    Shaking his head with confusion, Shahik took a step forwards regardless, his feet silently placing themselves upon the ship. Sheba followed, less confused and more anxious as she watched her companion take a seat next to the Legionnaire. “Place her down next to him.” Altius muttered, his eyes lacking any emotions that would lead Sheba to think that he was being sarcastic. Looking upwards at their tall, shrouded Ferryman, the woman gulped before slowly planting Juno next to him, watching as one of his large skeletal arms reached across and placed itself around her, covering her completely with his robe.

    “What’s it doing to her?” Sheba nervously muttered, taking the final space next to Shahik, who watched, face twisted with terror.

    “He’s talking to her – don’t suppose he’s spoken to anyone in a long, long time.” Altius turned and smiled towards the two Afragians, before looking down at the brazier, leaning down and pushing it beneath him quickly, so as to avoid its painful touch.

    The stone beneath them quickly reformed into the black water that once lingered there and the longboat began to move towards the darkness that it came from. Sheba and Shahik took a deep breath and clenched their eyes, whilst Altius looked onwards, seemingly defiant of whatever fate may await them.

    For within the darkness – as their mysterious guide had promised – lay the gateway to the realm of Beelzebub, and a cure for what Sheba had initially believed was a forgetful Namorian woman.


    The Forested March, The Southern Wastes


    The sound of multiple gliders rung out through the massive copse of foreign trees that managed to grow within the arctic conditions – their large, ancient trunks pushing themselves through the ice and soil to stroke at the sky, as though their branches were praising the Gods above; Gods that the Earthborn had – since their abrupt crash landing upon the primitive planet – become acquainted with. The first of the Gliders stopped in the middle of a clearing, the floor covered in snow and a few small swathes of brown and white grass – the white foliage appearing as though it were part of the snow, though far more translucent and on some occasions, completely see-through. Upon the first of the Gliders sat Captain Greenswald, his face covered in fabric so that it did not freeze whilst in transit. Behind him sat a young woman, her features much darker than Greenswald’s, yet still covered mostly in fabrics. Within her hands she held a tablet of blue light, displaying the local area – an Earthborn map, generating the surrounding area by using sonar waves akin to those that Earth’s bats made – though they were, like most undomesticated wildlife that had once lingered on the planet, extinct upon the capital world of the UEA and were only found upon the Moon and some other terraforming projects, Earths ecology being preserved on some and mixed with other Garden World’s ecosystems on others.

    Another three Gliders appeared, carrying the remaining members of the Earthborn crew into the forest. A young man sat upon the same Glider that Robert drove and he quickly stood as they group stopped, his eyes furrowing as he silently cocked his head, listening intently. Turning around to look towards his crew members, he placed his finger to his lips and mouthed at them to shut off their vehicles, which they did so astutely. Once the buzzing of the machines had ceased and their solar-wings were tucked away within the main bulk of their forms the young man was able to hear properly. There was silence at first, as though what noise he had heard was waiting for it before pronouncing itself, yet a few seconds after the engines had been deactivated the sound of creaking and the sound of snow crushing could be heard.

    “Krishan, what’re you doing?” Robert’s Welsh accent called out to him – his home-world having adopted the Welsh language, dialect and the name of New Wales in the early days of its colonisation. The man in response placed his fingers to his lips and walked slowly towards one of the large trees before placing his hand upon it. Almost as soon as the warmth of his touch had pressed against the tree, the bark upon it shook slightly – as did the bark of all of the other trees that the Earthborn crew could see – and a large blue sac seemed to push outwards from the majority of the trees.

    Krishan darted backwards and Greenswald and two others drew battle-rifles from their backs – whilst Robert drew his bow from behind his back, his battle-rifle having been stolen from him five years ago – before aiming them towards the new bulbous growths. The creaking of the trees increased suddenly before dying off, reducing the forest back to silence. Krishan turned towards his crew members, eyes wide with both shock and excitement. “This is incredible.”

    “Incredible?” Greenswald walked towards one of the trees slowly, his battle-rifle still outstretched. “I’d rather say slightly terrifying – any idea what these things are?” Krishan turned to his Captain with a smile upon his face. He was the Biological Archiver after all, his parents having paid for him to study at the Institute of Langrenis upon the Moon – the Institute having been acclaimed for producing the greatest Biological researchers and scientists across the entirety of the UEA.

    “I’m sorry sir but I’ve never seen anything like this – this growth in these trees...” The man pulled a large gun-like object from his pocket, its barrel replaced with a syringe, and moved even closer to the tree that he had originally touched, eyes constantly staring at the bulbous growth. “This has to be recorded, for when I return to Langrenis.”

    Captain Greenswald approached the nearest tree to him slowly, his battle-rifle still aimed in apprehension. As he came within reach of the bulbous lump, he placed his hand upon the sac and ran it slowly across, watching as the bark slid off and revealed the cargo inside. The man jumped backwards, turning around to yell towards Krishan, though the man had already reeled back slightly before looking towards Greenswald once more. The other men who had drawn weapons did almost exactly the same and turned towards the other trees, all of them mystified as they looked upon the beautiful creatures that lay within. The Captain turned back towards the bulb he had investigated and looked upon the being within, its humanoid form covered in beautiful armour – its colour masked by the blue liquid that surrounded it – and its eyes shut, as though it were sleeping.

    “How many of these trees are afflicted?” Greenswald urgently called out, walking backwards towards his glider – if the man’s time on Eternum had taught him one thing, it was to fear magic; if the sudden growths that had appeared upon the trees was not some form of sorcery, then he was not sure what it was. The South African turned to look at the rest of his crew, who all began to scan the area, looking at the trees.

    “All of them sir.” One of the them replied. “Every single one has one of these things on it.”

    “Get on your gliders and start them up.” Captain Greenswald muttered with urgency. “King Kalle has to be warned, this forest is huge, and if every single one of these trees holds one of those things-“

    “That’s an entire army…” Robert slowly spoke, swinging his legs back over his glider before looking wide eyed at his commanding officer. “Sir, there’s at least one hundred trees within eyes view, that’s an entire army just waiting to burst free.”

    “Exactly.” Greenswald threw his leg over the side of his glider and started its engines quickly. “As I said, the King needs to be warned.” Wrapping his fingers around the bars of his Glider, the Earthborn Captain wrapped his face in cloth once more. “Double time crew, we don’t know how long Branjaskr has.”
    Last edited by Death of Korzan; 12-08-2015 at 06:36 PM.

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