Beyond Light's Reach (IC Reboot)

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Chrysanthea Blackwood

---

Chryssa nodded still with an amused smile on her face as she heard the knight's response - despite the fact that he held the prestigious position of Knight Commander and was the head of the newly formed Hammer of Eboris, he never lost his temper or complained and always seemed willing to roll with her remarks, which was something she quite appreciated, perhaps more so than his sweet talking from their first conversation. Hearing that he was here looking for her, however, made her curious instead of amused and so, she listened as he explained the reason, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Drinking on the job, hmm?" She quipped, before smiling warmly. "Well, I'm flattered that you braved these hate-filled streets just to invite me. I would love to have a drink with you, Sir Quentin." She spoke afterwards, in a decidedly friendlier, less sarcastic tone, gesturing for him to lead the way. It would probably be a while before she could make her way back to her fellow Repentant, but that didn't worry her. They could take care of themselves.

---

Neferis Lahari

---

The Wandering Wolf made her way through the masses of people crowding the Rilas marketplace with little issue, as the lesser folk before her promptly parted to let her through as soon as they spotted her. After all, in a small city such as this, well within the borders of the Empire of Tashar, few had ever seen such a tall, imposing woman walk among them, let alone a proud Thalari from the Antoran dunes to the far West. That, added to the fact that she was hauling a large deer carcass, was more than enough reason for the peasants and merchants walking the marketplace to avoid her, though many still gawked from the safety of the sidelines. Stares she had grown accustomed to during her journeys through human lands.

Making her way into a local butcher's shop, she casually deposited the animal corpse onto a nearby table, the sturdy wood creaking under its heft. The surprised man turned around, though he settled down quickly enough, recognizing the woman. She had become a somewhat familiar sight in the past two weeks, a talented huntress judging by the fact that she always came in with a large catch, ready to trade it in for some coin.

The butcher, a small man who found himself intimidated by the she-wolf in front of him, nonetheless offered a polite smile and prepared to pay the agreed upon price for the flesh delivered. It was not cheap, but venison was quality meat, and he was old enough to know a good investment when he saw one.

Moments later, the woman walked back out without the deer carcass and with a heavier coin pouch. Not that she was in dire need of the money or anything of the sort - she was fairly self-sufficient, and knew how to live off of the wild with little issue - but when walking and working alongside lesser folk, there were certain standards she held for herself. This far from Amarkar, spares for her sort of attire were far from plentiful, and humans seemed to consider silk awfully expensive, which further complicated things. Still, she had managed to procure a few silken robes in the past weeks.

Walking away from the butcher's shop after getting her pay, the Shi'el noticed a soft thud next to her, and looked at the nearby decorative tree just in time to see a tiny black bird falling straight to the ground. Reaching out with one hand, she caught it and looked at it for a moment. It was not dead yet, but it seemed to be severely lacking in intelligence, so that would no doubt last little. More importantly, however, it had a familiar scent about it. One of the many she had noticed during the Hammer's journey to the Wolf's Den. Sniffing the air around the crow, she noticed that the same scent was nearby, and it didn't take her long to spot Rudolph looking at the scene just across the street.

"Your bird, Slayer." The woman spoke after sauntering across the street, handing back the stunned crow. "Not a very bright animal, this one."

---

Saelaam of Trelia

---

The winged Chosen prayed to Oadot for guidance on the road ahead, as well as patience, both for overcoming obstacles and dealing with the more doting among his comrades. However, as always, the act was done less in expectation of divine revelation and more as a means of introspection, a form of meditation. It was an act that cleared his thoughts, and the notion of praying to the gods for assistance with some issue or another made him consider his circumstances and focus on what truly mattered. Adding to that, the quiet atmosphere of the temple allowed him to relax and think.

Thus after a few minutes, Saelaam felt somewhat refreshed. Not fully, but enough to continue working. There were people far worse off than him just outside the city's walls after all - the hungry needed food, the sick needed medicine, and the wounded needed healing.

Before he got up, however, he was approached by a Goliath woman. That alone would've been enough to make him suspicious under normal circumstances, but he knew that among those who had joined the Hammer in the first few minutes since its creation were three Goliath women, among them an enigmatic Keeper of the Glass who had given the nascent army Sualdir's blessing. He quickly recognized her, and her comment about Sualdir's wisdom further confirmed her identity. He listened to her and nodded at her compliment, though her last remark put a frown on his face.

"Yes, it seems that way, though I cannot say I welcome the feeling. I wish people's attention would be focused more on the threat looming upon us all instead." He said with a weary sigh. Glancing at the crossed sword sign hanging from her neck, he continued. "You said you didn't think much of us in the past. I take it the Horde does not think highly of healers?"

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

In the two weeks since the battle with the demons. Ivaran has been keeping busy with the threat demons and the recruitment of new members to the Hammer. Sparring to keep his skills up and getting to know more about the people he will be fighting with, though with his status as an Athelaian and a Guardians of the Light. It has made things difficult for them to know people. Especially from mages but, he was not surprised by this. Animosity, with his kind, is sure to be in people's minds. More so since it was an Athelaian group that seemingly caused the demons to return. So Ivaran has mainly kept to the company of the few Athelaians that had come to join, and so far, no Guardians are among their number.

Ivaran sometimes ventured into Rilas that have set up around the Wolf's Den, and he was not prepared to see how the number of refugees coming in. Sure some are expected but, this much seeking the protection of the Hammer. It certainly was never a not dull moment in Rilas with the refugees moving in. The one thing that irked him was that he had sent a letter to his family back in Athela but, so far, nothing. Perhaps they safe and not in danger from the demons. Or they were in danger or worse. That was something the lingered in Ivaran's mind. Were his family safe? He hopes so but, who knows for sure and for how long.

Today, Ivaran thought about sparring and headed to the training area. To his surprise, a crowd had formed around a pair fighting each other. Curious, Ivaran walked over and after moving through the crowd to get a good look. He could see that a Goliath and a Thalari were fighting each other. Ivaran recognized the two. They were both apart of the temple expedition. Though he had yet actually to meet with either, it is nice to some friendly faces. Now the only question is who will win? He did not get a chance to see them fight before, so he can't judge based on that. Based on size, the goliath might be the winner but, who knows, the smaller Thalari might come out on top. So he elected to watch the two fight and see who would win. If anything, it would at least entertain him before he goes to get some sparring in.

[Awesomeland012345]

Tarkin

After having his bottles shatter Tarkin had given them some thought. His potions weren't worth much if he couldn't use them, after all. So instead of using fragile glass bottles, he elected to use metal canteens, the type that held water, and bought all that he could carry from the local market. That was one thing checked off his list! Wait... a thought occurred to him. What would happen with his explosive potions? Would the metal hold and blow the cap off, creating a deadly projectile, or would the whole thing explode? Either way, he would need a way to test it that involved him returning that night unharmed. Tarkin would need a wide open area, one with not many people, and something he could hide behind. The woods didn't have any people, but he didn't want to risk burning it down. And the town square was too crowed to test it safely. That left the arena.

Tarkin took off toward the arena, making sure no one was out for revenge. The only problem was... when he arrived, it was packed full of people. There were two fighters, one big, one small. He sighed. He would have to come back later, so in the mean time, he would go "hunting" for some food. Just as he was adept at throwing his potions, he could also throw stones pretty well. He could only hunt small game using this method, though, so as long as he had free time, he would try and use a bow. He'd probably be pretty bad at it, to be honest.

Tarkin purchased a bow and arrows at the local hunting lodge. After this, though, he had no idea where to start. How did he even shoot it? Take this, and pull it back, and - ow! The string slapped against his arm, leaving a nasty red mark. He would have to get a teacher, but where to find one? He jogged back to the lodge and asked the shopkeeper, who told him to just ask some hunters, who were always happy to get some extra help, as usually they got a bit of extra game. Where to find them? Next the the forest, of course!

As he neared the edge of the forest, Tarkin spotted the hunters and shouted a greeting.

"Well, what's your business around here?" asked a joyful-looking hunter.

"Well I heard that you hunters might teach me how to use a bow - "

"Of course! We'd appreciate the extra game!" the hunter exclaimed with a grin. Exactly what the shopkeeper had said! He led Tarkin around to a dead tree that had quite a few holes in it and introduced himself as Bob. Bob mimed how to string the arrow and use the arm guard to prevent the string from destroying his arm.

"Now you try." Tarkin did everything perfectly... except for the hitting the tree part. The arrow embedded itself in a tree far from where it was supposed to land. Bob laughed.

"You'll get it eventually!"

[North Timeria]

Aymeri didn’t want to move on to a crossbow, it wouldn’t work as well for him.

“I’m not really looking for a crossbow. Maybe it could go on the grip?” Aymeri wasn’t exactly sure but he wanted to stick with a bow. “If you can’t could you build a new one?”

Aymeri wasn’t sure if he’d be able to but he thought it’d be better to have a bow built for the intense combat they would encounter. Aymeri also wondered when he would get to go home next. He didn’t know what his time would be like from this point. Aymeri then offered Syn some of the wine he had been gifted.

"I'm very skilled with the bow and I just want something on it that means something to me. Considering the times we live in you never know what could happen."

[Tomia]

Dulen
Dulen raised an eyebrow at Tenna's claim. Sure the cut made it clear that she couldn't speak, but the idea that she just picked up the language of the Street Crawlers off hand seemed a bit far fetched. Either way though he didn't mind, he had no problem with Street Crawlers as long as he didn't owe them money and he could see their hands.

Well Quentin told you right then, and since I'm talking to you now it's safe to assume he meant me. He told her through hand signs. He didn't actually know if she could hear him if he were to speak, but regardless this seemed like a conversation best kept to themselves.

So, you can only talk this way huh? Must be tough, can't imagine you find too many people you can talk to. So what's your story then? Dulen found himself intrigued by this woman, and admittedly felt a little bad. He was likely one of if not the only person she could talk to. Thay was sure to be a lonely life. He wasn't surprised she sought him out and he wasn't just going to ignore someone in a situation like that.

Quentin
Quentin gave a relieved smile when Chyrssa accepted his invitation. He hadn't been sure if it was appropriate or if it would be well received and so he was glad that his intuitions hadn't been off. He nodded when she told him to lead the way and turned around to make his way through the crowd, glancing back at one point to make sure they hadn't gotten seperated. Once they were free of the crowd they continued their walk back to the castle in relative silence, Quentin feeling a bit nervous about this interaction. They had spent time alone together already of course but this felt...different. They had made it fairly clear to each other that they were interested in each other, but this was the first time that Quentin had really acted on that fact in such a clear way. Still, he liked spending time with Chryssa and with all that was happening in the world, it was silly to be nervous about a private drink with a woman.

Soon they arrived at his office, which was luxurious in size but fairly modest in terms of furniture. There was Quentin's desk, which was currently scattered with papers and letters. His chair was a simple but padded black chair and a similar chair sat on the other side. Against the wall was a bookshelf that was filled with assorted books, and a table sat in the corner of the room that held a map of the continent. Quentin sat down on his chair, picking up the bottle of wine as he gestured for Chryssa to sit as well.

He grabbed two glasses from the bottom drawer of his desk and poured two glasses of the wine.

"So, have you heard back from your fellow repentant? I'm sure they aren't eager to help a Knight of Shotarr, but their help could be invaluable." He said, slowly picking up his wind. He didn't know exactly what to talk about and so he assumed Hammer business would be a safe way to start.

Yasema
"They recognize them as necessary but yes, it is not a position of honor. Among my people it was believed that magic was a weapon, and those who possessed it should use it as such." She wasn't surprised that Sael picked up on her past, given her necklace. She found his answer to her previous question curious. He clearly wasn't the type to seek power, instead having a clear head to look towards bigger things. She made a point to remember that.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? Me being a once member of the horde?" There wasn't judgment or defensiveness in her voice as much as curiosity. She knew what non goliaths thought about them after all, and the fact that he was talking to her at all indicated that the Chosen would at least be polite in his answer. Still she doubted a healer by trade would think much of a band of hardened mercenaries.

Justina
Justina found herself looking up at a large crocodile man who had barged into the supply room she had briefly entered. For a brief moment she wondered if she was being attacked before she saw his sheepish expression and heard his meager words.

She barely believed what she had heard, they had sent a crocodile up the bell tower? Idiots, I'm surrounded by idiots.

She sighed before looking up at the beastfolk who seemed... scared of her?

"You're the one who rang the bell then? What's your name soldier?" She asked him, trying to keep the frustration out of her tone. "That was a dumb move there, but it's not your fault. Some jackass thought it was a good idea to send you up there in the first place. Tell me... crocodile, you got any skills?"

[Segral]

Claire Dione

Her opponent, once so confident and valorous, was now approaching at a half-hearted, measured pace, full of tedious apprehension. Perhaps the goliath had been in fruitless hope that the seed of her size and bulk would be enough to sprout a crop of intimidation, as it likely had for so many other poor farmers and gatherers. But Claire had never been one to yield, not to the largest of beasts, and certainly not to the smallest of dwarves. She had slain a dozen of the bulkiest, most steel-hearted paladins that Treodor had to offer. A single goliath, regardless of the experience and wisdom she held, struck no fear into Claire's hardened heart. Clearly, the experience and wisdom Ylva held was scarce, as she was sticking to the most orthodox of manuals by slowly creeping towards Claire with that slow, tense gait, hammer firmly clasped within her fist. It was a classic technique, using a seemingly loose and free lure to snag a fish, only to whip back with the rod and tug the fish right out of the water. She was hoping to provoke Claire into lunging first, turn a moment of excitement and arrogance into a resounding defeat, but a Zhorian was too intelligent to fall into such a trap. Instead, the smaller Thalari allowed the goliath to come closer, holding her pike diagonally across her chest and tensing her knees in preparation for her adversary to strike.

Eventually, Ylva seemed to grow impatient, taking a quick step forward and swinging her war hammer forward. She had been prepared to dodge the clumsy arc, but less so for the sudden shift that followed, as Ylva twisted the hammer round and round in her hands before lunging forward, the handle's blunt end aimed directly at her chest. Still, she remained calm, her feet lightly skittering across the ground without even kicking up the faintest cloud of dust as she hastily sidestepped to the right to avoid the sudden lunge. The hammer narrowly missed her, whipping past her breastplate and forming an audible "wooosh" of air, but Claire remained undaunted, instead choosing to parry back by angling a lazy, limp jab of her pike towards the goliath's now-exposed flank. It would likely do little to harm her, but it would leave her footing unsteady, and create cracks in her boulder that Claire could split ever further. If it had been her intent to score the easy prize, she would've aimed for the head or knee instead of the torso's side, but to score the easy prize would leave this spar dull, short, and unsatisfying. A warrior needs to feel as if he has a fighting chance if he hopes to improve. If his blade is deflected and his battles constantly end in loss, he will become discouraged, become fearful of the blade that he should be determined to master. She was fortunate to have the expertise and skill to be able to facilitate such a fighting chance, to allow herself to make clumsy mistakes without jeopardizing her prowess in the battle, nor the conflict's end result. Enemies were to be shown no mercy, but allies should be given slight pity and compassion, should be spared from the full warrior's wrath. Such was the Code that she had been born to, lived by, and at the end of her fateful saga, would die for.

---

Krook Tolasthes

Surprisingly, Commander Justina did not seem to be furious with him. Certainly frustrated, perhaps irritated with his clumsiness, but not furious enough to chop off his big, stupid head. In fact, she seemed almost startled when Krook crept into the small closet. It was understandable, many squishies were afraid of his razor-sharp teeth, claws, and hulking physique upon first meeting him. Crocodiles had reputations for being fearsome beasts in the Great Swamp, able to tug down the most hulking of buffalo and gore even the most skilled of warriors, so it was understandable how a thal'gol as massive as himself would strike fear into the hearts of so many precious little humans and elves. Sometimes, he wished it weren't that way. He was very proud of his heritage, and honored to share a bond with such a magnificent creature as the crocodile, but he did not feel so proud and honored when the small children who played near the Fortress' gates shrank and ran away from him when he traveled through on his hunts. He did not feel so proud and honored when people gave looks of surprise at the sight of him watching birds or reading one of his father's novels, as if they expected him to be hunting or wrestling instead of enjoying art and nature. Sure, he loved to hunt and mud-wrestle, but that was not the only love he held, and it saddened him when others did not recognize that.

Even Commander Justina did not seem to recognize it, as she berated the "jackass" who sent him up there in the first place. He did not know what a "jackass" was, but he did know that she didn't believe that he was capable of delicate masonry and craftsmanship, because he possessed massive hands and a bulky body. Yes, he had made a big mistake, but he had been doing an excellent job beforehand! He had placed each plank tenderly and softly, and had sniffed out every single piece of rotten wood, but it seemed as if none of it would matter. Despite the cool stream of relief that washed over him upon hearing that Commander Justina seemingly had no plans to cut his head off, the fear of punishment still lingered, and he couldn't help but hang his head low with a sigh, responding to her questions in a meek, somewhat glum voice.

"M-my name is Krook Tolasthes, Commander Justina." Krook said, eyeing the tall woman warily as he spoke. "I have...some skills, yes. I am skilled with my bow, I use it to fight and to hunt. I-I suppose I'm skilled at hunting as well. I do not like to use my teeth and claws, but when I am forced to, I can certainly put up a strong fight with those, especially when I embrace my beast form..." he said, shuddering slightly as if the very thought of such power frightened him. "Oh, and um, I was a Forester before joining the Hammer, so I was instructed in various...natural skills and practices, and such..."

---

Keagan Tolasthes

Despicable, absolutely despicable! Did no one in the town possess even the slightest of manners! First this blue-skinned elf hag, and now this long-haired, damp-smelling dope had ignored his efforts to be sociable, to be a kindred spirit, to offer great opportunities with only the expectation that they provide modest opportunities in response. But no, they were all too far above intermingling with a bloody commoner, a merchant, a Tyr'el, nothing but a sly, cold lizard with evil intentions behind a friendly and warm visage. Was it so difficult to believe that he had possessed a pure heart and a legitimate desire to earn riches from paying customers, and not participate in petty robbery and treacherous sin? Yes, he had sold illegal poisons, but for the fairest of prices, never with any hidden charges or complicated schemes to extract more money from his customers. His punishments were only reserved by those who broke their promises and failed to hold up their ends of the bargains, and yet when Keagan forcefully extracted his fees, he was considered a "criminal", an "untrustworthy fellow", a "vagabond". He spat upon these pious, ultra-stiff fellows, these priests of Shotarr who riled up crowds in the town market with empty words denouncing his kind, stifling his wealth instead of forming their own.

All he was left to do was to wander aimlessly within this disgusting mass, searching out for another potential customer. After all, if he had found two potential members of the Hammer of Eboris in just the past minutes, certainly there had to be more milling about for reasons quite unknown to Keagan, at the very least. Why one would want to voluntarily spend time sinking into this muddy swamp was beyond his comprehension, but perhaps there was some joy to be held in using your entire wage for the purpose of feeding a poverty-stricken family for a mere two days. The poor would be fed one day, when he became wealthy again, able to facilitate a trading post within the village. Perhaps he would start with potions, and then move to other goods. He would plow proper roads instead of the rutted, grassy excuses for roads that currently existed. Perhaps he would extend the borders out to the south, developing housing space for the beggars and widows. There would be no need for any town guard; if any Repentant dared to take the mantle, they would meet his wrath. No more human and animal feces and waste in the gutters; he would follow the examples of great Dascian and Antoran cities by utilizing local water sources to flush the dung away. All of it would come someday, but in the meantime, he should focus on developing the foundations for such an enterprise.

Perhaps he had just spotted a beam. As he turned to his right, he saw what appeared to sizable wooden keg floating through the crowd. When his eyes adjusted to the overlap of bodies and movements, he saw a snow-haired lady underneath, impressively lifting the keg with just one arm and using the other to clutch an equally sizable flask. Good drink was always an excitement of his, usually at his residence instead of at the unruly, dilapidated tavern, but what gave him even greater excitement was the fact that he had seen this woman before. At times, despite the unruliness of the tavern, he purchased a drink there, in the hopes of overhearing some delicate conversation or secret slipping away from drunken lips, secrets that could help advance his allies and his customers. Although he did not know much about this woman, he knew her to be the greatest drunkard of them all, spending hours upon hours passing around her keg and drinking even the burliest of men down to their wits end. Wouldn't she love a calming drought that could be used to win her drinking games with a bit of a spike? Or perhaps a potion to clear her mental fog, so that she may drink longer into the night? Oh, he could see it now! From the way she was stumbling to and fro, she was likely already in a state of haze! This would be too easy, far, far too easy!

Steeling his nerves for his third consecutive pitch, he began to make way for the woman, sidling through the crowd with polite apologies and winces as his massive frame bowled many aside. Following the woman's stumbling, tripping path was a difficult affair, involving all-too common switches in pace and direction, but within seconds, Keagan had caught up to her, managing to stride up to her right and narrowly dodge a haphazard swing of the keg in the process.

"That's quite a keg you've got there, ma'am!" he crowed appreciatively, looking down upon both the massive barrel and the woman underneath it, who, despite being of fair height for a human woman, was no match for Keagan's size. "You do look a tad woozy from bearing its strain, though. May I offer you some assistance?" he asked, pointing a single claw towards the object in question.

[Absolon-7]

Neffy

Rudolph Thorbecke

---

"Yeah he's not," sighed Rudolph receiving the crow from the exceptionally tall thalari, "But he does his job decent enough. Sometimes."

The crow then sprung to life having recovered from its daze and began flapping its wings about to get out of Rudolph's hands. The bird flew upwards into the sky before becoming a faint black dot in the sky. Rudolph hadn't gone out of his way to talk to anyone really since he joined the Hammer unintentionally keeping up the lonesome Slayer stereotype but Neferis seemed decent enough to have a change of pace. He noticed how she had with her some expensive looking silks with her. He remembered one time as a student in his Slayer academy he had been entrusted with giving the headmaster a box of the silkworms that made such fabrics which was a gift from a departing teacher. He shuddered at how difficult of a task it turned out to be as the Headmaster has a penchant for booby trapping the way to their office.

"Oh you're shopping too? I've just come here to pick up a shipment I ordered when we arrived," questioned Rudolph smiling off the unfortunate memory, "Did ya see that big crowd by the square calling the Hammer a bunch of snakes? Some people really need to learn hospitality."

[Awesomeland012345]

Tarkin

Finally! FINALLY! After hours of practice, Tarkin had been able to consistently hit the tree. Admittedly, it wasn't that impressive because he wasn't that far from the tree, but considering this was his first day, he had made some decent progress. Because of the time spent on his bow and arrow target practice, he now had time to sit down and and rest his aching arms.
After he felt like he had rested enough, Tarkin decided to go on a hike through the woods. It was a nice day, after all. He got up and strolled along the woods until he spotted a trail. A bit in, he spotted some other hunters. It looked like they had had a successful kill, as they were carrying a large deer. He asked where they had caught the deer, and they said that they had caught it in a clearing up the path. He was suddenly struck with an idea.
"Is there very, very large clearing someone here?"

"Why yes," one of them responded, "we use it for large festivals. It took us months to clear out, but it was worth it. Those festivals are some of the best around!" Thanking them, Tarkin walked on. He could test his explosive potion there! When he reached it, he found a large rock and hid behind it. Then, with all his strength he hurled the potion to the middle of the clearing. Repeating this test several times, he discovered if the put a large amount it, the canteen would explode into hundreds of tiny bits, while if he put less in, the cap of the bottle would fly off faster than an arrow. As for his other potions, the acid didn't melt through the canteen, and he resolved to keep it there until he need to use it, during which he would dump it on his enemy or pour it into a glass bottle and toss it.

His tests complete, he walked back to town. Overall, his day had been an uneventful but productive day. He hoped the demons wouldn't attack and end his boring day streak...

[Auropa]

Claire Dione

Ylva Pathmaykr

Having her strike meet nothing but air, Ylva felt her suspicions confirm themselves as her foe aptly darted to the side and launched a probing attack of her own. ‘Alright then little fish. Let’s play.’ Ylva thought as her weight shifted and her hammer practically spun into the path of the oncoming trident with its head passing over it and its neck intertwining with the prongs. The moment it felt secure, Ylva pushed forward.

Quick opponents were a tough breed. They’d dart around, make their attacks, then get out of danger before any proper retribution could be done. If given their way, most would wear down the strength of any foe they found themselves pitted against before taking the winning blow when it inevitably revealed itself. Ylva however, was not just some foe. Claire had speed, Ylva didn’t doubt that and knew better than to test it. What she did have however, was strength and so long as their weapons were tied up, reach. Sure, in an open fight she might not be able to land anything serious against the thalari but that just meant she needed to push her into a situation where that speed made no difference.

Wrenching the pair of weapons to face upwards as she moved in, Ylva’s pace quickened once more as she tried to slam her shoulder into the smaller warrior and force her to abandon her weapon. She figured that without it, she’d have to either risk recovering it or come in much closer for an attack and if despite it all she chose to hold onto it, then if all went well she'd be taking plenty of damage and be left at the mercy of Ylva's fists. Whatever she did though, the onslaught continued with Ylva freeing one of her hands from the locked weapons and throwing out a brutal swipe against the head of her opponent. Fast as this Claire might be, Ylva was relentless. Everyone slipped up and everyone made mistakes, and when the fish made hers, Ylva would be ready.

---

Aymeri

Syn of Ashar

Gwen Sirrade

‘Well at least he seems to know his trade.’ Gwen thought to herself as the dwarf entered the conversation and assessed her weapon and its potential upgrades.

“If that is all achievable then I would very much appreciate your expertise and skill. Payment of course will not be an issue.” Gwen stated behind a thin smile as she calmly addressed the dwarven blacksmith and did her best not to scowl at his mannerisms and tone.

“Here, should all go well then I will return tonight to collect it.” She added as she unbuckled her sheathe and passed it over to him.

As she did so, she overheard the other boy’s request and his own discussion regarding his bow. ‘Who would ever take a bow over a blade?’ she thought to herself as she eyed the soldier and tried to place him. Despite her general glory houndish nature though, she wasn’t one to diminish the usefulness of a skilled archer. Scouts, support, or even as light infantry a well-trained force of archers could do wonders for any army but his comment about wanting something personal on his weapon did somewhat resonate with her.

“You do understand how dumb of an idea that is?” She eventually interjected. “Personal effects and tools do not mix. For a tool to be a tool, then we need to be able to abandon it if the situation demands it. If a soldier loses their weapon and hesitates on whether to withdraw or go after it, that is when they are cut down.” She stated coldly remembering more than a knights that lost their lives pausing in front of lost heirlooms but also thinking back to the warm stories told by her friend over the campfire through the scribblings on some dumb stick.
“Though if your weapon is of some, ‘emotional’ importance to you. Then should the time come ensure it is important enough that you don’t hesitate to retrieve it.”

Before she could think of saying anything further though, Syn continued and began discussing her armour. At first, despite everything she had just said, she felt a pang of excitement. She was getting her equipment enchanted! Her! And all on her own too! Sure it was technically because she joined up with the hammer but still! It took so much focus to stop herself from betraying her glee that the enchanter’s words and forward manner didn’t even phase her at first.

“Hm, Undress? Oh, for the armour. Of course, it would hardly make any sense for someone to try and enchant something while its being worn.” She began to say as she casually undid her shoulder and breast plates before stopping suddenly as her actions finally reached through to her mind. More like a spooked deer than a knight, Gwen froze in place with a good portion of her armour in her hands and while thankfully still far from being fully undressed a small but quickly growing red tint came to her face.

“Undress!?” She eventually shouted breaking herself out of her trance. “The hell’s wrong with you?! Did you think I was gonna undress ‘ere or somethin!? Do you even know what professionalisms means!” She added as she tossed a shoulder plate in Syn’s general direction. “Of all the low down, back-water, self-taught wannabe enchanters of course I’m stuck with the pervy one with a twisted mind!” She added before frantically hurling the second shoulder plate with even less accuracy than the first before turning on her heels, starting to storm off then turning back around once more and storming back into the conversation “I’ll send someone with the rest of the damned armour or something later!” She added before calming down and going into a quiet huff.

“…Sorry. And, thanks.” She eventually, very quietly muttered after a few seconds of silence.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Chrysanthea Blackwood

---

As Chryssa walked into Quentin's office, she observed the interior with a keen eye, noticing with a mixture of appreciation and disappointment that the place was quite spartan, with nary an ornament in sight. Appreciation, because this was yet another indication that Quentin was genuine, someone who had gotten to where he was by helping the weak and carrying out his duties, rather than licking his superiors' boots or acting as a vulgar glory seeker. Disappointment, because even though she lived a simple life, she had not entirely forgotten the privileges of her old life, chief among them the luxury of having halls, offices and all living spaces richly decorated with the arts her homeland was well known for - and while the austerity of Quentin's office wasn't quite an indication of bad taste or anything of the sort, it still left something to be desired.

At least it's good to know that the Hammer's funds aren't being funneled into this place. She reasoned, cracking an amused smile at the thought. She said nothing on the matter and simply sat down however, knowing better than to imply that Quentin would misuse the incipient order's funds like that. As much as she enjoyed the occasional jest at his expense, there was a limit to how far she was willing to go, especially now that their relationship had somewhat progressed from when they had first met. She didn't want to ruin that by running her mouth.

Taking her glass of wine, she did not drink from it yet, listening to the Knight Commander's question. He asked about the status of the Repentant she had been attempting to contact and recruit through letters, and though it was an important matter that could influence the fate of the world in the coming conflict, in that moment the redhead couldn't help rolling her eyes. You did not invite me for a drink here to talk about work, did you?

Still, she figured she might as well answer.

"I sent off letters to several Repentant chapters over the last several days, here and in Dascus and Sarthares. Only the closest ones have responded, generally in a positive manner, though their heads have let me know their concerns about working together with the 'gold-hoarding knights'." She explained, making a vague dismissive gesture with her free hand as she mentioned the sardonic nickname. "From the rest I have not heard yet, the letters must still be in transit I assume, though I wouldn't worry too much about not getting the support of my brothers and sisters. I made sure to express very clearly the importance of our mission in my letters. That's all I have to report." She concluded in a business-like tone, albeit with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

With that done, Chryssa looked down at her glass and moved it closer to her face, taking in the scent of the wine before savoring it. Suddenly, she seemed to perk up. "This is very good!" She said, turning to look at Quentin. "Dascian, correct? From the Linari vineyards, near Halsha." She continued, recalling the information off the top of her head, the taste of the wine stimulating her memory. "I've heard it's a very beautiful place."

---

Neferis Lahari

---

The she-wolf chuckled at Rudolph's admission and resigned tone, watching the bird intently as it suddenly snapped out of its daze and took off to the skies as though it was no worse for wear. "At least it's a resilient one. Perhaps it won't last as little as I thought." She remarked.

Turning to look at the Slayer, she listened to his comment about the mob surrounding the red priest and sighed. "Aye. It does not surprise me to see it, though. Small folk like these, with small minds and aspirations are easily swayed by the words of pretenders and charlatans. Their lot in life is to follow, not to lead. When they chose to follow the wrong person, things like these happen." She said. Her words could certainly be taken for those of an arrogant person, full of herself, but her tone didn't quite seem to match them - it was somber, as if she genuinely pitied the peasants of Rilas for their short-sightedness. The she-wolf shook her head however, casting a glance at the crowd before turning back to Rudolph.

"We need not concern ourselves with them Slayer. Our actions will speak for ourselves in due time." She spoke, offering the man a confident smile to encourage him. There was no use worrying about the opinion of the people of a small city in Tashar when they were fighting to protect Eboris itself.

"Where are you picking up your shipment?" Neferis asked to change the topic of conversation. "I can walk with you there. Perhaps you can help me find a decent tailor on the way." She added. Though she had been around for two weeks, she had found that getting directions from the townspeople was difficult - most were too nervous to answer or avoided her altogether due to her imposing stature and presence. Perhaps if she was with a human, or better yet, if the human asked on her behalf, she would have better success there.

"Let's get going." She spoke, giving him a soft push on the back as if to prompt him to lead the way. She wasn't one to take no for an answer.

---

Saelaam of Trelia

---

"Hmm."

Saelaam said nothing as the goliath answered his question. He merely considered the answer. The notion of using magic only as a weapon reminded him of the stories told by the head priest, who had resigned from his service to the Enchanter Order precisely because he wished to distance himself from a life ruled by such violent principles. In that regard, then, perhaps Tashar and the Horde were not so different, though he was sure that comparing the two in public would earn him a lot of scorn at the very least.

Amidst these thoughts, Yasema's question took him by surprise. Of all the directions the conversation could have gone in, he didn't expect to be asked about how he felt towards the Horde. But given that the woman asked only if her being formerly a member of it raised alarm, he found that the answer came to him quite easily - again to his surprise.

"No more than I feel uncomfortable working together with men and women from Tashar, who tend to hate Hercynia and its people." The Chosen spoke. "No more than I feel uncomfortable working together with Antorans, who at most tolerate ser'ana'thal like me." He continued. "The way you worded your question speaks for itself: once member of the Horde. You no longer stand by them. You serve Sualdir now, don't you? Unless he wills the destruction of the world, I think we can all trust you to be on our side." He finished, cracking a faint smile.

"Besides... if the Horde wished to join us tomorrow, I don't think I would object. Against the demons, any help is welcome."

[Tomia]

Justina
Justina raised an eyebrow at Krook as he spoke about his skills. "A Forester you say? I've certainly heard about their reputation for ambushes. The common adage among the military here is that in the woods each one of those folks counts for a dozens foot soldiers." She told him before looking him up and down again. "But you don't seem like the guerrilla fighter type. But you do seem like you could make for a solid ranger and we are in sorry need of that. I love this order but most of these Shotarr boys are pampered city folk who act like mosquitoes are dragons. Using someone of your... skill set to fix a bell tower is asinine but I think you could be of good used to us as a ranger. Maybe you could train some of the boys here too in due time maybe we'll actually have a decent scouting unit. What do you say...Krook?"

Quentin
Quentin offered a grin at her sarcastic finish to her discussion of the Repentant. While it was admittedly a meager conversation stater he was genuinely glad to hear the Repentants could be relied on. They needed to bolster their ranks and while some were made nervous by knights with a sordid pasts as far as Quentin was concerned right now a soldier was a solider. The demons would not ask about one's linage before ending your life.

The knight then raised an eyebrow when she so enthusiastically identified the origin of the wine before breaking out into a smile and chuckling softly. His laugh was genuine and not something Quentin found himself doing often.

"I must admit I've never met a Repentant with such a taste for fine wine." Quentin joked, looking back at Chryssa. "But to be honest, you would know far better than I would. Where I come from seeing Dascian wine was as likely as the Emperor strolling in for a visit." He told her, sipping the wine himself. "You should have seen me the when I was made a knight. When you're a recruit, you eat slop and stale beer. When you're a knight you get to experience the full resources the order has to offer. The first time I tasted wine, real wine that is, I spit it out in shock. You can imagine how amusing that was for the other fresh knights and our commanders." He told her with a grin as he shared a memory from his past.

Yasema
If only you knew healer. Yasema thought to herself when Sael mentioned trusting her. There was so much she knew that would change the very nature of their conversation, but she could not share it. It was not time and she had a sacred duty to preform. So instead she focused on the healer's words. "I will admit, I did not leave the Horde by choice. I did not leave on good terms, and a small part of me regrets that. However you are right, I serve Sualdir now. I appreciate your trust healer, I must say you have a rare wisdom about you. I see why it is that others look up to you so. Your acceptance can be dangerous however, the differences between the Horde and the rest of society are not trifles to be ignored. There are those here who distrust and hate the horde and not without cause. Just because demons have risen does not mean expect mortals to act divine."

The Next Morning
When the sun rose, messengers found themselves dispersed throughout both the fortress and the city. They summoned all who were with Quentin when he arrived home from the disastrous expedition. Each person was told to come to main hall of the fortress which was in fact somewhat of a large council chamber that Quentin used for meetings and such. In the room sat a very large round table which had a crimson lion emblazoned across it. Quentin sat alone at the table, waiting for those he had called for to arrive. Once they had all arrived, Quentin spoke to the group.

"Some of you are probably wondering why I called you here. All of you were there with me when the demons attacked, first at the temple and then on the road here. You alone know the true magnitude of what we're facing. For this reason, I've decided to trust you all with a special task. Our armies will be necessary to stave off the demon hordes, but that will not last forever. We must find a way to seal off the demons as our ancestors did. Over the last two weeks my agents have searched for whatever we could find about the original Hammer of Eboris. We now believe that on top of securing allies to bolster our forces, we must seek out the tools that the ancients used to originally seal away the demons. While there is little to go on we currently have a lead...."

Suddenly there was fierce knock on the doors of the hall and an armored knight entered flanked by a dozen soldiers. Instantly Quentin knew they were Knights of Shotarr instantly, but what were they doing there? Quentin stood up and approached his comrade, "Brother what is the meaning of this..." However he was cut off as the man began reading from an unfurled scroll.

"Sir Quentin Raeden, you have hereby been accused of treason against the Order of Shotarr by the almighty's high council themselves. You are ordered to return at once to Gradel where you shall stand trial before the tribunal of Commanders who will determine your fate. Failure to comply will see you stripped of your rank and condemned to death." With that the man turned and exited the room without as much as looking at Quentin. The men guarding him retreated as well and the slamming of the large doors were the only sounds to break the silence of the room.

Treason? For trying to save life as they knew it?

Quentin was stunned. He knew his order was ambitious and he had worried that some might look wearily upon his decision to form the order, but treason? Anger filled his mind as he contemplated this insulting announcement. He clenched his fists tightly before taking a deep breath and turning to his assembled companions.

"Well change of plans, it seems like we are heading to Gradel instead."

[Finland SSR]

Aymeri

Gwen Sirrade

Syn of Ashar

---

"Ah, not a fan of crossbows, then," Syn stated, keeping a faint smile, though lightly disappointed inside. A little bit before he ended up on the Shotarr payroll, on his usual quest to scour through libraries for more information to add to his catalogue, he found some pretty interesting half-finished schematics for a repeating crossbow... It would have been cool to see it come to life. "Well, if you ever change your mind, I'll always be here. Or, well, hopefully I'll be here."

The runesmith took a brief glance at the wine Aymeri suddenly offered, blinked for a second, unsure on what the gesture meant, and replied:

"Thanks, but no thanks. That's not really my thing. Right, so, I'll build you that bow you want, so just check up here tomorrow morning and you'll have it. Syn quality guarantee."

Meanwhile, Lady Gwendolyn, after berrating her peer for having emotional connection with her weapons, followed through with Syn's request, and began taking off her armor. Only in the middle of undressing did she realize exactly what the runesmith requested for her - and so threw a comically over the top fit, yelling out increasingly nonsensical insults while tossing pieces of her armor in fury. Syn crouched and covered up his head, even though none of the pieces touched him, all while laughing his heart out.

"You know... if it makes you feel any better... that wasn't what I meant," the runesmith mumbled, in between giggles, and slowly removed his arms from his head when Gwen ran out of pieces of armor to throw. Already, a dwarf ran forward to start collecting them and inspecting them for any new bumps - if they're going to be enchanting the suit, then they need to make sure that it's in pristine quality, after all. "Although - from what I am seeing, I don't think you have any reason to fear showing off-"

A rolled up piece of parchment slammed across the back of Syn's head, coming from the same dwarf. Hissing, rubbing the impact zone and stumbling a bit, he grumbled:

"Alright, yeah, I deserved that..." Straightening and making a fake cough to show that he was going to act more serious, the runesmith continued. "Yeah, the armor is fine. We can work with it. Just uh, leave it here and come back the next morning, we'll have it fixed up in no time."

---

The Next Morning

---

Well then...

What should have been a somewhat mundane strategy meeting for the Hammer's next expedition ended up as a rather tense standoff between Sir Quentin on one side and a party of Shotarr knights on the other. Syn watched the ordeal from his seat on the table, the accusation of treason being thrown towards their group's leader, and an order to show up in a tribunal in Gradel to receive his judgment. And then... they simply left, leaving a shaken atmosphere in the air.

Syn turned towards the door, then to Quentin, then back, and muttered:

"Wait... uh, what? Why didn't they take you with them?" Genuinely puzzled, the runesmith laid back and brushed aside a strand of his hair. "I thought that's how arrest works - the authorities take you in for trial, hold you somewhere until you can stand before court... Can't you just leave? I don't know, to a different country? I mean, sure, they will sentence you for that, but you get sentenced either way, so..."

His mumbling eventually receded, and he folded his arms behind his head. So their plan is to head to Gradel, then...

"You sure you want the Hammer to tag along? Bringing an army with you to trial gives the completely wrong message."

[Segral]

Claire Dione

Perhaps she had underestimated her opponent's prowess. Or rather, she had underestimated the role that her opponent's vast girth played in her combat technique. Claire was used to battling against humans, elves, occasionally other beastfolk. Creatures that, while certainly formidable, were near equal to her in sheer strength and grip. However, Ylva was a goliath, one of endless bulk and capable of force as vast as the mountains she most likely had traversed. Claire's attack of choice would have been to twist and strangle the hammer out of her grasp with a downward pull, but there was no use in doing so when the goliath could pull back up with a fraction of the effort. No matter how tall she stood or how much will she pushed with, the goliath would best her in dozen of dozen circumstances, most likely within a brief period of time in ten of them. She would have to change the course of her river's flow, avoid her usual tactics. Instead of partaking in her traditional method of tying the opponent's weapons with her prongs and tugging it out of their grasp, attempting to use brute force against the most forceful of them all, she would have to play intelligent, use her opponent's force against her. Play not with strength or stamina, but with speed and grace.

She had fought vigorously to keep Ylva from wrenching her trident into the air, but when the goliath moved to drive her shoulder forward, Claire did not fight at all, only braced her middle and her legs with a slight lean backwards, just enough so that the shoulder narrowly missed her face and instead struck the center of her breastplate. The force of the blow was enough to chase the breath out of Claire's chest as she fell back, a dull pain flooding the skin underneath the dent in her armor. All she could hear was the clang of metal on metal, and soon, the crunch of metal on earth as she made a graceful roll backwards, elegance only undermined by an involuntary grunt of exertion made as her upper back struck the packed dirt of the pitch. Really, it was more of a stilted flip than a true roll. It was a simple trick, rolling off of the back and pulling the legs over the head far enough to string the body into a position with one knee on the ground, driving the trident into the ground to steady her position.

"That was a solid blow, I credit you." Claire said with a testy grin, tearing her trident and jumping up to her feet as she spoke. However, instead of rushing forward, she began to approach her foe at a slow, patient pace, feet shuffling at the speed of unmotivated stream and trident held in a defensive position across her body as she spoke. "Come at me! I wish to see what else you plan to smite me with!" she cried out, pushing her ankle back so that she now moved and shuffled in a sidelong position, similar to the way that the crabs of Treodor walked upon the sandy shores. These were no sandy shores, and her crab's claws were shifting in her own hands thanks to the moisture that had grown across her palms, but she would still snap and snatch more viciously than even the toughest one. She would know; she had eaten those crabs every night for supper during Zhoria's skirmish with the Treodorans five years ago.

---

Krook Tolasthes

Krook finally dared to look up at Commander Justina's surprisingly calm words, his eyes beginning to brighten slightly as she began to speak of rangers. Really, he...had absolutely no idea as to what a ranger was, but from the way she spoke of it, it seemed like she believed it would be a good role for Krook. He did know what scouting was, and boy, did he love that! He was not very skilled at the art of fixing bell towers, and he did not enjoy bringing pain to others, but he loved scouting, his skill at the art of swimming had made him one of the best in the Great Swamp! Even if she had offered him absolutely nothing, at the very least, it was certainly relieving to know that Commander Justina had no plans to execute him, for if she really planned to chop off his big, stupid head or punish him, then why would she offer such a position to him, and grant his faction such compliments?

Oh yes, the compliments were very nice too. He couldn't help but swell with pride slightly as Commander Justina praised the Forester's ability for ambushes and wooded formations, claiming that each one was worth a full thirteen foot soldiers. Or was it twelve? No, definitely thirteen, thirteen for sure, that was what the baker said. Either way, it made Krook all warm and tingly in his cheeks to hear a woman as powerful and...severe as Commander Justina give such warm regards to the Foresters. Many of the other factions believed his clan to be a group of "unwashed asses who won't stop covering their own pumps in flowers", as a small, very dirty bald man at the town tavern had said the previous moon, and that made Krook very sad. Foresters were good people with kind hearts, who simply understood that the natural lands needed to be protected in order for Eboris to remain as prosperous as it always it had been, and dedicated their entire lives to achieving such a goal! The fact that Justina not only recognized this, but considered Foresters worthy of a position as elegant-sounding as "ranger" made him a very happy Tyr'el, and a proud one at that.

"I...I..." Krook stuttered, still seemingly taken aback by the sudden influx of information. "I...would love to be a 'ranger', as you say!" he said excitedly, now fully looking up at Justina's face with a silly, broad, grin full of slightly yellowing teeth breaking out across his face, and a stiff wag seeping into his tail. "You are right, I'm not very talented at fixing bell towers, but I can certainly become a scout, and train some of the squishies to be scouts too!"

However, despite the excited note the sentence ended on, Krook's face seemed to fall slightly as soon as the words were out of his mouth, a small frown etching its way across his face as his tail began to droop again. "But, um...what if the Shotarr boys don't like me? Or what if they don't listen to my words? Some of them are very, er...confident, you know..." he asked nervously, a look of worry beginning to bloom in his eyes as he warily looked towards Justina.

---

The Next Morning

---

Claire Dione and Krook Tolasthes

Dogs never paused to chew at their bones, did they?

To barge upon this meeting of importants so rudely, only to deliver wind-words that the Commander was to be trialed with treason? Had good sense become treason? Had basic intellectualism become the birthmark of a traitor? Claire felt no camaraderie for Quentin, but at the very least, he possessed the basic qualities of honor and respect that should be found in any decent man, and that was more than she could say for this sorry party of imbeciles. In the name of Qoit, what was the purpose of this hoodlum-like affair in a time where every moment was better spent sticking a pike into a demon's fiery throat? "Condemned to death"? Why did they not just take him here and now like men instead of cowardly prancing away and leaving the Commander's arrival up to his own accord? Did they not even have the courage to pull their man from this room? Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful. And disgrace upon Quentin. Where was his backbone, his stone? Where was his courage, to stand up and chase these rats back to their hole instead of allowing them to scamper away? How did he expect to dampen the fears and doubts of Eboris' residents if he refused to let rain fall? And to accept their horrid invitation to Gradel with open arms? No, this simply wouldn't do, it wouldn't do in the slightest.

At Quentin's words, a peculiar-looking man of long mane spoke up, questioning why the army would be pursuing Quentin's crown of rose thorns to Gradel, and personally, Claire could most certainly agree more. Clearing her throat, she leaned forward in her chair near the farthest corner of the table, fixing her beady eyes upon Quentin's as she spoke. "I second his motion, and raise it further. Why should we attend this trial at all? If these dogs invite you to Gradel instead of taking you there by force, they most likely have a trap planned to ensnare you with. Perhaps we should refuse their orders, and remain here. Eboris continues to laugh at and mock us, and the only way to prevent it is through fear. If we show that we answer not to even Shotarr's followers, we may be able to instill that fear." she said smartly, folding her hands on the table as she finished. Her throat was beginning to ache and grind from the force of having to raise her voice, owing to her stunted position at the back of the table. Once again, she had been dealt a third-rate hand of cards on the basis of her heritage. No matter. She had dealt with it before, and she would deal with the same again.

Meanwhile, Krook didn't say much of, well, anything. Of course, he was confused, and slightly annoyed, as he had been intrigued by Quentin-the-one-who-had-called-for-this-journey's briefing on the demon hordes, and the 'lead' he had found before they had been interrupted by these strange, pompous squishies. Why did they want him, and how had he committed treason? To commit treason, one had to have betrayed their faction or nation, but Quentin had betrayed absolutely no one! Nobody had ever said that Knights of Shotarr were not permitted to build their own armies, so what was the issue? It didn't make sense to Krook, but apparently, it did to most others and to Quentin-the-one-who-had-called himself, for he begrudgingly announced that the army would instead travel to Gradel to accompany him to his trial. It was good that they were going; if they didn't go, then they would strip Quentin-the-one-who-had-called of his rank and chop off his head, which would be terrible news, because that would mean that the Hammer would have no leader! Krook admired Quentin and all of the other leaders within the Hammer, which was why he remained silent as others began to speak out, instead choosing to focus on picking the dry mud from his claws. His hunting expedition yesterday had earned him several nice, plump, tasty fish, but his claws had become filthy from the mud patches in the nearby riverbank. It would be an easy clean though, all that was required was a hint of time and some fine picking with his clean claws to scrape the mud away. If he was to travel to Gradel, he would need to appear clean and groomed, like a true warrior, and muddy claws would certainly not be permissible over in those parts. Pa had raised him to be a finer gentleman than that.

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

Treason? Did he hear that right? The Knights of Shotarr think that Quentin is a traitor? For what, reforming the Hammer of Eboris and waging war on the demons? How is that a crime in these dark times? Ivaran was confused at the accusation and wondered more when the Knights simply did not try to take Quentin to their high council themselves. That would make sense, an accused traitor would be taken into custody rather than let them free. Should not risk the chance of the accused fleeing or going underground. Why let Quentin have a choice in the matter? Maybe because with him forming the Hammer that it would be too risky to simply take him if a fight broke out. Hoping that Quentin's sense of honor or duty would make him voluntarily go to Gradel to await his trial.

Something is off Ivaran thought as he sat in his chair. What do the Knights hope to accomplish by doing this? There is a demon invasion going on and they want to send a message about traitors? Though this started to make him think about how does the Guardians or Athela feel about him joining the Hammer. Is he a traitor to the Guardians by joining up with the Hammer? They should have the same goal right now, fighting against the demons and save the world in the process. As of now and to his best knowledge, he is the only Guardian in the Hammer so far. Then again what about Purity? The mysterious leader of a cult that who knows how much influence they have in either the Guardians or Athela. A bad taste started to form in his mouth. Ivaran did not like this one bit, with an unknown enemy lurking around in his homeland while obstacle to fighting the demons presents itself.

Speaking up when no one was talking, "I agree with Syn, if we are to be heading towards Gradel. An army would give the wrong impression given the nature of your summons. Perhaps it would be wiser to send a smaller force instead. Though we do not know what awaits you in Gradel nor can we afford to lose our leader in early in this war". Ivaran voiced a hint of concern, "Why the Knights think you are a traitor is beyond me and we need you in this fight against the demons". Ivaran did not lie about that, Quentin was their leader, and losing him would damage morale. Not to mention lose possible credibility and standing of their fledgling organization. How could the Hammer of Eboris stop this demon invasion if they lose their leader so early on? But, that is a choice for Quentin to make and Ivaran just hopes that Quentin makes the right choice here.

[Awesomeland012345]

Tarkin

Sleeping late was nice. Tarkin had grown lazy in this castle, even if it hadn't been that long of a time. So when he was woken up at daybreak he rose groggily and tripped over his own feet while the messenger explained he had to go somewhere. Hm. The big hall in the fortress. Getting ready for the day, he strode over to the castle and plopped down on a chair. A rather large chair, he noticed in his tired state. The knight commander, Quentin, basically said that everyone here had been with him at the temple and that they had to get rid of the demons. At least that's what Tarkin heard; he was pretty sure that was what Quentin said.
But then, for some strange reason, the doors banged open and some more knights came in. Reinforcements? Tarkin almost fell back asleep while they read off a scroll they had until they said 'condemned to death'. Then he started to pay attention. Unfortunately, the 'reinforcements' stopped explaining themselves and promptly went back out the door. Fortunately, some of the people in the hall gave him some context. Quentin was going to some place called Gradel for treason... What? Oh well. He had to listen. Now they were petitioning to just stay put and not go. Tarkin decided he would go with them, because of two things. One, he was tired and only half listening, and two, they were made up of warriors and would protect him from those nasty demons.
Now that that was settled, he could pretend he was listening and take a nice nap...

[Absolon-7]

---

Rudolph Thorbecke

---

Rudolph was a bit taken back by Neferis response since hearing such an eloquent philosophical response was not something he'd guess he'd hear on a shopping trip. The words were harsh but he could see how there wasn't any malice to her words. Instead it was if she genuinely understood them and that was her simple observation. She quickly turned the topic back to his shopping even offering to walk him there and suggesting he could help her find a tailor. He found her confidence in the Hammer quite an admirable point of view as he felt that sort of attitude needed to be spread around more in the Hammer. No point in people being there if they thought it would be a failure. Her sudden soft push on his back surprised him but he laughed it off.

"The shop I'm going to is just down the street," he said pointing towards said direction, "There's a decent tailor right across from it actually."

He began the fist steps forward, "You know that glorified rag I wear as a cloak over my armor? Took it there and they managed to make it look at least partially used instead looking like a troll's wash cloth.

His memory flashed to an unfortunate incident involving an undead troll's intestines being spilled all over him by fellow Slayer of his several years ago. He shuddered. "Okay that's a bit of exaggeration but still.Trolls are much much worse."

Quentin goes to Court

The next morning Rudolph arrived early to the council chamber after the summons went throughout the fortress for those desired. The meeting started off normally with Quentin going over the expected order of things their organization needed to stand on their own first before even taking on the demon hordes but unwelcome visitors dashed any hopes of a smooth meeting. They were apparently messengers delivering news that Quentin was accused of treason. The men soon took their leave with Rudolph glowering bitterly at them as they exited the chamber. Others began giving their input with some being quite not as sane as others.

"Syn and Ivarran are right. Bringing the whole Hammer will make them panic like a herd of deer. So some of us joining you as an entourage would be fine," offered Rudolph before tapping the table slightly, "But I might be able to go ahead of everyone and find out what they have on you beforehand so we can better prepare. Espionage has its uses if you catch my drift."

[North Timeria]

At the shop, Aymeri was a bit shocked by Gwen’s remarks. He didn’t quite know her and for her to be so hostile was a bit of a shock. “Well, I don’t think you need to worry about my bow. As long as I am able this bow will remain within my grasp.” he replied snarkily.

“Personal effects and tools may not mix for those weak in heart and mind but for us few it’s something we cherish and hope that future generations will cherish it and use it as we have.” Aymeri said this a left after he had finished talking to Syn; his bow would be done in the morning and he had no other reason to continue with Gwen.

“Thank you, Syn. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A bit drunk he walked back to his quarters to rest. Although on the outside Aymeri seemed to be okay with this situation inside he was scared. He didn’t really understand what was going on around him and he felt lost. It seemed as if everyone within the Hammer knew their purpose and had come together for a reason. He felt as if he had caught up into something he had no purpose in. This thought quickly put him to sleep but not for long as the dreams that plagued him seemed to wake him up just as fast.

---

Next Morning
As he was ready to depart he was quickly summoned to the main hall. He was unsure of why but Quentin had just returned and everyone would meet there. He quickly made his way over to meet with the group and listen to what Quentin had to discuss.

Partial through the meeting a number of knights stormed in accusing Quentin of treason and demanding that he stand trial at Gradel. Aymeri was a bit confused. Had they not been fighting the same demon enemy?

“Sir if I may. I don’t think that going alone would be wise. The battle we fight is like nothing we have ever seen before and it is something that is a threat to us all. Why the Knights of Shotarr would accuse you of treason? There can’t be many reasons in this situation. If you look at the big picture, everyone’s trying to fight off the demons. In my opinion, their goals either align with the demons or some within Shotarr have become wary of the power you’ve grasped.”

Aymeri looked around the room to see people’s reactions. “Sir the first thing I would do is send a scout team and the last thing I would do is go alone.”

[Tomia]

Justina
Justina chuckled at Krook's nervousness. It was clear the large beastman didn't understand just how intimidating his size and crocodile features were. "You're scared of them? Most of the recruits here might shit their pants just by looking at you son. I can tell you aren't the tough and rugged type, but use your looks to your advantage alright? And if they decide they want to give them trouble, just tell 'em you speak for me and if they have complaints they can face me with them, alright?" She said, patting the large man on the back in what proved to be an awkward attempt at showing support. She admittedly still needed to grapple with the sheer size of him. She had seen beastfolk before, but he was something else entirely.

Thank the Gods he is on our side.

Council Chamber
Quentin listened to those assembled who spoke up, many of them saying that they were concerned with bringing the Hammer to the summons while others speculated that this was likely a trap and some suggested he need not go at all. "They did not arrest me Syn because they know I have no chose but to answer their summons. If I do not, I have declared myself an enemy of the order. Those men had no illusions of dragging me out of my own castle past soldier loyal to me. The summons is as effective as any metal chain. That is why I have to go, the Hammer cannot afford an enemy as strong as the Knights of Shotarr. I will not begin a civil war while the demons ravage our lands." He told the assembled group. "You are all right, we can not bring our whole force, but I will be tolerated a small escort and that shall be you lot. Aymeri is right, I have no illusions that I will be safe... Something is clearly happening among my order. I need to find out what it is and traveling to Gradel and find out." He said, sitting down in a nearby chair, his hands running over his face in exacerbation. Quentin had spent his entire adult life among the order. They were his brothers and sisters and now they were calling him a traitor. He knew this could get messy, it could result in having to kill the only people who had taken him in and given him purpose. But this was the burden of leadership. He wasn't just a Knight of Shotarr anymore. He was the commander of the Hammer of Eboris, and the whole world was counting on him.

"I appreciate the offer Rudolph." He said, standing back up as he looked at the Slayer who had volunteered for duty. "However I do not like the idea of you going alone. The roads are flooded with demons, and its possible the Knights will treat you hostilely. If you are to go ahead you should at least take someone to accompany who can help you in case of a fight." He told his fellow knight. "The rest of you will need to prepare for the journey. If anyone else has thoughts regarding this...development, now is the time to voice them."

"I volunteer to go with the Slayer." Yasema said, having been quite up until this point. "I am used to traveling alone so I know how to avoid major roads and detection." Quentin looked to Rudolph to see if this would be acceptable when Dulen showed up.

"'I'd volunteer to come along, but stealth isn't really my thing. Short legs and all." He said and Brialya nearby smirked at the comment before speaking up herself. "I have contacts at Gradel. I can try to find out some information myself."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Chrysanthea Blackwood - The Previous Day

---

The redhead's cheerful smile quickly turned to a dispirited frown as she watched the knight in front of her break into laughter as his immediate reaction. It was not an unwelcome sound, his laughter, but she didn't often appreciate being the source of another's amusement in that way. Quentin's comment about the Repentant, however, made her realize how strange it must have seemed for a knight in black, sworn to forsake all wealth and live a humble life, to talk so casually about fine wine from a foreign nation. Now feeling more self-conscious about how she might come across to the Knight of Shotarr, Chryssa sipped her wine as she listened to Quentin explain that he knew very little about such things as fine wine, something surprising coming from such a high ranking officer.

Well, I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised given what I've seen so far. The Repentant thought. Soon it was her own turn to laugh, as the end of Quentin's amusing anecdote caused her to burst into laughter after a moment of pause. Remembering the way she'd felt earlier she quickly tried to calm down, though judging by the grin on Quentin's face it was clear he didn't mind. Nonetheless, after a moment the redhead calmed down and took a deep breath.

"Wow, I would've loved to see that. Despite your rugged appearance I would've never guessed you were the type to experience that sort of shock." She commented. "Though, all things considered, it doesn't sound like a bad thing. As disorienting as it may be, going from stale beer and slop to fine wine and meat... it sounds much better than the opposite." She stated, alluding to her own transition upon adopting the mantle of the Black Butterfly. She paused for a moment, looking down at her glass with a pensive look on her face. "This is... actually the first time in years that I've had to chance to drink something like this." She said before looking up at the Knight of Shotarr with a warm smile on her face. "It's quite refreshing. You have my thanks, Quentin."

---

Neferis Lahari - The Previous Day

---

Looking in the direction Rudolph pointed, Neferis saw an apothecary that seemed to specialize in exotic ingredients. She raised an eyebrow, wondering what sort of shipment the Slayer of the Crypt might have ordered from such a place, as she was unfamiliar with their hidden arts despite their fame across the continent. Hearing that there was a tailor nearby, however, she dashed those thoughts and instead looked at the building across the street, seeing that it was, indeed, a tailor's shop, and a fairly refined looking one at that, which made her feel inclined to believe that they'd be able to prepare another set of Shi'el garments for her.

Walking towards the apothecary alongside the Slayer, she listened as he explained that they had served him well, alluding to the ragged cloth he wore over his armor - she had seen men do that before, but it was usually because they had to cross the unforgiving desert and their precious metal skins would boil them alive without something to cast shade on them, and neither Rudolph nor the Hammer were on a journey through the desert at the moment. Still, it was heartening to hear the tailor's service was satisfactory.

The man's comment about trolls earned a laugh from the she-wolf, brief yet loud. "I will have to take your word for it, Slayer. Despite my years of traveling I have only ever heard about trolls in stories from passing knights and mercenaries. Down in the great Gules we have beasts and monsters of many sorts, but no trolls to speak of. Our usual fare consists of sandworms, giant scorpions and the like."

---

Saelaam of Trelia - The Previous Day

---

The winged Chosen listened attentively as Yasema spoke cryptically of the circumstances that led to her departure from the Horde. It piqued his curiosity, but he knew better than to ask, not just because it was rude to pry into someone's past, but because this was an event that had clearly caused the Goliath woman a lot of pain. It was best to leave the past buried.

The Keeper's remark about his 'wisdom' as she called it put a small smile on his face, though he still did not fully appreciate the small following that he had earned in the past days. His smile was short-lived however, as Yasema soon carried on with a stern warning, about how the hatred between the Horde and everyone else ran deep and was unlikely to be cast aside simply because the demons had come. At this, Saelaam let out a sigh.

"Yes, you're right. I understand that most will not put aside decade long feuds easily just because the fate of the world is at stake. I only meant to say that I would not object to having such a powerful group as an ally." The young man explained, briefly glancing around at the statues of Sualdir, of Oadot, of Shotarr, of Datune. "Sometimes I think about this and I can't help but wonder if perhaps we are meant to fall in the face of this invasion. There is not much hope for a world that can't put its differences aside to battle a common foe as dangerous as this." He mused. "But I suppose the few of us who have seen what's coming would fight even if that were true."

[Auropa]

Ylva Pathmaykr
The Brawl

As Claire rolled back and Ylva’s fists met with air, she let out a low whistle as she confirmed and acknowledged her opponent’s speed and manoeuvrability. ‘Really thought I had her there for a moment’ she figured, slightly glum from loosing her opportunity but a dozen times over more excited at the prospect of a good fight. Half expecting a counter attack, to follow up her withdrawl, Ylva was admittedly surprised when her foe took a defensive stance and offered up a compliment and challenge to her instead.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” She answered back as she followed her foe’s movements and waited for a sign. “I mean I’ve seen all kinds of fighters but a trident wielder? And a competent one at that? I’ve fought maybe one other, and being fair, he was just strong as hell and ended up throwing the damned thing at me anyway.” She added with half a chuckle as she lifted then casually rested her hammer across her shoulder. “So that’s got me thinking, I love a good fight as much as the next gal but someone like you wouldn’t even get a workout dealing with this lot.” She stated matter of factly and earning a few jeers and boo’s from the crowd in return. “Oh shut it! I’m right and you all know it, wanna prove me wrong stop getting yer arses beat and learn how to hold a drink.” She happily threw back with a laugh before turning back to her opponent.

“What was I saying? Oh yeah! A talented fish like yourself beating on this hopeless bunch, there’s gotta be a reason for it and I’m curious as to what. My guess would be the smell, I mean really I’m a goliath and even I think these toy soldiers don’t bathe enough.” She stated cheerfully as if the two of them were drinking buddies rather than opponents in a fight. Then as she opened her mouth to continue, she moved. Uncoiling like a pent-up spring, her arms twitched and the hammer flashed away from her shoulder and into a sideways arc towards her foe.

“Never had someone ask me to smite them though.” She stated as she launched her strike and once again followed up with a quick advance and harsh elbow strike. “Gotta friend who loves that sorta flowery talk, real softy you’d love ‘er!”

---

Gwendolyn Sirrade
The next day’s meeting

Waking up before even the sun could manage to rise, Gwen donned some casual clothing and in a barely contained bubble of excitement and energy, proceeded to spend the early hours of the morning waiting for a certain enchantment store to open. After eventually recovering and equipping her armour, she wasted no time meeting the commander’s summons. Finding out that the meeting was for the survivors of the original temple expedition rather than just her was admittedly somewhat disappointing but understandable. It had barely been a few weeks and in all fairness Quentin hadn’t really had the proper opportunity to learn about her greatness and give her the rank she would clearly deserve. So until then, she’d be patient as always and continue doing her part.

What she really wasn’t prepared for though, was the meeting’s interruption at none other than the hands of the Order of Shotarr. At a momentary loss for words as what looked eerily close to her own life’s lowest, most desperate point played out before he once again, Gwen froze motionless on the spot even when bit by bit, a plan started to form without her. Feeling a lump of panic and dread fill throat as the world started to spin around her, she stayed lost in her own thoughts until suddenly, a blunt and somewhat forceful shove to her back forced her to take a half stumble forward and snap out of her trance. “I’ll go with ‘em!” She blurted out before she could stop or even fully right herself.

Pushing back a slight wave of embarrassment at her outburst and taking half a moment to straighten up and collect herself she started over. “I would like to accompany Sir Rudolph as well. I am fast, quiet when I need to be and I have a strong understanding of the workings and structure of the order. I believe I could assist them in scouting, and should the worst come to be, I can hold my own and then some in battle.” She stated looking towards Rudolph first then turning to face Quentin as she waited for an answer.

---

Ylva Pathmaykr
The same meeting

After waking up more than a little sore but still happy with that pleasant post fight feeling, Ylva eventually stumbled her way into the meeting with the others. At first she felt pleased with the direction things were going, the demonic threat was large but still fresh and had the risk of getting worse with every passing day, so shutting it down in force felt like their best bet for a somewhat clean solution. Just as they moved onto their plan of action though, unwanted guests barged in and accused the knight commander of some sort of treason.

‘Politics, just what we needed.’ Ylva scoffed to herself as she held back the urge to hurl a few choice words at the plated men.

“Hey Gwen, how far do you think I could throw one of those armoured pricks?” Ylva quietly joked to her friend but earning no response.

“Gwen?” She asked with a small poke before connecting the dots and letting out a quiet ‘ah’ as she figured out what was going on in her friend’s mind. Dealing with people in ways that didn’t involve alcohol or cracking heads was far from Ylva’s strong suite and even further from her idea of a fun time but she knew that it was the sort of thing Gwen thrived in and as much as she needed to confront what had happened to her, now wasn't the time. ‘No helping it then’ she decided as without warning, she shoved her hand into her friend’s back and forcibly pushed her back into the moment.

Smiling at her friend’s complete near immediate recovery, Ylva leaned back a bit and crossed her arms as she considered things as they were. Whatever it was that this Order was after, they were wasting precious time and putting more than just themselves at risk.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Sir Oscar the Wise

A few days had passed since the survivors of the battle at the ancient temple, escorted by a battalion from the Order of Evrouin, had made its way to the fortress of Wolf's Den, adjacent to the city of Rilas, and the Marshal in command of the Dragon Killers had not been idle. After making sure that his knights were settled in, with appropriate quarters and a place to conduct their training and drills, Oscar had begun making plans to request the official support of the Order of Evrouin on behalf of the Hammer of Eboris. In this task he was joined by Sir Quentin himself, albeit in a limited capacity, and more importantly by one Angelina Riedl, a Dascian noblewoman skilled in the art of diplomacy who had quickly earned Quentin's trust and positioned herself as the Hammer's resident diplomat.

On that particular morning, after donning his uniform and then heading out to the mess hall to eat a fortifying meal for breakfast, Oscar began making his way across the Den's hallways. Angelina had been assigned a small study to use as her personal office, and it wasn't long until the knight found himself at the door, knocking on it twice. He knew for a fact she would be here, as it was what they had agreed upon previously.

"Come in." A firm, refined voice spoke from within the room, and the Dragon Killer obliged, opening the door and stepping through before closing it behind him. The room before him was just about what he expected from a diplomat: dozens of letters, inbound and outbound, lying on shelves and across her desk, including one in particular that she had just finished writing, addressed to one High Commander Bazaraad of the Order of Evrouin.

"You're just in time, Marshal. As expected of a man of discipline." The dark-skinned woman remarked, earning a smirk from Oscar, as she folded the letter and then held a candle and a stick of sealing wax over it. She then pressed her signet ring against the wax, imprinting her seal on it. With that done, the woman stood up and handed the letter to the knight that waited patiently by the door.

"Here you go. I make no promises that this will persuade your superiors to join us, but if you make your case eloquently, the odds should be on our side." Angelina stated as the knight took the letter from her hands.

"If you are as persuasive with words as you are beautiful, milady, then I have no doubts our endeavors will be successful." Oscar stated as he took the diplomat's hand and kissed it, earning a chuckle from her.

"Perhaps you should save that charm for your audience. I've heard that Lady Bazaraad has a thing for younger men." Angelina replied, and Oscar let out an exaggerated sigh of resignation.

"If it must come to that, I will do my part for the good of the world." He said with a playful smile, before adopting a more serious tone. "You have my thanks, Lady Riedl. I'll be off at once, and hopefully return with good news from the Order." He stated.

With a nod from the diplomat, the knight turned around and made his way out of the study, heading this time for the training grounds, out in the courtyard, where he could see several of his knights practicing their moves and sparring either with each other or with knights in the service of Shotarr - there seemed to be an air of friendly competition between members of the two orders, with several of them eager to test their skills against their newfound brothers-in-arms. Smiling to himself, Oscar made his way across the courtyard, heading straight towards a man with a slightly different uniform, with short red hair and a noticeable stubble covering his chin.

"Captain Karlan, prepare your platoon for a journey to Varum and meet me at the gates, we'll depart at once." The Dragon Killer commanded.

With a nod, the captain immediately went off to do as he was told. Several minutes later, a force of twelve Dragon Killers plus Oscar himself gathered at the gates of the Wolf's Den, embarking on a journey of several days towards the capital of Tashar.

---

The journey to Varum took about five days on horseback, and the small group of Dragon Killers stayed in the city for two more as they awaited their audience, before finally returning to the keep. In total twelve days were spent away from the Wolf's Den, and in fact Oscar returned to the fortress on the same morning that Quentin called for a meeting between the temple's survivors.

Though the High Commanders of the Order of Evrouin had refrained from aligning themselves with the newly founded Hammer of Eboris, in part out of a desire to steer clear of the political quagmire that already surrounded the nascent army, they also had no desire to limit the freedom of action of their troops, which meant that knights, captains and marshals of the Order of Evrouin were free to join the Hammer of Eboris if they so wished. Taking advantage of this fact, Oscar had spread the Hammer's message and managed to convince two other marshals to join the cause. Thus, a much greater entourage than the one that had left twelve days ago passed the gates of the Wolf's Den, earning more than a few surprised looks from knights and refugees alike.

"Sir Oscar?" An agitated messenger inquired as he approached the knight, who rode at the head of the formation, flanked by his fellow marshals. With a nod, he prompted the man to continue. "Sir Quentin requests your presence for an important meeting."

"I see. Tell him I will be right there." Oscar replied, before turning to his fellow Dragon Killers. "It appears I'm needed elsewhere, but Captain Karlan here will see that you are all settled in properly." He said with a nod towards the captain, who nodded back and promptly began leading the knights towards the stables while Oscar himself went his own way.

A few minutes later, he sat at the round table along with Quentin and the survivors of the battle at the temple, listening as the Knight Commander explained their situation and something to do with ancient artifacts used by the original Hammer of Eboris against the demons. However, that was swiftly interrupted by the arrival of a group of Knights of Shotarr who informed Quentin of the severe accusations made against him by the ruling council. Oscar was taken aback by the situation, but on the whole he wasn't too surprised - as a political entity, the Knights of Shotarr guarded their power jealously, and no doubt the old council saw Quentin as an upstart trying to threaten their dominance, even if that was quite far from the truth.

I suppose politics are impossible to escape from, even when the world is ending. He thought with a pensive look on his face.

Logically, Quentin said nothing to indicate that he might defy his superiors - indeed, his first words after the incident were used to state that they would be heading to Gradel. Many voices spoke up in protest, but the reasoning, at least to him, was obvious. The Hammer of Eboris in its current state was only a few hundred men strong - against the full might of all twenty thousand soldiers that formed the Knights of Shotarr, they simply had no chance, not to mention that no one would rush to their aid if they were accused of sheltering, and what's more, being commanded by, a traitor to a holy order.

It was clear that not many seemed to be able to grasp this, but for the time being, he said nothing and simply listened as the others spoke.

Not far from where he sat, the she-wolf he had briefly spoken with two weeks ago, Neferis, spoke up. She had been silent throughout the exchange, though her disgust at the Knights of Shotarr who had barged in to interrupt the meeting was palpable, and it was clear that she was very displeased with the whole situation. "I shall go with the Slayer as well. I may not look the part, but I can move stealthily with ease in the wilderness, and my senses are far sharper than those of you humans, or even the goliaths - I can smell an ambush coming from miles away." She stated firmly, her tone full of confidence, as if she had already made up her mind and wasn't waiting for anyone's approval.

"I would like to go as well." A winged young man in Chosen robes, Saelaam, spoke up, but he was quickly interrupted by the Shi'el.

"Your wings are useful for scouting purposes, ser'ana'thal, but your senses are dull and you are no warrior. You would be a liability in a mission as dangerous as this." She stated, her words harsh but her tone matter-of-factly - she held no animosity towards the healer, but the facts had to be said.

"I am no good for stealth missions or any of that." Oscar spoke up at last, seizing the silence that lingered after the Chosen was shut down. "However, I believe I can escort the main entourage with some of my men. I'm sure the Knights of Shotarr will not object to a group of knights from a fellow holy order volunteering to escort the traitor through the dangerous wilderness to ensure he arrives safely at Gradel to stand trial, and this way we will be nearby in case something happens and we need to intervene." He offered.

[Tomia]

Quentin-In His Office
Quentin offered a smile in return to Chryssa, noticing the pensive look she had on her face in the previous moment. Despite her tendency to speak her mind, he found himself wondering what the other knight was thinking. "You are very welcome Chryssa. I must admit, I don't have many moments like this myself these days. Even before these...demons appeared. I found myself distant from others. Most of my friends have died or are too busy in their own lives to be much company." He paused for a moment, suddenly feeling self conscious. "I don't say this for sympathy. It is the life of a soldier and one I chose willingly. It is just I needed you to know the importance of what it means when I say that despite us only knowing each other a short time, I consider you a friend. And quite honestly, there isn't anyone else I would prefer to spend this time with."

Yasema-In the Temple
"Yes, I suppose we would. But fear not my healing friend, my god has not shown me the noble making a futile last stand against the demon onslaught. There will be lose, and pain, that much is certain. But I believe we will win in the end, and those who represent the best of us will be remembered for generations." She said, placing a hand on Sael's shoulder as she walked by. "When the time comes, I know you will have the strength to be one of those people." With that Yasema slipped out of the temple, leaving the healer to his thoughts.

The Meeting
Quentin saw others volunteering to go on ahead of the rest of the party and he nodded, figuring that it was unnecessary to argue with them and the larger the initial group was the better chance they'd have of being able to handle trouble. "Very well, the advance team will leave today, as quickly as you can. If you ride hard it should take about a day and a half to arrive. The rest of us will follow you and arrive a day or two later. Alright, let's get to it." With that he dismissed the group to go about their business as they prepared for the important trip ahead of them.

Yasema, Four Days Later, Gradel
Yasema stood inside the grand fortress that was Gradel as she watched her fellow companions from the Hammer of Eboris arrive. The walls of the fortress were very tall and she could barely make out the faces below but she saw the hastily sewn flag of the Hammer flying in the wind. Gradel itself seemed part palace, fortress, and city to her. It was far larger than Quentin's own base and at its center was a large immaculate stone building with glass windows and golden trimmings. Growing up first in a Goliath tribe and then with the Horde, Yasema was not used to such grand structures, and when they had arrived just two days prior she had very much been in awe of Knight's capital. When their small group had first arrived they had agreed they would stay the night in the surrounding town before approaching, as they wanted to gather information before making their way to Gradel. The locals were on edge and a little skeptical of them at first, which wasn't surprising given the circumstances. However eventually they warmed up after the group settled in and spent a few coins. They learned that for the last week or so knights had been coming in droves and been filling the fortress at Gradel as well as the surrounding towns. They had also learned that the knights had been acting...strangely. They were more hostile to the locals then usual, demanding resources and even conscripting locals. It was clear to Yasema that the order was gearing up for war. With who? That was the question and she feared they would not like the answer.

The next day they had approached Gradel and despite a frosty greeting they were allowed inside the great walls and were given quarters. There it was difficult to get any knights to speak to them about anything meaningful, but their surroundings made it clear that the knights were in grim mood and among their servants there was whispering that something was wrong with the order's leader.

When Quentin arrived, he was ushered inside by the on duty guards, and their group was quickly greeted by an armored knight that Quentin seemed to recognize. The leader of the Hammer dismounted from his horse and offered the man his hand in greeting.

"Sir Walter, good to see you my friend."

"Wolf, I wish we were meeting under better circumstance. The council.... Well I shouldn't say too much, but things have changed here my friend."

Quentin gave him a concerned look but it was clear that Walter was worried about being overheard. The knight quickly departed, leaving Quentin to turn to his followers.

"I must find the council and get some answers. You all should find your quarters and settle in. We're likely to be here for a few days at least."

As they walked through the town, Brialya noticed two hooded men having a conversation outside the keep's tavern. The sun was close to setting but she was still able to make out one man handing a small brown bag to another before hastily turning away towards an alley. She turned towards Ivaran and gestured for him to follow her as she slowly made her way away from the group and down the street towards the alley the man had headed towards.

Meanwhile it was clear that Ylva was getting dirty looks the second she had entered the keep. Yasema had received similar treatment but her status as a Keeper shielded her from the worst of it. One of the townsfolk standing outside a small shop tossed a rotten tomato her way shouting, "Murderer! Leave this place you Heathen!" And she was joined by others who were jeering the goliath's presence.

As they got closer to the barracks where they would be staying, a young man called towards the group for help. "Hey! You! Hammer people!" He shouted. He looked about fourteen and was wearing peasant clothes. "I need your help! There's been strange things happening around here... My older brother, he disappeared from our village three days ago. The knights here won't help, and he isn't the only one. Can you help us?"

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Chrysanthea Blackwood - Five Days Prior

---

The Repentant knight found herself paying close attention to Quentin's words as he spoke to her about his life, about how few friends he had in the knightly order he belonged to and how few opportunities he had to relax with some company, as he was doing now. She found herself sympathizing with his situation, with his isolation. She had experienced something similar since joining the Repentant, and though she did not regret the decision made - unlike many others she had made in her life - it represented a heavy burden to bear sometimes.

Hearing the knight mention afterwards that there was no one he'd rather be with in that moment of respite brought a smile to her lips and a touch of color to her cheeks, and Chryssa took another sip of wine from her glass before replying. "Well, I sure am glad to have the privilege of being the commander's favorite. I can't wait to see what other perks it has." She joked with her usual playful sarcasm.

After a moment, however, her expression turned more serious. "I understand what you mean, Quentin." The redhead spoke. "I... my time with the Repentant hasn't been particularly lonesome, my brothers and sisters have had nothing but support for me. But..."

Trailing off, Chryssa stood up from her seat and walked over to a window within Quentin's office that overlooked part of the walled enclosure that was the Wolf's Den. She looked at the sparring knights below, yet paid them no attention. "Sometimes I yearn for the company I used to keep before leaving my old life behind." She said. Her free hand went to her hair, untying the knot that held her fiery hair in a ponytail.

"But I suppose those days are gone for good."

---

Chrysanthea Blackwood & Sir Oscar

---

Upon arriving at the walled city of Gradel, Oscar had to take a brief detour to meet with an officer from the Knights of Shotarr - his arrival had not gone unnoticed, as he had come in the company of his entire battalion, something that was bound to raise a few eyebrows. However, he simply gave the knight the same story he had planned all along: he and his knights were simply escorting Quentin's entourage through the wilderness. After all, the world was a dangerous place, these days moreso than before, what with the demons crawling out from under the earth.

With that done, Oscar rejoined the rest of the Hammer with his entourage, just in time to see Quentin head off on his own and leave his subordinates to their devices. As they advanced through the streets of Gradel, they were relatively unimpeded - the knights of Zoros in particular attracted more than a few awed stares, as many a peasant often dreamed of joining their ranks. Oscar was familiar with those stares, as he too had dreamed of such heights when he was younger, before his life was turned upside down repeatedly.

However, trouble soon reared its ugly head in the form of an angry mob jeering at Ylva, one of the goliaths that had joined the Hammer of Eboris. While he understood their sentiment, as goliaths weren't known for their good treatment of other species or their adherence to others' laws.

"Put down your assorted vegetables, people." The Dragon Killer raised his voice above the commotion, attracting the attention of the mob. "This woman has come in peace, leave her to her business and she will not cause trouble."

Meanwhile, not far from there, Chryssa had simply been walking alongside the rest of the escort, unsure of what to think and keeping her senses sharp. It was clear that the Knights of Shotarr were up to no good from the moment they were as bold as to demand that Quentin stand trial for being the only person to recognize the severity of the looming demon threat, but she didn't know anything more than that, and that put her on edge.

Hearing a young man's cries for help, the redhead quickly turned her head to look at him. He was clearly not among the well-off inhabitants of the city, and hearing about a series of disappearances was alarming. She scowled as he said that the Knights of Shotarr refused to help - their sacred duty was to protect the weak, but they likely believed such a thing to be beneath them. Not her, however. The Repentant sought to assist everyone, regardless of wealth or status, and so, the knight in black made her way to the young boy.

"Don't worry, I'll help you get your brother back." She said in an attempt to reassure him. "Can you tell me everything you know?"

[Segral]

Krook Tolasthes
Five Days Prior

Justina's kind words soothed Krook somewhat. He disliked frightening others, that much was true. He wanted to find friends, not scare them away with urine dripping down the legs of their breeches! Surely, if he showed his teeth and claws and let out even a soft, gentle mating call, all of the squishies would be shaking in their boots, and worse, think of him as uncivilized and lacking in class. They would believe him to be a brute who was incapable of leading a group without boasting his powerful features and intimidating his underlings! Although, many squishies already believed him to be a brute who was incapable of leading a group without boasting his powerful features and intimidating his underlings, so he doubted that attempts at peaceful conversation would change their stubborn little minds.

Perhaps it was wise to follow Justina's advice. It was possible that he would not have to intimidate anybody into following his orders, and that simply looking at his vast bulk would be enough to ensure that the Shotarr boys listened to him. He might only have to frighten one, maybe two boys, and he was sure that he wouldn't have to frighten them for very long, just until they began listening to him. Then, they could all be friends, and could share a fire-roasted deer in the woods, or some fat rabbits, or another delicacy of their choosing! But...he may have to disobey certain aspects of Justina's advice to do so, especially the suggestion to tell disobedient Shotarr boys to speak with her. He wished to become allies and companions with these men, and how could they trust him to be a companion if he spoke out the side of his crooked mouth like a dirty Mu'el? No, if he truly wished to take the position of "ranger" and train a group for scouting as was requested of him, he would have to do it alone. A lump formed in his throat at the mere thought of it, his chest prickling with uncertainty. He was a Forester, true enough. But he was a young Forester, born just twenty and four summers ago. Rarely had he lead a group or band through the woods on his own, and never at such a pressing time!

He could not be a coward though. Justina had praised him and his people, and instead of punishing him for his error, put her trust in him and offered him a great opportunity. It would bring shame upon his people not to accept such a generous offer. Intimidation was (sadly) an art he was quite skilled in, so why not apply it in a positive manner?

"A-alright." Krook affirmed as Justina patted his back with a surprisingly soft touch, letting out a slight breath as he looked up towards the woman with his best attempt at a brave grin. He had always thought of the great commander as a stern woman who's face was filled with sharp edges and cold, hollow spaces, but looking at her with a close eye revealed a face that was much warmer and rounder than he previously had thought. Really, she was a very beautiful woman, much more so than many of the hardened women that served as soldiers in the Hammer, and Krook couldn't help but feel an odd heat begin to creep into his cheeks the longer he looked into her eyes. Maybe he too was guilty of judging based on reputation and appearance over nature.

"...Thank you, Commander Justina, I appreciate your confidence in someone as humble as myself." he continued on, still looking at the tall woman rather sheepishly, but with a slightly taller posture and more confident clench to his jawline. "Is there anything else that you need of me? Not fixing bell towers, I presume."

---

Claire Dione
Five Days Prior

Curse this wretched fiend! She had done nothing but tease Claire throughout this entire spar, playing around with hammer blows and jeers instead of fighting the fair war. Flowery language, her tail! Was sophistication now a trait to be mocked? Fine, let her throw her verbal swings and venom-laced strikes; the most beautiful of flowers held thorns that stung with impeccable bite. Like a thorn would she rebel, and like a thorn would she wound, a thorn in Ylva's side that she would never be able to tear free from her ribcage. The mantra played its own bard in her mind as she leapt back from the hammer's sideways flight, digging in with her bare heels to prevent herself from tipping back in the dirt. The rough, raw ground chafing against her feet was a sensation unpleasant enough to force her to wince in pain, but she had no time to savor the slight agony before she was moving again, this time stepping to the right as the goliath attempted to bluff her head with a strike from her elbow.

This battle had been a reckless one. Even if the four lackeys Claire had laid to waste had been laughable, dummies of parchment at best, it had drained her tenacity to beat them down, and now that she was fighting against her most tenacious opponent yet, she no longer had the tolerance for her furious blows. The exertion was leeching into her skin, leaving her body hot and coating her face, neck, and palms in a thick layer of sweat that caused her trident to slip and slide in her fingers, which were throbbing with what she could only picture and feel were broken, bloody blisters, adding a harsh metallic tang to the scent of sweat burning her nose. Thankfully, it did nothing to hinder her prowess, as was displayed when she suddenly lurched forward to grab Ylva's flexed arm sailed past her face. With her free limb, she grasped the goliath's burled arm and yanked it forth with all of her strength, hoping to send the woman skittering off-balance. With her armed limb, she shoved the staff end of the trident into Ylva's face with great speed and vigor. If it caught on her cheekbone, it would be a great turner of tide in this battle of rocky waters. If it caught on her eye or nose, it would leave the waters calmer and cooler than a lustful sailor's dream. It was a pleasant thought, one that allowed a loose, lazy grin to crack Claire's visage as she moved to bruise Ylva, the spike-toothed smile of a predator who had just found their prey.

---

Claire Dione and Krook Tolasthes
Current Day

Gradel was a vast city indeed, and it was enough to stun the two Thalari as they wearily trudged through the city's well-worn streets. For Krook, the stunning nature of the city lied in its beauty. The Great Swamp was a very beautiful place, filled with luscious, gnarled trees with more grooves than a wizened dwarf's face, and muddy waters that were just as green. All sorts of animals frolicked underneath the hot sun, from snakes and lizards taking long naps on flat rocks, to big white swans sailing across the streams, to shiny little fish in a thousand different colors, all dancing and rushing by like the little wagons that had been bustling through Gradel's city gates. When the sun struck the water the right way, it sparkled and glimmered like a fish's scaly side, and when the moon struck, the water glowed with a lovely pale hue. None of it compared to Gradel, though. The town surrounding the city gates had been a fairly normal one, with large houses, small houses, shops, taverns, and people. The settlement inside the city gates was also filled with large houses, small houses, shops, taverns, and people, but every single one shined. The walls of the surrounding buildings were clean brick and stone, with not even a splotch of mud dotting their grooves. The road was not made of dirt or mud, it was made of rickety cobblestone that created a delightful "click-clack" as the boots of knights tread across it. Windows gleamed, clothing sparkled, the entire city sprawled as far as the eye could see, right up until the fortress in the middle, a massive palace of rock and glass and gold and so many other things, stretching up like a holy spear preparing to crack the sky open!

What a beautiful city it was!

For Claire, the stunning nature of the city lied in its putrid ugliness. The treatment of society's poor was the utmost of Eboris' black eyes, and Gradel had failed in all regards to put a salve over that eye. It seemed as if they were more content to place a cloth over their eyes to block the peasant's plights from their line of sight. Everywhere Claire looked, she saw only barefooted, ragged individuals in soiled garbs, hunching along with rib-quaking coughs on their way to purchase meager scraps for their evening supper. The stone houses held no glamour, the streets were gray, muddy concoctions with traffic that flowed in a lazy, waste-filled, damp-smelling river, and the people were nothing better than the lovechildren of gaunt skeletons and mere shadows. The worst offender of the crime of distasteful appearance was the stilted palace in the middle, an unholy abcessed tooth that was in desperate need of pulling. None of it even came close to the beauty of Zhoria, the aquatic world that held possession of her. The poor existed of course, no city could thrive without the sacrifice of the weaker, but they were not permitted to roam the streets so gallantly, nor were they permitted to fall so far. Buildings were made of rough-hewn coral, not stone, flashing in arrays of the most dashing and eye-snatching colors possible. The glowing lights of the natural wildlife lit every street corner in the place of smoky, polluting fire, lanternfish darting in and out and around to keep the streets lit when waters became too murky to see through. Stores thrived and enjoyed customers flowing in and out by the second, separated from their neighbours by elegant gardens of weed and bracken. The scent and taste of Gradel's humid heat and sweat was replaced by the cool, fresh, salted sensation of the shallow seas. It was paradise, it was a golden city compared to this sprawling slag heap. Sure, it had the advantage of size over Zhoria, but size was a detractor when there was no precious quality to expand.

What a horrendous city it was.

Claire winced and grimaced with every step as she walked alongside the Hammer's escort, not just from the foul sights in front of her, but from the pain burning in her lower body. The strain of constantly shedding her tail's skin was proving to be quite a weary ache indeed, not to mention the injuries she had sustained from her bout with Ylva, some of which had failed to fully heal over the past days. Between the wounds she had sustained both at the Temple and during training, her body was beginning to resemble cloth over lionfish. The worst was the gash to her forehead, which had long since stemmed in blood flow, but was now impossible to erase without a scar. Hopefully, she would not be accosted by some foolish knight, lest one scar become multiple, both on her own person and the knight's. She did not trust these followers of Shotarr; the women of the town had told her that the knights had been acting in unusual character, hungry for resources and drunk off of the euphoria of conscripting peasants to fight in wars they had no business in. They had acted bold enough to place Quentin on trial for bravery, and refused to treat the Hammer with nothing more than the faintest, chilliest courtesy possible. Scoundrels, scoundrels they were. Their heads had swollen twice up and the brain had not compensated, forming arrogant fools who utilized authoritarianism over proper diplomacy and combat muscle.

The foremost example of their negligence? A boy in peasant's attire, no older than fourteen or fifteen summers, crying aloud for the Hammer's assistance. Normally, her ears would not have remained open to his requests, but his words were especially intriguing ones. One disappeared brother...and many more along with him. The knights had apparently shown utter disinterest in aiding in the search for these villagers, typical of this band of Shotarr's followers and their self-serving sense of what "protection for the weak" was. The words and thoughts brought a frown to Claire's face, but not out of the sense of indignation and anger that pulled the frown of those such as Chrysanthea, but out of a sense of puzzlement and curiosity. The locals had mentioned that conscription was ongoing, so was it a question amiss to ask if the Knights of Shotarr had simply yanked a few peasants from their beds against their will? Or had something more sinister occurred, a demon stealing away an honest man in the fields? Either way, it was worth interest. Anything or anyone with the power to steal so many so stealthily was of great danger, and searching after it was a much more noble pursuit than trudging into the quarters, which were likely housed in the lowest-quality barrack keeps that Gradel could dredge.

With a silent gait, Claire broke away from the escort and headed towards the boy, just behind a fire-headed warrior who had chosen to do the same. "Aye, tell us what you have recollection of." Claire said in agreement with the warrior's query, folding her arms as she eyed the tall, lanky figure critically. "The more detail in your account, the better our chance of finding your sibling, and any other villager who has disappeared along with him."

Meanwhile, Krook was some distance away, unsteadily plodding along at the opposite side of the escort. Their time in the town outside of city's gates had been lively, mostly due to the town possessing the loveliest tavern Krook had ever had the pleasure of visiting. The drink there had been marvelous, filled with all sorts of beer, ales, wines, and rums, and a whole host of squishies competing in drinking contests. Krook had decided to participate in one, and when he found that his size gave him a fantastic advantage when it came to resisting the effect of drunkenness, he had decided to participate in another, and another, and another, until he had outdrank half of the tavern's guests. His reward had been a delicious roast suckling pig, stuffed with apples and potatoes and carrots and all sorts of crunchy roots and greens. It had been absolutely wonderful...until the next morning. He had woke with the most vicious of hangovers, a splitting pain that made him feel as if his head was being torn apart. He had first tried his own natural remedies, and then a mixture of hot tea, ice water, and brandy at the tavern, which had given him the ability to see clearly and walk again, but his thoughts and movements were still sluggish and off-kilter. The march to the keep was an even more arduous task; the heat was beating down on his head and there were crowds jeering and shouting around him, making his head spin ever further. Groaning, he pressed his hands to his temples as he marched on, completely oblivious to the mob's vicious attacks on his goliath friend. His eyes were open and his thoughts were flowing just quickly enough to savor and appreciate the beauty of Gradel, but any task more difficult would likely be too much for the young Thalari.

[Tomia]

Quentin-In his Office
Quentin watched Chryssa stand up and walk over to the window. There was a clear sadness in her voice, a longing sense of nostalgia that felt familiar. He felt an unexpected twinge at words. He didn't like the idea of her being said. The repentant knight in front of him was a good person, he was sure of that much. Even in these horrific times, she never hesitated to be kind and merciful when she could. He was not a naive child who believed that life was fair or necessarily rewarding to the kind, but if he could do something, anything, to make her world a brighter place he would.

"I want to show you something." Quentin said softly to Chryssa before reaching into one of his drawers and pulling out a cylinder like object. It was a small tree that looked as if it was on the verge of dying at an unnatural pace. It was in a see through glass case and Quentin picked up the case before walking over to his fellow knight. He used his free hand to gently nudge her hip to turn her so that she could see the tree that was rapidly dying.

"I was given this tree, eight years or so ago, by a mage I once knew. We were assigned to the same battalion during a war with the Horde. Together we saw some of the worst fighting the conflict had to offer. On a particularly bad day, we were the only two left in our squad...my squad. I was ready to give up. but Mara, she wouldn't let me. She told me that without loss, life wouldn't be so precious. Change brings beauty, as much as it bring sadness. Mara didn't live to see the end of that war. But she managed to leave behind something to remind me of that lesson."

At this point the tree had totally shriveled up, whatever beauty it might have once had was gone and it suddenly burst into flames before turning into nothing but ash. A moment later however, a sprout appeared from the dirt and within a minute a beautiful tree with golden petals had risen from the ashes of the once withered tree.

Quentin then placed the tree onto the desk in order to take hold of Chryssa's hand.

"Nothing is ever gone, not really."

Gradel
The young boy nodded to Chryssa and Claire, clearly intimidated by the group in front of him. "My brother, Gregory, he went out into the woods at night. We couldn't get berries and fruits during the day. Everyone was too scared of demons. Gregory sneaked out to do it at night, he never came back! I don't know much else besides that... I just know that at night we hear really weird noises in the forest. I told Gregory not to go..." He said looking on the verge of tears. I can show you to my village, it's not far from here!"

Yasema spoke up, turning to Chryssa and Claire in particular. "Something is off here. We should investigate this village, but be cautious."

Gradel-Quentin
Sir Quentin made his way through the fortress, noticing how pretty much everyone he had passed was staring at him. Some were giving him dirty looks, while others just looked stunned to be in his presence.

"You'd think they'd have more important tasks..." The knight muttered to himself, making Walter chuckle.

"You came back from the dead as far as we were concerned Quentin, you can't except people to simply not notice."

After what seemed like an eternity he finally made it the central keep where he was escorted inside to the private chamber where the High Council would be waiting. The keep was an extravagant place, not unlike a royal palace. The windows were beautifully decorated stain glass, depicting victories of the Knights of Shotarr. Quentin had of course been here before, many times in fact. Not only did he do his training here but as a Knight Commander he had made many trips here for meetings. Now he was to be the subject of a meeting, one that might very well decide his fate.

Guards now flanked him and escorted him towards the council's meeting room. As the guards pushed aside the large doors, Quentin saw the six figures that made up the council sitting at a large half circular stone table.

He recognized all of them of course. Knight Commander Felicia Adail, who was noted for her strategic thinking as much as her cold and calculating personality. Then there was Alistair Marain, an older man who was an extremely accomplished fighter in his day. Next to him was Richard Calier who Quentin did not particularly like. He was a Tasharian nobleman and Quentin had never believed that he had earned his rank. Then there was Sir Harold and Lady Abigail, both who had Quentin's respect as elder commanders.

Finally at the center was the High Superior, Florian Rainer. High Superior Florian was a rigid and disciplined man who Quentin knew to be extremely devoted to the order. Some called him a zealot even, but Quentin usually trusted his judgement. Today however, the man had a strange fierce look in his eyes, which were near blood shot.

Quentin bowed before the council, fearing how this would go.

"High Superior, Commanders, I am here to respond to your summon."