Elementals 3: The White Rose (IC, Sign-ups only)

[Esternial]

The colder weather out at sea justified Ulric's expenses, though he paid it no mind. Lost in thought once more, he stood stoically on deck, mindlessly pinching and twisting one end of his mustache with one hand and tapping the weather wooden surface of meticulously carved railings with the other. The rhythmic cadence of his fingers' percussions sent him on a train of thought far away from the cold ocean breeze, towards warmer climates and distant memories.

As the distant screeching of birds became louder, Ulric slowly woke from his standing sleep and realized those sounds were accompanied by alarmed shouts and musket fire in the distance. No sooner had he noticed than chaos also broke loose on the Devil's Luck. Narrowly avoiding a swooping attack by one of the fell birds, Ulric threw himself onto the deck and scrambled back onto his feet. A fight broke out almost instantaneously.

"Good grief." Ulric muttered to himself as he picked his hat off the ground and wiped it off. Even though Ulric didn't appear to be any kind of threat to the winged creature, it came around for another attack. Facing no alternative, he turned his body sideways and gripped his hat as if it were a frisbee. Electricity crackled throughout his arm and patches of the hat's rim began to burn away, revealing a sharp, metal edge.

"HYAH!"

With a curt exclamation, Ulric's arm extended faster than the eye could register and released his hat straight towards the creature. The piece of headgear spun around and crackled with power, effortlessly slicing through flesh and bone, carving a path through a beyond the bird. Only when Ulric extended his palm towards it did the hat change its course. Slowly it veered off course and began to make its way back to whence it came, losing little to no speed in the process, straight towards Ulric.

As suddenly as it was launched, the hat came to a complete halt between Ulric's fingers at mere inches from his crown, the only thing left in the wake of its path a draft of wind and the corpse of the vile creature that hit the deck in front of him moments later.

"I may be getting up there in years, but I'm not an old man yet." He mused as he placed the hat back on his head and removed the scabbard and the manaforged sword off his back.

"You there!" He shouted at whomever was nearest. "Use this!"

He was no expert with a sword. Whatever skill he had was often wasted on his creations. Instead, he pulled out a small metal pipe from his pocket and snapped his arm to the side. The pipe extended, much like a telescope, to trice its length - about as long as a walking stick. He may not be experienced with swords, but Ulric was no stranger (though at best an amateur) to the true gentleman's martial art.

Bartitsu.

[Kassaran]

As the sounds of the fighting grew on the decks above, Erosen spun on his heels and quickly took off for the upper levels. There was likely to be a bad batch of critters sent by the Watchtower and he wanted to be at the head of taking on their newest creations. If there was some sort of information or knowledge he could glean from the scraps and remains of Watchtower's projects, he would nevertheless be in a better position to capitalize on it when the time came. Rounding a corner closely, he narrowly avoided two sailors that were limping back into the depths of the ship, likely to see the surgeon whom had joined with them for the voyage. The nursing attendants that had been with Aerion during the whole of his coma were still likely present and he thanks the gods that they'd seen fit to travel on the vessel alongside the Elementals. As he began to near the upper deck though, a new sort of obstacle was quickly becoming apparent as the feeling of so much raw element in the air, both dark and divine pressed in on his senses.

There was a difficulty to be had perhaps for some, when they pressed into the thickest rancor and the stench of modern battle crisped the sinuses and set the mouth to a drool. You couldn't help but wish the horrid tastes and smells out of your mind, the loud claps and peals of musket fire and their thunder reporting out across the deck and the stormy, snowy seas beyond. Large gull-like creatures seemed to swoop low and at random towards various persons upon the Luck and Erosen watched a man climbing the nets nearly be rent in twain by a trio. Watching for a moment longer than perhaps he sensibly should have, he recognized the bulky figure of the old Garmiccian and quickly moved along. If the man died here, it was his own fault and perhaps the will of the gods, there'd be no tears shed over his on Erosen's behalf and he doubted the retainer would do so for him. He blinked rapidly, tears swelling up at the edges of his eyes as he quickly scanned the deck again and attempted to pick out a separate fight to join in on.

Eric seemingly had built up some sort of repertoire with his bastard and Aerion was still hanging close for the moment, but he seemed slightly off yet again. There was something still faintly unhinged in the man's demeanor and he also winced in considering the violent actions of the man as he took to butchering the birds. It wasn't clean, the strokes were savage and-

The slamming of the bulk of a corrupted owl lifted Erosen off of his feet and the Darkling quickly reoriented mid-flight to slam his feet into the back of another of the beatss, compressing himself lightly before bracing with a hand upon the deck and pivoting lightly in a forward flip. the reversal of momentum was rough, and he winced as he felt the bones in the supporting wrist give slightly, but a pump of Dark Element beneath the fluttering and billowing mass of his coat put him back on center. Dark Element empowered his kicks and he looked about the deck wildly for something to assist himself. Then the sharp sound of a man in pain and Erosen looked up in time to see the severed arm land before himself, clutching tightly a pistol of strange design. He'd seen plenty of Gallish firearms before, but this one was of a less common percussive cap design.

Prying the piece from the disembodied arm's hand, he lifted the nose of the muzzle and put it square on with the back of the head of the offending owl which now was ripping and tearing at the unconscious sailor's legs. There was blood, a sharp acidic tang on the wind, and the slight pressure in his finger sent the percussive hammer whirling forward. There was a moment where the pistol rocked violently in his hand and Erosen blinked with surprise at the pain it sent rocketing up through his arm as he attempted to stabilize the weapon. Then, the smoke cleared quickly in the growing surge of wind and storm upon the deck and he saw the owl turning round. Blood was seeping out through beneath the feathers on the left side of its head and it seemed like an eye must have been blown out. As the beast stumbled forward to attack, Erosen lunged out, kicked the beast and tucked the pistol away within his coat.

It had done it's job and he'd try to get it back to its owner when this all died back down, but for now he needed a-

"You there!"

His head wheeled to see the form of the old man, Ulric the manasmith, he gave a half-grin thinking his luck as the sight of the sword in the scabbard was tossed towards him.

"Use this!"

Erosen didn't need any other instructions and in a single fluid motion, pulled the blade from its sheath and impaled a gull that had moved too low across the deck. Some of the beings were getting greedy, wanting to get stuck into the battle and as he slung the body of the gull off, he felt the surge of wind roll past him and a cannonball whistled past in the skies. He traced it's origin back to Katya who was sending round after round into the sky. All dead-shot without a fuse, but the effect was palpable whenever it landed and she was a force of nature in and of herself. He watched a gull whip by too close and the girl's arm quickly lashed out and a cannonball slapped it out of the air in a blossom of tar-black feathers and an inaudible, yet tangible, feeling of a softly onomatopoeic explosion that would have accompanied the sight. He smiled and felt the talons of a gull suddenly run across his face and his cheeks which had been flushed in his exhilaration released a gush of gore, the side of his head ringing from the blow.

He lashed out, calling to the Dark Element in the gull and focusing for a moment as he willed the gull back to him. The beast, bidden by his siren sound quickly obeyed and wound back to investigate the sudden source of power, it among several others. Erosen repaid it with a quick cleave across it's body and brought the blade back up in a smooth transitory arc to guard his head from another diving attack from a second gull, removing from it a wing and a talon and letting it fall without a second glance as the blade swung into place lightly in from of himself to to parry and redirect the savage striking of another owl, watching it dive of to the side into the whirling blender of a madman that was Aerion now. His head felt hot, warming intensely with the adrenaline flowing through his veins and the sudden bursts of activity and action which had now brought on the taste of something bitter to his mouth.

He gave a quick sigh, putting his back to another sailor whom had called out for cover and both gave a quick look about themselves before parting once again and diving into the fray once more. The manaforged sword was lighter than Erosne had expected and he could feel the magic in it trying to flow into him, but he disregarded the pain of the blade in rejection and quickly pressed onwards, trying to find some semblance of a leader in the fighting. He eventually settled for backtracking around the deck and taking up a spot near where Eric had begun. Calling out to the old man, he hoped his voice would carry, even across such a short distance, in the din of such a ferocious fight.

"Eric! What's the plan here man? Can you tell where they're all coming from? Belle able to work any big-Angelle mojo since she got rejuiced?"

[Constaniana]

Lisoette refrained from some flirty comment praising Tristan's skill and got to work defending the sails. The idea of being trapped out here so close yet so far from the islands they had come to protect was a horrible one; besides, there was the risk that one of the more seasick members of the party might lose their mind if they were forced to spend more time on the waves. The Daemonness fired off more basic electric bolts. She managed to hit three fell-gulls in rapid succession before the pack attacking the sails realised they were being targeted. Two of her victims appeared to be dead on impact, but one staggered back to its feet for a moment before a nearby marine lopped its head off.

Once the other three-quarters of that group realised they were being targeted they began flying more evasively, and her simple blasts were no longer sufficient. Lis paused for a moment, wondering what to use instead. At least the enemy's attacks on the sails were now less damaging now that they wouldn't hover in the same spot for more than a moment or two. The blonde had several area-of-effect type spells that she had honed fighting Watchtower mobs, and were particularly effective when fighting in conditions like cramped corridors one often found in the lairs of that cult. The problem was that in open air like this she risked hitting the sails herself, defeating the entire point of why she attacking those evil artificial birds. Three monsters ganged up on Alexei, so she took aim at one of them, and successfully brought it down. However, it was not lost on her that if her aim had been slightly off, or if the bird had moved out of the way then it could have been the friendly giant's head sizzling most unpleasantly. He was a nice man; Lisoette certainly didn't want to fry him, accidentally or intentionally. Well okay then, let's try that new move...

Mrs. Frost shut her eyes and started taking slow, deep breaths, stretching her gloved hands toward the skies.

Ever since the incident during the capture of the Devil's Luck where Gwen blew up the crow's nest, blowing their cover along with it, Lisoette had been trying to develop something to discreetly defeat an enemy at a distance without making a ruckus. This was no easy feat when working with Lightning, but she had managed to get the spell to only hum loudly instead of send thunder rolling for miles. Little particles of magic crackled and twinkled along her legs, trickling its way up over her skirt. More gulls flocked to replace the ones that had already been driven away from the sails, perhaps thinking it was safer up there than dealing with the swarms of blades and magic upon the deck.

More important for the current situation was getting it to be able to lock on to a target's aura. Even if they had no magic, the wicked deeds of Watchtower agents were often enough to give them a faint dingy presence, and likewise for their beastly servants. Besides, their ignorance in arcane matters often made them unaware of auras in the first place, making any attempt at muffling it impossible. What Lisoette had not yet tried was locking on to multiple targets, but given that her spell took time to charge she had no desire to repeat this process for each of the monsters she was aiming at. In her mind's eye she saw blobs of speckled grey and black bobbing above her head. Mentally she drew yellow circles around them, crossed with lilac dashes, and her hands copied the motion. With each new sigil she imagined it seemed her hands had a harder time following it, as if weights kept being tied around her wrists, and some sweat trickled down her forehead as her magic continued trickling up her body. When she got to eleven targets she stopped, worried she might break the spell if she tried including any more monsters. The blonde's charging power was now clustering around her shoulders.

"Though justice thou may mock, deride, in shadow or in distance hide, this judgement comes in but one stride, in answer to faithful prayer cried. Oh Lightning-Master, grant this boon: Ultraviolet Seeker Harpoon!"

Magic leapt from Lisoette's shoulders to her fingertips, and from her fingertips into the air. The energy condensed into harpoon shapes, with faint shimmering ribbons trailing behind them as they launched at their targets in the blink of an eye, humming all the way. They slammed into the fell-gulls almost silently, only humming as the spell swiftly detonated inside each one of them, and eleven fell-gulls fell without so much as a squawk.

One of the fell-owls saw Vivienne slay one of its kin, and decided to go after her instead of the sailors it was currently looming over. Like devoted, annoying little siblings, five fell-gulls in the air nearby charged in with it. While the taller creature glided over the deck towards the exile its subordinates arranged themselves in a v-formation and dived down at her, pulling ahead thanks to their greater skill in flying. Fire not of her own conjuring suddenly exploded around the lead fell-gull, slaying it and spooking the ones behind it out of their formation. The Messenger stood behind Vivienne and gave her a brief nod. One of the other gulls tried to attack him, thrusting with its beak, but had no luck in exploiting a gap in the mystery paladin's armour. He wrapped his fist around the creature's beak, slammed its body against the deck, and then flung it overboard, shooting a quick burst of flame at the falling bird for good measure. The fell-owl that had lead this attack reconsidered its choice in target, and flew off elsewhere on the deck. Its retreat would not save it, as that same monster would be shot by Erosen shortly after, and soon die all the same.

Across the deck of the Devil's Luck monster after monster fell to the arcane onslaught of her crew, which also rallied the ordinary human troops to keep fighting. The raging tornado attracted the hostile attention of birds attacking other ships, giving them some relief. The fell-owls were all defeated, leaving only the diminishing gulls. It seemed that the fight was winding down, until something slammed the ship, making her rock back and forth. Through the myriad auras all around them the more magically-sensitive among them could begin to sense something large moving around them. The unknown mass slammed the ship again, and the water off the starboard bow bubbled and hissed. Like a bolt of lightning a massive sea serpent's head erupted from the sea, and let loose a roar like a blast of thunder, belching out sulphurous smoke that bitterly stung the eyes and nose of all its foes. A nearby warship was quick to react, firing a few cannonballs at it. The projectiles managed to hit it around where it was emerging from the water, but the monster seemed more annoyed than wounded by those attacks. Other bruises and chips in its armour were noticeable on other points of its body however, indicating it might have already been in some fight elsewhere. Its purple eyes seemed small in comparison to the rest of its large armoured skull, especially with the bony ridges around them, presumably to protect them from damage. Nevertheless, a distinct malice gleamed in them, different from the tortured madness that Watchtower beasts seemed to have. This creature enjoyed what it was doing.

Fight music

Hardly any magic seemed to radiate from its form, aside from the Darkness at work in its intestines enhancing the painfulness of the gas it was producing, but one good look at this sea serpent was enough for a man to know that it had not been born in the Halvefon Sea, nor the Snarhsnell, nor the Halrennor, nor any other he might be able to spot on a map of his homeworld. This was no rampaging beast of Gaiaca. This was a demon, and now it bashed its mace-like head into the railing of the Devil's Luck, trying to pulverise any character unfortunate enough to be too close and too slow.

[Esternial]

Barely managing to defend against the onslaught of swooping birds, Ulric let out a sigh of relief when it seemed the aerial assault was approaching its end. He leaned against the ship railing as the adrenaline receded and the pain finally began to kick in throughout his body.

"I'm to old for this..." He began, his sentence trailing off as his ears picked up a sudden, massive displacement of water nearby. He spun, only to be met with the visage of a gargantuan sea creature. Its eyes burned strongly with a desire to kill. Whatever this thing was, wherever it came from, it was categorically impossible that this monster would be chased off by any measure or show of force.

"...shit."

With a sudden surge of power, Ulric managed to push himself away fast enough to avoid being thrown off his feet by the relentless bashing of the demon's head against the ship. He stumbled, but recovered. If this was a prelude of what the rest of this campaign had in store, Ulric would have to seriously reconsider his odds or survival.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he just couldn't participate in a fight of attrition. His body simply wouldn't be capable of keeping up. So surely, trying to was a fool's errand...but he could help the others. One attack. He had to pour his all into one attack.

"Iron courses through my veins, fire burns within my flesh, lightning courses through my very being..." Ulric spoke softly. Resolute.

His eyes fixated on the sea serpent, he extended his arm to his side and poured all the power he could muster into it. The sensation of heat and pain travelled from it back throughout his entire body. His single arm was not made to hold this concentration of energy for too long.

"I am master of my own fate. My creations are my soul, made manifest..."

He opened his hand, spreading his fingers. The energy contained within his arm found the path of least resistance Ulric had created and concentrated into a single point, equidistant from his fingertips and palm, moulding into a formless mass of crackling light.

"Bend thyself to my will. Take form!"

The shapeless energy suddenly elongated, defining itself into the vague shape of a spear. Ulric's hand closed, clenching around it to grab hold of the undefined weapon. In one swift motion, his brought his heel backwards. Ulric aligned his entire body with a path towards the monstrous creature, both of his arms seemingly the rail of a crossbow, and the spear of energy the bolt loaded and ready to be fired. He used the thumb of his free hand as if it were crosshairs, and positioned it squarely on a part of the serpent's armor which already seemed damaged.

As Ulric parted his lips to speak the final word of his incantation, the vague cloak of lightning briefly vanished and revealed an opulent golden spear that Ulric' had manifested, seemingly from thin air.

"LOHENGRIN!"

Ulric released his grip on the hand. The spear was instantly propelled, faster than the average eye could register, across the length of Ulric's arm and created a loud thunderclap. A pained roar of the sea serpent followed almost immediately afterwards. The spear was nowhere to be seen, having left only a piece of shattered armor and a painful wound in its wake.

With a strained expression, Ulric lowered his arms and took several steps back. Hopefully he had created an opening that others could exploit. His arms, though...he would feel that in the morning. Actually, he was already feeling it.

"I can't do much more now!" He shouted to the others as he retreated further to the back "I'll let you young folk handle the rest!"

[Ameriganastan]

"Eric! What's the plan here man? Can you tell where they're all coming from? Belle able to work any big-Angelle mojo since she got rejuiced?"

"What do you say, Belle? Your pappy gave you a kick in the magical pants. Time to see what dividends it provides. Get out there and light these fuckers up."

"Well, someone has to keep you from becoming a feast for a sea monster I suppose. I guess it's me. If you'd kindly toss me. I do wish to make a showy entrance."

"Rubbing off on you, am I? Alright, go get him!"

Rearing back, he tossed her blade form as high into the air as he could muster.

"I would advise you guys not to look directly at her. I imagine this is gonna be a little bright."

And bright it was. From miles away one could see the flash of light. As it faded, what hovered in the air was something to see.

"Holy crap. Is that you, Belle? You look a little...different."

Very different.

"Oh, I feel different. I haven't had this much juice since before I was trapped in the sword. I am going to enjoy this immensely. YOU! ACCURSED DEMONIC CREATIONS! TASTE THE UNBRIDLED FURY OF THE CHOSEN OF PRYASTAR! AND LET HIS HOLY FIRE OBLITERATE YOUR WORTHLESS FORMS! I SAY UNTO THEE BURN!"

With a wave of her hand, what remaining fell-gulls that were puttering about were utterly vaporized. Not even a speck of ash left.

"AND YOU, ACCURSED MENACE OF THE DEPTHS! LET THE FLAMING SWORDS OF DAMNATION MAKE YOU RUE THE DAY THE NETHER SPIT YOU INTO EXISTENCE AND DARED CROSS ME!"

"I'm not sure why she's talking like some ye olde storybook character. Must be the rush..did she say flaming swords?"

From the sky they came, 6 flaming swords the size of a small building, circling above the beast.

"BE BURNED AWAY!"

And she promptly flung all 6 straight at the monster.

"I am never going to piss her off again..."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

The mighty sea serpent roared and thrashed in pain as Ulric's Lohengrin slammed into its side. The attack was more than effective, destroying a part of its armor and causing its vile blood to spill on the water underneath, painting it a strange, unholy color. The creature then reeled back from Belle as the Angelle of Pryastar revealed her true form, and instead of facing her opted to retreat into the waves, followed by Belle's six Flaming Swords of Damnation. Huge columns of steam rose from the seas as the flaming swords came in contact with it, filling the air around the Devil's Luck. The steam mixed with the acrid smoke that the beast had breathed out, surrounding the vessel in a dark cloud of noxious mist.

Tristan was surprised to see a creature so large rise from the seas to attack them, but far from cowering at the sight like he might have in the past, he remained undaunted. The fight against the Black Beast and the Battle of Fair Hills had taught him that even such powerful, imposing foes were not invincible. They could be bested with enough teamwork and perseverance, and he trusted the party would be able to come out on top.

FIrst things first, though. Ignoring the stinging sensation on his eyes and the back of his throat, Tristan scanned the area. The elderly Lightning Elemental that had launched such a powerful spell at the sea serpent looked spent from his attack, so they likely couldn't count on another one of those. Regardless, between the party's regulars and their new allies, such as the two Fire Elementals, he was sure they had enough firepower to bring the sea serpent down.

Actually hitting the monster with that firepower, and ensuring that the ship wasn't lost in the process, was a different matter entirely.

"Be careful, everyone!" Tristan shouted out. "Wherever that thing went, it won't be gone for long." He stated. Looking for Katya, he spotted her near the ship's bow. "Katya-" He called out to her, only to start coughing afterwards due to the fumes in his lungs. "Get rid of this fog if you can!" He asked - though some others could likely blast it away with fire, she was the person best suited for the job. "Everyone else after the monster! Target the chinks in its armor if you can!"

Not long after the young man had spoken, the sea serpent resurfaced just beyond the fog, its form obscured both by the noxious cloud around the Devil's Luck and by the steam that wafted out from the wounds caused by Belle's attack, though the violet glow of its spiteful glare was clearly visible. With its tail, it lifted a large wave that rocked the ship, throwing several sailors off their feet. Then, its serpentine body moved forward like a whip, and its head, armored with thick bones, smashed into the ship's mast at full strength, further rocking the ship. An ugly sound of creaking wood echoed through the air, and it became evident that the mast might not hold against another attack like that.

"Damn it!" Tristan cursed - he had nearly lost his balance as a result of the ship swaying back and forth from the blows, but quickly recovered his footing and rushed to the mast, focusing his magic on Fenrirtusk and swinging it upwards, causing a thick wall of ice to materialize just in time to shield the mast from another of the sea monster's headbutts. The wall held, though cracks appeared all around it, radiating from the point where the serpent's head had struck. Seemingly annoyed at this new obstacle, the beast reared back to repeat its attack, further damaging the wall.

"It's not going to hold much longer!" He shouted.

"I'm on it, darling!" Lisoette replied, jumping forward and sending bolt after bolt of electricity flying towards the sea serpent, though some dispersed in the steam surrounding the ship and others simply struck its armored skull, causing little harm. This earned a scowl from the Daemonness - she knew that her strongest attacks were only effective in melee range, which was frustrating in situations such as these.

"Any help you could give us would be appreciated!" The blonde stated, looking in the direction of Vivienne and the Messenger. The latter nodded and swiftly complied, using his Combustion Repulsion Vortex Cannon to attack the creature from afar. The spell struck one of its damaged spots, briefly distracting it and causing it to hiss and thrash, though not for too long.

[Woodstovia]

Aerion d'Autriche
The Silver Rose of Lafont
The Devil's Luck

Maniacal laughter washed over The Devil's Luck as Aerion d'Autriche's whirling tornado of violence ended. He fell to his knees, exhausted from committing to such physical exertion so soon after he'd recovered from whatever trauma Eric inflicted upon him. But as he knelt, surrounded by thick putrid blood, sliced and writhing organs and the rotting, filth-strewn carcasses of owl-beasts he felt a burst of sudden and uproarious laughter fill every molecule of his body from head to toe.

Killing was all Aerion had ever known or been good at. It was the only source of income he'd ever had. it was the only job he'd ever had, and the only reason why he'd been promoted so highly. It was the only reason anyone had ever paid him attention and the brief and horrible realisation that killing might have been taken away from him was as if his arm had suddenly fallen off and disintegrated into nothingness.

But it wasn't!

He shoved a gauntlet into the boiling black blood of the owl and smeared it across his forehead as another wave of beautiful laughter rung across the deck of The Devil's Luck.

He could still kill! He was a master who had both his eyes pricked out and still painted a masterpiece! He'd actually killed it!

All of Aerion's pains melted into warm fluffy clouds that gently knocked around inside of him, his insecurities into little sheep that baaa'd sweet lullabies, his dreams into horses which galloped around his heart. Aerion was happy.

Aerion shrieked as a Serpent suddenly rose from out of the depths and roared at the ship.

His body was suddenly as frail and weak as before and the blood which had crowned his triumphant comeback simply filled his nostrils with such a putrid stench he could barely stop himself from throwing up as he cowered on the deck's floor, hoping somehow the Serpent wouldn't see him. Cannonballs ricocheted off the Serpent harmlessly as it reared up, intent on extinguishing all sentient life.

Aerion's eyes were tiny pinpricks as they stood in awe of the majesty of the creature. But then they slowly drifted... Eric Lumen was looking away. his companion was away, floating in the air, yelling. Everyone was looking away. He could feel his sword hand moving, angling towards the man's spine as he slowly scrambled back to his feet. He could kill him. Even if his strike was shoddy he could cripple the man for the rest of his life. It would be fitting revenge against the man who'd had the audacity to challenge Aerion to a duel. But Aerion felt a strange new sensation. His ribs felt like they were bound tightly over his lungs with a rope and forced him into only taking small, sharp breaths. He felt as though a boulder was dragging his spirit down to his feet and a deep feeling of reluctance. Aerion had no idea what was happening but lowered his sword, making the bad feeling go away.

The fight against the Serpent was unfolding and his eyes moved back to it. The thing was strong and deadly for sure, but the combined teamwork of the members of The Devil's Luck were slowly pushing it back and exposing its weaknesses. His feelings of hopelessness and weakness were subsiding somewhat and he grew more and more confident that he'd be able to live.

No. He wasn't just confident. He was angry.

This... Thing. this beast. this lowly, filthy animal, whose greatest goal in life was to die by Aerion's hand was seriously trying to kill him? He could feel his blood rising as the steady drum beat rhythm of war pounded in the back of his mind, heavy and warm and comforting.

But how would he hurt it? He grabbed a gun off a sailor and fired at the creature but Aerion didn't like guns and wasn't used to them so he missed. Cursing, he threw it back at the sailor and paced around the deck. He wasn't about to hurl himself into the sea, so the last option available was his powers.

"Froenstia you bitch. You won't let me down." he hissed under his breath. His powers were never reliable or easy, and he could feel his strength seeping away as his mind called to his "mother" for help.

"Genocide Lance!" he screamed, leaping into the air. A mighty barbed lance of black ice appeared above his hand and he threw it straight at the Serpent. the lance hurtled towards it, glistening with the promise of fresh violence and hot blood. As it neared the creature it suddenly and pathetically melted, splashing harmlessly into the water before it ever reached the serpent.

Aerion fell back onto the deck with a thud, his body shaking and sweating. he was already weak and the effort of actually using his powers had sucked up what little he had left. His vision was black around the edges and his arms gave way, his head smacking against the deck as he sighed.

He had been right. The gods weren't real.

[Ameriganastan]

Aerion d'Autriche
The Silver Rose of Lafont
The Devil's Luck

Maniacal laughter washed over The Devil's Luck as Aerion d'Autriche's whirling tornado of violence ended. He fell to his knees, exhausted from committing to such physical exertion so soon after he'd recovered from whatever trauma Eric inflicted upon him. But as he knelt, surrounded by thick putrid blood, sliced and writhing organs and the rotting, filth-strewn carcasses of owl-beasts he felt a burst of sudden and uproarious laughter fill every molecule of his body from head to toe.

Killing was all Aerion had ever known or been good at. It was the only source of income he'd ever had. it was the only job he'd ever had, and the only reason why he'd been promoted so highly. It was the only reason anyone had ever paid him attention and the brief and horrible realisation that killing might have been taken away from him was as if his arm had suddenly fallen off and disintegrated into nothingness.

But it wasn't!

He shoved a gauntlet into the boiling black blood of the owl and smeared it across his forehead as another wave of beautiful laughter rung across the deck of The Devil's Luck.

He could still kill! He was a master who had both his eyes pricked out and still painted a masterpiece! He'd actually killed it!

All of Aerion's pains melted into warm fluffy clouds that gently knocked around inside of him, his insecurities into little sheep that baaa'd sweet lullabies, his dreams into horses which galloped around his heart. Aerion was happy.

Aerion shrieked as a Serpent suddenly rose from out of the depths and roared at the ship.

His body was suddenly as frail and weak as before and the blood which had crowned his triumphant comeback simply filled his nostrils with such a putrid stench he could barely stop himself from throwing up as he cowered on the deck's floor, hoping somehow the Serpent wouldn't see him. Cannonballs ricocheted off the Serpent harmlessly as it reared up, intent on extinguishing all sentient life.

Aerion's eyes were tiny pinpricks as they stood in awe of the majesty of the creature. But then they slowly drifted... Eric Lumen was looking away. his companion was away, floating in the air, yelling. Everyone was looking away. He could feel his sword hand moving, angling towards the man's spine as he slowly scrambled back to his feet. He could kill him. Even if his strike was shoddy he could cripple the man for the rest of his life. It would be fitting revenge against the man who'd had the audacity to challenge Aerion to a duel. But Aerion felt a strange new sensation. His ribs felt like they were bound tightly over his lungs with a rope and forced him into only taking small, sharp breaths. He felt as though a boulder was dragging his spirit down to his feet and a deep feeling of reluctance. Aerion had no idea what was happening but lowered his sword, making the bad feeling go away.

The fight against the Serpent was unfolding and his eyes moved back to it. The thing was strong and deadly for sure, but the combined teamwork of the members of The Devil's Luck were slowly pushing it back and exposing its weaknesses. His feelings of hopelessness and weakness were subsiding somewhat and he grew more and more confident that he'd be able to live.

No. He wasn't just confident. He was angry.

This... Thing. this beast. this lowly, filthy animal, whose greatest goal in life was to die by Aerion's hand was seriously trying to kill him? He could feel his blood rising as the steady drum beat rhythm of war pounded in the back of his mind, heavy and warm and comforting.

But how would he hurt it? He grabbed a gun off a sailor and fired at the creature but Aerion didn't like guns and wasn't used to them so he missed. Cursing, he threw it back at the sailor and paced around the deck. He wasn't about to hurl himself into the sea, so the last option available was his powers.

"Froenstia you bitch. You won't let me down." he hissed under his breath. His powers were never reliable or easy, and he could feel his strength seeping away as his mind called to his "mother" for help.

"Genocide Lance!" he screamed, leaping into the air. A mighty barbed lance of black ice appeared above his hand and he threw it straight at the Serpent. the lance hurtled towards it, glistening with the promise of fresh violence and hot blood. As it neared the creature it suddenly and pathetically melted, splashing harmlessly into the water before it ever reached the serpent.

Aerion fell back onto the deck with a thud, his body shaking and sweating. he was already weak and the effort of actually using his powers had sucked up what little he had left. His vision was black around the edges and his arms gave way, his head smacking against the deck as he sighed.

He had been right. The gods weren't real.

"Not to armchair general there kid, but wouldn't it have been more prudent to freeze the water around the thing and keep it from moving? I mean, just a suggestion."

Eric sat down next to him, seemingly unconcerned with the epic battle around him.

"Good effort, though. Especially since you just came out of a coma. When you're back up to full strength, you'll kill things like that no sweat. I'm kinda jealous, really."

Reaching inside the Fanny Pack Of Wonder, Eric produced a bottle of fancy liquor.

"I made sure to loot the wine cellar before we left the castle. Got enough expensive bottles of strong hooch in here to last me until doomsday. Really all I can do in situations like this is drink and watch."

He popped the cork off and took a hearty swig.

"Not that I'm not amazing of course. I could kill the whole lot of you if I wanted to. And I do have a plan to do so if it ever comes to that. Can't be too careful. But situations like this? I'm just a spectator. Got none of that fancy elemental magic to fight giant sea monster things. I bet if I did, it'd be something cool. Like lightning. I ever tell you about this guy named Shane? Crazy son of a bitch. Met him a few weeks before I met them...uh, look out."

He dragged Aerion over a few feet as an errant fireball impacted where his head would have been.

"Watch the aim there, Belle!"

"DIE YOU WRETCHED SPAWN OF THE HELLS!"

"Nice to see her having fun. Anyway, Shane. He shot lightning out of his hands. I thought it was a party trick at first, but it was what I'm guessing is Elemental magic. Had a juicy price on his head. Really, that was all he had. Once I got up close, I lopped his head off and cashed in. Why the damn fool even carried a sword is beyond me. Didn't know how to use it. But yeah, I'd be a lightning guy...want some?"

He poured a little liquor on his face.

"Nice show, though. Go get him, Belle!"

[Kassaran]

Erosen had only just finished his sentence as the ship shuddered and creaked, the mast groaning and squealing dangerously. His head snapped up to observe as the last handful of the Darkgulls fell into the ocean or across the deck, the pungent odor of the Dark was overwhelming, like a fresh carcass and he staggered as he tried to stand. His arm shot out and gripped the railing, his upper body hanging precariously over the edge in time to watch the last slip of a shadow pass into the murky depths of the waters below. His skin chilled, then prickled, then burned with a heated sensation he'd not known for a while... fear, true, unadulterated fear of something that did not belong in this world. He'd hunted plenty of demons, but this monster was not of the same- his thoughts were cut short as the ship lurched again and he felt himself begin to go over the edge. Launching himself up, he pushed against the cracked wood of the handrail atop the rampart and shoved, Dark element temporarily leaping down through his coat and into his heels, splintering the damaged banister as he did so and rocketing himself back towards the center of the ship.

He landed hard as the sound of surging water and a roaring beast forced his eyes upwards and there he saw it, a leviathan. The serpent of the deep, that haunted the corrupted depths of the Dark Domain and preyed upon those dimwitted enough to approach its lair. Yet, here was one, massive and imposing as a beast of only its size could be, towering above the freeboard of the ship an additional thirty or so feet, which by Erosen's quick guess left more than two hundred feet perhaps beneath the surface of the ocean, and its vitals somewhere around twenty feet under the surface. He shuddered, his skin beginning to prickle as he quickly glanced towards Ulric who was the quickest to react, crackling lightning of Boaltist's own leapt up and licked across the man's back and arms. The shape it formed was that of a ballistae or massive crossbow and gripping onto his hat as he realized he'd be in the shockwave of the blast, Erosen turned aside. The peal of thunder that rumbled across the sea was only rivalled in tenor by the flash of light which sunk itself into the beast's armored carapace and stripped away vital protection.

There was no time to thank or congratulate the old man on his efforts as Eric called out across the deck, his arm seeming to cock back slightly as he did so.

"I would advise you guys not to look directly at her. I imagine this is gonna be a little bright."

Erosen's eyes widened for a brief moment as his mind did the numbers, giving up once the calculations went past carrying the one and he fell back on the time-honored tradition of getting as low as possible and holding onto something stationary upon the deck. In his case, it was a piece of rigging which was taut and showed no signs of battle damage from a cursory inspection. Turning his back, he barely covered himself with his collar before everything went white and a tingling sensation grew to an intense burning. Dark element was powerful, but in this fight he'd been relying upon it for protection and the Blessing of Pryastar that the Angelle shed was incredible in magnitude. From behind even closed eyelids, Erosen could feel his pupils dilating and closing to pinpoints hearing the Angelle's voice cry out somewhere above him with divine judgement on her voice. Blinking his watering eyes, attempting to clear the spots of white from his vision, he stumbled towards where Eric now stood.

"...did she say flaming swords?"

Erosen went to open his mouth and instead received the feeling of having just bit into a freshly heated piece of bread wrapped around cheese, tomato sauce, and pepperoni. It was an interesting mixture in his mind, but perhaps worse off was the instant scalding his tongue received and his jaw slammed shut with an audible click as six waves of light slammed down into the monster sending it reeling.

"I am never going to piss her off again..."

If you were forced to pay up every time you violated just that one promise to yourself, we'd be rich. Erosen ruefully thought as he attempted to center himself. A thick steam had washed over the deck and had shrouded the battlefield in a mist that mixed with the leviathan's own noxious fumes. Roiling clouds of black threatened to encroach upon the deck and likely had already begun impacting against the side of the Devil's Luck. Tristan was already reconnoitering and calling out orders. He smiled and then frowned, realizing there was going to be some difficulty with the plan at hand, he grimaced. He hated these things and had only ever killed an adolescent by accident, his fear of having to recreate the circumstances that would enable him to do it once more gripped at his insides, but he shook it off and sprinted the short distance to the Iceborn champion's side.

Halfway across the distance, the deck rushed up to meet Erosen as the ship wildly careened to the side, the sound of the mast snapping and cracking raised his vision to hurriedly inspect the sails which quavered violently from the blow. Small fragments and splinters of wood drifted down from the upper levels where the beast had solidly impacted with the mast in its ramming attack, Erosen scrambled to his feet again, not caring to mask his movements with any grace and instead expending a small amount of Dark Element to propel himself up over where a few sailors lay prone. In the dark clouds of smoke on the deck, he could mask most of his element as simply trails left in the fog. A wave of ice sprang forth from the god-forged blade Tristan carried at his side and raced up to meet the mast and reinforce mere seconds before the beast could finish its task. Tristan's spell held against the first blow, but as the beast reared back and slammed against the mast again, the wall began to crack and Erosen brought himself to bear next to the Ice Elemental.

"It's not going to hold much longer!"

Lisoette spun across the deck, her voice calling out above the din of the beast's shrieks and the sailor's cries as she moved to intercept the beast herself. Erosen gave a quick glance to the Daemonnette who whirled and flung bolt after bolt of electricity into the beast, with little effect. He knew she understood the issue at hand and that unless they could crack the beast's hide, this battle would be ending quickly and not in the favor of the Luck and her crew. A shout from her spurred the Messenger into action and Erosen turned away as he heard the tall armored man attack the beast. He didn't need to see much else, they could hold the beast at bay with the others' help.

"Tristan, we're not moving fast enough. I can get close enough to finish this, but you need to give me an opening!"

His eyes glowed a dim purple, slowly gaining in power as he began to redirect Dark Element to his limbs and his mind. His senses sharpened and his eyes shone as he looked back towards the beast, pointing from its head to the outstretched and shredded wood of the uppermost yard of the main mast.

"I'm going to move to it's head, get on that thing's back, and strike it in its critical point under the armor. See if you can't get it distracted and keep hitting it. If I fail, we might not get a chance to take it down before it breaks the mast..."

With that, he spun. It didn't matter at this point if Tristan did support him or not, it would only make things easier on him when the time came. Leaping up, his limbs juiced with elemental power, he landed on the lowest yard and sprinted to where one of the ladders to the upper levels hung, spinning wildly in the gusts of wind and flame put off by the supernatural fight picking up off the ship's starboard bow. Feeling Dark Element surge forth, he felt the hunger begin to call, the desire to kill and drink the beast's foul blood, to take it's power for himself and finally become one with his patron... to know true power. His head grew fuzzy, but a spark of burning wood alighted atop his exposed hand and brought his vision to the here and now. He couldn't afford to be distracted now as the fight seemed to gain in intensity.

Stepping onto the topgallant and bracing against the mast, he watched, waiting for his opening and when he finally perceived he saw it, ran and jumped out over the open space between the ship and the beast. Aiming for the opening between the serpent's upper and lower jaws, he plunged down towards it's gullet and uttered a soft and silent prayer.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Bracing for the next impact and devoting his full concentration to the task of maintaining the ice barrier's integrity so that the mast would not fall, Tristan did not notice Erosen approaching him until the darkling was practically next to him. He had a plan, albeit clearly a risky one.

Easier said than done... The Ice Elemental thought as the darkling asked him to make an opening so that he could attack the creature. Focused on defense as he was, such a task was impossible, but as Erosen continued speaking, Tristan was quickly convinced that this was the best shot they had at taking down the creature quickly before it could get through the ice wall and destroy the mast - or worse. The solution was obvious: though he couldn't afford to drop everything and go on the offensive, there were other around him that could, and the beast, while powerful, was not cunning enough to change its tactics now that it was enraged and wounded, its immediate behavior easy to predict.

"You'll get your opening." Tristan spoke through gritted teeth before Erosen left to take up his position. Glancing at the other Elementals who had rallied around him, he took a deep breath before speaking again. "Lis, Messenger, that thing is going to hit the wall again any second now. When it does, aim for one of the chinks in its armor and hit it with your best shot. That should at least distract it for a second and give Erosen his chance."

The Daemonnesss and the Fire Elemental nodded at the instructions and prepared to unleash their power on the beast. Sure enough, it came at the Devil's Luck again before long, slamming its armored head against the ice barrier with enough force to finally shatter it, chunks of ice falling to the deck and dispersing into icy mist to be absorbed by Fenrirtusk once more. Lisoette and the Messenger seized the opportunity, sending a barrage of fire and lightning magic straight into one of the leviathan's open wounds. Sure enough, the creature retreated from the ship, thrashing violently from the pain for several moments, only to let out a spiteful, defiant roar afterwards.

That was when it happened. Erosen jumped off the mast and flew through the air... straight towards the creature's mouth.

No climbing on its back to get at its weak point, no taking it down before it could wreak any more havoc. Erosen just flew straight to its gullet in an apparent suicidal rush. Tristan watched in disbelief, but only allowed such disbelief to last for a moment. If the darkling was devoured, that only meant that they needed to redouble their efforts to take the beast down, especially on the off chance that he might be still alive in there.

"Damn it!" Tristan cursed in frustration before running towards the edge of the Devil's Luck, swinging Fenrirtusk in an ascending arc as he went. As if on cue, a small pillar of ice rose from the ground directly beneath his feet, propelling him towards the creature. Far from imitating Erosen's ill-fated maneuver, however, the Ice Elemental had a different plan. Falling just shy of reaching the sea serpent, he made sure that the first thing to make contact with the water was the tip of his holy glaive. Immediately, a thick layer of ice replaced the water all around the sea serpent, extending quite a distance away and allowing Tristan to land safely in the vicinity of the beast.

The purpose of this was threefold. Firstly, it served to trap the leviathan in the ice, even if only temporarily - it was still capable of belching out that acrid poison and using its head as a bludgeon, of course, but diving under the water to escape their attacks was now impossible. Secondly, it gave some of the more melee-oriented members of their party, such as Lisoette, a shot at doing more damage to the blasted beast by offering them a platform to get up close and attack. And lastly, it provided a landing platform in the event that, through some miracle, Erosen was still alive and managed to craw out of the beast's belly somehow. Tristan had his doubts, but for someone as driven as the darkling seemed to be, suicide appeared unlikely.

For the time being, he would simply have to do his part. Using another ice pillar to launch himself into the air, Tristan attempted to target one of the beast's weak points to sink Fenrirtusk's blade into it and cut its flesh open, but his foe proved quicker, whipping its head sideways and sending the Ice Elemental flying off to a rough landing at the very edge of the frozen platform.

[Constaniana]

He poured a little liquor on his face.

"Nice show, though. Go get him, Belle!"

Judas Louxelle walked over to the party's favourite old man, a pistol still in one hand but otherwise not looking too distressed by what was happening around him. His keen aim had served him well against the smaller monsters that had assaulted the Devil's Luck, but as he was not an artilleryman he now had nothing that could harm the foe. Instead, he gestured with his free hand at Aerion's now-marinading face.

"What's the matter with him? Sure, I've seen Elementals push themselves into fainting by spending all their strength on a finishing move, and Genocide Lance certainly sounds like it's meant to be the last word in a fight, but I suspect it wasn't suppose to melt away like that. It certainly doesn't bode well if he's already exhausted before we even start this little war in earnest."

Lisoette had overheard Erosen relaying his plan to Tristan, and so was not surprised to see the wildling jump from the ship towards the danger noodle's head. It seemed the usual sort of audacious plan that worked for their group in situations like this. The demon did not seem to notice Erosen when he started his jump, convulsing as she and the Messenger struck one of its wounds with their spells. It roared and writhed, gaping maw now positioned directly in Erosen's path. Lisoette froze in horror as she realised what was about to happen.

"EROSEN!!!" She tried to scream, but the sea drowned her voice out. Mrs. Frost ineffectually fired a few bolts at the sea serpent, hoping in vain to distract it. For a moment the thought crossed her mind that if she couldn't make the monster turn its mouth away from Erosen then she could knock him off his terminal trajectory with her magic. But she could not bring herself to act on so desperate an impulse, and the opportunity passed as Erosen fell into the mouth of the beast. She stood there in shock, dumbfounded by the loss of a comrade before her eyes. It sadly wasn't her first time seeing someone perish, but it felt alien right now. Time and time again in her three years in Gaiaca she had beheld certain death and defeat mocked and scorned, from Aldraniri awakening his Fire magic to defeat Veganiz right as the Daemonne's blast of Darkness was about to kill the boy, to Light magic falling from the sky atop the College of Bracksbure when their band seemed hopelessly surrounded by the Watchtower forces below, to defeating Kayarost himself, even if he was weakened by the inferior corpse he was possessing. To think that the adventure would end for one of them because of one bad jump was terrifying. Could that have been her? Had she grown complacent? What if the Watchtower forces here in the Thin Isles were far more skilled then their defeated comrades in Yuelkelu? And what about the Hellspawn that fought alongside them? Lisoette had no idea what sort of faction in Hell would come up with the idea of working with humans like Watchtower, building magic ironclads. Was she really prepared for the battles ahead?

Cannon-fire roared from the Devil's Luck and her sister ships around her, ripping Mrs. Frost out of her reverie. Taking advantage of the sea serpent's immobility the warships around them brought their guns to bear on it. More and more shots hit, steadily breaking open new gaps in its scales; one managed to chip a fang of the demon. Vengeful wrath billowed up inside Lis. She grew determined not to let the fleet get the satisfaction of finishing off the sea demon, or at least not entirely. Lisoette sprinted past the Messenger, who had begun casting more fireballs at the head of the serpent, over the railing, and onto the ice platform. Her first spell was a messy, two-handed brutish burst of lightning at the closest wound; the only words that accompanied this attack was a feral scream. More thought went into her next actions, as she drew her machete and leiomano and began using them as one would use pickaxes on a glacier. Lisoette now moved like a profoundly enraged monkey hunting the one who stole its banana, and violently made her way up to the gaping wound left Uric's Lohengrin. Planting her feet on the scales protruding out, and keeping one hand clasped around the machete which she stabbed deep in one part of the demon's flesh, she bathed her leiomano in magic and began rapidly bludgeoning away. Lisoette felt a tiny bit of satisfaction each time she felt the shark's teeth on her club wedge deeper and deeper into her foe.

The sea serpent glared at Tristan as it struggled against its icy cage, and seeing his prone state attempted to club him with its skull, only for the combined flames of the Messenger, Belle, and Vivienne to knock it back. First it sent another wave of smoke at the deck of the Devil's Luck. Second, it turned its head down and wreathed the gas around itself, perhaps hoping to avoid some of the increasingly irritating attacks landing on it from all around. Third, it turned to spew much more gas at the Angelle above it that was very repulsive to the demon's sensibilities; if it couldn't move around much to try biting her then at least it could try getting her with this. The sea serpent was not quite done with Tristan though. Most of its bulk was imprisoned now thanks to Mr. Frost's spell, but its extremities had managed to escape, as seen by the upper neck and head still swinging around...and in the very end of the tail that emerged from the water and attempted to slam into Tristan. This part lacked the heavy armour seen on most of the rest of the demon, instead bearing a wide fin, but it nonetheless had enough size and muscle to risk knocking him unconscious and into the depths of the sea.

[Ameriganastan]

He poured a little liquor on his face.

"Nice show, though. Go get him, Belle!"

Judas Louxelle walked over to the party's favourite old man, a pistol still in one hand but otherwise not looking too distressed by what was happening around him. His keen aim had served him well against the smaller monsters that had assaulted the Devil's Luck, but as he was not an artilleryman he now had nothing that could harm the foe. Instead, he gestured with his free hand at Aerion's now-marinading face.

"What's the matter with him? Sure, I've seen Elementals push themselves into fainting by spending all their strength on a finishing move, and Genocide Lance certainly sounds like it's meant to be the last word in a fight, but I suspect it wasn't suppose to melt away like that. It certainly doesn't bode well if he's already exhausted before we even start this little war in earnest."

Lisoette had overheard Erosen relaying his plan to Tristan, and so was not surprised to see the wildling jump from the ship towards the danger noodle's head. It seemed the usual sort of audacious plan that worked for their group in situations like this. The demon did not seem to notice Erosen when he started his jump, convulsing as she and the Messenger struck one of its wounds with their spells. It roared and writhed, gaping maw now positioned directly in Erosen's path. Lisoette froze in horror as she realised what was about to happen.

"EROSEN!!!" She tried to scream, but the sea drowned her voice out. Mrs. Frost ineffectually fired a few bolts at the sea serpent, hoping in vain to distract it. For a moment the thought crossed her mind that if she couldn't make the monster turn its mouth away from Erosen then she could knock him off his terminal trajectory with her magic. But she could not bring herself to act on so desperate an impulse, and the opportunity passed as Erosen fell into the mouth of the beast. She stood there in shock, dumbfounded by the loss of a comrade before her eyes. It sadly wasn't her first time seeing someone perish, but it felt alien right now. Time and time again in her three years in Gaiaca she had beheld certain death and defeat mocked and scorned, from Aldraniri awakening his Fire magic to defeat Veganiz right as the Daemonne's blast of Darkness was about to kill the boy, to Light magic falling from the sky atop the College of Bracksbure when their band seemed hopelessly surrounded by the Watchtower forces below, to defeating Kayarost himself, even if he was weakened by the inferior corpse he was possessing. To think that the adventure would end for one of them because of one bad jump was terrifying. Could that have been her? Had she grown complacent? What if the Watchtower forces here in the Thin Isles were far more skilled then their defeated comrades in Yuelkelu? And what about the Hellspawn that fought alongside them? Lisoette had no idea what sort of faction in Hell would come up with the idea of working with humans like Watchtower, building magic ironclads. Was she really prepared for the battles ahead?

Cannon-fire roared from the Devil's Luck and her sister ships around her, ripping Mrs. Frost out of her reverie. Taking advantage of the sea serpent's immobility the warships around them brought their guns to bear on it. More and more shots hit, steadily breaking open new gaps in its scales; one managed to chip a fang of the demon. Vengeful wrath billowed up inside Lis. She grew determined not to let the fleet get the satisfaction of finishing off the sea demon, or at least not entirely. Lisoette sprinted past the Messenger, who had begun casting more fireballs at the head of the serpent, over the railing, and onto the ice platform. Her first spell was a messy, two-handed brutish burst of lightning at the closest wound; the only words that accompanied this attack was a feral scream. More thought went into her next actions, as she drew her machete and leiomano and began using them as one would use pickaxes on a glacier. Lisoette now moved like a profoundly enraged monkey hunting the one who stole its banana, and violently made her way up to the gaping wound left Uric's Lohengrin. Planting her feet on the scales protruding out, and keeping one hand clasped around the machete which she stabbed deep in one part of the demon's flesh, she bathed her leiomano in magic and began rapidly bludgeoning away. Lisoette felt a tiny bit of satisfaction each time she felt the shark's teeth on her club wedge deeper and deeper into her foe.

The sea serpent glared at Tristan as it struggled against its icy cage, and seeing his prone state attempted to club him with its skull, only for the combined flames of the Messenger, Belle, and Vivienne to knock it back. First it sent another wave of smoke at the deck of the Devil's Luck. Second, it turned its head down and wreathed the gas around itself, perhaps hoping to avoid some of the increasingly irritating attacks landing on it from all around. Third, it turned to spew much more gas at the Angelle above it that was very repulsive to the demon's sensibilities; if it couldn't move around much to try biting her then at least it could try getting her with this. The sea serpent was not quite done with Tristan though. Most of its bulk was imprisoned now thanks to Mr. Frost's spell, but its extremities had managed to escape, as seen by the upper neck and head still swinging around...and in the very end of the tail that emerged from the water and attempted to slam into Tristan. This part lacked the heavy armour seen on most of the rest of the demon, instead bearing a wide fin, but it nonetheless had enough size and muscle to risk knocking him unconscious and into the depths of the sea.

"BELLE!"

Even among all the chaos around them, Belle heard Eric scream for her. The blazing Angelle vanished in a blink, reappearing in Eric's hand in sword form as he rallied to Tristian. In one swift motion, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him out of the way of the descending tail. And sliced through the fleshy fin with his blade like a hot knife through butter. Quite literally a hot knife, as the usual blue sword was glowing bright red. And the man holding it was as angry as he'd ever been.

"You son of a bitch! He was my friend! And I'm not losing another friend! I've lost too many in this life to let one be lunch for some overgrown sea noodle from wherever you came from! Juice me, Belle! Full body!"

"Full body? But we've never tried that before. And with me firing on all cylinders right now, I don't know if-"

"Less talk, more powering me up. I've got a plan. Now get to it."

"Alright, you're clearly set on this. I'll try as little as I can to get you there."

She indeed poured as little as she safely could into her pissed off wielder. And that little bit seemed to do a lot. Red energy was crackling off of him like he's been struck by lightning.

"Ooh, I like this. No wonder you were so batshit up there. If this gets me killed, which it just might, just know you're my best friend."

"Oh, please. I've seen you survive dumber stunts than this. Get to it before this energy fries you."

Taking a deep breath, freshly juiced Eric hopped on the beast's tail and began running up it like some kind of maniac. And given he was currently full of Angelle energy, he was running up it fast.

"Hey, fuckface! See how you like the taste of this!"

Rearing back with all the strength he could muster, he saw the beast open its mouth just wide enough for him to chuck Belle into it.

"I could have just flown up here if this was your plan!"

"Shut up and do you thing! Or I'm telling everyone you real name is-!"

A loud explosion drowned him out, but she knew what he said.

"Old fool."

Said old fool was suddenly deprived of his Angelleic supercharge.

"Oh, crap..."

And like a cartoon character walking off a cliff, gravity finally caught up to him and he plunged off the tail and into the water. Inside the beast's wretched mouth, Belle resumed her normal Angelle form.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do now? I can't very well flambé this vile creature from the inside without incinerating that crazy fool who jumped in here first. This is what I get for following an Eric plan. The last time I did that...ugh, what he did with that duchess and the hand mirror...alright, I guess I'm finding...um...what is that boy's name? I don't think I've ever spoken to him...Crazy Darkling Boy! Where are you!?"

[Zarkenis Ultima]

One moment, he was rising through the air towards his foe, ready to tear into its flesh with his holy glaive. The next, he was falling back to the ice as an intense pain traveled across the entire left side of his body, courtesy of the demon's armored skull smacking him away. He was stunned from the sheer force of the blow, unable to react to his predicament or focus on anything other than keeping his grip around Fenrirtusk's shaft, knowing that he could not afford to let the weapon be separated from him or, heavens forbid, sink into the depths of the sea. In this regard, at least, he succeeded: even as his back crashed against the thick sheet of ice below, cracking its surface and sending waves of pain throughout his body, he managed to hold onto the glaive. His senses began to dull and fade, and the edges of his vision blurred and darkened, but his grip held.

With some effort, the young man rolled onto his side and placed a hand against the cracked ice, pushing himself off the ground with some effort. Ugh... what is that... cannons? He wondered as the deafening noise of cannon fire from the surrounding armada assaulted him. The cacophony was disorienting, and the sight before him was far from heartening, what with cannonball after cannonball missing its mark and falling into the sea. He couldn't complain, however. In a way, this was fortunate. One reason for this was that the projectiles that flew past the serpent went well past the ice platform and thus failed to damage it. As he looked up at the sea serpent, he saw the other reason, far more important - a glowing yellow beacon beyond the depths of the fog, attached to the serpent's shadow, which meant that if the cannon fire hit the wrong spot...

If they hurt her, I'll... He thought to himself as he made an effort to get on his feet, using the shaft of his glaive to aid himself. But he soon fell back to his knees as he took in a breath of that poisonous mist and suffered from a fit of coughing, specks of blood falling on the ice. The smoke irritated his nose, eyes and throat, but he ignored the sensation and got on his feet again, in spite of his waning strength and aching body. The first thing he noticed through his dulled, overwhelmed senses was that a shadow loomed over him, not as large as the serpent's and with a different shape, but imposing nonetheless. It rapidly advanced towards him through the noxious mist, and he realized what it was: the serpent's tail.

With only seconds to spare, the Ice Elemental quickly raised a barrier in front of him. Far weaker than the previous one, it failed to hold back even the demon's finned tail, which smashed through it and send him flying off the ice platform. The ice did help dampen the impact, but it would still have sufficed to cast him to the sea were it not for his steely resolve. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to swim back in his current state, and determined not to drown when the expedition was already this close to the Thin Isles, Tristan instead twisted his body to stab the waves with his Fenrirtusk. The water around the blade froze, creating a smaller platform. Holding onto the shaft, he landed safely and dropped to his hands and knees. After breathing in the serpent's poison all this time and being battered and bloodied by it, his strength had faded, but he couldn't give up just yet.

I don't think I can fight or outrun that thing anymore... but at least... The Ice Elemental thought as he gathered all of his magic and focused it on the tip of his glaive as he pulled it out of the new ice platform. Without an ancient chant to back it up, the spell would lack complexity, but that didn't matter. What he wanted to do was fairly simple, if exhausting. Once ready, he reared back his arm.

I can do this.

Tristan hurled the glaive, which flew towards the creature's tail just as the serpent attempted to use it to send another wave at the ship in an attempt to throw off its aim. The holy weapon missed, but the second it touched the water a third sheet of thick ice appeared, now locking in place the demon's tail also, leaving it almost fully immobilized and unable to affect the Devil's Luck in any way beyond its smoke.

With his task done, Tristan smiled for a moment and then collapsed on the ice above the sea.

[Ameriganastan]

"...Well, this is odd. I appear to be floating in an empty void. That can't be good. Either the Fanny Pack of Wonder finally went rogue and ate me or..."

"Or you're dead? No, you unfortunately still yet live. 5 times before me and your agitating form refuses to just die. I've been here for time immemorial and I still dread seeing you."

And suddenly he wasn't alone in this void. A rather intimidating armored figure stood before him, Eric managing to find what passed for a floor where he was and stand before him.

"I'm sorry, have we met? I think I'd remember a fellow who looks like you. Love the look by the way. Very supernatural magic knight. With the cape and the glowing bits."

"None remember me. It is my penance. Destined to stand between the worlds and either welcome great warriors to the other side or send them back to fight yet more with no memory of me. But you, you agitating mortal, you come before me time and time again. If I could, I'd rend your soul apart so you would quit arriving here."

Eric scratched his head in confusion.

"Listen skippy, I don't believe in the Gods or the afterlife or whatever. So it's-"

"So it's kind of impossible for your glowing ass to work for them. You say the same thing every time. You truly make eternal punishment a chore. It's not enough you refuse to die for good in this particular life, but your accursed spirit keeps returning in new forms. You're like a bad itch."

Well, that had his attention.

"New forms you say? Well, this I gotta hear."

The figure simply groaned, waving his hand and producing images of several different people from several different periods in time. But every one of them had something in common.

"You and that damned Angelle blade. Ever since you gripped it in your first life, your soul has developed an annoying attachment to this plane of existence. Always finding its way back in a new incarnation, and somehow always finding that irritating sword."

Eric looked at the various images of what he was still processing were his past lives. For once, he was at a loss for words.

"Yasatar the noble bandit lord, King Brumar of the forgotten empire, Keiises the Rebel, on and on it goes. At least these previous versions of you had the decency to only darken my doorstep once. But no, the version of you that's an insufferable, hedonistic annoyance is the one who continues to torment me. I thought I was free of you for good during that 300 year spell when she slumbered. But no, she woke up and your spirit yet again was returned in a new visage."

"So...I've been reincarnated countless times, and somehow me and Belle always find the other no matter what life it is...wow. We've literally been friends for almost 1000 years. Ain't that something."

The figure rolled his eyes, pulling a pocket watch from the ether.

"Yes, very fascinating, blah blah blah. I frankly grew tired of having to explain this story around your 5th life. Anyway, it seems you're coming to. Good riddance and please have the decency to die permanently next time I see you."

He snapped his fingers and Eric vanished from his presence.

"Yes, lead an Angelle rebellion against the Gods they said. What could go wrong they said. If I'd known that fool would be part of the punishment, I'd have never rebelled in the first place."

Back in the mortal world, Eric woke up floating in the water.

"Okay, ow. Lesson learned. Just throw her from the boat next time."

[Kassaran]

Darkness enveloped Erosen as he'd fallen into the maw of the beast, he didn't stop to think about the results of his actions, because he knew what to do already. If he'd mentioned it from the start, they would have tried to stop him and given that he was the only one who had experience in killing one of these demonic creatures, there was little chance he could have explained it in the little time they'd had. Tristan would simply have to work his hardest to compromise the strength of the monster while the Darkling set to work accomplishing his goal. His hands spread inside the throat of the beast, the muscles of the creature's throat compressing against him, trying to force him into the bile-filled chambers of the beast's stomachs to dissolve his soft muscle tissue. From experience, he knew the fluid itself could burn through flesh itself in seconds if given the chance, and as a sudden wave of uncontrollable and frantic hunger overtook him, his mind slipped to a memory from an earlier and darker point in his history.

The waters were calm and he had thought it another tributary of a river that ran through the Hellwilds. His cautious approach had lulled him into a false sense of security, his guard faltering for a brief moment as the world erupted around him. Jaws rushing from the waters that had been deceptively deep and beating even his superhuman reflexes, the serpent had bitten down upon him. Teeth, flashing past his arms and wrapping around his body had speared through his thigh and threatened to crush his legs with the sheer strength of the monster's jaws. It had snatched him from his jump backwards and had he been standing, the beast would have bitten him fatally through the torso, so he thought on the small blessing that had been. He was still, for all intents and purposes, being eaten alive now and the waters of the cove were flooding in through the side of the beast's mouth. The tongue was rough, like sand-paper, designed to peel flesh from muscle and muscle from bone as it pressed against him and tried to wrap about his still flailing upper body.

It was a carnivore, and so he went with the action of the creature, rather than fighting it's attempts to swallow him, he'd closed his eyes. His concentration had focused on the heat in his lungs as they struggled to retain what little breath they had left. There was a rush of powerful nausea as the pain and adrenaline washed over his body in droves and chased away the stinging bite of the teeth rending his flesh. That could always be repaired later, the holes patched with the Dark Element, but as he forced himself deeper into the maw of the serpent, he felt it's thrashing begin to change as he muscled deeper into the point where a soft muscle flap would close off its airway. He'd been faster than it, capitalizing on an unexpected action and now had an arm wedged inside the soft gill-like byway that generally closed during consumption.

The creature screeched and roared, the deafening sound deadening Erosen's senses almost immediately, as his hand had wreathed itself in Dark tendrils and tore at the soft esophageal tissue within the serpent's throat. A bitter smell suddenly overwhelmed Erosen as he realized the creature was about to relieve itself of its stomach's bile. Panic gripped him as he thought of the damage the fluid would inevitably cause and within a moment, opened a small tensor disc of Dark Element through the creature's throat. Scales with a density and strength beyond that of even treated and forged metal plate crackled and buckled as a sudden reverberation spiked through the beast and Erosen felt his focus shift...

As the Angelle had peered into the now forced agape mouth of the serpent, blisters of shining dark element could be seen littering the inside of the creature's mouth and down into its throat. It was as if the starry night sky was shining from the depths of the creature's innards, but even as she called out, the Darkling's voice called back from each.

"Belle! They're portals, give me ten seconds and then charbroil this fucker. I'm jumping out now!"

With that, there was a weird shudder that came from the depths of the beast and a whining noise that sounded far too impossible for a demon-beast to make. It wasn't that the creature was whining, but rather it was feedback from within the monster's throat, every sub-portal linking to one another and like a grater, it was sloughing away at the beast's inside. As Erosen had moved, he'd let the dark tendrils of energy unwrap and unfurl from his arms, peeling away and devouring the very essence of the beast. His body was coated in ichor, meat, and the Dark itself as suddenly the monster shuddered and quivered violently. Dark tendrils snapping up through the mouth and reaching briefly towards the Angelle before quickly shrinking back in her presence.

Then, as if someone had snuffed out a lamp in a dark room, the light in each portal disappeared and mirrorless pools of black began to spread. The Angelle had her opening, as the beast began to oddly crackle and contort in response, and she capitalized on it. Flames, fire, and holy light flickered to life about the Angelle, her righteous fury and divine indignation surpassing even the serpent's might in scale. The Darkling was clear, that much was apparent, but the beast stunk of his sorcery and portals. The soft utterance of a final sealing point of the multi-portal spell slipped into place from some unseen location and each portal went from black, to shimmering purple. Pulsing slowly at first, and slowly gaining speed and intensity as the feedback intensified. With Belle's own magic, she began cleansing the beast from the inside out, purifying the whole of its foul carcass.

Her arms swung, tracing a line of light that bent and sailed through the smoke and haze of the battle, a roar of a great bonfire preceding the flashing white-hot core of the inferno which lanced forth from her own hand. Her tongue spoke words of celestial origin and went unheard in the rush of fire, the deep voice of a dragon summoned forth and consuming the entirety of the serpent before plunging the area once again into darkness. There was a calm, a stillness which hung over the waters of the naval battle, until the strange sound of metallic creaking replaced the muffled shouts and screams of the injured and dying. Upward into the sky, the Angelle raced on a column of steam and heat from her heels themselves while the towering hulk of the serpent shuddered one last time. Then its carapace snapped, the waters churned, the oceans boiled, and the cracks in the serpent's armor glowed with red-orange coals. It's darkened eyes and mouth exploded in blue-white gouts of flame that spilled out for meters from each. The volcanic eruption of its innards flew high into the sky as it exploded, piercing the smoky and steam-filled haze as the creaking and groaning that had dominated the whole of the battlefield was originating from the beast's insides.

"Look! Over there!"

There were shouts as the tail of the beast seem to suddenly shrink, shrivel, and retract into the water with a strange haze of Dark Element coating it. The sound of rushing air raced over the fleet of ships, causing the seas to pitch towards the warped silhouette of the leviathan. Charred, blasted, smoking and cracked across all fronts, the beast fell in upon itself from every direction, the fires that burned within it only growing brighter, the sun-like inferno now burning even the sea about the beast. Ice squealed and hissed as the heat converted it straight from a solid to a gas, intensifying the effects as the implosion reached its zenith and the hellishly shrieking, screaming remnant of the demon blew outwards in a rain of ice and fire.

Ships, having been dragged closer by the explosion, suddenly were buoyed upon the wave of the monstrous detonation and flung to and fro like toy boats. Some keeling hard to the side, threatening to capsize from the sheer force while others lost sailors to the dark waters below. On a chunk of ice not far away a man came dangerously close to sliding off the ice he'd chosen to collapse upon. Beside him, a pool of shadow and night grew in size to evict a weary figure from the void. The Darkling hissed in pain as the holy weapon brushed his hand, taking with it a small portion of flesh which shriveled and evaporated on contact with the weapon. Rolling onto his side, Erosen took in the sight of the towering column of steam and smoke, the flaming Angelle a shining beacon in the now cleared skies.

Looking askance towards the collapsed Tristan, Erosen gave a lop-sided grin and reached out to grab the man by his collar and haul him back to the center of the ice.

"Not today Iceling, my Master and I have plans for you yet."

With a short, pained chuckle, he drew his knees to his chest on the floe of ice and sighed, looking towards where the fleet remained. Shredded sails were being taken down for repairs while transports disembarked their dinghies and longboats they'd brought for the landings. They'd be collecting survivors of this fight for a while yet if Erosen guessed right. He dragged his long coat about him closer, the fabric thoroughly soaked, the only source of shelter he had from the biting cold that threatened to numb him. His hand ached, the skin having long since gone purple, edging onto the threshold of frostbite. He frowned, the pain was deeper than he thought he could still feel, than he'd ever felt before, he plunged the broken appendage back into the depths of his coat and left it there against his skin, willing some of his body-heat to try and warm it. He shuddered violently, the cold threatening to kill him from sheer hypothermia before he slowly nodded off... and went to sleep.

[Lazarian]

Earth, Wind and Fire

After looking keenly down the hallway for a few moments, Sergeant Andor took the gold coins quietly, stuffing them into his purse.

“Keys to the ancient mines are the bronze key, third hook, second door down the hallway. Though I don’t know why the devil you two would want to be going down there.”

“Don’t worry about it, sir.” Vasily Vodak, Registry Servant, Windborn, and now the Iron Keep’s finest detective, replied. “Just heard rumors that there was still gold down there. Figured I’d take a little home as a souvenir.”

“Hah. There’s nothing down there but dust and darkness. Maybe a couple skeletons too, y’never know.” the grizzled guard said with a bit of a leer. “But by all means, enjoy yourselves.”

Vasily nodded, before fetching the keys. The ancient door creaked ominously as it opened, revealing a tight and claustrophobic spiral stairway into the darkness. Joachim Novak, Registry Servant, Fireborn, and Vasily’s partner in crime, lit up the staircase with flames in his palms, illuminating the area. Unlike Vasily’s simple appearance (a shirt and long pants, with a simple brown overcoat), Joachim was a sight to behold. Wearing a fancy burgundy cloak with gold clasps and trimming atop a fine mink-fur coat, he struck a dashing figure. His maroon locks cascaded down his back, complimenting his handsome features nicely.

“Bit unchivalrous of you there, Vas. Don't the scriptures condemn bribery?” Joachim chided, as the two slowly descended.

“Quit it with the jokes.” Vasily whispered back, frowning at his more carefree counterpart. “You do know this is treason, right?”

“Treason? We’re just two nobles indulging our desires. Relax. If anything happened to me, old Kuznetsov here would be in for a world of hurt.” Joachim replied, shaking his head.

Vasily gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Not all of noble birth had such connections or wealth to fall back on. Perhaps if Joachim was caught snooping around in heavily guarded caverns, nothing serious would happen, but as for Vasily? He wasn’t so sure about that.

“What’s it to you, anyways? Even if it is armor for monsters, it’s not like Nikolai is going to release them onto Garmiccia. I never took you to be much of a Yelhennien sympathizer.”

“Keep those dogs out of my association.” snapped Vasily, quietly sneaking down the stairs. If only Joachim had been a Wildborn - some claimed that the healers and hermits of the forests could change minds and alter emotions. That would have been useful. They could have just Altered the attitudes of the guards and taken the direct route to the Furnace, a large door into the earth located in the rocky crags to the East of the Iron Keep. But no, of course it wouldn’t be that easy. The only reason that Vasily had dragged Joachim along in the first place was the aforementioned wealth and status, not for any practical purposes.

There were too many guards patrolling the Furnace for it to be anything benign. Vasily was a more devout spellborn than most, and when the Goddess whispered to his instincts, he believed them. Not one night since they had arrived in this desolate tundra had he slept well. Baron Kuznetsov was doing something wicked in these parts, and it irked him to no end how his fireborn comrade dismissed his fears. As they descended further down into the mines, tunnels and cave entryways began to dot the sides of the staircase.

“Alright, stop.” Vasily said after a few minutes, breaking the silence. “Two hundred and thirty seven steps down.”

“And...the meaning of that is…”

“It’s the depth of the Furnace. I counted on our way down a few nights back.” he said, pointing to the cave entrance to their right. “That’s the way in.”

“And what makes you think we’ll be able to make it into there through these caverns?”

“You know how I convinced Kuznetsov to let me into his personal library the other day? Anyways, there’s maps of this place. Or, at least...some of it. The Forge isn’t on any record at all - it’s been carved out recently. But again, counted footsteps, took my own notes...there’s some ancient mine ventilation tunnels that go right over the Furnace. I imagine that they just repurposed them.” Vasily said, taking some papers from his coat. It appeared to be some sort of hand-drawn map, with multiple layers of tunnelways and mineshafts.

“Interesting. I’m surprised you’ve worked so hard on this project, Vas. I almost dread what you expect to find, if you’re trying so hard to uncover it.” Joachim said, his usual joking tone from earlier completely absent.

“Hopefully it’s just metal boats, Joachim. But would they really have so many soldiers patrolling those tunnels for that? No, something’s rotten in this province and I mean to get to the bottom of it. And don’t tell me Pyrastar, King of the Gods, hasn’t sent you any sort of message or warning.”

“That’s the only reason I’m putting up with your foolish mission here.” Joachim griped, his ruddy features darkened by a frown. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t sleep well at night. But what do you expect to accomplish by even finding out?”

“We’re leaving soon enough. I have leave from the Registry accrued. I’m going to visit my father and let him know. I was hoping you could do the same. Even if I can’t stamp out this project...at the very least, it’s political capital for both our families.”

Joachim laughed at the sheer unexpectedness of the answer. For how pious and devout Vasily was, it was odd to hear that the purpose of this entire plot was simply to give their families leverage. But he was certainly in favor of the idea - if the two discovered evidence of Kuznetsov committing some heretical act or dark rite, such information would be incredibly useful to Duke Novak, his father.

After a few minutes, the two came to Vasily’s destination - a hint of moonlight peaked down from a thin shaft in the midst of the tunnel that traveled up towards the surface, as well as down beneath. The dreadful heat from the furnace could still faintly be felt filling the chamber, drifting up towards the surface. Heat always did radiate upward towards Pyrastar’s glorious sun (where it came from, after all).

“You intend for us to travel down through that?” Joachim protested in dismay, looking at the width of the shaft. “That’s a long drop.”

“Relax. This is simply a test of our faith. Goddess Aiwillia...I request your embrace.” Vasily said, before taking a step into the four-story pit. To Joachim’s dismay, he plummeted downwards to an imminent doom - only to stop before the ashes at the bottom. He floated aloft, somehow buoyed by a gentle pocket of air. After a few moments, his feet touched the firm ground once again, before looking up expectantly at Joachim.

The Fireborn gulped, before closing his eyes and jumping. It was a terrifying few seconds, but the Goddess came through once again - it was as if he was caught and lowered down by the air itself, gently coming to a stop unharmed.

“Gods.” he said, voice trembling. “I don’t know how you make that look so easy.”

Vasily cracked a smile for once, before quietly beckoning him to the doorway. The great furnace looked like some hungry beast in the faint light provided by Joachim’s flames - a gaping maw, waiting for coal and iron to satiate its ravenous hunger. The enormous door slowly creaked open, and Joachim extinguished his flames instantly. They’d been down here enough times to know the way.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps alerted Vasily to a patrol down the hallway. Thank the gods it was so dark down here - a few torches flickering provided the only light in these caverns. There was some sort of greater cave system down here around the Furnace - perhaps an extension of the abandoned mine beneath the keep.

Looking back at his rival, Vasily raised a single finger to his lips. Then, he snapped his wrist, instantly snuffing out the oiled torches that adorned the wall. The two men on patrol instantly drew their swords, with a third striking a match with surprising speed. The oiled torch was quickly relit - but to their surprise, nothing stood in the hallway with them.

“The devil was that?” growled one of the soldiers, his scarred visage looking ready to kill. That was another thing - guard duty was assigned to the lowest ranks, a chore meant for new recruits. But all these men were professionals, aging veterans of the Civil War. They were likely Pensioners, men who had won homesteads for their valor or devotion. So why in the Seven Hells were they patrolling the caverns? It just didn’t make sense, and Vasily had to know why.

Speaking of Vasily, the Windborn laid with his back against the ceiling, looking down silently at the patrol below. An invisible wall of air pressure pushed him up against the rock, keeping both Spellborn against the roof and out of view. Thank the gods the hallway ceiling was so high.

The patrol grumbled amongst themselves for a little bit, clearly on edge. After a few tense moments, the highest ranked of the trio muttered something about “cave winds” and continued on, their armament clanking in their wake. Quietly, Vasily released his hands, and the two fell slowly back to earth.

“That’s a damn neat trick, Vas. Never knew you could fly. I heard only the best of the best could do that.” Joachim whispered, with admiration in his voice. Despite being rivals by blood, the two had a begrudging respect for one another.

“It’s not all that.” Vasily corrected, creeping down the hallway further. Truth be told, he wasn’t flying at all. Greater Levitation was only achieved by mastering the Precepts of Transcendence, an arduous technique taught at the heights of the Hegelian mountain range. The greater Temple of Aiwillia was located somewhere in those heights, as the priests believed they were closest to their goddess there. Vasily had personally never visited there, though. What he had done was create a short wind-pillar beneath them as a source of propulsion, and then maintain it for some time. Keeping two men aloft was no small feat, though, and he already felt sweat starting to drip down his back.

A single guard’s shadow was visible at the end of the long corridor, in front of a large padlocked door. Large enough for the armor to be carried through. Keys dangled from his waist - there would be no hiding or sneaking around this guard. Vasily moved his hands in a quick set of motions, and the guard slammed back against the door, pinned. He attempted to shout as well, but the Lesser Rite of Silence had prevented that. As the man fought for air against his unseen opponent, Vasily’s hands quivered and shook, as if they were pushing against the guard’s throat himself.

The Vodak House had not survived for generations by mere circumstance. Windborn were not seen as mighty warriors. Historically, they were stereotypically viewed as free spirited travellers and merchant lords. But there were a few tricks and techniques that, when mastered, could transform spellborn into deadly assassins. After a few moments, the man’s frantic struggling ceased, and he slumped against the ground.

“Gods damn, Vas.” Joachim said quietly.

“Relax. Lesser Rite of Silence is just a chokehold.” Vasily whispered, before sprinting down the hallway. Grabbing the keyring off the man’s belt, he quickly slotted it into the lock and unbolted the door. Then, he put the keys back onto the guard, and the two slipped through the door, closing and locking it once again. Even if the guard raised the alarm about being strangled by an invisible stranger, the Rite of Silence was a long-held secret. It wouldn’t be traced back to Vasily.

As they crept down the hallway and further deep into the earth, they reached one last door. Behind that door...something terrible rumbled - even approaching it, the two began to feel ill. Joachim began to have second thoughts - did they really wish to know what this dark secret truly entailed? Was this worth all this risk? His soul itself was warning him that something was about to happen.

“I feel it too.” Vasily said firmly, placing his hand on Joachim’s shoulder. “But the Gods would not have sent us down here for nothing. We must press on.”

And with that, the two threw open the door.

Nothing could have prepared them for what laid behind it.

In an enormous room, illuminated by flickering torches, stood a gateway of black and twisted stone. Intricate symbols and etchings covered the floor, unholy scriptures written in Garmiccian and some profane tongue, all surrounding the gateway in a circular pattern for nearly thirty meters. And between those spires of stone, a bleeding hole in the fabric of reality stood. It was as if looking through a purple and black mirror - and behind it, burning and searing flames soared, covering a blackened and ruined landscape. Just looking at it was enough to make the two feel sick to their stomachs, as if they were staring at some maggot-ridden corpse. A low pulsating rumble filled the room, sending chills up their spines.

And in front of that dreadful gate,

stood Baron Kuznetsov.

---

Dressed in a dark blue overcoat, with two large gauntlets of iron on his forearms, he stared at the two with cold fury in his eyes.

“I understand the search for answers. I really do.” he said bitterly, shaking his head in disappointment, though it was clear he was barely holding back some outburst of rage. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. But actions have consequences...and I cannot allo-”

“GREATER COMBUSTION!” shouted Joachim, throwing his hands together in front of him, fingers pointed at their target. An enormous ball of flame exploded from nothingness a meter from the Baron’s chest, sending a blinding light and heat through the room. Vasily threw his arm in front of his eyes, attempting to block the glare.

The room was silent for a moment, and for a moment, it seemed as if they were safe.

That is, until the dust cleared, revealing a figure dangling from the ceiling from a single chain, extending from his forearm to the roof.

“Quite pragmatic of you. But also quite honorless. Oh, children these days. Ignoring traditions and our heritage. I fear for the future.” Nikolai laughed derisively, though his boots were completely burnt through, revealing nasty red burns and raw flesh on the soles of his feet. Fast, but not fast enough to completely escape. It gave Vasily hope.

“Who are you to speak of heritage! You are a miserable heretic, consorting with the Dark! You deserve no such honors!” he shouted back, hoping to distract the egotistical lord. Puffing up his chest with a deep breath, he drew his shortsword - an assassin’s weapon. Taking a step forward, he pointed an accusatory finger at his temporary liege.

“But nevertheless. I am Vasily Vodak, son of Istvan Vodak, Child of Aewillia, rightful heir to the remnants of the former Rzeka Province, and I will put you down like the wicked creature you have become!”

Joachim proceeded to raise a single pointing finger at Nikolai as well, his cloak flaring dramatically behind him. Vasily’s heart sunk in his chest - such a proclamation was supposed to be an opening for his companion, not a true declaration of the rites.

“And I am Joachim Novak, son of Janos Novak, Spark of Pyrastar, Third Heir to the Gavan Province, from the line of the Great Builders of the Holy Light! I will burn you and your miserable pagan creation to cinders and ash!”

Nikolai bowed stiffly at each in turn, in accordance with the ancient customs. It was an ageless tradition, meant to turn away the judging stare of the Gods from the bloodshed that was destined to follow. He had a dry smirk on his face, the right side of his mouth twitching slightly.

“I accept your challenge and decrees, little lordlings. I am Nikolai Kuznetsov. Baron of Morozov Province, Lord of the Iron Keep. Son of Petyr Kuznetsov, Seventh Heir to the Port City of Kamenistaya. Former General of the Third Imperial Battalion of the Imperial Reclaimant Jeramiahde Ottos Norn-Darekuth the Sixth. Seventh Seat at the Council of Lords. Faithful disciple of the Unrelenting and Unstoppable God of War and Industry, Ferruoston, through whom which I am eternally blessed. And I will do what I must for the good of our country.”

At once, there was an explosion of light and sound. Vasily propelled himself violently at his opponent with a powerful jet of wind at his back, launching him forward for a critical strike. At the same time, Joachim let loose with a terrible stream of fire directed at the Baron, only to miss. In an instant, Nikolai rappelled back away from both, a cable of steel forming from the thick armor affixed around his forearms, yanking him away from danger and towards the back of the chamber.

Two on one was not favorable odds, even with skill and experience on his side. But if you wanted to do something right, you had to do it yourself. Sure, it would have been easy to bring a whole patrol in and arrest the two, but…pride was certainly a personal vice of his. He wanted to brush off the dust and prove to himself that he still had it. It’d been a while since he had honed his skills against any real opponent.

He had known of their little escapade from the moment they had travelled down into the mines. No, he had known of it long beforehand. The way that the Windborn stared at their project, the way that he had asked for the library key, the missing books...it was obvious. Sergeant Andor had immediately reported back to him personally once the bribe had been given. The two had been fools for assuming that his men could be bought for such a paltry sum.

Vasily launched after him in hot pursuit, leaping from the ground nearly to the other side of the chamber. The agility on this one was impressive. “Ferrouston’s Spears!” Nikolai snapped, and pointed bolts of iron burst from his left gauntlet, shooting at the Windborn. They narrowly missed, scraping against the wall of the cavern. Vasily landed nearby, somehow clinging to the wall. Simultaneously, Joachim launched several Combustions, fireballs exploding the walls around and above him. A poor aimed shot, to say the least. This one had more talent and would pose more of a threat, but he seemed to be consumed by fear. A blessing for certain.

A split second later, the Windborn was at his throat, sweeping a cruel slash at his vitals. Nikolai deflected the blow with his armoured forearm, and then immediately fused the shortsword to it. Vasily clung to it for a moment, attempting to pull it away for another strike, before letting go and falling towards the ground. Nikolai chased after him, the tendril rapidly lengthening to drop him alongside - alas, the Windborn was faster, and launched himself across the chamber with a blast against the wall.

Nikolai landed, the metal line whipping back from the ceiling and absorbing back into the gauntlet. Nikolai pointed at the other side, and yet another tendril shot out to the other side of the chamber, towards the entrance. But before he could chase the Windborn once more, Joachim blasted it with a burst of flame, melting it into useless slag. No matter. Range was fine.

“Ferrouston’s Arrows!” Nikolai shouted, launching metal darts at Joachim. They whizzed through the air, ready to embed in the youth’s chest.

“Holy Shield of Pyrastar!” cried Joachim in return, surrounding himself in a fiery barrier of light. The metal darts bounced away, evidently blasted away by the force of the explosion. Frustrating. Suddenly, he was deafened - and his left leg exploded in a shower of blood, a huge gash slicing through the plate-mail beneath.

“Cutting Wind!” yelled Vasily, making yet another slicing motion with his arm. There was an explosive noise, the crack of thunder during a storm, and the floor exploded upwards in a shower of rocks and debris.

“Iron Sealing!” Nikolai roared in response, and his wound stitched itself shut with thin threads and needles of metal. It hurt. A lot. Suddenly, yet another Greater Combustion went off in front of his chest, blasting him across the room. The blast would have certainly killed a lesser man. But Spellborn did have a certain hardiness to them. Nikolai stood, the world spinning around him.

“Kolya’s Seeking Shield! Ferruston, protect your servant! Iron, copper, and blood!” he shouted, crossing his arms across his chest and performing some adept footwork, whilst muttering the necessary further verses as he did so. His gauntlets exploded away from him, twisting and molding into several floating circular shields. Vasily launched another Cutting Wind at him, but the shields leapt in front of the way as if they had minds of their own, cracking and shattering - but absorbing the blow. “GREATER COMBUSTION!” shouted Joachim once more, but the shields somehow deflected the blast into the wall, which exploded into a mess of melting slag.

It only gave him a few seconds, but that was likely all he needed. “Seeking Shields, I discharge thee from your service! Greater Reformation! Steel Embrace!”

In a flurry of sight and sound, the shields melted mid-air, becoming liquid iron which bound itself once more to his forearms, hardening and reforming into the gauntlets once again. They were lighter than they were - he was losing metal. Fast.

Pointing at Joachim, he shot a tendril into the wall to the right of the Fireborn, and then contracted it, rocketing himself across the room. To keep himself from smashing against the wall and meeting an untimely demise, he shot one upwards, tethering into the ceiling. In a marvelous confluence of skill and strength, he landed a dreadful kick into Joachim’s chest from the velocity of the first tether, before instantly pulling himself away with the second. Joachim slammed against the wall, the wind knocked from his chest. Nikolai dropped back down to the ground.

“The Sixfold Swords of Saint Smolonev.” he said casually, and the gauntlets burst out into three metallic whips each that lashed and twisted on their own, as if they possessed some sort of sentience. Vasily launched a column of air at Nikolai, attempting to blast him away. Autonomously, the whips anchored into the stone floor of the room, causing Nikolai to skid backwards in a spray of sparks and shrapnel. Pointing at Joachim, his left arms wrapped around the fallen Fireborn, wrapping around his arms and legs, binding them tightly together. The Fireborn squirmed and fought against the chains, but to no avail.

“I don’t intend to kill either of you. Memories can be twisted and minds rewritten. The Emperor would be quite displeased if I murdered his children. Surrender now, and your transgressions will be forgiven!” Nikolai shouted to Vasily, turning around to face him.

“Trangressions? Who are you to speak of transgressions, blasphemer? I’d rather die!” yelled Vasily back, propelled by righteous fervor.

Perhaps Nikolai would grant this one’s request. The youth was so pious, so noble, and so especially irritating.

“Windwall Ward!” Vasily whispered to himself, crossing his arms in front of himself, and then extending them out in front, spinning twice rapidly. At once, the sound of a rushing wind filled the chamber, though nothing could be visually seen. Nikolai casually launched a few more thin bolts at the Windborn, and they were hurled far across the chamber, redirected by the protective currents circling Vasily.

Nikolai scoffed, slowly walking closer. So he wanted to fight hand to hand? A foolish mistake. The three remaining Sixfold Swords melted, mid-air, convulsing and twisting from whips into sharp pointed spears, supported mid-air by chains leading to Nikolai’s hands.

Suddenly, Nikolai choked for air. His feet left the ground as he floated upward, hung by an invisible noose of some sort. He gasped and kicked, his face turning a horrible pale as he rose upwards in front of the gate. Towards the west side of the room, Vasily twisted and contorted his fingers terribly, his joints cracking from whatever strenous execution was necessary for this murderous spell.

“Goddess Aiwillia, hear my plea! Let your swift winds of justice reign! May the heretic and the devil hang! GREATER RITE OF SILENCE!” he cried out, arms trembling from the effort. Nikolai had never seen or felt such a spell before, and dim spots grew in his vision as his throat constricted under the force. Was this it? Was this the end?

No. With a silent shout, he willed the remaining iron he had into his throat. Wordless casting was possible, but incredibly difficult...and incredibly dangerous. A single lapse in concentration could be lethal. Portions of the gauntlets melted and surged up his arms and neck, before making their way into his mouth. It was cold and awful, liquid metal sliding down his throat, and for a moment, he thought he would choke on his own spell. Vasily seemed unaware, still transfixed in his murderous casting. With immense difficulty, Nikolai formed a band of iron in his own throat where the lethal pressure suffocated him, keeping it from crushing his windpipe.

He still couldn’t breathe. The spell was twofold - a sphere of asphyxiating stale air, combined with an ungodly crushing force upon the neck. No wonder he had never seen or heard of such a spell - it was the kind of thing that men didn’t usually live to tell others about. His legs kicked, his vision flashed, his lungs screamed for air. He had to break free. Had to break. Concentration. Had to. Air. Had to. Had

Survive.

Through bloodshot eyes, he saw Joachim struggling against the binds, still attempting to break free...and a sudden realization burst through his mind. With quite possibly the last of his concentration, he launched one of the Sixfold Spears at the Fireborn, impaling him through the midsection. It made a dreadful squelching sound as it went in, pinning him to the ground. A mortal wound.

“No!” gasped Vasily, and the spell shattered, a sound like broken glass and rushing winds filling the air.

And then...he collapsed, the exhaustion of the spell overcoming him at last. The war of attrition had been lost - despite inflamed emotions and roaring passions, the youth simply did not have enough experience of pushing the body beyond its limits. As the strength drained from him and his eyes flickered, there was a single moment of overwhelming despair, as he realized they had failed.

and then darkness.

---

Nikolai dropped to the ground, landing roughly, his left leg making a sharp snap as he hit. Pain flooded his body along with fresh air, but pain was good. Pain could give focus. Pain could ground.

“Cast Iron.” he muttered through clenched teeth, and his right gauntlet melted into a sort of rudimentary cast along the broken shin and burnt foot, serving as a simple prosthetic. He stood, looking at the gurgling Joachim and the unconscious Vasily. What a mess. And he’d almost lost his life, lost everything he’d worked for, due to some foolish, childish arrogance. Pathetic. Letting his temper rule him again. What an embarrassment.

The silence was broken by a single clap. Then another, and another in turn. A slow, mocking clapping filled the chamber, and the voluptuous figure leaning against one of the Gateway pillars laughed delightedly. Unseen until this very moment. She would have been attractive, pale and fair, with womanly curves and delicate features...asides from the other features, of course. Joachim’s eyes opened wide in shock - both from what he was witnessing, as well as actual medical shock most likely.

“Well done, well done! Absolutely delightful!” she cajoled, striding towards Nikolai with a sultry strut. “I was worried there for a minute, but I should have known better! You were worth Temnota’s recommendation after all.”

“Shut up.” Nikolai spat through strained vocal chords, blood splattering on the floor.

“Oh, but his face when you speared his comrade. The pain in it. I don’t think I’d ever grow tired of it.” she said, pleasure filling her voice. “Delicious.” she finished, her tongue licking her plump ruby lips.

“You knew. You knew I would be here. You knew I was on the verge of death, and you didn’t lift a finger.” he whispered hoarsely, his voice near gone.

“We know many things.” she replied with a crazed smile, pushing a single dainty finger to his lips, her batlike wings fluttering behind her. “Such as the outcome of this fight, perhaps.”

“Hmph.” he coughed in disdain, the exhaustion of the fight beginning to fall on him like the weight of the world. Now that the adrenaline was fading away, he knew that he didn’t have long. “Bring...these two to Temnota. Tell him to...flay…” he coughed, more droplets staining the floor. “Flay their minds.”

“Every action has a consequence and every deal has a price, love.” the Daemonne warbled in a cheerful voice, despite looking at the beaten man with contempt. “What shall we receive in turn?”

“Piss off.” he hacked, forming a simple stool from the last remnants of his gauntlets to sit on and rest. “Temnota ordered you lot...to meet my every accommodation. Don’t...try your trickster,” he wheezed, “deals...on me. I’m fine to let them die.” he finished, lying through his teeth. Truth be told, if they died, it would be the end of all their plans. Joachim's father was a powerful man - the death of his son would surely send the Emperor's inquisitors flooding to the province.

He held no affection in his heart for his business partners. In fact, he hated them. He could feel his instincts screaming at him to gut her like a fish. Which he could, easily. Even after all this. Vasily was right. He was a traitor and a heretic. But Vasily didn’t have all the puzzle pieces. "He just doesn't understand that everything I'm doing is for the good of our country." Nikolai thought, strengthening his resolve once more. Tilting his head up, he stared the horrid creature directly in her beautiful eyes, a cold and unblinking stare.

“But pray to your God that Temnota is feeling merciful when he hears of your insubordination.”

A deadly calm filled the chamber for a few tense moments, and then she huffed in anger.

“Fine. At least help me move them through the Schism.” she said irritably, all her former pleasure gone up in smoke. “And stitch up that one so he doesn’t die on the way, would you?”

[Ameriganastan]

"I'm going to kill him this time. I swear by father's great flaming sword that I'm going to rip him in half when I find him."

A very agitated Belle stood on the ice floe with the now slumbering Erosen. Her mood just a little bit sour on account of being drenched in monster blood and viscera.

"He tosses me in a monster's maw, and now look at me. I was an Angelle warrior once. Now I'm covered in grunge because a crazy old fool used me like a javelin."

Grumbling, she looked down.

"And this child. Look at him. He just ripped a leviathan to pieces with dark magic, and now he's sleeping like a baby...but I suppose he did assist us."

She looked around, acting like she was afraid someone was watching her.

"I don't trust you like Eric does, darkling. But I'll be nice just this once."

Floating a ways away, Eric was just relaxing.

"Crazy day. Don't know how I'm gonna top that one."

"If you ever try to top that, I'll slice both your Achilles tendons so you can never walk again."

Belle appeared fluttering above him, Tristan and Ero held under each arm like they were grocery bags.

"Oh, hey Belle. Mind if I get a lift?"

She shook her head.

"My hands are full as you can see. You're swimming back to the nearest ship. I'm going to drop Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Darkling here off, and take a much needed bath. Preferably with one of the more appealing ladies on that ship. I deserve it after what you put me through. Now swim, bitch."

She flew off, leaving Eric to sigh and begin swimming.

"Sheesh. Someone is crabby today..."

[Lazarian]

As the flock of avian beasts began to thin, Katya’s vision grew blurry and her head pounded, Ferruoston’s hammers at work in her skull. Squinting intently, she attempted to focus on her targets. As her legs quivered, she grimaced. Was that a single gull? Three? The creature shifted and duplicated in her vision, and she blinked, attempting to clear the afterimages. Biting her lip to focus, she took a deep breath and took aim. With a whip of her arm outwards, another cannonball rocketed outwards towards the pack, leaving a thunderous clap in its wake. Thankfully, she had guessed right, and another creation of Watchtower exploded into a shower of oily rain and feathers. Seconds later, she fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The swirling and howling wind around her died down to a gentle breeze, mopping her sweaty hair across her drenched forehead and red cheeks. PYRASTAR, that hurt.

“You alright there, miss?” interjected Sergeant Bailey, setting the cannonball he was holding onto the ground. The other sailors who had been supplying her with ammunition looked briefly concerned at her collapse, but once it was evident she was still conscious, they quickly departed to bolster their comrades.

“It’s fine.” she gasped, eyes pinched tightly shut. “Just a moment. I’ll be back up in a second.”

Pushing him away as he drew close to give her a hand, she attempted to pull herself to her feet - only for her trembling legs to collapse beneath her. Bailey caught her before she faceplanted onto the deck, and he shook his head.

“Don’t think so, miss.” he said firmly, setting her down in a seated position against the helm.

“No!” she protested, pushing herself back up. It was a good thing her father wasn’t here right now. Letting herself get worn out by a few cannonballs. She was clearly out of practice. “I’ll rest when we’re out of dang-”

Suddenly, a powerful roar shattered the air, and a massive sea serpent’s head burst from the sea. Katya gasped in awe at the sight, admiration mixed with terror. She had heard of tales of krakens and sea serpents, but to see one in the flesh was a novel experience. It was a surprisingly bright green for something that lurked in the depths of the ocean, with thick scales covering its fanged skull. It was torn and chipped, with cracks and slices in the armor, indicating that this creature had been haunting the ocean for quite some time. But most interesting of all were its purple eyes, which seemed to gleam with intelligence. A formidable opponent, to say the least.

One of the nearest warships was quick to react, and a cavalcade of cannon fire erupted from the aft side of the ship into the creature’s thick neck. It seemed to be to no avail, though, as the creature made no indication that the strike had harmed it in the slightest. It thrashed and bashed its armored skull into the Devil’s Luck, crashing through the top deck and sending wood and splinters everywhere. Ulric was closest to the beast, thrown against the ship railing by its attack, and she cringed, anticipating for the feeble old man to be devoured.

To her surprise, said old man was not feeble at all, apparently. He spun away, stumbling across the deck, before shouting a counterattack into existence.

“LOHENGRIN!” he cried, and a blazing spear of lightning launched from his arm and into the beast’s damaged scales. The air was torn asunder, and the clap of thunder echoed about the fleet as the beast thrashed and screeched in the water. He shouted something to the soldiers nearby, but she couldn’t hear him over the chaos. Or the ringing in her ears, caused by the cacophony of last few moments.

Seconds later, Eric hurled Belle into the air, and the sword-woman spun in a dramatic arc upwards. Katya followed it with her eyes, only to instantly regret it when the sword burst into the form of an Angelle. And not the sort of Angelle depicted in the storybooks for children or the lovely servants pictured in the stained glass windows of the chapel. No, this was a Valkerrigan - or, at the very least, the creation that had inspired the legends in the first place. It was a faceless, featureless being with wings of fire, pulsing heat and power like the sun. The sky and surroundings seemed to darken around Belle simply by sheer comparison, and Katya threw her arm in front of her eyes, attempting not to be completely blinded by the awe-inspiring sight.

“YOU! ACCURSED DEMONIC CREATIONS! TASTE THE UNBRIDLED FURY OF THE CHOSEN OF PRYASTAR! AND LET HIS HOLY FIRE OBLITERATE YOUR WORTHLESS FORMS! I SAY UNTO THEE BURN!"

With a wave of her hand, what remaining fell-gulls that were puttering about were utterly vaporized. Not even a speck of ash left.

"AND YOU, ACCURSED MENACE OF THE DEPTHS! LET THE FLAMING SWORDS OF DAMNATION MAKE YOU RUE THE DAY THE NETHER SPIT YOU INTO EXISTENCE AND DARED CROSS ME!"

Six flaming swords, each at least several stories tall, materialized out of nothingness and circled above the beast for a moment.

"BE BURNED AWAY!" Belle finished, and the swords of fire plummeted like meteors into the sea as the creature fled from the holy light. It was an incredible sight, something out of the ancient days when the gods walked the earth rather than their modern era. Columns of steam and smoke erupted from the ocean as the swords chased the beast into the deep. However, the mist that rose from the explosion was acrid and foul, the bubbling blood of the beast mixing with the vapor of the sea. It obscured nearly the entire ship in a dark cloud of choking smoke.

"Be careful, everyone!" Tristan shouted out. Thankfully, she could hear him - he was close. "Wherever that thing went, it won't be gone for long." He stated. Turning back and forth, he looked around with intent until he locked eyes on her, before shouting out to her. "Katya-" he called out to her, only to start coughing afterwards due to the fumes in his lungs. "Get rid of this fog if you can!” he finished, before turning to the other soldiers and spellborn around him and shouting orders. A natural-born commander, if there ever was one. She stared at him and his handsome features dreamily for a few moments, before being jolted back into reality by a deep breath of disgusting smoke.

Her mind raced for a moment - was there actually a spell or rite to dispel smoke? Of course there was, she knew, but did she know any? Basic blasts of wind would punch a few holes through the fog, but it wouldn’t be quite sufficient. A whirlwind might work, but she wasn’t sure if she had the energy in her to pull that one off again. Maybe it would be easier to move the ship out of the fog rather than move the fog out of the ship?

Seconds later, the sea serpent burst forth from the sea once more, though it was difficult to see through the steam and fog. The smell of burnt rancid meat and saltwater filled the air, a sickening combination. Violet lights pierced the darkness, giving them all some indication of the creature’s location. Suddenly, an enormous wave hit the ship, throwing several sailors (and Katya) off their feet and onto the ground. Seconds later, there was a huge impact and a terrible cracking and splintering sound, and the ship rocked and shook like they were in the midst of an earthquake. As she rolled and tumbled around on the unstable and violent deck of the ship, Katya grabbed hold of one of the many riggings, quickly attempting to right herself. The sound of creaking wood echoed through the air, and Katya gasped, realizing that moving the ship out of the fog wasn’t an option anymore. Any more pressure on the mast was likely to snap it. A wall of ice materialized around the mast, crystalizing and forming tightly around the damage. And not a moment too soon - seconds later, the serpent struck once more, cracking and shattering the ice.

She could hear Tristan’s voice through the chaos, shouting about how the wall wouldn’t last much longer. Presumably talking to Lis, judging by the crackling and sparks that followed. They were both lucky, really. Her mind was racing - what were the steps to Aiwillia’s Cleansing, again? Gods, why hadn’t she studied more? She had one job. Literally one job!

It probably wasn't the best spell for the situation, but a whirlwind would have to do. Bracing herself, she raced through the steps in her mind. One step forward with the left foot, then one with the right. Arms out to the sides, then left up and right down, bent at the elbow. Clasp hands above head. Half-circle with left foot. Half-circle with right foot. Spin once. Bring hands to front, palms together facing upwards. One step forward left, one step forward right. Arms to sides, left up right down. Getting into the rhythm, she took a deep breath, and launched the spell into motion.

“Goddess Aiwillia, grant me your strength! Once more, I call upon your vengeance! Greater Windstorm!”

A distance away from the ship, the wind howled and the sky darkened, mist bursting from the ocean and spinning about. A waterspout was dangerous and impossible to control (after all, the ocean was most certainly not Aiwillia’s domain), but it was unlikely she’d have enough strength to sustain it if it grew to truly dangerous proportions. The air around the ship began to clear as the black smog drifted away, spiraling upwards into the newfound vortex forming above the sea.

One whirlwind was enough to sap her limited reserves of energy - a second was nearly too much to bear. Her very bones felt like they would snap, and she collapsed to her knees, hands raised up to the sky. As the smoke drifted away and their vision cleared she stared at the beast, which recoiled as another cannonball struck it. It opened its jaws and roared, and...the unmistakable figure of Erosen leapt into its gaping mouth, before vanishing from view. The creature's gaping fangs slammed shut, and Lisoette's scream pierced the air.

She panicked for a moment and screamed, concentration shattering like glass. The soldiers around her looked especially concerned, though less because of the stranger’s inevitable death and more because the acrid smoke began to drift back towards the ship as the winds began to subside. The waterspout began to crumble, splashing loudly back into the salty ocean from which it came. For a moment, she was lost in grief and anger. She had just gotten to know the man, and then he’d gone and jumped into a Sea Serpent. How inconsiderate of him to go and make her feel for him, only to die! How...why had he done that? Surely he had things to live for...right?

They still had so many questions to answer together, and stories to tell, and maybe...

“Miss,” prompted Sergeant Bailey, shaking her out of her shock, “I’m sure you’re upset for your friend, but this is no time to mourn. That smoke’ll choke us all if it drifts back.”

“Oh...yes.” she replied hazily, majorly disconcerted from exhaustion and emotions. No, she couldn’t let that happen. No more losses today. Shaking her head, she took the proper stance for the spell once more, going through the complicated motions to revive the whirlwind. As she hazily made her way through the footwork, the back of her mind whipped through rationalizations and lies to make herself feel better. Erosen would be fine. He could literally teleport, right? This was some sort of strange attack. She believed it. She had to believe it.

Wait, why was she so attached? They didn’t even know each other that well.

Well, she could sort out her feelings later.

As she strained to keep the dark smoke away, she could hear Tristan and the others fighting the beast. She heard the sound of ice shattering, thunder and lightning, and barrages of cannons and musket-fire, followed immediately by a dreadful and defiant roar.

Then another wave of smoke enveloped the deck of the Devil’s Luck and the world went black in a choking fog. Sailors shouted in dismay, and she could hear coughing and retching all over the deck. Perhaps she would have panicked a few weeks ago, but her brief lessons with Lis had not been useless. The first wave of smoke was far out at sea by now, but...the prospect of creating a third twister was simply too much. But if she didn’t manage to get rid of this somehow, the men manning the cannons wouldn’t be able to keep the beast at bay. Dozens of sailors would slowly choke to death as the air left their bodies. Perhaps they would lose the battle entirely and go to a watery grave, her letter undelivered and her friends dead.

Her father always had said that using the powers of a Spellborn wasn’t necessarily about piety, or physical strength, or even intellectual knowledge. It was about passion and will. He may not have been the best at parenting, but perhaps...he had to be right. She thought of Erosen, somewhere in the belly of that wretched creature - of Tristan and Lis, fighting their hearts out right in the face of danger - of Alexei, up in the riggings - even of Eric, who was taking a nice cold bath right around now. And, for a moment, even the face of her father, who she would never see again if she died in some foreign continent.

Overwhelmed with passion, she closed her eyes and screamed, a wordless spell of desperation.

Suddenly, a thunderous shockwave burst in all directions, dispelling the smoke outwards in an explosion of wind and force. Bailey and the other sailors were thrown to the deck, and the ship rocked violently, creaking and shaking - but the second wave of smoke dissipated on the wind, blown into a density and thickness that would be more inconvenient than dangerous.

Almost instantaneously, she collapsed, her legs useless beneath her and face deathly pale. But as she laid there on the deck of the ship, riding on the razor’s edge of consciousness, she swore that she could hear an explosion - and the dreadful squealing, shrieking, and screaming sound of a beast. Was that the sound of victory?

“I hope so.” she thought, before the blotchy spots of darkness enveloped her vision.

[Constaniana]

Being from Hell, LIsoette had more experience dealing with noxious air than perhaps anyone else in the group, but after a certain point even she started to lose her struggle against the sea serpent's gas attacks when it had tried cloaking itself in more smog. She supposed this demon wouldn't have still had the trait if it wasn't effective on other Hellspawn. Most spawn-maestros she was aware of anticipated having to use their creations against Daemonnes and their own demons as much as against Heavenborn and Elementals, if not more so, especially with Kayarost no longer around to keep the endless blood feuds in check. Lis had held on as long as she could, stabbing away, but eventually realised if she didn't back off she would pass out. She tried looking around for Tristan, but the smog was too thick for her to see where the Champion of Ice was.

"Trista-boo? Tristan?" cried Lisoette, before she began to cough. If Mr. Frost could even hear her over the cacophony of combat then Mrs. Frost couldn't hear him replying to her. She squinted her violet eyes in an attempt to shield them the tiniest bit from the vile smoke, and took one last vain look around for him. The Daemonness couldn't focus long enough to sense his aura in between coughing now, so she took the only option she thought she had left, to fall back to the Devil's Luck. While visibility was low around her, she could still see somewhat of the vessel's silhouette through the black mist, and cannonballs fired from it at the demon confirmed her position. Lisoette pulled both her weapons out of the demon's scales, then quickly kicked off against it with both feet and fired a concussive pulse of Dark magic at the thick armour. Under normal circumstances she would have disguised her magic, but lighting lacked the force needed to propel her through the air all the way back to the deck. The smoke was thick enough that she was sure nobody would see it, anyway.

The Loyal Host seemed to have excused that action, as she safely landed back on the ship. While the air onboard still wasn't exactly fresh, it seemed the smoke was slightly diluted by the distance, and it was enough for Lisoette to stay awake. Once more at a range where she was of little use, and still unable to see where Tristan was, she made herself busy helping tend to the wounded. Lisoette's first aid expertise primarily consisted of treating jellyfish and lionfish stings, the occasional crossbow bolt when Watchtower cultists got lucky, and sunburns, but the medics aboard were stretched thin and welcomed any help they could get. She had just finished stuffing gauze into a somewhat deep gouge a fell-gull had made in a soldier's left bicep when she heard Katya scream and spend the last of her strength on blowing away the smog before collapsing, and the sea-serpent scream and die at last. It was a good thing she had been kneeling to tend to the soldier, as the subsequent waves made by the magical detonations caused a lot of those standing near her fall over.

"Brilliant, add concussions to the list of things we have to check for!" she heard Dr. Bollind, an army physician, shout, prompting tired laughter from his helpers. Lisoette went over to check on Katya. Her Garmiccian friend was still breathing, thankfully. The Wind Elemental looked frightfully pale, probably more so than usual. The Daemonness didn't see any particularly troubling wounds, aside from a minor scratch or bruise here or there. Lisoette reckoned Katya had most likely pushed herself to exhaustion, as she had never seen Katya cast so much magic for as long as she had been doing during the fight. Hopefully the exiled noblewoman could get enough sleep to restore her magic reserves before they arrived at Towraigth, in case there was more fighting awaiting them.

"You did well, Katya," Lisoette said softly to her unconscious friend, smiling like an older sister, when Belle Lame flew down to deliver Erosen and Tristan, "Oh, thank you thank you thank you Belle!" said Lisoette more loudly, embracing the still-sleeping Tristan tightly. The medic team looked warily at Erosen, as apparently the ominous reputation he had cultivated had gotten to them too. Dr. Bollind seemed unfazed by it, quickly stripping the Darkling off his soaked coat and replacing it with a dry blanket before snapping at some of the able-bodied soldiers milling about to help him carry Erosen below deck to warm him up. The Messenger was quick to respond, and once the paladin went into action the normal men seemed willing enough to do as well. Not much was said amongst the members of the party for a little while after that, as they all either had work to do, or were in no shape to do or say anything.

---

Aboard the G.F.S. Bullrush Colonel Firman looked with awe at the sight of the hellish sea monster being incinerated from within, and the Angelle resplendent in the sky above it all. It was nice to be on the side that had magical champions for a change. There had been doubts in his mind as to whether his regiment of infantrymen would be able to defeat demonic legions without support from artillery and cavalry regiments, as well as whether it had been a good idea bringing random volunteers along with his professionals, but after this opening battle he felt some confidence in their chances of success. At the very least, bringing along the misfits in a stolen pirate ship had certainly been one of the better decisions made thus far. The colonel looked around at his men with a determined smile on his face, stood up on a nearby fell-owl corpse, and addressed them.

"Proud men of the Fifty-Third Regiment of Foot! Our foe must have heard of our coming, and sent these foul fowl to attack, for they knew that their only chance to survive lay in catching us off-guard, fighting where we are not as well-trained! They knew that once you all make landfall in the Thin Isles that it is the beginning of the end for them! I do not say that it will be easy. I know there will be many more of these ghastly flying terrors, and whatever other monsters they have cooked up there, from all the stories I've heard of Watchtower. I know that we will have to struggle against the bitter cold; winter is much harsher here in the north than at home in beloved Villderia. The woods in our destination may have polar bears or monkeys or whatever they have up here as hungry and belligerent as you. There may be times we lack for food, or worse: it tastes bad," He paused as the men chuckled, "We may run low on vital ammunition or medicine; your letters from home may take longer to reach you. Loyal Host forbid it, there may even come a black and horrid day when your pay is late!"

Some things in a profession change with time, while others remain the same, preserved as a profound historical constant. One of those things that will probably never change in the profession of arms is whinging about finance, and such was the case in the Galllian Federal Army.

"Then again, I don't know what you'd even be able to buy out where we're going, so what does it matter anyway?" Firman continued once the hearty laughter from his most recent joke had subsided, "Take the wrath that worrying about your pay has no doubt stirred in your hearts, and turn it against the cowards who send ugly birds to fight us in their place, while they keep themselves occupied murdering our fellow citizens of the Federation! As I said before, once we land it is the beginning of the end for these monsters! Though windy and treacherous the road may be, I have the utmost faith you all shall march along its full length to the bitter end, driving the foe out village by village, isle by isle. I did not expect our deployment to the north to turn out like this, but there isn't a regiment in all the world I would rather be leading into this trial. Let us show the reservists, the duke's men, and the random volunteers off St. Veowulf's streets accompanying us how the men of the Galllian Federal Army do battle! And let us show the demons awaiting us how the men of Gaiaca mow them down like wheat!" He held Heartstriker aloft at the conclusion of his speech, the winter sun glinting off his sword's steel where it was not covered in tainted blood, and his cheering warriors answered by raising their pikes and muskets and swords.

Aboard another federal vessel, the G.F.S. Advantagia, a younger man also watched the death of the sea-serpent. Where Colonel Firman had looked with reverent awe, the eyes of this major, one red and one blue, seemed more cool and analytical. The ensuing shockwaves that rocked the fleet failed to make him lose his footing, though his black hair did get messed up somewhat by the wind. The ship he was aboard seemed to have suffered little damage during the battle. Watchtower's creatures had certainly tried, but they had mostly wound up as charred heaps on the deck, or had been snatched up by the sea and drowned.

"Quite the sight, eh Major Farongul sir?" asked Lieutenant Rosenberg, a brown-haired, newly-commissioned officer in the 2nd Battalion's A Company, "I dare say it almost looks like someone over there might be able to give you a run for your money in the sorcery department, sir," the wiry young man joked, before he seemed to worry that his excitement in getting to serve under a war hero was making him forget proper customs and courtesies. The major turned to look at him, a curious, bemused look in his eyes, to which Rosenberg snapped to attention and saluted, "Not to ever say you're lacking in that area of course, my lord; your performance in this battle absolutely vindicates your illustrious reputation, sir!"

"Does it now, Lieutenant Rosenberg?" Major Karolus Asmund Schneizel Van Farongul replied with a chuckle, returning the salute, "Oh, that didn't even count as a warm-up; it was just Watchtower embarrassing themselves. I'll call it a battle when those fools actually make me break a sweat. Hopefully you get to really see me in action over the course of this campaign." Once more he turned to look out over the waves to where the clash with the sea serpent had taken place. Lieutenant Rosenberg thought his superior seemed more restless and eager now, as if he were sizing up his competitors before running a race. Perhaps talking about future fights had simply excited the Mountain Kommandant; after all, his love of battle was known far and wide. That might have been a worrying trait were he an ordinary man, but there was something about his presence that made Rosenberg also want to see Farongul go all out, a sense of raw talent and power that was sufficient collateral for any martial boast.

"I hope so too, sir. I'll take my leave now," said Rosenberg, giving another salute before finding something else to do in preparation for moving into position around the Isle of Strond.

---

Towraigth, East Aigth, Albrion, United Galllian Federation
Wednesday, 4:28 PM, 19th of December, 1781 G.C.C

The sun had set half an hour before they reached their destination, sinking off the fleet's port side. Strike Force Hound, the transports for 2nd Battalion's A Company and their warship escorts, had been first to split off, turning to face towards the dimming sun and the Isle of Strond. Strike Force Fox had peeled away 15 minutes ago to reinforce Mithsbow. Now Strike Force Wolf, the bulk of the expedition's forces, was making its way into the harbour of Towraigth. The Devil's Luck was among the vessels at the front of the pack thanks to her one-legged passenger who had brought them all here. Not having a way to send a message in advance of their arrival, Colonel Firman had thought it wise for the first man to disembark in the Thin Isles to be Sergeant Daegal, one of their own, who could explain whose side these new arrivals were on, rather than risk the defenders of Towraigth thinking the arrival of supposed federal troops to be a trap and attacking their ships.

Imitation sunlight pierced through the snowy air and reflected off the dark waters, frustrating those shoals and rocks that might have sought to act as a final danger in the fleet's journey. The fact that the local lighthouse was still operational was a promising sign; at the very least it meant that the Hellspawn hadn't killed everything in the Thin Isles and burnt it all down. Gaiaca's larger moon, Alulchè, was a waxing gibbous, rising in the starboard horizon. Tonight its sister satellite Zühaku was a shrouded new moon, leaving Alulchè with only the stars for company. Clouds dropping the last of their snow still sailed past overheard, casting shadows, while up ahead the snow that had already fallen on the land cast the moonlight back to from whence it came. As the lighthouse's beam passed by the fleet again and again one could start to see more lights being lit in the dark, indistinct echoes of voices, and silhouettes running around that indicated they had been spotted. Then at last Towraigth itself could be seen.

The first thing that might have struck an incoming observer was how surprisingly wide the harbour appeared to be, and if he had been measuring depths, how deep it was. Some trading cities on the mainland seemed to have smaller harbours than this small, isolated old town of several thousand. The large, modern ships with their deep keels would have no trouble docking here, letting them avoid the long process of unloading everyone and everything via a swarm of pinnaces. Most of the buildings of the town appeared to be squat, dense stone structures than looked more like blockhouses than fishermen cottages, with slate-coloured walls gently sloping outwards, narrow windows just the right size for pointing a musket out of, and steep roofs to make snow slide off more easily. They were arranged in smooth, precise geometric patterns, intersected by stone-paved avenues. Several taller, skinnier silhouettes of what presumably were guard towers appeared scattered throughout the town, including a cluster around a structure that was a little shorter than the towers, but with roughly the same sloped design as the normal houses. Last of all, off in the distance appeared to be another tower of some sort, but it appeared to be well outside Towraigth, with leafless trees surrounding its base. For the Southemen in the Federal transports it was an odd sight indeed; certainly not the stereotypical huts made of sod or logs with muddy pigs and children running about they might have expected from a Northemen settlement in the middle of nowhere.

Isaiah Daegal was waiting by the gangplank as the Devil's Luck came into dock in his hometown. He had worn normal civilian clothes for most of the voyage, but now was back in his black and green tunic, with a cuirass over it. With him were a squad of Federal soldiers that would thankfully be guarding him rather than arresting him, as well as the party, who he already trusted and liked, for the most part. They stood quietly as they waited for the sailors and longshoremen to finish securing the ship, noting the Bullrush come in and go through the same process as them, and more ships prepare to do the same. Soon enough all was in readiness, and the gangplank was lowered. The old marine nodded to his comrades. He then made his way down to shore, and they followed suit.

Close to where they disembarked a platoon had arrived, standing guard around another man. The other bodyguards had a more motley ensemble of equipment. Some held torches in one hand and a short sword, axe, or club in the other. Some had pikes or halberds, while most of the remainder either had bows or muskets that were probably older than a good number of the soldiers arriving to their island. In terms of armour they had little uniformity, instead wearing whatever they or their forefathers had been issued in old wars or won in old adventures. Some of the armour did not fit, and some of it was rusty. However, there seemed to be a few smartly-dressed, well-maintained exceptions. The man in the centre of the welcome party was one of them. His distinguishing physical feature was not his height, as he only had an inch or two more compared to the next tallest man around him; rather, it was the broadness of his shoulders, a physique that made it seem like he spent all his days ripping trees out of the earth with his bare hands. He too was wearing armour, a full plate suit without much adornment save for the whales engraved on the pauldrons, with a mace hanging from his belt. His open-faced bascinet permitted his bushy brown beard to protrude from his chin, similar in colour to the reindeer hide cloak that he wore. He stood up very straight, and between the fact that those around him kept glancing between him and the new arrivals one could guess he was in charge here.

Close to the leader of the group stood several figures that had the most eye-catching equipment of anyone in the welcome party. Most of it all matched; they had the same style of scarlet-plumed silver helmets adorned with a phoenix on top, and scarlet capes trimmed with gold. Some of them wore lighter or heavier armour than their fellows, but it was all made with lustrous silvery plate and emblazoned with the sun and two horizontal swords across it. In weaponry they also differed, but all of their arms were sculpted with fine craftsmanship, and appeared to have runes in them. One of the knights in front had on gauntlet-swords, one had a claymore, two had bows that looked as if they lacked a string, one had a shield and battleaxe, and another had a broadsword and shield.

Cheers arose from the larger group as Isaiah approached them, and they parted to allow their burly leader to walk towards him. Isaiah stopped a few paces away from him and saluted.

"My lord, Sergeant Daegal reports as ordered! I have successfully returned from the mission ye appointed me to, informing your liege the Duke of St. Veowulf of our plight here," he said.

"Proceed, Sergeant," the Baron of Towraigth replied in a gravelly voice, returning the salute.

"After a few days I was able to get an audience with His Grace, despite attempts at interference by Watchtower and Federal sympathisers of theirs, culminating in an attempt to arrest me on trumped-up charges as I left the sanctuary of a church to go to that very meeting. I was saved by a good-hearted band of adventurers and with their help I was able to convince the Duke to send reinforcements to deliver us," He continued, gesturing to the player characters nearby him, "The Federal Army's 53rd Regiment of Foot under the command of a Colonel Firman was in the city, rambling up towards Albrheim from Villderia or so I hear, but His Grace commanded them to come here instead. Before we set sail they managed to muster up a battalion's worth of federal reservists in the city, plus 450 ducal household guards, 200 of which are on horseback, and 300 volunteers, bringing the brigade up to 2,650 strong. There should be more reinforcements on the way, but ye would be better served inquiring about the particulars of that with the colonel, your lordship."

"Well done, Isaiah! The Thin Isles owe you a profound dept, my good man," Lord Hlojtur exclaimed. He shook Isaiah's hand, then turned to look at those who had escorted him here, "And t'would seem we owe you all a debt as well, for seeing him back safely to us. I would like to hear more of your story later, perhaps at dinner tonight, but for now I'm afraid I must attend to other matters. I, Lárentíus Agnarr Dornald Van Hlojtur, Baron of Towraigth, welcome you to my lands. With whom doth I speak?"

By now Colonel Firman and his retinue had disembarked as well, and had marched over to join the meeting. After the battle at sea the federal commander had gotten dressed in his full battle gear, placing armour over most his uniform, though his head remained covered by a tricorne hat instead of a helmet. The colonel saluted the baron, evidently having recognised him from descriptions given back in St. Veowulf, and introduced himself and his men.

"Colonel Ferdinand Frederick Lief Firman, Commander of the 53rd Regiment of Foot, at your service, your lordship. With me are my Second-in-Command Lt. Colonel Hector Oliver Beechman, my Regimental Sergeant Major Warrant Officer Henry Virgil Gernson, and Lt. Colonel Sir Godric Harald Stefna, Commander of the 4th Battalion of the Duke of St. Veowulf's Own. I must ask you, sir; what is the status of Mithsbow? It was my understanding it was under siege when Sergeant Daegal set off, and consequently I had ordered a number of my men to land there to sustain your forces while the rest of us landed here and rushed over to aid them. Has there been any change?"

"There has indeed, my good colonel. We drove off the Hellspawn besieging Mithsbow about five days after Isaiah set sail. It had mostly been small scattered engagements after that, with us running around all over this island trying to put down sneak attacks and keep them from burning any more villages or advancing from their stronghold in Kjalarrgrove to the north. The problem is it seems like when we drove them off this half of East Aigth they all retreated to Strond, so we're going to have a hell of a time trying to break the horde that's piled up there.

"It's been quiet for the past couple days, so we were trying to prepare a force to finally go relieve Strondtown here, but earlier this afternoon a decent-sized Demon-Watchtower army had the gall to attack us here in Towraigth. They hadn't been bold enough to do up until today. Watchtower made these horrible big birds. Not to be outdone, the Hellspawn brought a sea serpent to try smashing everything we had left in the harbour while their foot soldiers hammered at our walls..." Lárentíus Van Hlojtur's dark eyes narrowed grimly, "And they had the Extermination too."

"I beg your pardon, the what?" Colonel Firman interjected.

"Their ironclad of evil. We're just about certain that's the name they gave it, after hearing them refer to it by that several times, as well as some documents we've managed to collect from defeated enemies. Whatever the devil ship is called, it sat offshore, firing cannonballs and spells. They're not the only side with magic though; we already have some Elementals here of our own, and they somehow got lucky enough to damage the Extermination enough to make it retreat," the baron's chest puffed out for a moment, before he grew pensive, "But it was the strangest thing; in the thick of the fighting the Watchtower monsters and the sea serpent went mad and all rushed out to sea.

"Anyway, it wasn't long after that that we got our lucky hit on the enemy flagship, and I suppose without their aerial support they were afraid of losing it. Once the ship steamed away the enemy infantry broke and slunk back into the woods. I've been sending out patrols to try figuring out which way they went, before they get a chance to regroup, but we haven't had any success yet. Well, we can get you up to speed better indoors, out of this cold. Come with me to the castle, and let's get your men situated. Daegal, feel free to show your new allies around our town, or go to your home to get some rest if you need it."

The Baron of Towraigth and the Colonel of the 53rd walked away, discussing the situation as they went. Most of their followers accompanied them, while a few of them stayed behind to start directing the unloading of the expeditionary forces. Soldiers began marching off the ships in a hurry, searching for where they would lodge, carrying supplies, assigning jobs like sentry, and all the other myriad things they needed to do setting up in a new location. At this point the characters were free to do as they saw fit. A few of the scarlet-clad knights remained behind as well, but rather than giving any orders they approached the main characters. The one with gauntlet swords took his helmet off, revealing wavy mint-green hair of a similar colour to his excited-looking eyes.

"Is that...Tristan? Lisoette? Eric? Well isn't this a surprise? Once again you lot turn up somewhere cold in the North to help kill servants of Tenaembra," said the knight, "It's me, Sir Veryll Alfred Keirsson, the Wind Elemental. You know, from the Memory Mountains, with Sir Magnus and those necromancers we stopped before they could complete their evil plot? Huh, looks like you're missing a lot of the old group you were with. Unless a lot of them got haircuts or growth spurts, I guess. Then again, I could have just forgotten some, since I only knew you lot for a day the last time. Funny question, but didn't you have a slime girl in your group? Nobody ever believes me when I mention that part of the story. How'd you get all the way out here?"

[Ameriganastan]

Exiting the ship, Eric and his wayward bastard were having a nice little chat.

"And that's why I'm forbidden from coming within ten miles of that convent. If I'm ever spotted near there again, the mother superior swore she'd literally emasculate me and then sacrifice me in the name of Veridaelia. Apparently that sect has never done human sacrifice, but they dislike me enough to give it a whirl. But joke's on them. I still smuggled that relic out of there. Stashed it up the ol' backdoor. What is there now is a piece of costume jewelry I got from this particularly good whore in Halsbur."

"...With each passing second we speak, I am more and more repulsed that I'm your spawn."

He slapped him on the back and laughed.

"Oh, you'll come to like me. Most everyone does. There's a lot your pappy here can teach you. Like the Greased Galabow. You take some cooking oil and narrow boot..."

"Please don't pollute the boy's mind with knowledge of your debauched carnal maneuvers. He already has the misfortune of being related to you."

Stumbling off the ship behind them was Belle. Looking a tad worn out.

"Well, good morning there, slut. Someone had a busy night, I can tell. I told you to avoid the redheaded lass. Never do a redhead on a ship. They'll drain you dry."

"Noted."

She flashed onto his back in sword form as a familiar voice caught his ear.

"Is that...Tristan? Lisoette? Eric? Well isn't this a surprise? Once again you lot turn up somewhere cold in the North to help kill servants of Tenaembra," said the knight, "It's me, Sir Veryll Alfred Keirsson, the Wind Elemental. You know, from the Memory Mountains, with Sir Magnus and those necromancers we stopped before they could complete their evil plot? Huh, looks like you're missing a lot of the old group you were with. Unless a lot of them got haircuts or growth spurts, I guess. Then again, I could have just forgotten some, since I only knew you lot for a day the last time. Funny question, but didn't you have a slime girl in your group? Nobody ever believes me when I mention that part of the story. How'd you get all the way out here?"

"Well, shut the front door. Good to see you again, Alfred. And I'm afraid Blue went her own way some time ago. But forget her. I got something way cooler to show you...I know you just went back, but could you-"

"Yes, yes. I swear, sometimes you treat me like a trained seal who does tricks on command..."

Rather reluctantly, she returned to corporeal form for Sir Veryll to see, wings out just to show off a little.

"Boom, my sword was an Angelle this whole time."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Once upon a time, a dreamer dreamed a dream. It was a dream of distant shores, of jagged white landscapes and an endless blue horizon. Hundreds of barges crossed the tempestuous azure expanse, and on top of them, fearful men and women in search of their own dreams, dreams of peace and harmony, of leaving behind the paranoia and the pain and the prosecution they suffered. Many were lost in the journey, dreams that sank to the bottom of the sea never to be fulfilled. Those that persevered found a new land covered in perpetual blizzards, far from the peace and harmony they had dreamed of. But men and women, ever so crafty, ever so resilient, they killed and searched and built. They tamed the blizzard and erected a castle at its heart.

There were a prince and a princess. Or a king and a queen. Or a sage and a seer. It did not matter in the slightest. The dreamer was drawn to these figures, but events surrounding them were hazy, as if seen through a condensed glass. They dreamed of a land of their own and their dream had become true. Now they lived in the castle at the heart of the blizzard and reigned over the white realm, protecting its inhabitants. Protecting their dreams.

But then a great gaping chasm opened underneath the castle, and the jagged white landscape and the distant shores that surrounded it were blackened as darkness spewed forth from the chasm. A great conflict followed as the people who had claimed those lands fought against the black. There was a great betrayal, though the details remained veiled, and in the end the rulers of that land drove back the black by unleashing the blizzard, turning everything white once more. The castle fell into oblivion and those who yet lived went their own way. One part vowed to never speak a word of that nightmare ever again. The other vowed to never let such a heinous crime go unpunished ever again. They scattered, like snowflakes in the wind.

The dreamer witnessed all of this from above like a god on high, until he saw no more and eventually faded back into the darkness from whence he came.

...

When he woke up he could not remember much of what had happened, and he woke up not in a frigid expanse, but in a familiar bed in the belly of a boat, with his beloved wife not far, having fallen asleep while watching over him. He smiled at this and reached out to run his fingers through her golden hair. She stirred lightly, but didn't wake just yet, clearly exhausted from the arduous fight against the sea serpent. He could hardly blame her. He too was exhausted, and he hadn't even remained conscious to see the outcome of the battle, unlike her - or so he assumed. It was reasonable to think that they had been victorious, as otherwise the ship likely wouldn't be sailing still, but beyond that he had no idea how the rest of the party fared, or if there had been any significant casualties. He didn't know how they had defeated the sea serpent, or if Erosen had truly perished in his mad dash for the creature's maw.

With a sigh, he decided that he'd find out none of this if he simply continued to lie there. He was tired, sure, but the danger had passed and Elementals recovered quickly. With that in mind, he tried to sit up without waking Lisoette, which turned to be a slight struggle not due to his exhaustion, but due to the fact that a whole half of his body still hurt because of the impacts he'd received from the sea serpent. Stifling a groan, he managed to sit up and then swing his legs out of bed, standing up with some effort. He'd get better soon, he was sure.

After a moment, the ship seemed to slow to a halt, and that, combined with the general hustle and bustle on deck, tipped him off to the fact that the Devil's Luck had finally reached dry land. Smiling, he placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and lightly shook her in order to stir her from her sleep.

"Lis." He spoke softly. "We're here."

---

Tristan walked out onto the deck with Lisoette in tow just in time to join Sergeant Daegal and the others in disembarking from the ship and meeting with the Lord of the Thin Isles. Thankfully, his elegant navy blue coat had survived the adventure so far, which meant he wouldn't have to meet a Baron wearing only his old reinforced shirt. Not that that would be such a terrible thing, though - he wasn't looking much more elegant when he met the Duke of Aurenheim three years ago, and that didn't go awfully, he even got a nice shirt out of it. A shirt he lost, but still.

Plus, they couldn't care too much about first impressions when they had Eric around.

Throughout the meeting, Tristan looked around and took in the landscape that surrounded him. He had never been in this part of Gallia before, nor had he seen the type of architecture that seemed prevalent in these lands - perhaps due to the abundance of stone and the lack of other materials that would make other styles more accessible. As he turned his eyes back to the Baron and his entourage however, he noticed the attire of the knights that surrounded him. He had seen those weapons, that armor, and especially those capes before, and it didn't take him too long to recall where: the foul sepulcher to the north of the city of Auregen, where he and the Scarlet Knights of the Sun had fought against a possessed Daemonne corpse.

His suspicions were confirmed as the meeting ended. The officers from the Federation and from the Duke's household forces left with the Baron, and one of the Scarlet Knights of the Sun approached. His face did not immediately evoke a memory - Tristan hadn't been the only one to grow and change since then, after all - but his hair was strikingly familiar, and he immediately greeted them by name and went on to recount their adventures in the Memory Mountains.

"Veryll! So you became a knight? That's great news." Tristan said amicably. "As for the others, we actually separated shortly after that fight. Lis and I only met Eric and Erosen again just over a month ago in Carogne, and since then we've been tagging along with her on a diplomatic mission." He explained, gesturing towards Katya. "We took a detour to help with the Daemonne problem here in the Thin Isles, though."

Meanwhile, a pale figure cloaked in a beast's skin pried itself from the bowels of the volunteer ship, desperately crawling on all fours across the deck, headed towards the bow. There, he took a mighty leap off the ship and straight to solid ground, where he landed on his feet with a resounding thump. The figure in question was tall and muscular, with long blond hair flowing in a wild, spiky mane. He wore the hide of a massive black bear as a cloak, with the creature's maw currently pulled back instead of covering his head, and one of his arms seemed to be made of smooth grey stone instead of flesh.

"Finally! I thought I was never going to leave that ship alive!" The man declared. He was clearly not a seafarer, unlike most of the party.

[Lazarian]

---

H E L L

---

As the wagon he rode in struck a particularly rough stretch of ground, Nikolai stirred fitfully and awoke from nightmarish dreams. Where...where was he? There was a dreadful throbbing pain in his left leg, and the smell of smoke and sulphur filled his lungs. He was reclined against some sort of couch, and judging by the sound of wheels, in a wagon or carriage somewhere. His eyes slowly blinked open, and he looked fowards to the front opening of the carriage...where a winged and horned woman sat holding reins and a whip. In the background, a low rumble echoed across a dark and blood-red sky. Instinctually, he gasped in fright, and she turned, smiling cruelly.

"Aww, are these not the comforts of home you expected?" she giggled, her beautiful features marred by a foul sneer.

He stared frightened at her for a moment, and then it all began to come back, through his aching mind. Vasily's rising curiosity. The bribery. His foolish decision to confront them singlehandedly. Everything rushed back to him, and he shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

"No, not quite." he replied brusquely, with a stone face and a stern look. Fear was for the weak, and they devoured the weak alive here.

Reselia laughed daintily in response, though her voice was rather shrill for his liking.

"Sorry, love. But I'm sure you'll find our hospitality to your satisfaction, Baron. Honestly, this realm is much better than that miserable freezing wasteland you call home."

Nikolai glared, before turning away from her and looking silently off into the distance. So this was it - the Realm of the Dark. There were accounts of such a place, though he had viewed them as mere tales and legends. But it was real - a place crafted by the Oldest Child himself, made in a mockery of the waking world.

It was rare that any Spellborn entered such a place and lived. He was lucky, though he certainly didn't feel like it. His connection with Ferrouston was blunted or muted here - the iron cast he had wrapped around his broken leg seemed to tighten and loosen at random, melting and hardening. It barely held its shape at all.

Nikolai had never truly set foot beyond the Gateway - deep in his heart, he had a terrible fear of what laid beyond. They had discovered it nearly a decade ago when he had engaged in re-exploring and mapping out the old mining tunnels on which the Iron Keep was built. The sturdy picks and shovels of his workmen had uncovered it, sealed away by magic and ritual lost long ago.

"If only I had kept it sealed away." he thought miserably, putting his head in his hands.

It had been an unknown amount of time since they had passed through the Gateway. It could have been hours or days at a time. There was no way to tell, as this realm's red skies were not illuminated by any rising and setting sun. It was perpetually different shades of darkness - as if the whole realm was locked into a single eternal sunset. The land itself was broken and shattered, rough terrain filled with craters and ruins.

It appeared as if they were riding into a giant storm - clouds of smoke and ash stretched far across the crimson horizon in their path, far beyond the reach of his vision. As they entered the storm, the sky, and torrents of rain began to fall. At first, Nikolai was eager to feel the coolness of rain, a reprieve from the heat spilling from the earth here. But this sentiment vanished quickly, as the droplets of rain which fell upon his exposed hands stung and burned, hissing smoke as they dissipated upon his vulnerable flesh. He winced, before retreating back into the covered carriage. The rain seemed not to have nearly the same affect on Reselia, who sat unperturbed through the downpour.

After a few minutes, the Hellhounds pulling the cart slowly came to a stop. Reselia cracked the whip and screamed at them in some undiscernable tongue, attempting to get the howling hounds to continue along the muddied and rocky path to no avail. It was no use. After a few minutes of this, she huffed angrily, putting aside the whip and crawling into the wagon.

"We'll have to wait for the rain to subside. It's unwise to travel in this weather. Don't want to catch the attention of the Stormlurkers." she said, seeming somewhat bored.

"The what?" Nikolai replied with concern, fear catching him once more. It was an unusual feeling, and one he hated. At home, he was powerful. Capable. Men would bow at his feet at a mere suggestion. But here, he was nothing. No powers, no status - just a fragile sack of blood and bones.

"Don't you worry about it, love." Reselia giggled playfully, tenderly stroking his cheek. "Honestly, this is a great opportunity to...get to know each other a little better, if you're interested." she said, as she unbuttoned the top button of her coat and bit her lip. Her sensual curves were illuminated nicely in the red lighting, and -

"No." said Nikolai forcefully, crossing his arms. "Absolutely not. This is a business relationship and nothing more. And it's bad enough dealing business with you lot."

Reselia's face fell slightly, and her brows furrowed in slight anger. She hadn't quite expected that response. Nikolai here wasn't like Lord Temnota at all. No fun at all, honestly. Could it be that...leaning towards him, she suddenly pressed her fingertips onto his forehead. Seconds later, she raised her delicate eyebrows in surprise.

"What?" Nikolai interjected irritably, smacking her hand away.

"You're still one of Them!" she said incredulously, gritting her teeth. "Truly unexpected, considering you're working with us."

It was poor consolation coming from a Daemonne, but Nikolai breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Reselia noticed, and scowled.

"I honestly don't understand what there is to be grateful for, love." she said, the palpable tension in the carriage rising. "The only thing that means to me is that Ferruoston has grown far too soft with his children. I mean, look what you did to those poor boys back there! I couldn't have done a better job myself." she continued, raising a hand in front of her lips in feigned horror.

Nikolai did not respond, though he took a look back at the two. Joachim was deathly pale, a stark departure from the youth's typically ruddy complexion. It seemed as if he teetered on the edge of life from the loss of blood. It was fortunate that the strike had missed any vital organs, striking him in the kidney instead. Of course, even a kidney wound like that would be a fatal if not treated by a Wildborn...or the dark arts which his "allies" had at their disposal. Vasily was unconscious, thrown casually into the back of the carriage behind the reclining bench. His mouth was gagged with the tattered remains of Nikolai's suitcoat, and his arms bound behind his back with cables of iron.

Vasily opened his eyes, and saw the landscape and panicked, hyperventilating through his nose. He twisted frantically and attempted to shout through the gag, even more so once he saw the Daemonne. The corners of Reselia's lips turned into a twisted smile, and she slowly turned her head to look at the fallen Spellborn. Kneeling down on the floor of the carriage, she gripped Vasily's chin and pulled it upwards, staring him right in the eyes. His screams were muffled by the gag, but she could see the terror in his eyes. He was like a trapped animal, a hare stuck in a snare. Delightful.

"Welcome to Hell! I'm your host, Reselia! We're on the way to the torture chambers, or maybe the Latrines of the Damned if you're particularly unlucky. See, unfortunately for you, you died ignobly and pathetically, and your gods have seen fit to dispatch your soul to our realm." she said excitedly, digging her sharp fingernails into his chin until they drew blood.

Vasily's screamed for a moment further, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out again. Apparently the shock was too much for his little heart to handle. Adorable. Reselia laughed hysterically, her wings fluttering in exhilaration, before dropping Vasily roughly on the ground.

"That was completely unnecessary." Nikolai growled in protest, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles grew white.

A second later, he instantly regretted it, as Reselia kicked him in his broken knee. He screamed in agony as overwhelming pain ran through his wounded leg and spine, drowning out almost every thought. Clutching his leg, he howled in misery as tears flooded his eyes - a rare sight indeed.

"Listen here, love." Reselia hissed, digging her sharp nails into his cheeks, all her prior playfulness gone. "This is our realm. You don't tell me what is or isn't necessary. You little Elemental worm. I would kill you right here and now if it wouldn't make Lord Temnota upset. Are we clear?"

"W-we're clear. I...I apologize for speaking out of turn." Nikolai spat through clenched teeth and screaming nerves. He'd been in worse situations. He'd gotten through those. He'd get through this.

"I'm so glad we could come to an understanding, dear!" Reselia said cheerfully, though anger was still visible in her eyes. She paused for a second, lost in thought, before the corners of her lips twisted up once again.

Slowly and tenderly, she pulled his face towards hers, closing her eyes and opening her soft and delicate lips for a kiss. Disgusted, Nikolai pulled away, only to feel her nails dig further into his flesh. They were incredibly sharp - like knives piercing his skin. After a few seconds of resistance, with great reluctance, he stopped struggling and let her pull him in for a deep kiss. It was pathetic and emasculating. They both knew the only purpose of this was to demonstrate that he was completely at her mercy.

After a few seconds, she pulled away, licking her plump lips. Nikolai turned away from her, ashamed and humiliated.

"That's what I thought." she said haughtily, casually dangling the whip at her side.

[Lazarian]

Wednesday, 2:47 PM, 19th of December, 1781 G.C.C

---

IVAN

---

At the very start of the battle, at the first sight of the birds, Ivan charged bravely and heroically...

...down several flights of stairs and into the hold of the ship.

He hadn't lived this long on accident. Honor, glory, pah! All that stuff was inspirational nonsense meant to convince men to throw their lives away on the battlefield. What did it mean if you were dead, huh? Nothing, that's what. Panting heavily from the exertion of running down stairs, Ivan hurled open the storehold. Sacks of grain, hard tack, barrels of ale, a few lanterns - hey, someone had left a hat here! Perhaps he'd take that.

Catching his breath, Ivan slouched lazily on some sacks. He'd just relax here until the battle was over. It wasn't as if they would lose to some oversized geese. Hell, Kuznetsov's bitch of a daughter could probably take 'em herself. And she was probably one of the weaker Spellborn on this ship. They had the overly pious Messenger, psychotic Aerion, the Darkling, the lovebirds...oh, and Eric and his magic sword too! He actually got along to some extent with Eric - or, at least, he was always game to listen to one of the old man's depraved stories. Anyways, he wasn't afraid of the ship going under, although some poor bastards would probably end up casualties in the ensuing brawl. Well, it wouldn't be him.

It was a good thing he was wearing the dark blue gambeson coat - nobody was about to order around a Garmiccian bodyguard, no sir! These Gallian boys didn't have any rank over him. There wouldn't be a sergeant to force him to the front or a captain to berate and discipline him today. Perhaps this trip wasn't all bad, he thought, as he filched a particularly tasty-looking piece of hard tack from the supplies.

As he tempted fate, the door of the ship hold burst open, revealing a red-faced and steaming South Gallian sailor.

"I was instructed to guard the store-room!" Ivan shouted proactively, lying coming to him as easily as breathing. "Identify yourself!" he continued, brandishing the biscuit at the man.

"You were most certainly not instructed to guard the safest spot on the ship, you vile foreign barbarian!" the soldier shouted back, whipping out a short rapier in reply. Ivan looked the fellow over for a second, quickly analyzing the man. Oh, shit, were those medals? And his hat was sort of fancy-lookin', compared to the rest of 'em.

Well, shit. Looks like there was a sergeant to force him to the front after all.

"Hey, let's settle down a little!" Ivan said, lowering the biscuit and brushing the dust off his gambeson. "No need to point that thing at me. Listen, pal, I don't take orders from you. My boss is the big fella' up top. If you can get him down here to reassign me, great, but otherwise I'll be guarding this storeroom."

Ivan, in his many years of shirking duty, had never seen a man turn such beet-red. Or have such a protruding neck vein, for that matter.

"Guarding it with what, a biscuit?!" the Sergeant howled in disbelief. "You get your sorry ass up to the decks right this instant before I slice some ham off that fat gut of yours, you hear me?"

Ivan shrugged nonchalantly. He figured that this Gallian sergeant was all bluster and sound. A street dog with a loud bark but three mangly teeth. A Garmiccian sergeant would have thrown him to the floor and beat him with soap in a sock...hmm, at least thirty seconds ago.

"Nah." he said, leaning back on the sack of grain and licking the hard tack. "Gotta make sure the rats don't get into the supplies." he said, as a particularly large rat ran across the floor with crumbs in its mouth.

"You might think that because you're one of the little miss's guards, you're free to do whatever you like! That because you're not a Federation soldier, you can skirt your duty as a sailor! Well, think again!" the sergeant roared, taking a step closer. Oh, shit, maybe this guy was actually serious.

"Alright, alright!" Ivan griped, dropping the biscuit and raising his hands in the air. "Fine, I'll head up top to be reassigned. Pyrastar above, could you give a man a break?"

"No, I cannot, 'give a man a break'," the sergeant snapped back, grabbing Ivan by the sleeve and dragging him towards the door. "You know, my entire regiment was decimated when you damn backwater foreigners broke and ran at the Battle of Scheson's Bridge!" the Sergeant huffed angrily, pushing Ivan through the door.

This was true. The Garmiccian regiment at the Battle of Scheson's Bridge did in fact abandon their position, but primarily due to the sheer shock and awe at the presence of White Rose. As the White Rose is a Spellborn of Light, (which most Garmiccians do not believe exists), they believed this to be a terrible omen which spelled inevitable loss, and promptly fled. This retreat was more because of religious and cultural differences than cowardice, but the Federation forces certainly don't see much of a difference.

"You're a lot of lazy and undisciplined bastards, and I'm not letting any more of you barbarians shirk your duty!" the Sergeant continued, herding Ivan up the stairs with the point of the rapier.

Ivan was not much of a patriot, but this man was starting to rile him up. This man with the fancy hat thought that he was better, just 'cause he was a Gallian? Well, he had something to say about that.

"Say that again?" he said, turning around to face the sergeant and puffing his chest up. "You have something to say about my people? Say it to my face!"

"Alright, in case you didn't hear me the first time! You Garmiccians are a bunch of superstitious and cowardly dogs. A single Yelhennian is worth a hundred Garmiccians! Your people live in mud huts and eat potatoes for every meal!"

The sergeant, incredibly, had done what no other sergeant had ever done before. Somehow, he managed to stir Ivan's heart into action through his motivational words. It was probably the Yelhennian comment. That was a particularly insulting blow, especially due to the fact that Ivan's first girlfriend had left him in his tender youth for a strapping and handsome Yelhennien.

"That's quite enough, asshole!" squealed Ivan in righteous fervor, before angrily throwing the biscuit at the sergeant's face. It missed, clattering and bouncing down the steps. But the sergeant ducked reactively, throwing his arms in front of himself to block the blow, and Ivan seized the opportunity to do what he did best.

He ran. Right back up the stairs. Panting and gasping for air, he burst onto the deck of the ship, only to behold a giant flaming being facing off with an enormous sea serpent.

Nope.

He turned back around, only to face the fuming sergeant emerging from the hold of the ship, wielding his rapier with a murderous look in his eyes. Ivan gulped, looking around for assistance, but it seemed as if everyone was preoccupied. Oh, gods, this man was actually going to kill him. It'd get blamed on one of the birds or something. Not like the South Gallians would try to prosecute their own guy.

But fate smiled on Ivan, in the form of a giant noxious cloud of gas. As the sergeant approached, ready to dispense justice for Ivan's cowardice, the sea serpent attacked the ship, casting a thick acrid fog over the deck which greatly obscured vision. Ivan coughed and choked for a moment, and then proceeded to run right back into the hold. The sergeant looked around wildly for Ivan for a few moments, before he was immediately thrown to the deck by the great serpent attacking the mast of the ship. The ship creaked and shook violently, throwing Ivan roughly against the side of the stairs. Sliding and rolling down the stairs, he landed at the bottom with a heavy thump. He stared upwards for a moment, waiting for the sergeant to follow...but it appeared that the man was now preoccupied with more important matters.

Turning his head, Ivan found himself staring into the gun deck of the ship. Crews of sailors ran here and there, some bearing gunpowder, others cannonballs. One of the sailors turned and looked at him expectantly, gesturing to the cannonballs and then the cannons. He was mouthing something, but frankly, it was impossible to hear though the terrible din.

Screw it. It was better than being up top. Hoisting a cannonball from a nearby shot rack, Ivan sighed, begrudgingly carrying it over to a beckoning cannon. A man, it turns out, really could not get a break.

---

TIMUR

---

Carefully, Timur poured a sprinkle of gunpowder down the barrel of his musket, making sure the hammer was set into the half-cocked position. Plucking a lead bullet from his pouch, he shoved it down the barrel with the firing rod, snapped the sparker into place, and cocked the hammer fully. Muskets were relatively new to Garmiccia, with most soldiers preferring armaments of halberds, poleaxes, and pikes instead. They were difficult to make, hard to utilize, and expensive. And besides, the accuracy of the weapon left much to be desired. The only regiments that properly utilized both pike and shot were the Imperial Battalions, and only a minority of them at that. But Timur was more than capable of using one...though in a somewhat unconventional manner.

Placing the gun into position on his shoulder, he whispered a silent curse in a forgotten tongue, creating a small portal at the end of the barrel. As one of the fell-gulls swooped closer, he pulled the trigger, the hammer sparked, and the musket fired. The bullet shot directly into the portal, vanishing from sight. Timur snapped his fingers, pointing at an area in front of the creature, and the portal opened, launching the shot directly into the creature's eye. It fell to the deck, to be promptly dispatched by a group of sailors. Timur smirked slightly, before shoving the ramrod down the barrel to clean it once more.

Perhaps it was risky to utilize his powers with all these Spellborn about, but in the ensuing chaos, nobody would pay attention to a single musketeer. Besides, it was such a small trick, and he needed the practice.

Suddenly, an enormous head burst from the ocean in a cavalcade of sound and fury. It was the head of a serpent, with gleaming purple eyes framed by shining emerald scales. The beast was nearly the size of some buildings, with a gaping jaw filled with sharp teeth. And Timur could feel its presence. Its aura far outshone even the most powerful Spellborn on the ship - comparable only to Belle, and possibly even greater. It radiated a malevolence that Timur felt in the back of his mind - in some way, it was wordlessly speaking to them. It was an apex predator, preparing to feast on its prey. And it would enjoy every last second of its slaughter.

Timur stared at it for a few moments, transfixed by its beauty. It was a marvelous creature - and clearly not native to Gaiaca, either. Such dark energies could not originate from here, surely? It must have been summoned here somehow. His train of thought was derailed by the sharp clap of thunder as the elderly man launched a golden spear, and he remembered that he was in the middle of loading his musket. Right. There would be time to study the thing's remains later. It was a shame they had to kill it, but it stood in their way, so...wasn't much of a way around it.

Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he saw Eric hurl Belle into the air, and a blazing aura burst forth from the sky.

Oh no.

It felt as if he had stood on the surface of the sun for a moment, perhaps, if such a thing could be felt. As Belle burst into quite possibly her true form, Timur's exposed skin instantly seared into third degree burns, literally melting off his flesh. He opened his mouth to scream, and that burned too. Though his eyes were shut, they burned too, a blinding light reaching even past his eyelids.

It was almost by instinct that he dropped through the shadow of the mast, landing in the depths of the hold. Shuddering in agony, he slowly pulled himself across the floor, his limbs twitching uncontrollably. Every inch was horrible, as his seared skin was dragged across the wooden timbers of the deck.

Actions had consequences. Bargains had a price. Such were the terms of the deal. He cursed his very existence as he dragged himself blindly across the deck, in a desperate attempt to reach the lifeblood he had stored away.

After an agonizing few minutes, he managed to reach it, tucked away in the furthest depths of the storage area. Unable to stand or see, he pulled himself onto his knees and hurled the trunk open, frantically throwing the stuffing and protective insulation all over the deck. It was freezing cold, and the temperature of the hold dropped several degrees simply by opening the chest.

“Отец, дай мне силы этого мира. Услышь просьбу своего ребенка и ответь.” he whispered, and dark purple energy pulsed around him, healing his broken body and blinded eyes. Ever so slightly, bit by bit, his vision gradually began to return, and the burns began to subside and fade away. Despite the fact that he was healing, rebuilding was painful. But he was living on borrowed time - it had to cost something.

After what felt like hours, he pulled himself to his feet, legs still shaking. Thanking the Old One for his gift, he peered closely at the relic. It was impossible to truly see whatever was encased in this unbreakable ice, but...it looked as if there was something hidden inside. And he swore that he saw it move, ever so slightly. Was it a beating heart? A seed, perhaps?

Only the gods knew, perhaps.

[Lazarian]

---

ALEXEI

---

As the battle continued on, the birds gradually thinned out, taken out by the joint efforts of both soldiers and Spellborn. He looked down proudly at his ward as she launched shot after shot. Despite the chaos that enfolded around them, he couldn't help himself from smiling slightly. She really was Nikolai's child, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Brave, stubborn, and perhaps a little foolhardy.

As the threat to the sails dissipated, Alexei quickly climbed down the netting, preparing to finish off the stragglers which remained on the deck.

That was, until the dreadful serpent emerged. It was a mighty beast, greater than any serpent he had ever seen. Before he could even fully take in and comprehend the sight, the ship exploded in a cacophony of shouting and orders, soldiers rushing this way and that to prepare cannons.

The South Gallian Forces were some of the best in the world, according to Nikolai, and Alexei was starting to see why. Despite such a terrifying sight, they fought on without hesitation. Hardened by the Gallian Civil War, they showed no fear. Their chain of command was well structured, their actions rehearsed and drilled, and their equipment and uniforms standardized. These sailors reminded him of Jeramiahde's Imperial Battalions, not the ramshackle band of sailors and ruffians that manned most Garmiccian vessels.

Alexei stood there for a few moments, lost as to what to do. He wasn't part of any of these crews, had no orders, had no subordinates to command. It was strange to be in battle without these things he was so accustomed to. There were still a few of the oily and greasy birds flapping around the ship, though the Gallians were dispatching them without much difficulty. The nearest one was corralled by two men, who were attempting to keep it at bay with bayonets affixed to their muskets. Alexei didn't like their odds. Gripping his axe tightly, he hurled it at the gull's skull. It struck true, sinking right between its milky eyes with a burst of oil and black blood. The creature fell, landing with an undignified thud on the deck. With a start, the two men turned around, staring up at the large foreigner behind them in surprise. The older one gave Alexei a curt nod of approval, before the two rushed off again to aid the others. Shoving his foot onto the neck of the creature, he ripped the axe from its split skull, splattering cranial fluids across the deck.

Despite their success in dispatching the birds and the competency of the soldiers, Alexei's heart sank in his chest as a barrage of cannonfire seemed to have no effect on those thick scales. The sea serpent was a creature that truly seemed to have no equ-

In that instant, Eric threw Belle into the air, and she burst into a form of blazing fire and light. The very air around them burned, as if he was standing in front of a warm hearth, and the light was blinding. Belle shone as if the sun itself, launching pillars of fire at the beast. Alexei stared in awe, caught up in marvel and terror both at once. He was tall, and strong, and experienced...but he was nothing in the face of her power. Just a mortal man with a sharp stick. No wonder they worshipped Pyrastar as the King of the Gods, if his mere servant emanated such power.

And she was pretty good in a drinking contest, too.

As Belle launched an incredible strike upon the beast, the deck erupted with the sound of cheers and shouts of joy, the Federal soldiers apparently grateful to finally be on the side with a divine champion for once. For a moment, the battle seemed to be over - that is, until the smoke enveloped the ship and the beast vanished beneath the waves. The tide turned once again as the ship was thrown into confusion, soldiers running this way and that, coughing and hacking the foul air from their lungs.

Wracked with a coughing fit, he struggled to breathe, wheezing and gasping for air for a few moments. Seconds later, he found himself rolling across the deck of the ship, thrown violently to the floor of the ship as the beast smashed against the main mast, causing a sharp crack to fill the air. He slid dangerously close to the edge, before grabbing hold of a rail, his left leg dangling off the ship. Thank the gods for the railing.

He hadn’t been a particularly religious sort before this whole journey, but maybe it was worth taking a pilgrimage to Pyrzan if he survived all this. It was one thing to claim that the Spellborn were perhaps just granted their powers through their blood, and that the priests and monks were weaving stories out of a natural phenomenon. Plenty of the wildmen of the far North simply worshipped the sun and little more. But after witnessing Belle in action, on top of all these fortunate coincidences, such a denial was...well, he couldn’t manage it. How Eric held firm to his disbelief was beyond Alexei, but perhaps the man knew something he didn’t.

Pulling himself to a stand, he was quickly thrown back to the railing by a second powerful strike. A nearby sailor was less lucky, shouting and flailing wildly as he toppled over the rail and into the ocean. Hopefully the Federation taught their marines how to swim or Hydrata was merciful today, Alexei thought, gripping the edge tightly. A large chunk of ice fell from the mast and landed nearby, shattering into shards which bounced and broke over the deck. Probably Tristan’s work - the madman would never have the foresight to protect the mast of the ship like that.

Suddenly, the air began to clear somewhat, the choking smoke dissipating away. Probably Katya. Turning his head to confirm it, he saw the waterspout tornado rising to the east of the ship. Excellent. Perhaps the opening brought on by Belle would allow the crew to get in some choice hits and fell the beast. It was stuck and immobilized in the water, two platforms of ice locking its tail and neck into place. Excellent. This crew was hunting it like the Neyyik tribes would bring down one of the enormous dire polar bears of Morozov - trapping it and ensnaring it, then bringing it down with a shower of ranged attacks.

He stared at the beast for a moment, eager to watch it fall, as another cannonball bounced off its scales, and...did a man just fall from the topmast into its gullet? That was an unfortunate way to go. In response to this sight, Lisoette’s piercing scream suddenly broke through the chaos of the fight, followed shortly by a shrill cry of desperation from Katya. The waterspout began to crumble, water falling away as the vortex slowly unwound. Belle had vanished from sight, no longer illuminating the sky around them.

Alexei’s blood ran cold. A single soldier’s death, though tragic, would not elicit such signs of loss upon the womenfolk like that. Had...had Tristan leapt into the belly of the beast, to destroy it from the inside? Such an act of heroism would not be implausible by judging his character, but the man was married and the fight seemed to be in their favor. Surely the Iceborn was not so foolish as to assume the moody and unpredictable Goddess of Ice would save him from such dire circumstances.

But as he peered closer, he saw Tristan slumped weakly against ice near the tail of the beast, still holding the divine spear in his hand even beyond consciousness itself. Then who could inspire such a reacti -

Wait a moment.

Alexei’s face twitched as a set of very confused and conflicting emotions fell upon him. At first, confusion. Why had the Darkling leapt into the beast? That...didn’t even make any sense. Then, jubilation. Thank the gods. They no longer had to worry about that creature skulking about. Then confusion again - why had Katya lost her focus? He’d told her to be careful around that thing, and she’d gone and gotten attached somehow while he wasn’t paying attention. Curses. As the smoke drifted back towards the ship, he gritted his teeth and almost thought about storming over to the girl and shaking some sense into her...but that wouldn’t do anything good. One of the Federals near her was able to get her going again, thankfully, and the fog began to clear once more. The beast thrashed and struggled in the water as cannonballs bounced off it, cracking scales and bouncing off its immobilized body. It appeared that something was hurting it pretty badly - though it didn’t appear to be the cannonballs.

Another wave of smoke washed onto the deck, sending the soldiers back into a frenzied panic of scrambling and shouting. This fight had dragged on for quite some time, and the newer recruits that hadn’t been hardened by a real fight were starting to become shaken. Alexei couldn’t blame them - he coughed and choked as he got another mouthful of fog, starting to feel his mind turn delirious from the lack of fresh oxygen. Pressing his sleeve to his mouth and nose, he took a quick breath through the thick fabric. It wasn’t great, but it was something.

It was frustrating, not really able to do anything. Against those birds, he was worth something, but a creature like that...it was wiser to stay back. Perhaps Katya could use his encouragement by her side. Was better than standing around and doing nothing. Making a quick decision, he staggered across the ship towards where she stood, clearly frozen by indecision or fright.

He never quite made it there. A shockwave burst across the ship, dispelling the fog completely away from the ship once more, throwing him roughly against the deck yet again. Gods damn it, every sailor on this ship would be sure to have bruises by the end of this encounter. Including himself. As he picked himself up, the ship keeled violently towards the side, throwing him sliding across the deck once more as a blinding light burst from the serpent’s eyes and mouth, something destroying it from the inside. It died in a terrible shrieking sound, the hiss of boiling water and steam accompanying it. The ship then violently adjusted itself, sliding back to its proper position in the water, sending him sliding back towards the center of the boat once more.

He laid there for a few moments, breathing heavily. It was over at last. Rising to his feet, he scanned the ship for Katya - she’d likely pushed herself too far once again with that last shockwave. He didn’t see her near either mast, or by the rows of injured lying on the decks. Doctors hustled to and fro, identifiable through white lines drawn across the back of their red coats. She hadn’t been below decks, so Alexei hurried over to the stairs leading to the raised deck where the steering wheel was positioned. Sure enough, she was there, surrounded by some concerned Federal soldiers. They seemed remarkably unshaken for being in the epicenter of the blast. Must have been positioned in the eye of the storm. The sailors were in good spirits, already beginning to talk excitedly about the Angelle that had blown the serpent to pieces.

“I’ll take her.” he grunted with a nod to the Sergeant who was presumably the leader of this group. He was leaning over Katya’s prone form, pressing a few fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse. Somewhat redundant, as she was breathing, but Alexei appreciated the effort. Sergeant Bailey looked up, then stood up, nodding to acknowledge Alexei’s presence.

“Ah, of course. Yes. That’s fine.” Bailey said, as Alexei stooped over and threw her unconscious body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A rather undignified way to treat a royal, but it wasn’t as if the nobles were really all that much better than the common folk.

“Ay, treat the girl with a bit more respect, ey? She did some good work today, sir.” Bailey said somewhat indignantly, in a surprising display of nerves for such a shorter man. Alexei chuckled, not truly offended.

“I’m glad to hear it, soldier.” he replied, gently lowering Katya into a more respectful carrying position. These Gallians were silly about their insistence on manners and proper courtesy. Walking down the stairs, he carried her over to the medical area, setting her down on the ground nearby. She was fine, honestly. A little pale, a few scratches - bah, he might as well have just carried her to the hammocks. There were some men with real injuries here.

As he set her down on the ground, Lisoette came running over.

“You did well, Katya.” Lis said quietly, looking over the girl proudly. Alexei felt similarly to her, though he was reluctant to show it. The girl had her father’s overconfidence, and he wasn’t about to feed that.

“Aye, I heard she did alright. It’s good to see you’re unharmed, miss Frost.” Alexei said, bowing his head in respect.

“You too!” she said, though her usual enthusiasm was missing, replaced by worried features and a concerned tone in her voice. It was understandable, as Tristan was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up, lass.” Alexei rumbled, patting her reassuringly on the back. “Tristan’s a hardy fellow.”

Almost on queue, the sound of beating wings descended, Belle carrying two figures, one in each arm. Impressively strong. Probably Eric and Tristan. Well, it was a shame for the couple that their friend had died in battle, but…

In that instant, Eric clambered over the side of the ship, sopping wet, shivering, and swearing like a sailor. Wait a minute. Alexei looked up at Belle’s delivery in dread.

The gods, apparently, had a sick sense of humor. In one arm, Tristan. In the other...the Darkling. Alexei clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and shook his head in disappointment. Thankfully, none of the others seemed to take much notice or issue, due to...well, Eric was hard to ignore.

“Damn, Belle, that was cold! Literally! And there’s something flopping around in my pants. And no, for once, it’s not what you think it is.” Eric whined, kicking off his boots on the deck. Several sardines streamed out of his wet pants, flopping and squirming around the deck. Searching for a brief source of stress relief, Alexei picked one off the deck and crunched it in his molars. Mmm, delicious. Raw sardines were an excellent traditional Garmiccian snack.

“Serves you right. You needed a bath anyways.” Belle huffed at Eric, before dropping the two figures on the deck and striding off, presumably to take a bath somewhere.

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you Belle!” Lisoette gasped, embracing Tristan tightly. The nearby medics rushed over, arguing amongst themselves about whether Ice Elementals could get hypothermia or not. Some of them looked at the Darkling with suspicion and concern. Understandably so. His pallid visage and burned flesh reminded Alexei of a battlefield corpse more than any living human. One of the doctors, the bravest of the bunch judging by his apathy towards the demon, stripped the sopping coat from the monster. He turned towards a nearby group of soldiers, instructing them to carry him below deck.

The Messenger was the first to respond, grabbing hold of Erosen and propping him up on a shoulder. Lisoette looked up at Alexei expectantly, and to his chagrin, he found himself grabbing the other. He detested the miserable creature, but sweet Lisoette considered it a friend, and he would be amiss to hurt her feelings. The two, accompanied by a few soldiers, began carrying it down to the medical bay.

“Hmph.” Alexei scoffed with disdain as soon as they were out of earshot, his opinion of Pyrastar’s champion rather dampened. “I’m surprised you’re the sort to so readily aid the monsters that destroyed your village as a youth.”

“This is not the same man.” the paladin replied assuredly and calmly, unprovoked in the slightest.

“It's cut from the same cloth.” Alexei quipped back.

“Pyrastar judges men by their actions, and as his servant I am obligated to do the same. Erosen was brave today, and has shown me nothing but civility since we have met. What has he done to you to deserve such treatment?” the Messenger inquired earnestly.

Alexei scowled, but had little in the way of immediate response.

“A demon’s a demon. A snake cannot remove its fangs. There is little more that needs to be said.” he growled at the Messenger, and the two stopped at the top of the stairs, a rising tension building between the two.

“I understand your suspicion and hatred. In fact, most likely far better than you do yourself. Despite this, I assure you that we all deserve forgiveness and a second chance. At one point in my life, I too was once lost. But through Pyrastar's grace, now I have been found. We all are blessed with the potential to cha-”

“Save me the sermon. I’ve heard enough.” Alexei interrupted, gesturing towards one of the soldiers behind him to take the load. He was done carrying this beast. He’d had enough of this moralizing priest. Frustrated, he stormed away. The Messenger shrugged in response, unbothered by Alexei’s departure.

“Our gods may give truth to men, but they cannot make them listen.” he said with a sigh, gently hoisting Erosen upon his shoulder once more.

[Lazarian]

---

Wednesday, 4:14 PM, 19th of December, 1781 G.C.C
KATYA

---

After a dark, dreamless sleep, Katya awoke, taking in a deep breath. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes, squinting them open. They’d won, apparently. Otherwise, she’d be riding with the Valkerrigan to the next life. With a sigh of relief, she laid back in the hammock, swaying back and forth with the tide. She was still sore, pretty much everywhere. A pounding headache throbbed in the back of her mind, leaving her in a bit of a haze. It was uncertain for how long she had been asleep, but it was clear that it hadn’t been long enough. Judging by her outfit, it hadn’t been long at all - she was still wrapped in that oversized redcoat she had taken from one of the Federals.

Looking around, it seemed that someone had just thrown her into the sailor’s sleeping quarters. Hammocks lined the room, though most were unoccupied. A few snores could be heard from the far end of the room. Well, it was understandable that she was here. The medical bay would likely be overflowing right now, and she had been fortunate to escape most harm, asides from a few scratches. Throwing her legs over the side of the hammock, she fell clumsily back to the ground.

Her legs quivered as she pushed herself up against the wall of the ship, attempting to right herself. Nothing was broken, but it felt as if she had ran for days, the soreness making it near impossible to stand. After a few moments of struggling, she sat back down, leaning against the wall. Alexei and her friends would be here soon enough. Speaking of her friends, she hoped they were all okay. She had lost track of most of them during the chaos. Of course, most of them were probably fine. Most...of them.

Suddenly, a heavy realization hit her - Erosen was dead. Nobody could have survived something like that.

Her heart tightened in her chest, and tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes. Despite this sudden onset of grief, she shook her head, rubbing her eyes. There wasn’t any reason to feel like this. It was weak. It was stupid. They weren’t anything, really. Not even really friends. Her father wouldn’t cry over something like that.

Despite all this, she cried anyways. It was a quiet, soft cry, her chest shaking slightly as she put her face in her hands. A few tears slid down her pale cheeks, dripping onto her palms. After a few minutes, they slowed to a stop, grief replaced by shame. “This is embarrassing. Pathetic. You’ll never get anywhere if you cry over every broken egg.” her father’s voice echoed in her mind, judgemental and dour.

She took a couple deep breaths, in and out, her heartbeat slowing back to a normal pace. She’d be okay. As she dried her eyes, heavy plodding footsteps announced a new arrival. Looking up, she stared up to face Alexei, who was carrying a bowl of warm stew and a thick mug of ale.

“Good evening, lass. You’re finally awake.” said Alexei cheerfully in their home tongue, passing her the mug. “About time. Half the crew’s already off the boat by now.”

He looked her over more closely.

“Everything alright?” he asked, noticing her red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine.” she said firmly, shaking her head. “It just hurts. Everything does.” she finished, which was true to some extent.

“Ah, yes, the Spellborn’s price. Using the Gift is like any other physical exertion, lass. Don’t worry, you’ll get over it quick.” Alexei said reassuringly, setting the food and drink on the floor near her. “Here, eat. Warm soup will fix you right up.”

“Thank you.” she said, taking the bowl and downing it in a few thirsty gulps. He was right - she felt somewhat better already.

“Mind lending me a hand?” she said, extending her arm up to him. “I might have sprained something.”

“Sure. I’ve carried your father many a time.” replied Alexei, before proceeding to scoop her up like a child in his arms.

“No, not like that!” she protested angrily, futilely kicking her legs. “Nobody’s going to take me seriously if you’re doing that. You wouldn’t carry my father like that!”

Alexei laughed, a hearty belly laugh that reverberated in the chamber around them.

“You’d be surprised. Regardless, my apologies, your highness. Would you rather ride upon my shoulders?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” she said, laughing quietly, despite the aching sadness that still lingered. “Oh, you’re no use at all. Just give me your halberd as a staff. I’ll make it work.”

“Ah, they grow up so quickly.” Alexei sighed. “You used to love those piggyback rides, you know.”

Katya sighed.

“Things were easier then. So much simpler. Didn’t have to worry about blockades, or campaigns, or letters...or much of anything, really.” she said with some remorse, looking downcast once again.

“Chin up, lass.” Alexei said, patting her on the back. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

“Yes, and I find myself dreading that more each day.” she thought to herself, though she didn’t want to discourage her friend and companion with such pessimism.

“On a more serious note,” he interrupted, “I’d highly recommend seeking out the other Spellborn on this campaign and attempting to sway at least one to accompany us on the journey. I was speaking to a few of the soldiers while you were under about the remaining stretches of our path. Apparently, the North Gallians are quite hostile towards our people. Remaining hostility from their war, I would assume. Beyond that, our resident madman has gone into hibernation once again - the doctors cannot rouse him for anything. Likely an injury of the mind.” he rattled off with surprising speed, aggravating Katya’s headache once again.

“Okay, I’ll do my best.” she said, already exhausted by the prospect of going out and shaking hands and offering promises of payment. She had received a decent sum from the sale of the Devil’s Luck to the Federals, though the group’s lodgings and food steadily wore through her stockpile. All this logistical stuff was exhausting. Her father loved to pore over ledgers and reports, but, frankly, she couldn’t be bothered to give a damn about them more often than not. Father had always claimed that she took after her mother in both patron and personality. It had always been a slight source of discontent between the two.

Taking a few wobbly steps towards the exit, she reached the stairwell. As she stared up at the several flights of stairs between her and the next step of the journey, she sighed.

“You know, that piggyback ride isn’t sounding too bad after all.”

---

As she slowly made her way down the dock with Alexei at her side, she took a crisp breath of cold air. These “Thin Isles” reminded her of home. It was nice to finally be somewhere where the temperature wasn’t always slightly too warm.

The structure of this little village was quite interesting. If she had to guess, she’d assume that this town was erected by an Earthborn or two. It was a very distinct style and quite uniform, something that was uncommon in most naturally erected peasant towns. There was a large gathering of soldiers at the clearing in the town center, but most of them appeared to be wandering off. It appeared as though she had missed whatever meetings and discussions were going on, but she wasn’t too worried. There were plenty of people she could get a briefing from, if any of it involved her at all. Alexei bid her farewell, setting off to find potential mercenaries for the next leg of the journey.

As she approached the remainders of the meeting, her eyes lit up. Tristan, Liss, and Eric were all talking with a group of knights. They stood out from the soldiers around them - somewhat more traditional, with finely trimmed suits of armor, crimson cloaks, and fine plumed silver helmets. A royal guard of some sort, if she had to guess. She attempted to pick up the pace, though the makeshift walking stick (a spear that Alexei had casually snapped in half with his bare hands) certainly didn’t help with that.

Rather reluctantly, she returned to corporeal form for Sir Veryll to see, wings out just to show off a little.

"Boom, my sword was an Angelle this whole time."

"You can't just use an honored servant of the gods as a cheap party trick, Eric!" Katya protested, though hints of a smile broke through her attempt at a stern expression.