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

by **Ithalian Empire** » Thu Aug 16, 2018 10:24 pm

Tayner wrote:Mettius Clement
North Watch

Everlid Carcaster

Mettius Clement. The dark elf had been always been an imposing man to Everlid, towering even over father and Alano he had once frightened her as a child. She had once told her father about that when she was five or so years old. He had laughed, one of those big hardy laughs that came from his belly and seemed to radiate to all in the room. Mettius was his friend he had told her that day, a man who he would trust with his life, a man who had given much to House Carcaster, serving under her grandfather and before that in the Legion itself. If Father could trust Mettius with his life, then so would Everlid.

Since then, she had come to see Mettius as more of a sad character than the hard soilder he presented himself as. He had seen so much in his long life, the War of the Black Pheonix amongst them. Divines new how many men he had called friend that no rested in the ground or whos ashes where on the wind. Now her father was amongst them. Maybe that was why he was a hard man, but Everlid could never help but feel as if under all that he was one of the saddest men alive.

"Sr Mettius, stand up. We will all miss Father, but I don't think he will want us to mourn long," Everlid knew that many in the Dutchy would be mourning for many days yet. Her Father has brought about a prosperity that hadn't been seen in High Rock for many years, " Aye, I received your letter. Hawks have been sent to the rest of the Dutchy. The Levy is massing and the Guard is ready and the Order is assembled. Your letter mentioned that Heremond asked you to take care of some personal business of his, Heremond would send one of his best knights and trusted advisers to take care of some errands, if it is that important to Heremond, than I must know as well."

by **Spindle** » Fri Aug 17, 2018 5:45 pm

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

Out from the treeline, riders spilled out in a loose formation - perhaps one hundred altogether - fanning out in front of the newly-entrenched Battlemage detachment like a muddy stain on a carpet. For a moment they seemed to ripple, then the sea of horses parted and the golden-bearded man rode out to the front on his destrier, sword half-unsheathed as he considered the rippling stone walls - almost two man-heights tall - which had been raised since the last engagement. His grip tightened on the hilt of the blade as he turned to a woman on a roan gelding and said something to her Sinnweld couldn't hear. Sinnweld heard Thromm grunt beside her.

"Odds that she's a mage?"

Sinnweld made to reply, but a wave of energy rippled out over the battlefield and she bit down onto the bile welling up in her mouth. The magic here tasted bitter, fouled. Reaching out into her streams, she searched for the ones this new mage was pulling on and searched for their effects. She could feel a web of magic settling over the killing ground between them as the streams slowly diverged into the real world, before it burst through with a gust of noxious fumes which swept out over the corpses strewn over the ground. Cocking her crossbow, Sinnweld glanced out over at the bodies and the horses skitting to and fro.

"Give them life." Sinnweld muttered to herself. Thromm glanced over to her for a moment, then his eyes returned to the killing field.

"Not too far off, girl." He rumbled slowly.

In the killing field, the bodies began to stir and twitch. Sinnweld could feel the tension crackling through the air on the raised ramparts as corpses stirred into life, congealed blood dripping in slow gobbets from slackened jaws as vacant eyes gazed up hungrily at the wall. Sinnweld reached out into her own preferred streams of magic as the sea of corpses began to writhe with slow activity, drawing from the wells of power which burned through her body as magic threatened to break into the world for a second time in as many minutes. She could feel the other mages around her drawing on their own streams before she closed her eyes, before she pulled and let loose.

Fire burst out into the killing field, wreathing the shambling corpses as they stumbled onwards towards the wall. The cavalry force milled aimlessly just outside of the killing field, the few tufts of grass still clinging to the ground bursting into flames as the magical conflagration sent a wave of blistering heat washing outwards. Men and horses recoiled in equal measure, horses rearing and screaming almost loud enough to drown out the soldiers. For a moment the firestorm raged on, before a green cloud rolled into the killing field and the flames sputtered and died, leaving charred bones shuffling towards the wall and scraping at it with charcoal fingers.

The Battlemages shifted smoothly away from fire to storms, tearing into the ever-thickening cloud of noxious fog and the swelling ranks of charred undead with equal measure. Raging gales sent whirlpool eddies billowing throughout the cloud, lightning arcing from murky shape to murky shape throughout the fog. Undead jittered, bones snapping in a shivering chorus of snaps and crackles which underscored the percussive cracks and hisses of the coruscating discharges snapping out over and over and over again.

It wasn't a matchup the necromancer could afford, Sinnweld noted almost dispassionately as another bolt of lightning leapt from her hands. Unless their mage was able to bring the walls down, it was realistically going to be down to the the cavalry - still milling in disarray - to surround their miniature fort and push their way through. It would be, she reflected, a grim job for anyone who had to deal with the aftermath of this engagement. There would be more than a few bodies left in the wake of their retreat, she suspected. Such was the harsh reality of a mageless force engaging mages.

Underneath her feet the ground rumbled, and Sinnweld silently cursed herself. She shouldn't have thought that.

The charred remains of undead littering the killing field began to flow together, rising up over the ground in an elongated column which threatened to loom over the wall itself. The noxious cloud vanished almost instantly and fire began to tear out from the Battlemage position once again, charring and cracking bones and sending wisps of smoke rising from the slivers of meat still clinging to the shattered bones as a defined shape began to form. Two pairs of arms sprouted out from the main mass, reaching down towards the Battlemages on the wall as they began to pull away.

"We're leaving!" Sinnweld called out as fingers slowly assembled, bone-shards jutting outwards from each one. A shard of ice slammed into the palm of the near-complete hand and shattering it in a hail of bone. For a moment the hand was still, before slowly re-forming and reaching out again as the Battlemages pulled away from the wall, dropping to the ground and sending a withering hail of magic thundering into the undead swarm. Concussions tore deep chunks out of the construct, spraying dirty-white fountains across the killing field before the Battlemages were sprinting up the highway. More and more magic thundered into the ground behind them, tearing the road apart as they retreated and hopefully slowing any pursuit to a crawl.

"That went well." Thromm rumbled.

Sinnweld glared over at the Orc.

"I wasn't expecting...that."

Thromm's grin was vicious, but his laughter was a little gentler.

"None of us were. We seem to be surprised quite often nowadays."

Sinnweld's mood was not improved by that tidbit.

by **Everhall** » Sat Aug 18, 2018 5:52 pm

The Son of Sin

High Chancellor Lhoris Varian of the Ashen Empire

"Get a healer for the Prince and make sure that his chambers are guarded at all times. I fear there may be more at work here." It was redundant, but Lhoris knew that it had to be done. He relayed this order to one of the many servants of the palace and then made his way, very much exhausted to his office. The night had been tenuous, and the Chancellor knew that much work would need to be done in order to bring the Ruby District back from destruction and ruin. As he came upon the main hall that led to his chambers a detail concerning the state of his door caught is attention: it was open. I could have sworn I closed that... he thought to himself. Now Lhoris was not a forgetful man, he had spent many years honing his mind in order to remember even the most minute details. Usually, such a difference wouldn't phase him, but these were different times. He crept up to the door slowly, ready for any monstrosity, humanoid or not to appear from the shadows of his unlit office. But his fears were soon allayed as his daughter came into view, slumped over one of the desks of his study sleeping soundly.

"She must have waited for me," Lhoris said to himself softly. Be quickly brought a blanket from one corner of the room to drape over Alesane as she slept, taking solace in how untouched the current conflict had left her. The Chancellor then made his way to his own desk, laden with the missives of state, and sat down and threw his head back in his chair in an attempt to get what sleep he could. I probably shouldn't sleep in my armor... but... he slowly drifted I.... Lhoris' vigilant eyes shot open. There was someone here. He prepared to attack, to stand from his chair in order to deal with the intruder, but he soon came to realize just who had appeared in one of the dark corners of his study.

"The Last Lorekeeper... Kyrenic, it has been a long time."

Kyr glanced at the Chancellor after his presence was noticed, he took a moment to appraise the man before responding.

"Indeed it has Inquisitor Lhoris, or perhaps I should call you Chancellor now. How far you have come since those days. Regardless, I would not have come to you today unless it was something important; something... unfortunate. There are things stirring in the Undercity, Dea'ra worshipers are moving openly and doing what they wish. You might or might not already know this. The attack on your city was merely an extension of their vile reach. What you may not know is that there is a veil or barrier of some sort blocking entrance into an area deep within the Undercity's tunnels. I attempted to investigate, but I had to retreat once enemy reinforcements arrived. I am afraid to say it, but Melkor may be involved; The Black Phoenix."

"The Black Phoenix..." Lhoris murmured. There were many a bad memory from that time that he had hoped to forget, seeing Kyrenic here was the worse possible scenario for such a hope, "The shadow of Melkor still hangs over the empire decades after he died. I had hoped we had put our past of Dread behind us, but if this day is any indication, the threat of the Dea'ra is only just beginning. What's worse," Lhoris stood, "Is that we've lost contact with the Shadow Legion. Sixty-thousand elite battlemages and not one were we able to reach. They're becoming bolder, and it seems we know almost nothing about them other than who they were after: Prince Ruven."

Kyr listened intently to the Chancellor as he spoke, his chin resting on his hand as he stood posed in thought. He was silent for a time, but only briefly, responding in a solemn tone.

"That is indeed disconcerting. I myself know little as well, but one Dread Mage in the Undercity had mentioned something called the Well. There must be a reason why they targeted one prince and not the other unless they did target the other one but we have not heard of it yet."

"Julek..." Lhoris paused for a moment deep in thought, "Julek hasn't said anything. He was among those that came running once we heard the explosion in the district, but other than that there's been nothing concerning him. All that's happened has occurred to Ruven, and it's worse seeing world already seems against him as it is. His wife and unborn child were the subjects of an attack not a few days ago. It would not be hard to imagine this business in the Undercity and the attempt on his life being connected. He's been through a lot recently, dead father, dead moth-" a seemingly ludicrous idea dawned on Lhoris in that moment, one with time became all the more plausible to the Chancellor, "You don't think... Julek is involved somehow, do you?"

Kyr nodded in assent before speaking.

"It is possible that he is involved in some way, or at least those behind this have plans involving him. Otherwise why else would they leave one prince alone while the other is targeted amidst all this chaos."

Kyr froze as a sudden thought occurred to him, he spoke carefully as he put the thought into words.

"What if those behind these incidents are affiliated with Xuvius, as Melkor was. It is possible that since Melkor fell they have been biding their time, waiting for an opportune moment. With Azelian, the being who killed Melkor, gone and the fate of the empire split between two heirs, it would be the perfect time for them to strike. They could eliminate Ruven, the Prince closest to Azelian, leaving Julek open to whatever plans they have concerning him."

Kyr paused and gave a heavy sigh before continuing.

"This is all speculation, however, and i do hope that i am wrong, for if all these events are part of some long-planned conspiracy i fear for the people of Eroris and the Empire."

"Dammit," Lhoris cursed, "Dammit all!" he spoke as quietly as possible as his daughter still slept near them, but even he could not contain the frustration that had built within him regarding their situation, "I need more... time! I don't know who these cultists are or what they are going to do but it's clear that they know much about us. If I could only cancel the Proving... no- that would only lead to further bloodshed. I have to see this through and take responsibility for my actions if what I choose is wrong." the Chancellor turned to Kyrenic, "For that, I'll need your help if you are willing to provide it. Be my eyes and ears where I cannot be, find out what they plan and how they plan to do it. I fear we are in the middle of a vast conspiracy to bring Dread to Eroris..."

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

"And," the elderly priestess continued, "just as Kuruth gave himself in the protection of the world after the Dawn War, we must give ourselves to him in order to receive his blessings. True..." She would most likely continue on for a few minutes. Ruven, forced to sit and listen before her in the Temple of the Eight Divines, couldn't help but be bored by all the religious chatter when he only needed the answer to one question. Hama All-Seer, the high priestess of the Temple, was clearly past her prime. Ruven had seen her many times before, in official ceremonies and dedications for as long as he could remember. It was amazing she still lived, even while many others similar in age would have been long dead by now. It was clearly a miracle that was keeping her alive.

Instead of listening to her words, speaking of all the divines and how through great effort they would come to join them in Atherius, Ruven admired the elven architecture of the temple, which was truly on par with the Ember Tower itself. The main area where attendants prayed, called the sanctuary, was central to the Temple complex. Housing many different shrines and alcoves, the greatest of which being that of Kuruth that displayed a magnificent golden dragon representing the Divine. Colored white and gold with the colors of the ancient elves, the Temple of the Divines was truly a place worthy of the capital.

"Wouldn't you agree, Ruven?" the Hama finally addressed him, "Ruven?"

"Oh!" he turned to face the priestess, "My apologies, what did you say?"

"I said that it is extremely strange from you to be contacted from the afterlife from a dead family member."

"Yeah, I-" Ruven paused, deeply shocked by the priest's words, "I... didn't say it was a dead family member."

"Oh you didn't need to say it, it's written all over you," Hama smiled her sweet, old smile. If Ruven hadn't just heard what she had said may have been tricked by the look. But now, it was all clear to him.

"So... that is why they call you Far-seer. You can see more than most?"

"Precisely." the priestess nodded, "Your father almost had me exected for seeing an assassination attempt in his future. He quickly reconsidered when he once he came close to being skewered by a disgruntled nobleman. I hope you do not turn out like him, otherwise, I doubt you will return from that arena alive."

"Fine then," Ruven growled, "I'll humor you, Far-seer. What can you tell me about my dreams? What can you tell me about my future?" The old woman remained quiet. Ruven wondered as to the reason why, but he quickly found the crone's cold white eyes looking him over as if he were a lamb ready to slaughter. The action made him uneasy, "Just what in Dread are you doing?"

"Seeing what I can, as you asked," the woman finally replied, "But you're not going to like what I have to say. It is clear to me now that whatever entity that is speaking to you in your dreams is not your father. It is clearly something else, whether it be malevolent or not remains to be seen. On your future, however..." Ruven's gut clenched with apprehension, but just as the priestess prepared to relay the information to him, a servant of the palace, drenched with sweat having obviously run quite a distance, interrupted their conversation.

"My Prince, the Wise Council has been called into an emergency session concerning the fleet heading to Alista! Your presence is requested!"

"Damn," Ruven cursed, "My apologies," he said as he stood, "I'm afraid that we're going to have to cut this short... what exactly did you see in my future?"

"Nothing," she said, "Nothing at all."

"Is this the state of the Empire?" Julek demanded before the Wise Council as Ruven watched in disgust, "Are we so weak as to have a group of barbarian marauders, those responsible for the death of our Emperor, to destroy our fleet?" "NO!" came a round of shouting from Julek's supporters. The news that had arrived from Atlas concerning the fleet was nothing good. Apparently, the entire force had been smashed on the rocks of the Fiery Strait, and the isle remained under siege by the forces that had done it. This, however, was not what occupied Ruven's mind as he watched increasingly incensed by the display that was occurring in the Wise Council. Thousands of men had met an early death at the bottom of the sea, and his brother and his supporters were using it for political gain. Ruven's expression contorted with rage, You heartless bastards...

High King Harold, overlord of the Reach and one of his brother's stances supporters was the second to speak. He struggled for a moment to bring his excessive weight to bear on his chubby little feet, "I concur with Prince Julek!" "Here, here!" came a round of responses. Another round of mindless fools... "It would be in the best interest of the Empire, if Lhoris Varian was immediately removed from the office of High Chancellor once the Proving is over!" Fucking bastards... Ruven thought. He wanted Lhoris to respond, to shoot back at vile words made against him, but he did not. Instead, the High Chancellor sat there, deep and thought, and took every single attack that they would throw at him. Ruven glare turned to another speaker, the brother of Harold who rose to speak after him. Tall and ripped with muscle, Cedric Gardener was everything his brother wasn't, strong, brave, and handsome. Known as the Strong by the smallfolk, Ruven had fought within the Legion back when he still counted himself among their rank. He expected better of him, but knew that when it came down to it, Cedric Gardener was just another soldier.

"What my brother says speaks for the whole Reach!" he said in a gruff tone, "Ten thousand men and women of the Reach lost on your watch Chancellor! It's time we had another!" "YEAH!" came the response from the crowd.

I've had enough of this... Ruven finally thought to himself. His brother, the Proving, everything, and he made his way out of Council Chamber doing his best to contain the growing rage within him. As soon as the great golden doors of the room closed behind him, however, there was no holding back the tide that washed over him. He looked to one of the many porcelain vases decorating the entrance to the chamber and threw the object into the far wall, breaking it into several small pieces that fell back to the ground. "Damn you Julek!" he would have thrown another, but the looks of shock and disturbance from those nobles and servants not within the chamber and the silence that followed his rage made him stop,

"Let's go, Fergus." he ordered the new commander of his guard before moving on from the scene he had caused.

Heremod was a short distance behind Prince Ruven, he to was disgusted with what had just happened in the council. Men were dead, more where dying. The aid that was to be sent to Evermore was dashed upon the Fiery Straits like a child's toy thrown from the highest tower of High Rock, good men from the Reach, and from the rest of Eroris where now dead, victims to an unknown fleet from unknown shores. An Emperor had died to these same mysterious attackers.

And what was the response of Julek and his damned supporters? To use it as political leverage in there never ending game. It made Heremonds feel sick to his stomach that this is what the Ashen Empire had turned into. A den of vipers who struck when the enemy was weakest, with lies and tricks and with the loyalty that gold buys. His father had told him that this city corrupted, that power and the lust of power made man and yaar do things that he would never understand. Well, he had seen that just now, Father was right. The lust for power was the vilest thing in the world.

Heremond's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shattering porcelain. Ruven was obviously more angered by this than he. He walked faster to catch up with the prince.

“Prince Ruven, we always seem to meet at the worst times.”

"So it seems, Heremond," Ruven replied as he slowed his pace as to not out-stride the Carcaster, "I apologize if I made a scene back there leaving the Council and all, but I just couldn't stand that smug prick. Your High King was up there too, wasn't he? Fat ass probably never stepped on a battlefield in his life." Ruven had never been one to be crass, but he just couldn't take another word of the capital's formality.

“Agreed, men are dead and the empire is without a navy,so we must use it to leverage our position,” Heremond said, mocking those they had just left behind in the council, as he continued to walk with the prince, “This city sickens me more and more every day I remain here. My father never had much good to say of King Harold, he said he had once been a great warrior, or so the story goes. But seeing him up there, flapping his fat mouth, I think my father may have lied to me about that.”

"Your father hm?..." Ruven stopped and stared into the distance where a statue of Azelian the Great stood, erected not long after he had ascended the throne. Ruven had... mixed feelings about his father. He wasn't a very good one, nor was he a great Emperor. To be honest, he didn't really know why he still looked up to him if barely during his life. Is it... because he was good or.... was it because he WAS my father? Ruven couldn't honestly answer the question to himself. He tried to keep his thoughts on the matter secret by displaying no emotion on his face, but his expression betrayed him, showing a look of sorrowful thought and deep regret. "I guess... he was the only parent I had left." Ruven murmured to himself.

Heremond stopped with the prince, in front of them stood the statue of Azelian the Great. The former emperor cut a striking appearance, looking every bit the conquering hero who had saved the Empire, and Eroris from the tyranny of the Black Phoenix. It was easy to see why he had been called the Great back then, after two decades of war. Heremond knew that his family owed Azelian there continued existence, the Black Phoenix was the only person who had ever taken High Rock in its history, and Azelian killed the Black Phoenix. Heremond knew this well.

He saw the way that Ruven looked at the statue. He knew the prince was trying to hide his emotion, it was fate's kindness that Ruven had been made a prince and not an actor. He knew what it felt to lose a parent, even before his own father's death. His mother died when he was thirteen, succumbing to the grey cough in one of its many flare-ups. However one thing Ruven did say caught Heremonds attention.

“My mother died when I was a boy,” the memory of her passing still hurt, she was gone too quick and too soon. “I suppose that my father was the only parent I had left as well.”

"It wasn't my fault he had said, I didn't want this to happen. he had cried. Did he really think he was that stupid not to know? Rage built within Ruven as he thought back to that fateful night when everything went wrong. He remembered the towering infernos that lit up the mountainside, the clopping of rapidly approaching horsemen that approached with his father among them, and how he had collapsed once he saw what had happened.

His downcast eyes became hidden by the bangs of his hair, concealing the look of pure hatred that narrowed them into thin slits, "My mother was taken from me." he clenched his fists as his voice trembled with anger, "By that bastard I call a half-brother."

So there was the spark that ignited the hatred between them... thought Heremond. Even if Heremond didn't know all of what happened between them or the circumstances surrounding the death of the Empress, it was enough to set to brothers on a path where only one would live and the other would die. Ruven had changed from sadness to anger. Julek was the object of the anger Heremond surmised.

“He took your mother?” So the rumors he had heard where true, at least in part, “It won't be the last thing he takes Ruven. He has tried to turn my own brother against me, and I very much doubt he would let me keep my head for long if he became emperor. Ruven, if you don't put cold steel in his belly, I will.”

"Oh don't you worry, Heremond." Ruven assured him, "I won't hesitate to drive my sword through his heart..." Because I can never forget the day he took everything...

Later that Night.... 14th of Second Seed, The Day Before the Proving

Why can't I sleep? Ruven asked desperately to himself; he had had another one of those dreams. They had tormented him since he had lost Asoka, and the one he had that night had been the worse because his mother was in it. She held him in her arms, he was a child again, just as young as he had been the day he lost her. But soon she turned to ashes, and the phrase he had heard so many times reverberated through his brain. ROOT OUT THE SEED, RUVEN! ROOT OUT THE SEED! Ruven awoke screaming bloody murder into the night. He had heaved for a moment still processing what had just happened in his mind. He reached out vaguely, in order to make sure what he had seen was real. IT had to be real, he had saw her! But part of him knew the truth as it was. Mother is dead. You know who took her... Ruven couldn't stop the tear that fell from his face.

"Prince Ruven!" several Paladins of the Order entered into his newly acquired room. They tried to hide it, but he could see that they were all on edge, "We heard screaming," the captain of his guard, Fergus, said, "Is everything alright, are you hurt?"

"No, no," Ruven waved them away weakly, "It's just my dreams, nightmares really. They won't let me sleep." "Root out the seed!" it had said. "Root out the seed!" who could it possibly mean to root ou- It hit Ruven in that moment, "Fergus!" he turned to the Nord, "Get Chancellor Lhoris, now!"

By the time Lhoris finally arrived at his new quarters, dressed in a robe emblazed with the sigil of his house, Ruven had already poured himself a small drink in order to mull down the weight of dreams and the incoming Proving.

"Prince Ruven," the Chancellor began as Ruven took a seat in one of the velvet chairs of his bedroom, "I would have thought you'd be asleep by now. The Proving's tomorrow and it would be best with-"

"Lhoris, please," Ruven sighed exhausted by the pleasantries of court, "spare my the courtesies today. I've had enough of them in the Wise Council, bunch of stuck up pricks that sway from one side to another like blades of grass. I am tired as Dread, and I really don't want to deal with it right now." Ruven gestured towards a spare seat across from him, "Please take a seat. I... I want to ask you about something."

Lhoris nodded slightly to the Prince before taking a seat in the chair he had indicated, "So, Ruven, if it's not courtesies you're after, what exactly do you want to ask?"

"Well... there are a few things, actually. First... what compelled my father to make the Proving? Yes, I know he created it in the search for peace, but it seems now that all it's doing is proving to be the cause of our downfall."

"I wouldn't see it exactly like that."

"How so?"

Lhoris grasped his hands, "Your father was the... simple sort of yaar. He didn't grow up with much, besides his name and the sword he carried on his back. He fought for much of his life, Empire ruling was not the sort of thing he was accustomed to. Once the War of the Black Phoenix ended, he decided that the best way to prevent war would be to have a Proving. One in which two Ashens enter and only one exits alive. It's bloody, I know, but when a conflict between brothers becomes a conflict between provinces, the whole realm bleeds."

"Second question," Ruven continued, "Why didn't you say anything back there? Back in the Council Chambers? These men, these nobles they take your name and rake it through the mud and yet you say nothing allowing them to do so no matter what they say. Why?!" he demanded, "Why won't you defend yourself?"

"Because what they say is not important!" Lhoris snapped, "My name's been through a lot over the years and what they said in the meeting is nothing new. The men and women of the Wise Council may frame me as whatever they want, all that doesn't change what is fact. Our Emperor was killed by a group that was powerful enough to destroy several hundred imperial warships and our capital was set alight by the forces of the Dea'ra. What these people say, is none of my concern. All that matters to me is making sure several million people aren't killed." Lhoris leaned back in his chair, "Do you have any other questions, Ruven. The night is late, and I want to wrap this up quickly."

"Just one more..." Ruven said, "What do you know about Julek's mother?"

Lhoris stared at Ruven with a look of bewilderment, "Empress Almalexia? No, those were dark times that I do not want to relive."

"Tell me about my brother's mother, Lhoris. I'm about to face him in the morning... I must know everything." "Root out the Seed!" echoed through his head.

Lhoris glared into Ruven's unyielding gaze for a moment, trying, if not by words, then by looks to convince him to not ask this of him. Finally, however, he turned away and said, "Fine. I will tell you what you what I know about Julek's mother, but don't be disappointed when I tell you I don't know the whole tale."

"Go on then," Ruven replied, "Tell me."

Lhoris sighed in preparation, "It was just two years after you were born that this horrid tale begins, Ruven. Your father, Azelian, had just seen his two-hundredth year on Astergea. It was the summer of that year that the Grey Plague occurred. Thousands of people died in Isnhrion along before you uttered your first tiny cough, the sign of the oncoming plague. Everyone and I mean everyone, thought that you would lose your fight with the diesease and so would end the Ashen bloodline. That was when, however, Almalexia entered your father's life.

"Seductive, with red eyes and lips the color of blood Almalexia met your fahter during one of his many hunting trips in the Mountains of the Moon. He was instantly smitten by her venomous beauty and was tricked into believing that she could somehow, using her arcane knowledge, save your tiny life. It was said, at the time, that she dabbed in the darker arts of the arcane."

"Dread magic?" Ruven immediately inquired.

"Perhaps," Lhoris gave him a look, "Though, as always, when it comes to rumors and conjecture, it is always best to take them with a large helping of salt. Nonetheless, by the time the month was over, you were cured of your disease, and Almalexia had a rapidly growing belly."

"Julek?" Ruven asked.

"Julek," he nodded, "Suffice it to say, your father quickly took Almalexia as a second wife, profoundly angering the Temple in the process, and named the bouncing baby boy born afterward after his old mentor. Everyone was happy, save for your mother and many in the court, and you and your brother got along well"

"So what happened?"

Lhoris' face took on a grim expression, "I count myself lucky I was not present in Isnhrion at the time. It is said something happened between your father and Almalexia, something so dark and disturbing that... that it drove him to execute her."

"What?" Ruven sat dumbfounded, "I knew that something had happened to Julek's mother, but not something so... drastic..."

"That's not even the worse detail," Lhoris looked down in Dread, "I didn't believe it at first, but so many others, people who were there not prone to flights of fancy, saw it with their own eyes. They said... they saw her head rolling off the chopping block... and it was laughing..."

by **Tayner** » Sat Aug 18, 2018 6:46 pm

Mettius Clement
High Rock

"Ser Mettius, stand up. We will all miss Father, but I don't think he will want us to mourn long," Everlid started.

"Yes m'lady." He replied, pulling himself up off of his knee. She was right, Hætemund would want them to continue on.

"Aye, I received your letter. Hawks have been sent to the rest of the Dutchy. The Levy is massing and the Guard is ready and the Order is assembled. Your letter mentioned that Heremond asked you to take care of some personal business of his, Heremond would send one of his best knights and trusted advisers to take care of some errands, if it is that important to Heremond, than I must know as well."

"Yes m'lady, I would have written it, but I believe these things are best communicated in person. Heremond is concerned about Eadwine's safety, as I said things in the capital are getting malicious. The first priority for me is to ensure that no harm comes to her, or any of House Carcaster. I'll be doubling your guard just like Easwine's, and increasing patrols about High Rock and the palace." He started.

"My second concern is in training the levy. Our guards are fit for battle, however I'm reluctant to send the militias into combat. I will have to instruct many of the knights and senior guardsmen to help train them into competent soldiers. I'm not sure how long we have until hostilities break out however, so we've got to go against time. I also want Alano to make sure our mages are well versed in healing spells." He said.

"And finally, we'll have to see about keeping the city of High Rock secure. We'll need to make sure we have plenty of food stored, and plenty of arrows for our archers. Preparations for a siege. I wish it doesn't come to this, but I want us to be prepared for any possibility." He finished. "Aduranos bless us." He mumbled.

"If I may be excused, unless there's anything concerning you, m'lady?" He asked.

by **Everhall** » Sun Aug 19, 2018 3:14 pm

Burning Fury

Prince Ruven of the Ashen Empire

Ruven sat there speechless having heard Lhoris' tale. He... he just couldn't believe it. Julek's mother, a woman that he had only heard of in rumors and gossip was like that? The Prince shuttered at the thought of what her son would be capable of, the brother that he would face in the coming morning. The thought of it hung over him like an ominous shadow, never leaving, always present.

"I-I knew that something had happened to Julek's mother; I knew that there were dark rumors about how she died... but this... this is just terrifying, Lhoris. Why hasn't this been told to anyone? If it had been... maybe I wouldn't be in this situation."

"Your father strictly forbid its mentioning. I asked him why he did so, but he would never give me a straight answer."

Ruven looked down in silence contemplating what he had learned that night. "Root out the Seed!" had said to him in his dreams, "Root out the Seed!" he had said to him before he died. He expected him to do what he could not make up for his failings by killing the son come from his shame. But it didn't make sense. Not at all. Though his father loathed Julek, he could always see it in his eyes, Ruven knew that he wasn't the sort to give up his prized son. "Weak," his father would always call him, "Unworthy of the throne." Azelian clearly favored Julek over him in every possible way except for what had happened on the day everything went wrong. So, for Ruven, it made absolutely no sense why his father would suddenly come so hard in favor of him ending Julek. If I'm going to do it, Ruven finally concluded, There is one thing I must ask Lhoris. The Chancellor stopped in his tracks, having taken the Prince's silence as the end of his questions had already stood up as he thought and had turned to leave the room, "Lhoris!" Ruven shot up, "Is there a way that I can bypass the Toll?"

The Chancellor stopped in his tracks, "Please, Lhoris," Ruven continued, "It may be the only way that I can stop Julek!"

Lhoris simply turned to face him and said, "No... the Dragon shall always have his toll."

15th of Second Seed, Year 901 of the Fourth Era
The Proving...

The Day had Arrived. The day that Ruven had been dreading for the past two weeks: the 15th of Second Seed 4E 901, the day of the Proving. He awoke and had his attendants garb his armor around him for what seemed like the last time he would ever be equipped for battle. By the time he awoke, most of the city had already gathered into the arena. As such, he wasn't able to eat, so much as preparing his hair before he set off with his entourage towards the Leap. Instead, he opted to tie it tightly, much like Lhoris usually did, less likely to interfere in the battle that was to come. Before he left, he took one last longing look at the Ember Tower rising behind him. His home, the place where he had lost Asoka and almost everyone that meant something to him. All bad memories... memories Julek is responsible for...

The procession that took him from the Tower all the way to the arena seemed small and insignificant to the splendid parade that surely had accompanied Julek and the Wise Council's arrival to the event. Bands and ribbons, colored in vibrate purples and reds that signified the empire laid fallow on the empty streets as Ruven made his way road mounted atop a black mare. It seemed as if the whole city had been abandoned in the wake of the event. For those that did remain in the streets, they looked at Ruven with hallow, sorrowful eyes. Even before the Proving, Ruven thought to himself as he slowly road through the city, they all act like I'm already dead. The thought didn't give him ease, and it only added to his decision to increase his pace towards the Proving.

The few Paladins of the Order posted to protect Ruven barely had to do anything to safeguard the Prince at most times. Isnhrion was a city of elves that largely supported the Ashen family, there was almost no instance where the life of an imperial family member was in danger within its walls. Julek's arrival and subsequent challenge, however, had changed all that. Even with few that remained in the streets watching his procession, there were many among them that supported Julek, especially after what had happened in the Undercity. Words of the return of the Black Phoenix hadn't gone to help Ruven in that regard. The elite guard surrounding him kept their sword arms ready in the face of the ever-mounting glares from the population at large. Ruven held his breath as he watched the scene unfold before he finally stopped as they arrived at their destination.

If there was anything that Ruven hated about Isnhrion, it was that its arena hanged on the edge of a bottomless pit. The Leap of Ryenar, as it was called, had been built during the reign of the Craceran Kings of Eldrion and had always been a landmark of the city due to both it's location and its fame among the Imperial citizenry. Still as wide and tall as he remembered them, the smooth stone walls of the arena stood before him. Curved in a slight semicircle for half a league, the front wall of the arena truly was a marvel of elven craftsmanship with carvings and statues that rivaled the Ember Tower. The wall continued on until both ends connected into the side of two large cliffs which, along with the wall before Ruven, formed the interior surrounding of the arena. The roar of the crowd screeching for blood like animals was all the more terrifying to him knowing whose blood they were calling for.

"It seems," Ruven laughed drying to himself as he dismounted, "that I'm just another dead man."

It was time. Everything that he had endured had come to this moment: him stepping forward confidently into the sunlight filled arena, and his brother Julek doing the same on the other side. They approached each other in steps, one, two, three, even as the spectators above cheered wildly for the rapidly approaching duel. This is the most I will ever be prepared for this... Ruven thought grimly. He was garbed in his silversteel chainmail and armor, the same that he had worn days earlier during the attack on the Ruby District. Held in his right hand was his sword, Wrath. Made out of a similar material as his armor, he hoped that it would be the blade that he would use to strike down Julek. That, however, would not be so easy. Arrayed just yards in front of him was Julek, similarly garbed in armor and making his way towards the center of the arena. Much like his own gear, the majority of it was silversteel, but unlike most, it shined a midnight black. The angled helm on his face obscured his expression, but Ruven was sure that he was smirking. In his hands laid two weapons that gave the Prince pause as he continued to make his way towards the center.

The Blades of the Elder? he looked at them incredulously, Dammit, how did he get his hands on those?! It was a question without answer for the Prince. He only hoped his shield, said to be that of Alaro Ashen himself, would be able to stand the brunt of the Blades' crushing effects. There was no more time to think, however, Ruven and Julek now stood in the center of the world. Ruven gave one last look to the spectators, who had gone silent in the moment, a gave a nod to Lhoris, who sat among the leader of the Empire, before finally placing the final piece of his armor, a helm shaped to bear the wings of the Phoenix, on his head and spreading his stance in a ready position.

"Men, women, and children of the Empire," a voice Ruven immediately recognized said from the Emperor's Box of the Arena. Hama Far-seer, was the woman who would be beginning the Proving, "Lords, ladies, and dignitaries of Eroris, today is an auspicious day. The day in which two of the blood of Alaro duel for the throne of the Ashen Empire. Our great nation has known strife throughout the years. War, begun at the behest of selfish princes has defined much of our history. Wars between brothers and sisters have touched many over the centuries. Countless lives have been lost in the flower of youth to its deadly grasps, villages, and towns burned at its touch. Today, however, we turn a new leaf in peace. Wise Azelian, my friend now passed, decreed the creation of the Proving in order to prevent such wars for when a conflict between siblings becomes a conflict between provinces, no one but the realm bleeds. Ruven, son of Azelian, now passed, and Selene, now passed, is challenged by Julek, his brother, son of Azelian, now passed, and Almalexia, now passed. They duel for the fate of the Empire, but in the end, the gods shall decide who the victor shall be. Divines be with you all! Let the Proving, begin!"

NOW! Ruven lunged forward with his blade, swinging sideways with his body in order to deal the first blow against Julek's left breast. His brother was quick however, he brought the tip of one his blades to knock his swing aside and quickly brought the other in order to strike at where Ruven's head now lied. Seeing it coming, Ruven moved quickly to avoid a painful death, turning his head just in time in order to avoid the point of Julek's sword. He quickly brought up his shield in order to slam the blade from his brother's overextended arm before Julek disengaged from the confrontation, kicking straight into Ruven's shield. The attack left Ruven unbalanced, he would have quickly recovered it, but Julek pressed his advantage, leaning forwards with both blades crossed that would have hacked Ruven's head had he not leaned back to fall onto the ground, his helm falling from his face.

"You're too slow, brother," Julek taunted Ruven as he stood over him, "I expected better." He had removed his own helm, possibly believing that he did not need it.

"BASTARD!" Ruven spit into Julek's face. Using it as a distraction, he kicked at Julek's feet bringing him to the ground and re-equipped himself with his own gear just in time to see his brother come back to his own feet, "Don't underestimate me." Despite all their years living together in the grounds of the Imperial Palace, Ruven had never truly seen the extent of Julek's battle prowess. He was skilled with swords, from what he had heard, but it was clear from what just transpired that he was the better swordsmen among them. The thing that unnerved Ruven in those tense moments with the eyes of the world seeming on him was that Julek expressed no fear, nor shock at what had just transpired, all he displayed was the same look of confident arrogance that he always had, glaring at him with determination rather than anger. What in Dread is he hiding? Ruven wondered desperately to himself. It was already a struggle to keep his anger locked within himself, contemplating these questions would only add to his woes.

"Aren't you going to attack me?"

"What?!" Ruven demanded bringing his shield to bear in front of him, "Just what in Dread do you mean?"

"I mean you're standing there, thinking out your ass as if this was the bathing house of Isnhrion!" Julek brought his blades to bear, "Don't you still blame me for what happened to your bitch of a wife? Like I haven't heard you grumble about it all week! Come here and let's see just how much you loved her. I doubt even that could bring you to be anything more than a scared bitch."

That struck a nerve. Ruven felt his heart beating within him, pulsing like the beats of a drum as he glared into his brother's arrogant eyes, "YOU BASTARD!" He lunged forward with all of his strength, bring his sword down in an overhead motion to strike at Julek's exposed head. Julek rose his own blades to prevent it but Ruven quickly brought his shield up in order to knock one of the blades from his hand. I got him! "I HAVE YOU NOW!" Suddenly, something shifted in the air. Julek grabbed onto his sword hand with his own and turned to him with a grin of devilish enjoyment. Bringing his free hand, now free of his blade towards Ruven's face and flickering with a dark fire, he growled, "Dark Inferno!" before releasing the spell. Ruven barely had enough time to drop his shield and block his face before the spell impacted in a flash of black flame and embers, throwing him yards from where he had once been.

Ruven landed hard, rolling on the ground even as the rough gravel of the arena flow cut rough gouges into his exposed face. The pain was fierce, but he had no time to consider it. He jumped to his feet quickly in order to receive Julek's next attack, but he found no one a the place he had been. Ruven looked around dumbfounded only for a moment before he felt a blade cut a long gash against his calf. He kneeled, buckling from the pain, but he quickly struck behind him in order to strike where Julek had been, but once again, he found his brother had moved to be just in front of him. How did he get so fast?!

Ruven glared up with hatred in his eyes as Julek admired his blades painted with his own blood, "I hope you're aware of what the Blades of the Elder do, brother. For every drop of blood, these weapons come into contact with the more it weakens the person who the blood is from. Though, what am I saying, of course, you don't know this."

"I do..." Ruven growled growing noticeably weaker, "but it won't help you! GYAH!" he did an upwards swing towards his brother. It wasn't much, and it wouldn't do any damage, but it allowed Ruven to roll away from his brother, close enough to grab onto the shield he had dropped in order to begin the fight anew. Although his leg complained fiercely, Ruven knew that he couldn't buckle again, or else all would be for naught. Julek quickly put his fortitude to the test. The lunged forward with one blade, striking with his left before striking with his right. Ruven could only block and retreat in the face of Julek's furious attacks. He spun and struck again, each time putting more and more pressure onto Ruven's wounded leg, but even then he managed to hold firm even as he was pushed back. It was sheer willpower that kept Ruven alive in those moments. Just what kind of monster is HE?!

Seeing just one slip, just one mistake in Julek's defense, Ruven suddenly lunged forwards in order to, if not kill Julek, wound him much in the same way that he had been wounded. But his hopes were in vain. By the time Ruven's sword slashed through the place his brother had been, Julek was already sailing over his head in a backflip that even the most acrobatic of the Mayaar would have found impossible. The direness of his situation slowly sunk in as Ruven watched Julek land with a soft thud behind him, raising his hand before saying, "You lose."

In a split flash of a second, passing by almost too quick to see, Julek launched a ball of deadly blue flame from his open palm. Ruven barely had enough time to turn foot, shield raised, before the magic impacted him. The resulting explosion, in a flash of flame and gravel, threw Ruven back and send plumes of dust into the air, obscuring the arena's view of the duel. It wasn't long before Ruven found himself rashing roughly into the far wall of the arena, a pained cry being the only thing to alert the crowd to his continued survival.

"Dammit!" Ruven cursed to himself as he tried to cope with the pain, "Where is he?!" Ruven tried to move, but no, something stopped him. That's when he noticed he had lost his sword. He turned to face the source of his inhibitor, the source of his pain: his arm, only to see the sanguine red of his own blood encrusted on his own sword that had embedded itself in his flesh following the explosion.

"It that serving you well, brother?" Julek mocked him as he appeared menacingly from the dust cloud. He didn't have a weapon, but Ruven would not take his brother's mockery lying down. He kicked at him, tried to use his uninjured right arm to hit him, but all it was futile. Julek had won, and now Ruven sat there pinned down by his own blade. Julek seemed amused by his brother's fruitless attacks, taking them willingly even as the dust continued to swirl above them in the air. That's when Julek took on a devilish expression.

Between Ruven's grunts and screaming, Julek began to speak, low enough so that only his brother would hear, "You know Ruven. I've been waiting for a long time for this. The day I'd have you at my feet, unable to do anything to protect who and what you love. I've felt that feeling before brother, and this shall not be the last time that you feel it. You will die today, but before I claim victory, there is one thing I want you to know," Julek bent down to whisper in Ruven's ear, "I killed Asoka...."

Nothing could stop his rage. Nothing could stop his anger. He didn't have time to think, he didn't care to think. Instinct took over; all he wanted was him dead. DEAD. DEAD. DEAD. DEAD. He had no other goal. He disregarded his own preservation. He disregarded everything everyone had told him. Julek needed to die. Ruven raised his right hand, and flames engulfed the arena. He didn't know how long he held it, or how big of an explosion he had made, but even as his vision blackened and he fell into the abyss, he heard six simple words.

"The Dragon Always Has Its Toll..."

by **Spindle** » Wed Aug 22, 2018 3:02 pm

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

The plain of corpses around her twitched and spasmed in mute pain around her even as the ground rolled and heaved up from underneath her feet. Staggering onwards, looking for something - anything - she could use for safety. An arm snagged her ankle and sent her lurching forwards, the rotted arms reaching up to embrace her as she collapsed into the writhing sea of bodies beneath her. The musty scent of things long-dead mingled with the putrescent stench of still-decaying flesh as dry, leathery skin scraped over her armour. Fluids spattered her face and neck - cold, semi-coagulated - and then fell into the mud beneath her as more arms grasped at her, more hands clawed at her, more feeble jaws impacted against her over and over.

She lashed out, a knife suddenly in her hand, scrabbling to her feet as the mud and corpses strove to pull her down. Her clothes were heavy on her, mud and bile and viscera soaking into the woven undershirt now slick to the touch. Grimacing, she lashed out over and over again with her knife, limbs falling away into the silently writhing masses only to disappear beneath the bodies and mud. Pain shot through her side and she turned, knife flickering out to catch a corpse in the side and sending it tumbling away into the desperate mass behind it. Crimson blood spattered to the ground behind her, was swallowed up by the mud almost instantly. But the corpses noticed it, and they turned with desperation to throw themselves into the mud where the blood had fallen.

With their attention diverted momentarily - if only for a moment - she started away, stumbling through the oncoming tide of dead bodies which seemed fixated on the trail of blood she had left behind her. A small but growing snake was forming behind her, corpses scrambling over each other as their numbers swelled endlessly. The ground heaved once more underneath her and she stumbled, nearly fell, but caught herself in time. Pain shot through her side once more, and she reached around to grab the cold, metallic grip of the knife and pulled it free. Blood spurted, and she could feel the air suddenly bitingly cold on her wound, but she stumbled onwards anyway.

"GIVE THEM LIFE!"

The screech tore through the air, rattling her bones as she skidded to a halt. Ahead of her an elf stood amidst the sea of corpses, burning, inhuman eyes fixed solely on her. Bringing up the two daggers in front of her - one bronze, sheathed in a thick layer of her own blood, the other steel and coated in viscera - she charged to meet it, holding every lesson she had ever had in her mind as she struck out with one and tried to parry low with the other. Bone crunched and blood spurted as steel bit into the elf, before pain flared into her body from her torso and abdomen. The elf snarled wildly, baring fangs which lengthened even as she watched, before she yanked her blade up and ripped a bloody hole through its sternum.

With a sigh, the elf collapsed to the ground.

"Give them-" It sighed before blood began to leave its mouth where words should.

"Life." She finished.

Hands grabbed her from behind, a tidal wave of dead flesh cascading over her and forcing her to her knees from its sheer weight. Something punched into her side, the blood which had been leaking out before now pouring out in a waterfall of crimson. Her feet were sinking into the mud as she spun and flicked out her blades, bronze and steel flashing all around her as she carved at the bodies pressing in on her but they were on all sides now and pressing in against her. Cold hands were inside her now, pushing through the wounds to get ever-closer to that source of life, that source of blood-

"SINNWELD!" The voice screamed and she jerked awake, shivering, glancing around wildly.

"What? Who? Wha-who? Why?"

Blinking rapidly, she managed to resolve the image of Ingulfrid looming over her, slowly withdrawing and straightening.

"It's morning."

Pulling herself out from underneath her thin blanket, she pulled herself to her feet and press her hand to her side. It came away slick with sweat, but nothing else. Pulling it away, she sighed and walked over the the pile of clothes and armour.

"You've been dreaming again."

Sinnweld blinked for a moment, holding out a quilted undershirt.

"Yes."

Ingulfrid's eyebrows inched upwards.

"There were dead bodies. I had to give them life."

Something she couldn't identidfy flickered over Ingulfrid's face, then it was gone.

"How would you do that?" The Nord asked.

Sinnweld was silent for a moment.

"I had to give them my blood."

Nothing more was said. There was nothing more to say.

by **Ithalian Empire** » Wed Aug 22, 2018 10:13 pm

Heremond Carcaster

Heremond looked over the fight, with baited breath and a stomach that threatened to spill its contents. The common folk many of the nobility just wanted to see blood, but down there on that sandy pit wasn't just the future of the Ashen Empire being fought over, but the future of everything Heremond loved. He was under no delusion that if Julek won he would go after those who had opposed him, whether directly or indirectly, it mattered not to Heremond. Julek had to die today. No matter what happened, Julek could not be allowed to leave the arena standing. Heremond was only now realizing all that was at stake here now. The empire, High Rock, his family, all were on the line now because he chose to speak before thinking one night a few scant weeks ago.

Heremond cursed himself for that.

The fight went back and forth, first one brother on the offensive than the other. Heremond looked on, Julke using his speed and agility to his advantage. Ruven seemed to be getting the upper hand for a while before Julek used magic. A powerful explosion and then dust obscured Heremonds view. Ruven sat against the far pillars of the arena, sword pinning his arm to the stone, dust, Julek leaning over him most likely taunting him. Divines, don't let it end like this, thought Heremond dont let this be your will. Then the heat of an inferno washed over the crowd, the fighting pit filled with a brilliant orange flame.

How long the flame lasted did not matter. Nothing mortal could have survived that heat, that intensity for as long as it raged. When it ended, the black sand was seemingly all there was. No Julek, no Ruven. Had they killed each other? Then movement, something was alive. Heremond stretched to his full hight to see who it was that had lived.

Heremod felt as if someone had dropped the heaviest stone in the world on him when he saw who it was that still stood. Julek. By some damned trick of Dread, Julek still lived. How? How had he lived through that torrent of flame? Yet alive he was, and alone in the pit. The Divines did not listen to Heremonds prayer. His hand trembled. Heremond felt that old familiar rage build up inside him, after all, that these few weeks had brought, that fucking bastard was still alive. Many in the crowd must have felt as if a crisis had been averted, but Heremod could only feel the all empowering embrace of the dread that came with what was going to happen next.

Julek, the sly, arrogant bastard, was now the Emperor of Eroris, heir of Alaro Ashen.

Everlid Carcaster

"No, Ser Mettius. I will see that these things are done." Already the militiamen were streaming into High Rock every day, being put into drill as the came. The Knight of the Order were already mostly in the city for the funeral of her Father. As Mettius left the room, she went to the westward facing window.

From here, like in many other places in the castle atop the Rock, you could see for many, many miles. On a clear day from the high tower, one could see the shimmery haze of the Golden River as it flowed to Atlas. This is why High Rock was built really, a giant watchtower. If an enemy wanted to get into Eldrion the easiest way was through High Rock, the reverse was also true. The sun was bright and the air pleasant, a bank of white puffy clouds told of rain in the later hours of the day. For those who did not know of the troubles, it would have been a perfect day. Yet that feeling of dread hung over Everlid.

She first felt it as a tingle that coursed over her body, growing in intensity as the world around her seemed to fade away into that odd place the looked like the world she knew, yet was too real. It was like the night Father died. She saw through the leaded glass of the tower the Reach. The vision before her filled Everlid with horror. Rivers of blood where there was once clear water, the burning of the great cities. She was floating now, floating higher than any eagle dared. Below she saw a battle rage. She heard Heremonds voice cry out in pain and anguish, she to started to cry. She saw battlamges that she had known all her life in High Rock fall and not get up. She saw Alano, fighting like a madman. She saw a great many things, things she couldn't put to words.

Her attention was drawn to the south. There two she heard a familiar voice scream in pain. Eadwine. The vision flickered and she was in a room. Handmaids and midwives were busy around a bed. She couldn't see who it was that was giving birth, not that she needed to. Eadwines voice was enough to tell her. She heard a crash and turned.

The vision was gone. She was back in the Great Hall of High Rock, looking out the westward window.

by **Spindle** » Thu Aug 23, 2018 2:41 pm

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

Sinnweld glanced at the hilly plains surrounding her, the small encampment around her perched at the top of the largest hill - almost a bluff now, much of its eastern facing blasted into scree by the Battlemages who now milled around almost casually. As if it was just another slowly dying evening. She had no intention of reining them in any time soon - they would return when the battle started, she was confident of that. It wasn't as if they had anything else to live for. Not now. Not yet. No, they just needed their solitude for now. They would grow out of it, she knew.

A small smile crept onto her face for a moment, then she wiped it clean.

"You know you have to talk to us, Sinn."

She closed her eyes a moment, tilted her head.

"I know." She acknowledged.

Thromm paced over to her, squatted down beside her. She glanced across at the vast Orc, looked away. They both contemplated the soon-to-be battlefield

"We need to know you have a plan." He said quietly, "To be sure of ourselves."

Sinnweld considered his words for a moment.

"I want to kill them." She said after a moment, voice quiet, almost calm, "Farron, that mage, all of them."

Thromm's vast head swivelled to look at her.

"She's made a bargain, I know that." Sinnweld continued, "A deal with a Dea'ra. And I can't let that go. Not after what's happened. And the rest - well, guilt by association. I just want to watch them all burn."

She swept an arm out to encompass the plains in front of them. She could see horses appearing from the treeline, riders turning and disappearing back into the patchy forest.

"I want to watch all of this burn."

"So what will you do?"

She flinched slightly at the question, eyes avoiding Thromm's gaze as it gently probed her.

"I don't know." She admitted, "I'll let us win this battle and return us to Nymeria. And then we'll see."

Thromm nodded slowly. His eyes left Sinnweld's face, wondered out over the field.

"They will be here soon."

Sinnweld nodded simply.

"Thank you, Thromm."

She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then asked:

"Is Aerys stable?"

He turned, studied her for a moment more.

"She recovers." He assented after a moment, "You know you should see her."

Sinnweld stood up, searched for words, turned.

"After this battle, you will." Thromm rumbled.

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

"After this battle." She echoed.

Thromm nodded slowly, before lumbering past the clump of Battlemages who had been keeping a respectful distance from the conversation and reaching down to pick up his longswords - seemingly mere toothpicks in his hands before he gestured to beyond the buff.

"They come."

Sinnweld felt something ripple between the Battlemages as her stomach clenched. Turning once more, looking out over the bluff they had created, she watched as an army began to file out before them. First came the cavalry, a ragged mess from their repeated, brutal skirmishes with the Battlemage force - barely twenty of their number remained, but Sinnweld knew that they could become deadly if the Battlemages found themselves distracted. Riding with them, she could see the slim figure of the mage who had stymied them before. She would be the focal point of this battle, Sinnweld knew.

Marching out behind them came more units. The first, by far the largest, numbered well over a hundred and seemed to be nothing more than conscripts, peasants armed with whatever weapons they happened to have on-hand when the levy had been called. Sinnweld dismissed them out of hand - their resolve could not match their numbers, she was certain of it. The second unit - numbering some forty or fifty men and women - was evidently better-equipped, boasting real weapons and even the occasional crossbow, and Sinnweld knew that these were Lord Farron's thugs. Their resolve might prove to be harder to break.

Finally, arriving behind the slowly-forming battle-line, came a group of ten to twenty people on foot. One man - barking commands Sinnweld could almost make out from across the battlefield - was presumably Lord Farron, and many of the rest sported the rich tastes and full weapon variety of personal enforcers, but a handful defied this. Her puzzlement was momentary, resolved when the senses beyond her eyes caught the suggestions of power emanating from their souls. A mage cadre, then - if rudimentary. More likely there to keep a check on their necromancer than for the Battlemages.

It was a sorry force, to be sure, and almost any other circumstances would have seen it blasted apart before it had even left the treeline. But now they were constrained, forced into a corner by a single mage with a patron. It left a bad taste in her mouth, especially in the aftermath of recent events. This was the same struggle which had played out at the Battlespires, if on a far smaller scale. It was a battle which they needed to win, if only for the pride of the Shadow Legion - especially if their small band was all that was left.

The conscripts began to march forwards forwards, a seething mass of desperate humanity clustered close to each other for protection - a conceit which Sinnweld considered exposing, if only for the briefest moment. But no, this was just a first step for Farron - he was doubtless hoping for the Battlemages to tear into the peasants with fire and lightning and leave behind plenty of corpses for his necromancer to use. Feeling the atmosphere around her beginning to bristle with magic, Sinnweld sent a rapid string of hand-signs to the other mages around her and felt the shift as streams were altered mid-flow.

From around her, tendrils of lightning leapt out and arced towards the oncoming mob of conscripts, which didn't even have time to retract before concussions were tearing the ground apart several man-heights ahead of them. Scree and shrapnel flew, scything into the front ranks which collapsed in a tangle of screaming, bloodied figures writhing in agony from countless vicious wounds. Even from this distance, Sinnweld could see limbs hanging on by the merest sliver of flesh, skulls cracked open to reveal the tender matter inside and limbs bent and twisted beyond all sane comprehension.

The mob of conscripts simply disintegrated, all semblance of order vanishing like a mirage as they dispersed out into a two-pronged wave - evidently trying to get to either side of the thugs and criminals who formed Farron's regulars. Even as they did so Sinnweld could feel magic burgeoning in the necromancer and the dozen or so corpses began to lurch into life, shambling towards each other and flowing together seamlessly. Magic began to tear into it, but the still-forming creature seemed simply to shrug off the attacks raining down upon it as definition slowly began to form.

Movement caught her eye, and Sinnweld's gaze flickered to the regulars as their formation shifted to one side to funnel the retreating conscripts. The two forces clashed for a moment, and she could see blood flying below. Frowning, her eyes returned to the undead amalgam and widened as she caught the red wake it had left behind. Her fists clenched for a moment, teeth gritting as she watched the monstrosity wade deeper into the panicking mass of peasants, rending its claws back and forth through bodies as corpses squirmed and lurched towards the larger mass of the amalgam.

Sinnweld clenched down on the nausea creeping through her stomach as she watched, mind frantically spinning through different scenarios. Should they attack and try to bring the necromancer down now? Hold their position and let that abomination continue to grow? Withdraw from the field now and try to find a different location to hold at? She didn't know - there was too much for her to hold in her head right now. The amalgam continued to grow in size, even as magical attacks of every kind tore and burned and sliced at its flesh - it was gorged on so many dead that its sheer bulk now protected it as it turned laboriously towards the Battlemage position and began to lumber towards them.

Sheets of fire washed over the undead without effect, lightning blasting free fleshy gobbets in mere pock-marks and it lumbered on towards them. In its wake, shielded behind its vast, impenetrable bulk the regulars began to advance slowly, cautiously. Burning flesh sizzled and spat, blood dripped in thick lumps and its path was marked with a slick paving of viscera, but the abomination's pace was not slowed. It continued to advance, one foot in front of the other over and over, until it reached the foot of the scree slope and began to ascend. A claw reached out, but the Battlemages were already pulling away to keep the distance open.

It took another step forwards, the slope shivering as dislodged scree hissed and skittered down the slope.

Sinnweld opened her mind, reaching out into her streams and searching for the power to crack the abomination wide open. Fire, ice, lightning, wind, all of them had tried and failed. What she hadn't tried yet was steel. From her quiver she pulled out a single iron-tipped bolt, held it out in front of her and searched for the stream she would require, the reality she would need to manifest in order to deal a mortal wound to this creature. Power to wreathe it, hold it together, and launch it into the amalgam as it drew closer slowly, ponderously.

"Is this really it?"

She glanced across to see Ilimitar standing beside her, blades drawn.

"Is this you?" The elf asked, "Going through the blunt route? The direct path? Killing with steel and sorcery?"

"It needs to die!" Sinnweld spat, her vision blurring, "It needs to die, and then that necromancer needs to die, and then the rest of this Dread-held army just needs to die!"

"No, don't you see?" Ilmitar asked, eyes fever-bright, "Don't kill it. Give it life."

Sinnweld jerked back, streams slipping from her grip.

"Reach out." He encouraged her, "Search for its mind. And then...enliven it. Turn your enemies against each other, against themselves. That's you, isn't it Sinn? That's how you do it, not like this. When did you stop being a mentalist?"

She reached out, blocking out the elf's words as much as she could, and searched for the amalgam's mind, and sure enough it was there. Low and bestial, but it was there - a flicker of almost-intellect chained to a vast, all-encompassing hunger. She could see it, could reach out and touch it, shape it, mould it, give it life.

"That's right. Give it life, Sinn. Give it life!"

She pushed further into the abomination's mind. The hunger was all around her now, pressing in on her from every side. She reached out into it, unravelled vast strands of it and searched for its root. Its cause. She immersed herself in the hunger, deeper and deeper, further and further, until she found its core. Shattered fragments of scores of past lives ended early, their unfinished hopes and dreams stitched together and sent to push the whole amalgam ever-onwards to find completion in more victims. Reaching into her streams, Sinnweld took the strands of hunger and wove them inwards, revealed each victim to the other and watched as its own ravenous desires destroyed it from the inside out.

A wave of magic swept down onto the regulars, tearing into their tight formation and annihilating them in moments. In the distance Sinnweld could see the necromancer screaming, clutching her face as energy washed outwards from her, before she vanished with the rest of the cavalry into the forest and Sinnweld knew that her mage cadre wouldn't be able to run them down. But Lord Farron and his entourage, they were still on the field and on foot. Walking to the crest of the hill, Sinnweld looked down and gauged the distance.

"Cut them down." She ordered, "I don't want prisoners."

The cry of assent should have chilled her blood.

by **Shadowwell** » Fri Aug 24, 2018 8:38 am

Kyrenic Olafir, Seeker of Knowledge
Mission Top secret, Destination Unknown
901, 4E

"I will do what i can Chancellor. Any idea of where to start?"

Kyr's last words to Chancellor Lhoris were what caused him to be where he was. He was currently traversing the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon in between Atlas and summerset. To be more specific he was searching for the Portal to the Battlespires located there, one of several spread across Eroris. It had not been too long since Kyr had left Ishnrion, he had traveled quite swiftly through the use of spells and a tamed Beast of his, a griffon.

In fact the Griffon was born from a nest located within the Mountains of the Moon, from a bloodline first tamed so many years ago, by Kyrenic in fact. It could be said that he had an understanding with the nest, he took a griffon as his Tamed Beast once every generation, then would release it back to the nest and choose another. Most of his other familiars had been with him for some time, but they were all too conspicuous and noticeable, thus he kept a Moon Mountain Griffon as a familiar to use most of the time.

In fact he was riding on his current Griffon over the foothills gazing around trying to find the location of the Shadow Legion Portal. He was not searching just using his eyes, no, the portal was hidden from prying eyes, Kyr knew this. He was in fact searching for the portal by sensing for anything out of the ordinary, any magical presence or the like where there should be none. Kyr opened his eyes as he sensed it, the Portal, it radiated energy that stood out like a beacon to his senses.

He landed the Griffon, simply pressing on it with his legs, it knew what to do after that. After they landed Kyr patted it on the head, the Beast gave a content purring sound before flying off. Kyr gazed at the beast as it flew off into the distance, he knew how to find it again if need be, or he could just make use of one of his familiars. Kyr turned his gaze away from the Griffon to gaze at where the Portal lay, hidden from sight and most senses.

Kyr swiftly made his way towards the Portal, it was hidden from view but he could feel it, just out of sight. Kyr reached out a hand and touched the barrier, which flashed briefly at the contact, a magical glow was released from his body.

Unlike back in the Undercity, this was not the result of a spell, rather it was pure magical energy. He used it to breach the barrier, he did not destroy it, rather he parted it like an axe parting a piece of wood and made a doorway for him to go through. He moved through the barrier which closed behind him like a wound that had healed shut.

The portal was an utterly massive construct, resting above a raised dias which was engraved with ring upon ring of runes. The portal itself looked similar to a tear, a ripple in space that gave glimpses of what lay behind it, the Battlespires. Kyr stepped onto the dias and walked towards the rippling shimmering tear.

As he came closer to the Portal the energy of it washed over him like a physical breeze, making his hair stand on end slightly. He stopped just in front of the whirling portal, gazing at it with slight apprehension. Kyr lowered a hand to rest on the pommel of the shortsword at his waist before cautiously waking forward. The glow from the Portal enveloped him and he began his journey to the Battlespires.

by **Theyra** » Sun Aug 26, 2018 4:08 am

Isnhrion
Aiwin Arrianus

Aiwin found his man, Primus in the Ruby Distinct and in a bad state. Finding him in the middle of a fight with Dread monstrosity while covered with Aduranos' s fiery protection. Had Primus not spoken the holy pray to Aduranos.... he may not have survived by the time Aiwin and his guards arrived. Even then he collapsed with a significant wound on his chest when the Dread finally dead. Aiwin escorting Primus as fast as he could out of the district and to a healer. Primus would live, he just need to recover and would spend some with him in the infirmary before having to attend the emergency white council meeting.

The news that the imperial fleet had failed to life the siege was a heavy blow. Aiwin felt like someone had just punched him hard in the chest as it filled with sorrow. As council went on his sorrow turned into anger as he listened to Julek and his supporters. He tried to hide it, his body betrayed him as it tensed up with clenched fists. A entire fleet was lost and you are using this advance your claim to the throne! He thought to himself in anger and it only confirms what Aiwin knows about Julek. He does not care for anything but power and being emperor. Aiwin remember during that night when Julek was assued by his brother of murdering his sister-in-law. He did not seem to care at all that she was dead or that someone had caused a explosion in his brother's room with him in it. Even if he was innocent somehow, he only used the scene to find allies among the nobles. Not evening seeming interested to who would even try to kill his brother and sister-in-law.

This is type of man that could be leading the empire soon and what is going to happen under his rule. Aiwin dreaded the thought and could only hope that Ruven wins the Proving. Even hoping that there is still somehow to save his home and family from the fleet that is besieging it before it is too late. Despite how bleak the chances are for relief are now.

Day of the Proving

Aiwin watched the duel intently as it progressed. He did not care what the others watching Proving thought or if they just wanted to see blood being drawn. The fate of the Ashen empire is on the line and the right prince needed to win to have hope for its future. If Julek wins heads will roll, he is sure of it. He is not the person to let opposition to go even if his brother loses. Beat him Ruven, survive your feud with your brother like I did with mine. Make sure he does not steal what is yours and if he killed your wife then you make him pay.

The momentum of the fight shifted back and forth between the brothers. Aiwin moving closer to edge as Ruven was winning against Julek. Only till Julek unleashed a explosion that Aiwin had to shield his eyes as the dust settled. He looked in horror as Ruven was pinned to the stone and Julek taunting him. "Do not let it end like this Ruven" he thought. "Do not let that bastard take everything from you". The inferno that erupted in the arena and consumed it whole happened. Forcing Aiwin back lest he be burned as he watched in awe.

Like Aduranos himself has just bathed the arena in his flames and he was sure that nothing could survive such intense heat for that long. When the flames dissipated, he scanned the arena for any of life and he felt a like another punch to his heart has happened at the sight of man survived. But...... how did that bastand survive when Ruven....... did Aduranos favor Julek for some reason and..... Now Julek is the emperor of the Ashen Empire. Things can only get worse now and Aiwin made a silent pray to Aduranos as he firmly gripped his phoenix necklace. "Please Aduranos, please give me strength to weather the coming storm."

by **Everhall** » Mon Aug 27, 2018 11:26 am

A Ruler's Melencholy

Julek

The dark abyss stretched out endless before Julek's stunned face, as he saw his brother fall further and further and further down into it, becoming a speck in the distance. Julek thanked the gods that dust and smoke that had come from attack still concealed him as he brought his shaking hand before his face. I had him, he despaired as he looked on into the pit, I had him... Was it another one of the cruel jokes that the world often liked to pull on him? Had he really been so careless and arrogant to allow this to happen? Sorrow swelled within him, an unyielding tide ready to break down whatever foul part of him that kept him from himself. But it was not to last. His heart hardened once again as the smoke finally cleared around him. Julek stood, his armor still glowing hellish red from the inferno that it had just withstood, and he felt as if he was at the center of the world.

The Proving was over, and it had chosen a victor: Julek Ashen. As soon as the results of the contest had become clear, the council and the spectators and the priests all carried him to the Temple of the Divines where Hama Far-seer crowned him with all the oils and the blessings of the gods as Emperor of Eroris placing a Silversteel Circlet firmly on his head. The cheers of those who supported him filled the Temple as he gave a rousing speech, but afterwards all Julek could feel was the same he had felt in the arena. He looked to Lhoris for support, for him, he glanced over at the High Chancellor during the coronation, but his face said it all. The same face his father had worn that black day, narrow slits ever judgmental, ever piercing. This is all you've ever wanted, they seemed to say. "No," Julek wanted to say so desperately, "It never was."

Next, they moved into the Wise Council Chamber were Julek planted himself firmly on the Ember Throne, the seat his father had held for so many years. There were many things to be taken care of, but first, Julek had to deliver on his promises. First, he removed Lhoris from the office of High Chancellor, instead bestowing the title on a gruff Harwin Sentinel, one of his supporters who was, in his mind, the closest he could ever get to replacing Lhoris. He would remain on the Wise Council, but as a normal member and not as it's head. Next, he bestowed several honorary titles, grants, trade charters every single missive, document, edict that he had agreed to issue in order to gain the support of the nobility. Several lords and ladies, former supporters of Ruven, took this time to recuse themselves from their council seats, claiming to have to retire for the night, but clearly intent on beginning their journeys home. Julek didn't mind in the end, they would have only got in the way if they had remained in the capital. Finally, however, the Council Meeting came to a close as the sun finally disappeared behind the mountains. Julek excused himself, ate a short dinner and retired to his quarters, guarded by the Order, very intent of gaining a full night's rest. But it wouldn't come to him. Why?! Why can't I sleep?! Julek tossed in turned in a pool of his own sweat. Throwing the covers and blankets from his bed all in the pursuit of a sleep. He tried to find the reason why and failed... at least until the words that signified everything that had happened that day came to mind.

What have I done? Four insignificant words. Julek rarely asked himself this. He was usually so clear so focused. But something about what had happened in the Proving reverberated deep in the core of his being. The only other time he had felt this had been... no that couldn't be possible, that wasn't possible. In the end, sheer willpower was the only thing Julek could use to close his waking eyes.

"Is that serving you well brother?" Julek had asked. He had felt so confident of his victory in that moment that he didn't take the pay mind to his brother's feeble kicks. Pinned to the wall by his own blade, kicking and screaming was all Ruven had left to do. Julek had been amused by the sheer ferocity at which he tried to harm him even if he knew it was futile. He so sure I did it, Julek had thought, Perhaps, he took on a devilish smile, I'd be alright to tell him...

Julek crouched down and after he spoke of the of how long he had waited for this moment, whispered three short words into Ruven's ear, "I killed Asoka..." Ruven's face contorted with pure unabated rage. But oddly, he remained silent. It had been no matter to Julek. He had turned away from his brother, ready to announce to the arena the outcome of the battle, however, he took one last look back as Ruven raised his hand.

Julek braced as the flames washed over him, engulfing the arena in a painting of red and orange. The fire washed over him like waves in the ocean, increasing in intensity with every crash. The heat was immense, but it was nothing compared to when he had learned his purpose. Then with one last breath of flame, the magic faded into oblivion. In the end, Julek was left in a middle of a cloud of smoke, his armor glowing red from the heat of the blast.

"Ruven!" he called out, "What have you done!?" Julek turned to face where he brother had once been, but no, the force of the explosion had thrown him from where he was. Julek searched frantically for his brother, the same terror that had accompanied him the night it all went wrong gripping him. Finally, however, he caught Ruven, hanging limply from the edge of the Leap slipping ever further into its depths. No... NO! In a rare moment of agreement within himself, Julek lunged forward, still obscured by the ash cloud to just barely grasp onto Ruven left hand before he fell into the pit. The strain on his own arm was immense, but he had no time to waste. Ruven hand was rapidly slipping.

"Ruven!" Julek grimaced, "Ruven, wake up! Wake up! You-" He noticed the sanguine red of blood that covered his brother's face, chest, and arm- By Kuruth... Julek thought, The Toll... Ruven began to slip further. "No, dammit! Ruven, snap out of it!" It was no use, however. Julek was only holding onto his fingertips. The blood that caked his now unarmored hand made the slip all the easier. Julek then watched as his brother slowly fell into the abyss.

Knock, Knock, Knock

Julek opened his eyes back to reality. The sun still had yet to rise, but he was grateful that he was at least able to gain a few hours of sleep. How could I have been so stupid? This rare moment of self-reflection was all new for Julek. For as long as he could remember something had kept him from living a normal life from having a normal family. It all began on the day everything when wrong. When he lost his mother. Not the one who bore him, but the one he chose.

Knock, Knock, Knock, "My Emperor," a voice said on the other side of the door, "Harold Gardener and his brother have gathered in your study as you requested. They await your arrival."

Julek got up stiffly, still sore despite the ease that had been the Proving, and looked himself over in the mirror, his lean physique and his toned muscles. What stood out to Julek in that moment were his eyes. They radiated a red that he had only seen in one other person, "It seems... you're making your move."

"So, when can we expect the marriage between you and Aelfgyth? She's a beauty in the Reach you won't be disappointed!" Oh but I will... Julek thought as High King Harold droned on once again about a supposed marriage between him and his fat daughter. They were meeting in the study of the Emperor, left vacant since the death of his father, where Julek had sat in the seat of Azelian before his desk. Many others were in the room, including Harold's brother, Cedric, and many members of the Wise Council, but Lhoris was noticeably absent.

"Very soon, High King Harold," Julek managed to put up his best act, "We'll be wed before the year's end."

"I thank you greatly, my Emperor," Harold bowed. With his excessive weight, he looked more like a bumbling fool than the King he was struggling to come down in a bow, First man I get rid of is this fat sack... "On another note," Harold continued, "I believe you have promised my brother a reward for his support?"

"Yes of course..." Cedric Gardener was everything Harold should have been. Strong, tall, blessed with intelligence, he looked much like his brother save for the gluttonous amount of weight his brother had gained. He stepped forward and kneeled before Julek in the grandeur of the study, Now what to give him... I know just the place... "Cedric Gardener, by my right as Emperor, I grant you the castle of High Rock along with all its attendant lands and incomes, hereby revoking the fief from Heremond Carcaster for his treasons. To be held by your sons and grandsons from this day until the end of time."

"Thank you, my Emperor," Cedric bowed, "Though it appears I have a few trespassers living within my castle."

"It's of no matter," Harold chuckled, "Lenora is one of the strongest cities in the Reach, our army shall be enough to remove the Carcasters and anyone else who stands in our way. Who knows, perhaps Count Wulfric will be among them."

"You have my permission. Take a scroll to Lenora, gather your army and expunge Duke Heremond, I-" Julek prepared to continue but stopped when he saw Lhoris enter into his study, bearing the safe look of disgust and loathing that he had worn during the coronation. So he finally appears... "Lhoris!" he stood from his chair, "I admit I didn't expect to see you here. What is it you have to say to me?"

"If you wouldn't mind, I would like to speak my mind away from the scrutiny of others," he glanced towards High King Harold, "anyone."

"How dare you!" the Gardener king pointed at Lhoris accusingly, "You should count yourself lucky that we even allowed you to live you stubborn old fool! Many of the people that you imprisoned on false charges of corruption were my associates!"

Lhoris turned to the King eyebrow upraised, in a cold tone he replied, "Oh, I wasn't aware. Perhaps you'd like to join them in Castle Karstaag, they've been dying for a meal and your fat ass would suffice."

"C-come over here and say that to my face elf!"

Lhoris stepped forward to tower over the fat King, "Perhaps you'd like to join them."

"Enough!" Julek ordered, "All of you, out. I'd like to hear what Varian has to say." Harold turned towards the Emperor to protest, to demand that Lhoris be thrown from the room, but the look Julek gave him quickly put an end to any thoughts of protest. In the end, Harold, along with all the other people in the room left, leaving Lhoris and Julek alone for the first time in for what seemed a thousand years. The tension between the two was palpable, and a silence stretched between them until Julek finally said the first words, "If you're here to regain you're Chancellorship, forget it. Lord Sentinel's been seeking your position for quite some time now, it was only logical to promise him your-"

"I'm not here for that," Lhoris growled, "I'm to ask you just what in Dread do you think you are doing?"

"Simple," Julek approached him, "Protecting my friends, protecting the family, and protecting the Emprie."

"'Protecting the family is it?' is it?" Lhoris laughed dryly, "You're doing anything but that. You're destroying your family."

"How exactly am I doing that?"

"Ruven was your brother, Julek!" Lhoris yelled, "You killed and you felt nothing. Your sister-in-law and unborn niece die, and you feel nothing. You're just an empty shell of an elf, that can't love and can't be loved."

"I think we're done, here." Julek turned away, anger building within him.

"No, we're not, Julek." Lhoris grabbed onto the elf's shoulder, "You are the last Ashen, the last of Alaro's bloodline and for what? The Throne?! You would kill your own family for an uncomfortable chair?"

"I have no family," Julek said quietly as he turned back to him, "I was never apart of that family. Ever since the day I was born I've been an outcast. No one wanted me, my father didn't, my brother didn't, my own mother didn't want me."

"You're wrong," Lhoris closed his eyes, "and so was I. There once was a time that you loved someone and someone loved you back. It was so long ago that it seems almost like a myth. My grand niece, Ruven's mother was more of a mother to you than yours ever was. And what did you do to her?"

"Shut up..."

"You killed her," Lhoris stepped into Julek's space, "she loved you like you were her own! She was good she was kind and you killed her!"

"Shut up..."

"And no matter how hard deny it, you killed her son too!"

"SHUT UP!" Julek didn't know when he had raised his fist, burning with a spell of fiery death, anger welled within him, and it was all his willpower that kept him from killing Lhoris right then and there.

"And that is why," Lhoris coldly echoed the words of his father, words spoken so many years ago, as he left his study, "You will always be a monster."

As soon as the counselor left, Julek fell to his knees as his bitter tears fell to the floor...

Awakening

The Fallen

As the air few past and the light above his head grew ever more distant, life faded from his body. Asoka... he thought, I'm coming...

"It's going to die," one of the boys insisted.

"No! Don't!" the other boy cried as he desperately clung to the wooden box, "You're not like this! You're never like this! Why are you doing it?!"

The two children had found an injured kitten within the crate clinging just barely to life. They were brothers, and they looked almost exactly alike with white hair and pointed ears. The only difference was the eye color, green for one clutching the box or red for the boy accompanying him.

It's gonna die," the first boy pulled on the other's red tunic, "Give it to me."

"No!"

The first boy pulled a small dagger from his pocket, "Let me kill it!"

"No, you can't!" the other boy cried in protest.

"Why can't I? Only the strong ones survive!"

"Ruven, Julek!" a shocked voice suddenly gasped, "What are you doing?!" Both boys turned to face the woman who had called their names. She was beautiful with golden hair and sparkling green eyes. Her features, however, seemed blurry, as if they were some distant memory. The first boy began to stammer as the woman looked to him, "Mother, I- I..." he dropped the dagger, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I-"

"Not another word young man," she scolded him, "Me and your father will speak with you later at the hall. Now, head back there and stay in your room until I get there, okay?" The boy hung his head in shame and handed her the dagger before returning back through the misty fog of the cliff. The woman then looked to the still crying child before her and move in to comfort him. "Ah Ruven," she soothed her child between choked sobs, "You have such a loving tender heart,"

"I hate him!" the boy sobbed, "I wish he wasn't my brother!"

The woman lightly patted her son's back, "Oh, my sweet child, one day you'll understand that family is all in this chaotic world. They're the people you can rely on when you're down or when you're in need of help. They're your friends and your allies, and you can always count on them." The boy began to feel better; his mother's soothing words seeming to stop his tears. "Which," his mother softly continued, "begs the question..." the boy looked up in horror to see his mother's burnt and disfingured face. "WHY COULDN'T YOU SAVE YOUR MOTHER?" ROOT OUT THE SEED RUVEN! ROOT OUT THE SEED!

A flood of voices and images quickly invaded Ruven's mind. "THE REN!" a voice said, "THE DRAGON, THE RUINS!" another said. It was all too much to take in. And behind it all a heart-beat a constant heart-beat the increased in frequency with every passing image. He saw underground ruins, unnatural corpses that appeared charred, the Light, the Light, the LIGHT! It appeared over and over and over again. He found himself flying high over the mountains, a great civilization left in ruins as the light appeared in the sky. Screams, people running in vain before becoming nothing. Plants, animals all dying from something unknown something strange and ancient. "KILLED US ALL!"

Ruven awoke to darkness. Not to the darkness of the night sky, which had to bow to the slight of the stars, but the darkness of the deep. Ruven did not know how far he had fallen, but it clear that he was nowhere near the surface. If he had been, he would have been able to see the light at the entrance of the Leap. His head, along with his entire body, ached in a way that it never had before. It was the arcane fever, he was sure of it, but something about it's new intensity frightened him, enough to know that he needed help. Several dull pits of pain welled within his chest, most likely a few broken ribs, the strangest thing to Ruven, however, was the pain he didn't feel, the pain that should have been coming from the arm he had cast his fateful spell with. Using as much strength as he could muster he sat up slightly from the cold dirt below him to glace upon what should have been his injured arm. Instead, he only saw the blackened stump on his shoulder that had once been his right arm. Ruven's howls echoched throughout the cavern.

by **Vanquaria** » Tue Aug 28, 2018 5:01 am

Everhall wrote:
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."

'Ain't going without a struggle scum!'

As usual, the drunkards were the bravest or perhaps the stupidest for they were the first of the pirates to rush into the cell of the man named An'Gel Tair. The effect of the drink displayed itself through the men's sluggish and uncoordinated movements. Despite the handicap placed upon him in the form of iron cuffs, the fighting master easily disabled 2 of the pirates before being slammed against the wall by a third drunkard.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, An'Gel clamped his teeth on the pirate's ears, ripping a bit of flesh off. There was no rest in between. Immediately coming face to face with the rest of the pirates, these ones sober and armed, he managed to deftly evade the swings of the first blades and clubs. Though his hands were cuffed, his elbows proved to be the preferred weapon as An'Gel jabbed one into the neck of a pirate. Rotating around to slam his knee right up the sternum of another attacker, An'Gel was too slow to react in time to the tree-trunk arms of an Orc latching themselves around his neck. Any further attempts to struggle from him were put to rest when the tip of a sword touched the skin of his forehead.

Forced to endure the darkness of the sack over his face, obscuring his vision, An'Gel was once again escorted as a prisoner through the pirate stronghold. Eventually, a single voice allowed him to experience vision. Having been thrown roughly onto the sandstone floor, scraping his skin, An'Gel's eyes scanned his surroundings.

He had a slight nod, giving due respect to the masses of treasure around him, I've hit the motherload darlin

Redirecting his attention to the bird-man and the large, admittedly sort of chubby possibly overweight, An'Gel stood up. Having never seen this kind of beast-folk before, An'Gel ignored what the Hawk man had said and simply wondered aloud, "Was it my imagination or did that fat hawk just speak?"

by **Ithalian Empire** » Thu Aug 30, 2018 10:34 pm

Heremond Carcaster

Heremond had the bare minimum of what he needed to cross the mountains and make it home. He needed the travel fast, as fast as he could. He would go alone, traveling with the others would just slow him down and Heremond was racing against time. Soon, if they hadn't already, his enemies would make there move. With Ruven dead, Heremond was no longer the ruler of Inshirions first line of defense, now he would be considered a knife to the capitals throat. Just like the Black Pheonix believed centuries before. Melkor was right when he saw the Carcasters as an enemy, and Julek would think the same.

"So cousin, it begins," It was Baerwald "I wish you weren't making the journey alone."

"No choice Baer, those bastards are moving fast, and I have to move faster." He wished he didn't have to go alone. there where danger on the trails he was taking that were present in peacetime, now there was the added dimension than there were men who wanted him dead. But speed outweighed anything else.

"I know, damn what a month," Baerwald said, indeed it had been, "Well, until we meet at High Rock." Baerwald extended his hand to Heremond

"Until we meet at High Rock" Heremond took his hand in a firm grasp, it may be the last time they saw each other, "I'll tell your uncle you won't be long."

Heremond grabbed the rucksack that now held all the things he would take with him, some water and food and his kit all fit into one ruck. He walked out and into the hall. Other lords had the same idea, all had once been in opposition to Julek at some point. Now they were fleeing back to there lands, no doubt the same worries ran through there heads as they did through his. He made his way down the hall and past the rooms. He continued walking till he reached the office of the High Chancellor.

Julek had spared no time in removing Lhoris for his position. It was an expected move, but a damned shame. While Heremond had only spoken to Lhoris in private once, he had been honest to him, Lhoris was the kind of man one needed to sit behind the most powerful man in the empire, and yet here he was, vacating his office for a new High Chancellor. Heremond shuddered to think as to who it was the Julek had replaced Lhoris with.

Amongst the servants and other household attendants, Heremond spied Lhoris inside. Heremond made his way through the crowd and to the former potentate and High Chancellor.

"Well Lhoris, it seems as if High Rock is no longer this cities first line of defense." Heremond sighed, "Should next you hear of me, well, you know what happens to us Carcasters."

"I'll hope to never see the day. As for me... I feel as if the best I can do now is to make sure Julek doesn't burn the Empire to the ground. With luck, we'll both be able to make it through the coming months unscathed. Wishful thinking I know, but it is doesn't hurt to hope." Lhoris extended his hand forward, "It was an honor meeting you, Heremond Carcaster. Divines bless you in your endeavors."

Heremond took Lhoris' hand, "Same to you Lhoris. Should things ever go back to normallacy, there will always be a seat of honor for you and yours in High Rock."

Heremond made his way to the stables and mounted his horse. Baldric was there, mounting his own.

"So, where are you going?" Heremond said.

"Home, than where ever the wind or trail takes me. Who knows Heremond. There is adventures to be had, fortunes to be made."

"Whatever you do Baldric, dont die."

"Your the one who is going to have to fight the entire Reach it seems. Stay safe Heremond."

You as well Baldric."

And so the two brothers road off, for the first time to two diffrent destinies.

The Ride to High Rock

Heremond did indeed ride like a mad man. He made no stops and took no sleep. He went as hard and as fast as his horse could take him, the poor beast was breathing heavy after the first days travel. Yet he went on, even as the light failed and a moonless night envoled Heremond in darkeness, he rode on. On the morning of the second day he had traveled what it had taken him and hos party two days to travel on the journey to Inshrion. If he kept up the pace, he would be home in two or three more days.

He went one. Through narrow paths and twisting valley roads he carried on. Peasents looked at him in wonder? Who was this mad rider who went on as if Dread its self was on his tail. If only the knew that what drove him wasnt behind but infront of him. Buy the start of the thrid day of riding he could see the foot hills and High Rock. He made the North Watch by noonday, a Stone Watch man hailed him as he road by. Heremond stopped, the voice was familiar. It was no Watchmen, Alwyin the Bold stoop on the battle ments of the squat fortress.

"Heremond, I was beginign the think you where startign the enjoy the captial."

"Not on your life Alwyin. I am glad that place is behind me, and glad that you and Mettius made it home safelly."

"Aye, damned elf almost killed himself racing here. Higbald Stonier is here, bought some welp back form the Rock, says he gives his condolences." Alwyins voice was shifted form the happynes of seeing Heremond alive, to sadness as he remebered the Duke Hweamund was now dead.

" As much as I would like to talk to you, I must ride on to The Rock. I fear as if our foes are already moving."

"Aye, they are Heremond. An army is rumored to be assembeld and marching from Lenora. Rumor has it that Cedric Gardener has been promised your land and is moving to make war to get it."

Heremond sighed. He did not wish to fight Cedric. Cedric was everything the High King should have been. Stong and brave with an intelelgence that few could match. He would be a formidable advisary, and Heremond was dread to think as to how he could win aganst such a man. "Right than. Well Alwyin, I will see you at The Rock on the marrow."

Heremond spurred his tired mount on. As the sun began to set he was in High Rock. He had gathered all the council, for the first time they sat before him, no longer was he acting for his father, he was now the Duke of High Rock, no matter wht some damed elf in a city a week away said or what some stuffed up Gardener thought was his to take. He looked over the council, Mettius, Robert, Alano and the rest.

"Well, gentelmen, it seems as if the Gardeners march to make war aganst us. They out number us, there commander is a seasoned and battle hardened man. We have no idea if the Blacktydes support us or would rather sit and let Cedric take my lands. I have called this council to try and devise a plan, to figure out what to do next."

Robert Pithye spoke first. "It wouls seem to me, my lord, that we have no choice but to stand aand fight. I doubt they will let any of us keep our lands, or our heads. I say we march out from High Rock, and meet them, Blacktydes or no Blacktydes." Several lesser memebers of the council sounded there agreement.

"Mettius, your the most ecperenced in there matters, what say you?" Heremond turned to his marshal.

by **Zanera** » Fri Aug 31, 2018 1:40 am

Alyndel
A Few Miles From High Rock
Road Near the Camp of the Red Gauntlet

The sun shone across the land as Alyndel strode through the Reach. It was a time of warming, birth, and blooms, so of course his nose was somewhat stuffy in such a pleasant time of year. Why the plants needed so much pollen was unknown to him. The yellow powder collected on his bear skins and so he had to wash them a few times, and breathing with you mouth open asleep in the wilderness leaved much to be desired. It wasn't that bad most of the time, but he would be somewhat miserable until the summer months. At least his spear could second as a walking stick. He didn't want to give himself such luxuries but it quickly turned into a reflex anyway to set the stick to the ground as he walked. It was pressure off his back so it was more good than bad and so he just let it occur.

It was one hell of a day to be just a few miles from the famous fortress of High Rock. It was technically a castle but to the common fighting man it was all too impressive to say it was merely a pile of rocks on a hill. There was only one war that caused the castle to fall into enemy hands and that was the War of the Black Phoenix. He had been in that war, and with the length of it and the importance of High Rock the castle was bound to have fallen at some point anyway. It was a terrible twenty-five-year long war, and he didn't blame its stewards for its fall. Its history, otherwise, was very impressive. The Reach, in general, was an admittedly pleasant place. The denizens of it were dastardly sometimes, but they were mainly nice. There were endless fields of grain or wildflowers, with shady oak copses. Sometimes the birds were so used to elf and man that if you had a hand of seed and waited patiently they would come into your hand and eat from it. It may seem weak or un-warrior-like but it is absolutely nice to know, after killing many monsters, that not everything wants to devour you or maul you or shred you or burrow into you or...yes, it was nice.

There was some large camp of mercenaries or soldiers to the north, but it was unfathomable from this distance as to what it was. It could be anything for all he knew, from the Legion to some fencing connoisseurs. The camp passed out of view as Alyndel entered a small town, seemingly a resting spot for many travelers. Carts were parked along the side of the road, and the hitching posts were half-full of horses around some kind of tavern/inn. There was another just down the road. It generally seemed like a nice place to stop for a few minutes. There was a quarrel happening a few buildings away but other than that everyone was just going about jovially. Women washing clothes, children running about. A blacksmith hammering away somewhere. The sun wasn't obtrusive and the humidity was excellent. It was better than the mountain passes of Eldrion, at least compared to its nights, which still got very cold at this time of year.

The tavern/inn seemed very popular so he entered. One drunk laughed at him, a couple others stared for a bit at the newcomer, but it was a very tolerable atmosphere. He walked up to the bar and ordered a half-pint of ale. He thought he had been doing good on the alcohol and his throat was getting dry, so he just wanted something to hold him over until he reached High Rock later in the evening. The ale was nice so he had another sip right after and started looking around the establishment. There were a couple barmaids, and a large man in a corner that must be a bouncer. It was mostly Reachmen, minus a couple Mayaar and a band of Pandorans. Looking across the bar there was a Valyaar, Pandoran, and a couple of Reachmen having a laugh. The Pandoran looked at Alyndel, taken aback by what he was wearing, no doubt. "Have we here a merciless warrior? I bet your the type that can take on a whole tavern, aren't you?" he laughed.

"I would rather just handle this half-pint."

"What are you, an elf? You have the chin," asked the Pandoran, seemingly actually interested, along with his buddies.

"A Mayaar. Sorry you can't see my ears for the bear skins, I needed a helm."

"So you did! Interested in joining a grand adventure? Always looking for worthy soldiers!"

"Not interested at the moment."

The Valyaar leaned over extra and seemed to look at him as if they had known each other. The ash elf did seem familiar, but he couldn't place him in his memory. He had met many people over the many years. The Valyaar said, eyebrows furrowed," You...you were in the Red Gauntlet. Your name begins with an 'a'...it's on the tip of my tongue."

"Don't think I know what you're talking about."

"Alleen. No, Al...Alyn...Alyndel. Alyndel. You left the Gauntlet at Herrath, even though you were a good soldier. How has it been?"

The Pandoran looked affronted. "How do you mean how has he been? Is he not a deserter?"

"It was some years after the War and it was a tough time for us since Darath-"

"If he is a deserter then he must be punished. If it was your administration you and I may let this slide, but it is mine now and I cannot let this happen, if not for lack of understanding, then out of principle. Seize him!"

There were two strong Reachman at his arms, and there was a former condottieri and a current condottieri of the Red Gauntlet. A fight wouldn't bode well, especially since a spear in a tavern wouldn't go over well. It was internal mercenary business so the bouncer just told them to take it somewhere else, so Alyndel was tugged to some horses outside, the Valyaar, who he now remembered as Herrius, holding his spear for him. They threw him across the back of a saddle and before he knew it they were riding for the camp of the Red Gauntlet. As he jostled up and down on his stomach he began to feel very sick, his stomach hurting more and more every time the horse came down hard, the edges of his cuirass digging into him. Half the time he was getting the wind knocked out of him. It wasn't very pleasant at all and it went on for several minutes.

As they entered the camp perimeter the Pandoran ordered Alyndel to be chained in the stockade. Alyndel realized he was in the custody of someone that didn't know him, that may not have even been born when Darath was around. All he knew Alyndel for was a hundred years of desertion. When the Gauntlet was Darath's deserters got severe lashings if they had only been gone for a few days before capture. After a hundred years with this Pandoran at the helm? The punishment would be unthinkable and undoubtedly agonizing. "I know I deserve the standard lashing but let me prove myself before you go any further then that! Please!"

"Silence him!" ordered the Pandoran. Alyndel got punched in the mouth, his bear head and skins ripped off him and his mouth gagged. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, undoubtedly blood. He was escorted straight to the stockade tent, bound tightly in chains and left there to wonder what was going to happen to him...

...Herrius got off his horse and gathered Alyndel's dire bear furs, telling the Pandoran," He's right, he can be a good blade if you let him prove himself. Give him the standard lashing if you must, but go any further and he'll resent you and desert again."

"How long has he deserted the Red Gauntlet? A hundred years or something like that? We must forgo the standard punishment, my friend. I know the War was troublesome, and he could have renounced his contract, but he deserted. The contract is still valid and has been for a hundred years of desertion! He must be made an example of."

"You could have let him go back there, and we could have just declared his contract annulled."

"There was still an example to be made for my captains. My entire administration cannot be let go soft. The discipline must be carried out. I am not sure what the punishment will be, but the whole camp will be assembled to see it. Desertion, whether from a mercenary company or regular army, is always a blow to morale and manpower. An occurrence of it cannot go unpunished, out of principle."

"Perhaps I am soft after all of those years in Valyaria with my family, but I think you are being overly harsh. I will not interfere, but know that I disagree."

"I will admit that he is a stranger to me, but if he is ours, then he is ours. If he was a good soldier then he is not new to discipline, and if he killed that dire bear in your hands, then he is no stranger to pain. Don't think that I don't have my reservations of respect, but I do not know him, and you are not yet officially in the Gauntlet again for me to seriously take into consideration your input, though I value it."

Herrius Endean shrugged and sighed, looking into the glowing blue eyes of the bear head. He headed back to his own personal tent, parting ways with Nimshat Rasul, the condottieri of the Red Gauntlet for the past several years. Herrius began thinking of ways for Alyndel to get a laxer punishment, but he thought to achieve that, he'd have to sign back into the confines of the Gauntlet. As he entered his tent, he looked at the six pages of parchment that was his contract. Perhaps it was time to sign.

by **Zanera** » Mon Sep 03, 2018 9:36 pm

Alyndel
The Camp of the Red Gauntlet
Two AM

They had likely been feeding him what was left at the bottom of cooking pots. They fed him two meals a day, and the only drink he got was at those two meals. It wasn't as bad as he thought'd be, but it could be better. There was a certain way he had to sleep to keep his shackles from digging into him. They were magically locked and bound, even though he wasn't any kind of mage. They probably didn't know if he was or not, but it was definitely more stressful to be on the verge of what was likely another civil war, sitting in magic shackles that few could open, in a mercenary camp. He spit on the shackles, hoping to rust them away. He knew it was pointless, but it was something to work towards. Just a few minutes ago he had woken up, trying to shift position so he could sleep better, but there was little luck at the moment. It was then an odd figure slipped in, their face unseen. There was a moment of dread, but then his shackles were unbound with the wave of a hand and a few words. "Herrius?" asked Alyndel.

The figure put his forefinger to his lips and nodded. Alyndel remembered to quiet down. whispering," Where are we going?"

"High Rock. Follow me closely," ordered Herrius, throwing a black cloak over Alyndel and giving him a dagger.

Alyndel obeyed. He didn't know how late it was, what postings roster the Gauntlet had these days, or how they'd be able to go unnoticed out of the camp, until Herrius grabbed his wrist and waved his other hand, making another incantation. Now they were both invisible. The stockade tent wasn't too far away from the edge of the camp, but Herrius' grip got tighter and tighter as the Arcanist's Fever likely got more and more painful. At some point Herrius would have to disable the spell, but he held on as they rushed their way past a couple of guards and out of the camp. They couldn't go visible again until they were far out into the dark farming fields around the camp, and they could not rush lest they slip up, so Herrius suffered more and more. Alyndel knew it'd only be a matter of time until the Toll started to take effect, but luckily they had managed to go prone behind a few rows of potatoes. The aged ash elf was sweating wildly, his chest heaving.

They laid there for several minutes as Herrius ate something that would soothe the pain some, and then they got their bearings. They crawled through the fields, moving a row farther whenever they dared. They crawled a couple hundred meters into the nearest buffer strip, and then they got up, crouching and moved away as fast as they could. At some point they made their way for the road so they wouldn't get lost in the woods and fields, walking all the way up to the city arrayed under the castle. They were mostly alone on the road, and eerie feeling at night. There were sometimes shapes moving in the woods, the constant sounding of crickets, and the fear of being waylaid by a footpad or some crazy person. A woman stood off the road, just outside the woods. They must have looked imposing in their black cloaks because she looked entirely unsure, and when Herrius raised one of his hands in a mage's way, she walked off into the woods.

It was too unnerving for Alyndel, even though he had been travelling alone and encountered worse before. So he did what people do when they're scared, and began talking, "I noticed you're not in charge of the Gauntlet anymore, Herrius. What happened?"

"Some family things came up a couple decades back, and I had to go to Vval. It was about getting my piece of inheritance at first, but then I fell in love with someone. We tried having a child but she miscarried, so we tried again some years later but both she and the baby died in childbirth. I wanted to turn to my siblings but they either wanted to be awash with me, or were stuck on Alistra. The only thing left for me was either half a tw'ang farm or the Red Gauntlet, and I wasn't any good at raising tw'angs. I sold the other half to my sister and headed back to the Gauntlet."

"I'm sorry about whomever you lost. I've heard the situation at Alistra isn't any good either. Someone smashed the fleet there."

"Yes, I'm very concerned about my siblings' safety, but I can't help that. Let's talk about something else...like you. What've you been doing? Why did you abandon your duty instead of properly extricating yourself?"

"I got drunk and passed out, and the next thing I know I've been stolen away. I managed to escape and free everyone, and the next thing I know I'm invited to a lord's castle and made me a knight. It felt like one thing after another but I should've had a cool head. Battle is one thing after another too, I guess, but Darath's death really messed me up. At some point I should've moved past it in the hundred years I was running around, but I got drunk and never stopped drinking...until a month ago. I went to see my family in Aarendell and came back west to go visit Darath's grave, but it seems I'm going to have to reconcile with the living rather than the dead, at the moment."

"These are tumultuous times at the capital, Alyndel, or so I've heard. Hopefully something can come along where you can prove yourself, but until then, we must watch out for the Gauntlet and wait for the opportunity. I'm back in the Gauntlet now, officially, so if you're screwed, I'm screwed too. So I'll watch your back if you watch mine."

"Same."

Hours passed by as they walked, tossing off their cloaks as they neared the city and the sun started to dawn over the horizon. It was about time when the gate was open and people could enter and leave, so after a brief inspection they were allowed in. It seemed most people were walking to their jobs or opening their shops, however, they'd look for an inn to sleep in since they were dog tired. They went with one that was further into the city and they both collapsed asleep in their rooms, one on the bed and another on the floor.

"What do you mean, the prisoner is gone? And where is Herrius?" demanded Nimshat. Carrying the last signed parchment of Herrius' contract, he followed one of his captains to the stockade tent as they explained that they had both gone sometime in the night. A man-at-arms peeled back one of the tent flaps to expose the unlocked chains. "Bah! How dare he undermine my authority! I will lash him too if I must! Assemble six men to go to High Rock, they must be there. There is no other place around where they could possibly feel as safe as there! Go! Do not return until you have found them!"

The captain nodded, and went to carry out his orders.

They knocked over barrels, empty ones, but still alarming. They set them aright and continued wading through the market district. A few merchants had inflated prices because of the insecurity spawned by the events in Isnhrion, but they received about as much business as they deserved. By midday they were knocking their prices back down. There was anything from orcs to Pandorans to Valyaar, but one could tell they were mainly just travelers. Most of the locals were Reachmen, unsurprisingly. It smelt like many sweating people in one place, which it was. They could afford little so they shopped for hard tack and deformed bread, cheap items that still worked out for them. Shopping was a short experience and so they met a few hours before nightfall at their appointed place, just inside an alleyway. They had enough to scrape by for a couple of days but after that they would have to take up begging to buy some hard tack. Herrius shook his head.

Straw sprayed against their face as a wagon crashed into the building they were standing against, hemming them in. An orc and a Reachman, garbed in the standard armor of the Red Gauntlet and wearing its insignia, climbed on top of the cart, two of its wheels broken and the back smashed. The other way down the alley was blocked by four more of the Red Gauntlet. They approached slowly with their weapons drawn, two-wide and two-deep, spaced apart but still with no way of getting through them without being in weapon's reach. Herrius knocked the orc over with a rush of wind, and they both climbed the wagon with their daggers drawn as they heard the other four running for them. The Reachman tried to kick Alyndel in the face, but the desperate elf grabbed their foot and yanked them off-balance. Herrius hopped off the other side of the wagon and started running. The orc got up and grabbed Alyndel's arm and swung him around, punching him with an armored fist. Alyndel tried to fight back, but punching and kicking armor didn't seem at all effective, and an orc could take that kind of beating easily even without armor. A broken cobblestone soared toward the orc's face and they had to dodge it, releasing Alyndel.

A chase ensued, but as the crowd got denser and denser, Herrius and Alyndel tried to climb over a stall but were tackled by three armored men. The stall broke under them, the vendor's many cabbages left rolling across the street. It was more than enough to make the local guards arrive in force, snatching up everyone from the crushed stall and demanding why this had happened. "These two are deserters from the Red Gauntlet, having ran away, on contract, from their duties. It is the internal business of the Red Gauntlet that these two be apprehended."

The guard must not have liked the man's tone. "When you make a right ruckus in our market, then it's our business then! Now, I'd like to hear from these two, if you don't mind," said the guard, facing Herrius and Alyndel expectantly. They couldn't say they were deserters or they'd be tossed back to the Gauntlet, so they had to lie...completely. Herrius, though, managed to say something that wasn't untrue.

"We were minding our own business and the next thing we know a wagon almost kills us, and they're coming at us with swords! Six armored men after a couple of people that can barely afford hard tack! We had to get away, of course. Sorry for the stall."

"I cannot believe this! These two are deserters and must be disciplined as stipulated by the mercenary contract!"

"I said nothing that was amiss by anyone that saw us. And I'd rather not get flogged for counting money."

"Y-"

"Enough! From either of you! Until we have proper identification and paperwork from the condottieri of the Red Gauntlet, these two will remain un-harassed until the paperwork is submitted and examined through proper channels, the Red Gauntlet will remain outside of these walls, and compensation must be paid in full for the wagon, stall, and merchandise! Do you understand what I have laid out?"

The mercenary nodded, looked at Herrius and Alyndel, and walked away. Herrius thanked the guard, and the guard ordered Herrius and Alyndel to be apprehended. "We will hold you two for a day, just in case you are who they say you two are. I after twenty-four hours they cannot produce the proper documentation, then you two will be free to go."

They were disarmed and taken away.

by **Shadowwell** » Tue Sep 04, 2018 8:42 am

Kyrenic Olafir, Seeker of Knowledge
BattleSpire
901, 4E

After the Portal transferred him to the location betwixt the planes Kyr looked around to regain his bearing, dimensional travel was never a truly comfortable thing. The Battlespires looked like massive towering monoliths hewn from some sort of crystalline stone. They towered far above what served as the ground there, six in all.

After turning his gaze from the towering Battlespires what caught his eye were the rows and rows of defenses around their bases. There were small towers made of stone and wood here and there along each layer of defenses. Once they might have been impressive but now they lay in disarray and ruin. On either side of the defensive walls there were numerous corpses, both of Dea'ra, Dread Beasts, and even Shadow Legionnaires.

It looked like the Shadow Legion had been able to mount some form of defense, Kyr had seen similar scenes in the past at villages and towns that had been besieged. There were mounds of corpses that could be seen, many were outside the defensive lines but not all were. The majority of corpses within the defensive lines were legionairres but the number of Beasts and lesser Dea'ra attested to the fact that they put up a hell of a fight. Kyr's appraisal of the scene was interrupted as a subtle sound entered his ears.

He looked about trying to determine where the noise was originating from. He soon enough found the source of the wheezing rattle, a fallen Legionnaire hidden under the corpses of his brethren. The Legionnaire was a Reachman like Kyr, though he was young, only in his late twenties. His robe was stained with blood and pierced in many places.

The dying Legionnaire saw Kyr and recognized him, though few knew who he truly was, he had worked with the Shadow Legion from time to time. The reachman gave a choking gasp, blood dribbling from his mouth and spoke.

"The-They swarmed us, we we Guhk!!!."

Whatever else the man was about to say was interrupted as he erupted into gasping coughs moments before a warm gentle glow washed over him and Kyr spoke. His tone was solemn and sad, though he had lost much and seen much death, he cared for his people and that was reflected.

"You have done well child, for that your final moments can be without pain."

Following his words a Silvery glow began to emanate from Kyrs eye and he spoke once more as he knelt beside the young man and rested a hand upon the Reachman's head.

"Show me what you saw Youngling."

One moment he was kneeling in front of the dying legionnaire the next he was viewing what the dying man had experienced, looking down from above. The Reachman was within a group of Shadow Legionnaires patrolling outside the Battlespire. The group was only a dozen or so strong, but it also was not the only one patrolling. A few of the others had gone off to investigate some odd sights that had been reported shortly after the shadow Legion had returned to the Battlespires.

The Reachman looked into the distance and saw something that caused him to freeze. He was not the only one to notice the odd sight in the distance. A fellow legionnaire who was standing near him called out in surprise.

"Those are Dread Beasts!!!"

"QUICK EVERYONE TO THE LINES, ATTACK INCOMING!!!!"

The moments following that yell were chaotic, Legionnaires arrived at the defensive lines just in time. No sooner had a few dozen Legionnaires arrived at the furthest defensive line than the first wave of creatures properly came into view. Their numbers were not in the dozens but rather the hundreds, but that was only the first wave. The most recognizable of the creatures were the Dread Hounds, some small as a jungle cat others as large as a Whuna.

The wave also contained a few Chimeras, some in the shape of a lion with a snake tail, others still far stranger. Some had the body of an Ogre with a set of misshapen second arms beneath their first with the heads of Trolls or even stranger beings. They loped forward using their limbs to jump over their allies and hit the defensive walls.

The rest of the creatures were even stranger and more worrying than simple Chimera's or Dread Hounds. There were Undead, not just Undead Legionnaires in fleshy decayed bodies, but skeletons as well, even a few Flesh Golems, they were massive bulbous creatures all malformed fat and flesh. They looked like some massive being had taken a mound of flesh and bone, barely retaining a humanoid shape. Stranger still were beings that could only be described as things that looked like they had once been Shadow Legionnaires.

Now they were misshapen, malformed things, barely resembling what they once were, they were Corrupted. They were twisted by Dread Magic, made stronger more powerful, but also more reckless and violent. Once Corrupted beings were more common than not, but that was long ago, during the Third Interregnum, nearly a millennia ago. They were created when powerful Dea'ra twisted a mortal with magic, twisted them into something more suitable for their needs. Sometimes the Corrupted were willing, other times not so much, regardless they were no longer what they had been before.

While the creatures crashed against the defensive wall the Legionnaires were not idle. They shot magic at the creatures, fireballs, ice balls, even bolts of lightning, arcing over the wall and impacting against the veritable wall of inhuman creatures. The numbers were thinned, some dead others wounded or locked in place by the magic hitting them. The haphazard defense bought time for the other Legionnaires to reach the walls.

The Legionnaires were not the only ones trying to buy time, the creatures attacking were as well. Soon after the Legionnaires got into place many more Dread creatures arrived in expansive waves. That defensive line was not the only one being attacked, sounds of fighting could be heard from all over the place, at every battle spire. Though those at the first line put up one hell of a fight, they could not hold against the horde encroaching upon them.

The piles of corpses grew to such a height that the smaller creatures did not have to climb or attack the line itself. They could walk up the mounds and attack the Legionnaires on the wall directly. Soon enough the few guards that were not overwhelmed began to fall back, shortly after the Flesh Golems and other monstrosities broke through the wall.

As soon as the first line fell the Dread creatures stormed through it and broke against the next like a massive wave crashing against a cliff. The Legionnaires fought fiercely, for each one that fell a Beast or several fell in return, but it was not enough, especially when the Dea'ra actively joined the fighting. When the Dea'ra joined the fight many things happened, many of the fallen legionnaires rose from the dead and fought their former companions. The more worrying thing was that many of the living Legionnaires attacked those that were their allies but moments ago.

It was not long till the Dea'ra and those they commanded reached the Battlespires themselves, killing or pushing back all those in their path. The Reachman whose memories Kyr was looking through was one of the Legionnaires whom defended the base of the Battlespire. He took a Corrupted Legionnaires blade through his torso and fell down, wounded but not dead. He was forgotten as corpses fell on and around him, forgotten until Kyr found him. It was as Kyr got to the Reachman's most recent memories that the Legionnaire drew his last breath.

For a few moments after Kyr left the now dead Shadow Legionnaires minds he was shaken, disoriented. Living through another person's memories was always a bit disorienting, let alone experiencing their last moments as he just had. As he fully came back to his senses a sound entered his ears, the sound of many beings running towards his direction.

Most likely he had voiced some of what he had felt as he lived through the Reachman's final moments. Soon enough the source of the sound entered his sight. It was a large group composed primarily of corrupted humans and Undead Legionnaires led by several Dea'ra, the largest of which was at the front of the group.

It (Link to Dea'ra) was large in size, easily larger than any normal Orc, reaching a height of over seven feet in height. It's skin was a vivid red not naturally found in any of the Races of Eroris, covered completely in large spiked scales. Its eyes looked like orbs of flame, protruding from its head were two large horns which ended in sharp points. The weapon it carried was a large trident like halberd, which it pointed at Kyr as it released an intense war cry.

"GUOAHWHWH!!!"

Following that sound the corrupted and undead legionnaires surged forward like a wave crashing onto a beach. There were dozens of them in total, but they came in groups, most likely guided by the Dea'ra that stayed behind. Just as the first group reached him Kyr drew the short sword he had sheathed earlier and wielded it.

The first of the creatures to reach him was an Undead, its once pristine robes now full of holes and tears. Although its form once belonged to a Battlemage its current form was not a Lich, but a slightly advanced form of Zombie, or something akin to that. Half the creatures torso was burned and rotting, it was full of arrows with one of its arms gone. Its remaining arm grasped a broken sword which it haphazardly swung at Kyr.

Kyr parried the strike with a controlled swing of his blade, repelling the blow with ease. As the Undead attempted to recover Kyr changed the angle of his strike and swung down taking one of the creatures legs. The creature toppled over backwards, for a time it struggled to right itself and head towards Kyr.

A golden glow arose around him as the runes on his torso glowed beneath his armor. In the next moment Kyr rushed forward and crushed the creatures head beneath his boot. As the gore began to fly out from the site of impact he exploded into action against the rest of the creatures.

The next to fall was a Corrupted Legionnaire, the man's robes were pierced with bony growths here and there. Much of his skin was covered with bony growths similar to scales the cracks between which glowed with an ominous light. The man's appearance was most likely due to sinister magic used by the Dea'ra or even the Legionnaire giving himself over to the Dread to Avoid death or any number of other things.

Kyr simply batted the things strike aside with his blade and grasped the creatures head with his empty hand. An orange flame form around his hand and seared the creature, it screeched in pain. A screech which was cut short by the blade Kyr thrust into its exposed throat and skull. Kyr grasped its head fully and launched the corpse into its companions, in the same movement a torrent of flame erupted from his palm and engulfed the creatures.

He rushed towards the creatures, striking the undead as the corrupted legionnaires floundered within the torrent of fire, the body of one undead collapsed as its head left its shoulders. As Kyr moved to intercept a strike from another Undead a mace crashed into the blade, breaking it, but also dulling the blow. Despite his weapon breaking Kyr did not falter, throwing the now jagged blade at one of the Corrupted Legionnaires.

The blade pierced the chest of the creature, sending up a geyser of thick black blood as its heart was pierced. Up until that point it had still been floundering about covered in a flame which had long since eaten through what remained of its robe and much of its flesh. At that same moment Kyr took a step back and a purple glow emerged from either hand. Soon enough two blades, short swords with identical elegant designs, took form.

His newly manifested blades tore through the remaining Undead of that batch with ease. The various bits and pieces of decayed and burnt flesh flew about the area. As Kyr moved into the next group of creatures a flame covered the conjured blades and lit their robes aflame and singed their flesh as the blades relieved them of their limbs. Flames were not the only magical thing encompassing the blades, another magic created by Kyr himself covered the.

Those that fought Dea'ra specifically usually used a special form of Entropy Magic, Shadow Magic, It was created specifically to combat Dea'ra and Dread Mages. Kyr's unique state of existence made him unable to use most Entropy magic efficiently. Instead he created a form of magic making use of Light Magic, when used against Dea'ra it amplified the pain and damage they felt.

When used against Undead it could in a sense, give life to the areas it hit, causing the normally unfeeling creatures great pain. Both of its effects were displayed to great effect as he fought the numerous creatures. His blades left one undead bereft of an arm, as it screamed at the unknown sensation the other blade cut through what remained of its neck.

Even the Corrupted Legionnaires as bizarre as they were, were not immune to the effect of the magic. It cut through whatever had replaced their skin, be it scale or shell and caused pain so intense it left an opening for Kyr to deliver a fatal strike. Soon enough the last of the creatures fell down dead, their corpses joining the many others Kyr had already cut down.

As Kyr began to reorient himself the two Dea'ra accompanying the leader flowed towards him. They were tall spindly things that looked as if they were formed from darkness and crudely assembled. Their limbs were jagged and rough, appearing akin to some natural inky armor. They circled around him, each attacking him from one side, their grasping hands turning into jagged spikes as they stabbed towards him.

He parried the strikes from the sides using his blades, but at that same moment they struck with their other hand spikes at his unprotected torso. Kyr reacted by smoothly stepping back and twisting the conjured blades. The pommels took the place where the blades had been, blocking the side strikes as the blades cut into the striking jabs once directed at his torso.

Though even the empowered blades could not cut through the limbs they still cut into them, while directing the strikes downwards. The smooth movement still served its purpose however, ensuring he was not harmed and wounding the Dea'ra. The wounds were small, but the pain the two Dea'ra felt was beyond what a wound of that size would normally display. They shrieked in surprise, as pain period was unexpected for them, let alone pain of such intensity.

They were not powerful compared to Elite Dea'ra, but were still strong enough to be worshipped as Gods in some regions of Eroris once upon a time. They recovered quicker than normal creatures of the Dread would, but they still took time to reorient themselves, something Kyr took advantage of. He took a stance as the Dea'ra recovered, at the same moment the glow from his enhancement runes intensified, raising his physical abilities even more.

Although muscular and strong for his size normally Kyr would not be able to match Dea'ra or even Corrupted Legionnaires blow for blow. The Runes and his own skill at Light Magic enabled him to potentially match even a Troll or Ogre in strength, though such power was not without cost. Though his muscles and body were strengthened, it took a great deal of his concentration to keep it in check. One mental misstep and the strength in his muscles would tear his tendons and ligaments from the bone they anchored to or even snap his weaker bones.

Despite this he still fought against the two Dea'ra skillfully. The Dea'ra struck at him in unison once more, recovering and disregarding the enhanced pain. Rather than seeking to injure or maim they sought to disarm him. Their jagged limbs targeted the tips of his conjured blades as well as striking at his wrists as well. Kyr could not so easily dodge these movements, if he dodged one strike the other would adapt and stay on target, he could infer that from their movements.

In response he did something that may have been unexpected, he let go as the strikes aimed at the upper portions of the blades made contact. Normally the blades would dissipate but he kept them conjured. He stepped into the strike zone of the Dea'ra and jabbed forward in a dual palm strike, one for each of the Dea'ra. The strikes made contact, but did not harm the Dea'ra, they served another purpose, to push them back and knock them off balance.

As the Dea'ra tried to recover Kyr used another of the many magics at his disposal, Mentalism. he just barely nudged the blades forward, but it was enough for him to catch them as his arms pulled back and fell after the palm strikes. As he caught them he targeted the Dea'ra to his right, stepping forward once more, this time with the intention to harm rather than disrupt.

Changing his grip on one of the ethereal blades he swung his right hand towards the left, delivering a slash to the upper torso of the now shrieking Dea'ra. The enhanced blade cut into the chest of the creature wounding it, it did not bleed anything resembling blood. Rather it was an inky blackness which flowed from the wound and began to close it even as he continued the movement. He then struck from below with his left hand blade, impaling the creature's stomach, which caused its shrieking to turn into the shrill cry most dying beings give in their final moments.

Its death rattle was ended as his right hand blade swung back decapitating the Dea'ra as the blade that once rested in his left hand dissipated. The Dea'ra on his left side had already began to recover, even when faced with its companions death it did not falter. This was not because it was mindless, rather because it was so confident that it would not fall to this mortal who had the audacity to wound it. To it its companions death was a fluke brought about by the former Dea'ra's arrogance.

It delivered a pointed jab towards Kyr's ungaurded and open left side. Despite no longer having a blade to block with Kyr was not worried, he blocked the somewhat wild swing with a solid forearm. In the same movement he wrapped that arm around the Dea'ra's and pulled it towards him. As he did the jagged right limb of the Dea'ra stabbed into him, piercing through his armor and into the flesh beneath like a knife through warm butter.

After delivering the blow it tried to pull back but soon found that Kyr held it in place against himself. Even as blood leaked from his wound and spread over the two of them he did not relinquish his grip. The Dea'ra began to panic, struggling more and more to escape the grip of its foe. Its struggle was cut short as Kyr's remaining blade pierced into its head, but hsi victory was not ensured yet.

As he began to disentangle himself from the fallen Dea'ra he heard a movement to his left. He turned his head just in time to see the pronged trident like weapon of the Elite Dea'ra swing into him like some bizarrely shaped hammer. He was not able to respond in time and was sent flying, with the spindly Dea'ra still stuck to him.

by **Spindle** » Sun Sep 09, 2018 5:17 pm

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

A bonfire crackled distantly, acrid smoke billowing and drifting away as flames leapt and danced around slowly-charring bones. Lining the distance, more bonfires spat as the remains of the battle were slowly consumed. Gazing distantly into the fires, Sinnweld felt her eyes watering. They were upwind of the remnants of battle, but the breeze was light and the pungent stench was starting to build up around the camp which had started to organically settle down. And besides, she could still hear occasional cries and screams coming from the piles of corpses out in the distance. There hadn't been enough time for them to make sure all of the bodies had been dead.

"We fought?"

Sinnweld glanced across to the figure on the stretcher to one side. Silver hair shifted in shimmering sheets as the woman stirred, trying to jam an arm underneath her ribs to lever herself upright. Somewhere in the distance, Thromm's laugh sent the earth trembling as he threw down a hand of cards. The woman flinched, strained.

"You shouldn't move."

The other woman spat to one side and continued to struggle.

"Who were the bastards?"

Sinnweld glanced away.

"Some poor souls on the wrong end of the sword."

The silver-haired woman shuddered, and a dry laugh slipped from her lips.

"As ever."

Thromm's laughter rolled up through the deepening night, and Sinnweld glanced over towards the circle of Battlemages playing tarokka. The Orc was apparently on a winning streak.

"Ashen Legion?" The silver-haired woman asked.

"I suppose." Sinnweld confirmed, "Not the worst. But...Battlemages."

"Battlemages?" The other woman asked, "And you aren't?"

"I'm me."

There was a long period of silence between them, broken only by the occasional bouts of laughter and sorrow as the fortunes of the game.

"You're in command?"

Sinnweld glanced across. The silver-haired woman was glancing out over the other Battlemages, eyes darting from one to the next.

"Yeah." She agreed, "You can tell?"

"You can't ease up." The other woman shrugged, "When was the last time you slept?"

Sinnweld stood up, glanced down at a woman who had now jammed herself into a semi-upright position.

"I think I liked you better when you were unconcious."

"I think I liked you better when I was unconscious."

Squatting down, Sinnweld gently pushed the other woman back down onto the stretcher. For a moment there was some resistance, then the silver-haired woman relented and flattened herself back against the canvas.

"You know, if you wanted to-"

"Shut up for a moment." Sinnweld sighed, picking up one edge of the stretcher and dragging it towards the circle of Battlemages. After a few curses and protestations, the soldiers noticed and stilled, watching silently. A moment later, Thromm broke ranks, vast hands closing softly around the other end of the stretcher and lifting the silver-haired woman and carrying her over to the circle. One of the other soldiers broke to find a stack of cured skins, carefully propping the other woman up against them as another round of cards skittered out onto the makeshift table between them. Sinnweld turned to leave, back to her vantage point.

"We've dealt you in, Sir." Ingulfrid noted, "You can take a seat."

The smoke must have been thicker than she'd noticed, Sinnweld realised, because her eyes were watering again.

by **Ithalian Empire** » Thu Sep 13, 2018 10:07 pm

Heremond Carcaster

The council had dispersed a few hours ago, they had concluded with the obvious. The fight for High Rock and either win or die. How to win was now up to Heremond and a few other men such as Mettius. It was as if the world was now on Heremonds shoulders, but it was a burden he would have to bare, for High Rock and for his family. He sat in the private study that was adjacent to the Dukes Chambers, the room that Carcasters had really ruled High Rock since the house had taken power 900 years ago. Heremond felt wrong sitting in the ornate chair made from various hardwoods. He didn't feel as if he was supposed to sit here, that it wasn't his place yet, that he would never be able to fill this seat or be the ruler that his father was.

Another part of his told him that he would have to be a better ruler than Hwaemund if House Carcaster was to survive. Hwaemund had ruled in a time of peace and prosperity for most of the Reach. That had died with him. Heremond was now Duke of a Dutchy on the precipice of war. A war he couldn't win on his own. Even with the Guard, the militia and the Order of the Rock all raised as a single force, he had less than three thousand men for his army. The Gardener force would swamp them in an open battle. He would have to avoid on. The villages leading to High Rock had been abandoned, for the most part, there population still entering the city even now, lines of peasants and homesteaders moving away from everything they loved to the safest place they knew.

He stood, the chair was uncomfortable, hard and unyielding. It had been the curse of Carcaster Dukes since Jermo Carcaster took power some 900 years ago, he had decided that anyone who wanted power would have to sacrifice something when they exercised it. Damn that tradition, thought Heremond, not knowing that every Carcaster to sit there had thought the same thing. Across from him was the wall and the door that lead to the lord's chambers, it was bare save for a single hanging map of the duchy. The wall behind him was coved with a low bookshelf, about waist high and a window. The other walls were covered in floor to ceiling with bookshelves, laden heavy with all the laws past and present of High Rock as well as tax records, land deeds and other documents that may have been useful to the man who sat in that damned uncomfortable chair.

But land titles and the taxes from three centuries ago were not Heremonds issue. To the west an army had massed and was marching to his lands, to the east sat the bastard who made this happen. King Harold with his fat ass wasn't a real threat to Heremond, if it was Harold marching an army from Nymeria, Heremond wouldn't be as worried as he was now. But it was Cedric who marched, and it was Julek who gave him the go-ahead to do it. But, as Heremond thought about it, they had forgotten one thing. The Duchy of High Rock was not an independent county, but a vassal to Atlas, and he was a bannerman of House Blacktyde.

Yes, no matter what, salvation could be had from the direction of Atlas. Heremond grabbed a pen and a piece of parchment and began to write.

As he finished, a soft knock came on the door. He didn't need to guess who it was, the one person he most desperately wanted to see, yet had not since his arrival in High Rock. Eadwine came in through the unlocked door. She was more beautiful than he remembered, yellow hair tied back in a double braid and a dress of sky blue.

"You look ill Heremod," she said, looking him over, "You must be exhausted."

"I didn't have much of a chance to sleep since I got home." There was more than that, the month spent in Inshiron hadn't done him any good and know the added stress of having to fight the first war High Rock has faced in almost three hundred years, it was enough to make anyone look ill.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too." Heremond embraced his wife for the first time in a month. He didn't know that one could miss the touch or a person as much as he had missed the touch of Eadwine. For now, in this one instant, the world was fine. Cedric and his army where a distant memory and that damned bastard who called himself emperor was a shrouded in a fog. All that mattered was here and now, and he would let anything get in the way of that for as long as he could.

He had no idea how long they remand like this, it didn't matter. A few seconds? A hundred years? Heremond knew he could remain like this for the rest of his days. He only slowly became aware of the knocking at the door when it became a loud bang.

"Damn," Heremond whispered under his breath, "The door is unlocked." Eadwine removed herself from his embrace as the door opened. It was Morcar Landor, First Captian the City Guard.

"Pardon me Lord Carcaster," Morcar gave a small bow, "There has been an incident in the market this morning, thought you would like to know sir."

"Did someone drop there damned cabbages?"

"A little more the dropped cabbages m'lord, some of those damned mercenaries that have been camped Dullie tried to apprehend two deserters, so they claim. Apparently this had to involve stealing and deystroing a local famrers cart laden with goods and a cabbage sellers stall. We have the two deserters in the jail house for now till these mercenaries can prove they are signed on with them. Damned lot should just sod off is what I say. nothin' but trouble since they set up camp."

"How many mercenaries in this band Morcar?"

"A good three hundred men I would say."

"Hmm, bring me these deserters and summon whoever the commander of this band is to High Rock. Oh, and before you leave, deliver this letter to the Foul Master."

"Yes m'lord."

As Morcar left, Heremond and Eadwine where once again left alone.

by **Zanera** » Fri Sep 14, 2018 12:16 am

Nimshat Rasul
The Main Hall of the Castle of High Rock
Later in the day, After the Morning Incident

Nimshat Rasul was not a very happy man. Not happy with his captain, not happy with his soldiers. Destruction in a battle was natural. But in a peaceful urban environment full of people was begging, on their knees, for various legal problems. It's not like they were maniacal idiots, they were properly trained and disciplined for a lot of different things. Apparently, they needed a hearty refresher course. He was planning to provide that in the future, but right now he merely reprimanded them and placed them on long, mundane duties. As for the guards guarding the deserter, they were relatively forgiven. Herrius was a known magic-user, and could have used a variety of means to help the deserter abscond. However, the guards should have checked on the deserter much sooner and alerted someone, a mistake which got them a slap on the wrist and a lecture.

There was little time to find the contract of the deserter of a hundred years, but he had managed. This Alyndel had an impressive list of deeds, but that didn't excuse one of the worst actions he could commit. Nimshat had the Mayaar's contract with him, as well as the Vvalyaar's. The first thing Herrius did after signing was desert. That was a bad look on the entire three companies...a former condottieri signing back in just to desert with someone else. It was a nasty disgrace, and since Herrius was a friend, he had the good will left to deny Herrius' application to cast the ash elf out of the legal spotlight. Disciplining Herrius harshly, as the rules and requirements were laid out since the Gauntlets' founding, would also lead to the seeds of resentment in the members of the Red Gauntlet that were under the Valyaar's administration and had liked him, which were many. Alyndel was the only hold on the desertion he really had, and he would hold onto it tight.

As Nimshat rode up to the castle with a couple of his armored soldiers, he thought about the lord he would have to make his case to. One of the Carcasters, children of Hwaetmund, since the old fellow was dead. He would have to give his condolences to the one now on the throne, not just to curry favor, but because Hwaetmund was a rare kind of lord that anybody would hate to disrespect. As they arrived at the gates, Nimshat told the guards who he was and what his purpose was, and so he rode with his guards to the courtyard of the castle and big his guards stay outside. He stated his purpose again and went inside. He saw the two deserters sitting on a bench in front of a pillar watched over by a couple of guards, and approached Herrius.

"Herrius, my friend, you have done a terrible thing to me!" Nimshat said loudly," You sign on to the company you have administrated before, and very purposefully desert, under my administration. I cannot accept your application, you are not a fit for us. There is nothing more that need happen between us, but I know you will want to represent your friend. Still, I urge that you do not do so."

"I am sorry that this need happen, me as much as you, but I am steadfast in maintaining that Alyndel, here, be let go free."

"As you will," said Nimshat. He took out Herrius' contract and folded the stack of parchments to their head and tail ends, and cut down the middle with his letter-opener. He put the severed contract back in the satchel and walked over to put himself in front of the next ruler of High Rock, though at a fair space away. "I am Nimshat Rasul, condottieri of the Red Gauntlet," said Nimshat, bowing," I have in my satchel a few hundred coppers and several silvers with which to pay reparations to the cart owner and the stall owner, who's property was destroyed by my foolish men. I have also come here to take the Mayaar back to my camp for contract violations that mainly include desertion. Before we begin, I also pay my condolences, to you, for the terrible loss that High Rock has experienced. I know Lord Hwaetmund was a good and fair ruler."

by **Ithalian Empire** » Sat Sep 15, 2018 8:24 pm

Heremond Carcaster

Heremond looked at the Anduran from his chair and listened to what he said. It was words that he had heard before, ever since he arrived home. His father's death, while still fresh and raw in his mind and soul was not the root of his woes anymore. No, that honor went to Cedric and that bastard in Inshiron. They would tear down the legacy of the man that this foreign mercenary was praising. But perhaps he could be useful in fighting back.

“Morcar, make sure those farmers get the payment,” Heremond said to the Guard Captain.” I know neither of these two elfs here, what happens to the deserter is an internal manner for the Red Guard. But there is something that is my business. Right now, an army is marching to my lands, if you didn't already know this. I need every man I can muster.

Now, it is my understanding that you command three hundred men under arms. Three hundred men can go a long way in defending what is mine. Consider this an offer Nimshat Rasul. I am willing to pay you in silver and gold if you where to take up arms for me and fight.”

Nimshat gave the captain the pouches of money, listening still to the young lord sitting before him. The lord, it turned out, did not stick his nose further then it belonged. This was pleasing to say the least. All he had to worry about was Herrius, though he doubted the old elf could get the Mayaar deserter out of their troubles. Instead, the young lord made a profitable offer. Altogether, the Reachman wanted to get down to business. The death of the old lord was obviously a touchy subject, so he would get down to business too. It wasn't that hard to perk back up, with the offer of gold for the Gauntlet's services...

"Take up arms for this bastion of resistance for countless generations with promise of gold? It sounds like a good deal, m'lord. However, should it come to a siege, can the Gauntlet get access to High Rock's grain supply? Your men can manage our outtakes, and my men know what it is like to march on a light stomach. We will not be a burden."

Heremond thought it over. Last years grain harvest had been a the largest in ten years for the duchy. The grain silos were still full and where expected to stay that way through most of the summer. Many had already began to build new ones for what was predicted to be another record crop. Three hundred extra men to feed was not an issue, particularly if the plan that sat in the back of Heremonds head was to come to fruition.

“There is a grain silo about a three hours march north of where you are camped now, your men may take as much as the can carry.”

"This...this is excellent, m'lord. Perhaps too excellent. How big is the current bane of High Rock's existence?"

Hermond took a deep breath. This was not a subject he wanted to think about deeply. He certainly didn't like the numbers, he doubted that a man who was fighting for money would like to stick around.

“I will be honest, the numbers floating around do not look good. We are outnumbered possible two to one and they are lead by Cedric Gardner. I understand if you turn down my offer now. I would run to, if I weren't the Duke of this land.”

"You need not worry about my confidence, your men may camp outside the city, you wll recive your payment tomarrow."

"Then you have the services of the Red Gauntlet. I will send the contracting, and then we will see about the Gardener with the loose belt," said Nimshat, bowing again. He turned and went over to the two yaar, grabbing Alyndel up under the arm, and leading him to the door. His bodyguards took up custody of the Mayaar, sitting him back on a saddle. Herrius went outside with Nimshat, explaining that he needed a ride back to the camp to get his belongings. Nimshat could not be rude, but he also could not give the Valyaar time to argue in favor of Alyndel. He took a few coppers from his satchel and gave them to Herrius. "That should be enough to hitch on a wagon. I must ride fast back to the camp to prepare for war. I will hear your case when you get back."

He nodded to his guardsmen and rode out of the courtyard. Herrius was left standing there holding a few coins. There was little time to waste, so he began jogging back down the towering rock that composed the base of the castle of High Rock.

“M’lord, are your sure about this?” Morcar asked from beside’s him.

“You can’t be sure about mercenaries Morcar, but he has gold and the promise of free food, and as long we can give him those things he will remain fighting for us.”

“I suppose your right m’lord, I never trusted a mercenary in my life. Ask me they are nothing but brigands and vagabonds, whole lot should be placed in the stocks.” Heremond didn’t know why his First Watch Captain had such a disdain for mercenaries, but it was clear that this conversation wouldn't be going any farther.

“Well Morcar, we both have work to do.” With that Heremond walked off.

by **Tayner** » Wed Sep 19, 2018 7:30 pm

Mettius Clement
High Rock

Since his arrival to High Rock, Mettius had been hard at work ensuring the levy was raised, trained, and fed. Soldiers of the Guard and Knights of the Order were training militias, and even a few seinor Stone Watchmen were pulled to train and discipline the many militias now forming around The Rock. Mettius was establishing a chain of command, organizing the levies under the lower nobility, and getting men with some experience into leadership positions when possible. It wasn't long before Heremond returned, Duke of the Rock.

Mettius barley has time to give condolences about the loss of his father when Heremond called the Council into session.

Apparently their fears were justified, Cedric Gardener was marching upon High Rock. Heremond didn't personally know Cedric, but his reputation preceeded him. Younger brother and stark opposite of King Harold. Also a veteran of the Legion. Surely an adversary not to be taken lightly by the court. Mettius contemplated to himself while the council discussed the matter.

"It wouls seem to me, my lord, that we have no choice but to stand aand fight. I doubt they will let any of us keep our lands, or our heads. I say we march out from High Rock, and meet them, Blacktydes or no Blacktydes." One councilman said.

"Mettius, your the most ecperenced in there matters, what say you?" Heremond asked him, snapping his attention back to the task at hand.

"M'lord, when facing a foe both superior in numbers and equipment, marching toe-to-toe would be to commit our forces to defeat. We have the advantage of defense, and the time to prepare as long as we exercise haste. First and foremost, we must delay our enemy, and make their campaign a difficult one. We will destroy the bridges along the Atlas River to stall their advance. Hopefully they will also violate another duke's land in their march, provoking them to join our side.

"Second, we engage in irregular warfare. Utilize cavalry, archers, and light infantry to harass their advance forces. Pressure their supply lines when the opportunities present themselves, and strike often during the night to tire them during the day's march. Instead of meeting head on in the countryside, we will make their march through it treacherous. They will no doubt be probing our lands with scouting parties and skirmishers. We will contest them at every turn, but never commit to a full engagement.

"Finally, we will prepare the city of High Rock for a siege. Shore up the walls, stockpile food, arrows, and water. We will delay the enemy for as long as we can until our allies answer our calls. We will make the enemy suffer through their marches, and grow hungry during their garrisons. And when the time comes, we and our allies will drive the lot across the Atlas river and back to Lenora from witch they came." Mettius spoke, voice resonating within the council chambers as he laid out his plan.

"Thoughts, m'lord?"

by **Zanera** » Wed Sep 19, 2018 11:36 pm

Edmyn Blacktyde
Atlas, County of Blacktyde
Castle Blacktyde

"The reports are insane, I know, but the army is assembling to take our county from us when we did nothing wrong and had no say in the matter. They will come and will probably head for High Rock because it is the first major bastion of resistance on the way to the city. A lucrative bastion. Our forces are ready. What holds us to Atlas?" asked Wulfric Blacktyde.

"I read the letter from Carcaster. I immediately raised the army once you told me the news from the imperial capital. Of course, the Legion offices of Atlas expressed a distasteful view of our actions. Before we move, we must secure their hawkery and take care of the Legion's arm in Atlas. They may try to subvert the support of our people. Nought but thirty minutes ago I dismissed my imperial adviser. They are undoubtedly aware that we are not taking their warning well, but thirty minutes will not be time enough for them to make their move. Wulfric, go to the camp. I will meet you there later in the day," said Edmyn Blacktyde.

With the town militia and a unit of loyal knights and mages at his back, Edmyn descended on the Castle Bastion offices of the Legion. The guards were loyal to their post and so had to die, but that was fine. They were loyal to the wrong people and the dungeons weren't big enough anyway. There were two units of archers waiting outside the door to the hawkery and all the windows around the castle. A couple hawks got away but they wouldn't be able to do much. The Legion around the County of Blacktyde was still recoiling by the destruction of that fleet down in Alistra. The militiamen broke down the front door with the ram, finally. Arrows met them, but the knights charged in with their shields, the militiamen right behind them. The legionaries were hardly armored. They were detained if they didn't fight hard enough to force themselves to be slayed on the spot. It was bloody, but spottily bloody. That was good. It left some alive for the executions.

They were already burning some of their sensitive documents, something expected but still unfortunate. The sensitive documents were to be secured, anything else could be burned. Once the document-burners were taken care of, the worthless documents were burned instead of the sensitive ones. Every attempt was made to secure high-ranking officers. Once the castle was secure, Edmyn determined who was to be executed to stir up the masses against the Empire and who was to be sent off to the dungeons as leverage for later. The brains in the officer corps would be invaluable, the muscle of the enlisted could be summoned from anywhere in the Empire. The officers would be kept. They were sent off to the dungeons and the sensitive documents were taken to the Castle Blacktyde.

And so it was a grand execution. As many notably loyal citizens were brought into the Plaza of Heroes as possible. The legionary prisoners were taken to a makeshift stage and set to their knees. Their eyes were cast down, every glance forlorn. Edmyn's plate armor glinted in the sun, his shield with the seal of House Blacktyde plated onto the front prominently on his arm before the crowd. His sword, of sure make, dangled at his side. The crowd was a mass of voices. Edmyn licked his lips and stood on top of a crate. The crowd went silent. Edmyn took a deep breath, and shouted," The Empire has failed the County of Blacktyde and its constituents this day! Its failure, comes in the form, of tyranny! OF TYRANNY! It has decided against the wishes of the people of Atlas, given us no say! Instead the elves send an army of Reachmen to take from their own brethren! We are but a prize for the fat king of Lenora! And for this, Atlas severs its ties to the Empire with the execution of the legionaries before you! Executioner, whenever you are ready!"

"For Atlas!" the executioner shouted, their ax ready to come down already. It continued on down the line, the crowd cheering with every head severed. As the last axing descended, the soldier shouted, "For the Emp-!" in a kind of retort. Edmyn quickly followed it up with," He will be doing nothing more for the Empire's tyranny! On this day, no tyrant rules Atlas!"

"The Emperor is within their power! There is no tyranny!" shouted someone from amidst the crowd.

"There is wielding one's power wisely and fairly, and there is abuse of power. That abuse of power, is known as tyranny. What we have now, is a government exceeding in its abuse, a hundred leagues away in a culture foreign to ours! They have no right to treat us as a commodity. That abuse of power is hereby overthrown! Anyone that maintains their loyalty to the foreign tyrant, can leave the county if they wish!" The crowd cheered, pushing the loyalist around, eventually pushing them to the ground. There was little reason to stop them. There was no knowing how long he would be gone and how long the riled-up sentiments of the citizenry would last. It was best not to suppress it while it was young. Nonetheless, the guards made their way to the beat-down and dragged away the victim after the perpetrators had shrunk into the density of the crowd, saving the person from anything worse and keeping Edmyn from suppressing anti-imperial sentiment, which was anathema to this very moment of anti-imperial sentiment. He didn't like it, and he barely tolerated it, but it was a necessity, even though it was also a gamble, since rabid sentiment was inherently unwieldy. Edmyn held his shield high in the sun, and the plaza was filled with more cheers. He then descended the platform and made his way back to Castle Blacktyde to gather his last belongings. He also wrote two of the same messages and sent them away to High Rock on two hawks.

Edmyn mounted his horse and rode down the main road of Atlas, on his way out of the city. Many threw flowers upon them, or shouted their support. Others shot horrid stares at them, no doubt now having to fear for their own life. There was no need to worry as long as they did not express their support for the tyrannical Empire anymore. They were his people...well, are they? They advocate for the government that would steal away Atlas' sovereignty on a whim, displacing its government and ignoring the voice of Atlas' people without a second thought. Indeed, were they his people? As Edmyn rode into camp, he was more sure of his actions then ever before, and to be sure, he would begin marching his army to High Rock at dawn.

by **Everhall** » Sun Sep 23, 2018 3:00 pm

The Coming Storm

The Peasant

Why is this happening? the boy thought, Why is this happening?! Death and violence hung around him, flashing in points of blood, steel, and fire. Thatch roofs and wooden walls, engulfing in the fury of the encroaching blaze, men, women, and children caught and put to death. This was his home, this was his village. As the boy ran through the chaos he did his best to avoid the same fate as others not as fortunate as he. The riders, mounted atop their brown, armored horses, looked like faceless devils behind their blood-soaked helms. They ran through the town periodically, striking down more and more villagers, until only a few remained. Smoke choked the crimson air with a hellish smell. It didn't matter to the boy, however. All that mattered was his mother. His father had urged him to protect her.

The boy, aged nearly sixteen was of average height and weight. He was reasonably lean, from his work both in the fields and out in the woods, and possessed an agile and athletic build. Shaggy brown hair hung over his blue eyes, obscuring them from view from the side. The clothes he wore were singed from the heat of the flames, brown pants and a light shirt, the normal attire for a peasant in the Reach.

Finally, the boy came to his home, situated atop a slight hill, it looked marginally larger than the rest of the buildings in Canem. He had just begun to climb towards his home when it happened. An explosion hit the side of the building sending a torrent of flame into the air.

"MOM!" He rushed towards the wreckage. An arm reached limply from the debris, his mother's face barely visible,

"L-lance... don't." He quickly learned to the reason why. A bald knight emerged from the smoke of his home, brandishing his blade with a look of cruel satisfaction scrawled across his hard face. Multiple scars crossed the features of the man, the most prominent of which being one that ran from his right eyebrow to his left jaw.

"Go on, kid," he pulled his mother from the rubble holding her close, "Go on and save your mother."

His eyes widened as his blood boiled with rage. He could barely contain the wraith that burned within him, the hatred for the man who was leaving him so helpless, "I SWEAR, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Sir Garmund Saeva of Blackrose

The spring sun quietly set in the west as Garmund and riders approached the hilltop that overlooked the Gardener camp. Thousands of tents, all encamped around the fortress city of Nymeria, contained thirteen-thousand troops all sworn to the Gardener name. Many hundreds of nobles in Lenora had flocked to Cedric's banner once they heard his intentions to make war on High Rock. Sir Garmund was just one of many who wanted to gain some sort of reward from the endeavor. As his cold, brown eyes scrutinized the details of the camp from above, he found his destination, a green pavilion surrounded by burning braziers: Cedric Gardener's tent. Smirking greedily at the thought of what he would receive, Garmund spurred his horse along with the rest of his riders and descended into the camp.

Among the soldiers in the Garderner army, there was much revelry. They were receiving food and pay for what they all knew would be a quick and easy campaign and were enjoying what time they had with the wine and rations provided by the Gardeners. Most wore the same chainmail armor emblazoned with the Stag and World Tree that symbolized the House of Gardener and Lenora as a whole. Garmund, being a minor noble in the vicinity of Lenora, had few soldiers of his own, most of which had accompanied him in his raiding of the lands of High Rock. The banner of his house, the House of Saeva, flew proudly in the hands of his riders as they made their way through the Gardener camp. For as long as he could remember the House of Saeva had been ridiculed by the other minor houses of the Reach, especially after one of his brothers was defeated at the hands of the current Duke of High Rock. How the tables have turned... Garmund laughed silently to himself, How the tables have turned...

Eventually, they arrived at their destination, the pavilion in which Cedric Gardener held command over his army. Dismounting from atop his horse along with two of his retainers, Sir Garmund made his way into the pavilion, giving a passing glance to the guards near the entrance before slipping under the massive tent. The inside of the pavilion was lavishly decorated for a battle headquarters. These royals and their gold... Garmund thought greedily. Several velvet chairs stood arrayed around wooden tables, along with a massive bed obscured by a handing flap of cloth. Several support beams rose from the earthen ground, keeping the heavy green tarp above their heads from collapsing on top of the people within. Finally, in the center of the pavilion stood the man himself: Cedric Gardener. Leaning atop a map of Atlas surrounded by the other commanders of his army. He truly was an imposing figure.

"Lord Cedric," Garmund kneeled before him, "I have returned from my mission in-"

"Cut the bullshit," Cedric turned to face him, "We're all free to talk as we please in here, none of that formality bullshit. I got enough of that in the capital."

"Of course, my Lord." Garmund grinned deviously, "Suffice to say, I've given the countryside a good bloodying. Twenty-three villages all burned and sacked, with two-thousand silver kings to show for it."

"Good," he turned to a sickly looking man next to him, "Count Wymar, it appears Sir Garmund's carrying his weight better around here. Be careful, or he'll get a greater reward."

The count grimaced, "You can't surely mean that! I've invested two-thousand troops in this endeavor while this upstate barely managed to raise a hundred!"

"May I remind you about your soldier's failure to raid Tinham? Two-hundred dead for nothing but complaints of a sickly boy? You should count yourself lucky that I still have use for you or I'd have you tossed into the Grove. Nevertheless, let us begin." Cedric turned towards the map laid before him. A few models, the Proud Stag of Lenora, the Crossed Blades of Nymeria, and the Rising Eagle of Atlas all arrayed in the places in which their armies were located. Taking one of the many unused pieces on the map, the Golden Sun of Summerset, in his hands, "King Wilking of Summerset has moved his forces south just north of High Rock." he placed the model in the appropriate area, "Nine-thousands men at arms, knights and the like. Wilking's coming down too his reports are to be believed."

"Is he out to aid Atlas?" Wymar asked.

"So far as we know, no. Regardless his presence in the north could be a significant threat to our plans should he side with the Carcasters. Rex!" he called out to his personal attendant, a large, bulky Valyarian named Rex, "Draft a letter to send to King Wilking, let's see what the King thinks he's doing." he turned back to the plans, "Our forces will cross the Blacktyde in the coming days using bridges and ford crossings. Garmund, Wymar, I'm entrusting you two to cover us as we cross. Once that is decided we take the countryside, Gloster Keep, Tinham, Mason Crest and the like. Our main obstacle will be the army of Atlas, coming from the south. Should they combine with the forces of High Rock it could make for a difficult battle. Try to keep their armies separate. Other than that I have nothing else to say in this meeting. My lords... we march at dawn.

Dead Man's Bastion, Isle of Zuhyq, Pandora

Atamosk raised an eyebrow, "Fat hawk?" He chuckled slightly as he stood, "I have to admit that tales about you were not false." Atamosk was actually quite lean and muscular, the result of years at sea raiding and pillaging the coasts of the Serpent Sea. Multiple scars covered his black chest, only obscured by the straps of leather that met in the middle of the hawk man's chest. Looking down on An'Gel, he extending his magnificent wings twenty feet in diameter. Their feathers were just as radiant as Atamosk's himself.

"An'Gel, you may not be aware of the reason you're here, so I'm about to inform you. A certain... ally, a mutual friend has requested our aid in acquiring a certain item. An item currently in the hands of the current Prince of Pandora. This item, of course, is the Ark of Pyrene."

Councilor Lhoris Varian of the Wise Council

We're home... these were the only thoughts that filled Lhoris' mind as his carriage slowly rode onto the grounds of the Varian Estate. Grey clouds covered the sky, releasing a light rain onto the large coniferous forest around them. Lhoris really enjoyed these moments in silence, sitting while the light pitter-patter of the rain. It one of the few things he enjoyed about living so near to the capital. Varian Manor was a large estate built during the first century of the fourth era with the finest of wood. Most of the initial construction was now renovated, but that never took away from its early design. A fifteen-foot-high wall rose to wrap around the estate, guarding it against those who would try to enter uninvited. Not that any would, mind you. Very few people lived in this corner of the Ieros Valley, and Lhoris liked it that way. He chuckled softly as the iron gates of his manor closed behind him, not the first bit of bittersweet happiness he had shown on his ride to the manor, "It's like nothing's changed. You would have thought something would after all these years..." Lhoris looked to his daughter, Alesane, for a response, but as it had been since the Proving, she sat their silent staring out the window. Lhoris couldn't blame her, he also had taken the events of the Proving hard, just not in the way Alesane had. "Councilor Lhoris," the coachmen who led their carriage said from the front, "We have arrived at Varian Manor."

"Good to finally get out of this rain..."

Lhoris opened a pair of double doors into a room devoid of light save from what came from its now open doors. Dusty bookshelves arrayed both walls of the chamber, along with cobweb ridden books and rickety desks. My old study... Lhoris thought fondly as he made his way closer to the desk in the middle. He remembered his past, the first few years with his friends making plans to better the Empire, but now he was the only one that was left. The only one that remained. Lhoris had rarely felt alone, but seeing the memories of his past made him realize just how much he had lost over the years. Not Alesane... Lhoris reminded himself, Not Alesane... Perhaps it would be good not the be burdened with the duties of High Chancellor, Lhoris thought as he sat down in his chair. Maybe now he had the opportunity to be the father that Alesane deserved, that Alesane needed. Growing up without a parent was hard, growing up without both was torture. Lhoris knew the feeling all too well. He had tried to talk with his daughter before he went to his study, but she snubbed him, instead choosing to hole herself up in her new room half the manor away from Lhoris' own chambers. He put a hand on his head and sighed, it was going to take a while to get used to a world without Ruven. Julek hadn't even given him a funeral. Lhoris, of course, had been enraged, but Alesane... she was livid. Lhoris He knew she cared about him, but he never knew that it was to that extent. "That's enough thoughts about that for now," Lhoris grumbled, "It's time to get to work."

Taking a look at his side, he found his satchel, full to the brim with missives and official documents from the capital that he still had to take care of in his job as a Councilor. He reached down to lift the stack of parchment and it immediately stuck out to him just how heavy they were bundled all together. In fact, there were more papers there than there had been during any normal day of his High Chancellory. It was odd to say the least. He wondered as to why there were so many for a brief moment before he remembered some rumors he had heard before he had left the capital. Apparently many nobles, clergymen, and mages had been disappearing like flies recently in the Reach and in Norravägg. Several council members and bureaucrats were among their number. Even some members of the Temple of the Eight Divines. It was strange really, how could so many Imperial officials disappear in such as short time? The attack on the Shadow Legion hung in Lhoris' mind. The foe we faced there could very well be responsible for the disappearances... nevertheless, Lhoris took out his quill and began to get to work.

A percussion of large crashes and booms awoke Lhoris from his slumber. He didn't know for how long he had slept, but it was obvious that the light rain had progressed into a storm of lightning and thunder. The elf rubbed the sleep from his eyes before staring back through the window of his study out into the darkened sky where bolts of lightning flashed through the heavens. It was clearly night, evident from the new wave of darkness that had consumed his study, the only light being that of the candle that flickered wildly on his desk. I ought to be careful to put these out, Lhoris thought silently to himself as he stood from his desk, A fire is not something I want to add to my troubles. He considered returning to his work, which even then was only half done, but he decided instead to climb the stairs of the manor to check in on his daughter. Perhaps it was finally the time to have a talk.

As he stood outside her room, calm and only the slightest bit nervous about bringing up the topic to Alesane, he chided himself for waiting so long to do so. My daughter needed me, and I wasn't there... Lhoris thought, She's one of the past people I have in my life, and it's important that I protect her... Knowing that, Lhoris opened the door, "Alesan-"

A dagger was held to her throat by a masked woman. Alesane remained asleep despite the crash of thunder outside, and she remained totally oblivious to the danger that was placed on her life, "Cast a spell," the woman said in a cold and monotone voice, "and your daughter dies." Lhoris, having primed a fire spell in his hands struggled to put them down, Damnit, damnit, damnit! he thought, This can't be good... Finally, however, he put his hands down and glared murderously into the orange eyes of the woman.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Lhoris Varian. I hoped not to resort to violence, so I am extremely grateful you choose correctly."

"You know who I am?"

"I know who everyone is, Lhoris. You, your daughter, Kyrenic the Undying, I know everyone, Councilor."

"Just what in Dread do you want..." Lhoris growled putting his hands into fists. He wanted nothing more than to burn the woman in front of him to a crisp.

"It's not what I want," the woman confessed, "But what the world needs. Though my Lord would rather me not aid you, what I have seen poses enough of a threat for me to ignore this order."

"Your lord?" Lhoris questioned, "What? Do you serve the Dea'ra?"

"No, I do not. I serve the master of knowledge, the seeker of the occult, and savior of Astergea."

"And just who would that be?"

"That is none of your concern. Someone close to you, however, is."

"Who?"

"Your Emperor, Julek. During my many years in this world I have never seen something that has frightened me, nor will I ever. Julek, however, is someone that should frighten you."

"Julek?" Lhoris' glare hardened, "What do you know about the Emperor?"

"Nothing, except that I get a bad feeling whenever I'm near him. I have not been in this sickening country long, but even I know when something or someone is out of place. When something or someone should not be here..." she paused for a moment, "Do you love your daughter, Lhoris?"

"I do. More than anything..." his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Then I will tell you this, for her sake," the woman continued, "Julek Alaro Ashen is no ordinary elf, that much I know. I've never seen anything quite like him. He's an enigma. Something dark grows in this city, and Julek is at the center of it. I shall continue to monitor him but for the time being, I shall not directly confront him. To find out who, or what he is, I'll need you to investigate for me."

"Just why in Dread would I do that?"

"Because you love your daughter, and if what Julek has planned comes to fruition, it is likely that she, and everyone else you know and love shall die. I cannot expect you to believe me if you could see for yourself all will become clear. You need to do so before it's too late." She sheathed her dagger, "Lhoris Varian, we shall meet again." With a turn of her cloak, she disappeared into the darkness without a trace leaving Lhoris to wonder... just who he just met.

by **Shadowwell** » Mon Sep 24, 2018 8:42 am

Kyrenic Olafir, Dea'ra Hunter
Mission Top secret, Destination Unknown
901, 4E

"Guaagh?!?!?!?"

Kyr impacted against the wall of the Battlespire and let out a grunt of surprise and pain.

Although it was not entirely unexpected Kyr had hoped to remove the other Dea'ra from him before he got struck. He tried to pull the spindly limb of the Dea'ra from him but it had pierced through the other side of his torso and into the wall behind him. As he struggled to remove the anchor from his body he coughed up a great gout of blood.

He began using his remaining conjured sword to hack at the Dea'ra's limb, eventually cutting through the armored appendage. He pushed the body forward and stepped forward with it, the limb stuck into the wall left his body with a sickening squelch. He lay his unoccupied hand on it to heal the wound with Light magic, but at that moment the massive Elite Dea'ra pressed its advantage.

All Kyr could do was defend against the Dea'ras strikes. It already had a reach advantage against Kyr without even taking the additional reach granted by the trident into account. He used his remaining blade to redirect the force behind the blows. He could only do so much while wounded and on the defensive, luckily long pole arms had limited ways in which they could be used effectively. That and Kyr's own skill and tenacity were what was enabling him to hold off the creature as long as he had.

Kyr was fighting for his life, but that was not all however. Each moment that he bought himself by parrying or redirecting a blow from the trident his wound healed bit by bit. Though it seemed as if his swings were made out of desperation and coincidentally timed that was not the case. The truth was that Kyr was timing his counters and parries to carry enough force or be at the right angle to counter or nullify the blows sent at him.

He had to remain focused and in control, if his concentration was disrupted his effort to heal the wound could instead cause him dire harm. Most Arcanists would not be able to maintain Light Magic in the midst of normal combat, let alone combat with a Dea'ra. Kyr was able to do many things most Arcanists were unable to do simply because of his vast experience and knowledge on the subject.

It took some time until Kyr was able to make his counter attack against the Dea'ra. The gaping wound was not entirely healed, even Light Magic had its limits, but the wound was closed, or mostly so. As long as he was not hit in the same area of his torso he would be able to survive, for a time.

As the Trident jabbed at his torso, Kyr batted it away with the ethereal blade in his right hand and stepped closer to the Dea'ra. The soft glow that had been emanating from his left hand changed color as a new ethereal blade manifested within his grasp. He swung the blade upwards aiming at the Dea'ra's exposed torso, it was a smooth movement but it wasn't enough. The Dea'ra pulled the Trident which had been knocked to the side, the shaft of the Trident smoothly travelled through the hand of the Dea'ra.

Its pommel impacted against Kyr's left hand blade knocking it off course. At the same moment Kyr reversed his grip on the blade in his right hand. The blade was now running directionally along his forearm as he swung back towards the Dea'ra. The distance between the tip of the blade and its target, the neck of the Dea'ra, was short, but it was still too far.

Just as the tip of the blade was about to make contact with the Dea'ra , the Dea'ra swung out with the shaft of its weapon, sending Kyr flying once more. This time Kyr was able to recover, twisting in the air, he was not able to mitigate all the force behind the blow however. He landed against the ground with a thud, the floor cracking from the force he still carried, he stumbled a few steps back as well. As he began to recover he heard a harsh gravelly voicem, that of the Dea'ra, begin to address him.
"You are skilled Mortal, at least skilled enough. You may have been able to defeat my lesser brethren easily enough but not me or those of my level."

Following its words the Dea'ra began to attack Kyr once more.

The following moments were intense, extremely so, the Dea'ra sent stab after stab towards Kyr with its trident. Kyr was not able to block all the strikes now that the Dea'ra was being somewhat more serious about the fight. He was able to slightly redirect the stabbing strikes of the trident, but not completely. Wounds began to accumulate on his exposed skin, small wounds mostly, but wounds none the less. Scratches and blemishes on what remained of his armor began to appear as well.

Kyr was not solely on the defensive however, at first glance it appeared to be so but Kyr was taking full advantage of his surroundings while the Dea'ra was focused on him. A normal warrior or Arcanist would certainly have trouble fighting in a battlefield or site of a battle like how the Battlespires were. This would be especially true against a superior opponent like a Dea'ra let alone an Elite like Kyr currently faced.

Kyr had millennia of fighting experience against both superior numbers and just plain superior opponents. At least a few centuries of that experience was against Dea'ra, though they were superior many lacked an abundance of experience. Kyr's own experience allowed him to maintain a certain awareness of his surroundings, even in the heat of combat.

It was one of the reasons why Kyr hadn't tripped over a corpse or impaled himself on one of the scattered weapons. He had been using his skill in Mentaism to not just project a mental barrier behind him but also using the same magic to gently nudge certain weapons with his mind. He was both preventing himself from falling into a more disadvantageous position and testing the Dea'ras own awareness.

In truth Kyr did not know why the Dea'ra did not notice the subtle movements he had been making using magic. It could be the Dea'ra was too focused on him to notice, or his use of Mentalism was just absorbed into the numerous other magics he was utilizing throughout this fit. Regardless of the reason Kyr was going to take the opportunity, but still be vigilant in case this was an elaborate ruse.

As the Dea'ra sent another jab at him the Runes on his body flared particularly bright as Kyr channeled more magic into them and his blades as well as the enchantments upon them. He put a fair amount of his strength into his arms and blades as he locked his ethereal blades into the prongs of the trident. He did this not in an attempt to disarm, the Dea’ra had too strong a grip for that. Kyr's aim was accomplished as he pushed the Trident to the side and let go of his blades.

He did all this to create an opening much as he did earlier by letting the lesser Dea'ra wound him to deliver a [potentially fatal blow. He pulled his dominant arm back and threw out a jab, his arm twisting as he did to increase the force. His bare fist impacted against the red torso of the Dea'ra, sending the Dea'ra back several steps. As the Dea'ra began to recover Kyr began the next part of his plan to end this fight.

He concentrated on some of the weapons on the ground behind and around the Dea'ra. They rose up under the control of his Mentalism magic. Shortly after that an aura arose over the various blades, broken and whole, they then shot towards the relatively unprepared Dea'ra. If the blades hit they would be able to deliver effective wounds.

Even such an unexpected attack was not truly effective, the Dea'ra noticed his magic and what he had done and turned back, swinging the trident as it did. There were several ping sounds as a few of the weapons were blocked by the trident and even more were deflected by its swing. Kyr was not idle during those moment, he materialized a new set of conjured blades and empowered them with his magic.

He sprinted the short distance towards the Dea'ra as it fended off the weapons and blades sent towards it. He brandished his conjured blades at the unprotected torso of this opponent. It used the end of the tridents shaft to deflect one blade, but the other found purchase in the unprotected back of the Dea'ra cutting into it. From that point the fight began to turn more in Kyr's favor.

As Kyr pulled his blade free the Dea'ra wildly swung the tridents out towards Kyr. He crossed the blades in a defensive stance to block the wild swing. The force behind the swing pushed Kyr back slightly before he was able to brace himself. He used one blade to push the trident away as he used to other to strike towards one of the Dea'ras legs. It tried to block the strike but the wild swing had left it off balance.

Kyr's right hand blade pierced into and through the left hand knee of the Dea'ra which gave a grunt of pain.

"Guh."

It gave another wild swing with the trident to force Kyr back as it fell to one knee. Kyr left the blade lodged in the knee of Dea'ra as he fell backwards to dodge the swing. He threw his remaining blade towards the Dea'ra, it was able to deflect it with the trident. Though it seemed futile, the move bought time for Kyr's next strike. He held out one open palm , a moment of concentration later and a flame appeared.

It left his palm at great speed, the Dea'ra tried to block but it was no use as the flame grew in size and began to engulf its large form. Kyr then rushed towards the Dea'ra to finish it off, as he did so another set of ethereal blades formed in his open hands. Moments after he went into motion the flames fully enveloped the Dea'ra. The Dea'ra attempted to hold Kyr off with a series of swings to no avail.

Kyr jumped over the Dea'ra, landing behind it, he swung one blade with the tip pointed back. It cut into the Dea'ra forcing it several steps forward, Kyr spun cutting deep with the other blade. It gave a final heavy cry of pain before falling back. The fire that once covered its red hide became extinguished as it fell.

It was as the heavily wounded Dea'ra fell back that Kyr noticed something that he had been too distracted to see before. Although there were plenty of corpses present, they were in fact too few considering that there had been Sixty-Thousand odd Shadow Legionnaires present. Even taking into account the corrupted Legionnaires and Undead he had fought into account, there were too few. This was both a cause for hope and for worry, there were two possibilities Kyr could think of.

The first was that some were able to escape amidst the chaos, the other possibility for the missing people was that they had been corrupted or taken away by the Dea'ra for some nefarious purpose. Kyr desperately hoped it was the former rather than the latter, servants of the Dreadlords were dangerous enough without thousands of skilled warriors turning to their side.

Kyr's internal musings about what could have happened were disrupted as he caught wind of sounds approaching him. The fighting and death rattles of those that had fallen before him had been less than subtle. He swiftly looked about, seeking an escape route, but the only one he could see was the path he had come from, out the front of the Battlespire he was in and back through the portal.

As the next group entered his sight, Kyr made his decision, he would flee, and hope the Dea'ra and their minions would not follow him. His conjured blades and the effects that had been covering them winked out of existence. He put all his magical power into enhancing his physical body, through the Runes carved upon his flesh and Light Magic.

The Dea'ra and their minions were swift, but not fast enough to catch Kyr, not at this moment. He had been practicing magic for many years, not just centuries but millennia, honing his craft as he could. Though it was difficult for him to truly die, if he even could, he did not wish to experience death. He had experienced many deaths from being burned alive to being digested in the stomach acids of a Leviathan, he remembered them all.

Kyr moved past the mounds of corpses and broken barricades at great speed. The craggy terrain which the Battlespires were carved from did not impede him in the slightest. After a time, he did not know how long, he arrived at the Portal, and dove through it, the Dread beings nipping at his heels. He landed upon the Dias within the Reach, rolling into a crouched position in one smooth moment.

After turning towards the Portal he eyed it warily, his chest heaving from the recent effort, both magical and physical. When it became clear that nothing would be following him out, Kyr cautiously turned around. As he did he noticed something he had not noticed earlier, in the distance were animal corpses and other items seemingly forming a trail. Kyr began to shakily move towards that direction to investigate, as he did one of his hands rested upon his torso emanating a golden glow, healing the remnants of the large one to start.

by **Spindle** » Mon Sep 24, 2018 2:05 pm

Sinnweld
Imperial Highway
The Reach

She was dreaming again, she was certain of it. A dreamscape now familiar to her, corpses rolled and crunched underfoot as she made her way slowly to the peak of a hill - the tallest part of the softly rolling landscape for miles around. As she crested, the bodies thinned until thick, ruddy mud churned underfoot and she could cast her gaze out to the undulating sea of rotting flesh and garishly-bright bones stretching away. She had been greeted by the same sight each night since fleeing the Battlespires, and every night it still revulsed her to her core.

But this night, something was different. To the south, where the portal to the Battlespires had once been, there was a pressure building up unlike anything she had felt outside the overwhelming magical auras of the Battlespires. Not something which she was willing to engage with, and not something which she knew had to engage with. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted that down. She would need to get to Nymeria soon, or else get out of its path if it started to beeline towards the city. With how close they were getting, they were going to find themselves stretched for scouts.

"You should have listened to me."

Sinnweld turned around to the Mayaar standing opposite her. Its face was blurry, melting and shifting constantly as if it couldn't decide on what it was trying to settle on.

"You should die." Sinnweld shrugged, slowly pulling out a dagger from her belt, "I have bigger issues to deal with than you - I don't care what you are. You're getting out of my head, one way or another."

"You should have given them life."

"No. Let the dead stay dead."

The creature took a slow, lurching step towards her before Sinnweld stepped in close, burying the blade up to its hilt between the mandibles of its jaw. Ichor spurted, the creature falling back and tumbling down the corpse-strewn side of the hill. It twitched once, twice, its face blurring and finally falling away to reveal a smooth, eyeless skull underneath. Turning back to the south, Sinnweld watched as the power swirled and coalesced down into a single point, a figure too distant for her to make out, and the pressure inside her skull redoubled.

Her eyes flashed open, the pale-blue ribbon of a lightening sky appearing before her. Pulling herself to her feet, she began to pack away her makeshift bedroll and prepare for another day's march. They were on a tight schedule now.

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

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