Beyond Light's Reach (IC Reboot)

[Tomia]

Yasema, at the Camp
Yasema looked at Lud inquisitively, her stare tended to be a little unnerving as if she was looking past you. "There are no secrets to be hidden from Sualdir, Lud. You ask how I know your secret? It's fairly simple I have seen us speaking before. My dreams and thoughts are filled with events past, present and future. Some of them are merely advice or useful information, others are destinies I must fulfill. If you are worried about me revealing your secret you need not to. It would be wrong of me to share that information unless Sualdir commanded it. If there is anything else you wish to know, please ask, if I can tell you I will." She told him calmly. Yasema knew Lud would doubt her abilities, but that was inconsequential.

Quentin
Quentin heard Rudolph's advice and agreed. They needed to fight their way back the main group as being cut off was surely a death sentence. He saw Syn with his giant creature entered the fray and gained an idea. "Syn! Use your golem to clear a path back to the others for us. Everyone else stay in formation and follow behind it!" Quentin shouted as he let off another bast of lightening that killed another cavalry demon. Dulen was holding on for dear life as the horse under him moved forward with the rest of the group. Every demon they killed was replaced by another and they could do little but fight on. Still the plan of reconnecting was their best bet available to them and so Quentin was acting on it. He was the commander, he needed to do whatever he could to save those who followed him.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Chrysanthea Blackwood

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Chryssa listened attentively as the dwarf went on to describe in very colorful terms his opinion on the Knight Commander. While he seemed to understand where her concerns were coming from, he clearly didn't think Quentin was anything like she had described. In fact, he seemed like quite the opposite, one who tried to prove himself instead of resting on his laurels like most of those high and mighty knights did. That he didn't seem to come from noble origins reinforced that impression - she had fortunately avoided such a pitfall in her life, but she knew for a fact that those who hailed from origins of nobility or wealth (and especially those who hailed from both) had a tendency to be more conceited than their peers.

Hearing Dulen's question and seeing the expression on his face, it wasn't hard for the red-haired knight to put together the implication, but she simply brushed it off with a laugh. "What else would I be interested in him for, master Varcan?" She replied, dismissing the thought. "I wanted to know more about the man who thinks himself worthy of proclaiming the Hammer of Eboris reborn. Nothing more." She stated.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, master Varcan, I believe I fancy a walk right now. It was a pleasure to meet someone of your repute, I pray this conversation won't be our last." The knight in black spoke with a warm smile before standing up, helmet in hand. For the time being, she opted to keep it off and simply headed off in search of the Knight Commander. It was clear she had misjudged him, so perhaps an apology was in order.

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Saelaam of Trelia - Three Days Later

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After noticing that he had just been saved from a pair of demonic infantrymen that had somehow slipped past the frontline, Saelaam quickly grounded himself and turned to face Brialya. He was surprised to see her coming to his aid, especially considering the tense note in which their meeting had ended the previous night, but he supposed all of that was inconsequential when there was a war for survival to be fought.

"If you can lead the other Chosen out of here then please do so, they are my family and I would hate to see them harmed. But I can't retreat, I have to help the others. I can't be worrying about my own well-being at a time like this." He spoke with grim resolve, before digging into his robe and tossing something at the elf woman. It was a small stone with an arcane symbol engraved on it, the lines and curves softly glowing with a silvery light. "Take this, it will protect you. I would not like to see you harmed either." He told her, his voice taking on a softer tone for a moment.

The next moment however, he took off to the skies again. It didn't seem like the demonic raiders had any bows or magic, so he figured he would be fine as long as he maintained some altitude and was very careful about where he landed. Soaring across the sky, the young crow focused and prayed, but it seemed that Oadot's blessing could not affect the demons at such a long distance. Of course it doesn't. I can't heal others from afar either, can I? He thought, a scowl forming on his face as he mentally berated himself.

Suddenly, however, something in the battlefield caught his attention. He saw Quentin's vanguard engaged with the demonic cavalry in the frontlines, and the demonic infantry trailing behind, slowly catching up, but beyond all of that, emerging from behind a nearby hill, he saw something else. He saw five dozen knights mounted on mighty destriers, and a man with no armor leading them into battle against the demon horde.

With this new information, the Chosen immediately swooped down and roughly landed next to the other frontline warriors.

"Hold fast Sir Quentin! Help is on the way!" He shouted, before looking at the approaching fiends and holding up his hand.

"Oadot, She who dwells in Heaven, who protects Eboris from the Dark..."

---

Chrysanthea Blackwood & Neferis Lahari - Three Days Later

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Everything was happening very quickly - more allies arrived by Quentin's side to fight back the demon horde, but even so the tide was seemingly endless, with every demon slain being replaced by another. Neferis' ear was grazed by an arrow, prompting the she-wolf to let out an irritated growl and shot a glare at the crocodile man, though now was not the time to worry about that. Instead, she and Chryssa obeyed Quentin's command, forming ranks around him and fighting for their lives. The Black Butterfly let loose her remaining knives, most of them flying true and ending the lives of several demons, while the Wandering Wolf ensured that any demon brave enough to approach either of them or Yasema would invariably end up mauled and charred until their blood and ashes stained the ground and air.

But there was something strange going on. The demonic cavalry had slowed of course, as their purpose - to smash through the lines of the nascent Hammer of Eboris - had not been fulfilled. But even so, the Shi'el woman could hear something, faint yet loud, distant but approaching, the sound of thundering hooves battering the ground in unison, moving towards the demons and the Hammer alike.

Before long, the Chosen who had wielded the relic hammer three days ago arrived and confirmed her suspicions: there was an army on the way, and they were not on the enemy side. Whether they were truly allies remained to be seen, but at least for now, it seemed they were not alone.

Without any warning, Neferis let out three short howls in rapid succession, calling the attention of those around her, Chryssa included. In the conversations the two had shared over the previous days, the she-wolf had explained to her the significance of that, what it signaled, and so, the fiery-haired knight wasted no time in shouting out to her comrades. "Everyone, cover your ears!"

After giving ample time for her allies to take heed, the she-wolf let out a piercing howl, so potent and fearsome that the demons nearest to their army found themselves disoriented and stunned. Immediately afterwards, Neferis adopted her original form once more.

"That will buy us a bit of time." She spoke. "Wolf Knight! If what the Chosen says is true, then our best bet right now is not to retreat, but to connect with our new allies!" She told the Knight Commander, before turning to the Goliath next to her, Yasema. "Keeper, you're good with fire, aren't you?" She asked, a wild grin appearing on her face. "Let's burn a hole through these monsters."

"I thought you would never ask." The Keeper spoke.

The two women then stood shoulder to shoulder facing the demon horde, and unleashed their most powerful magic, a vortex of flame forming at their fingertips and suddenly racing forward, incinerating every demon in its path. When the dust cleared, a path was formed, connecting the vanguard of the Hammer of Eboris with the knights who had arrived in the nick of time, as well as their leader, who led the charge without armor and vanquished his foes with thunder and lightning.

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

Help is coming? That is quite an unexpected blessing hearing it from the winged Chosen. Ivaran thought as he killed an approaching demon. Perhaps they can get out of this battle alive, and live to fight another day. That is if they can last long enough for their allies to link up. Ivaran was on the top part of the circle that had formed around Quentin and was following his lead to fall back to the main group. It seemed like there were an endless amount of demons facing them. When he kills one another takes it place. Hopefully, these reinforcements can turn the tide. If not then, well at least he fought with honor and died fighting against demons. Plus, taking some out in the process and as he cut down another demon.

Then he heard Neferis howl three times and wondered why she was doing that. Was she wounded or something and then heard her say for everyone to cover their ears. He questioned why but, heeded her and covered his ears. Even then he could still hear her howl as he saw it affect the demons. Nice trick and Ivaran was glad Neferis was on their side and hoped that the demons did not have something like that. That would be annoying if they did.

After that, he watched as Neferis and the Goliath Yasema work together to clear a path to the allies. He probably would be more impressed at the sight of their combined fire magic that burned a hole through the demon lines. But, he was a Guardian and was only slightly impressed. Also, seeing the leader of the reinforcements killing demons with lighting magic. "Pfft, magic", Ivaran said under his breath. "Let's finished this with the old fashion way", he said quietly to himself before rejoining the fray. Slicing a demon with his glaive, let's see if these reinforcements are enough and they can win this battle.

[Tomia]

Brialya
Brialya frowned at Sael's insistence on going to join the front lines of the fighting. He was brave but in her experience brave people tended to die bloody in situations like this. Still she didn't get the opportunity to talk him out of it as he flew off, leaving her with the task of protecting the other chosen. "Alright, stay close to each other and follow me." She told them as she lead the small huddled group out of the melee. It was difficult and she only managed to avoid an ugly slash on her arm as a result of a demon blade that was aimed for one of healers thanks to Sael's shield charm but Brialya had managed to get them into the forest were she told them to crouch down and not make sudden movements. They asked her to stay with them and she was about to oblige when she heard the approach of cavalry. Somehow reinforcements had arrived and they might stand a chance after all. She quickly ran off from the healers, her bow in her uninjured arm as she headed back into the fray.

Quentin
Thank the Gods, Quentin thought as Sael had told them that reinforcements were coming. He had no idea who they were or the how or why have they've come to at this very convenient spot but Quentin wasn't going to question it while facing down death. Instead he relaxed his grip on his sword and focused on the light at the end of the tunnel that was beginning to appear. He heard Neferis warn them to cover their ears and did so just in time to avoid the consequences of her howl. When he uncovered them he felt a slight ringing in his ears but nothing serious enough to impede him from hearing her suggestion.

"She's right, Charge! Fight for your lives! For Eboris!" He shouted raising his blade as his horse burst forward with renewed speed as he followed the path blazed by the warrior wolf and the Keeper of the Glass. Their fire magic was impress and felled these demons with incredible ease. As he rode Quentin cut down as many demons as he could while working to maintain his position on his horse. Soon they had finally cut through to the other side and it became clear that they had been reinforced by a small army, large enough to help them repel the ambush. A lump dissipated in Quentin's chest, the certainty that he was to die was fading away.

Their ranks were now reforming around this new force that was clearly led by a powerful mage. Now they had a united front against the demons who had already lost most of their cavalry. The new force mowed them down with renewed strength, the demon infantry were clearly no match for an experienced cavalry charge. Slaughtering them made Quentin feel suprisingly good like the task that faced them was not impossible. These creatures were mortal just like they were. They made mistakes and most importantly they died.

When the last demon fell the newly gathered force let out a collective cheer, but Quentin was not yet ready to celebrate. He dismounted his horse, helping Dulen to do so as well and headed straight towards the new force's commander. As he approached he finally got a good look at who helped him and he realized now who had come to his aid.

"Thank you for coming to our aid Sir, I wasn't expecting to see the dragon killers here. But you saved our lives, I am in your debt. I am Sir Quentin, Knight Commander of Shotarr's legions and the leader of the Hammer of Eboris." He said expecting his last statement to be controversial but carried on none the less. "We are traveling to my keep, do you care to join us? We could use soldiers like you to bolster our ranks."

Brialya
As the battle ended Brialya finally made her way back from where she had left the Chosen in the forest and eventually she came upon Sael unharmed. She was relieved more than she expected to be and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because of how he had looked at her when she revealed her true profession. It wasn't easy to have people only see you as a killer even if Sael had tried his reaction. She wanted to prove to him she was more than it, even if the only purpose it served was to make herself feel better.

"I'm glad you're alive Chosen, I'll admit I had my doubts." She told him, before gesturing to the forest. "Your healers are fine, they're hiding behind some trees back there."

[North Timeria]

Aymeri wondered around the camp before he headed over to talk Yasema. Quentin had suggested that he talk to her about his dreams he had been having. Aymeri didn’t really know what to expect from a Keeper. He had heard of them before but had never met one face to face. He was really looking for someone to tell him why and how to make them stop. He hoped she wouldn’t speak in riddles and give him some half summed up answer. Aymeri was a bit impatient but it was also not without reason.

As he made his way through the camp he found who he believed was Yasema. He thought to himself “Goliath, female, looks just about what I’d imagine a keeper to look like.”

Before heading over he waited a bit as it seemed she was occupied. Instead, he sat across from her observing her. “I wonder if she can see this?” he thought to himself. He wasn’t fully understanding of them but he wanted to mess around. As he thought about for a moment he quickly changed his mind “Hmmm maybe she isn’t the one to test.”

He made his way over to Yasema. “Hello, Yasema? I heard that you could help me figure some things out… A bit dream related, I’m not exactly sure.”

[Auropa]

Gwen Sirrade
Demonic attack

Driving her blade deep into a demon and blasting another with magic before it could strike back at her, Gwen fought across the front as the demonic forces crashed into their line. Moving like water, she flowed across the battle going from place to place supporting weakened groups, reinforcing counter attacks, and causing general chaos for the infantry wherever she went.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” She snapped at a frightened soldier caught behind the demonic advance and unlucky enough to be saved by her.

“You’re giving us a bad name. Go, now!” She added as she ducked under a stray swipe before replying in kind with a cut across her attacker’s face and a follow up stab to the heart. As it paused then crumpled, Gwen risked a glance back and felt some relief at the soldier having the sense to follow her instructions and run while he could, but turning her attentions back to her surroundings made it clear that her own presence was far from unknown. Clicking her tongue in irritation, she noted a few more of the creatures closing in and while escaping back would have been the safest option, she doubted that the idiot she just saved would be able to match her pace. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she took a half step back, readied her blade as a duellist and muttered a few obscenities towards the man for getting himself seperated.

The first attack to come was a heavy downward swipe aimed to break through her defence and while avoided with a simple half step, the swipe and stab that came with it were only narrowly deflected by Gwen’s blade work with one attack managing to slice across her cheek. Ducking, weaving and deflecting as she moved, the female knight stayed on the defence and tried to wait for an opportunity as she avoided and blocked the attacks sent her way, but as the blows continued to rain down and her patience ran thin, she took matters into her own hands. Summoning a burst of power she flung herself forward and behind her nearest attacker then lunged forward with a quick stab through the throat. As one of the others swung back against her in kind though, its weapon only met with air as another burst of speed was summoned and as if appearing from nothing, Gwen slashed her rapier across the side of another attacker before darting off again and beginning her own maelstrom of attacks against the small group’s number. As the cuts and stabs rained down from the blur passing between them, their injuries quickly grew until one by one they started to fall. When down to their last the ashen haired knight, now coated in a dull blue flame, came to stop and before any action could be taken against her, fired off a blast through its chest putting an end to fight. With her attackers cut down, Gwen allowed herself a moment of respite as she began to catch her breath and recover. When more guttural cries filled her ears and another group spotted her and started moving in, she decided she had bought enough time and summoned another magical circle to dart away back towards the limited safety of the main allied line.

And so the battle went for Gwen, running in and out of danger, sometimes with others and sometimes alone before rushing off to the next attack. When word of reinforcements finally came through, Gwen was close to her limit. While having been able to avoid the worst of the blows sent her way, more than a few had glanced past her defences and bit by bit, both damage and fatigue were piling up against her. Making matters worse though was the amount of mana she had been burning through, whether it was attacking, moving or even withdrawing, every move she made was starting to take its toll and an uncomfortably close call had showed her that being shy with her magic risked a much more abrupt end. When the battle finally shifted in their favour and the last of the demonic forces started to fall, the growing exhaustion finally hit and while satisfied with their victory, she was among the first to leave the field in search of rest.


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After the battle

“Curse this stupid country and everyone in it.” She muttered to herself as she tossed her soaked bag to the ground.

“You people do realise that were supposed to be fighting demons and not satchels right?!” She added loudly to no one in particular.

During the chaos of the attack, dozens of items and supplies were damaged by stray blows or just trampled underfoot as soldiers ran to their positions. Unfortunately for her, Gwen’s bag proved to be one such casualty. While mostly filled with a few simple books, maps and utensils, there was also a small internal satchel that carried a few dozen, now shattered vials of a fluorescent blue liquid. As if having her personal possessions soaked weren’t enough, the biggest problem was that not a single vial remained usable leaving her with no way to easily avoid what was to come.

While she knew she wasn’t at risk of dying or ending up completely out of commission, after expending that much mana she knew she was in for a beyond unpleasant time. Ideally, she’d have the option of taking a potion to help her recovery and numb the pain undoubtedly on the way but with said potions now coating her belongings, that wasn’t exactly an option anymore. She considered finding Ylva for a moment but quickly pushed the thought away deciding that no amount of suffering could be worse than letting that goliath hold anything else over her. So that left only 2 real options, find a pleasant corner to curl up into and wait out the inevitable or go to the chosen and see if they have any potions or mages that could help her. Despite being a seemingly straightforward choice, it took a few minutes of internal debate for her to make up her mind and narrowly decide on seeking out the chosen over maintaining her pride.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Neferis Lahari

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After her and Yasema's combined efforts succeeded in clearing a path towards this new fighting force, Neferis returned to her wolf form and began wreaking havoc among the remaining demons, using claw and fang and flame alike to tear through them, protected by her agility and her powerful hide, which was able to take on several glancing blows without breaking, though she was sure some bruises would form after the battle.

More concerning were several close calls with the knights that had arrived to aid the Hammer of Eboris in their battle. She recognized their armor and the insignias upon them, as any worthwhile Forester or learned Antoran would. The knights of Zoros, from the Order of Evrouin. They were not allowed into the woods protected by the Foresters, and every foray into the League was viewed by suspicion, for most followers of the Thalai saw them as an affront to nature, power-hungry glory-hounds who slaughtered the beasts of the wild. Trained to hunt large beasts from the start, most of them pointed their weapons at her on instincts, leading to more than a few uncomfortable stand-offs and close calls.

As the battle came to an end, the blood-soaked wolf growled at the knights around her to intimidate them into backing off, before calmly making her way towards Sir Quentin. He was presently making an offer to the leader of the knights of Zoros, but as she shifted back, she ignored the ongoing conversation.

"You, commander." She spoke harshly, addressing not Quentin but the other man, who was clad in an elegant uniform complete with a flowing cape, and had just sheathed his sword after the battle had ended. "Tell your dogs to leave me alone or they will meet with your gods sooner than intended."

"Of course, milady." The knight spoke calmly. "I will confer with my knights about this matter. Any man who would threaten such a beautiful flower is in dire need of discipline indeed. You have my sincere apologies." He stated, bowing his head. His words caused Neferis to roll her eyes, but she said no more.

After addressing her, the man carefully dismounted, a slight grimace appearing on his face as he landed, and then turned to Quentin. "The Hammer of Eboris you say? I've heard the legends, though I did not think I would hear of it in a different context." He said, glancing at the demon corpses littering the ground. "Still, I suppose anything can happen at this point. I would like to hear more of your cause, if you would have me. I am Sir Oscar, Marshal of the Order of Evrouin, at your service." He stated, offering his good hand for a shake.

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Chrysanthea Blackwood

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During the battle, the Black Butterfly's blade, Achlys, had found its way to the hearts of many a demon, ending their lives, but just as many vile weapons had come close to ending hers, and a few had even managed to reach her, evading or piercing padded and metal armor alike to graze or slice at her skin. Thankfully, through both the Hammer's fierce resistance and the intervention of the Order of Evrouin, the battle was soon over with a resounding victory for the surface races of Eboris. By the end of it, she was bloodied, but not injured in any serious manner.

Seeing that their saviors were the Order of Evrouin, whose reputation of being glory-seekers above defenders of the common folk surpassed even that of the Knights of Shotarr, Chryssa opted to steer clear from the time being. Instead, she went about the battlefield, retrieving her trusty throwing knives from the demon corpses that littered the battlefield. They had served her remarkably well, not just today but throughout her life, and she in turn cared for them well, fetching them after every battle and ensuring that they remained sharp as ever.

Once that was over, the Repentant decided to make her way back to the Chosen, at first needing to ask a few soldiers for a clue on their whereabouts before finding out that the elf woman who had joined the Hammer had escorted them to the nearby woods in order to keep them safe. Figuring they were still there, she made her way to the treeline, arriving at the same time as another knight and happy to see the Chosen there.

"You don't look too bad. Did the demons injure you?" The red-haired knight inquired.

As she waited for a response, a Chosen walked over and had a brief exchange with Chryssa, after which the redhead sat on a nearby log to be healed.

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Saelaam of Trelia

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Throughout the battle, the winged Chosen had made sure to keep himself safe from the demons - he wished to help however he could of course, as it was his duty to do whatever he could to stop the demons, but at the same time, he was clearly not a warrior, and there was no point in pretending to be such. By the end of the battle, he had only managed to use his faith to distract a few demons so that others could strike them down, but in turn, his barriers had saved many a warrior from falling on the battlefield, as his blessings often did afterwards.

But there were no thoughts of glory in his head, of receiving recognition or achieving great deeds, all he could think about now were his fellow Chosen, his brothers and sisters of the holy order that served Oadot. He trusted the elf woman to do as he had asked of her, and he had no reason to doubt her prowess as an archer, but even so, he couldn't help but worry, flying high and looking in every direction to see if he could spot them.

However, it turned out that he wouldn't have to look for them very long. From below, he could hear the Faithful's voice calling out to him, and he quickly landed before her, listening to what she had to say. He was not surprised to hear she had her doubts about his survival, he was far from the toughest looking person and the Chosen were not known for their martial prowess, it was natural to worry when one was caught in the field of battle. And yet, here he was after two catastrophic battles. Some would call it luck, but he liked to think he could take care of himself.

Although none of that mattered compared to what Brialya said afterwards. Hearing that the other Chosen were alive and well, holed up in the woods, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, and without quite thinking he pulled her into an embrace. "Thank you." He spoke sincerely.

After a moment, the reality of the situation set in, and he backed away. "...For helping them." He added hastily. "And... I'm glad you're alive too."

[Tomia]

Yasema During Camp
Yasema stared into Aymeri's eyes as he spoke to her. "Dreams can be troubling to those who cannot interpret them." She told him. "I have not seen you in my own dreams so I don't have any wisdom to share about your future. But we Keepers have grown accustom to interpreting dreams. Tell me, what troubles you?"

Brialya
Brialya found herself caught off guard when Sael hugged her. She certainly wasn't expecting that and feeling his arms wrapped around her brought a small blush to her cheeks. He seemed awkward about it as he pulled away however and so she merely offered him a comforting smile. "You're welcome. I didn't do it for praise though. It is my sacred duty to protect the innocent and besides I owed you a favor. That charm you gave me probably saved my life. So thanks for that." She said, still smiling at him.

Quentin
Quentin saw that there was some tension between Sir Oscar and Neferis but luckily it didn't seem to amount to much besides the wolf woman rolling her eyes in annoyance. Still he might need to monitor the situation further. It was true that beastfolk were not usually the most fond of the Dragon Killers. He then turned to Oscar who seemed to accept his offer quicker than Quentin had expected. Still he grinned and shook the offered hand. "Glad to hear it Marshal, and yes I of course have some explaining to do. Let me tell you the story on the way..."

After another few hours of marching, Wolf's Den finally came into view. It was an imposing castle and a sight Sir Quentin was very proud of if he was being honest. Built into the coastline, the fortress was very defensible and neighbored the Tashar city of Rilas which ensured consistent supplies. The fortress and the town had a fairly respectful relationship as they provided each other a great deal. The town offered supplies, a place for soldiers' families to live, and entertainment. In return the Knights not only offered protection but a great deal of income for the local shops as well.

Quentin listened to the clomping of their horses as they marched along the stone bridge towards the outer courtyard of the castle. As they exited the bridge Quentin noticed the people who had been previously doing various jobs and tasks had now stopped and were openly staring at them. Some bowed in deference and those he laid eyes on looked near petrified and followed the others in bowing with their heads down.

What the..., Quentin thought before the realization dawned on him. Who knows what stories they've heard. The word has clearly traveled fast. They group had grown since Oscar had joined them and they were likely an imposing sight to the commoners that were looking at them. Quentin was used to this kind of attention as Knight Commander but even he had to admit this was unnerving. Soon the doors to the fortress opened and weary traveling party entered the heart of the fortress. Quentin was met by an older looking man who seemed nearly petrified as he stumbled towards the knight.

"Lord Quentin, oh how good it is to see you! We heard so many ridiculous rumors. They are even saying you have reinstated the Hammer of Eboris!" The man nearly squealed in an exasperated voice.

"Hello Horace," Quentin greeted his steward. "I'm sure there are ridiculous rumors but that is not one of them. The people you see before you are it, the beginning of the rebirth of our world' most sacred order.

Horace looked as if he had been shocked into silence until finally managing to find his voice.

"But sir! The resources necessary for such an endeavor and let alone what will be said..."

"Enough, I'm tired, we can fret over the logistics later." Quentin said, he finally looked up to realize that dozens of the soldiers in his garrison had gathered in the fortress' courtyard. They all looked up at him expectantly.

He held back a sigh, he needed to address them.

"Look, you all have likely heard a great deal of stories about what happen and so I will tell you the truth as Shotarr's witness. We discovered an artifact and upon its disturbance a great evil was unleashed. I believe them...to be demons." A great deal of murmuring came about upon hearing that. "Yes, I know it sounds like a fairy tale but believe me we are dealing with a threat like no other. Because of that, I have reformed the Hammer of Eboris. Now I ask all of you, as your commander to stand with me. As we not only fight for our lives, but the very life of our world. Will you join me?"

A roar of affirmation met his words.

"Will you fight?!" He shouted and was met with another roar of affirmation. "Very well then, carry on." He said a little breathless as there were some chuckles in response to his words. The knights did in fact disperse and Quentin turned to those who had been following him.

"I'm sure you all are tired and missing having roofs over your head. I'll have you all set up with accommodations either here or in the town. Take some time and acclimate yourselves, rest too. I will call upon you soon, there is much work to be done."

Wolf's Den, Two Weeks Later
Over the course of only two weeks the Knights of Shotarr's fortress was already starting to be transformed into the headquarters of the Hammer of Eboris. The keep was bursting with activity. The outer grounds were now filled with traveling merchants, refugees and new recruits alike all of them hoping that the Hammer offered something different from the chaos of the outside world. Hundreds of people had already flooded into both the fortress and Rilas. Those that survived the first demon attack were being talked about in nearly every conversations. Some say them as legends, others as saviors and others still as heretics and trouble makers. Reporters were coming in from across the continent, demons were popping up in other places often burning down villages and slaughtering civilians unchecked. The nations of the world were starting to prepare military responses but that effort was hindered by their desire to blame each other and posture about war. Those outside the Hammer had quickly spread whatever rumors they could to either discredit the organization or blame one of the countries who attended. Quentin had been bogged down each day with letters, logistical issues, and trying to figure out what exactly their next move was. People from all across the continent were flocking to him and they expected direction. Luckily it didn't seem he would be completely alone in forming this new order. He had managed to recruit three advisors each as important as the next. Angelina Riedl had taken the role as the diplomatic face of the organization. She was a well known Dascian political player and so Quentin had been surprised when she accepted his offer of the job. She brought along with her a grumpy looking elf named Dawin who would serve as their spymaster. Quentin had to admit he wasn't completely comfortable around Dawin but his reputation and Angelina's recommendation more than earned him the job. Finally there Justina Dewell. She was a knight commander equal to Quentin's rank but the second she heard of the Hammer she resigned her position to take on the role of leading and training the Hammer's military. Quentin wasn't that surprised, Justina had always been a trouble maker within the organization and hadn't been particularly happy about the political and bureaucratic red tape that being a Knight Commander came with.

The organization was very slowly taking shape but it was still very much in its infancy. Quentin was in his office, reading over another rather threatening letter and found himself rubbing annoyance out of his eyes when he heard a knock on his door.

"You look like you could use a drink." It was Justina, who sat down across from Quentin.

"Like I could go to a tavern right now." Quentin scoffed.

"Tavern isn't the only place you can drink wolf." She countered with an eyeroll. "My point is you need to find a way to relax. Try making some friends maybe. If you're going to lead this organization you're going to need to be able to count on people. Trying to carry all this alone would be folly." She told him and when he didn't speak merely rolled her eyes again and placed a bottle of wine on his desk.

"Take my advice wolf, or we'll be calling you grey wolf soon enough." She joked before taking her leave.

Dulen, Wolf's Den
"Now, I'm not saying that our glorious leader is only alive today because of me... But well those demons didn't blow up on their own." Dulen chuckled to the loud crowd around him. He was in the fortress' tavern. It had three floors, the first was a bar, the second was mostly seating areas and the third floor held guest rooms. The sun was close to setting but it still shone slightly in the sky as Dulen was brought another beer.

"To the Wolf Knight!"

"TO THE WOLF KNIGHT!"

Replied the crowd in a deafening roar. Dulen then found himself standing on his table and grabbing his lute from nearby. He began playing an upbeat song and soon many were dancing and having a good time.

After a short while others took over the task of lute playing and Dulen headed up to the second floor deciding to have a drink at a private table. It might seem ridiculous to be partying during what felt like the end of the world. However to Dulen it made perfect stress. These people would be going to battle soon no doubt and to sit around worrying would do them no good. For his own part, Dulen just wanted to have fun while he could. He wasn't going to delude himself about their chances in fighting demons. They had barely survived their last encounter and Dulen wasn't eager for another.

Brialya, Wolf's Den
Brialya had spent the last two weeks trying to learn all she could about Quentin, his fortress, and most importantly Purity. She was fairly successful regarding Quentin. From what she gathered he was an upstanding commander who cared for his troops, his men certainly were protective of him. She was far less successful regarding purity. Some elves had joined their cause but they were clearly the least represented race other than Goliaths and the few that did join didn't have much to say to Brialya. Among the burgeoning organization it was clear that racial and cultural tensions had not just disappeared because the demons had appeared. Brialya did her best to blend in, to learn what she could but being an elf hindered her ability to blend in. She almost found herself set on fire when she had the audacity to try to sit next to a group of Consortium mages during meal time a few days back.

The dirty looks and muttered curses she was getting didn't bother her nearly as much as not being able to do her job properly. On this day Brialya decided to head outside the fortress to visit the small village that was forming outside their gates. Among the traders and hired blades were also those who had come out of desperation. She saw multiple families some with small children who were huddled together looking utterly miserable. She thought it ridiculous that they were forced to huddle in makeshift tents right outside a massive fortress and bustling town. She had tried to convince Quentin to let them inside but she had told off by his advisors who said he couldn't be bothered with refugees at the moment.

Brialya went over to a nearby food stand and gathered up a loaf of bread and some fruit to offer to the families and paid for it with a few coins. Before she could make her way back to the refugees however she found herself confronted by a group of rather large men. To be specific one was a burly human and the other were beastfolk one like a tiger and the other looked like a jaguar.

"You steal that food elf?" The human asked venomously.

"No", she replied curtly as she tried to walk around them but was stopped by the tiger man.

"Right, because you elves are so honest. I had a brother at that temple. Your knife-eared friends killed him." He said, his hand now on his sheathed blade.

Brialya didn't respond in kind, not wanting to escalate the situation farther but she was ready for a fight if necessary. Her hands curled into a fist however, her rage thinly concealed on her face.

"I didn't kill your brother, in fact I didn't kill any humans that day. I'm just trying to feed some hungry people or would you rather them starve than be fed by a 'knife-ear'" She shot back at him.

"And I suppose you poisoned it? Listen elf bitch, you're not wanted her. Leave, before we take your head and send it to your light god."

Now Brialya's hand was on her blade, she didn't want to kill people here but she would do what it took to survive.

Yasema
Yasema was in the library where she had been most hours of the day since she arrived at fortress. She hadn't ever read much before becoming a Keeper but now she found it a great pleasure. The Fortress' library was impressive filled with both fiction and non fiction alike. She found herself reading human books about the Horde and they were unsurprisingly unflattering. She hadn't expected much else but still some of their descriptions were outright ridiculous. She had spent many years with the Horde and never had she "drank wine from the skulls of infants" or "bathed in molten lava". She chuckled upon reading that and tossed the book aside. Her love of reading wasn't the only reason she stayed in the tower. She was not only a Goliath but a Keeper of the Glass. The people were nervous around her to say the least. However they were still respectful but Yasema didn't want to make them uncomfortable. Besides, she had a mission and any attachments she formed only had the chance to hinder it. Still, in order to fulfill her god's will she might need to actually form connections in order to gain the influence she needed to succeed. With this in mind she headed down the library tower and into the fortress' courtyard. She then found herself in small temple that stood for the pantheon. She decided she wanted to meditate on her thoughts. The temple was modest but each god was represented by a statue. Yasema's eyes went to Sualdir's statue, a phoenix rising into the air. The temple wasn't empty, there were a few people praying to various gods but she didn't pay much attention. Instead she sat down in front of her god's statue and closed her eyes, clearing her mind and attempting to relax.

[Segral]

Keagan Tolasthes

He hated this flea-bitten, rotting excuse for a shantytown. It was a dirty, ungroomed, rotten maw of a village, crude tents set up in rows of rotten teeth, and dilapidated marketplaces serving as raw, swollen gums. Thankfully, only three types of people resided in this disgusting cesspool. The first type was the hired blades and mercenaries, a group of scruffy-looking, burly men looking for work and pay to send back to their families in some aging town in Dascus or Tashar. They went to the outskirts of the looming fortress in the hopes of picking up a spare contract or being let in through the portcullis, and when they were inevitably turned back, they spent the rest of their day mud-wrestling, sword-fighting in the barracks, or drinking at the local tavern, groping any poor girl who happened to so much as walk near their bar counters before stumbling back to their mud huts. The second type was the clump of desperate people, and worse, families, that had come, either by desire or by force. Desire, because they were the spouses and children of the first type, or force, because the demons had destroyed their homes, their worldly possessions, and their livelihoods. They did not have enough standing to claim a mud hut, instead settling in a weathered, battered tent that was really no better than a lump of canvas. They sat ashen-faced, glum, and destitute, hands outstretched for a spare coin, or maybe some food, if you could spare it, may Benthoral smile upon you. If they were widows crippled by sores or swollen joints, they would likely receive nothing. If they were children with tangled blonde hair and big, bright brown eyes, hands outstretched and bottom lip trembling, then Benthoral would smile upon them and not the other way around.

And then, there was the third type. "Merchants", they called themselves. Keagan did not enjoy that term though, it carried too many negative connotations. He preferred "Vendor". Much cleaner, more positive in image. The merchant's campground was the cleanest part of this cankerous sore, a trimmer patch crowded closely with stalls, tents, caravans, wagons, horses, and more. A village needed its vendors, needed purveyors of foodstuffs, clothing, shoes, medicines, and raw materials, needed blacksmiths, butchers, tanners, bakers, and brewers, needed this and that, there and here, what, when, and who. Although, anything beyond the bare essentials in this wretched village was expensive and hard to find. Sure, one could find bread, cheese, vegetables, dried fruit, some decent tea, but spices? Decent alcohol? Decent portions of meat? Eggs? Butter? Fresh fruit? It was all but a memory for many. Just two days ago, a man had been stabbed to death in a dispute over a chicken egg that was going for 500 coins. Perhaps that was why the term "merchant" had such a negative connotation, or as the first and second types liked to call them, "opportunists", or "slimeballs", or "sleazy pigs", or a whole host of other insults directed to those possessing lofty aims and an entrepreneurial spirit.

Keagan considered himself to part of the latter two groups. He was a merchant, to be sure. Selling his medicines and healing potions in a small, purple tent for prices that undercut the current competition was the only way to generate a stable income in this hellhole. Sure, his remedies were not as effective as going to a proper healer, or buying a tried and true mix, but that was the price he had to pay for allowing his skills in the art to become rusty, and if nothing else, it allowed him to cut a few coins off of the price, which was everything to the first two types that hated him so. Some of his potions did absolutely nothing at all, they just gave the illusion of health, which was sometimes all that was needed to make a speedy recovery. It wasn't exploitation; if anything, by providing his medicines at such a low price, he was doing a service to these villagers, especially the second type. After all, did he not belong to that second type as well? He too had come here in search of options, in search of opportunities, and was working to achieve those opportunities. They were all one and the same, and yet, despite his noble efforts, he was seen as a cruel lizard who preyed and profited on others' poverty.

It was these thoughts that occupied and agonized his mind as he walked through the village's rutted dirt roads, the collar of his cloak turned up against the high winds. Though, the chilling gusts did not seem to perturb many. Children still frolicked and ran through the streets despite the wind tugging at their hair, and their parents weren't any more concerned than they were, plodding along with their purchases, conversations, and drinks, unable to prevent their children from ramming into the knees of every man above the age of 18. They would fall down on their behinds in a cloud of dust, and scamper away sheepishly at the sight of the adult's cold glare and growing scowl. He learned this by both watching the men surrounding him scowl and glare at rapidly retreating children's backs, and by experiencing a child running straight into his own knees, falling down on her behind in a cloud of dust. She was a petite little thing, with a face and clothes marked and marred with mud, ugly things that did not suit her tangled blonde hair and big, bright brown eyes, which only held fear at the sight of his hulking frame and reptilian face staring right back down at her.

However, he did not scowl and glare at the girl, instead crouching down on his knees to face her at something relatively close to eye-level as she slowly began to pick herself off the ground, practically trembling out of sheer terror. She wouldn't even meet his eyes, and Keagan reciprocated the gesture as he spoke, eyes darting from side to side to catch a look at the surrounding villagers' faces. "Why hello there, young one." he said pleasantly, his mouth twitching into a warm, lips-only smile as he spoke. The girl flinched at the sound of his voice, but did not run away, daring to peek at Keagan's smiling face. "Are you alright? You took quite a mighty fall there."

"I-I'm OK, thank you, M-Mister Crocodile." she squeaked in a high, tinny little tone, radiating with nervousness. "D-do you have any coins you could spare? My brothers and I want to buy something to eat, but we have no money." she said, pointing towards a group of three boys heckling the village butcher, each with equally blonde hair.

"Coins to spare? Hmm, let's see..." Keagan said, sliding his hand into the leather purse at his belt and rummaging around for a couple of seconds, brow furrowing as he did so. The girl's eyes glimmered with hope for a brief second, only to turn dejected and sullen as Keagan came out empty-handed, shaking his head sadly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry dear, I don't seem to have any with me." he said, looking downcast and sullen for just as brief of a second, before suddenly perking back up, tail wagging behind him. "Wait...I see something behind that ear of yours, little one. Something golden, and shimmery..." he said with a slight crack in his voice, reaching to the right side the girl's head, just in front of where her thin pigtails started. She squirmed slightly, but didn't bolt, staying just long enough to see Keagan pull his hand back from her ear and open it up, revealing a single, shining coin in the palm.

"Wow! H-how did you..." the girl said, her mouth hanging agape in utter amazement as she stared at the coin from Keagan's palm, eyes wide as if the sight was too good to be true. From the state of her clothes, it was clear she hadn't seen very many coins in her life.

"Well, heavens above, look what I see!" Keagan said in an excited voice, this time switching hands and reaching behind her left ear, rustling the other pigtail slightly as he pulled back and opened his hand, revealing yet another shining coin in his palm. The girl's eyes were bugging with amazement by this point, and they only grew wider as he closed his fist again, shook his hand back and forth, and unclenched his fingers, revealing not two, but four whole coins in his palm.

"It seems as if Benthoral smiles upon you, little one." Keagan said with a warm smile and look in his eyes. If it was a deceitful expression, it was a damn good one. "Here, take this back to your brothers, and buy yourself some treats." he said gently, emptying the coins into the girl's outstretched palm and finishing the gesture off with an affectionate poke to the nose, causing the girl to giggle.

"Th-thank you, Mister Crocodile. Thank you so much!" she practically squealed in delight, rushing forward to hug the scaly man, who obliged by leaning his head forward and allowing the girl to throw her arms around his neck as he lightly and briefly wrapped his arms around her back.

"It's no trouble at all, dear." he said dismissively, pulling her away and grasping her by the shoulders so that he could look into her eyes. The fear that used to look back at him was now replaced with glowing joy, her honey-brown eyes practically misting over. "What's your name, young one?"

"Evelyn, Mister Crocodile!"

"Evelyn? Why, it's no wonder that Benthoral has smiled upon you today, you share names with his daughter!" he said in wonder, the first signs of spiky tooth appearing in his smile. Every follower of the Pantheon was familiar of the myth of Benthoral's daughter Evelyn, who brought cheer and good faith to the armies of ancient legend. "You even share her hair! She had golden hair just like yours, in two tails down her ba-"

"Listen elf bitch, you're not wanted here. Leave, before we take your head and send it to your light god."

Keagan whirled around upon hearing the voice, a harsh, poison-filled voice directed towards a woman that had previously remained unseen and unheard to him. It belonged to a tall, burly human of the first type, with a flat, narrow face and two missing fingers. What an ugly creation! His mother must've fallen off of her bed in labor! Unfortunately, it was not wise to share such thoughts with the man, mostly due to his hostile face, and the feline Thalari that flanked him on either side. The victim of their abuse was a short, cool-skinned woman, clearly of elven heritage. In one hand, she held a loaf of bread and a small pouch of what Keagan could only assume to be dried fruit of some kind, and the other hand, she held the hilt of her blade, still strapped to her waist, but ready to fly at a moment's notice. If someone did not intervene soon, blood would stain the streets yet again, and as great as his passiveness was towards the clumsy children of these streets, he had no intention to expose them to such violence so young.

"Go on, Evelyn. Your brothers must be worried about you." he said stiffly, rising to his feet and patting Evelyn on the shoulder to not-so-gently send her on her way. Once the girl was moving along, he began to stride over towards the brewing conflict in a long, smooth gait, sliding his hand underneath his cloak to feel his smooth, silver dagger underneath. Hopefully, he would not be forced to use it, but hopes were fragile things, and a slow draw was just as bad as no draw at all.

"Gentlemen!...and Lady." he cried loudly as he approached the group from the side, lifting a friendly hand to the group of men, and giving a courteous nod towards the elven woman. The men were tall, hulking beings for sure, but even the tallest one did not match Keagan's height, his head coming level with the top of the Tyr'el's snout. No intimidation could be found even in his voice, not even the slightest hint or tremble. His voice was not as deep or rumbling as most of his kind, years of life in foreign cities had softened it from a harsh growl to a deep, hollow purr, one that struck fear into the hearts of many men, and caution into the hearts of the rest.

"Apologies for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but notice that you were involved in a...quarrel, of sorts." he said with a bit of feigned sheepishness, clutching his face as if blushing through his scales. "What seems to be the issue here? Surely, we can work through this troublesome conflict peacefully?"

---

---

Krook Tolasthes

Krook hummed happily as he slathered a fresh coat of glue on the side of the wooden plank, taking extra care to run the stiff bristles back and forth, twice over. Just like Mr. Mason had said. Sir Mason was a stout little dwarf that had been assigned by Quentin-the-One-Who-Had-Called-For-This-Journey to oversee reparations and maintenance of the fortress. It was a fine fortress indeed, but one that was slightly outdated in certain sections, and one that needed to be expanded in order to accommodate for the influx of new recruits for the Hammer of Eboris, as Sir Mason had said. He had been searching for volunteers to help him repair the building, and of course, Krook had joined. He had so many natural gifts, it would be shameful if he didn't contribute some of them to aiding the construction effort! He was tall, full of muscle, and had plenty of glue from all of the deer bones he had cooked, as well as a nice furry brush for spreading the paste. So, he had been sent to the roof, to replace some rotting slats of wood that was located around the fortress' bell tower.

Truthfully, he did not know why the bell tower was made of wood. Perhaps it had a different ringing sound to it. He wouldn't know; Sir Mason had told him specifically not to touch the bell, because it was extremely special. It was a messaging system that was sometimes used to signify mealtimes, important meetings, calls to prayer, and sometimes, even to warn the soldiers of an invasion or important battle. If he was careless and accidentally tapped it with his tail, or struck it with his shoulder, people would think there was an important meeting! Or worse, an invasion! He wasn't exactly sure which one, Sir Mason had said that there were different amounts of rings for different messages, but he hadn't told Krook which one was which. It was simply best to not ring it at all.

So, he did not ring it, or even touch it. Instead, he continued his work, smelling and tapping the boards to see if they were rotten, pulling them off if they were, and gluing in the fresh, woody-smelling new boards by layering glue on either side and pressing them in. His work had so far been easy up to this point. All he had to do was work on the planks around the bell, moving closer and closer to the center until he had to fix the planks directly over and under the bell. He...didn't quite know how he would fix those, but he would figure it out soon enough. Right now, he was focused on replacing a board just underneath the outer edge of the bell's brim. He had just put the glue on, all he had to do was press it right in.

Using two slight dry patches on either side that he had left for his claws, he slowly tilted the board into the rough gap, pressing one side against the edge of the planked floor. The glue caused the board to stick fast, allowing Krook to shift his hands and gently slide the other side into the leftover space. Some glue scraped off and oozed to the surface of the floor, but the clean board held, and at the perfect moment too. Before Krook could even pry his claws loose, a small bird fluttered down onto the plank, chirping as it hopped along the edge. It was a precious little thing, and beautiful too, covered in soft, downy red and white feathers, with a few specks of black around the head. Its little feet and beak were black too, a perfect little ball of feathers.

"Well hey there, little guy..." Krook said, dropping his brush on the ground and eagerly outstretching his arm, claws extended to form the perfect perch for his new friend. Pushing his lips together, he let out a shrill, melodic whistle, a simple bird call that was difficult for a Tyr'el to replicate, but possible. Krook had practiced enough to make it sound close enough to an actual bird's whistle, and it seemed to work, as the bird promptly fluttered onto the edge of his claw and began pecking at his hard scaly palm.

"I wish I had some seeds to grant you Birdie, but unfortunately, all I have is glue, and that wouldn't be very tasty for you, would it?" Krook said affectionately, moving to pat the little bird on the head. Big mistake. With a scared little chirp, the bird suddenly leapt off of his claw and began to fly away in a red and white flash.

"W-Wait! Birdie, come b-AGH!" he cried out, only to be cut off by his own shriek of pain as he lunged forward to scrabble after the bird, barreling headfirst right into the smooth, polished brass surface of the bell. The bell gave a massive, ear-splitting "DOING!" as he stumbled backwards, clutching his forehead in pain. As he moved, he felt his foot catch on a loose board, sending him pitching backwards and slamming into the ground back-first, the back of his head bumping the ground on the way down. Great, now he had TWO bumps to the head, that meant the double the aching! And what was that big gonging sound that was echoing in his ears, it sounded like a big brass bell, or...

Wait...big brass bell?!

Despite the growing lumps on his head, Krook hurriedly looked back up at the bell, which was slowly swinging back and forth, the pendulum at the bottom bouncing around on the inside. Oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear, he had broken Sir Mason's big rule! He had specifically told him not touch the bell, and look what he had gone and did! He didn't even know how many times it had rang, whether it had messaged for a call to prayer, or a mealtime, or an invasion!

"Ohhhhh....I'm in big trouble." he groaned, clutching his face as he dropped his head right back onto the boards.

---

---

Claire Dione
A Few Hours Earlier

"Excuse me. Are you are this town's butcher?"

"That I am, hon. I'm no fighter though, and my sons aren' warriors, so if yerr in here to recruit, consider yerrself out o' luck." wheezed the old woman behind the counter, fatter and plumper than her own stuffed hens. Her thinning, raw strands of gray hair had been pulled into a tight bun, and the sagging, raw creases of her face had been pulled into a tight mask, leaving behind a woman who was clearly long of age. Still, despite her hunched camel back and the popping liver spots that crept along her skin, she was clearly a strong woman, her arms still muscular and grip still strong on her wooden cane after decades of life on Eboris, pounding her into silt that continued to cling to the shore. She had likely been cutting meat since a ripe age, only stopping to give birth to the litter, and resuming her cutting soon afterwards. A woman of pride, for certain, and likely one who wouldn't hesitate to run her children's tormentors through with a cleaver, even in old age. That alone was worthy of Claire's respect.

"I come not to recruit, only to act as a customer." Claire replied curtly, albeit with a slight smile accompanying her words. "I have begun to run low on supplies, and need to restock my provisions in case of an upcoming conflict."

"Well, ye came to the right place." the woman said, leaving her knitting on the blood-stained counter as she slowly heaved herself off of the chair, using her stubby wooden cane to support herself. "Although, with teeth and scales like that, I'd expect you tuh have a greata' interest in fish, hon."

"Aye, but the fish of these rivers are scarce, they hide away from me." Claire said, brushing a drop of sweat off of her forehead. The room was hot and stuffy, thanks to its small size and massive stone hearth, hearth that dominated the side wall and barked out a warm, snapping fire. The smell added to the sense of cluster, with the smells of salt, brine, blood, and pickling meat filling the room with a dissonant odor that made Claire's head spin. Still, she did not buckle, instead pushing the staff harder in the ground to support herself and match the old woman's cane. "For now, I must survive off of creatures of the land, until I can find strong, healthy fish to feed off of again.

The woman paused, staring at Claire for a brief moment as if wary of her intentions. "You talk funny, but you seem decen'. Probably have money tuh, by the look of it." she said, motioning her head towards the frame pack on Claire's shoulders, and then towards the racks of meat behind her. "What'ya want?"

"Er..." Claire said in an oddly flustered tone, scanning the back wall and its various chalk-inscribed signs, a look of slight panic beginning to seep into her eyes. "W-What is the price of that roast over there?" she asked, pointing a finger towards a thick, slightly steaming pile of roasted chops lying atop a thin canvas sheet.

"Price is right there hon', I don't get 'em memorized." the woman replied dryly, fixing a beady eye on Claire's twitching mouth. "You know ya letters, don'tcha?"

The dried blood on the counter was starting to make her nauseous.

---

She was starting to get used to the dried blood.

Her anger was simmering under the hot sun, making her blood boil, and it was precisely what she required at this time. Two weeks prior, she had been swimming in cool, clean waters, and her mind had been a choppy, foaming rapid. Today, she was walking under a hot, dry sun, and her mind was just as clear and bright, making her plaguing, itching wounds visible. She had still yet to come to terms with what had happened two weeks ago, and she would likely take even longer to come to terms with what had happened hours ago. She was in the middle of a spar, pummeling some cocky, pumped bladefighter from Dascus that had asked her to joust him. The way his chin pointed, his teeth flashed, his eyes slid back to his gaggle of chortling geese, all of it was reminiscent of arrogant men she had fought in the past, challenging her to fights that they believed they would be able to win with one handed knotted behind their back. Claire took great pleasure in unhanding them altogether. Perhaps that was the third wound that made her blood boil so deeply, not quite as deep or gory as the other two, but the final push, the final strike that forced her to lash back out again.

The battle of two weeks past had been a great one, a staggering triumph of the Hammer over evil forces that outmatched them twentyfold, and the start of an iron-wrought alliance between the Hammer and the Order of Evrouin. Alas, she had taken no part in it. By the time her strokes through the river had lead her to the battle site, it had become a former battle site, with nothing left to do but to slink to the back of the formation in hopes that not a soul had seen her, shedding the skin around her legs and her pride along with it. Why in the name of Qoit had she chosen to swim alone?! Her pike would've made her the perfect asset to the cavalry, able to break through their screens and formations with not a care, and able to spearhead a charge through the enemy ranks. Even killing just one would've been a kinder fate than the agony of sloth that she was forced to suffer at the hands of her stupidity.

Today's events at the butcher was a further examination of her own stupidity, her incompetence. She should've known that the shop would've had written prices! As grimy and sullen as the village was, it was not a primitive settlement. It was full of man, some educated, and most possessing literacy. It was exactly this concept that stung her to the core, brought her shame and embarrassment at every turn. Throughout her childhood, she had learned that words were not important, that they simply told man's stories without the presence of woman, that the true warrior did not need to master words in order to fight with the blade. It was all true, and she knew it. A warrior didn't need words in order to fight with the pike, her "opponent" was proving that by the second with his incompetence. And man had erased her people from history's texts, leaving behind no desire to read those cursed novels. But every time she saw another man or woman take pity upon her stupid eyes for not being able to peruse her mail, or view the prices at markets, a piece of her pride and dignity chipped away, slow to heal and quickly to decay. They stared at her like an invalid, or a crippled child, because she was a grown woman who could not even sign her own name! Oh, what a disgrace! Oh, the poor thing! The mere thought of it made her blood grow even hotter, made her fists clench even tighter on her pike's shaft with even greater force as she drove the staff end into the Dascian bladefighter's chest, sending him stumbling back into an awkward, stumbling gait.

"Alright, alright, you've-OOOOWWWWWW" he shrieked as Claire kicked him in the fork of his legs, sending him crumpling to the ground with his hands delicately clutching his groin. "What'd you do that for, huh??!!"

"An enemy won't show you grace or mercy, so why should I?" she asked coldly, following up her words by striking the man on the cheek with her staff. "I'm sure whatever God you answer to will be more than enthused to hear your words of complaint once you've joined him in the sky."

"Ugh, I should've never fought with you, bitch, cu-" he started, only to be cut off by Claire hitting him across the head a second time, before reaching forward, grabbing his collar, and planting her boot on his face, pushing him headfirst down onto the dusty training pitch and fixing him there. Despite his best attempts to wriggle free, he was pinned down, with Claire's stomp pushing his head sideways against the dirt. There was no point to fighting any further; his clothes were already splattered with dried blood from a deep wound on his sword arm, he likely he had bruises flowering on every inch of his body, and even if he was able to roll free, he was in perfect position to receive a swift boot-strike to the chest or stomach. The battle was won, and in record time as well. The four brave Pride-den adventurers before him had lasted much longer.

"Who wishes to be beaten next?" she called out to the nearby crowd, a bored, disinterested tone working its way into her voice as she looked around with flat, stony eyes.

[North Timeria]

Aymeri had the dream countless times and had no problem describing it to her. “Well the dream changes a lot but there’s always one factor that stays the same… I can feel myself being crushed by this force. I don’t know what it is but it weights on my whole body.”
Aymeri sighed and thought for a moment “I can’t really tell what provokes it but it seems to be random. It also happened when I was fighting the demon earlier.”

Yasema continued looking at Aymeri, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "I can say I do not believe you are a Keeper. This dream does not seem like a prophecy. So I am afraid I may not be of much help. However dreams often reflect our deep feelings. So clearly it sounds like something is weighing on you. It will be up to you figure out what that is."

Aymeri listened to her advice but it didn’t feel like enough. “Something is always weighing on me… but these dreams… They just seem so real as if I don’t do something, they’ll have real consequences.” Aymeri thought for a moment, trying to find a way to describe it to her. “Have you ever had a feeling of impending doom? Is there anything else you can do for me? Any guidance you can provide to help me find the answer would be greatly appreciated.”

"Impending doom comes with the territory of being a Keeper. The only advice I can offer is do not fate. Feelings like yours often come about from a desire to change things that cannot be changed. I cannot interpret your dreams, not truly. Only you will be able to grasp their meaning. But if you feel helpless and like things are out of your control, accept that they are. That is the best advice I can offer when it comes to fate and thoughts of the future."

Aymeri didn’t quite understand what she meant but he decided to just accept it and get some rest.

---

Aymeri had been at the Wolf’s Den for two weeks now and was still awaiting a reply from Halsha. He didn’t know if it would ever come but he made sure to check every day. He had spent much of his time here riding Aquarius around and getting to know the area. He spent a lot of his time in the woods and exploring the outskirts of the fortress. The outskirts of the fortress were now also filling with people from across the land. Many of them had nothing and were looking for a safe haven, somewhere safe from the demon attacks. Over time Aymeri had become popular among the children as they loved his horse Aquarius. As Aymeri grew close to them his trips would often end in him bringing food back to the kids. This had become a regular thing now as Aymeri would go out and hunt for them. The kids would wait for him to return so that they could eat, for some, it was their only meal.

Aymeri rode into the camp and the children started to surround him. “Look cousin Aymeri is back!” the kids yelled as they all surrounded him waiting to see what he had brought.

“Hey! Hey! Everyone slow down you’ll scare the horse.” he said as he pulled the small deer off. He had a pretty successful day as he had managed to get two deer and a rabbit. Aymeri feared the day he would go out and be unable to bring back anything, maybe Zoros was on his side watching from a distance.

Aymeri had been supplying the kids and their families with fresh meat for about a week without asking for anything in return.

“Here Aymeri this is for you. Its wine we made and we thought it’d be a good way to show our appreciation.” one of the kid’s mom handed him the container.

“Thank you but you don’t have to worry about me… I’ll be fine.” Aymeri accepted the gift and sat around for a bit while the kids feed Aquarius. As he sipped some of the wine he noticed something going on. A group of large men had surrounded an elf with a rather large amount of food. Aymeri’s first thoughts were that they were trying to rob her and quickly got up.

“Hey! What’s the issue here?” As Aymeri approached them he noticed that they were beastfolk and quite large in comparison to himself.

[Awesomeland012345]

Tarkin

The demons charged toward him. Tarkin readied another potion. He raised his arm to throw and - WHAM! A flood of cavalry slammed into the demons. He nearly tripped and dropped the potion trying to not throw it, almost blowing himself to bits in the process. In what seemed like moments, the magma-like cavalry were driven back by what seemed like knights of the Order of Evrouin, or dragon killers. After the beasts had been driven back, the Order's leader met with Quentin, who explained what was happening. Tarkin was just glad that the fortress was a few miles away and that they now had protection.

A few hours later they arrived, and he found out that the fortress was called "The Wolf's Den" or something like that. Huh. Apparently word of the battle had already traveled across the land, and people had flocked to the castle. Quentin did a few rallying crys, and then they entered the fortress.

Tarkin used his time in the fortress to study more alchemy books, while also showing the alchemists there the potions that he had created as well as the ones in his book. They were fascinated by how simple his potions were, while he was confused as to how they had even come up with potions that used hundred of ingredients and took days to make. He learned new alchemy trade secrets and memorized how to use them.

But he also practiced with his dagger, because it could probably still take down some demons. And there would probably be more bandits on the roads, trying to attack refugees fleeing from their towns. Tarkin was actually not bad at using his knife. He was above average, and could win most of the time.

And then he also practiced with both his potions and dagger together. Some of the "well learned" alchemists scoffed at him, believing that he wasn't worthy to use his potions in battle. One day while he was practicing his aim the arena, one of them challenged him.

"Hey! You, scar face!" Tarkin sighed. They liked making fun of his scar.

"Come fight me! You're not worthy, you lived on the streets for your entire life. Come on then, beat me! You little coward." Tarkin sighed again. It was Oscar, the spoiled brat of a nobleman. He was decent at fighting, but not as good as Tarkin, who didn't really feel like doing this now. Sure, it would be practice, but there were other, nicer teachers who would actually give him a challenge. He replied,

"Ok, ok, fine. Three... two... one... go!" He immediately tossed a smoke bomb into his opponent. While Oscar coughed and had tears streaming down his face, Tarkin slipped away out of arena into the streets of the surrounding town. Unfortunately, his opponent followed him.

"You'll pay for this! *cough cough* I'm going to kill you!" Great. Now he had offended the brat, who had called his bodyguards to chase after him. Tarkin ran down the streets, glancing over the shoulder to see if he had lost them. Unfortunately, because of his looking back, he kept tripping. The townspeople yelled at him at first, but at a second glace, they spotted the muscle-strapped bodyguards and scurried out of the way.

Although one of the townspeople knew that he would get rewarded for capturing this alchemist. He stuck out a leg and tripped Tarkin.

"Oof!" He had just been running when a dumb villager tripped him. He smacked into something, bringing tears to his eyes. Actually, it could've been a someone, but everything had happened too fast. What he did know, though, was that those darn bodyguards were about to get him.

[Auropa]

Chrysanthea Blackwood

Gwendolyn Sirrade
After the battle

"You don't look too bad. Did the demons injure you?" A red haired knight asked.

After what felt like eons, a tired and irritated Gwen had managed to make her way to where the chosen were set up and before even being able to ask for help, some soldier woman was questioning her presence.
“Oh I’m sorry, would you prefer I was missing an arm? Or maybe if I have taken a blade or two to the gut before seeking help it would have better?” She shot back.

‘Who was this girl to ask her what she was doing? And what was she doing here anyways?! She clearly wasn’t with the chosen, so she had no right to-’ Letting out an irritated sigh and slightly wincing as a wave of pain shot through her, Gwen swallowed her pride and started over.

“Look. I’m just here to find a mage who can do a simple mana transfusion, I used to much in the fight and some idiot broke my potions for this sort of stuff.” She stated a bit more calmly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Its not the best thank you to receive after helping win fight and now I’m admittedly a bit irate with the whole situation. So unless you happen to know any trained mages, I’d like to go and get this over with now.” She added gesturing past the red head and to some of the chosen behind her.

---

2 weeks later
Wolf’s Den

“Bless your heart” An old woman said cheerfully as Gwen passed over a bowl of soup.

“It’s Gwendolyn and please, I’m just glad I can help.” She replied cheerfully behind a warm smile that may have seemed just a little too perfect.

One constant in the world was that no matter how prosperous or well looked after the land was, there would always be people who needed help and as a result, if one was willing to look hard enough and put in the necessary effort, then there was always a way to boost one’s renown. And so, after arriving at the Wolf’s Den and being passed over for the commander’s war council, Gwen set to doing what she did best and making herself stand out. Some of it was important, flashy tasks like training soldiers and working on inventories but other times it was more down to earth community work like volunteering at shelters. She might not be in the running for command yet, but sure enough she’d keep climbing until no one could ignore her.

“Oi, no shoving” She half snapped as a small group of rowdy kids burst in for a meal.

“Hey! Why are you always so mean to us and nice to everyone else?” One of them eventually asked as she passed out a few bowls.

“Well I’m here to help people that can actually do stuff for me. You lot are about as useless as a bow without a string.” She added with her well-practiced smile long gone and replaced by a more hidden but somewhat honest smirk.

“Whadd’ya mean? We’re super useful! I help my pa every day on the farm!” One of the boys said puffing his chest out with a few others chiming in with their different daily chores.

Holding back a small chuckle, Gwen casually thwacked him on the head with a wooden spoon before passing over another filled bowl. “Last I remember, your dad was complaining about you nearly setting a hay bale on fire. And I know that all of you are meant to be doing some of that ‘work’ you’re all talking about now. So finish your food and-“ She began to say before having her lecture interrupted by another kid running in.

“Hey guys! Aymeri’s back and he’s letting people pet his horse!”

Instantly the horde of children burst into a round of excited chittering before downing their food and bolting off in a chaotic mess behind their newly formed ringleader.

“Thank you Gwen!” One managed to call out before disappearing into an alley.

Letting out a somewhat frustrated sigh, Gwen moved around and started collecting the used dishes as the matron of the shelter, came out to investigate the noise.

“Same group?” She asked as she went to help Gwen.

“Bunch of little devils, I mean they could’ve at least stacked the bowls.” She remarked.

“They’re children.” The older lady shrugged as she gathered the last of the dishes. “And they like coming around with you here, and as snippy as you can be, I know you like them being around just as much.”

“Hmph.” Gwen huffed with her cheeks slightly puffed out as she bit back the urge to retort “Who is that Aymeri guy anyways? Everytime he comes into town, everyone looses their heads like he some sort of king or something… He’s not a king or anything like that is he?”

“No nothing like that” The old woman chuckled “He’s one of Quentin’s men like you, a real gentleman from what I’ve heard. He’s been coming into town with gifts and food for the kids and their families. Though I think the young-uns might just like seeing his horse more than anything else.” She added as they brought the plates back.

‘He's bribing them for their affection? Dammit why didn’t I think of that?!’ Gwen thought as she put the last of the plates down and made a mental note to remember the man’s name.
“Do you have enough people here? I think I might need to head off for now and sort a few things out.”

“Mhmm, well we’re doing fine here and it’s been pretty quiet today anyways. Go out and have some fun for once why don’t you?” She replied with a small shooing motion.

“Alright, I’ll be back tomorrow then.” Gwen replied as she headed out before the old lady could make any more comments.

---

Claire Dione

Ylva Pathmaykr
Wolf’s Den

"Who wishes to be beaten next?"

“I’ll take you up on that offer.” Ylva stated as she calmly pushed her way to the front of the crowd and pulled free her Warhammer from its scabbard.
“That is unless you’d like the keep whacking on that poor sod for a while longer. I know how actual fights can be scary and all so I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to back out.” She added with a challenging smile.

After the battle 2 weeks ago, Ylva had been handling the boredom of staying in one place as best she could, which suffice to say, was badly. Not running off to find her people after learning that the demons were in fact appearing across the whole continent was difficult enough but being told to wait instead was borderline torture for the goliath. So, to pass the time she had gone from training, sparring, drinking to straight up brawling wherever she could. When word of one rather unique and talented thalari starting fights passed her ears, then she could hardly resist the temptation.

“I’m Ylva Pathmaykr by the way, pleasure to meet you and all that.” She continued casually as she watched the smaller fighter before her and waited for the smallest of twitches that might give away her movements.

[Galnius]

Tenna

Tarkin

Syn of Ashar

---

Of course, the girl was mute. Syn figured that out back in the temple, but now she made it fully obvious, and then pulled out her own notebook to point at her name written and introduce herself.

"Tenna. Nice to meet you." Syn repeated the name written and blurted out a laconic response. It wasn't actually nice, but still... "If I'm mispronouncing your name, feel free to not-yell at me until I get it right."

She was not the only person to suddenly show up and interrupt the runesmith when he wanted to focus on his work. The alchemist who tagged along with him back in the temple and whom the Golem saved at least once suddenly came up to Syn, with a potion at hand, offering it and explaining that it works like a permanent lantern.

"Uh..." Syn muttered, blinking a few times, not sure if this was a practical joke. "Thanks." he muttered and accepted the potion, carefully picking it up from Tarkin's hand. For what it's worth, at least it could be useful to give light to his lap during long nights... "My name is Syn, I am-"

Then, he realized that his notebook was no longer in his lap. Frantically looking around from side to side for a second, Syn found it in Tenna's hands. The little thief snatched it from his hands while he wasn't looking! They don't even know each other, what does she want from him?

Syn sighed, held out his hand, and ordered:

"Give it back."

Tenna didn't quite understand why this man was so thick in the head. Ignoring her lost him his journal. Now he was ordering her around. Was he daft? Just an idiot? Was this golem a magical accident involving him throwing a tantrum when nothing worked until something finally did? Tenna was starting to be convinced it was.

So...she didn't give him back his book. Instead, she deftly bounced up unto her feat and started looking through his notes. It was strange. This didn't look like the notes of an idiot. Did he steal it? No, that didn't seem to be the case.

Tenna was now so entranced and stupified from the sheer confusion caused by this genius idiot that her nose was just about buried in it. She couldn't make heads or tales of most of this, but she tried. Still, even when relying on nothing but her peripheral vision, she made sure to keep a watch out for anyone who may try to take her newest curiosity from her. Especially if that person was Syn.

---

Tenna, The Wolf's Den

Tenna had been tempted to steal away right when the fighting started. She was a thief, not a soldier, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself too, even when the gods had forsaken them to death by savage red beasts. She had heard others call them demons; creatures from stories told to orphans in order to reach them never to go siren a strange alley at night. Perhaps it was because of that that she hadn't left this order at that point. Who was to say that those creatures had not invaded every aspect of her future, and even if they hadn't yet, who was going to stop them if not for the hammer? So...she fought. And now it was a time to rest.

They arrived at a large fortress the others had called "The Wolf's Den." It was an apt name, as she immediately got the feeling of the hammer being akin to a pack of wolves doing everything they could to keep dwarf, man, and elf from their home. This time, though, it was the very beings that hunted even the wolf that were forced into striking back out of desperation. If it didn't include her, Tenna might have found it ironically funny. Instead, it just sent chills down her spine.

For a small while, Tenna tried finding her way around. However, within the hustle and bustle of the crowded area her pleas were easily lost without a voice to sound them. If only someone could understand what she was saying. Then, Tenna remembered the leader of the order mention a dwarf who spoke thieves cant.

It didn't take long to find him, or who she assumed was him, but even then she never approached. He always seemed...surrounded.

So it went for weeks. Two of them to be exact. Tenna got by, gesturing here, avoiding people there, and annoying the runesmith from time to time. Eventually, though, her curiosity got the best of her. Her observations told her that the man was probably the dwarf in question. After all, he and Quentin would talk quite amiably throughout that time. He was also rather famous, it seemed, but having just one person understand her would be a large help.

So....Tenna approached. Confidently, quickly, and with purpose. She sat across from him and looked the dwarf, who's name she had come to learn was Dulen, directly in the eye. Then, she brought and open hand to the corner of her lip. Bringing it downward, and turning it so it was open toward the dwarf, she signed a simple word, and tilted her head.

Savvy?

[Finland SSR]

Tenna

Syn of Ashar

---

Alright, so looks like he's finally cracked the code. He's dealing with a girl who has never matured past the age of twelve. When he politely asked her to give the notebook back, she stopped just short of blowing a raspberry and began reading through his notes. And, as should be expected, her expression betrayed that she understood nothing that was written.

Syn sighed and stood up from his seat. He didn't really want to get into a fight - and, even though Tenna was shorter and smaller than him, chances are she'd have no trouble beating him in a fight - but he didn't want her to run away with the notebook in tow, either. Then he'd have to search for her across the whole camp and, who knows, pick her up stuck on a tree like a kitten because she thought climbing away from the big mean Syn was a good idea...

"Lift her up."

The Golem immediately reached out to grab Tenna by the hair and lift her up to the air, while the runesmith himself stepped back just in case the elf tried to kick him in the teeth or something.

---

Wolf's Den, Two Weeks Later

---

At last, a modicum of calm. Their weeks long march across Eboris has finally ended in the Wolf's Den, the fortress of the Knights of Shotarr which was swiftly transformed into a headquarters for the Hammer. And Syn did his part in this transformation - after wandering through the halls for a little bit, he soon found home in the lower levels, where the runesmithing grounds of the local Knighthood were housed. The local Dwarf runesmiths under the payroll of the organization were understandably frightened when a human arrived with a Golem in tow, but he quickly explained the situation to them and they bothered him no more. When it comes to work on a contraption this complicated, he wanted nobody to bother him.

For now, however, Syn shelved the Golem, or, more accurately, placed him in the side of the large runesmithing station like a decorative suit of armor. The demon fighting experience he's collected already gave him plenty of ideas on how the Golem could be upgraded, but he couldn't hog all of his talent just to himself, can he? Sadly, he cannot defend Eboris all by himself.

So, Syn drew a handful of posters, the same ones he'd see his old Dwarven tutor put around Ashar to attract customers to his family craft - and plastered them on the entrance of the castle as well as wherever he'd see the Hammer-people usually gather, such as at the keeps and the mess hall. An easy way to inform to his comrades that if they believe their weapons or armor are lacking, they can always head to the runesmithing grounds at here, here and here, and your comrade Syn of Ashar will do so for free.

[Tomia]

Dulen
Dulen saw a strange looking elf approaching his table. He had seen her around before, usually skulking without really approaching or making conversations. He looked at her curiously as she sat down across from him. She didn't seem threatening but in a tavern you never really knew. He watched her over his beer as she made a simplistic gesture with her hand, speaking in a language that he hadn't seen in a while and made him raise an eyebrow. Didn't expect to see the thieves guild around here, but I guess world ending events tend to bring all folks together.

He took another sip of his beer before placing it down on the table in front of him before making a series of gestures with his hands that would look like nonsense to an unknowing observer.

So, thieves guild eh? I don't owe you money do I? Dulen said half seriously to her. He had interacted with the thieves' guild before, on many occasions in fact, and he had somewhat of a love hate relationship with the group. Still the one sitting in front of him didn't seem outwardly hostile so he didn't necessarily mind her company. He was curious what she wanted with him however.

Brialya
The human who had been antagonizing Brialya turned to see Keagan towering over him. The crocodile like creature was soon joined by a human. Brialya didn't recognize either of them and thus didn't know their reasoning for intervening on her behalf. She was a bit wary, she didn't want a fight. The last thing her reputation among the locals needed was word of her being responsible for deaths.

"Our business ain't with either of you." The human said dismissively to both the beast folk and the human though he continued to eye Keagan warily. "It's with this elf traitor, so be on your way unless you want trouble."

Brialya had a feeling that this would end violently unless she intervened. She had a way to resolve this peacefully but... doing it with others around was a huge risk. She didn't know these people and had no reason to believe she could trust them. Still she really didn't want any bloodshed, so she would have to the risk. She looked up at the three men that were harassing her and suddenly her eyes changed to a dark blue color. The three men's eyes kind of glazed over and when they returned to normal they suddenly seemed very confused about what exactly was going on.

"Who...what?" The human said as if struggling to get his bearings. He looked around and saw an armed elf and a very large beast folk and decided he wasn't keen on sticking around.

"Come on," He said in a low voice to the equally confused beast folk on either side of him and before long the three of them were running off in a hurried fashion.

Brialya didn't risk looking at either of the two men who had approached them, she preferred to pretend like she hadn't seen them at all and continued on her way towards the impoverished family she had planned to help. The parents looked somewhat wary of her but the children seemed eager as she offered them the food.

"Thank you," Their mother said gratefully as she took the food.

Brialya merely nodded in response.

"Faenar's mercy upon you."

Quentin
Quentin thought on his military commander's words as he sat alone in his office. His mind immediately went to Chryssa who he had grown closer with over these two weeks despite the extremely busy nature of his new job. He briefly thought of sending a messenger to her but decided that it would be best if he spoke to her in person. He made his way through his keep trying to ignore all the people who were bowing their heads or in some cases dropping to their knees as he passed them. They were treating him as if he was some kind of god while in reality so far he had gotten lucky twice and that was largely the only reason he was alive. Still, he had been pushed by fate into this role and so he needed to try to live up to these impossible standards. He made his way down to the courtyard of the keep and briefly watched a wave of recruits struggling to master some basics techniques of sword fighting. Instead of exiting through the main entrance which would assure he was mobbed by onlookers, he went through the side gate of the keep which was only a short walk from the road leading to Rilas. He managed to enter the city without much fuss, however once he approached the city's markets he noticed a crowd forming at the center. A man wearing red robes, indicating he was a priest of Shotarr, was standing on steps above the crowd and shouting down to them.

"My brothers and sisters! See before you the snakes that have infested your garden! The so called Hammer of Eboris claims to fight demons on your behalf, but what are they doing really? They illegally seize a fortress, harass and coerce your merchants into aiding their cause, and welcome into their ranks beasts and mercenaries of all kinds! Their so called "leader", this Wolf Knight betrays our order and thinks himself a god among men. So I ask, what will you do about it? Will you fight? Will you rise up and throw out these false prophets? In the name of Shotarr I demand you act!"

When he finished speaking the crowd grew louder, some supporting the words and others shouting them down. Arguments began to break out and Quentin started to worry a riot might soon break out. He considered intervening himself but that would likely just push the crowd over the edge. For now he simply tried to blend in through the crowd and hoped no one would notice him.

Wolf's Den
As the bell rang loudly, many eyes shot up to the bell tower where the sound was coming from. The number of rings didn't signal anything specific and so onlookers were very confused. However Commander Justina soon stepped into the courtyard and glared at the onlookers. "What are you all standing around for? You think the demons are going to wait around because you've heard a noise?" She shouted at them and soon they scattered, no one daring to piss off Justina. She sent a messenger to the bell tower to tell whoever was responsible for the noise that she wanted to see them immediately.

Her attention soon turned however as a messenger was seen riding hard into the keep. The gates opened and he dismounted in the courtyard where once again onlookers were gathering. He unfurled a message, one which he had clearly not read yet. His eyes widened when he did.

"Two days ago, General Roland Kainz of the Tashar royal army was defeated in battle by a demon horde. His troops were massacred and the general himself did not survive. The demons are now besieging the city of Drakewood, the outlook is grim..."

The crowd audibly gasped, some started crying or shouting and soon there was a near uproar, so much so that the messenger was unable to finish reading the message.

"SHUT UP!" Shouted Justina, silencing them once more. "Did you think this would be some fairy-tale adventure? This is war, and war you take losses. There is no room for despair here. We are called by the highest power...destiny. The gods have not abandoned us, which means I will not tolerate anyone else who dares try the same." She then turned to the messenger. "You, come with me."

The young man nodded nervously and followed her into a nearby door that led to a supply room.

"What are we..." He started before he was suddenly lifted by his collar off his feet.

"Are you mad? You read that letter in front of a crowd of people? You think that's what they needed to hear right now? You should have handed that letter to me, not read it out loud you simpleton!" She shouted, tossing him to the ground.

"Now leave the letter and get out of here." She told him with disgust and he quickly did as he was told.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Chrysanthea Blackwood - Two Weeks Ago

---

Chryssa could only raise an eyebrow at the white-haired knight as she went off on her, asking with bitter sarcasm if it would've been better for the woman to have sustained grievous injury before seeking the aid of the Chosen - and in that moment the redhead had to bite back the urge to say yes. Her tone had been merely curious, in no way aggressive or challenging, and yet she had chosen to go and act like that.

Hearing the woman justify herself, the Sartharian simply rolled her eyes under the helmet and extended an arm towards the woods, where the rest of the Chosen had gathered. "Well don't let me stop you, Your Majesty. Perhaps you'll even find one that can put up with your temper." She remarked.

---

Chrysanthea Blackwood - Wolf's Den

---

The Black Butterfly had not been quiet since her arrival to the Wolf's Den. Though in no way comfortable within the walls of a fortress that belonged to the Knights of Shotarr - even if it brought her some relief to know that they were all under the command of Sir Quentin, whom she had been led to believe was better than his peers - Chryssa instead found herself right at home with the RIlan chapter of the Repentant. With her brothers and sisters clad in black she found herself at ease, and as the Black Butterfly, she had the trust of her Holy Order. Thus, it didn't take much effort to convince her fellow followers of Datune about the existence and urgency of their quest, and many opted to join. At the same time, she sent off several letters to other chapters, including the one in Archea, near her hometown of Ramnos. She knew that the Repentant wouldn't necessarily agree with serving under a commander of the Knights of Shotarr or living in their fortress, but even so, they needed all the help they could get.

Of course, unlike some of the other military-oriented Holy Orders in the service of the Pantheon, the Repentant weren't focused on attaining glory through combat, but rather in serving Datune and atoning for any previous sins. Thus, while the Hammer of Eboris remained stationed at the Wolf's Den, the Repentant had been hard at work gathering food, blankets and medicine, and handing them out to the refugees just outside the Wolf's Den. It was hard work, and not everyone appreciated the Repentant due to the stigmas often associated with them, but Chryssa and the others weren't in it for the renown, and many of the refugee families were quite thankful for the aid provided.

That day, Chryssa was hard at work doing exactly that, getting food for the hungry families outside the keep's walls. They had been quite successful in getting funds from the better off inhabitants of Rilas, and were currently at the marketplace about to grab supplies for the refugees, when she and two other atoning knights accompanying her found themselves witnessing the tirade of the red-clad priest of Shotarr. Hearing his drivel, which was nothing but lies and slander, made her scowl and glare at him, but she did nothing.

Seemingly having less self-control than his peer, one of the other two Repentant knights took a step towards the man, but Chryssa's hand stopped him in his tracks. "Ignore him, he's not someone you can talk sense into. We're better off keeping to ourselves." She said, and they continued on their way. Before reaching the food stalls however, she saw a familiar face in the crowd, trying to make his way away from the preacher. Turning back to her fellow Repentant, she spoke again. "Can you two keep going? I will catch up with you when I'm able." She said.

Once she got a positive reply, she made her way through the crowds towards Quentin, taking her helmet off before reaching him and tapping him on the shoulder once she was behind him. "If it isn't the wolf himself. Come to mingle among your mortal followers?" She joked.

---

Saelaam of Trelia - Wolf's Den

---

For the winged Chosen, the past two weeks had been hectic to say the least. The other priests and priestesses of Oadot had implicitly accepted his leadership, both due to the years he had spent in the service of the Goddess and on account of his feat at the battle of the ancient temple - thus, upon arriving at the Wolf's Den adjacent to the city of Rilas, the Paragon of Trelia sent his comrades back to their respective sanctuaries in order to request the support of other Chosen from around Dascus and Tashar, and he himself went to the sanctuary of Rilas to request their aid. In the following days, several holy men and women arrived from various parts of Eboris to join the cause, and together, the Chosen set to work on establishing a working medical wing on the fortress and offering their services to the people of Rilas and the refugees that arrived to the Wolf's Den with each passing day.

The consequences were a mixed bag for the young man. On the one hand, he was very grateful for all the support he had gotten from the local sanctuaries, and as the sanctuary at Trelia was one of the first to answer the call, he was happy to find himself among familiar faces once more. At the same time, it was clear that the other Chosen now looked up to him as a leader and example and he couldn't suppress some measure of pride at being one of the driving forces behind this campaign, albeit he never dared forgot what it had cost to get here, and why they were all working together - to save Eboris from the demonic threat that loomed over all of its people. It kept him focused on his duties instead of his laurels.

At the same time, the renown he suddenly had led to some... less than desired consequences. He appreciated how readily his fellow Chosen assisted him, but at the same time many of them, especially the ones that had just arrived from distant sanctuaries - with the exception of the Trelian sanctuary, whose people had known him for years - had a tendency to give him far too much attention, asking him to regale them with the tale of how he had closed the portal and singing him praises over his heroic deed. It was too much for him to be comfortable with, and worse yet was the fact that not only some of the Chosen participated in it, but also some of the newer recruits of the Hammer of Eboris, as well as the refugees and the people of Rilas.

Searching for some peace and quiet on that particular day, Saelaam worked hard to throw a particularly eager sycophant off his trail and then ducked into the small chapel that was built into Quentin's keep. He saw a few people already there, but thankfully they were relatively focused on their prayer and meditation and failed to take note of the winged priest that walked into the temple. He moved towards the statue of Oadot, a white owl standing on a crescent moon, and noticed with some dismay that no one seemed to be praying to her at the moment. Did they not want her protection?

Reaching the statue, the young man knelt and closed his eyes, joining his hands together in prayer.

[Tomia]

Quentin
Quentin turned when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. For an instance he worried he may have been spotted by one of the angry crowd members. He was relieved however when he saw a friendly face who was in fact the person he had been looking for this whole time. He grinned at her comment. From anyone else it might have been annoying, but he enjoyed the way Chyrssa checked against the veneration he was constantly receiving.

"Well, it doesn't seem I have as many fans as I thought around these parts." He told her cheekily. "Actually I came down here, trying to find you. A friend saw I was a bit overworked and so gave me a bottle of wine and well... I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a drink?" He found himself not that sure how she'd respond, but still he felt it worth asking. She didn't like his order but he liked to think they had become friends over the two weeks they had gotten closer.

Yasema
Yasema noticed a beastfolk enter into the temple, looking somewhat distressed as he knelt down before Oadot's statue. She prayed for a few more minutes before getting up and approaching the young man. "Hello there, you seem like you could use the company." She said to him quietly. "I've seen you around. Healer is a noble profession. I didn't used to think much of them I'll admit, but Sualdir's wisdom has taught me much. It seems though that you are becoming a bit of a icon around here no?" She asked, raising an eyebrow slightly as she referenced the people who had been following Sael around.

[North Timeria]

Aymeri was a bit shocked at how the situation played out and didn’t really know what to think. The girl seemed to be okay and uninterested so he decided to leave it alone. He spoke to one of the kids that lived nearby.

“Who’s that?” he asked pointing over at Brialya.

“I’m not really sure but she also brings us food as you do. She’s also really pretty.” the boy replied. Aymeri nodded and headed off to check on his letter.

He had finally received replies from Halsha, although he had only sent 2 letters he had received 3 in return. One was heavier than the others and as he exclaimed it he noticed it was from Ariana. He sat down outside and sipped his wine as he read the letter. Inside was a necklace and a small gem that was used to create the necklace. He had managed to get through all of them and decided that he would write back tomorrow. The wine had started to kick in and Aymeri felt he had done enough for the day.

As he prepared to rest for a while he noticed some posters a runesmith had posted. Aymeri wielded his bow and looked it over. He started to laugh at himself for still carrying the bow. He was now facing a demon horde and still had the same bow his brother had gifted him in Halsha. He made his way over to the runesmithing grounds with his bow in hand.


“Syn of Ashar? I saw some posters around and was wondering if I could do something about this old bow?” Aymeri placed the bow in front of him and scratched his head.

“I’m Aymeri Nerena from Halsha.” he extended his hand and tried to look courtly.

“I wanted to see about upgrading my bow or just replacing it. I don’t think this one was built for demon hordes.” Aymeri placed the gemstone from Ariana beside the bow.

“I wanted something that could be fired from horseback but can also be accurate from a great distance… Also this stone, it’s very important to me and I wanted to know if you could incorporate it into the bow?”

[Awesomeland012345]

Tarkin

BONG! Was that the sound of his head whacking against the ground? BONG! BONG! No, his head had only hit the ground once, and that was more than once. Tarkin was facedown in the ground, having run into something at full speed. Speaking of which, a strong hand suddenly picked him up by the collar. He had smacked into a large, burly, ugly looking man, whom he was now face-to-face with. Spitting into Tarkin's face, the man screamed,

"You idiot! I ought to bust your face open. I'll make you scream! I'll - YAUUUGH!" The man's uproar was suddenly cut short by his yelp. Steam was rising off his finger where he had held the other man captive. His fall would have broken quite a few some potion bottles... including some filled with acid! Tarkin hastily scrambled back and dove into a conveniently located stream. He didn't want to toss his coat to the ground, as more bottles would've broken and he would've lost them. Hopefully the stream would wash away the acid or dilute it enough so that it wouldn't eat his face away.

In a stroke of luck, the man who had grabbed Tarkin had tripped his pursuers, who now seemed a bit frightened at the acid that had covered the man's finger. They seemed unsure whether to still chase after their adversary. They didn't want that to happen to themselves, the guards decided. But their master demanded that they did or he'd have them fired. Now, as the bodyguards chased Tarkin, they were wary in their approach.

Now that he had a head start, he was able to blend in with the crowd more easily, not that it was. He was still dripping water from his clothes from his expedition into the river. After mingling with the crowd for around half an hour, he became more confident that no one would follow him. And another plus was that his clothes were almost completely dried off.

Tarkin sighed. Hopefully nothing else would happen today...

[Absolon-7]

Rudolph Thorbecke

---

Two weeks after the second battle with the demons, if you could even call the first massacre a battle, Rudolph found himself in the town of Rilas that supported Quentin's fortress. He avoided a large crowd at the markets which irritated him from his goal. He had ordered a shipment of the ingredients necessary for his smoke bombs among several different merchants in the city. He had left his armor back in his room at the fortress but that however meant his facial scars were plain to see. It might draw some attention but not the kind a full suit of armor would which suited him just fine. If he turned a corner and looked up at shop signs to look for the place he visited two weeks ago. The shopkeeper said he'd have the ingredient by now so hopefully he wouldn't come back empty handed.

A sharp caw from above prompted his attention to see his crow circling above. The crow appeared to be chasing after some dragonfly but its journey for food was finally ended when it crashed into the branches of a nearby tree...that happened to be the only decorative tree on the street. It had spooked him a little but he sighed in annoyance. Nightshade Crows among the Slayers were known to be quite eccentric but he sometimes wondered if his had fallen out its nest before it even hatched.

"Dumb bird," he sighed scratching his head.

[Segral]

Claire Dione

Claire eyed the goliath with a mixture of curiosity and growing irritation as she stepped forth from the crowd, equipped with nothing but hammer and cheeky word. The woman far eclipsed Claire in stature, which was both a curse and a blessing in and of itself. Curse, because it would be a great challenge to strike her high in the torso and face, and an even greater challenge to disarm that thick, crude tool from her hands. Blessing, because those who were large were often equally clumsy and heavy-footed, and it would likely be little of a challenge to bring her arrogant foe down to her knees. An actual fight, she said. If she so desperately lusted and yearned for an actual fight, then she would receive one! Who was she to claim that Claire was a coward, afraid of an "actual" fight. Her fingers five times over couldn't count the number of men and women she had slain in battle, most before they had even mustered so much as an attempt to draw their blades. Who was this woman to stride up to her from the masses and claim that Claire was afraid to fight a sloppy, untrained vagabond. She was a Zhorian warrior, she had slaughtered dozens of goliaths as her ancestors before her had slaughtered them in the Antoran War against the Horde.

The sheer indignation that Claire felt was enough to make her lips twitch slightly before forcefully curving up into something resembling a smile, one that felt pasted with courtesy atop her face as she peeled her boot away from her older foe's face. The man groaned with relief as he was finally able to lift his head and shoulders free of the sea of sandy pitch around him, but immediately cowered at the sight of her face glowering above him, practically curling up into the shell of his back like a skin-bagged, filthy sea turtle. Sighing, she flicked her hand dismissively to the side, looking away as she spoke. "Get gone from here now," she ordered, giving the man a beady, snake-poisoned side eye to ensure that her commands were obeyed. "If you move quickly, I won't have to cut your pump short before you sire your first son. Now scram!"

The fool did as he was told, half-crawling, half sprinting away into the nearby crowd, which had quickly grown in mass and volume around the two women. Perhaps the new recruits had grown tired of feebly whacking blunt sticks into one another, and had decided to look towards two actual combatants to learn how to sharpen their logs. Despite some loud commotions yonder in the courtyard that were beyond Claire's depth of ear, the throng of hired blades and trainees remained modest and sizable enough, likely spurred by the desire to flee whatever wrath was brewing within the front courtyard. The training ground's position far past the right wall left it a safe haven for warriors and combatants of every creed, whether they preyed to Shotarr, to Magicka, to the Thalai, to any else. The only requirement was to be skilled, courageous, and fully committed to the cause. These men and women were fully committed to the cause, and perhaps some were somewhat courageous, but few, if any at all, held skill, held raw technique. Perhaps this duel would help impart some of it.

Claire nodded at the goliath woman, who had introduced herself to be one Ylva Pathmaykr, as she stepped forward, tilting her head up further and further to face her. "Claire Dione. The pleasure is rivaled." she replied, refusing to break eye contact as she strode forwards. "And of course, I take you up on your challenge. It would be a great act of rudeness not t-" she started, only to be rudely cut off by the heavy, clanging sound from up above, which Claire's ears recognized to be the sound of the brass bell atop the fortress' tower. She had adhered by those bells for multiple weeks, their unique messages and specific codes had immediately been taught to every body to enter the fortress, whether they were human, elf, Thalari, or another body entirely. Turning to look behind her and shielding her eyes with one hand, she squinted to focus on the roof of the fortress, where the vague outline of the large brass bell swinging back and forth could be seen. It had clanged once...twice...thrice...four...and five times over. Five? Five rings had no message, what in Qoit's name did five rings mean?! The looks of confusion and mutters cast in the same direction confirmed that every spectator was in equal confusion at the sound and sight. Perhaps it was an error that would earn a post whipping at the hands of Commander Dewell, perhaps it was a simple test to confirm that the bell was still in proper working order. In either chance, she would not allow it to ruin her public spar. Their eyes would peel away from the clanging bell in due time, and would soon focus upon the clanging sounded by the clashing of the two warriors' weapons.

The sparring fields were marked etched, chalk-edged white circles in the ground, wide and broad in diameter. The space was more than satisfactory for even Ylva's massive frame, with spacious room for both combatants to step back, sidestep, step forward, dodge any potential blow, and do even more beyond that. The two women were in the center of said circle when Claire extended her hand forward with a loud clearing of her throat towards the goliath, standing just behind the thin white line slicing the arena into rough halves. "As I was saying before that diversion took place, I accept your duel. I believe in combat with no rules; any form of fighting, under or overhand, is allowed. The first to collapse or surrender is the loser. Do you agree?" she asked, waiting for Ylva to take the shake. If Ylva agreed to Claire's conditions, then she would step back several feet to the middle of her half, draw her weapon, and fall into combat stance, as was customary. Her skin was practically afire with excitement, her hand twitching along the length of her pike's shaft with a peculiar itch that could only be scratched by victory's claws. Her enthusiasm only grew as more and more onlookers began to focus their attention back on the spar, focus their attention on her potential victory. This was her chance to reclaim a piece of her honor, establish her presence among the soldiers, and finally prove the Fates wrong. They insisted on yanking her by cosmic threads to the chasmic canyon of loss every time, but not this time, no, not this time. She would win this battle, even if it meant losing her spines, her tassels, and her mane in the process.

---

Krook Tolasthes

It was even worse than he had believed! By the time the throbbing pain in Krook's head had ebbed back enough for him to pull himself up off the ground, a messenger had burst onto the roof, claiming that none other than Commander Justina Dewell had requested to see him. No, not just see him, see him "immediately"! Nobody ever asked to "immediately" see him, unless he had made a big, big mistake, like when he had accidentally shot that poor goat in the neck while attempting to defend Old Man Xeno's ranch from those damn goliath poachers. After Krook had gone back to the Forester's Hutch to bawl his eyes out and pray for the slain goat's spirit, as well as for his own forgiveness from the Thalai, he had been asked to see the Great Swamp's warden immediately, and had been given a stern warning concerning recklessness with his bow, and how he could be damaging the natural environment with his careless behavior. While that had been the first animal that had died to his bow, many more had injured their legs and behinds as a result of both his foolishness and the foolishness, and the local ranchers and farmers were growing displeased with the Forester's ability to protect the lands. If his archery skills did not improve, then it was possible that he would be demoted in rank, or stripped of his Forester title altogether, forced to surrender his amulet, collect his belongings from the hutch, and leave the building before the day was done. Would Commander Justina give him a stern warning? Would she demote him? Strip him of his rank as a member of the Hammer of Eboris?! Or would he be given a punishment for his actions? Public humiliation? A whipping at the post? Death?! Possibly signalling an invasion was a very serious matter, who knew what demons lurked beyond the fortress' gates. He could be responsible for the deaths of several soldiers, all because he had rung the bell with his big, stupid head. And now, they might cut off his big, stupid head, or hang, draw, and quarter him, or burn him at the post, or...or...

The thoughts of what his fate would be continued to make his stomach churn and his knees tremble as he walked through the near-empty halls of the Fortress, barely even noticing enough to duck as the back of his head dragged along some of the high, ornate ceilings. He didn't want to die quite yet. He was only 24 summers old, and had a big, growing family at home. If he was executed today, his wife would have no spouse, and his child no father! He had his forests at home to protect, he had his father's final manuscript to finish, he couldn't just die in this fortress. If Commander Justina showed signs of wanting to cut off his big, stupid head, he would have to figure out a way to either appease her, or squirm his way out of it. Unfortunately, lying had never been an art that Krook had been particularly talented in. Keagan had been much better at trickery, always managing to tease and whine his way past a shopkeeper to earn some extra treats, or shift the blame onto Krook whenever the two had ventured somewhere where they weren't supposed to. He wasn't a vengeful person, especially not over harmless jokes such as those, but he had always been envious of his brother for the way he had slipped so easily in and out of the murky waters of truth. But Keagan was almost as good of a swimmer, perhaps he could be almost as good at lying.

A noise erupted beside him, disrupting his thoughts and causing him to jump slightly as he whirled his head to the side. All he could see was a door being flung open viciously enough to make Krook wince, and a small, scrawny squishy scampering out from the space behind it, the look on his face one of pure, unbridled fear. What in heavens could be brewing in there? A chained-up monster, perhaps? A dungeon full of prisoners? If chaos was about to burst free within these halls, than it was his responsibility to help quash it, finish what the other man was clearly too afraid to do. Sure, if whatever was inside the room or hall was frightening enough to send that poor man into a state of quivering shock as if poisoned by a golden toad, it was likely incredibly frightening indeed, which made Krook shiver as he took slow, hesitant steps towards the short door-frame. He would have to face down his fears though. If Commander Justina learned of the fact that Krook had walked by a monster set loose without even bothering to examine the room, then she would most certainly cut his big, stupid head off. Conversely, if he was able to prevent trouble from taking place inside the fortress walls, then perhaps Commander Justina would be kinder to him, maybe even spare him from all punishment!

However, as he poked his head through the door's arch, he quickly realized the issue in his wondrous plan.

The monster was Commander Justina.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he was able to see that this was no dungeon or monster's keep, this was a supply closet, full of grain, wheat, dried fruit, and other rations for the army's barracks. In the middle of all of the grain, wheat, and dried fruit, standing right next to a big heap of flour bags, was Commander Justina, with a very important-looking letter in her hand. Krook froze at the sight, eyes bugging in shock as he let out a feeble, feline-like whimper that sounded vaguely like the word "Mum!". He could barely feel his own body by this point, and his head was going along with it, growing lighter by the second. No, he musn't panic. Keagan wouldn't panic, he would find some sly, cunning way to slither free from this wreck. All Krook had to do was follow what his brother would do, it was that simple.

With an effort that matched the legendary Gryphon King Antores', he swallowed down the wad in his throat, shakily clearing it and attempting to fix upon the Commander with the coolest, calmest eyes he could muster. "G-greetings, C-c-commander Justina of Dewell!" he said in a squeaky voice, doing his very best to prevent his words from cracking as he spoke. "I b-believe you s-summoned for me, yes? Concerning, the um, the incident with the bell tower?"

---

Keagan Tolasthes

How unbelievably rude. Had the adequate reward for decency and chivalry become frosty silence and utter ignorance? He personally gained nothing from putting his own body in danger for the safety of some surly, unoriginal elf, he had only done so to spare the poor onlooking children's eyes and keep the slightest sun-shaded inclination of decorum within this filthy, rat-infested, scum-pooled, crippled, bronzing effigy of a city. And yet, despite all of his efforts, alongside the snow-haired human that had also seen fit to intervene, he was given nothing but the iciest of shoulders, the most bitterly cold of stares. The audacity to look at him as if he was the one risking a conflict in the streets, when her blue-skinned neck had been the one attracting attention from every bloke of the first type within spitting distance. Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful!

Still, he could not pretend as if the woman did not interest him, with her haughtiness, her supposed generosity towards the poor, and the bow strapped to her back, indicating that she was a warrior of sorts. But not a hired blade of the first type. Archery was a valuable skill, one that every army was in desperate need of. If the bow was for battle, and not for sport or intimidation, then she would most likely belong to the Hammer of Eboris itself. In addition to being a member of the soon-to-be fabled Hammer of Eboris, there was a strong possibility that she was a member of Faenar's Faithful. A few paces in her direction, and she was able to pick her greetings on the wind. "Faenar's mercy upon you." They were a curious order, little more than a band of idealistic rebels convinced that they were the savior children destined to save Eboris from cruelty and destruction, which was oftentimes anything that their members individually held contempt for. Although, in their defense, every single member of a faction considered themselves and their beliefs to be inherently superior in some way. Otherwise, they would not join a faction at all. Keagan had no preference for any particular faction, but he was partial to those that advanced the interests of business in some way. He still held affinity for the Faithful despite the atrocities they had subjected him to in Argrand. They were unscrupulous people, unafraid of using poison, stimulant, or any other alchemy-secreted mixture to achieve their goals, and more than willing to extend or pay back a favor. Perhaps a simple transaction from this woman would be just the key to reaching an audience within the Wolf Den's guarded gates of claw. She buys a poison from him, coats the tips of her arrows with it, and uses it to slay a foe. Pleased with the poison's effects, she comes back to him for another purchase, and another, and another. Eventually, a fellow archer asks about the liquid she laces her tips with, or she mentions his services to a close companion. Now he had two customers, and soon, that would be four, and eight, and sixteen, and more! It was a simple, plodding, tedious method, but one that worked exceptionally well, and one that Keagan had tested dozens of times over.

However, this woman presented her own downsides. If her haughty, cold air had spoken for anything, it had spoken for the fact that she would be unwilling to listen to any business proposal that Keagan can or would make. She would much rather bring down the noble establishments and restore freedom to the common person than partake in the dealings of a merchant, whom she most likely believed to be an oppressor of the people that she so graciously donated her purchased food to. If he pursued her, he would end up with a cold blade to his neck, which was surely not what he desired. No, if he wanted to enter the Hammer of Eboris, he would have to find another way, a more...open-minded way.

And soon, he had found that open mind.

Some ways down the market's road, he could see a vast commotion growing. A few long strides forward, and his gracious stature was able to poke out atop the crowds high enough to lay eyes upon the source. Another Priest of Shotarr, wheedling and whining on the dangers and snakes of the Hammer, and imploring the gullible worshipers to "rise up", which usually meant a few temporary riots and acts of bloodshed before the Priest was thrown in prison and the townsfolk decided that they needed the market to be intact in order to feed their families. Admittedly, today's attempt at revolutionary fire seemed to be a hotter blaze than usual, but still, the red-robed man, his followers, and his critics failed to intrigue him.

What did intrigue him was the presence of a lost face within the crowd, standing just down to his left. His long hair and clothes were only slightly damp, but they were thick with the musty smell of water. Not just any water though. The hints of mud and plant that his nose could detect were reminiscent of the wide river that ran near the town's outskirts, where water for washing, cooking, and drinking was often drawn and children flocked to dive in when the days were hot and waters were cool. This man had clearly not gone for a swim though; the mud and scuffs on his breeches, and the cracked spout of a bottle danging haphazardly from the pocket of his coat confirmed that he had likely been chased or hounded, and was forced to fight his way out of it. He had seen those telltale signs on his men before. He had seen those telltale signs on himself before.

But what interested Keagan most was not the man's peril, but his occupation. As he tilted his eyes to the side, he could see many more bottles and vials hidden within the man's deep pockets, some containing fluids of various colors and shines, practically reflecting to form a glimmer in his own eyes. The man was a potionmaker, an alchemist, just like Keagan. And even better, a desperate alchemist, one who would be desperate for any chance at rallying against his attackers and being seen as a great warrior among his fellow comrades. He knew of every other alchemist in this goddamn market, and this man was not one of them. If he was an alchemist, he was not a mercenary or refugee either. He was another member of the Hammer, but clearly a bottom-tier, inferior one, likely dragged along from the initial attack at the border. Perhaps Keagan could help him reverse that fate.

The Thalari sidled up alongside the man, clasping a friendly hand on his shoulder as he spoke. "It's a shame that these crowds create so much fuss and noise," he said, grinning slightly at the shorter man. "Every week, I stroll through this market searching for conversation and socialization, and there's yet another riot, another uproar. It's truly a tragedy." he said with a slight sigh, shaking his head as a frown briefly flashed across his features, before bobbing back up with the same toothy grin.

"Although, we both appear to be equally lost in this crowd." he continued, dropping the hand from the man's shoulder and extending it out for a shake. "Perhaps we should make the most of it. The name is Keagan Tolasthes. Yours?"

[Auropa]

Claire Dione

Ylva Pathmaykr
Wolf’s den - duel

As the two fighters sized each other up, Ylva felt a pang of caution pass through her. She was a rather large individual and was well aware of her effect on people. Usually when she was about to start or enter a fight, others tended to regard her with fear, anger, some level of hesitation or just plain and simple fool hardy excitement. Rare was it that one would remain fully focused, paired with the pile of wounded soldiers her opponent had left behind her, Ylva didn’t doubt that she was dealing with a seasoned fighter. ‘Oh this’ll be fun’ she decided as she brandished her hammer, got ready to start, then just as things were about to kick off the thundering ringing of the town bell bore past them and interrupted the moment.

“Huh… Think that mean some big shot’s food is ready?” Ylva joked as the bell went off for the 5th time and her concerns for them being in danger fell away. Most likely it was a bunch of kids messing around where they shouldn’t but whatever the cause, she figured it wasn’t her problem to worry over.

It was then that the small Thalari, grabbed her attention and spoke back to her, accepting the challenge, laying out the rules ‘or lack there of’, before offering her hand. Not exactly being the type to backdown, Ylva stepped forward and clasped Claire’s extended hand. When the Thalari moved back and got into some sort of stance, she followed suite, returning to her half then taking a simple stance of her own as she took one last read on her opponent. Beyond everything else, she seemed determined, almost worryingly so.

’Alright then, let’s see who you are’ Ylva thought to herself before moving forward.

Her approach was steady, almost casual and seemingly full of openings. She wanted to see how her opponent would react, would she try to rush forward? Wait for her to close in? Strike from range? For now all Ylva had about her opponent was questions but she knew where the answers were and she knew exactly how to pry them out. As she took one more step closer and her foe just barely came into reach, her weight shifted and the hammer flung outwards in a sideways arc towards Claire. She didn’t expect the blow to hit so much as push the woman on the defensive, when the hammer neared the end of its arc though, it twisted around in her hands in a sudden blur of movement and before a moment could pass Ylva was surging forward trying to drive the hard-wood handle into her foe.

---

Syn of Ashar

Aymeri

Gwen Sirrade
Wolf’s den

Finding herself without any real goal or purpose to guide her, Gwen ended up wandering around the town in search of some way to be useful. When none appeared, she found herself in the rare situation of having nothing to do and no-one but herself to keep her company. Not entirely sure what do with her time, her mind eventually wandered off to her home and how her father would be holding up. It wasn't an uncommon thought but it was definitely an unwanted one. She hadn’t so much as spoken to him since being removed from her position with the knights and couldn’t bear the idea of going back to him without reclaiming her titles first. Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she was worried for him. Despite his age, he was still a fighter at heart and as much as she wanted to believe he’d be smart and keep his head down, she figured he was probably leading forces in some fool hardy counter attack or defence against the newborn demon hordes. Breathing out a somewhat conflicted sigh, Gwen felt a small smile form across her lips ‘I guess this is how he feels’ she thought to herself as she remembered the countless lectures and warnings he would give her in his futile attempts to keep her indoors and away from danger. Lingering on that thought for a while she thought back to the last fight and just how close she had come to being separated and outflanked. As undeniably skilled and incredibly talented as she was, her equipment and companions were letting her down. Not yet in a position of leadership, there was little she could do in terms of personal but as for her equipment. Looking down at her somewhat basic rapier and worn armour Gwen did her best not to scoff at how far they had fallen. She had done her best to maintain them across her travels but it was far from her specialty and even at their peak, they were junk in comparison to her arsenal with the knights. As well as having some of the finest blacksmiths at their disposal, they had dozens of enchanters at the ready to prepare and enhance their equipment against all kinds of danger they might face.

‘Enchanters’

That was it! She thought to herself as she stopped in her tracks. She knew an enchanter! ‘Hym! or was it Myn? something along those lines.’ He wasn’t that good with people and seemed more than a little full of himself, but the man seemed to know his trade and if her memory was correct then he had been out and about advertising his services. After a few minutes of searching and asking around, Gwen eventually found the details she needed and went off towards lower levels.

“Greetings rune smith. I’m going to need some mana channels for the rapier, ones that can absorb and transfer quick, high intensity bursts of magika without damaging the blade. Some strengthening on the armour would also be ideal but only if you can properly seal the runes or have a way to ensure its effects won’t interfere with standard offensive casting spells. Other than that I don’t suppose you offer anything in the way of magika amplification or…” She began to say before noticing a young, similarly ashen haired soldier of some sort already in discussion with the enchanter.

“Oh. Pardon the interruption, I was unaware there was anyone else here.” She said with a short bow of the head. “I am Gwendolyn Sirrade of Dascus, knight of the hammer.” She added somewhat formally. “I suppose you must be after the enchanter’s services too then. Well, don’t let his attitude or poise dissuade you. He is competent in his trade and has even managed to become a successful golem-smith” She went on to say giving even a slight nod towards Syn. After all, there was no harm in giving complements to those that had earned them and gaining the favour of an enchanter was never a bad idea she thought to herself, sure in the fact that despite what she had just said, she had in fact given the man a compliment.

[Galnius]

Tenna, first camp

Whether the runesmith thought Tenna deaf or stupid meant very little to her. However, the fact that he had the genius idea to gesture and say to the large golem to lift her up was perhaps not the brightest move. She rolled out of the way, avoiding the grasp. However, she lost her page. In fairness, she couldn't understand a word of it regardless. She wanted to ask but...it's not like Syn would understand.

Unless....Tenna continued avoiding the golem and moved over to Syn, placing his book in his hands while brandishing a knife of her own in a defensive position. For a moment his blade intrigued her, but now was not the time. She would have to look at it more closely sometime later. Now all he had to do was call the thing off, or she would make sure it grabbed them both.

---

Tenna, The Wolf's Den

Much like with Quentin days before, the dwarf immediately called out the signing as thieves' cant. And, much like the warrior, he attributed it to the street crawlers. It was a pain, but Tenna simply recited her rehearsed defense.

With a simple shake of her head, she dug through her pockets with one hand for her 'proof of employment' to a rich house. In her other, she replied with sign.

No, not a theif. It's the only way I can talk. I was told by the leader that a dwarf soils understand it, to make it easier to communicate. I take it that is you?

[Finland SSR]

Tenna, first camp

Syn of Ashar

---

Faced with a golem lumbering her way, Tenna tried to pull a trick - stop right next to Syn, hand him over the book and hold a knife defensively. Clearly, the elf wanted to have the contraption attack them both... which isn't how the programming of a runesmithed golem works, but whatever, let her have a little bit of fun and think that she's outsmarted the big bully Syn.

As soon as his notebook was placed in his hands, Syn moved it behind his back just in case Tenna tried to snatch it back, while his face struck a smirk.

"So it's either calling it off or having it take us both, is it?" the runesmith commented, watching the mechanical contraption walk up towards them and reach out with his arm as he stood right next to Tenna. Even as the machine approached them in all of its towering mass, he did not waver one bit. "You act like I don't have trust in my creation. If I didn't, what could I trust?"

The Golem reached forward, its programming making sure to not touch Syn as it aimed to grab Tenna by the collar cloth and lift her to the air.

---

Aymeri

Gwen Sirrade
Wolf’s den

---

At the time when Aymeri and Gwendolyn both entered the runesmithing grounds, Syn was working in the heart of the chamber, hammering and shaping a large carcassus on the center of a steel table - even from the very first glance, it wasn't hard to tell that the construction was supposed to be a pair of metal wings. Thin sheaths of metal stuck out, resembling feathers somewhat, whereas the carcassus itself was already endowed with several runes. As soon as the two of his fellow members of the Hammer stepped in and called out to him, however, the runesmith dropped his work and turned around.

"Nice to meet you," Syn answered and accepted Aymeri's hand - hopefully, the stains of iron dust on the runesmith's hand dirtying his peer's would not bother the bowman too much. Not that Syn wanted to pointed it out. Gwendolyn offered no hand, so she received none from the runesmith either - instead, Syn simply listened to her request with one ear while carefully picking up the bow placed before him.

"And since this is Lady Gwendolyn herself saying so, you know that you can trust my services," he commented as soon as the knight finished, having mindlessly complimented Syn's expertise despite their... rocky first time meeting one another.

"I have not worked with bows that much, but that is no issue," he then continued, speaking to Aymeri as he inspected the bow more closely, then picked up the gem which he offered. "Inserting the stone might be a little awkward, however, if I'm not allowed to splice it. Would you like it be a crossbow instead? Then I can safely just merge the stone into the main frame."

As for Gwendolyn...

"Aye, what have we got here?" one of the dwarven smiths who worked in the same grounds called out as he approached the knight, a large hammer resting on his shoulder, and offered his hand to pick up her rapier for inspection. "Ya wanna blast 'em demons with yer sword, I hear. That ain't no biggie, I can go fix it up in a few hours if ya need it."

Syn turned from Aymeri to Gwendolyn, recalling that she requested armor improvements alongside the blade. "Don't underestimate what the team here can do to outfit you for battle. Buut I will need you to undress."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Quentin Raeden & Chrysanthea Blackwood - Campsite, Two Weeks Ago

Quentin was sitting outside his tent by a make shift fire when he noticed someone approaching. It was the knight from before, but this time her face was no longer covered by her helmet. She had fiery red hair and Quentin had to admit she was very beautiful. He forced himself to avert his eyes to avoid staring impolitely but nodded to her as she approached. "Hello there again, funny to see you around this part of the camp." He said playfully as he poked his fire aimlessly with a stick.

"Oh? Does the Knight Commander not want others to infringe upon his private quarters?" Chryssa replied in the same playful tone as she approached, coming to a stop next to the fire and looking at Quentin. "I had no idea poking fire was part of the holy duties of a Knight of Shotarr." She quipped. "May I sit here?"

Quentin gave a wolfish smile at Chryssa's reply. She was sharp that was for sure. "Well we seem to be finding demons everywhere these days so I wanted to make sure they weren't hiding among my logs." He joked to her before nodding at her request to sit and gesturing to a nearby log. "Of course, sit." He told her and once she did he spoke again. "So is there something on your mind or did you just come to inspect my tent building skills?"

"Your tent building skills are not under scrutiny today, but I do have business with you, Sir Quentin." The fiery-haired knight spoke as she sat acrosss the fire from him. "I won't waste more of your time, I wanted to apologize for my curt behavior during our previous conversation. Regardless of what my conception of your holy order might be, it was not right for me to be so dismissive towards you because of it. Especially now, with demons crawling out of the ground."

After a brief pause, she spoke again, in a lighter tone. "In my defense however, none of that would have happened if you had started by saying you were a friend of the Dulen Varcan. Shame on you."

Quentin raised an eyebrow at her apology. He hadn't really thought she had anything to apologize for really. He was certainly aware of his order's reputation among some and unfortunately it wasn't unearned in many ways.

He chuckled however at her mention of Dulen. "Ah so you found Dulen, I'm not surprised he couldn't help but mention we knew each other. So a fan of literature are you? I didn't take you for a romantic my lady." He said smiling at her.

"There are many things you don't know about me, sir. A few minutes ago you didn't know I was a redhead." Chryssa quipped before turning from Quentin to the fire below. "I quite enjoyed reading in my previous life, and Dulen is an author of renown. Is it strange that I know of him?"

"No it's not strange, but knowing and appreciating are quite different. Regardless, I understand the appeal." He then paused for a moment before asking a question. "You mentioned your past life. I know for you repentant that's a common concept, but I can't but be a bit unnerved by it. What's it like, completely starting over?" He asked his tone a bit softer and more serious now.

The redhead didn't answer immediately, eyes fixed on the crackling fire. After a few minutes, she let out a sigh and her eyes flickered back to the Knight Commander for a moment before returning to the fire.

"I have the feeling that what you're imagining is quite different from what happened to me. Let me guess, you believe that a Repentant has a life of his own fully formed before hearing the call of Datune and leaving everything behind to serve the Gods. Is that so?"

"I always assumed it happened when a person couldn't stand their own reflection anymore honestly".

Chryssa laughed. "Another common conception." She stated. "But also far from my experience. You see, rather than leave my life behind to follow the path of Datune out of duty or regret... I began when there was not much of my life left." She looked up at Quentin' face. "Have you perhaps heard of the Blackwoods of Ramnos? Or perhaps, the Blackwoods of Theles?"

"I have actually yes, the house driven out of Dascus by Lucas the Lich King." Quentin said starting to put the pieces together in his mind. "I take it that is your family. I admit I don't know what happened to them after they were driven out."

"A lot of things, Quentin. A lot of things." The redhead replied. "I wasn't alive back then of course. When I was born, my family lived in Sarthares. For several years, things were good for me, but..." She trailed off, clearly struggling to continue speaking.

"It's okay, I don't need to know." Quentin told her softly. "Whatever you did in your past is your past. It's not my business and I wouldn't think less of you if you told me. You became a Repentant for a reason, that's between you and Dantune. That's good enough as far as I'm concerned."

Chryssa smiled faintly. "Thank you, knight. Hearing that makes the load on my shoulders feel lighter, however slightly." She said, leaning closer to him. "But just words are not enough." She spoke. Leaning closer and closer, she could feel Quentin's expectation as he too seemed to gravitate towards her.

Then finally her lips met Quentin's cheek in a soft kiss. "Good night, commander." She said before standing up and walking away, smiling softly to herself.