The Legends of Eroris: Brotherhood [IC/Fantasy Medieval]

[Wulf Da Guy]

Syn Forysta
The Dead Man's Drink

Of course, Avarice has enemies, any man in his occupation would. However Syns enemies weren't exactly around to stab him in the back, at least those who could even find him. Girls here and there, some ass of an elf and a number of Reachmen. But none like those men.

Syn could tell they meant business and given Avarices reaction, this was going to end badly. Unless the elf intervened and boy did he plan on it. Finishing off his drink, he rose from his seat making his way towards the pair.

'Hello!' he said with a grin extending his right hand out. 'How can I help you fine gents. A few drinks? Some women? or are you lot into men...if its that well.' He paused slightly leaning in. 'Not a lot of good-looking men here, besides me of course but I'm not into men.'

He could tell they weren't amused so he went back to his original question. 'What are you two looking for?' Syn said keeping his hands by his side, preparing a potential attack should the pair take offense to anything he said or if they decide to threaten the man.

[Everhall]

The Dead Man's Drink

Avarice

Avarice watched with muted disbelief as the elf quite stupidly, began to block the path of his two seekers, Just who the hell is this guy? Avarice thought as the exchange continued.

"You're a funny man aren't ya?" the first of the two men, a large burly Orc ridden with battle scars lifted Syn into the air by his neck much to the displeasure of his partner beside him. He was garbed in the traditional Orcish dress, animal skins, and a loincloth to cover himself from exposure. This, along with his rippling muscles and general pleasure at lifting Syn above the floor gave him a barbaric and savage look.

The other man, however, was a different story, "Olrog!" he commanded in a nasally and condescending tone, "Put this man down before you put a bounty on both of our heads! We are only after the mercenary, not this stupid elf." Unlike, the Orc, this Reachman was garbed in fine robes and silks indicating a mage of the School of Kuruth. His hair was long and black, and his long crooked nose only added to his appearance as a patronizing jackass in Avarice's mind.

"You can't boss me around, Cadoc!" Olrog protested placing Syn roughly back on the ground, "I do whatever I want!"

"Sure, sure," Cadoc retorted, "but when the guards come for you, this time I am not paying your fine!"

As they continued to argue about mundane complaints and other random matters, Avarice couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sight, Even when they're after the same thing they can't work together.

[Derelldia]

The Dead Man's Drink
Iarlaith O'Kjotvis

Iarlaith got disturbed from drowning himself in mead by the noise of what sounded like a bickering old couple, but about what to do with some idiot who taunted them. He turned his head from the bar to look at what was happening, and was greeted by the sight of an Orc and Reachman stood up and arguing.

Slamming his cup down onto the bar, with the unfinished mead splashing back down into it, he twisted around on the stool and barked out at the pair, "Oh would you two stop bickering and fuck each other already? It's getting in the way of people drinking!" He picked the cup up and drank some more as the pair turned to face the annoyed Lupan.

"What did you just say to me, you flee ridden mutt?" Olrog bellowed as he approached Iarlaith and smacked the cup out of the his hand, the cup smashing on the ground. "I didn't quite hear you. Want to repeat your words?" The Orc grabbed the fur on the back of Iarlaith's head and tried pulling it back only to receive the Lupan's fist into his face, knocking him recoiling backwards as Iarlaith stood up off his stool.

A giant of Lupan, almost towering above Olrog, and wearing a very basic and battle damaged leather armour, Iarlaith bared his teeth and growled, "If you try this fight I will make sure the body can't even be recognised as an Orcs, let alone as yours."

[Ithalian Empire]

Heremond Carcaster

The morning came, a pale yellow light spilling across the stone floor of his room. The warmth on his left side told him that Eadwine was still sleeping next to him, her yellow hair spilling across his chest. He looked at her, a smile spread across her face. He slowly got up, trying to not wake her, better to let her sleep a little longer than to wake her now. He failed.

"Is it time already?" she mumbled, sitting up in the bed as she did so.

"Yes, I assume that the others are already down in the yard." Heremon said while punting his shirt on "I should have been awake an hour ago."

"What I would give for another hour with you."

"I wont be gone long. If the road is good through the mountains it will take use a week to get to the Isnhrion, we should be home before the month is over."

Heremond finished dressing. He wasn't wearing his armor like the other would be, instead he would wear a loos fitting tunic, breeches and boots with lambs skin riding gloves and a cloak. On his belt he wore his sword, a long hand and a half sword forged from silversteel. He walked out of his room with his wife by his side. Together the went into the yard.

There everyone was already assembled, Mettius looking rather perturbed by Heremond late arrival. Not that Heremond really cared what the dark elf thought. Heremond mounted his horse.

"A parting gift, so you may have something to remind you of home." Said Eadwine, handing him a small gold chain. Heremond took it and placed it around his neck.

As they turned to leave the fortress, Ser Baerwald turned back to his cousin "Dont worry Eadwine, we wont let him do something stupid." And with that they were off.

---

The Journey

The path down the Rock itself is a windy twisting thing that only allows a man on horse to go down in a single file. This path goes down all five hundred feet of the Rock, at the bottom was the Gate, a fortress unto itself the protected the path up to the fortress. In the War of the Black Phoenix, this had been taken by the forces of the Black Phoenix himself. This was the only time that the Fortress of High Rock had been surrendered. The Cracasters spent most of the war fighting the legions of Melkor with gorilla tactics till the legions of Azelian came and took the Rock back. After this, Duke Beornwald IV, Heremonds great-great-great grandfather rebuilt the Gate to be larger and stronger than the had been as well as the walls around the actual city.

The City of High Rock itself was around 5,000 strong, with a high curtain wall and several strong points placed around. The streets of the city itself where mostly hard packed dirt save for a few of the main thoroughfares that lead to the cities main gates. The riders went through a mostly deserted city. Most of it inhabitants where still indoors eating there morning meals or else they where still sleeping. The rider left the city from it Westward gate and road on along the road for most of the day.

As the sun began to sink below the Mountains of the Moon they reached the first stop of there journey, The North Tower. There where three towers that ran along the duchies boarder with Eldrion. There towers where the homes of the Stone Watch, the men who kept the mountain passes secure and clear of fallen rocks or snow. This Watch started way back when Remus Atticus formed his empire, in those days it was said that there where over a thousand member's of the Watch. Now there where one hundred and eighty. The party would spend the night as guests of the Tower commander.

The continued there journey westward at first light, heading higher into the mountains. The grass gave away to rocks and lichens and small stunted trees as there path took them higher into the Mountains of the Moon. The second night the would camp half way up one of the hundreds of peaks of Eldrion. The third day the descended the mountain an into a small valley village. Here they would buy extra provisions and spend the night in the local inn. Once more at first light they mounted up and rode westward deeper into the mountains. The next few days would pass uneventfully, until the afternoon of the seventh and final day. The crested a ridge, and before them was the Ember Tower in all it glory with Isnhrion spread out below it.

---

Baldric

Never had Baldric seen a city as large or as filled with splendor as the Isnhrion. He couldn't compare what he saw here to any other place he had seen, the Ember Tower, ever present as the party made it closer to the city wall, was the tallest object any of them had ever beheld. The only one of them that had ever seen it was Mettius, but that was many moons ago and in a time of war. The sight was truly something that took ones breath away and would stick with them for a lifetime. The city gates where open them and the made there way to the Ember Tower.

Baldric had heard that Inshrion was a large city, not as populated as Lenora, but one of the largest cities in the world none the less. It was the beating heart of the Empire, from whence the Ashen dynasty had in a rhythmic cycle brought peace and prosperity and war and poverty. Baldric could almost feel the tension in the city, all was not well. There was an uncertainty that hung over this place, and if the capital was unsure than the rest of the Empire would be unsure.

When they reached to Ember Tower itself they found that they had arrived in time from the state funeral of the Emperor. It was a rather somber event, with many in attendance shedding tears of true grief. Baldric learned that the next day would there would be a meeting of the Wise Council, an event that he wouldn't be attending. He was in Heremonds apartment in the Ember Tower.

"They call it a Wise Council, than why are the letting you in?" Baldric, didn't truly envy his brother's position, but the temptation to get into a duel of words had over come him. Heremond wasn't in the mood to oblige his younger brother.

"I am the oldest son of our house, our father lays on his death bed. It is my responsibility to represent our family before the Council. I do not think now is the time for you to try and make fun. Besides, if the let you enter the Council Chamber the would have to rename it the Council of Dunces." Heremond was trying to keep the tone light, he already had a damaged relationship with his brother after the duel two years ago. Heremond could not understand the thoughts that went through Baldrics head, he made decisions far more rash than any the Heremond ever made. "Besides, we have a long day ahead of us, better get some sleep."

---

Heremond

Heremond had a troubled sleep that night. He was nervous it was true. He was nervous that he would get a message from home his father had died, that Eadwine had been hurt or if Everlid had over did her magic reducing her self to nothing but a gibbering fool. This strange bed didn't help, the familiar warmth of his own bead, the smell of and feel of his wife besides him. Most of all his thoughts wandered to the meeting tomorrow. Why had his family been summoned? Surely there where more important families than his in the County of Atlas. As far as he knew the Blacktyde's where still sitting in Atlas.

Buy the time Heremond fell asleep the eastern sky was already starting to turn a pale grey.

He awoke to the bright sun shining in his window and a furious knocking on the door. he jumped out of bead and opened the door. Ser Aylwin was the one who had been knocking.

"M'lord, we have been trying to wake you all morning. The Wise Council had convened and thing look ill."

"Fill me in on the way down Aylwin." And so Heremond learned of the confrontation between the two brothers and the news that Evermoor remained under siege from muraders, the same that had killed the Emperor.

Heremond moved past the guards at the council room doors and entered the meeting. He immediately felt as if the eyes of the world where upon him.

[Kuhlfros]

Ambros O' Daire
The Kingswood, North of Orrin's Wall

The trees were quiet, with only the sound of the creek bubbling as it traveled south, from where he stood, the world seemed at peace. But this Lupan knew better. The world was at its hinges, at least in Eroris. The Emperor had died as Ambros had heard, and more rumors that he could count over who now rules the Empire. Rumors from Ruven taking the crown to Julek behind the murder of his father and then purging the entire capital city of any supporters of his brother and taking the crown himself, to the more outlandish like a bloody civil war has already broken out and the brothers have been fighting each mounted on dragons.

But for Ambros, there was a more pressing and dangerous matter than the schemes of Elves, he had heard rumors of a werewolf building a pack in a village near Wolfhelm. He was going to confirm this rumor before returning and making preparations to eliminate the pack. It was his duty as a Ranger to scout out an eliminate dangers. But Ambros feared that he may not be able to handle a whole pack of werewolves alone.

Still, he would have to see for himself. Ambros turned back towards the path ahead of him, the pines towering like giants on either side of him and continued to jog in silence, his cloak covering most of his body.

Jarl Sorli Hrafn of Snowhawk
Ishnirion, Wise Council Chambers

Sorli had mostly sat in silence so far, it was entertaining, not being involved in the schemes and plots but getting to watch them unfold before him.

If this were a council of Nords, a brawl would have broken out already and the victor would decide what course was best. But alas this was not and the actions taken here would decide the fate of the whole Empire. Matters have been brought up from across the Empire, including the raiders who killed the old Emperor in the first place.

Sorli drummed his fingers as he sat, his own matters were many leagues away and being dealt with as he was in Ishnirion awaiting the Proving. For the time being, Sorli had spent time only with his fellow Nords. But perhaps some time spent with some new people would intrigue Sorli enough to be here longer.

Sorli then spotted a well dressed dark elf woman within the Chambers. Sorli hadn't had many interactions with the Valaryians before. If she was here, she must have some importance.

He navigated between the chairs of the many dignitaries from across the Empire towards the woman. "I don't believe we've met, I am Sorli Grimrson, from the Hrafn Clan. Jarl of Snowhawk." He offered his hand courteously towards the dark elf in greeting. The sight of the tall and burly Jarl dressed in furs acting so courteously and diplomatically inbetween his shaved hair, braided beard, and thick boots was both an odd and somewhat comical sight. Not many would expect a Nord to act with such courteous dignity.

Meanwhile...
A hawk had flown for General Flavius some time ago, informing the leader of the Imperial Legion that a contigent of Stormhawk soldiers would march into the Grey Mountains to assist them in defeating the rebels in the Wandering Keep citing 'the Bandit Kingdom and it's mercenaries have avoided us and submission towards its rulers for too long, Jarl Sorli will gladly help in bringing them low'.

Igmund Ketring, one of Sorli's hirdmen, marched out of Snowhawk with a contigent of 1,000 Snowhawk warriors into the Grey Mountains to rendezvous with the Imperial forces. Their orders seemed simple, destroy the Wandering Keep and take prisoners. But Igmund and a select group of others knew more orders, directly sent from Sorli. Take Conrad Richter and any other persons of interest into Snowhawk custody in secret and bring them to Snowhawk. Sorli would like to meet with them.

Now merely a day away, smoke from campfires and perhaps a fortress on fire can be clearly seen by the Nord force. Igmund sent out three couriers going three different routes to the Imperial Camp to inform the General of his arrival.

Lapis of the Shadow Clan
The Maurader Fleet, the Isle of Alista

The hooded Raj squatted quietly and alone along the mizzen mast of one of the head ships of the Akounate force. A storm rampaged as part of the spellcasters of the Akou, she watched with quiet anticipation for the bloodbath to come. Suddenly a bright orange ball of flame launched from below her and a deafening roar followed as hundreds of warhorns began blowing at once.

The bellowing sound crashed louder than thunder and Lapis dug her claws into the mast as the ship she was on rapidly accelerated towards the nearest Erorian ship. She could taste the blood already. Out of anxiety she unsheathed her hidden blades and resheathed them repetitively.

The Lord Zhie gave simple orders to the Raj assassin,"Kill their leaders, make a display of it, break their chain of command and their will" and she was ready to do just that. As the ships drew closer, she could make out in the night the ship struck by the fireball rock back and forth in the water from the explosion, and the crews of the many Imperial ships scattering across the decks in shock.

"In the darkness, my blade strikes true" Lapis said to herself as her neck hairs prickled on end before she made a leap of faith towards the enemy ship.

[Haedros 92712]

Imperial Camp, Grey Mountains of Norravägg near Wandering Keep

General Flavius Silva of the Imperial Legion

As soon as the small army of archers revealed themselves from atop the walls of the Wandering Keep, the General gave a signal to his army behind him to perform another show of force in kind. Then, he watched in satisfaction, as several braziers were lit all throughout the small blizzard that surrounded the area, revealing several six trebuchets, and the besieging wall that had been erected to surround the entire settlement.

"I admire the courage, lad," Flavius admitted, "But you severely underestimate the power of the Empire. So I will give you a choice: to ether let your people live and your mercenary band to continue on, or to all die, forgotten and unremembered. Surrender yourself, and any others involved in the murder of King Wolfhardt, and I shall allow everyone else here to live on in peace; but refuse, and continue to fight on, you shall all be named traitors and enemies to the realm in the name of the Potentate, and perish. The choice is yours to make, but do so quickly, it'll take but hours to break through your walls."

And with that, the General began to ride away at a gallop back towards his camp with his guards, his soldiers guarded him with their long shields the whole journey back as they expected enemy arrow fire at any minute. As soon as he arrived back at his camp, he gave the command, and stones and fireballs were launched at the walls of the Wandering Keep.

The walls
Wandering Keep
Conrad

The general rode away towards a camp of imperials. Conrad pondered the ultimatum given to him. His thoughts darted to Delmira. She ha sheen involved in the killing of Wolfhardt. He wouldn’t surrender her. Never in a million years. But what choice did he have. Kellen was likely still hours away from the keep. He stepped down the stairs and left the wall.

The Throne room
Conrad

“Delmira, I must speak with you.” She lifted her head to Conrad’s words. “Conrad, I...” Conrad put a finger over her lips. “How I acted before... forgive me. I was out of line with that kiss. I’m... I’m sor-” Delmira cut him off with a kiss. They remained for awhile, their lips connected, their arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace. “Conrad, I love you.” Conrad could only stare for a time, startled by her words and actions. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I love you too.” They returned to each others embrace, and drew each other yet closer...

The Kings chambers
About an hour later
Conrad

Delmiras head rested on his chest. Conrad’s heart beat was fast. Sweat covered his body. He rose. Delmira was fast asleep. She wouldn’t wake. Conrad had placed a small sleep charm on her. She would awake in around an hour or so. Conrad put his army back on, and redid his hair. He attached his sword to his belt. He turned back to Delmira, and kissed her goodbye. I’m sorry Delmira... to leave you so soon... I love you... He stepped out the door. A retinue of soldiers followed him as he left.


The Wall
Conrad

As Conrad stood at the top, overlooking the enemy army, he sighed. I guess this is the end. He handed his sword off to one of the guards, and continued. He leaped off the wall, landing on his feet and ducking into a roll. He stood, covered in snow, and looked up. “I’ve come to surrender. Take me to your commanding officer. Inform him that I alone was responsible for Wolfhardts death. Leave everybody else in that castle out of this.”

Kellen
Somewhere

Geez, the boss sure is an idiot. Going and surrendering like that. Did he forget about little old me? Kellen looked back at the amassed group of mercenaries. Measuring about 600 in number, and several of them mages. They hid amongst the snow as per his orders. Dont worry Conrad. This isn’t over yet.

[Everhall]

Wise Council Chambers, the Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

As soon as Heremond entered into the Council Chambers, Ruven, along with most of those present at the meeting turned to face the tarty Reachman Lord. They had been in the middle of discussing matters in Orsinium when the man had entered, and his entrance so late to the meeting send a small murmur throughout the Council Chambers. The silence stretched on for a second, Ruven could only guess about how awkward the feeling must have been for the Reacheon Lord before Lhoris broke the silence, "Heremond Carcaster," the Potentate began, "You're several hours late for the Council meeting. I would inquire about what you have been doing during that time, but it is of no matter to me. I have heard about the current affliction that affects your father, and I send my deepest condolences. No child should ever live to see their father in such a way. I am truly sorry. Please, have a seat." Lhoris gestured towards an open seat in the Council room before continuing on with the meeting.

Later ; The Imperial Dining Hall, The Ember Tower

Not much happened in the council meeting after the last of the stragglers had finally made it into the hall. They discussed many things, most of them mundane, such as tariffs on certain goods in the Solitude Bay region, or minor disputes between local Jarls in Norravägg. During one particular discussion, involving a land dispute between the Jarls of Orrinsmarch (Wolfhelm) and Greymarsh (Tarnak), involving hold guards building forts on opposing sides of the border, the two rulers got into an open brawl in the middle of the council chamber over who owned what and who was the yellow-tailed bottom-feeder. Many Nords on the opposing sides of the argument starting making bets and openly shouting out cheers of support before Lhoris had the palace guard escort the two Jarls out for their misbehavior. But, though all of this, one question this remained knowingly implanted in his mind: "Where was Julek?" He hadn't appeared during the procession, nor during the funeral, and had skipped the whole council meeting as if it was some joke. This question tugged at Ruven all throughout the meeting, and would continue to tug even as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon and the council moved to the dining hall for a feast.

Though undoubtably hungry, after having skipped both breakfast and lunch in his anxiety over his brother's movements, Ruven watched solemnly as course after course passed him by, his appetite non-exsistent. The last of these courses had just been removed from the feast when Chancellor Lhoris came behind him in the extravagance of his best robes,

"How utterly wasteful all this is," he sighed taking a seat next to the Prince, "You've barely touched any of the food prepared today, Ruven. I believe I don't need to ask why."

"Just leave me be, Lhoris," Ruven replied turning to face his mentor, "Look, I'm sorry about what happened in the meeting the other day, alright? Though I still wish that you could of just let me do it."

"And then what?" Lhoris pushed him, "Watch you lose your lung or your heart to the toll? You still are not ready to do any magic, Ruven. Not until you come to terms with that happened and make peace with your brother."

"And how do you expect me to do that?!" Ruven growled just above a whisper, "He killed my mother! And he'd like nothing more than to kill me and the rest of us too..." A silence stretched on between the two elves for a moment, longed by Ruven's stubborn need to hear some sort of apology, some sort of reconciliation from his mentor, but this was not what he received.

"Where's Asoka?" Lhoris asked, "I haven't seen her all day."

Ruven closed his eyes and replied, "She's with the healers up in the temple. They say that we should be expecting our child any day now, but I don't get what that has to do with-"

"Take the feast over for me, will you?" Lhoris sighed as he stood from his seat at the front of the dining hall, "I'm heading to my office for the night. Wake me if anything happens." The Chancellor then turned to the crowd at large, arrayed in the seats and tables before him, and tapped his wine glass three times to gain their attention, "Lords, Ladies, I thank you all for your attendance in this event to honor our fallen Emperor and I look forward to working with you in the coming month to bring this Empire into a golden age of peace and prosperity. I am retiring for the night, and should you have any questions, come to me in my office and my daughter and apprentice, Alesane, shall let you through. In the meantime, however, mingle, get to know your fellow imperial citizens and comrades in the years to come!"

And with that, Lhoris stepped down from the high table, followed by his daughter, to the applause of all those present at the feast, leaving Ruven alone to ponder his words in the chorus of the dining hall.

Imperial Camp, Grey Mountains of Norravägg near Wandering Keep

General Flavius Silva of the Imperial Legion

As the spring sun peaked itself over the peaks of the Grey Mountains, General Flavius Silva mindfully looked over the map that charted the local area of the Wandering Keep along with his Legates and attendants. Ever since he had sent the ultimatum the previous night, he had droned over the charts in order to find the best way to assault the fortification once the time came, and any exploit the defenders might use to prolong their siege.

"How many mages to they have?" Flavius inquired to his right-hand, Legate Scipio, who was a Reachman from the city of Atlas.

"None, General," the Legate replied, "The Wanderschwert were mainly a mercenary group used to quell barbarian raids from the Northern Sea. As such, they never really developed a strong arcane force besides the occasional recruit."

Flavius grinned at the news "Excellent work, soldier. It'll make it all the more easy once those walls have been taken down for our own mage force to make this quick and easy." Flavius prepared to inquire about the mountains that hugged the east side of the fortress, but a Imperial sentry, entering into the pavilion with his centurion called his attention, "What is it, soldier?"

"We've gotten levy reinforcements from Jarl Sorli down in Årgin. The commander has requested to meet with you."

"Well, send him in immediately!"

"Yes, sir!" the sentry prepared to leave before another legionnaire, caked with snow rushed into the pavilion,

"General Silva!" he said, "The enemy commander as surrendered himself to us at the edge of the camp. What would you have us do with him?"

This was just the type of news Flavius was looking forward towards, It appears the lad had some sense... "Bound and chain him and take him to the carts. Also, inform the reinforcement leader from Snowhawk to come and meet me there. It appears our little rebel had come to his senses."

The Dead Man's Drink

Avarice

Avarice had to suppress the urge to laugh as the situation began to unfold quite poorly for his assailants, first wasting time with the elf before picking a fight with a Lupan that almost matched the height of that brute of an orc, Olrog. I guess this is as good a time as ever... he thought as he slowly began to withdraw from the shit-hole of a tavern.

After being pushed by Iarlaith back towards Cadoc, Olrog drew his axe and gave a loud bellow in anger, "You want to go, Lupan? Fine. Just try not to lose the last time one of your race went against another." It looked about ready to come to blows before Cadoc intervened in a timely manner.[/tab]

"Olrog!" he said, "Again, we are looking for a Reachman, not a Lupan! Just leave the savage to his drink and we can focus on finding Avarice."

Olrog hesitated for a moment, glaring with beady eyes into the beast folk before him, "Fine," he growled, "Let's just find that ass can get this over with." And it was just then, after saying these words that both men turned to see Avarice just feet from the door.

"YOU!" they said in unison.

Well fuck. Avarice thought to himself, Guess I better do plan B. He gave a signal to the bartender.

"Do you think you'll collect that bounty on this man!? A thousand gold Ashens dead or alive while the rest of us die in squalor in this mess?" the bartender came to stand before the two men, "Not on my watch, not."

The bartender's words, clearly meant to be loud and noticeable quickly had effects. Many of the patrons of the tavern, mercenaries and low-lives of many calibers, stood with swords drawn to answer the man's call.

"A thousands Ashens sounds nice," one said.

"Yeah, bout enough to buy yourself a whole island," said another.

It would only take a second in this tense situation, before a fight broke out within the tavern.

[Tayner]

Mettius Clement
The City of Isnhrion
Temple of Aduranos

An early morning rain had set the mood of the proceedings, and an empty casket was marched through the streets off to a yard somewhere where a speech of sorrows and forlorn thoughts would be spoken. Mettius would have no part of it, instead he made his way to the Temple of Aduranos, and prayed some for Azelian's soul, and for the souls of the citizens of the Empire. From a pocket on his belt he withdrew a lock of his own hair, one he shaved off this morning, and took it to the consolation fire, a brazier lit in accordance with Vvalyaar customs. He cast the greying hair into the fire, a small gesture to accompany Azelian to the afterlife from a person he probably forgot long ago. It seemed like yesterday they liberated Isnhrion, marching and celebrating victory through the streets.

You might not remember me, m'lord, but I remember serving under you fondly. May you find peace in the afterlife. He thought as the lock of hair was burned away.

He left the temple, with many Vvalyaar beginning to pour in. Mettius gathered that the proceedings came to an end, and he found his way to the Wise Council Chambers, waiting in the hallway for Heremond to arrive along with others of the Court. When the meeting was about to begin, and Heremond hadn't arrived, he sent the rest of the court to summon him.

"I'll represent House Carcaster, go find Heremond and get him here." He whispered before taking a seat in the Council Chambers. He wore a darker grayish-blue robe, with some faded gold and red embroidery around it, instead of his armor. These robes were a gift to him on his 110th birthday, and one of the few robes he owned, and the only ones he would wear before the wise council. He felt like a kid's toy, all dressed up. The fact that he was taking place of nobility didn't make him happy either. While he was a knight, he wasn't a politician. He didn't care for the matters of trade rights and taxes, he cared more for the Empire, and for Alista, something a Vvalyaar Noble (Who's name seemed strikingly familiar) also expressed.

At least something would come from this near fruitless meeting.

Heremond would arrive hours late, interrupting the chambers and becoming the center of an uneasy attention. Mettius would stand up, some heads looking back towards him as he reached his full height, and Potentate Lhoris would address him, and gesture for him to join Mettius. They would sit quietly for the remainder of the meeting, even when two nords broke out into a brawl. The sun would set over the horizon, and the Council would enter recess for a feast. Described as a way for nobles and dignitaries to "get to know each other," it was mainly a medium for nobles to push their political agendas and rally allies and support.

Mettius would simply slip away, wishing not to attend the event. He instead found himself climbing the Ember Tower, until he reached the highest floor, an observation area overlooking the city and nearly the entire county. The rain had stopped long ago, however the overcast and acompanying gloom had remained. One could hardly see the city lights below, or those of distant towns and hamlets. Here Mettius pondered on his thoughts, especially those concerning this turbulent time. He also thought back to the past, the War of Black Phoenix. He also thought of Hwætmund, another old friend he would outlive. He sighed as he hung his head low, leaning on the balcony of the tower.

It was going to be a long month.

[The Hierophancy]

Eastern Sea of Lunara, North of the Fiery Strait
12th of Second Seed

The warhammer smashed into the snake-things back with a wet crunch, sending the beast flying into the hardwood deck, gurgling slightly in defiance. Hereward, panting, raised his weapon once more, scanning for more of the boarders. They'd come suddenly - dozens of the bastards crawling up out of the stormy waters inky depths and onto the Alaro's Compassion, setting into the confused and panicked XVII Training Century from all sides as the fleet about them was rocked with what could only be enemy artillery, though Hereward had never seen ammunition this explosive. The ensuing brawl had been bloody and brutal, but with the aid of Hereward's crew and the more experienced marines, wholesale slaughter among the recruits had been avoided, and it seemed that the attackers had finally been finished off. Hereward let out an involuntary sigh of relief, letting the head of his warhammer hit the deck and feeling himself relax ever so slightly - the battle had been exhausting, and the boarders skilled, though thankfully largely unarmored. Hereward scanned the men - now standing or sitting in a mixture of shock, confusion and relief - in search of his allies, and was himself relieved to see Beorsic, longsword and armor splattered with gore, pushing his way through a thick knot of soldiers towards Hereward. Panting, he glanced down at the crumpled remains of the snake-thing before speaking in a tense and desperate tone.

"Something got the captain. 'Twas like a Lupan but... not... more like a... cat, maybe - anyway, it got him, jump'd outta the shadows and jabbed a knife into his throat 'fore I could blink. Bitch taking the thing down too. Khacttas still alive but pretty useless - curled up below decks, got a dozen of our best men guardin' him too, the selfish fuck." Beorsic shook his head in exasperation. "You seen Nisey, 'ward? Think he's our commandin' officer now." Hereward glanced towards one of the two dozen or so Legionmen corpses strewn across the blood, vomit and water slicked deck. His armor bore the bars of an Option, clear as day even in the darkness of this infernal storm. Beorsic, following his gaze, groaned. "Great. Fuckin' great. Thank the divines. As if we needed more fuckin' chaos in this gods-for-fuckin' saken fleet. Damn it all."

Saying that the fleet was in Chaos was, perhaps, and understatement. All about the Alaro's Compassion was slaughter and death, inflicted by and large on the Legionmen. Everywhere ships were burning, or hotly contested between the snake-things lurking below and what remained of their crew, contributing a mad chorus of steel-on-steel, snapping wood, roaring flames and human screams which seemed to permeate the entire fleet. In the distance, Hereward could just make out a line of wraithlike, oddly shaped ships advancing on the Imperial formations rear and - turning his head - yet, from the front too. They were surrounded, the battle lost before the Empire even knew it had begun. The totality of their defeat was near comical, though Hereward didn't feel like laughing. Still, something had to be done.

"You lot!" Hereward had to shout to be heard over the din of battle, but he managed to catch the attention of the men above deck easy enough - he silently thanked the Divines for making him taller than the average Reacheon. "Grab pikes and longspears and get to guardin' the sides in case any more of those things think of trying to get back on. Somebody lower the goddamn sails already and make sure the oarsmen are still alive! Now!" The training century - eager to receive orders of any sort, instantly set into a mad dash to comply, rushing to the edges of the ship and crowding the door below decks in search of the Alaro's Compassion's small armory and bank of oars. Some of the surviving sailors, aided by troops of the Legion, set about trying to get the sail down - one of the more experienced marines, a Norseman seemingly just as relieved to have somebody to order them around, approached Hereward tentatively, looking up at him expectantly.

"You can call me Hereward. out with it." The legionnaire gave half of a salute before reconsidering and lowering his arm back to his side.

"Well, er, ca-Hereward, I thought you should know that we've received orders. New ones, sir - uh, Hereward." Hereward raised an eyebrow. He was surprised there was any sort of command still present in this chaos. The legionnaire gulped. "From Admiral Naften, one of the sailor's read it on the Atlas's semaphore. There's to be a breakout charge - we're to assemble on Naften." It was reassuring that somebody was trying to save this army - and Hereward couldn't see any way other than to try and smash the enemy cordon and scram. Patting the older man on the shoulder, Hereward gave the legionnaire a gruff thank you and set off towards the door leading below decks just as one of the legionmen who'd descended looking for the oarsmen burst out, panting and looking madly happy. Hereward vaguely recalled his name being Cuthbert, or maybe Egbert.

"Hereward! Uh, Hereward, sir!" This one gave a full salute with some enthusiasm - closed fist to heart. "The oarsmen are all alive, sir! Their overseer too! Says they're ready to get the hell out of here anytime, sir!" Hereward nodded.

"Tell them I want us going full speed some..." Hereward squinted at the distant Atlas and, not far beyond it, steadily approaching enemy line. "30 degrees west, and be prepared to change direction by 60 degrees east at full battle speed on my mark. Stat." The young Reacheon gave another salute before scrambling over the slippery deck and back into the ship's depths. Hereward turned his attention to what was left of the battlemages - 10 Mayaar in robes covered in elaborate, ethereal designs. Despite their usual bravado, the mages looked ill at ease, observing the waters from the balcony like protrusion they usually fought off of. During the cramped, bloody melee against the boarders, they'd been of little use, and without much in the way of clear or large targets they had little to do now but wait. At the moment they were watching a distant battle between one of the more powerful Reeve's warships and an enemy - knight in heavy plate against large, shadowy figures armed with odd spears and broad swords. The noblemen were clearly losing - gradually losing ground against the more numerous and cohesive enemy force, many pushed off their great galleass and to their watery deaths. Hereward couldn't feel much sympathy for the thegns - they'd been the one's stupid enough to fight a naval battle in full plate - but it was still somewhat frightening to see some of your force's best units being gradually slaughtered.

"Elves." The Battlemages turned to face Hereward, faces pale and uneasy. "Can your magics aid our oarsmen in moving the ship?" One of the Mayarr - a gaunt looking man with graying hair and an especially fancy uniform - snorted.

"We're battlemages, not hedge wizards, oaf." A few of the mans comrades - or perhaps subordinates - muttered in agreement.

"Does that mean you can not, or will not?" Hereward tried putting some edge in his voice this time, lowering it to a growl. The lead battlemage seemed unphased, and was even regaining some color in his cheeks.

"It's beneath us. And, may I add, who exactly put you in charge, legionnaire? I was fighting pirates back when you were little more than a glimmer in your peasant father's eye - I believe me and my men can handle ourselves without your orders." Whilst normally Hereward would be more understanding of men acting a bit out of their sorts whilst under the sort of stress this battle was providing, he had little time for insubordination - especially from an elf. Wordlessly, Hereward reached down and grabbed the elderly battlemage about the neck, much to his squealing protest, lifting the man up off the ground with little effort - he was light, even for an elf. Cursing, the battlemage raised a palm whilst his comrades - along with many of the Legionmen - looked, mouths agape, no doubt intending to melt Hereward's eyes out of their sockets - though he had little intention to allow such an affront. Grunting with the exertion of it, Hereward swung the slight man back, causing him to scream in pain, before throwing him forwards with all of his strength. The mage went sailing, his screaming only interrupted by a collision with the sea. His head briefly emerged from the water, screaming in panic, before being pulled back down by a scaled arm. Even Hereward felt himself shudder a bit at the sight, staring silently with the rest of the ship for a good few heartbeats.

"We have neither the room nor the time to treat with scum willing to sacrifice the lot of us out of pride." Hereward glared down at the other Mayaar, who looked a good deal paler than they had before hand. "Get this ship moving fast as you can." Hereward glanced over his shoulder at the troops, scanning them before he settled on one of the Orcs, who was looking on with satisfaction rather than shock or horror.

"You, Orc." The man turned to Hereward, offering a half hearted salute. "Make sure these... fine soldiers... do as their told. If they look to try anything funny, come to me." He nodded, unsheathing his legion-issued blade and taking position beside the Battlemage's balcony. It was then that the ship lurched into motion, fighting through the choppy, storm blown seas and towards the dense knot of warships gathering about Naften's Atlas. They were going considerably faster than last the ship had been under oar-power - probably due to the Battlemage's efforts. Searching for a relatively clean bench or patch of deck to sit upon, Hereward did his best to ignore the stares he received when the other men though he wasn't looking. He could only hope nobody else tried to challenge his sudden assumption of command - he'd rather the ship's deck not once more become a battlefield, or worse yet go leaderless. I hope you know what you're doing, Admiral, Hereward thought to himself, or we're to be remembered only as the biggest failures in Imperial history.

[Haedros 92712]

The Imperial Camp
Conrad

Chains. Cold, steel chains clamped around his wrists. He followed an imperial legionnaire through the camp to a group of carts. He held his head low. His blonde hair covered his dark blue eyes. He closed his eyes, deep in though. He though of his kingdom, of the lives that now rested in the empires grasp once again, of Delmira, how he had never said goodbye, of Kellen, and how he had been too late. And now, he stood near a group of carts, to be charged of treason and to be executed. And then, he saw something just over a ridge that overlooked the camp. A flash of white hair. A glimpse of dark skin. Conrads lips spread into a small grin. Under his breath, he began to mutter. Not like this... not like this...

The Kings Chambers
Delmira

“Wake up miss, it is time to depart.” Delmira’s eyes opened. She was in Conrad’s room. A maid stood beside her. It took her only a moment longer to realize that she was naked. Her face turned red. “Umm... okay. Just let me get dressed.” The maid bowed. “An outfit has been left for you.” She pointed, indicating a woolen tunic, pants, and cloak, as well as gloves and a pair of boots. “Thank you.” The maid curtsied and left. Delmira played the events of an hour ago through her head. Had she and Conrad... no, there was no time to think about that now. She got dressed, and opened the door. That’s when the thought finally crossed her mind. Where is Conrad? She exited the room, and headed to her own. She found her armor and weapons being packed away into cases. “What in the... you there! Where did Conrad go?” The servant looked up. “Lord Conrad... he surrendered himself to the enemy encampment. He gave orders to have you evacuated to one of the nearby towns before imperial occupation occurs.” Delmira stood, shocked. “He... he did what?”

Overlooking the Imperial camp
Kellen

“Alright men, steady. Wait for my signal. Screw this up, we kill lord Conrad and seal our fates.” Kellen held his bow in one hand, and knocked an arrow with the other. “On my command, all mages who can will cast fire spells on the camp below. The archers will follow up. And then, we charge. Understood?” The mercenaries muttered their affirmations. If we fail here, we truly will have lost the battle.

[Theyra]

Isnhrion
Ember Tower Wise Council Chambers
Aiwin Arrianus

Aiwin quietly sat back down in his seat after thanking Lhoris for sending the fleet to Alista ahead of time. The rest of the meeting he did not paid attention for the most part and thought about his own personal concerns about the situation in Alista. "Why only one white hawk father? Aiwin pondered to himself and sat back in his seat in thought, "Why only sent one hawk to the rest of the empire and nothing to me about how the family is doing while Evermoor under this siege? Are you even still alive?" He snapped out of this worrying thoughts a few times during the meeting. Once when late arrivals appeared and one who one of them was a Reacheon Lord named Heremond Carcaster. The last one was when two Nord Jarls starting a brawl with each other while Aiwin was actually amused when the other nord nobles started to bet who would win.

Dining Hall

Aiwin joined the rest of the nobles at the dinner and only ate enough of the first course to satisfy his hunger. It did not feel right to him to be here feasting in luxury know his family who he cares for greatly, he has no idea if they all still live. Aiwin might have enjoyed this dinner barring the the political dealings that are bound to occur at these events. But, his concern for his family have spoiled what joy gather from this place. Rather then leave when he done with his meal, Aiwin opted to stay and wait for proper opening to leave.

Before that opportunity appeared in the form of Lhoris addressing the hall to say he was retiring for the night and to mingle with attendees. Aiwin's eyes wandered around the hall, watching the other nobles talk and enjoy themselves. When he sight was on Prince Ruven however, Aiwin could not help to feel a form kinship that connects with Ruven with him. The fact that they both share having bad relations with their brothers. So far however, only Lyklor has tried to kill Aiwin for control of Evermoor and that feud ended with Lyklor's death. "Hmmmm, does he realized that if he wins the Proving and based on how I have heard of how much they hated each other. Does he know that his brother is most likely not going to be content with losing the crown of the empire? Something is going to happen and if he does not see that then........"

Aiwin thought about that outcome and decided that even if the prince himself knows it. He should get some warning about what to expect after the Proving even and odds are that Ruven may even forgot him after the dinner.

Once Lhoris left and the guests started to mingle with each other. Aiwin made his way to Ruven seat at the high table and was stopped by palace guards when he got close. He explained his intention to them and allowed to approach the prince under a watchfully eye.

"Forgive the intrusion Prince Ruven", Aiwin bowed respectably and spoke in a respectfully tone. He was wearing a Vvalyaar styled robe that was silver and wore his phoenix necklace over his robes. "I am Aiwin Arrianus of Evermoor if you forgot me in the dozens of nobles that discussed their matters at the white council meeting. I wish to talk to you about a important matter that I feel I need to discuss with you if you willing. And before you ask, it does not concern the situation at Alista".

[Brusia]

Grandmaster Anirion Alden
Isnhrion

The trip from Lenora to Isnhrion was long but fortunately uneventful, and Anirion arrived in the capital city a day before the former Emperor's funeral was scheduled to begin. Upon arriving in the city, Anirion made his way to the Ember Tower, and after presenting one of the tower guards with a letter bearing the Arch-Primate's seal which confirmed that Anirion was serving as his representative, the Grandmaster was allowed inside but at his request was given humble quarters, similar to those usually used by the Tower's servants, rather than the fine rooms usually assigned to dignitaries.

The next day, Anirion attended Azelian's funeral in his full armor, walking alongside the procession's guards through the city until the return to the Ember Tower. Anirion briefly went to his temporary quarters to remove his armor before heading to the Wise Council Chambers where his status as the Arch-Primate's representative afforded him the privilege of observing the proceedings. Unlike most in the room who were dressed in the finest clothing in the land, Anirion was clad in a simple arming doublet and looked more like a guard than a dignitary. Perhaps it was for that reason that few in the room showed interest in speaking to him, or perhaps it was simply due to the fact that he was still largely an unknown amongst the nobility. Whatever the reason, Anirion certainly wasn't unhappy to be left alone; the lack of talk enabled him to better listen to the leaders around him and get an idea of the Empire's political situation.

The details he overheard were more than a little concerning, and the Council meeting itself would do little to assuage those concerns. Despite the fact that the marauder fleet responsible for the death of the Emperor was evidently still blockading the island of Alista, there seemed to be little interest in uniting against the foe, and most nobles seemed content to just leave the problem to the Imperial and Reacheon fleets as they wasted their time scheming against other nobles to the detriment of the Empire. Even the savage Aramachians had been wise enough to combine their forces when they felt threatened by the Order, and had they not done so Anirion had no doubt his predecessor could well have conquered their land. The Grandmaster considered voicing his opinion on the matter, but he knew he had been permitted only to observe the proceedings, not to contribute to them so he held his tongue, not wanting to do anything that might compromise the Arch-Primate's mission for him.

Once the Council meeting had concluded, Anirion made his way to the dining hall alongside the other dignitaries, but as he walked he pondered one peculiarity he noticed: only one prince had been present during the meeting. He thought it quite odd that any prince should miss an opportunity to learn about the goings-on in their Empire, and while he understood not having any desire to attend such political affairs, for one of such political import to avoid a Wise Council meeting seemed tantamount to shirking one's duties as far as the old Crusader was concerned. Once he was seated at the table Anirion requested only a simple bowl of soup, and as many of the nearby nobles engorged themselves on a veritable feast, the Grandmaster slowly sipped his soup and continued listening to those around him, while keeping a particularly keen eye on Prince Ruven.

It didn't take an expert to deduce that the Prince was clearly under a great deal of stress, though if Ruven's perturbed countenance hadn't been sufficient to make that clear, his refusal to eat anything most certainly did. Anirion supposed that having to fight one's own brother would do that to anyone, and having the fate of an entire Empire hanging on the outcome of said fight certainly couldn't be making things any easier for the elven royal. Not wishing to cause the Prince any further undue stress for one day, Anirion decided to wait to speak with him until the 'morrow, and for the time being thought it prudent to use the evening to try and learn more about both Ruven and Julek. He thought first of asking the new Potentate, but when Lhoris announced his intention to retire for the evening, the Grandmaster thought it best to avoid keeping the most powerful man in the Empire from his slumber. When Anirion heard Lhoris introduce Alesane as both his daughter and his apprentice though, he decided she might be the best person to speak with.

After finishing his soup, Anirion made his way towards the Potentate's office. As he neared his objective, he noticed Alesane standing nearby, and upon closer inspection could see that the elven woman was quite beautiful; her purple and gold trim gown complemented her figure well, and even the stoic Crusader could not help but be enchanted as he peered into her alluring eyes. Anirion stopped for a moment and forcibly reminded himself of the chastity oath he had sworn before continuing to approach the woman, then politely bowed his head when he was near her before stating: "Good evening mi'lady, I apologize for bothering you, but I was wondering if I might speak with you about the Princes?"

[Everhall]

The Imperial Dining Hall, The Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

As Ruven sat there, deep in thought over the meanings behind Lhoris' words and Julek's absence before he had left, one of the Order of the Phoenix, a young Aduran named Barius, knelt by the Prince's side and said, "My Prince, Aiwin of Evermoor has a wish to speak with you. Shall we allow him through?"

Ruven, only half paying attention to what his bodyguard had said waved him away with an order of "Yeah, yeah, let him through." Before the man stepped away from the Prince to allow the Valyaar to pass under the watchful eye of the order.

After hearing what the Dark Elf had to say, Ruven took on the most formal tone he could with his mentor's words still conjuring in his mind what was his worse fear, "There can be only one thing you could be asking about then: my brother's absence isn't it?" Ruven laughed dryly, "It's funny. Even when he's not here he always seems to be able to find his way into my life."

The Outside the Office of the High Chancellor, The Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Alesane Varian

As soon as her father had announced that he was retiring to his office, Alesane had been relieved to hear the news. Her work, already overloaded with her father being the High Chancellor, was only increased once her father was named Potentate. She would go around from mansion to mansion, villa to villa, and apartment to apartment with her father doing Imperial business, with barely any time left for any magic training whatsoever. The worse part was some of the stares men would give to her whenever she was with her father on these trips around the palace. During the entire dinner, she felt as if she sat naked among a sea of men looking at her looks and features alone and ignoring everything else about her. She was just glad that all of it would be over soon.

Just before her father had gone into his office she had asked him when they would resume their training. He had turned to her, eyes heavy and said softly, "Alesane... I... this... isn't a very good time to ask about that. What with the training I've been giving Ruven and the Proving... I just can't for now. Just... practice on your forms of entropy for me when you have the time, and we'll resume when things have stabilized." Alesane could see the strain that the Proving had put on him just from looking into his aging blue eyes, the eyes of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. She had agreed eagerly to continue along with her forms until the time he could train her again and gave her father a hug before he retired to his office to work on imperial missives late into the night. She had just begun to work on her forms, shooting green entropic lightning down the abandoned hallway of the palace where her father's office was when the sudden appearance of a Reachman knight startled her.

"By Kuruth!" she said as she almost struck the man with a spell of entropy, "I nearly turned you into a puddle! Can I... Help you with something?"

She then listened silently as the Knight asked his question, "Oh, the Princes?" Alesane stuttered working to maintain her cool, "I'm... Not the best person to ask about them... My father can- um... It's not something we really talk about much around here. The Emperor always hated when the feud was brought up..."

Imperial Camp, Grey Mountains of Norravägg near the Wandering Keep

General Flavius Silva of the Imperial Legion

As soon as Conrad had been bound and chained near the carts which carried the Legion's provisions, Flavius made his way towards the rebel, meeting briefly with the leader of the Snowhawk forces before coming before Conrad surrounded by a century of his legion. He was armored in the traditional full plate white armor of an Imperial General. It was modified heavily to adapt to the frigid climate of Norravägg. He took a position a position just before captive elf and said, "I don't believe I've gotten your name during this whole ordeal. I'm am General Flavius Lucius Silva of the Imperial Legion of the Ashen Empire and you are now my captive. Your name is?"

Eastern Sea of Lunara, North of the Fiery Straits

Admiral Valerius Naften of the Imperial Navy

His sword was encrusted with the blood and gore of many foes, snake, or feline alike, but no matter how many times he struck down a soldier of the encircling fleet another one jumped at the chance to take its place. Naften had been fooled, completely and utterly fooled, and now he and his entire fleet were about to pay for his ignorance. He had just struck down another one of the enemies, an odd serpent-like creature that came at him with a spear, when a shrouded figure, descending from what could only be the mast of the ship jumped down to try to stab him in the neck. Naften had barely enough time to turn around with his blade to deflect the oncoming descent of the assassin and quickly stab it in the eye with his dagger in his other hand. He had already faced four attempts on his life in the very same manner, a cat-person jumping from atop the riggings and robes of the ships to try to kill him. General Wake was nowhere to be seen, probably cowering behind his bedpost while the real men did all the fighting, and Naften couldn't help but curse at the hand he had been dealt in the complete outmaneuver of his forces.

As soon as the first volley of the enemy's weaponry had slammed itself into his ships, Naften gave out a flurry of orders and commands in order to pull the Imperial fleet out of the trap it had just sailed into. Through the use of battlemages and the use of semaphore near at the crow's nest of the ship, he had ordered that the bulk of the fleet form up in a crescent formation so that they could stretch out the marauder's seemingly innumerable forces in order to make a breakout maneuver away from the Fiery Straits. But it quickly became clear, from the shouts of dying captains and the pleading from panicked battlemages that their force had already been surrounded. It seemed as if from every passing moment, more and more of the strange vessels emerged from the storm clouds to rain fire and fury out on his fleet, armed with strange cylinder shaped weapons that fired balls of orange and red sparks into the hulls of many of his ships. Only through his command, and through pure luck, was the Atlas, his flagship spared from the barrage, and even then, it suffered from the same problem that burdened the rest of the fleet: fire.

Fire, burning like the surface of the sun, reaching high into the sky on the ships that had been hit first by the deadly weapons of the marauder fleet. This fire illuminated a reddish glow into the night sky, giving the battle a hellish and demonic taint even as the storm continued to drop torrents of rain on the fleet. As losses mounted and it became harder and harder to maneuver as the enemy closed in on the navy, Naften began to falter, began to despair the worse, and began to give up. How?! He thought, How can we get out of this?! He searched for a way frantically, even as he fended off enemy boarding parties that attempted to overtake the ship by force. One of the soldiers of these boardings, jumping down from atop his ship ramming into the side of the Atlas, had even managed to take Naften's eye, slashing him with the tip of his blade before Naften returned the favor stabbing him through the head. It was just after this loss that an opportunity finally presented itself to the Admiral.

Far in the distance, where the enemy fleet connected in order to encircle the Imperial warships, lay an enemy ship battered with many breeches apparently having suffered them from the initial attack on the fleet when things had seemed more evenly matched. That was where Naften would make his breakthrough, smashing through the line in order to make it to safety.

"Men!" he called out in the thundering storm, "these marauders would have our lives and would have our lands! They would have our children and they would have our homes! But no, you, men of the Legion, stand in the way of the enemy. It's you alone who guard the Empire against this filth! We head for that ship in the distance! If we can make an armored breakthrough with our rams, the space should be enough for those left to row away from this tempest! Now everyone with me! FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR THE LEGION!"

He relayed the message to the rest of the fleet using the only battlemages that still survived in order to transmit it. Pretty soon, a small force consisting of the Alaro's Compassion, Azelian's Might, Remus' Revenge, and several other ships gathered in a V-shaped formation around the Atlas. Naften then ordered his battlemages to use whatever magic they could in order to propel their ships faster across the turbulent waves towards their target. Many collapsed and died from the effort, but still many others lived, propelling the ships forward through the wreckage of other sunken vessels and. others still attempting to fight on against all odds.

Tying a piece of ragged cloth around his wounded eye, Naften yelled, "BRACE YOURSELF!" just before the Atlas and the other ships of the formation slammed into the enemy vessel with such speed that the Admiral was almost thrown off into the water. They had collided with so much speed, the ram digging into the side of the enemy ship, that it capsized in the face of such overwhelming force, leaving the open sea in their path for the fleet to continue on.

The deck of the Atlas remained silent for a moment, the only sounds being the cries of agony of the crews of the majority of ships that still remained encircled behind them. This all ended, however, when a great cheer erupted across the deck of the ship, yelling outcries of "NAFTEN! NAFTEN! NAFTEN!" even as the storm continued to rage just before them.

We did it... Naften chuckled dryly, We did it...

"ADMIRAL! LOOK!" a voice called out. At first, Naften didn't understand what he was meant to be looking at, at least until he saw an enormous hulk of a ship, boasting several of the devastating weapons that had so thoroughly routed his force, slowly emerge from the storm clouds just before them. A large owl-shaped figured loomed on the bow of this enormous vessel, bearing a face of pure indifference to the situation at hand. Naften only heard one word before it happened,

"Fire."

[Haedros 92712]

The imperial camp
Conrad

Conrad ignored the generals question. Instead, he continued murmuring. Finally, after around half a minute of silence, Conrad looked upward, into the generals face. “My name... is Conrad Richter, The Wandering Crow, son of Adalhardt Richter, the Great Oak.” And then he spat in the generals face. Conrad then snapped his fingers, and a blinding flash of light burst forth from his armor.

Overlooking the camp
Kellen

A flash of light. Kellen grinned. I guess the boss figured out we were here. Kellen gave a signal to his men, uttering a single word. “*Aufladen.” The archers rose and launched their arrows, and mages cast fire spells down on they camp. A moment later, all the men rose, drew swords and charged the camp.

(*Aufladen translates to charge in German)

[The Hierophancy]

The Shattered Shore, Alista
Sometime After the Battle of the Fiery Straits

Hereward bit harder down upon the salty scrap of knotted cloth in his mouth, feeling tears well up in the corners of his eyes as Wert pressed the red-hot end of his dagger onto the hastily sewn up gash on Hereward's leg. The smell of singed flesh nearly made him gag - after that gods-forsaken battle he doubted he'd ever be able to appreciate roasting meat in quite the same way. Wert grimaced as well, but his hands - deft after years of practice as a cut-throat and, apparently, amateur surgeon in the slums of Atlas - remained steady and sure as he sealed the edges of Hereward's wound and picked out the stray splinter of wood within it.

"Lucky it din't hit the femora." Wert nodded towards the massive splinter of bloody wood he'd just extracted from Hereward's leg. "Woulda bled out if it wos just a wee bit to the right." Wiping his hands on his pair of filthy, torn and slightly burnt Legion-issue trousers, Wert gave a curt nod to Hereward and set off to see to other patients. Upon Hereward's insistence, he'd been one of the last treated, but a few with minor scrapes and bruises were strewn about their little stretch of stony coast, looking tired and dejected.

Only a few hours ago they'd all been cheering with in a mad jubilation, Naften's mad charge successful and what was left of the Imperial fleet free. The celebration had been short lived however - a ship straight out of a nightmare, size of a small town and bristling with those thrice-damned death-spitters had appeared out of the dark smoke-and-storm, bringing with it destruction upon the battered and helpless remnants of the fleet. It had been pure luck which kept Alaro's Compassion from going down in that first volley of explosive enemy fire, the only hits upon their singed and splintering warship glancing off the bow and smashing into the upper deck. The same could not be said of the Atlas, which seemed to take the brunt of the enemy attack, and shortly thereafter broke apart into a multitude of flaming hunks of flotsam. Thanks to one of the XVII Training's few Valyar recruits, however, the Compassion had at least had a direction to flee in - the north-western coast of Alista, to a stretch of coast the former-fisherman swore no sane captain would follow. Reaching the Shattered Shore had been harrowing in itself - pursued by several smaller enemy junks, shedding bits of hull and slightly on fire, the Alaro's Compassion had been chased for what felt like an eternity before, as the Valyar had promised, the enemy craft pulled off and gave up the pursuit, immediately after which what was left of Hereward's Century discovered exactly why no sane captain came to the Shattered Shore.

Still, deceptively shallow waters, great underwater spires of stone shrouded in darkness, a terribly strong riptide and the resultant utter destruction of what remained of the poor Alaro's Compassion was, in the eye's of those who'd managed to drift or swim to shore, a decent enough exchange for their lives. Unfortunately, the battered and bloodied survivors - numbering, according to a waterlogged and exhausted Uhtred, some 38 Legionmen, 6 sailors, 2 oarsmen and 1 very frightened Centurion - were now met with another issue - what exactly to do. They obviously couldn't stay here - the wreckage strewn coast they'd been squatting in the last few hours was devoid of even sand, possessing only a few inedible brambles sticking out an imposing cliffside covered in razor sharp outcroppings of black stone, and with their old guide meeting his end dashed against the rocks a mile or two out, nobody had any real clue which direction led to salvation. Hell, even telling which direction one was heading was difficult, that infernal storm, now aided by a thick layer of volcanic ash, making the sun near impossible to place in the bleary grey sky. However, there was little use to sitting around waiting to die of dehydration. Wincing at the sharp pain in his leg that accompanied his rising, Hereward made his way to a relatively tall piece of what had once been a ship, slowly making his way to the top of it before glaring down at the ragged remains of his century below. Most took the hint, slowly and wearily gathering beneath the wreckage, though what remained of the Mayaar and Battlemages - about a dozen men total - elected to remain in their little cluster underneath a stony overhang not far off, pointedly ignoring Hereward's implied summons. When the time came to give some harder orders they'd no doubt have to be disciplined, but for the moment he'd let the insolence slide.

"Men of the XVII Training Century, congratulations. You've all survived what will no doubt go down in history as the the civilized Race's single greatest act of incompetence in all their history, and for that I applaud you." There were a scattering of strained chuckles, a few shoulders gone slack - having it said aloud helped to alleviate some of that crushing tension, Hereward found.

"You were thrown into a battle a veteran Legion, forewarned and well prepared for what they would face would have likely found unwinnable, and yet despite being recruits so fresh you were still pissing grass you emerged with your lives. Compared to that, the challenges to come are trivial. What is there to fear in some marching when you've faced one of the marauder's iron death-spitters head on and lived to tell the tale? Why worry over cold nights on empty stomachs when you've danced with a snake demon and come out the victor? Whatever's to come, I assure you that you can, that you will survive it, and not only that, but come through it unscathed and laughing at how simple it all now appears to the Century which battled forces straight out of the 8 Hells and breaths still." There were a few nods and scattered muttering of agreement among the cluster of Legionmen and sailors below.

"Now, the Fiery Strait lies to our west, which means that way -" Hereward pointed down the barren coast. " - is south. I say we gather what supplies have washed up here will be useful to us and set off thataways quick-like. Compared to what Khactta puts us through, I'm sure it'll be a breeze." Khactta took little notice to his name being mentioned, pacing aimlessly as he had since they washed ashore, muttering to himself. "I and those among us who have minor injuries will carry the wounded and we'll leave in, say, a half-hour. Any objections?" The crowd remained silent. "Good. Tullius, Cuthbert, Beorsic, Asculf and Asclin, you're with me carrying the wounded. We can use those bits of hull as stretchers. The rest of you'd best start scrounging or stretching."

As the men below sprung - or in some cases limped - into action, Hereward clambered down from his wreckage and made his way towards where Beorsic - grouchy and missing half his armor - Uhtred - still soaked and even paler than usual - and Wert - splattered in blood and exhausted - stood on the stony shore.

"Uhtred, Beorsic." Hereward kept his voice near a whisper. "I've a favor to ask." Uhtred nodded enthusiastically, Beorsic considerably less so. "Like you to... test the waters, as it were, see how the men're feeling about my ..."

"Coup." suggested Uhtred. Hereward shrugged.

"Coup, then. Was thinking Beorsic could praise while Uhtred demeans, see the troop's reactions, take note. Mention the Empire once or twice." Wert snickered.

"Ole 'Ward, always thinkin' o' the Revolution, eh?" He leaned back on a protruding bit of what may have once been the mast. "I'll 'elp too, provide some... passive surveillance. Not much else to do marchin' through this hellhole anyways." Hereward gave an affirmative grunt, and after both Uhtred and Beorsic offered their own nonverbal assents, set off towards where some of the wounded were lying in the shade, lifting up a half-delirious Reacheon missing a good portion of his leg by the arms and slinging him across his back. It's going to be a long march...

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Isnhrion

The week had been... eventful, to be certain. The Emperor's funeral - or well, the mock funeral, rather, considering the complete lack of anything even remotely resembling remains to be buried - had transpired, the two princes were most definitely at odds, and Lhoris, by all accounts, ruled now, temporary as it was. The Wise Council was filled with people all with very, very elaborate agendas, most of them rather selfish indeed, and all of them sought to further them in the chaos that had formed already. The Potentate had dispatched a fleet to deal with the curious foreign ships encircling the Valyarian Isle of Alistra. Llavesa did not know much about military affairs, and she trusted Lhoris' judgement in that regard - it'd suffice, certainly, no? Of course, then there was the matter of Prince Julek challenging his brother, Prince Ruven, for the throne - which certainly complicated things. The Valyaar did not know who she had to support. Both were rather... lacking, she'd found. Well. At least their little fight would show which of the two was the least lacking, she supposed. In the absence of any Emperor to serve, she was simply tasked with making sure neither of the princes, nor the potentate died - and it paid well as ever.

Nothing endangering the lives of either (other than the prince's not-so-matching personalities) had transpired yet, and so it was that the Dark Elf had, instead, spent most of the week in the presence of her dearest new, special... friend. Yes. The young Reachwoman had proven to be agreeable company, if a little naive. It was there that she had been of help to the Lady Amata, preventing her from doing foolish, naive things in this political hotpot, even if it made the woman rather... well, useless, as a councilor. Still - better useless than dead or disgraced!

Llavesa had mostly remained silent, so far, keeping an eye out for her companion, other than for any would-be assassins. It was then, however, that she was approached by... a Nord, of all things. He really didn't look like he belonged in this place. Filthy furs, a braided beard, burly... no, this man was definitely not a politician! Certainly not one inclined to resolve matters with words, she was certain. And then the man spoke, politely introducing himself, rather than simply reaching for her in all kinds of inappropriate ways, as she was used to from the types that looked like this - truly, this world was becoming a strange, strange place indeed.

"I don't believe we have, no," she responded, a pleasant smile on her lips. "Llavesa Faryon. I'm an adviser to Lady Amata over there." She gestured at the young blonde lady behind her, locked in conversation with several others about some undoubtedly entirely unimportant matters. The Dark Elf herself certainly seemed to be dressed a little over her rank, clad in a fine black dress, several rather expensive-looking necklaces hanging from her neck, various bracelets around her wrists, fancy looking earrings in each ear, and several rings on each hand - the very definition of 'dress to impress' to some, albeit perhaps a little too much. The council meeting itself wasn't of the greatest interest, save for the two Nords that briefly started brawling right there and then, before being 'kindly' shown the way out by the guards. It wasn't long after, however, that the council moved on towards the dining hall, many of the councilors apparently getting hungry after a long, hard day of talking. "Shall we?" She asked of her new acquaintance, gesturing for him to lead the way.

These were the affairs, then, that Llavesa thoroughly enjoyed. Watching them all get drunk, embarrassing themselves, sneakily running off with others present for plotting or plotting - a host of information to be acquired from merely just being there. It was why such an event was being hosted in the first place, she supposed as she entered the hall. She would avoid the princes, for now. It'd draw far too much attention to her person, especially with how they were - well, at least one of them wasn't even present in the first place, which definitely made things easier in every regard. Instead, she turned her attention back towards her new, Nordic companion, albeit briefly. "So, Jarl Sorli, how are you finding our beloved capital?"

[The Hierophancy]

Alista
The 15th of Second Seed, or Thereabouts

Hereward washed down the charred bit of lizard-thing with a swig of water - water which, collected from one of the stagnant pools of rainwater they'd been surviving off of these past few days, too tasted like ash and fire. It was all he could do not to spit the stuff up, and yet his stomach and throat craved more. Hereward had been distributing much of his rations - if the tiny scraps of odd lizard and soggy remains of their bread stores could be called proper rations - to the injured. They needed it more than him, after all, though Hereward hadn't objected to a few of the men offering him extra food as well. Carrying about those of the wounded who'd survived so far - about half - remained an arduous task, though the other's refused to even mutter a complainant about their duty, whether it be hauling the ill, looking for food or just the act of marching mile after mile day after day.

According to Uhtred, Beorsic and Wert, it was mainly thanks to Hereward's own stoic attitude that they carried on as such - few wanted to appear weak when their "commander" was putting in so much effort himself, nor did they wish to be a burden on the rest of the Century. It seemed that the hardship of the journey and their shared experience on the Fiery Straits had helped in strengthening once weak bonds as well, although the 3 remaining Battlemages and their little cabal remained staunchly opposed Hereward taking command. In fact, Uhtred said, the Battlemages were stirring up a little mutiny - they felt, to say the least, slighted at the current state of affairs, believing themselves better suited - and in the military hierarchy justified - in taking command of what remained of the XVII. They were also, understandably enough, not particularly fond of the man who'd thrown their squad leader overboard only a few days prior. Something, Hereward and his accomplices agreed, would have to be done about the Battlemages, and soon. If properly motivated, they could probably burn Hereward and his supporters into ashes in a moment or two.

Then again, Hereward thought, looking down at the blackened bones of his meal as the Century made "camp" wherever they could find shelter in the stony wastes around them, would that really be the worst thing for the men? Would the Elves taking charge be a worse alternative to them being further isolated and shunned or, if worst came to worst, killed? Was this for his own personal good rather than that of the Century or even the Reach? Hereward shook his head, trying to physically banish his doubts. This wasn't the time to be second guessing himself. If he and the men were to survive this, they'd need solid leadership. Unopposed leadership. Lying down on the smooth, hard rock, Hereward wondered if this is what the Ashens, or any monarchs, had told themselves before they committed injustices. He drifted off to sleep unsure.

Alista
The 16th of Second Seed, or Thereabouts - Early Morning

The entire Century, gathered about the rocky outcropping Hereward stood atop, was abuzz with gossip and rumors. Amazing how half-starving and bone weary people can have so much energy for talk, Hereward thought to himself. He nearly felt disgusted before it was buried by guilt - this was, after all, his fault. Whilst what he'd done was perhaps minor a minor injustice, it was an injustice nonetheless, even if it's victims were arrogant oppressors. Still, this was the sort of thing he'd have to learn to deal with if he was ever to stage a real Revolution - small evils in the name of a greater good. Hereward stamped his salt-stiffened boot on the stone beneath him, waiting for silence among the men.

"As you all no doubt have already heard," Hereward kept his voice loud and, although calm, ensured that the men heard some anger in it.

"somebody raided what was left of our bread supply last night and took near 10 rations worth. Now, I won't say that if whomever did this comes forwards now they will go unpunished, but I can assure them that confessing now is far better than me or the men discovering you later." Hereward stared down at the troops, who remained silent for what felt like hours.

Suddenly, Cuthbert, one of the younger surviving Legionmen, spoke out in an angry, righteous voice. "It was them Elves, Hereward, sir! One of 'em, Morthil, he was on guard duty last night! And they're the ones always whinin' about not gettin' enough, or how their magics need 'em fully fed or what have you! And, and they're always sitting apart, mutterin', plotting, I'm sure!"

The other Reacheons began to mutter their assent - most of them had been thinking the same, after all. Nobody in their right mind really liked Mayaar, after all, and if anybody was going to feel justified to more food, it was those arrogant bastards.

"Lies! Filthy lies!" One of the Battlemages approached from the edge of the crowd, his face near red as the tattered muddy remnants of his robes and a lithe, feminine finger jabbed towards Cuthbert.

"How dare you accuse your betters of... of thievery! A well-born Mayaar even thinking to... to steal from filth such as yourself..." The man seemed near enough ready to explode. "And even if one of us did, which we didn't, we'd be fully justified in doing so! We need more food! All of us! And... and it's just sitting there, or going to... to useless..." The mage looked back at his fellows, who avoided his gaze like the plague, and looking back towards the Century considerably more white than red, he took a step backwards.

"Er, well, you know... I didn't quite... well... mean it like that... you know... it's just... er...." He took another step backwards, to which the rest of the men, murder in their eyes, advanced a step towards him. Cuthbert spit onto the ground beside him and with a growl like that of some enraged animal the century lunged forwards towards the battlemage as one, tearing at his robes and beating him bloody. A few even called out, saying that they'd seen a bit of bread hidden in the folds of the mage's uniform, after which the frenzy only increased in brutality.

"ENOUGH!" Hereward shouted, leaping down from his perch and striding towards the brawl, physically detaching men from the Elven mage. "Enough, I said!" The last few stragglers retreated away from the red mage, gathering in a circle about him and Hereward.

"This man's suffered enough, by the Divines." The mage - bloodied and mewling - was curled up into a fetal position on the hard stone, his body battered and little left of his uniform but rags. He hands - the hands of a wizard were rightfully feared by the common man - had been mangled beyond recognition by fist, stone and no doubt knife. Hereward sighed, attempting to sound disappointed, although it was more in relief. At least the elf was alive.

"The Mayaar are to go on half-rations for the rest of the march, and the lot of you -" Hereward gestured to the men who'd beaten the mage, who looked less bloodthirsty now and more ashamed. " - are to reflect on your actions. We aren't going to keep this Century together with random lynchings whenever we suspect somebody of doing us wrong, even if they are responsible. We're not savages." Remembering the earlier incident on the Alaro's Compassion Hereward felt a twinge of disgust at his own hypocrisy.

"Now, let's get back to marching. Gelbold and Hogo, tend to the Battlemage." Hopefully the other Elves took the hint - they were neither liked nor respected among the Century, at least not now, and any attempt at assuming leadership would likely be short lived. If they didn't, well, there were more... final ways of dealing with dissent.

Gods, Hereward hoped they found civilization soon.

[Everhall]

The Shattered Shore, The Isle of Alista, Valyaria
15th of Second Seed 4E 901 - Twilight
Admiral Valerius Naften of the Imperial Navy

"Kasai." was the last thing Naften heard before the brunt of the enemies strange firepower impacted the Atlas, sinking the ship in an explosion of wood and fire flying high into the air. As his ship sank, and the water around him began to suck him down in an attempt to crush all resistance from him, Naften was hit over the head by a flying piece of debris and descended lower into the muck. He thought he was done for, forsaken by Aduranos in his time of need, which made it all the more surprising when he opened his eyes, not to his new life in the cycle of the world, but still in his old body battered and bruised, but still very much alive.

The sense of relief that overwhelmed Naften at that moment was only outdone by his urge to vomit up the seawater that had flooded his lungs once he had gone under. He remained there hunched over, throwing up this seawater for a minute, before his attention turned to the wreckage of the Atlas which had washed up on shore close to where he had. Good... Naften thought to himself as he slowly rose in order to reach the shipwreck, maybe someone survived...

The wreck of the Atlas was torn and riven with the holes that the marauder's weaponry had inflicted on the ship. Not much remained of his flagship's once-sturdy hull that had served him for years on end. Naften shifted through the wreckage of the ship again and again for survivors but still, none emerged besides the occasional waterlogged body that had already begun to fester in his homeland's volcanic environment. He had just begun to give up, to instead focus on acquiring supplies for his long journey ahead when a weak voice, coming from under a fallen support beam uttered a weak cry for help.

The Admiral lunged into a frenzy of digging, attempting to remove the obstructions that blocked the single survivor form rescue, and was surprised to see that it was his helmsman, Valmar, apparently having survived the battle, who had uttered the call.

"Valmar!" Naften tapped his comrade on the soldier, "Are you okay? Can you move?"

The Nord struggled weakly for a moment to remove himself from under the support beam before saying, "No..." He coughed blood for a moment, "I think this beam's got be trapped..."

"Don't worry, Valmar," the Admiral reassured the Nord, "We're both gonna make it out of this." The Valyaar then moved to put his bloodied handed under the beam in order to try to lift it from the helmsman's legs. HIs wounds complained furiously as he did so, cuts and scabs opening as he struggled to move the pillar before finally succeeding to throw it aside. Underneath, where Valmar's legs should have been, lay nothing but bloodied stumps exposed to the open. It took an instant for Naften to understand what had happened.

"Your legs..." Naften's voice trembled for a moment, "they were blown off..."

The Nord laughed dryly for a moment, coughing up more blood with the effort, "You always my legs where life jelly whenever a battle came... I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore... Haha..."

Naften studied the wounds for a moment, still spitting out blood even as Valmar continued to laugh about his own deteriorating situation, "I'm gonna get you to a healer, Valmar, don't worry." He lighted the Nord with all his strength above the ground and threw him over his soldier, "We just need to find a battlemage, then they'll get you patched up. Just... Just think about your daughter up in Stormdenn. You're gonna survive for her, right? Come on, we've got a long journey."

Naften then picked a sword from among the many that had survived the wreck to arm himself with as he made the journey. He then left the Atlas with Valmar still on his back, and began to make his way north away from the shipwreck.

Later; 16th of Second Seed 4E 901

Naften took another step forward on the black sand beach of Alista and felt the weight of his travels hang on him - literally. Carrying a full-sized Nord warrior minus his legs was already a challenge for most men, what made it harder for Naften was that he was contending with his own wounds while doing so. Blood constantly flowed from a large cut that had been inflicted on his forehead, obscuring the one good eye he had left since the other one had been taken from him in battle. He kept constantly having to use his free hand to wipe the blood from his face, only for a new drop of it to come seeping down to block his vision. He truly hoped that there was someone close by, for time was running short for Valmar.

Things already looked bleak for the Nord from the beginning, blood still dropped from the stumps that replaced where his legs had been. At first, Naften and Valmar had talked, the helmsman answering in whispers as they continued to traverse Alista's rugged coast. But now the Nord barely said anything, only sitting slouched over Naften's back as he walked, inching closer and closer to death.

Naften prepared to stop, in order to rest his muscles that screamed for rest after hours of carrying Valmar across the beach, but the sound of distant shouts alerted him to another presence. At first, he thought it was more marauders, speaking in their foreign tongue that is intelligible for him, but then he noticed that they spoke the same language as he did, the common tongue of Eroris, and slowly began to make his way over the crest of a hill where the voices had originated from, revealing to him a camp of legionaries that had survived the battle along with him. Naften breathed a sigh of relief as he approached one of these legion survivors, "You wouldn't know... how far I've fucking traveled to get here..." Before collapsing into the sand.

[The Hierophancy]

Alista
The 16th of Second Seed, or Thereabouts - Twilight

The entire Century crowded around the prone figure of Naften, bloodied, burnt and bruised, lying half sunk into the ash-black sand, wordless. They'd all been hoping to find sentient life soon, but none had expected it to be Naften, alone save for some legless Nord slung over his back. Wert pointed to the Nord, turning his head towards Hereward with an astonished expression on his face.

"Look, 'Ward. Naften's got a Seaxburh too." Hereward glanced backwards to where the wounded had been set down to rest, among them the gradually weakening and similarly limb deprived Seaxburh, whom he'd been carrying across his back in much a similar fashion. Wounded... Hereward was snapped out of his shocked stupor.

"Wert, see to the Norseman - those... stumps... look like they might need amputating." Wert gave a squeak of aphrension, but set off on his task nonetheless, dragging the motionless Nord off of Naften and off to the wounded's area. Hereward turned to Cuthbert. "'Bert, help me get some food and water in Naften's belly. Judging by his condition he might need double rations." Cuthbert saluted and immediately began attempting to prop Naften up while Hereward worried at his tangled, salt-stiffened beard. Beorsic approached from behind, tapping Hereward on his shoulder. His expression was that of a man about to retch.

"Naften knows this isle, aye?" Hereward nodded absentmindedly. "So if he's been headin' north... that mean's there nothin' south least as far as we've already marched, aye?" Hereward felt himself grow nauseous for a moment as well but managed to suppress it. Less than halfway to salvation? They'd never make it.

"I 'suppose so, Beorsic. It'll be alright though. I'm sure of it." Beorsic nodded glumly.

"I'll go take inventory of the rations. Wished you'd just 'misplaced' the 'stolen bread' stead of feeding it to the incapable... not like they'll need it soon enough..." Beorsic began trudging towards the pile of packs sitting by the camp's small fire, mumbling to himself. Hereward sighed - hopefully Naften would be able to get them out of this little... predicament.

The Admiral was greedily sucking at the waterskin he'd been provided when Hereward found him sitting in the shade under a small pillar of stone, guarded by a worried looking Cuthbert. Hereward crouched by where he was sitting, making sure to speak in a softer voice than he usually employed.

"Hows Alista been treating you, Admiral?"

Naften took another swig of his drink, the liquid relieving his parched throat before saying "Bout the same it's been treating the rest of the fleet... are we really all that's left? How many men do you have with you?"

Hereward grimaced, looking out over the tattered remnants of his century. "We're 39 in number, though when we got here there were 47. All from the Alaro's Compassion." Hereward hesitated for a moment. "Didn't see any others make it through that... ship's volley. We only got out by the skin of our teeth and still lost two thirds of our original strength. I'm sorry."

"Damn it.." Naften staggered as he stood up, "DAMN IT ALL! We were caught completely off guard and out gunned. Just what in Dread are those things?" Silent for a moment, Naften eased his way back into his seat, hanging his head low with the weight of all the deaths on his hands, "Me and Valmar were the only ones that survived on the Atlas... the others are were ether killed by boarding parties or blasted to Dread by those... weapons... Just before the attack, I'm not sure if you saw it, but I saw something standing on the bow of that monstrous ship. Said something I didn't understand 'Kasai' or something... Looked like a nightmare straight from the Dreadlands..." The admiral paused for a moment, "How's Valmar?"

Hereward glanced over to where Wert had dragged the Nord - the thin Atlasian looked up to meet his gaze, shaking his head slowly. Hereward gave another deep sigh. "Ah... the Nord you were carrying... it seems that he passed, Admiral." Hereward looked back to Naften - he sympathized with the man. Hereward too knew what it was like to be the last, to be left behind by family and friends.

The Admiral threw his head back and released one dry, humorless laugh no louder than a whisper, "It looks like I'm the only one left of the entire fleet, besides you all..." he looked back down to face Hereward his eyes hallow with shame and guilt, "Do you want to know what that man's wife told me the day he enlisted in the Legion? 'Take care of my husband, sir. I promised our daughter that he'd be back for dinner.' Just one more of my failures today. I led us right into a trap... never in my hundred and fifty years of life have I ever known true fear until now. These are not marauders, that's one thing for sure. Their fleet is too big, their soldiers too skilled for that. There's something larger going on here and I fear it's not going to kept itself contained to Alista for long." The admiral stood then, hiding the shame of defeat under a face of determination, "We have to get moving soon before they find us here. I fear we've been sitting ducks for far too long. What's your name soldier? I never quite got it."

Heremond stood as well, brushing the black sand off of what remained of his legion trousers before offering Naften a sharp salute. "Hereward, sir. I've taken interim command of the XVII." He gestured with his head towards Khactta, who was rocking back and forth in the nearby surf, muttering to himself. "That there's our Centurion, or what's left of him. Didn't take kindly to combat."

"At ease," Naften ordered, "By the Phoenix, that man is the largest coward I've ever seen." Naften put a firm hand on Hereward's shoulder, "I'm promoting you to Centurion of the XVII, not many men have what it take to make it out of a situation like what happened out there and you clearly have the respect and trust of the men here. We're going to need that trust if we're going to make it out of here alive." Naften turned his head to the east camp and pointed out towards an imposing volcano that spewed ash and lava that laid in the distance, "That," he began, "Is Mount Elysia, it's the largest volcano on the island but it doesn't even come close to the size of Mount Onyx. It being there means that we are just to the that we are in the middle of Alista, between Drogon and Evermoor, where we were meant to land. That means to the northwest," he pointed, "is Drogon, and to the southeast is Evermoor. Seeing as how Evermoor may be about to be flattened to the ground, Drogon is out best option if it hasn't already been put under siege by the enemy." Naften turned back to Hereward, "ultimately, though, its you that the men would most likely listen to. I haven't exactly endeared myself to them over these past few days. What do you say?"

Hereward felt an odd mixture of emotions at being promoted to Centurion and told he'd been leading his men the wrong direction for the last 3 days in the same few sentences. Relaxing his salute he considered their options - heading to Evermoor would certainly be better for the mens morale as opposed to a few days of backtracking, but then again if the Admiral was correct and the city already lost it could be yet another death trap or dead end - and they certainly didn't have the rations to make the trip then double back for Drogon.

"I'll default to your judgement, sir. If heading to Drogon is indeed the faster and surer choice it's our only real option - either way we've only rations for a few more days at best. Men won't be happy to be backtracking, but having a destination's bound to give 'em some measure of relief. Better than wandering as we have been." Hereward gestured towards Cuthbert, who gave a brisk salute.

"'Bert, go tell the men to rest well - we set off back North tomorrow, to Drogon. See if you and anybody that ain't already halfway asleep can scrounge up some supplementary rations for the journey."

"Understood, Here-er, Centurion, sir!" Cuthbert rushed off to the camp proper, after which Hereward gave Naften a final salute before excusing himself. Naften, he'd concluded, was a good man. Shame that he was in the employ of the Empire - yet another good person fucked over by men-of-politics in the Capital. It would be unfortunate if they ended up on opposite sides of the Revolution.

[Theyra]

The Imperial Dining Hall, The Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

As Ruven sat there, deep in thought over the meanings behind Lhoris' words and Julek's absence before he had left, one of the Order of the Phoenix, a young Aduran named Barius, knelt by the Prince's side and said, "My Prince, Aiwin of Evermoor has a wish to speak with you. Shall we allow him through?"

Ruven, only half paying attention to what his bodyguard had said waved him away with a order of "Yeah, yeah, let him through." Before the man stepped away from the Prince to allow the Valyaar to pass under the watchful eye of the order.

After hearing what the Dark Elf had to say, Ruven took on the most formal tone he could with his mentor's words still conjuring in his mind what was his worse fear, "There can be only one thing you could be asking about then: my brother's absence isn't it?" Ruven laughed dryly, "It's funny. Even when he's not here he always seems to be able to find his way into my life."

"It does not have to do with your brother's absence but.... yes, it is about him Prince Ruven". Aiwin relied and continued with a more serious tone. "I know that you must been thinking about the Proving and while I know that what I am going to say may be redundant to you. I felt I should say them anyway given my own personal experience with a feuding brother. Like you and your brother, we hated each other and similarities end there because you brother has so far not tried to kill you yet. Aiwn took on a serious tone and had a bit of pain in his words. He has not talked about his brother and the details around there feud since his death. It is a memory that he does not wish to talked about, but if Ruven was native like Aiwin was about how far his brother's anger can go. Then Aiwin should warn Ruven about what Julek could do after the Proving.

"I acknowledge that I do not know much about reason around why you too hate each other. I did know my brother's reason for despising me was that I was legitimize as soon I was born. I am not going into the details around my birth only that it is more related to noble politics then simple lust on my father's part".

"You see after I survived my brother's assassins while visiting my relatives in Drogon and found out it was him that sent them. I went into a rage I had never been in since and I rashly went to confront him while he was in his quarters at our home. Aiwin's spoke like he was retelling a painful memory. "The one thing that I will always remember about him that day was not this words, his warped reasoning or even when he lured at me with his sword. It was his eyes so full of hatred and all of it was for me. Simply because he felt that a legitimize bastard was not worthy of being a Exalt. I knew right there that he would never stop trying to kill me till one of us was dead. Though for some reason...... that realization did not comfort me when I killed him as he was about piece my chest. The reason I am telling you all of this is a warning about your brother".

"Based how much I know you two hate each other and you two will be dueling for control of the empire. I highly doubt your brother going to accept you as the emperor if he loses the Proving. He is going to try something to take the throne from you. Or if you lost the Proving......... the War of the Black Phoenix is still fresh in the minds of us elves and I remember what my father told me about that war. He may.. take measures as emperor to ensure that another Ashen Civil War does not take place. More so since right now, there is a marauder fleet large enough to blockage a island the size of Alista and that is a major feat for mere marauders".

"Prepare for the Proving and its aftermath Prince Ruven for you need to". Aiwin relaxed his tone and took breath. "That is all I wish say and while this should add to your concerns about the Proving that you should have. I say it since I was perhaps too native to think that my brother would not try to kill me for the ownership of Evermoor and your are going to be dueling over the whole empire. "Unless you want to continue this talk, I going to be leaving for the night". Aiwin looked away at the rest of the dinning hall before turning his head back to the prince. "It is not feel right to dine in luxury and pretend that my home is not being besieged". Aiwin words hinted at more worry for his home then he is willing to showing.

Unless Ruven says anything more, Aiwin takes his leave and leaves the dinning hall.

[Everhall]

The Imperial Dining Hall, The Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

As Aiwin continued to relay the events that led up to his brother's death Ruven couldn't help but draw the parallels between his feud and the Valyaar's feud with his brother. Both were built up as the years went on, festering under the surface for years before coming out in an explosion of violence and death. It was all too clear to Ruven just how close he was to end of his feud. But then the Valyaar gave him a warning, a caution to be ready whenever the time came to face his brother whether on the throne, or off it. After hearing these words, Ruven gave a short, dry laugh and said, "For as long as I can remember I've known what my brother was... I'm not going to let my guard down anytime soon," before watching as the Dark Elf took his leave from he party.

Ruven had half a mind to join him. The dinner had done nothing more than to worsen his mood from the utter quagmire it already was having seen his father's empty casket lowered into a hole that would never bear his body. He ached to she Asoka, he hadn't in hours since she had first set off under guard towards the temple, and he longed for her touch, her council, and her presence. She was the only one that brought a calm to the days of turbulence that had occupied the week since Julek arrived, and he hoped that more people would leave soon so that he could retire to his chambers at his leisure and she her when she arrived. But yet, the party continued, droning on further into the night as Ruven sat there only accompanied by his thoughts.

[Ithalian Empire]

Everlid Carcaster
High Rock

In the week that Heremond and Baldric had been gone Everlid had seen to the every day running of the duchy. Never before had she know boredom such as this. It seemed like nearly every person who came to seek her out to right some grievance had a rock for a brain. The simple pettiness of some disgusted her, other times the situation was almost histarical. However today it was a rather black matter. Before her was a disheveled man in thread bare clothes, blood still encrusted on him. Two members of the Guard stood on eaithr side of him and behind where the three knights who had found the man sitting in the crushed ruins of his cottage with the mangled bodies of his family around him.

He was shaking, still afraid of what ever had attacked his farmstead.

"What is your name." Everlid said, using as calming a voice as she could. Eadwine would have been better at this, her voice naturally seemed to put people at ease. But Eadwine was Divines knows where doing Divines knows what.

The man spoke,"R-Radbod o-of D-dullie."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Oh Divines! What did I do do deserve such a curse? I-it came upon the cabin in the middle of the night, we smelled it first, I-i just though it was a rotting animal from the woods. T-the next thing I knew the entire house was caving in. Oh Divines, I couldn't do anything, I just stood in my damned home as that thing killed my family!" Radbod started to weep uncontrollably and no other information could be gained from him.

"Alano, what could have done this?" Alano was the person Everlid trusted the most, she would take whatever wisdom he could give to heart.

"From the way this farmer described it, it certainly sounds like an Ogre. It most certainly would have come down from the Glosetter Caves. I recommend that we kill the thing as quickly as we can, place a bounty on the beasts head and every man with a sword and the skill to use it will come flocking to kill it."

"Very well, spread the new around the Duchy and beyond that any man who can slay the Ogre that has begun to terrorize the farm land will be awarded 50 silver Kings."

---

Heremond Carcaster

The meeting had ended with the various dignitaries heading for the massive dinner that had been prepared for them. Heremond had seen feast's before in High Rock, but never before had he seen such an opulent display of wealth. Wines from all across the Reach poured forth like rivers and a myriad of strange meats for distant land where laid out upon tables. Every where he turned there was a new dish, some new flashy thing to assault his senses. This is what it was like in the capital of the world, surrounded by the wealth of a continent spanning empire. It was no wonder that such bloody wars had been fought for it, so many dead just to decide who would sit there ass on a fancy chair in this magnificent place surrounded by such splendor.

Heremond had nothing to compare it to. In his world nothing like this existed, no noble in High Rock could afford such a lavish display such as this, not even he nor his family would have been able to throw such a party. As the night wore on and wine was drunk and stories and ideas where swapped, Lhoris, Potentiate decided to leave. It was now that Heremond noticed Prince Ruven. To his trained eye, Ruven looked like a sack of shit, little sleep and little food had made short work of making a man who should have been on top of his world look like he had spent years with his world on top of him.

Heremond decided that the idle talk with nobles had come to an end, it was time to speak to the man who may one day rule the known world, to the man who looked like absolute shit. It was time to see for himself what kind of person the Ruven Ashen was. He walked up to the guards, a dark elf was leaving the prince, Heremond assumed it was about the raiders hitting Alista. He told the princes body guard what he was and was allowed to sit next the Ruven.

"You look like someone who has seen to much shit in there life. I know nothing about the last week could be at all easy for any one, but you done exactly ooze imperial grace, your grace. I have a feeling darker times are yet coming to Eroris, and if our leaders look like a ton of shit is hitting them constantly, we will lose confidence in them. I cant speck for your brother since he dosen't seem to be around, but you are. Now, why don't you have some wine and take the edge off."

---

Baldric Carcaster

While his brother was off rubbing elbows with some high born lords, Baldrics had snuck of to explore the city itself. He had spent most of his day in the markets of the city, but these had become boring to him. He went deeper and deeper into the city, not like he could get lost all that easily since the Ember Tower was always looking down at him. He passed brothels and taverns and shady allies where Divines knew what happened. He was in the most dangerous part of the city as the sun began to set, the shadows began to stretch and the sky turned to a ruby red. He had decided a while ago to start making his way back to the Ember Tower. He walked at a deliberate pass, not wanting to walk any faster than he normally would so he wouldn't draw attention to himself.

His efforts where wasted, however. Little could hide the fact that he was a highborn lordling, from the way he carried himself to the clothes on his back, all marked him as the son of an important house. In other parts of the city this wouldn't have seemed out of place, but on the grimy streets filled with the condensed filth of the Empire, he stood out like a sore thumb.

"Now what brings a little lord like you down to this place?" a rather harsh voice said from an alleyway, Baldric turned and saw a man, maybe a Nord or an unnaturally tall Reachman walk out, behind him came three other cretans. They spread out, surrounding Baldric.

"None of your business." Baldric replied.

"See that where your wrong little lord, I own these streets, this is my empire your walking on, and yous not leaving until you pay the fee."

"If its coi-"

"Not coin boy, we can get plenty of that from other means. Boys, why don't we show him what we do to little lords who wander to far from home."

Two of the large man's henchmen came at him from the sides, another from the back. Baldric had little space to move, and precious few seconds to think. He dodged the first to men, stepping backward an allowing them to crash together in a heap of arms and legs. He turned and faced the man who was attacking from behind, Baldric had only a short dagger on him. He drew steel, so did his attacker. All the while the large man watched and the other two started to rise up. The man he currently faced was a sorry specimen, scrawny and pale with stringy hair that could have been blond if it weren't for the dirty that covered every inch of him.

The scrawny man attacked first, lunging into his attack. Baldric parred the blow and used his new momentum to make the filthy creature step back and lose balance. Baldric finished the fight with a quick kick to the man's groin, a sharp gasp of air and then a long and loud moan. The other two men had gotten up and began to circle Baldric, he tried to keep his focus on the both of them. but in doing so he lost sight of the large man who had so far done most of the talking.

He was rudely reminded of him. Baldric felt and iron like grip clamp down on his arms holding him in place. The other two men and the scrawny one walked over.

"Now little lord, I wouldn't move if I were you. May lose an eye."

"I think it would be wise if you put the 'little lord' down, lest you lose more than an eye." This new voice was Ser Aylwin, next to him was Ser Baerwald Pithythe both had drawn steel and were running down to him. Baldric had never been more happy to see the two knights than he was right now. The four hoodlums broke away and ran, the knights stopping their chase.

"The next time youd decide to run off, tell us, or at least bring something more than a women knife." There was some amount of scorn on Aylwin's voice, "As it is, your brother will be informed as soon as he is done with what ever the hell you nobles do, and I would be loathed to bother Mettius now with your fooleshness."

The three made there way back to the Ember Tower without speacking a word.

[Brusia]

Grandmaster Anirion Alden
Isnhrion

Anirion raised an eyebrow slightly when Alesane informed him that she had nearly hit him with an entropy spell, but showed little else in the way of a reaction to the fact that he had almost died. In truth, he'd grown so accustomed to nearly being killed in Aramachia that he was hardly phased by the possibility anymore, and he was content in the knowledge that his life would end at whatever time the gods willed. Un-offended by his near brush with death, Anirion stated: "My apologies for startling you mi'lady, I assure you it was not my intention to do so." Anirion then gave the elven woman a curious glance as she stuttered a response to his question, and after she mentioned that the Emperor hated whenever "the feud" was brought up Anirion asked: "Feud? So there was discord between the two brothers even before the Emperor's death ushered in the Proving?"

[Everhall]

Outside the Office of the High Chancellor, The Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Alesane Varian

Alesane knew she had said too much. Just the tiny slip of the tongue that had allowed the Reachman knight before her to glimpse into the turmoil that embodied the two princes' relationship. She stuttered for a moment, trying to find a way to explain her words off even as the knight continued to look at her completely unconvinced, "Um... I..." she stopped for a moment, realizing that trying to hide the truth any longer would do her no good.

"Your right," she sighed softy, "what you've already seen during this past week is nothing compared to what's happened before with the two. Ruven and Julek have been fighting for... as long as I can remember really. What you're seeing now is just the conclusion to a feud that's been consuming the court since the day Julek was born. You know they don't share mothers right? Emperor Azelian married twice during his reign, first to Ruven's mother Selene, and then to Julek's mother, Almalexia. She died sometime after Julek was born, I've been told." she laughed nervously, "My father hasn't exactly given me details on how it happened. But... that wasn't where it began. They still got along up until... up until Ruven turned six. The summer was especially sweltering that year, so the family decided to go down to their summer palace near Elkurion, I can only guess how excited the two brothers must have been then, how happy... I was only one when this happened, so bear with me, when the family returned... Empress Selene didn't come back. Her death drove a rift between them. They got into fights, the Emperor would yell at them, hit them-" she gasped for a moment, almost too afraid to speak on, "My father was one of the only ones that could stop them once they got worked up, and even then, Julek still despises him. It's all he can do keep their feud from making the Empire bleed. But sooner or later... it all falls apart..."

[Kuhlfros]

Jarl Sorli Hrafn,
The Imperial Dining Hall, Ember Tower, Isnhrion

As the business and hustle of the Dining Hall continued around him, Sorli turned to Llavesa and smiled ruefully, "I can only imagine how the Nords back home would balk at the comfort and pleasantry so far south and amongst the mountains of the Elves.

The city lives up to its grandeur, for certain, and I find its history...interesting."

He motioned over a server who gave the Nordic Jarl a stein of Ale and then turned back to the dark elf and continued, "I visited here once before when I was younger, I traveled to many places in my youth before I was tasked with this burden." He took a swig from his stein and asked, "What of you my friend? What led to a well to do Valyar to work as an adviser for a young woman locked in trivialities?"

Sorli snapped his fingers in realization, "My apologies, I enjoy knowing history, even of people, a person's own story however brief it may be, tells alot of them. Would you care for a drink?"

Snowhawk Forces,
Somewhere in the Grey Mountains, the Imperial Camp

Igmund Ketring arrived at carts where he saw the bound and chained leader of the Wander Blades, he let his troops mingle with the Imperial Legion soldiers amongst the camp while he greeted the commander.

Igmund was wrapped in the cloak of a bear, beneath was a scale armor hauberk, the bear's head was atop of his head like a helmet. Igmund approached as the General stared down at the prisoner in apparent silence "General Flavius, I am Igmund Dansson of the Ketrings, Hirdman to the Jarl of-"

It was then that the prisoner spoke and his armor flashed a bright light which temporarily blinded the Hirdman, but he could hear still, and what he heard was the whistle of arrows, the roars of men charging and the screams of men wounded. The Hirdmans voice echoed through the encampment as he bellowed, "Nords! Take to the walls and kill the attackers! Show them true Nordic steel!" He continued but more to the people closely around him, "Hirdmen, take the prisoner and move him someplace unseen, these attackers wish to free their mercenary king... General Flavius are you alright?" Igmund reached around blindly trying to find the Imperial Commander.

The Snowhawk troops had only just arrived and were still armed and ready for fighting. The Nord men reactively started raising their round shields to protect them from arrows and fire balls and raced towards the besieging wall which protected the Imperials from this very situation.