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

[Anowa]

Ingrid Grimsdottir
22 Miles East of Summerset
Second Seed, 4E 901 // Some Rat-Fuck Inn

"You solved that problem peacefully I see," she said to Ingrid as she slipped down into her seat. The woman seemed rather pleased with herself in some small way. Odd, Kari being so accustomed to the dour lady the size of a mountain. "So, did you kill his father? No judgement. Curious, is all. No harm in killing someone that needs to die." Her mind then ventured towards a more agreeable topic. "How much further to Summerset? Think maybe we could catch a wagon?"

Ingrid's slight sense of accomplishment was very swiftly shoved back into the depths of her mind. Soon again returned to the images of that night, gurgling, screaming, yelling for the guards, "No harm in killing someone that needs to die." she parroted, "Not in killing someone who was beating you in liar's dice..." A pause as she took a rather long swig of the glass she'd just refilled, setting it down she started rolling it between her palms, the sound of glass on wood echoing in the broken woman's ears. "Roughly 20 miles, and catching a wagon in this backwater shithole would be about as possible as Lupans being widely accepted by the north as functioning people... Poor bastards."

Looking at her companion, Ingrid spotted something notable, a rather obvious dribble of now dried blood across her left cheek. "Might need a kerchief for whenever you... eat, next. Last thing we need is religious nuts coming for our heads." Ingrid grabbed the bottle of wine and hefted it, only to sigh as she realized it was empty, and her current purse was notably close to being empty. Well, functionally empty, if she spent anymore on booze it was likely she wouldn't have anything to spend on food, or water... Or anything else.

Ingrid sighed, "By the way, the kid's coming with us... Until he wants to go his own way. Thought I should let you know." a pause as Ingrid peeked out the window, "We should probably hit the hay. Sun's going down, and so am I."

---

Ingrid Grimsdottir
Roughly 13 Miles East of Summerset
Second Seed, 4E 901 // Middle of Some Rat-Fuck Forest

Ingrid was pleasantly surprised when the boy stated that he knew someone who owned a wagon. The fact that the man was willing to drag them nearly 20 miles from home either meant he was dying to be paid, or wanted to get the fuck out of the town as much as Bjorn did. Though judging by his age, it was likely he wasn't going to abandon his homestead and plant roots elsewhere.

Ingrid could sympathize, not like she had a choice however. Looking across at the boy, the giant of a woman wondered if taking him under her wing was the best idea. Even worse than the hangovers she got, were the regrets of the decisions from the night before. Spending too much, spending too little, forgetting her belongigns or waking up in a layer of hay, being splashed awake by an ornery farmer. People around her tended to take a bad turn in life, her parents, her friends... Atulo... The mere mention of the name made her heart strain. Atulo, her lover, the father of her child, and someone she still mourned, even over a decade later. Their child was in the capital, as safe as could be for the moment, in an orphanage, and no matter how hardened, cold hearted and brutal you were, attacking an orphanage was something not many would allow to happen.

Ingrid refused to have her daughter at risk, until she had at least grown to the point she could defend herself. Sonja would not fall to the fate of her father, not so long as Ingrid was alive, not so long as the giantess could fight. Ingrid would not be known as someone who would let her family die and waste away into a dead end mercenary like her..

And that's why they had to stop at Summerset, to pick up a collection of gold, silver, and bronze melted down into ingots, to donate half to the orphanage her daughter lived at, and another half into one of the very few banks in the continent as a trust fund. It was something she did every six months, after she'd spent enough time dealing with bandits, raiders and general scum, she'd use what she could scrounge off them and have it melted down. She could've used it to buy herself an estate, an army, or bribe a number of officials, but given Ingrid's owned damned life and mistakes, she very much trusted her daughter with it more than herself, ironically.

With a sigh, Ingrid reached for the wine sack at her hip, only to remember that it too was empty. Looking across at the boy again, she spoke, "I don't suppose you brought any booze in that massive ruck of yours."

The boy's face turned a little sheepish, he was carrying a tent, three pans, a pot, water, a quiver, a dagger, a bow and a bedroll in that bag of his, none of which would really help at the moment. "No."

But no booze, "Yay."

Looking over at the third wheel, Ingrid continued, "You ever think of wearing a mask with the hood?"

[Zanera]

Alyndel the Gilded
Eleven Days Since Isnhrion
Pelin's Friend's Farmhouse

---

The moon began lurking in the sky.
"My name is Lorum and my wife's name is Yenna. I know Vera and Altin, who're you?" asked Lorum, who was bandaging Alyndel's leg. He had felt dizzy from the blood loss but ate a sugary pastry and was feeling somewhat better. The two women had been preparing the medicine for Altin and had given it to her, although Altin still looked to be in an extremely poor state. "I am Alyndel the Gilded, named such for when my enemies see my array, and with fatal folly mistake show for a lack of prowess. Except all I'm wearing is a cuirass now. I'm Vera's brother."

"Ah yes, I've heard of you but for other reasons. You don't seem like what I've heard, it might be time to drop 'the Gilded' part. Anyway, it seems like those loan shark troubles have caught up to your kin."

"Aye, it seems that way. How is Altin doing?" asked Alyndel, looking at Vera.

"The cell they kept us in had shit in the corner, and it was cold and damp with roaches crawling up the walls. It's the opposite of where Altin should be in her condition. I'm entirely unsure if the herb can save her at this point. I don't want to lose her," Vera said, standing over the bed brushing Altin's hair back with her hand.

"Where's Pelin?" asked Lorum.

"I sent him to go get a garrison to help us."

"Me and Pelin used to serve in the Legion. Maybe Pelin'd know someone in that garrison. Whether he made it or help will make it in time I've no idea."

"I had him take a sword. It's good knowing he knows how to use it."

"What's with the bear head?" asked Yenna," It's terrifying!"

"That's mostly the point. Scare the lights out of people. I killed it myself and I haven't a place to stay so I guess I put my trophy on my head," said Alyndel. He took his bear cap off as well as the skins and winced when he tried to take off his cuirass, so Lorum had to help. His side was severely bruised and it hurt even when he touched it lightly. He had another draught of liquor until Lorum took it from his mouth. "A little too attached to the bottle, eh?" poked Lorum.

"I'm till trying to break from it, but between drinking for a hundred years and this pain it's hard not to right now."

"Well I'll be your friend then."

There was a thump at the door and Lorum sneak over to it and cracked it open, pulling something from it. There had been an arrow shot at the door, with a message: Surrender your friends or we shall burn down your home. Five minutes.

"I better bandage my bruises, then you can help me put my cuirass on," said Alyndel. Lorum helping him, the bandage were secured and the cuirass and bear skins and head was put back on. Resting heavily on his new spear, Alyndel stood up, looking at Altin. "We must buy time."

"I heard Sald likes to hear himself talk. Let's make him talk," said Lorum. Alyndel and Lorum walked outside, Lorum taking a ready stance and Alyndel resting on his spear. The fat Reachman appeared from over a mound, a dark figure who was probably Sald. "Have ye come to surrender them? It doesn't look like it. After what you did," said Sald, pointing at Alyndel," I won't hesitate to burn his house down!"

"You know, what did I burn? And who the hell is Sald to steal away my sister and her family?" asked Alyndel.

"Oaf! I made Sald's Bastards from scratch, I built it from the ground up with my ingenuity! I've done everything from extortion to ransom to loans to footpad rackets! What you burned was what I built! I built the food storage and armory you burned down. I gave my people something to work on, and I gave them purpose. All you've given me, you oaf, is a headache!"

Vera called from inside, asking for Alyndel. Lorum stayed outside to provoke Sald more and Alyndel went over to Altin's bedside. "She's awake now, and she wanted to see you," Vera said, smiling sadly.

Alyndel looked at Altin, who was looking Alyndel up and down, blinking constantly. "I think I'm seeing things again. Uncle Alyndel has a bear on his head."

"Well, Altin," said Alyndel," You're not having an hallucination."

"I thought you had pretty armor?"

"Had."

"Now you look barbaric. Like a Nord."

"That's not nice talk, now is it?"

"Well you do still look barbaric. Do you think daddy will come back?"

"He shall, with the pretty cavalry, surely."

"I don't feel good. Tell daddy I love him."

"Well, Altin, maybe you can tell him yourself."

"I'm not sure."

"I'm sure. Your mom's sure, too. And so are Lorum and Yenna. You got good medicine in you, now."

"You do Altin, you'll be fine. Just hang on, please?" begged Vera, holding Altin's hand. There was a crash through the window, Altin jumping in fright. A rock, and the thugs outside looked ancy.

"Don't worry Altin, Lorum and me are here to protect you, and daddy will come with all the help we need," said Alyndel.

"I feel too ill. It all hurts, momma," Altin said, before turning her head to her mother and closing her eyes. Vera checked on Altin and looked at Alyndel. "She doesn't have much time. We need a damn healer. Pelin must hurry."

Alyndel nodded and walked outside. "How's Altin?" Lorum asked.

"Not well," said Alyndel. "She needs aid fast. And we need to stall."

"Sald's been explaining how he helped some whelps get rich from extortion."

"Hmph," said Alyndel. He looked out at Sald who had been pacing and had now stopped, red in the face. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that hurting others was bad?" called out Alyndel. Sald started talking about his childhood. After a few painful minutes, the ground began to vibrate ever so slightly. After a few more minutes, the ground was undeniably rumbling, and Sald had even stopped talking. "Here cometh the cavalry," said Lorum.

Alyndel aimed his spear as best he could and threw it. It stuck out of Sald's chest after the next few moments, and Sald remained standing, jerking violently as if there was continuous lightning. "So that's what that does," pondered Alyndel. The rest of the gang jumped from their hiding places. Three arrows flew at them, two hitting Lorum's shield and the other lodging itself between Alyndel's neck and right shoulder. The melee-equipped were charging for the two, but the rumble of the ground grew into a stampeding roar. The Bastards looked to see where it was coming from in the dark, but the horses were upon them before they could react properly. One was beheaded, another received a cavalry lance that punched straight through their cuirass. They all ran, and they all met their end. A horse rode up to the front door, carrying a captain and Pelin. Pelin got off, asking," How's Altin?"

"She needs a damn healer right now," said Alyndel.

Pelin's face grew from concern to anxiousness in a moment, and he ran inside. "We have a battlemage that knows some healing back at the tower," said the Legion captain. Alyndel said," We'll need 'em," and ran in after Pelin, the thundering hooves still shaking the house. They both carried Altin over to the captain's horse and started to set her behind the captain. "If you put her behind me I can't hold her, and we need speed too much for three people to be on a horse at once."

They placed her in front of the captain and the captain rode off back to where the cavalry had come from. Another rider came and took up Pelin and Vera up, riding after the captain. Another rider came up beside Alyndel and asked," Damn, those bandits must have been especially harsh for a bad case like that. Do you know the girl?"

"Yes. My niece. She was sick and Sald might as well have dragged her through a bog," said Alyndel.

"I'm extremely sorry to hear that, but you'll be happy to hear I ran through a couple of them myself?"

"If only you could have ran them through each thrice over," said Alyndel.

"Eh, you also kind've have something on your neck. An arrow."

Alyndel gripped the arrow near his neck and then broke it in half. He cursed from the pain and said," I'll get it tended later. I must retrieve my spear."

He walked over to Sald, who was now lying on the ground, foam coming from his mouth, but surely dead. Alyndel grasped his spear and pulled it from the chest of the ringleader, metal sliding against metal. The thug had had a cuirass on. He hadn't thought about that before he threw the spear, and he didn't care now. The throw was successful anyway. Alyndel didn't feel good for killing him, but the man's death was probably just. There was no knowing how far or where Sald's corruption lied. One corrupt guard and Sald might've been let out of whatever hole they put him in, and who knows what he would've done in revenge. Alyndel went into Lorum's house. He had barely known Altin at all, but Lorum and his wife had, and they had put their lives on the line for her. "Gods, how can I repay you two for your aid?" asked Alyndel.

Lorum approached Alyndel, putting his hand on his good shoulder. "By saving little Altin," he said, his hand sliding off Alyndel's shoulder.

"And getting your neck looked at," said Yenna.

"Perhaps I should ride now to get Ysselemane to buy a good healer's services," wondered Alyndel.

"Don't say perhaps, do it. Quickly!" yelled Lorum, springing into action. He pushed Alyndel out the door until Alyndel started running. He ran up to one of the riders and asked them for their horse. They obliged, under the circumstances, and Alyndel rode furiously for the gates of Aarendell. It was an odd hour to be let into the city gates, so Alyndel dropped some coins into the guard's hand and explained," Sald kidnapped my sister's family and now my niece lies near death I mu-"

"Sald? Speak no further. Ride," said the guard, slapping the horse's hindquarters. Riding rapidly through the streets, he eventually found his brother strolling towards his workplace. Alyndel explained what had happened, and Ysselemane jumped on Alyndel's horse and told him where to go. After a few minutes of riding and a few minutes of rapid haggling with the healer to ready faster, Alyndel rode the healer out to the Legion tower. The battlemage had done what they could, but now it was time for the healer to take over. The time was nigh.

---

"So, where are you going'ta stay?" asked Alyndel. They stood before their grandfather's grave. Whatever forget-me-nots that weren't dead after the trampling was replanted on Alyndel's father's grave. Pelin was sifting through the remains of the house, mainly where Altin's room used to be.

"We're going to stay with Ysselemane in the city. We plan to pay off the what we owe from buying this land, and to also pay off that healer. We'll keep this land for father's grave since the city's graveyard's are too costly."

"Yeah."

"I guess me and Pelin could both find work in the city. I guess we'll try to rebuild here one day, when the debts are paid. We can't let Sald destroy what we wanted here forever. Kilder offered to take care of the grave while we sorted ourselves out."

"Kilder?"

"A neighbor. He's a farmer, and he talks a lot."

"I think I know who you mean."

"Do you? Well, anyway, when Altin is feeling better me and her can visit father and fix his grave. Maybe you can come back, too?"

"Yes, I will, after I finish some personal business out west. You know, maybe you can work in that bookshop I used to work in. I was a pretty good worker, if Celebram is still ther-"

"It burned down."

"Well."

"I guess you'll be off, then? Adventuring or...gods knows what you do."

"I'm planning to visit Darath."

Pelin had pulled apart a charred hope chest from the wreckage. Inside it was a doll, in perfect condition. Pelin yelled for Vera to come over, and Vera said goodbye to Alyndel before going across the wreckage, soon sharing her sorrowful joy with her husband. Alyndel looked at the rising sun on his twelfth day after leaving Isnhrion, and tried to ask for a blessing...something...but he drew a blank. Vera was a person that liked self-sufficiency. He slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and rubbed his shoulder. Perhaps this time he would bypass Isnhrion entirely, heading straight through the mountains. He picked up his spear and started heading west. It was getting warmer at least, even in the mountains. Barely. He started to feel lucky to even see the sun, and he remembered something Darath had said. Sokva reaped whenever it was someone's time, but she could stay her merciful hand, too. All Alyndel could do was to stay in her good favor and continue on, however he could.

[Tayner]

Mettius Clement
North Watch

Mettius woke at first light, still tired and sore from the previous day's ride. He had gotten enough rest to finish the last leg of the journey and tend to his affairs. He slowly dawned his armor and set out to eat breakfast. After finishing his meal, he was approached by Ser Alywin.

"Alywin, I wish that you remain here until the garrison commander arrives to relieve you. Then meet me at my estate to the south." He spoke.

"Aye." He simply responded, his expression weary, although somewhat different from the weariness of their travels.

"What is it, Al?" Mettius asked, leaning in.

"Lord Hæwmund has passed." He reported.

Mettius sighed. Hæwmund was not only a friend to him, but a wise leader. He couldn't think of another Noble he respected more than Hæwmund. He let his head hang for a second while he remained silent. The world was changing around him yet again, and he had a duty to protect High Rock that was now more present than ever. The easy campaigns against brigands and bandits were long gone, or the hunting parties for beasts that threatened the countryside. The Empire would once again be at war, and there would likely be no escape for House Carcaster or High Rock.

Mettius regretted that he would fail to keep his promise to the late lord, but he still had a duty.

"Very well." Mettius started after a few seconds of silence. "We still have our orders, and it's imperative that we follow them. We will mourn later, for now we have a responsibility higher than ourselves."

"Aye. Fair travels to High Rock."

"Thank you." Mettius said before bidding his own fairwell.

He would set out with a duo of Stone Watchmen to accompany him, taking a light pace to the capital of the hold. They would arrive shortly before noon, and Mettius would report to Lady Everlid.

"M'Lady." He said, bending his knee and kneeling before her as he introduced himself. "My deepest sympathies for your father's passing, he was a great man who served High Rock well. I'm glad to have been able to serve under him, and to be able to call him a friend." He started. "However, Ser Alywin and myself have returned from Inshron. I trust you've received my message. Lord Heremond has sent us to help you settle some affairs during his absence." He said.

[Zanera]

Alyndel the Gilded
Eleven Days Since Isnhrion
Pelin's Friend's Farmhouse

---

The moon began lurking in the sky.
"My name is Lorum and my wife's name is Yenna. I know Vera and Altin, who're you?" asked Lorum, who was bandaging Alyndel's leg. He had felt dizzy from the blood loss but ate a sugary pastry and was feeling somewhat better. The two women had been preparing the medicine for Altin and had given it to her, although Altin still looked to be in an extremely poor state. "I am Alyndel the Gilded, named such for when my enemies see my array, and with fatal folly mistake show for a lack of prowess. Except all I'm wearing is a cuirass now. I'm Vera's brother."

"Ah yes, I've heard of you but for other reasons. You don't seem like what I've heard, it might be time to drop 'the Gilded' part. Anyway, it seems like those loan shark troubles have caught up to your kin."

"Aye, it seems that way. How is Altin doing?" asked Alyndel, looking at Vera.

"The cell they kept us in had shit in the corner, and it was cold and damp with roaches crawling up the walls. It's the opposite of where Altin should be in her condition. All that moving about. I'm entirely unsure if the herb can save her at this point. I don't want to lose her," Vera said, standing over the bed brushing Altin's hair back with her hand.

"I'm sure she'll pull through. Where's Pelin?" asked Lorum.

"I sent him to go get a garrison to help us," answered Alyndel.

"Me and Pelin used to serve in the Legion. Maybe Pelin'd know someone in that garrison. Whether he made it or help will make it in time I've no idea."

"I had him take a sword. It's good knowing he knows how to use it."

"What's with the bear head?" asked Yenna," It's terrifying!"

"That's mostly the point. Scare the lights out of people. I killed it myself and I haven't a place to stay so I guess I put my trophy on my head," said Alyndel. He took his bear cap off as will as the skins and winced when he tried to take off his cuirass, so Lorum had to help. His side was severely bruised and it hurt even when he touched it lightly. He had another draught of liquor until Lorum took it from his mouth. "A little too attached to the bottle, eh?" poked Lorum.

"I'm till trying to break from it, but between drinking for a hundred years and this pain it's hard not to right now."

"Well I'll be your friend then."

There was a thump at the door and Lorum cracked it open and pulled something from it. There had been an arrow shot at the door with a message: Surrender your friends or we shall burn down your home. Five minutes.

"I better bandage my bruises, then you can help me put my cuirass on," said Alyndel. Lorum helping him, the bandage were secured and the cuirass and bear skins and head was put back on. Resting heavily on his new spear, Alyndel stood up, looking at Altin. "We must buy time."

"I heard Sald likes to hear himself talk. Let's make him talk," said Lorum. Alyndel and Lorum walked outside, Lorum taking a ready stance and Alyndel resting on his spear. The fat Reachman appeared from over a mound, a dark figure who was probably Sald. "Have ye come to surrender them? It doesn't look like it. After what you did," said Sald, pointing at Alyndel," I won't hesitate to burn his house down!"

"You know, what did I burn? And who the hell is Sald to steal away my family?" asked Alyndel.

"Hmph! I made Sald's Bastards from scratch, I built it from the ground up with my ingenuity! I've done everything from extortion to ransom to loans to footpad rackets! What you burned was what I built! I built the food storage and armory you burned down. I gave my people something to work on, and I gave them purpose. All you've given me, you oaf, is a headache!"

Vera called from inside, asking for Alyndel. Lorum stayed outside to provoke Sald more and Alyndel went over to Altin's bedside. "She's awake now, and she wanted to see you," Vera said, smiling sadly.

Alyndel looked at Altin, who was looking Alyndel up and down, blinking constantly. "I think I'm seeing things again. Uncle Alyndel has a bear on his head."

"Well, Altin," said Alyndel," You're not having an hallucination."

"I thought you had pretty armor?"

"Had."

"Now you look barbaric. Like a Nord."

"That's not nice talk, now is it?"

"Well you do still look barbaric. Do you think daddy will come back?"

"He shall, with the pretty cavalry, surely."

"I don't feel good. Tell daddy I love him."

"Well, Altin, maybe you can tell him yourself."

"I'm not sure."

"I'm sure. Your mom's sure, too. And so are Lorum and Yenna. You got good medicine in you, now."

"You do Altin, you'll be fine. Just hang on, please?" begged Vera, holding Altin's hand. There was a crash through the window, Altin jumping in fright. A rock, and the thugs outside looked ancy.

"Don't worry Altin, Lorum and me are here to protect you, and daddy will come with all the help we need," said Alyndel.

"I feel too ill. It all hurts, momma," Altin said, before turning her head to her mother and closing her eyes. Alyndel felt for Altin's pulse on her neck while her mother checked her wrist. Alyndel looked at Vera, and she was instantly forlorn. She cried on Altin's shoulder and Alyndel walked outside. "How's Altin?" Lorum asked. Alyndel aimed his spear as best he could and threw it. It stuck out of Sald's chest after the next few moments, and Sald remained standing, jerking violently as if there was continuous lightning. "So that's what that does," pondered Alyndel. The rest of the gang jumped from their hiding places. Three arrows flew at them, two hitting Lorum's shield and the other lodging itself between Alyndel's neck and right shoulder. The melee-equipped were charging for the two, but the ground began to rumble. They looked to see where it was coming from in the dark, but the horses were upon them before they could react properly. One was beheaded, another received a cavalry lance that punched straight through their cuirass. They all ran, and they all met their end. A horse rode up to the front door, carrying a captain and Pelin. Pelin got off, asking," How's Altin?"

"She said she loved you."

Pelin's shoulders sagged, and he ran inside. Alyndel could hear them mourning, even past all the thundering hooves. "Captain Alouine. Eh, you need some medical attention, fellow?" asked the captain of the cavalry. Alyndel nodded, and the captain called for a medicman. It took some wily commanding to bring the medic back from chasing, but he eventually arrived to take the arrow out and bandaged it up. "Gods, did they kill someone?" asked the young officer.

"Yes. My niece. She was sick and they might as well have dragged her through a bog," said Alyndel, bitingly.

"Meant nothing by it. I'm extremely sorry to hear that, but you'll be happy to hear I ran through a couple of them myself?"

"If only you could have ran them through each thrice over," said Alyndel, walking over to Sald, who was now lying on the ground, foam coming from his mouth, but he was surely dead. Alyndel grasped his spear and pulled it from the chest of the ringleader, metal sliding against metal. The thug had had a cuirass on. He didn't know that before, and he didn't care now. Sald wouldn't be using it anymore. Alyndel didn't feel good for killing him, but it was probably just, since one corrupt guard and Sald may've been let out of whatever hole they put him in, and who knows what he would've done in revenge. Alyndel went into Lorum's house. He had barely known Altin at all, and he had seen far, far too many children like her during the War and found he couldn't cry anymore about it a long time ago, no matter how much he regretted not being able to. He needed to be in there though. He needed to cry with his sister, even if his tears were for his mother and father. And so he did.

---

"So, where are you going'ta stay?" asked Alyndel. They stood before Altin's grave, situated beside her grandfather. They had dug up what few poppies that they could find and planted it on her grave, and whatever forget-me-nots that weren't dead after the trampling was replanted on Alyndel's father's grave. Pelin had shakily led the prayer and was now sifting through the remains of the house, mainly where Altin's room used to be.

"We're going to stay with Ysselemane in the city. We plan to pay off the what we owe from buying this land. We'll keep it as a gravesite for father and..."

"Yeah."

"I guess we could both find work in the city. i don't think we can try to rebuild here after what's happened. We'll visit them and fix the graves. Maybe you will, too?"

"Yes, I will. Maybe you can work in that bookshop I used to work in."

"It burned down."

"Well."

"I guess you'll be off, then? Adventuring or...gods knows what you do."

"I'm planning to visit Darath."

Pelin had pulled apart a charred hope chest from the wreckage. Inside it was a doll, in perfect condition. Pelin broke down, and Vera said goodbye to Alyndel before going across the wreckage, soon sharing her tears with her husband. Alyndel looked at the rising sun on his twelfth day after leaving Isnhrion, and cursed...something. He slammed the butt of his spear onto the ground in anger and started heading back west, and he would bypass Isnhrion entirely, heading straight through the mountains. It was getting warmer at least. Barely. He started to feel lucky to even see the sun, and he remembered something Darath had said. Sokva reaped whenever it was someone's time. All Alyndel could do was to continue on, however he could.

[Derelldia]

Outside the Dead Man's Drink
Iarlaith O'Kjotvis

The Lupan felt the dagger cut across him, he tensed his back and took a deep breath, before he turned to face Avarice again. He spun the sword in his left hand so the blade was pointing backwards. Cocky bastard got a lucky shot. He charged again at the Reachman, leaping up and bit before slamming down with his right sword. Avarice moved to the side and took a swing with the silversteel blade at the Lupan. Iarlaith rolled to the side, dropping his swords, and tackled Avarice to the ground. Quickly grabbing the man's wrists, Iarlaith dug his claws into the Reachman's arms causing the man to let go of his weapons.

"I'm no shaggy mutt, you disastrous half-race." Iarlaith punched the man in the face before standing up off him. He grabbed Avarice by the head with one hand, dragging and then throwing him against a tree. "Any last words you wish to share before you die?" He growled.

Avarice head butted the Lupan in the face, frustrated in his defeat but still enjoying every moment of it, "It's not everyday I lose, and usually not to a mangy mutt like you," he laughed, "Go on then, make get your bounty. But I'll be coming for you in Dread!"

Walking a few paces back and grabbing his axe, Iarlaith readied to behead the man. "The I guess I'll get the fun of killing you once more," The Lupan spoke in a low voice as he brought his axe up behind him. "Perhaps then it'll be an even fight." The Lupan swung his axe. The sound of an axe hitting a tree echoed in the night time air. Iarlaith pulled his axe from the tree and hoisted it on his back again as Avarice's head slumped off his shoulders and onto the ground. He walked back and grabbed the swords he dropped, sheathing them back on his waist. He also picked up the silversteel blade the man fought win. Could fetch probably a decent price somewhere. The Lupan thought to himself. Going back to the body, he picked through what he had on him. He took what he felt would be important for proving the bounty, and then whatever else seemed of value on the body. After a minute or two of search the body, Iarlaith stood up and walked away from the scene.

[Everhall]

Imperial Apartments, The Ember Tower, Isnhrion

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

Ruven had had enough of his day. Since he had spoken with Lhoris, nothing had gotten any better, more tension in the council meetings, two lords going so far as to threaten each other openly in the chamber. As he approached his bed slowly the weight of the day pressed on his shoulders, all Ruven could think about was Julek. Julek, Julek, Julek... He knew his brother was stirring up trouble, he knew he was behind everything that had transpired so far. Ruven glanced to the other side of his bed longingly, thinking of Asoka and the child that he would never get to see. Clear, translucent tears came at the thought and fell to the ground. He would never be a father, would he? He would never see his little girl learn and grow as he watched proudly in the knowledge that she would one day blow them all away. His daughter... his Selene was taken from him before he ever knew her, and it was these thoughts that Ruven had as he slowly let sleep envelop him.

BOOM! CRASH! What was that? Ruven tensed. He quickly opened his eyes to see but... wait... this wasn't his room. Why was he moving? The dark, confined space around him spiraled in dream-like patterns. He thought it was a dream but, No... this seems too real... He moved not of his own accord but could still recognize his own body when he saw it. Just what in Dread is going on? I can hardly see a thing... He heard voices in the distance, "We have to stay a fight! We'll not bow to the city today!" said a voice. "Are you daft, woman?!" yelled another, "Those aren't city guards men. Those are- ARGH!" Swords clashing and spells thrown replaced the conversation. Shouts of "Death to the Khalata!" came with them. Ruven wanted to move forward, to see what all the violence erupting just outside of his view was, but the person controlling his dream stopped before a funnel of light in a circular intersection of the tunnel and looked above to manhole above. Similar sounds of violence came from above. He quickly began to climb in his dream, moving further and further towards the exit to the surface, but once he finally pierced the earth, Ruven couldn't help but feel as if he made a mistake. All around him the city was in flames, men covered and filth and rags erupted from a guarded passageway into Isnhrion, defiling any and all the stood in their way. Innocents ran in either direction as the city guard desperately tried their best to maintain order, but even their best wasn't enough. His head turned to one single point in the distance. A room in a tower, rising several hundred feet into the sky. It took Ruven but a moment to realize what he was staring at, "Inferno."

He awoke in a bed of sweat, his guards standing at alert near the window. The prince quickly remembered the end of his dream. "GET DOWN!" an explosion slammed into the glass behind them, throwing them and himself back towards the other end of his room. The other members of his guards quickly burst into the room, weapons naked in order to deal with any threat. Though still in his night clothes, Ruven knew that there was no time to waste. "Tanya," he ordered, "Get these two to a healer immediately and wake up Chancellor Lhoris! Isnhrion is under attack!" He stood as best he could in the remains of yet another room riven by explosion and looked in horror as fires spread in the Ruby District.

[Vanquaria]

---

Won't Be Bullied

---

An'Gel Tair the Exiled

---

Ending up captive again, the only hopeful prospect An'Gel had in his mind was the possibility that Rowan managed to successfully escape and return to his wife. He dared not think otherwise.

Listening to the Orc talk about his future as a slave serving Valyars. Imagining himself as a slave caused a tingle of the frightening sort for the Aduran. Trying to brush such pessimistic thoughts aside, An'Gel tried to experience a bit of optimism.

Always been curious bout the land of the dark skinned elf people. I'll take in the sights as I go!

Then he frowned. That did not make sense.

Well, of course, that is if, no, I mean WHEN I manage to escape captivity. THEN I'll take in the sights as I go!

Briefly glancing at the Orc who possessed a permanent scowl, he reckoned any further escape attempts should be attempted after leaving this pirate stronghold. An audible CREEEEK sound abruptly interrupted his stream of thought. Turning to the source, An'Gel watched as the castle gates were opening. An'Gel guessed the first sights he would be exposed to would be many, many brutish males wielding sharp objects wading about a dirty courtyard.

And that was precisely what he saw upon entering through the gates. There were bellows and there were curses. There were clangs of steel against steel and the incessant braying of horses. His time spent in the military had made him familiar with the classic castle courtyard which An'Gel felt could be described in 2 straightforward adjectives; loud and messy.

Wooden balconies overlooked the entirety of the courtyard from every possible angle. The typical overuse of the pirate flag as the castle's sole decoration was evident as well.

Did no one bother to ponder the potential aesthetic qualities of even a small sunflower? An'Gel mused within his cage. The more he mentally entertained himself however, the more his mind wandered into seriousness. Still being dragged across the dirt ground by the donkey, the most striking aspect of the inhabitants of the castle that he noticed was their complete lack of acknowledgement to the fact that other sentient beings, some of their own kind, were being hauled around in cages only centimetres away from them. By face value it was definitely boorish behaviour yet An'Gel felt this was clear-as-day evidence that something had gone terribly wrong with the world.

Dismiss it as the naivety of an idealist but this kind of scene can't be natural. It shouldn't be! How can this be accepted as a common feature of society?

An'Gel shook his head.

Are the aristocrats in Isnhrion so horribly ignorant or this is the influence of something more complex?[/i]

---

"So you're the one who defeated Fashiz? I must applaud, really I must," croaked the hunched-back, withered figure in front of An'Gel's cell. Skin dark green, nose looking as if it had been pushed inwards at a young age and most noticeably, the large bird perched atop its shoulders. If An'Gel didn't know better he would have assumed the bird was an eagle but he did know better.

That's one big hawk eh

The Aduran was currently alone in his captivity for he had been separated from the other prisoners. Instead of the usual dungeons holding mass quantities of sentient beings, a specific, single cell in a different section of the castle had been allocated just for him. The floor was covered by straw and hay. Cockroaches roamed the walls around An'Gel who was making the conscious effort to remain in a spot unaffected by the presence of rat droppings. Mouldy bread, probably the leftovers of the cell's previous occupant, plus the overwhelming stench of piss assailed the olfactory senses of the martial artist. In other words, An'Gel viewed his current prison as absolutely repulsive. Despite this, he had striven to not display his disgust to his jailers and the mysterious Orc addressing him through the cell door's peeping hole. Doing so was certainly a struggle even for An'Gel's disciplined state of mind.

Thankfully, the fact that he had been kept in the cell since his arrival inside the castle in the morning to what An'Gel guessed was late afternoon at the moment did help his adapting to the room. Fed plain bread and water, his wounds from his battle aboard the Akira's Revenge had also been bandaged by his captors though not out of pure goodness but instead by a need to maintain An'Gel as a "top-quality product" for his apparent future in the Valyaran slave markets. His wounds still ached considerably but the former soldier had no doubt his body still possessed the capabilities of a good fighter, at least adhering to his standards of what a good fighter should be. Now, An'Gel found himself "graced" by the presence of a strange Orc.

Not bothered by An'Gel's silence, the old Orc continued to speak casually, "I am Garkug. I'm the right-hand man of Captain Atamosk. Yes, I know I know, a wizened Orisyaa elder like me? It's the usual reaction until I reveal to them my talents as a shaman of the beasts. By that point, I already have my wolves mauling the man's face for underestimating m-"

"You finished rambling old man?" An'Gel interrupted the shaman. He already got the message.

Unlike the pirates he had encountered thus far, namely one by the name of 'Fashiz', the elderly Orc retained his composure. Sneering at An'Gel he warned the pirate killer, "Atamosk has taken a keen interest in you boy. He is a man even that incompetent braggart Raven is forced to show respect to. You'll be taken to meet him in person tonight. After that…you’ll be spending the rest of your nights inside the stomachs of my wolves!”

Garkug tilted his head back and cackled ominously. When he had used up his laughs, the Orc looked back at An’Gel. The Aduran was smirking.

“I can’t wait then.”

“What?”

An’Gel reiterated his comment, “I can’t wait then.”

Baring his canine-like teeth, the Orc mocked his confidence, “Men with egos like yours are brought into the stronghold every day. They come out dead!”

Without saying anything, the Aduran leaned back against the hay. Then he closed his eyes and retorted, a smug smile on his face, "I won't be bullied by no one. Now, leave me so I can prepare for tonight's dinner party."

The Orc shaman emitted a vicious growl as he turned around to walk off from An'Gel's prison. Unperturbed, An'Gel recalled the numerous times he had heard of the name 'Atamosk' up to the present moment. Apart from inferring the possibility that this 'Atamosk' person possessed a cult of personality within the ranks of the men he commanded An'Gel also expected that the man himself, or woman, should have been a very good fighter to have ascended to the position of such status he or she was in currently.

An'Gel wet his lips at the prospect. I'm looking forward to it

[New Minahasa]

Achillus Varro
Wilderness of The Reach

---

Rumours of an especially malevolent being had recently spread among wary travellers and adventurers. They claimed that it travelled from the south, through the forests of The Reach, and had since been terrorizing anyone who passed through its' "territory" which was situated around a cave in the middle of a dense forest; a perfect place for ambushes and such. The beast was smart... too smart. Many speculations were thrown around. Some people claimed it was a vampire, others said that it was a werewolf, while the more skeptical ones suggested that it was probably just a pack of Dire animals who happened to be around the region. But Achillus knew better.

He wasn't too far from the area, having had a night of rest at a nearby tavern. A group of drunks, who were Nordic travellers, had a pretty good fight with another group of drunks, the local Reachmen there, over an argument of what the beast truly was, and they were loud enough to catch Achillus' attention. The morning after saw him wandering the forests, headed straight for the beast's hunting grounds. His arrival was greeted by a rotting corpse, only a few days old. Going deeper only made things worse; chipped tree trunks with blood stains on them were visible. A skirmish had recently occured here, but where were the corpses?

Achillus picked up the sight of an inconspicuous blood trail. Someone, or something, tried to cover up the trail, but failed miserably. The trail, as expected, led to a cave situated in the heart of the forest. Outside the cave, however, were a group of armed men waiting. Mercenaries. Achillus approached them, unarmed, but highly cautious. A mercenary stepped up in response. "You should go back, elf. This place isn't safe. Didn't you see all the corpses laying about?," spoke the man with a rash voice. "Mercenaries, correct? I assume you're here to deal with this beast threat?," Achillus said in respond.

"You're damn right. What, you're looking for a piece of this action too? A helping hand is always welcome, just... don't expect you're getting any of our reward. We got here first, and we never asked for your help either. Are we clear?," said the man. Achillus only nodded. "Crystal," he responded. The man nodded and rallied his henchmen. A party of eight total, including Achillus, made their way into the cave. Only a few minutes in and the air inside was getting heavier. There was an obvious menacing aura emanating from inside. The group of men were dead silent as well, and some could be seen trembling. While their leader appeared to be a seasoned warrior, the rest of them were only rookies.

Arriving at the heart of the cave, the party split into groups of two. The first group took a ridge to their left while the second went the usual path, with the first group overlooking and flanking the second group's movement. All of a sudden, a voice soared out and lashed at the second group. "MORTALS!" A giant Dea'ra emerged. It had returned from one of its hunts, and the mercenaries were trapped inside the beast's lair. Achillus' speculation proved true. Out of reflexes, Achillus laid his quiver down, revealing a hail of silver-tipped arrows, looking past him at the mercenaries behind. "Get your bows out and take that thing down! Silver arrows only. If you don't have any, don't be shy to take some from mine," he said as he loaded his bow with an arrow and shot.

The arrow hit the creature's shoulder, causing it to go on a wrathful frenzy. The mercenaries below charged recklessly, each hoping that they would be the one to take the thing down. Unfortunately, their guts were ripped apart by the demon before they could even make a scratch. Achillus saw the futility in fighting inside the beast's own lair and commanded what's left of the mercenaries to make an escape. With frightened haste they ran, choosing the nearest exit. The group barely made it out, and they still had a frenzied demon on their tail, but at least they were outside. "Stand your ground. You have the option to run and get killed eitherway, or fight and die in glorious battle. Choose!," shouted Achillus as the demon roared and bursted outside the cave.

Exhausted of any other options, what's left of the mercenaries decided to fight. The demon's advance was halted by a hail of silver arrows, but it wasn't enough to take it down. This creature was obviously stronger than an average Dea'ra. It roared and leaped at the group, tossing the mercenaries aside and trapping Achillus alone. Soon, it became apparent that the creature's prime target was the half-breed himself. "Spellbreaker!," the creature roared. Achillus was immediately shocked, the Dea'ra chortling at his reaction. "Not so clever now, huh? Finally, I've lured you into my trap. You think I'd come all the way over here just to slaughter petty mortals and toy with their guts? No. My master sent me here, FOR YOU," the Dea'ra acclaimed.

It raised its fiery axe, preparing to strike, before a silver arrow hit the side of its head, shot by one of the mercenaries. Distracted, Achillus raised his bow and took another shot, this time aimed at the demon's eye. The demon was paralyzed, but only momentarily. Achillus had no plans to do this, but he was left with no other choice. The demon was too powerful to be killed. He tossed his bow aside and whispered an ancient incantation. The atmosphere around him turned dark, and the elf was enwrapped in a dark-purplish aura. His skin gradually turned darker until it turned midnight black, similar to a shadow. Out of a sudden, the elf had transformed into something else.

The creature referred to itself as "Cythraul" as it made its entrance, and it was roughly the same size as the Dea'ra. The demon snarled and struck at the shadow. Both creatures fought for sometime, but it was obvious that the shadow was getting the upperhand. With a final strike, the demon's chest was cut open. It let out a final roar before falling to its demise. The shadow, having finished the deed, vanished from sight, leaving only a paralyzed elf. Fortunately for him, the remaining mercenaries were there to pick him up, where he was brought to the same tavern he rested in the night before.

News of his action quickly reached the ears of everyone residing in the tavern at that time, and would slowly spread from travellers to travellers. Achillus, however, woke up with a joyful cheer from the tavern dwellers, but with an empty pocket. Apparently, from a piece of note, the mercenaries had taken whatever coins he had as the "cost for carrying your elven buttocks around and for paying the tavernkeeper".

[Spindle]

Sinnweld
Spire Sentinel
Dread

Forward. Forward. Overhead. Guard. Back. Forward. Forward. Overhead. Guard. Back. Forward. Forward. Overhead. Guard. Back.

Her arms ached from the sword drill, the hunk of metal growing heavier and heavier in her hands as she repeated it over and over and over without cease or change. She could see other Battlemages out of the corner of her eyes, going through complex drills with a fluidity and grace which belied the years of training and experience they had with their chosen weapons, occasionally glancing at her and hidning their smiles. Gritting her teeth, ignoring the sidelong glaces and the comments she heard whispering in when her back was towards someone, she continued on, over and over. Just follow the pattern. Forward. Forward. Overhead. Guard. Back. Forward. Forward. Overhead. Guard. Back. Forward. Forward. Overhead. Guard. Back. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Eventually, her entire body on fire and sheathed in a slick layer of sweat, she sheathed the sword and staggered over to the bench at the back of the room, collapsing onto it and pulling off the sword-belt in one semi-fluid motion. Sagging against the cool, stone wall behind her, she let herself slide slowly down the wall and tried relax out her aching muscles. Slowly - far too slowly - the knots of fire began to slip apart, and she glanced out over the twenty-odd Battlemages still practising here. It was the middle of the night - by Isnhrion time, at least, since day and night were murky concepts without a sun or moon - and Sinnweld knew that each of them was here for the same reason she was.

Her dreams had been getting worse recently - she could even remember snippets of them now. Not much, but scenes of fire and blood under a sunless sky were enough to give her an idea of what was to come. Why the Shadow legion had been assembled to face this task, she didn't know. But she knew the scenario would be serious, and without the Legion there to blunt the worst of its impact it could even be disastrous. For everyone - if anyone outside the Shadow Legion gained access to a portal from Dread to Astergea...

She shuddered, rolled her shoulders and stood up, heading for the balustrade on the sixth floor. The air in the fortress seemed charged, as if the magic which permeated it was ready to discharge at any moment, and that left her feeling as though lightning could leap from her fingers at any time. The Fever had seemingly noticed this too, and the dull ache in her mind was growing sharper and sharper with every step she took. Her fingers flinched towards the pouch at her hip for a moment. Just a quick moment and the pain would go away, if only for a little while. And she could always take another one when the pain came back...

Stepping out into the eternal half-twilight the Battlespires resided within, her eyes traced over the landscape she knew by heart - the slow roll of the surrounding hills and their dips and valleys were as familiar to her as the rhythm of her own breathing. The swirling light of the portals were her compass points, North's ruddy light spilling a sea of blood over the surrounding landscape, East's azure glow transporting the land under the sea and West's golden column collapsing into rainbow sprays and re-forming over and over again. And illuminated in that light, she could see the pickets. Some walked, some remained in the outer watchtowers, but her eyes could find all of them in a matter of minutes.

Except this time, she realised, she couldn't.

There were only a few missing, but that was enough to set the alarm bells ringing in her head. A rough wedge had been driven into the line of pickets, through a set of valleys which had sheltered them from the other pickets. But the patrols would have noticed it had the other pickets been gone for more than a few minutes, and Sinnweld felt something knot in her stomach as realisation sparked in her mind. As if in twisted response, her eyes caught a flicker of fire lancing out from one of the pickets - barely fifty feet shy of the curtain walls - before the picket simply vanished. The massive ballistae mounted on the wall made no move to respond.

Sinnweld felt as if her bones were made of lead, her body feeling slow and cumbersome as she turned and made to bolt back into the Battlespire. The picket had vanished - simply gone, like they had never existed. How? Illusions. It had to be illusions. Which was entirely possible they had an entire army down there that the Battlespires were entirely unaware of. In fact, her mind added distantly, it was entirely probable. Her dreams, the premonitions Lhoris had been having - now this. Blood and fire under a sunless sky, and she was going to be right in the thick of it. The thought of it sent convulsions tearing through her stomach and she retched, almost tripping, before she burst back into the drill room.

"We're under attack!" She exclaimed out, the others glancing back at her for a moment as she continued to ramble, "There's an army hidden out there and they're almost at the curtain wall and we're about to be attacked and we need to get everyone up and ready to fight and we need to get everyone else up too forget Spire Sealight and Saega they're too far away for us to reach in time but we can definitely get to Spire Ashen and if we can get there we can start rallying!"

The Battlemages were already moving, practically exploding into action as they dispersed out into the Battlespire. Shouts began to go up around her and she felt the first discharges of magic, occasional fireballs flying out and impacting out beyond the curtain wall. The stillness around the Battlespire had been broken, a steadily-increasing barrage of spells being hurled back and forth. Screams and snarls echoed up from the killing ground beyond the Battlespire walls, inhuman howls and screeches reaching up into the murky skies as Sinnweld scrambled up stairs, raced through corridors and burst through doors before finally coming to a halt in her own room. Grabbing at her bags and her crossbow case, she pivoted right around on one foot and began to race back the way she came.

She was seven floors up, and even a glance out of the arrow-slits in the walls showed a flowing sea of abominations surging through the killing fields even as the magical fusillade tearing through them intensified. Going down the stairs - even at a flat sprint - was going to take too long; the Dea’ra were going to have Spire Sentinel cut off before she could get all the way down there. And even a veteran Battlemage wouldn't want to be caught in such a cramped, close-quarters encounter with a horde of Dea’ra, so it looked like she was going to have to head down the fast way.

Reaching the spiral staircase leading to the ground floor, she reached into her pouch, drew out a wad of rustleaf and popped it into her mouth, chewing. As the still-sharpening pain of the Fever began to abate, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to draw on the magic she had, her mind running through the familiar streams of possibilities before finding the one she wanted and drawing it into her own world. Within moments, the stairs had practically vanished underneath a rapidly-thickening layer of ice, and Sinnweld closed her eyes, took a small step back, then hurled herself forwards onto the ice.

She lost all perspective of up and down, forwards and back, as she slid and tumbled down the stairs like a deranged sled, screaming the whole time. Throughout it all, the damp chill seeped steadly into her clothes and bones before she was spat out and sent tumbling across the hard, cobbled floor of the Battlespire. One of her nails snagged on a loose stone and tore off in an arcing spray of blood, but her scream was lost in the din of battle being joined outside. Pulling herself to her feet, she staggered out of the Battlespire, and then stopped as her mind began to comprehend what was happening.

A seething, raging sea of Dea’ra surrounded the Battlespires on every side, pouring over the hills in endless black waves as they crashed against the roiling magic blasting outwards from the tight knots of Battlemages slowly pulling together. Smoke was spreading from Spire Sealight in thick clouds, choking the sky in an ever-spreading blot even as flames licked at the arrow slits hungrily, as if eager to leap out and into the fray below. The vast curtain wall had been breached at three points Sinnweld could see, and each one disgorged a river of creatures into the meat grinder which the Battlemages had managed to set up, fire and ice and water and steel all tearing creatures apart even as their replacements washed over their bodies in an endless, rolling wave of hunger and death.

Almost without thought, he body was running for Spire Ashen, before something crashed into Spire Sentinel and thudded heavily to the ground behind her. Yanking her crossbow case open, Sinnweld dragged the weapon out and aimed it up, reaching with her mind out into the streams of possibilities and cocking it. Fumbling a quarrel into place she loosed with a curse, the weapon bucking in her hand as the bolt flashed across the distance to drive itself into the Manticore's face. Black ichor spurted and the beast roared in pain and rage, a snake's tongue slipping out of a goat's face, and flexed its wings. One of them was scorched and bent at an odd angle, a shard of dirty-white bone sticking out where it had hit the ground, but it prowled towards without regard for that or arrow lodged in its face, more ichor slowly dripping down its snout and to the ground below as it did so. With a gesture Sinnweld shattered the bolt, sending splinters deep into the creature's brain. It screamed in pain, clawing at its own face and leaving long, ragged streaks where it did so before collapsing to the floor convulsing.

Taking a deep breath, Sinnweld glanced around to see that the curtain wall had been breached twice more since she'd become distracted, jagged, gaping holes vomiting forth more and more Dea’ra to crash into the small groups of Battlemages scattered around the complex. Someone had managed to bring down a small battery of ballistea from the curtain wall, and those bolts would occasionally lash out into the seething mass of Dea’ra, carving an ichor-strewn path through the sea before yet more bodies scrambled across to fill it up. Even with the ballistae venting their wrath, however, the Dea’ra had managed to push out beyond the breaches, spilling throughout the complex and forcing the Battlemages back again and again, towards Spire Ashen. Two more of Spires had been fired, and Sinnweld could just barely hear screams from inside over the constant thundering of magic and the constant roar of the Dea'ra.

Continuing towards Spire Ashen, Sinnweld reached into the streams of possibility and pulled once again, a conflagration bursting from her hands to engulf a cluster of Dea'ra who had strayed from the overall mass even as she brought forth a host of illusory attacks to add confusion. The mages in the ground shattered two of her illusions before the inferno reached them, and Sinnweld could hear their screams even as she twisted the streams again, three copies of herself splitting off in different directions in case any of their other mages wanted to catch her out. One of them did, apparently, and a human-looking figure in dark robes gestured towards her, arcs of sickly green lightning flashing out to strike two of her illusions. The detonations shook the ground, and Sinnweld reached out and tore apart the earth underneath the figure's feet, letting him falling forever as she continued to sprint for the safety of the mass.

The Battlemages had formed up around Spire Ashen now - only a few holdouts still retreating to the larger mass - and the flowing sea of Dea’ra followed after them. The earth cracked open into yawning maws which devoured them by the score, firestorms sprung out of nowhere, tearing into the mass with an almost malicious glee, shards of ice burst from skin, plantlife grew through lungs and eyes and hearts and lighting lashed out again and again, leaving charred corpses by the dozen. Dea’ra slipped on ground which was slick with black ichor and fell, yet more Dea'ra trampling them further into the bloody mulch even as they drowned. Corpses formed a thick carpet, clambered over or waded through by the Dea’ra as they pressed ever onwards.

Then the earth began to distend and stretch into a small hill, corpses sloughing away like shed skin before the earth popped like a bubble and the figure in robes emerged, apparently unscathed. For a moment the barrage intensified, aimed at the newcomer, and magic tore into him with no discernible effect. Then the gestured at the line of Battlemages, and arcs of sickly-green lightning lashed out, tearing through the line and detonating at the base of Spire Ashen. Fragments sprayed out, shredding through soldiers like so much paper and sending blood running like rivers. Another gesture, more lightning lashed out and the ground shook, rolling as if it had become liquid.

And with an excruciating, terrible slowness, Spire Ashen toppled. With a screeching like a thousand daemons straining to break loose, the vast edifice fell out of the sky, slamming into the ground with a roar that shook Sinnweld's bones. Dea’ra were tossed aside by its impact like so many ragdolls, a wave of ichor and body parts which soared into the sky and began to fall over the battlefield like a grisly rain. For a moment, Sinnweld hoped that the robed mage had been caught underneath the tower and crushed, but that damned lighting lashed out again, sending bloody gibbets flying as it tore the Battlemages apart. The line recoiled, then responded in a withering barrage of magic which detonated outwards, pulverising the remains of Ashen Spire and adding chunks of masonry to the deadly rain. Smoke and dust rose like a veil around the site, then lighting arced out to shatter the line once again.

Retreat was the only option. Everyone knew it, everyone could see it, but surrounded as they were by the Dea’ra there was no route for that escape. Waves of magic continued to lash out, like a caged beast clawing at the bars of its cage, but more and more Dea’ra flowed in to fill any gap the magic tore into the mass of bodies. The smell of blood and death was high in the air, and over and over that lightning lashed out and carved a bloody furrow into the assembled soldiers. And in the middle of all of it, frozen in fear Sinnweld stood and watched an made a decision.

She reached out with her mind, reached into the stream of probabilities, and found the river she needed. Illusions. Her mind danced across the infinite tributaries and brooks and possibilities available before she found the ones she needed and began to pull them into reality. None of them were weighty, none were difficult individually to spin and manipulate, but the number of streams she was trying to influence at once was something she had never tried before - never even considered before - and the Fever began to tear her mind apart as she forced her will onto reality. Images flashed and danced behind her eyes, voices whispering and calling for her to take a single step off of the cliff-edge into raw, unadulterated chaos. Madness sank its teeth deep into her, gibbering its delight as it tore through experiences and memories and thoughts before it ran into a wall of iron will which it could not bypass, and so howled its fury into her mind. Sinnweld sank to her knees, eyes bleeding blood as every fibre of her soul continued to twist the magic into the form she needed.

And a single Dea’ra saw a Battlemage in front of it. Claws dripping black with venom, it leapt forwards and sank its teeth into the enemy, black ichor filling its mouth as a bladed tail sank deeply into its stomach. Blackness began to overtake its vision as it watched a second Battlemage go down with claws tearing their face to ribbons. Suddenly, there were Battlemages everywhere, and the Dea’ra devolved into a mass of claws and blades and tentacles all of them trying to reach the enemy which had appeared so suddenly in their own midst. Almost instantly, a portion of the sea of Dea’ra collapsed in on itself, tearing and rending and clawing.

The Battlemages saw their opportunity and surged to meet it, the Dea’ra melting away from their path as magic and steel tore into the sides of the wall. Someone grabbed Sinnweld by the arm and thrust her forwards, bundling her along with the press of bodies as the mass of soldiers began to push forwards. Lighting lashed out and the ground trembled, nearly making her knees buckle as she stumbled onwards, half-blind and relying on the press around her to make it out. Steel bit into flesh nearby, something hissed in pain, and steaming ichor spattered onto her arm. Something impacted to her right, sending her staggering before she managed to regain her footing and continued onward. A misshapen figure lunged at her from one side, and her crossbow twanged before she had time to think, impacting with a meaty thunk and a wet gurgling as the figure fell away. Her sight slowly clearing, she stumbled on, lightning lashing down over and over, the earth rocking like the deck of a ship.

The Battlemage's formation had dispersed into a running melee, the lightning tearing into the growing weaker and weaker as it was forced to punch through Dea'ra after Dea'ra to strike the Battlemages. Momentum began to build as they pushed onwards, even as their numbers continued to dwindle. Glancing behind, Sinnweld could still see the trail of corpses which served as their footprints, even through the blistering wall of magic keeping the Dea'ra from overrunning them from the rear: Battlemages and demons both, piled two or three deep on the floor which had turned into a bloodied quagmire. Exhaustion and adrenaline burned her muscles in equal measure, but she could see the edge of the press nearby and with a burst of energy she sprinted for it. A Dea'ra with a trident jabbed at her and she ducked past, driving her dagger deep into its serpentine neck and leaving it there, ichor spurting out over the blade. The ground rolled under her feet and she pitched forwards, face and nose sinking into the blood and mud. She panicked, tried to scream, and sucked up a lungful of mud and rolled over, choking .

A foot crashed into her ribs and she half-curled reflexively, before the foot crashed into her again and she tried to scream again as something went crunch. Instead, however, ruddy mud sputtered and oozed out of her mouth, flecked with blood. Hacking and coughing, she rolled onto one side just in time to avoid the sword which stabbed down, sinking into the mud beside her. Pain shot through her as she dragged herself to her feet, coated head to toe, and sent a spike of ice lancing directly into the Dea'ra's eye. For a moment it looked surprised, then ichor dribbling out around the icicle and it collapsed to the ground, limp.

Dragging herself onwards, her mind slowly realised that she was on a slope and she scrambled up it desperately until it evened out amidst a knot of Battlemages. Glancing across at them she could see looks of grim triumph etched into their faces as they rained magic down on the Dea'ra still engaging the rest of the Battlemages, and for a moment she revelled in that feeling before her eyes darted off to a cluster of larger Dea'ra approaching them swiftly from the right. They exuded power - she could feel it even from here, even through the full armour of her exhaustion, and she knew that whoever was commanding this force had decided that it was time to get serious.

Withering volleys of magic were exchanged between both sides as the Battlemages finally disengaged from the seething masses of lesser Dea'ra - except for a small group who remained, defiantly resisting until they were literally buried beneath a wave of their enemies - and shifted their focus to the more pressing threat. Concussions tore the ground asunder all around them, tossing bodies into the sky with callous disregard as infernos wreathed the advancing Dea'ra in luminescent halos that leapt up into the sky, as if that could add light to the sunless sky above. The blood and corpses barely had time to settle, the ground rolling and reforming as both sides attempted to raise walls of earth and stone and open rocky maws, and yet the Battlemages still left a steady trail of corpses behind them, like a wounded beast bleeding out.

After what could have been an eternity or simply a moment they crested the hill, basking in the radiance of the portal for a moment before passing through one after the other. Lights flickered and spun, voices whispered and the ground rolled and shifted underfoot, but none of that could reach Sinnweld where she was anymore - dulled by exhaustion and rustleaf, even the Fever didn't seem real to her anymore. It was just another kind of pain she had acquired in however many minutes. Stumbling out onto dry, bloodless grass, she staggered on a few more steps before drunkenly reeling to one side and sagging with exhaustion.

"Ain't no time for that now, ya know." A voice opined from one side, and Sinnweld half-turned her head to see a figure drenched in mud and drying blood. However much of it was their own, she couldn't tell.

"Who...who are you?" She asked weakly. It seemed an effort to talk - anything else would surely be beyond her.

"Ilimitar, lass. Now'en, y'know how to close a portal, yeah?"

She squinted at the portal, the sprays of liquid gold weaving and unweaving sinuously before her eyes. A knot of soldiers were sending a withing barrage arcing into it, from both sides, even as they raised up walls of ice and earth as if to block it off. Something flashed out of the portal and detonated, sending clots of earth arcing high and raining down around them all.

"Yes." She decided, "I know how to do that. But why, though? It's so pretty..."

"Just do it, lass." The figure told her, weariness straining its voice, "And tell me - were the other portals closed?"

"The other portals?"

She considered the question for a moment, as a figure in black iron stepped out of the portal. A shame, really. The figure was too ugly for such a beautiful backdrop. She gestured, reaching into the streams she needed, and heated the armour until it was molten to match the sprays of liquid gold. The figure staggered back, through the portal, and Sinnweld fancied she could hear something screaming in the distance. Odd.

"I couldn't see the other portals." She said after a moment, "But I could only ever see North from West."

Ilimitar sighed.

"Fine, lass. Good job. Now close the portal."

"Of course, Il. Do you mind if I call you Il?"

"of course not, lass."

Sinnweld reached out with her mind once again, felt the Fever waking and tearing into her mind once more. Every fibre of her body was burning, burning with a fire inside them as she reached through the streams and searched desperately for the ones she'd need. A detonation nearby sent her flying, but that didn't matter: she just needed to close the portal. That was all she needed to do. Find the streams, pull them into the world. And then she had them, had the streams she'd need - her body hit the floor and the breath was driven from here lungs in a stab of pain which left it hard to breathe. She pulled, holding on desperately to the thin string of hope as the Fever ravaged her mind over and over, as she fell from the cliffside and watched the roiling seas of madness stretch up a tendril to meet her-

Someone joined with her, lifted the burden, and suddenly she was flying through the air, the madness retreating beneath her. Another mage joined, and another, and then her eyes opened and the dancing lights were gone.

Silence filled the air as Sinnweld staggered to one side, glanced around for Ilimitar, couldn't find him. He had been here a moment ago, she was sure of it. She knew him, knew him from somewhere. He'd been...a friend? An enemy? Something else? She didn't know. She didn't care. She was calling his name, she realised, and the other mud-stained figures around her shifted away, except for one. Short, almost round. An arm was missing - well that was silly. She should find it and put it back on. And now the short-mud-lady was saying something and she couldn't hear what - her ears were ringing and everything beyond that seemed strangely muted.

"You're not Ilimitar." She said after a moment. Even her own voice seemed muted.

"No, I'm not." The short-mud-lady said, and if Sinnweld listened she could "Ilimitar's dead, lady. He held the rearguard when we disengaged at Ashen Spire, remember? He's dead."

"No he's not." Sinnweld frowned, "I was talking to him just now."

And then the ground was pressed against her face and the pain filling her body became dull and distant even as her vision faded to black.

[Beiarusia]

KARI NACHTIGAL
East of Summerset

By chance the boy — Bjorn, was his name — had acquired them passage on the cart of an old man. Uncomfortable, and a tad bit crowded considering the giantess and the newcomer who, for whatever the reason, was joining them, not to mention the goods to be haggled in the city, but it was more preferable to walking. There was even a shady corner for Kari to hide away.

Ingrid was reminiscing in her typical stoic silence; Bjorn sat across her, his excitement palpable in his gawking. The vampire was sleeping, or attempting to, but couldn't quite stretch the way she wanted, and despite her cloak keeping the worse of the sun off her anemic skin there was a vexing prickling like too sharp pins in flesh. She'd much rather travel at night, but her companion wasn't the sort to be needlessly accommodating. At the very least the forest provided ample shade. The daylight was made bearable, for now, but she'd be certain to complain once it proved too irritable to ignore. Wouldn't change a thing, but she'd feel better at the very least.

The vampire, like Ingrid, allowed her mind to wander, but unlike her companion her imaginings were little more than banal musings. Daydreams of nothing in particular.

"You ever think of wearing a mask with the hood?" comes the sudden question.

Kari takes a moment to process the words, having not been paying attention, but mulls over the thought with some meager sense of consideration. A mask? She had never considered such a thing. Sure, if she was burglarizing some home or business a mask would prove useful, but she was hardly in any one place for long for such deception to be required. As for the sun, her cowl and parasol usually worked well enough when forced out into the day.

The cart passed into a sunny patch. Kari made good use of her parasol, opening it and angling the fan just right to keep her safely in the shadow. An absentminded undertaking that was second-nature.

"Not really," she answered. She grinned a sharp-toothed grin. "Why hide my charming looks. This cloak is torrid enough without a mask to add to my discomfort. Why do you ask? A better question is why bring the kid?" Her eyes dart to Bjorn. "You're cute and all, and I appreciate the wagon" — she motions with her free hand to indicate the cart — "but we don't seem the type you'd join up with. Better yet, didn't you want Miss Ingrid dead only yesterday?"

[Theyra]

Isnhrion
The Ember Tower
Aiwin Arrianus

Aiwin! Lord Aiwin you must wake up now! Captain Caelus spoke to a sleeping Aiwin with increase loudness as started to shake him awake.

It did not take long to wake up Aiwin and he slowly rose halfway from his bed with half-awaked eyes "Wha.. What is it Caelus? It took a few a seconds for him to think to why he was awaken. "It is a hawk from Evermoor Caelus and how is my family? His gazed focused on Caelus and speaking with eager anticipation.

"No Aiwin", Caelus said grimly. "It is Isnhrion, the city is und....", Caelus could not finish the sentence before a explosion erupted nearby.

Any lingering tiredness disappeared as he shook himself awake and Aiwin urgently got out of bed. Standing in his night clothes and looking very concerned at Caelus "What is happening Caelus?

"The city is on fire Aiwin and I am surprised the other explosions that hit the Ember Tower did not wake you".

"On fire....who is doing this Caelus and....." Wait, your brother Caelus, did he return from his task out in the city while I slept?

"I do not have much information about who started this, rioters or something of that nature and no". "He has not returned and I bet he is trying to return to the tower in this chaos".

"Caelus", Aiwin giving him a serious look while walking to the cabinet that stored his armor. "We are going out there and we are finding your brother". "Along with stopping these rioters on the way and once we find your brother".

"Understood my lord and I will ready the men". Caelus knew he should not let Aiwin out into city for his own safety. However, he knows his best-friend too well and there is no way Aiwin is going to sit idle during this.

Aiwin got on his armor as fast as he could and not bothering to change out of his night clothes. Gathering with his personal guards in his room and spoke with a commanding tone. "First we find Primus who should be trying to make his way back to the tower and we search routes he may take". Taking down any rioters we see and after we find him, we help to root any more rioters. We stick together and Lorsan you take point. "We watch each others backs out there and Caelus we will find your brother".

"I know we will Aiwin and I know my brother. He should still be alive out there and if those fiends touched him. Caelus pulled out his warhammer in a readied stance. "I am going to make every since one of them paid dearly".

"I know there dear and Caelus and let's move". Drawing his blade and leading his men out of the Ember Tower. Leaving only a his regular guards at his room and entered the chaotic streets with a purpose.

[Sterkistan]

Katja Bähr
2 Miles from Isnhrion, Eldrion

---

Katja trudged along the road to Isnhrion, she'd come up from Valyaria by ship and began on foot from Atlas. Part of her traditional cycle around the land. She looked up, breathing in the cool air as she made her way down the mountain path. She liked Eldrion, it was the right temperature almost year-round, and she wasn't looked upon like some bad smell.
She stopped for a moment to stretch. Her horse couldn't make the trip to Valyaria this year, and she had it waiting for her in Isnhrion. She ran her hands on her sore legs, three days of walking could be a pain. At least now she understood how lucky she was to have her horse. She continued on the path, collecting the odd herb here and there. Before deciding on a flatter encampment to rest for the night, it was late and few places would take a traveller who smelled of a thousand hunts at this hour.
She settled back and looked over to Isnhrion, and found it ablaze. An explosion flashed in the distance and she stood, biting back the pain of her aching legs and running for the city.

She made it to the gates quickly, aided by the slight downhill slope provided by the mountain range a few miles back. She unwrapped her Halberd as she drew close to the city, and drank a small portion of a fire resistance potion, coating the rest over her fur cloak and wrapping it around herself.
She entered the city, flames leaping from the buildings and rubble littering the street. She raised her Halberd, sprinting toward the Ruby district, searching for the devils who started this madness.

[Everhall]

Dead Man's Bastion, Isle of Zuhyq, Pandora

The men came in the night, clamoring down the narrow halls of the Bastion with cheers and shouts. Some were clearly drunk, while others displayed expressions of stone in stark contrast to the merriment that reverberated through the group. Nevertheless, these men came to An'Gel's cell, and threw a rough burlap sack over the Aduran's head, even as he took down many of them in a short struggle.

"Eh!" one drunken pirate slurred, "That reallah hurt!" An'Gel was taken with great difficulty from the cells of Bastion, unable to see the layout of the fortress through his sack other than the lights that shine through in the darkness of the night. Finally, however, as the warrior monk was brought into a large cavern laden with gold, a voice echoing with authority came from the far end of the room, "Leave him."

An'Gel was thrown onto the warm sandstone ground before the burlap sack was taken from his head. Around him sat gold, amethysts, and rubies, all gathered into opulent piles of wealth in Dead Man's Bastion. These piles continued on for yards, before coalescing around one throne atop it all. There, leaned into the seat with one leg over the other sat a man, not just any normal man, but a man that appeared to look much like the beastfolk and Lupans of the north. But this was no Lupan. Instead of fur, black feathers covered his body, and his sharp yellow eyes bore a distinct hawk-like difference to that of Lupans. It was clear, this was no mere beastfolk, it was a Hawk Man.

"Do you see?" Sha'ra, perched next the Hawk Man said, "He could be the one."

"So it seems," the beastfolk turned to An'Gel, "I apologize for the inconvence Aduran, though I hope that you will come to understand in the future. I am Atamosk."

The Ember Tower, The Imperial Ring, Isnhrion

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

The two moons of Astergea cast an illuminated Isnhrion in silver as the fires of the Ruby District burned hellishly in the night. Men, women and children, all fleeing the threat within screamed for unanswering gods and spiteful neighbors, only to lose hope at the swing of a cultist blade. Ruven could hear it all. A cut above his eyebrow, opened by the explosion pained him, but this was nothing compared to the thought that these were his people that he was listening to; dying without peace, without tranquility, and the shame of his failure weighed heavily on the Prince as the straps of his silversteel armor were tied. A cut above his eyebrow, opened by the explosion pained him, But no, this wasn't the time for thoughts such as those, all that mattered now was saving as many people as he could. He first, however, had to find Lhoris.

He chanced upon the Chancellor similarly equipping himself in light mage's armor from his days serving as an Imperial Battlemage. Modest as ever, he had always refused to forgo his old robes for something more appropriate for his station. Ruven found Lhoris give out orders as he was equipped, sending for firefighters, guardsmen, and battlemages. Servants scattered like headless chickens to carry out his work,

"Lhoris!" Ruven approached the Chancellor, "What in Dread is going on, where is Julek?!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Lhoris growled, "The city's under attack and that's the first thing you think about?"

"I'm right bloody here," Julek interjected, emerging similarly garbed in armor from one of the many halls of the Ember Tower, "I'd similarly like to know what's going on. Where are our Battlemages, Lhoris?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out! Fergus!" Lhoris yelled to one of the few mages residing within the Hall, "How's the Silver Plate working? Have you made contact with the Battlespires? We need them now!"

"I'm sorry, Potentate!" Fergus saluted putting one fist on the small on his back and the other on his heart, "I've been unable to contact the Shadow Legion! I'll keep working on it!"

"What do you mean?" Ruven questioned, "Are you telling me that the Shadow Legion, the one thing that we have to deal with this incursion, is-?" Ruven shuttered as a thought entered his head, "They're... they're under attack too."

Julek's expression turned grim, "Who would be brazen enough to attack the Empire?"

"I don't know," Lhoris scowled, "But they are going to pay dearly for what they've done." as he said this, the guard commander, a Reachman named Scipius, informed the three of the gathering a cohort of guardsmen and legionaries in the Imperial Ring, and their readiness to move out, "Good," Lhoris grumbled as he began to make he way out of the Ember Tower, "Anyone who chooses to join in the defense, come. We have a city to restore." The Order of the Phoenix guards, from both Ruven and Julek's entourage, answered the Potentate's call with a cheer and began to move with their respective Princes to the Courtyard. There, arrayed in rows of twenty, the cohort stood, all before the marble steps that lead into the Ember Tower's main hall. Ruven, unsually the one to be among the ranks standing before him, couldn't help but realize how far he had come since those days and what he had lost since. Asoka...

"Legionaries!" Lhoris began. The soldiers stood in attention, "A foul disease is spreading to engulf our city, the disease known as the Dea'ra and the infection known as their followers! Within those walls lie your people, your friends, and your family, and they have come to burn them all in a fiery depths of Dread! I, however, will not stand idly by as my people suffer at the touch of the Dea'ra threat, and I hope that you too will rise to the challenge to defend your homes! The enemy think us weak and vulnerable, why else attack the seat of the Phoenix in the heart of the Empire? This night, we will show just how wrong they are! Our goal is to liberate the Ruby District and to scour our city of the vile foe that threatens it! We will win because we are strong. We will win because we are brave! We will because you are the toughest sons and daughters the Empire has to offer!" Lhoris drew his sword, "Now men! FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR THE LEGION! CHARGE!"

[Zanera]

Alyndel
Narrow Mountain Passes Just North of Isnhrion
Sixteen Days Since Leaving Isnhrion

---

It was twilight and this little town was going mad. There were people throwing things from upper windows to family on the street, shouting to each other about what to bring and what not to bring. Wagons came thundering down the road, nearly killing some people. One person had released a cow. Neighbors were screaming at each other the news of the land: "He's gone mad! Absolutely mad! We're leaving!" "Leaving where?! There's no where to run! The armies will come for you one way or another, we're all dead!" "Not us! We're going to live!" "Bah!" they said, before closing their shutters. A tavern caught fire as Alyndel was walking past it and he was nearly trampled by fleeing patrons. A couple of elves were getting drunk off their asses, and had stolen a couple of horses. The local guards talked for a few minutes and walked down the road, shaking down a farmer and kicking him into a watering trench before walking off out of town. The local inn was dark and silent, so Alyndel assumed he wouldn't be able to stay there tonight. He eyed a path out of town a ways into the woods, a campfire sending light wavering through the woods. Among the madness of the small town, it seemed people wanted to sit away from it.

It didn't seem like a cult was dancing about it. Studying the group from afar, they looked like travelers instead of maniacal cultists. Most gathered around a fire. Others were in lean-tos with their own little fires. Knapsacks and bags were strewn all about. They were too mis-matchedly dressed to be all with each other. There was an animated discussion at the campfire and as Alyndel approached no one noticed except one relatively well-groomed traveler, who looked at Alyndel and snorted. Alyndel was getting cold so he sat at the fire, listening to the conversation.

"Their armies'll be marching over the hills and into every moor and glen to shed each other's blood upon it. The whole continent will drown in blood again!" proclaimed a bespattered old elf.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the men and younger elves engage in the savagery. The older elves, though, know that civil wars aren't a glorious thing at all. It's not defending your homeland and it's surely not real conquest. They'll surely not get as many willing swords this round, I'll tell you," said a middle-aged elven woman.

"Gods knows it just might be a resurrection of Melkor!" A couple of people threw food at a young elven man dressed in orange.

"No able-minded and self-respecting elf that wants to lead the Ashen Empire would use daemons," said a suave Vvalyaar.

"But it's true! There wasn't a twenty-five-year-long civil war because he used regular troops, there was a twenty-five-year-long civil war because he, Melkor, raised daemons to undermine the war effort of the other side, and he'll be resurrected again to finally take over the Ashe-" the young elven man had a bowl thrown at his head. They got up and ran away with their backpack back into town.

"Now that that guy is out of here, we'll have little of that dreadful daemon talk," said the suave Vvalyaar.

"That pun was dreadful," said the middle-aged elven woman.

"I remember the bandits and mercenaries running all up and down Eldrion saying they fought for one of the sides during Melkor's War, when they were just using the war and the busy soldiers to start robbing people. There were tens of thousands of them. Murderers, swindlers, defectors, rogue mages. The worst of the lot. One group that fought, they were the most robber-baronest band in the whole Reach, and they were fighting for the legitimate heir, even. Ehhh...the Red Gauntlet, it was! They'd rob most of your cellar!" said the bespattered old elf.

"Their deeds are heard more prominently because a lot of people lived to tell the tale," said Alyndel. They looked at him and started to stare strangely, but were interested.

"Those people starved! Most had to scrounge for wild toadstools!"

"Then they were like millions of other people during the War."

"Bah!"

"I think we can all agree that that war was horrible, and that this war will probably be just as bad," said the middle-aged elven woman. Everyone agreed. Alyndel got up and gathered materials for a lean-to. It was beginning to rain, so he made the roofing a little denser and the lean-to more enclosed than normal and lit a small fire. Making sure the embers wouldn't burn down his lean-to whilst he was sleeping, he set stones about the fire to protect it against the wind. Using the bear furs as blankets he laid down and thought about the campfire discussion. He knew of a batch of a few secluded valleys where he could hunt. It'd be remote and there'd be very little help if he injured himself badly, but there was usually a few fur-trappers there if he truly needed assistance. He wanted some more meat in his diet, so he'd go there and hope no armies encroached on him. With that thought, he went to sleep.

[Spindle]

Sinnweld
The Battlespire Portal
The Reach

Her dreamscape spread out before her once more, but instead of golden fields of wheat she stood amidst a sea of putrefying corpses. Black rain hissed down in sleeting sheets, gargling through slit-open throats in a twisted parody of blood gushing from a wound even as it turned the ground into a thick quagmire of mud and viscera. She was drenched as she wandered, her world lit only by the occasional flashes of sickly green lightning which split the sky time and again with a crazed web of infected light. Emerald veins pulsed for moments before fading away, casting deep shadows into eye sockets as Sinnweld waded through the charnel sea.

Ahead of her was a figure, coated in mud and blood but apparently whole and hale. She made her way nearer, mud and corpses clinging to her feet and ankles and slowing her pace to a painfully slow crawl. Empty eyes glared up accusingly at her as she pressed through a thick carpet of broken, bloating corpses towards the figure, who raised a hand in welcome. Reaching closer, she came to a stop and studied the face - an elf, that was for sure even through the caked-on layers of mud and blood, but it took her a moment for her memories to click and her eyes to widen.

"Il?" She asked slowly, "I thought you were dead!"

"Ah am, Sinn." Ilimitar said, "This ain't real, ya'know."

Sinnweld glanced around at the bodies surrounding her, spreading off into the distance.

"No." She decided, "This happened. This is what happened."

"Mebbe." Il shrugged, "But that's why we're here, ain't it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Restitution, Sinn."

Sinnweld glanced around, then back to Ilimitar.

"Restitution?" She asked, "Restitution for what?"

Ilimitar's hand reached out, found her arm and clasped it.

"Life was taken from us, Sinn. Life was taken, so now life must be given."

"Given? Given by who? Whose life?"

A sharp pain stabbed into her forearm and she glanced down to see five ebon claws still tearing their way out of Ilimitar's fingers and into the flesh of her forearm. She looked back up, her stomach twisting in knots as she saw his features shifting in front of her, never lingering on any one face. A wolf snapped at her, saliva stinging her eyes, before now there was a snake darting out and sinking fangs deep into her shoulder and she could feel a burning fire spreading out from the bite wound as she stumbled backwards and the face became that of a human's, savage and twisted. It's eyes went wild as it began to scream in a voice seemingly made of thousands of broken, shattered souls, each one rising to a fever pitch before the face shifted away and the screams became a single, wordless howl of desperate bloodlust.

"Give them life. Give them life! GIVE THEM LIFE GIVE THEM LIFE GIVE THEM LIFE GIVEN THEM LIFE!"

The creature which had been Ilimitar tore its claws away, leaving deep, lurid furrows which welled up and overflowed with blood almost instantly, crimson spattering onto the floor in abstract shapes before sinking in and vanishing. It swiped at her again, and again, and she backpedalled rapidly, fumbling to draw the dagger out of its sheathe as she left a rapidly-vanishing stain of crimson in her path. Emerald lightning split the sky apart, the light casting dancing, quivering shadows which flared and died like blowflies swarming a cadaver. In her wake of blood corpses began to twitch, wordless moans rising to the sky to meet the primal call of the ever-shifting beast before her as it continued to assail her, raking across her body twice more and sending ever-more blood gushing to the corpses on the ground.

And then the dagger was out and she leapt forwards, hot pain bursting through her body as the creature sank claws deep into her side, but her dagger slid through skin and flesh where its neck met its left shoulder and black ichor sprayed wildly. The creature reeled face shifting over and over, before Sinnweld slammed a knee into its stomach and ripped her dagger loose in a spray of gore, plunging it back into the chest over the collarbone. The blade passed through where the heart would be and the creature's howl ceased instantly, collapsing to the ground in a growing pool of ichor and blood.

But now the first of the corpses had shambled to their feet and were staggering towards her, arms outstretched as if pleading with her. She continued to back away, blood still gushing out of her wounds and watering the ground below. The corpse nearest to her lunged, cold, rotting fingers latching onto her shoulders and locking tight. Lightning cracked once more, and in its sickly glow Sinnweld could see blood pooling and roiling inside its sightless eye-sockets. Her blood, she realised with a start, before her dagger was stabbing into the corpse over and over again, a frenzy which sent gibbets of rotting flesh and overly-thick viscera flying every which way, but the corpse's grip didn't falter or soften. It pierced the skin, blood welling up as those eyes of blood grew larger and larger, boring into her as more and more cold, rotten hands latched onto her. She could feel the dagger growing heavier and heavier in her hand as she lashed out furiously before she felt a strange pain in her gut and looked down to see a hand buried in her stomach, blood seeping out around it as the crawling corpse started at her with ever-growing eyes. With a sift sigh, Sinnweld collapsed to her knees.

And then she opened her eyes, the early-morning sun cresting a hill and bathing the land below in warm, golden light. Twisting, she made to stand but her body screamed its agony at her and she collapsed back to the floor, breaths coming in short, shallow pants. Lying still, she waited for the pain to fade down to the dull ache which she knew would be her background for the next few weeks and tried to stand again. This, time, moving slowly and gingerly, she managed to pick herself up onto trembling legs and unsteadily take a few steps, glancing around her as her eyes slowly focused in the warm morning light.

A makeshift camp sprawled around her, barely eighty or ninety - the vast majority still sleeping, one or two still wandering around - next to a raised marble dais carved with golden runes. The portal, she remembered slowly, as the horrors of the past day slowly seeped back into her pain-dulled brain. Her hand flew to her side, running up along her ribcage, and she could feel the lacerations itching underneath rolls of linen. Patches of mud still clung to her skin and armour, but most of it had dried up and flake off, and though she didn't feel clean by a long shot she felt inordinately better than she had yesterday.

Stumbling over to the figure lying still next to her - wincing with every broken step she took - she knelt down slowly by his side and glanced him over. He was young, only a few years older than her, and his face was white as parchment, his lips blue as she reached down to shake him by the shoulder. His flesh was cold to the touch, and he didn't seem to respond to her actions. She shook him again, and again, until someone touched her shoulder and she half-jumped, flinching around to look into warm, blue eyes.

"He's gone, Sir."

Sinnweld blinked at that.

"Gone?"

"He died in his sleep. Most of them did, Sir."

"Most of them..."

She trailed off, unable to say anything more. The camp was horrifically silent - not even a gust of wind to stir the grass to sympathetic murmerings.

"How many?" She managed, eventually.

"Thirty-one, Sir. Fewer by tomorrow."

"Thirty one...but how?"

"We were lucky."

There was another moment of silence, as both soldiers glanced out over the corpses strewn around them. Then Sinnweld spoke:

"Who's in command here?"

Another moment of silence, then:

"You, Sir."

Sinnweld's look was sharp.

"You can't be serious."

"Two Decanii and and Adjunct. You're all that's left, Sir."

Sinnweld closed her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Can everyone walk?"

"Just about, Sir."

"Let's find something to dig with, and get to burying the dead. We'll have an hour's march after that."

"We won't get far Sir, not with some of us."

Sinnweld's eyes flicked to the ground next to her.

"We don't need to. Just away. Now let's find my Decanii and get us organised, shall we?"

The other soldier snapped to attention and just about managed a salute. Sinnweld took a deep breath, closed her eyes. And then she turned and set herself to work.

[Ithalian Empire]

Heremond Carcaster

Heremond was still awake. It was well past the half-hour bell, by Heremonds reckoning the eleventh hour was ready the chime. He was alone in this part of the Ember Tower. Most of the other lords were either sleeping or too drunk to walk anymore. His footfalls where the only sound to be heard as he made his way to Baldrics room. He knocked on the door.

Heremond stood for what seemed like an eternity before the door opened.

Baldric stood there for a second, looking his older brother up and down as if he was trying to recognize the man before him.

"What do you want?" There was still an edge of anger on Baldrics voice.

Heremod took a deep breath. "Baldric, our father is dead."

Baldric seemed to freeze. Heremond could see the pain in his eyes, the loss that took his face. Baldrics hand shook as tears welled up into his eyes. "When, when did he die? When did you find out?"

"Everlid sent this letter the day he died, yesterday from the date. Lhoris only told me a half hour ago. Baldric," Heremond entered the room, his brother stepping back,"I want to say I am sorry. I have let my anger and fear dictate my actions since we arrived at the city, you were right, I have lead us right into danger. You were right. Now a prince wants my hide and lords from across the Empire are setting there gaze towards our home."

"What are we going to do about it?"

"We? No Baldric, you look like you have other plans." Heremond looked around at his brother room, his belongings strewn around and a half packet ruck sack sat at the foot of the bead. "I had a bump in with Julek. You plan on talking whatever advice he has given you?"

"He-"

"No Baldric, I am too tired to argue with you. You are my brother, my blood. You know that I will stand beside you even if Dread itself where after us. More than that, you are a man in your own right, you have a right to decide your own path. Baldric, I wish you wouldn't do what I think you're going off to do, but I know I can't stop you."

"Is this really Heremond talking, or is this an imposter?

Heremond chuckled, "Well, what is your plan brother?"

Baldric thought for a moment, what was his plan? What was he going off to do? Not even Baldric really knew the answer to that question. "I don't really know. I figured I would go back home, I...must say farewell to Everlid, and give my respects to Father. From there, who knows, Eroris is a big place and I want to see it. Heremond, I want to place my mark on it, you will be remembered as a duke, a lord of an important hold. What will I be remembered as? A footnote in a book as the younger brother of Duke Heremond Carcaster."

Baldric sighed. Heremond had come and apologized, something Heremond never did. There where many things Baldric wanted to say to his brother, things he couldn't get into words. Perhaps one day he would be able to tell Heremond all he thought, that would be the day he returned home from his adventures, from traveling Eroris. He figured he would be able to tell Heremond his true feelings than.

"Well, Baldric, I will not begrudge you that. Just come home one day in one peace." Because if you don't, I will kill Julek myself. Heremond thought.

Baldric was about to say something. But those words would never be said. The sound on an explosion ripped through the still night air, the retort sending vibrations into the chests of Heremond and Baldric. They both looked at each other for a moment they both thought the same thing, another assignation attempt? Heremond stepped outside, a young legionary was running past, fear in his eyes.

Heremond grabbed him by the shoulder, "What in the name of the Divines is going on?"

"D-dread m'lord. In the city, Dread in the city!"

Sleep would have to wait. Heremond and Baldric both shot into action, getting there armour on and getting there weapons. Tonight would be a red nigh.

[Shadowwell]

Kyrenic Olafir, Dea'ra Hunter
Undercity, Ishrion, Eldrion
901, 4E (year 7,581 after being Cursed)

The scream was familiar to him, not because he knew the person making it, but because he had heard the type of scream before. He rushed towards the direction he heard the scream from, passing by many people running as he did. By the time he reached the area the scream came from it was all but abandoned by those fortunate enough to flee. The piercing scream had long since fallen to a dull moan, joining the sounds made by the numerous other wounded littering the streets. Moments later the scene came into Kyr's view, as did the Beast responsible for it, a Dread Hound.

It was a large beast standing at over 3 feet in height, its muscled form covered in short thick bristly fur the color of darkness. It was an inky blackness that seemed to draw in any surrounding light, making the surroundings quite dim. Protruding from its hide there were several bony growths that grew out and extended along its back. Both its claws and teeth were dyed red with blood and tattered remains of clothes dripping with blood and viscera hung from its jaws. The Dread Hound shook its head, drops of blood and flesh flew everywhere further littering the gory scene around it.

It had just nudged one of the corpses, probably to check if it was alive when a figure walked out of the darkness. It was cloaked in a dark robe and seemed to be thinly built, its appearance was entirely obscured. Kyr stood some distance away and was unnoticed as of yet, his garb was more tattered than the figure that just entered the scene. Kyr backed away into a dark section of the street and cast an Illusion spell. It was simply a low level spell that sort of blurred ones appearance making them difficult to see, it was especially suited to dark environments such as this.

It would not hold for long, or be up to much scrutiny if he was noticed, but would serve Kyr's purpose right now. Shortly after the spell took effect the cloaked figure lowered his hood, revealing a face that could only be described as sinister. He was a Reachman, he looked to be young in age and once have been handsome, but the scars covering his face destroyed that. His nose was nearly nonexistant, the tip having been lost to some beast most likely.
The left side of his nearly entirely covered by a massive burn, his left eye was obscured by the disfigured skin but a pale milky orb could barely be seen. The sinister Reachman opened his scarred lips and spoke, addressing the Dread Hound.

"Well my dear Mutt, you seem to have accomplished what i wanted well enough despite being a mutt."

The Dread Hound turned towards the Reachman and growled lightly and seemed to snort at its apparent master. The Sinister Reachman gave a chuckle and gazed around for a bit before returning his gaze to the dread Hound and speaking.

"Don't give me lip Mutt. I will be returning to the Well, kill those still clinging onto their miserable lives and return as well."

Following his words the Reachman put the hood of his cloak back up and turned away. Soon enough his form was lost to the darkness of the surrounding street. As its master left the Dread Hound looked around and lumbered towards each of the bodies in the surroundings. When it came to a body it would lightly sniff each body, if it showed any signs of being alive the Dread Hound would tear into them. The rare few that were alive gave final keening groans as they fully left this life.

While the Dread Hound was busying itself with ensuring the death of those it had attacked Kyr busied himself as well. He first removed his tattered cloak, revealing his form, though he was still obscured by his magic. He wore a light armor made mostly of leather and wood strangely enough. The bark from a Treeant was much tougher than normal bark, the bark for Kyr's armor was from the Keeper, a massive Treeant nearly as old as Kyr himself. It was among the first of its kind, and Kyr was quite familiar with it. The bark was specially treated and was even more durable than many metals but was rare, Kyr only got his by luck.

His torso and legs were covered well enough with the armor but his arms were mostly bare with only bracers covering his forearms. Kyr had more than a few weapons on his person but the majority of them were hidden. Only two weapons were visible, a short sword strapped to his hip and a large specially made staff strapped across his back. He stepped forward out of the shadows and as he did the illusion spell faded. At that moment the Dread Hound sniffed in and noticed Kyr's presence, It growled menacingly as it approached Kyrs position.

The immortal said nothing, but a light blue glow manifested from his hands and ran along his arms eventually enveloping his whole form. The glow was translucent allowing others to see through it, the glow belonged to a specific spell. Shortly after the glow enveloped him it vanished, the spell itself had a subtle effect by itself. All it did was activate dormant spells in this case it activated some runes engraved on his body in the form of tattoos.

The runes activated raised his physical abilities, if only for a time and at a slight cost. Just after the spell took effect the Dread Hound rushed towards Kyr, closing the distance between them with a surprising swiftness. Its jaws opened just before it reached Kyr's position, at the moment they began to close Kyr took swift step backwards, just in time to avoid the jaws which closed with an audible snap. At that moment Kyr pulled the short sword from his waist and struck out with it, slightly grazing the Dread Hound across its nose.

Soon after it happened the Dread Hound let out a screech of pain as the wound started leaking blood. It was disoriented, but only for a short time, it shook its head and after recovering swiped at Kyr with a paw. Kyr managed to dodge it barely, the claws scored the armor, scratching it but not piercing it fully. The force behind the blow caused Kyr to stumble backwards, he tripped as his footing was disrupted by a piece of rubble he stepped on.

Kyr's breath left his lungs in a rush as he impacted against the ground with a thud, letting out a light groan on instinct. Seeing his weakness the Dread Hound jumped, lunging through the air at Kyr's form. As he watched the Dread Hound cut through the air towards him he concentrated, just for a moment. Shortly before the Dread Hound reached him a glow manifest over his form, the glow faded into a translucent flame that coated his body.

The flame was almost illusionary in appearance but it became especially dense around the blade in his hand. Moments after the magic took effect the Dread Hound impacted into him, luckily his armor protected him from the Beasts claws. Had he not already been on the ground the large Beast would have assuredly knocked him down. It opened its jaws and made to bite at his head, but Kyr raised his left arm and shoved his covered forearm into the Beasts mouth. The force behind it made the Beast unable to put force into its bite.

While the Dread Hound was occupied with his forearm in its mouth Kyr sprang into action. He brandished the blade in his right hand and stabbed the flame covered blade into the side of the Beast. It gave a yelp of pain, but was unable to do anything, Kyr pulled the blade towards him, cutting a path through its flesh that sizzled as the weapon burned what it cut. The Dread Hound tried to pull away but Kyr took that chance to finish the fight. He pushed back with his forearm while jerking the blade pierced into the Dread Hound, cutting deep into its innards.

The Beast gave a loud yelp of pain as the blade pierced deeply into its heart, or what amounted to it. Following that single yelp there were a series of pained guttural groans, its death rattle as the last vestiges of life left it. At that point most Arcanists would use Psionic Spells to drain what remained of their opponents life to bolster their own, but Kyr had lived for long enough as is. Besides draining life from a creature of the Dread was never easy or without cost. It was at that moment that he pulled the blade from its place within the Dread Hounds innards.

The flame coating his blade became exceptionally bright for a moment, turning the blood and flesh that had stuck to it into ash. He pushed the corpse of the Dread Hound off of the lower half of his body, the body landed with a thud, blood still leaking from its form. Shortly after that Kyr rose from the ground, dusting himself off as much as he could.

He then raised his arms and proceeded to stretch, loosening his muscles as his joints popped, he let out a pleasant groan as he did. A fearless anticipatory grin crossed his face as he began to sense the magical power of the cultists in his surroundings. It had been some time since he had faced a nest of cultists this large, after sensing his prey Kyr dashed off with a single thought present in his mind.

'The Hunt is on.'

---

It had been some time since Kyr had dispatched the Dread Hound, he had traversed the streets of the Undercity with care. He had encountered more than a few cultists and had done what he could to help those who were unable to escape earlier. However the circumstances did not lend well to such things. Much of the Undercity was on fire with other parts in ruins or worse, Kyr paused for a moment as he gazed upon the scene.

There were a few possibilities for why this had happened how it had happened. There was a great deal of magical power to be taken in death and chaos. Another possibility would be the cultists were simply causing chaos as a distraction to mask a larger move. The latter possibility seemed more likely at the moment, something he would investigate after he found the 'well' the Dea'ra worshipper spoke of.

Kyr broke out of his musings and concentrated his senses on his surroundings. While he could not detect specific peoples locations, he could detect the presence of magical power, and could to a point differentiate between what belonged to Beasts and which belonged to potential cultists. The foes were numerous, rather so, despite his power and the fact that many of the cultists seemed weak he couldn't afford to be too careless, the Upper City might soon have need of him.

The translucent flame which had coated his form for the last while faded as he released the spells effect. Shortly afterwards another glow manifested and spread across his form, this one was a translucent green and as it took effect he began to fade from view. The spell was a combination of Runic Enchantment and Elemental Attunement, the runes stored various spells which he could activate when he needed, but most were not too useful for direct combat.

After he became the wind Kyr sped through the streets as a breeze, few were able to guess the origin of the breeze. The few cultists that were able to soon fell down as Kyr harnessed the wind to form blades that cut into them as he passed them by. It was as he began to approach the largest concentration of people that it happened.

"GUHH?!?!?"

A forced exclamation of pain exploded from Kyr's lips as he made contact with something, some form of barrier. It not only somehow stopped him in his incorporeal state but it even canceled the spell that helped him take on the countenance of the wind. He stumbled back as he regained his physical form, a ripple spread along the magical barrier from his point of impact. In addition to cancelling the spells he had active it sent out a magical shockwave that washed over him like a wave.

He did not know its exact purpose as there were numerous reasons for such a barrier. Kyr gazed at the barrier for a time, thinking about how to get past it when he discovered the purpose of the shockwave. Numerous Cultists were making their way to his location, he did not sense them, rather he heard them. The barrier had alerted the surrounding cultists to someone trying to break through.

The barrier was strong and strange, but Kyr had quite a bit of experience so odds are given time he might have been able to get through it in one way or another. Unfortunately he did not have the luxury of the time necessary to do that as the Cultists poured through the streets towards his position. He turned back just as a large cultist at the front of the pack rushed towards Kyr wielding a heavy mace, he dodged the larger man's clumsy blow and drew his short sword in one smooth movement and slit the cultist's throat.

The large cultist fell like a puppet with its strings cut impacting against the ground with a groan and a thud twitching as he bled out. That fool was far ahead of the others so dispatching him gave Kyr time to prepare for the coming swarm, a translucent flame once more covered his body and weapon. A blade of flame formed in his left hand as the flame over his armor took on a more solid appearance, the runes on his torso glowed as well as power was fed into them anew. It was moments after that that the cultists appeared like rats fleeing a sinking ship.He launched himself towards them citing into them with metal and flame, as he fought them he was reminded of that day so long ago back when he was still young when the Light-Born attacked the Citadel.

[Theyra]

Isnhrion
Ruby District
Aiwin Arrianus

"By Aduranos", Aiwin thought as he made his way into the Ruby District. Momentarily stopping to look at the scene of looked like the whole district was burning. More explosions he can hear in the distract and the cries of the innocent townsfolk. Noticing the dead bodies of townsfolk and city guards and snapping back into focus. Tightly gripping his sword and channeling lighting in his left hand. Who ever did this would paid dearly and it would not take long to find someone still alive. His group running into a group of fleeing townsfolk and Aiwin directing them to make to the safety of the Ember Tower. They warned him that a group of Dea'ra cultists were right behind them and fighting some guardsmen that were protecting them. Aiwin was alarmed over realization that Dea'ra cultists were in the city but, he did not waste any time rushing to the aid of the guardsmen.

They arrived too late, catching the sight of the last of the guardsmen being cut down by the cultists. Being impaled by one of the cultist though the chest before being kicked to the ground. The sight of the dead guardsmen made a fire burn in Aiwin's heart. "Die you Dread dogs!" Aiwin yelled as he sent a arc of lighting from his hand. It cracking though the air and striking the cultist that killed the last guardsmen. The cultist made a short yell before falling to the ground dead. His comrades turned to Aiwin's group and launched their own magic at them while others charged at them. Aiwin's men responding by dodging or blocking with the magic attacks with their shields before entering into a melee. The cultist were killed in the fight to the last man. Captain Caelus killing the last one by stunning him with a shield bash and delivering a series of strikes to the cultist's head with his warhammer.

"How did Dea'ra cultists get into the city and why are they doing this? One of Aiwin's guards asked alarmed.

"It does not matter now Delmuth". Aiwin responded in a focused tone. "They are here now and we need to focus on finding Primus and killing any of these fiends that we find. Now Caelus, you are sure your brother would be in this district?

"It would be the fastest route back to the Ember Tower if he was not already in here when this madness started".

"We will find him Caelus and let's keep going. Any longer theses fiends are running around district the more people are going to die". Just as Aiwin finished, "Help me! A loud cry from nearby pieced that air and Aiwin only said a single word, Move! As he ordered his men into another fray and more were sure to follow.

[Everhall]

To Know Fear

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

From the moment he stepped foot in the Rudy District, Ruven knew something was wrong. As soon as he, and the rest of the cohort, made their way through the district's marble gates, all the screaming, all the cries of agony ceased, and along with it, most of the fire within the District. The charred remains of dwarves, elves, and men lay silent on the cold, hard ground, their only company the ruined shells of their former homes. It was strange, however, too strange. What kind of fire simply dies out like that. They had been burning for no more than a half an hour and had seemed to roar with strength and energy, so it made no sense for an inferno burning with such ferocity to disappear without a trace. Those weren't regular fires, Ruven concluded, Something's at work here...

Julek, standing near feet from Ruven, was the first to break the tentative silence that was held between the cohort, "Lhoris," he said, his blades ready, "we don't agree on a lot of things, but something seems wrong here, don't you agree? Fires don't just die like that."

Lhoris looked to Julek with a grave look, "No, they don't... but until we find out who's responsible, our best bet is to try and save any survivors. Men!" he addressed the cohort, "Split up and search for anyone who survived, fall back if you encounter the enemy, and..." he glanced towards Ruven, "Don't die. We'll rendezvous in an hour on Guild Street. Let's hope we all make it through this alive..."

---

"So how long have you been serving in the Legion?" one of the legionaries accompanying him, a Reachman named Sebas, asked. Ruven and the guards that surrounded him had been searching through the abandoned streets of the Ruby District for almost half an hour now and yet had come no closer to finding any signs of life, only the unmoving remains of those long dead. Ruven assumed that the chatter between the imperial legionaries that accompanied him was the result of the lack of anything else to do.

"Twelve years," an archer named Tians, replied, "I'm hoping this one will be my last; too much conflict going on lately, especially between the Princes."

"No doubt a civil war will follow after this," Sebas shook his head, "Especially after what happened to the Prince's wife. Nasty business that, and stupid. That mock trial he held was one of the shameful things I've ever seen. Using the death of a loved one in order to advance his goals."

"Yeah, shameful." They spoke low enough and were far enough away from the Prince that no reasonable man would be able to hear their words. But Ruven was no man. His keen ears caught on to what they said behind his back, but he took to action reprimand them. Tanya, however, commander of the Paladins of the Order tasked with guarding him, could not stand to see her liege lord insulted, "You take those words back!" she snapped glaring down at the two legionaries, "You have no idea what he's going through and you assume to question his intentions? I should rip both your tongues out for what you've-"

"Tanya, calm yourself." Ruven put his hand on Tanya's shoulder to the shock on the Dark Elf, "I'll be fine. Let's just continue to move."

Tanya stammered for a second blushing with embarrassment at the words of her Prince, "Y-yes, sir, right away, sir!" She fell back into position among the Paladins before they continued on through the darkened alleyways of the Ruby District. As they did so, passing by the burnt remnants of a workshop with charred beams marking its entrance, a burning curiosity entered into Ruven's mind.

"Tanya," Ruven asked, "All this year you've spent guarding me you've learned a lot about who I am... but I've never really known much about you other than you're the one Lhoris appointed to be my head guard. So, tell me, where are you from?"

"Oh me?" Tanya stammered, "I come from... around... I don't think it would really interest you..." Ruven had never seen her so nervous,

"But it does, Tanya," Ruven managed to crack a smile, "Tell me where you're from, I'm interested."

"The thing is..." Tanya shifted nervously, "I... don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?" Ruven asked, "Did... something happen?"

Tanya looked down a look of lament on her face, "I was a slave," she laughed nervously, "My family lived in a small fishing village on Vval. Pirate raids were a constant worry, but we never thought that one would hit so close to home. Mother, brother, and I were captured in a cruel attack. Almost everyone in the village was slaughtered. My father went out to rescue us, but he was no warrior, just a common fisherman... He died at the point of a marauder scimatar. They celebrated the night they killed him, and that's..." her voice flowed with emotion much like the tears that began to run down her cheeks, "that's when they began to pass me and my mother around. Pirate to pirate bandit to bandit until they all had a turn... What they did to me was something that I could never forget. And it was like that for five years."

Ruven's eyes widened, Five years?.... "How... how did you escape?"

"You happened."

"What?"

"You came and rescued me, along with all the other slaves held by those pirates. You were glorious, leading your comrades into battle on a white steed. I had never seen anything so... magnificent. And so... once I was free, I decided to join the order in order to repay my debt to you, my Prince. My savior. To fight by your side through all the perils of the world... together." She looked at Ruven with her adoring yellow eyes, but Ruven could not meet them. Is... that what she thinks of me? he thought anxiously, Why her? Her of all people. Ruven was fond of Tanya, no doubt, but he thought of her as a friend and loyal bodyguard, not as romantic interest. Asoka was the one he loved. He would do his best not to betray her memory.

"ARGH!" a man yelped behind them. Ruven and Tanya quickly drew their weapons to respond but were met with nothing except the faces of those who had similarly drawn their swords.

"What in Dread was that?" Ruven demanded.

"Tian!" Sebas replied, "He's gone, sir!"

"Form up!" Ruven gave the command, "Whoever took him isn't a friend of ours! Sebas," he turned to the soldier, "run back to the gate and get Lhoris, NOW!" his soldiers quickly came together to carry out his order, forming a circle in the middle of a small plaza between many red marble buildings. The streets were lined with corpses, dwarves, and elves alike, and it was hard to believe that just hours ago that it had been a thriving small marketplace. Despite their formation, Ruven couldn't help but feel anxious about their situation, cornered by a foe that they still did not know. The plaza was wide enough, but in the darkness of the night, Ruven could only see a few feet ahead of him. The only light came from the few torches that his group held.

"ARGH!" another legionnaire screamed.

What's happening? Ruven darted his eyes across the darkness. His men where being picked off man by man, and it was only a matter of time until the enemy began their attack in force. That was when, however, a young disembodied force spoke from around them,

"Oh it's my lucky day," the voice giggled eagerly, "It's not every day that I get to kill a Prince!"

Is that... Ruven thought incredulously, A little girl?! "You sound a little young to be a Dread Worshiper!" he called into the night, "Just who in Dread are you?!" he demanded.

"I won't tell you!" the voice replied in a sing-sony way, "First you've got to tell me yours!"

For the love of the gods, "I'm Prince Ruven Eroan Ashen! But I'm guessing you already know that!"

"Right you are, Ruven!" the voice replied, I'm Kireen, Kireen Bloodfallen! Master told me to capture you alive, but I'd rather just kill you!" Great.... "Phantom DARK!"

As soon as the words left the Kireen's girlish voice, Ruven felt the weight of his sorrows collapse upon him. Everything, from the death of his mother to the loss of Asoka came in compounding blows on his soul, and he felt his sword almost slip from his grasp. Had it always been this dark? He didn't know the answer. Everything around him seemed meaningless, including the approach of several tall figures that towered over his small band. Horns, blood red horns protruded upwards from their heads, and tails, reptilian-like dragons, came from their waists. They all held bloody maces in their hands. The torches near Ruven flickered out in the darkness. He turned to Tanya, with much effort, time seemed to drag on forever for Ruven, and he saw one of these dark figures preparing to bring its mace down on the Dark Elf's head. He didn't know when he had moved, but he soon found himself swinging his silversteel sword toward's the Dea'ra's head. "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The blade hit it's mark, slashing the demon straight across its face in a move that made it halt its attack against Tanya. Ruven quickly felt the weight of the spell the girl had cast fade, as he quickly parried the Dea'ra's counter-attack and struck it dually at the neck, slashing through it partially before Ruven drew it from its flesh. The other demons looked at the Prince and roared, their voices echoing throughout the district, and Ruven couldn't help but feel the slightest tinge of dread paralyze him. No! he thought NEVER AGAIN!

"Snap out of it!" he yelled to his soldiers, most of them bogged down by the weight of the sorcerer's spell, "It's a trick! It's not real!"

"Mother..." Tanya whispered.

"Dammit!" Ruven cursed. He struck at the Dea'ra before him, wresting it's jagged mace from its hand in a swirl of motion before embedding it inside its gut. He prepares to turn to the neck monster but was struck in the back by a mace, wielded by yet another one of the demons. He whirled around and locked weapons with the beast, glaring at its menacing red eyes before slamming it squarely in the gut to bring the monster to its knees. He quickly realized as soon as he slit it's throat that these were no Dea'ra, but were instead the cultists that had triggered the attack on the Undercity. As soon as one died, a dark essence around them dissipated leaving behind the broken body of a Dea'ra cultist.

The surprise of this discovery as soon outlived, as something cold and hard plunged into his calf. He kneeled from the pain, gritting his teeth in an attempt to keep from yelling, and saw the cold grey eyes of one of the many corpses on the ground staring him in the eye. He quickly swung his sword to deal with the abomination, the body falling dead once again on the stone ground, but he quickly came to realize that it would not be enough as many more undead rose from all around him. They began to strike down his comrades, still deep under the spell of Kireen's spell, and soon he saw people who he had just met joining the ranks of the dead that encircled him. Never Tanya, however, never Tanya. Ruven did his best to keep the beasts away from her, undead and Dea'ra alike, using all the skills he had in order to take down as many as he could. His muscles ached with every slash, his leg throbbed with every step, and the cut above his eyebrow suffered from the explosion in the tower, opened once again to cover his eye with blood. He didn't know how he accomplished it. But eventually the attacks stopped and the undead and Dea'ra stood a distance away from Ruven weary of his blade even though he knew he had reached his limit. That was when he heard the Kireen again.

"Wow!" the girl exclaimed, You really do have the blood! Master will be pleased! Not everyone can break through Phantom Dark! I'm going to have fun playing with you."

"That's where you're wrong, bitch." managed to laugh between pants, "You see... I sent someone after Lhoris as soon as you attacked... By now the High Chancellor should be heading here with everything he's got." I hope...

"WHAT?!" Kireen's voice darkened. Immediately a line of Dea'ra disintegrated as entropic lightning shot from one of the rooftops into the line of demons, "FOOLS" she snapped hysterically, "You know what I hate Ruven? I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!"

Ruven's amusement at the girl's breakdown was short-lived as something shot towards him moving ever closer with each blink of the eye. He expected whatever was coming to impact him, but he looked back in horror as he saw a little girl, small with silver-hair grab onto Tanya. Her eyes glowed with a red-frenzy. Ruven barely had time to reach out to Tanya before the girl exploded.

[Turmenista]

Nail and Enfys
Road to Summerset
__________________________________

The two walked across the road in silence, their natural Lupan endurance not necessitating the need for any carts or other forms of travel as they simply walked nonstop to their destination. Knowing their current pace — which kept them walking at a speed that would be considered lightly jogging for most — they'd reach the city well before sundown. This gave Enfys more than enough time to think about the encounter from earlier—and about the morals of the companion that she followed.

Enfys knew for a fact that she was a very by-the-books individual, whereas Nail was selfless, yet always willing to put himself in danger for the safety of others. A "by-the-books" encounter with those robbers back there would've been either killing them from afar or drawing them away from the man that they had held up. So, she wondered to herself, Did that encounter really necessitate the need to use Illumina and cleave a man in half, when the whole situation could've been dealt with from afar?

She twitched an ear in frustration, frowning for a moment, before looking up at the back of Nail's head, covered up by his hood. Despite his colossal size and blade, the Lupan strode across the ground almost as quietly as he did, save for a few minute clinkings of belts underneath his cloak and light studded leather armor.

"Nail?"

The Lupan briefly turned his head around to his follower. "Hm?"

"Why are we really going to Summerset?"

Almost as if she'd asked him a joke question, he chuckled, his tail swayed side to side. "I already told you, Enfys. I need a new shoulder pauldron and another whetstone for my blade. It's been getting dull lately but it can manage. I've noted you're also in need of some arrows, so we'll get some as well. We're both in need of something to drink and something to do, and we'll find that in Summerset, that's for sure."

"I've more than enough arrows, thank you," Enfys scoffed. "And by 'something to do,' you mean someone to help, I presume?"

He nodded his head. "Well, Nail, I'm not in the mood to be turned back at the gates — which I'm sure they will do to Lupans like us. Moreover, what sort of job are we looking for?"

He shrugged his shoulders, much to her surprise. "I don't know, Enfys. Helping people, perhaps?"

"So that's what back there was about," She placed a hand on her chin briefly. "We're here to help people. I'd love to do so as well, but Men haven't exactly been the nicest or most accepting of races to our kind, and I doubt they'd want our help, you see."

Nail stopped for a moment and Enfys paused, immediately regretting what she said as if she'd pulled on the wrong string of the man, but he moved on, turning around to look at her. His gaze wasn't that of spite or aggression but rather a reassuring one, as if this were an honest talk he were having with Enfys at that moment. Her ears lowered as she looked him back in his amber eyes, apologizing for her actions before lowering her head. "I'm sorry, Nail."

"Don't be, because I need to apologize for not being transparent enough to you," Nail said, turning his head back towards the front of the road, spotting the area where another road from nearby merged into one main road up ahead. "I suppose I should tell you why I'm really doing this."

"Mhm."

He sighed. "Enfys... my father—my adoptive father, at least, tried to model me after himself as he raised me. He taught me nothing except how to wield a sword and kill a man, and I have never had anything in life, except for a sword and my spirit. What I do—helping people and all— came on my own accord, through my own path of self-discovery, where I learned of the true value of selflessness. You have to understand that others in this world may not have a Nail to be there for them or to help them in a situation like before. That is the reason why I keep fighting, Enfys I fight because I can and I must, and if I don't, others won't be as lucky. And, yes, I know that I can't save everyone, but I can at least try to save those around me, to try and make the world a better place."

Pausing, for dramatic effect, he lowered his hood briefly. "And that is why we're going to Summerset. To help those in need and find other like-minded people."

After what seemed like an eternity of silence for the two, Enfys spoke up, nodding in acknowledgement. "Thank you for clearing it up, Nail. Honestly, I think you would make a great poet."

His ear twitched suddenly as he snapped to attention, Enfys quickly following suit as Nail instinctively reached for his sword, but paused mid-way. "I can worry about that later. You should've kept an ear out."

"What?"

"Wagon. Behind us."

Slowing down, the two made their way onto the main road after the side road they'd been traveling on merged into the one main road, moving to the side as the horse-drawn wagon behind them came into earshot. Enfys cursed to herself, knowing that she hadn't been paying full attention to listening out for trouble. Had she been doing so, she would've detected the wagon well before it entered their visual range.

The Lupan warriors watched as the wagon, owned by an old man, passed by them slowly, revealing its occupants: more Nords. Three, to be exact. There was a boy in his late teens yet still appeared too young to even be considered a man — for a Nord, at least. Then there was a hooded female, covering her face with a cowl and parasol as if she were royalty (but didn't look to be any bit royal to them), who Enfys briefly locked eyes with. The third was a colossal armored Nord whose height easily matched Nail's, causing him to raise his guard ever so slightly. Even as the wagon passed and they stopped looking at one another, Nail couldn't help but feel as if there were still eyes on him. He raised his head, an ear twitching in annoyance as he found a pair of eyes, or, rather, an eye, still staring at him from afar.

"What're you lookin' at?" Nail scowled at the Nord giantess as they passed them. If anything, a cart full of Nords staring them down at they passed was a scene practically dripping with suspicion. If they stopped moving and stepped out, he knew that he was in for some trouble tonight.

[Ithalian Empire]

Heremond and Baldric Carcaster

"This is fucked," said Ser Baerwald, his voice seemed to disappear in the desolation of the Ruby District.

They were all mounted, the four men of High Rock. Heremond rode alongside Baldric, with Baerwald and Thurstan riding a few yards behind them. They had separated themselves from the main group of legionaries and household guards that had come into the Ruby District. It was strange, but a moment before this part of the city had been burning with a fury that only an angry god could rival, yet now they rode through cold ashes and charred bodies. The smell was the worse part, burnt flesh, and wood mixed into a miasma that reached up high into the night sky.

None of them liked what they had seen. That so many lives would be extinguished like this boggled their minds. Littered here and there where charred remains who stared at them with empty eyes, none of them would forget this night. The horses didn't like it much either. The beasts had been made battle-hardened as foals, and the four men thought it strange that they should act as they did. The whole scene ran rank with something foul. And yet the pressed forward. Ever forward the went, searching charred and ransacked houses, one to find dead or burnt eyes staring back at them. There was more death than any of them had ever seen.

"Lord Heremond, didn't you say that it was cultist that did this?" These were the first words that Thurstan had spoken since they had entered the Ruby District.

"Yes Ser Thurstan," replied Heremond, " that is what a frightened young legionnaire had told me. No one has said differently."

"Than I suggest we move carefully my lord, there is no telling what the devilish bastards have laid in wait for us."

Thurstan was right of course. There could be all manner of traps hidden away, even dea'ra could lurk somewhere within the ruins. "Right, we won't go much farther. I doubt many survivors are here anyway." Heremond knew that when he split off from the main force. But if there was still one person still here who didn't pray to dark powers, than Heremond would find them and bring them back to safety.

Silence overtook them again as the continued on. It seemed inappropriate to talk in this place. The air around them grew ever heavier as the rode one, the horses ever more twitchy. Yet forward they went. Every once and a while they would stop and check the burnt or ransacked houses, yet all they found where silent dead eyes staring back at them. None of them had seen so much wasted life, yet the pressed on. Heremond, driven by the need to find someone, anyone, who had survived the riot and attacks. The other merely fallowed. Baldric, for the most part, went silently the scene before him would remain with him for the rest of his life.

The silence of the night was broken by another explosion. It rent the air like a thunderclap and turned the attention off all four to the east. "Well, I suppose someone is alive in this place after all. Come, I feel as if the cavalry will be needed soon." Heremond said before breaking his horse into a run, the others following behind him.

They were no more than a few minutes into there rush when Heremonds horse reared suddenly. He barely managed to hold on the reigns. The other horse to stopped in their tracks, agitated and ready to bolt at a moment notice. Something was very, very wrong. Heremond was able to get his horse under control, the others were forced to dismount. Heremond scanned the road ahead, looking for anything that could have spooked the horses.

"Heremod, what is it?" asked Baldric. There was fear in his voice as he nervously reached for his blade. The Baerwald and Thurstan had their hands on the hilts of there swords as well.

"I don't know yet."

Then the smell hit them. A smell fouler than that of the rest of the Ruby District. It smelt of the rot of a hundred years, of dead fetid flesh or stagnant water. It made one's stomach turn and the taste of bile rose up into Heremonds mouth. Then they heard a wet slopping noise, whatever it was, it was close. The sound of metal on stone told Heremond and the rest where this thing was. The sight of it confirmed it had come out of the sewers.

They looked in horror as the damnable thing crawled out of the sewer. How such a thing could have fit down there was a question in and of itself. It unfolded it gelatinous form out of the sewer. It flopped onto what had to be its back side. The whole thing had the vague form of a frog. Heremond felt ill looking at it, yet worse was to come. The frog demon turned to them, a horse cough issued from its wide, teeth filled mouth.

"F-freash meat..." It croaked, the sound echoed in the minds of the four men. That such a thing existed was one thing, that it could speak was worse.

Heremond drew his silver steel blade. "Thurstan, Bearwald, take my brother and run."

"And leave you here, by your self? You're a daft ass Heremond!" Baerwald said "We stand by our Lord. You get eaten, we all get eaten."

There was no time to argue, the frog thing was hoping its way closer. Every hop left a smear of rotten fat and green water. Soon the other had drawn steel. Heremond spurred his horse forward, sword raised. Behind him Baldric, Thurstan, and Bearwald where running, a mad charge against a maddening monster. Yet they all knew only Heremond held a weapon that could hurt such a creature.

Closer, and closer the came. The Dea'ra and the men of High Rock, closing the gap between them. The Dea'ra hopped at Heremond, Heremond swung his sword, catching the thing in the soft underbelly as it lept. Rotten guts spilled out onto him. By rights the thing should have been dead, yet it got up anyway. It turned towrds Baldric, only to recive a stab from Thurstan ans Bearwald delived a savage downward swing at the things head.

Both attacks proved usless as the rotten flesh reformed in a matter of seconds.

Heremond turned his horse around and made for a second attack as the Dea'ra was ditracted. He aimed a thrust to the damned things heart. He felt the sword meat the flesh and slide in, a deadly needle doing it work. The Dea'ra screamed in pain, the echo went far and wide as it began to flopp around the cobble stone street, its tepid fluids leaving it body and the rest of it began to disolve.

It was dead, the fight over.

"Mount up, we still have some where to be." Heremond said, panting.

[Spindle]

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

The camp flickered with a handful of watchfires around her as Sinnweld rubbed her eyes. Sleep didn't come easily anymore - certainly now that she fought it tooth and nail. No, it was better to distract herself with all of the work she could convince herself she needed to do. Ingulfrid and Thromm didn't appreciate that, she knew, but she felt like she could push it a little right now. Too many people had died already, they knew that. They weren't going to stick a knife in her back for her micromanaging them. Not just yet, anyway. If she kept it up, though...

Give them life.

She glanced across at the elf standing next to her, scowled.

"You're not real, Il."

Give them life.

"Life for life, I know. You've tried to take it often enough."

Give them life.

A scuff of dirt behind her, and she twisted around to see Thromm and Ingulfrid standing behind her at a reasonable impression of attention. Thromm's constant, genial smile was warped by the thick tusks jutting from his mouth to form a predatory leer, which brightened when Sinnweld managed a small smile to him. Ingulfrid's face, by contrast, darkened still further, her light features somehow suiting her severity. And then Ilimitar was standing next to them, his face a contorting mass of bandages - except he wasn't real, and she blinked the image away.

"How's Aerys managing?" She asked, wincing as her two subordinates glanced at each other for a moment.

"She won't make it another day's march." Ingulfrid said simply, after a moment's silence, "The Fever's got her too hard."

"And even if she survives, it's not like she'll be fighting." Thromm rumbled, "Her hands are-"

"I know." Sinnweld cut across, "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"We could heal the flesh, but there's something more which was damaged. She'd just have hands she couldn't use."

"Fine. We bring her back to Nymeria and get her onto her pension there."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two Decanii.

"Actually, Sir, we were thinking we could always just...leave her here."

Give them life.

Sinnweld stilled, pushed away the voice whispering in the back of her mind.

"We're taking her."

"But, Sir!" Ingulfrid protested, before Sinnweld cut across her.

"How many Battlemages are left?"

The Nord flinched for a moment, then gestured out to their camp.

"This." She said after a moment.

Sinnweld nodded, as if that answered it.

"Good. So let's leave that future-"

She stopped abruptly, eyes widening as a distant cadence reached her ears. A tight snicketting, of hooves on a raised highway. Of horses on a highway.

"Horses." She said simply, and the other two Battlemages flinched at the word. The camp was beginning to stir, those who had been on guard waking up those who had been resting as they hurriedly prepared for battle. Sinnweld closed her eyes, pushed out the voices whispering for life and death, and did her best to bring the facts together. There had to be too many horses for this to be a trader making the rounds, and at this time of night? But if it wasn't traders, who was it? Was it a Legion Outrider Corps? If so, why? Were they checking up on the portal? But how would they know about the Spires? It had only been one day, and it wasn't as if the Mindnet still worked.

She reached down and hefted her crossbow. Twelve bolts left. Hopefully more than enough should there be a fight.

On the road, a group of riders emerged from the gloom and slowed down to a confident trot as they approached the small camp. Even through the deep night, Sinnweld could see the glint and flash of metal at their hips, under thick, obscuring cloaks. The air throughout the camp crackled with tension, the rasp of metal against wood grating at her nerves as Sinnweld made her way through the camp to where one of the riders - his only visible feature a thick, golden beard - had drawn up ahead of his several dozen companions and reined in, the horse coming to a stop just at the edge of the highway. Clearing his throat with a leer, he reached underneath the thick cloak and pulled out a distressed-looking scroll, which he unfurled before speaking:

"By the powers invested in me by Lord Farron, ruler of this portion of the Reach, I demand that you surrender yourselves and your weapons over to our protection. Failure to comply will result in bloodshed."

Sinnweld sighed. They'd managed to stumble into the realms of some petty robber-baron, it seemed. Whoever this Lord Farron was, he might just find himself short some enforcers before the night was done.

"We are Imperial Shadow Legion." She said, stepping forwards, "And this land is the Empire's. Let us through."

The rider took in her armour, and looked taken aback for a moment, but then his leer deepened and he ran his fingers through his beard.

"And who are you, little girl?" He asked, "What are you doing with the Shadow Legion."

"Best listen to the girl." Thromm rumbled, matching the rider's leer as he settled in next to his Adjunct. Sinnweld felt herself relaxing a little as the orc stroked the pommel of his battered longsword - he might not be subtle, but knowing that he was there was reassuring. Behind her she could feel a chill touch nipping at her neck, cold blue light spilling out as hoarfrost reached out from Ingulfrid to layer over her armour like a veil. The rider glanced between the two before he swung his horse back around, the leer never leaving his face.

"You've got yourself some mages, girl, but don't think that's going to save you."

Shadows swirled under moonlight as Sinnweld dove into the streams of magic and tore them into this world. Her Fever exploded, her vision turning white even as vast, looming creatures rose out of the shadows to lollop towards the riders with mismatched limbs. She heard some distant screams, the clatter of hooves on cobbles, then her vision cleared in time to see the golden-bearded man deliberately turning his horse and cantering away. Four of the figures followed him, the rest dispersed back into shadow and silence as Sinnweld clutched at her head and moaned with pain.

"That will be the last of them." Ingulfrid muttered with evident satisfaction.

"They'll be back."

The Orc and the Nord both glanced over at her in surprise. Shaking her head as the Fever slowly began to abate, Sinnweld continued.

"Farron can't risk us bringing the Empire down on him. He needs to stop us from reaching Nymeria."

"But the Dea'ra are attacking." Thromm noted, "He can't be mad enough to think there'll be resources devoting to a petty baron-lord."

"He doesn't know about that." Sinnweld sighed, "And if we tell him, he'll take it as a sign of weakness."

"So what do we do?"

Sinnweld glanced at Ingulfrid.

"We go back to resting." She shrugged, "Then we march tomorrow."

"And then what?"

Give them life

"Then we fight a battle." She shrugged, "For the Empire's sake. That's what we were made for, right?"

That seemed to sit well with the rest of the Battlemages.

[Everhall]

To Know Fate

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

Ruven reached out for his friend, Ruven reached out for his comrade, he reached out for one of the few people that were truly close to him, and yet... all he received was flames and the force that would knock the Prince off his feet and towards hard, grey walls. It was... funny, in a bitter sort way. An explosion had been the thing that had taken his family from him, now another had come to envelop his best friend in its deadly embrace. It was a comedy worthy of the ages, but Ruven was not laughing. As he felt himself slowly slam into the stone wall behind him, a small, burning light flickered within him.

---

Darkness. Darkness was what he saw. Was this some kind of sick joke? What demonic thing would come to trouble him now? More death? More pain, more destruction? Or... was this the end? Ruven had no way of knowing. He eyes were open, no doubt, but he still the only thing he saw was Darkness. There was something else... his wounds, or lack thereof. Where were his wounds? He was sure his leg had been ran through by one of the Lost Ones, but when he sat down in the abyss to frantically take off his boots, his hands went over smooth skin. It wasn't the only wound mysteriously missing. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises, all similarly gained in the heat of battle, and likewise disappeared. He knew this wasn't death, he knew it wasn't captivity, yet for everything he knew it wasn't the question still remained: What in Dread is this place? Ruven's answer came in the appearance of one... single, bright candle.

It stood behind him, resting on a candlestick emblazed with golden phoenixes and symbols of fire. It flickered weakly in the abyss, but still, Ruven could feel a certain sense of power... a certain sense of strength that came from the candle. It almost seemed... familiar. He reached out to grasp it, to take into hand the source of light, but an eerily familiar voice stopped the Prince in his tracks. "I wouldn't do that... if I were you."

Ruven looked up slowly from the candle; someone had appeared before him. He first noticed his robes, black as a raven and just as frayed. It held a pattern of ancient Eldyaar origin, much similar to the robes of Lhoris, and an aura of light emitted from around it. As soon as Ruven looked at the individual's face, however, his worse fears were confirmed. He quickly turned away unable to meet his gaze. "Impossible..." he growled, "No, no... it can't be you... you can't be here!"

"It is," the voice confirmed, "and I am here." he looked down at Ruven with his cold, grey eyes, "Look at me, Ruven." The Prince didn't know if he could muster the courage to do so. What would he say? What would he do? Had he come back from the grave to haunt him for his failure? "Look at me!"

Ruven finally acquiesced and was terrified to see the face of his father, the late Emperor of Eroris, Azelian Ashen.

"You have failed me, son." Azelian looked down on Ruven, "If it's any consolation, I expected you to. You never had the guts to do what was right."

"You asked for murder."

"I ASKED FOR PEACE!" Azelian yelled, "And now... we are closer than ever to our desolation, son. While you have failed me, this is not to the reason I have appeared before you now."

"Then what is it?" Ruven growled, "What do you have to torment me next? Are you here to blame me for mother? To blame me for everything Julek has done?" Ruven stood, "I will not take another word from your rotting mouth."

"You will," Azelian replied calmly, "Or you, and every single person on this world will die." Ruven's father gestured towards the candle, "Do you see this light, here? This small, seemingly insignificant candle? This... is your soul. And this," he pointed towards the abyss, "Is the corruption that has seeped into your heart."

Ruven couldn't have been more dumbfounded. The church often told of "candles" that represented the heart and soul of the person it belonged to. It had been apart of the ancient elven pantheon since the beginning and had only continued with the Eight Divines. Though this was widely thought, Ruven had never actually believed it to be true. To be standing in front of his own was something he had never imagined happening, "Corruption?" Ruven asked, "What... corruption?"

"The type of corruption that has consumed many others on this world before you. The Arcane Toll: Kuruth's mightly cost."

"Well, that helps nothing," Ruven grumbled, "I've known I've been at risk for the toll for as long as I can remember, father. You should know this by now. That's why I don't use magic. I fail to see how any of this is new."

"No!" Azelian shook his head, "You don't understand. I have little time, and I can only tell you so much. There shall come a time when figure rises from an ancient line, he will be blessed with strength and mind, but his emotion shall prove his fall. Death shall be his bride, sorrow shall be his pain. Fleshless in body to walk forever. Doomed to fight for a lie, his fears shall become reality."

"What?" Ruven couldn't understand, "What does all that mean?" he could feel himself being dragged back to consciousness.

"The Dragon wakes, Ruven!" his father yelled to him as his vision began to blur, "Do not trust the Dragon!"

---

The water felt cold and jarring as it was dumbed over him. Ruven wondered for how long he was out, but his questions soon ceased as he was overtaken by a fit of coughing, and the returning pain of his wounds.

"He's awake, Chancellor!" the soldier tending to him called out, "We need a healing mage here?"

"We're... still in the plaza?" Ruven muttered weakly. It was clear that the reinforcements he had sent Sebas after had finally arrived after he had been knocked out. It would explain why he was waking up surrounded by legionaries rather than by Dread Mages. As Ruven spoke, an elf made his way through the crowd of soldiers, emerging before Ruven, who immediately recognized him, "Lhoris..." he said weakly.

"Thank the gods," Lhoris sighed relieved, "Who attacked you? We didn't find anyone nearby."

"That doesn't matter now," Ruven coughed struggling to stand up, "Where's Tanya? She was closest to the blast that knocked me out, tell me you've found her!"

Lhoris looked away, "We did... Ruven. But... there wasn't much to find..."

The prince's eyes widened with an expression of shock and anger, "No." he growled clutching his side, "No, no, no no!" he struggled to take a few limping steps forward and collapsed onto the hard ground. He felt blood fill his mouth as he bit down hard on his tongue. "Dammit... Dammit, Dammit, Dammit..." his anger burned within him, "YOU BIIIIITCH!"

---

Meanwhile

"Ah, poor Ruvey," Kireen laughed intently watching the scene play out, "He mad that I killed his little friend earlier!" she looked to the back of her, "I'm sorry I didn't catch him like you asked, Master! I was just having some fun!"

"No matter, Kireen," a hooded figure stepped from the shadows near her, "In fact, everything is going exactly as planned..."

[New Minahasa]

Achillus Varro
The Reach

---

It was early in the morning. Birds were chirping, sunrays bathed over the dense forests, and nature in general was awakening. But in a specific forest somewhere in the Reach, something else was stirring the local wildlife. A masculine figure, an elf, was dashing through the woods. His focus seemed unshaken and in his possession, a bow. But he appeared exhausted, barely able to maintain his breaths. Perhaps he was fleeing from something, or someone? Well, yes and no. The correct term would be a group of people. The men were uniformed, and armed to the teeth in that matter. A cult, if one was perceptive enough to catch that, and the unholy aura that surrounded them. As time passed by, it began to look obvious that the cultists were gaining on Achillus. And he was aware of that. As a matter of fact, Achillus wasn't running aimlessly, no. He was looking for something.

The elf had lived almost half of his life in hiding, whether it forests, high on the mountains, or deep in dark caves. Let's just say he was pretty knowledgeable of Eroris and its terrain. He had recalled a particular tree somewhere in these parts of the woods, the tree itself being hard to miss, mainly because it was considered the tallest tree within the region. A little history on the tree would suggest that it was once an object of veneration by a strange cult of tree-worshippers, as the cult believed that the ancient tree was able to grant boons to its disciples. Nowadays, tales of horror and mystery that surrounded it were the only remainders of its existence. Achillus, provided with his climbing skills, had hoped to use this to his advantage.

As his stamina was running dry pretty quickly, the sight of the tree itself was a huge relief. He slowed his pace in effort to reserve what energy he had left, hopeful that his pursuers weren't near. Climbing above the sturdy branches of the tree, he could recognize the sound of orders and commands being barked at each other. These men weren't as organized, but they were renowned for their viciousness. It wasn't clear what their true motive was, but in one of his travels, Achillus was ambushed by a small gang of them, and he barely clung to his life. Maybe they were seeking revenge for the deaths of their comrades, and had mobilized a bigger, more elite force to deal with the elf. Yes, that was probably it, but why did the cult ambush him in the first place?

Achillus was left to his own thoughts as the cultists drew near until they finally reached the tree. From above, he could make up what it looked to be dogs, hunting dogs... wait, no. Dreads Hounds. "That's why they're so good at tracking me down," Achillus thought to himself. "Well, what are your Hounds doing? Did they suddenly lose their noses or what?," spoke one of them. "Shut your mouth if you know no damn thing about them, Reachman," said another, this one an Orc. "If both of you actually start searching with your eyes, and not with your damn mouth, you might have the chance to find him. Now, do as I say. We can't risk losing him now lest we upset the master," the man, who was a dark elf same with Achillus, spoke gently. No doubt the leader, from the way he spoke and act. Unfortunately, an arrow would soon embed itself in the dark elf's skull. The Dread Hounds turned and growled, the ten or so cultists also having the same response.

"Where in the dread did that come from?"
"Guruuk is dead!"
"Find that filth of an elf, NOW!"

All havoc broke loose within the group. Out of a sudden, another arrow shot from above, hitting another cultist. "He's on the tree!," one of them shouted from afar. The response from each cultist varied differently, with some deciding to flee while the other, more daring bunch rushed over to try and climb it. The deserters soon found that running away wasn't so much of a feasible option, though, as shadow creatures emerged from behind and took the chase. The rest of the cultists below were easy pickings, and those that tried to run away after horrendously failing to climb the tree were also met with the same fate. As Achillus began to make his way down, something couldn't seem to escape his thoughts. This name, "the master", resonated across his mind. Didn't he hear the same thing being said by the Dea'ra he fought not long ago? The thought stuck with him the whole day, as he made his way out of the forest into the civilized world.

[Spindle]

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

The horse thundered towards her, light flashing from the soldier's upraised sabre before Sinnweld pulled the streams and the horse screamed in agony, collapsing to the floor with a lance of ice slowly melting away. The soldier sprawled out onto the floor, armour heating white-hot as Sinnweld reached out and twisted more strands. Metal dripped like wax and the smell of burning flesh reached out into the air. The horse's screams were drowned out for a moment by the soldier's, before both sets of screams were cut out in one as lightning lashed out and tore into flesh and earth.

All around her, elemental forces flickered and flashed and tore into the skirmishing party Lord Farron had sent charging into them. The road behind them was horrifically torn-up, broken bodies of horses and men strewn around in drying pools of blood and torn-up earth. Someone had carved a deep trench - at least three man-heights deep and the same width - into the ground, behind which the rest of the cavalry force milled and swarmed as more and more magic tore into their ranks, sending blood and body parts high into the sky.

Sucking in air through her teeth, Sinnweld turned to glance at the loose - almost skirmishing - formation the Battlemages had adopted. Horses and men were strewn around like discarded rag dolls, though some still kicked or moaned. Thromm stalked between those bodies, his rapier thrusting downwards every so often to silence moans or still thrashing limbs, while Ingulfrid wrapped bandages around a Battlemage's ribs, blood slowly blossoming out onto the linen canvas. Lowering her dagger she glanced around at the remaining Battlemages, counting before she rolled her shoulders and sighed.

"Aerys?" She asked after a moment, voice wavering, "How is she?"

Ingulfrid finished wrapping the other Battlemage and stood, glancing down to a small, emaciated figure half-curled on the floor. Even from this distance, she could see the open gash running from her shoulder to her navel. The woman was white as snow - at least where her skin was visible underneath the endless rivulets of blood pouring down into the earth - and as Sinnweld drew nearer she could see that Aerys was wracked with tremors and occasional convulsions which sent her limbs jerking, blood raining down as if from a macabre fountain. Closing her eyes, Sinnweld shuddered slightly.

Give them life

"Ingulrid?"

Ingulfrid glanced at her for a moment, then grunted.

"You are aware that she's just going to slow us down?"

"How long do you think it's going to take them to pull back together?" Sinnweld asked, ignoring the Nord's own question. Ingulfrid's eyes narrowed.

"An hour, most." She replied, "Why?"

"Thromm. Start digging in." Sinnweld ordered, "Ingulfrid, patch Aerys up and head on up the highway. Be aware for any roving-"

"I know how to do my job, Sir." Ingulfrid snapped, "But how do you believe you can engage two hundred cavalry with eleven men?"

"I know how to do my job."

Hoarfrost began to spread out around Ingulfrid before she wheeled around to Aerys and bent down to touch her, the frost creeping over her and freezing her blood mid-spurt. Thromm's men began to spread out and carve out defences against the oncoming cavalry surge while Thromm himself plodded towards Sinnweld and glowered at her for a moment.

"That wasn't smart." He growled.

Sinnweld sagged.

"No." She admitted after a moment, "It wasn't, was it?"

The Orc considered her for a moment, then shrugged his massive shoulders and made to amble back towards the visibly-erecting fortifications before stopping and looking over at Sinnweld.

"I don't suppose you actually have a plan?"

Sinnweld glanced at the pools of blood slowly soaking into the ground, felt a phantom presence whispering in her ear.

Give them life

She sighed.

"One or two."