The Dance of Chaos [IC-Fantasy-OPEN]

[Haedros 92712]

Iris almost couldn’t comprehend the absurdity of what was before her. This little girl had suddenly flown up into the air, tosses a massive fireball at her, and then told her to catch it. She stared for only a moment at the blazing orb hurtling towards her face. Iris leaped back, and her image distorted. One of her arms became sharp, and pointed one the end. The other started glowing and projected a circular barrier. She put up this barrier in front of the fire orb. She staggered at how much mana that had used. It was not much compared to her accumulated store of energy over thousands of years, but it was still a large amount, almost the whole of what she produced over the course of the day. The fire hit the barrier and she prayed to the gods that the shield wouldn’t break and she would be burnt to a sizzling relic crisp.

Mireille's eyes narrowed, and she glared down at her newest toy.

"That's not catching," she growled, and her wings glowed a little brighter--several empty chairs and other items that weren't tied down--including several rather sharp-looking objects--lifting into the air, and flying towards Iris, with absolutely no restraint showed by Mireille.

"You're a bad toy," she said angrily. "I don't think I like you very much. You're no fun at all... Maybe I will just break you!"

Holy hell, what in the world is this girl? In a moment of sheer panic, Iris transformed into her sword form and threw herself into Jeremy’s arms for protection. Depending on how absolutely mental the little girl is, she likely will stop trying to kill me if she might accidentally kill one of Unsterbs companions. I may not trust that vampire a single bit, but I just have to pray to the gods that Lisbeth won’t let the little girl kill me.

[Charlia]

Mireille's eyes narrowed, and she glared down at her newest toy.

"That's not catching," she growled, and her wings glowed a little brighter--several empty chairs and other items that weren't tied down--including several rather sharp-looking objects--lifting into the air, and flying towards Iris, with absolutely no restraint showed by Mireille.

"You're a bad toy," she said angrily. "I don't think I like you very much. You're no fun at all... Maybe I will just break you!"

Holy hell, what in the world is this girl? In a moment of sheer panic, Iris transformed into her sword form and threw herself into Jeremy’s arms for protection. Depending on how absolutely mental the little girl is, she likely will stop trying to kill me if she might accidentally kill one of Unsterbs companions. I may not trust that vampire a single bit, but I just have to pray to the gods that Lisbeth won’t let the little girl kill me.

The absolute moment the sword started moving in Jeremy's direction, Mireille's eyes flashed and the sword froze in midair, hovering there while Mireille looked down.

"You could have hurt Jermee," she whispered, thinly-concealed rage in her voice. "You could have hurt Jermee. You're a very, very, very bad toy!" Her voice pitched into a shriek, and she waved a hand, hurling the sword into the wall, and then using her powers to pull it back out and dash it against the wall again, and again, and again, mad laughter welling up in her throat as she did so.

"Toys don't get to hurt my friends. I'm going to break you!"

[Haedros 92712]

Holy hell, what in the world is this girl? In a moment of sheer panic, Iris transformed into her sword form and threw herself into Jeremy’s arms for protection. Depending on how absolutely mental the little girl is, she likely will stop trying to kill me if she might accidentally kill one of Unsterbs companions. I may not trust that vampire a single bit, but I just have to pray to the gods that Lisbeth won’t let the little girl kill me.

The absolute moment the sword started moving in Jeremy's direction, Mireille's eyes flashed and the sword froze in midair, hovering there while Mireille looked down.

"You could have hurt Jermee," she whispered, thinly-concealed rage in her voice. "You could have hurt Jermee. You're a very, very, very bad toy!" Her voice pitched into a shriek, and she waved a hand, hurling the sword into the wall, and then using her powers to pull it back out and dash it against the wall again, and again, and again, mad laughter welling up in her throat as she did so.

"Toys don't get to hurt my friends. I'm going to break you!"

Iris just took the damage. She knew it would take a while for her body to break. Hopefully either the girl would get tired of slamming her into a wall or the Vanpire would intervene. After a minute of being slammed into a wall, Iris couldn’t even feel the pain. She didn’t want to try and fight their girl. That would drain more mana than she had already used, and no matter how sadistic, Mirielle was still a little girl. Then Iris came up with an idea. She began casting various sleep spells on the girl, none of them very strong, but combined increasing each ones effectiveness. Maybe I can make the little girl take a nap... She knew it was a stretch but it was either this or more slamming into a wall.

[Faal Lot Himdah]

The Forgotten Prince, Az'goxaak
Royal Palace of Chovers, Kingdom of Duivene

---

"Welp, looks like I've been discovered... kinda." Az said with a shrug of his shoulders, "You want to know why you shouldn't call the Faith Keepers or the Scriptures to hunt me. One, you don't seem like the kinda man who'd do that... or maybe you would. But two, I've been here on this mortal plane longer than you humans. If I had any malicious intent, then I would have acted, would I not? I am not a threat to your world, I have spent the majority of my time here on this mortal planes living an isolated life, by my lake hidden from everyone. Though, I can't stop you from calling them to hunt me. Well I could... I could listen to my dark side and kill you. But I won't. Even if you call them to hunt me, I will just run, I have no reason to kill."

He paused, "Also, if you're going to call me out, at least call me out properly. I am not just some powerful demon. I am a being that humans do not know. I am the 51st Prince of Hell, the Forgotten Prince, Az'goxaak. I also go by the Eternal Hermit of the Misty Forest. But anyways, so what are you going to do? Call a hunt or follow through with our trade?"

---

Nym
Outside of Sedia, The Ecclesiarchy

---

"I understand that." Nym said and looked at Marina, "However, if she continues down her current course, I can expect a bounty to be placed on her head. I have no question about my wielders strength, but it would be easier for us if we didn't have to worry about people hunting us for some reward."

[Remnants of Exilvania]

The absolute moment the sword started moving in Jeremy's direction, Mireille's eyes flashed and the sword froze in midair, hovering there while Mireille looked down.

"You could have hurt Jermee," she whispered, thinly-concealed rage in her voice. "You could have hurt Jermee. You're a very, very, very bad toy!" Her voice pitched into a shriek, and she waved a hand, hurling the sword into the wall, and then using her powers to pull it back out and dash it against the wall again, and again, and again, mad laughter welling up in her throat as she did so.

"Toys don't get to hurt my friends. I'm going to break you!"

Iris just took the damage. She knew it would take a while for her body to break. Hopefully either the girl would get tired of slamming her into a wall or the Vanpire would intervene. After a minute of being slammed into a wall, Iris couldn’t even feel the pain. She didn’t want to try and fight their girl. That would drain more mana than she had already used, and no matter how sadistic, Mirielle was still a little girl. Then Iris came up with an idea. She began casting various sleep spells on the girl, none of them very strong, but combined increasing each ones effectiveness. Maybe I can make the little girl take a nap... She knew it was a stretch but it was either this or more slamming into a wall.

Anselm
Merkburger Fen
Unsterb Manor

Lisbeth had returned to her seat before the two had gone at each other's throats since there was really no reason for her to stand during this entire ordeal. Besides, one of the disadvantages of being a vampire was that you were always thirsty, always craved for the sweet red liquid that pulsed through the bodies of Mireille and Jeremy, hence why she returned to her seat to pour herself a new cup and sip from it to keep drinking from it as long as possible. She then attentively observed the fight between Mireille and Iris, which started off surprisingly hot with a fireball. Lisbeth worried about the remaining furniture potentually catching fire and then setting the whole place on fire. She definitely didn't want to spend the rest of the night as well as the coming days outside because Mireille had burned down her home.

Now Iris's defense against Mireille was much more interesting. Lisbeth saw how one of her arms transformed into something pointy...something that didn't look like flesh at all. She had already made a small list in her mind, to see what kind of creature Iris was. And right now she could definitely strike a few of them out. As Mireille, enraged by Iris' lack of motivation to play with her properly, intensified her attacks by using the good old furniture, Iris transformed into a sword and flew straight at Jeremy. Alright, that cleared it up. She was a relic, a sword in her true form. Now, about finding out what she could do...

The problem was, that Mireille went out of control, so Lisbeth figured that she'd have to end the fight and end it quickly if she didn't want this to actually escalate and end with serious structural damage to her house or the death or second death of someone present right now. Threaten to kill Jeremy if she didn't calm down? Looking at how fervously Mireille smacked Iris against the wall, that sounded like one of the worst ideas to pursue. Though if Jeremy's death was something she felt so strongly about, then it was best to use his life as leverage. So Lisbeth set down her cup and cleared her throat before raising her voice so that Mireille could still hear her despite all the ruckus she caused:

"Mireille, I don't really appreciate it when somebody uses lent toys to damage my property. And I am sure that Jeremy too wouldn't be very happy if the loss in structural integrity caused by you would result in his premature death due to a collapse of the building or anything like that.

I know you like to play rough but this is very rough and, just like everyone else around your age, you should go outside when they play like that. There's a lot of free space and not much you can break other than your toys...oh wait, Iris isn't actually your toy. I gave her to you temporarily and since you seem to be incapable of playing nice inside my house, I guess I'll have to take that toy away from you again."

It was in this moment that Lisbeth, who sat closest to the windows, heard the pained neighing of a horse outside. Strange, the next delivery was scheduled to arrive in a week at the earliest and not now. Standing up to take a glance out of the window, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

Melanie Trebond
Anselm
Black Knight

Mellie didn't even remember what had happened to her at first...it was all so quick that she didn't even have time to defend herself from this hulking metalhead before he had dared to attack her. The one brief time she got her bearings and the whole world went black.
The first thing she remembered was the throbbing pain in her face when she woke up..her first instinct was to reach up and feel her face because she took great pride in her beauty and would slaughter this walking tin-can if he had disfigured her in any way. But any injuries probably should have healed by now...she would have known had she only been able to touch her face. When she tried however, she couldn't lift her hand. Another tug and she felt the links of chain digging into her wrists. Chains...absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. If it were rope, she would have been able to snap it like paper but no, it had to be gods-damned fucking chain. Just great...I should've brought backup, how am I supposed to contact my sisters and brother? Now how do I get out of this?

She had no time to stew in her own misery or plan a grand escape however, for this barbarian was coming toward her again and she couldn't punch him. Ripping into her gag with her fangs, she managed to shred it and spit it out just before he came and raised his fist to her. The only thing she could think to do, she sunk her teeth into the nearest spot of the horse that she could reach and the pain made the animal raise a loud cry as if it were being flayed alive. It bucked wildly, throwing her off and kicking out its hind legs at the knight...its hooves slamming into his armored torso. Mellie struggled to move around but she managed to get herself into a sitting position, and with a great deal of effort and rocking forward she managed to stand, even if she couldn't run or really walk. I guess I have to hop out of here then...here goes nothing.

Meanwhile Outside

The Knight, despite being hit square in the chest and being knocked back by a bit, seemed largely unaffected by that horsekick. Two dents in his armour showed where the horse had hit him and it must've hurt immensely yet no sound had escaped his helmet and he walked towards her again, his towering figure blotting out the pale white manor behind him as he approached Melanie. He grabbed her by the shoulder and raised his armoured fist again to slam it right into her face again.

"Halt!"

The fist didn't come. The knight froze before looking over his shoulder, his figure still making Melanie incapable of seeing who was standing behind him. From the sound of the voice before, Melanie could probably guess that the speaker was young, very young and female.

"You got something for me dog? Then show me instead of hoarding it like a bone."

The knight folowed the instructions, grabbing Melanie roughly with both hands and then lifting her from the ground before turning around and holding her before her 'saviour'. The saviour was a small girl of approximately 10 years of age, clothed in a nice dress. But probably the most interesting thing about her for Melanie were her eyes. Such familiar red eyes with such a familiar unsatiable hunger within them. These were eyes that Melanie must've seen countless times over and over again by now, making it easy to identify the child as a vampire. Now, the child cocked her head slightly as she looked Melanie up and down and despite attempting to hide it, it was clear that the child too noticed her true nature. Still, she kept mer composure and asked:

"Well, what do we have here? A fellow relative? Maybe not in blood but in race no less. I am sorry for the rather brutal handling of you but my brother's dog does not know how to behave. But, may I inquire who you are and what you were looking for before this brute kidnapped you?"

[Castle Crashers]

Somewhere
Grand Duchy of Wyzkia

For a moment there, Wulf's dagger actually seemed to be about to pierce the weird boy's back.. but of course, nothing like that happened. The blade simply stopped in the air before it was able to reach the boy, and just like the poor Rafal before him, Wulf was suddenly unable to move..of course, he was able to breathe, and to move his eyes around.. but the rest of his body seemed to be frozen, as if.. someone, or something was controlling the very core of his being. Quite a terrifying feeling, that was sure..

The little deity turned around, looking at Wulf with his hollow, black eyes. As always, the skull mask was covering most of his face, but the Achisian boy would soon clearly have the impression that the non-human being was smirking, underneath that mask of bone. "Well, well, what do we have here?", the other boy asked, a bit of sarcasm in his note, ignoring the other two people behind him for a few moments. "Did no one teach you that it's not nice to try to stab people in the back, little one? If you wanted to fight against me so badly, you should have attacked me from the front. Though, the end would have been the same.." The boy sighed, before he once again started speaking, but this time, apparently to no one in particular. "Humans are such weird creatures.. some of them are more than willing to take part in the most vile and despicable of acts.. while others are willing to die in order to save people they had just met. That's why the human world is always so interesting.. it's never boring.. always and always, you can see unexpected things happen. You can find goodness in the most twisted evil, and wickedness in the bravest of heroes..they honestly don't know what they are losing by not visiting this place. It's just so.. entertaining.."

The boy then suddenly took a step to the side, so that Wulf was able to directly look at Rafal, who was also.. stuck in a similar situation. Once again, everyone around probably knew that the weird boy was smirking underneath his mask.. something was.. wrong. Something simply seemed to be a bit off.. even if they couldn't say what. As if whatever the boy was supposed to represent... wasn't supposed to be here, with them. "Little knight.. you've just witnessed that boy doing something dishonorable.. shouldn't he be punished for it?" And out of a sudden, Rafal started to move, taking a few steps forward, even if it was rather obvious by his panicked expression.. that he wasn't the one doing it. The Wyzkian squire stopped right in front of Wulf, looking in fear at the boy as he moved his hands, the tip of the jagged blade stopping right in front of Wulf's throat. And the weird deity chuckled. "Now, little boy....tell me one thing.. why should you live? Why shouldn't you slowly die, chocking on your own blood?"

As the blade stopped inches from the boy's back, Wulf's body and force of motion soon followed. He was stuck; unable to move even a finger, and it was easy to see the fear strike him like a cobra. His breath quickened, fear growing in his eyes as the deity turned to him, his black eyes seeming inhuman and unforgiving. Somehow, Wulf could tell he was smirking under that terrible bone mask...and he wanted nothing more than to shrink back into himself. He confronted the terrified boy, asking if no one had taught him that it wasn't nice to stab people in the back...that even if he'd fought him from the front, the end would be the same. He spoke that humans were odd creatures, that the human world was never boring, that "they" didn't know what they were missing by not visiting...and his cold, otherworldly words only terrified the young boy more.

The boy stepped aside so that Wulf met eyes with Rafal, to see that they both were in the same situation. The aura that boy was putting off made Wulf shiver--mentally, at-least. It almost made him wish he'd never interrupted the situation. Jakob huffed unapprovingly from a distance, stamping his hooves as he waited for the return of his young rider. The deity spoke of the knight, that of whom Wulf assumed was the boy in front of him, giving punishment for Wulf's dishonorable act. Fear struck the boy's heart, and he felt the beat quicken as his breath did the same, frozen in place. He watched as the knight moved closer, fear in his own eyes, stopping with his blade at the boy's throat. The deity asked why the boy should live, why he shouldn't slowly die choking on his blood, but the terrified boy couldn't manage words. Fat, hot tears began rolling down his cheeks as he sat, terrified, a blade to his throat, unable to even speak on his own volition with no control of his jaw to speak in the first place. He gulped, the tears running down his cheeks and off his jawline as he could only look in pleading, desperate fear at Rafal, even though neither of them had control. Please... he thought, horrified. Please...I...don't want to die...I don't want to die...I--

Before he could even really finish thinking, a giant wall of vines separated him and the knight, and he could only sit frozen in shock, eyes basically locked on the vines, taking in what'd happened. He gulped, relieved yet terrified, only able to listen to the girl confronting the deity. This whole situation was so horrifying...he had only wanted to be heroic, just for once, just to save someone once...and now, he was here. Perhaps it was then that he'd noticed he'd soiled himself out of fear, instantly wishing he'd stopped to use the bathroom somewhere earlier, but...there was nothing that could be done about it now. He was, literally, frozen in both fear and humiliation.

Somewhere else

Breathing heavily, Celio just stood there, with the blood still falling to the ground. He was expecting to.. run away. To look at him with disgust, or even to just outright attack him. Or to mock him.. that's what most people did. Those on the side of the light despised people like him. Necromancers were considered to be the embodiment of evil after all. Disgusting mages, who went against the very order of life and death with their twisted art. Especially due to their association with Achisia and her armies, necromancers were now almost universally hated throughout the human realms. And well, even those who served the same dark realm as him normally reacted bad - because of envy. He felt horrible about it.. but he was actually good at this type of magic. While white magic was so difficult to use...spells of necromancy felt just.. so natural. So right. And that made him hate himself. The thought that maybe.. maybe he had been meant to be a necromancer ever since he was born made him feel sick.

He paid no attention to his wrist - blood was extremely easy to use in such spells.. and during battles, he normally had to cut himself so much that constantly healing those cuts would be pointless and dangerous at the same time. Mana was valuable.. why waste it on something like that? And besides.. the pain.. calmed him down. It was difficult to explain.. but while he was so good at it.. the idea of forcing both magic and dead bodies to respect him was wrong on so many levels. His art of magic was horrible, and he knew it.. so deep inside, he wanted to be punished for it. As long as his oath bound him to the Mage-Emperor, there was no escape to be found for him in death.. but he deserved to suffer. And when she approached him.. well part of him did want her to make him suffer. It only seemed right. He had hurt her so much.. so he still just couldn't understand why... why she refused to get her revenge.

And then.. she took his bleeding wrist into her hand.. and she healed his wound with a spell. Instead of mocking him, or of telling him just how disgusting he was.. she told him that he should be more careful with his wounds. Without looking directly at him.. she told him that she didn't want to leave him at the mercy of the Faith. Instead of telling him just how much he deserved to be hated.. she told him that she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if something were to happen to him. And instead of striking him down, she slipped her own necklace over his neck.. the one that was supposed to protect the one who had it..and then, as her blue eyes met his crimson red ones.. he couldn't help but shiver.

He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve any of it.. compassion. Someone worrying about him. Someone.. being kind to him like that. Not when his hands were so stained by the blood of others. Not when he had caused so many suffering and death.

He just stood there, not trying to move his hand, or to look away. He just continued to look at her.. confused. So of course, he asked the only thing he could think about. "Why..?", he asked, his voice quivering a little. He remained silent for a few more moments.. before he just tried to explain what he was thinking. "Just.. why are you acting.. like things. Why are you.. so.. kind? I don't.. I don't understand it. Even if.. even if you are the Archbishop of Kindless like you say.. how.. how can you be like this? It's just.. it's just that I don't understand. You should hate me.. that's what anyone would do. That's what they all do. And you have more reasons than the rest..I've killed.. innocent people after all. People you've cared about. You should despise me.. and yet you don't. You should just try to kill me.. and yet you're.. worried that I might get hurt. I don't.. I don't understand.. are you just.. pretending?.."

Julie was silent for a moment, and as she looked back at his wrist to make sure it'd healed completely, he spoke, shocking her a little as she looked back up at him, almost...confused. He asked her why she was so kind, that he didn't understand it, that he didn't get how she could be like that. That she should hate him, that that's what everyone does, that she had more reason than anyone else to hate him...but she didn't. He said that she should try to kill him...but she was instead worried that he could get hurt. That, maybe, he wondered if she was just pretending. She was silent just as he had been for a moment or two, and she looked down again, thinking on how she should respond to this.

She paused, her hands still gently clasped around his previously-injured wrist. "...it is kind of simple, I guess." She said softly. "You only have to forgive someone once...to resent someone, to hate them, you have to do it all day, everyday...it's...too tiring." She paused. "When I was younger...after my father died, after his funeral, I was so full of...of hatred. Of remorse...I felt like it was my duty to find who'd killed him, to bring justice, to do something..." She said, her brow furrowed as she thought. "But I...I focused on it so much, I let it cloud my every thought, my every action, I let it get the best of me...I was so young to be so unhappy...but...as I got older, I got a little wiser. I soon understood that...my father hadn't died unjustly. It was a war...everyone fought to save their own lives...they--you--were just trying to protect yourself...how...how could I be mad for that..?" Her voice seemed almost a whisper, her eyes seeming distant before, after a long moment, she looked back up to his eyes with a weak-yet-genuine smile.

"forgiving is so much easier than hating, Celio...if I am kind to you...if I treat you as you should've always been treated...then, perhaps one day, you can feel the same as I do." She said before, in a moment, she pulled him into a soft, caring hug. "You've been through a lot. The least I can do is give you someone to trust. Someone who cares. You don't deserve anything that the next guy doesn't. You deserve to be happy, to be treated with kindness...you're human...sure, you've done a few bad things, but nothing that can't be forgiven..." She told him softly before she pulled away so she could smile at him with her kind blue eyes. "...you're too young too feel so much hate...all I ever wanted to do was shine a little light into your darkness..."

Dax was relieved when Dante finally decided to remove his weight off of his thin body. He drew in what breath he could...and, perhaps, the first mildly coherent thought that was able to cross his mind was his knife. Where was it? Why wasn't it nearby? Why could he not see it anymore? With a short, barely capable look around with glazed eyes, he noticed that, in fact, the tip of his knife was just barely peeking out from under the weight of the knight that'd just rolled off of him. He felt displeasure, knowing that his weight would only push the blade more onto the rough stones of the alley, scratching it more than it had been before...and even moreso, it seemed that this knight was only causing more and more problems. Now he couldn't even use his weapon of choice to end such a disturbance.

The comment of seeing Dax's brain fall from his head by the blonde knight nearly made him scoff. "Don't be daft. It's only a little blood. I can assure you that if it was my brain falling out of my head, I would not be conscious at this moment." He replied matter-of-factly, before a look of clear distaste crossed his face. "I don't need medical help, either." He said dully, though, his voice seemed wobbly, and it looked as though he was having trouble sitting up stable. "I would rather die than let one of those untrained fools anywhere near my head...they would do more damage than they would help." He paused, shooting a cold look to the knight. "Like you." With the icy comment made, Dax frowned, fumbling with his jacket pocket as his fingers struggled to cooperate with his injured head. Finally, after a long moment of fumbling, he managed to retrieve a roll of bandages. From there, he attempted to unroll the bandages, but still seemed to have trouble with how lightheaded he was becoming. He...could barely think, let along be anywhere near dexterous with his hands. He'd taken two concussions after all, and it was easy to tell he was having trouble from the simple act of unrolling bandages, and the blood rolling down the back of his neck, as well as his forehead.

Assaulter Turned Good Samaritan,
A Coastal City At Night, Arghyo,
Ser Dante d'Aquila

Quickly figuring out that his new self-triaging patient was in need of some assistance, Dante took the roll of bandages out of Dax's hand. "I should probably deal with this, seeing as you're... well, you're losing a lot of blood..." the knight explained, smiling in a conciliatory manner before starting to wrap the gauze around the crimson stained noggin of his new friend. Dante's motions were quick, tight, and quite clearly practiced through battlefield experience. Apparently, this knight wasn't as new or stupid as what most people would think at first. At least, he wasn't as inexperienced, naive, dull, ignorant, untrained, unprofessional, or unable... or maybe he just knew how to tie a knot around a head. Eventually, though, Dante encountered a problem. "Oh... uh... I don't... have anything... to cut this with..." he muttered, concentrating on searching around him, on Dax, and on himself for some sort of sharp object... despite the fact that the knight could have easily torn the white cloth apart with his gauntlet-ed hands.

"Ah ha!" Dante declared while his hand surfaced from a particularly awkward search. "I didn't even remember bringing my old trusty knife with me, but I guess I did! Good for us, huh?" In his grasp was Dax's precious blade, now thoroughly scratched and maybe even a little bent. The handle certainly had some nice scuff marks on it now. But the smile on Dante's face as he found it underneath him might have been entirely worth the ordeal! If, you know, the person who the knife belonged to wasn't currently passing out from blood loss nor was an emotionless husk of a murderer. With the utmost caution and efficiency, Dante cut the bandage and finally tied it so that it was snug around his patient's wounded skull. "There! Now then... We need to get you something to eat... The body turns food into blood, don't you know! Oh, and a bed..."

Thinking to himself as he left Dax's head to rest on his knee, the knight tapped his chin with his new but confused for an old knife. "Now then... where in the city do I know that has a bed and some food...? Hmm... I got it!" Smiling down at Dax, Dante gave off a temporarily scarier aura than Dax could ever manage. "I'll take you home with me! Sh sh sh! No need to talk! Save your strength!"

And with that, Dax was being carried off bridal style to his kidnapper's lair.

Dax could only really grumble disapprovingly as Dante took the bandages from his hands, watching with cold eyes as he smiled and wrapped the gauze around his injured head. He could tell the man was fairly dexterous, quickly and tightly wrapping the bandages, and was, atleast a little less of an idiot than Dax had originally assumed. Even that revelation was hard to come across through his foggy mind. He listened foggily as Dante spoke of not having something to cut the bandage with, and as he searched for a sharp object, Dax scoffed. "Just rip it with your hands, you idiot." He slurred as Dante searched, and had he been even a little less leaking of blood, he probably would've felt prideful in knowing Dante hadn't found the rest of his knives in his jacket.

His mind finally decided to tune clearly in when Dante spoke of luckily bringing his old trusty knife, and as his hand surfaced...sure enough, it was, in fact, Dante's blade of choice. Bent, scratched, scuffed, far beyond useful condition, Dax could feel a ball of distaste and disgust in his chest. He frowned, his eyes still dull, clearly unfocused, but he seemed dissatisfied. It was okay, for now, as Dante had the knowledge that he would likely use that same blade to peel the skin from that blonde boys face as he screamed in fear. Yes...that thought, perhaps, made it almost okay. So, he sat in silence as Dante cut and tied the bandage to his head, but was mildly alarmed as Dante spoke of getting him something to eat, as well as a bed. He knew that wouldn't end well; worse than it was already.

He grimaced as he watched the idiot tap his chin with his knife, his precious tool through blurring vision. He was not in optimal condition. If he hadn't hit his head, he already knew he likely would've killed and skinned the boy by now. It was...frustrating, almost. As he thought out loud, saying he had an idea (nearly giving the serial killer a bad feeling), and then introduced the idea of taking him home with him... "No...I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't need any help." He slurred, but his words were only becoming more unintelligible. He frowned, frustrated with his own body, unable to communicate what he needed as his ears began to ring. And as Dante lifted him and began walking, he tried to struggle, but his body didn't listen. "I don't need...your help..." He barely slurred before his vision blurred and the world went dark.

[Zapatha]

Inside Sedia

Arthur's retinue had continued on into the city, where he hoped to gain an audience with officials of the Ecclisiarchy to inform them of the Cult's return to the human realms. However something caught his eye, as a crowd of people seemed to be gathered around where several Ecclesirachy knights had a young boy held as a prisoner.

Well well, Ecclesiarchy knights certainly have fallen from grace, to have a young boy chained up. Arthur thought. He truly felt sorry for him, as nowadays the Inquisition's agents would charge someone for heresy for anything deemed ungodly. How ironic, the city where the center or human faith thrives is where innocents die in droves just to appease gods who don't even bother to speak to humans anymore it seems.

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

Wzykia

Death had come to Wzykia. The small town burned in the night's dark embrace, it's sickening glow being the only thing visible in the dense Wzykian forest. The forest was silent, for even nature knew that if it dared peeped it may meet the same fate befallen on the townsfolk who were strewn about in the street, in their homes, and on the wooden walls. Bronn overlooked his offering to his master Zyraxes of death, his cold red eyes glowing in the darkness. Moments later, Bronn raised his hands and slowly the dead arose amongst the townsfolk. When Bronn and his undead army began their march south once more, they lit the forest alight to prove that not even nature is safe from the death Zyraxes and his servant bring.

As the dead marched South, they left a horrifying trail of destruction behind them, with the fires spreading among the trees until for miles on end one could only see fire engulfing the forests.

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

Death and silence, ruins and nothingness. Once, a proud city of the Achisian Empire, a glorious citadel of the Eternal Flame and Serpent, now,, broken into ruins. Its name forgotten, those who lived here dead or long gone. These scars, these marks of destruction could be found throughout all of the Human Realms after the brutal War of the Seven Nations..but Achisia had been punished with cruelty, and with a desperate thirst for revenge. The greatest of the human kingdoms had fallen so low.. but such are the times we live in.

Somewhere, in the middle of what had once been the city, near a crater that had obliterated about half of it, a boy wearing white robes was sitting on a large rock, with bones and skulls and rusty armors and swords on the ground around him. His hair was white and messy, and his skin was pretty pale, but his eyes.. his eyes were hollow and silver, almost seeming to shine the darkness around him, with only the faint light of the moon bringing some light to this dead city. And yet.. something had changed within him, or at least it seemed so... as his sclerae were pitch-black now. He was unarmed, and alone.. but he was waiting. For someone.

---

Royal Palace of Chovers
Kingdom of Duivene
The Royal Sorcerer's Chambers

"Those are some interesting things that you are saying.. but who would believe you? How can I know that you've not been here for all this time in order to open a portal for the Armies of Hell? Or that in your long time in this world, you haven't helped that cursed Mage-Emperor in his dark schemes? We're in an age where even humans do not trust each other.. so trusting a demon seems to be a pretty bad move.." The old man sighed. "But who am I to judge? And luckily for you, I am not looking for a fight. Fighting with a demon possessing what seems to be a Loroi would have certainly been interesting..but I'm just too.. bored to do it. Just remember,51st Prince of Hell, the Forgotten Prince, Az'goxaak, it wouldn't be that easy to kill me, even for someone like you, I'm afraid. As for our trade.....well, I think that I am going to accept your offer. The information that you have could be sent to Sedia's Secret Archives, where the Scriptures and the Faith Keepers could take a look at it.. and like I said, if you want to find out more about the Great War.. then Princess Alexis would be one of the people that you could ask. But before you meet her, I have to warn you.. there is someone around here who would be more than able to fight you..and it would be pretty bad for her to find out that you are a demon.."

Unfortunately for poor Az, the magical crystal of the old royal sorcerer was not the only artifact with the ability to find demons that was present in Chovers. Right as the old man mentioned the word "demon" for the last time, the door of the chamber was blasted from its place, and a rather well known knight princess entered the room. Alexis, with her blonde hair, amethyst colored eyes, and her armor-dress, as if she had just come from a battle. A heartbeat later, the golden tip of her lance, was pointed directly at Az's throat. She was certainly wasting no time.. and while the demons would have probably initially thought nothing about that spear..but it certainly wasn't normal. It was golden and white, and brightly and vividly decorated, and a flag, or better said, a battle standard, was rolled around the upper part of the spear's shaft. And the weapon itself seemed to be.. infused with magic. Alive, even.

"I have no idea what a demon like you is doing in the Royal Citadel of this faithful kingdom...but I will be merciful, and I will give you a chance to explain yourself, you foul beast.", Alexis quickly told him, tightly gripping her weapon. And behind them, the royal mage just sighed. Again. "As I was about to tell you.. she takes the whole part of being a hero.. pretty seriously.."

---

Voivoideship of Łówice
Northern Wyzkia

Of course, the reaction of the Wyzkian Republic of Nobles was not going to be waited for much longer. Wyzkia was a nation in decline, an unstable nation, but still, conflicts and skirmishes with its neighbors happened so often, that the Wyzkian army was always prepared, especially in the North, where often, Velikiyan or Orkish raiders attacked the Voivodeship of Łówice, the northernmost part of the Realm of Wyzkia. This time however, the Grand Duke himself was coming with the Wojsko kwarciane, the standing army that was under the Duke's direct command. Refugees coming from the chaos that was now Velikiya had poured into the northern part of the Griffin Realm over the past few weeks, and the monarch had been informed about the undead menace that was cursing southern Velikiya.

But while the Duke's army was heading north, someone had to slow these undead hordes down, to better prepare them for the moment when they would clash with the fortresses that guarded the northern part of the Wyzkian realm.

As they would soon find out, setting the forests aflame had been a huge mistake. The fire and its heat were deadly enemies of such undead beings as Bronn's army, and most of northern Wyzkia was covered in forests, which were pretty dry since after all, it was the middle of summer. The fire would then spread wildly, out of control, nearly surrounding the undead force and killing some of its members in the process - while also severely limiting where this horde could go. Their march towards the south soon turned into a retreat, into a desperate struggle to escape the flames, since on his own, the undead Bronn was not strong enough of a mage to contain these flames.

It started with screams in the sky, and those undead who were still at least vaguely conscious would have seen them, far, up above, mighty beasts covered in crimson and silver armors, shining in the light of the sun. It would have been impossible for them to see it from where they were, on the ground.. but there were riders up there, with their magical bows ready. From up above, a rain of precise arrows of fire and light fell upon the undead scourge. There were only a few of them, circling around, flying - but their arrows of magic did their trick, pushing and forcing the undead to move south..

[Free Empire of the Low Isles]

Assaulter Turned Good Samaritan,
A Coastal City At Night, Arghyo,
Ser Dante d'Aquila

Quickly figuring out that his new self-triaging patient was in need of some assistance, Dante took the roll of bandages out of Dax's hand. "I should probably deal with this, seeing as you're... well, you're losing a lot of blood..." the knight explained, smiling in a conciliatory manner before starting to wrap the gauze around the crimson stained noggin of his new friend. Dante's motions were quick, tight, and quite clearly practiced through battlefield experience. Apparently, this knight wasn't as new or stupid as what most people would think at first. At least, he wasn't as inexperienced, naive, dull, ignorant, untrained, unprofessional, or unable... or maybe he just knew how to tie a knot around a head. Eventually, though, Dante encountered a problem. "Oh... uh... I don't... have anything... to cut this with..." he muttered, concentrating on searching around him, on Dax, and on himself for some sort of sharp object... despite the fact that the knight could have easily torn the white cloth apart with his gauntlet-ed hands.

"Ah ha!" Dante declared while his hand surfaced from a particularly awkward search. "I didn't even remember bringing my old trusty knife with me, but I guess I did! Good for us, huh?" In his grasp was Dax's precious blade, now thoroughly scratched and maybe even a little bent. The handle certainly had some nice scuff marks on it now. But the smile on Dante's face as he found it underneath him might have been entirely worth the ordeal! If, you know, the person who the knife belonged to wasn't currently passing out from blood loss nor was an emotionless husk of a murderer. With the utmost caution and efficiency, Dante cut the bandage and finally tied it so that it was snug around his patient's wounded skull. "There! Now then... We need to get you something to eat... The body turns food into blood, don't you know! Oh, and a bed..."

Thinking to himself as he left Dax's head to rest on his knee, the knight tapped his chin with his new but confused for an old knife. "Now then... where in the city do I know that has a bed and some food...? Hmm... I got it!" Smiling down at Dax, Dante gave off a temporarily scarier aura than Dax could ever manage. "I'll take you home with me! Sh sh sh! No need to talk! Save your strength!"

And with that, Dax was being carried off bridal style to his kidnapper's lair.

Dax could only really grumble disapprovingly as Dante took the bandages from his hands, watching with cold eyes as he smiled and wrapped the gauze around his injured head. He could tell the man was fairly dexterous, quickly and tightly wrapping the bandages, and was, atleast a little less of an idiot than Dax had originally assumed. Even that revelation was hard to come across through his foggy mind. He listened foggily as Dante spoke of not having something to cut the bandage with, and as he searched for a sharp object, Dax scoffed. "Just rip it with your hands, you idiot." He slurred as Dante searched, and had he been even a little less leaking of blood, he probably would've felt prideful in knowing Dante hadn't found the rest of his knives in his jacket.

His mind finally decided to tune clearly in when Dante spoke of luckily bringing his old trusty knife, and as his hand surfaced...sure enough, it was, in fact, Dante's blade of choice. Bent, scratched, scuffed, far beyond useful condition, Dax could feel a ball of distaste and disgust in his chest. He frowned, his eyes still dull, clearly unfocused, but he seemed dissatisfied. It was okay, for now, as Dante had the knowledge that he would likely use that same blade to peel the skin from that blonde boys face as he screamed in fear. Yes...that thought, perhaps, made it almost okay. So, he sat in silence as Dante cut and tied the bandage to his head, but was mildly alarmed as Dante spoke of getting him something to eat, as well as a bed. He knew that wouldn't end well; worse than it was already.

He grimaced as he watched the idiot tap his chin with his knife, his precious tool through blurring vision. He was not in optimal condition. If he hadn't hit his head, he already knew he likely would've killed and skinned the boy by now. It was...frustrating, almost. As he thought out loud, saying he had an idea (nearly giving the serial killer a bad feeling), and then introduced the idea of taking him home with him... "No...I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't need any help." He slurred, but his words were only becoming more unintelligible. He frowned, frustrated with his own body, unable to communicate what he needed as his ears began to ring. And as Dante lifted him and began walking, he tried to struggle, but his body didn't listen. "I don't need...your help..." He barely slurred before his vision blurred and the world went dark.

Patient Turned Prisoner... Maybe On Accident,
Dante's Apartment, A Coastal City, Arghyo,
Ser Dante d'Aquila

Suddenly having to carry, at the very least, a hundred pounds of unconscious flesh would not have seemed like a fun time to most people. But Dante was, strangely, having somewhat of a ball with this task. The almost murderer, which Dante did know that this man had been trying to murder that girl earlier, was in fact not that ugly nor disheveled. Indeed, he looked more noble than savage or peasant, which struck the young knight as interesting, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Dante knew himself that nobles tended to have a bit of a predilection toward apathy and the fixation on death. Either way, the attractiveness of the criminal now near death in his arms certainly gave the now kidnapper a better thing to look at than the dark surroundings of a city at night.

Dante would soon be admiring a corpse instead of a near corpse if he didn't hurry up, though, so the crushing knight picked up his pace while making sure that his patient's head did not move too much. Any further jostling would probably cause further damage. Something about swelling of the brain, but Dante didn't anything farther than a more interested than usual battlefield medic. Eventually, both men were saved from the cold darkness of the night... though one may have preferred the term stolen rather than saved.

The apartment, which was on the third floor of a building owned by a rather crotchety old Calarian couple, was incredibly small by noble standards or by the standards of well-off merchants. Even farmers might have called it a little bit less than what the average human should live in. Most of the peasants in the world, though, would have considered it the lap of luxury. It consisted of two rooms, the first being an entryway, living room, and kitchen all at once, containing a cooking stove for warming the room and for the act it was named after, a couch, a chair, and a singular table. Against the wall opposite the couch and perpendicular to the stove, which was opposite to the door itself, was a bookshelf filled with random literature. Everything from the raunchiest of Anselmian tales to the Holy Book of the Ecclesiarchy was on those shelves. Languages ranged from the Archyan dialect to Calarian to even some Old Thyrian.

Adjoining the first room was a small bedroom, containing only a bed and a cabinet for clothes. Dante brought his victim here, quickly laying the injured psychopath on the bed before kneeling next to the bedside gently. "Now then...", the knight muttered to himself, "It's been a while since I've had to heal someone... but... let's just..."

Air flowed out of Dante's nose slowly as he took his gauntlets off and laid his hands on Dax's bandaged scalp. His mind reached out slowly, connecting to the place where he learned mana came from. It always felt strange, like there was a pool of fire that suddenly opened up behind his stomach. It burned, but it wasn't painful. It felt more like suddenly downing an entire bottle of Wyzkian whyzki or Duivene bourbon. Silently, Dante's mouth moved in it's familiar way and the mana poured out of his stomach, up past his sternum, into his shoulders, down his arms, buzzing in his fingertips for a moment before eventually jumping into Dax's broken skull. Opening his eyes, Dante knew that he had succeeded in his task and quickly cut the bandages off of the young man's newly healed head.

"Well... another successful surgery, doctor! Well done!" Dante whispered to himself, smiling as he stood. Quickly, the young knight made his way around the room, taking any sharp things that could be used as weapons and locking the window firmly. It's not as if the prisoner would be able to survive leaving out the window; it was a three story drop to a cobblestone alley. "You get a good night's rest and we'll figure this out in the morning, hmm?"

With that, Dante left and locked the door behind him.

[Zapatha]

---

Voivoideship of Łówice
Northern Wyzkia

Of course, the reaction of the Wyzkian Republic of Nobles was not going to be waited for much longer. Wyzkia was a nation in decline, an unstable nation, but still, conflicts and skirmishes with its neighbors happened so often, that the Wyzkian army was always prepared, especially in the North, where often, Velikiyan or Orkish raiders attacked the Voivodeship of Łówice, the northernmost part of the Realm of Wyzkia. This time however, the Grand Duke himself was coming with the Wojsko kwarciane, the standing army that was under the Duke's direct command. Refugees coming from the chaos that was now Velikiya had poured into the northern part of the Griffin Realm over the past few weeks, and the monarch had been informed about the undead menace that was cursing southern Velikiya.

But while the Duke's army was heading north, someone had to slow these undead hordes down, to better prepare them for the moment when they would clash with the fortresses that guarded the northern part of the Wyzkian realm.

As they would soon find out, setting the forests aflame had been a huge mistake. The fire and its heat were deadly enemies of such undead beings as Bronn's army, and most of northern Wyzkia was covered in forests, which were pretty dry since after all, it was the middle of summer. The fire would then spread wildly, out of control, nearly surrounding the undead force and killing some of its members in the process - while also severely limiting where this horde could go. Their march towards the south soon turned into a retreat, into a desperate struggle to escape the flames, since on his own, the undead Bronn was not strong enough of a mage to contain these flames.

It started with screams in the sky, and those undead who were still at least vaguely conscious would have seen them, far, up above, mighty beasts covered in crimson and silver armors, shining in the light of the sun. It would have been impossible for them to see it from where they were, on the ground.. but there were riders up there, with their magical bows ready. From up above, a rain of precise arrows of fire and light fell upon the undead scourge. There were only a few of them, circling around, flying - but their arrows of magic did their trick, pushing and forcing the undead to move south..

As Bronn's army marched back north, he eyed the mighty griffins of the Paladins corraling his army northwards. It was rather obvious that they were leading his undead astray to give the Wzykians time to march north and confront him. Emotionless, Bronn led his army back north at a relentless pace only the undead could muster. As the fires were raging, thousands of undead were burnt to ash and slowed the march of his army yet it could not deter a being without a fear of death.....rather a being who actively embraced death such as Bronn.

The army marched long throughout the day and into the night, the light of the fires in the forest the only thing allowing the paladins to be able to see the undead in the darkness. When they reached the border with Velikiya however, Bronn ceased his army's advance and remained motionless. They had lost thousands of footsoldiers to the fire, ye it did not matter to Bronn. The entirety of the remaining army were now outside of the great forests of Wzykia, perched upon a hill where Bronn could overlook the fires turning the trees to burnt out husks and ash. It was then that he rode forth with his horse and dismounted, fixing his relentless gaze on the paladins who could only see two red eyes peering at them in the darkness.

It was then that Bronn cast a spell, as suddenly spears of dark magic were hurled at each of the paladins, the only thing that could alert them being the dark hum of their ascent to the underbellies of the griffins.

[Charlia]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

Death and silence, ruins and nothingness. Once, a proud city of the Achisian Empire, a glorious citadel of the Eternal Flame and Serpent, now,, broken into ruins. Its name forgotten, those who lived here dead or long gone. These scars, these marks of destruction could be found throughout all of the Human Realms after the brutal War of the Seven Nations..but Achisia had been punished with cruelty, and with a desperate thirst for revenge. The greatest of the human kingdoms had fallen so low.. but such are the times we live in.

Somewhere, in the middle of what had once been the city, near a crater that had obliterated about half of it, a boy wearing white robes was sitting on a large rock, with bones and skulls and rusty armors and swords on the ground around him. His hair was white and messy, and his skin was pretty pale, but his eyes.. his eyes were hollow and silver, almost seeming to shine the darkness around him, with only the faint light of the moon bringing some light to this dead city. And yet.. something had changed within him, or at least it seemed so... as his sclerae were pitch-black now. He was unarmed, and alone.. but he was waiting. For someone.

A soft footstep, and then another; a white hem brushing against the ground. She wasn't particularly conspicuous, looking no stranger than any others that might have been seen; no stranger than the boy sitting there, before her eyes.

It was those eyes that were the most unusual feature about her--though one wouldn't know unless they were looking for imperfections. Rather than being made from organic tissue, they were formed from artificial glass--sculpted to perfection, impeccably crafted orbs fitted into her sockets like they belonged there, eyes painted on with a careful and delicate hand--it was the sort of work that only a talented and dedicated creator could produce, one who truly loved the work they did, who took pride in it. Each line was perfect, each shade of blue blending from one to the other as if entirely natural. They were almost too perfect--there were no flaws, no marks that might be considered displeasing. Even the faint red strokes denoting blood vessels were only visible enough to be registered, not nearly enough to draw the attention. However, if one looked closely enough, they would have noticed how the eyes never dilated, never contracted--how they never changed, looking ahead in the same way that they had since their creation.

They fell on the boy in white, and a slight smile curved her lips--though the features of her eyes remained unchanged, making her smile seem insincere, saccharine. How could her smile reach her eyes if she had none to begin with?

"Superbia," she said softly, and the word fell from her lips with the same grace that she had approached him with. She took a seat on the rock next to him, and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his rather thin frame with ease. She knew him, that was certain; strangers or mere acquaintances did not show such familiarity. After only a moment of holding him, though, she pulled back, hands on his shoulders and brow furrowed in concern.

"Your eyes," she whispered, placing one pale, slender hand on the side of his face. Her skin was cool to the touch, almost cold, and her voice was velvety-soft but tight with worry. "Oh, what have you done to yourself? I was so happy when I found out that you were here, but... is there something you need? I'll help you, I promise. All I have is yours, if you ask--just like always. You know that, I suppose. It's been long enough. Just tell me what you need, and it's yours."

[Faal Lot Himdah]

The Forgotten Prince, Az'goxaak
Royal Palace of Chovers, Kingdom of Duivene

---

"I can see that..." Az said to the Royal Sorcerer, seemingly unsurprising by the weapon being pointed at his throat. He then sighed and looked at the Princess Alexis. "Really, foul beast? That hurts. But not that much. You can put your weapon down, I am not here for a fight, no need to shed blood, I'm here for knowledge. Knowledge that your highness can provide. Though, I doubt you trust me, considering the fact of what I am, and what you are."

"But I will try and convince you not to kill me... while also explaining myself. So please, before you decide to kill me, just listen." Az said, "Let me start at the beginning, my name is Az'goxaak, just call me Az, formerly Prince of Hell, in fact you could say I am the 51st Prince of Hell or the Forgotten Prince. You see, I am forgotten because before you humans arrived on this mortal plane, I was here. I was on this mortal plane, and through a convoluted plan that I'd rather not go into, I faked my own death in order to get away from the politics of Hell, which I found and find sicking. And you see, Hell bought it. So did everyone else. Allowing me to live my eternity away from dealing with Hell, allowing me to relax by a lake and spend my days in silence. Of course, my lake wasn't going to be my lake forever. Humans came, and settled by the lake, and I decided it was best to leave. So, I found myself a nice lake, hidden in a forest, and with some magic, I shrouded that forest with a confusing mist.

"Thus I continued to live a life of peace and quiet." He said with a smile, "But ever since I first saw you humans, there was something about your race... I couldn't help but keep an eye on you. So I would wonder from my hidden lake every so often, and check up on you humans, along with gathering any new knowledge you mortals may have discovered, along with any new stories you had created. So imagine what I was thinking when I arrived here in this city after who knows how long since I last ventured from my lake and learned that there was a massive war that raged while I was spending my days reading, fishing and sleeping. So I decided that I should learn about this past war. I decided that perhaps the best person to learn about the war from was one who fought in it, one who had a hand in ending it.... and it just so happened that one of the Seven Heroes was in this city, so... I got an audience with your Royal Sorcerer, and made a deal. I gave him first hand knowledge about the Armies of Hell for when they do eventually invade, and all I asked for in return was a chance to talk with you."

"So..." He said and paused, "You going to kill me or will you indulge me and allow me to ask you some questions?"

[Charlia]

Nym
Outside of Sedia, The Ecclesiarchy

---

"I understand that." Nym said and looked at Marina, "However, if she continues down her current course, I can expect a bounty to be placed on her head. I have no question about my wielders strength, but it would be easier for us if we didn't have to worry about people hunting us for some reward."

"Then tell her to quit goin' down that course and come along with me," Marina suggested, grinning widely. "Don't ask me what the heck I'm doin', 'cause that this point I've basically just been followin' Lucia around, but I could use a pretty lady companion... who isn't also the Archbishop of Chastity, 'cause that'd work out great," she added, rolling her eyes. "I do love it when the hot ones aren't into me. It's an eternal curse. On the other hand, finally found one who is, and boy oh boy am I keeping her, so long as she's up for that idea." She winked. "So, y'know, I'd appreciate it if you didn't leave me in utter loneliness and boredom again. Gets really old."

[Free Empire of the Low Isles]

An Inauspicious Introduction, but A Start Nonetheless!
The National University of Magical Knowledge, Acropolis of Rexymno,
Isle of Quretia, Despotate of Xerena,
Professor Morgan the Mad

Warm, mote filled sunlight filtered into the lecture hall in comfortable rays, landing primarily on the floor where the professor would normally be standing. A few stray bars of light cast themselves into the dark audience, a set of theater rows with tables and chairs currently halfway filled with whispering students. Sitting in twos or threes, with the maximum group containing five, some of the College's premier apprentices currently commiserated about their situation. It was currently a quarter of the way into the first class of the first day of the new year and their professor had yet to show himself.

"I heard he never shows up for the morning bloc..." a darker than average Xerenian boy muttered to the girl next to him, leaning exhaustedly on his arm, propping his head up with a hand in that all-too-familiar pose to students. "Stays up late raving and sleeps till noon. And the Dean just lets him do it! I think it's just so they can make Professor Elon technically teach more classes than the Guild allows..."

"Oh... I don't know..." the girl replied, her eyes never leaving the sketchbook in her hands nor the finely darkened quill tip she was writing with, "I think Elon just does it because he likes Mad Morgan and enjoys talking with him. Didn't you hear about the debate they got into over the physical and mental affects the use of Black Magick can have on the caster while they were having dinner at Agnes's tavern last night? It was quite something."

His eyes widened for a moment. "No, I didn't hear that. Kinda sad I didn't get to see it myself."

She finally glanced up at her friend, the flicking feather pausing for a moment. "I thought you said you had a date there last night, Belen?"

"Ohhhhh... you know..." Belen replied sheepishly smiling, before sighing and collapsing his upper half into a pile of elbows and hair on the table. The ensuing muttered follow-up caused the girl to respond with a confused "huh?" which inspired her friend to kindly restate himself. "Got stood up again..."

"Oh, that explains why you weren't there..."

A singular eye peeked out of the pile of boy, confused. "Huh? Were you there too, Halcy?"

Quickly, Halcyon hid her developing blush behind her sketchbook, thankfully doing so fast enough yet casually enough for Belen to not even notice the change in her. Yet again she was flicking that feather back and forth, occasionally dipping it into her imaginations ichor, the black ink well set into their table. Eventually, she deigned her friend with a response. "Yes, I was, but only because I forgot you told me you were going to be there... and it ended up not mattering because you weren't there anyway! So... boy or girl this time?"

"Boy..." Belen responded, closing his eye with a sigh. "The prick. I even bought some good Achisian drift powder."

"Right. He is a prick." Halcy responded, smiling happily behind her book. "If you still have that powder, I'd be happy to use it with you... tonight or something?" The hope was there...

"Nah... I used it all last night." Belen replied, moving his head to smile apologetically at his buddy and not knowing how good at hope demolition he was. Suddenly, though, he sat up with a bigger smile than before. "But I do know where we can get some more for a good price, if you don't mind backing me up... Miss Magical Maestro. Say... after we have dinner tonight?"

"Absolutely, Mister Master of Mischief!"

They shared a smile before Belen returned to leaning on his arm and hand, just staring at Halcy as she drew. For a moment, the smile didn't leave his face as he remembered the first day they met, the first time one of their plans went off without a hitch... the first time there was a hitch and then all the great hitches afterward. She was his best friend, certainly. Someone he couldn't ruin his relationship with his deeper emotions. "Right then!" he suddenly announced, "Why don't you tell me about that debate between Elon and the Mad Professor?"

"Oh! Right, yes... So, Elon actually started it by bringing up that old rumor about Mad. You know, the one about how he might be a really powerful Black Magick practitioner?" Receiving a nod in responde, Halcyon continued, "Okay, so Elon started with 'You know, Morgan old chap, I really do not understand why so many of these students think you to be some sort of... hidden necromancer, or something! You don't even have the right signs!' Morgan sat there for a second, sipping soup out of a spoon before smiling at Elon and rejoining with 'Oh, really, Elon? With your advanced age, how are you certain that you just don't see them?'" This caused a chuckle from Belen, but he waved Halcyon on as she slowly closed her sketchbook, making sure that he recent drawing of Belen was dry before doing so. "After a good chuckle, Elon of course had to respond to that! "Why, my good Morgan, because if you were really such a good necromancer the signs would be so obvious even a deaf and blind old bat like me would be able to see them!' Morgan didn't seem to agree with that, though, as he shook his head with a small smile. You will not believe what came out of his mouth! Morgan sai-"

Suddenly, the door toward the front of the class slowly creaked open and every student's eyes automatically leveled at it. Instead of the wizened figure of the only Loroi faculty member in the entire college Elon, which they all expected to appear to pick up Mad Morgan's slack, they all saw the mash of purple, light blue, gold, and black robes that marked a tenured junior professor of Magical Theory. In walked Professor Morgan the Mad himself, first only allowing his back to be seen as he slowly shut the door with another obnoxious creak. Then he turned, looked the class up and down with his dull red eyes that were currently framed underneath with dark purple bags, and slowly made his way toward the lectern in the front of the room. "Who is missing?" he asked loudly to the entire room.

A small student in the front row, sitting alone, coughed and spoke up. "Uh, n-no one Mad Mo- I mean, Professor."

Morgan paused before turning to give the class yet another mental count. "You shouldn't lie to me, sir, especially when the answer is clear before my eyes. At least half of this class is missing." Morgan announced, now walking gently before the small student. His poor, unintentional victim was easily cowed by authority, causing him to scrunch up and let out a muffled 'sorry sir'. It was then that Belen stood up and cleared his throat. "Professor, sir... Everyone's here. This class only has eighty students."

Again perplexed, Morgan leveled his gaze at another unfamiliar student to him. Then again, they were all unfamiliar. Most of them didn't stand out that much or didn't offer their names when they sat down at the tavern for conversation. He only knew names from the roll and had never been exactly good at matching them to faces unless it was the most extraordinary of circumstances. Strangely, though, he did notice the student sitting next to the one addressing him now. Miss Halcyon Rex, a particularly good student with a slight knack for healing and elemental manipulation, though Morgan knew good Dark Arts potential when he saw it. She could have easily be a premier necromancer in Achisia when it was at its height. Well, no more of that now, since most Dark Arts were banned in all places besides for 'theoretical research'. Halcy was a good Theory student though, so at least she was learning something of what Morgan knew was her eventual destiny. If that was Halcyon, then...

"Is this not my afternoon bloc?" Morgan asked Belen genuinely, causing the entire present student body to snicker at him. Instead of glaring at them like any other professor might have, the young man continued to stare at Belen, clearly asking for help.

Confused and slightly uncertain if his teacher was being serious or not, Belen answered him. "Uhm... no sir? This the morning class... Advanced Magical Theory and Practical Application?"

Realization spread over Morgan face in the form of his jaw dropping. "What? This is my morning class? Wow... I haven't taught at this time in... six months almost. Damn..." Another round of snickers and chuckles followed from the peanut gallery as Morgan leveled one of his near infamous smiles at Belen. The poor boy had to sit down and hide his face in order to block the ensuing blush from view. Morgan, not noticing his students reaction, nodded his thanks and returned to the lectern. "I don't even know if I've been awake this early in six months! Let alone put words together to teach you people!" Several laughs and smiles later, Morgan continued. "But I'll try my best! Let's see here... First class of the new year, eh? And you lot are freshman? That means we have to start with the basics!"

Slowly, energy seemed to flood into the Professor like a steady river being undammed. "I love the basics." Morgan said, smiling at the entire class before launching into a highly enthusiastic lecture that included, but was not limited to, questions, dates, books to read, physical examples, practical application, and a group exercise involving goats and paper airplanes. After several hours, every student left with what might have been an entire book of notes and smiles almost as exhausted as their teacher had been when he entered the room that morning. Morgan, meanwhile, was standing next to his lectern and chatting with two students who were apparently new converts to his fan club. Well, one was. The other was Halcyon, who didn't seem to be interested in anything more than a friendly colleagueship with everyone except for the boy next to her who was now gushing about his renewed interest in theory.

Morgan nodded, smiled, and offered the occasional rejoinder in the conversation. Soon, though, it was interrupted by the suddenly appearance of an elderly Loroi. Elon sauntered in with a deep smile. "Ah!" the senior professor exclaimed, "I see you somehow roused yourself and deigned your students with your presence this morning, Morgan! That's quite good, old chap. Turning over a new leaf this year?" He offered Halcy and Belen a wink as they both stifled chuckles while leaving.

"No, no... I think I might have actually stayed up long enough the night before last that I accidentally fell asleep at a reasonable time yesterday. This was purely bad luck, certainly not the product of any form of my planning." Morgan responded, placing a hand on the old professor's shoulder before they both turned and started walking out of the room after the students. "What will be the product of my planning, though, is this delicious lunch I'm going to have! I've been slow cooking some Duivene gumbo since yesterday and I can't wait to have it!"

Elon laughed at his colleague's enthusiasm as they now walked out into the bright, sunny, yet quite cool campus air. The old elf stood straighter, cracking his spine and rising to his full height, an entire head above Morgan. The lower ceilings of the Xerenian college always caused the poor man to duck constantly, though he was never touching the ceiling at any point. "I do hope you'll allow me to join you then! It's been some years since I've had some gumbo, sir, and I've been meaning to try it again!"

Both of the respected professors made their way toward Morgan's rooms, eventually shutting themselves in the heavily darkened room. The only light was the fire lit underneath a cauldron that was currently proffering an incredibly savory smell to those in its general proximity. Taking deep sniffs, both Elon and Morgan smiled at each before the latter went to tend to the gumbo itself while the former searched for bowls and silverware. Both were successful and were soon seated, enjoying a hearty lunch. Between bites, Elon started a conversation. "Morgan, sonny, do you seriously need to keep your rooms so dark here? I can barely see past my nose!" he complained.

The slightly distracted younger man jumped slightly at the mention of light and nodded in agreement. "Right, right! I'm sorry!" he said almost through a swallow. With a slightly whispered word and a wave of his hand, the mage lit all of the candles in the apartment. Stacks of books were suddenly illuminated, placed precariously on tables, in chairs, on shelves not meant for books, in front of windows, on the floor. Somehow, there was even a stack hanging from the ceiling. "Now then Elon!" Morgan said, polishing off his bowl and going for another serving. "You know I love your company and I know you love mine, but I do have a strange feeling that this lunch is necessarily for pleasure."

Nodding in response, the older mage set his empty bowl on a nearby stack of books and sat up in his comfortable chair. "And that feeling would be correct, my friend. I recently received a letter from an associate of mine, one Voivod Krzysztof Lisowski. A member of the Wyzkian Sejm and quite the powerful member at that. Currently, I believe, the close runner-up in the succession should the Grand Duke die this minute, Gods forbid, of course." Morgan snorted for some reason, causing Elon to level a wry glance at him before being waved onward. "Right then... Anyway, his Voivodship has inquired to me about a personal tutor for his son and heir. A tutor particularly skilled in combat and whom I considered on my level or beyond as a mage."

Elon glanced at his friend before picking up a nearby book and flipping through it with a smile. "Obviously, I thought of you."

Immediately, Morgan opened his mouth to offer a complaint, but Elon silenced him with a gentle wave. "Whether you were about to complain about you not being anywhere near me or that you really don't want to do this, you can shove it. You and I both know that you still owe me a favor. A lot of favors, dear friend, in my opinion, but I'll let you off the hook if you do this one job for me." the elf said, leaning forward and patting the incredulous Morgan's leg. "Trust me, you'll love it. A few months, maybe a year at most, spent tutoring some noble's brat in Wyzkia and you'll be free to fly back here! Or maybe stay in Wyzkia for a bit longer, if you like it... or finally find that person I've been pestering you about finding forever now." Another round of potential bickering silenced with a wave. "You can't say no, Morgan. I've already offered your services and your escort will be here... oh, say on the morrow? They'll be waiting for you in the harbor."

"Now that is ridiculous!" Morgan exclaimed, dropping his bowl while simultaneously standing. Elon muttered a spell and prevented the meal from shattering against the ground while his friend now busied himself pacing around the room. "Not only do you expect me to go to Wyzkia; a place that I abhor, by the way; you expect me to be ready on the morrow!? Either you are incredibly stupid or you've finally gone senile, old Elon!" Even while he complained, the mage was already muttering under his breath several shortened chants, causing books to fly about the room and several chests to slide about, opening and closing while accepting clothes and teaching supplies alike. "Just to teach some noble brat about-... About! ... I don't even know what this bastard Voivod would want me to teach his most likely corrupt little sperm emission!"

"No need to get vulgar, Morgan..." Elon said, hiding a smile as he watched the flying chaos about the room. "And it doesn't just have to be about teaching. You could easily get involved in Wyzkian politics!"

A chest shut as if to emphasize the stupidity in the statement. "Ohhhhhhh! And I just looooooove politics, don't I?" Morgan said, muttering the final spell afterward. Suddenly, the three separate chests he had just filled with various supplies lifted up, stacked on top of each other, and then disappeared into an older fourth trunk that was far bigger on the inside that it looked. With a clunk, it was locked. The only things left out that weren't the still huge remains of his book collection were a new set of undergarments, a belt with a sword attached, and a singular black staff.

"So you'll do it?"

"Of course I'll do it, you old bastard. It's a great deal, to get out of your debt."

A Month of Traveling Later,
The Lisowski Estate, Miasto of Kroikoy,
Voivodom of Kroikoy, The Grand Duchy of Wyzkia

"Why did I do this to myself?" Morgan muttered behind his hand, staring at what he was pretty sure was the stupidest noble that he had ever met. The son of Voivod Krzysztof Lisowski, who was named Wienczyslaw, could almost not breath to save his life, let alone get a spell right. A week ago, when Morgan first arrived in the Voivodom of Kroikoy, he had been slightly optimistic about his lot. Wyzkia may have been a backward country full of magic fearing peasants and corrupt nobles, but the weather was nice and Morgan was always a bit of a fan for the colder, far more rainy climates. His optimism spiked even further when he met the Voivod himself. The man was relatively intelligent and nearly beat Morgan in a game of keis, even though Morgan was going somewhat easy on the man. Pessimism, or rather, realism got the better of the professor when he was introduced to his significantly stupider charge, a boy of about sixteen that could barely understand which part of a sword was a pointy end, let alone the complex nature of spells.

It was particularly sad, too, because there was a lot of potential there. Wien, which Morgan had taken to calling him due to the unpronounceable nature of his name, had an extremely above average pool of mana within him. Indeed, if he had just had an inkling of intelligence, the poor boy could have been the most powerful mage that Myzkia had seen in this new age. Instead, all that power was trapped in an idiot that barely had a grasp of his own language, never mind the intricacies of Old Thyrian. Nevertheless, Morgan tried his best... it wasn't his fault that Wien seemed to be able to even repeat the Oath, let alone memorize or, Gods forbid, shorten any chants.

For now, the tutor had taken to sitting in a chair on a porch as he watched his student struggled with a book everyday. Morgan could barely keep sane and he knew that he would certainly lose it unless something interesting happened soon. At the very least, he was getting paid. In fact, it was quite the su-

A lurking darkness made itself known. Morgan stood up slowly from his chair, eyes widening as a sense of utter dread and fear wormed its way into his heart, sitting there like a kernel of frozen iron. It only became colder the longer Morgan stared. To the west there was a being, some sort of primeval something of immense power, doing... something! Anything! Despite the innate horror of the situation, Morgan took steps toward it. In the back of his mind, something familiar started itching, begging to be pulled up from memory but Morgan just... couldn't. The knowledge of what this could be was there, but there wasn't enough information to pull it up.

That meant a closer look was needed.

"Wien." Morgan said clearly, "When your father comes to check on us and finds me gone, please inform him that I went directly west to perform reconnaissance on a possible threat to his castle. If I do not return in... three hours, then please, do not come looking for me and pray to the Gods that They keep you all safe."

With that said, the wizard marched off in the direction of danger, muttering a quick spell that allowed him to leap over the walls and disappear into the nearby copse of trees.

Half an Hour of Walking Later,
A Forest, Somewhere,
Voivodom of Kroikoy, Grand Duchy of Wyzkia

That small copse of trees soon grew into a mighty forest, but no forest was too mighty for a determined mage like Morgan. Making sure to keep his mana use to a minimum just in case whatever thing he was approaching wanted to fight... well, more like when he had to fight this thing, he wouldn't have to run with all his might while battling mana fatigue. The man only cut branches that were to low to pass under or high to go over and to thick to break with the hands. During the trek, he realized how utterly unprepared he was. He was only wearing the white tunic, brown breeches, and black boots of his profession; he didn't even have his scholarly robes, let alone his armor and battlemage attire. Not even a knife, let alone his Sedian blade. No wand, so forget about him materializing his ebony staff from anywhere.

But there had been no time to prepare. This was a huge threat, a gigantic danger, and it needed to be identified immediately rather than later. Escape was always possible to a wizard, no matter the situation. One just had to be clever enough to see the way out. Another lesson from his mother, well taught and reinforced with personal experience. The feeling of dread was nearly overwhelming now. It was as if his own body was fighting every step closer to whatever beast this was before him, determined to save itself from Morgan's considerably reckless abandon. It was not easy to override the need to ride, but it was possible, as Morgan was doing it with every step. Every lifted toe was an agony of anxiety, every thought a doubt about himself and his ability, every breath made to be cherished as his mind thought they were his last.

And then it was gone.

Suddenly, the pressure disappeared as Morgan neared the edge of a small clearing. He was at the crest of a small hill, barely a five foot drop, but it was directly into the clearing. Morgan hide against a tree, slowing his breath and calming himself. Words filtered to his ears between the leaves but he couldn't make them out... then there was screaming, for someone to be let go. Morgan's Wyzkian wasn't best and the speed with which these words were uttered, he could only pick up every other word. Finally, he was ready to look at what was certainly a horrible confrontation between a beast and its victims. Turning slightly, Morgan leveled his gaze at the scene.

He saw only children.

There were only children in the clearing. Two, one older than the other but both boys, seemed to be frozen in some form of paralysis. Meanwhile, a girl faced off with a darker figure, that was painful for Morgan to even look at. That child must be the Beast Morgan had sensed, but... so far, there was no blood, or so it seemed from this vantage point. No death. Just paralysis and stalking.

A cat playing with its food... The thought suddenly drifted into Morgan's mind, but it made sense all the same. This being was powerful, despite the lack of mana Morgan could feel, and it was certainly dangerous. Two options then... intervene and risk death to save these children... or retreat and make the Voivod deal with this situation. After a moment of consideration, Morgan made his decision. The latter, certainly the latter.

Only two steps and he'd sink back into the shadow of the forest and be gone. Never there to begin with.

One step...

Tw-

Curses.

A root caught the mage's heel, causing the man to tumble backwards and down the small drop of a hill he had been perched on. Head over heels the mage rolled, until he finally landed on his back in the middle of the clearing, obviously now in the lair of the Beast. "Ow..." he whispered, feeling scrapes from rocks all down his back and legs. As he attempted to sit up, the pain became worse. "Ow ow ow ow ow..." A sharp hiss came from him as he accomplished his goal and eventually turned. Now, the mage was facing all four children, sitting cross-legged, and with slight red stains appearing on the back of his shirt. He looked far more like a lost yokel than some powerful professor of magic.

Best go with that idea, then.

"Uh, ah... Afternoon, you all?" he said, adopting his best Wyzkian peasant accent, "Fine day, yes?"

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere

Celio remained quiet..being angry.. resenting someone, hating them, wanting to kill them, envying them.. he understood that. That was how life had worked all around him, from ever since he was little. But the rest.. that forgiving was so much easier than hating? As she hugged him, as she told him that he could trust her, that she cared about him.. that he deserved to be happy, to be treated with kindness..a voice inside of him told him that this was a lie.. that there was no way this could be true. He had seen that the world was ugly, and cruel, and resentful..how could he believe what she was saying after all that suffering that he had to experience? But still.. still.. he wanted.. for a moment.. for a moment, he wanted to believe all of that. He wanted all of that to be true..so still, without words..he just hugged her back.

That was all that he could do..

---

Later, the Citadel of Aurilly
It was already night, and the moon was casting a pale light on this small city. They were in the realm of Duivene, but the city belonged to the Ecclesiarchy - and that explained why it was so well fortified, and why banners the sixteen rayed sun of the Faith of the Sixteen was waving on its towers. While walls of stone, strengthened with magic surrounded it, and on a hill in its middle, a white citadel guarded it, in the style of the city-forts of the Old Thyria. The other banner present on the walls showed that a unit of the Scriptures and a unit of the Faith's Judgment were both present in this small settlement... and only a few people knew the reason. This city was on the route that one would take from Anselm to the Ecclesiarchy..

The fog was the first appear, from the forest in the distance, slowly creeping towards the city walls. From it, a white haired boy slowly started to walk forward, a boy wearing the black robes of the Achisian necromancers, a boy with crimson eyes, tightly gripping the snath of a black scythe. Taking a deep breath, the boy quickly murmured a few words, clenching his fist and raising his right hand. Out of a sudden, in the sky above him, a sickly yellowish flame started to burn, and weird light appeared next to it. It had the same color, and it soon took on the form of what looked to be some sort of a snake. This serpent of light circled around the flame before seeming to bite its own tail - creating a symbol that anyone in the Human Realms would have at least heard about. The Eternal Flame and Serpent of the Achisian Empire.

As his undead also moved towards the city in an excruciatingly slow speed, the boy couldn't help but sigh in relief. The screams that he could hear from the walls proved that the soldiers who were guarding them had seen the symbol in the sky, and as expected, it had terrified them. At the height of the War of the Seven Realms, those who served the Mage-Emperor would often use that symbol in order to scare their enemies, before their attacks. And the Scripture knights, many of them veterans, had most certainly not forgotten that, while this younger Celio, who still lived during that chaotic war, most certainly remembered it. He had to do it. He had to distract them, by any means necessary.. so that she.. so that she could sneak into the city unharmed. So that she could save her friend...

Taking another deep breath, and desperately trying to remain calm, Celio opened his right palm and just focused on the magic. You had to feel it, you had to sense it. You had to be one with it. But for such a spell.. you had to take control over it. To bend it to your will, to chain it, to dominate it. There was no other way.. but he was already used to it. To that terrifying feeling of power, of delight and of a terrifying fear at the same time. That's why he was so bad at white magic... he was just used with something else. Black magic was disgusting and beautiful to use at the same time..

"Return thyself to the cycle of providence..", Celio started to chant, as three spinning magical circles appeared in front of his hand, "The five elements to elements...and sever the links woven between images and truth." A ray of pure, black energy was thrown forward from the magical circles directly towards the city's gate..simply obliterating it.., creating a huge hole in the wall and presumably killing the knights who were waiting behind it. Breathing shallowly, the boy murmured another word as his undead horde started to move towards the now broken wall. This was far from being over..but while the Faith's forces in the city were desperately trying to defend that breach from what they believed to be a huge attack.. Celio's spell had crushed the defensive spells that were guarding the walls.. allowing a certain girl to sneak in from the other side.

And after taking a deep breath.. the boy rushed forward, ready to kill or to be killed..

---

Somewhere
Northern Wyzkia

Just when everything was so perfect, so fun, so enjoyable...just when he was going to see one of those little mortals died, just when he would have been able to see their eyes right before death..an enormous barrier of woven vines erupted between them, separating the boys, and stopping the murder from ever taking place.... this was boring. Unfortunately, unpredictability of humans could also often ruin all of his fun..and he had been too focused on what was going to happen to do anything about it.

This was a shame. Truly a shame.

Of course, the nature powered attack didn't even touch, and the weird boy simply sighed, and he just looked at Alina with his hollow, dark eyes. "Why would I hate them? The world is all about dominance, mankind is all about the strong dominating the weak. Isn't that why I gave you power? To no longer be weak, to be strong. But do you think that I gave you enough powers to defeat me?..That would have a bad choice, don't you think? So stop there, little girl. I will forgive you for ruining my fun, for you don't understand how boring immortality is.. and what would I have done wrong? If he would have died, I would have brought him back, one way or another. And.."

And then, a rather weird man fell next to them, and as he was hissing in pain, the weird boy turned around, his weird eyes staring at him from inside of that weird skull. For a moment there, Morgan and the others felt as if the air around them suddenly became colder for a moment.. as if the boy just.. hated to be interrupted.

Suddenly, a small stake made from what seemed to be solid shadow appeared in front of Morgan, it's sharp tip pointed directly at the mage's throat. At the same time, the wall of veins caught on fire, turning into ash in a few mere moments, revealing Rafal who was kneeling behind it, and of course, Wulf was right there, next to the deity. "Tell me, traveler.. which of these two boys deserve to die?"

---

Voivoideship of Łówice
Northern Wyzkia

Returning north was probably a mistake for Bronn's army - with the forest fires slowing them down, and with the Paladins harassing them, by the time they've reached their new position, many of their numbers had been lost, weakening them and the danger they represented against the Commonwealth's borders. Eventually, they've reached the border with Velikiya, and they stopped, but the Paladins continued to circle around in the air, And then Bronn cast his spell, launching his attack. Unfortunately for him, the griffins were more than able to see in the dark, so most of them were able to defend themselves or to evade the spears. One of them however, was too slow, the spear piercing both the griffin and its rider, both crashing on the ground. Another griffin was wounded by the spear, and with blood pouring down, it turned around, flying away from the battle.

The other Paladins also withdrew, continuing to fly somewhere in the distance, far enough to avoid any attacks, but close enough to see the undead hordes.

And the Armia Księcia was nearing..

---

Royal Palace of Chovers
Kingdom of Duivene
The Royal Sorcerer's Chambers

Even for a few good moments, she seemed as if she was about to pierce the demon's throat with her spear and be done with it.. Alexis hesitated. It wasn't like she was playing with him, no matter of how powerful of a demon he was, having a relic pierce your throat wouldn't have been fun.. but even if his story seemed insane.. she hesitated, for a few good moments. No matter what the stories said about her.. she was certainly not blood thirsty. And especially after all these past few years of constant war and battles, of killing, of blood, of guilt, of fear.. she was.. tired. Even if the beast in front of her was a demon.. if there was a chance of ending this peacefully, of not soiling her lance with blood and of not staining the floor of the palace, of her childhood home... maybe... maybe there was a reason to at least listen to his questions.

"Your story sounds like one of those stories that mothers are telling their children at night in order to frighten them.. but just let me make something very clear. I don't care if you are just a lowly demon or a former Prince of Hell. If you are here to hurt my realm or any of its people, I will kill you.", the princess told him in a soft and calm voice, despite the threat, while looking at him with her amethyst eyes. And as she said that, her lance seemed to.. shine a big brighter, for some reason. It was clear that it was no normal lance, and it seemed to be struggling to push forward, to pierce the demon's throat - even if the princess was tightly gripping it. "So ask me your questions, demon. I don't care about your feelings too much, but if you try anything.. it won't end well."

[Nea Videssos]

Amarhael Valosaari,
Kelizhnoye, southern Velikiya

The winds brought cold air from the west, clouds gathering and fog obscuring much of the area from view. The air was humid, and some of the nearing clouds were dark grey in hue, promising rainfall within the next few minutes. On a better day, one would have seen the hustle and bustle of a lively fishing Velikiyan fishing town. The din of waves crashing at the dockyard, and the frantic exchange of fishermen, sailors, townsmen and merchants going about their lives, the smell of fish and local produce on display. Velikiya may have been in a time of turmoil, but people did what they could to carry on and survive. In spite of infighting carving a swathe of destruction in certain regions; the machinations of the Cult of Sins at work, as well as Yazgirian and Orkish raiders contributing to the chaos, those who were not immediately within the radius of of such ruination, or had fled elsewhere as refugees, went on as they had always done. In another region of southern Velikiya reports and rumours of an undead force indescriminately slaughtering villagers had also raised tensions and fears among the locals, though it had later passed over into Wyzkia. Velikiya was a land shaped by hardship, and in spite of famines and wars, locals nonetheless often did what they could to continue on with their lives as best as possible in spite of such events. Kelizhnoye itself had thus far been in an area relatively unaffected by the war, banditry, famine and devastation present in other parts of Velikiya, and as a result, it some of the refugees fleeing other areas had gone to Kelizhnoye, assuming that it was a safe-haven, despite being some distance from the more heavily guarded fortresses, and the major towns and cities of the Velikiyan coast just north of Wyzkia.

Kelizhnoye was formerly small fishing village some centuries ago, but had grown over time after the high number of cod and salmon in the nearby sea became known. It had gradually grown into a fairly ramshackle town, the streets far from ordered, evidently having grown organically as the small village developed into a town. Most buildings were wooden, interspersed with the odd structure of stone quarried from the mines to the north. An eyecatching manor in the north stood out, a building built in an old Velikiyan style more common in Ohridia, the residence of a local posadnik, or mayor. Around the town lay ditches and palisades, the town's relative unimportance and distance from areas of common conflict precluding the need for more formidable defenses. The town guard had also been quite lacking, to say the least, a mere skeleton garrison of militia.

That morning however, things had changed greatly. It had not been a normal day, to say the least. Shouts suddenly brought to a halt. A dark tide of black sludge, writhing body parts, limbs, twisted branches and assorted inanimate objects, gradually sweeping over the misty environs of the town of Kelizhnoye. An ominous silence where there should have been a lively community, the hustle and bustle of a successful coastal fishing town. The stench of death mixed with an odd, electric tang of magic, and an insidious taint. The aftermath was a settlement scoured clean of life. Inns lay empty, homes without families, and a local church with its door smashed down and altar desecrated. There were also things that stood out. A scholar's worn old table inexplicably jutting from the side of a rooftop. A blacksmith's workshop, for lack of a better description ...turned inside out. Some buildings were as if something had torn into them, others as if partially melted or consumed. Where grass and trees might have been found, the flora was dead and twisted, or simply missing.

This was the environment amid which stood a pale, deceptively feminine figure. A tattered, faded green dress, gloves, healed boots and hooded cloak covered most of Amarhael's form from view. Framed by greenish-brown hair, an impassive face was visible from beneath the hood. Murky, blue-green eyes, empty of emotion, or the spark of life, looked upon the scene of horror and devastation as if assessing something observed a thousand times before. It had been a little too long since he had last fed, he thought. Or rather, too long since the otherworldly abomination he was host to, had fed. He felt its presence, always. Sometimes it was stronger and more forceful than others. At times it seemed disinterested and vague. Sometimes it whispered promises and temptations in a million different voices. Whatever it did, it was always accompanied by flashes of thoughts, memories, intentions, desires and beyond all that... something simply difficult to describe. It was difficult to say if the Dweller would ever truly be satiated, or what its end goal was. Amarhael himself had been its host for nearly three thousand years, and his own ideas were merely guesses.

On occasion, if one watched the shadows nearby, and noticed the trails of dark, slimy fluid, one would spot the furtive yet intensive searching of the Dweller's spawn; bizarre monstrosities, each unique in appearance, and increasingly different as time passed and they found new things to devour. Chitinous, many-legged horrors mixed with insects, fish, fungi, and whatever animals, humans or inanimate objects they added to their bodies. Amarhael himself ignored them. They always did their own thing, lurking in the corners to ambush and devour potential prey, or roaming out in the open to find victims.

He paused for a moment, frowning faintly. Whispers. They sounded so close... yet far away. Strangely enough, as he listened, he heard words in Old Luonomielän. "Änektäk! Täkälnä toravaketa leenepä! Ääneti! Täällä voi olla vihollisia!" Amarhael blinked. He saw flames... a grand city burning. Flanked by imposing walls in a distinctive architectural style, a slowly flowing river to the west, and a snow-capped mountain to the north. Proud houses and ancient halls swept away. Streets filled with rubble. Broad avenues lined with burning trees. A palace despoiled, its walls broken and shattered. Old libraries ransacked and ruined. It felt familiar. As he searched for a name, he felt as if he was standing at the edge of an abyss. He should have remembered, but couldn't. It wasn't as simple as the feeling one might have when an idea or a word was at the edge of one's consciousness, tantalising in its ephemerality, almost within reach but not quite. He could remember having once known it, but instead of remembering he felt as if a great chasm had opened up where the memory would have been, tearing the memories ever so far away. Perhaps so far as to be permanently beyond reach. Who am I again? "Lumisirkku... missä sinä olet? Missä? Missä?" he murmured, inadvertently lapsing into Luonomielän, a tinge of fear and desperation in his voice. Within moments, he was drawn back to the real world, the vision of moments earlier rapidly fading from his awareness.

Refocusing his attention, the Luonomielän necromancer began walking along the deserted street, the sound of his footsteps breaking an eerie silence otherwise only interrupted on occasion by the abominations nearby having found something to consume. Within a couple of minutes he reached a crossroads, several taverns and inns conveniently positioned nearby. He paused for a moment, and as if on an unspoken command, a imposing looking black griffin emerged from a side street. It may have passed for a living griffin at first glance, but upon closer inspection such an appraisal would be found lacking. It moved methodically, a certain dull, artificial obedience in its gait, devoid of the pride or watchful intensity of its living brethren. Clad in armour of Wyzkian steel, it was probably once the steed of a prominent paladin. Whenever that was, however, it would have been over a century ago. Amarhael himself had either forgotten or did not care about the undead beast's history.

Stepping forward, Amarhael leapt upon the back of the griffon, his deftness and precision of movement far from the slow fumbling of your more common rotten undead. Were he prone and unmoving, he might be mistaken for a fresh corpse. Just as the Dweller had fed, so had he. The sorcerer much preferred things that way. Existence as a consciousness shackled to a decrepit, skeletal cadaver for a body was not pleasant to say the least, and he had had to endure enough of that at points in the past. Put into a bit of a bad mood at the thought, a grimace arose on his face.

He would avoid whatever probable Velikiyan force was going to arrive to investigate the slaughter. It would likely be within a few hours, and doubtless a few locals would had escaped to spread word of the massacre. After that, he had a couple of potential things in mind. Perhaps he would visit the old hill fort to the south, near a town the Wyzkians called Dąbrotyn. It had been a couple of centuries since he had last been there, and a decrepit, abandoned castle in the forests nearby was formerly a base of operations of his some time ago. Another option was to follow up tales of that undead army on the rampage. Amarhael had taken a relatively passive, quiet approach for the past year or two, and viewing ongoing events a bit more directly, as it were, was possibly worth some merit. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to go around hurling himself into battles he had no need or want to participate in.

With a silent command, the griffin rose into the air, powerful wings sending a gust of wind buffeting the nearby area as the beast ascended. Drawing higher still, the necromancer and his mount veered towards the south, flying towards Wyzkia. Amarhael wondered who he would pretend to be this time. Perhaps a traveller, scholar or minor noble of some sort. He was tempted to use the guise of a Velikiyan sorceress once again. Of course, he'd keep the griffin elsewhere for that. It would raise too many questions. Assuming he didn't have an unexpected encounter along the way, the necromancer would probably head towards one of his hideouts, far off the beaten path, and find another mode of transport.

[Faal Lot Himdah]

The Forgotten Prince, Az'goxaak
Royal Palace of Chovers, Kingdom of Duivene

---

"Damn my own Hellish heritage, can't seem to get anyone to believe that I am not a threat to the mortal plane." Az said with a chuckle, "Anyways, thank you for restraining yourself from ending my life and for being open to my desire to ask you some questions. I am interested in the events leading up to the war, but what I want to know more desparately are the final events of the war. By the way, once you answer my questions, I will leave this city."

"So, here I go." He said, "Can you think of anything that could have caused the Seven Traitors to betray the Knights of the Light? Did you notice anything strange about them once they joined Achisia? Did you notice, or feel anything strange about the nation of Achisia? Other than what I would have assumed was a heavy or evil feeling. Also, can you tell me how the Seven Traitors, and the Mage-Emperor of Achisia was killed? Finally, did you notice anything strange around the Seven Traitors and the Mage-Emperor? Perhaps a possible reason to why Achisia turned to darkness?"

---

Pynus of the Wind and Nym
Outside of Sedia, The Ecclesiarchy

---

"No." Nym said, "Even if I tell her to quit going down her current course, it wouldn't matter. She wouldn't listen, nor would it help right now. So, for her own protection, I will be leaving with her. Besides, I don't think a human as young as you should be hanging around a person such as my wielder."

"Now Nym..." Pynus started to speak as she stood up, "Don't you think I can handle myself?"

"No." Nym said without skipping a beat, causing Pynus to visibly recoil from the word, "While I have no doubt in your fighting ability, you have a tendency to go overboard and get into more trouble then you were in when you started."

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City
As the girl approached him, the white haired boy remained quiet. He was clearly unable to see her, his hollow silver eyes proved it.. but he was able to hear her.. to feel her magic. But what could he do? Her smile was non-existent to him, and even as she called him.. or well, as she said his name, the name of what he was now, the name of what he served now.. he did nothing. No reaction came from him as she took a seat on the rock next to him, or as she hugged him, as if something was really bothering him. And their hug.. it wasn't like what he could remember.. they were both cold after all. Not fully alive, not fully in this world, chained to their sinful masters. But his cold behavior wasn't caused by her.. she was after all, one of the very few persons that he trusted.. but.. he seemed sick, paler than usual. In pain. And of course.. his eyes..

A moment of silence passed after Meta had finished speaking, as Pride looked in her general direction with his hollow, blind eyes. He was confused, of course.. "My eyes..?", he asked, his voice nearly as calm and soft as always.. but it was strained by pain, no matter of how much he was trying to hide it. The white haired boy moved his right hand, as if he was trying to touch his eyes.. but he immediately stopped. It would have been in vain.

"What have I done... to myself?.. What I had to...the Night of the Bloody Moons is drawing ...near, and we need to.. do everything we can to... fight against the ...Faith..And she wants me to ..do ..something.", Pride tried to explain, breathing shallowly. "You don't have.. to do anything... I'll do everything.. by myself.."

Royal Palace of Chovers
Kingdom of Duivene
The Royal Sorcerer's Chambers

For a moment there, Alexis nearly seemed on the edge of actually piercing the demon prince's throat with her spear, gripping its handle so tight that it would have broken, if it would have been a normal wooden shaft. "If I can think of anything that would have caused the Traitors to betray? If I know why they've turned against us? .. How.. how would I know?", she asked, in a voice that was angry.. but with perhaps a twinge of guilt. "It wasn't their fault.. we were friends.. we were comrades.. we were family.. it was that place.. that place, that land, that air, that palace.. cursed and twisted and poisoned and cursed...if I've noticed anything weird about that nation? It's filled with darkness and evil and all that filthy darkness was probably there from the beginning, with their filthy Mage-Emperor."

By now, Alexis was pretty much shivering.. it was clear that the memories that she had to recall weren't exactly pleasant..and had he not taking her by surprise with his questions, she probably would have never answered them. But she had to vent her anger, her frustration, her guilt. "The reason why Achisia turned to darkness? Their filthy Emperor. The reason the Traitors turned against us? That filthy Emperor.. and how they were killed? That bastard Mage-Emperor was cut into pieces by our relics..we spent an entire year preparing ourselves, giving everything we had just for that fight. And the others.. the Traitors.." Alexis remained quiet for a moment, looking at the tip of her spear. "We had.. we had to kill them.. of course.. they were.. they were corrupted..we had to end it.. there.. and then.."

[Charlia]

Pynus of the Wind and Nym
Outside of Sedia, The Ecclesiarchy

---

"No." Nym said, "Even if I tell her to quit going down her current course, it wouldn't matter. She wouldn't listen, nor would it help right now. So, for her own protection, I will be leaving with her. Besides, I don't think a human as young as you should be hanging around a person such as my wielder."

"Now Nym..." Pynus started to speak as she stood up, "Don't you think I can handle myself?"

"No." Nym said without skipping a beat, causing Pynus to visibly recoil from the word, "While I have no doubt in your fighting ability, you have a tendency to go overboard and get into more trouble then you were in when you started."

"I'm not exactly human anymore, in case you hadn't noticed," Marina retorted. "I can handle myself. As for her, ain't it her choice more than it is yours? She's your wielder, ain't she? Not the other way around, so why're you ordering her about like you own her? She'll do what she wants whether you like it or not, so you might as well just get used to it."

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City
As the girl approached him, the white haired boy remained quiet. He was clearly unable to see her, his hollow silver eyes proved it.. but he was able to hear her.. to feel her magic. But what could he do? Her smile was non-existent to him, and even as she called him.. or well, as she said his name, the name of what he was now, the name of what he served now.. he did nothing. No reaction came from him as she took a seat on the rock next to him, or as she hugged him, as if something was really bothering him. And their hug.. it wasn't like what he could remember.. they were both cold after all. Not fully alive, not fully in this world, chained to their sinful masters. But his cold behavior wasn't caused by her.. she was after all, one of the very few persons that he trusted.. but.. he seemed sick, paler than usual. In pain. And of course.. his eyes..

A moment of silence passed after Meta had finished speaking, as Pride looked in her general direction with his hollow, blind eyes. He was confused, of course.. "My eyes..?", he asked, his voice nearly as calm and soft as always.. but it was strained by pain, no matter of how much he was trying to hide it. The white haired boy moved his right hand, as if he was trying to touch his eyes.. but he immediately stopped. It would have been in vain.

"What have I done... to myself?.. What I had to...the Night of the Bloody Moons is drawing ...near, and we need to.. do everything we can to... fight against the ...Faith..And she wants me to ..do ..something.", Pride tried to explain, breathing shallowly. "You don't have.. to do anything... I'll do everything.. by myself.."

She drew back slightly, and when she spoke, she sounded even more worried.

"You're hurting," she whispered, a note of pain in her own voice. "This is too cruel..." She didn't mind his lack of response, not so much, anyway. It saddened her, but if he was in that much pain, then it didn't matter--her desire for reciprocation wasn't nearly so important. Wrapping her arms around him again, she sang a few soft notes. The music wrapped around them, the warmth of her magic dispelling the cold for a moment, and providing a small amount of respite--not enough, not nearly enough, but it was something, at least.

"You won't," she continued, an edge of something hard in her tone. "You won't do everything by yourself. I'll help you. Tell me what I can do, please... don't try to do it all on your own. You don't need to... You'll never need to." As she spoke, she continued holding him, her fingers combing through his hair in a relaxing manner. "I'm here, remember? Don't try to shut me out... as long as I'm here, you know I'll help you. I won't ever get tired of it," she added, a more lighthearted note in her voice. "You know that. Nothing you ask me to do will be too much, it's not possible... how nice, that this 'gift' the Faith forced on me can become a weapon to aid in its destruction. If they had known what their prized vessel would do..." She smiled, though she knew he couldn't see it. "I'd much rather serve you than them... You know I have no love for them." The unspoken implications hung in the air for a moment, and then--"Give me a task, and you know I'll see it through no matter what. Whatever you ask me to do. Please... let me help..."

[Zapatha]

As the paladins flew away on their mighty griffins, Bronn rode forth to where the paladin and his griffin had fallen. As he approached, Bronn could see that on their descent, the paladin had been thrown from his saddle and was impaled by a log when he had landed. The griffin laid still, his spear of dark energy still lodged in it where no armor protected its hide. Such a beast would make a fine mount for any paladin, and so Bronn decided he would take it or his own. Bronn placed his hand upon the beast's head, and raised the beast back from the dead. At first, the griffin seemed to have been resisting Bronn's control, however once he caught wind of this Bronn quickly overpowered the griffin's mind and made it his own.

Bronn rode upon the griffin on the ground at first, however soon went airborne so he could get the hang of riding it. He and the griffin soared up into the night sky, overlooking the border between Velikiya and Wzykia. The fires had ended in most parts of the forest, leaving behind scorched earth and the charred remains of trees and several villages further south. Bronn soon flew back to where his army was, overlooking his troops. Most of his forces now consisted of the dead that had been resurrected after the battle of Arzalask, being armored Velikiyan state troops and orcish marauders. About 4,000 of his infantry had survived, 1,000 archers, and only 200 cavalry consisting of mostly orc's riding their war boars as the rest of his cavalry had burnt to ashes in the Wzykian forests. Other than that, he also had 10 of the stone golems that he had given new life to using his gauntlets as they were able to brave the flames.

He and his army then awaited for the Grand Duke's army to meet them upon the hill.

[Faal Lot Himdah]

The Forgotten Prince, Az'goxaak
Royal Palace of Chovers, Kingdom of Duivene

---

"I am sorry." Az said and looked at Alexis straight in the eye, "It seems the memories you have to recall to answer my questions are painful. It seems you cared deeply for those who betrayed you, and as such that betrayal cut very deep. I can see that killing them was something that you didn't want. You seem angry, and perhaps feel a slight amount of guilt about those called the Seven Traitors."

"Thank you for allowing me to meet with you." Az said as he looked to the Royal Sorcerer, before looking back to the Alexis. "Thank you, your highness, for allowing me to ask my questions, and asnwering them despite the memories being painful. Thank you for not killing me as of yet. Now, if you will allow me, I will leave this palace, and this city."

---

Pynus of the Wind and Nym
Outside of Sedia, The Ecclesiarchy

---

"Marina..." Pynus said and crept over to the girl, "Nym may be a relic, but she is also a living being. She has her own likes, dislikes, desires, and personality. I don't own her, nor does she own me. We are partners. Covering each other's weaknesses with our strengths. Besides, putting up with Nym is worth it for the ability to manipulate the wood of ships on the sea."

"Besides..." Nym said and put her hand on Pynus' shoulder, "Pynus lacks self control and a voice of reason within her head. So, she needs someone to keep her from going overboard, and that's my job. Also, she will do whatever she likes, but I will do my best to protect my wielder."

[Tracian Empire]

Voivoideship of Łówice
Northern Wyzkia

They arrived in the hours before the dawn, the proud soldiers of Wyzkia, the men and women giving their life for their realm. The Commonwealth's standing army, the veterans of the Ducal Army, the Duke's forces, the Armia Księcia. Unfortunately for Bronn's forces, the situation in Wyzkia had been getting tense for a while, and with the conflict between the nobles and the monarchy, the Grand Duke was unable to mobilize the Armia Krajowa, the Realm's Army. Those forces that were loyal to the Duke however had been called to arms, as the old monarch was already expecting a possible civil conflict.. and yet when the news of an undead army attacking the northern part of Wyzkia arrived, the Duke wasted no moment - ignoring the political conflict in the capital, and moving north as fast as possible.

15,000 men had arrived there, under the Duke's personal command. 8000 infantry forces formed the bulk of this army, most of whom were veterans of the War of the Seven Realms. archers, 2000 light cavalry forces, riding in the way of the Yazgirians, 2000 heavy cavalry forces, in the way of the Kingdom of Duivene. The rest of the Wyzkian forces were made up by mages, the Ducal Mages, the Magowie Książęcy and whatever mages the Duke had been able to gather on his way there, and of course, the Paladins, the Paladyni, the knight-mages of the Zakon Paladynów in the air, ready to avenge their fallen comrade and all of the innocent people who had died because of this cursed horde.

As was the custom in such a world filled with monsters and dark magic, most of the weapons of the people involved in this fight were either from silver, strengthened by magic, set aflame, or covered with holy water. The army entered its usual formation, with the foot-soldiers at the front, in three lines, armed with spears, shields, halberds. Behind them, archers and mages. Cavalry forces on the flanks. Of course, the dead horde could afford to lose as many soldiers as possible - the living had to be a lot more cautious. The army slowly started to advance. The archers, both those on the ground and the Paladins in the air started to fire their arrows, flaming of covered with light or holy water, into the ranks of the undead. The mages immediately attacked, as spheres of fire, lighting bolts, gusts of wind, and everything else they could imagine ravaged the enemy army.

And the Wyzkians advanced..

---

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

Pride took a deep breath, desperately trying to control the urge to cry. It hurt, it hurt a lot..and the short break of relief that Meta's spell had given to him only made the pain seem even worse afterwards. But it wasn't going to break him.. he just had to ignore it.. to ignore it until the time was right, to ignore it until he would do what he had to do. He wasn't going to let others have to suffer through this horrible pain.. not if he could be the one to feel it. Because he deserved it. He deserved all of it, no matter of what she would say. But even so.. it made him feel horrible. That she wanted to help him so badly... he didn't deserve any help.. and she had already done more than enough. More than he could ever ask, more than he could ever hope. Even if his memories were all weird and broken.. he was sure that it.. it was his fault that she had ended up as she did. It might have been selfish and horrible.. but he wasn't going to have her suffer any more because of him, no matter of what it took.

And yet she tried.. she tried to convince him..and the way in which she was playing with his hair reminded him of those times during the war, times that he had forgotten. And once again, the silver eyed boy desperately tried not to cry. He couldn't, even if they were alone. He was the Archbishop of Pride now, a servant of the Cult of the Sins, a bringer of evil and sinful crimes into this world. He couldn't cry.. and even if he was cursed to this fate.. he was going to save them both.. he was going to set them free. And until then, until then none of them were going to suffer anymore. He had promised this to himself long ago.

"You can't do.. you can't do anything... I need.. I need this power.. in order to do.. to do what my Lady has ordered me to... I have to do it.. for Pride... for the cult.. and if pain is the price that I have to pay for this power, then .. I will bear it. There is no other way.." The white haired boy took another deep breath.. closing his eyes, even if that was in vain. Darkness always surrounded him, and the pain was there even if he couldn't see anything. "I'll do it.. just..just stay with me.. until I'll have to do it..please.."

---

A village
Somewhere in the Kingdom of Duivene

It was night in a small village on the border of the Kingdom of Duivene with Calaria, but the small settlement was filled with life, light, and laughter. A few children had been born earlier that day, and the entire community had gathered to celebrate it, with a small feast (at least compared to what they were usually eating), with dancing, praying, and of course, even some music. A small group of troubadours and trobairises were singing some traditional songsfrom their area, and the villagers were actually having fun. The years of the War had been rough, and they hadn't managed to fully recover ever since. Many of the village's men had died, and those who had returned home had either been wounded of traumatized.. so nights like this reminded them that life could be happy. That life still deserved to be lived, no matter of how harsh it as.

And that was something that angered someone.. it angered her a lot. A girl, or well, a young woman, was standing at the edge of the village, in the darkness, but the light coming from the village revealed at least part of her appearance. She was wearing a dark armor dress with purple accents, but the emblems that had marked it had been scrapped off. She was gripping the handle of a dark purple lance in her right hand, and the similarly dark purple handle of a sword in her left hand - with a dark pink crystal as its pommel and with a clean, metallic, black blade. Behind her, a small group of what seemed to be people wearing black armors were completely hidden in the dark, waiting. And not before long, one of the dogs in the village started to bark - and one of the peasants turned around, looking towards the darkness, and seeing her. A couple moments later, the silver tip of the lance pierced the poor man's chest, having been thrown from afar. The music stopped, a woman screamed, and another man, armed with a pitchfork, started to run towards her, only to have his head cut off by her sword. The girl removed her spear from the first guy's dead body, and she murmured a few words, as a sphere of fire was suddenly thrown towards the wooden houses. Screams. Death, and the smell of ashes, burned wood and flesh...

In the morning, nearly everyone was dead, while.some of the wounded villagers who were still alive were to weak to even call for help..and their village was just a smoking ruin..

---

Royal Palace of Chovers
Kingdom of Duivene
The Royal Sorcerer's Chambers

Alexis looked at Az for a few good moments, as if trying to decide whether she would kill him or not..because it was rather clear that his comments had angered both her, and the relic that she was tightly gripping with her hands.. but eventually, the princess made a step back. "Just.. go..", she told him in a voice that made her seem as if she was on the brink of tears. The Royal Sorcerer on the other hand, had remained calm all this time, so his last words weren't any different from how he had behaved so far. "Well, meeting a former Prince of hell has certainly been interesting.... if you want to learn more about the Great War.. good luck.. but you won't like what you'll find out.." And Alexis turned around, looking angrily at the mage...

That was it.

[Charlia]

Pynus of the Wind and Nym
Outside of Sedia, The Ecclesiarchy

---

"Marina..." Pynus said and crept over to the girl, "Nym may be a relic, but she is also a living being. She has her own likes, dislikes, desires, and personality. I don't own her, nor does she own me. We are partners. Covering each other's weaknesses with our strengths. Besides, putting up with Nym is worth it for the ability to manipulate the wood of ships on the sea."

"Besides..." Nym said and put her hand on Pynus' shoulder, "Pynus lacks self control and a voice of reason within her head. So, she needs someone to keep her from going overboard, and that's my job. Also, she will do whatever she likes, but I will do my best to protect my wielder."

"Well, goin' overboard ain't exactly my idea of a good time," Marina replied wryly, knowing perfectly well that Nym hadn't meant it literally but wanting to make the joke anyway. Only a moment later, however, her expression darkened, and her tone sullen. "But, y'know, that's fine, then. If you're gonna go, then... go. Quit drawin' it out."

Not like I was lookin' forward to havin' a friend or anything like that.

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

Pride took a deep breath, desperately trying to control the urge to cry. It hurt, it hurt a lot..and the short break of relief that Meta's spell had given to him only made the pain seem even worse afterwards. But it wasn't going to break him.. he just had to ignore it.. to ignore it until the time was right, to ignore it until he would do what he had to do. He wasn't going to let others have to suffer through this horrible pain.. not if he could be the one to feel it. Because he deserved it. He deserved all of it, no matter of what she would say. But even so.. it made him feel horrible. That she wanted to help him so badly... he didn't deserve any help.. and she had already done more than enough. More than he could ever ask, more than he could ever hope. Even if his memories were all weird and broken.. he was sure that it.. it was his fault that she had ended up as she did. It might have been selfish and horrible.. but he wasn't going to have her suffer any more because of him, no matter of what it took.

And yet she tried.. she tried to convince him..and the way in which she was playing with his hair reminded him of those times during the war, times that he had forgotten. And once again, the silver eyed boy desperately tried not to cry. He couldn't, even if they were alone. He was the Archbishop of Pride now, a servant of the Cult of the Sins, a bringer of evil and sinful crimes into this world. He couldn't cry.. and even if he was cursed to this fate.. he was going to save them both.. he was going to set them free. And until then, until then none of them were going to suffer anymore. He had promised this to himself long ago.

"You can't do.. you can't do anything... I need.. I need this power.. in order to do.. to do what my Lady has ordered me to... I have to do it.. for Pride... for the cult.. and if pain is the price that I have to pay for this power, then .. I will bear it. There is no other way.." The white haired boy took another deep breath.. closing his eyes, even if that was in vain. Darkness always surrounded him, and the pain was there even if he couldn't see anything. "I'll do it.. just..just stay with me.. until I'll have to do it..please.."

"Of course! Of course," Meta reassured, her embrace tightening slightly as if to reassure the boy that she was still there. "I'll be here. I'll always be here. As long as you want me. I swear. And, you know... it's okay to cry, if you want to."

How many times had she wished she could cry? Yet, the closest she'd ever come was to bleed. Whatever had destroyed her eyes had taken her tear ducts with them, and no matter how much despair or sorrow she felt, not a single tear could fall from the ruined, gaping sockets.

Being able to cry was a gift, wasn't it? So why he would try to hold back tears even though it was so obvious to her that he was miserable--it was something she couldn't understand. Perhaps it was a simple fear of showing any sort of weakness... she just didn't know.

"If you can cry, and you want to, then you should," she whispered. "I won't think any less of you if you do. And no one else is here, so it's all right for you to cry..."

Maybe it was wrong for her to be like that. He was Superbia, the highest of the cult of sins--and she was Acedia, below him by quite a bit. But he was unhappy, and that saddened her as well.

Why she cared so much, she didn't know. As far as she was aware, they'd never met before the cult brought them together--but even then, the moment she'd seen him, she'd felt it. She'd wanted to be near him, she'd felt as if she'd known him. She'd wanted to help him and make him happy. She'd been grateful, for something she couldn't even recall.

And she'd felt a thorn of guilt piercing her heart, poisoning her blood--guilt, and a feeling of immense failure.

What had she done to feel that way, when she saw him? She didn't know. But the lack of reason behind the feelings didn't change the fact that they were there, and she was bound to them, even if they made no sense.

She didn't mind, though. Just being able to talk to him made her glad, being able to assist him even more so. As long as he still wanted her around, as long as he still valued her presence and help, she was happy.

She only wished it was so simple to make him happy.

"No matter what," she said again, wrapping a few strands of white hair around one finger, "I won't leave you alone, as long as you want me. Don't worry. Unless you tell me to leave, I never, ever will."

[Zapatha]

Voivoideship of Łówice
Northern Wyzkia

They arrived in the hours before the dawn, the proud soldiers of Wyzkia, the men and women giving their life for their realm. The Commonwealth's standing army, the veterans of the Ducal Army, the Duke's forces, the Armia Księcia. Unfortunately for Bronn's forces, the situation in Wyzkia had been getting tense for a while, and with the conflict between the nobles and the monarchy, the Grand Duke was unable to mobilize the Armia Krajowa, the Realm's Army. Those forces that were loyal to the Duke however had been called to arms, as the old monarch was already expecting a possible civil conflict.. and yet when the news of an undead army attacking the northern part of Wyzkia arrived, the Duke wasted no moment - ignoring the political conflict in the capital, and moving north as fast as possible.

15,000 men had arrived there, under the Duke's personal command. 8000 infantry forces formed the bulk of this army, most of whom were veterans of the War of the Seven Realms. archers, 2000 light cavalry forces, riding in the way of the Yazgirians, 2000 heavy cavalry forces, in the way of the Kingdom of Duivene. The rest of the Wyzkian forces were made up by mages, the Ducal Mages, the Magowie Książęcy and whatever mages the Duke had been able to gather on his way there, and of course, the Paladins, the Paladyni, the knight-mages of the Zakon Paladynów in the air, ready to avenge their fallen comrade and all of the innocent people who had died because of this cursed horde.

As was the custom in such a world filled with monsters and dark magic, most of the weapons of the people involved in this fight were either from silver, strengthened by magic, set aflame, or covered with holy water. The army entered its usual formation, with the foot-soldiers at the front, in three lines, armed with spears, shields, halberds. Behind them, archers and mages. Cavalry forces on the flanks. Of course, the dead horde could afford to lose as many soldiers as possible - the living had to be a lot more cautious. The army slowly started to advance. The archers, both those on the ground and the Paladins in the air started to fire their arrows, flaming of covered with light or holy water, into the ranks of the undead. The mages immediately attacked, as spheres of fire, lighting bolts, gusts of wind, and everything else they could imagine ravaged the enemy army.

And the Wyzkians advanced..

As soon as Bronn saw the Wzykians forces, he ordered his infantry forward headlong into the Wzykian infantry's ranks with the orcs charging first with just as much strength they had in their mortal lives. The orcs served as a way to break up the first line of Wzykians before the armored Velikiyan state troops charged in. Meanwhile, the 200 orc boar-riders split into two evenly numbered formations and countered the charges with the boars mauling the horses themselves and their riders attacking the mounted cavalrymen. The continued arrow fire however lit hundreds of the undead on fire as well as the magical attacks eviscerating ranks of undead.

Losses did not matter to Bronn however, as death pleased his master and served to strengthen his own power. As quickly as the Wzykian soldiers were slain, they were raised once more in undeath and turned upon their own brothers in arms of only moments before. As Bronn witnessed the battle from atop his griffin, he decided it was time for his golems to charge into the fray. As the golems charged, the trampled Wzykian and undead alike, their mindless steps crushing many. As they charged into the Velikiyan lines, they sweeped with their greatswords and spears like a farmer gathers wheat. The flaming arrows still continued to hinder the undead army as well as the attacks of the mages. Bronn extended his hands and pointed his palms at the center of the group of archers, with dark spheres starting to take shape in his palms. All of a sudden, Bronn threw them both at the archers and as they approached their target the began to glow red with dark flames now visible in a trail behind them.

[Castle Crashers]

Somewhere

Celio remained quiet..being angry.. resenting someone, hating them, wanting to kill them, envying them.. he understood that. That was how life had worked all around him, from ever since he was little. But the rest.. that forgiving was so much easier than hating? As she hugged him, as she told him that he could trust her, that she cared about him.. that he deserved to be happy, to be treated with kindness..a voice inside of him told him that this was a lie.. that there was no way this could be true. He had seen that the world was ugly, and cruel, and resentful..how could he believe what she was saying after all that suffering that he had to experience? But still.. still.. he wanted.. for a moment.. for a moment, he wanted to believe all of that. He wanted all of that to be true..so still, without words..he just hugged her back.

That was all that he could do..

---

Later, the Citadel of Aurilly
It was already night, and the moon was casting a pale light on this small city. They were in the realm of Duivene, but the city belonged to the Ecclesiarchy - and that explained why it was so well fortified, and why banners the sixteen rayed sun of the Faith of the Sixteen was waving on its towers. While walls of stone, strengthened with magic surrounded it, and on a hill in its middle, a white citadel guarded it, in the style of the city-forts of the Old Thyria. The other banner present on the walls showed that a unit of the Scriptures and a unit of the Faith's Judgment were both present in this small settlement... and only a few people knew the reason. This city was on the route that one would take from Anselm to the Ecclesiarchy..

The fog was the first appear, from the forest in the distance, slowly creeping towards the city walls. From it, a white haired boy slowly started to walk forward, a boy wearing the black robes of the Achisian necromancers, a boy with crimson eyes, tightly gripping the snath of a black scythe. Taking a deep breath, the boy quickly murmured a few words, clenching his fist and raising his right hand. Out of a sudden, in the sky above him, a sickly yellowish flame started to burn, and weird light appeared next to it. It had the same color, and it soon took on the form of what looked to be some sort of a snake. This serpent of light circled around the flame before seeming to bite its own tail - creating a symbol that anyone in the Human Realms would have at least heard about. The Eternal Flame and Serpent of the Achisian Empire.

As his undead also moved towards the city in an excruciatingly slow speed, the boy couldn't help but sigh in relief. The screams that he could hear from the walls proved that the soldiers who were guarding them had seen the symbol in the sky, and as expected, it had terrified them. At the height of the War of the Seven Realms, those who served the Mage-Emperor would often use that symbol in order to scare their enemies, before their attacks. And the Scripture knights, many of them veterans, had most certainly not forgotten that, while this younger Celio, who still lived during that chaotic war, most certainly remembered it. He had to do it. He had to distract them, by any means necessary.. so that she.. so that she could sneak into the city unharmed. So that she could save her friend...

Taking another deep breath, and desperately trying to remain calm, Celio opened his right palm and just focused on the magic. You had to feel it, you had to sense it. You had to be one with it. But for such a spell.. you had to take control over it. To bend it to your will, to chain it, to dominate it. There was no other way.. but he was already used to it. To that terrifying feeling of power, of delight and of a terrifying fear at the same time. That's why he was so bad at white magic... he was just used with something else. Black magic was disgusting and beautiful to use at the same time..

"Return thyself to the cycle of providence..", Celio started to chant, as three spinning magical circles appeared in front of his hand, "The five elements to elements...and sever the links woven between images and truth." A ray of pure, black energy was thrown forward from the magical circles directly towards the city's gate..simply obliterating it.., creating a huge hole in the wall and presumably killing the knights who were waiting behind it. Breathing shallowly, the boy murmured another word as his undead horde started to move towards the now broken wall. This was far from being over..but while the Faith's forces in the city were desperately trying to defend that breach from what they believed to be a huge attack.. Celio's spell had crushed the defensive spells that were guarding the walls.. allowing a certain girl to sneak in from the other side.

And after taking a deep breath.. the boy rushed forward, ready to kill or to be killed..

Under the cover of night, they advanced. It had taken them quite a bit of time to get to Aurilly, but Julie's golden compass had atleast helped cut down the time it took to track exactly where Celio was being held. The whole time, Julie couldn't help but feel anxious. What if they'd already hurt him? What if they'd done something to him? What if...when she got there, it would be too late? What if she'd waited too long..? No! She scolded herself. Don't think like that...if you do...how can you hope to save him if you aren't hopeful at all..? Stop being negative, it'll be okay! It...has to be... She willed herself to feel a little better about the situation...though it felt a little too forced than she would've liked.

As they reached the edge of the forest, just outside the perimeter of Aurilly, Julie paused at the treeline and watched as Celio continued forward, summoning the telltale fog of a necromancer (or, atleast as she had assumed...she'd only seen it three times, after all.), and watched as his undead army shuffled onward. She uneasily picked at the bark of the tree she was next to, watching the walls of the city and the panic of the guards as Celio summoned the symbol of the Eternal Flame and Serpent of the Achisian Empire into the sky. She didn't like this...she didn't like to purposefully hurt or scare people...but she knew it was really the only way to save Celio. She had to get to him, to save him before he got to the Ecclesiarchy....she didn't know if she could ever save him once he got there.

She watched with unease as the young Celio blasted open the gate to the city, and watched as the horde moved in. I guess it's my turn to move in... She thought with a deep sigh, looking to the direction the young Celio had moved, now out of her line of sight. Please, stay safe until I can help... She thought, willing him to almost hear her thoughts, if only he could. Then, like a shadow in the night, she gracefully made her move for the clear side of the wall, now weak and undefended thanks to Celio. She made use of her light defenses, using the hard light creations as steps up the side of the wall, up to the top before she then leapt from the top of the wall, onto the tiled roof of a nearby building. She gave one more look to her golden compass as she moved, continuing to make sure she was heading in the right direction...

Which led her to the Citadel. She was unsure of what exactly awaited her beyond the doors, but, guessing that it could possibly be guarded, she made sure to avoid the front entrance and instead made her entering silently through a window in the building's wall. She landed with a near-silent thud, viewing her unusual surroundings with caution. Now...she just had to figure out where exactly Celio was being held. Just hold on a little longer...I'm so close to saving you... She thought, beginning to make her way to one of the nearest doorways.