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

[Rupudska]

"In that case let's head off to the castle now. We can have a few of us stay behind to help the ladies catch up with the main party once the Wind Elemental is found. They don't necessarily need to follow the exact path we take. It's not too difficult to see the spires of the Saint's Seat on this level, and most of the wider streets up here will have signs pointing the specific way to take there," spoke the Messenger, "You know, if we hurry there's a good chance we could leave the mad Elemental there behind," he added. It was hard to tell with his face masked, but it sounded like his last sentence was meant to be dry humour.

"As much as I'd love to join you all, to put as much distance between myself and Aerion as possible," said Catrin, leaning herself into the conversation as only a drider could, which was in a way that belied their size, "it's probably best I stay with the other women." Driders were very good at not being noticed until they wanted to be - some said it was intrinsic, a gift bestowed upon them to make cave life easier, others said it was a skill taught, to make it easier to eat whatever was foolish enough to step into the cave-towns of the driders - wolves, bears, people, etc.

Both were wrong, though the latter opinion was closer. Catrin, as all driders knew, knew it was because it spooked the hell out of sheep and goats, which made them easy prey, and scared the pants off of adventurers, which was hilarious and made them easier to sell to.

She gestured to her entire self, which was quite a lot of self, even if she was in excellent shape for a woman of her species.

"Something tells me I might not really be welcome at a place known as the "Saint's Seat". Call it experience, if you will."

[Kassaran]

As she seemed to reel, his words laying upon her conscience with a growing realization and... there it was, fear. An unseen wind whipped at his skin, his wrappings on his forearms laid still, but the skin beneath prickled at the burning sensation that slowly began to fade. She wasn't in danger of falling, and Aewiallia's wrath subsided as the girl backpedaled from Erosen. Even as she attempted to withdraw from his presence, however, it became obvious that it would not be quite so simple. Catcalls and jeering from across the corpse-laden courtyard drew his attention towards a certain lecherous old knight.

"You can do better, Ero! She ain't hardly got any titties!"

Raucous laughter followed the old man's heckling and it brought Erosen's mind to a quick and solid pause. Was that what he thought was going on? Why would he-

Katya's entourage had seemed to suddenly be overcome with cackling and unrestrained amusement. This did not help matters at all and the Wind Elemental turned to fire back," As if I would seek courtship with him!"

Erosen's eyebrows raised in an expression of honest surprise and then slid down into an expression of confusion, the wince on his face from her insistence mirroring the slight sting that they'd brought to his feelings. Oh yes, for once in the past couple days, something had actually struck him below the belt and it had come in the form of the Wind Elemental's denial of his eligibility as a bachelor. Not that he had been propositioning her in the first place, but to turn him down quite so harshly and publicly felt a bit uncalled for in the Darkling's opinion. Perhaps he was just being a bit sensitive about it all, but then his gaze slid down her form to her chest as he judged for himself the validity of Eric's statement. Sure she wasn't exactly running around with Catrin's chest, but-

She ran.

He blinked.

"Oh," it was a small exclamation and in it a twinge of disappointment as he regarded that perhaps he would not have actually minded ogling her a bit more. He straightened up for the first time in a long time, drew his cloak about him, and turned to slowly shift towards the edge of the courtyard where he could now see a pair of figures beginning to grow more aggressive and closer in proximity. Aerion the Ice Elemental and Eric... both were none to happy about the other's presence and it looked to be quickly coming to a head. It seemed that Aerion had been challenged to a duel and mid-sentence- he obliged. The swordsman leapt through the air with the grace, agility, and power of an Elemental, but Eric parried and deflected the oncoming barrage of blows with the decades of experience he'd obtained. Insults were traded, anger grew to a boiling point and the slamming of steel grew in ferocity and audibility.

A cheap-shot from Eric to repay the one the Elemental had taken at him struck home and the Darkling felt the pain sympathetically for Iceling. Eric was not wearing loafers and the blow had connected squarely with the proud mercenary's own jewels. Too much more force and Erosen would have been willing to have named Eric a delver by trade in the brutality of the groin-smashing attack. A flash of Eric's arms and the hat Aerion had obtained now was in the old man's hands, and in another second it was rent in two and thrown onto the ground and dashed into the mud. The younger fighter leapt up in anger and unleashed another flurry of attacks. Each seemed to be more powerful, more reckless, more unfocused with each strike and Erosen felt something uncomfortable and familiar growing around the Ice Elemental. He was treading on thin ice, the pun not-withstanding and as he began raining down a maelstrom of magical attacks, the Ice Elemental seemed to finally crack once again.

Screams and shouts, accusations levelled at none in particular as the man lashed out in anger, in rage, in hatred. Erosen took an unwilling step forward towards the fray. Eric was now in legitimate danger perhaps and Erosen felt Dark Element course through him as he prepared to face the abyss again in support of his friend. The two duelists locked blades again and an iceborn spell spread across Eric as a morning's frost, blood and ice mixing together as finally Eric unleashed Belle's power and whirled around, slamming Aerion in the side of the face and sending him reeling. Leaping atop the fallen Elemental, Eric proceeded to slap him into unconsciousness before finally getting up off of him. The Fanny Pack of Wonder provided yet another interesting addition to the fight's end by offering up a Pitcher of water to Eric, which he promptly used to dump over Aerion. A bit of a waste of something for which he could of rehydrated, but perhaps the Fanny Pack could only bring the horse to the trough.

An amusing thought as to whether the pack had a level of sentience and awareness as Belle once had, locked within her blade form, crossed Erosen's mind before he approached the two. Eric now was standing with the remaining members of the group and had begun to smoke his old pipe. Erosen made a note to actually inquire just how many items Eric had acquired over years of adventuring that were actually, indeed, enchanted. The Fanny Pack itself was an incredible artifact, but Erosen couldn't quite recall when or how the old man had got it. He'd just always seemed to of had it. Lisoette had disappeared and he gave a quick look about before hearing Tristan declare he was going to head off and find her and Katya. He relaxed, Watchtower hadn't somehow snuck into the courtyard and abducted the Daemonness, rather she'd run off in search of Katya. He hoped that they were both alright, before walking up, and giving a soft bow of his head to the Messenger.

"Pryastar favors you well Messenger. An impressive show of force you gave us. I will remain here with our fallen comrade -be it his own fault or not- I won't leave him to be captured by Watchtower's agents, I know what they do to our kind." Erosen turned to regard Katya's entourage," Eric, the Garmiccians, and I will stay here to pick up the mess and cover our tracks. We'll catch up when we can."

His eyes fixed squarely on Alexei, his tongue slipping into the older man's native dialect," I take it we have some matters to discuss privately as well, given that we've only just become reacquainted with one another."

His gaze switched to Catrin as she spoke. He smiled warmly at the Drider and shrugged," I mean, you're more than welcome to stay here and help us clean up this courtyard. I know how much you enjoy cleaning up other people's messes- nevermind getting to deal with Aerion when he finally awakens."

[Lazarian]

"Pryastar favors you well Messenger. An impressive show of force you gave us. I will remain here with our fallen comrade -be it his own fault or not- I won't leave him to be captured by Watchtower's agents, I know what they do to our kind." Erosen turned to regard Katya's entourage," Eric, the Garmiccians, and I will stay here to pick up the mess and cover our tracks. We'll catch up when we can."

His eyes fixed squarely on Alexei, his tongue slipping into the older man's native dialect," I take it we have some matters to discuss privately as well, given that we've only just become reacquainted with one another."

His gaze switched to Catrin as she spoke. He smiled warmly at the Drider and shrugged," I mean, you're more than welcome to stay here and help us clean up this courtyard. I know how much you enjoy cleaning up other people's messes- nevermind getting to deal with Aerion when he finally awakens."

"Enlighten me as to what we must discuss, darkling. You may have fooled the others, but you'll never fool me." growled Alexei in reply, crossing his arms and scowling. Thankfully, the others wouldn't hear or understand his hostility (except Ondell), although his body language may have betrayed him.

Clearing his throat and turning to Isaiah and the Messenger, Alexei nodded.

"I understand your reluctance to wait around any further. I have no issue with going to this Saint's Seat." Taking a moment to think, he continued.

"I'll escort the Sergeant to the castle with Shawn, Ondell, and Jack. I'm sure that this isn't last resistance you'll receive for this audience, Isaiah. Feel it in my guts." he said, patting Isaiah on the back. "Tristan and Lisoette will surely meet us at the castle with Katya, and the darkling, Catrin, and Eric can stay and watch Aerion if you really must.

He paused.

"Honestly? I have no issue with leaving the Iceborn to Watchtower. He's no better than them, the Cold One's blessing or not. If he was one of my men, I'd have him punished and discharged. He defiles the dead, weaseled his way into Katya's mind, and has no greater sense of justice, loyalty, or even respect for the gods. Why do we bother keeping around such a maniac?" he snapped, seizing his opportunity. Katya wasn't here - this was his chance to finally dispose of the troublemaker.

[Ameriganastan]

"Pryastar favors you well Messenger. An impressive show of force you gave us. I will remain here with our fallen comrade -be it his own fault or not- I won't leave him to be captured by Watchtower's agents, I know what they do to our kind." Erosen turned to regard Katya's entourage," Eric, the Garmiccians, and I will stay here to pick up the mess and cover our tracks. We'll catch up when we can."

His eyes fixed squarely on Alexei, his tongue slipping into the older man's native dialect," I take it we have some matters to discuss privately as well, given that we've only just become reacquainted with one another."

His gaze switched to Catrin as she spoke. He smiled warmly at the Drider and shrugged," I mean, you're more than welcome to stay here and help us clean up this courtyard. I know how much you enjoy cleaning up other people's messes- nevermind getting to deal with Aerion when he finally awakens."

"Enlighten me as to what we must discuss, darkling. You may have fooled the others, but you'll never fool me." growled Alexei in reply, crossing his arms and scowling. Thankfully, the others wouldn't hear or understand his hostility (except Ondell), although his body language may have betrayed him.

Clearing his throat and turning to Isaiah and the Messenger, Alexei nodded.

"I understand your reluctance to wait around any further. I have no issue with going to this Saint's Seat." Taking a moment to think, he continued.

"I'll escort the Sergeant to the castle with Shawn, Ondell, and Jack. I'm sure that this isn't last resistance you'll receive for this audience, Isaiah. Feel it in my guts." he said, patting Isaiah on the back. "Tristan and Lisoette will surely meet us at the castle with Katya, and the darkling, Catrin, and Eric can stay and watch Aerion if you really must.

He paused.

"Honestly? I have no issue with leaving the Iceborn to Watchtower. He's no better than them, the Cold One's blessing or not. If he was one of my men, I'd have him punished and discharged. He defiles the dead, weaseled his way into Katya's mind, and has no greater sense of justice, loyalty, or even respect for the gods. Why do we bother keeping around such a maniac?" he snapped, seizing his opportunity. Katya wasn't here - this was his chance to finally dispose of the troublemaker.

"We're keeping him around cause he's a troubled kid who needs guidance. And I'm 99% sure I just beat some into him."

Eric nonchalantly blew some smoke rings in his general direction.

"Yes, he's an egomaniac, disrespectful and frankly needs a haircut. But he's also scarred in the head. And more importantly, he's powerful. The Watchtower gets their grubby hands on him, and they can either learn things about Elemental people that can stop them or turn him to their ranks. And I can tell you, that kid is strong...yeah, I just beat the snot out of him. But his powers pack a wallop. We need to keep an eye on that and keep it pointed in the direction of an enemy, personality flaws be damned."

He extinguished his pipe, stuffing it away.

"I pity whatever men you led into battle if your strategical prowess is that shortsighted."

[Lazarian]

Lisoette didn't like bullies. It was one thing seeing rowdy bairns roughhousing in her dojo, or mocking Aerion for the way in which he existed; it was another seeing grown men gang up on a lone girl about something she had no control over. She glared daggers at Ivan and Timur and considered knocking the rotten pair down onto the cobblestone, but she managed to restrain that urge. Like Jack said, the group needed to get a move on.

"I'll go find Katya," said Mrs. Frost, leaving the group just as Eric and Aerion started trading barbs. Her violet eyes darted around for signs of any military buildings or Watchtower cultists scurrying about. Luckily the street she sensed Wind magic down consisted of upper-class homes, inhabited by a mix of top-level civil servants, university deans, and second houses for assorted nobility that had reason to come to St. Veowulf for extended lengths of time, with nary a grey gang in sight, "Katya! Are you alright? Where are you?" Lisoette came to an intersection with a fountain and some benches in the centre, with one lane having a clear view over the sea, "Katya?"

Katya sniffed, wiping away a tear. She sat on the edge of the fountain, overlooking the view to the sea. It was beautiful, really. The heavy grey clouds drifting slowly across the blue sky, the ships sailing in and out of the harbor, the winds that slowly pulsed throughout the mountain city...she was lucky to be here. It contrasted greatly with the bleak tundra of her home. And yet, she missed it so much. She'd give anything to see the bleak mountaintops and snowy plains of home.

"I'm over here, Liss." she said, waving weakly at her friend.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Lisoette said, taking a seat next to her. Katya responded with silence, looking away awkwardly. As Lisoette looked over the girl, she was a little concerned. Katya looked like a nervous wreck, with red eyes and a runny nose contrasting her pale skin. Her usual enthusiasm was completely sapped away, and she slumped in her seat, hunched over and despondent. Her hair was in disarray, again, due to her bad habit of twisting it in her fingers when upset or nervous. It'd grown since they'd left Carogne, spilling down her back in a mess.

"Was it because of what they said to you? Oh, don't mind those nasty boys. I think you're beautiful, darling. Everyone is in their own special way, alright? We can't all look the same." Lisoette continued cheerfully, pulling Katya in for a hug. Katya leaned into the warm embrace, closing her eyes and breathing in Mrs. Frost's hair. Oh, she was lovely.

"It's not that. I mean, it is, but...it's not. I know that doesn't make any sense, but..." she said softly, opening her eyes. "I'm just...I don't know. Sometimes I don't really know vhat I'm doing."

"Well, that's a good thing about life. You can pick your own path and figure out what you're doing for yourself. I'm certainly not following on the path I was born onto, and it's for the better." Lisoette chuckled, squeezing Katya again. "What do you think you're supposed to be doing? What do you want to do? Let's talk through it and I'm sure you'll be feeling better in no time."

"I just have to deliver this goddamned letter." Katya sighed, reaching her hand into her purse and dredging out Jeramiahde's letter in her left hand. She waved it carelessly, Emperor's seal be damned. "This stupid piece of paper has been my life for the last year."

"What makes it so important?" pressed Lisoette, continuing on. "I know you're on a diplomatic mission and all that, but why can't you just send it through the mail?"

Katya laughed bitterly.

"I vish it vas that simple, Liss. I really do."

She sighed, a long drawn-out exhale that lasted for seconds.

"If I return home without a response from this prince, I'll be turned right back away at best. And imprisoned at worst."

"Imprisoned?" Liss gasped in surprise. She knew that the Garmiccians tended to be a little more...well, as much as she hated to say it, barbaric, than the other Elcresian nations. There had been a few of them that her and Tristan had encountered in the Yuelkeu Islands, and they certainly hadn't spoken too positively of home. Lots of them had been political refugees, fleeing from a new Emperor who had too much ambition and not enough sense. But even then, imprisonment for an undelivered letter? That seemed excessive, even for the regime that the refugees had described.

"Yes. And that's the more likely outcome, really." Katya sighed, slumping further. "See, this mission's completion is my father's condition for returning home from exile. I...I..."

She stammered, the words dying in her throat. There was nothing other than silence, punctuated by the bubbling of the fountain and quiet murmur of the city. After too long, she cleared her throat and pressed on.

"I made some mistakes at home. Lots of them. My father's pretty new, as far as nobles go. Alliances are important, and marriages go a long way in establishing them, but...I just couldn't imagine marrying some old, grey-haired general or a fattened and spoiled noble's son. And it would have been fine to turn them down, with courtesy and grace, but...I didn't do it the right way. I might as vell have gone through with it, anyways. Everyone I've liked here is already married, or has something awfully wrong with them, or doesn't like me back. Chasing love would be a cruel waste of time, if I was even brave enough to do it. My father...he's not a bad man. I was so upset when I was first exiled. I thought it was unfair, and cruel, and that I was being punished unjustly. But, honestly? I deserve this."

Tears started to well up in her eyes, and she did her best to press them back. Damn it. She hated to embarrass herself in front of Liss, even though she knew that Mrs. Frost certainly wouldn't judge. Still, it was embarrassing. Choking up, she continued.

"It shouldn't even be that hard, really. Just take the ship from Montenevesk to Villderheim to Auregen and request an audience. But we were blown away by a storm and wrecked in Carogne, and we ended up stuck there for months. I was naive and didn't speak the language vell, and vas deceived and tricked out of the money my father gave me, and Watchtower forced us into hiding, and what should have been a simple errand has turned into a yearlong journey." she wept, starting to lose it again. "If not for you all, I vouldn't have been able to make it off that damn island."

"But you did." said Lisoette calmly, putting her arm over the girl's shoulders. "We're not too far from Auregen, Katya. You'll get there in a few months at most, I promise. We're here to help you."

"I know, but even vith all your help, I can barely do this!" Katya cried, dissolving into a teary mess. "We can't even join up vith a boat to Albrheim vithout running into those goddamned greycloaks! And now, instead of continuing on our journey, we're going to go and help some old man see a Duke that I don't know about a cause that I don't care about! I know that's terrible, and I'm sorry, but every step we take seems to be a step away from home. I used to think that I was a leader like my father, but when he vas my age he was leading an army. I can't even lead this group. I thought that I could be a hero like Eric, but I can't even bring myself to kill the Greycloaks, who brazenly defy the gods with their actions. You know vhat I am, Lisoette? I'm nothing. I'm a failure." she sobbed, shaking in grief.

[Kassaran]

"In defense of the starik, I doubt he's ever really had to deal with Elementals on this caliber," Erosen gave a sidelong look towards the older Garmiccian before beginning to walk across the plaza, the last tendrils of Dark Element receding into his skin. He stood over Aerion for a moment, before reaching down and grabbing him firmly about the collar. Hefting the man up with some difficulty, he began to sling the iceling over his shoulders in a carry, the load upon his shoulders seeming to dwarf the malnourished form of the Darkling. Settling the unconscious man down besides the side of a nearby building, he looked back towards the group," but to Eric's credit- because he knows things that would churn even a daemonnes stomach- he's right about Watchtower. Moreso though, we won't leave him behind because they didn't leave me behind. Our group has seen a lot of bad in the past, but through it all, we didn't leave anyone behind because they couldn't keep up. Aerion's perhaps more in danger than anyone else here, but the sad part is he doesn't even know it."

Erosen checked his bindings along his forearms, tightening the wraps before readjusting his cloak and approaching the group once more," If he's left to his own devices, then he will fall as I once did, and the road back from that is long. Excruciatingly so. To simply strike him down now, would be to kill a manifestation of the god's powers and a point in Tenaembra's court. I don't care if you think Darklings should or shouldn't have a say, but Aerion's no darkling. He still has Froenstia's favor and for that he must be protected from his own demons he's brought."

The Darkling bit back the slight chill that had crept into his bones as he'd spoken, the Ice Elemental had managed to bring down his temperature a few degrees just in the few moments he'd carried him. He could feel the impact on his body, muscles, and joints that was already having. Erosen took a step closer to the Messenger, letting Pryastar's own fury bring that temperature back to normal, even if it did hurt a little. Looking about, he shrugged under his cloak before turning to regard Alexei," What I have to say is not an explanation or excuse, but a warning and you would do well to heed it you stubborn goat. If not for your pride as a warrior, then for your honor as a man I'd ask you for a minute of your time."

[Lazarian]

Looking about, he shrugged under his cloak before turning to regard Alexei," What I have to say is not an explanation or excuse, but a warning and you would do well to heed it you stubborn goat. If not for your pride as a warrior, then for your honor as a man I'd ask you for a minute of your time."

"Come with me, then!" Alexei said with forced cheerfulness, as he walked away from Eric and the others. He'd learned that the others were rather protective of the Darkling for whatever reason, so blatant insults and harshness certainly won him no favors with them. Erosen followed, and when the two were out of earshot from everyone else, Alexei turned to face the Darkling. Gods, he hated him so much. Possibly more than Aerion. His demonic countryman was a hideous beast, with pallid skin and those horrid violet eyes. Those were the same violet eyes of the man that was working to ruin the country that Alexei had loved so much. The same violet eyes of the man who burnt towns to ashes, executed surrendering prisoners, dishonored the Rite of Champions, and who grew in power every waking day. The same violet eyes of the man who was actively at work to corrupt his lord - and more importantly, friend. Lord Temnota - the daemon with the body of a man. Alexei held no doubt in his mind that the two Darklings were in league with each other - after all, they shared the same dark master.

"Quite smart of you to call on my honor. I've got nothing if I don't have that. Although devils are quite crafty like that, I'd imagine." he joked, although it wasn't a friendly jest.

Pulling himself to his full height and taking a deep breath, he took a step closer to the Darkling, intentionally disrupting his personal space and getting uncomfortably close.

"Tell me your warning, Darkling. I'm listening. But first, let me guess. If I keep up my current ways, you'll kill me in my sleep, or devour my soul, or worse still, hurt Katya?" he finished, crescendoing to a near shout with increasing fury and volume. "Well, I'll deliver a warning to you first. You stay away from her, you hear me? If I see you tempting her like the conniving snake you are, I'll gut you like the rat you are. Because let me tell you one thing - I'm not afraid of you, devil. Your lot bleeds just like any other man. I'm not afraid of Temnota," he lied, "and I'm not afraid of you either." he spat, doing his best to restrain himself. Taking a deep breath, he took a step backwards.

"I've delivered my warning. Now deliver yours." he said coldly, bracing himself for what was to come.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

---

"Katya? Lis?" Tristan called out as he walked past the rows of luxurious buildings present on that level of the mountainside burg. He ha no certainties that the two women hadn't already wandered off much further away than this district, but a feeling in his gut assured him that they were close by.

But a gut feeling is not good enough.

Stopping his march briefly, the Ice Elemental closed his eyes for a moment and focused, trying to feel the world around him without relying on sight or sound. For several moments there was nothing, but then, suddenly, he saw them. In his mind's eye he saw them, two distinct strands of color in front of him, heading further and further ahead. One was a light green, bordering on gray, while the other was a pale yellow with hints of black.

Smiling to himself, Tristan opened his eyes and continued forward, now armed with the knowledge that he was on the right path. It didn't take him very long at all to start hearing the sound of familiar voices: talking, shouting, sobbing. As he continued walking, an ornate fountain came into view, with two women sitting on a bench next to it, one that looked out to the sea. The young man scowled as he approached, unhappy with how distraught the young noblewoman seemed. She deserves better subordinates than those two oafs.

Finally arriving by their side just as Katya finished venting her frustrations, the Ice Elemental took a seat next to her, on the other side of Lisoette, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You know, thinking you're a failure just because you couldn't accomplish a goal someone else imposed on you seems a little misguided." He said in hopes of comforting her - she was only a year younger, but in her current state, she seemed rather like a helpless child. "I'll admit I don't know much about what it's like to be a noble, and I've met a lot, but I do know that what's important isn't what others want you to be but what you want to be. I understand if you want to be a hero but you don't have to be a killer to save someone's life." He paused briefly before smiling. "And between you and me, Eric's not the amazing role model you think he is." He added with a chuckle.

"And if you just want to go home, you'll get there, I promise. You haven't failed, not yet, I know you've faced several setbacks but what quest worth doing doesn't have them? It's these trials that shape who we are." He spoke, before standing up and gesturing for the two women to follow him. "Now, we should catch up with the others at the Saint's Seat. I know it has nothing to do with your journey home, but sometimes the gods place these detours in our paths for a reason."

Before heading back, the Ice Elemental offered the noblewoman an encouraging smile. "Have faith, Aeiwallia's watching."

[Kassaran]

The Darkling stood, as Alexei's closeness had not prompted the man step back. The man's breath was warm, and it sat with a slight foul odor upon it, for it was morning and hygiene was poor as to be expected. Yet, something brought chills up his spine, and sent an involuntary shudder through him. There was fear, palpable and in his stench and Erosen struggled to understand just where so much had come from. It ran thick on the man's blood and in the air about him, his eyes flared with anger and disgust, but his voice betrayed a hint of that primal expression of panic. He felt, cornered? No, he felt hunted. Pursued.

Then came the lie. It was simple, it was small, but it ran cold across the air between the two men and Erosen's eyes showed no recognition of the name the old warrior uttered. It wasn't a name Erosen knew, and confusion registered for only a moment on his face before he let it slide off again. The man was terrified, but for some reason it was because he believed this Temnota character had something to do with him. A Darkling? It didn't register as another name for Tenaembra in Erosen's mind, or else it would have been translated as such. This was equally interesting as it was distressing and Erosen looked into Alexei's eyes and let the violet slowly dull in luminosity. This man was no threat, regardless of his posturing. He'd saved the man's life once before and he'd do it again.

"Katya is in danger. Elementals who desire power beyond their means fall, like I did. Dark Element isn't something one is born with, it's given. I was ignorant as to my place in the world three years ago and fell. I'm asking- no, I'm begging you- don't let her fall Alexei. I've saved your life before, not because I'm working for some master, but because you and her are important enough for some reason to bring the gods and their Elementals crawling out of the woodwork."

He stepped away from the giant, pulling back his hood and outstretching his arms to his sides.

"You don't need to know why I fell, just know that Elementals aren't infallible and they fall to temptation. When that happens, they lose their boon and the Dark Lord tempts them to join his armies. That's who you were talking about earlier, Tenaembra, right? Darklings hear his call until they join him, and then they receive his boon. They don't stop suffering until they do. Most fall to his call, Alexei and the ones who don't, die from the effort of resisting him."

Letting his hands drop to his sides, he began to move away from the man," I do not harbor ill intent towards you, or any of the humans or elementals. I only seek to defy Tenaembra and to guide those whom would otherwise fall for his lies. Hate me if you must, give me nothing but your distrust and disgust when we're done here. Just don't let her fall. She's a good girl, I'm certain you know that and I can only fix one broken thing at a time. If you really must know who I was, then ask Tristan or Eric. They knew me then and why I fell."

Erosen finally turned his back on the man and began to walk out of the alley, satisfied with what he'd said. Only for a moment did he let the thought cross his mind, a concern as to what the man might do to the Darkling in such a state, but if he was any part his word, than the old warrior's honor would stay his blade... for now.

[Lazarian]

Alexei listened intently as Erosen delivered his speech, glaring daggers at the creature the entire time. The Darkling certainly seemed rather frightened, which was amusing, considering that a mere halberd was no match for the powers of the night. It pleased Alexei, though, to watch it squirm and back away. What didn't please him, however, was what the creature said.

He was vaguely aware of the Call of the Night. Or stories about it, anyways. Spellborn could lose their powers through excessive malice and cruel deeds (although it was rare), and shortly after would transform into hideous beasts or vanish away into the night. It wasn't a common sight, by any means. Although he believed the stories to be true - after all, Erosen presumably hadn't always been a Darkling. It wouldn't have made sense for Eric, Tristan, and Lisoette to trust him if he had been. Perhaps the creature was telling the truth about his origins - Darklings had to come from somewhere, yes? And though the ambitious Duke Temnota claimed that he was a Lightningborn and that his dark bolts were merely an unexplained boon from the gods, Alexei knew better.

Still, he remained unshaken in his resolve. As the creature mentioned how Katya was in danger, the hair on the back of Alexei's neck rose and he gritted his teeth, tensing up. Yes, she was in danger, that was for sure. But not by Watchtower, or highwaymen on the road. This group could fend off a small battalion with their combined might. No, the real danger was the creature lecturing him about her peril...and Aerion warranted mention too, of course. The enemies lurking inside of their group of friends were infinitely more threatening than the potential threats outside.

But what bothered him the most was that he couldn't put a grasp on the Darkling's insidious plan. At first, he had expected a subtle threat - for the Darkling to demand better treatment and to lay out consequences for not acquiescing to this threat. But it hadn't done that. And so once it started going on about how important he and his ward were, Alexei assumed that the Darkling was attempting to win his favor through flattery. Perhaps it was trying to make it feel sorry and sympathetic to its plight - although self-inflicted. But then Erosen had finished on such an odd note.

"Hate me if you must, give me nothing but your distrust and disgust when we're done here. Just don't let her fall."

What kind of trick was this? If this was some sort of feint or ploy...well, it didn't make any sense. The only way to take that statement was at face value, which was more unsettling to the veteran than anything else Erosen could have said. Was he truly regretful of the decisions that he made, of the fall that had occurred? Because there were surely consequences for falling against one's nature...but Alexei had seen a mere few benefits of which the nameless Wicked God could offer. While it would be heretical to say that he could understand why the Spellborn fell...the tradeoff surely couldn't have been entirely unappealing. But if Erosen truly was a fallen man, trying to do his best...well, Alexei shuddered to think about how unjust his treatment of the man had been.

Of course, he didn't have to worry about that. The Darkling was a lying devil. The Dark was deceit and malice, a sharp blade wrapped in soft velvet.

As Erosen turned to walk away, dark thoughts of ending the creature here and now crossed Alexei's mind. Just a quick thrust to the back or chop to the head would be enough. Darkling or not, cold steel would be as lethal as it was against any creature. They were out of sight and view. Perhaps he could state that the Darkling attacked him, made an attempt on his life, and that he was defending himself. Or just say that the Darkling ran off to do an errand of some sort, and suggest that he was accosted by Watchtower and slain when he failed to return.

Yeah, and piss twenty years of honorable service down the gutter. He'd never stoop to such lows. That was what separated the two, after all. If he killed Erosen, he'd be a hypocrite and no better than the daemon himself. Shaking his head, he dismissed the gruesome ideas from his mind. As the Darkling walked towards the exit of the alleyway, Alexei stood motionless and silent. As Erosen took a single step back into light, Alexei called out.

"I could have slain you just then." he proclaimed boldly, just loud enough for the Darkling to hear. "But I haven't, and I won't. I do hate you, Darkling. You have nothing but my distrust and disgust, and you are my enemy as long as you live. Your kind rots our homeland by the day, and spits in the Great Fire's face with every breath you take. But I will stay my hand against you for as long as we travel together. I don't know what your plot is, and if you present yourself as the danger I know you are, I will cut you down in an instant...or die trying."

He paused, inhaling deeply.

"Thank Tristan and Lisoette, you bastard." he snarled, continuing on. "If they're willing to trust you, I'll tolerate you. But I'll be watching, you understand? And you leave her alone. She asks too many questions for her own good."

Just like her father, he thought, although he didn't say that. He personally that there were some things best unknown, but the blood of House Kuznetsov clearly disagreed.

Quickly, he approached the Darkling, quickly breaching the distance between them.

"You understand me? If we're clear, then we have nothing more to say to each other. We'll head back to the others, help carry Aerion to the castle, and mention not a single word of what was said here." he said, grabbing the creature's collar and looking eye to eye. The purple was faint, nearly imperceptible, and for an instant, the Darkling looked like a normal man. Albeit sick, sickly, and frail, of course. Perhaps it was foolish of him to bargain with a devil, to treat the creature like a man deserving of honor...but if this made him a fool, he was willing to do it.

[Kassaran]

As he walked away, he heard Alexei call out, boasting of his honor. The Darkling gave a grim smile, it was a bet he'd won do now, but the man's insistence that he somehow had something to do with his own land's trouble made that smile drop. His face was a tranquil lake, calm and unmoving as the old warrior spat vitriol at his back. It was not an uncommon occurrence.

He warned Erosen to avoid the girl and the Darkling let his eyes slide from his glance over a shoulder back towards the exit to where they were. A flat roll of the eyes given he didn't care enough to execute the full maneuver. Some grandstanding and whatnot were to be expected. Footsteps closing behind the fallen Elemental and his Dark Element rose up protectively as he anticipated the giant to strike him, cuff him, to lash out in some angry way. Instead a great hand laid itself about his collar and whipped him around.

Old eyes looked into dead ones, the violet lapsing from his usually Dark-borne gaze as the farmer shook him back and forth. The rain fell like a soft blanket of cold pinpricks and Erosen blinked. The children that had huddled behind the old peasant shook and shuddered, drenched in the rain. The blood and ichor from the slain daemonnes still ran off of Erosen's cloak and clothes in thin rivulets of liquid emerald. Protective arms of another villager wrapped around the children and a small mob had begun to gather around Erosen where he stood. Pitchforks, swords, clubs, a menagerie of weapons meant to intimidate him at best, inconvenience him at worst.

They were typical southern peasantry and their lack of knowledge as to the power of Elementals was apparent. The fear though, it was enough to drive sane people to do insane things and so he lifted his hands open and palms out-turned in a supplicating gesture," The daemonnes that had been holed up in Guskar's Canyon are dead now. They probably had been holed up there for a year or two. I'll take my payment as we agreed upon and-"

"You'll have nothing Darkspawn! You slayed only that which served you! We know you simply extort us for what meager possessions we do have. You're weak, frail, needy! You'll leave us alone and never come back again or else we'll kill you and burn your body to ash!" The man spoke, his fists curling more and the iron-taste of blood stung Erosen's tongue. It would taste... magnificent, try some my child... You must be so hungry. Just a little taste wouldn't-

He blinked and now Alexei was growling at him. Reasoning with him. Why? Why would he? He couldn't trust Erosen's intentions, but trusted him to remain quiet? He blinked again and the soft breath he exhaled carried a simple response," Then let these be my final words to you: When you intend to kill me, aim for the head. It will be your only chance."

And with that the Darkling wrenched himself away from the warrior, his cloak tearing away as it finally lost what little strength it had maintained. Three months it had lasted on the surface, after a half year in Hell, it'd seen more than any cloak he'd had before. He felt a small pang of sadness and sentimental loss, before turning and striding away.

[Lazarian]

Alexei stared quietly as Erosen strode away, the cape falling into the mud. He paused for a moments, searching for a solid to retort or reply, before deciding to stay silent. For some reason, his anger subsided, fading away as the adrenaline left his veins.

The Darkling was an enigma, for certain. Alexei stayed in the alley, leaning on the sturdy haft of his halberd. As he stood there, he began breaking down the facts in his mind. He wasn't always the sharpest sword when angry, that was for sure. Twenty years of experience had somewhat dimmed the overwhelming fires of his youth, but he was still prone to irrationality from time to time.

Here's what he knew for sure: the creature wasn't an immediate threat. If Erosen harbored malice against them, he would have surely acted upon it already. If he wanted me dead, Alexei mused to himself, he could have killed me while I laid injured in the ship. Second: Erosen was friends with Eric, Tristan, and Lisoette, who were men and women of good character and judgement. Well, Tristan and Lisoette had good judgement. Eric perhaps a little less so. Third: the creature had not threatened him or Katya in any way.

But fourth, and most importantly: he was a Darkling and could not be trusted.

And yet, despite this crucial last thought, guilty nagging thoughts tapped at the back of his mind: What if you're wrong? What if creatures and men truly can defy their nature? What if he really is just a regretful man trying to make amends? What if you're the oppressor and the danger? You thought about splitting his head open when he was unarmed, open, and honest. Maybe you're the problem here.

But memories didn't lie.

---

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, WEST GARMICCIA

---

The thunderous sound of hooves filled the air as Nikolai and his battalion charged through the woods. In front rode the newly appointed Baron Kuznetsov, wielding a large sphere of iron in his free hand, the other clutching the reins tightly. Beside him, Alexei rode upon a mighty destrier, decked out in a set of heavy plate and armed with an enormous lance. Behind them both rode two hundred cavalrymen, equipped with lances and swords sheathed to their hips. These men were a far cry from the inexperienced rabble of militia and guardsmen Alexei had led five years ago. They were an army of hardened soldiers, well-equipped and tempered by the heat of battle.

While Emperor Jeramiahde had quickly usurped power from the former Emperor Anatoli, there were still hotly contested regions near the Yelhennien border. The more "civilized" cities of the South had splintered from the Empire upon the former Emperor's death, forming a new state. These southern men were soft and weak, and they had grown fattened and decadent through the old Emperor's low taxes and loose grip. And worse still, they had allied with the Yelhenniens to preserve their national sovereignty. This, of course, could not be tolerated. Jeramiahde's armies had fought a fierce campaign over the last year, and currently Nikolai and Temnota were facing up against a group of battalions sent to hold a river crossing.

There had been a stalemate for some time, as neither army dared to ford the river. It was open and exposed, vulnerable to arrow fire and Spellborn attacks. Attempting to charge across would lead to heavy, unnecessary casualties. Thankfully, the Imperial baggage train and logistics (organized by Nikolai) had been quite strong, and they had been able to siege the area for quite some time. The Southerner forces were supported by the lush farms around the city, however, and there was no way that they would run out of food or munitions. The Imperialists were camped around five miles out from the bridge, biding their time and waiting for the next move.

But a sudden new development had occurred. Temnota had come to Nikolai with intelligence gained through his spies - a battalion of the Southerners had overextended past the bridge, making camp in the woods nearby. Supposedly, they had slipped through in the night, attempting to ambush the Imperial forces. Temnota's regiments were largely infantry based, and thus, it would make more sense for Nikolai's shock cavalry to hit them hard and fast before the Loyalists could establish a fort in the woods. There were several Earthborn and Waterborn with the Southerners, and they could construct an unassailable fort within a day or two if left alone.

"The Yelhennien forces should be over this ridge!" Nikolai shouted back to his men, warping the sphere into a hollow cone to amplify his voice. The edge of the woods was in sight, and over the crest of a hill laid the Southerner and Yelhennien camp. It was merely two hundred meters away. And then it was one hundred meters. And then it was fifty. As Nikolai burst from the oods, he turned back to his men and let loose with their battlecry. "BLOOD AND STEEL! FOR THE EMPEROR!" he yelled, transforming the cone into a jagged spear.

"BLOOD AND STEEL!" the company roared in reply, charging out of the woods and over the hilltop, coming face to face with...

Nothing.

The charge dissipated, the wedge of the formation falling apart into a disorganized spread. There were uncomfortable murmurs of disappointment, along with many curses and frustrated complaints. In the field beyond the hilltop, there was nothing asides from wildflowers and short shrubbery. Perhaps a rabbit or two. The clearing was surrounded by large hills, although they were sparsely forested as well.

"What the devil?" spat Alexei, lifting the visor of his helmet, searching for the enemy. "They were supposed to be here! Two leagues South, half a leagues West! Did we get lost?"

Nikolai pulled the map of the area out of his pocket, furiously searching over it with his eyes as if he would will the enemies into their proper location. Alas, they failed to materialize, and it seemed as if they were in the right spot. "Damn it, Temnota." he growled, crushing the map in his fist in irritation. He felt sorry for the spies who had reported the misinformation, though. They'd be executed horrifically, most likely. Alexei, on the other hand, wasn't frustrated - he was nervous.

Duke Temnota was their ally in the loosest sense of the word, but he wasn't a good person. He drove his men too hard, looted and pillaged his own countrymen, and inflicted horrid martial law on any city unfortunate enough to fall to his hand. Alexei understood that war was cruel and that sometimes these things were necessary, but Temnota almost seemed to take pleasure in cruelty. And there were rumors among the camp that he wasn't a Lightningborn as he claimed - that he was a Darkling. Of course, nobody dared mention such a thing. It was treachery to think, let alone SAY such ideas. But there had been some...odd sights and signs. Bad omens and portents of malice that were impossible to ignore.

"I don't like this." Alexei grumbled, lowering the visor back into place. "Now WE'RE overextended."

"Relax, friend." Nikolai said dismissively, brushing his grey hair with a loose hand. "You worry too much. I'm sure it was just a mistake. We'll head back to camp, report the mistake, and resume the siege. These things happ-"

Suddenly, mid-sentence, there was an enormous cracking sound. It was as if the earth itself was splitting in twain - the sound of granite ripping itself out of the earth. The horses brayed in fright, and the riders whirled around, searching this way and that for the source of the noise. Behind them, an enormous cloud of dust had emerged, too thick to see through or penetrate. As the men shouted in confusion, their order shattering, the whistling of arrows taking flight filled the air. And seconds later, his men - no, his friends - began to fall. They were heavily armored, but a few lucky shots had found their way. Looking around frantically, Alexei saw movement all around them on the hilltops. Archers were emerging from behind the trees, nocking a new volley of arrows to their bows. They were garbed in muted yellows - Yelhenniens. There must have been at least a few hundred, if not more.

"IT'S A TRAP! RETREAT!" roared Alexei, snatching the reins on his bucking steed and attempting to beat a hasty retreat back through the woods from which they had came. He whirled around to face an enormous wall of rock, nearly three stories tall, which had risen from the ground in their wake, blocking the disoriented and disarrayed battalion from retreating back into the woods. Atop it stood four Earthborn, tossing spires of stone into the clearing. They were trapped in there, being assailed from all sides. Charging out through the hilltops would be difficult - they'd be charging uphill, and there were pikemen intermixed within the archers. And scaling such a wall amidst such a torrent of arrows was a death sentence. This had been incredibly well planned out.

They had been set up.

Temnota had killed them.

Alexei stood blankly as an arrow shattered upon his chestplate, coming face to face with his own impending mortality. As adrenline rushed through his veins and anger clouded his mind, he roared, lifting his shield up and backing towards the center of the clearing. He would not lay down and die! Not to these bastard Yelhenniens! The other soldiers were dismounting, bunkering down and taking cover. They were heavily armored, so it would take some time for them to all be picked off...but it seemed nearly inevitable. Not all was lost - they had an Iceborn and Earthborn from a minor house among them, and they were constructing cover, but the odds were direly against them. Turning around, the giant looked towards Nikolai for instruction.

"What should we do?" he said, attempting to keep his calm. Fear led to panic, which led to death. They had to fight their way out somehow.

"Cover me." said Nikolai, sticking his hands into the armor of a fallen soldier and warping it into an enormous tower shield, before tossing it to Alexei. "I've got a plan." he continued, walking slowly towards the center of the clearing. Alexei followed next to him, holding the shield tight. Thank the gods for the plate. Most arrows didn't have enough force to pierce through it, and while they may have bruised him, bruises wouldn't do him in. Once the two reached the center of the clearing, Nikolai closed his eyes. Around him, the sounds of dying men and horses filled the air, arrows flying left and right at what was left of the battalion. There were maybe a hundred of their number left, huddled down in cover, praying to their gods and making peace with their deaths. At least they would be reincarnated into another life - a better one, they prayed.

"QUIT YOUR PRAYING!" roared Nikolai, amplifying his voice with the sculpted cone once again. "I HAVE NO PLANS TO DIE TODAY! TOSS ME YOUR WEAPONS!"

Alexei raised his eyebrows, taken aback by such an odd request. It seemed as if that would merely leave them helpless, easy targets for the pikemen to close in and slaughter. The stream of arrows had slowed down - perhaps they were running low on volleys. However, this was no source of relief, as the pikemen had started to close in, and the Earthborn above them continued their relentless assault. But he knew better than to question Nikolai. His men shared the same sentiment - swords and spears were hastily tossed towards the center of the plaza, crashing on the ground all around their commander. Nikolai closed his eyes, lifting his hands to the sky and chanting. Around him, speartips broke off from lances, arrowheads snapped off their shafts, and swords warped and contorted into spheres of iron. The metal began to rise, clumps and chunks spinning in orbit around Nikolai. He continued to chant, a frantic plea to his god to save them.

The Yelhennien archers focused their remaining fire on him, but Alexei stood next to his lord, protecting him from the fire. There was a searing pain as a particularly lucky shot pierced through his shinguard, driving it deep into his left leg, but the giant stood tall and unflinching. Injuries could be mended and wounds heal - death was a little harder to shake off. Above him, their salvation began to emerge - a giant battering ram of iron, thicker than a mighty oak and nearly ten feet in length. Nikolai wavered, sweat pouring down his face, his arms quivering. It seemed as if his strength was about to fail him - and then, he pointed at the wall behind them, drawing his other arm as if to fire an invisible arrow. The enormous spire of iron shot at the wall like a bolt from a crossbow, and with an ear-splitting crunch, hit the bottom of the wall. The wall shattered into pieces, falling to the ground, the Loyalist Earthborn atop it scattering like rats from a fleeing ship. There was no need for any further explanation - the remaining Imperialist soldiers fled, sprinting for their lives through the breach.

As they ran, Nikolai stood, firing bolts of iron at the archers and pikemen that dared approach. He was still drawing a majority of the arrow fire - it was clear that their main quarry here was him, not their men. The Ironborn shook, his eyes bloodshot and skin pale, before collapsing into Alexei's arms. The giant dropped the shield and ran, sprinting through the forest. As the men fled, they dropped their armor, vanishing into the woods and disappearing. Alexei's heart pounded violently in his chest, bile rising in his throat, his muscles screaming in exertion as he sprinted for his life. After a few minutes of sprinting mindlessly, he came to a stop, heaving and gasping for air, setting his unconscious gently against a tree. Although Alexei feared that the Yelhenniens would chase after them, it appeared that the ambush had no cavalrymen with them, and chasing after a fleeing force into a forest was...inadvisable, to say the least. The gods had saved him. He fell to his knees, praising Pyrastar, overcome with gratitude, followed by crushing grief at the death of his men, followed still by a cold fury at Temnota's betrayal. Emotions surged around him, compounded by exhaustion, but he was alive, and that was what mattered.

---

When they had confronted Temnota, he had made an entire storehouse full of excuses and apologies. He had claimed that his spy was a double agent that had slipped away in the night, and that it was a tragic accident that would never happen again. But Alexei knew better. Temnota was just as ambitious as his liege - and as he smiled and lied through his teeth, Alexei saw through it. In those fake smiles and shining purple eyes, he saw the visage of the creature that had sent him to his death.

And in that day, Alexei vowed that would never trust a creature of the night for as long as he lived.

---

After a couple minutes of uneasy deliberation, Alexei headed back to the rest of the group. Thankfully, Timur and Ivan had made themselves useful for once, and had cleaned up the scene. The bodies of the fallen had been laid to the side, their eyes shut and their faces covered. It was grisly work, but the two louts at least knew to honor the dead properly. Alexei was rather nervous about the fact that they had slain Southern soldiers in a Southern town, but they were outside of a church, with the bodies of Watchtower as well...perhaps it would seem as if there was some sort of internal conflict. These things happened, from time to time. Eric was there, chatting up a storm with the newcomers and Belle, as always. Timur and Ivan skulked off in the background, attempting to avoid any more responsibility, and Aerion laid peacefully where Erosen had laid him.

Approaching the Iceborn, Alexei picked him up and slung him over his shoulders. No matter how much he disliked Aerion, he still had the Cold One's favor...so he wasn't as bad as Erosen, at least. Perhaps Eric was right and there was hope for the lad yet. With the younger man upon his back, Alexei strode over to Eric and the rest.

"We should get going now." he said, pointing up the road that led to the castle. "We've spent too much time here, and it'd be best to get out of the city before trouble catches up with us once again. Perhaps we can deliver Isaiah to the castle and then attempt to depart on the first ship out of the docks. If nothing's leaving today, we could stay the night in Shawn's cabin."

Walking closer to Eric, he reached to the flask affixed to his hip and handed it to the elderly knight-errant.

"I apologize for my rash words earlier, Eric. Aerion's god still loves him, and he's still young. If you're willing to give the man a second chance, so will I. Spellborn are a little harder to break in than your average soldier, I suppose." he joked, hoping to mend the conflict that laid between them earlier.

[Lazarian]

Finally arriving by their side just as Katya finished venting her frustrations, the Ice Elemental took a seat next to her, on the other side of Lisoette, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You know, thinking you're a failure just because you couldn't accomplish a goal someone else imposed on you seems a little misguided." He said in hopes of comforting her - she was only a year younger, but in her current state, she seemed rather like a helpless child. "I'll admit I don't know much about what it's like to be a noble, and I've met a lot, but I do know that what's important isn't what others want you to be but what you want to be. I understand if you want to be a hero but you don't have to be a killer to save someone's life." He paused briefly before smiling. "And between you and me, Eric's not the amazing role model you think he is." He added with a chuckle.

"And if you just want to go home, you'll get there, I promise. You haven't failed, not yet, I know you've faced several setbacks but what quest worth doing doesn't have them? It's these trials that shape who we are." He spoke, before standing up and gesturing for the two women to follow him. "Now, we should catch up with the others at the Saint's Seat. I know it has nothing to do with your journey home, but sometimes the gods place these detours in our paths for a reason."

Before heading back, the Ice Elemental offered the noblewoman an encouraging smile. "Have faith Aeiwallia's watching.

Katya wiped her eyes with her sleeve, closing her eyes and nodding. Tristan had a good point. After all, her father's opinion didn't mean everything. Just because she hadn't delivered the letter yet didn't mean that she was never going to do it. Although, his speech brought up some thoughts that she hadn't spent much time tossing around - what did she want to be? She'd spent her whole life trying to be what her father wanted, assuming that was what she wanted too...but now she wasn't so sure.

As Tristan continued to console her, mentioning that it wasn't necessary to be a killer like her father to be worthy, she started to feel better. He had a point. There were Barons and Dukes that ruled through diplomacy and handshakes, enriching their land through alliances and trade. Not everyone had to be generals and schemers like her father and his colleagues. Of course, her father had always trashed those lords, claiming that they were too weak to rule through force and war, but...maybe he was wrong. She sighed, wishing absentmindedly that Tristan wasn't married. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Frost were a lovely couple, and they deserved each other, but he always seemed to know just the right thing to say. But just because she hadn't found love yet didn't mean that it wasn't out there.

Tristan had a good point, though. After all, Erosen didn't kill anyone, and he was treated like an equal among the former adventurers. Even with all his faults and his fallen nature, he still cared, and the others still loved and respected him. It honestly warmed her heart, and she felt a little guilty about running away so abruptly. He was kind and honest, and she'd said things she hadn't really meant merely because Eric had insulted her. It was ironic - brought up in any other context, courtship would have nearly seemed appealing. She didn't know Erosen as well as she would like, but perhaps after apologizing to him, they could get to know each other a little better. Despite being a Darkling (or whatever), he was rather attractive. If not for his clear deterioration, she'd say he looked handsome and noble. Almost reminded her of the old Emperor in resemblance, just a little bit.

Alexei was wrong. People could defy their nature. Erosen could redeem himself.

Feeling a little better about things, she took a deep breath and stood up, giving Tristan a hug. He spoke with such confidence - probably from his own experience. She'd heard bits and pieces of their journey over the last few months, and perhaps he was the person he was because of the trials that they had all faced. Maybe her father had been flawed once too.

"Thank you so much." she said, looking at the couple. "I don't know vhat I vould do without you two. I'm sorry for being such a mess," she laughed, a little embarrassed, "but...I do a poorly vhen things don't go to plan. Got it from my father, I vould guess."

Brushing herself off, she pointed up the road back to the castle.

"You're right. We should catch up with the others. And, on last note, I know Eric is not necessarily a role model. My initial impression of him as a champion of the gods vasn't quite right." she laughed, waving her hand. "Trust me, I have no interest in vhores and vodka. But he has a noble heart, and those aren't common vhere I'm from."

[Ameriganastan]

After a couple minutes of uneasy deliberation, Alexei headed back to the rest of the group. Thankfully, Timur and Ivan had made themselves useful for once, and had cleaned up the scene. The bodies of the fallen had been laid to the side, their eyes shut and their faces covered. It was grisly work, but the two louts at least knew to honor the dead properly. Alexei was rather nervous about the fact that they had slain Southern soldiers in a Southern town, but they were outside of a church, with the bodies of Watchtower as well...perhaps it would seem as if there was some sort of internal conflict. These things happened, from time to time. Eric was there, chatting up a storm with the newcomers and Belle, as always. Timur and Ivan skulked off in the background, attempting to avoid any more responsibility, and Aerion laid peacefully where Erosen had laid him.

Approaching the Iceborn, Alexei picked him up and slung him over his shoulders. No matter how much he disliked Aerion, he still had the Cold One's favor...so he wasn't as bad as Erosen, at least. Perhaps Eric was right and there was hope for the lad yet. With the younger man upon his back, Alexei strode over to Eric and the rest.

"We should get going now." he said, pointing up the road that led to the castle. "We've spent too much time here, and it'd be best to get out of the city before trouble catches up with us once again. Perhaps we can deliver Isaiah to the castle and then attempt to depart on the first ship out of the docks. If nothing's leaving today, we could stay the night in Shawn's cabin."

Walking closer to Eric, he reached to the flask affixed to his hip and handed it to the elderly knight-errant.

"I apologize for my rash words earlier, Eric. Aerion's god still loves him, and he's still young. If you're willing to give the man a second chance, so will I. Spellborn are a little harder to break in than your average soldier, I suppose." he joked, hoping to mend the conflict that laid between them earlier.

Eric nodded back and took a tiny sip. He was still trying that whole moderation thing.

"Eh, bygones. I've defended crazier people than him. Guy in my platoon, called him Batshit Barney. Crazy as a loon and once stabbed me in the left foot with a fork cause he thought I was his mother come back from the grave seeking vengeance. Commander wanted to hang him when he tried sodomizing one of our pike-men with a candle holder cause he took his sneeze as a sign of possession, but I vouched for him. Cause I tell you, that crazy bastard was the best archer I ever saw. Could nail a man in the eye blindfolded from 50 paces."

He handed the flask back.

"That being said, if the little bastard doesn't wise up and tries that again, I'll lop his sword hand off, slice his leg tendons and leave him to rot. I'm only so understanding. Now let's get moving. I wanna get back to that castle. See if Pauline and Paul still work in the kitchen. Paul makes a mean souffle, and Pauline has this trick with her tongue. It goes-"

Belle slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Let's just go."

[Kassaran]

Erosen walked, his hands working to refasten his arm wraps about his various scars, scabs, and wounds. A few stray locks of hair brushed down and skirted across his brow, prompting his arm to lift and brush them away. The slight damp of the soft rain which had now ceased falling was gathered in dark stains of moisture along the Darkling's own blouse. The old brown shirt offering little to no protection against the chill, but sickness had long since left him as a concern. He felt uneasy, the giant now walked with the iceborn on his shoulder and spoke easily with Eric. The young man turned his eyes away from the two and looked towards the Messenger. He would need to be spoken to, but that abysmal heat that practically radiated off of the armored warrior made him itch from the dozens of forming burns it caused. He'd not been so sensitive to elements before, why now of all times?

His mind ran through the possibilities, trying to remember if he'd lost time somewhere. His eyes flitted back and forth across the cobbled stones as he turned his back to the castle and wandered in the direction that the Frosts had disappeared, his mind lost within its own maze of concerns and worries. Dark passages that took him deep into the memories he'd kept back. The ones he wouldn't let rise up. Not here, not in their company, they were dangerous and feral and his mind had not been whole in those days. He gave a cautious look towards the others whom now were walking away, moving at their own pace and caught up in their own musings. He didn't belong in a palace, he didn't belong anywhere near nobility- especially not the Garmiccians. His was not to learn about the troubles in the North, he knew enough already to have warranted portalling onto the next outbound boat. He needed compatriots, he needed assistance that only this party could now provide.

His gaze panned out across the city, eyes flashing violet for a brief moment and then darkening again as the clouds of the storm that had been brewing seemed to part for a short time. He winced as rays of sunlight branched out and finally he remembered he'd left his aura down. Sudden panic overtook the normally placid face and he let the soft hue of indigo and lavender spread across his body as he stepped to the side of the walkway. There was a slight stinging at the backs of his eyes from the mounting exhaustion. He needed to rest, if only for a moment. He needed to-

---

Two Years and Eight Months Earlier...
Hell

The demonic beasts which prowled beneath the old and ruined building were the usual spawn that lurked out this far. They were hunters, crafted by their cruel masters to hunt down the few remnants of the fleeing lesser demons which had escaped their bonds. Slaves, by all interpretations of the word, were what these hell hounds hunted and they were an effective deterrent in their ruthlessness. A low baying sound spread across the crimson and broken landscape, the beasts which were also partaking in the hunt responded in kind. Like this, they spent hours slowly pacing over every inch of land, every scoured and blacked crater and pock-mark left behind by an old duel between greater Daemonnes. By the looks of it, the waste had been formed when one must have insulted the others shoes, or took some other petty pass in turn to throw down the gauntlet.

The beasts were making their final rounds near one of the old sheds which had long since been reduced to a pile of ruined metal as one drew to a sudden stop. The second came to a stone-like pause as both suddenly bared their teeth and dropped low. Their glistening fangs shining in the ambient light of the landscape, the soft exhalations of breath, now joined by a third as a horned head peered around the edge of the ruins. Eyes locked with the empty pits of the hellhounds and the lesser daemonne gave a soft shriek in fear as it tried to suddenly run. Fingers and hooves scrabbled across the hard rock as the imp tried to hurriedly flee from its impending doom, the sound of the two beasts suddenly lunging forward causing it to crumple into the fetal position and await the tearing of flesh from its bones.

The sounds were sickening, horrendous to say the least. With all the visceral weight of a bedsheet being torn in half, the high-pitched wailing that comes from a beast mortally wounded and the wet slap of meat and bone on the ground besides the imp. Blood and ichor coated the small being as it opened eyes and looked up to see a figure towering over it. Tattered remnants of some clothing hung from the creature's shoulders, but most prominently were the lack of horns or some sort of daemonnic features. Instead, there was a terrific thrill that went through the small creature as it recognized a far more dangerous sign. Burning brilliant as two small suns, tinted a blazing purple-blue combination that swam with the very fires of hell within them. The light that emanated from the two orbs embedded within the figure's skull transfixed the small creature as it watched the beast discard the other half of the fallen hellhound.

Nearby, the second in the pair began to recover, sensing great danger as it began to call for help. A spike of dark magic, a tendril that shot directly out from the darkling's outstretched arm impaled the beast's head into the ruins of the building behind it. The beast went suddenly limp as a stream of lifeblood quickly began to pour from the gaping hole in the side of it's head. Somewhere in the ruins of the building beyond, the frame settled as the great power of the strike was enough to shift even the old supports a not insignificant amount. The Imp looked up, it's eyes trying to understand as the being held out its hand. The small creature smiled and stood up, believing itself to have just found a new master. Reaching up, it greeted the man with open arms and began to chatter happily in response before being cut short.

The tendril of shadows slowly withdrew from the cavernous hole left in the now dead imp's head as the beast leaned over and brought the gaping wound to it's mouth. Blood spilled out across the creature's mouth and dribbled down it's chin. It wasn't long before it began slowly breaking off limbs from the Imp, crunching down on raw flesh and bone, tendrils, fat, and muscle coming loose in the mouth that surged with Dark Element. The creature sat in a low squat, crunching and chomping down happily on it's midday snack. The hellhounds would make better meat once properly bled and the liquids harvested. The site was nice enough though, the hell hounds wouldn't be expected back for another couple cycles and it could easily gather the needed supplies before moving on.

Sleep lurked in the back of the thing's mind, and a voice that bid it to come closer. To give in to the sleep, to the rest... to-

---

Present

Erosen jerked his head violently as he snapped from his stupor and caught himself. His eyes fluttered lightly and he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs out. Sleep was dangerous here, it always was dangerous when he was in towns. If he lost control like then, he wouldn't stop at nearby demons... he'd become one himself and- he didn't want to think about what would happen then. He resolved himself to find a nice place far from civilization where he could take a good nap. Probably after chaining himself up and storing the key somewhere he wouldn't get to in a Darkened rage. It was a danger off the damnable curse the deamonness had put on him, but it beat the alternatives. He'd have to tell Tristan, or Eric... even better, Lis. She'd understand maybe. Maybe, wasn't good enough though and the promise of a cabin outside the town near a lake tempted him to stay near the group, if even only for a little while longer.

Nevermind that he needed to check on Aerion when the man finally woke up. There was no telling the danger the man was in, or how much Dark Element he had begun to attract in his rage and madness. Insanity was not evil, but the actions one took while insane could be, and the evil that a spellborn could carry out in a short time would far outweigh any Human's best efforts. He would remain to assess the iceling's status and then he'd see about speaking finally with Tristan and Lis. He had much to catch up on with them, and a few questions to ask as well. He looked about himself, trying to see if the couple had managed to find the wayward heiress and were making a punctual return to the group. They couldn't have gone too far, as up here there was not much room to wander and with Watchtower about, they could probably use another hand. He winced as he stubbed his toe on a loose flagstone and noted, he probably wasn't the help they'd need if they ended up in such dire straits.

It was also about then that he remembered something very suddenly, if they'd found the girl, she'd be with them. He sighed inwardly and rolled his head on his neck, getting out the little cracks and pops which had bound themselves tightly within the muscles. She'd run from him too, perhaps not because of anything he'd said, but he'd seen the fear in her eyes. She was like Alexei, scared of the Dark and as she should well of been. Last thing he needed though was to strike up the old man's ire by spooking her again, much less by actually talking to her.

[Jerno]

Shawn Meldrich

Shawn laughed. “Actually yes I’ve been living in the woods for the past three years. My parents kicked me out actually. Only my oldest brother gets to inherit the throne. The rest of us have to stake it out for a living, make a name for ourselves. So they kicked me out. For the first five six years from birth Everyone is treated equally, but after that only the oldest is treated like royalty, and the rest of us learn how to survive anything from fishing and hunting to smithing and seeing. It’s been a Meldrich tradition for generations. For the lucky ones they even learn magic. I was a special case.” Shawn sighed. Sometimes he wished he was home, but he had learned that his home was the forests. Shawn continued, “ as special I mean I was able to learn two elements fire, and earth. I’ve been working extremely hard on my Earth magic that I’ve become one with the earth.” “I’ll go with sergeant to this castle of his I guess. I can also lead the others to my cabin if they so wish to go there, or we can meet up somewhere out of town.” He thought for a bit about Isaiah’s question, it took him a bit to answer since he rarely strayed out at night in the woods. Shawn replied “ no I don’t think it’s dangerous, although I haven’t been out at night and dare say I have wonderful neighbors around me as well. Other than that weird building someone’s been building on the small island, i do have good neighbors.” He then continued, “ we should get going we don’t want to miss Isiah’s meeting and we don’t want to be caught in the dark either even though that won’t be an exact problem either.” For a minute Shawn got distracted “you guys wanna see something really cool?” He then recalled how it happened

——————————-

Two Weeks Ago

Shawn was busy around his cabin as usual. Repairing his weapons, tools and his cabin were among the things he did during the day. It was getting dark outside and he still hadn’t been able to get anything. His usual helpers had wandered far of their normal course and food was hard to find. Shawn was starting to get impatient, and frustrated. He had wandered for the past several hours hunting and still no sign of anything. It was starting to get obvious that he was getting mad. Finally no longer being able to suppress his anger he yelled. Immediately flames covered him and his horse as well. Wow. He wasn’t able to control for very long. As he concentrated he was able to change the color of the flame from red to black or blue then green. His new ability had surprised him a lot. He was now a human torch.

——————————-
Now
He smiled at the strange memory. Had he not vent out like that he may not had even known that an ability like that even existed. He was also glad about it because for some reason his horse never got burned or hurt, his horse just became a horse in fire....literally.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

---

Tristan accepted the noblewoman's hug with a chuckle, returning the gesture of affection and giving the younger woman a few encouraging pats on the back before backing away slightly. For some reason, the whole situation brought to his mind memories of a vaguely similar experience from three years ago, at a time when he found himself having to serve as one of the few supports for a girl that was sorely lacking in allies. Although the two girls involved were quite different - Katya was more effusive for certain, and obviously a lot more communicative - the situation was quite similar.

I wonder if she found her own way after we were separated.

He shook his head to clear out the thoughts. He had wondered that many times since the Battle of Fair Hills, but not once had it led him any closer to an answer, and while daydreaming was an innocuous crime, it was best to focus on the present. "Yeah, old Eric's heart is in the right place, even if his loins are all over." He joked as the three of them began making their way back to the rest of the group. On the whole, they hadn't been away for too long, so odds were that the others would not have moved too far just yet, especially considering Sergeant Daegal's injury. Even if they had, however, it would be a simple matter to make their way to the Saint's Seat to catch up with the others, so he didn't feel the need to rush.

"You know you shouldn't worry, about... well, any of this." The Ice Elemental suddenly spoke as he walked alongside his wife and Katya, his eyes locked forward as his mind brought him back to another memory from three years ago. "There's no reason to be ashamed if you feel overwhelmed, it happens to everyone." He made sure to emphasize the last word while glancing at Katya. "I used to be rather cowardly when I was younger. I would sooner run or hide than risk a confrontation, and I once left my friends to fight for themselves while I stayed away, safe." He related in a casual tone - while most would perhaps be ashamed of such a past, he didn't feel he had reason to hide it. "What's important is to move past everything and grow as a person."

As he continued to try to impart his fragmentary wisdom to Katya, Tristan noticed a familiar figure in the distance, walking towards them. It didn't take him long at all to notice who it was - indeed, even his sixth sense as an Elemental was quick to recognize the being for what it was, though he paid little mind to the nagging feeling in the back of his mind, having long since grown accustomed to it.

Instead of paying any heed to the mandate of the blue blood in veins, Tristan waved at the figure. "Erosen!" He greeted. "Have the others left already?"

[Kassaran]

Erosen heard his name and his head rotated immediately to consider the man calling him. He gave a soft nod of the head, his usually placid expression drawing itself into a thin, grim line, as he noted Katya present. Yes, they'd gone to comfort her, but now he was bound by his word to Alexei and he turned his gaze back towards Tristan," They've only just set off, best hurry to get indoors. The Watchtower is easily startled, but they'll soon be back and in greater numbers."

He swept his arm ahead of him, in the direction the others had set off, before calling back out again," I'd also ask for a moment of your time, given that I believe you and I have a great deal to catch up on and very little time to do so."

He felt the weight of the lanyard about his neck and the token that pressed upon his chest. His body grew cold yet again, but he drew up his Dark Element and let it wrap himself protectively in a thin mist of shadow and void. It was nigh imperceptible in the light, but the control exercised was something he'd long since struggled to obtain. Even with the reserves he maintained at almost all times to keep his body from falling further apart, there was a constant need to be cautious in how much he used. His eyes flicked towards Lisoette and Katya, walking closely beside one another before he added," I think it'd be best if we let the women walk ahead of us a few paces. No need to trouble them with the musings of old acquaintances such as ourselves."

[Ameriganastan]

"Speaking of the ladies, I believe you have something to say to one of them, don't you Eric?"

"...I do?"

Belle pointed at Katya.

"Oh, right. That...cripes, I swore I'd never apologize to a noble again...crap. Hey, kid. Hold up a second."

Eric lightly jogged in front of Katya, and with clear reluctance, knelt down on one knee in front of her. Thankfully he had no interest in making her wife #5. No, she was about to get a taste of Knightly Eric. Even Belle had only seen this a couple times. When he looked up, one could swear there was a glowing aura around him.

"Lady Kuznetsov, I offer a humble apology for insulting your physical appearance like that. It was uncouth and crass, especially for a Knight of the realm and a man of my age, and I shan't do such a thing again. You are free to reject this apology, but just know it's sincere. For a true Knight never offers a hollow apology."

He stood up, nodded...and turned away to belch rather loudly. Regular Eric was back.

"So...yeah. There ya go."

He patted her on the shoulder and made his way back to Belle.

"Not going to lie, it kind of scares me when you do that."

"Yeah, scares me too. I never use the word 'Shan't' unless I'm being all knightly. Makes me feel dirty."

[Lazarian]

As Tristan finished his gentle outpouring of support, Katya nodded, feeling much better. It was hard to believe that Tristan would flee from danger - from everything that she'd seen, he was a brave and noble soul. His story filled her with hope; maybe there was a chance that she could blossom into the leader she wanted to be so badly.

Suddenly, Tristan looked up, towards the distance. Katya could feel what he was looking at - Erosen's presence had a sort of faint announcement to it. She wasn't sure how to describe it, other than a vague sense of foreboding. Despite this, she was happy to see him. She felt rather badly about the way she had treated him earlier - he had been upfront and honest, and she'd really overreacted terribly.

Before she could speak, Tristan called out and greeted the man. "Erosen! Have the others left already?"

Erosen looked over at them, and Katya noticed that he grew noticeably less comfortable as his eyes traveled over her. Damn.

"They've only just set off, best hurry to get indoors. The Watchtower is easily startled, but they'll soon be back and in greater numbers." he said, before continuing on. "I'd also ask for a moment of your time, given that I believe you and I have a great deal to catch up on and very little time to do so."

Katya walked forwards, meaning to take his hand, to apologize, to explain her foolishness...but he peeled away with Tristan, muttering something about how it "would be best if"..."women walk ahead"..."no need to trouble them."

Damn.

Suddenly, Eric burst from an alleyway, arriving in a spectacle of sound and splendor. As usual, he made quite the entrance, jogging over in front of her. She raised an eye, anticipating the insults that would come next. Suddenly, he knelt in front of her, and she braced herself for some drunken marriage proposal.

The man looking up at her had a completely different energy. He seemed to be the champion that Katya had initially mistaken him for on their first meeting - the wisdom of a sage, the grace of a noble, and the determination of a soldier filled his eyes.

"Lady Kuznetsov, I offer a humble apology for insulting your physical appearance like that. It was uncouth and crass, especially for a Knight of the realm and a man of my age, and I shan't do such a thing again. You are free to reject this apology, but just know it's sincere. For a true Knight never offers a hollow apology."

Katya almost choked on her own tongue in shock. What. Shan't? An apology? Had the man been possessed? She was almost concerned, although part of her marveled at the sight and part of her warmed at the tender apology. Thankfully, he then let out a tremendous belch, and the Eric she knew was back.

"So...yeah. There ya go." he said, patting her on the shoulder. She grinned, jokingly "knighting" him on the shoulder with Jeramiahde's letter before he could make his way back to Belle. Eric was a man of many surprises, that was for sure.

"Now THAT," she said, trying to draw his attention away from Belle, "was impressive. I humbly accept your gracious apology, sir Lumen." she said, in a throwback to their first few meetings. She cleared her throat, letting out a small giggle.

"It's okay, though. Not everyone can be a vell-endowed Serestidian woman. It's just been a rough day today." she finished. "Not to leave you out to dry, but I have to briefly speak vith Erosen. He deserves an apology too."

Tristan and Erosen had started to walk off, bringing up whatever it was they were going to talk about, before she caught up to them. She wanted to tap Erosen on the shoulder to get his attention, but he was simply too tall for that.

"Hey!" she called out, grasping his hand. He turned, looking somewhat displeased. "I'm...I'm sorry about earlier." she interjected, not really giving him a chance to respond. "I just didn't expect such an honest answer. No man would eagerly proclaim that the hatred of the gods was justified...but you did, and I was frightened. It's rare to meet a self-proclaimed monster."

She took a breath.

"But I don't believe that's what you are, Erosen. I think you made a mistake, and you're trying your best to fix it. And if the Frosts trust you...so do I."

Nearly out of breath, she continued on, barreling forwards before he could get another word in. "I'm sorry for being so nosy and driving into things that perhaps should have been left unmentioned, and I hope that you can forgive my transgressions." she said, looking up at him earnestly.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

Tristan heard the Darkling's reply and offered him a firm nod. The implications of his word were grim, but not unexpected - it was far from the first time either of the two had dealt with Watchtower, and while it was unlikely to be the last, there was no need for a second confrontation so soon. Nonetheless, if it came, he would be ready. He had tamed the horrors they threw at him in the past, he could do it again.

But now was not the time for such somber thoughts, and instead the Ice Elemental focused on his company. Erosen addressed him again, asking to have a chat with him and 'catch up', as he put it. He raised an eyebrow at this, but made no move to protest or refuse, simply approaching the man who had fallen from grace in implicit agreement. "What do you want to talk about, old friend?" He asked, curious. As an Elemental, his honed senses quickly picked up the dark element that surged around the Darkling like a protective cloak, and he looked at Erosen through narrowed eyes - in concern, rather than suspicion.

Perhaps what he wants to talk about is related to this condition of his? Tristan speculated, though he supposed that whatever it was, he would find out soon enough. At the Darkling's request to let Katya and Lisoette go on ahead, he again nodded and continued to stand - and walk - alongside him as needed while waiting for the man to explain himself.

[Kassaran]

As Tristan began to walk alongside him, he noticed Eric make a very spontaneous and sudden appearance. Good, he had Katya distracted for now and so he continued walking. He lowered his voice and gave a soft look towards Lisoette, making sure that she too was keeping her distance before his aura began to slowly subside. Dim violet eyes glowed with hellish energy coursing lightly beneath the surface, a soft blue hue about his eyes where the blood vessels ran along the surface of his whites and his lips a slight shade of purple against his pallid complexion. He was not exactly the picture of perfect or pristine health and resembled perhaps a figure borne from more darker, more ancient myths. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he began to speak softly.

"For the past three years, my powers have grown and I fear my chance to find a cure has left. I live with Tenaembra's call in the back of my mind in every waking and sleeping moment. I cannot trust even my own body to act s I tell it to anymore Tristan. If I should fall, kill me and take from me this token about my neck," he gave a soft pull at his lanyard," you'll know what to do with it if the time comes."

"I'm sorry I cannot tell you more than this, I'm sworn by the heaviest of oaths one can take and am bound by my words on this. Only so much as my next sentence I can reveal to you: I work for one greater than I and he can bring about a change in this world, the likes of which has never before been witnessed or imagined by the gods, man, or daemonnes. You and your wife, I believe, are critical to that plan and I have no idea if your union was known before I received my mission."

He gave a soft look over his shoulder as he suddenly felt a strong shiver run up his spine, as if a million souls in hell cried out in anguish, and saw Eric getting up from one knee. Whatever had just happened, it had been incredibly wrong. He let himself shake the cobwebs from his hand as he began to speak again, but the soft running of feet over cobbles had him bringing up his aura. Mere seconds before he reacted with a bolt of Dark Element, the chill of Aewiallia crept into his right hand as she grabbed it. Her voice being the warning that reached his ears in the moments before he would have tried to wrestle her to the ground," Hey!"

He grimaced, the chill running up his right hand and a sudden breeze chilling him to the bone as she drew close. He turned around to try and free himself of her grip and found himself looking down towards the short Garmiccian heiress, she was close. He tried his best to hide the soft shock of pain that lanced into his arm as he struggled to consider how best to react... until she opened her mouth again.

"I'm... I'm sorry about earlier."

Words, they tumbled from her mouth in a waterfall he could not understand and yet he was stuck like an animal caught in a trap, he anxiously realized that, though Alexei was away, it was very possible the man had yet again snuck close by and was preparing to strike? Paranoia tugged at the edges of his awareness and he felt his Aura slowly thicken and coalesce into soft sheets across his back, beneath the long-sleeved shirt he'd now rolled down over his arms. He let his head turn momentarily to try and catch a glimpse of some sign of soon-to-be Garmiccian aggression and found none. Yet.

"I just didn't expect such an honest answer."

So was she used to liars?

"No man would eagerly proclaim that the hatred of the gods was justified..." he'd not exactly been eager, just direct and his eyebrows broke rank and betrayed his confusion on his face, the thin line of his pressed lips holding fast against the strange rush of emotions moving through him.

"...but you did, and I was frightened. It's rare to meet a self-proclaimed monster."

Monster.

He gave a soft snort and let his shoulders slump as he turned his head away. She was the very same child Alexei had told him she was and he began the process of trying to extricate his arm from her grip. He felt a dull heat building in his chest already and a stinging sensation at the back of his head and eyes. Anger, not with her... it didn't matter anyways- none of it seemed to anymore. He just kept falling deeper, drowning in it all-

"But I don't believe that's what you are, Erosen. I think you made a mistake, and you're trying your best to fix it. And it the Frosts trust you... so do I."

The thin line of his grimace lifted in a harsh sneer. He scoffed and began pulling away from her, lifting his other arm to try and brush her off of him. With as much as she'd already managed in a single breath, he could tell she was one of Aewiallia's children- he noted with a tacked on chuckle of amusement. She was just another scared, clueless kid, he wanted to tell himself as the ache that had taken root in his chest seemed to rap at the inside of his chest like an iron bar. Heat flushed his forehead and his cheeks as he fought back a wave of anger.

"I'm sorry for being so nosy and driving into things that perhaps should have been left unmentioned, and I hope that you can forgive my transgressions."

He let himself look back down at her, his left hand poised to brush her away, to toss her away, to move on and just be done with spending time he didn't have trying to explain to more sheep that he was a wolf they needed to avoid. His right hand had already begun to feel sharp stabbing sensations as numbness set in. Yet, somewhere deep inside, he felt another pang of pain, regret, guilt. He bit it back, the rising bile, the years of stress and worry. It wasn't her fault, none of this was and yet the emotions were already flowing once again as he peeled his arm away. His feet carried him down a nearby alley as he attempted to gain some sort of separation between himself and the girl.

"Don't apologize to me." His voice was soft," You don't know what I've done malyshka."

It was low and threatening tone that crept out from under his words, like a bear slowly stirring from its rest,"You should be afraid. You think you know anything about monsters? I lived with them for years until I became one myself!"

He came to a stop and turned fully around, a few paces from her and let the Dark Element grow inside of him, surging and seething as a dark roiling mass along his arms, across his face, and flaring brilliant indigo in his eyes. He was in public, too public, but he didn't care. He hurt and she'd poked at the wound... the open sore which had only grown in the size of its infection for the last three years..."Go ahead! Place blame on me for horrors I know nothing about like your friends already have! You asked and I gave you nothing but an honest answer!"

He was practically yelling now, and everything hurt," I didn't make excuses for my actions! I didn't try to hide and weasel my way out of my guilt! Yet all you Garmiccian bastards see is some demon in a man's skin! You give me this look like -like I-I, I don't even know! I don't understand! You all give me this look of disgust and hatred and you think that somehow it makes you better?! You ran Princess! Maybe not all at once, but when I was honest with you because I figured you were different... you showed me that the only difference between the old man and you is that only one has the yaytsa to tell me they'd kill me to protect the other!"

He could feel the Dark Element building across his shoulders, searing pain from the cracking and splitting of old wounds, of old scars. And in it all, he could still feel that calm at the center of it all, the resignation that came with knowing the futility of it all. He still had a mission, a purpose, a reason to keep fighting and he would for as long as it took. Blue streaks of blood stained the edges of his tattered tan blouse sleeves and his wraps turned a deeper hue of blue-violet, the dirt upon them being moved aside. If he kept this up, worse injuries would come undone and he knew it. He let himself drop to his knees, slamming a bloody fist into the ground and letting the sensation of his knuckles impacting the rock, shake him from the torrent of emotions which now roiled about him. The Dark Element slowly began to pool about him, pressing into his skin and body to pin back into place the wounds they'd held before.

He looked up, hair matted down from sweat and the day's earlier rain," Don't apologize to me. You want explanations? You want truth? Ask someone else, I've got actual problems to deal with, real things to be afraid of!"

He turned his head towards Tristan," I've told you what you needed to know Iceborn. I'll see you after you all are done in the castle. Much like another friend of mine, a place called 'The Saint's Seat doesn't really suit my kind.'"

With a slight bend of the hand and a shock of shadow through his right hand, the shadows in the alleyway opened like a pool of black ichor and quietly he fell into the void. He hated himself already for throwing a temper tantrum like that, especially so soon after Aerion, but unlike the other iceling, he had fallen and his emotions could do real harm if he didn't control himself properly. With that, he set to stalking the city alleyways and wandering the dark places he could find for the remainder of the day.

[Lazarian]

The Iron Keep
Morozov Province, Garmiccia
Fourteen Years Ago

---

“In the beginning, there was nothing but grey skies and an endless void.” said her father, stroking her blonde hair. The two sat in his study - a magnificent room, carpeted with beautiful patterned rugs from Sahranjja and let with scented candles. Moonlight trickled through a large stained-glass window on the left, and a small hearth crackled warmly on the right. There was an enormous oak wood desk which took up nearly half the room, with a cushioned chair sculpted from iron behind it. But the most important feature of all were the wooden shelves filled with books. There must have been hundreds of them, all shapes and sizes. Their spines filled the room with color: sharp crimson to deep azure, forest green to ragged and threadbare brown. Enormous tomes, small pocketbooks, texts and scripts, all arranged neatly by size and topic. Nikolai took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses, leaning back in the chair. Perched on his knee, Katya stared intently at the blank sphere of iron that laid on the desk in front of them.

“But the universe was not empty. Before all creation, there was the Allgod.” continued Nikolai, as the sphere dissolved into liquid, before molding itself into a faceless figure. “He sat alone in the void, pondering creation for eons. And when his contemplation came to an end, the Heavens and their inhabitants were born. The Noble Eight, the angelic host, and most importantly...his oldest son, Tenaembra. All was good in the heavens.” he finished, as the figure dissolved into liquid iron once again.

“I’m sure the priests have taught you that men are shaped in the image of the gods, and this is true. But not only our physical form. Our minds carry the nature of the gods as well...including their flaws.” he continued, ending on an ominous note, a slight hint of sadness in his voice. “Tenaembra was prideful, seeking to usurp his father. He was cast out of heaven, and war raged in heaven for thousands of years. The Allgod and his loyal children won, but at a terrible cost. The Allgod sacrificed himself to defeat Tenaembra, leaving the Noble Eight to create the world we live in today. However, he left one last piece of himself behind. The God of Light.”

“Pyrastar!” Katya chimed in, looking up eagerly. She learned many things from the local priests, and she knew that the Great Fire himself was responsible for life. Without fire, there was no way that anyone could survive through the frigid winters. Without fire, there would be no cooked food, or light to see.

“No,” sighed her father disappointedly, shaking his head. “The priests have done you a disservice, child. Caelston, the last of the Gods. With his birth, the gods created the world. Working together in perfect harmony, they sculpted the world we live in.” he continued, twisting his hands to warp the metal into a globe. It was remarkably intricate - engravings of seas, clouds, and rivers slowly pulsed over the model. It was an impressive demonstration of artistry. “The skies, the ocean, the earth, and creatures of all sorts and sizes to inhabit it. And before the gods left our realm to ascend to the Heavens, they left man with one last, and most important gift.”

“Was it fire?” Katya inquired, staring at the small fire blazing in the hearth.

“No, daughter. Though not a bad guess, I’m afraid you’re incorrect.” he answered tenderly. “No. As a parting gift, they gave man curiosity.”

“Curiosity?” the girl said, scratching her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” Nikolai chuckled, patting her head dismissively. “See, Kat, the difference between man and the other creatures of this world is that we possess a burning desire for knowledge in our hearts. We seek to understand why things work. To learn and find our place in the universe around us. And this...was the gods’ greatest gift.”

He gestured to the books around him, standing up and picking one up off the shelf. It was a crisply bound tome, and Katya struggled to read the title. Kamenev’s Treatise on Earthborn Farming Techniques, apparently. Nikolai continued, passing the book to her with care.

“Pyrastar may have created fire for us, but it was mankind who harnessed it to warm our hearth. Hydrata may have created the rivers, but it was us who built the water mills to grind our wheat. Ferruoston placed the metals into the earth, but we were the ones who melted them into our tools. Without knowledge, there is little that separates man from beast.”

Looking out of the stained glass window, he stared into the stars for a moment, before gazing over the province that laid before him. The keep was built into the mountain, standing proudly above the frozen lands that he had fought so hard to possess. They may have been cold and barren, but hidden treasures laid beneath the earth - incredible deposits of gemstones and iron.

Someday, these would be his son’s. His father had given him nothing. As the seventh son of a minor house, Nikolai was destined to be a captain, perhaps. The Kuznetsovs were a pathetic lot - drunkards, alcoholics, weak-willed and spineless. His father was no exception - a miserly old man, clinging feebly to his governance of a small port city, and the liquor that flowed from the docks.

Knowledge had saved him from his fate. And his god, of course. Garmiccian armies were terribly organized. In fact, when he had left home and abandoned his inheritance to enlist into Duke Jeramiahde’s army, most “armies” were little more than disorganized raiding parties. The northern Garmiccians were perceived as uncivilized barbarians, and for good reason.

But the secrets of the past were not lost. Every night not spent on patrol was sacrificed to the library and chapel texts, pouring over ancient scripts. It was tragic, really. They lived in a world that had fallen backwards from what it had once been. Scrolls spoke of powers unheard of and creatures unseen. But some of these powers, these spells...they were not beyond man’s reach. With a mixture of fortune and applied skill, he had risen through the ranks, becoming one of Jeramiahde’s commanders. And when the country had split in twain...

“It’s getting late, Kat. Time to head to bed.”

Although Katya wanted to stay and listen the night away, she didn’t protest. She knew better than to disagree, and run the risk of inflaming his temper. Taking her by the hand, Nikolai escorted her down the hallways of the castle, back to the women’s and servants quarters.

“I love you, father.” she said sweetly, looking up at him with admiration.

“I love you too. Sleep well, daughter.” he replied, before closing the door and locking it shut. She had a tendency to wander about where she wasn’t supposed to. Too much of a rebellious streak for his liking. Just like her mother. “She’s young, though. It’ll fade with time.” he thought, before slowly pacing back to his study.

---

Egorov
Kalashnik Province, Garmiccia
Six Years Ago

---

As the carriage rolled down the bumpy cobblestone roads, the wind and snow howled outside. It was winter and travelling was frowned upon, but there had been reports of a town that had been unwilling to pay the proper tribute to the Emperor. Of course, what the town had to offer was completely irrelevant. Their meagre offerings of grain and frozen herring would do little more than to sustain the grainary’s surplus - however, their resistance was significantly more troubling. Nikolai was determined to get to the root of the issue - perhaps they simply didn’t have the resources...or his grasp had weakened.

Beside him sat his teenage daughter, combing her blonde hair. Katya was happy to get out of the castle for once. As her father had failed to produce a son, year after year, he grew more protective. More restrictive. More demanding. She hoped that Nadia would hurry up and have one, although she hated the woman. Her father’s wife was a nagging shrew of a woman, spoiled and fat from countless years of living off of the prosperity of the South. Always complaining to Katya about her lack of manners or respect.

“Father,” she asked, continuing their conversation, “when will I become one of Ferruston’s children? I’m about the right age, right? And I pray every night for his blessing, so when will it happen? Is it going to?”

Nikolai laughed. He was in a good mood today - partly because of the drinks that he had with the men last night, partly because of the fresh air, and partly because he had increased his odds of a male heir the prior night.

“Daughter, ask one question at a time, would you? I’m amazed you don’t run out of breath and choke, sometimes.” he said, shaking his head. Leaning back in the carriage, he took a deep breath and continued.

“You’ll be a spellborn when the gods believe you’re ready. It typically does emerge from the fourteenth to twenty-third years, and considering our bloodline, I would expect it to arise earlier. Ferruoston gave me my gift when I was around fifteen years of age. But you will have it, I promise. I can show you if you’re bold enough.”

“I’m as brave as any boy!” she proclaimed fiercely, attempting to make him proud. “I’ll do whatever it takes!”

Reaching over towards the hilt of his sword, her father effortlessly snapped it off, forging one of the crossguards into a sharp blade. Holding her hand, he raised the makeshift knife to her palm. With a swift slash, he drew it across her pale skin, and crimson blood instantly rose to the surface. She winced, holding back tears as he slid a finger over the cut, picking up droplets of blood.

“Look closely, Kat.” he said, raising the bloodied finger to her eyes. “Specks of blue. The hint of the bloodline of the gods. I guarantee you’ll be able to accompany me in the blacksmith soon. Metal is a proud element, and Ferruoston is a noble and generous patron. He’s the god of conflict, of war. The god of blood and steel.” he said passionately, echoing the war cry he had shouted hundreds of times before. “If I don’t have a son...I will be proud to name you as my heir.”

Holding her other hand over the cut, she smiled through the pain.

“Of course, father. I’ll make you proud.”

---

Training Grounds
Morozov Province, Garmiccia
Four Years Ago

---

“Again!” he shouted, as she struggled to pull herself up from the dirt. Her muscles screamed from exhaustion, and her hair was matted with sweat and dirt. Streaks of light blue had emerged around a year ago, and life had gotten so much worse since then. Ever since her gifts had emerged, combined with her father’s inability to have a son, everything had changed. As a child, she had always looked forward to this - to becoming a Baroness, to becoming a spellborn. If she had known what her father’s expectations were going to be...she would have cursed the gods.

They had been out at the practice grounds for what felt like hours now. And she had received defeat again and again. Around them, soldiers drilled, practicing form and formation alike. Some cast glances of uncomfortable unease towards their liege, but nobody dared speak a word.

“I can’t! I can’t do this anymore!” she snapped angrily, tossing her sword away from her. “I’m done!”

Her father strode towards her, anger in his eyes, and she braced herself for whatever would come next. Usually it was a swift kick to the ribs. “If you decide you’re done on the battlefield, you die.” he growled, with steel in his voice. “Get up, Katya.”

“Go fuck yourself, old man.” she spat, gasping for air. It would piss him off without a doubt, but it was the best she could do. He clenched his fists.

“Get up.” he snapped, bending over and grabbing her by the arm. Gripping it fiercely, he dragged her to her feet, and her blunted sword flew back to his hand. He pressed it into her hands once again, before shoving her away from him.

“This isn’t fair!” she screamed, frustration flooding her pale cheeks with red. “You’re a grown man and I’m barely even a woman! You think you can just hurt me like this because you think I’m not ready?” she continued loudly, deliberately attempting to make him uncomfortable. She knew he wanted a son. She knew that the soldiers around them muttered in the barracks when he wasn’t looking. She knew he hated it.

“Daughter.” he said coldly, not taking the bait. “Foot forward, knees bent, eyes front.”

He raised his sword, preparing to unleash another sequence of strikes. Internally, he fumed. He loved her, but she wasn’t ready. To spare the rod would be to spoil the child, as the old saying went. She was too much like her mother - too free-spirited, too childish. And then she was too much like him - too easily angered and too prideful. Seeing his flaws manifest in her infuriated him - he had tried so hard to be better than his father, to raise her right…

Stepping forward, he swung at her, lunging forwards. It was lightning fast - a strike he had practiced a thousand times. Weakly, she threw up a parry, but it was pathetic. Iron met iron, and her sword embedded itself in the dirt. He continued, kicking her in the stomach as punishment. It knocked the air out of her, and she fell to the ground. Fury filled his veins, and he struggled to take deep breaths, attempting to calm himself.

“I’m done wasting my time.” he spat, his silver eyes shimmering. “Sergeant!” he snapped, turning over to Sergeant Bykov. Bykov was the sergeant in charge of the drills for today, an older veteran on the verge of a comfortable retirement to his family’s farm. His grey hair and soft blue eyes looked back at his liege with a bit of fear, and Nikolai tossed him the blunted sword.

“She doesn’t leave here until she bests you.” he snarled at the sergeant, who recoiled. Baron Kuznetsov’s anger was feared, and for good reason. “And no food or water until she does.”

Bykov nodded, although he seemed shaken. The elderly sergeant looked over to the girl, who was gasping for air on the ground, tears streaming down her face, before looking back to his liege.

“Yes, sire.” he mumbled, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he saluted crisply. Satisfied enough with the answer, Nikolai turned and left the drill grounds. In his wake, soldiers muttered among themselves uncomfortably. Baron Kuznetsov over the last fifteen years had been harsh, but fair...but recently, things had started to change. Sergeant Bykov waited until Nikolai was out of sight, before heading inside to the garrison quarters.

Katya sat there, eyes looking off into the distance. A few moments later, the sergeant emerged, carrying a tin mug filled with water and a bowl of beetroot soup. “Take this.” he said uncomfortably, looking around like a hawk. “By the gods, this isn’t right.” he thought to himself, as Katya shakily stood, grabbing onto his arm for support. Taking the food and drink, she limped into the garrison quarters and to the great table that filled the dining hall. Awkwardly, the veteran followed, keeping close watch. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he took a seat next to her.

“He means well.” Katya choked between spoonfuls, wiping her eyes with her bruised hand. “I-I’m sure he does.” she stuttered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Bykov nodded wordlessly, although he bit his tongue to do so.

If only this curse hadn’t burdened her. Or even if another god had blessed her. All wind was good for was moving ships and windmills, or shaking the chaff from wheat. It didn’t sharpen weapons or fix tools like her father’s gift, or construct mighty fortifications like the sons of Earth could. Even the sons of the accursed Cold One herself, despite their foul patron, had worthy and powerful blessings. She wept softly, silently cursing the mother she never knew.

---

Katya’s Bedchambers
Morozov Province, Garmiccia
Two Years Ago

---

“I’ve done all that I can, m’lady.” the chambermaid said reluctantly, backing away.

Katya felt like a fool. She wore a long dark-blue dress that trailed on the floor behind her, with white lace gloves and braided hair. This was bad enough, but then the maid had painted her face with some sort of makeup, of all things, to give her cheeks and thin lips the color they lacked.

“Very well. I’m ready to meet this inevitable disappointment.” she sighed, looking at herself in the mirror. The chambermaid scowled, shaking her head in judgement. Of course, her suitor would likely say the same upon meeting her.

It was ironic. There had been a time when she had prayed to the gods for her father to have a son, who would relieve the burden of responsibility from her shoulders. And right when it seemed as if it would never happen...Nadia had grown pregnant with child. It had seemed like a blessing at the time - her father’s disposition improved immensely. He stopped drinking every night, and attempted to make amends with her. It seemed like their relationship would mend once again, with both resolving to forgive the other…

But now, thrust into this new role, she felt hopeless once again. She’d prepared her whole life to inherit her father’s lands - and now she was merely expected to marry a suitor and become a cheerful housewife. A dignified lady of the court. But she couldn’t dance, or play an instrument, or any of the stupid inane nonsense that noblewomen were expected to. She lacked the womanly curves and soft features of a noble’s daughter, as well as the tenderness and fragility expected of one. This dress felt terribly tight and constricting, and her body screamed for her to discard it and rip this horrid bodice to shreds.

Taking a deep breath, she left the safety of her room. Walking slowly down the hallway to the grand hall that her father hosted guests in, she crossed her fingers, hoping that this suitor would be more appealing than the last. The last one had been the firstborn son of the Duke of the Portnov Province, and at first, he seemed promising. He was handsome, and an earthborn, with a fine trimmed coat and well-defined muscles. She almost was willing to accept this new role...until he opened his mouth to speak.

His brain was as dense as the rocks he could control. Trying to imagine the rest of her life with this idiot was brought her to despair, and she quietly sabotaged their courtship. Thankfully, after several uncomfortably quiet dinners and unflattering outfits, he had claimed that she simply wasn’t for him and gone on his way. Turning the corner, she entered the door to her father’s hall.

At one side of the great table, her father and his trusted advisors sat. At his left, the Captain of the Guard (and more importantly, her friend and confidant!) sat, his lengthy legs uncomfortably wedged into the chair. He glared bitterly at the man to her father’s right...Duke Temnota sat. Temnota turned his head to smile at her with polished ivory teeth, and just his presence alone filled her at unease. The Duke had been there for a few weeks on official business from the Emperor, and so it didn’t surprise her to see him there at the table. She knew that he had offered to marry her...thank the gods that her father had said that there was another offer already made. Even though there wasn’t.

By all means, there was no reason to dread the pairing. Temnota was handsome, with perfect skin and blazing luminous eyes of violet, and he was the ruler of a powerful Eastern province on top of this. Adorned in a perfectly fitted set of dark blue robes, with a heavy fur coat overset on top, he certainly was beautiful. But there was something quietly wrong with Temnota. Whenever he was at the Keep, vultures circled overhead, and the horses whinnied and brayed in discontent in the stable. Servants spoke in hushed whispers, and his men seemed cruel and callous. Just being around him gave her a bad feeling in her guts. Her friend Alexei hated him, claiming that he had tried to murder her father...but they were still close friends, for some odd reason.

At the other side, sat...oh, Pyrastar save her. The man, dressed in a horribly garish set of bright crimson robes, was in his late thirties...if she was estimating on the low side. He was fat, with a round moon of a face and a beer gut that nearly reached the table. His hair was receding severely, with a large bald patch towards the center. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Katya!” her father said enthusiastically, motioning towards the table. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’d like you to meet Duke Zolotov, Governor of the Vinov Province.” he finished, gesturing his hand towards the nightmare of a potential husband. She was expected to love that?!

Locking eyes with the wealthy merchant, her bitter scowl spoke for her.

“Your daughter doesn’t seem too pleased to see me.” whined Zolotov in a rather high pitched voice, squinting at her with displeasure. “And you said she was beautiful.”

Awkward silence filled the room at Zolotov’s insult. In the North, a comment like that was horrifically rude. Rude enough to be considered a slight against a man’s honor. Honor was more important in the North, where men lived and died by their word. Alexei’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword, and the bodyguards on each side of Zolotov shifted nervously. Suddenly, the silence shattered, broken by Temnota’s quiet laughter. Nikolai’s eyes were filled with fury, glimmering silver, and he grit his teeth together.

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Duke Zolotov.” he choked, as if each of the words that slipped from his lips were a dagger to the chest. “I apologize for my daughter’s disrespect.”

“Your apology is accepted.” the fat governor said smugly, leaning back in the chair. “I’m always happy to keep talking terms of trade, but your daughter is dismissed. I cannot come home every night to a shrew.” he finished, crossing his arms on top of his mountainous stomach.

“I’m happy to hear it. After all, I cannot come home every night to a fattened swine!” blurted out Katya, her father’s anger rising inside her. As the words left her mouth, she gasped, almost in disbelief that she had said it.

Needless to say, all hell broke loose.

---

The Upper District, St. Veovulf
The Present

---

"Don't apologize to me. You don't know what I've done, malyshka.” he spat, his face twisting into disgust.

Katya froze, her breath caught halfway in her throat. This hadn’t been the response she had been hoping for. He sounded quietly furious, like her father in the instants before unleashing his fury. "You should be afraid. You think you know anything about monsters? I lived with them for years until I became one myself!" Erosen continued, his voice growing bitter.

The man stepped away, facing her. Along his arms and face, a black void grew, like cancerous growths or rot on a corpse. His eyes glimmered a bright indigo, reminding her of Temnota. "Go ahead! Place blame on me for horrors I know nothing about like your friends already have! You asked and I gave you nothing but an honest answer!" he continued, his voice crescendoing to a yell.

Her friends? Oh, gods. Alexei or Timur had spoken to him when she had been away. Or perhaps both - Timur had a strange obsession with Erosen, although perhaps it wasn’t that strange. The man had a perverse fascination with the dark and the arcane, and Erosen certainly fell into that category. But would Timur really have blamed him for horrors? No, it was almost certainly Alexei. Alexei hated the darkling. Hated.

Erosen was practically yelling now, and pain and remorse filled his eyes. Guilt filled Katya as the man continued, tormented by memories. She hadn’t meant to bring on all of this. “I didn't make excuses for my actions! I didn't try to hide and weasel my way out of my guilt! Yet all you Garmiccian bastards see is some demon in a man's skin! You give me this look like -like I-I, I don't even know! I don't understand! You all give me this look of disgust and hatred and you think that somehow it makes you better?!”

She tried to find the words to protest, but nothing came. It was odd, to be at a loss for words. Usually, they spilled out from her like a bubbling brook or rushing stream - but when she wanted most to have something to say, she had nothing. He continued on, fury in his eyes.

“You raaaan, Princess! Maybe not all at once, but when I was honest with you because I figured you were different…”

That struck home.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She knew it must be hard to live in direct opposition to his nature, and...he had been honest because he had trusted her. He had thought that she was different from her judgemental and untrustworthy companions. He had thought that maybe she was someone who could forgive his mistakes and look past his nature. But he was wrong, and...she knew it. She’d judged him, and as he said with so much emphasis, she’d ran. Her confidence dissolved out of her, falling to pieces, and her gaze fell to the ground. She couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“You showed me that the only difference between the old man and you is that only one has the yaytsa to tell me they'd kill me to protect the other!" he finished, a quiet anguish filling his voice.

THAT caught her attention. Guilt and sadness was almost instantly replaced with a cold fury. Her hands balled into clenched fists, and she clenched her teeth together. Alexei hadn’t. Erosen wasn’t a threat to her. He’d presented no threat and displayed no malice. He didn’t even seek to kill the Greycloaks. Erosen dropped to his knees, the black void pooling around him. It seeped into him, drawing aghast stares from the few civilians and merchants in the square. Looking up right at her, he growled a final retort.

“Don't apologize to me. You want explanations? You want truth? Ask someone else, I've got actual problems to deal with, real things to be afraid of!"

“I-I’m sor-” she stuttered and choked, the words dying in her throat. No, it’d probably just infuriate him more. How had things gone so badly? Erosen ignored her completely, turning to Tristan instead. “I've told you what you needed to know Iceborn. I'll see you after you all are done in the castle. Much like another friend of mine, a place called 'The Saint's Seat’ doesn't really suit my kind.” he finished, before falling through shadows that stretched from the alleyway.

She stared at the space where he was for a couple of seconds, processing everything that had transpired. There was no more time for crying or being an emotional mess. She’d done enough of that. No, she was furious. Her father’s legendary rage flowed through her veins, despite the deep breaths she took to stay calm and suppress it.

Erosen had been a friend and an ally. And through her weakness and Alexei’s judgement, she’d lost him. Despite the old captain’s constant warnings, Erosen had been one of the companions she’d liked the most. Despite their brief time together, he’d shown himself to be kind, reliable, and...well, other feelings lurked. She suppressed them, shaking her head to clear it.

Turning around, she looked at Tristan, Lisoette, and Eric, who were all staring at her.

“I...there’s been some miscommunications, I fear.” she said sweetly, despite the anger that laid beneath. “You know, Eric, you’ve said that I need to be more assertive with my countrymen. I’m starting to think that I agree.” she said, with a hint of aggression creeping in at the end. “I’ll meet you all up at the Saint’s Seat. There’s a few conversations that I need to have first.”

Turning away from the group, she waved goodbye, before walking back to the courtyard where she knew her companions still were. After a few minutes of walking and collecting her thoughts, she reached the courtyard. Aerion was sleeping peacefully, propped up gently against their packs. For once, he looked happy - a faint smile laid on his lips as his eyes fluttered in a deep sleep. She shuddered to think of what dream he could be dreaming. Nearby, Timur and Ivan were playing dice, a stack of bronze Danethrums set on the ground between them. Ivan had been particularly unlucky, judging by the size of the stacks. As she approached, Timur looked up, muttering some insult under his breath. Of course.

Alexei was over talking with the newcomer, Ondell. The two had a lot to talk about - their pasts must have been relatively similar.

“Comrades,” she called sweetly in the language of their homeland, despite her boiling hatred of all of them at the moment, “I do believe it’s time for us to move on. We’ve been here for quite a while.” Turning to Sergeant Daegal, she bowed slightly to him in respect. Of course, she was above him, but as a foreigner, it was best to show respect.

“My companions and I vould be more than happy to escort you to the Saint’s Seat, Daegal.” she said, shaking his hand. “If you and the others could catch up with Eric and Tristan in the upper district square, they’ll escort you to the Seat. I have to have a small discussion vith my companion Alexei, so we’ll be going separately. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, sir.” she said, although her flushed cheeks and piercing glare indicated otherwise.

---

“So, lass, what’s been troubling you?” Alexei rumbled cheerfully. “I know that there’s a lot on your mind right now.”

He was in a good mood. Eric hadn’t held any grudges, he’d made a friend in Ondell, and they were making forward progress on their journey. He didn’t have to Aerion talk for at least a few hours, which was a major blessing from the gods. And finally, he’d drained the contents of his flask after his encounter with Erosen. He was relatively satisfied with how that’d gone. They had an understanding between each other - the Darkling would leave Katya alone, and they both shared the same hatred of each other. It was a place he was comfortable to be in. T’was better to have an enemy that said they were your enemy, than to have an enemy that pretended to be a friend.

Behind them, a rented pack mule walked, with Aerion tied tightly to its back. Incredibly, he was still lost in slumber. Alexei was almost a little concerned - perhaps Eric’s assault had concussed the man. But he was a Spellborn, and they could recover from all sorts of bad sorts. The only reason he really cared was because Katya seemed to care for the lunatic, for whatever reason. Her judgement really was quite poor.

“Well, I just have one question.” she said quietly, looking downcast. The poor girl was rather upset by everything that had happened today. He couldn’t blame her. They had yet another run in with the authorities, and Aerion’s desecration of the bodies was certainly upsetting.

“Go ahead.” he prompted her, listening intently.

“‘The only difference between the old man and you is that only one has the yaytsa to tell me they'd kill me to protect the other.’ I don’t suppose you would know anything about that, would you?” she said quietly, fury filling her voice. Alexei recognized it. He’d grown quite good at predicting when Nikolai would go off in one of his explosive rages over the years, and Katya shared the same signs. Short breaths, clenched fists, and that voice.

Oh, of course. The Darkling had gone and talked to her anyways. Of course that lying rat would go on ahead and seek to turn her against him. He'd expected no less.

“Did the Darkling talk to you?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Of course he did. Well, I certainly do recognize the sentiment. Yes. I’d kill him in a heartbeat to protect you without thinking twice about it. We had a little talk when you were gone. There’s not much else to say about it, really.”

“WHY?” Katya screamed, stopping in her tracks and exploding at him. Anguish filled her bloodshot eyes, although this was hard to notice behind the livid glare. “Why would you do that? You wait until I’m gone and you threaten to kill him? I don’t fucking understand what in the world you could possibly be thinking! He’s our friend!”

“Katya.” Alexei snapped back at her, rather irritated. “If anything, I should have done it earlier. He’s a Darkling. Every breath he takes is an insult to the gods. If not for our companions, I would have speared him through when he met us in this town.”

“I don’t understand! What’s he done that’s been so wrong?” Katya said, on the verge of tears. “He doesn’t want to be like this! Can’t you see how much pain he is? Can’t we treat him with kindness and respect? He’s helped us multiple times, and all you do is hurt him.”

“As I should.” Alexei said firmly, starting to grow tired of his ward’s insolence. “I saw you run from him. I bet he actually told you what he is. He’s a monster. I know it, you know it, and he knows it. The fact that you want to befriend it shows that your father was right.”

She froze. Had he really just said that? Surely he wouldn't do that. Every night, her father's words echoed in her mind. That she wasn't ready for the responsibilities of his rule. That she was just a foolish child, unable to be his heir and unable to be married off to another. That she was a disappointment.

“You’re not ready.” he continued, reinforcing that he had. “I understand that you don’t want to be married off, and that you want to establish that you should be your father’s heir. But you’ve got more to lea-”

Clenching her fists, she swung at him, blinded by fury. It hit him in the side, doing absolutely nothing other than hurting her wrist, and he grabbed her forearm. He understood that what he said hurt her, but these things needed to be said.

“That’s enough.” he said, his frustration mounting. “Listen. If you want to make your own mistakes so badly, I’m willing to let you. But when his blood coats my hands because of your actions, don’t blame me.” he growled, gently letting go of her hand. She seemed rather shaken by her outburst. Had she really hit him? It was ironic that she was getting onto him for hurting a friend...and then immediately doing so herself. She took a deep breath, trying to keep it together.

“People change, Alexei.” she said faintly, looking off into the distance. “They have to be able to change.”

She paused, closing her eyes and sitting down on the road, head in her hands.

“I...I have to be able to change.” she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath.

[Constaniana]

He then continued, “ we should get going we don’t want to miss Isiah’s meeting and we don’t want to be caught in the dark either even though that won’t be an exact problem either.” For a minute Shawn got distracted “you guys wanna see something really cool?” He then recalled how it happened.

"Sure, if it can be done quickly. If not it might need to wait until after the sergeant's audience," replied the Messenger.

---

Lisoette was glad that Tristan had come to check on them, and help comfort Katya. Lifting something heavy was always easier as a group, whether it was a piece of furniture or a heart's burdens. Her husband had a calm, gentle way of soothing someone, like rays of the sun on a snowy day, or one of his ice cream cones during the peak of summer. Mrs. Frost smiled as her imagination conjured up a vision of him doing the same to a few little ones like him and her; bairns with blended features like white hair and purple eyes. It certainly wasn't the first time the thought had crossed her mind. Her bridesmaids back in Yuelkelu had asked her about it plenty, sometimes jokingly fighting for the honour of the first Frost daughter being named after them, and already dispensing traditional advice and tips for conception and childbirth. The Daemonness brought her attention back to the present as Katya stood up to hug Tristan in thanks, and she gave Katya a hug herself. As they set off back towards the group and chuckled at Mr. Frost's joke Lisoette recalled some other things her friends in Yuelkelu had mentioned their mothers teaching them. With a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes she leaned towards Katya and started whispering.

"Circling back a smidge, about the figure problem that got mentioned earlier, I heard plenty of remedies for that while I was living in Yuelkelu. The women there certainly weren't...slender, in spite of all the swimming one does living in an island chain. It might be tricky getting our hands on coconut milk and papayas this far north, but we should be able to find fish oil and mushroom root more easily. Some of the girls would say ʻAweoweo or āhole were the best, but I think oil from any fish would suffice. They'd also claim they were just blessed with particularly good air and water. If that's true then maybe going overland across Galllia's north might do you good, honey, since Northemen lassies have a particular heft to them too. Tristan and I had a friend named Aldraniri who explained it helped them survive the winters." Lisoette smirked quietly.

"You know you shouldn't worry, about... well, any of this," Tristan chimed in, and Lisoette's cheeks went as red as Aldraniri's hair. She hadn't thought she was talking that loud, what if Katya got embarrassed again-- "There's no reason to be ashamed if you feel overwhelmed, it happens to everyone."

Now Lisoette was confused, and her tensed shoulders slackened as she tried to puzzle it out. She had seen Tristan shirtless many times now, and knew he certainly had nothing to worry about when it came to having a sculpted physique. At the very least he had never told her that he felt overwhelmed about not feeling attractive.

"I used to be rather cowardly when I was younger. I would sooner run or hide than risk a confrontation, and I once left my friends to fight for themselves while I stayed away, safe." He related in a casual tone - while most would perhaps be ashamed of such a past, he didn't feel he had reason to hide it. "What's important is to move past everything and grow as a person."

Oh, he didn't hear any of what I said. Thank Froenstia, Lisoette thought, letting out a breath she had been instinctively holding. Her eyes met Katya's, and she brought a gloved hand to her mouth in a desperate struggle to suppress any laughter. Eric's Knight-Form gave her an excuse to let it out, and she obliged Erosen's request to give him and Tristan some space. Lisoette initially thought she would simply hear about whatever it was they were discussing later on by chatting with Tristan, until the Darkling started yelling in response to Katya's apology, Dark power coalescing about his form. Mrs. Frost's eyes darted around, seeing if any guardsmen would swoop in and muddle things up. She was obviously worried for the sake of her two friends, but there was also the possibility of this altercation creating more fuss for the sergeant or the other newcomers. Mercifully Erosen did not start a duel, opting instead to storm off somewhere. At least Catrin would go with him and hopefully keep him out of trouble.

---

"Aye, Your Ladyship," Sergeant Daegal said to Katya, and he and his newfound protectors set off for the Saint's Seat. Isaiah initiated most of the discussions. He seemed to have a knack for small talk when not resisting arrest, relishing the chance for more ordinary conversation. It was understandable, having been cooped up on the boat by his lonesome while sailing to St. Veowulf, and then spending all his time the past two days either talking exclusively about recruiting help for his home or avoiding being captured by the enemy. The older man asked where Jack where he was from, since he had never heard an accent like his before. Upon Jack revealing he was from Weirinsta Isaiah asked him if he'd ever been to Lake Eidyl, and whether the fishing there was any good. This lead into a query to Shawn about what one might expect to catch in the lake near his woodland cabin, and onward to the topic of all things fishing with Eric and Ondell.

The Messenger said little as this went on, constantly scanning his surroundings with his inscrutable, steely gaze. After much cajoling from Isaiah he admitted he had fished in mountain streams as a lad, but that it had been a long time since he had done so. Daegal supposed the orphan crusader might not be all that keen on discussing more of his past, if he summed up everything after losing his family and home as that he "aimlessly wandered on wicked paths without purpose". A man who durst not call himself by his own birth name, subsuming himself in service to Pryastar, would likely have much from his former life he wished to leave behind him. Rather than continue trying to squeeze water from a stone the old marine resumed conversing with more willing participants.

---

"So not only did you fail to apprehend the target, but you suffered a casualty rate of eighty percent?!?! It's fortunate for your wretched sakes that he was missing his other leg, or I imagine all you mistakes would have been slaughtered!"

All six survivors from the skirmish stood in a line in a dark cellar hidden somewhere in the city. A man in a grey robe was pacing in front of them, spittle striking one of the Federal troopers in the face as he reprimanded them. It was hard to see much of his features, as the room was only illuminated by some candles.

"Hold your tongue, land-lubber. The only mistake was including your weak rabble in with the strike team. If you weren't willing to contribute gorillachs or some other war-beast then you should have stayed hidden and let real warriors handle it. Besides, your group has the better means of detecting Elementals. Why the hell didn't your clawed witches smell the dozen Elementals arriving at the train station, or the one that managed to climb onto the church's roof unnoticed by any of your agents?!?" snarled another dimly-lit conspirator.

"If we had known there would be Elementals joining the fray we wouldn't have brought any of your troops in the first place, Captain," a hidden voice sneered, "The last war proved the Federal Armed Forces couldn't stand up to Elementals. Before you make some inter-service joke about a marine being worth four soldiers, remember how the marines at Kriegport were swept aside by Kroisoto Van Aurenheim. The time is still not yet upon us when we humble men of Reason can individually overpower those monstrous instruments of Fate's inertia, and realise the enlightenment which the Philosopher King writes of."

"Blame can be assigned to both parties at a later date; right now we need to focus our efforts on an actual response. Men, we need all the details we can get on the hostiles. Physical descriptions most of all, but if you caught any names that helps too. Ancient Elementals are the ones who came up with that custom of formal long introductions you still see human aristocrats use in our day during duels, so it stands to reason that one or two of them might have done the same before freezing a man to death. We will send units to backtrack their path through the city, figure out from whence they came, and formulate a plan to counterattack them. We also need to pass a report of this up the chain of command. Assuming our intel on the target's movements still holds true, he'll be out of reach to the likes of us at the castle, but there are still those who could take action there."

---

The Saint's Seat

"And you're certain he is who he claims to be, Bishop?"

"The church's genealogues and registrars keep very thorough records, Your Grace, and his appearance matches the photograph copy we have in our archives here. There has not been enough time to hear back from the greater archives in Albrheim and Villdernheim, and we are obviously currently unable to reference the original documents in the Towraigth parish, but what we have here matches up with what we gleaned from interviewing him while he rested after first seeking sanctuary. He certainly earned that uniform he wears; his Rite of the Clean Sword is recorded in 1746, and his Absolution of the Returned Warrior is in 1761, and the archives of your father's naval forces likewise record an Isaiah Daegal from Towraigth enlisting in The Duke of St. Veowulf's 2nd Marine Regiment, serving faithfully and being honourably discharged after losing half of his right leg while storming a pirate ship. We also have details of his personal life events, such as his wedding, children and grandchildren born, and funerals participated in if you're curious," said a clergyman clearly in his later years, gesturing to a large, simply-decorated white tome in his hands.

"I suppose taking a look to know the man a bit more before he sees me couldn't hurt," said Duke Kvasir Van Gorthrik. He had been satisfied with Bishop Gjerde's summary, but felt bad making the old man continue to carry the heavy book. To him it seemed a wonder Gjerde still had the strength in his neck to hold up the weight of the formal bishop's rowan wood circlet upon his head, let alone carry extra weight in his thinned arms. Ever since he was a little boy, still simply called Lord Gorthrik, he had thought Gjerde seemed ancient, but he seemed especially more so these days. The clergyman probably hadn't been especially old back then, but ageing thirty years had made him as actually old now as the nobleman once perceived him. The stress of the past few years had contributed to sapping the man's strength; first the crisis of the late Duke Gustav Van Gorthrik falling ill, and then the war breaking out, and the death of said duke while the conflict raged had placed a heavy burden on his shoulders. Kvasir Van Gorthrik stroked the blonde beard he had grown out long to help appear older and wiser than he felt he was, and idly turned a page. He looked at the genuine Sahranjjite clock on his desk, seeing that it was now 1:21, and arose from behind his desk. His wide hands set the register down and straightened up his ornate coat and waistcoat. "Well, I'd best be off to the audience hall now; it wouldn't do to be late. Take care, Bishop."

Kvasir brooded as he walked alone, seeking to mask his inner turmoil by looking out the windows to the freshly-watered gardens. Showing weakness in a corridor like this, where the odds of gossips taking note of that fact and spreading it around like manure on a field only grew as he went closer to more populated parts of the palace, was certainly inadvisable. The aristocrat was grateful for the December cold, as it helped keep him from sweating too much. As he outwardly looked at some gulls in flight he wondered if a day like this was inevitable.

If it wasn't this crisis in the Thin Isles then it would be something else that eventually undoes the efforts of my father and I at balance, and brings Veowulfshire's conflict over remaining in the Federation to a final head. How long can its economic advantage outweigh the reduced sovereignty? Growing up I so easily dismissed people warning of the central government turning tyrannical, but with how the "Executor" and Joint Chancellor have been changing things...were their hearts always set this way, or did something in them...break when the Aurennians crushed them? I would hope the High Admiral will see reason and accommodate sending some troops to investigate, but what if he has turned as hard as the rest of them? His stopped to collect himself before entering the hall, and sighed.

Keeping to the middle of the road only works until you come to a fork in it.

---

"Goodness me, I had forgotten just how huge this fortress is. Maybe they added onto it in the twenty years since I was last here? You could fit ten of Lord Hlojtur's castle in there..." Sergeant Daegal said with awe as the party arrived at the great entryway to the Saint's Seat, "The only thing I've ever seen that was taller than this is the glass tower back home. We're pretty sure it's a genuine imperial ruin, but folk where I'm from don't pry in there."

Guardsmen were positioned mostly outside the doors of the church-gate, leaving a tranquil space between the city outside and the governmental hub within. Fortunately for the party they were members of the Duke's household forces rather than soldiers sworn to the Executor, and made no threatening advances. A few of the younger ones briefly gawked at the giants among them; the non-commissioned officers recognised the old pre-Federation uniform worn by Daegal and saluted their scarred comrade-in-arms as he verified he had an appointment with the duke. Isaiah's chatter subsided as they went inside, replaced by the salty determination he had exhibited upon his introduction to the group. Not much was said as they all walked past the pews and altars. Rather than church offices, the doors in the back opened into a garden pathway leading to things like storehouses, offices, residential quarters, and the keep itself. The interior of the keep was decorated in a somewhat similar fashion to the Albrish pastoral style that dominated Sir Ross Square Station, but it showed a much greater degree of Halvefori influence, with brighter colours and oceanic motifs, mixed with some Galllian Imperial antiques. Isaiah turned to the group as they drew near the entrance to the audience hall.

"It's a public meeting, so ye all can come in to 'ave a listen if ye'd like. T'would help having witnesses that Watchtower and Federals attacked me in broad daylight to support my assertion that they don't want anyone snooping over in the Thin Isles. Though if ye have business elsewhere that ye must attend to then I understand that as well; I still remember how relieving it was coming into port after a long sail. Either way, in case this is the last we see of each other, ye have my undying gratitude for saving me." Sergeant Daegal snapped to attention and saluted the party. He then turned about, nodded at a guard to open the doors, and he marched in. His stride was surprisingly steady for a man of fifty-three years and only one leg.

"Sergeant Isaiah Ingamar Daegal, of the Duke of St. Veowulf's 2nd Marine Regiment, retired; emissary of His Lordship Lárentíus Agnarr Dornald Van Hlojtur, Baron of Towraigth," a servant announced as Isaiah entered. By no means was this hall the largest of its type upon the continent, but it would be ranked in the upper half of such a list. It was very well-attended today. Judging by the curious looks Isaiah was drawing from almost the entire assortment of courtiers and retainers one could infer that their main interest today was finally hearing this alarming messenger of war. There was a mix of contemptuous and sympathetic faces, with most keeping their expressions neutral for now. The islander stopped four-fifths of the way from the Duke's throne, and bowed.

"I bid thee welcome unto this blessed hall, oh supplicant. To what end dost thou beseech thy guardian?" said the Duke of St. Veowulf, reciting the formal greeting set by his predecessors centuries ago, and gesturing for Daegal to rise.

"Your Grace, I bring ye a plea for aid from your faithful vassal Baron Hlojtur in fighting off an invasion of Hellspawn in league with the Watchtower cult. They have either captured or executed the initial party of knights in service to His Lordship and our postmaster sent to ascertain what Watchtower were doing in our lands, and have already killed hundreds of your subjects in the Thin Isles once their intentions were revealed. The villages of Bjarghuus, Tjaldhuus, Kjalarrgrove, and Arndorhuus have fallen already, with Strondtown and Mithsbow besieged at the time I set sail for your fair city. I pray the list has not grown during my voyage. The navy's blockade is pointless, too. My people have witnessed what has truly been the scourge of Albrion's western seas as of late, what has brought the land's commerce to a halt.

"It is not pirates or tempests, but a great and terrible ironclad and crewed by Watchtower and Daemonnes. Only by the grace of the gods were we barely able to fend the metal monstrosity off when it steamed towards Towraigth's harbour. For now we reckon there is but one devil machine, but if this plague is not uprooted then who knows how many more of the things can be built? And what then? A fleet arriving in your harbour? Them sailing into Lake Frosting, burning Rolphcross, and storming up to the Falls of Albrheim? If the North's plight is insufficient to sway ye Federals that may hear me, then what if they turn south, to Carogne? With enough of them in a fleet they could break down all the fortifications along the Great Western Canal and invade Villdernheim, and finish the work their king began almost a score years ago! We urgently need fighting men and munitions, Your Grace! Is it not true that ye have an entire Federal Army regiment ready to set sail here? And surely in a port of this size it should not prove impossible to find additional ships to carry over reinforcements?"

"Ahhh, and divert Federal forces onto a wild goose chase in some backwater, right around the anniversary of Champion Field and the end of the Northern Revolution?" a Federal Navy officer interjected, "We know there are plenty of those who seek to rupture the United Galllian Federation even further, even though the Federation has only increased the prosperity of this city, and the remembrance of the Brute-marke decapitating Duke Kriegen and parading through Villdernheim will only embolden the secessionists. Does this man expect us to believe that some anti-clerical intellectuals could set up a modern shipyard on a most isolated archipelago? If they could really summon hobgoblin legions would they not have done so during the war? Who believes this troublemaker?"

"I do!" thundered the Messenger, causing the crowd around him to reel back a little, "And all others who love truth and justice should likewise stand with him!"

"I would be wary of declaring yourself so passionately in league with an outlaw," interjected a new voice, belonging to a tall man with a neat salt-and-pepper beard now striding into the room. Judging by the dark blue coat and white epaulettes of his uniform it was easy to tell he was also an officer in the Federal Navy, but his uniform was more elaborate than any the group had seen aboard the Fame of Redbeach. His sash, in contrast to the unadorned black one worn by Commodore Galdenguard, was scarlet and bedecked with medals, much like a good portion of the rest of his chest. He also had a cape the same colour as his coat that billowed out as he strode towards Daegal.

"Commander Upon the Halvefon, High Admiral Thomas Fitzhenry Ralvs," the same servant as before announced, sounding slightly surprised by the sudden entrance of the admiral. Plenty of the courtiers could be seen suddenly whispering things to those standing beside them, so it seemed he was not the only person in the room who had not been expecting to see the High Admiral storm in. Even the duke looked perturbed, and he spoke next.

"I was unaware you had a desire to meet with me this day, High Admiral. I was under the impression running the greatest pirate hunt of this century had consumed all your time as of late, hence why you had been so unresponsive to my inquiries regarding having more convoys setting sail, so as not to completely depress the economy of my city, or questions regarding just how a massive pirate force had managed to assemble with the navy being completely ignorant of such a development until it was too late. As you can see, Sergeant Daegal is ahead of you in the queue, and I will not disrespect a man who gave his own leg in the service of my father by giving his appointment time to you. Perhaps in the meantime you could find something useful for Captain Ostild over there, since he seems to have nothing better to do than make the navy appear ill-mannered."

"If the military had been aware of who Your Grace was meeting with sooner I would have acted long before this ill-advised audience took place," replied the Commander Upon the Halvefon. The tone of his voice shifted from moderate smugness to an agitated growl, "Your 'esteemed' guest is a secessionist radical, and anyone who supports him is an enemy of the United Federation of Galllia."

[Ameriganastan]

"Sure, if it can be done quickly. If not it might need to wait until after the sergeant's audience," replied the Messenger.

---

Lisoette was glad that Tristan had come to check on them, and help comfort Katya. Lifting something heavy was always easier as a group, whether it was a piece of furniture or a heart's burdens. Her husband had a calm, gentle way of soothing someone, like rays of the sun on a snowy day, or one of his ice cream cones during the peak of summer. Mrs. Frost smiled as her imagination conjured up a vision of him doing the same to a few little ones like him and her; bairns with blended features like white hair and purple eyes. It certainly wasn't the first time the thought had crossed her mind. Her bridesmaids back in Yuelkelu had asked her about it plenty, sometimes jokingly fighting for the honour of the first Frost daughter being named after them, and already dispensing traditional advice and tips for conception and childbirth. The Daemonness brought her attention back to the present as Katya stood up to hug Tristan in thanks, and she gave Katya a hug herself. As they set off back towards the group and chuckled at Mr. Frost's joke Lisoette recalled some other things her friends in Yuelkelu had mentioned their mothers teaching them. With a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes she leaned towards Katya and started whispering.

"Circling back a smidge, about the figure problem that got mentioned earlier, I heard plenty of remedies for that while I was living in Yuelkelu. The women there certainly weren't...slender, in spite of all the swimming one does living in an island chain. It might be tricky getting our hands on coconut milk and papayas this far north, but we should be able to find fish oil and mushroom root more easily. Some of the girls would say ʻAweoweo or āhole were the best, but I think oil from any fish would suffice. They'd also claim they were just blessed with particularly good air and water. If that's true then maybe going overland across Galllia's north might do you good, honey, since Northemen lassies have a particular heft to them too. Tristan and I had a friend named Aldraniri who explained it helped them survive the winters." Lisoette smirked quietly.

"You know you shouldn't worry, about... well, any of this," Tristan chimed in, and Lisoette's cheeks went as red as Aldraniri's hair. She hadn't thought she was talking that loud, what if Katya got embarrassed again-- "There's no reason to be ashamed if you feel overwhelmed, it happens to everyone."

Now Lisoette was confused, and her tensed shoulders slackened as she tried to puzzle it out. She had seen Tristan shirtless many times now, and knew he certainly had nothing to worry about when it came to having a sculpted physique. At the very least he had never told her that he felt overwhelmed about not feeling attractive.

"I used to be rather cowardly when I was younger. I would sooner run or hide than risk a confrontation, and I once left my friends to fight for themselves while I stayed away, safe." He related in a casual tone - while most would perhaps be ashamed of such a past, he didn't feel he had reason to hide it. "What's important is to move past everything and grow as a person."

Oh, he didn't hear any of what I said. Thank Froenstia, Lisoette thought, letting out a breath she had been instinctively holding. Her eyes met Katya's, and she brought a gloved hand to her mouth in a desperate struggle to suppress any laughter. Eric's Knight-Form gave her an excuse to let it out, and she obliged Erosen's request to give him and Tristan some space. Lisoette initially thought she would simply hear about whatever it was they were discussing later on by chatting with Tristan, until the Darkling started yelling in response to Katya's apology, Dark power coalescing about his form. Mrs. Frost's eyes darted around, seeing if any guardsmen would swoop in and muddle things up. She was obviously worried for the sake of her two friends, but there was also the possibility of this altercation creating more fuss for the sergeant or the other newcomers. Mercifully Erosen did not start a duel, opting instead to storm off somewhere. At least Catrin would go with him and hopefully keep him out of trouble.

---

"Aye, Your Ladyship," Sergeant Daegal said to Katya, and he and his newfound protectors set off for the Saint's Seat. Isaiah initiated most of the discussions. He seemed to have a knack for small talk when not resisting arrest, relishing the chance for more ordinary conversation. It was understandable, having been cooped up on the boat by his lonesome while sailing to St. Veowulf, and then spending all his time the past two days either talking exclusively about recruiting help for his home or avoiding being captured by the enemy. The older man asked where Jack where he was from, since he had never heard an accent like his before. Upon Jack revealing he was from Weirinsta Isaiah asked him if he'd ever been to Lake Eidyl, and whether the fishing there was any good. This lead into a query to Shawn about what one might expect to catch in the lake near his woodland cabin, and onward to the topic of all things fishing with Eric and Ondell.

The Messenger said little as this went on, constantly scanning his surroundings with his inscrutable, steely gaze. After much cajoling from Isaiah he admitted he had fished in mountain streams as a lad, but that it had been a long time since he had done so. Daegal supposed the orphan crusader might not be all that keen on discussing more of his past, if he summed up everything after losing his family and home as that he "aimlessly wandered on wicked paths without purpose". A man who durst not call himself by his own birth name, subsuming himself in service to Pryastar, would likely have much from his former life he wished to leave behind him. Rather than continue trying to squeeze water from a stone the old marine resumed conversing with more willing participants.

---

"So not only did you fail to apprehend the target, but you suffered a casualty rate of eighty percent?!?! It's fortunate for your wretched sakes that he was missing his other leg, or I imagine all you mistakes would have been slaughtered!"

All six survivors from the skirmish stood in a line in a dark cellar hidden somewhere in the city. A man in a grey robe was pacing in front of them, spittle striking one of the Federal troopers in the face as he reprimanded them. It was hard to see much of his features, as the room was only illuminated by some candles.

"Hold your tongue, land-lubber. The only mistake was including your weak rabble in with the strike team. If you weren't willing to contribute gorillachs or some other war-beast then you should have stayed hidden and let real warriors handle it. Besides, your group has the better means of detecting Elementals. Why the hell didn't your clawed witches smell the dozen Elementals arriving at the train station, or the one that managed to climb onto the church's roof unnoticed by any of your agents?!?" snarled another dimly-lit conspirator.

"If we had known there would be Elementals joining the fray we wouldn't have brought any of your troops in the first place, Captain," a hidden voice sneered, "The last war proved the Federal Armed Forces couldn't stand up to Elementals. Before you make some inter-service joke about a marine being worth four soldiers, remember how the marines at Kriegport were swept aside by Kroisoto Van Aurenheim. The time is still not yet upon us when we humble men of Reason can individually overpower those monstrous instruments of Fate's inertia, and realise the enlightenment which the Philosopher King writes of."

"Blame can be assigned to both parties at a later date; right now we need to focus our efforts on an actual response. Men, we need all the details we can get on the hostiles. Physical descriptions most of all, but if you caught any names that helps too. Ancient Elementals are the ones who came up with that custom of formal long introductions you still see human aristocrats use in our day during duels, so it stands to reason that one or two of them might have done the same before freezing a man to death. We will send units to backtrack their path through the city, figure out from whence they came, and formulate a plan to counterattack them. We also need to pass a report of this up the chain of command. Assuming our intel on the target's movements still holds true, he'll be out of reach to the likes of us at the castle, but there are still those who could take action there."

---

The Saint's Seat

"And you're certain he is who he claims to be, Bishop?"

"The church's genealogues and registrars keep very thorough records, Your Grace, and his appearance matches the photograph copy we have in our archives here. There has not been enough time to hear back from the greater archives in Albrheim and Villdernheim, and we are obviously currently unable to reference the original documents in the Towraigth parish, but what we have here matches up with what we gleaned from interviewing him while he rested after first seeking sanctuary. He certainly earned that uniform he wears; his Rite of the Clean Sword is recorded in 1746, and his Absolution of the Returned Warrior is in 1761, and the archives of your father's naval forces likewise record an Isaiah Daegal from Towraigth enlisting in The Duke of St. Veowulf's 2nd Marine Regiment, serving faithfully and being honourably discharged after losing half of his right leg while storming a pirate ship. We also have details of his personal life events, such as his wedding, children and grandchildren born, and funerals participated in if you're curious," said a clergyman clearly in his later years, gesturing to a large, simply-decorated white tome in his hands.

"I suppose taking a look to know the man a bit more before he sees me couldn't hurt," said Duke Kvasir Van Gorthrik. He had been satisfied with Bishop Gjerde's summary, but felt bad making the old man continue to carry the heavy book. To him it seemed a wonder Gjerde still had the strength in his neck to hold up the weight of the formal bishop's rowan wood circlet upon his head, let alone carry extra weight in his thinned arms. Ever since he was a little boy, still simply called Lord Gorthrik, he had thought Gjerde seemed ancient, but he seemed especially more so these days. The clergyman probably hadn't been especially old back then, but ageing thirty years had made him as actually old now as the nobleman once perceived him. The stress of the past few years had contributed to sapping the man's strength; first the crisis of the late Duke Gustav Van Gorthrik falling ill, and then the war breaking out, and the death of said duke while the conflict raged had placed a heavy burden on his shoulders. Kvasir Van Gorthrik stroked the blonde beard he had grown out long to help appear older and wiser than he felt he was, and idly turned a page. He looked at the genuine Sahranjjite clock on his desk, seeing that it was now 1:21, and arose from behind his desk. His wide hands set the register down and straightened up his ornate coat and waistcoat. "Well, I'd best be off to the audience hall now; it wouldn't do to be late. Take care, Bishop."

Kvasir brooded as he walked alone, seeking to mask his inner turmoil by looking out the windows to the freshly-watered gardens. Showing weakness in a corridor like this, where the odds of gossips taking note of that fact and spreading it around like manure on a field only grew as he went closer to more populated parts of the palace, was certainly inadvisable. The aristocrat was grateful for the December cold, as it helped keep him from sweating too much. As he outwardly looked at some gulls in flight he wondered if a day like this was inevitable.

If it wasn't this crisis in the Thin Isles then it would be something else that eventually undoes the efforts of my father and I at balance, and brings Veowulfshire's conflict over remaining in the Federation to a final head. How long can its economic advantage outweigh the reduced sovereignty? Growing up I so easily dismissed people warning of the central government turning tyrannical, but with how the "Executor" and Joint Chancellor have been changing things...were their hearts always set this way, or did something in them...break when the Aurennians crushed them? I would hope the High Admiral will see reason and accommodate sending some troops to investigate, but what if he has turned as hard as the rest of them? His stopped to collect himself before entering the hall, and sighed.

Keeping to the middle of the road only works until you come to a fork in it.

---

"Goodness me, I had forgotten just how huge this fortress is. Maybe they added onto it in the twenty years since I was last here? You could fit ten of Lord Hlojtur's castle in there..." Sergeant Daegal said with awe as the party arrived at the great entryway to the Saint's Seat, "The only thing I've ever seen that was taller than this is the glass tower back home. We're pretty sure it's a genuine imperial ruin, but folk where I'm from don't pry in there."

Guardsmen were positioned mostly outside the doors of the church-gate, leaving a tranquil space between the city outside and the governmental hub within. Fortunately for the party they were members of the Duke's household forces rather than soldiers sworn to the Executor, and made no threatening advances. A few of the younger ones briefly gawked at the giants among them; the non-commissioned officers recognised the old pre-Federation uniform worn by Daegal and saluted their scarred comrade-in-arms as he verified he had an appointment with the duke. Isaiah's chatter subsided as they went inside, replaced by the salty determination he had exhibited upon his introduction to the group. Not much was said as they all walked past the pews and altars. Rather than church offices, the doors in the back opened into a garden pathway leading to things like storehouses, offices, residential quarters, and the keep itself. The interior of the keep was decorated in a somewhat similar fashion to the Albrish pastoral style that dominated Sir Ross Square Station, but it showed a much greater degree of Halvefori influence, with brighter colours and oceanic motifs, mixed with some Galllian Imperial antiques. Isaiah turned to the group as they drew near the entrance to the audience hall.

"It's a public meeting, so ye all can come in to 'ave a listen if ye'd like. T'would help having witnesses that Watchtower and Federals attacked me in broad daylight to support my assertion that they don't want anyone snooping over in the Thin Isles. Though if ye have business elsewhere that ye must attend to then I understand that as well; I still remember how relieving it was coming into port after a long sail. Either way, in case this is the last we see of each other, ye have my undying gratitude for saving me." Sergeant Daegal snapped to attention and saluted the party. He then turned about, nodded at a guard to open the doors, and he marched in. His stride was surprisingly steady for a man of fifty-three years and only one leg.

"Sergeant Isaiah Ingamar Daegal, of the Duke of St. Veowulf's 2nd Marine Regiment, retired; emissary of His Lordship Lárentíus Agnarr Dornald Van Hlojtur, Baron of Towraigth," a servant announced as Isaiah entered. By no means was this hall the largest of its type upon the continent, but it would be ranked in the upper half of such a list. It was very well-attended today. Judging by the curious looks Isaiah was drawing from almost the entire assortment of courtiers and retainers one could infer that their main interest today was finally hearing this alarming messenger of war. There was a mix of contemptuous and sympathetic faces, with most keeping their expressions neutral for now. The islander stopped four-fifths of the way from the Duke's throne, and bowed.

"I bid thee welcome unto this blessed hall, oh supplicant. To what end dost thou beseech thy guardian?" said the Duke of St. Veowulf, reciting the formal greeting set by his predecessors centuries ago, and gesturing for Daegal to rise.

"Your Grace, I bring ye a plea for aid from your faithful vassal Baron Hlojtur in fighting off an invasion of Hellspawn in league with the Watchtower cult. They have either captured or executed the initial party of knights in service to His Lordship and our postmaster sent to ascertain what Watchtower were doing in our lands, and have already killed hundreds of your subjects in the Thin Isles once their intentions were revealed. The villages of Bjarghuus, Tjaldhuus, Kjalarrgrove, and Arndorhuus have fallen already, with Strondtown and Mithsbow besieged at the time I set sail for your fair city. I pray the list has not grown during my voyage. The navy's blockade is pointless, too. My people have witnessed what has truly been the scourge of Albrion's western seas as of late, what has brought the land's commerce to a halt.

"It is not pirates or tempests, but a great and terrible ironclad and crewed by Watchtower and Daemonnes. Only by the grace of the gods were we barely able to fend the metal monstrosity off when it steamed towards Towraigth's harbour. For now we reckon there is but one devil machine, but if this plague is not uprooted then who knows how many more of the things can be built? And what then? A fleet arriving in your harbour? Them sailing into Lake Frosting, burning Rolphcross, and storming up to the Falls of Albrheim? If the North's plight is insufficient to sway ye Federals that may hear me, then what if they turn south, to Carogne? With enough of them in a fleet they could break down all the fortifications along the Great Western Canal and invade Villdernheim, and finish the work their king began almost a score years ago! We urgently need fighting men and munitions, Your Grace! Is it not true that ye have an entire Federal Army regiment ready to set sail here? And surely in a port of this size it should not prove impossible to find additional ships to carry over reinforcements?"

"Ahhh, and divert Federal forces onto a wild goose chase in some backwater, right around the anniversary of Champion Field and the end of the Northern Revolution?" a Federal Navy officer interjected, "We know there are plenty of those who seek to rupture the United Galllian Federation even further, even though the Federation has only increased the prosperity of this city, and the remembrance of the Brute-marke decapitating Duke Kriegen and parading through Villdernheim will only embolden the secessionists. Does this man expect us to believe that some anti-clerical intellectuals could set up a modern shipyard on a most isolated archipelago? If they could really summon hobgoblin legions would they not have done so during the war? Who believes this troublemaker?"

"I do!" thundered the Messenger, causing the crowd around him to reel back a little, "And all others who love truth and justice should likewise stand with him!"

"I would be wary of declaring yourself so passionately in league with an outlaw," interjected a new voice, belonging to a tall man with a neat salt-and-pepper beard now striding into the room. Judging by the dark blue coat and white epaulettes of his uniform it was easy to tell he was also an officer in the Federal Navy, but his uniform was more elaborate than any the group had seen aboard the Fame of Redbeach. His sash, in contrast to the unadorned black one worn by Commodore Galdenguard, was scarlet and bedecked with medals, much like a good portion of the rest of his chest. He also had a cape the same colour as his coat that billowed out as he strode towards Daegal.

"Commander Upon the Halvefon, High Admiral Thomas Fitzhenry Ralvs," the same servant as before announced, sounding slightly surprised by the sudden entrance of the admiral. Plenty of the courtiers could be seen suddenly whispering things to those standing beside them, so it seemed he was not the only person in the room who had not been expecting to see the High Admiral storm in. Even the duke looked perturbed, and he spoke next.

"I was unaware you had a desire to meet with me this day, High Admiral. I was under the impression running the greatest pirate hunt of this century had consumed all your time as of late, hence why you had been so unresponsive to my inquiries regarding having more convoys setting sail, so as not to completely depress the economy of my city, or questions regarding just how a massive pirate force had managed to assemble with the navy being completely ignorant of such a development until it was too late. As you can see, Sergeant Daegal is ahead of you in the queue, and I will not disrespect a man who gave his own leg in the service of my father by giving his appointment time to you. Perhaps in the meantime you could find something useful for Captain Ostild over there, since he seems to have nothing better to do than make the navy appear ill-mannered."

"If the military had been aware of who Your Grace was meeting with sooner I would have acted long before this ill-advised audience took place," replied the Commander Upon the Halvefon. The tone of his voice shifted from moderate smugness to an agitated growl, "Your 'esteemed' guest is a secessionist radical, and anyone who supports him is an enemy of the United Federation of Galllia."

"Oh, who isn't an enemy to Gallia?"

Eric had only been half paying attention to whatever they were doing. He was busy flirting with any half attractive noble or soldier type who walked by. And there were a lot of them there. But his ears perked up at that.

"I was a Knight of Villdernheim for over 20 years. Anyone who sneezed at an inopportune time was considered an enemy by people like you. And then people like you sent people like me to do all the work while you sat about 50 miles behind the front lines picking fights with someone else."

He popped a small crick out of his neck.

"And then you picked a fight with too many people and lost the most recent war you decided you needed to cause. You know how inconvenient that one was to a wanderer like me? I just want to enjoy my travels, but I had to dodge skirmishes and the occasional vengeful soldier whose uncle or something I killed during my soldier days. Ass."

---

"Okay, you've trained for this. They're waiting in there. Once you bring them in, you're officially on your way."

Passersby cast odd looks at an even odder fellow standing in the street. Why he was dressed in all black, including a very unnecessary black cloak, in fairly pleasant weather was a mystery. As was why he was wearing a cheap mask and carrying 6 swords on his person.

"Here we go...I need a name. Something intimidating...that's it!"

He kicked the door open...or at least attempted to. After a few more fruitless attempts, he opened it like a normal person.

"Show yourself, spider creature! For you are being hunted by..."

He drew a sword from his back...which he nearly dropped when he tried posing with it.

The Tiger!