The Kepraini Rebellion [Gwalethia, IC]

[Tyrandia]

The delegation of the Fyrae'ii marched with a dazzling splendour and efficiency, their steeled armour glittering in the summer's sun, their feet beating a rhythmic and consistent beat, not a foot missing its timing, forming an unbroken *bang* as armoured feet struck the ground. At the head of the small band of 10 warriors rode Rho'O'Ne, Grand Silencer of the Heretical, a hero throughout the empire. Tales were often told at firesides of the way he crushed the serpent of heretical thought at every turn throughout the Empire, single-handedly defeating the beastman Ghar'zhul during the Beast Rebellion. While the armour of the rest of the delegation's was a polished and refined steel and largely lacked any signs of individualism, aside from a few Ribbons of Valour, Rho's own armour was decorated with the sigil of the Eternal Emperor in the centre of his breastplate, etched and filled with gold.

The delegation came to a halt infront of the Tyrandian officials, a resounding metallic stomp ringing out. Standing in front of the Tyrandians, Rho held the composure of expecting a bow from the Tyrandians, but he nodded his head before speaking;

"May the God-Emperor bless you, we have come with a single intention; to destroy the rebels that threaten this nation and to ensure a peace in the Southern lands" Rho said,

Note: this takes place after the Mokrani delegation's meeting with the Council

The Lodge
Stonecrusher stood beside the door of the lodge, still and stoic. On the opposite side of the door sat his comrade, Spearshatter, also a bovigor. In the corner, Pasekur was busy scribbling down the results of the meeting with the Council, to be returned to the Grand Temple. 'I wonder what the blessed Farseer will make of this', said the Messenger in his usual calm and collected tone of voice. 'You have any opinions, Stonecrusher? What about you, Spearshatter?'

The bovigor bodyguards stood unflinching. Finally, Stonecrusher opened his mouth to speak when they heard a knock on the door of the lodge. Spearshatter opened it to see the kaprogor attendant, Wildhorn. He brayed, 'Something of interest, faithful Messenger. The Fyrae'ii delegation is here. The faces, I do not know, but the one in front. Struts like an albatross. His armor is etched with gold, with the rune of their emperor at the center.

Spearshatter snorted loudly at the sound of this. 'This human, I heard of this one.' Spearshatter was unique among the Mokrani delegates in that he was not Mokrani-born. He was a refugee, one of several, who fled Fyrae some years back after the failed Great Liberation (as the beastmen called it). There were so many refugees and veterans that arrived in Mokranshi in fact, that they even formed a new clan, Clan Ghar'zhul, named after the great hero, may Mulcarn rest his soul. While the refugees had long since assimilated into Mokranshi, these beastmen were slow to forget their dark past.

'The one in front, name is Rho-one, I think. Sounds different in Fyrae'ii tongue. He was the one they sent. Fought us in the Great Liberation. Killed Ghar'zhul. He is sun-cursed among sun-cursed. May Mulcarn devour his soul.'

Pasekur pondered this information. 'Hmm, I don't think it's a coincidence that the emperor sends him of all people to Tykare, just as we are here. It's a calculated move. This must be what Zequta was referring to. In any case, this has piqued my curiosity and my concern. If we are to be successful here, we cannot let the Fyrae'ii gain the upper hand in negotiations. That means we must pay close attention to their delegates so long as they are in Tykare. I think we ought to observe their arrival. Wildhorn, have they reached the city center proper?'

'No, faithful Messenger. Their legion was on the city outskirts when I see them.'

'Hmm, a whole legion as well. This sounds like a power move. Nonetheless, we should be there when they come face to face with the Magoi. Oh, and Spearshatter, please don't do anything rash? I trust your temperament, but I know what the emperor and this man are responsible for. Believe me, they will answer to Mulcarn in the hereafter.'

The Square
While Spearshatter was clear on his responsibilities and instructions, he could not help by affix some of his human skulls to his bandolier as they made their way to the square. Legion skulls, specifically, trophies from the Great Liberation. Just because he wasn't allowed to interact with the Fyrae'ii (much less cleave the pompous one in twain), it didn't mean he couldn't remind them of who they were in the presence of.

Pasekur, his bodyguards, and a handful of diplomats stood by as the Fyrae'ii delegation met with the Tyrandians, quietly observing this initial encounter.

The Lodge
Magoi Zequta took the gift and stared at it for a few moments before putting it in her satchel. She considered what type of magic was within this with a genuine scientific curiosity, and figured she would look more into it later. Perhaps these Mokranshi weren't as extremist as some told. She bowed her head as a gesture of thanks, "I greatly appreciate this gift, I promise I will take care of it. Please do take care of yourselves. There are many magoi who are against any change to the domain... but if you are able to assist in establishing peace, I am sure that your faith may find some followers somewhere in this country; I promise that if you help, I will attempt to bring about changes to allow the open practice of faith across the nation..." she thought of that, knowing how hard it would be to do, but would try her best to bring it about.

Tykare, Tyrandia
Following the arrival of the Fyrae'ii, many Magoi and civilians were watching them go away, some cheered at the statements by K'Kua, whilst others were worried that this may bring about an escalation to the conflict. A whisper could be heard from some, "If the Fyrae'ii are here... what if major powers get involved too? What if the Kepraini get allies to the south; the Secleni are anti-magic... or worse, what if the Accord gets involved?" This was quickly hushed, as it was common knowledge that the Accord wouldn't get involved in something so trivial as to this, especially with the two remaining Triumvirs in charge of it.

[Tyrandia]

At the Lodgings of the Mokranshi
Magoi Zequta enters slowly, keeping her guard up in case something went wrong, then she did a small formal bow before waiting for the door to be closed and stating what she came to say, "The Fyrae'ii are sending an army of several thousand soldiers to Tyrandia. They wish to prove that the only ally needed is themselves. If they were merely sending an army for the sake of assistance, I would be happy. But..." she paused for a few moments, choosing her words carefully, "The Fyrae'ii are unlike some nations, they'd rather see other peoples bowing to them rather than standing beside them. I think that there are two reasons that they are sending the army; the first is to undermine your people, as you are seen as an enemy of theirs, due to their supposed perversion of ice magic; and secondly, they wish to have an army stationed here to keep the pressure up on the people to make it easier to force us to submit to them one day. I came here to let you know, and to be careful for when they arrive... the council may choose to side with one or the other, and not both; and I'd rather side with the peaceful - albeit zealous ones. Be on you guard..." she said, finishing what she came to say and awaiting any questions that may be asked.

She truly wished for a peaceful arrangement between all parties, and was genuinely concerned about the escalation of conflict that may arise due to the involvement of a war-like nation. She considered how to approach any more of the topic, as she didn't wish to cause any major diplomatic incident between the two nations who are willing to help.

At the prisons
"Eh... J'karro... this one is yelling some sort of babble... do you understand him?" Asked a guard, trying to understand the flailing and panicked words of the prisoner.

"Nope... probably just worried we'd cut his hands off for theft or something. He's probably nothing more than a criminal." Replied Private J'Karro in a dull-like manner.

"It seems more... desperate than someone just trying to avoid losing their hands, don't you think? Do you think maybe he might lose something more?"

"How should we know? For all we know he's slated to become a eunuch or something... I know I'd be panicking in that moment!" Laughed J'karro.

The other guard moved in closer to examine the prisoner, "This one sure doesn't look like one of their blue-skins. Perhaps it's a defective one? An outcast of some sort?"

"It's not our business... the Magoi ordered him to be held here, and that's what we'll do. At least until we're relieved... don't get to close to the cell! You don't know what he'd do for his supposed freedom..." J'karro sat back in his chair and allowed it to recline slightly, getting lost in his thoughts.

"I don't know... it seems like he's desperate..." replied the guard, still standing close to the prisoner.

The Lodge
Despite the sudden apprehension he felt at the news of a Fyrae'ii legion on the march to Tyrandia, Pasekur kept up his calm demeanor. 'So, the emperor seeks to cow a nation engulfed in a civil war, hoping to force it into submission when the dust has settled? A cowardly strategy, though I can't say I expected much different from a man pretending to be a god. Any man who claims the seat of heaven risks losing his touch with the material realm, and all that entails. As for his attempts at undermining our mission, I shall see to it myself that neither he nor his legionnaire puppets are successful. We will not so easily be bullied by the 'emperor'. Tyrandia deserves a Tyrandian peace, no matter what nations intervene. This I can promise you, good Magoi Zequta. While Mokranshi has its reasons for being here, in the end, we hope to leave Tyrandia much the same way we found it. Perhaps a bit more peaceful, though.

'And before you go, good Magoi Zequta, I know how risky it is for a Magoi to consort with one of the delegations. Rest assured, the words spoken here will not leave this room.' Pasekur glanced over at the small statuette of Mulcarn before his eyes brightened. 'One more thing.'

He reached into one of the pockets of his tunic and pulld out a strange icy shard. It glowed a faint blue and irradiated a feeling of coldness. 'This is a special shard of Everice, commonly used by the Messengers and other exceptionally strong Mokrani mages. We consume them to better regulate our body temperatures in warmer climates and to temporarily enhance the strength of our cryomancy.' He handed it over to Zequta, using his hands to enclose her palm around it. 'Feel its chill. It may sting a tad, I know, but that is an expression of its power. Our power. If there is any doubt left in you of Mulcarn's gift or Mokranshi's benefit to the glory of Tyrandia, consume it. Do not worry, the power within is not enough to transform you, but it will affect you slightly, if only for a little while. Cast any ice spell you know, and witness the might of winter at its true strength.' Pasekur stood up. 'Thank you for visiting, good Magoi Zequta. With Mulcarn's favor, we shall meet again soon.'

Meanwhile, at the prison...
Bataar watched with anticipation as one of the guards stood his ground. The other one seemed unconcerned, and he couldn't understand their language, but if he had the attention of one, that was all that mattered.

Realizing that words would get him nowhere, he tried vague body language and hand signals to bridge the linguistic gap. He pointed towards the prison exit leading outside, then to himself. He pretended he had a knife and imitated the sound of tearing flesh as he drew the invisible knife across his wrist, before pointing inside his throat. Then he brushed his skin while imitating the sounds of ice breaking with his mouth. Then he flicked his hair and pointed at his eyes, blinking rapidly. Then he began stomping around, imitating a beastman, before switching to an imitation of what seemed to be the Mokrani head delegate, Pasekur. He then moved his hands rapidly back and forth while shaking his head as if to say 'no'.

He only hoped that his wild gesticulating would make sense to the confused looking guard.

The Prisons
The guard leaned in closer, trying to figure out what he was doing.

"Hey, this guy looks as if he's really panicking. It looks like he's afraid of something cutting his hands off or so?" Said the guard.

"Eh, perhaps he's a common thief?" Said the other one, relaxing in his chair and eating some food, "They don'need their hands..." He closed his eyes to return to his rest.

"I don't think it's that... perhaps he's saying something about the beast people that came by earlier? They want to hurt him or something?" He pondered for a few moments, "Aren't they supposed to display their magic? Maybe they want to do something to this guy to do it?" The guard pointed at the guys arms, immitating bindings as if to ask the man why he was in custody.

[Keprain]

"You are quite right..." a voice echoes throughout the cavern, as the shimmering crystals cast shadows moving in different directions. "You are not alone, northerners."

A few arrows let loose, purposefully missing - an attempt to send a message that if whomever was here wanted, they would have hit them all by now with arrows.

"Heh! Look at these people... They don't look like they belong here! Perhaps they're spies? Perhaps they want to kill us?" Laughs a different voice.

"Perhaps you're right, my friend... What is it that brings you northerners here? We're not so easygoing to allow allies of Tykare to just stroll through our land." Responds the first voice. "Friends, let's make sure to greet them properly... Just remember not to shoot. Yet."

Sounds of more people moving around them can be heard echoing throughout the caverns.

The ground shakes a little bit as stones are moved around different parts of the caverns, for some unknown purpose.

"Now, dear guests... let's make this simple; as I asked before, what brings you here? What is it you seek? And please do answer quickly, my friend here has... difficulties. He may accidentally shoot without permission, and we wouldn't want that..." the first voice says calmly. "We are willing to listen to the allies of our enemy, but purely out of respect."

The trio paused, unsure of their next move. One wrong twitch could end up bringing the entire operation down. It didn't help that Ahiki and Penanpe didn't understand a word that these bandits or rebels or whoever-they-were were saying.

Itashir, on the other hand, fixed his robe and gestured to the women to lower their weapons. 'They're Kepraini. It's alright. I'll handle this. Just don't do anything rash.' Adopting his best Kepraini accent, he responded to the rebels in kind, wherever they were hiding. 'Good day, gentlemen. Mulcarn's blessings upon you. You are correct, we are northerners. However, we mean no harm. I understand your paranoia, truly I do, but our purpose for being here is not one of hostility, but hospitality. The blessed Farseer has heard your cries of oppression and enslavement to the cruel masters of Tykare, and his heart is drawn to your cause. We have come seeking parlay, that we may negotiate an alliance between Mokranshi and the noble revolutionaries of Keprain.

'I understand that you spotted our caravan. You have sharp eyes. I would expect nothing less from the mountain men of Keprain. You are correct that we came with the delegation bound for Tykare. However, they were just a ruse, a way for us to be able to get past the border and close enough to Keprain that we may reach it. You see, the sun-cursed mage-lords are slow to trust outsiders. We had to create the illusion of cooperation, that they would let us pass. In truth, the Mokrani have more in common to the Kepraini than the mage-lords. Mulcarn gifted us magic as a tool of cooperation and goodwill, not of tyranny. The Cold God's children do not select their leaders based on the blood in their veins, but by the strength of their body, the sharpness of their mind, and the steel of their will. Such as all leaders of mankind should be, for it demonstrates the favor of the divine.'

Itashir breathed deeply for a moment. 'If you would find yourselves willing to deal with us in the light, as all good deals are made, then we shall lower our weapons and we may speak freely of Keprain's destiny, for the power of Mulcarn has much to offer to those who fight in His name.'

'Alright, lower your weapons.' Itashir points at the other two. 'Are you mad?' mutters Penanpe. 'How do we know these voices are trustworthy? They may kill us the moment we do!'

'We're dead to rights anyhow', said Itashir, 'and they're aligned with the rebels it seems. This is the chance we have been waiting for.'

'Do as he says', orders Ahiki, dropping her spear. Slowly and hesitantly, Penanpe puts down her bow and quiver. Then, they wait for a response from the voices.

"Excellent!" Stated the first voice, "You're smarter than I thought!" A few laughs followed as he said this, "Alright, here's the deal. You've been nice, so we'll be nice in turn. I'll come out of the shadows to talk to you face-to-face. But, my friends here? They'll be watching, with their bows. Alright?" He said, not even awaiting a response.

A thud hit the ground, and then steps could be heard echoing around the chamber as a man stepped out of the shadows, "I'm Gregal, nice t'meet you!" He bowed, doing a mocking immitation of a noble. "I'm sorry that I don't act like one of those fancy people you're probably used to talking with, but I'm afraid I'm the best you've got." He laughed and kept walking forward. "So, tell me about yourselves? What do you want exactly? To make us slaves? To give us gifts? Your statement could mean either of these..." He stopped for a few moments before sighing, "Listen, my friends and I... and our people; we're tired of being under the thumb of others, not being able to have our say, losing everything and everyone to some council in a far away city, that never gave two shits about us. If you're just here to try to enslave us in another way, I'm afraid you won't have much luck." There were cheers coming from all around the room, the echoes made it difficult to tell just how many people there were.

Gregal walked even closer to the Mokranshi, not worrying if they would attack or not; either from courage or lack of care, "If you're here to help... prove it. Show it. I'm not sure how, but you couldn't have come here without any way of demonstrating yourselves, right? Unless of course, you're enemies and are trying to bluff your way out of an execution...?" He grinned, waiting for the response.

[Mokranshi]

"Excellent!" Stated the first voice, "You're smarter than I thought!" A few laughs followed as he said this, "Alright, here's the deal. You've been nice, so we'll be nice in turn. I'll come out of the shadows to talk to you face-to-face. But, my friends here? They'll be watching, with their bows. Alright?" He said, not even awaiting a response.

A thud hit the ground, and then steps could be heard echoing around the chamber as a man stepped out of the shadows, "I'm Gregal, nice t'meet you!" He bowed, doing a mocking immitation of a noble. "I'm sorry that I don't act like one of those fancy people you're probably used to talking with, but I'm afraid I'm the best you've got." He laughed and kept walking forward. "So, tell me about yourselves? What do you want exactly? To make us slaves? To give us gifts? Your statement could mean either of these..." He stopped for a few moments before sighing, "Listen, my friends and I... and our people; we're tired of being under the thumb of others, not being able to have our say, losing everything and everyone to some council in a far away city, that never gave two shits about us. If you're just here to try to enslave us in another way, I'm afraid you won't have much luck." There were cheers coming from all around the room, the echoes made it difficult to tell just how many people there were.

Gregal walked even closer to the Mokranshi, not worrying if they would attack or not; either from courage or lack of care, "If you're here to help... prove it. Show it. I'm not sure how, but you couldn't have come here without any way of demonstrating yourselves, right? Unless of course, you're enemies and are trying to bluff your way out of an execution...?" He grinned, waiting for the response.

Itashir stared at the one in front, refusing Tom break eye contact. His demeanor was staunch, yet steady, like a sea eagle eyeing prey. 'Well, Gregal, I am glad you asked, for who, like us, can claim such lofty goals without lofty evidence? Something I'm sure you're familiar with, for the rebellion, with little but a fraction of Tyrandia's power and a dream, has manage do to defy the mage-lords.'

'You believe we may only be here to trick you into subjugation. Well deserved paranoia. What good would it be to break one master, only to land into the chains of another? I assure you, Mokranshi desires not your land so nor your resources. We only ask that you consider this proposition, for it is the will of Mulcarn, and the Lord of Winter offers much. You stated you want to masters you didn't choose, correct? And how did the mage-lords subjugate the proud Kepraini? Through their magic. A gift they flaunt without humbleness or integrity. They have no respect for it. But you, I know you do. You see magic as a tool for the public good, as it should be. Yet, the Kepraini lack mages in such numbers as the Tyrandians. However, it doesn't have to be so.'

Itashir reached into a pocket of his and drew from it a vial. Inside of it was a strange, viscous liquid that looked like partially melted snow. Somehow, it was both a deep red and a bright blue, a most unnatural appearance. The air around the vial seemed to frost up and chill. It felt wrong, and yet it felt right. Itashir has held it delicately and reverently. 'This is a tool to guide you to your liberation once and for all. You think the oppressors have too many mages. This should even the odds. Within this vial is a work of holy alchemy, the power of Mulcarn given form. If any of you is not a mage, step forward and take the vial. Do not worry, it is not poison. If any of you drinks it and dies, you are free to kill us all. All I ask is that you give the Frozen One a chance. Drink the contents. Feel Mulcarn's power and be changed by him, forever. However, do not take this lightly. The changes you will experience are irreversible. There is no going back. Though, the gifts it gives will make sure you never regret it.'

'All glory to Mulcarn.'

Suddenly, the Messenger entered a trance. His icy eyes rolled back, and he slowly held out the vials foward, cupping it with his free hand. He began to utter some strange language in a voice that was only half his own, Mokrani mixed with a most strange morphing of Beast-tongue. It was like no language known.

'Mulcarn, anusha' thunat, taakung xuia' gurs. Un'auft Yuia' gftu'x, shas shut ghaxgha'g tun nax tsal unsu sha ftughs ang ft'aasha r'aaftx ur ghunsa''t ft'aash.'

At this sight, the other two northerners got on their knees and knelt towards Itashkr, muttering obscure prayers and chanting the name of the Cold God.

The vial was held outwards, free for any of the onlookers to partake in this bizarre 'gift'...or attack the now-helpless northerners.


Note: the contents of the vial will transform the drinker permanently into a Winterborn. The drinker will experience seizures for several minutes during the transformation, as well as possible hallucinations of the God of Winter. Their skin will turn white, their skin either blue or grey, and their blood will freeze. Some new psychological characteristics may manifest, such as a desire to seek out cold places. Human drinkers who previously could not control magic have a 75% chance of spontaneously developing (ice-based) magical abilities, though the strength of them varies.

[Mokranshi]

The Prisons
The guard leaned in closer, trying to figure out what he was doing.

"Hey, this guy looks as if he's really panicking. It looks like he's afraid of something cutting his hands off or so?" Said the guard.

"Eh, perhaps he's a common thief?" Said the other one, relaxing in his chair and eating some food, "They don'need their hands..." He closed his eyes to return to his rest.

"I don't think it's that... perhaps he's saying something about the beast people that came by earlier? They want to hurt him or something?" He pondered for a few moments, "Aren't they supposed to display their magic? Maybe they want to do something to this guy to do it?" The guard pointed at the guys arms, immitating bindings as if to ask the man why he was in custody.

Bataar looked with enrapturement at the still-focused guard before him. Unlike the other one, this soldier seemed invested, and was trying to say something in return. The guard gestured at the ropes across Bataar's wrists in an inquisitive manner. The guard seemed to understand at least some of what Bataar was saying, though Bataar himself was somewhat confused.

The guard seemed to want to know about Bataar's bonds, so it seemed that the Mokrani had to get creative. Looking around the cell, he found a loose stone in the cobbled floor. Picking it up with his limited reach, he managed to hold the rock steady and began to carve images in the floor of his prison. He started with a circle, and drew little figures inside that circle. People, clearly, but their significance wasn't made entirely clear. Bataar then drew another figure away from the circle, and pointed to said figure and then himself, as if to say that was supposed to be him. Then, he drew horned beings around this single figure, likely beastmen. He then gestured to his bonds.

Bataar then stood up. He looked from his cell and noticed a pathway that seemed to lead out of the prison. He pointed at it and then himself, suggested that he wanted to leave. No, the gesturing was too wild and panicked. He needed to leave. He had to leave. He tugged at his bonds and presented them to the guard, as if asking the soldier to cut him loose. Bataar looked pleadingly, hoping for some, any kind of help.

[Tribes of Sharna]

Garen's Well

Vashnak Vashlakson's eyes rested on the town. The Fang Company laid in wait to the east of the town, near the mage college. Waiting for the scouts to return.

Vashnak didn't hear but felt the approach of Radish Radishson, the hobgoblin scout.

"Four in the village, four walking the grounds," he said into the orc's ear. "There are dogs in the village. I saw none with the guards at the school, so I think there are none. There may guards in the halls, but I wouldn't wager on it. The guards seem more like to catch truants than protect the school." Vashnak nodded.

"Elgandir," he said calmly to the elf. "Take two troops, secure the village. I'll take the rest and secure the school. You'll have four guards to deal with. Dogs as well."

"And what should be done about the dogs?"

"I don't want anyone alerted until you're ready to take everyone. Put arrows in them."

"Yes captain."

---

The guarded continued his lazy stroll through the town. Nothing happened here. There wasn't even a need for a night watch except to occasionally keep some drunkard from accidentally burning down a building. Certainly no reason for him to be about.

He heard what sounded like a strange whine from around the corner and came around to investigate. His eyes flew wide as he witness a dog, blood seeping from a wound where an arrow penetrated it's body. The guard fell to his knees to check on the dog and suddenly felt something cold press against his neck. Before he had a chance to process the sensation, the steel was dragged across his throat and an arterial spray shot out. He could feel the hot blood in his body begin to bubble out of the wound and he looked up to see a young woman, braids in her hair and tattoos on her face, watching dispassionately as the life drained from him. Finally, face ashen, he fell to the ground, dead as the dog that had caught his attention. The girl who slit his throat made her way back to the center of town in time to see one of the orcs finish off another guard. The Elandir nodded in acknowledgement when the girl dragged her blade through the air, indicating she had killed another of the guards. The elf began making hand motions, directing the various mercenaries to different huts in preparation to capture all the town folk at once.

---

At the mage college, Vashnak inserted the key taken off the corpse of one of the guards into the door and unlocked it. The Fangs moved quickly into the college, overrunning the halls with orcs. Quickly moving through, securing passageway after passageway. The dormitories, once identified, was filled with mercenaries waiting to take hold of the students and masters. Finally they moved into the barracks, coming to stand over the sleeping soldiers. Swords unsheathed and held aloft, they took position, then as one plunged them into the guards.

The sudden and short shouts and death rattles were loud enough to waken some in the dormitories, but when they went to investigate orc mercenaries pushed into their rooms and took hold of them. Doors were splintered as those still asleep were also assaulted. Soon, all were dragged out into the main hall, bound and connected by line into a long chain.

"Brodush," Vashnak called and the quartermaster immediately came to his side. "Scour the building for any others, find any treasures secreted away, raid the pantry, burn the rest."

"Aye, captain," Brodush answered and began ordering the search. The orcs began pulling the members of the college into the town center as a din could be heard of the townfolk being taken from their homes.

---

Vashnak looked over the terrified faces with a mercenaries dispassion. He didn't hate them. He didn't like them. This was just business.

"You're all scared. Good. Fear keeps you alive. Keeps your loved ones alive. You will be happy to know that I have no intention of killing any of you tonight. I'd much rather keep you all alive. You're more useful to me alive, and you are more useful to each other alive. We can all help each other to achieve the best possible results from tonight's events." He gave them a big toothy grin. Not far away, Tyra, Vashnak's adopted human daughter leaned on a fence and cleaned dirt from under her nails using one of her daggers, seemingly completely disinterested in Vashnak's address. Beyond her they could see a couple of the monstrous wolves the orcs used as mounts devouring the remains of one of the town's guards.

"The way you stay alive is you make sure each other follow the rules. If you are disobedient, if you cause problems, we will kill you and kill a loved one. So it is incumbent upon you all to keep each other in line so that we don't have kill two of you because someone wants to be a hero." He scanned the crowed and lighted on a young lad in the crowd. "You, boy. Tell me. Do you know what a hero is?" He couldn't speak for fear. "It's alright, boy. I'm asking you a question. You can answer."

"A hero is an adventurer who slays monsters and saves people."

"Wrong! A hero is a man who gets other people killed. You want to be a hero, boy? Get your momma or your sister killed?" The lad shook his head violently. "Good lad. Remember this moment. This fear is what will keep you and your family alive." The boy nodded. "Sit back down. Everyone remember. All heroes will get people killed. From now on, you hold each other's lives in your hands. Keep them safe." He turned away from the crying crowd and nodded to his quartermaster as he arrived, the college burning like a great bonfire distant in view. "That should get the attention of the border guard. Let's move these people into the forest. When they move to deal with us, we can enter Kepraini unmolested."

"A sound plan. You sure you put enough fear of the gods in them?" Brodush asked of the villagers and students. Vashnuk caught sight of a sudden movement and flash and a dagger was embedded in the ground next to a shaking man. Tyra strode over to the man and considered him.

"I wasn't doin' nothin'. Just trying to comfort me wife. Honest." Tyra tsked then grabbed her dagger and returned to the fence.

"If I haven't, Tyra has," Vashnuk replied and Brodush nodded.

"Alright you lot. Let's get a move on. We're going into the forest." The train of warg riders, prisoners, and supply wagons made their way out of Garen's Well and into the forest as the huts of the village were one by one set aflame.

[Tyrandia]

The Prisons
The guard leaned in closer, trying to figure out what he was doing.

"Hey, this guy looks as if he's really panicking. It looks like he's afraid of something cutting his hands off or so?" Said the guard.

"Eh, perhaps he's a common thief?" Said the other one, relaxing in his chair and eating some food, "They don'need their hands..." He closed his eyes to return to his rest.

"I don't think it's that... perhaps he's saying something about the beast people that came by earlier? They want to hurt him or something?" He pondered for a few moments, "Aren't they supposed to display their magic? Maybe they want to do something to this guy to do it?" The guard pointed at the guys arms, immitating bindings as if to ask the man why he was in custody.

Bataar looked with enrapturement at the still-focused guard before him. Unlike the other one, this soldier seemed invested, and was trying to say something in return. The guard gestured at the ropes across Bataar's wrists in an inquisitive manner. The guard seemed to understand at least some of what Bataar was saying, though Bataar himself was somewhat confused.

The guard seemed to want to know about Bataar's bonds, so it seemed that the Mokrani had to get creative. Looking around the cell, he found a loose stone in the cobbled floor. Picking it up with his limited reach, he managed to hold the rock steady and began to carve images in the floor of his prison. He started with a circle, and drew little figures inside that circle. People, clearly, but their significance wasn't made entirely clear. Bataar then drew another figure away from the circle, and pointed to said figure and then himself, as if to say that was supposed to be him. Then, he drew horned beings around this single figure, likely beastmen. He then gestured to his bonds.

Bataar then stood up. He looked from his cell and noticed a pathway that seemed to lead out of the prison. He pointed at it and then himself, suggested that he wanted to leave. No, the gesturing was too wild and panicked. He needed to leave. He had to leave. He tugged at his bonds and presented them to the guard, as if asking the soldier to cut him loose. Bataar looked pleadingly, hoping for some, any kind of help.

The guard sighed and put up his arms in surrender, "Sorry. If I'm understanding you properly you're wanting out. Even if your story were true, which I am unsure of, and can't even fully understand... I can't help you out." He realised his words might not be understood so he gestured no with his head, and then handed out a piece of paper with a bit of charcoal so that he could write a note. "If you want to write a message to friends or family, that's really all I can do for you." His friend laughed.

"You're already doing way more than you should. You might get in trouble." Scoffed his friend, trying to relax at the table.

"Listen, if he's going to be killed or something, for magical gains, we at least need to pity him... he might be innocent."

"Innocent or not, you shouldn't even consider going again the mages, so leave him be."

"Alright, you're right." The guard sighed in annoyance, turning back to the prisoner. "Sorry... really, I wish I could help more." He decided to walk away, returning a few moments later with a warm meal and a cup full of wine to help the prisoner relax. "Take it easy for now, sorry I can't do more." He smiled and walked away to join his companion at the table, feeling bad he couldn't help more... but his family and he would be in danger if he even tried to.

[Tyrandia]

Garen's Well

Vashnak Vashlakson's eyes rested on the town. The Fang Company laid in wait to the east of the town, near the mage college. Waiting for the scouts to return.

Vashnak didn't hear but felt the approach of Radish Radishson, the hobgoblin scout.

"Four in the village, four walking the grounds," he said into the orc's ear. "There are dogs in the village. I saw none with the guards at the school, so I think there are none. There may guards in the halls, but I wouldn't wager on it. The guards seem more like to catch truants than protect the school." Vashnak nodded.

"Elgandir," he said calmly to the elf. "Take two troops, secure the village. I'll take the rest and secure the school. You'll have four guards to deal with. Dogs as well."

"And what should be done about the dogs?"

"I don't want anyone alerted until you're ready to take everyone. Put arrows in them."

"Yes captain."

---

The guarded continued his lazy stroll through the town. Nothing happened here. There wasn't even a need for a night watch except to occasionally keep some drunkard from accidentally burning down a building. Certainly no reason for him to be about.

He heard what sounded like a strange whine from around the corner and came around to investigate. His eyes flew wide as he witness a dog, blood seeping from a wound where an arrow penetrated it's body. The guard fell to his knees to check on the dog and suddenly felt something cold press against his neck. Before he had a chance to process the sensation, the steel was dragged across his throat and an arterial spray shot out. He could feel the hot blood in his body begin to bubble out of the wound and he looked up to see a young woman, braids in her hair and tattoos on her face, watching dispassionately as the life drained from him. Finally, face ashen, he fell to the ground, dead as the dog that had caught his attention. The girl who slit his throat made her way back to the center of town in time to see one of the orcs finish off another guard. The Elandir nodded in acknowledgement when the girl dragged her blade through the air, indicating she had killed another of the guards. The elf began making hand motions, directing the various mercenaries to different huts in preparation to capture all the town folk at once.

---

At the mage college, Vashnak inserted the key taken off the corpse of one of the guards into the door and unlocked it. The Fangs moved quickly into the college, overrunning the halls with orcs. Quickly moving through, securing passageway after passageway. The dormitories, once identified, was filled with mercenaries waiting to take hold of the students and masters. Finally they moved into the barracks, coming to stand over the sleeping soldiers. Swords unsheathed and held aloft, they took position, then as one plunged them into the guards.

The sudden and short shouts and death rattles were loud enough to waken some in the dormitories, but when they went to investigate orc mercenaries pushed into their rooms and took hold of them. Doors were splintered as those still asleep were also assaulted. Soon, all were dragged out into the main hall, bound and connected by line into a long chain.

"Brodush," Vashnak called and the quartermaster immediately came to his side. "Scour the building for any others, find any treasures secreted away, raid the pantry, burn the rest."

"Aye, captain," Brodush answered and began ordering the search. The orcs began pulling the members of the college into the town center as a din could be heard of the townfolk being taken from their homes.

---

Vashnak looked over the terrified faces with a mercenaries dispassion. He didn't hate them. He didn't like them. This was just business.

"You're all scared. Good. Fear keeps you alive. Keeps your loved ones alive. You will be happy to know that I have no intention of killing any of you tonight. I'd much rather keep you all alive. You're more useful to me alive, and you are more useful to each other alive. We can all help each other to achieve the best possible results from tonight's events." He gave them a big toothy grin. Not far away, Tyra, Vashnak's adopted human daughter leaned on a fence and cleaned dirt from under her nails using one of her daggers, seemingly completely disinterested in Vashnak's address. Beyond her they could see a couple of the monstrous wolves the orcs used as mounts devouring the remains of one of the town's guards.

"The way you stay alive is you make sure each other follow the rules. If you are disobedient, if you cause problems, we will kill you and kill a loved one. So it is incumbent upon you all to keep each other in line so that we don't have kill two of you because someone wants to be a hero." He scanned the crowed and lighted on a young lad in the crowd. "You, boy. Tell me. Do you know what a hero is?" He couldn't speak for fear. "It's alright, boy. I'm asking you a question. You can answer."

"A hero is an adventurer who slays monsters and saves people."

"Wrong! A hero is a man who gets other people killed. You want to be a hero, boy? Get your momma or your sister killed?" The lad shook his head violently. "Good lad. Remember this moment. This fear is what will keep you and your family alive." The boy nodded. "Sit back down. Everyone remember. All heroes will get people killed. From now on, you hold each other's lives in your hands. Keep them safe." He turned away from the crying crowd and nodded to his quartermaster as he arrived, the college burning like a great bonfire distant in view. "That should get the attention of the border guard. Let's move these people into the forest. When they move to deal with us, we can enter Kepraini unmolested."

"A sound plan. You sure you put enough fear of the gods in them?" Brodush asked of the villagers and students. Vashnuk caught sight of a sudden movement and flash and a dagger was embedded in the ground next to a shaking man. Tyra strode over to the man and considered him.

"I wasn't doin' nothin'. Just trying to comfort me wife. Honest." Tyra tsked then grabbed her dagger and returned to the fence.

"If I haven't, Tyra has," Vashnuk replied and Brodush nodded.

"Alright you lot. Let's get a move on. We're going into the forest." The train of warg riders, prisoners, and supply wagons made their way out of Garen's Well and into the forest as the huts of the village were one by one set aflame.

Nearby Encampment
A horse rides up to the encampment to report the message to the commander of the base.

"Magoi Tura! Magoi Tura!" yelled the messenger, jumping off the horse and sprinting towards the headquarters before being held back by some guards. Magoi Tura, still inside his lodgings was sitting at his desk studying biology... mapping the body of a human that he himself disected the day before. The commotion did little to assist in his designs so he got up and walked over to the door, opening it; he was a tall and thin man, looking more like a walking skeleton. His clothes were covered in both ink and blood, showing he hadn't changed since the dissection.

"What is the reason behind this noise?" He demanded.

"Magoi Tura! Garen's Well has been attacked! The people and students are missing!" The messenger tried to calm himself, knowing that it was improper to bow before speaking to the Magoi... something that Magoi Tura noted very well.

"Ah, is that so... interesting. And why are you here? Why did you not go after whomever attacked? Was it the rebels?" He glared over to the messenger, as if sizing up his prey.

"Ah, sir... I wasn't on guard duty there, I am merely from a passing patrol... The rest of my patrol is investigating. I don't know if it were the rebels, it is beyond their borders." He replied, with fear in his voice.

"Their borders? My dear friend... they have no borders. They are merely rebels with no homes, whom will soon find themselves lacking heads." Retorted Magoi Tura.

"Ah... y-yes, you're right sir. My mistake." He lowered his eyes from the gaze that made him feel like he was drowning.

"You are forgiven." Said Magoi Tura before turning towards his guards, "Send a division of fifty men to investigate. Find any clues of these rebels, or rebel supporters. Execute anyone involved, and save our brethren." He said, turning his gaze back towards the scout, "Also... bring this man to the infirmary. It seems he's been injured." He smiled.

"W-what? Sir... I am perfectly fine." Said the scout, with worry in his voice.

"Do not worry, we will take good care of you." Said Magoi Tura as they dragged him away towards the infirmary...

[Tyrandia]

"Excellent!" Stated the first voice, "You're smarter than I thought!" A few laughs followed as he said this, "Alright, here's the deal. You've been nice, so we'll be nice in turn. I'll come out of the shadows to talk to you face-to-face. But, my friends here? They'll be watching, with their bows. Alright?" He said, not even awaiting a response.

A thud hit the ground, and then steps could be heard echoing around the chamber as a man stepped out of the shadows, "I'm Gregal, nice t'meet you!" He bowed, doing a mocking immitation of a noble. "I'm sorry that I don't act like one of those fancy people you're probably used to talking with, but I'm afraid I'm the best you've got." He laughed and kept walking forward. "So, tell me about yourselves? What do you want exactly? To make us slaves? To give us gifts? Your statement could mean either of these..." He stopped for a few moments before sighing, "Listen, my friends and I... and our people; we're tired of being under the thumb of others, not being able to have our say, losing everything and everyone to some council in a far away city, that never gave two shits about us. If you're just here to try to enslave us in another way, I'm afraid you won't have much luck." There were cheers coming from all around the room, the echoes made it difficult to tell just how many people there were.

Gregal walked even closer to the Mokranshi, not worrying if they would attack or not; either from courage or lack of care, "If you're here to help... prove it. Show it. I'm not sure how, but you couldn't have come here without any way of demonstrating yourselves, right? Unless of course, you're enemies and are trying to bluff your way out of an execution...?" He grinned, waiting for the response.

Itashir stared at the one in front, refusing Tom break eye contact. His demeanor was staunch, yet steady, like a sea eagle eyeing prey. 'Well, Gregal, I am glad you asked, for who, like us, can claim such lofty goals without lofty evidence? Something I'm sure you're familiar with, for the rebellion, with little but a fraction of Tyrandia's power and a dream, has manage do to defy the mage-lords.'

'You believe we may only be here to trick you into subjugation. Well deserved paranoia. What good would it be to break one master, only to land into the chains of another? I assure you, Mokranshi desires not your land so nor your resources. We only ask that you consider this proposition, for it is the will of Mulcarn, and the Lord of Winter offers much. You stated you want to masters you didn't choose, correct? And how did the mage-lords subjugate the proud Kepraini? Through their magic. A gift they flaunt without humbleness or integrity. They have no respect for it. But you, I know you do. You see magic as a tool for the public good, as it should be. Yet, the Kepraini lack mages in such numbers as the Tyrandians. However, it doesn't have to be so.'

Itashir reached into a pocket of his and drew from it a vial. Inside of it was a strange, viscous liquid that looked like partially melted snow. Somehow, it was both a deep red and a bright blue, a most unnatural appearance. The air around the vial seemed to frost up and chill. It felt wrong, and yet it felt right. Itashir has held it delicately and reverently. 'This is a tool to guide you to your liberation once and for all. You think the oppressors have too many mages. This should even the odds. Within this vial is a work of holy alchemy, the power of Mulcarn given form. If any of you is not a mage, step forward and take the vial. Do not worry, it is not poison. If any of you drinks it and dies, you are free to kill us all. All I ask is that you give the Frozen One a chance. Drink the contents. Feel Mulcarn's power and be changed by him, forever. However, do not take this lightly. The changes you will experience are irreversible. There is no going back. Though, the gifts it gives will make sure you never regret it.'

'All glory to Mulcarn.'

Suddenly, the Messenger entered a trance. His icy eyes rolled back, and he slowly held out the vials foward, cupping it with his free hand. He began to utter some strange language in a voice that was only half his own, Mokrani mixed with a most strange morphing of Beast-tongue. It was like no language known.

'Mulcarn, anusha' thunat, taakung xuia' gurs. Un'auft Yuia' gftu'x, shas shut ghaxgha'g tun nax tsal unsu sha ftughs ang ft'aasha r'aaftx ur ghunsa''t ft'aash.'

At this sight, the other two northerners got on their knees and knelt towards Itashkr, muttering obscure prayers and chanting the name of the Cold God.

The vial was held outwards, free for any of the onlookers to partake in this bizarre 'gift'...or attack the now-helpless northerners.


Note: the contents of the vial will transform the drinker permanently into a Winterborn. The drinker will experience seizures for several minutes during the transformation, as well as possible hallucinations of the God of Winter. Their skin will turn white, their skin either blue or grey, and their blood will freeze. Some new psychological characteristics may manifest, such as a desire to seek out cold places. Human drinkers who previously could not control magic have a 75% chance of spontaneously developing (ice-based) magical abilities, though the strength of them varies.

Gregal took the vial in his hands, feeling its cold embrace; his face serious. He considered what this was, and thought about it for a few moments before returning to his calm demeanour. "This is an interesting gift, northerners. Interesting, but we're not going to risk it... not yet. We don't know anything about you all, and for all we know this could cause a plague of ice across our people. You may be assisting the mages somehow. I do hope you understand." He said, putting the vial in his pocket. "If you truly are on our side, then I want you to explain to us exactly what you're after. What will your colleagues be doing in Tykare? What if the mage agree to whatever you will be proposing?" There was concern in his voice. He raised his hand, and then a few more people walked out of the shadows. "For now, we'll let you live. But you will need to come with us to a small outpost, there you will tell us everything you know, and what you want from us in exchange for your help. We don't have much to offer, but we'll listen fully. We can't force anyone to do anything, it's freedom here."

Gregal and his companions bowed slightly in a greeting to their new guests before they all put their weapons away. "Please, come with us and we'll talk when we get there. Remain silent until we arrive, there are enemies everywhere, so we will be treating you as if you were prisoners; surrounding you... we'd also ask you to let us carry your weapons. You have my word they'll be returned to you when we arrive to the camp. Is it a deal?" He stretched out his hand to shake the northerners, as a gesture of good faith. "I promise nothing will happen, we just don't want them to know you're playing both sides, now do we?" He smiled.

[Mokranshi]

The guard sighed and put up his arms in surrender, "Sorry. If I'm understanding you properly you're wanting out. Even if your story were true, which I am unsure of, and can't even fully understand... I can't help you out." He realised his words might not be understood so he gestured no with his head, and then handed out a piece of paper with a bit of charcoal so that he could write a note. "If you want to write a message to friends or family, that's really all I can do for you." His friend laughed.

"You're already doing way more than you should. You might get in trouble." Scoffed his friend, trying to relax at the table.

"Listen, if he's going to be killed or something, for magical gains, we at least need to pity him... he might be innocent."

"Innocent or not, you shouldn't even consider going again the mages, so leave him be."

"Alright, you're right." The guard sighed in annoyance, turning back to the prisoner. "Sorry... really, I wish I could help more." He decided to walk away, returning a few moments later with a warm meal and a cup full of wine to help the prisoner relax. "Take it easy for now, sorry I can't do more." He smiled and walked away to join his companion at the table, feeling bad he couldn't help more... but his family and he would be in danger if he even tried to.

Tykare, the day of the meeting...

The Lodge
A day after arriving in the city, the time had come for the delegation to meet with the Magoi Council. Pasekur was busy meditating before his alter and praying for a favorable outcome. He had also chilled some enchanted Everice shavings, inhaling the its magical vapor in the hopes of inducing a vision of the future. Alas, he had had no luck in that regard. Without moving from his prayer position, he gave an order to one of the homigor attendants. 'You, the one with the curled horns. Take Stonecrusher with you and head to the prison entrance. Request that we have our guest back. We will need him for later today. Do not go down there yourself. It is quite hot and I don't want you or Stonecrusher catching the Summer Plague. As for me, I need to prepare a few more things for our meeting.' He thought for a moment. 'Ah, yes, you don't speak Tyrandian, do you?'

Pasekur took a roll of paper and began scribbling a note before signing it. He looked at the piece and realized that it would need some sort of note of authenticity. Figuring that he was going to do so already, Pasekur drew a small dagger and lightly slit his index finger, letting the snowlike blood drip onto the paper before pressing it into the paper. 'Here, this should suffice.'

The homigor bowed, taking the note. 'Yes, faithful Messenger. It will be done.' He and Stonecrusher left the lodge and headed towards the prisons posthaste.

With the attendant and Stonecrusher gone, he began making preparations. Pasekur took out a vial from his sack. The vial was glass, a rare commodity among the Mokrani, who feared heat too much to learn glassblowing. He scraped up the shavings of Everice and gently poured it into the vial. Then, he took the dagger again and held his wrist over it. The dagger moved gently across his wrist, letting open a cut that bled freely. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he chanted as the blood dripped into the vial.

'Mulcarn, ghasthh u'a' xuia' thhuftg'an shut gax, ru' haashant nugh gactha ialun iat. Ra'aaft su shan xuia' gftu'uuiat s'iash, ang giauga iat.'

As he drew back out of his trance, the blood mixed with the Everice, causing them both to shimmer unearthly. Satisfied, he corked the vial and put it away for later.

A short while later...

The homigor and Stonecrusher stood before the guards at the prison entrance. Finding the language barrier too difficult, he handed them the note Pasekur had written. After what seemed like an eternity, the guards were satisfied and headed down into the depths to fetch the prisoner.

The Prison
Bataar curled up in the corner as he slept. Truth be told, despite the less-than-comfortable conditions, the fact that the cell was fairly warm alleviated all concern. However, his rest was interrupted by a guard in his cell. The man uttered something in his language and picked Bataar up. Bataar, still groggy, looked around and asked in Old Mokrani, 'Wha? Where is the other guard? The friendly one?Where did he go? I need to see him.' The new guard dragging him forward seemed to care not. Bataar has hastily driven out of the prison intot he bright sunlgiht of the morning. The suddenness of it caused him to flinch, during which he heard some voices and felt a pair of bestial hands grab him. Unable to move against the snow demon's strength, he fruitless flailed as he was taken away. By this time, he had regained more of his sense and asked, 'What's going on, snow demons? Where are you taking me? Answer!'

Without looking, the homigor answered. 'You still complain? We go to Council. Today is time, they wait. Faithful Messenger Pasekur needs you. You are important, he says. Now shut up.'

In truth, Bataar didn't seem to shut up for the rest of the way to the Council.

At the gates of the City Hall
Pasekur waited patiently to be welcomed into he hall and to stand before the Council. Behind him stood his bodyguards, Stonecrusher and Shatterspear. Behind them was the remainder of the delegation, a motley collection of men and beastmen, some diplomats, others mages. Hopefully, they would not have to wait long, but Pasekur did not want to press the issue by forcing himself in and potentially upsetting the Council. With any luck, the Magoi Zequta would be among the Councilmembers sent to judge. She seemed sympathetic to the Mokrani, even if she didn't quite understand. So, Pasekur and the others waited for an answer.

[Mokranshi]

Gregal took the vial in his hands, feeling its cold embrace; his face serious. He considered what this was, and thought about it for a few moments before returning to his calm demeanour. "This is an interesting gift, northerners. Interesting, but we're not going to risk it... not yet. We don't know anything about you all, and for all we know this could cause a plague of ice across our people. You may be assisting the mages somehow. I do hope you understand." He said, putting the vial in his pocket. "If you truly are on our side, then I want you to explain to us exactly what you're after. What will your colleagues be doing in Tykare? What if the mage agree to whatever you will be proposing?" There was concern in his voice. He raised his hand, and then a few more people walked out of the shadows. "For now, we'll let you live. But you will need to come with us to a small outpost, there you will tell us everything you know, and what you want from us in exchange for your help. We don't have much to offer, but we'll listen fully. We can't force anyone to do anything, it's freedom here."

Gregal and his companions bowed slightly in a greeting to their new guests before they all put their weapons away. "Please, come with us and we'll talk when we get there. Remain silent until we arrive, there are enemies everywhere, so we will be treating you as if you were prisoners; surrounding you... we'd also ask you to let us carry your weapons. You have my word they'll be returned to you when we arrive to the camp. Is it a deal?" He stretched out his hand to shake the northerners, as a gesture of good faith. "I promise nothing will happen, we just don't want them to know you're playing both sides, now do we?" He smiled.

Itashir, Ahiki, and Penanpe exchanged glances after having drawn themselves back out of their ritual. 'Well, it's a step in the right direction,' said Itashir to his companions. 'While they aren't quite interested in the Gift yet, we're still alive and this Gregal seems amenable. I say we follow them.'

'Also, Gregal requests we hand over our weapons. We're going to act as his "prisoners" '.

'What?!', shouted Penanpe. 'Are you truly mad, Itashir? You expect us to just -' 'Silence, Penanpe. Do as he says,' interrupted Ahiki.

Penanpe seemed to want to pipe up about this course of action, but held her tongue and just glared at the Messenger. Confident, Itashir shook the hand of the man. 'A deal is made, Gregal.' The trio handed over their arms and followed this Gregal and his band of rebels out of the cave and towards this outpost, posing as prisoners.

A few hours later...

The walk to the outpost seemed to take forever. The trio was forced to follow this man, this great unknown, in relative silence. Finally, a small outpost was spotted on the horizon. The group made their way into the relative safety of this makeshift fort, where there seemed to be a lot more rebels in waiting. Some of them glared suspiciously at the trio. Finally, the entire group seemed to be within the safe confines of the outpost. That's when Itashir turned to the rebel lieutenant and tried to respond to his questions.

'Ah, I suppose I have some explaining to do. You see, the vial I offer you is filled with a potent mixture. It's a sacred alchemical brew that's been passed down by the seers of Mokranshi for generations, and it will irreversibly change the drinker into a Winterborn, like us. I suppose I should've explained more while offering it, but Mulcarn smiles upon the faithful, so I thought to give you and your men a quick chance to see what He offers. You see, the mixture has a chance of unlocking the hidden magical potential of humans, to the point where their magical abilities and tendencies rival that of even elves. Or they would, were they not limited to ice magic.'

'As for what we want, that's quite easy to answer. We want nothing. Well, nothing material. We have no interest in your gold or resources, though I'm sure a little trade wouldn't hurt after the Kepraini prevail in their mission. But that's besides the point. What we desire is to show you Mulcarn's saved truth. As one of His Messengers in the mortal realm, it is my holy task to guide as many souls to Mulcarn as possible. All life is precious to Mulcarn, but the Winterborn are the greatest of His children, so the goal of many of us Messengers is to introduce as many outsiders to the Winterborn path as possible. And to be Winterborn confers many benefits beyond just divine favor. The magical gifts are just one of them.'

'You mentioned the delegation we traveled with, yes? That I can explain as well. You see, the blessed Farseer seeks to keep the Council occupied. It will do our mission no good if the Magoi operate on the suspicion that we are secretly aiding the resistance. So a delegation offering aid will through their scent off and allow us agents to operate freely. Besides, we needed some way to get past the border without arousing suspicion.'

'I understand you're concerned about the delegation brokering an alliance with the mage-lords. A fair worry, but we have that under control.' Itashir gestured to the stern-looking woman walking a bit behind them. 'Ahiki over there came up with a plan. You see, the alchemy require dot create the transformative potion requires a few things. Specially enchanted shavings of Everice is one of them. Our spymistress managed to switch them out with a snow substitute. Looks like the real thing, but lacks the magical qualities of Everice. If someone were to drink a potion with the snow substitute, they would suffer a few ill effects due to the...other ingredients, but they would not be transformed. I know for a fact that Pasekur, the Messenger bound for Tykare, wanted to showcase a transformation before the Magoi to convince them. Unfortunate though it may be, we have sabotaged him. Without a successful transformation, it will be much harder for Pasekur to broker a deal with the Magoi. He may have a few other tricks up his sleeve, but that ritual was supposed to be his showcase. Now, as much as I would like to see Mulcarn's word spread to every nation, I'd rather it spread to the people who know how to wield magic responsibly and would rule fairly.'

Finally Itashir saw fit to try and ask this Gregal a question. 'If you do not mind me asking, what exactly is it you and the Kepraini have in mind for Tyrandia's future? Visions of freedom and fair rule are nice, but what is it that you hope? That you truly hope? And how may Mokranshi help?'

[Fyrae]

The delegation of the Fyrae'ii marched with a dazzling splendour and efficiency, their steeled armour glittering in the summer's sun, their feet beating a rhythmic and consistent beat, not a foot missing its timing, forming an unbroken *bang* as armoured feet struck the ground. At the head of the small band of 10 warriors rode Rho'O'Ne, Grand Silencer of the Heretical, a hero throughout the empire. Tales were often told at firesides of the way he crushed the serpent of heretical thought at every turn throughout the Empire, single-handedly defeating the beastman Ghar'zhul during the Beast Rebellion. While the armour of the rest of the delegation's was a polished and refined steel and largely lacked any signs of individualism, aside from a few Ribbons of Valour, Rho's own armour was decorated with the sigil of the Eternal Emperor in the centre of his breastplate, etched and filled with gold.

The delegation came to a halt infront of the Tyrandian officials, a resounding metallic stomp ringing out. Standing in front of the Tyrandians, Rho held the composure of expecting a bow from the Tyrandians, but he nodded his head before speaking;

"May the God-Emperor bless you, we have come with a single intention; to destroy the rebels that threaten this nation and to ensure a peace in the Southern lands" Rho said, his voice biting with a metallic edge from his war helm. Curiously, he also spoke first in Fyrae'ii then repeated himself in Tyrandian, a move that made him quite feel somewhat demeaned, as a mighty Lord of the Fyrae'ii had no need to bring himself to such depths as to communicate in anything other than the Holy Tongue of Fyrae, but his helm hid any indicators of this.

Tykare, Tyrandia
With the gathering people, including the Mokranshi guests, a group of Magoi go to meet the Fyrae'ii troops.

"Welcome, dear friends from the north. We are glad to have you in this wonderous city. We hope your journey was not too bad?" Stated the representative meeting them, "We have lodgings made for your leadership, but I'm afraid your troops will need to remain outside of the city, we haven't the room to accomodate them. That being said, we will supply them with rations to ensure they do not starve." He said, calmly.

Observing the reactions from all those around them, you could tell that many of the Magoi were uncomfortable with a military being so close, but none said anything; in fact, the Magoi who was meeting them, Magister K'Kua seemed far too calm, almost as if he weren't worried whatsoever about the guests. He turned towards the crowd and with a smile stated, "We welcome additional guests to our great city, perhaps these guests too shall be able to aid us in quashing the rebellion!" Those words gained a cheer from the crowds. "Now, dear guests... please follow me to your lodgings as your soldiers remain outside the walls to rest..." he said, leading the leaders to an inn. "I guarantee this inn is to your standards, and you will be summoned in a day or so to address the council with your suggestions and ideas as to quashing this rebellion. Be warned though, you are not the only guests here who wish to make themselves a name, so please; do not cause any trouble." He said without looking back, continuing to guide them, giving a sideways glance over to the Mokranshi. Whether this was a good or bad sign for them, it was still too early to tell.

As the Tyrandian Magoi finished speaking, Rho'O'One silently dismissed his armed escort, leaving only him and the fellow Legion leaders he had selected to form his diplomatic entourage. As the sound of in tune metal boots slowly creeped out of the city and the entourage began to follow the Magoi, Rho felt himself grin underneath his war helm. He had been well aware that his armed escort would not be admitted into the city proper, but rather this was a move to show the Tyrandians and the Magoi the discipline of the Fyrae'ii soldier and his arms, as well as an ever so present reminder that a force readied for war would be sitting outside their walls, ready to act should something happen to their leaders.

Arriving outside of the inn, Rho removed his war helm to reveal a thin face covering similar to that of a nomadic rider in the deserts of S'Ka, however his strikingly blue eyes could still be seen with a fierce and unbreaking intensity. Next to him, a smaller man removed his helm, with a young yet scarred face;

"His Legion-Lord thanks you for your generosity. If you are questioning as to why His Lordship wears a face covering, it is that it would be dangerous for those not of the nobility and..." he paused for a moment, thinking of his next words "the less civilised among us to glimpse his face, lest they become overwhelmed by his God-touched appearance" he finished, before offering a courteous nod and following the rest of the Fyrae'ii delegation inside.

"An inn? A bloody inn? Do they think we are mere commoners in this pit-destined realm?" Hae'Kar spat, removing his war helm with an angry jolt, followed by a few murmured agreements

"Legion-Lord Rho'O'Ne, surely it is beneath us to have to live in quarters with the name of 'inn'. We are legionaries of the Eternal Emperor" spoke Tae'Uu'Zae, who skin was considerably more paler than the others there, due to his beginnings in life being in the almost Northerly port of Haquar.

"They seek to insult us, that is why" Hae'Kar answered quickly

"Calm yourself, Hae'Kar, you may be a Voice, but you are not my voice" Rho'O'One answered, removing his headdress, with the knife-point sharpness of his voice no longer muffled beneath the helm. Unlike the rest of the Legionaries present, Rho's skin was a light brown, due to him being of the Aerhoaenei peoples that lay within S'Ka. Turning around, he looked at the men with his thick eyebrows giving away his annoyance with them "We are here to execute His Will, not question or quarry it. I will not have such complaints in my company, for we must remain vigilant. The beastmen will not hesitate to attempt to dig underneath our skins, and your groaning will only make it much more effective. Am I understood?" He asked, though the answer was clear

At the gates of city hall

The men of the Fyrae'ii delegation walked in time with one another, due to it being drilled into them throughout their long terms of service within the Emperor's Legions and to give the impression of the men being a single unit. For their wear, they wore a pristine white Thawb that Rho had brought with him as he entered the rank of Legion-Lord many years prior, with their collars and sleeves stiffened, with their cuffs and collars being decorated with golden patterns that weaved in and out of each other. To denote Rho, he had once again wore a face covering, however now it was paired with a deep red Keffiyeh. They came to a stop outside the gates of the city hall and quietly chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the presence of the beastmen near them.

[Gattoh]

Aboard the junk Niji, somewhere between Gattoh and Ulskar

Besides the usual sailors of the Niji, four figures were present on deck. Three of them wore thin hooded cloaks, while the fourth had already donned the thicker garb which all would likely be wearing during their time in the Northern Lands, where the cold sucked at one's veins like so many leeches and the snow did not so much coat the land as entomb it. In hushed tones they discussed their task.

But two days past, none other than Chancellor Sanada Jiro had visited each of the four and outlined their task, yet only yesterday had the four been introduced to one another. The Emperor had decided that the situation in Tyrandia was worthy of His attention, and certain agents were needed to act on His behalf. Thus were chosen the four presently gathered.

Kurowara Ichiro was the eldest of the group, and the most hounded by rumour. One legend of the man spoke of his past leading a clan of deadly shinobi, who would descend from their mountains to slay the unjust. Another told of his exploits abroad, and how he was taught to remain hidden by a foreign tanuki. Yet another detailed how, in his youth, when his village was beset by bandits, Ichiro cut the throat of the bandit leader without a trace. Only the man himself knew the truths from the falsehoods. He was tasked by His Imperial Majesty with making contact with the rebellious Kepraini. No dove had been dispatched with a message, for his task was of the greatest secrecy.

By his side would be Yamazaki Mumyo. With him there was no speculation ─ all knew the pseudonym Mumyo, the Nameless, one of the greatest of the last emperor's spies, who betrayed his master's location to the enemy and turned the tide of the Southern War in favour of the southerners. His mastery of disguise seemed almost magical, and stories of him seducing many a great man or woman by taking the place of their lover then stealing their deepest secrets abounded. Perhaps there could be no greater companion to the man who became invisible in the shadows than the man who became invisible in the light.

Okada Fuku stood out in the motley crew for two reasons: she was the only woman amongst them (a cause of concern for Mumyo, who never trusted the loose lips of a female) and she was the only mage (a cause of concern for everyone). At the Battle of Aratazato, with the Kobayashi clan's troops facing certain defeat to the larger Ogawa force, she summoned a great pair of demons to destroy the enemy. The devils certainly destroyed the enemy ─ along with most of the routed allies. The remainder of the Kobayashi army marched onto and ultimately seized the capital. Surely, a mage who seemed reasonably in control of her power was the ideal representative of His Imperial Majesty to the mages of Tyrandia. A dove had been sent ahead, and it was hoped that the Magoi would be ready to receive the Gattoans in due course.

Ironically, by her side was a witchhunter ─ the youngest of the four, Sugimori Satoshi. Barely past his nineteenth summer, he made quite the impression nonetheless, with the rather bulky armour beneath his cloak lending him an unusual figure. The lad was short a measure of wit, but by the personal accounts of the Master of the Witchhunters' Shuku commanded a blade like the artist commands their brush. He would keep an eye on the sorceress, yes ─ but he might also remind the foreign mages that while His Imperial Majesty was willing to extend the branch of peace to them, they would never be bosom buddies.

So now these four stood aboard the Niji, embraced by the wind and ironing out the details of their task. The Imperial Kannushi had prayed for divine winds, and the modest vessel certainly seemed to be making an unusually good pace. Within the week they should reach their port destination, whence they would proceed north and east into unfamiliar lands. Closer to their destinations they would split up, with Fuku and Satoshi moving to meet with the Magoi, and Ichiro and Mumyo making their way with the minimum fanfare to join with the Kepraini, each taking what war supplies they could with them as gifts. And when contact was made, the Emperor's plan would begin.

[Tyrandia]

The guard sighed and put up his arms in surrender, "Sorry. If I'm understanding you properly you're wanting out. Even if your story were true, which I am unsure of, and can't even fully understand... I can't help you out." He realised his words might not be understood so he gestured no with his head, and then handed out a piece of paper with a bit of charcoal so that he could write a note. "If you want to write a message to friends or family, that's really all I can do for you." His friend laughed.

"You're already doing way more than you should. You might get in trouble." Scoffed his friend, trying to relax at the table.

"Listen, if he's going to be killed or something, for magical gains, we at least need to pity him... he might be innocent."

"Innocent or not, you shouldn't even consider going again the mages, so leave him be."

"Alright, you're right." The guard sighed in annoyance, turning back to the prisoner. "Sorry... really, I wish I could help more." He decided to walk away, returning a few moments later with a warm meal and a cup full of wine to help the prisoner relax. "Take it easy for now, sorry I can't do more." He smiled and walked away to join his companion at the table, feeling bad he couldn't help more... but his family and he would be in danger if he even tried to.

Tykare, the day of the meeting...

The Lodge
A day after arriving in the city, the time had come for the delegation to meet with the Magoi Council. Pasekur was busy meditating before his alter and praying for a favorable outcome. He had also chilled some enchanted Everice shavings, inhaling the its magical vapor in the hopes of inducing a vision of the future. Alas, he had had no luck in that regard. Without moving from his prayer position, he gave an order to one of the homigor attendants. 'You, the one with the curled horns. Take Stonecrusher with you and head to the prison entrance. Request that we have our guest back. We will need him for later today. Do not go down there yourself. It is quite hot and I don't want you or Stonecrusher catching the Summer Plague. As for me, I need to prepare a few more things for our meeting.' He thought for a moment. 'Ah, yes, you don't speak Tyrandian, do you?'

Pasekur took a roll of paper and began scribbling a note before signing it. He looked at the piece and realized that it would need some sort of note of authenticity. Figuring that he was going to do so already, Pasekur drew a small dagger and lightly slit his index finger, letting the snowlike blood drip onto the paper before pressing it into the paper. 'Here, this should suffice.'

The homigor bowed, taking the note. 'Yes, faithful Messenger. It will be done.' He and Stonecrusher left the lodge and headed towards the prisons posthaste.

With the attendant and Stonecrusher gone, he began making preparations. Pasekur took out a vial from his sack. The vial was glass, a rare commodity among the Mokrani, who feared heat too much to learn glassblowing. He scraped up the shavings of Everice and gently poured it into the vial. Then, he took the dagger again and held his wrist over it. The dagger moved gently across his wrist, letting open a cut that bled freely. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he chanted as the blood dripped into the vial.

'Mulcarn, ghasthh u'a' xuia' thhuftg'an shut gax, ru' haashant nugh gactha ialun iat. Ra'aaft su shan xuia' gftu'uuiat s'iash, ang giauga iat.'

As he drew back out of his trance, the blood mixed with the Everice, causing them both to shimmer unearthly. Satisfied, he corked the vial and put it away for later.

A short while later...

The homigor and Stonecrusher stood before the guards at the prison entrance. Finding the language barrier too difficult, he handed them the note Pasekur had written. After what seemed like an eternity, the guards were satisfied and headed down into the depths to fetch the prisoner.

The Prison
Bataar curled up in the corner as he slept. Truth be told, despite the less-than-comfortable conditions, the fact that the cell was fairly warm alleviated all concern. However, his rest was interrupted by a guard in his cell. The man uttered something in his language and picked Bataar up. Bataar, still groggy, looked around and asked in Old Mokrani, 'Wha? Where is the other guard? The friendly one?Where did he go? I need to see him.' The new guard dragging him forward seemed to care not. Bataar has hastily driven out of the prison intot he bright sunlgiht of the morning. The suddenness of it caused him to flinch, during which he heard some voices and felt a pair of bestial hands grab him. Unable to move against the snow demon's strength, he fruitless flailed as he was taken away. By this time, he had regained more of his sense and asked, 'What's going on, snow demons? Where are you taking me? Answer!'

Without looking, the homigor answered. 'You still complain? We go to Council. Today is time, they wait. Faithful Messenger Pasekur needs you. You are important, he says. Now shut up.'

In truth, Bataar didn't seem to shut up for the rest of the way to the Council.

At the gates of the City Hall
Pasekur waited patiently to be welcomed into he hall and to stand before the Council. Behind him stood his bodyguards, Stonecrusher and Shatterspear. Behind them was the remainder of the delegation, a motley collection of men and beastmen, some diplomats, others mages. Hopefully, they would not have to wait long, but Pasekur did not want to press the issue by forcing himself in and potentially upsetting the Council. With any luck, the Magoi Zequta would be among the Councilmembers sent to judge. She seemed sympathetic to the Mokrani, even if she didn't quite understand. So, Pasekur and the others waited for an answer.

At the Council
A delegation exited the chambers and made their way outside to greet their guests, leading this group was Magoi Zequta, who would also be one of the primary judges of the event. She bowed slightly in a greet, "Greetings friends from the north. We welcome you to our humble council. Follow me and we will begin." She said, gesturing ahead as the rest of the delegation begins to lead on. The whole group ignored the prisoner that was trying yelling in a foreign language, deeming him not worth their time. The halls towards the grand council chamber were lined with written text; histories of magic and the future of magic, or what the Tyrandians believed would be the future of it. The texts on the walls gave great details of how magic is to be used, although did not list any spells or incantations. All of this writing was in a gold coloured paint, behind it was blue; these two colours represented Tyrandia in each way. After a while, they reached the chambers.

"We've arrived, dear friends." Said Magoi Zequita, turning to her colleagues, "You may go tell the council that we will begin momentarily, as I get our guests ready." She smiled as the other Magoi left. "Dear friends, I hope to wish you the best of luck in your following meeting, please perform to your utmost; I anticipate it. You may have the room to the left to prepare yourselves if needed." She gestured over to it. "If not, you may begin right away and follow me." She straightened up and gave an air of dignity as she prepared, "Be warned. Many Magoi are unwilling to accept your aid, so you must show them that you are indeed as great in magic as you claim."

[Tyrandia]

Tykare, Tyrandia
With the gathering people, including the Mokranshi guests, a group of Magoi go to meet the Fyrae'ii troops.

"Welcome, dear friends from the north. We are glad to have you in this wonderous city. We hope your journey was not too bad?" Stated the representative meeting them, "We have lodgings made for your leadership, but I'm afraid your troops will need to remain outside of the city, we haven't the room to accomodate them. That being said, we will supply them with rations to ensure they do not starve." He said, calmly.

Observing the reactions from all those around them, you could tell that many of the Magoi were uncomfortable with a military being so close, but none said anything; in fact, the Magoi who was meeting them, Magister K'Kua seemed far too calm, almost as if he weren't worried whatsoever about the guests. He turned towards the crowd and with a smile stated, "We welcome additional guests to our great city, perhaps these guests too shall be able to aid us in quashing the rebellion!" Those words gained a cheer from the crowds. "Now, dear guests... please follow me to your lodgings as your soldiers remain outside the walls to rest..." he said, leading the leaders to an inn. "I guarantee this inn is to your standards, and you will be summoned in a day or so to address the council with your suggestions and ideas as to quashing this rebellion. Be warned though, you are not the only guests here who wish to make themselves a name, so please; do not cause any trouble." He said without looking back, continuing to guide them, giving a sideways glance over to the Mokranshi. Whether this was a good or bad sign for them, it was still too early to tell.

As the Tyrandian Magoi finished speaking, Rho'O'One silently dismissed his armed escort, leaving only him and the fellow Legion leaders he had selected to form his diplomatic entourage. As the sound of in tune metal boots slowly creeped out of the city and the entourage began to follow the Magoi, Rho felt himself grin underneath his war helm. He had been well aware that his armed escort would not be admitted into the city proper, but rather this was a move to show the Tyrandians and the Magoi the discipline of the Fyrae'ii soldier and his arms, as well as an ever so present reminder that a force readied for war would be sitting outside their walls, ready to act should something happen to their leaders.

Arriving outside of the inn, Rho removed his war helm to reveal a thin face covering similar to that of a nomadic rider in the deserts of S'Ka, however his strikingly blue eyes could still be seen with a fierce and unbreaking intensity. Next to him, a smaller man removed his helm, with a young yet scarred face;

"His Legion-Lord thanks you for your generosity. If you are questioning as to why His Lordship wears a face covering, it is that it would be dangerous for those not of the nobility and..." he paused for a moment, thinking of his next words "the less civilised among us to glimpse his face, lest they become overwhelmed by his God-touched appearance" he finished, before offering a courteous nod and following the rest of the Fyrae'ii delegation inside.

"An inn? A bloody inn? Do they think we are mere commoners in this pit-destined realm?" Hae'Kar spat, removing his war helm with an angry jolt, followed by a few murmured agreements

"Legion-Lord Rho'O'Ne, surely it is beneath us to have to live in quarters with the name of 'inn'. We are legionaries of the Eternal Emperor" spoke Tae'Uu'Zae, who skin was considerably more paler than the others there, due to his beginnings in life being in the almost Northerly port of Haquar.

"They seek to insult us, that is why" Hae'Kar answered quickly

"Calm yourself, Hae'Kar, you may be a Voice, but you are not my voice" Rho'O'One answered, removing his headdress, with the knife-point sharpness of his voice no longer muffled beneath the helm. Unlike the rest of the Legionaries present, Rho's skin was a light brown, due to him being of the Aerhoaenei peoples that lay within S'Ka. Turning around, he looked at the men with his thick eyebrows giving away his annoyance with them "We are here to execute His Will, not question or quarry it. I will not have such complaints in my company, for we must remain vigilant. The beastmen will not hesitate to attempt to dig underneath our skins, and your groaning will only make it much more effective. Am I understood?" He asked, though the answer was clear

At the gates of city hall

The men of the Fyrae'ii delegation walked in time with one another, due to it being drilled into them throughout their long terms of service within the Emperor's Legions and to give the impression of the men being a single unit. For their wear, they wore a pristine white Thawb that Rho had brought with him as he entered the rank of Legion-Lord many years prior, with their collars and sleeves stiffened, with their cuffs and collars being decorated with golden patterns that weaved in and out of each other. To denote Rho, he had once again wore a face covering, however now it was paired with a deep red Keffiyeh. They came to a stop outside the gates of the city hall and quietly chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the presence of the beastmen near them.

At the Inn
Following the Fyrae'ii getting setup in their inn, and their armies setting up camp outside the walls, a delegate from the council comes to greet them.

"Greetings travellers from the north." Bowed Magoi W'tar, a short man with little hair remaining, glasses with thick lenses, and a very pale complexion. "I am W'tar, senior councillor, and I am here to greet you and to invite you to attend the presentation that the Mokranshi travellers are to put on." He smiled. "We believe that it would be fair for two of you to come watch over it, as you would also be requested to do a presentation following theirs, although not right after; as to give us time to consider their actions and presentation." He thought for a few moments, "I believe your time will come in the late evening, or tomorrow morning. But regardless, if you wish to attend to view it, please do come with me."

W'tar was an interesting fellow, although visible insignificant, he was one of the longest-sitting councillors in Tyrandia, nobody quite understood how he managed to remain in his position so long, but due to it he was able to gain a great deal of respect from his colleagues as a man who has been through everything, seeking him out whenever they had a question about a council discussion or didn't understand how to go about certain requests with the council. He himself, however, was quite interested in seeing what the Fyrae'ii would do, he preferred them over the Zealots from Mokranshi - as he puts it. He sincerely hoped that the Mokranshi would fail, and the Fyrae'ii would be able to impress.

[Mokranshi]

At the Council
A delegation exited the chambers and made their way outside to greet their guests, leading this group was Magoi Zequta, who would also be one of the primary judges of the event. She bowed slightly in a greet, "Greetings friends from the north. We welcome you to our humble council. Follow me and we will begin." She said, gesturing ahead as the rest of the delegation begins to lead on. The whole group ignored the prisoner that was trying yelling in a foreign language, deeming him not worth their time. The halls towards the grand council chamber were lined with written text; histories of magic and the future of magic, or what the Tyrandians believed would be the future of it. The texts on the walls gave great details of how magic is to be used, although did not list any spells or incantations. All of this writing was in a gold coloured paint, behind it was blue; these two colours represented Tyrandia in each way. After a while, they reached the chambers.

"We've arrived, dear friends." Said Magoi Zequita, turning to her colleagues, "You may go tell the council that we will begin momentarily, as I get our guests ready." She smiled as the other Magoi left. "Dear friends, I hope to wish you the best of luck in your following meeting, please perform to your utmost; I anticipate it. You may have the room to the left to prepare yourselves if needed." She gestured over to it. "If not, you may begin right away and follow me." She straightened up and gave an air of dignity as she prepared, "Be warned. Many Magoi are unwilling to accept your aid, so you must show them that you are indeed as great in magic as you claim."

At the Council
'Thank you for your most gracious welcome, good Magoi Zequta,' said Pasekur with a polite bow. 'I promise, neither you nor your fellows will be disappointed by what you'll witness today.' The Messenger turned towards the delegation and barked an order in Mokrani, by which the motley assortment followed Pasekur into the great hall. Spearshatter turned towards the Fyrae'ii and offered a brief snort before following his employer inside.

Once inside, the Mokrani mages took to the first training room they could find and began practicing all the magic they knew. They launched spikes of ice at targets, conjured cones of cold, summoned walls of snow, and froze the ground beneath them, among other tricks. Those who were not immediately practicing gazed at the runes and carvings adorning the walls. These golden words were fascinating to look at, even if they had no idea what they said.

The diplomats among them took to courting the Tyrandian leadership, hoping to preemptively win over their hosts. Many of them attempted flattering the idle magi, praising the history and culture of Tyrandia while drawing parallels to Mokranshi's own culture. Truthfully, there weren't many. A strong magical presence, certainly, but little else. Some diplomats attempted to redefine Mokrani culture and reframe it in a more palatable light. Many delegates were keenly aware of Mokranshi's reputation as a nation of savages and zealots, and some tried to help the Tyrandians...view their culture in a different light. Oh, Mokranshi's seers and shaman-chiefs aren't just barbarians ruling by might over their tribes, they represent the best and most talented of their communities, much like how the Magoi are the finest of the Tyrandians. The fanatical worship of Mulcarn in the upper echelons of tribal government is in part because of Mulcarn's association with ice magic. After all, is the gift and giver of magic not worthy of praise, indeed even worship? Surely Tyrandians of all people could respect the gift of magic for what it is.

Speaking of Mulcarn, there was little talk of the God that seemed to form every facet of Mokrani society. Even Pasekur, whose prime directive is to seek out and convert others, downplayed the name of his God, hoping not drive away or offend the somewhat xenophobic Magoi. It matters not. After all, once they witness His power, then they will appreciate His gifts, he thought to himself. In the meantime, the Messenger was busy trying to convey an image of propriety with his beastman comrades, knowing their poor reputation among foreign humans. He introduced some of the kaprogor mages to the Tyrandian nobles and magi, translating the bleats of the goatmen while trying to make them sound as refined as possible. The kaprogors for their part tried to imitate human noble etiquette, awkward as it was. Beastman bodies are ill suited for activities such as bowing and kneeling and other human oddities.

As for the prisoner, Bataar, he had been gagged and led into a corner by Stonecrusher. The delegation had worked too hard for this upstart Lost to ruin it by yelling obscenities at the Tyrandians or the Mokrani. This didn't stop Bataar from trying, as he consistently struggled in Stonecrusher's grip.

Before the Magoi's Judgement

Finally, the time had come to introduce the power of the Mokrani to the Magoi. Muttering one last prayer to Mulcarn, Pasekur rallied the delegation to the main hall, where they stood before the Magoi Council, or a part of it. These were to be the Tyrandians who judged the worth of the Mokrani and their magic. Pasekur took a quick glance around and was slightly relieved to see Magoi Zequta among them, though he did not show it. Taking a deep breath and feeling the vial in his pocket, he began to speak.

'Good Magoi of Tyrandia, we humbly thank you for welcoming us into your grand city. You do us a great service by allowing us humble folk to display our gifts before you. Now, I imagine you are very curious as to exactly how much power we have to offer, for the Tyrandians do not take in just any street sweeper who knows a few parlor tricks. The Magoi are great, and you seek greatness. You desire only the strongest and mightiest of magics. And that is what we offer: the strongest and mightiest ice magic of the mortal realm! Mages! At the ready!'

At Pasekur's command, the Mokrani mages assembled and began to display their talents. They hurled ice spikes big as a man's arm at one another, before they were shattered by counterspells of equal strength. Groups of mages built walls of ice, whereupon the bovigor bodyguards tested their sturdiness by trying (and failing) to shatter them with their weapons. The mages froze the floor and thawed it as quick, showcasing their ability to adapt the land to their advantage. In a similar vein, they pooled their powers and chilled the air around them, enough to make the Magoi uncomfortable but not so much to induce physical harm.

'Alright! At ease, mages!' shouted Pasekur. The Mokrani spellcasters lowered their hands and awaited further instructions. 'Now, this was only the beginning, I assure you. While our mages are undoubtedly talented, any mage can learn ice magic, whereas we are limited to it. You may wonder, "What good are mages limited to only one school of magic?" To this I say, we have taken ice magic to levels unimaginable.' Pasekur reached into one of his pockets and withdrew small shimmering shards of Everice. They were neatly cut and resembled transparent gems. 'What I hold before you are spellshards. These crystalline pieces are made of pure Everice, a special kind of coldforged ice where magic has been woven into the ice itself. The Mokrani have mastered the forging process, as we alone have the ability and tolerance to withstand the intensive forging process to make these shards. They do not melt like regular ice, and they may temporarily grant the user enhanced abilities, depending on how the magic is woven into the ice.'

To demonstrate, Pasekur handed a spellshard to a kaprogor mage, who swallowed the crystal. What seemed to be pleasure wafted from the beastman, as he began to cast a spell as demonstration. The kaprogor cast another ice shard at a fellow mate, though this one was noticeably longer and sharper than the previous ones cast. The other mage managed to dispel the spike, though not without noticeable difficulty. The kaprogor did not slow down for his part. He chilled the air even colder, summoned even greater ice spells, and froze the ground near solid on his own. After a while the kaprogor withdrew the effects of his spells and returned to his starting position.

Pasekur smiled. 'Such is the power of a Winterborn fueled by spellshards. Rally enough ice mages together, and they may perform great feats. They could freeze off a whole section of a river, blocking its use. They could render mountain passes impassable by summoning great mounds of snow. They could even freeze entire rebel outposts to death and render them unusable, given enough time, energy, and spellshards. Am sorry that is not the only use of Everice. With enough of it, we can coldforge weapons that chill the blood, inflict frostbite, even induce hypothermia if you know where to stab them.'

He paused. 'However, I am afraid there are some drawbacks to such ice magic I have shown before you. Ice magic of such magnitude is dangerous for a user that himself is not adapted to wield such gifts. We Winterborn are forged like no other race in Gwalethia to live in the cold. It does not harm us. However, if a non-Winterborn ice mage were to cast enough spells fueled by spellshards, he would find his strength sapped over time. His body would not be built to stand the cold, and he may even die from it if he spends enough time wantonly casting ice spells.'

'However, there is a solution. It is one that Mulcarn granted upon us since time immemorial. The Gift of the Winterborn.' Pasekur drew forth the vial he had been keeping and displayed it before the Council. It shimmered red and blue, and looked like a mixture of blood and snow. 'This is an alchemical mixture, a most holy one. Within it lies the power to turn people into Winterborn, with all the powers that entail. Upon receiving the gift, one will find their sway over ice magic to be unparalleled among the mortal races. If you selectively apply this tonic to Tyrandians, you could field an army of ice mages that would make the rebels in the mountains tremble. But such great claims require great evidence, so I shall show you.'

Pasekur signalled Stonecrusher to come forward with Bataar, so he did. The bovigor dragged the bound Mokrani before the Messenger, and it started to sink in to him what was about to happen. Like never before, Bataar struggled and screamed into his gag, so much so that Stonecrusher actually flinched a bit in a response to his panicking. Pasekur reassured the Magoi, 'Do not worry, this man is of no concern to you. He has caused a great deal of trouble for us back home, and it is only fitting that he repay us with a fair demonstration.'

As Stonecrusher slowly removed the gag from Bataar, Pasekur uncorked the vial and entered into a trance, chanting in some strange unknown language.

'Mulcarn, anusha' thunat, taakung xuia' gurs. Un'auft Yuia' gftu'x, shas shut ghaxgha'g tun nax tsal unsu sha ftughs ang ft'aasha r'aaftx ur ghunsa''t ft'aash.'

The Mokrani delegation knelt or otherwise showed reverence towards the Messenger while Bataar's screaming jaws were held open and in place by Stonecrusher's powerful hands. Pasekur, still in a trance, poured the contents of the vial down Bataar's throat, stifling his screams. The mixture tasted foul, equal parts bitter and metallic, with an overwhelming chilly feeling running down his throat. When at last the contents of the vial were emptied. Pasekur came out of his trance and looked at the sickened Bataar. 'Bataar, lost child who has now been found by the glory of Mul-'

Pasekur was not able to finish before he was forced to jump back as Bataar began projectile vomiting blood and snow onto the floor. The delegates bleated in surprise and shock, and while Pasekur could not see the reactions of the Council, he did not imagine they were good. After Bataar finally finished returning the contents of the vial back out, he collapsed onto the floor. Pasekur ran and checked the pulse of the prisoner. Thankfully, he was still alive. What happened? This isn't supposed to happen unless...the mixture! Something must be wrong with it. But what? Wait. Wait, focus, Pasekur. The Messenger gave a quick order to have some of his attendants carry Bataar back to the lodge. As for him, he turned to face the Council with a nervousness he was not used to. Clearing his throat, he proceeded, 'My sincerest apologies, Good Magoi. It seems something went terribly wrong with the ritual. A thousand apologies. However, our offer still stands nonetheless. Tyrandia has much to gain from the prowress of Mokrani's mages. We could send ice mages to assist in the effort, provide spellshards and weapons of Everice. We have a great deal to give, most gracious Magoi.' Pasekur offered a nervous smile.

[Tyrandia]

Aboard the junk Niji, somewhere between Gattoh and Ulskar

Besides the usual sailors of the Niji, four figures were present on deck. Three of them wore thin hooded cloaks, while the fourth had already donned the thicker garb which all would likely be wearing during their time in the Northern Lands, where the cold sucked at one's veins like so many leeches and the snow did not so much coat the land as entomb it. In hushed tones they discussed their task.

But two days past, none other than Chancellor Sanada Jiro had visited each of the four and outlined their task, yet only yesterday had the four been introduced to one another. The Emperor had decided that the situation in Tyrandia was worthy of His attention, and certain agents were needed to act on His behalf. Thus were chosen the four presently gathered.

Kurowara Ichiro was the eldest of the group, and the most hounded by rumour. One legend of the man spoke of his past leading a clan of deadly shinobi, who would descend from their mountains to slay the unjust. Another told of his exploits abroad, and how he was taught to remain hidden by a foreign tanuki. Yet another detailed how, in his youth, when his village was beset by bandits, Ichiro cut the throat of the bandit leader without a trace. Only the man himself knew the truths from the falsehoods. He was tasked by His Imperial Majesty with making contact with the rebellious Kepraini. No dove had been dispatched with a message, for his task was of the greatest secrecy.

By his side would be Yamazaki Mumyo. With him there was no speculation ─ all knew the pseudonym Mumyo, the Nameless, one of the greatest of the last emperor's spies, who betrayed his master's location to the enemy and turned the tide of the Southern War in favour of the southerners. His mastery of disguise seemed almost magical, and stories of him seducing many a great man or woman by taking the place of their lover then stealing their deepest secrets abounded. Perhaps there could be no greater companion to the man who became invisible in the shadows than the man who became invisible in the light.

Okada Fuku stood out in the motley crew for two reasons: she was the only woman amongst them (a cause of concern for Mumyo, who never trusted the loose lips of a female) and she was the only mage (a cause of concern for everyone). At the Battle of Aratazato, with the Kobayashi clan's troops facing certain defeat to the larger Ogawa force, she summoned a great pair of demons to destroy the enemy. The devils certainly destroyed the enemy ─ along with most of the routed allies. The remainder of the Kobayashi army marched onto and ultimately seized the capital. Surely, a mage who seemed reasonably in control of her power was the ideal representative of His Imperial Majesty to the mages of Tyrandia. A dove had been sent ahead, and it was hoped that the Magoi would be ready to receive the Gattoans in due course.

Ironically, by her side was a witchhunter ─ the youngest of the four, Sugimori Satoshi. Barely past his nineteenth summer, he made quite the impression nonetheless, with the rather bulky armour beneath his cloak lending him an unusual figure. The lad was short a measure of wit, but by the personal accounts of the Master of the Witchhunters' Shuku commanded a blade like the artist commands their brush. He would keep an eye on the sorceress, yes ─ but he might also remind the foreign mages that while His Imperial Majesty was willing to extend the branch of peace to them, they would never be bosom buddies.

So now these four stood aboard the Niji, embraced by the wind and ironing out the details of their task. The Imperial Kannushi had prayed for divine winds, and the modest vessel certainly seemed to be making an unusually good pace. Within the week they should reach their port destination, whence they would proceed north and east into unfamiliar lands. Closer to their destinations they would split up, with Fuku and Satoshi moving to meet with the Magoi, and Ichiro and Mumyo making their way with the minimum fanfare to join with the Kepraini, each taking what war supplies they could with them as gifts. And when contact was made, the Emperor's plan would begin.

Tykare, Tyrandia

Upon confirming the news that Gattoh is sending envoys to come meet with the council, it was immediately relayed to the leaders of the Magoi Council. This was viewed with mixed skepticism, as Gattoh was a new member of the infamous Tene'dakn Accord, a well-known political organisation that harbours negative feelings towards mages. Although none of the members of the accord have ever openly said anything negative about mages, a magical nation like Tyrandia would be concerned; especially considering the fact that Gattoh is normally isolationist.

"We've already allowed envoys from Mokranshi and Fyrae. It seems only fair to allow those from Gattoh to speak as well." Said one Magoi.

"But what if they seek to undermine our power, we should just stick with whom me are already working with!" Replied another.

"Nonsense, friends. So far, every nation that has approached us has wanted something in return, some more willing to share their desires than others..." replied a third, emphasizing the word "others".

"Calm, people... calm..." said Grand Magister Sokia. "We will allow these envoys to come forth and speak to us, what harm can come? They merely wish to discuss, we shall refuse them if they ask for anything that we deem may harm us. Agreed?" She ended that sentence more with a statement than a question, as if the decision was made before the rest of the council had any input.

A few moments later, the entire council agreed.

"Then it is settled, they shall be permitted to speak." Sokia ended the discussion.

[Tyrandia]

At the Council
A delegation exited the chambers and made their way outside to greet their guests, leading this group was Magoi Zequta, who would also be one of the primary judges of the event. She bowed slightly in a greet, "Greetings friends from the north. We welcome you to our humble council. Follow me and we will begin." She said, gesturing ahead as the rest of the delegation begins to lead on. The whole group ignored the prisoner that was trying yelling in a foreign language, deeming him not worth their time. The halls towards the grand council chamber were lined with written text; histories of magic and the future of magic, or what the Tyrandians believed would be the future of it. The texts on the walls gave great details of how magic is to be used, although did not list any spells or incantations. All of this writing was in a gold coloured paint, behind it was blue; these two colours represented Tyrandia in each way. After a while, they reached the chambers.

"We've arrived, dear friends." Said Magoi Zequita, turning to her colleagues, "You may go tell the council that we will begin momentarily, as I get our guests ready." She smiled as the other Magoi left. "Dear friends, I hope to wish you the best of luck in your following meeting, please perform to your utmost; I anticipate it. You may have the room to the left to prepare yourselves if needed." She gestured over to it. "If not, you may begin right away and follow me." She straightened up and gave an air of dignity as she prepared, "Be warned. Many Magoi are unwilling to accept your aid, so you must show them that you are indeed as great in magic as you claim."

At the Council
'Thank you for your most gracious welcome, good Magoi Zequta,' said Pasekur with a polite bow. 'I promise, neither you nor your fellows will be disappointed by what you'll witness today.' The Messenger turned towards the delegation and barked an order in Mokrani, by which the motley assortment followed Pasekur into the great hall. Spearshatter turned towards the Fyrae'ii and offered a brief snort before following his employer inside.

Once inside, the Mokrani mages took to the first training room they could find and began practicing all the magic they knew. They launched spikes of ice at targets, conjured cones of cold, summoned walls of snow, and froze the ground beneath them, among other tricks. Those who were not immediately practicing gazed at the runes and carvings adorning the walls. These golden words were fascinating to look at, even if they had no idea what they said.

The diplomats among them took to courting the Tyrandian leadership, hoping to preemptively win over their hosts. Many of them attempted flattering the idle magi, praising the history and culture of Tyrandia while drawing parallels to Mokranshi's own culture. Truthfully, there weren't many. A strong magical presence, certainly, but little else. Some diplomats attempted to redefine Mokrani culture and reframe it in a more palatable light. Many delegates were keenly aware of Mokranshi's reputation as a nation of savages and zealots, and some tried to help the Tyrandians...view their culture in a different light. Oh, Mokranshi's seers and shaman-chiefs aren't just barbarians ruling by might over their tribes, they represent the best and most talented of their communities, much like how the Magoi are the finest of the Tyrandians. The fanatical worship of Mulcarn in the upper echelons of tribal government is in part because of Mulcarn's association with ice magic. After all, is the gift and giver of magic not worthy of praise, indeed even worship? Surely Tyrandians of all people could respect the gift of magic for what it is.

Speaking of Mulcarn, there was little talk of the God that seemed to form every facet of Mokrani society. Even Pasekur, whose prime directive is to seek out and convert others, downplayed the name of his God, hoping not drive away or offend the somewhat xenophobic Magoi. It matters not. After all, once they witness His power, then they will appreciate His gifts, he thought to himself. In the meantime, the Messenger was busy trying to convey an image of propriety with his beastman comrades, knowing their poor reputation among foreign humans. He introduced some of the kaprogor mages to the Tyrandian nobles and magi, translating the bleats of the goatmen while trying to make them sound as refined as possible. The kaprogors for their part tried to imitate human noble etiquette, awkward as it was. Beastman bodies are ill suited for activities such as bowing and kneeling and other human oddities.

As for the prisoner, Bataar, he had been gagged and led into a corner by Stonecrusher. The delegation had worked too hard for this upstart Lost to ruin it by yelling obscenities at the Tyrandians or the Mokrani. This didn't stop Bataar from trying, as he consistently struggled in Stonecrusher's grip.

Before the Magoi's Judgement

Finally, the time had come to introduce the power of the Mokrani to the Magoi. Muttering one last prayer to Mulcarn, Pasekur rallied the delegation to the main hall, where they stood before the Magoi Council, or a part of it. These were to be the Tyrandians who judged the worth of the Mokrani and their magic. Pasekur took a quick glance around and was slightly relieved to see Magoi Zequta among them, though he did not show it. Taking a deep breath and feeling the vial in his pocket, he began to speak.

'Good Magoi of Tyrandia, we humbly thank you for welcoming us into your grand city. You do us a great service by allowing us humble folk to display our gifts before you. Now, I imagine you are very curious as to exactly how much power we have to offer, for the Tyrandians do not take in just any street sweeper who knows a few parlor tricks. The Magoi are great, and you seek greatness. You desire only the strongest and mightiest of magics. And that is what we offer: the strongest and mightiest ice magic of the mortal realm! Mages! At the ready!'

At Pasekur's command, the Mokrani mages assembled and began to display their talents. They hurled ice spikes big as a man's arm at one another, before they were shattered by counterspells of equal strength. Groups of mages built walls of ice, whereupon the bovigor bodyguards tested their sturdiness by trying (and failing) to shatter them with their weapons. The mages froze the floor and thawed it as quick, showcasing their ability to adapt the land to their advantage. In a similar vein, they pooled their powers and chilled the air around them, enough to make the Magoi uncomfortable but not so much to induce physical harm.

'Alright! At ease, mages!' shouted Pasekur. The Mokrani spellcasters lowered their hands and awaited further instructions. 'Now, this was only the beginning, I assure you. While our mages are undoubtedly talented, any mage can learn ice magic, whereas we are limited to it. You may wonder, "What good are mages limited to only one school of magic?" To this I say, we have taken ice magic to levels unimaginable.' Pasekur reached into one of his pockets and withdrew small shimmering shards of Everice. They were neatly cut and resembled transparent gems. 'What I hold before you are spellshards. These crystalline pieces are made of pure Everice, a special kind of coldforged ice where magic has been woven into the ice itself. The Mokrani have mastered the forging process, as we alone have the ability and tolerance to withstand the intensive forging process to make these shards. They do not melt like regular ice, and they may temporarily grant the user enhanced abilities, depending on how the magic is woven into the ice.'

To demonstrate, Pasekur handed a spellshard to a kaprogor mage, who swallowed the crystal. What seemed to be pleasure wafted from the beastman, as he began to cast a spell as demonstration. The kaprogor cast another ice shard at a fellow mate, though this one was noticeably longer and sharper than the previous ones cast. The other mage managed to dispel the spike, though not without noticeable difficulty. The kaprogor did not slow down for his part. He chilled the air even colder, summoned even greater ice spells, and froze the ground near solid on his own. After a while the kaprogor withdrew the effects of his spells and returned to his starting position.

Pasekur smiled. 'Such is the power of a Winterborn fueled by spellshards. Rally enough ice mages together, and they may perform great feats. They could freeze off a whole section of a river, blocking its use. They could render mountain passes impassable by summoning great mounds of snow. They could even freeze entire rebel outposts to death and render them unusable, given enough time, energy, and spellshards. Am sorry that is not the only use of Everice. With enough of it, we can coldforge weapons that chill the blood, inflict frostbite, even induce hypothermia if you know where to stab them.'

He paused. 'However, I am afraid there are some drawbacks to such ice magic I have shown before you. Ice magic of such magnitude is dangerous for a user that himself is not adapted to wield such gifts. We Winterborn are forged like no other race in Gwalethia to live in the cold. It does not harm us. However, if a non-Winterborn ice mage were to cast enough spells fueled by spellshards, he would find his strength sapped over time. His body would not be built to stand the cold, and he may even die from it if he spends enough time wantonly casting ice spells.'

'However, there is a solution. It is one that Mulcarn granted upon us since time immemorial. The Gift of the Winterborn.' Pasekur drew forth the vial he had been keeping and displayed it before the Council. It shimmered red and blue, and looked like a mixture of blood and snow. 'This is an alchemical mixture, a most holy one. Within it lies the power to turn people into Winterborn, with all the powers that entail. Upon receiving the gift, one will find their sway over ice magic to be unparalleled among the mortal races. If you selectively apply this tonic to Tyrandians, you could field an army of ice mages that would make the rebels in the mountains tremble. But such great claims require great evidence, so I shall show you.'

Pasekur signalled Stonecrusher to come forward with Bataar, so he did. The bovigor dragged the bound Mokrani before the Messenger, and it started to sink in to him what was about to happen. Like never before, Bataar struggled and screamed into his gag, so much so that Stonecrusher actually flinched a bit in a response to his panicking. Pasekur reassured the Magoi, 'Do not worry, this man is of no concern to you. He has caused a great deal of trouble for us back home, and it is only fitting that he repay us with a fair demonstration.'

As Stonecrusher slowly removed the gag from Bataar, Pasekur uncorked the vial and entered into a trance, chanting in some strange unknown language.

'Mulcarn, anusha' thunat, taakung xuia' gurs. Un'auft Yuia' gftu'x, shas shut ghaxgha'g tun nax tsal unsu sha ftughs ang ft'aasha r'aaftx ur ghunsa''t ft'aash.'

The Mokrani delegation knelt or otherwise showed reverence towards the Messenger while Bataar's screaming jaws were held open and in place by Stonecrusher's powerful hands. Pasekur, still in a trance, poured the contents of the vial down Bataar's throat, stifling his screams. The mixture tasted foul, equal parts bitter and metallic, with an overwhelming chilly feeling running down his throat. When at last the contents of the vial were emptied. Pasekur came out of his trance and looked at the sickened Bataar. 'Bataar, lost child who has now been found by the glory of Mul-'

Pasekur was not able to finish before he was forced to jump back as Bataar began projectile vomiting blood and snow onto the floor. The delegates bleated in surprise and shock, and while Pasekur could not see the reactions of the Council, he did not imagine they were good. After Bataar finally finished returning the contents of the vial back out, he collapsed onto the floor. Pasekur ran and checked the pulse of the prisoner. Thankfully, he was still alive. What happened? This isn't supposed to happen unless...the mixture! Something must be wrong with it. But what? Wait. Wait, focus, Pasekur. The Messenger gave a quick order to have some of his attendants carry Bataar back to the lodge. As for him, he turned to face the Council with a nervousness he was not used to. Clearing his throat, he proceeded, 'My sincerest apologies, Good Magoi. It seems something went terribly wrong with the ritual. A thousand apologies. However, our offer still stands nonetheless. Tyrandia has much to gain from the prowress of Mokrani's mages. We could send ice mages to assist in the effort, provide spellshards and weapons of Everice. We have a great deal to give, most gracious Magoi.' Pasekur offered a nervous smile.

Shock was across the faces of nearly every member of the council. Silent ensued for what felt like an eternity, no Magoi spoke. The tension could be felt across the room, as if someone had cast a spell that added weights upon the shoulders of each and every member of the council; possibly even the guests that were here. No Magoi wanted to speak up first, although Grand Magister Sokia considered speaking, she instead wished to see whom else had anything to comment. She did not have to wait long.

"What was that? What happened to that man?!" Yelled a Magoi from the upper parts of the chamber. "Is this how you convert people? You poison and abuse them in front of others?" He was waving his hands in anger, pointing towards the Mokranshi, "What would have happened if one of us volunteered to help you?! Would such a scenario had happened?!" Some of the crowd cheered in support of this man, it even convinced another to speak up.

"What did you feed him? It makes little sense to make him cough his guts out." Questioned the other Magoi as she strained to understand exactly what just transpired. "Is this meant to be some sort of execution attempt? What crimes did this man commit? We wish to know!" She too got some cheers of support. It seemed that nearly half the crowd began to question the intentions of the delegates, wondering if they actually meant harm rather than aid.

"Calm friends!" Yelled Magoi Zequta, visibly concerned with what just transpired, "Every spell has a chance to rebound! This may have been the case." She turns towards the Mokranshi, "Is that correct? A mere rebound effect due to wild magic?" She thought to herself, not sure if she believed it herself, considering how much effort the Morkanshi put into it, but she decided to move on with her point, "A wild magic such as theirs surely has higher rebound risks; the prisoner, a criminal mind you, must have had a stronger willpower than they expected. He could have overpowered the magic with his own internal forces; perhaps he is a natural adept at magic, and that is what happened..." She kept trying to think of a way to explain it better, but could not. After all, this magic is not studied in the academies, and wild magic is usually able to be tamed by the caster.

"Silence!" boomed Sokia's voice. "We will await the explanation of the delegate." She ended the topic. "Following this explanation, we can move onto considering an alliance... regardless of the risks, those crystals and their ice magic would be beneficial to suppressing the rebels who mean us all harm." The crowd began to feel anger, not towards the Mokranshi but the rebels. Immediately they all began to consider the uses of the ice magic, if not directly in their hands, but at least in the hands of an ally. "Now, dear guests. Kindly explain what happened? If the explanation makes sense, we will move onto discussions on your crystals." She then turned towards the other guests at the meeting, "Do you, delegates of Fyrae, have any questions or comments on this either?" She asked, to make sure that everyone had a chance to speak.

[Keprain]

Gregal took the vial in his hands, feeling its cold embrace; his face serious. He considered what this was, and thought about it for a few moments before returning to his calm demeanour. "This is an interesting gift, northerners. Interesting, but we're not going to risk it... not yet. We don't know anything about you all, and for all we know this could cause a plague of ice across our people. You may be assisting the mages somehow. I do hope you understand." He said, putting the vial in his pocket. "If you truly are on our side, then I want you to explain to us exactly what you're after. What will your colleagues be doing in Tykare? What if the mage agree to whatever you will be proposing?" There was concern in his voice. He raised his hand, and then a few more people walked out of the shadows. "For now, we'll let you live. But you will need to come with us to a small outpost, there you will tell us everything you know, and what you want from us in exchange for your help. We don't have much to offer, but we'll listen fully. We can't force anyone to do anything, it's freedom here."

Gregal and his companions bowed slightly in a greeting to their new guests before they all put their weapons away. "Please, come with us and we'll talk when we get there. Remain silent until we arrive, there are enemies everywhere, so we will be treating you as if you were prisoners; surrounding you... we'd also ask you to let us carry your weapons. You have my word they'll be returned to you when we arrive to the camp. Is it a deal?" He stretched out his hand to shake the northerners, as a gesture of good faith. "I promise nothing will happen, we just don't want them to know you're playing both sides, now do we?" He smiled.

Itashir, Ahiki, and Penanpe exchanged glances after having drawn themselves back out of their ritual. 'Well, it's a step in the right direction,' said Itashir to his companions. 'While they aren't quite interested in the Gift yet, we're still alive and this Gregal seems amenable. I say we follow them.'

'Also, Gregal requests we hand over our weapons. We're going to act as his "prisoners" '.

'What?!', shouted Penanpe. 'Are you truly mad, Itashir? You expect us to just -' 'Silence, Penanpe. Do as he says,' interrupted Ahiki.

Penanpe seemed to want to pipe up about this course of action, but held her tongue and just glared at the Messenger. Confident, Itashir shook the hand of the man. 'A deal is made, Gregal.' The trio handed over their arms and followed this Gregal and his band of rebels out of the cave and towards this outpost, posing as prisoners.

A few hours later...

The walk to the outpost seemed to take forever. The trio was forced to follow this man, this great unknown, in relative silence. Finally, a small outpost was spotted on the horizon. The group made their way into the relative safety of this makeshift fort, where there seemed to be a lot more rebels in waiting. Some of them glared suspiciously at the trio. Finally, the entire group seemed to be within the safe confines of the outpost. That's when Itashir turned to the rebel lieutenant and tried to respond to his questions.

'Ah, I suppose I have some explaining to do. You see, the vial I offer you is filled with a potent mixture. It's a sacred alchemical brew that's been passed down by the seers of Mokranshi for generations, and it will irreversibly change the drinker into a Winterborn, like us. I suppose I should've explained more while offering it, but Mulcarn smiles upon the faithful, so I thought to give you and your men a quick chance to see what He offers. You see, the mixture has a chance of unlocking the hidden magical potential of humans, to the point where their magical abilities and tendencies rival that of even elves. Or they would, were they not limited to ice magic.'

'As for what we want, that's quite easy to answer. We want nothing. Well, nothing material. We have no interest in your gold or resources, though I'm sure a little trade wouldn't hurt after the Kepraini prevail in their mission. But that's besides the point. What we desire is to show you Mulcarn's saved truth. As one of His Messengers in the mortal realm, it is my holy task to guide as many souls to Mulcarn as possible. All life is precious to Mulcarn, but the Winterborn are the greatest of His children, so the goal of many of us Messengers is to introduce as many outsiders to the Winterborn path as possible. And to be Winterborn confers many benefits beyond just divine favor. The magical gifts are just one of them.'

'You mentioned the delegation we traveled with, yes? That I can explain as well. You see, the blessed Farseer seeks to keep the Council occupied. It will do our mission no good if the Magoi operate on the suspicion that we are secretly aiding the resistance. So a delegation offering aid will through their scent off and allow us agents to operate freely. Besides, we needed some way to get past the border without arousing suspicion.'

'I understand you're concerned about the delegation brokering an alliance with the mage-lords. A fair worry, but we have that under control.' Itashir gestured to the stern-looking woman walking a bit behind them. 'Ahiki over there came up with a plan. You see, the alchemy require dot create the transformative potion requires a few things. Specially enchanted shavings of Everice is one of them. Our spymistress managed to switch them out with a snow substitute. Looks like the real thing, but lacks the magical qualities of Everice. If someone were to drink a potion with the snow substitute, they would suffer a few ill effects due to the...other ingredients, but they would not be transformed. I know for a fact that Pasekur, the Messenger bound for Tykare, wanted to showcase a transformation before the Magoi to convince them. Unfortunate though it may be, we have sabotaged him. Without a successful transformation, it will be much harder for Pasekur to broker a deal with the Magoi. He may have a few other tricks up his sleeve, but that ritual was supposed to be his showcase. Now, as much as I would like to see Mulcarn's word spread to every nation, I'd rather it spread to the people who know how to wield magic responsibly and would rule fairly.'

Finally Itashir saw fit to try and ask this Gregal a question. 'If you do not mind me asking, what exactly is it you and the Kepraini have in mind for Tyrandia's future? Visions of freedom and fair rule are nice, but what is it that you hope? That you truly hope? And how may Mokranshi help?'

Gregal stared at the Mokranshi as if he had asked a dumb question, then laughed; causing everyone around him to laugh as well.

"Mr. Friend from the North... All we want is freedom. A chance to choose our own destinies, a chance to build a society of equals." he paused for a few moments, "What we want, is a Republic. We don't wish to harm anyone doing this, but we tried it the diplomatic route and it failed. Now, our "rebellion" as they call it, is growing every day." He smiled, "We wish to give everyone the rights to choose every part of their lives." He sat down on a rock nearby to stretch and relax, "our leader, whom you obviously don't know... they were the one that sparked this whole rebellion. A great speaker and fighter. Without them, we'd have lost before. But now, thanks to their efforts, each cell works independently, and nobody can really tell where the boss is. So, truth be told; I can't make any promises to the Mokranshi except for the one that every cell agrees on; you help us gain our freedom, and your people are welcome to join us. We want equality for all, and if that means that some of your people wish to move here, or some of our people wish to join yours; that's their choice. Their freedom to do so." He jumped back up and pointed towards his brothers and sisters in arms. "Isn't that right?" They all cheered in support.

He next pointed towards the guard that was carrying the gear of the Mokranshi, "As promised, your tools are yours." He gestured to have them returned and have their false bindings removed "Apologies for the poor accommodations around here, and the fact we had to treat you as prisoners." He smiled, "Whether or not you truly wish to help us, we'll take whatever chances exist. Who knows? Perhaps if you help enough, the boss will want to speak with you all directly, and then something even bigger can come of this! So what do you say?" He put out his hand for a handshake, "Help us out, and we can promise you that we won't stop anyone from joining your people, or your people joining us."

It seemed that his words were truly genuine. The people here believed that everyone would be able to live their lives as they see fit, and thus none harboured any ill will towards those that may wish to leave and join another nation, race, culture, religion, or anything. But they did all have one pressing thought on their minds, what exactly the Mokranshi wanted, and if they were genuine in wanting to help; or if they solely wanted new people to convert.

[Keprain]

Aboard the junk Niji, somewhere between Gattoh and Ulskar

Besides the usual sailors of the Niji, four figures were present on deck. Three of them wore thin hooded cloaks, while the fourth had already donned the thicker garb which all would likely be wearing during their time in the Northern Lands, where the cold sucked at one's veins like so many leeches and the snow did not so much coat the land as entomb it. In hushed tones they discussed their task.

But two days past, none other than Chancellor Sanada Jiro had visited each of the four and outlined their task, yet only yesterday had the four been introduced to one another. The Emperor had decided that the situation in Tyrandia was worthy of His attention, and certain agents were needed to act on His behalf. Thus were chosen the four presently gathered.

Kurowara Ichiro was the eldest of the group, and the most hounded by rumour. One legend of the man spoke of his past leading a clan of deadly shinobi, who would descend from their mountains to slay the unjust. Another told of his exploits abroad, and how he was taught to remain hidden by a foreign tanuki. Yet another detailed how, in his youth, when his village was beset by bandits, Ichiro cut the throat of the bandit leader without a trace. Only the man himself knew the truths from the falsehoods. He was tasked by His Imperial Majesty with making contact with the rebellious Kepraini. No dove had been dispatched with a message, for his task was of the greatest secrecy.

By his side would be Yamazaki Mumyo. With him there was no speculation ─ all knew the pseudonym Mumyo, the Nameless, one of the greatest of the last emperor's spies, who betrayed his master's location to the enemy and turned the tide of the Southern War in favour of the southerners. His mastery of disguise seemed almost magical, and stories of him seducing many a great man or woman by taking the place of their lover then stealing their deepest secrets abounded. Perhaps there could be no greater companion to the man who became invisible in the shadows than the man who became invisible in the light.

Okada Fuku stood out in the motley crew for two reasons: she was the only woman amongst them (a cause of concern for Mumyo, who never trusted the loose lips of a female) and she was the only mage (a cause of concern for everyone). At the Battle of Aratazato, with the Kobayashi clan's troops facing certain defeat to the larger Ogawa force, she summoned a great pair of demons to destroy the enemy. The devils certainly destroyed the enemy ─ along with most of the routed allies. The remainder of the Kobayashi army marched onto and ultimately seized the capital. Surely, a mage who seemed reasonably in control of her power was the ideal representative of His Imperial Majesty to the mages of Tyrandia. A dove had been sent ahead, and it was hoped that the Magoi would be ready to receive the Gattoans in due course.

Ironically, by her side was a witchhunter ─ the youngest of the four, Sugimori Satoshi. Barely past his nineteenth summer, he made quite the impression nonetheless, with the rather bulky armour beneath his cloak lending him an unusual figure. The lad was short a measure of wit, but by the personal accounts of the Master of the Witchhunters' Shuku commanded a blade like the artist commands their brush. He would keep an eye on the sorceress, yes ─ but he might also remind the foreign mages that while His Imperial Majesty was willing to extend the branch of peace to them, they would never be bosom buddies.

So now these four stood aboard the Niji, embraced by the wind and ironing out the details of their task. The Imperial Kannushi had prayed for divine winds, and the modest vessel certainly seemed to be making an unusually good pace. Within the week they should reach their port destination, whence they would proceed north and east into unfamiliar lands. Closer to their destinations they would split up, with Fuku and Satoshi moving to meet with the Magoi, and Ichiro and Mumyo making their way with the minimum fanfare to join with the Kepraini, each taking what war supplies they could with them as gifts. And when contact was made, the Emperor's plan would begin.

Outskirts of Tyrandia, nearing the Kepraini Mountain Range
The mountain range was a large and wild one; it is difficult to navigate and to traverse; making it a natural fortress that needed little guards on either side. Meaning that this would be the best place for anyone to try to sneak into the Kepraini territory to make contact. Before the travellers from Gattoh stood three different paths into Keprain that they could take;

The first, climbing the mountains. This risked their lives as not only would the climb be steep, but they'd also have to deal with the risks of rockslides, wild winds, or chilling temperatures. However, it would also be the path that would be least likely to be discovered by anyone.

The second, following the mountain range along a path until a safer entrance can be secured. This one had little dangers to the lives of those who took it, but it would yield high risk being discovered by either faction.

The third, going through the river that passed through the mountains. Although this seemed like a safe choice, one could hear the rapids in the distance beyond the twists and turns of the river; these waters were far from tame and were possibly a one-way journey. But even if they were spotted by Tyrandian scouts, the scouts wouldn't be able to keep up with them in water.

Regardless of the choice that those from Gattoh chose, the paths were all certain to enter into Keprain; an illegal action according to Tyrandia, but a welcomed action for the Kepraini.

[Hipasia]

On the approach to Tykare
"...witch."

Fuku eyed her companion with disdain. Witchhunter Sugimori was one of the more unusual sorts she found herself allied to, but he was still human. And she knew how to deal with humans... would that this one might stop treating her like some common hedge-mage, though.

"Satoshi, what is it? Am I holding my staff too threateningly? Or could it be that you're having second thoughts about walking into a mage nest?"

"It is no such thing. I don't like you, witch, and I don't plan to feign otherwise. But I am here by our Emperor's command, and I will not disappoint Him," the lad replied, turning and straightening himself up. Standing erect like this, he rather towered over the woman, even though by the standards of this land he was barely average in height. "What I wanted to say, witch, is that you better not be trying anything funny in the city. I would be so very disappointed if I had to put you down."

The witch merely giggled in response, and pulled her hood further over her face. "I'll behave."

The pair proceeded to the city gates, awaiting their reception.

On a path through the Kepraini mountains
Kurowara Ichiro and Yamazaki Mumyo followed the trail largely in silence, alert lest they should meet with unwelcome company. At night they would advance as far as they could, to seek a hidden place during the hours of day. They spared the minimum time to eat, sleeping in turns for a half hour, and then proceeded on their weary way. Now though, neither seeing nor hearing any other life around them, they spoke.

"Remind me, Kurowara-dono, why we are taking this path? I feel paranoid, looking over my shoulder every other moment. We ought to have taken the high road, over the range."

"Yamazaki, I'm no spring chicken anymore," the elder man sighed in response, pulling his travelling cloak more tightly around him with a shiver. "The weather here is unlike anything back home. Climb a mountain? I'd die of the chill before we could even see the peak, or be eaten by some foul mountain beast. I can cloak myself in a veil of leaves and pass through a garrison with barely a trace ─ I can't stave off frostbite."

"You speak for yourself", the nameless spy replied. "The best we can hope is to run into some lone pair and steal their clothes... even then, we're rather too dark to pass for a native. Kurowara-dono, if we get killed because of this, I shall haunt your corpse for eternity."

"And if we survive, you'll only haunt me for half an eternity?" Kurowara replied with a smirk. Yamazaki said nothing.

[Mokranshi]

Gregal stared at the Mokranshi as if he had asked a dumb question, then laughed; causing everyone around him to laugh as well.

"Mr. Friend from the North... All we want is freedom. A chance to choose our own destinies, a chance to build a society of equals." he paused for a few moments, "What we want, is a Republic. We don't wish to harm anyone doing this, but we tried it the diplomatic route and it failed. Now, our "rebellion" as they call it, is growing every day." He smiled, "We wish to give everyone the rights to choose every part of their lives." He sat down on a rock nearby to stretch and relax, "our leader, whom you obviously don't know... they were the one that sparked this whole rebellion. A great speaker and fighter. Without them, we'd have lost before. But now, thanks to their efforts, each cell works independently, and nobody can really tell where the boss is. So, truth be told; I can't make any promises to the Mokranshi except for the one that every cell agrees on; you help us gain our freedom, and your people are welcome to join us. We want equality for all, and if that means that some of your people wish to move here, or some of our people wish to join yours; that's their choice. Their freedom to do so." He jumped back up and pointed towards his brothers and sisters in arms. "Isn't that right?" They all cheered in support.

He next pointed towards the guard that was carrying the gear of the Mokranshi, "As promised, your tools are yours." He gestured to have them returned and have their false bindings removed "Apologies for the poor accommodations around here, and the fact we had to treat you as prisoners." He smiled, "Whether or not you truly wish to help us, we'll take whatever chances exist. Who knows? Perhaps if you help enough, the boss will want to speak with you all directly, and then something even bigger can come of this! So what do you say?" He put out his hand for a handshake, "Help us out, and we can promise you that we won't stop anyone from joining your people, or your people joining us."

It seemed that his words were truly genuine. The people here believed that everyone would be able to live their lives as they see fit, and thus none harboured any ill will towards those that may wish to leave and join another nation, race, culture, religion, or anything. But they did all have one pressing thought on their minds, what exactly the Mokranshi wanted, and if they were genuine in wanting to help; or if they solely wanted new people to convert.

Itashir gave an inquisitive look. He looked down at Gregal's hand before moving to shake it. As he did, he said, 'Thank you for trusting us so, Gregal. You will not regret it. Tell you what, to prove our commitment to the rebel cause, perhaps we can help now?' As he let go of the rebel lieutenant's hand, Itashir continued, 'Understand that sooner or later, we will have to send a message back to Mokranshi in order to inform the blessed Farseer of our progress. I understand if you're still somewhat paranoid about our loyalties. To prove our own commitment, before sending a message back to our land, allow us to aid your cause right here. We all have talents that would be of great use.'

'As a Messenger of Mulcarn, I have been trained not only to convert, but to heal and to teach. If you have any injured or a hospice of any kind, I may be able to assist. If you're looking for something a little more useful in active duty, perhaps I can teach some of your scouts and couriers the Mokrani runes? Our native language is not a widely spoken one, let alone a widely written one. If some of your men need to send written messages to one another, I could teach them our runes and the mage-lords would not be able to read them, should their messages be intercepted. This may take some time to learn, though.'

Itashir gestured to his companions, who were staying close together and keeping their distance from the many rebels throughout the outpost. 'My associates may also be of some service.' The pointed to the tall, short-haired, blue woman. 'This over here is Ahiki. I'd introduce you two, but I'm afraid my associates are not fond of non-Winterborn. They'll help, I assure you, but they may be somewhat...brusque in their demeanor. Anyhow, Ahiki is a master of subterfuge. Back in Mokranshi, she was best known for information gathering and became an expert at locating the whereabouts of...wayward tribes. She located no less than three in her time in our homeland And that's no small feat, might I say. The Lost Mokrani are few in number and masters of hiding themselves in the tundra. She would be of great service to your spies. Just as well, she is also a talented cryomancer. She may be able to teach ice magic to your mages, should you have any in any nearby camps or outposts. Believe me, ice and cold are formidable obstacles for anyone not adapted to them.'

Finally, Itashir looked to the last of the trio, a rather young, sheer white-skinned woman with a fiery gaze. 'Then there is Penanpe. Do not let her age fool you. She has been with many Messengers and traveled in missions across Gwalethia since practically she could recite the Praises. She's a skilled scout and incredibly agile. While I understand that the Kepraini are raised in these mountains and know them better than any outsider, perhaps Penanpe could aid your efforts in counteracting Tyrandian efforts to suppress the rebellion? She could seek out their supply lines or cut off choke points. She even knows a bit of magic, though not to the degree of Ahiki. I should also warn you that neither of them speak Kepraini nor Tyrandian, but I can translate for them.'

'We have much to offer you, good Gregal.' Itashir offered a polite bow before gesturing to the vial the rebel had stored away. 'And more, should you or anyone desire it. We are here to assist your righteous cause.'

[Mokranshi]

Shock was across the faces of nearly every member of the council. Silent ensued for what felt like an eternity, no Magoi spoke. The tension could be felt across the room, as if someone had cast a spell that added weights upon the shoulders of each and every member of the council; possibly even the guests that were here. No Magoi wanted to speak up first, although Grand Magister Sokia considered speaking, she instead wished to see whom else had anything to comment. She did not have to wait long.

"What was that? What happened to that man?!" Yelled a Magoi from the upper parts of the chamber. "Is this how you convert people? You poison and abuse them in front of others?" He was waving his hands in anger, pointing towards the Mokranshi, "What would have happened if one of us volunteered to help you?! Would such a scenario had happened?!" Some of the crowd cheered in support of this man, it even convinced another to speak up.

"What did you feed him? It makes little sense to make him cough his guts out." Questioned the other Magoi as she strained to understand exactly what just transpired. "Is this meant to be some sort of execution attempt? What crimes did this man commit? We wish to know!" She too got some cheers of support. It seemed that nearly half the crowd began to question the intentions of the delegates, wondering if they actually meant harm rather than aid.

"Calm friends!" Yelled Magoi Zequta, visibly concerned with what just transpired, "Every spell has a chance to rebound! This may have been the case." She turns towards the Mokranshi, "Is that correct? A mere rebound effect due to wild magic?" She thought to herself, not sure if she believed it herself, considering how much effort the Morkanshi put into it, but she decided to move on with her point, "A wild magic such as theirs surely has higher rebound risks; the prisoner, a criminal mind you, must have had a stronger willpower than they expected. He could have overpowered the magic with his own internal forces; perhaps he is a natural adept at magic, and that is what happened..." She kept trying to think of a way to explain it better, but could not. After all, this magic is not studied in the academies, and wild magic is usually able to be tamed by the caster.

"Silence!" boomed Sokia's voice. "We will await the explanation of the delegate." She ended the topic. "Following this explanation, we can move onto considering an alliance... regardless of the risks, those crystals and their ice magic would be beneficial to suppressing the rebels who mean us all harm." The crowd began to feel anger, not towards the Mokranshi but the rebels. Immediately they all began to consider the uses of the ice magic, if not directly in their hands, but at least in the hands of an ally. "Now, dear guests. Kindly explain what happened? If the explanation makes sense, we will move onto discussions on your crystals." She then turned towards the other guests at the meeting, "Do you, delegates of Fyrae, have any questions or comments on this either?" She asked, to make sure that everyone had a chance to speak.

'Please, please, I beg your understanding, good Magoi!', implored Pasekur to the Council. 'This was not meant to happen. Something has gone terribly wrong. Please forgive us, good Magoi. The man before you was not meant to be harmed in such a way. We only intended to help him! I cannot be sure as to what happened, but I have reason to believe the mixture I fed him was tampered with or sabotaged.' And I have certain suspicions as to who is responsible, Paskur thought to himself, his eyes briefly passing over the Fyrae'ii representatives. 'Had the ritual proceeded as expected, our man was to transform into a Winterborn, like us.'

'This man was not mean to to be harmed, good Magoi', Pasekur tried to reassure the crowd. 'He has committed no major crimes beyond withholding information. Information about his tribe. I do not wish to enter into a lesson on the histories, but suffice to say, our man was what is known as a Lost Mokrani. People with a shared heritage to our own but have suffered for so long without the light of our God. This was meant to cure him, to return him to where he belongs. In his fear and confusion, he did not understand what we offered. It didn't help that that spoke an old dialect of our tongue that mad enough it difficult to communicate with him. As you see, we were only trying to help him, despite what has come to pass just now.'

Pasekur turned to Zequta. 'I have no reason to believe that our man used wild magic to reject the ritual, good Magoi. Ah, how do I put this...? He is not a mage, and had the ritual proceeded normally, there was a reasonable chance he could've developed the ability to wield ice magic, and only ice magic. You can be assured that the ritual does not produce multi-talented mages.'

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Pasekur jumped at the chance to appeal to the sensibilities of the Magoi. 'You are correct, Magoi. For all the deceitful wiles of the rebels as they cower in their mountain villages, they would be ill-suited to resist our ice magic. With these spellshards and some well trained ice mages, you could force them out of their hiding places, freezing their caves to the point of uselessness, and icing their fields that nothing may grow. With such efforts, they will be forced to contend with the full might of the Tyrandian army, where they will surely fail. And with the Mokrani by your side, you will have the might of winter at your back and the finest ice mages in the world. So long as the rebels lack Winterborn of their own, they cannot match us.'

[Tyrandia]

On the approach to Tykare
"...witch."

Fuku eyed her companion with disdain. Witchhunter Sugimori was one of the more unusual sorts she found herself allied to, but he was still human. And she knew how to deal with humans... would that this one might stop treating her like some common hedge-mage, though.

"Satoshi, what is it? Am I holding my staff too threateningly? Or could it be that you're having second thoughts about walking into a mage nest?"

"It is no such thing. I don't like you, witch, and I don't plan to feign otherwise. But I am here by our Emperor's command, and I will not disappoint Him," the lad replied, turning and straightening himself up. Standing erect like this, he rather towered over the woman, even though by the standards of this land he was barely average in height. "What I wanted to say, witch, is that you better not be trying anything funny in the city. I would be so very disappointed if I had to put you down."

The witch merely giggled in response, and pulled her hood further over her face. "I'll behave."

The pair proceeded to the city gates, awaiting their reception.

On a path through the Kepraini mountains
Kurowara Ichiro and Yamazaki Mumyo followed the trail largely in silence, alert lest they should meet with unwelcome company. At night they would advance as far as they could, to seek a hidden place during the hours of day. They spared the minimum time to eat, sleeping in turns for a half hour, and then proceeded on their weary way. Now though, neither seeing nor hearing any other life around them, they spoke.

"Remind me, Kurowara-dono, why we are taking this path? I feel paranoid, looking over my shoulder every other moment. We ought to have taken the high road, over the range."

"Yamazaki, I'm no spring chicken anymore," the elder man sighed in response, pulling his travelling cloak more tightly around him with a shiver. "The weather here is unlike anything back home. Climb a mountain? I'd die of the chill before we could even see the peak, or be eaten by some foul mountain beast. I can cloak myself in a veil of leaves and pass through a garrison with barely a trace ─ I can't stave off frostbite."

"You speak for yourself", the nameless spy replied. "The best we can hope is to run into some lone pair and steal their clothes... even then, we're rather too dark to pass for a native. Kurowara-dono, if we get killed because of this, I shall haunt your corpse for eternity."

"And if we survive, you'll only haunt me for half an eternity?" Kurowara replied with a smirk. Yamazaki said nothing.

OOC Note: The following actions were based on the national stats for espionage, where Gattoh has a 2, and Tyrandia is at 0, and was carefully discussed with Aeternaea whom helped make a decision how best to approach this scenario

The path through the Kepraini Mountain Range
The path stretched and curved all around the mountains and the surrounding forests, although not as dangerous as the climb or the river, it could still be dangerous to those unfamiliar with it, or those who were too stupid to understand the risks around it. Thankfully though, nothing too dangerous lurked around there. Upon the travels of the foreigners from Gattoh (OOC Note: What is the proper way to describe people from Gattoh? Gottoans?), they came across a narrow passage in the mountains that was covered in foliage, allowing for good cover. After the group made their way through it, they heard the sound of passing soldiers, covered by the same foliage that allows for those from Gattoh to remain hidden. These passing soldiers, with patrols included, attempts to ensure that nothing suspicious was going on. [They failed the check to spot anyone stealthed, in which Gattoh successfully passed], so they believed the coast was clear...

"Is everything going as planned?" Asked a scout, moving over towards a figure cloaked in thick robes that were blue with gold trimmings; the same colours as the Tyrandian Flag.

"Of course. As everyone is focused on Tykare, aiming to get alliances, it is our duty to make it less of an issue for negotiations. The platoon is ready to move further into the mountains. We believe there should be a relatively harmless group of farmers within the first perimiter. We will begin with them." The figure responded in a raspy voice.

"Of course, Lord Magoi. Do you wish for all of them?"

"Take whomever you can, but if any put up too much of a resistance, you may use them as examples. They are merely rebels who wish to upset the peace of our glorious nation, after all..."

"As you wish, Lord Magoi." The scout bowed, turning back towards his squad, discussed a bit with them and then they all rode off, as the figure turned away towards the sound of passing soldiers.

After a few hours, all of the soldiers have passed by the hidden foreigners. None were able to discover them, leaving them hidden; behind the platoon that is moving towards the mountain range. They notice there are a few options ahead of them;

1) Move along the same path as the platoon, a safe distance behind them; the chance of them being caught is minimal at best, but they would not be able to get ahead of them very easily.

2) Take a path that is not covered by foliage, one that is typically used by merchants; the chance of them being caught is moderate, and they'd likely be moving at the same pace as the army, possibly being able to catch up to them.

3) There is remains stragglers from the platoon, likely rear guards that aren't quite worried about being ambushed. They can be attacked; possibly risking the lives of the foreigners, but giving them mounts if they succeed. They'd be able to use these mounts for the path in choice 2, but would likely be seen and possibly chased by cavalry in the platoon. If successful, they'd be able to get ahead of the platoon.

4) An unknown choice (OOC Note: If you can come up with a decent idea on what to do, you can do it! As this is a fully open RP, if it is reasonable, it will be perfectly allowed.)

[Tyrandia]

Shock was across the faces of nearly every member of the council. Silent ensued for what felt like an eternity, no Magoi spoke. The tension could be felt across the room, as if someone had cast a spell that added weights upon the shoulders of each and every member of the council; possibly even the guests that were here. No Magoi wanted to speak up first, although Grand Magister Sokia considered speaking, she instead wished to see whom else had anything to comment. She did not have to wait long.

"What was that? What happened to that man?!" Yelled a Magoi from the upper parts of the chamber. "Is this how you convert people? You poison and abuse them in front of others?" He was waving his hands in anger, pointing towards the Mokranshi, "What would have happened if one of us volunteered to help you?! Would such a scenario had happened?!" Some of the crowd cheered in support of this man, it even convinced another to speak up.

"What did you feed him? It makes little sense to make him cough his guts out." Questioned the other Magoi as she strained to understand exactly what just transpired. "Is this meant to be some sort of execution attempt? What crimes did this man commit? We wish to know!" She too got some cheers of support. It seemed that nearly half the crowd began to question the intentions of the delegates, wondering if they actually meant harm rather than aid.

"Calm friends!" Yelled Magoi Zequta, visibly concerned with what just transpired, "Every spell has a chance to rebound! This may have been the case." She turns towards the Mokranshi, "Is that correct? A mere rebound effect due to wild magic?" She thought to herself, not sure if she believed it herself, considering how much effort the Morkanshi put into it, but she decided to move on with her point, "A wild magic such as theirs surely has higher rebound risks; the prisoner, a criminal mind you, must have had a stronger willpower than they expected. He could have overpowered the magic with his own internal forces; perhaps he is a natural adept at magic, and that is what happened..." She kept trying to think of a way to explain it better, but could not. After all, this magic is not studied in the academies, and wild magic is usually able to be tamed by the caster.

"Silence!" boomed Sokia's voice. "We will await the explanation of the delegate." She ended the topic. "Following this explanation, we can move onto considering an alliance... regardless of the risks, those crystals and their ice magic would be beneficial to suppressing the rebels who mean us all harm." The crowd began to feel anger, not towards the Mokranshi but the rebels. Immediately they all began to consider the uses of the ice magic, if not directly in their hands, but at least in the hands of an ally. "Now, dear guests. Kindly explain what happened? If the explanation makes sense, we will move onto discussions on your crystals." She then turned towards the other guests at the meeting, "Do you, delegates of Fyrae, have any questions or comments on this either?" She asked, to make sure that everyone had a chance to speak.

'Please, please, I beg your understanding, good Magoi!', implored Pasekur to the Council. 'This was not meant to happen. Something has gone terribly wrong. Please forgive us, good Magoi. The man before you was not meant to be harmed in such a way. We only intended to help him! I cannot be sure as to what happened, but I have reason to believe the mixture I fed him was tampered with or sabotaged.' And I have certain suspicions as to who is responsible, Paskur thought to himself, his eyes briefly passing over the Fyrae'ii representatives. 'Had the ritual proceeded as expected, our man was to transform into a Winterborn, like us.'

'This man was not mean to to be harmed, good Magoi', Pasekur tried to reassure the crowd. 'He has committed no major crimes beyond withholding information. Information about his tribe. I do not wish to enter into a lesson on the histories, but suffice to say, our man was what is known as a Lost Mokrani. People with a shared heritage to our own but have suffered for so long without the light of our God. This was meant to cure him, to return him to where he belongs. In his fear and confusion, he did not understand what we offered. It didn't help that that spoke an old dialect of our tongue that mad enough it difficult to communicate with him. As you see, we were only trying to help him, despite what has come to pass just now.'

Pasekur turned to Zequta. 'I have no reason to believe that our man used wild magic to reject the ritual, good Magoi. Ah, how do I put this...? He is not a mage, and had the ritual proceeded normally, there was a reasonable chance he could've developed the ability to wield ice magic, and only ice magic. You can be assured that the ritual does not produce multi-talented mages.'

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Pasekur jumped at the chance to appeal to the sensibilities of the Magoi. 'You are correct, Magoi. For all the deceitful wiles of the rebels as they cower in their mountain villages, they would be ill-suited to resist our ice magic. With these spellshards and some well trained ice mages, you could force them out of their hiding places, freezing their caves to the point of uselessness, and icing their fields that nothing may grow. With such efforts, they will be forced to contend with the full might of the Tyrandian army, where they will surely fail. And with the Mokrani by your side, you will have the might of winter at your back and the finest ice mages in the world. So long as the rebels lack Winterborn of their own, they cannot match us.'

Upon Pasekur's comment on the defeat of the rebels, the council grew more content. The vast majority were unwilling to attempt any sort of conversion, considering the display was a failure... however, they'd be willing to watch the northerners in action.

"Delegates from Mokranshi" stated a Magoi, "You wish to show that your magic is truly as powerful as you say. Even following such a failed display, in front of a group of Magoi?" He scoffed at the idea to himself, "Then do so. There is an opportunity for you to take action. We know of some rebels in the northern Kepraini Mountains, they use a path that is difficult for us to navigate due to the caves being unmapped. If you would go with an army that is set to leave in three days time, and join them in their next assault in this area, "freezing their caves to the point of uselessness", as you so delicately put it, then perhaps you are quite right at your skills." He smiled. "Of course, we cannot guarantee your safety if you travel. We will do our utmost to keep you alive, safe, and outside of danger. But as there will be rebels around there, if anything were to happen to you or your colleagues, we cannot be blamed. Is this acceptable?" He asked.

The Magoi around him were deliberating among themselves. Some thought that this would be a magnificent way to prove their worth. Whereas others believed that throwing them into battle, foreigners with no stake in it, and delegates at that would be a bad idea for diplomatic relations. Overall, however, it seemed that two factions were growing with the Magoi; the first being more extreme ones, who wished to have no major interactions with the Mokranshi, as their display failed, making them seem weak in the eyes of the Magoi; the second a moderate faction that wished to give the Mokranshi another chance, but did not know the best way to do so, without risking their lives. After nearly thirty minutes of discussion, it was decided.

"Dear guests." Said Sokia, "We've decided to give you three choices; the first, to attempt a new display within the next two hours, that will show us that your magic is truly as powerful as you say; the second, to go along with what my colleague suggested; or the third; to present us with an option that we have not yet considered." She smiled, "However, before making any decision; please, our guests from Fyrae'ii, do you have any comments to make? Or suggestions for them? They are your neighbours to the north after all, perhaps you may be able to shed some light upon the scenario?" She turned towards the Fyrae'ii delegation, "In fact, should our Mokranshi guests choose either the first or third options, they would be needing to present once more after your turn to present before us. So your words may be what can help them decide!" She clapped her hands together as if symbolising it were a great idea, waiting for a response from both parties.