A New Pantheon (Deity RP, IC, Open)

[Bentus]

A New Pantheon

In the beginning, there was nothing but the light of Order and the fires of Chaos. These two primordial forces, manifestations of nature and existence rather than beings in and of themselves, clashed within the nothingness of the void. Each annihilated the other, filling the emptiness of everything with the seething energies of their eternal conflict and thus giving birth to creation.

Or so the stories go.

---

The World of Drinda was said to have been created in that instant, hand-crafted by the Ichor – the Gods themselves – for the mortals to inhabit. Few know the actual truth: that Drinda was birthed into Creation first and gave rise to the Ichor rather than the other way around. But who is one to argue that such petty distinctions truly matter with such things? Drinda has changed to be unrecognisable from the small world which it was immediately after its formation, altered both through the passing of time and the ceaseless efforts of the mortals that dot its surface.

From the warring Clans of the Kai, to the coastal traders of Khena’en, or the hardy people of Lóndgrefenoffen, the mortals have laid claim to the land beneath their feet, establishing themselves upon Drinda – as much a part of it as its mountains or its forests. Gone are the simple, peaceful times of the past where nature reigned supreme and the mortals were little more than scattered wanderers. Intrigue and diplomacy, war and trade, now pulse along the lines of civilization – the beating hearts of Mortal culture. However, the Ichor have not stood by idly as Men and Elf and their ilk spread themselves across of the Middle Plane. Above and below, the great wheels of the contest between Deities continue to grind inexorably onwards, crushing uncountable mortals unfortunate enough to become caught beneath their weight.

For while Drinda may be the Land of Mortals, it is the Ichor who reign supreme.

OOC

[The NAR]

Just Outside Revelia...

The dense woods were the perfect place for the children to lurk in the shadows... stalking, watching, hunting... with their divine father at their side. With their powerful hind legs, and extremely muscular fronts, the children darted through the woods-- a Labyrinth to many, but merely a playground for them. As they shredded through the woods, scaring the foxes and coyotes, making the birds flee and the squirrels hide in their trees, the dim light that seconds before was far, far away, was close and bright, and the chants of the men who created it were quite easily heard by the children.

"Ashur's might, Ashur's light, bestow us your children tonight!" they chanted in their black robes, covering most of their faces. They stood in a circle, a large fire burning in the middle, and the heat moving the branches of trees above. They held up their arms, as if to summon the night itself, waiting for the children of Ashur to arrive. And that they did, with the God himself at their back. When they appeared from the trees, the worshipers of the Black Hand went silent, almost as if they had urinated themselves. All the men here had the Gift of the Hunt, but the mortal gift was just a fraction of the power that was bestowed upon the immortal who hail from the plane of Elysium. Ashur stood in front of his children, in his Divine Form, or at least the part that mortals could see without melting from the immense power. A flash of light transformed the beast of Ashur into his better known mortal form, and he gazed at the Black Hand members.

"What is it now?" he asked, looking them all in the eyes. The somewhat terrified Black Hand members remained silent until the one in the middle stepped foreword and bowed.

"Lord Ashur... thank you for answering our prayers, it is an honor to stand before you". Ashur chuckled a little before nodding.

"Yeah yeah, calm down, you mortals get to... tense. It's unnecessary" Ashur said, pacing back and forth while tossing a stone in the air. "What do you need my friend?"

"W-We would like your children... from Elysium, to join us in the hunt". Ashur nodded.

"Of course! My children here shall join you for the night, and when the sun rises, shall return to Elysium". The member smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, my Lord!". Ashur smiled back and turned around, then vanished into nothingness...

[Bentus]

Katmija Elfkiller - Kai'denn

The sword cut through the Orc’s neck with a clean and practised ease, severing his head from his torso before he could even register a moment of pain. The charging body, suddenly finding itself disconnected from the brain’s commands and instructions, spasmed slightly before collapsing in an undignified heap upon the dirt, joining the corpses of his fellows where they had been felled.

Katmija panted from the physical exertion, her muscles starting to accumulate a litany of dull aches and pains from the constant running and fighting. However, she allowed herself no rest and no respite – for to do so would be to condemn them all to death or worse. Glancing around quickly at the rest of her band – some of who were warriors she had fought with since she could wield a blade – Katmija saw the last of the King’s scouts cut down. She frowned at the number of bodies that she could recognise that also lay motionless on the ground, but mourning could come later.

“That’s the last of them! Keep moving unless you’d rather wait for the main force to catch up.” Her voice rang out, firm and commanding, and the other Orcs didn’t even question the order for a moment. Silently however, Katmija was cursing herself. They had never expected the King to amass such a large force in such a short space of time, and somehow they had managed to sneak upon the rebel camp undetected until they had been all but surrounded. The ambush had been carried out with ruthless efficiency, and the numbers were certain to overwhelm the rebels inevitably. Katmija thought back to the heat of it, the thick battle that had engrossed the camp as they each fought tooth and nail with the foe, their only objective to somehow survive the day.

Merek had sounded the retreat, somehow organising a mass break-out from the doomed camp as he lead a charge against the far larger loyalist army arrayed against them. It had only been the quick thinking of the rebel leader – the Chief of the Khorli and the man who had given so much to Katmija and her people when they had been shunned by all others – that had saved them all from a slaughter. While Orcs were proud and stubborn creatures, they weren’t Goblins and knew when a battle was lost; the individual rebel bands had scattered into the wilderness, using the confusion of their unexpected counter-attack to make their escape. Hopefully at least some of them would survive to continue their noble cause for another day. It wasn’t much to go on, Katmija had to admit. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if she had lead her people to their deaths.

“Chief Elfkiller!” The sharp cry was accompanied by the pounding of Warg paws, and Katmija turned to see one of her scouts returning at full gallop – a few arrow hilts visibly protruding from his mount. “The King’s forces close in on us, they are not more than a few minutes ride out.”

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, “Already?” They’d have had their scent by now, all prospect of an escape became dashed instantly. “Have the band take up defensive positions, we will make them bleed for every one of us they fell –“

“My Chief, the loyalists are being engaged by the Khorli – they can’t pursue.”

A look of confusion shot across Katmija’s features, although it was almost immediately replaced by one of anger. “That accursed Mur’drangu!” The loud curse drew a few looks from the other Orcs, but Katmija paid them no heed. He cannot do this, that old drunkard – he promised that we’d all attempt to escape. She had no doubt that Merek had planned a heroic last stand from the onset, giving his fellow rebels a chance – however small – to make good on their escape. Katmija seethed silently through gritted teeth, her pride and honour demanding that she ride with full haste to assist the man to who she owed an unpayable debt – but she knew that to do so would be to tarnish his sacrifice.

The scout seemed to be growing concerned with her extended silence, a time during which Katmija was swearing vengeance against Merek for his selflessness in the life that came after. “Elfkiller? What are your orders?”

The words seemed to drag Katmija, kicking and screaming, back to the present – and after a few more seconds of bitterness, she accepted that the old man had left her little choice. Her duty was first and foremost to her people. “We keep moving. But Axescream will taste steel for this.”

[Normandy and Picardy]

Boettan

Boettan was, as per usual, bored. His men were fun to play with, like toys, and it amused him very highly. He loved it even more when they worshiped him. He wondered how he had managed to trick them, before realising that he was the god of Trickery. Everywhere he went, lies and deceit followed, and by jove did he enjoy it. Still, something wasn't right. Things seemed too calm upon Drinda. Things were too quiet. There was not enough destruction, although Boettan knew it would come eventually, what with Orc kingdoms and hordes. Perhaps even men could be fooled into trying to conquer all, something Boettan would love to see. Of course, he'd only like to see it as he was almost certain that the men would fail eventually, and all would turn on them. Men could even turn on men; Boettan had learned that throughout the ages, that men were quick to kill and lie to there closest friends just to gain more power. Men seemed to be very much like him, maybe even a bit too much.

Many thoughts rushed through Boettan's mind, and plans were being drawn up. Nothing too much, just a little fun. What's the harm in causing the deaths of a few mortals? Of course, he would never do anything against his fellow Ichor, he wasn't stupid. Still, for the time being, he would continue with his group of men. He watched them carefully, watching them create their own culture and language. They had easily been led, and he had transformed them in his image. They had hearts of ice, and minds as calculating as him. Of course, they still had some vessel of emotion left, just as he did, and they could hide their lies from even each other. Boettan had been especially involved in certain affairs, including the Betrayal of Rodvír III. Every time anything happened he chuckled along and enjoyed himself, but he also grew stronger. As he grew stronger, his own men grew stronger...

He sat in what the men called Lónddecéloffðino, The Land Of Lies. The few mortal souls that lived in this little piece of what Boettan called heaven. He was truly in charge here, he had the power. His megalomania was quelled here, but how that long that would be the case he did not know. It was fun watching people suffer, but they did not realise what was happening. Many looked mutilated, even in there form after their mortal lifes, but they didn't feel a thing. They drank lava like water, and were pierced by metallic shards they thought were grass. As far as they were concerned, they were in paradise. As far as Boettan was concerned, he was in paradise. He could hear their screams abd see their pain, but the souls themselves couldn't. The only soul that was not amongst the rest was that of Boettan's first and only champion, Ysgran, who served as Boettan's guard and had done since he died. Boettan almost treated him like a friend, in a weird and twisted way. Boettan sat at a table made of a pitch black wood, with a burgundy and mustard yellow table cloth to inject some colour. Boettan sat looking out at his realm, which he had taken to calling Deceitia, and once again smiled.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

Mirayeset, the goddess of the ocean and keeper of serenity, was enjoying her relaxation chambers. The room highly resembled a sort of greenhouse, the large chamber being constructed entirely in glass for the walls and the ceiling. The only part that was not were the contents within, and the floor. The floor, in contrast to the glass, was constructed of blue marble with such a swirling pattern and other lines as can be commonly found in the stone. This would create the effect of an ocean, appearing similar to the aquatic surface, with its waves represented by the swirls. The marble floors were warm, almost as if heated. There lay within a multitude of the most beautiful exotic plants, native to tropical environments, and even some fruit-bearing to consistently provide a nice treat whenever desired. A couple tubs of hotsprings also have their home there, branching off on separate marble pathways from the main road, as it were, of the room. It was consistently warm within, and if one were to look out the windows, they might see a beautiful view of the ocean.

Mirayeset had this room open to all. She used it herself, and all other deities were welcome to use it to their own desire. It was, though, just one of many, many chambers within Mirayeset's larger palatial complex, which in all its grandeur was a breathtaking sight for any mortal who might be granted access to its halls, however little this actually occurred. When it did, however, is was truly breathtaking. As breathtaking as drowning, which is to say very. Mirayeset had her relaxation chamber implemented into the palatial structure as a personal area for relaxation, for such work as hers, and that of other deities, can sometimes lead to a simple desire for a break from it all. A simple, easy, and effective place to relax. Thus, she made her chamber, and left it open to all gods without restriction. So it was, and so it shall be.

[Bentus]

Jileli, Goddess of Lust and Torture

Most mortals considered the Underworld as lying deep underground in the darkest bowels of Drinda, although any of the Ichor would instinctively grasp the impossibility of such a concept. While the Underworld may initially appear as if beneath the surface, titanic pillars of stone and mountains holding aloft a ceiling of Earth and stone, it was as much underneath Drinda as the Heavens were above it. In reality, the Planes were separated in a direction that mortal minds simply could not comprehend; not above or below nor in front or behind, the Planes existed impossibly close together and yet infinitely far apart. And yet there was no doubting that the Underworld and Drinda shared an inextricable connection.

While the Underworld was a Plane of its own, just as large as the Heavens or Drinda itself, all the interesting stuff tended to be concentrated in certain areas. Take the City of the Underworld, for instance, the great, ancient citadel through which all the deceased mortals of Drinda past to receive judgement. Most fell under Horus’, the God of the Dead’s, responsibilities to be sent to some other section of the Underworld – although others were distributed among their fellow Ichor to do with as they wished. From the City, mortal souls would venture off to eternal paradise, eternal service to their patron, or even damnation – but the journey through the City was the great equalizer, which all had to undertake. It seemed only fitting that the God of the Dead would make the City of the Underworld, the Capital of the Dead, his palace and home.

Jileli simply thought that the place was a bore.

While some may look upon the City as a testament to the mortality of all things and the balance which Death brought to the world and everything within it – the great peace of final oblivion – Jileli simply saw dilapidated buildings, weathered by time, and strewn piles of rubble which had grown from untold eons of neglect. She had often tried to wrap her head around why Horus insisted of establishing himself in such a place, when he could just as easily craft himself a proper palace from which to lord over his domain. Eventually she’d simply accepted that males – even Ichor – weren’t always driven by logic or rationale.
Really, it was only the fact that Horus could most times be found in the centre of the City that allowed Jileli to endure its monotony.

While occasionally she had walked through the City to the Centre, the massive area which housed the Eight Gates and Horus’ throne, taking the same route as so many lost and lonely souls, more often than not Jileli opted to take a few shortcuts – courtesy of her position. This was one such occasion, and the Goddess manifested herself not a brief distance from Centre of the City, close enough that she could see Horus’ hulking form looming upon his throne.

Mortals cowered before the behemoth figure of the God of the Dead, it was said that even the mightiest of Emperors were cowed by his imposing form. But Jileli had always viewed her kin’s choice of guise with a mixture of amusement and indifference – the infatuation with size another trait the masculine Ichor shared with their mortal counterparts. The Goddess, rapt her knuckles against a stone column beside her, the sound resonating out across the Centre to draw the attention of the massive figure before her. Really, it was an unnecessary act – considering that Horus would have noticed her presence the second she set foot within his realm – but politeness could pay dividends down the line.

“Hey Horus, I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” Jileli’s features seemed to defy the surroundings of the City, her whole figure seeming to draw the eye as the smile that graced her face lit up the air around her. She made her way calmly towards the throne upon which the giant sat, paying only the minimal attention to the souls that were gathered before him to await judgement. “How have you been? Heard that you had a recent surge in…paperwork recently.” She whistled, pretending to notice the seemingly endless queue of the Dead for the first time. “Well, looks like you have your work cut out for you.” The Goddess of Lust’s smile had never left her face, and it had slowly morphed into one which Horus would have recognised from a mile away. Jileli appraised the other Ichor for a moment. “Don’t tell me, you’ve been working out. You are looking fanastic, Horus – trying to impress me are you?” It was clearly evident that Jileli wanted something, and while she was more than capable of pretending otherwise, on this occasion there was little need. Plus, a little playful flirtation and some tossed compliments were her idea of a bit of fun.

[New Strausberg]

Jileli, Goddess of Lust and Torture

Most mortals considered the Underworld as lying deep underground in the darkest bowels of Drinda, although any of the Ichor would instinctively grasp the impossibility of such a concept. While the Underworld may initially appear as if beneath the surface, titanic pillars of stone and mountains holding aloft a ceiling of Earth and stone, it was as much underneath Drinda as the Heavens were above it. In reality, the Planes were separated in a direction that mortal minds simply could not comprehend; not above or below nor in front or behind, the Planes existed impossibly close together and yet infinitely far apart. And yet there was no doubting that the Underworld and Drinda shared an inextricable connection.

While the Underworld was a Plane of its own, just as large as the Heavens or Drinda itself, all the interesting stuff tended to be concentrated in certain areas. Take the City of the Underworld, for instance, the great, ancient citadel through which all the deceased mortals of Drinda past to receive judgement. Most fell under Horus’, the God of the Dead’s, responsibilities to be sent to some other section of the Underworld – although others were distributed among their fellow Ichor to do with as they wished. From the City, mortal souls would venture off to eternal paradise, eternal service to their patron, or even damnation – but the journey through the City was the great equalizer, which all had to undertake. It seemed only fitting that the God of the Dead would make the City of the Underworld, the Capital of the Dead, his palace and home.

Jileli simply thought that the place was a bore.

While some may look upon the City as a testament to the mortality of all things and the balance which Death brought to the world and everything within it – the great peace of final oblivion – Jileli simply saw dilapidated buildings, weathered by time, and strewn piles of rubble which had grown from untold eons of neglect. She had often tried to wrap her head around why Horus insisted of establishing himself in such a place, when he could just as easily craft himself a proper palace from which to lord over his domain. Eventually she’d simply accepted that males – even Ichor – weren’t always driven by logic or rationale.
Really, it was only the fact that Horus could most times be found in the centre of the City that allowed Jileli to endure its monotony.

While occasionally she had walked through the City to the Centre, the massive area which housed the Eight Gates and Horus’ throne, taking the same route as so many lost and lonely souls, more often than not Jileli opted to take a few shortcuts – courtesy of her position. This was one such occasion, and the Goddess manifested herself not a brief distance from Centre of the City, close enough that she could see Horus’ hulking form looming upon his throne.

Mortals cowered before the behemoth figure of the God of the Dead, it was said that even the mightiest of Emperors were cowed by his imposing form. But Jileli had always viewed her kin’s choice of guise with a mixture of amusement and indifference – the infatuation with size another trait the masculine Ichor shared with their mortal counterparts. The Goddess, rapt her knuckles against a stone column beside her, the sound resonating out across the Centre to draw the attention of the massive figure before her. Really, it was an unnecessary act – considering that Horus would have noticed her presence the second she set foot within his realm – but politeness could pay dividends down the line.

“Hey Horus, I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” Jileli’s features seemed to defy the surroundings of the City, her whole figure seeming to draw the eye as the smile that graced her face lit up the air around her. She made her way calmly towards the throne upon which the giant sat, paying only the minimal attention to the souls that were gathered before him to await judgement. “How have you been? Heard that you had a recent surge in…paperwork recently.” She whistled, pretending to notice the seemingly endless queue of the Dead for the first time. “Well, looks like you have your work cut out for you.” The Goddess of Lust’s smile had never left her face, and it had slowly morphed into one which Horus would have recognised from a mile away. Jileli appraised the other Ichor for a moment. “Don’t tell me, you’ve been working out. You are looking fanastic, Horus – trying to impress me are you?” It was clearly evident that Jileli wanted something, and while she was more than capable of pretending otherwise, on this occasion there was little need. Plus, a little playful flirtation and some tossed compliments were her idea of a bit of fun.

Horus, God of the Dead and Demons

Horus had been busy as usual his fingers where long and thin often plucking indivuals from in front of him like spears in a constant never ending motion. He was reading there lives in a single second and placing the Evil in there place of torutre and sending the Good towards the gates of there ever lasting salvation, in return Horus recived a part of there soul as compensation for his work, even still a single piece from from all these souls was more than enough to keep him as one of the strongest of all the gods. He was constantly moving even when the Goddess Jileli had appeared he continued his quick pace of sorting the dead, he was always trying to beat his quote for most souls delivered in a single day. Above him was a massive counter which was always counting up for the numbers of souls that had reached there final resting place hanging just above where Horus sat.

Horus had took his job very seriously and despite the please for forgiveness he showed none, every now and then he would feed an entire soul to his Hell hound which sat not far from his throne. A massive three Headed beast which was always hungry. He looked in the direction of Jieli and the normally silent judge spoke a chill going up the spines of all the damned and righteous, "What brings you to my citadel...you know that death never rests...although thank you these souls always help me stay in shape. Now...what can the God of Death do for such a lovely temptress such as yourself?"

He continued his fast work as the realm around him would constantly shift, the ruins would symbolize the death of all things constantly in flow. Time itself would constantly repeat, one second the realm would look fresh and new then slowly age eventually it would turn into the ruins of itself once again and remain that way for a long time. This was the never ending cycle of life and death. No one was beyond it, the city itself had an abundance of children, the one thing Horus actually pitied. These souls where not allowed to move on to small for any God even himself to claim forever forced to wander the city of the dead as lost souls.

Even animals often times found there way lost into the city of the dead, these at the least provided company for many wayward souls who had yet to make the journey to see the God of the dead. It was much like in life the city was the final spot on there road "the last steps" as many called it, this place was a final heaven and to some they decided to stay and pretend life never stopped for them these become perminate souls belonging to Horus there lives forever stuck in Limbo

[Acruan]

It was late night in the Village of Nadur. Most of the people of the village were already asleep, few going and coming for the taverns still open this late. That late in the night, Aser Khanet, a cousin of a Merchant-Prince, Nabukad Khanet, coincidentally the next in the line for the title, was taking a carriage to a less reputable inn at the edge of the village. It was usually taken by the cheaper merchants, but those who had ears in the right places knew that the owner was one of The Shadows, as were many of his costumers. Getting his cousins less interested in the position was a hard job, some bribery was done as were some simpler eloquent words.

Arriving at the inn, Aser walked alone out of the carriage. His sources had all kinds of conflicting information as to how to make a request, some said he would need to bring a child and offer it to them, while others said they required exorbitant amounts of gold. Some said you'd need to get them some kind of magical contract or simply said, 'they had their ways' to ensure contracts were kept. He came as ready as he believed was necessary. He had a considerable amount of gold in his pouch, it would hurt him deeply, but if he became the Lord, he would have no problem.

As Aser opened the front door and walked to the counter, he noticed a tall man with pale skin in simply dark clothes, nothing that would tip anyone off about him being part of The Shadows. Aser looked at the man for a moment, wondering if the innkeeper would say anything, or if he should be upfront. The innkeeper smiled at him, waiting to see signs of Aser turning back, but nothing, Aser simply kept staring at the innkeeper until Aser finally said, "I want you... or any of you, to silence Nabukad. You should already know that he is in town with his wife in their manor for this week. What is your price?" While Aser was firmly staring at the innkeeper as he waited for a reply.

The innkeeper for his part simply smiled at Aser, an empty smile compared to his first one, "How much is his life worth for you? Is it worth a horse? All you money? Your own soul?" The innkeeper stared at Aser who gasped air to say something, but simply getting a pouch on his belt and placing it on the counter, "This much." He resolutely looked at the innkeeper as he waited for the man for in the least get the pouch and count the coins. The innkeeper, however, simply got the pouch and moved it to under the counter, barely checking its weight to guess how much it was worth, "If this is enough for you, we can accept it. But be warned, to know that those who use others, will be used in the end." The innkeeper grinning at Aser who barely nodded back at the innkeeper, just to hear, "Shadows keep you," behind his back and starting to pace faster into the carriage.

His cousin would be found besides his panicking wife in the next day in their manor, his throat sliced and his heart stabbed. Whatever was to happen beyond his death had nothing more to do with the Shadows.

[New Strausberg]

It was late night in the Village of Nadur. Most of the people of the village were already asleep, few going and coming for the taverns still open this late. That late in the night, Meilon Karev, a cousin of a Merchant-Prince, Tsalin Karev, coincidentally the next in the line for the title, was taking a carriage to a less reputable inn at the edge of the village. It was usually taken by the cheaper merchants, but those who had ears in the right places knew that the owner was one of The Shadows, as were many of his costumers. Getting his cousins less interested in the position was a hard job, some bribery was done as were some simpler eloquent words.

Arriving at the inn, Meilon walked alone out of the carriage. His sources had all kinds of conflicting information as to how to make a request, some said he would need to bring a child and offer it to them, while others said they required exorbitant amounts of gold. Some said you'd need to get them some kind of magical contract or simply said, 'they had their ways' to ensure contracts were kept. He came as ready as he believed was necessary. He had a considerable amount of gold in his pouch, it would hurt him deeply, but if he became the Lord, he would have no problem.

As Meilon opened the front door and walked to the counter, he noticed a tall man with pale skin in simply dark clothes, nothing that would tip anyone off about him being part of The Shadows. Meilon looked at the man for a moment, wondering if the innkeeper would say anything, or if he should be upfront. The innkeeper smiled at him, waiting to see signs of Meilon turning back, but nothing, Meilon simply kept staring at the innkeeper until Meilon finally said, "I want you... or any of you, to silence Tsalin. You should already know that he is in town with his wife in their manor for this week. What is your price?" While Meilon was firmly staring at the innkeeper as he waited for a reply.

The innkeeper for his part simply smiled at Meilon, an empty smile compared to his first one, "How much is his life worth for you? Is it worth a horse? All you money? Your own soul?" The innkeeper stared at Meilon who gasped air to say something, but simply getting a pouch on his belt and placing it on the counter, "This much." He resolutely looked at the innkeeper as he waited for the man for in the least get the pouch and count the coins. The innkeeper, however, simply got the pouch and moved it to under the counter, barely checking its weight to guess how much it was worth, "If this is enough for you, we can accept it. But be warned, to know that those who use others, will be used in the end." The innkeeper grinning at Meilon who barely nodded back at the innkeeper, just to hear, "Shadows keep you," behind his back and starting to pace faster into the carriage.

His cousin would be found besides his panicking wife in the next day in their manor, his throat sliced and his heart stabbed. Whatever was to happen beyond his death had nothing more to do with the Shadows.

Once they heard of the incident the Sons of Horus would soon arrive to take the body if they where allowed, unlike most the Sons where mostly silent only talking if asked a question. Once word of the mans death had reached there ears they soon arrived with a cart to take the body to a burial tomb, the man was rich and had previously payed to have himself placed in a large tomb in the Cemetary, he would only be buried if the family allowed them to take the body.

The Acolyte knocked on the door while the repentant who had followed him dragging the cart waited to be let in. They wore dark robes and when the Sons where in town it was a sign of death most stayed away out of respect, others would be curious and see what had happened, more still would throw rocks or such wanting them to be done with there work and gone. They had learned over the centuries to simply ignore it.

"We are Sons of the Lord, we have come to retrieve the dead and bring them peace." The acolyte said as he waited to be let it in, it was customary for them to announce there arrival and intent before entering a home.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

It was late night in the Village of Nadur. Most of the people of the village were already asleep, few going and coming for the taverns still open this late. That late in the night, Meilon Karev, a cousin of a Merchant-Prince, Tsalin Karev, coincidentally the next in the line for the title, was taking a carriage to a less reputable inn at the edge of the village. It was usually taken by the cheaper merchants, but those who had ears in the right places knew that the owner was one of The Shadows, as were many of his costumers. Getting his cousins less interested in the position was a hard job, some bribery was done as were some simpler eloquent words.

Arriving at the inn, Meilon walked alone out of the carriage. His sources had all kinds of conflicting information as to how to make a request, some said he would need to bring a child and offer it to them, while others said they required exorbitant amounts of gold. Some said you'd need to get them some kind of magical contract or simply said, 'they had their ways' to ensure contracts were kept. He came as ready as he believed was necessary. He had a considerable amount of gold in his pouch, it would hurt him deeply, but if he became the Lord, he would have no problem.

As Meilon opened the front door and walked to the counter, he noticed a tall man with pale skin in simply dark clothes, nothing that would tip anyone off about him being part of The Shadows. Meilon looked at the man for a moment, wondering if the innkeeper would say anything, or if he should be upfront. The innkeeper smiled at him, waiting to see signs of Meilon turning back, but nothing, Meilon simply kept staring at the innkeeper until Meilon finally said, "I want you... or any of you, to silence Tsalin. You should already know that he is in town with his wife in their manor for this week. What is your price?" While Meilon was firmly staring at the innkeeper as he waited for a reply.

The innkeeper for his part simply smiled at Meilon, an empty smile compared to his first one, "How much is his life worth for you? Is it worth a horse? All you money? Your own soul?" The innkeeper stared at Meilon who gasped air to say something, but simply getting a pouch on his belt and placing it on the counter, "This much." He resolutely looked at the innkeeper as he waited for the man for in the least get the pouch and count the coins. The innkeeper, however, simply got the pouch and moved it to under the counter, barely checking its weight to guess how much it was worth, "If this is enough for you, we can accept it. But be warned, to know that those who use others, will be used in the end." The innkeeper grinning at Meilon who barely nodded back at the innkeeper, just to hear, "Shadows keep you," behind his back and starting to pace faster into the carriage.

His cousin would be found besides his panicking wife in the next day in their manor, his throat sliced and his heart stabbed. Whatever was to happen beyond his death had nothing more to do with the Shadows.

Once they heard of the incident the Sons of Horus would soon arrive to take the body if they where allowed, unlike most the Sons where mostly silent only talking if asked a question. Once word of the mans death had reached there ears they soon arrived with a cart to take the body to a burial tomb, the man was rich and had previously payed to have himself placed in a large tomb in the Cemetary, he would only be buried if the family allowed them to take the body.

The Acolyte knocked on the door while the repentant who had followed him dragging the cart waited to be let in. They wore dark robes and when the Sons where in town it was a sign of death most stayed away out of respect, others would be curious and see what had happened, more still would throw rocks or such wanting them to be done with there work and gone. They had learned over the centuries to simply ignore it.

"We are Sons of the Lord, we have come to retrieve the dead and bring them peace." The acolyte said as he waited to be let it in, it was customary for them to announce there arrival and intent before entering a home.

They would, of course, be rejected. As it is according to Qenam traditions, the body would be interred in a sarcophagus within a subterranean familial tomb. It was this way with pretty much anyone who could afford such a thing, though the lowest classes who could not would instead have their bodies sent out to sea peacefully, with all due honor to Mirayeset. It was, after all, her domain, and her people wished to honor her above all else. This is, ultimately, why each of the 3 monarchs was of her blood, and why they upheld their traditions.

This might not stop his soul from going to the realm of the dead, but it was tradition. A funeral, a stone coffin, and a familial tomb.

[New Strausberg]

Once they heard of the incident the Sons of Horus would soon arrive to take the body if they where allowed, unlike most the Sons where mostly silent only talking if asked a question. Once word of the mans death had reached there ears they soon arrived with a cart to take the body to a burial tomb, the man was rich and had previously payed to have himself placed in a large tomb in the Cemetary, he would only be buried if the family allowed them to take the body.

The Acolyte knocked on the door while the repentant who had followed him dragging the cart waited to be let in. They wore dark robes and when the Sons where in town it was a sign of death most stayed away out of respect, others would be curious and see what had happened, more still would throw rocks or such wanting them to be done with there work and gone. They had learned over the centuries to simply ignore it.

"We are Sons of the Lord, we have come to retrieve the dead and bring them peace." The acolyte said as he waited to be let it in, it was customary for them to announce there arrival and intent before entering a home.

They would, of course, be rejected. As it is according to Qenam traditions, the body would be interred in a sarcophagus within a subterranean familial tomb. It was this way with pretty much anyone who could afford such a thing, though the lowest classes who could not would instead have their bodies sent out to sea peacefully, with all due honor to Mirayeset. It was, after all, her domain, and her people wished to honor her above all else. This is, ultimately, why each of the 3 monarchs was of her blood, and why they upheld their traditions.

This might not stop his soul from going to the realm of the dead, but it was tradition. A funeral, a stone coffin, and a familial tomb.

The Sons apologized for wasting the time of the family members, they where new to this region and still a very small sect. They asked forgiveness from them and promised they would adapt there methods, the job of the Sons is simply to respect and honor the dead regardless of which God they served. They left to return and tell there prophet of what had happened and the prophet would later return to ask if he may learn of the traditions of the region to better honor the dead and assist with ceremony.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

They would, of course, be rejected. As it is according to Qenam traditions, the body would be interred in a sarcophagus within a subterranean familial tomb. It was this way with pretty much anyone who could afford such a thing, though the lowest classes who could not would instead have their bodies sent out to sea peacefully, with all due honor to Mirayeset. It was, after all, her domain, and her people wished to honor her above all else. This is, ultimately, why each of the 3 monarchs was of her blood, and why they upheld their traditions.

This might not stop his soul from going to the realm of the dead, but it was tradition. A funeral, a stone coffin, and a familial tomb.

The Sons apologized for wasting the time of the family members, they where new to this region and still a very small sect. They asked forgiveness from them and promised they would adapt there methods, the job of the Sons is simply to respect and honor the dead regardless of which God they served. They left to return and tell there prophet of what had happened and the prophet would later return to ask if he may learn of the traditions of the region to better honor the dead and assist with ceremony.

The family agreed, telling them that they should simply attend the funeral. Well, sure enough, it was not long before the body was taken away and placed within a stone coffin. A priest in fancy clothing mumbled off some stuff in the Qenam language, the typical sorts of things you'd expect at a funeral. It ultimately ended with a sprinkle of some mineral dust onto the body, and the sealing of the lid. The sarcophagus, stone carved into the likeness of the merchant, was then brought into a subterranean mausoleum where his ancestors were likewise interned. It was a decently long ceremony, but it was touching to those familiar with it.

[Bentus]

King Aurcut Axescream of Kai’denn

The city of Korlash had long been the capital of Kai’denn, and for generations had been the only one of its settlements that could have rivalled the metropolises of the other, non-nomadic civilizations. It had initially been founded at the height of Kai’denn’s power, when its Empire was a mighty force upon Drinda and when the gold and plunder of countless conquests flowed into its coffers to fund such an endeavour. However, that was a long time ago.

When the Empire fell, even the Jewel of Kai’denn, the symbol of all that it had achieved, was not spared. As Korlash itself had succumbed to enemy sieges and assaults, many of its monuments were looted or destroyed in the ensuing conflict – with what survived sold for supplies or left to decay in the feuding civil strife that consumed the Kai in the years following. But ever since he had come to power, Aurcut Axescream had sought to restore the capital to its former glory.

The King of Kai’denn – as he had renamed the traditional position of Drun’kai to mark the change in era for his people, a line to denote the past from the future – had courted powerful foreign interests to encourage new wealth to flow into his projects. Temples, shrines, libraries, bathing houses, theatres, and galleries became the monuments to his rule as he sought to force his people into the modern era and out of the primitive existence they had clung to in the name of ‘tradition’. Of course, it was necessary that some had to suffer for the greater good of their kind in the short term – but such was of little consequence and the decisions that a true King was responsible to make.

If there was a physical manifestation of what Aurcut wished to change within the Kai, and all that he had accomplished already, it was the Palace of the Kai. While the original structure had been built with the rest of the city, Aurcut had restored the masterpiece of his people to its former glory, and then expanded upon it. Hallways were filled with the finest art and sculptures, commissioned from some of the greatest masters in Drinda or offered as ‘gifts’ to Aurcut, and pristine marble pillars could be seen supporting an ornately crafted ceiling to contain only the most lavish of furnishings. Truly, the King had claimed the Palace in the name of his own image of what the Kai could become – and still it served as the beating heart of the bureaucracy he had worked hard to establish.

And amidst all this grandeur, the Throne Room still managed to stand out with magnificence and splendour – the jewel-encrusted throne within it dominating the large room which the King had claimed as his own. It was within that room, from upon the ornate throne and all the symbolic weight behind it, that Aurcut ruled over his Kingdom. He met with foreign dignitaries and those Chiefs who pledged their allegiance to him. The sheer imposing scale and beauty of the space served his needs perfectly, helping to cow those who would compete with him and help welcome those who would otherwise feel ill-at-ease in the lands of the Kai. More than that, it was upon the Throne that Aurcut could truly enjoy the luxuries of his position, and the only fair rewards of his tireless service to his people.

The grand doors to the throne room opened slightly, their massive weight shifted by some of Aurcut’s most trusted honour guards to allow in the advisor. The Orc was small for his kind, clearly lacking in the physical strength department; he would hardly have registered in the dog-eat-dog world of traditional Kai society, had King Aurcut Axescream not turned it upon its head and saw value in brains over brawn. The advisor had long ago grown used to the magnificence of the throne room, although the sight of it still burned in his heart to help drive his desire to work tirelessly to bring about the glorious new Kai’denn that the King foresaw.
“Ah, Belarl! Can it not wait?” The King’s voice boomed out from his throne, his powerful vocal chords sounding clearly over the feminine giggles that also wafted through the air. Aurcut Axescream sat upon his throne, the massive Orc appearing as almost a perfect specimen of his kind – each of his hands looking fit to crush the skull of an average human.

“I’m afraid not, my liege.” Belarl stated clearly, bowing deeply to the much larger Orc before him. Much like with the throne room, he paid little attention to the two slender figures that sat on the arm rests of the throne – the lithe elven women running their slender fingers across Aurcut’s bare chest. “You instructed me to inform you of any developments with regards to the Khorli-led rebellion in the South.”
This caused Aurcut to finally drag his attention away from the elf on his left – the one whose hand threatened to be particularly adventurous. The expression on the powerful man’s face changed almost instantly, a seriousness and focus descending upon his features as he brushed aside the two concubines – each of them appearing almost diminutive before his muscled bulk.

“An insurgency, Belarl, words are as powerful as blades these days, my friend.”

“Of course, my liege, forgive me.”

Aurcut grunted dismissively of the lapse. “No matter. What word from the South?” Belarl’s face brightened significantly, eager to be the bringer of good news.

“Routed entirely, my King! The traitor Merek has been slain and those of his followers who survive have fled and dispersed, they no longer pose a threat to us.”

A smile spread across Aurcut’s face as he clasped his powerful hands together in a loud clap, a booming laugh escaping from his throat. “Haha! That is excellent news. Have the local commanders praised and duly rewarded for their loyalty.” The military had been another area which Aurcut had sought to reform, doing away with ‘warbands’ and establishing a permanent, professional force.

“I have already seen to it.” Belarl couldn’t help but glance for a moment at the pair of half-naked elves, not doubting that similar services would be sought by the commanders in the South – albeit far less expensive ones. “Although I believe that we have yet to convince some of our friends abroad that security has been effectively established.”

Aurcut sighed, he could hardly blame the foreign powers for doubting the orderliness of his fellow Kai, but surely they must have seen by now that he was trying to change things for the better? For all of them. “I see. I do not doubt that you have already thought this over. What would be your suggestion to rectify this miscommunication?”

Belarl did not hesitate. “A banquet. A grand feast. We could invite representatives and dignitaries from all over to prove to them how far you have brought us out of the dark – it’d be the perfect opportunity to establish new trade and business links as well.” From the second word, Aurcut was sold on the idea – picturing the magnificence of such an event of the highest class.

“See to it. I’ll allow you to send out the invitations and see to the details.”

“Of course, my liege. I will not let you down.” Belarl once again bowed deeply as he made his way back towards the domineering doors of the throne room, the two elves not waiting even for his exit to once again resume their advances; the giggles that once again filled the air silenced as the doors shut behind him.

[Faal Lot Himdah]

Void, God of Destruction and the Unknown

Creation. Why must there be creation? Creation ruins the perfection that once was. Creation is Chaos incarnate... Creation is nothing but a stain on the perfection that once was. Primal Order. Primal Order is true peace, and beauty. Primal Order was what all this tried to improve upon. But creation is not ordered, it is disgusting. Void thought as he stood in the heavens looking down upon the mortal realm, But creation has its faults.... Creation has created the means to it's own end. Mortals. Those insects may be nothing but abominations, but they are useful, I have no doubts. Mortals, created by creation, are destined to destroy it.

Void then looked to three islands, surrounded by a mist. The Mahlaan... my devout followers. A people who have accepted the fact that destruction will come, that their world will never last forever. They have pledged their servitude, for protection and power. To be honest, I have taking a liking to them... Void said to himself, BUT. They are not limited to those islands, no, the Mahlaan are everywhere. They are in the other nations of the mortal realm, small in numbers and spread out though. They act as my agents of destruction, sowing the seeds, causing Chaos. Chaos, I hate it, but I know that Chaos is the only way to destroy Creation and bring Primal Order.

Void then looked back to the Isles of the Unknown, more importantly, the capital. Vokun Hiim. The place where the journey of the Mahlaan begun, the place where Voids first prophet converted a tribe, which would go on to conquer all three of the islands of the Isles of the Unknown. He looked to a certain Dark Elf. Vulmea Nilvro, his high priestess, and his daughter. A rare occurrence, a Dark Elf demigod, powerful, and dangerous, exactly what Void liked. She was in her private room in the palace, which also serves as Void's temple. Her room was at the top most level. From their one could look over the entire city.

Void descended into her room appear as his Dark Elf form. She was busy, getting ready for the day, her hair was a mess. And she was in the nude. He smiled as he leaned against the wall.

"Hello Vulmea." He said, "You're look mighty fine today."

Vulmea turned around, startled by him. Once she saw him, she fell to her knees, bowing her head.

"Father. Please don't startle me like that." She said, "What do you wish from me?"

Void smiled, "My girl... I want to know, are you ready to start a war? To the North lies Khena'en. A nation that once used to be city states. It is under the protection of Mirayeset, goddess of the ocean and serenity. I want you to attack it and destroy it. But not from the sea, that is to dangerous."

"Yes father.... Khena'en will be destroyed." She said, "But father, what will stop Mirayeset from destroying our fleet?"

"I will. My mist that protects these islands is under my sole influence. I will surround a fleet with it to protect it. I don't want you to risk all of the Mahlaan though. Send a medium sized army." Void said as he started to fade, "Do not risk everything."

With that Void returned to the heavenly plane. Destruction is coming for your people, Mirayeset, how will you react?

[Auropa]

Ragnor
Katu – The Shogunate

The room was still. For months Katu had been practising, learning and training beneath the great shrine. Now, on this very night she would undertake her final test and join the devout of Ragnor. With one final breath she drew her blade and made her way. Around her countless treasures of gold and beauty decorated the rook each priceless yet ultimately worthless. As she walked on she approached the centremost piece, a small blade carved from stone, little more than a knife but more than enough to topple giants.

“The blade is decorated in a way that no paint nor oil could ever match, as it is written, this blade is decorated with the experience of our fathers. It has seen heroes rise and cowards fall. And now you stand before it. What shall you do?” Almost as if coming out of the shadows, the high priest revealed himself and now stood before Katu, behind him two more started to take their place.
“Well, I figured I’d knock you all onto your collective asses then proceed to… ‘OUEF!’” Well a wooden stick to the gut was a good of a way to get someone to shut up as any. Looking around Katu had mere moments to observe the situation before taking action. In front of her stood three aggressors the master was the closest but only armed with a wooden staff meanwhile the other two were charging past armed with swords not unlike her own.

Shink. And metal met metal as Katu’s blade struck one of her attacker’s. Not wasting a moment she charged forward. Her blade still interlocked, forced both her and her attacker’s arms higher. Not willing to lose her advantage though, one hand moved from her blade and onto her attacker’s wrist whilst spinning on her heels to face the still charging assailant. Before any more swings could be made however a flurry of kicks sent him stumbling back, then, slamming her hands downwards she sent the other man tumbling over her and into his compatriot. With a smirk she looked to the two men as they quickly clambered back up. Without so much as a word they began to move once more, though a bit more cautiously perhaps. Meanwhile the master stood motionless just a few feet away resting on his staff.

Ducking and immediately regretting getting distracted for even a moment, Katu barely dodged the swinging blade. Not giving up however the duo started moving as one lunge, block, swipe, dodge, cover and soon enough a barrage of blades fell upon Katu’s defence whilst easily deflecting any of her counter attacks. Slowly she being pushed back and quickly found herself running out of room. Upon hitting the back most wall she finally made her desperate move. As she swung her blade to block another swipe, she darted towards the duo. In doing so however she left herself partly open, an opportunity not missed by her opponents and in an instant she felt the cold sting of metal cutting into her. Pain or no, she was where she needed to be. She shouldered the one who had stabbed her then drove her foot into the unprotected ankle of the other. With a well-defined crunch, the man was sent tumbling to the ground, then with a block, parry and a punch the second man’s defence was finally broken. She disarmed him and sent him sprawling to the ground unconscious in a matter of moments before knocking out his friend with a swift blow to the head from her sword’s handle.

She looked to the one remaining combatant. The high priest, or master depending on who you were, looked completely detached and almost bored. As she took her stance and prepared to attack he interrupted her “I’d attend to your wound first. You may not be able to later” looking down Katu saw the growing red stain and scowled. Refusing to risk letting the master out of her sight she tied some fabric over the wound and tightened it with a muffled grunt before resuming her stance. Then, she charged. For the next 10 minutes wood met blade and flesh then again and again. Katu’s defence was torn to shreds in moments and each of her attacks were pattered aside like they were nothing. Soon enough however the final bellrung and Katu had passed. She had remained standing against her own master and her training was complete.


Clap, Clap, Clap.
Smiling then bursting into a laugh Katu made her way to embrace her father. None too surprisingly she had refused medical attention and had made her way back down the tower and past the dozen or so unconscious bodies that occupied the lower floors without assistance. “You know” Her father began “You’re meant to take companions into the fight”
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that. And the master hardly kept up with me, it’d be disrespectful to his legacy to bring in any more thanmyself”
“Emperor, I believe that your daughter is trying to call me old.” Turning around and snapping to attention Katu of the Shogunate turned and bowed to her former master.
“Hmpf.” The old man began “Quite a character you’ve got for a daughter. But, she’s strong and carries Ragnor’s teachings to heart. And for that, she’ll make a fine devout.”

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

For the next few days celebrations and feasts played out across the temple. An initiate rising to devout was one thing but royalty doing so was a particularly special occasion. During the celebrations however a figure watched from far above. With a smile and a sense of pride Ragnor himself, the god of war and compassion looked from above. For generations the shiva family had ruled over the empire and over saw its great expansion. For decades Ragnor had been dormant, tired from the struggles with chaos and with controlling the empire. Now however he was rested and was ready to reforge his people’s glory. The Shogunate, he thought to himself. There was something about that name which just rung out to him.

Passing over the valley’s cliffs and across the empire he looked to what lay beyond. He remembered once looking out into an empty world now he all he could see were the distant empires. Orks, ents, elves and their darker brethren yet beyond that, another world for the Ichor like him. For a while he just looked outwards trying to make out what was happening beyond. He had learned the hard way that his people couldn’t just spread across the lands on the back of blades. He felt the growing powers and the moving forces. His ambitions, it seemed, were not the only ones born anew. No, this time a different type of preparation would be needed. Soon enough he’d have to meet and deal with his kin.

[New Strausberg]

King Aurcut Axescream of Kai’denn

The city of Korlash had long been the capital of Kai’denn, and for generations had been the only one of its settlements that could have rivalled the metropolises of the other, non-nomadic civilizations. It had initially been founded at the height of Kai’denn’s power, when its Empire was a mighty force upon Drinda and when the gold and plunder of countless conquests flowed into its coffers to fund such an endeavour. However, that was a long time ago.

When the Empire fell, even the Jewel of Kai’denn, the symbol of all that it had achieved, was not spared. As Korlash itself had succumbed to enemy sieges and assaults, many of its monuments were looted or destroyed in the ensuing conflict – with what survived sold for supplies or left to decay in the feuding civil strife that consumed the Kai in the years following. But ever since he had come to power, Aurcut Axescream had sought to restore the capital to its former glory.

The King of Kai’denn – as he had renamed the traditional position of Drun’kai to mark the change in era for his people, a line to denote the past from the future – had courted powerful foreign interests to encourage new wealth to flow into his projects. Temples, shrines, libraries, bathing houses, theatres, and galleries became the monuments to his rule as he sought to force his people into the modern era and out of the primitive existence they had clung to in the name of ‘tradition’. Of course, it was necessary that some had to suffer for the greater good of their kind in the short term – but such was of little consequence and the decisions that a true King was responsible to make.

If there was a physical manifestation of what Aurcut wished to change within the Kai, and all that he had accomplished already, it was the Palace of the Kai. While the original structure had been built with the rest of the city, Aurcut had restored the masterpiece of his people to its former glory, and then expanded upon it. Hallways were filled with the finest art and sculptures, commissioned from some of the greatest masters in Drinda or offered as ‘gifts’ to Aurcut, and pristine marble pillars could be seen supporting an ornately crafted ceiling to contain only the most lavish of furnishings. Truly, the King had claimed the Palace in the name of his own image of what the Kai could become – and still it served as the beating heart of the bureaucracy he had worked hard to establish.

And amidst all this grandeur, the Throne Room still managed to stand out with magnificence and splendour – the jewel-encrusted throne within it dominating the large room which the King had claimed as his own. It was within that room, from upon the ornate throne and all the symbolic weight behind it, that Aurcut ruled over his Kingdom. He met with foreign dignitaries and those Chiefs who pledged their allegiance to him. The sheer imposing scale and beauty of the space served his needs perfectly, helping to cow those who would compete with him and help welcome those who would otherwise feel ill-at-ease in the lands of the Kai. More than that, it was upon the Throne that Aurcut could truly enjoy the luxuries of his position, and the only fair rewards of his tireless service to his people.

The grand doors to the throne room opened slightly, their massive weight shifted by some of Aurcut’s most trusted honour guards to allow in the advisor. The Orc was small for his kind, clearly lacking in the physical strength department; he would hardly have registered in the dog-eat-dog world of traditional Kai society, had King Aurcut Axescream not turned it upon its head and saw value in brains over brawn. The advisor had long ago grown used to the magnificence of the throne room, although the sight of it still burned in his heart to help drive his desire to work tirelessly to bring about the glorious new Kai’denn that the King foresaw.
“Ah, Belarl! Can it not wait?” The King’s voice boomed out from his throne, his powerful vocal chords sounding clearly over the feminine giggles that also wafted through the air. Aurcut Axescream sat upon his throne, the massive Orc appearing as almost a perfect specimen of his kind – each of his hands looking fit to crush the skull of an average human.

“I’m afraid not, my liege.” Belarl stated clearly, bowing deeply to the much larger Orc before him. Much like with the throne room, he paid little attention to the two slender figures that sat on the arm rests of the throne – the lithe elven women running their slender fingers across Aurcut’s bare chest. “You instructed me to inform you of any developments with regards to the Khorli-led rebellion in the South.”
This caused Aurcut to finally drag his attention away from the elf on his left – the one whose hand threatened to be particularly adventurous. The expression on the powerful man’s face changed almost instantly, a seriousness and focus descending upon his features as he brushed aside the two concubines – each of them appearing almost diminutive before his muscled bulk.

“An insurgency, Belarl, words are as powerful as blades these days, my friend.”

“Of course, my liege, forgive me.”

Aurcut grunted dismissively of the lapse. “No matter. What word from the South?” Belarl’s face brightened significantly, eager to be the bringer of good news.

“Routed entirely, my King! The traitor Merek has been slain and those of his followers who survive have fled and dispersed, they no longer pose a threat to us.”

A smile spread across Aurcut’s face as he clasped his powerful hands together in a loud clap, a booming laugh escaping from his throat. “Haha! That is excellent news. Have the local commanders praised and duly rewarded for their loyalty.” The military had been another area which Aurcut had sought to reform, doing away with ‘warbands’ and establishing a permanent, professional force.

“I have already seen to it.” Belarl couldn’t help but glance for a moment at the pair of half-naked elves, not doubting that similar services would be sought by the commanders in the South – albeit far less expensive ones. “Although I believe that we have yet to convince some of our friends abroad that security has been effectively established.”

Aurcut sighed, he could hardly blame the foreign powers for doubting the orderliness of his fellow Kai, but surely they must have seen by now that he was trying to change things for the better? For all of them. “I see. I do not doubt that you have already thought this over. What would be your suggestion to rectify this miscommunication?”

Belarl did not hesitate. “A banquet. A grand feast. We could invite representatives and dignitaries from all over to prove to them how far you have brought us out of the dark – it’d be the perfect opportunity to establish new trade and business links as well.” From the second word, Aurcut was sold on the idea – picturing the magnificence of such an event of the highest class.

“See to it. I’ll allow you to send out the invitations and see to the details.”

“Of course, my liege. I will not let you down.” Belarl once again bowed deeply as he made his way back towards the domineering doors of the throne room, the two elves not waiting even for his exit to once again resume their advances; the giggles that once again filled the air silenced as the doors shut behind him.

Grimzluk Irontooth Herald of the Dead

A black skinned Orc larger than life continuously growing even in his death opened the door once the other had left, his touch turned the door dull and worn, but the second he stepped in the door changed back to its otherwise remarkable shine. "Hail King" he said before slowly stepping inside, he was wearing a worn black robe which could only be identified by a crest of an all seeing eye, he was a Herald thought few new or could identify them. As Grimzluk (Grim luck) moved throught the palace the floor he touched would lose its shine much like the door only to change back one he had moved to a different spot.

"I hope I am not interrupting..." He said taking an apple from his pocket. It was withered much like all things he touched and he began to eat it. He looked like a hermit but his size, physical appearance, and obvious mystical touch would beg to differ. He looked at the elves his eyes where sunken and yellow as if they didn't work at all.

[Bentus]

Jileli, Goddess of Lust and Torture

The Goddess glowered at the Hell Hound as its master tossed it a spare soul. What a waste. By all rights that soul should have been passed to her for judgement, instead it was given to some mangy mutt. Jileli deftly hid any sign of irritation from her expression, but she could have sworn that the Hound passed what resembled a smirk in her direction after finishing its meal.

Ignoring any perceived slight on the part of the beast, Jileli practically beamed towards Horus. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of what I could do for you.” A few quick beats of her wings allowed the Goddess to lift herself deftly from the ground and land herself comfortably on the armrest of her kin’s great throne. Sitting with one legged crossed over the other on her nice, new perch – offering her a far more prominent view of the mortal souls below – Jileli continued to address the God.

“You see, I couldn’t help but overhear some of the recent events that have befallen our dear mortals up above – what with all those Shadow killings and the recent spate of conflicts in that little Orc nation. And - you know me, just can’t help but stick my nose in other peoples’ business – I thought to myself: poor Horus is really going to have work cut out for himself with all this mortal mischief, having to go through each and every one all by himself without even the briefest of thanks from the rest of us for the effort.” Jileli clapped her hands together excitedly.

“And then I had an idea! Wouldn’t it be great if you had a little bit of help dealing will all, this?” She said, gesturing towards the souls below. “It must be exhausting to judge, punish, reward, and sort through the Dead – and it simply cannot be easy. But then there’s me, lounging around with nought but free time on my hands.” As if to emphasise her point, Jileli reclined herself out slightly on the arm rest, arching her back faintly as she did so. The Goddess had been gradually building up to this moment for centuries – or more perhaps. “Would an amicable solution not be to send some more of those…deserving…over to me rather than wasting your precious time on micromanagement?” Eager not to lose her chance for a coup de grace, Jileli continued quickly. “After all, haven’t I been doing such a fine job with the troublemakers you’ve sent me so far? There’s nothing saying that I can’t be just as effective with a bit of an increase in workload, and I could – of course – differentiate the punishment as appropriate.”

Jileli flashed an innocent grin towards the larger God. “That way, you’d have more time to pass out judgement rather than getting stuck in the tedium of actually carrying out the sentence.” Hopping down from the armrest, Jileli stood once again among the souls, running a pointed finger softly down one’s cheek as she continued. “These poor, innocent mortals wouldn’t need to wait for so long in torment as for their fate. And you,” This was the clincher, what Jileli hoped may push Horus over to her side, “may finally be able to top that record of yours. What do you say? Who could a little bit more delegation hurt?”

King Aurcut Axescream of Kai’denn

Aurcut grunted in annoyance as once again he had to drag his attention away from the pleasurable view of his two companions. The King of the Kai looked over the newcomer with appraising eyes, failing to recognise him – the fact immediately setting his senses on edge. He noted the shrivelled state of his apple and the tiles at his feet, before noting the eye upon his cloak.

“Affairs of State must take precedence over personal affairs.” Aurcut responded bluntly, not overly welcoming but not outrightly aggressive either. “I assume that you are from one of the Temples or Cults dedicated to one of the mighty Gods? For what do I owe the pleasure of having one of the devout in my throne room?”

[Novum Alexandria]

Octavian was, in a word, noble. It is important to note that in this instance, noble is an adjective, not a noun. He exuded charm, capability, and good taste in a way that few others could match without a great degree of effort on their part. Octavian, however, needed no effort to appear this way. His response to the invitation was as one would expect from any self-respecting member of the Council of Auditors.

Elsewhere, though.

Two members of the Concert sat around a modest fire. One of them sharpened a blade, and the other smoked.

“So,” The Dark Elf mumbled, “I don’t suppose any invitations have been forwarded our way.”

The human blew a puff of smoke in her general direction. “No, not that I’ve heard of. Troupe has, though.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

“Dunno. They don’t tell us these things, you know. I figure it’ll be someone on the council. Maybe… Laurence.. Octavian? Those are their wealthiest. Only ones worth sendin’.” There was a thoughtful pause, then, “How you gonna find out which it is?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“I’m betting on Laurence.”

“Octavian.”

They exchanged quivers, and the Dark Elf departed.

[New Strausberg]

Jileli, Goddess of Lust and Torture

The Goddess glowered at the Hell Hound as its master tossed it a spare soul. What a waste. By all rights that soul should have been passed to her for judgement, instead it was given to some mangy mutt. Jileli deftly hid any sign of irritation from her expression, but she could have sworn that the Hound passed what resembled a smirk in her direction after finishing its meal.

Ignoring any perceived slight on the part of the beast, Jileli practically beamed towards Horus. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of what I could do for you.” A few quick beats of her wings allowed the Goddess to lift herself deftly from the ground and land herself comfortably on the armrest of her kin’s great throne. Sitting with one legged crossed over the other on her nice, new perch – offering her a far more prominent view of the mortal souls below – Jileli continued to address the God.

“You see, I couldn’t help but overhear some of the recent events that have befallen our dear mortals up above – what with all those Shadow killings and the recent spate of conflicts in that little Orc nation. And - you know me, just can’t help but stick my nose in other peoples’ business – I thought to myself: poor Horus is really going to have work cut out for himself with all this mortal mischief, having to go through each and every one all by himself without even the briefest of thanks from the rest of us for the effort.” Jileli clapped her hands together excitedly.

“And then I had an idea! Wouldn’t it be great if you had a little bit of help dealing will all, this?” She said, gesturing towards the souls below. “It must be exhausting to judge, punish, reward, and sort through the Dead – and it simply cannot be easy. But then there’s me, lounging around with nought but free time on my hands.” As if to emphasise her point, Jileli reclined herself out slightly on the arm rest, arching her back faintly as she did so. The Goddess had been gradually building up to this moment for centuries – or more perhaps. “Would an amicable solution not be to send some more of those…deserving…over to me rather than wasting your precious time on micromanagement?” Eager not to lose her chance for a coup de grace, Jileli continued quickly. “After all, haven’t I been doing such a fine job with the troublemakers you’ve sent me so far? There’s nothing saying that I can’t be just as effective with a bit of an increase in workload, and I could – of course – differentiate the punishment as appropriate.”

Jileli flashed an innocent grin towards the larger God. “That way, you’d have more time to pass out judgement rather than getting stuck in the tedium of actually carrying out the sentence.” Hopping down from the armrest, Jileli stood once again among the souls, running a pointed finger softly down one’s cheek as she continued. “These poor, innocent mortals wouldn’t need to wait for so long in torment as for their fate. And you,” This was the clincher, what Jileli hoped may push Horus over to her side, “may finally be able to top that record of yours. What do you say? Who could a little bit more delegation hurt?”

King Aurcut Axescream of Kai’denn

Aurcut grunted in annoyance as once again he had to drag his attention away from the pleasurable view of his two companions. The King of the Kai looked over the newcomer with appraising eyes, failing to recognise him – the fact immediately setting his senses on edge. He noted the shrivelled state of his apple and the tiles at his feet, before noting the eye upon his cloak.

“Affairs of State must take precedence over personal affairs.” Aurcut responded bluntly, not overly welcoming but not outrightly aggressive either. “I assume that you are from one of the Temples or Cults dedicated to one of the mighty Gods? For what do I owe the pleasure of having one of the devout in my throne room?”

Horus, the God of Death

The explanation shocked him so much he paused for a second before using one of his fingers to pick the Godess up and place her on his shoulder so they could talk before he continued his sorting, "I would like to beat my old record...however...how am I to be sure that you will do your job correctly. It is true you have done well over the eons, but you enjoy your job as torturer a bit to much. Then again...how can I say no when you have not given reason in all these millennium to think otherwise...we will put you through what the mortals call a trial run...once the next sorting begins you will be allowed what you ask. Do not make me regret this...I am putting faith in you I do not wish to see waisted...my sleep will begin soon as well..." What he was referring to was an event once every several millennium where the lord of the dead rests and the souls are for 5 days allowed to mingle with the living and meet there families. The lord of the dead rests to regain his strength and the goddess of lust and torture is left in charge of them.

"This is an important time as you know, you have been my protector and now I must ask you again when the time comes, for this I reward you with what you ask. If I should die the worlds of living and dead would merge and bring about the destruction of all things..."It was then suddenly the gates to the throne shut to signify that the portals where getting ready to close. It took a massive amount of energy to keep them open for the souls to travel through, with the last of the souls being sorted he gave those who where deserving to the portals and those not where shunted to a pit where they would wait to be tortured for all eternity.

Grimzluck Irontooth Herald of the Dead

"Death...decay...natural forces...Such a life as a king fighting a war will not be long before the shadow of Horus falls upon all with power dear king...It is the job of heralds to ensure the dead are made ready for the after life, even with all your fancy toys and vices...death awaits us all. That is why I have come, as Herald of the Dead..I serve lord Horus and when a man like you who have been putting down an "insurgency" as you would call it...the Gods take very close notice to the bodies that pile up...especially mine...I've come to ask if you will allow the sons to honor the dead in your region of control..as is customary in our lords work. " he stood there watching the king studying his posture an analyzing when he would die and how, Heralds had learned to tell when such things had happen, there where dates down to the second hanging upon every head he saw of when they would die, one of the elves near him wouldn't late but another hour before she would drop dead, however he was forbidden from telling this. He simply watched from under his hood silently eating his Apple.

[Actan]

The Killing Fields, Hellish Plains

Grand Butcher Varmon, follower of Korak, murderer of thousands, hellish master of all, stood before his host as they prepared the greatest sacrifice they had yet ever captured. A small city-state, independent from the neighboring factions, had fallen to his men. Thousands fled, only also to be captured by his warhounds. Now, with some already having been killed by the overzealous, they laid in fear under various weapons awaiting their fate.

"Brethren...my warriors of hate.....this fools shall perish in the might of Korak! In mere minutes, they shall all be murdered. Their psychic presence shall send a scream of suffering throughout the world and we shall revel in it. Any who oppose us share the same fate. There is no purpose but slaughter! There is no feeling by hate! No pity! No mercy! No hope from the Hellish Plains! We have come to kill!"

Korak raised his sword and severed the head of the city's king, raising a terrified scream from the rest of the sacrifices. These were soon cut short, as the warriors began following their master's actions and slaughtering their sacrifices. The spiritual scream of an entire city, killed at once, echoed through the spiritual realm, and ten thousand souls were sent to the underworld. The hate the warriors felt, and the sheer act of the slaughter, brought Korak much glee, as he watched from his fiery throne with approval.

"Now, my brothers. Let us move to the next victim! I have heard of another city to the east, filled with wood elves fleeing us! Let us arrive there, and engage in the same sacrifice we have done here today!"

After looting the bodies and buildings for any suppliers and weaponry, they brought the corpses outside the city and stacked them atop each other. The city was burnt, causing a few hidden stragglers to run from their homes into the arms of the killers, meeting the same fate as their neighbors. Whilst the city burned, the bodies were left to stay the same, as testament to what they did here, and to rot so that anylooker would be horrified by the sight. One corpse was raised upon a pole, and upon his chest a message was carved.

Korak's will be done.

Korak, God of Hatred and Slaughter

As he had actively encouraged the event, Korak was the first to feel the agony of the sacrifices, gaining a small amount of power from the act. Not much, not anything close to worship, but the sacrifices proved to amplify their slaughter, we he gained primordial power from, and the hate felt by his worshipers, also strengthening their worship.

But the revelry ended. The scream ended, and the soul passed to Horus's domain. Disappointed, like coming down from a high, Korak sat incredibly disappointed. Hopefully the next sacrifice would last longer. Now he had nothing to do....his champion was doing the best he could, and he never sowed up to the puny cults other Gods shamed themselves by attending. No, he wanted to do something better, something that would lead to slaughter.

Void, God of Destruction and the Unknown, was in many ways similar to Korak. The eradication of mortal lives and destruction of their souls was his goal, much the same of Korak's, only that Void had a more disciplined, total view his domain, while Korak simply engaged in his bloodthirst. Perhaps, should their mortal servants coordinate, they could maximize both slaughter and destruction. Korak quickly sent a psychic message asking to communicate.

Sitting upon his throne, the base of which was constructed of corpses, he examined his throneroom. Fiery, boiling tarpits fed with a never-ending supply served as a torture facility for those mortal idiotic enough to try and enter his realm. Another room served as the tracker of each sacrifice committed in his name, with one corpse representing one sacrifice, piling up to the top in the tens of thousands, especially as the last sacrifice instantaneously filled it up with many unfortunate victims. His hate-filled demons kept track of them, along with patrolling the realm to capture any victims that might be nearby. Unfortunately, he was not yet powerful enough to claim the souls of his sacrifices directly, simply feeding off their slaughter. Hopefully, someday, he could directly take the souls of his servant's victims.

[Jorliefstreiken]

Marús was resting in his temple. He plotting and planning of ways to conquer and enslave he land of Ajir'novak. The riches it was said to house would make a fine upgrade to his current position. Don't get him wrong, the endless trees were nice butthis place was just that, trees. His mind faded to his Obsidian Nightmare. Flying above it he saw all the damned souls below being forever tormented by their fears. Some of then jumped into the liquid dragon fire that covered part of the landscape. He could hear their screams as they burned away permanently. Suddenly a door slamming in the temple awakened him. They lead behind them chained peasants in robes along ith the Arch Cultist. She spoke.

" m'lord, we found these fools stealing from your personal stores. They claim that they were only taking what was owed to them."
Marús spoke "is this true peasants?"
Their leader spoke bravely " Indeed m'lord. Our lieg stoles our monthly rations so we comes ere to take em back from you. You feed us like animals and expect us to not rebel? We have 100 farmers ove at Horstead ready to take cont-" he couldn't finish as Marús opened flame at them and burned them to ashes. He whispered a spell on their body's telling Horus to send their souls to the nightmare. He then moved his eye to the Arch Cultist "prepare disguises for you and two of the circle, we are going to Ajir'novak.

[New Strausberg]

The Killing Fields, Hellish Plains

Grand Butcher Varmon, follower Korak, murdered of thousands, hellish master of all, stood before his host as they prepared the greatest sacrifice they had yet ever captured. A small city-state, independent from the neighboring factions, had fallen to his men. Thousands fled, only also to be captured by his warhounds. Now, with some already having been killed by the overzealous, they laid in fear under various weapons awaiting their fate.

"Brethren...my warriors of hate.....this fools shall perish in the might of Korak! In mere minutes, they shall all be murdered. Their psychic presence shall send a scream of suffering throughout the world and we shall revel in it. Any who oppose us share the same fate. There is no purpose but slaughter! There is no feeling by hate! No pity! No mercy! No hope from the Hellish Plains! We have come to kill!"

Korak raised his sword and severed the head of the city's king, raising a terrified scream from the rest of the sacrifices. These were soon cut short, as the warriors began following their master's actions and slaughtering their sacrifices. The spiritual scream of an entire city, killed at once, echoed through the spiritual realm, and ten thousand souls were sent to the underworld. The hate the warriors felt, and the sheer act of the slaughter, brought Korak much glee, as he watched from his fiery throne with approval.

"Now, my brothers. Let us move to the next victim! I have heard of another city to the east, filled with wood elves fleeing us! Let us arrive there, and engage in the same sacrifice we have done here today!"

After looting the bodies and buildings for any suppliers and weaponry, they brought the corpses outside the city and stacked them atop each other. The city was burnt, causing a few hidden stragglers to run from their homes into the arms of the killers, meeting the same fate as their neighbors. Whilst the city burned, the bodies were left to stay the same, as testament to what they did here, and to rot so that anylooker would be horrified by the sight. One corpse was raised upon a pole, and upn his chest a message was carved.

Korak's will be done.

Korak, God of Hatred and Slaughter

As he had actively encouraged the event, Korak was the first to feel the agony of the sacrifices, gaining a small amount of power from the act. Not much, not anything close to worship, but the sacrifices proved to amplify their slaughter, we he gained primordial power from, and the hate felt by his worshipers, also strengthening their worship.

But the revelry ended. The scream ended, and the soul passed to Horus's domain. Disappointed, like coming down from a high, Korak sat incredibly disappointed. Hopefully the next sacrifice would last longer. Now he had nothing to do....his champion was doing the best he could, and he never sowed up to the puny cults other Gods shamed themselves by attending. No, he wanted to do something better, something that would lead to slaughter.

Void, God of Destruction and the Unknown, was in many ways similar to Korak. The eradication of mortal lives and destruction of their souls was his goal, much the same of Korak's, only that Void had a more disciplined, total view his domain, while Korak simply engaged in his bloodthirst. Perhaps, should their mortal servants coordinate, they could maximize both slaughter and destruction. Korak quickly sent a psychic message asking to communicate.

Sitting upon his throne, the base of which was constructed of corpses, he examined his throneroom. Fiery, boiling tarpits fed with a never-ending supply served as a torture facility for those mortal idiotic enough to try and enter his realm. Another room served as the tracker of each sacrifice committed in his name, with one corpse representing one sacrifice, piling up to the top in the tens of thousands, especially as the last sacrifice instantaneously filled it up with many unfortunate victims. His hate-filled demons kept track of them, along with patrolling the realm to capture any victims that might be nearby. Unfortunately, he was not yet powerful enough to claim the souls of his sacrifices directly, simply feeding off their slaughter. Hopefully, someday, he could directly take the souls of his servant's victims.

Malicious Serverus IV

With the butchers work done Malicious and his members of the Sons of Horus began to plot plans for burials, in truth the Sons of Horus knew this would soon happen yet there code forbid them from every speaking of it. The lord of death does not Intervene in fate, and because of that none where able to assist any of the civilians here it was not there duty nor there place to prevent death. Serverus offered prayer to all who departed and knew Horus would have to sort through them all, the children forever forced to wander the City of the underworld while others waited for there turn at judgement.

"There is much work to be done...We must not wait...send word to the other Heralds at Black chaple this city is destroyed just as predicted...and the elves will soon be next, we shall see who survives as to the will of our lord Horus, have the Herald of elves prepare the way for the dead...as i have.." with that a small dragon made of bones flew off with a message attached to its foot, it went directly to Black Chapel where it would give the message to a very important Ent.

Horus, God of the Dead and Demons

Horus was thrown back into his seat when the massive influx of souls occured, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" He shouted having forgotten the time at which it would occur. "...then it had begun..." He dusted himself off and got up from his throne opening a portal to the God of Slaughter and Hatred realm. he grasped both sides of the portal and walked through it. The entire room grew cold and the more powerful god (at least at this time) stepped ino the realm. Horus stepped forward towards the throne of his sibling and grinned widely frost could be seen coming from his mouth," So....The time of your great Slaughters has finally arrived...Death comes once again to the land my power grows with each you cut down...the godless you have killed will fire my city for all eternity...the damned and tortured sent to eternal punishment...the children forced to roam the limbo that is my domain...all because your mortals seek to please there God and inadvertently make me stronger...I thank you...and wish to offer a gift..."

Horus mouth opened wide and a ball of pure black light formed slowly wrenching it from his mouth it shrank to the size a mear baby could swallow it, "A gift only Death can bestow...while it wont make the one of your choice immortal...it will give them a second chance at life...if they should die on the battlefield of even of old age...the one you give this too will be given a new body a child with there memories and experiences in tact...a thank you notice for the souls your mortals have given me...I must be going but you can be assured we will meet again... " he gave one last smiled before handing over the orb and returning to the underworld

[Actan]

Malicious Serverus IV

With the butchers work done Malicious and his members of the Sons of Horus began to plot plans for burials, in truth the Sons of Horus knew this would soon happen yet there code forbid them from every speaking of it. The lord of death does not Intervene in fate, and because of that none where able to assist any of the civilians here it was not there duty nor there place to prevent death. Serverus offered prayer to all who departed and knew Horus would have to sort through them all, the children forever forced to wander the City of the underworld while others waited for there turn at judgement.

"There is much work to be done...We must not wait...send word to the other Heralds at Black chaple this city is destroyed just as predicted...and the elves will soon be next, we shall see who survives as to the will of our lord Horus, have the Herald of elves prepare the way for the dead...as i have.." with that a small dragon made of bones flew off with a message attached to its foot, it went directly to Black Chapel where it would give the message to a very important Ent.

Horus, God of the Dead and Demons

Horus was thrown back into his seat when the massive influx of souls occured, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" He shouted having forgotten the time at which it would occur. "...then it had begun..." He dusted himself off and got up from his throne opening a portal to the God of Slaughter and Hatred realm. he grasped both sides of the portal and walked through it. The entire room grew cold and the more powerful god (at least at this time) stepped ino the realm. Horus stepped forward towards the throne of his sibling and grinned widely frost could be seen coming from his mouth," So....The time of your great Slaughters has finally arrived...Death comes once again to the land my power grows with each you cut down...the godless you have killed will fire my city for all eternity...the damned and tortured sent to eternal punishment...the children forced to roam the limbo that is my domain...all because your mortals seek to please there God and inadvertently make me stronger...I thank you...and wish to offer a gift..."

Horus mouth opened wide and a ball of pure black light formed slowly wrenching it from his mouth it shrank to the size a mear baby could swallow it, "A gift only Death can bestow...while it wont make the one of your choice immortal...it will give them a second chance at life...if they should die on the battlefield of even of old age...the one you give this too will be given a new body a child with there memories and experiences in tact...a thank you notice for the souls your mortals have given me...I must be going but you can be assured we will meet again... " he gave one last smiled before handing over the orb and returning to the underworld

Korak, God of Hatred and Slaughter

Korak was both pleased and slightly angry, although he was angry all the time. The sacrifices did indeed feed Horus, even if Korak also benefited them as they helped serve to amplify the worship he received tenfold. On the other hand, he had received a gift, one that could ensure his champion would plague the world no matter the enemy he faced. No doubt other Gods were weakened by the massacre of their worshipers, and his champion along with his host would have to fight them on the field, more prepared then they usually would be.

Nonetheless, this gift was a boon, and he had no plan to stop the carnage. As the slaughters snowballed he grew more and more powerful, even if Horus did as well, and even when there are survivors, the hate they feel for those who committed the atrocities fed him just as much as his worshipers.

Raising his murderous weapons, he let out a howl of emotion, shaking the whole realm, and shocking the devoted followers of his that served as his demons. He wanted allies, people who fed off the same things he did.

For this reason he decided to summon his avatar and send it to Jileli's domain, awaiting her return from the underworld, with the promise of an alliance.

[Asterdan]

A small, insignificant town

The Book of Jahfir
When evolution selects its agents, it does so at a cost, makes demands in exchange for singularity and you may be asked to do something against your very nature. Suddenly the change in your life that should have been wonderful comes as a betrayal. It may seem cruel, but the goal is nothing short of self-preservation, survival.

A young man read the passage aloud to a small group of people interested in what many people believed to be a lost god. As far as most people knew, the god known as Jahfir had disappeared long ago, leaving only a book behind. Of course, this was an extremely interesting book, and one that held much influence in this small town, but they did not think Jahfir was still alive, he was ever alive at all.

"This force, evolution, is not sentimental. Like the earth itself, it knows only the hard facts of life's struggle with death. All you can do is hope and trust that when you have served its needs faithfully, there may still remain some glimmer of the life you once knew." the man read, closing the book, "Jahfir, they said, was a god who pushed for man and elf to learn, to look to science, instead of the gods. He didn't want us to be reliant on them.

The people smiled, murmuring among each other as they processed this bit of information from the black-haired 'man' with the scar across his face. Eventually, they became quiet again as they listened to him. Looking over the small group, the man chose his next words carefully.

"There is tells of one final prophecy that he Jahfir gave," he said, "That one day, he would send humans into the next stage of evolution, and that man would no longer need magic! That man would be on par with elves using only their natural abilities, granted by the God of Change and Evolution. My friends, I believe that time is soon upon us."

This is when people started to chuckle. What this man was speaking of was insane, and soon they began to disperse. The man smiled sadly, taking the book under his arm and walking to his home in the village. There were still a few people in this village that worshiped and revered Jahfir, and these were the people that the God would use.

"They will soon see," the man said as he looked around, "I will soon send them to great heights."

The man was truly Jahfir, and he had been living in this village since his time guiding the change of the species had, for the most part, ended. Soon, however, he would once again guide the changes of man.

[Illan]

Arkahmis's State

No one really knew where the Sentinel of the Earth was much of the time - not even the kin of his Ichor. Meditation and the honing of his mind, body, and nearly everything else about the self. Such was one of the primary tenets the stone-clad and horned god held for not just those who followed him, but himself - he was aware that even the Ichor were suspect to fallibilities. If anything, they were more suspect to it; absolute power can corrupt grandly. And if one does not know if this, they will face a downfall; either in a spiritual fashion, or a much more literal one. One of the key things that Arkahmis stressed was humbleness, humility, and modesty, along with his more well known attribute of fortitude.

The Ichor's dwelling seemed to be a large cavern, with stalagmites and stalactites dotting it, along with gigantic natural crystals of many colors and glows. Suspended in the air around the bizarre chamber were small glowing diamond prism crystals, glowing with a soft blue tone - it was immensely calming to him. Arkahmis sat with his knees crossed on a large hexagonal granite pillar in the center of the cavern, elevated high above the ground. Behind him flowed adjacent rivers of pure, clear fresh water and magma, circling around his pedestal. It was serene and peaceful - almost too much so. Secluded and secret - one was unsure if it was even on Drinda or another realm entirely.

In his mind, he was completely calm. The earth was cataclysmic at times; volcanoes could erupt and scorch, earthquakes could level an entire continent, avalanches could crush and destroy. Despite what some would expect him to be - Arkahmis was the incarnation of calm and wise. From weeks to months to maybe even years on end, he would stay in a state such as this, deep under the earth, feeling, listening, thinking. He could feel much of the world; an army marching, a merperson swimming, a dwarf mining, a child frolicking amidst a field. All could be felt through simple vibrations in the earth. It was calming, in a way, but also incredibly burdening. He felt like much of the world weighed on his shoulders, the lives of mortals, which he felt responsible for in many manners.

But the solitude felt lonely, from time to time. At times he wished he could have kinship and companionship like the other Ichor had - he had spent ages building the grand caverns and systems linking them, and now that it was over, all he had to do was oversee the activities of his wards and better himself. Deep down.....he wanted more. And he knew it. No matter how much evaluation told him he had larger responsibilities than to let any outside feelings enter into the picture, he couldn't deny it. He desired companionship. His solitude would end soon.

Mirayeset would be good to talk to, at least to clear his mind and sate his hopefully temporary want for interaction. She always kept her realm open, at least partially. Her relaxation chambers were luxurious - he had no shame in admitting he enjoyed the hot water springs.

Arkahmis spread his arms, standing up. A number of matching hexagonal granite pillars erected from the ground, forming a staircase of geometrical proportions he enjoyed, and he walked down it, exiting the solemn cavern that had been his home.

---

Mirayeset's Realm

With a good bit of travel later, Arkahmis happened upon the realm of the Serene Goddess for the first time in....well, a rather long time. He actually hesitated to converse with Mirayeset, surely he must think him bizarre for staying away from....everybody for so long. It was strange of an Ichor, yes, but if one knew Arkahmis, it would not be so strange to see him doing as such.

"Greetings, fair Mirayeset." Arkahmis said with respect, approaching the goddess slowly so as not to appear threatening. Sometimes that happened with him to others - he could definitely be perceived as threatening. "I do not suppose I could enjoy myself here for a while? I need to clear my mind for a spell, so to speak." He flashed a quick smile towards the olive skinned beauty from his grey skinned face.

"And I would....enjoy speaking with you."

---

The Southern Mountains of Vos Terranaiva
Crystos Trading Caravan from Syra Kiala

"These mountains are far too cold." A voice claimed, that of a rather rare person seen in these parts - a merfolk, one of the legged kind. Water magic helped him to stay on the surface without, well, dying.

"Of course you would think that, you're always wet. You need to keep warmer Nilas." A wood elf said in a caring voice, identifying the merman by name and covering his shoulder with a thick fur coat. Her name was Clareneii Lleviana, the daughter of the famed High Archess and the commander of one of the most prosperous trade caravans in the land. Many individuals followed along through the mountains, counting up to about twenty people, almost all of them armed in some manner with spells or more mundane weaponry, while pack-animals followed along. Oxen, the occasional wingless drake, and so on. They managed to catch one of the mountain passes before it was more frigid than it already was; winter was always hell to travelers of these mountains. But luckily, they were almost out of the mountains, and into the south - into Queen Marehanet's lands of Khena'en. They are great allies of Vos Terranaiva when it comes to trade, and with their coastal connections and close proximity, they always were the first stop for all trade caravans coming out of the Arkahnate.

"About fifteen kilometers until we reach Khena'en territories." A short-haired blonde human woman said, wearing an odd cloth wrapping over her eyes. She was one of those known as a "Seismic", those gifted with the ability that Arkahmis has to "feel" the earth and its vibrations in order to locate and even send messages to other seismically through long distances with vibrations. They were excellent pathfinders, as they could use the "feeling" of places to indicate exactly where they were - but they sacrificed their sight for a new fashion of vision. Thus they wore their wrappings, a sort of ceremonial accessory. They were highly respected in the Arkahnate.

"Thank you, Naria." Clareneii said with a soft voice, gently placing a hand on the young human's shoulder so as to remind her of her presence. But she knew regardless - she was aware of the whole caravan's presence. She would likely be aware of one went missing or ran off - she could "feel" it.

Thus, the band of traders traveled on southward, on another routine caravan route.