Beyond Light's Reach (IC)

[Finland SSR]

Ivaran Miaris

Quentin

Francis

Theodor Arnulfsson

---

After Theo's silencing roar, Ivaran joined in to approach the two combatants and berated them for fighting when they have a greater enemy to fight against, and Quentin completed it, ordering the crowd to finally disperse. Crisis averted, and while a few of the people in the soon to be riot were still grumbly, order was finally restored. The Knight of Shotarr turned towards him, giving his thanks for helping resolve the situation as well as joining them in the cause - in response to which, he responded with a nod and stated:

"You need not thank me, Sir Quentin. It is you whom we all owe thanks - I doubt that what we're doing today would have been possible without your leadership."

What he did was nothing extraordinary, really, as Theo believed. His life has been a life of stalwart loyalty towards others, first the King of Dascus, and now the Hammer of Eboris. Those who follow are necessary, but those who lead, such as Quentin, are even more vital to making a change.

Quentin was soon approached by Francis, who declared that he had been recommended by the Dragon Killer to join their ranks, and continued with a few questions towards the Knight. Theo nodded in confirmation and added:

"Indeed, me and Francis fought side by side in the last stages of the battle. I can wager for his talent, and would be willing to help him demonstrate his ability in a spar if you were to request one."

[Northwest Slobovia]

Archeno
After Haden Hill, March and Temporary Encampment

Archeno rode with the cavalry at the front of column, all that heeded Quentin's call. He found himself mixed with most of the survivors of three great mounted forces, nearly a hundred in all. He talked with the riders, mostly listening, learning their stories, even as some entered and left the force to scout ahead or guard the sides and rear of the column. They laughed as he tried to take notes as he rode, but some quieted when he told them why: telling the story of the battle. A few did him the favor of holding his horse's reins, so he could write more easily.

As the sun grew low, scouts excitedly reported a good location by a creek, and as soon as Quentin approved it, the Tashar cavalry raced ahead, Archeno trying to keep up on his trotter. When he finally got there, he found that the soldiers were way ahead of him: hurriedly stripping off their armor and wading in for a bath. Archeno joined them as quickly as possible, glad to be out of his clothes and into a bath, even if it wasn't as good as a proper bath back home. The bath quickly improved as the Tashar packtrain brought up kettles to place over a war mage's new bonfire: they'd have hot water as well. Archeno's perfumed soap disappeared into the crowd. Ah, well! I still have a piece, even if it's just plain cheap soap.

By the time the Tashar soldiers belatedly made camp, they were cleansed of the day's gore and grime, and some, like Archeno, were wearing fresh clothes, though most remained in partial armor. The storyteller shook his head at the holes and rents in his cuirass, but he put back on over a fresh shirt regardless: no telling what might be in these woods. Then, he went to see who was by the fire.

Lena suddenly started to feel dizzy, and stumbled forward. She fell onto her tent which strained from her wait before balancing herself and forcing her body to the floor.

Archeno ran to her. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, just a little tired.”

“You're sure? I have have a little bit of Taino's Curative left, should that help. I'm Archeno of Rura, by the way.

“Lena. I don't mean to be rude, but I have a hundred things to do, starting with finding shelter for the wounded. Do you know where that little house in our camp came from? It would be a perfect--”

“It's mine. It's magic. I could tell you the story, but, here...” Archeno dug in a belt pouch and pulled out a keyring. He handed Lena one of a pair of keys after working it off the ring. “Fill it, just leave me space to reach my bed.”

“Thanks, I'll do that!”

Lena tried to regain her feet, didn't quite succeed, and laid down again. “I'll need a few minutes to myself, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course. I hope you feel better soon.” He tipped his hat to her and started to walk off. This will be a different night than I'd expected an hour ago.

After a bit of looking around, Archeno spotted one of the people he was looking for, and strode towards him, a broad smile on his face.

Prax grew silent for a moment. "I enjoy combat for the glory it brings, and I give my opponents the honor of a good death. You enjoy combat for the perversion of bodies you get to perform afterwards. I may be bloodthirsty, but you are a harbringer of suffering."

[Natasia said,] "Let's agree to disagree then."

Approaching them, Archeno grew cheerful, effusive even. “Ah, the great Ga-el warrior! Good speech before battle!

Is this a private conversation, or may I join you?” He offered the dwarf woman a modest bow. “Archeno of Rura. Some say I have some ability telling tales.”

[OOC: With thanks to Tomia.]

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Prax

The Great Lion looked up from the deer haunch he was currently ripping into. He hated the smaller animals of the northern regions of Eboris. All sinew and no meat. In Antora, where size mattered over agility, the animals were thick and juicy. Here, the wild itself was crafty and springy. Every animal relied on speed rather than strength and even the Thalai felt like it was plotting something behind his back. One day, upon his triumph over the demons with this new Hammer, he would return to his home and take his rightful spot on his ancestor's throne.

Swallowing the meat, he grinned his cats grin at Archeno and said "By all means. Any who know the name of my people and appreciate the power of morale in combat are welcome to share a fire with me. I don't suppose you've met, but the cold one here is Natasia Calinov. She might have some grand tall tales for you should you find a way to make her talk."

The fire dimmed as the air itself seemed to freeze for a second, before it released. Natasia gave a brief nod to Archeno saying "Indeed Bard, as the cat says. My name is Natasia Calinov, an Archaelogist with the Magi, formerly working with Dascus. And he's right, I have heard many a tale in my many years."

Prax continued to grin and said "Don't let her eldritch looks and icy demeanor get to you. She is every bit as unfriendly as she looks. I fought with her at Eckers and she gave small unfriendly comments the whole way. I'd say she is completely useless as a... what is your word, shieldmaiden? But she fights like none other. Life itself fades from her touch."

"The Cat is too kind."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Neferis Lahari
Haden Hill/Hammer of Eboris Encampment

---

The bloodstained wolf was surprised to hear from the woman in front of her that she was not, in fact, an Athelaian, but a spy, likely one from the Freelands that lay to the north of Antora. She herself had a tendency to frown upon deceit and treachery in combat, but she knew that warfare was different and that sometimes, it was necessary; if the enemy will fight without honor regardless, it pays to be prepared at the very least.

...And against an enemy without honor or mercy like the demons, someone like her may be a good asset. She thought grimly.

As Brialya answered her earlier question and bounced it back to her, Neferis did not need a single moment to think her answer over. "Of course I will join the fight. The Great Kings of Antora may not be here to lead the fight against the demons, but the blood of the Wolf King runs through my veins, and the fire of the Sun herself burns within me. It is my duty to see them driven from this world." The Thalari woman spoke solemnly, before placing a hand on the elf's arm. "It was good to meet you Brialya, but I have matters to tend to before we march. If Nature wills it, we'll meet again."

---

---

---

Neferis arrived at the future campsite of the nascent Hammer of Eboris alongside the rest of Quentin's forces, pleased to have finally found a place to rest after a long and tiring day. And of course, as there was flowing water nearby, one of the first things she did was take the opportunity to wash away the blood that soaked her clothes and her body, both the demons' and her own. Finding a secluded spot as far downstream as possible, the Thalari headed into the cleansing waters, only to emerge a few minutes later as a great gray wolf that shook its body to get rid of all the moisture on its fur, quickly drying itself. Neferis then wandered off into the forest, leaving the soldiers to continue setting up their tents and campfires.

When she returned, now in a form that walked upright once again, the corners of her mouth were stained with blood, which she quickly tried to wipe off with an arm. Her previous attire, which set her apart as a desert dweller, was unavailable, so the Shi'el instead wore a simple dress she had secured from one of the merchants that had tagged along with Quentin's men, though she still wore the headdress that covered her missing eye.

As she walked back into the camp after a filling meal, the she-wolf stumbled across a woman lying near a flattened tent, with a key in her hand. Neferis vaguely recognized her as one of the people fighting in the tunnels, though she knew little of her besides that.

"Human." She called out to Lena, stopping next to her. "I would not advise you to take a nap there." She remarked. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

---

Saelaam of Trelia
Hammer of Eboris Encampment

---

---

The healer chuckled at Brialya's comment and readily shook her hand after it was offered. "I am Saelaam, and it was my pleasure. It is our sacred duty to help those in need after all." He stated, some pride noticeable in his words. As the elf continued, he nodded along. "It was only coincidence that I was the one to wield it to close the gates to the abyss, I'm sure, but yes, it was me. I cannot say I'm glad that the legends are true, but... at least the Hammer was as real as the demons. Thanks to them, we were not helpless in driving them back." He said. His thoughts wandered back to the legends he had heard from the men and women who visited the sanctuary of Trelia, although truthfully he didn't know much more about the Hammer or the Second Great War - most of the stories revolved around this or that dashing Tasharen folk hero.

Looking up again, Saelaam noticed that someone was approaching Brialya, quickly recognizing her as the other elf she had aided during the battle, the one who did not speak a word. "Hello there. Tenna, is it? Is your arm feeling better?" He asked the elf with a friendly smile. Afterwards however, he noticed the man she had brought along, the same one who had shown up with an army of undead outside the tunnels. Surprised, the young priest nonetheless kept his composure and simply eyed him warily while waiting for the elf's reply.

[The Republic of Atria]

Theo

As he was explaining, Theo offered that they should demonstrate their skill with a sparring match. At first he was a little apprehensive about it with it being so late and everyone tired and recovering after a battle with a foe thought long since vanquished, but that lasted a mere moment before he agreed. Theo was the one who suggested it, not him, so he was in no way accountable or seemed like he was trying to prove a point.

"That sounds like a good idea. Shown is better than explained. My only question before we do that is would you prefer to use weapons or simply brawl with our hands?" He had no worry either way. A couple stab wounds or lacerations weren't anything that couldn't be fixed up be draining the blood of some animal he could find nearby.

[Tomia]

Quentin

"I do have a few questions however. What is it exactly you're doing here? What is the pay, and how long do we expect this expedition to last?"

Quentin couldn't help but offer a grim laugh in response to the questions. "If I'm being honest, I can't say I know exactly know what I am doing. I don't have a clear road map to fixing this, I don't think anyone does. But I know we'll need an army to stave off the apocalypse, and in order to build that army we'll a place that can protect us." The Knight frowned however at the question of payment. "I understand your need to be paid, but that can't be the first question that concerns us in this fight sir. This war will be for all of Eboris. We will find ways to fund our troops, but for now we must focus on survival."

"Indeed, me and Francis fought side by side in the last stages of the battle. I can wager for his talent, and would be willing to help him demonstrate his ability in a spar if you were to request one."

After nodding politely at Theo's words he raised an eyebrow as the two agreed to fight each other as practice. "Well if you insist, it should take place away from the troops however, otherwise we might have another crowd on our hands."

Lena

"Human." She called out to Lena, stopping next to her. "I would not advise you to take a nap there." She remarked. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

Lena scoffed in an exhausted tone at Neferis' words. "Well, you know think collapsed tent looked so good I couldn't resist." She said sarcastically before struggling to a knee. "But... I appreciate the concern. I'll admit I could use some help. It appears I over did it in combat." It wasn't easy for Lena to admit vulnerability or weakness, but she couldn't deny that she wasn't able to take care of herself at the moment. Suddenly the world started spinning around, and her vision became blurry. Her senses were leaving her, and she barely had to time to get a thought off. "I'm afraid I'm going to..." She started before slipping out of conciousness.

[Galnius]

Tenna

Bria, Saelamm, Riki

Finding the other elf talking to the cleric who had healed her earlier, Tenna beamed. Perhaps it was the alcohol she had consumed on the way, but she had failed to properly thank all three of them. They had helped keep her alive, after all. It was time to begin repaying them.

Tenna quickly reached for the Chosen's hand, hoping Riki would follow suit and help up her friend. Well, hoping meaning grabbing his arm and the archers and shoving them together. The action caused her to wince a bit as her own arm was not quite fully healed. Regardless, now was not the time to waste on pleasantries. She couldn't even if she wanted to. Instead, the silver haired elf did a poor conducting to the music, hoping they would get the point. Saelamm, gods willing, would understand particularly when she grabbed his arm and began trotting around him in time with the music. Once behind, she placed her back to him. A sly smile crept upon her lips, and she began trying a manuever she'd hadn't attempted since she was but a wee elf. Placing her hands on the bird boy's shoulders, she jumped using mostly leg strength, attempting to flip backwards over him (and hopefully avoid crashing into the other two, but that was half the fun).

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Neferis Lahari
Hammer of Eboris Encampment

---

The corner of Neferis' mouth curved up ever so slightly at the woman's display of sarcasm. She then nodded appreciatively at her admission - it was important to be strong, brave and self-reliant, but it was equally important not to be stubborn to the point of becoming a liability. She was about to say something, but before she could do so, the kneeling human seemed to lose her balance and began falling forward, barely giving the she-wolf enough time to step forward and grab her, preventing her from hitting the ground.

"Great, now what am I supposed to do with you..." Neferis groaned, before trying to recall more about this woman. When I saw her fighting in the tunnels, was there anyone else with her? She wondered. ...Ah, that's right.

With little else to do at the moment and no other idea of what to do with Lena, Neferis picked her up with ease and then went further into the camp to try and find the person who had been fighting alongside her, the same one who had gathered this army and led them to the stream, Quentin. It didn't take long to come across him, and he seemed to be by himself with the exception of a pair of soldiers nearby who seemed to be preparing to spar.

"You. Knight of Shotarr." The Thalari called out to him. "Do you know her?"

---

Saelaam of Trelia
Hammer of Eboris Encampment

---

While he didn't exactly get an answer from the silver-haired elf woman, the cleric figured that she must've been feeling quite well, seeing as she was smiling quite happily as she looked at him and approached him and Brialya. Smiling back, he was nonetheless surprised when she grabbed his hand to help him up and hastily complied, dusting himself off a little bit while Tenna pushed Riki and Bria together. Does she want them together or something? He thought with some amusement. He didn't have much time to ponder this though, as the mute elf turned her attention back to him and grabbed his arm, dragging him away, closer to where the music was playing. Oh! Is this what she wants? He pondered, soon seeing his suspicions confirmed as she began dancing around him. Smiling, Saelaam obliged and began prancing around Tenna as well, though he quickly froze as he felt her hands on his shoulders What is she trying to do now?

It wasn't long until he was able to see her gracefully flipping her body over him, and as she landed, the young priest laughed and clapped, impressed by Tenna's acrobatics. "Nice work. Give me a warning next time, or things might get ugly." He joked. Approaching, he linked arms with the elf and joined in on the merrymaking, dancing to the lively tunes that echoed around the campfire.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Archeno
After Haden Hill, Temporary Encampment

Swallowing the meat, he grinned his cats grin at Archeno and said "By all means. Any who know the name of my people and appreciate the power of morale in combat are welcome to share a fire with me[.]” […] Natasia gave a brief nod to Archeno saying "My name is Natasia Calinov, an Archaelogist with the Magi, formerly working with Dascus. And he's right, I have heard many a tale in my many years."

Archeno joined them, sitting closer to Prax than straight across the fire from them, making it easier to see each other. He smiled at Natasia's demonstration. “Ah, the gift of magic. Helpful in times like these, though one hopes your gift is greater than giving the weary chills.” He let the warmth in his smile replace fire's missing heat: an interesting pair of companions, and they should indeed have good stories to tell.

“Tales are what I'm interested in, though shorter rather than taller, and more immediate besides. Morale won't just win today, but we'll need it for tomorrow and the days after. This army is far too small for this war. We'll need more to fight, and more willing to help us fight. My stories may help with both. And people want to hear of their nation's heroes.

“So!” Tone becoming increasingly exuberant, he asked, “After rousing the troops, what victories did the great Ga'el warrior win today? And you, life-dimmer, how many lives fled before your touch today? Prax's speech is already destined for immortality, but there must be more to both of your stories!”

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

"No problem, Quentin and after today you would think that people would learn fast". With the crowd now dispersing Ivaran had half a mind to introduce himself to the leader of the newly formed Hammer of Eboris. Though as he stood there, watching others left, some others decided on talking with Quentin. Seeing on how Quentin is now busy, Ivaran figured that he should let him be and walked back to his camp.

Getting another round of drinks from the soldiers before moving on and walking around in the camp. He was looking for someone, in particular, the Keeper of the Glass Alexius. Since he had fought with him today against the demon horde, he thought he should properly introduce to the mage and maybe learn more about him. Ivaran still felt somewhat annoyed with himself about having to work with mages. But, he had to bury these feelings, since the greater threat of demons requires him having to work with them. Something that the rest of the Athelaians have to learn so another fight does not happen aganist. He took a deep breath as he continued his search for Alexius. He wondered what else he may have to learn before this demon invasion is over.

After some walking, Ivaran had managed to find Alexius among the camps. Finding him sitting around a campfire with some others. Sitting down next to an empty spot by the fire and looked at him. "Hello Alexius, remember me? We fought together against the demons today and I had to seek you out. I feel that I should properly introduce myself given what has happened today. I am Ivaran Miaris and my word was I surprised to hear that I was fighting with a Keeper of the Glass".

[Ihsalihna]

Sayyida ul h'Ehlam
Standing With Firelight in Her Eyes

---

The night air was colder than it had been in the wet, overcast calm before the storm of Haden Hill. The fire was warm, but... Sayyida lingered outside of its welcome.

The customs here were stranger and alien to her. Why did these men not invite others to the fireside, ask about their travels, their families? No one invoked the blessings and peace of the Gods upon their guests. Perhaps they simply had different ways of showing hospitality, maybe they were too tired after the battle to care.

Maybe she was trying to come up with an excuse to stay away from the others.

The woman hadn't quite shook the feeling that she didn't belong here - not just because of her foreign clothing drawing so many odd looks. She had fled from a seemingly impossible threat, but... it hadn't been impossible, had it? Courage filled these people as much as it did the warriors of her homeland, no matter their idiosyncrasies. But she wondered how they did it, and how she did not. She tore her eyes away from the fire, pulling away from the instinctive draw of the sacred flames and their flickering secrets, to look around at the mundane around her; tents, campfires, the groans of wounded men, laughter of those drowning the memories of the day with drink, shouting and cold looks between elves and men. Closing her eyes, Sayyida muttered a soft request for forgiveness to any spirits of etiquette that dwelled in this land and finally breached the invisible walls of the circle of firelight.

Here the fire in her eyes flickered stronger, as did the flame of her curiosity - after, all the man was a Keeper of the Glass. She'd never met one before, despite all the stories she'd heard of them and the respect she held. Etiquette be damned. As she took did her best to unintrusively take up a seat in the circle of soldiers, pausing for a moment to look at their lined, haggard faces, scars and battered bodies, before turned back towards where Alexius sat on his cot and spoke of divine prophecy.

When she had been a little girl... people asked her what she wanted to be, when she grew tall. She had said a healer, or an artist, or some other such thing appropriate for her age. She knew if she said she wanted to be a prophet...

Well, even she knew it sounded arrogant. At the very least she would've been scoffed at and told she was foolish to hope for such a blessing from the heavens. She wasn't so sure she wanted to be a prophet, or oracle, or diviner now that she was older. She was quite happy traveling the lands and discovering wonders and wealth, but... was it so arrogant to want to be be spoken to by the Gods? So many great figures in history - so many of the great heroes who stood around her in this campsite - had been given miraculous boons and otherworldly powers. How many more of the men and women here prayed all their lives, hoping to receive a sign, an answer that everything was going to be okay? How many wished to change the world, make it a better place, but were mere mortals in a sea of chaos and reality, their voices silenced, but everyone listened to prophets.

It seemed to her that out of all the orders, chosen ones and varied factions in the lands, it was the Keepers of the Glass who received the most direct visions from the gods. The will of Sualdir, the sands of time, the secrets of fate, these were true oracles in a world of uncertainty.

The merchantwoman felt like she could use the words of a oracle. Even just someone who had a clue as to what in the seven hells was going on in this world of hers. Taking a soft breath, her hands resting on her knees where she sat kneeling in the grass, she caught the man's eyes.

"Forgive us, sir, as we're sure you've been asked this many times tonight. But... have you seen any end to the night that has fallen? Does Sualdir give any clear path for this world?"

Sayyida looked to the elf, nodding in apology to him as she continued to speak softly. "Our apologies if we have interrupt you, Sir Miaris. We can wait and listen if you are seeking business with the honoured Keeper..."

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Prax

The great cat continued to eat his stag, cleaning off the haunch he had started with. Pointing a long leg bone at Archeno, he said "You're a direct fool you know that? Not many would be so open to speaking with you."

The great lion snapped the bone and began to suck the marrow from it. When he finished, he leaned back and said "My feats today were those of any other battle. Countless dead, countless injured. Me and the brave men of Tashar guarded the mouth of the tunnel when the rest of the Hammer dived in, and we defended our world. I only wish I got my hands on one of those behemoths eh? That would be a story."

He threw the halfs of the bone aside and said "Other than that, what would you like to know. I am Prax'Ak Dor Molap. Heir to Ga and Slayer of Tembast. Pridelord of Eckers and Wyvern-Fang. I am known and feared across Athela, famous across Dascus, and respected by Tashar. I am the future king of the Wastes, and perhaps even Antora. My destiny is great, and I intend to see it through."

A cold chuckle came from across the fire.

---

Nat

She didn't actually find anything humorous. One emotion she would miss if she could feel regret, was humor. Laughter was her world before she died, and now it was as cold and empty as the world beyond. Still though, the strange echoey sound of her laugh tended to put people on edge, which was always a more strategic position for Nat. Drawing her blade, she stuck the dread sword in the ground, the light itself seeming going dim around it's edges, giving it a peculiar effect of almost glowing with shadow.

"This is Pitnozyc. In Liudzi it means suffering. My people do not have many cruel words, for they are barbarish and rough on the tongue. However, the few that we do use have extra strength in our language. It is an anathema to life, it's one purpose is to snuff it out and burn it away. Ask any of the hundreds whose souls I have burned away if destiny matters. The wind will whisper with the voices of the damned and tell you that it does not. I had a destiny once, to become one of the greatest cryomancers and magi ever to live. I had a family, a son. I had an excellent position in my sisters court. And I had great leadership roles in two organizations that made me who I am. Then, an accident happened, and I became what I am today. My allies betrayed me simply because of what I had become, my future in the magi blew away like dust in the wind, and only the mercy and generosity of my sister allowed me to continue to find refuge in my own homeland. That blade was once a tool to burn away the dark and bring forth the dawn. Now, I have made it like me, Pitnozyc. Suffering. How's that for a story, Bard?"

[Tomia]

Brialya
The Elvish was surprised to see Tenna in what seemed to be such a good mood. From what she had experienced very briefly of the other elf during the battle, she came off as stern, blade wielding, rogue, but here she was pushing a random group of acquaintances to dance. Still, Brialya didn't mind this behavior. She often felt soldiers took day to day life too seriously. She was in fact a pretty good dancer as it was part of her training to be a spy. However Riki didn't see all too confident and Tenna had deemed they would be dancing partners. It was still a little strange communicating with someone who couldn't speak, but she imagined she could get used to it.

"Well alright, if we're doing this apparently why don't you let me lead?" She asked Riki as they stood together. "And just relax, its dancing not combat,"

Quentin
As Quentin stood among Theo and Francis he saw a beastfolk approaching out of the corner of his eye. He didn't make any of it at first, since there were a good amount of beast folk in the camp at the moment. However he did a double take when he realized she was holding an unconscious women in her arms. It didn't take him long to recognize the woman as Lena. At that point he barely heard Neffy's words as he ran over to her, fearing the worst.

"What happened?!" He asked in alarm, quickly leaning down to make sure she was breathing. "Someone get a healer right away!" He shouted to his general vicinity.

[Finland SSR]

Quentin

Francis

Theodor Arnulfsson

---

Perfect. Francis agreed to the idea of sparring in order to show off his skills and Quentin approved it as well, though recommending the spar to take place a bit farther from the rest of the camp. Theo gave the commander a stern nod and turned to the hunter, addressing his question:

"It's standard practice, at least among the Dascian army, to spar with wooden weapons - I think there were some lying around near my tent." Without any further ado, the Dragon Killer led his soon to be opponent through the camp, quickly reaching the tent in question and picking up a set of wooden swords. He offered one to Francis and kept one to himself, then left his standard issue spear and shield in his tent.

"There's a meadow just outside of the camp where we could spar," Theo explained. "Or perhaps you prefer the forest? If you believe that your skills would shine better there..."

---

Brialya

Riki Farinhait

---

By Datune, why am I doing this?..

Compared to Saelaam and Tenna, Riki and Brialya's dance was a lot less lively. There was a lot less movement and a lot, lot less making flips over their peer without warning. Carefully, the necromancer navigated their peer away from all the crazy leaps happening nearby, the two dancers moving rather slowly and carefully - to the point where Brialya asked him on whether he perhaps would let her lead.

And relax...

"...no thank you." Riki muttered, narrowing his eyes and striking a determined glare. If this is the challenge laying ahead, then, by Datune's name, he's going to force himself through it. Back when he was merely a teenage scion of a Tasharen magical noble family, his mother would occassionally teach him how to dance, just in case he would get to a ball and need to not make a fool of himself. Perhaps she was planning to send him to an actual tutor one day, but... well, that never really got to happen. Still, however, the point was that Riki wasn't a complete novice when it came to dancing - and so, he put that modicum of experience to use.

"Just follow me."

As much as Riki's mind wanted to simply keep up the slow pace and hope that he can slip out of the mob of dancers soon, he hastened their pace. Moving through the crowd according to the rhythm of the music, occassionally letting go of Brialya for a maneuver and returning to the hand clasped state, his long cloak flowing through the air with each and every sudden movement.

One, two, three... One, two, three...

Riki would soon complete the dance by spinning Brialya with his hand - assuming she follows through, of course - then lift her up by the shoulders and go for a spin together, before finally setting her down.

[Tomia]

Brialya
Riki clearly felt challenged by her question and suddenly the pace of their dancing had changed dramatically as Riki set Brialya into a spin, which she followed through with gracefully. Once the spin was complete he had lifted her in the air. She was surprised at his sudden boldness, but didn't necessarily mind. Once her spin in the air was over, she flashed Riki a smile. "Well, so I guess you can dance after all. You seem like you're full of surprises. By the way, now that I think about it, I don't actually know your name. I'm Brialya."

Alexius
"Of course I remember you Ivaran. You fought well during the battle. And I have to admit, I had never expected to fight along side a Guardian, but this war shall be for all of us, and and our old differences must fall to the way side. As for my own identity, I apologize for never mentioning it. It often shocks people and there was no time for explanation." He shared with his ally in combat before he was approached by a woman in foreign clothing who seemed repentant about interrupting.

"Do not apologize my friend, Sualdir's will belongs to us all, not only his vessels." He told her, bowing his head in greeting. "I am afraid that I have not been bestowed with visions of what comes after this. But Sualdir's will is not for the demons to succeed. He has shown me my role in this, and it is to fight along side this army. Our future is aligned with the Hammer of Eboris, they are the Pantheon's champions." He shared.

"What is your name?" He asked Sayyida. "I am Alexius, it is a honor to meet you."

[Theyra]

Alexius
"Of course I remember you Ivaran. You fought well during the battle. And I have to admit, I had never expected to fight alongside a Guardian, but this war shall be for all of us, and our old differences must fall to the way side. As for my own identity, I apologize for never mentioning it. It often shocks people and there was no time for explanation." He shared with his ally in combat before he was approached by a woman in foreign clothing who seemed repentant about interrupting.

"Do not apologize my friend, Sualdir's will belongs to us all, not only his vessels." He told her, bowing his head in greeting. "I am afraid that I have not been bestowed with visions of what comes after this. But Sualdir's will is not for the demons to succeed. He has shown me my role in this, and it is to fight along side this army. Our future is aligned with the Hammer of Eboris, they are the Pantheon's champions." He shared.

"What is your name?" He asked Sayyida. "I am Alexius, it is a honor to meet you."

"You fought well too Alexius for a mage, and that is something I thought I would never say." No matter what he did, it would always feel weird for him to be friendly to a mage. "And do not feel sorry for not saying who you were; it was in the middle of a battle. Especially how chaotic the battle became when the demons showed up from under the ground". Ivaran for sure would never forget what happened today. It was almost like a bad dream that battle, demons bursting out of the ground and started to cut down troops. Then those big behemoths, he was lucky that the demons did not land a strike on him.

He sighed, Ivaran wished his fellow Guardians fared better. He had known some of the fallen, Mlartlar, Shael, Ellisar and Vuduin. They were good friends to him, and he was glad that he was able to avenge them. Though he wonders if his family is okay now that demons had invaded, or how his mentor Laeroth. The last Ivaran heard, he was stationed at the capitol and was going to be promoted. That much he deserved, Laeroth is a good elf.

As Ivaran was about to speak again, a human had approached Alexius to ask if he had visions of the end of the demons. Alexius did not have an answer for the human, and Ivaran was somewhat surprised at her politeness towards him. It was certainly better than any human he has met so far. Ivaran scanned Sayyida's appearance that found that he was wearing a rather foreign attire that he did not recognize. "What human nation is she from," he thought and wondered. Maybe a far-away territory or something and he replied to Sayyida. "I do not mind the interruption human, and I am sure that others would seek out our Keeper here." He gave a small smile and waited for Sayyida to answer Alexius's question of who she is.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Archeno
Temporary Encampment, After Haden Hill

“I only wish I got my hands on one of those behemoths eh? That would be a story."

Archeno nodded respectfully, though he kept quiet about getting his horns into two of them: whatever he could do, the Ga'el warlord could do better, faster, and more dramatically.

"Other than that, what would you like to know. [...] I am known and feared across Athela, famous across Dascus, and respected by Tashar. I am the future king of the Wastes, and perhaps even Antora. My destiny is great, and I intend to see it through."

That brought a smile to the storyteller's face. “Indeed, I recounted a few of your feats just this morning! Had I known you were on the battlefield, I would have sought you earlier.”

Drawing her blade, [Nat] stuck the dread sword in the ground, the light itself seeming going dim around it's edges, giving it a peculiar effect of almost glowing with shadow. […] "This is Pitnozyc. [...] Now, I have made it like me, Pitnozyc. Suffering. How's that for a story, Bard?"[/quote]
Well worth the price of admission! A lovely example of what lazy storytelling missed: heroes live lives, not stories! Had Archeno been commenting on another storyteller's art, he would have said it was well-spoken, well-phrased, and evocative. Instead, he he spoke with the emotion of the words: sad, downcast. “Poignant, tragic. Betrayal always is.” He neglected to mention that nepotism often leads to jealously, the midwife of betrayal.

A long silence followed, as no words came to Archeno's lips. That was a hard act to follow. His eyes wandered: elsewhere in the camp, he could hear men laughing, and by the fire...

Archeno pointed in the bonfire's direction, a grin growing on his face: “Dancing! Well, we seem to have a jolly crew!”

[The Republic of Atria]

Theo

Sadly, Quentin was rather vague with how much he was getting paid. But if what he was implying about the demons was true, it would certainly be enough to get him the rank he so desired. So he agreed despite the lack of confirmation of physical payment. To make matters a little better, he and Theo were going to get some evening sparring in. "I'm partial to the forest." He replied as Theo revealed the weapons that they would be using: Wooden swords. Safe to say he wasn't all that impressed. He had used them when he was a child and was first learning, but they were adults.

"Wooden... Weapons? I've not used these since I was a child. Do soldiers really spar with children's toys? How do they ever become effective fighters?" He wondered aloud, taking his sword and following Theo to the forest.

[The Twelve Isles]

Siona Willun, The Black Raven

Siona sat as close to the fire as she could, leaning into it and warming her hands and drying her hair. Her cloak was hung up above the fire, and her bag that she carried was by her feet, and she tapped her toe against it. A sword leaned against her leg on the other side, its hilt glinting in the fire light. She thought as she warmed herself, thinking about the caravan she had passed on the road. They were going the opposite direction as she had been going, the wagons trundling along the muddy road, the horses heads low against the rain. Inside one of the wagons she could hear a woman yelling, and her husband sat out on the seat with a look of tired resignation on his face. He waved at her, and gave a sighing greeting of “contas a shohann an grethas,” meaning ‘how goes the wind’ in Rotha.

Siona looked up at the greeting, and responded in kind. “Shohann an grethas saor, mac a dheadhfaidth me,” meaning ‘the wind goes free, as do I.’

It was the traditional greeting of the Rotha people, the ones who had raised Siona. She hadn't spoken the language of the caravans in a while, at least half a year. More often than not, when she passed Rotha on the road, they took her as a House Liver, and spoke to her as such. She couldn’t blame them though, it wasn’t like she looked Rotha. Though she thought of herself that way culturally, ethnically she was Eshoni, and had always contrasted sharply with the children she grew up with. Her pale skin, black hair and black eyes always made her easy to find whenever she got in trouble, sticking out amongst the sea of tan skin, red hair and green eyes that was a Rotha camp. It made her think of Ms Maadran, the woman who was, for all intents and purposes, her mother. When Siona and her cronies would return from towns, laden with sweets and coins they had stolen and conned off of the local children, Ms Maadran would always appear from inside of her wagon and shout into the camp.

“Siona Willun!” she would say, “A shopkeeper came into camp today! I know what you did, and if you do not go back to that man and apologize just this instant, I will give you a whipping like you have never seen before!”

The whipping idea never scared Siona that much, Ms Maadran was never comfortable with giving her kids any more than a three fingered smack on the mouth, but it was the knowledge of how Ms Maadran would make her spend her time if she didn’t listen that really scared Siona. Once, Siona had back talked, and found herself setting up the Maadran family camp all by herself, before sweeping and cleaning all around the seats for the stage that her caravan would use to perform their plays. And so, Siona always found herself having to apologize to some shopkeeper, who would almost always tell Ms Maadran that she should do better in raising Siona, which would result in Ms Maadran yelling at Siona all the way back to camp.

Not that that would stop Siona though. She liked the adventures she and her friends got up too, and wouldn’t stop if she was paid to. And besides, the guards the caravan employed always laughed and joked with her. They thought she was hilarious, and Siona always like to impress the guards. With their swords and chainmail armor, they were all very exciting. Well, except for her father, the captain of the guard. But other than when he insisted on teaching her to use a sword, she rarely interacted with him, so she didn’t care much.

Siona smiled at the thought of the old caravan of her childhood, and leaned back against the chair she sat in. The inn she had come to was nice and cozy, but a little empty. A young girl, who looked like she was probably around ten or eleven but with the air of a person desperate to prove that they were more mature than their age approached Siona. “Would you like anything ma’am? Some food, or something to drink.”

Siona looked up and paused, thinking over what she would say. She wasn’t quite used to interacting with people much anymore, she spent so much time by herself on the road. Quickly, she gathered her wits about her, and spoke. “An ale please. And if you have any stew, it would be appreciated.” Her voice was soft and calm, but with a distinct confidence to it as well, and the slight lilt of a Rotha accent.

The girl nodded, and returned to her spot behind the bar. She whispered in an older woman's ear, and the woman dipped into a back room while the girl poured a tall mug of ale from a cask, and brought it back to Siona. She placed it on the little table by Siona’s chair, and hovered a little. Siona picked up the mug and took a long swig, but when the girl didn’t leave she turned back to her and spoke. “Is there something wrong?” she said, and the girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“No, ma’am, nothing is wrong. It’s just that, I was wondering, are you a mage?”

“Yes,” said Siona. The girl studied her, looking her up and down as if she was waiting for more, but Siona wasn’t really sure what else there was to say.

The girl sat in the chair next to Siona, a look of wonder in her eyes, and leaned on the chairs arm to ask more questions. “Do you go to one of the Colleges?” she said. “I’ve always heard about the colleges. They sound so much more beautiful and exciting than anything here. All we have in this town is fishers and farmers, and occasionally a miner might come down from the mountains and stay at the inn. But I would love to learn magic.”

“I’m not from a college,” said Siona. “I learned from a man in the north.”

“Oh,” said the girl. Some of the shine was lost in her eyes, and she studied the fire, before perking up again. “Then, if you aren’t college, are you a wanderer?”

“Yes.” said Siona.

“You must have been all over then,” she said. She looked at Siona like Siona had hung the moon, and Siona couldn’t help but admit to herself that it was a little sweet.

“That I have,” said Siona. “From the north, to the south, and all places in between. Even before I started to learn, I grew up with Rotha. So I’ve been travelling my whole life really.”

A look of realization dawned on the girl, and she seemed to hesitate before asking her next question. “Wait, are you Siona Willun?” she said.

“Yes,” said Siona. “Thats me.”

“I’ve heard of you, some call you The Black Raven, or the Dream Walker.”

“I usually just go by Siona,” said Siona.

The older woman appeared over Siona’s shoulder, and placed a bowl and a spoon next to her mug. “Really,” she said, her voice a little sarcastic, “your the one some folks call the Black Raven?”

“Yes,” said Siona again. Her voice remained calm, though it was clear she was being mocked.

“Your trying to tell me that you’re the one who walks dreams? The one who sealed the Damned Lord, and communes with spirits from beyond the pale?”

“The only unique thing I have ever done was sealing the Damned Lord,” said Siona. “Those other feats you speak of are all magics that anyone could learn, if they put their minds to it.”

The woman scoffed, and the girl looked at the woman with mild disdain for butting in.

“What is it that makes it so hard for you to believe that I am Siona Willun, the Black Raven?” said Siona. There was no malice in her words, only curiosity, and a slight tinge of annoyance at having this woman barge her way in and insult her.

“Your very young is all,” said the woman.

Siona sipped her ale, and turned back to the fire. “I'm very good,” she said, and with that, the conversation was over. The older woman sniffed, but said no more, and returned to the bar. Siona put her ale down and picked up the stew, blowing on a spoonful before putting it into her mouth. It was not the best she had ever had, but it was hot and it was hearty, which was really all one could ask for.

“Did you mean that, that anyone could learn those magics if they work hard at it?” said the girl.

Siona nodded, and ate another bit of stew. She chewed and swallowed, before leaning back in her chair again and saying, “All it takes is practice. Just like with anything.”

“Could you teach me?” said the girl.

“No,” said Siona.

The girl looked disappointed, sad even. Siona felt a little bad for speaking so quickly, and worried she had hurt the girls feelings. She didn’t consider herself a hero, though it was clear that this girl did, and she did not want to be the one who quickly taught her that a hero was just as fallible as the rest of humanity.

“I can give you books though,” said Siona.

“What good will those do?” said the girl.

“They can help you learn magic, help you learn how to control mana, and cast simple spells, and summon simple creatures.”

The girl looked skeptical, but there was hope in her eyes again. Siona dug into her bag, and pulled out two. One was a simple spell book, and the other was a textbook on the fundamentals of magic. She handed them to the girl, who looked them over with curiosity. “Those aren’t the greatest grimoires in the history of the world, but they will tell you what you need to know to get started as a mage,” said Siona, before taking another bite of her stew.

“These will really teach me?” said the girl.

“They will help you learn,” said Siona, “but you will have to teach yourself.”

The conversation paused again, the girl studying the books and flipping through the pages, Siona watching the fire and warming her feet. Eventually, the girl looked back and said, “Im Rithi, by the way. Rithi Stoneswallow.”

“It’s good to meet you Rithi,” said Siona. She smiled then, for the first time that night. It was a bright smile, pleasant and friendly. She sipped her ale, and Rithi was called back by the older woman to help out around the inn. Siona stayed by the fire for some time, watching the flames and reading a book as she ate. Eventually the woman came back and took the bowl, spoon and mug, and Siona thanked her honestly and truthfully for the food. The woman gave her an odd look, like she didn’t quite know what to make of someone thanking her after she had insulted her, which Siona felt was reasonable.

She slept well that night. Though the food was only ok, the ale had been strong and the beds were comfortable. She placed her belongings in the little armoire in the room, kicking her boots off at the foot of the bed. She meditated before she slept, contemplating her path and her dreams, trying to work them out. She had learned to Dream Walk years ago, while training with Joseh and living with her mothers family. Sometimes by meditating, she could work out the complex meanings behind dreams, and sometimes it gave her a leg up. But only sometimes. More often than not, the meaning of her own dreams only became clear weeks, months and once even a year later. She sighed, coming up with nothing from her meditation, and fell into her bed, pressing herself as deeply as she could into the pillow.

***

The next morning, when Siona awoke, she headed into the town. They were not far, and in fact Siona could even see the roads converging in the distance. She gathered her things, throwing her cloak over her shoulders and hanging her sword from her belt, before heading out that morning. She paid for a hot potato, and found Rithi reading the books Siona had given her on one of the chairs by the fire. She looked up as Siona made to leave, and spoke again. "Are you going to town?" she said.

Siona paused, halfway out of the door, and turned back to Rithi. "I am," she said, in that simple and concise way she talked.

"Can I come with you?" said Rithi, "I've been in this stupid inn forever, its been so long since I went to the town."

"Only if your mother allow's it," said Siona, gesturing at the older woman behind the bar.

"Misasha isn't my mother," said Rithi. "And besides, I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Siona ignored Rithi's exclamation of age, making eye contact with the older woman, Misasha. Misasha gave a nod and a grunt, before saying, "Don't look at me, I don't care what the little brat does. Besides, if she doesn't come back, I don't have to pay her anymore."

Siona looked back at Rithi, but said nothing more. Rithi looked between the two other women uncomfortably, like she wasn't sure exactly what the verdict was, until Siona pushed the door open and said, "are you coming, or are you staying?" With that, her eyes lit up like lamps and she smacked her book shut. It was the book on magical techniques, the oldest one Siona had, and it poofed dust when it was closed. Rithi hopped up from her chair and jogged after Siona, her dress swaying behind her. The two stepped out onto the porch of the inn, and waited as a large farmers wagon passed before stepping out onto the road. They turned right, and began walking, feeling the fresh morning sun on their skin. When they passed through the wheat fields that surrounded the town, Siona spoke again.

"If Misasha isn't your mother, then where are your parents?"

"They died when I was young," said Rithi. "Misasha is my uncles second wife. But he died as well, so its just me and her. She doesn't like me, but at least she pay's me for my work."

"Lach benachdel leaga," said Siona.

"Whats that," responded Rithi, looking at Siona with curiosity.

"Its Rotha," said Siona. "It means 'its the small blessings.'"

"I like that," said Rithi.

Siona looked down at her young travel partner, and grinned. It was nice to hear that, though she couldn't place why.

The two continued on in silence for a while, Siona's boots kicking up dirt and Rithi's bare feet becoming ever dustier the farther they walked. She was small, Rithi was. Skinny and short, with hair so blonde it was practically white. Not the prettiest in the most classical sense, but with a personality that more than made up for it. Siona liked her. She was charming, and saw the world through a lens of kindness and curiosity. There weren't enough people left like that, Siona felt.

Every once in a while they would chat, talking about the fate of the world and the things that were happening. Rithi seemed to feel tired of the politics, but afraid all the same. Siona couldnt help but agree. At this point, so much of the world had become bloated and corrupt, and would only become more so with the kinds of people they let rule it in power. As far as Siona was concerned, it might be the right time for change. Should other peoples and races want their homelands to be free, or to have power in the larger nations, she felt like it was more than fair, and fully supported them. Should rebellion's begin, Siona knew which side she supported, and who she would fight for.

As Siona and Rithi entered the town, Rithi seemed to lose herself in the crowds. Siona had been there once before, from the opposite direction, but to Rithi it was like her first time all over again. The last time she had been into the town it was with her father, when she was five. All her memories were old ones. "Do you think any of these people know you?" she said at last, as the pair made their way through the market and closer to the city square.

"No," said Siona. "I don't like big towns like this, and so I don't tend to go to them if I can help it."

"Oh," said Rithi. "Then why are you here now?"

"I need food, and my sword sharpened to go find the army by Haden Hill."

Rithi made a face like she was thinking it over, but said nothing more. They pushed their way through the crowd, and once a man on a horse yelled at Rithi for getting in his way. He wore fine clothes, and yelled about all the country peasant's and bumpkins clogging up the streets. Rithi seemed surprised, but before she could say anything else Siona lead her away and gave the man on horseback a glare. He turned his nose up at the two, but continued on after glancing down to Siona's hand, resting comfortably on her sword. She watched as the man rode on, making sure he didn't come back and try to make his point known to the two "filthy peasant girls," but he didn't make any attempts. Siona turned, and caught up with Rithi, who had made it a little further ahead. They came to the main town square, beginning to fill up with people for the days trading. It was a hub town, where people from all the surounding villages came to sell their wears to travelers and to one another.

Rithi bought a large turkey leg the size of her face and munched on it happily, her appetite much larger than her size. Siona sent Rithi on her way, telling her to meet back here around noon, and set off in search of a blacksmith. She found one, tucked away in the corner of the square hammering away on a spearhead. He was an old, kindly looking man, two young boys swinging their legs back and forth from a table as they watched him work. He gladly accepted Siona's sword, telling her he would get it sharpened and ready as soon as she could. Siona thanked him, before taking a seat on a bench outside of the mans shop, and began to read, occasionally sticking her head up to see where Rithi was.

[Ihsalihna]

Sayyida ul h'Ehlam
Passing the Time

---

"We are Sayyida iʻTibari ivna Zahra ul h'Ehlam, a humble merchant woman." She bowed her head slightly and looked back up at the Keeper. "Peace be upon you, Aleksius." Hadn't quite gotten the pronunciation perfect, but it was a start.

The trader sat back slightly, crossing her legs beneath her and drawing her silks around her against the chill of the northern night. Something, a shadow among shadows, slithered through the folds of fabric as she reached inside her clothing and- "Ah. Malʻūn..." Sayyida lifted an eyebrow and seemed to frown as she lifted an object up into the firelight, observing the thing dangling from the end of a length of thin string. A worm writhed and squirmed in the air, a long, wicked looking hook pushing out suddenly and protruding from its head. "Hookworm lure... we had wondered where that went to." Sayyida wrapped the length of fishing line up and covered the strange item back up in the piece of leather it was wrapped in. With a bit more searching in her silks, she slipped a tall, thin kettle from the depths of her robes. Setting it aside her careful fingers produced small pouches and cups, before placing the kettle near the fire.

Sayyida's eyes were fixed on the ornate metalwork of the kettle, her fingers running across its swan-like spout and floral designs as the sparks of the nearby fire drew close, like curious moths of flame, and swirled around her fingers. Before long the air shimmered with heat and the kettle began to boil and steam at her fingertips. "...our thanks, Guardian. We are used to elves being rather more... distasteful of us, please do not mind us saying. You are a very welcome present change. May we offer you both some tea, to keep the warmth closer inside?"

[The Twelve Isles]

Siona Willun, The Black Raven

Siona stood and payed the blacksmith, thanking him for his work. He grinned a happy grin and assured her it was no problem at all, before turning back to his work. Siona ran her thumb over the blade of her sword, feeling its sharpness, and satisfied slid it back into its scabbard on her waist. She turned no her heal and set off into the crowd, searching for Rithi. However, where Rithi had been fairly easy to spot before, Siona was suddenly having trouble finding her. With hair as blonde as hers, she should have stuck out like a sore thumb, but instead she was nowhere to be found. Siona furrowed her brow, standing in the middle of the square with her hands on her hips, and swiveled her head all around as she tried to find her, before throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"Rithi!" she called, searching the crowds for her young friend. She couldn't get her voice to carry right though, there was to much noise in the square. She circled the square, searching the vendors, and asked around for Rithi. The first two hadn't seen her, but the last had, and told Siona that she had bought a turkey leg from them and then made her way towards a bar at the edge of the square. Siona thanked the vendor, and began to weave her way through the crowd. She made her way into the bar, pushing the door open to a full bar, filled with folks from all walks of life. There were hedge knights and mercenaries eating and drinking right by rich merchants and peasant farmers. Siona made her way in, sliding through the crowd, and making her way to the bartender. "Sir," she said. He gave her a finger, telling her to wait one second while he served someone their ale. Siona ignored it, and spoke again, "Sir," and the man gave her the wait a moment finger again. Siona slapped her hand onto the bar, getting the bartenders attention. "Hey!" she said, her voice more intent now. "Have you seen a girl in here, about yea high and very blonde?"

"You mean that one?" said the bartender, pointing down the bar. Rithi was there to be sure, drinking a tall mug of ale and seemingly about to get into a fight with a mercenary looking type, one who was tall and scared and clearly not the type to fight. Siona didn't thank the bartender, but pushed her way through the crowd, making her way to Rithi. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was clear that Rithi did not understand just who the kind of person was that she was dealing with. Siona watched as eventually Rithi, clearly angered by the mercenary's words, said something to him and turned away back to the bar. Some of the other's around the mercenary laughed at what Rithi said, and the mercenary recoiled with a look of righteous indignation on his face. He grabbed Rithi's arm and spun her back around, raising his hand to hit her, when Siona arrived. She stuck her own hand out and caught the mercenary's hit, before placing her right palm on his chest. She glared at him, and the esoteric tattooes on her palms glowed and sang slightly, like wind howling at night. She conjured up a gust of rush of wind, scattering mugs and plates off of tables, and staggering the folks closest to her. As for the mercenary, the wind picked him up off his feet, and sent him backwards into a pair of merchants talking up what appeared to be a knight, knocking all three of them over. Siona stood tall in front of Rithi, watching as the man scrambled around on the floor and the two merchants and knight helped him up. She was tall for a woman, standing at roughly eye level to most of the men in the room, and she looked down at the man with an air of detached indifference.

"Who the fuck do you think your starting a fight with here, you damn whore," he said to Siona, beginning to stand and putting his hand on his sword.

"Dont stand up," said Siona, "or Ill make a fool out of you."

"Do you know who you're talking to?" he said.

"A nobody," said Siona. A crowd had formed around them, and they all had grown quiet at the fight that was about to take place. Rithi had melted back, getting out of the way, and looking on with a face of awe, like she was watching a great spectacle.

The mercenary pulled his sword and swung, and Siona quickly dodged, drawing her own sword with her left hand as the crowd collectively recoiled. The mercenary spun around and swung again, and Siona parried, swinging her right hand out and clasping it around the mercenary's neck. She brought forth cold, unlike any cold that existed on earth naturally, and he suddenly had a look of surprised fear and pain on his face. He knocked Siona's hand off of his neck as quick as he could, but not before the damage was done. He came away with a black hand print on his neck, where frostbite had already begun to set in, and breathing awkwardly and wrong. His eyes flashed with fury as he struck at Siona again, trying to get a hit in on her. She dodged his attacks, parrying when she needed to, and waited for her chance to strike once more. Soon, he swung at her in a large overhead strike, his other hand still clasped around his neck and his breathing growing worse by the second, and Siona quickly parried his blow, grabbing his arm while he was off balance, and conjuring the cold again. He yelled out in surprise and fear, though it was strangulated and awkward due to the condition of his throat. Siona watched as his hand blackened with frost bite, and gripped tighter when he tried to pull away.

"I yield!" he said, "I yield! Please, just don't hurt me!" Siona let him go, and pushed him into the bar.

"You should find a doctor quick, otherwise you may lose the arm or your throat will never be the same," said Siona. The mercenary looked up at her, whimpering in embarrassment and pain, and Siona placed her sword back into its scabbard. The crowd had begun to leave the bar, and Siona could tell from some of them that the guard would be brought here soon. She needed to leave, it was very suddenly not safe in the town anymore. Just one more reason why she didn't like being in big towns like this, and preferred the open road. Less chance of landing oneself in trouble. She leaned down and picked up the mercenary's sword, and placed it back into his own scabbard for him, before repeating her earlier sentiment. "Go, find a doctor, one who can use magic to save your arm."

The mercenary nodded, and quickly jogged from the building, stumbling some and looking around with wild, panicked eyes. The tavern had mostly cleared at this point, leaving just Siona standing in the middle of the floor, and Rithi on the sidelines. "We need to leave," said Siona.

"What," said Rithi, "why? Whats happening?"

Siona turned and grabbed Rithi's shoulder, leading the younger girl out of the bar and back onto the street. She looked over her shoulder, scanning for any guard, and pushing Rithi along. "We're leaving," she said, "because if there's one thing people like this will not look kindly on its a bar fight on market day. Especially one where the local loses."

"We were just defending ourselves though," said Rithi, "how ca-"

"No, I was defending you," interjected Siona, "but more importantly, even if that is the case the guard is not going to just let some mage waltz into their city, freeze a man's arm, and then keep wandering around the square like nothing happened. And they are not going to tolerate her friend who started the fight either."

Rithi gave Siona a look, but said nothing more as she was pushed through the crowds and back onto the streets. Siona kept glancing over her shoulders, and scanning for guards, and on multiple occasions ducked her and Rithi through alleyways and around piles of crates and barrels to avoid guards on patrol, until at long last they were out of the city. Siona was frustrated, she had meant to get more things done in town. She still needed food, and she was not about to buy only overpriced inn food for her long trip to Haden Hill. But now, it didn't seem like she would have much choice. Rithi on the other hand, though disappointed by the day being cut short, was much happier with how her day had gone. Siona suspected that it was the most excitement she had had in her whole life. Siona had stopped talking as much, feeling frustrated with Rithi, and wishing a little that she had not agreed to take her along. She dropped Rithi off back with her aunt, Misasha, but chose not to inform the older woman of the kind of trouble Rithi could have gotten them both into. She bought hot potatoes and salted meat, using up the last of her money on it, before setting out onto the road once more.

She walked until it was near nightfall, coming up to the next village over, farther from the town but still close enough that she could see some of the light from it just over the hills. She got a room in the inn, and ate her food, before studying the map she carried with her. It was old and dusty, and torn in more than a few places, but it had been with her since the start of her adventures and she was not about to give it up easily. She marked the roads she would take with lead, tracing her planned route west to where she knew that army had been last, and with whom she had heard there were Keepers Of The Glass marching. She was unsure, even a little afraid of going to the Keepers, but she didn't really know who else to go to about odd dreams. It was said that they received visions in their dreams, just as Siona often did, and that their library's were filled with ancient magical texts and historical documents. Weapons, artifacts and ancient technologies. It was a scholars paradise, and no one got in without being a Keeper first. She even highly doubted she would be able to get in herself, but she figured it would be better to try than to just give up without even seeing if it could be done.

She meditated again that night, contemplating her dreams and her day, searching for signs. So far, nothing much could be gleaned, or at least no clear meanings. Still, she continued to find herself sensitive to images of fire, time acting strange, and flames rising from the ocean. She couldn't make sense of it, but she could tell that it was important. She wrote it down before she went to bed, thinking it over in her conscious mind. It was all very strange, but then, dreams were always strange. At least this time she was trying to interpret her own dreams, walking other's subconscious was its own mess of confused imagery, half made thoughts and frightening hidden depths that not even most were aware that they had. She went to sleep that night much less comfortable, but instead unsure. She could tell strange things were coming, but just what exactly she wasn't sure.

*****

"Rithi?" said Siona, her voice surprised. The girl looked back at Siona with an awkwardness that Siona didn't remember from her last time seeing her, days ago now.

"Hey," she said, her voice a little guilty and awkward. She carried a walking stick, and a long dagger on her belt. She still had no shoes though.

Siona sat at the side of the road, on a rock, and ate her lunch. When she heard the sounds of feet behind her after she sat down, she hadn't expected much more than a merchant, or hedge knight, not someone who she knew. But when she saw Rithi's thin frame round the bend in the road, her spectacularly blond head cresting the top of the hill, Siona thought that it was a mirage at first. But as Rithi came closer, she saw as the girl stopped, started to turn, and then turn back, a look of being found out in some secret on her face. She blushed bright red, her face looking like a tomato. She had walked up to Siona when Siona called out to her, her head low and her feet shuffling in front of Siona, unable to meet her gaze.

"Rithi," said Siona, "what are you doing out here?" Siona's voice held no malice, but was stern. Rithi immediately felt that there was no hope in escaping Siona's questions, so she chose not to lie. Besides, she was scared that Siona would be able to tell with some sort of magic.

"I was, uh, kind of following you," said Rithi. "I was hoping I might be able to talk to you later, and, well, you know."

"I don't," said Siona.

"I was hoping you would let me travel with you." She closed her mouth, and looked Siona in the eye, trying to keep the truth in. But Siona had a way of looking that was far too wise for her years, and Rithi quickly broke under the stare of Siona's black eyes. Before she could stop herself, she was pouring all her motivations out on the hot southern road. "It's just, I've never even really left my village before, and I've spent my whole life in that inn serving travelers ale. I was bored, and tired of having to always fight with my aunt about money, and so our trip to town was the first exciting thing that has ever happened. So, I figured I would follow you, and that maybe you would let me if I proved I could carry my weight. You don't even have to teach me any magic, I can learn on my own, and I'll help you with things like collecting firewood and carrying things and stuff like that. I know how to set up a tent, and I can cook pretty good. I won't get in the way, I swear. I just. . . I mean. . . I've never done anything before in my life. And this is my chance to be a somebody."

Siona studied Rithi, looking her up and down. She had certainly kept up this far, and she seemed smart, if a little naive. Siona wasn't exactly happy, but it would be wrong at this point to turn her back. At least, that was how she felt. "You need some shoes," she said.

"What," said Rithi.

"If you want to travel, you need shoes. Otherwise you'll cut your feet." Rithi looked down at her feet, eyeing the bloody bandage she had tied around the left one.

"A little late for that," she said wryly.

“And you're gonna want to change out that bandage, or your foot'll get infected.”

Siona stood, and began making her way down the road again. Rithi stayed where she was, just like when they first met in the inn. Siona paused, and turned again, and gave Rithi a wave. "Come on," she said. "If your gonna travel, you have to use your feet."

Rithi grinned so wide it was practically ear to ear, and she ran to catch up with Siona. She couldn't stop smiling for the whole day as the two set off down the road.

***

Siona looked down at the camp, the armies tents spreading out into the distance like a grey and white mass. It looked like a scare on the land, and rose up out of the grass like some sort of musty blood. Siona watched as fires popped up throughout the camp, and warriors moved to and frow between the rows as they collected their dinners or made themselves comfortable. Rithi stood next to Siona on her left, her hand over her eyes to block out the early evening sun, and shifted in her new boots. They were a bright, shining leather, and looked a little garish accompanied by Rithi's rather drab dress and brown travel cloak. “It's kind of ugly,” she said, glancing at Siona. Siona simply nodded, looking over the camp. She just hoped that she could gain something from this trip. It would be a shame if she had come all this way for nothing.

“It's a little hard to believe that an army of this sizes lives so. . . I don't know. . . Simple.”

“That it is,” said Siona.

She threw her cloak over her shoulder, the black silk glinting a little in the light even despite it's worn out state. She rested her hand on her sword as she stepped forward, making her way down the hill towards the camp. Two guards strode by one patrol, looking bored but wary, and they stood straighter and hefted their weapons as Siona approached. When she reached them, one held out his hand in a command to stop and spoke. “What are you doing here,” he said. “This is not a place for you.”

“I'm here looking for someone,” said Siona.

The guard looked to his colleague, who gave a shrug and a sideways glance at Siona. “And who is it that you are looking for exactly?” he said.

“I don't know their name, but I have heard rumors there is a Keeper Of The Glass travelling with this army. I intend to find him, if that is true of course.”

The guards both laughed, their faces instantly brightening at the ridiculousness of that request. Hardly anyone knew anything about the Keepers, let alone who was one. “Do you know what kind of a request that is girl?” Said the guard on the right, his amusement equally clear in his voice as it was in his face. "No one speaks to a Keeper unless they want to speak to you."

“I am aware, but I am also well aware of the fact that I am an accomplished mage and scholar, and the type of person this Keeper may wish to speak too.”

“Is that so,” said the guard.

“Yes,” said Siona. “It is so.”

The guard chuckled again at this, and asked, “well then, Lady Mage, who just might you be that this Keeper would wish to speak to you?”

“I am Siona Willun, sealer of the Damned Lord, walker of dreams, summoner of the crows,” said Siona. She hoped it would work. They didnt have to know this Keeper. Hell, they didnt even have to know anything about magic. All she cared about was being able to ask around the camp, to see if the rumors were true. If they were, she would find the Keeper. If not, there was nothing keeping her here, and she would move on.

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

“I am Siona Willun, sealer of the Damned Lord, walker of dreams, summoner of the crows,” said Siona. She hoped it would work. They didnt have to know this Keeper. Hell, they didnt even have to know anything about magic. All she cared about was being able to ask around the camp, to see if the rumors were true. If they were, she would find the Keeper. If not, there was nothing keeping her here, and she would move on."

Prax

The great Lion to respond to the bard when he picked up an interesting bit of conversation from the edge of camp. One thing that annoyed all Thalari he had met in the more "civilized" parts of the world was the sensory overload that came with it. The more untouched races were lesser of sight, hearing, and smelling. Because of this they congregated around great fires, made loud noises for fun, and cared little for their own cleanliness. It was the adjustment to this world that had taken Prax the longest. He had discovered quickly that the novelty of his existence and his great size excused him from having to conform to cultural norms in the empires of man. It had taken him a good year to keep his senses in tune at all times without fear of a particularly strong waft of a city street or a guard's torch causing his senses to go haywire.

Since then he had learned to focus things in and out and how to control things. Now two beings approached. One he could not truely place, but the other carried a particularly strong odor. He had been well experienced with working with and fighting magicians at this point. Magic itself reeked. Not with a particular scent, but the odors it gave off were unnatural. While fire smelt of wood and wafts of earth, pyromancy smelled like burning air or the strange gases that leaked from the boiling lands of the Goltharis Ravine. It always sickened Prax, but he had learned to expect it as much as the humans had learned to expect his Thalai.

Necromancy was the exception. Death normally carried the familiar yet said scent of Decay. It was a dreaded scent, but one that was expected in life, and with it brought forth new life in a great never ending circle. Necromancy however, carried with it a taint, a disturbance. It was like rot in it's most pure form. There was no life within it. It was an anathema to living things. Whomever the stranger who said these words was, they carried with them the rot of necromancy. That was more than enough to catch Prax's attention. Standing up, he gestured to the other two and said "Come now. I believe we have a guest that both of you might be interested in meeting."

Natasia

The smaller woman followed behind the behemoth of a lion man, using the space he cleared in the various crowds of camp to move without issue. At the outskirts of the campsite, he found the two figure he had heard and smelt conversing with two sentries. Nat walked up alongside him. The Lion placed one large paw on the head of one of the sentries and said "Good men, I think me and my friends here may be able to help this young woman. Why don't you continue in your duties."

With a small squeak, the two men ran off in the direction of their patrol. Watching them turn a corner, the Lionman nodded and said simply "I believe I heard your name was Siona. What can the 'Hammer' do for you?"

Nat nodded and said nothing. She knew enough from observing other magi to recognize them. What kind of caster this woman was, she couldn't percieve. It took Consortium seers years to learn that art. But any apprentice worth their salt learned to recognize a mage on sight, lest they make a rather fatal error one day. In Dascian military tradition, a mage was a weapon, and failing to recognize one was as fatal as missing a dagger when searching someone for blades.

[Galnius]

Tenna
It was a rare time indeed that the silver haired elf found herself being merry with people outside of her guild. If someone had told her one of those people were going to be a necromancer, why, Tenna probably would have stabbed them to avoid the insanity from spreading. However, here she was. She had just danced with one of those holy blessed whatever-you-callits, a necromancer was now stuck tailing her due to needing his knife, and another elf of all things had saved her life. The last may have been the real kicker.

So, one may ask, how did she get to the point of dancing with this rag tag trio? She supposed the life saving was a major part (though the ale she swiped from a soldier probably helped). However, simply being alive didn't hurt either. So, she approached the pair. They seemed to have just finished what could be described as mouthing more than posh movements used to show off as opposed to to show emotions, but that may have been the human's fault. Thus, it had to be corrected.

As they split apart, Tenna slipped between their arms, facing Riki. Up close, she realized he was a little more rough looking than she initially thought. Not quite the fragile meek wizard most were. She...may not hate this.

Turning her head, Tenna winked at Brialya. Perhaps that was another she had misjudged. Two people in one day may have been a record for her (that she knew about. Then again, most misjudgings ended with the person 'taking a trip' o the sewers). The elf truly did seem like fun. However, with a small hand wave towards the bird boy the silver haired elf completed her message. Go dance with him. Tenna had this.

With a swift twist, Tenna brought her hand to her to Riki's waist. She would lead this dance.

[The Twelve Isles]

“I am Siona Willun, sealer of the Damned Lord, walker of dreams, summoner of the crows,” said Siona. She hoped it would work. They didnt have to know this Keeper. Hell, they didnt even have to know anything about magic. All she cared about was being able to ask around the camp, to see if the rumors were true. If they were, she would find the Keeper. If not, there was nothing keeping her here, and she would move on."

Prax

The great Lion to respond to the bard when he picked up an interesting bit of conversation from the edge of camp. One thing that annoyed all Thalari he had met in the more "civilized" parts of the world was the sensory overload that came with it. The more untouched races were lesser of sight, hearing, and smelling. Because of this they congregated around great fires, made loud noises for fun, and cared little for their own cleanliness. It was the adjustment to this world that had taken Prax the longest. He had discovered quickly that the novelty of his existence and his great size excused him from having to conform to cultural norms in the empires of man. It had taken him a good year to keep his senses in tune at all times without fear of a particularly strong waft of a city street or a guard's torch causing his senses to go haywire.

Since then he had learned to focus things in and out and how to control things. Now two beings approached. One he could not truely place, but the other carried a particularly strong odor. He had been well experienced with working with and fighting magicians at this point. Magic itself reeked. Not with a particular scent, but the odors it gave off were unnatural. While fire smelt of wood and wafts of earth, pyromancy smelled like burning air or the strange gases that leaked from the boiling lands of the Goltharis Ravine. It always sickened Prax, but he had learned to expect it as much as the humans had learned to expect his Thalai.

Necromancy was the exception. Death normally carried the familiar yet said scent of Decay. It was a dreaded scent, but one that was expected in life, and with it brought forth new life in a great never ending circle. Necromancy however, carried with it a taint, a disturbance. It was like rot in it's most pure form. There was no life within it. It was an anathema to living things. Whomever the stranger who said these words was, they carried with them the rot of necromancy. That was more than enough to catch Prax's attention. Standing up, he gestured to the other two and said "Come now. I believe we have a guest that both of you might be interested in meeting."

Natasia

The smaller woman followed behind the behemoth of a lion man, using the space he cleared in the various crowds of camp to move without issue. At the outskirts of the campsite, he found the two figure he had heard and smelt conversing with two sentries. Nat walked up alongside him. The Lion placed one large paw on the head of one of the sentries and said "Good men, I think me and my friends here may be able to help this young woman. Why don't you continue in your duties."

With a small squeak, the two men ran off in the direction of their patrol. Watching them turn a corner, the Lionman nodded and said simply "I believe I heard your name was Siona. What can the 'Hammer' do for you?"

Nat nodded and said nothing. She knew enough from observing other magi to recognize them. What kind of caster this woman was, she couldn't percieve. It took Consortium seers years to learn that art. But any apprentice worth their salt learned to recognize a mage on sight, lest they make a rather fatal error one day. In Dascian military tradition, a mage was a weapon, and failing to recognize one was as fatal as missing a dagger when searching someone for blades.

Siona Willun, The Black Raven

Siona stood and argued with the guards, trying to hold her face in an impassive mask, all the while feeling as her patience was gradually being worn thin. Rithi had started off seemingly interested, but had now grown bored by the talking that was taking them nowhere. She yawned, and glanced all around her with her eyes half lidded. Siona glanced down, an exasperated frown on her face while the guards explained to her more about the Keepers and how they operated, like they somehow knew more about it than she did even though no one actually knew anything. Rithi's cheeks bulged out as she blew a breath of air, steaming slightly as the evening slowly turned towards night and the air grew colder. Siona looked back up at the guards, glowering at them from behind her cloaks tall collar, and caught sight of a beast of a man approaching from behind. Siona looked up at him, ignoring the guards now, and studied the Thalari man as he came closer. He looked like a lion, a great mane of fure around his neck, and his hair a pale pale yellow, almost white it was so faint. As he approached, he reached one great paw of a hand out and placed it on the head of one of the two guards, turning him around and sending him on his way along with his partner. She watched as the guards scampered off, and looked back as the lion man spoke to her.

"I believe I heard your name was Siona," he said, his voice booming and demanding of respect. "What can the 'Hammer' do for you?"

Siona stared up at him with a look of mild disbelief, before she noticed the companion he had with him. She was about average size for a dwarf woman, but next to the great hulk of a being that was "The Hammer," she looked like a child. But despite how small she was compared to her friend, Siona quickly saw she was not one to take lightly. She carried with her all the telltale signs of magic, and the Magi who wielded it. And from the way the woman stared at her, Siona could tell she saw the same telltale signs on Siona. Siona narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at the woman, and gave her a nod so faint if one blinked they would miss it to show her she recognized what she was, before turning back to whoever this "Hammer" was.

"Thats right," she said, "My name is Siona Willun, though some of the peasants have more fanciful names for me. And this is my apprentice, Rithi." Siona smacked Rithi on the shoulder with her knuckles, and Rithi quickly shut her mouth from where it had fallen open. She looked around frantically, as if she wasnt quite sure what to do, patted dust off her with her hands and dropped into an awkward, wobbly curtsy.

"My name is Rithi Stoneswallow," she said, "apprentice to Siona Willun." She poke in a choked manner, like the words were coming to her mere miliseconds before they passed her lips. Siona watched her with a knowing look, before glancing back to The Hammer and his mage friend with a look that seemed to say please forgive my companion. She is still new to all this.

"As for what you can do for me," continued Siona, "frankly that all depends on who in this camp you know."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Neferis Lahari
Hammer of Eboris Encampment

---

Neferis scowled at the Knight of Shotarr, first for completely ignoring her words, and then for blowing things out of proportion and alarming those around him. A loud growling emerged from the Shi'el's mouth, silencing all those around her, who were wary of further drawing her ire.

"Now that I've got your attention," the she-wolf began gruffly, "I can talk. I'll assume you do know her, or you wouldn't be losing your mind as we speak. You have nothing to worry about, this woman merely overworked herself as a result of her stubbornness. I know these mage types, though. If they're not killed by their own abuse, they recover within a few nights. Less, depending on what foul things they draw power from."

The Thalari woman glanced down at the martial sorceress for a moment before looking back up at Quentin, glare growing somewhat softer. "Is there anywhere we can lay her down to sleep? It won't help her recovery if she can't rest well."

---

Saelaam of Trelia
Hammer of Eboris Encampment

---

Saelaam graciously let go of Tenna's arm and parted from her as their dance came to an end, in tandem with a slight change in the tune that was played near the campfire. He was almost disappointed by it. For someone who didn't speak much - or at all, considering he hadn't once heard her voice - the silver-haired elf sure was fun to be with, although he couldn't be sure if that was common, what with the faint smell of alcohol about her. Either way, she went on to pair up with the man she had earlier partnered with Brialya. The cleric could not begin to understand why she would show such interest in a necromancer of all people, but he supposed it didn't matter. He hadn't tried to do anything shady so far, and it was unlikely for him to be able to do anything in the midst of the newborn army's encampment even if he tried, so that was enough.

Continuing to watch his three new acquaintances, the gestures Tenna made towards him and the other elf were not lost on him, and the winged Thalari figured that he might as well be the one to start this time around. With that in mind, he calmly approached Brialya with a friendly smile on his face. "May I have this dance?" He asked with playful mock-politeness, holding a hand out for her. "We can do something a little more laid back than posh court dancing if you want." He offered. "Or we could go with that. A friend of mine taught me some of the steps, though I don't have a lot of practice, so you'll have to forgive me if I make a mistake." He admitted. Dancing, after all, was neither his vocation nor a hobby of his, but those in the service of life often saw through its joys the reason it was worth preserving, and a priest of Oadot was no exception.