Exalted: Age of Sorrows (IC)

[Luminesa]

House Mahajan - Losing Games

Daana had remained with the rest of the Mahajan camp, doing his best to keep Gregor's soldiers from getting involved in the pandemonium which was slowly unfolding. The men were restless, if only because they could tell that the larger Houses were about to explode. Not all men within Mahajan's camp thought with the best of intentions, and many were opportunistic as their generals, but with far less grace. If Cynis and Vai attacked each other, some of the men whispered, they could always seize what they could from among the larger Houses. But even hearty and hale Daana could read their base intentions in their eyes, and as he stood guard for some time, he would shoot looks toward anyone who whispered of any nefarious intent. He even marched toward one soldier, and his words zipped through the man's brain and down his spine.

"We are not going to act like animals. The Lady Vai was badly hurt by scoundrels."

"And...why not take from Cynis then and leave them in the snow?" the soldier, who was another Lieutenant, questioned.

"Because it will solve nothing. We're at war with the Bull, for gods sake, not with our own army! We're at the enemy's gates and here we are about to kill each other! You will get your little group over there to behave, and if they act out of line and approach our allies' camps without our commands, I will personally cut-off their hands and you can let them know that now."

The terrified Lieutenant nodded, and rushed away before the usually-cheery general could see the sweat pouring off his body. At that moment, Captain Lang returned with a pipe between his own lips. Daana turned to him and frowned. "You didn't steal that from Gregor, did you, Lang?"

"If I was feeling a little more rested and sexy, maybe I would. Right now I need a drink."

"You and I both."

Lang looked over his shoulder at the Vai and Cynis parties, glancing another way for a moment as Shan Yui walked back to give orders to Ledaal not to engage with their bickering. "Not gonna lie, if Gregor went ahead and just burned some of them and we marched on without some of these idiots, I wouldn't cry for them."

"For once, Gregor wants unity. Not to mention he is furious that one of his students was egregiously harmed."

Lang withdrew his pipe and blew into the cool air. "...Actual pigs."

"Mhm. But unfortunately we can't solve their problem. And Gregor...Gregor is already angry enough, I'm surprised the entire camp isn't on fire."

"I give it a day or two."

Gregor did eventually return, but only to give orders for healing supplies and food to continue going around. Daana sat to continue the game with Medi, whom he could tell had grown much more somber due to the circumstances of battle. He hated to see the spark dying in a cheeky man's eyes, and so he grinned at him even if Medi could not see his smirk. "You're a good kid, you know that? You give Gregor something to think about beside his desire to burn the world and another packet of tobacco or whatever the hell he puffs these days."

"The scent of money and being eternally single?" Lang joked as he walked past, which allowed for Daana to swing the blunt end of his sword out and to almost trip him. As the Captain hopped out the way he gave a loud cackle, and the General shook his head before meeting his eyes. Lang was to continue to keep an eye on the Mahajan men and to communicate with Ledaal if anything changed.

Turning back to Medi, the bald General continued to smirk. "You're kicking my butt at this game, I hope you know that. You've got a good feel for the pieces, and ah...I'm properly stuck. If I hadn't had to rush to go make sure our men didn't get too feisty I would have lost sooner too." He paused as he reviewed his moves, tapping his chin and smiling. He then looked back to the blind bandit. "You think much to ladies and to any sort of fun? You're a good lad, and you've got your sweet ghost-friend, though sometimes I wonder if she has to make sure you behave around the girls too. The gods know we've all got a friend like that." He winked toward Azraelia, knowing that she was most likely also exhausted from trying to keep his spirits up, and he was not going to make her have to handle caring for Medi's morale alone.

Medi and Azraelia

Medi forced out a smile, hearing Daana’s words. He could tell that the general was trying to lift his spirits. And he’d be lying if he said that is wasn’t working a little. But as he moved his pieces on his turn, entering the end game of the match, he still couldn’t help but feel hopeless. He looked up at his opponent, maintaining his forced smile to show him and Azraelia that their efforts are not made in vain. But, what he says betrays his face.

“Win or lose, this is just a game. I’m completely useless in a real fight right now. I’d end up opening my wound again and bleeding out on the battlefield. In fact the only reason I haven’t turned back, even with Azraelia’s requests too, is because I made a promise I’d fight. I helped defend that city and took a blade in the shoulder for it. But, Gregor’s men pulled me and Azraelia out of that ship wreck. So I still haven’t repaid that debt. And here I am, wounded and unable to fight. Getting more and more treatment and bandages. I’m racking that debt up higher and higher and I doubt I’ll be able to ever pay it back in kind. It’s…. hard not to feel helpless.” Medi explains. He moves one final piece, a bishop to pin his king into the corner of the board. “Checkmate.” He thought on Daana’s other comments, about girls. Medi was always one to mess around with whatever woman seemed interesting. Being tied down was never interesting for him. Wanting to travel the world made extended attachments disadvantageous. In Fact, his travels so far with Azraelia have been by far the most time he’s ever spent with a woman who was not his family.

“Don’t talk like that!” Azraelia demanded. “This is a war! People get injured. Be happy you’re alive and protected others. Don’t be sad that you can’t do it again. And who knows when we will march again! You might be healed before Zara is! I hardly believe we would march without her leading it.”

“Assuming she does recover. Have you heard any news on that front Daana? Beyond the fact that without her cracking the whip people are starting to get restless.” Medi asked, trying to take his focus and aim it somewhere constructive.

Daana - Matters of the Heart

Medi's morale was low, much lower than Daana had originally realized. He had seemed frustrated, but not hopeless as he was now. Now he was talking about having no use, about being unable to play a part in the battle. Daana understood, and he simply smirked as the younger man tipped his king and won the match. "Eyyyy look at that. You're much better than me. I keep trying to play it with Gregor, but he's a hard man to play. Mostly because he doesn't have the time, but you ought to give him a game one day. He'll make a much better challenge than I will." He winked at Medi, and then thought over his words.

"You know, being completely honest with you, Medi, you're hardly the only person struggling with this war. And with this wretched attack by Cynis on Vai, our men are starting to talk and Ledaal's men are no doubt giving Shan Yui a hard time. But we keep going because of what's behind us. My wife and children, Shan Yui fights for Lord Eugeni, Lang fights for whatever man he's currently fancying, and you fight for this lady here." He nodded to Azraelia before he turned back to Medi.

"But never call yourself useless. You don't have to take-up a sword and face every fight, our medics don't do that and neither has Azraelia. But your being here, your cheer and your sense of humor, they are quite handy. And you're a sharp mind. Your input into our strategies, your quick hands with weapons, all of that can be put to work somewhere, somehow. Mahajan might be as wicked as any other clan, but one thing we're not is boring. And we'll keep you busy. Your mind doesn't need to be where mine and Gregor's have to be, which is on the...entire operation. You just continue being you." He paused as he picked-up the chess pieces and looked back down at the board. "And if you do bleed, Lord Eugeni sent a generous amount of medicine and we'll be getting more soon." His smile turned back up to Medi, twinkling with his indomitable fire.

Thinking about Lady Zara, however, continued to make him nervous. Captain Lang and Lieutenant Navid continued to work among their ranks, along with other Mahajan soldiers, and he turned to look from them to the rest of the camp before answering. "I haven't been over to check on Lady Zara. I certainly would not disturb her without permission from Gregor...or I suppose her uncle. I'm not her immediate family in any sense of the term, but from what I understand, she's a tough young woman and she should make a full recovery. Provided those pigs didn't decide to cause her too much physical damage..."

"There's definitely someone going to be executed." Captain Lang walked over and sat with the group, now bringing cups of tea for everyone. He did look at Azraelia with some confusion, but he still held a fourth cup. "Ghosts should be allowed to spill the tea with the rest of us. And thanks by the way, General Daana, for outing me." He rolled his eyes as he grinned over to the general.

"Ah what, were you keeping it a secret?!"

"No, but I like to keep the suspense going. Anyway, Lady Zara's the topic, hm?" Lang became slightly more serious as he looked at Medi. "Well, Vai and Cynis are going to have a bunch of legal crap to go through, and somewhere in the middle of it we're going to keep fighting this war. Gregor is going to meet with Lord Breton, and if they don't get in bed together or kill each other, or both, we should be able to finish the siege of this castle."

Daana almost spit his tea and stared at him. "Only you could turn an international incident into something out of a back-shelf smut novel!"

"I've only read so many of them," Lang added sardonically, "but you know, for some people, executions can be very hot."

"Oh go to Hell with you," Daana murmured, as he suppressed a laugh and stood. He then looked down at him and at Medi. "Behave, I'm going to go talk to Gregor and check around the camp."

"I'm always only on my best behavior, General," the Captain answered with a salute. When he walked away, his face turned much more serious as he looked back to Medi and Azraelia. "Right, so, these men are barbarians, and I don't know what they're planning. But if they ever hurt the two of you I'm cutting heads off and I'll start a civil war myself. I honestly wish Gregor would just burn someone alive already and get it over with, but that's not how diplomacy works."

He kept his voice down, before he took Medi's hand in his. "But he does need you. You're a bright light in this hellhole. I almost wish Lord Eugeni had come with us, but I understand why he didn't. But you keep being yourself, just like Daana said. And protect her at all costs. These animals and sons of bar-whores don't know how to treat women." He gave Azraelia a knowing look, one laced with a much colder fire than Daana's. "If they do start to decide killing each other, stay close to me or Navid and we will get you away from the danger. You're ours now, we're going to make sure you live whether you like it or not."

[Imperialisium]

Zara was silent to Yang. Merely remained still, looking at the fabric of the tent. As she would remain for the rest of the night until eventually, she would fall asleep. Outside the tent, however, despite Arthurs grandiose claim and Gregors follow up. House Cynis and Vai were throwing curses and engaging in short quick brawls before compatriots pulled them apart. A whistle from the Cynis side went up. Out stepped Rhera Cynis. The senior most Cynis Dragon-Blooded present. De facto commander of the Cynis contingent.

Rhera was pretty. Her magenta-streaked flowing hair. Her bright eyes. Angled eyebrows and supple lips that always seemed perfectly glossy. Gold earrings hung from the lobes of each ear in the shape of a heart. While about her armor were designs of life and rebirth. Her cape was a dark pink nearly matching her hair. But her voice was authoritative.

"Can smell your testosterone a league away. Put down your cocks, Arthur, Gregor, this is a matter between Cynis and Vai. If what I heard is true than Zychere will be executed by House Cynis ourselves. If it is not true, then he will be released with restored honor. Fact of the matter is I demand a fair trial of my nephew." Rhera was indeed older. One hundred and eighty-seven. Yet looked no older than twenty-five. Rhera eyed the two men for a moment before flicking her gaze to a pair of Cynis warriors behind her. "Fetch Zychere and his surviving associate. We settle this tomorrow with a trial. Or not at all." Rhera moved past Arthur and Gregor with a frown. The Cynis troops moving away back to their tents and campfires. The soldiers of House Vai doing the same a moment later. The intensity of the atmosphere on this side of the imperial ring of besieging camps was thicker than even the heaviest of Blessed Isle wines.

[Luminesa]

Zara was silent to Yang. Merely remained still, looking at the fabric of the tent. As she would remain for the rest of the night until eventually, she would fall asleep. Outside the tent, however, despite Arthurs grandiose claim and Gregors follow up. House Cynis and Vai were throwing curses and engaging in short quick brawls before compatriots pulled them apart. A whistle from the Cynis side went up. Out stepped Rhera Cynis. The senior most Cynis Dragon-Blooded present. De facto commander of the Cynis contingent.

Rhera was pretty. Her magenta-streaked flowing hair. Her bright eyes. Angled eyebrows and supple lips that always seemed perfectly glossy. Gold earrings hung from the lobes of each ear in the shape of a heart. While about her armor were designs of life and rebirth. Her cape was a dark pink nearly matching her hair. But her voice was authoritative.

"Can smell your testosterone a league away. Put down your cocks, Arthur, Gregor, this is a matter between Cynis and Vai. If what I heard is true than Zychere will be executed by House Cynis ourselves. If it is not true, then he will be released with restored honor. Fact of the matter is I demand a fair trial of my nephew." Rhera was indeed older. One hundred and eighty-seven. Yet looked no older than twenty-five. Rhera eyed the two men for a moment before flicking her gaze to a pair of Cynis warriors behind her. "Fetch Zychere and his surviving associate. We settle this tomorrow with a trial. Or not at all." Rhera moved past Arthur and Gregor with a frown. The Cynis troops moving away back to their tents and campfires. The soldiers of House Vai doing the same a moment later. The intensity of the atmosphere on this side of the imperial ring of besieging camps was thicker than even the heaviest of Blessed Isle wines.

Gregor - Mean Woman Blues

The fighting would not stop, and Gregor could feel his temper simmering. He was beginning to wonder how many of these redcoats, rabble-rousers, and disobedient soldiers he could get away with burning. Gregor clenched his fists a little tighter, until he saw Rhera walk through the crowd. The whistle that had proceeded her had at least cooled the crowd a little, and the Mahajan general gave her his attention. Of course, when she started by insulting the fact that they were both men, his respect became poisoned with a little grudging annoyance. He put his hands on his hips and listened, however, as she was very much his equal if not more due to her House.

"...Very well. I do warn you, General, that we are still at war and we don't have time for the most drawn-out of affairs. I advise you to be done with them quickly, so we may move forward with the Bull." He hid his bubbling rage, knowing very well that Zara could have her own honor permanently tarnished. And what became of the war then was anyone's guess. Cynis could take charge with Vai limping along, or they would fight amongst themselves. He needed a contingency plan yesterday. With all of this information and all of these suggestions in mind, however, he ironed his voice like a wrinkled shirt, making sure to sound crisp and even with a lady of war. She knew very well the consequences which could follow.

As she left, and the Houses began to disperse, he gave a look toward Arthur through narrowed eyes. "Perhaps we can save this war yet, but keep a good eye on your troops as well. We do not need more violence unless it comes from above, or from us toward the Bull." He of course did not need to tell the Breton lord that he was close to killing Zychere with his own hands, but he did not wish to duel with Rhera. He would be expending enough energy fighting the Bull's Army soon.

He thus swept away and walked back to the Mahajan camp. His gaze was burning with the coals of a freshly-laid fire, but he made his way to sit in the camp with Munkii and his little group. He began to smoke his pipe, and groaned as he felt the energy seep from his bones. "Guh...I'm too old for these children's misbehavior..." He looked over at the group and at the chess board. "How has the group of you handled yourselves?"

"Like two dandies in a clothing store. And uh...the lady is just fine." Lang nodded politely to Azrellia, after grinning at Munkii about his joke.

Gregor rolled his eyes, and he smiled at Munkii tiredly. "You look especially exhausted. Tell me what's on your mind."

[Antimersia]

Daana - Matters of the Heart

Medi's morale was low, much lower than Daana had originally realized. He had seemed frustrated, but not hopeless as he was now. Now he was talking about having no use, about being unable to play a part in the battle. Daana understood, and he simply smirked as the younger man tipped his king and won the match. "Eyyyy look at that. You're much better than me. I keep trying to play it with Gregor, but he's a hard man to play. Mostly because he doesn't have the time, but you ought to give him a game one day. He'll make a much better challenge than I will." He winked at Medi, and then thought over his words.

"You know, being completely honest with you, Medi, you're hardly the only person struggling with this war. And with this wretched attack by Cynis on Vai, our men are starting to talk and Ledaal's men are no doubt giving Shan Yui a hard time. But we keep going because of what's behind us. My wife and children, Shan Yui fights for Lord Eugeni, Lang fights for whatever man he's currently fancying, and you fight for this lady here." He nodded to Azraelia before he turned back to Medi.

"But never call yourself useless. You don't have to take-up a sword and face every fight, our medics don't do that and neither has Azraelia. But your being here, your cheer and your sense of humor, they are quite handy. And you're a sharp mind. Your input into our strategies, your quick hands with weapons, all of that can be put to work somewhere, somehow. Mahajan might be as wicked as any other clan, but one thing we're not is boring. And we'll keep you busy. Your mind doesn't need to be where mine and Gregor's have to be, which is on the...entire operation. You just continue being you." He paused as he picked-up the chess pieces and looked back down at the board. "And if you do bleed, Lord Eugeni sent a generous amount of medicine and we'll be getting more soon." His smile turned back up to Medi, twinkling with his indomitable fire.

Thinking about Lady Zara, however, continued to make him nervous. Captain Lang and Lieutenant Navid continued to work among their ranks, along with other Mahajan soldiers, and he turned to look from them to the rest of the camp before answering. "I haven't been over to check on Lady Zara. I certainly would not disturb her without permission from Gregor...or I suppose her uncle. I'm not her immediate family in any sense of the term, but from what I understand, she's a tough young woman and she should make a full recovery. Provided those pigs didn't decide to cause her too much physical damage..."

"There's definitely someone going to be executed." Captain Lang walked over and sat with the group, now bringing cups of tea for everyone. He did look at Azraelia with some confusion, but he still held a fourth cup. "Ghosts should be allowed to spill the tea with the rest of us. And thanks by the way, General Daana, for outing me." He rolled his eyes as he grinned over to the general.

"Ah what, were you keeping it a secret?!"

"No, but I like to keep the suspense going. Anyway, Lady Zara's the topic, hm?" Lang became slightly more serious as he looked at Medi. "Well, Vai and Cynis are going to have a bunch of legal crap to go through, and somewhere in the middle of it we're going to keep fighting this war. Gregor is going to meet with Lord Breton, and if they don't get in bed together or kill each other, or both, we should be able to finish the siege of this castle."

Daana almost spit his tea and stared at him. "Only you could turn an international incident into something out of a back-shelf smut novel!"

"I've only read so many of them," Lang added sardonically, "but you know, for some people, executions can be very hot."

"Oh go to Hell with you," Daana murmured, as he suppressed a laugh and stood. He then looked down at him and at Medi. "Behave, I'm going to go talk to Gregor and check around the camp."

"I'm always only on my best behavior, General," the Captain answered with a salute. When he walked away, his face turned much more serious as he looked back to Medi and Azraelia. "Right, so, these men are barbarians, and I don't know what they're planning. But if they ever hurt the two of you I'm cutting heads off and I'll start a civil war myself. I honestly wish Gregor would just burn someone alive already and get it over with, but that's not how diplomacy works."

He kept his voice down, before he took Medi's hand in his. "But he does need you. You're a bright light in this hellhole. I almost wish Lord Eugeni had come with us, but I understand why he didn't. But you keep being yourself, just like Daana said. And protect her at all costs. These animals and sons of bar-whores don't know how to treat women." He gave Azraelia a knowing look, one laced with a much colder fire than Daana's. "If they do start to decide killing each other, stay close to me or Navid and we will get you away from the danger. You're ours now, we're going to make sure you live whether you like it or not."

Medi thought long and hard about Daana's words. He was right by all metrics. He had always gotten out of trouble based on his ability to smile through every strife he has faced. And never failed to tell a joke. So why on earth was it so hard for him to do the same now? He had woken up from crashing onto a shore, body feeling pain all around him. He walked away from that, sat in front of a general and cracked jokes first thing after. Yet now after a simple wound reopening, he felt harrowed. As if the joy that was boundless within him seeped out along with the blood he lost. He tried to listen to Daana, and he heard his words but his thoughts continued to flurry. And as Lang arrives, he and Azraelia take the cups handed to them. Azraelia looks at it oddly, before saying "Why thank you! I hope it isn't a waste on me." She brings the cup to her lips and attempts to drink, only to have her whispy lower jaw disappear for a brief moment as the sip of tea splashed down onto the chest of her coat. The ghostly vapors reforming into her mouth as she speaks again giggling through her words, "Oops, seems like it might not be for me." Medi takes a sip as well. The fact that he is not boisterously laughing at the spill only serves to deepen her worries for him.

Medi's mind drifts to the start of all of this. The cause of the shipwreck, and the series of events that have led to this moment. And he realizes that the source all returns to he old guardian spirit, Madania. Medi made a mistake in abandoning her. Mistake or not. And now he is paying the price. He is losing the spark of his soul. The soul that was promised to Madania long ago. He wondered why. Had he seen all the world has to offer as was his agreement with her? Or had his lack of care broken an unwritten rule of the deal? Or is he just depressed and manufacturing reasons to explain the lack of joy away and blame it on something other than his own failures. He shook his head and refocused on the conversation. Putting the forced smile back on his face as he responds to Lang, "I appreciate that. Especially in my condition. I'd probably end up killing myself fighting if anyone tried to attack Azraelia."

"Hey now you don't need to defend me. Remember it was me who saved you from that bounty you were after when we met after all!" Azraelia scolds playfully.

"What I can't return the favor?" Medi asks.

"There's no favor owed. That's what being a friend is about!" She exclaims.

"Fair enough." Medi replies with a labored chuckle. "But thank you Lang. And I agree, I may be new around here but I have enough experience in high society and great houses to know that Lady Zara is on top of the pecking order around here. And I've been in enough fights to know that if your enemy goes for the head, the only correct response is to fight to the death."

"That's so morbid Medi!" Azraelia decries.

"Yes but that's life Azraelia. Not everyone is your friend. Some fights can be friendly. I never go in with the intent to kill a bounty I chase." He looks up to the sky, his white eyes staring at nothing but a general direction, "But if they intend to kill me to refuse, then i'm at a disadvantage if I don't fight with the same intensity." He moves his head to look at Lang, his eyes fixated eerily well on the Captain. Those that don't know that Medi can sense his surroundings with his Exalted abilities would think that this look would betray his blindness. "Diplomacy has its place, but when it comes to assassins, it is inappropriate. A fight needs both combatants to be fighting with the same end goal. Otherwise one side is fighting with a handicap. If we aren't willing to go scorched earth, when they are, then our earth will end up scorched."

[Imperialisium]

Siege of Castle Breton

Channeling the Winged Serpent

Zara would spend the night in Yang's tent in silence. Only leaving in a concealed littler born by her guard in the early dawn hours. As the forces of House Vai continued, like the other Imperial forces, building their siege works. Trenches dug and expanded, some slowly knifing their way forward towards the walls. Some of the other Houses like Cynis took to the underground and began working on tunnels. The Vai Siege Corps meanwhile were rapidly and professionally carrying out the task of constructing the various siege engines. Trebuchets, catapults, Lightning ballistae, regular ballistae, and the beginnings of siege towers constructed behind the lines.

Zara herself remained entirely absent. Languid in her tent. Her guards not permitting any to enter. While the sorcerers of House Vai layered the very ground and fabric of the structure with protective wards and magical charms to alarm the guards of intruders. To Zara, as she lay in her bed, she could only stare at the gentle rustling fabric of the tent. Dipping in and out of consciousness. The creeping blackness of exhaustion taking her like a swiftly diving raven on a small field mouse.

Pain. A Viper need not be concerned by it.

Zara awoke to find herself sitting in pale grass under a darkened moon. Her tent was gone, the army was gone, the castle was gone. Only what could be guessed as the original natural hill on which it had been built was there. Unblemished by the constructions of Man.

For it is temporary, Little Serpent.

The voice was more distinct now, feminine, strikingly eloquent. As if lashing up against like waves on rock that she was so fond of staring unto when visiting the Storm Coast and Shadowed Ocean. Zara turned around and froze. A figure in black and ruby armor edged in rose-gold. Embossing Winged Vipers in silver intertwined with Golden fire breathing dragons. Faces of guardian spirits wrought into the pauldrons studded with Rubies. Flowing script in the Holy High Speech forming interwoven wards of protection and fortitude in bronze. It was ornate and beautiful. Zara found herself in her own red armor, but she felt weighed down. Encumbered. Falling to her knees as an overbearing force crushed onto her shoulders.

For there is only passion for kith and kin.

The figure turned slowly, ghostly, until Zara felt like she was staring at herself, almost. The eyes of her grandmother, the former Matriarch of her House, longest reigning ruler of Vai and mother to her late father. Warlord, Conqueror of the North, enslaver of a hundred tribes, despoiler of cities and destroyer of the foe. Azairya Vai. And as her lips moved Zara felt hers do the same of their own accord.

And hatred for your enemies, I shall bear eternal.

Azairya looked at her coldly with dead eyes.

"Gran-" Azairya rose and Zara's own lips snapped shut against her will. The former gliding forth to stand before the straining Zara. Sweat forming tiny rivulets on her brow.

"Look at you. Pathetic."

Zara could only pause as her back bent. Pressure mounting. Pressing her into the ghastly dirt. Azairya continued with admonishment, "Letting those men fool you. Letting them nearly have your way with you. Failure. Has my son taught you nothing. His disappointment shall be no bounds with me."

"Gr-I." She felt her vertebrae slowly begin to buckle as her core burned with the effort to remain sitting upright. A fools errand it seemed as her spine slowly ticked into a deeper curve. Her shoulders hunching and head dipping. Sweat dropping with growing rapidity.

"Grandmother, you beg. You beseech. How dare you, sniveling creature, deign to imply kinship with me. What a sorry state of affairs my House has become." Azairya placed a hand on Zara's shoulder. The latter craning her neck with agony to look at her grandmother's wraith like visage. "You are a disgrace to my name."

Zara's lip quivered as she finally crumpled face first into the dirt. Any movement just rubbing the dead muck into her mouth, eyes, and hair. Azairya remained standing before her. "But you could be better. I can forge you as my son tried and failed. To become a Winged Viper. A Dragon of the Storm. You only need to accept my teachings."

Tears welled in Zara's eyes as memories flashed before her. Sights of conflict, of family, of her gone brothers and dead parents. How fresh the images and sounds were to her. A torrent of moisture flowed from her eyes and onto the disturbed ground. Staining her cheeks with salt, but within the mind of the young woman true sadness came asunder. Inside her mind to the deep core of her heart. Something finally broke.

From Passion and Hatred, you shall gather strength.

Zara grit her teeth and pressed her arms to the ground. Repeating the words. She pressed as her mind conjured images of Zychere's corpse nailed to a tree. The pressure weakened. Zara's quivering body slowly rose.

With strength you shall fuel ambition.

Again Zara repeated the words as her heart hardened with her chest. Growing cold and distant she rose to her knees. The force which had shamed her into the dirt losing its might as anger, hate, rage, and a desire to subjugate and destroy all who would dare challenge or hurt her filled the very fiber of Zara's being.

Ambition, to gain the Will to conquer your foes.

Zara rose to her feet, finishing the mantra with her grandmother slowly growing a smile. From Will, I shall attain final Victory. For I am become despoiler of my enemies, conqueror of their land, and master of their laments.

Zara awoke to find herself filthy, in the dirt in a corner of her tent, garments stained and her form clammy with sweat and salt. She moved slowly, limbs weak, crawling over to the small bronze tub that served as a bath. Pouring the cold water over her, she began to wash herself. Scrubbing the dirt and filth from her body. Washing the salt and sweat away from her soft skin. Moving naked to the corner of the tent she took up bread and jerky. Cold and hard. Like they had been there for a few days. Yet she ate, yet she drank from the ambient air temperature ale and cold tea left for her. It was as she put the last morsel in her mouth, she felt a presence behind. Whipping around with cutlery knife in hand she saw nothing. Almost nothing, for there, on the bed, was a black coffin like box adorned with inlaid bronze script in High Speech. Moving towards it she saw there were intertwined winged vipers spewing flame. Their gold and silver bodies suddenly writhing and moving about the surface. Uncoiling from each other to separate sides of the box face. Until, when finally separated, it slowly opened of its own accord. A faint cackling laugh carried by the wind blew through the tent as she began to reach therein. Taking out an ornate blade in a black sheath. Its rose gold hilt depicting serpentine dragons and ivory lightning bolts. Its bone white ivory hilt ending in a bronze pommel gilded with wrought Ambrosia. She slid the blade from its sheath and immediately whispers assault her ears. She tried to drop the blade but for some reason her grip could not loosen. She could only stare into the blade as the voice of Azairya drowned out the death-like whispers.

Deathflame, the blade of Winged Serpents, sword of Dragons, forged in the heart of a dying caldera with the bound souls of a hundred Demons. Quenched in the spilled blood of a thousand enslaved enemies of House Vai. The dead sword of Azairya Vai. From its hilt flowed a core of Ambrosia gird in Starsteel hammered together with Soulsteel created by the souls of a hundred bound Demons. Creating swirling white and black with spectral colors appearing and vanishing as she tilted the blade ever so slightly. Its edges glistening with razor sharp murderous intent. She could feel the darkness within the sword. It hungered for fresh slaughter. For it was the black sibling to Starflame, the sword which she carried as the head of House Vai. The flowing script on the blade was elegant and caught the light with its flowing characters that shifted and formed of white, black, gold, and silver. Like the sword was writhing and reforming itself. Never dulling, never rusting.

She moved to put the sword back in its sheath, gingerly, and it relented. Allowing her to bring it home. Looking into the box she saw the same armor that Azairya had worn in the dream vision. How? Had her Ancestor sent aid from beyond the grave? But at what cost, at what cost will she be gird in the mantle of one of the Scarlet Empress' most bloodthirsty warlords...

Zara left her tent, hair pulled back and held in place by two long pins. Gird in the armor of Azairya, gripping the sheathed form of Deathflame in her right armored hand. Black cloak flowing behind her. Her guards stood aside and fell in line behind her. A servant fell in line just behind her speaking quickly, "My Lady, it's been three days. Are you sure you're rested?"

"I have rested long enough," she said curtly.

Moving to a low platform built as a command post she saw the siege engines of House Vai being pulled into position. The Sun was lowering itself to dusk and overcast clouds hung low about the sky. The air was warmer. Spring was coming, reaching ever further North. She held the blade before her, resting the tip of the scabbard on the ground, grasping it by its pommel. There she silently watched the industriousness of House Vai's army as it readied itself for the first action of the Siege.

For as the Sun lowered itself to the horizon, she nodded to an Archery commander who sent up an arrow tipped with a small box. It plumed and burst into a blue flare. Answering flares from the other Great Houses followed in green. She nodded and raised an armored fist, "Commence bombardment."

"But, My Lady, excessive damage may not sit well with Lord Breton," came the voice of Barisan. The hulking northerner coming up beside her. Zara's words were short and to the point, "Fortresses can be rebuilt."

Barisan blinked as a red flare burst in the darkening sky. Followed by several others that burst bright and white. Illumination arrows. Slowly drifting downwards. Blinding many of the castle sentries as the great siege engines were loaded, and at the drop of an armored fist, unleashed a volley of over one hundred and seventy-five heavy projectiles, one hundred and fifteen bolts, over forty lightning ballistae fired, on top of over three dozen catapults firing clay pots filled with flammable oils, nails, and broken glass and ceramics. Castle Breton's ramparts erupted in clouds of masonry debris as crenellations were damaged, towers were struck, and buildings within the wall damaged or destroyed by the encompassing bombardment from all sides.

"Barisan, send a message to Rhera, Vai will forgo any charges if Zychere redeems himself leading a forlorn hope assault tomorrow."

The northern knight frowned, "Are...My Lord..."

"I have a plan Barisan. Get me Yang, while you're at it."

"Yes, My liege."

[Parcia]

The North Howls in reply

With the starting of the days bombardment, the pieces lining the walls would return fire albeit not in the fashion they were meant to. The strength in the artillery of House Breton came from the well trained crews and intricate system of spotters, directors, and relay runners that allowed one man sitting in the Blue Tower to accurately direct the entire battery of heavy trebuchet, balistae, mangonels and catapults with lethal efficiency.

This Nuance was lost upon the invader manning his walls, and Arthur Breton frowned as he watched the uncoordinated and frankly poor work of his enemy as the return fire came, haphazard and lazy. They really were just throwing what ever they had and not coordinating at all. He sighed and turned to his men as they stood about their camp. They were armored and armed, with any reflective surfaces covered in firepit ash mixed with water. His Knights went about handing out black cloaks and hoods and Arthur went about giving instructions for the coming actions.

They had a castle to storm.

Walking Vengeance
Righteous Fury

Yang was preparing as well, though in his own way. The firelance was cleaned and loaded, his wand it self cleaned, loaded, and in its holster. The Sky Navy saber was on his hip. He had sat down for perhaps his first bout of meditation sense he came back to the civilized world and it was almost instantly interrupted by a runner.

After being told by the man what he was being summoned for, Yang broke out in to a run, leaving the man in the dust.

[Imperialisium]

The Siege of Castle Breton

Zara Azairya Vai was waiting for Yang at her command ensconce. Standing on a small wooden platform with a table bearing maps of the Castle held down by small rocks. Secure from the gentle breeze. The enemy's counter-battery fire was poor to say the least. Ineffective and without accuracy or precision. Clearly, there were no trained artillerists among the Northmen. Understandable given the climates and typical style of warfare of the frigid Far North lands. The Imperials however did not relent. Instead, their fire raked the walls. Several defensive engines destroyed by a well-timed salvo as the artillerists of the Imperial Houses corrected their own fire. Zara knew Lord Breton would use a secret entrance into the castle. This would sow confusion and distract from what is to come.

The Artillery of Vai and Cynis began to concentrate on a section of the wall and with projectiles charmed with sorcery the masonry slowly began to give way. Zara in a symbolic show would let House Cynis be the vanguard of the assault. Something that she knew Rhera would acknowledge. But also, it would put House Cynis soldiers against the initial breach which would be hotly contested by the enemy. Something Rhera knew but the ends justify the means, and the greatest glory would go to House Cynis if they were even so much as able to hold the breach as a beachhead into the castle. Neither of which were the true reasoning of this plan. Rather, Zara would allow House Cynis to potentially win the greatest glory just so that one of her own agents could conduct an act of murder.

Enter, Yang. Zara's adoptive cousin and previously exiled for fratricide. "Cousin." Zara said the term so coldly, so chillingly out of character, for none of her typical sultry tone was present. No playful remark or attitude. Instead, she looked as much a warlord as Yang could know. Standing with her hands on her hips as she scrutinized the work of the Imperial forces arrayed round the castle. Passive as more of the outer curtain wall between Cynis and Vai's camps fell onto the thinning layer of snow. Spring was coming day by day closer and closer. She was determined that none of the north men in the castle would see another season.

"I have a task for you." She did not turn to face him. Rather a pair of her Storm Wardens came forth in their white armor and laid out a panoply in Cynis colors. "Retrieved from a dead sapper in the forward Cynis trenches. If you must know. Took quite a bit for my soldiers to get it here without Rhera being tipped off. You're to join the Cynis vanguard and kill Zychere. Preferably, without incriminating yourself."

Yourself. Such an isolating and callous word choice. But she meant it. Yang would see that something inside her had changed. Something inside Zara was blooming and it was not necessarily to be equated with anything pleasant. Once the Cynis vanguard are in. House Mahajan along with Regiments of House Vai will provide the follow-on wave to expand our control. If all goes to plan House Cathak will open a breach on their opposing side and the outer districts will be ours by sundown.

A horn sounded in the distance from the Cynis lines. In the distance both could make out the small figures of House Cynis troops marshalling for their surging charge into the trenches and towards the walls. Where they would exit and attempt to storm into the breach.

[Luminesa]

Houses Mahajan and Ledaal - The Sound of Madness

With most of the small-talk finished, Gregor stayed among his troops in their encampment, calling Daana to his cabin for some time in order to go over troop arrangements. The upcoming battle would be a tipping point for almost every House in the Imperial Realm. Ledaal was mostly out of the way of the scandal that had occurred between Cynis and Vai, but they were still witnesses. Anything could change, especially if one clan or the other decided to make another unwieldy decision before or during the imminent battle.

"We'll be assisting House Vai in their assault. House Cynis is going to be in the vanguard position, we will be behind them assisting with the movement of the troops," Gregor explained from behind his pipe and a glass of whiskey.

"And does that mean that Lady Vai is going to be well enough or are we going to be assisting other generals of Vai?" Daana inquired, as he looked over the maps of Castle Breton which were across the other Major's large desk.

The Mahajan scion frowned, and took a sip of his liquor. "I have not been to her tent to check. She needs her rest. Though I have heard the rabble from House Vai all the way from here. Clearly they are making themselves busy one way or another."

"Well it would be even worse form for them to slouch after Cynis tried to make a mockery of them." Lang entered the tent with two more captains. He regretted leaving Medi and Azrellia, but he had duties of his own to fulfill. "I still say she should have killed Zychere on the spot."

"I would have been glad to do it myself, but it seems they are going to simply bite themselves to pieces over it rather than restore the Lady's honor." The redheaded Exalted shook his head, and he looked back over the formations he had received from Vai, along with the letter that detailed their position. "Ledaal will most likely be assisting Cathak. Shan Yui knows what to do, and I imagine Lady Vai would not want for a major House not involved in their current scraps to be included in the worst of the incoming wave."

Lang smirked. "They brought it on themselves. Cynis, I mean."

Gregor narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "No. We have brought this on ourselves, for not watching our backs. And now we will have to have eyes on every side of our heads, to avoid creating a civil war in the middle of another war. It means everything."

And indeed, winning the battle meant taking the correct positions first. Vai presented themselves as the powerful House that they were, moving forward slowly while Cynis charged at the walls. The Castle Breton's defenses were not particularly strong at the start, and as Gregor stood once again in his gleaming armor, he could see the holes in their offensive as they tried to bring down the charging Imperial soldiers and cavalry. In the meantime, various Exalted from the Imperial side began to burn the walls as much as they could.

Mahajan was busy bringing wave-on-wave, as instructed. Daana shouted for the troops to continue bringing arrows down over the enemy forces. Catapults which had been stolen from the previous enemies at Lethlinburg smashed into the towers, bringing heavy stones down over the unfortunate souls who stood guard at such a height. Aim high, aim low. Aim everywhere in-between. Such was the way, and such was the fire that came with the small-but-boisterous House. Once again, they got to enjoy the wrath of war.

None of the soldiers enjoyed battle as much, of course, as when Gregor decided to make a show of himself. Finding a hole against the wall from a few hundred yards back, his careful eye guided a barrage of a fireball at enemy soldiers who had tried to make their way toward Cynis's troops. The explosion that followed sent a bloodthirsty uproar among his troops, including Lang, who grinned from atop his horse.

"KEEP AT IT! DON'T LET UP NOW! FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!" Daana screamed above the crowd, who worked as the rhythm of the blood pumping in their hearts, in their ears, in their legs as they kicked their stirrups and sent their horses flying toward the enemy to break them.

Shan Yui, in the meantime, kept Ledaal busy with supporting the artillery that was raging from the opposing side. He had many more troops to push into battle, and they were rounding the Castle in order to reach the sides which had been untouched by the other Imperials. Barrages of Water and Wind Aspects threw down soldiers and flooded the trenches for soldiers who were trying to reach Cathak's forces. Flood the trench, build the earth over it, and march a way into the castle. As ruthless as the picture was, Shan Yui knew that a swift victory would bring hopefully less casualties. But they still had a long day ahead, and so he kept his face stern and grave as he watched and moved his troops from atop his armored stallion.

In the meantime, he had given a message to Shi, and to any assassins who were within their own ranks. Quickly kill the captains of the Bull's army, and then draw back. Shock would be the way to win, and so indeed they would shock.

[Parcia]

Yang


He eyed the armor wearily. He ran a hand over it, feeling it. The moment was serreal. Zara might have not known it, but what she was acting was something far, far more important, more valuable then she understood. She was acting for a murder, an assassination. He would do it, with out question, but not because she asked, not because he figured it was the right thing to do; to repay the dishonor of the attempted molestation by the man.


He would do it out of love for her. He would do it as because he looked at the armor and what it meant, the drums roared in his mind and blocked out nary everything else. "I will do this." His own voice was the only thing that silenced their unending beat. "But not because you have commanded it. Not because the debt of honor demands blood as repayment. I will do this because for perhaps the first thing in my life, I believe it is the will of fate it self."

He crossed the room to her, though kept his distance as to not alarm her guards. In a low tone he continued. "Things of this nature will incur a debt of their own. One that must be payed." He was not threatening, but warm, if low, in his voice. He caught her gaze and stared back in to her eyes, seeing the darkness that began to sprout in her.

"As Elohim as my witness, come hell or highwater, he will die before this siege ends. By man hand or his. I make you this pact, you only need to confirm it."

"Blood for blood, Little Z."

[Antimersia]

Medi and Azraelia

The soldiers were abuzz as the siege had begun. It felt rather sudden for Medi and Azraelia, as within moments they were left behind as the men and women from around the camp all pressed on to join the siege. Medi wanted to help but in his state he would only be a detriment to himself and the war effort. He and Azraelia walked towards the edge of camp. The cold winds being just enough to be uncomfortable, despite Medi's exalted abilities and the many fires of the camp. He sat on a large stump with his spirit companion taking a place beside him as the watch the artillery launch their projectiles. The walls, peppered and beginning to crumble as soldiers begin to storm the breeches in them. Medi began to think about where he stood. It was at the edge, between non combatants like medics, and the active combatants of the siege. In his head he recognized that this was likely just a justification for his inaction, but he felt like he had a role after all. The last line of defense, a single exalted man at post. One ready to defend any that might for whatever reason go past the forces of the siege and attack the camp. This was enough to make him content in his place, and for once in a fair while, not feel like a burden.

[Imperialisium]

Zara Azairya Vai

Zara waved at Yang to go once he was finished. Silently confirming that Yang was to proceed with her gaze and hand gesture. Returning her eyes to the sight of the bombardment continuing to do its destructive work on Castle Breton. It would Arthur months to repair the damage and raise the breached sections back. Not counting the internal damage, but that was not a consideration for Zara or the other House commanders. Cathak, Ragara, and Pelleps were beginning their own advances into a breach on their side. The enemy was already beginning to concentrate infantry and missile troops to try and repel the attackers from the breaches. It would be bloody but Dragon-Blooded did not forge the greatest Empire of the age by peace. To build an Empire one must subjugate your neighbors. An act done so with violence and blood.

A thunderous crash as another tower gave way. Crumbling masonry dragging the siege engine aloft down into a splintering mess of stone and wood. Half of the battlement giving way while other stones caved into the wooden framed floor below. Crashing through into the depths of the tower. No doubt men had been crushed and mulched by the debris. Such was the nature of a siege such as this.

Scanning down to her side of the siege Zara saw the rank and file of House Cynis funneling through their trenches and preparing for the vanguard to attack the breach. Yang would be going among them.

Forward Trenches

Zychere stood in his armor, the livery of House Cynis on their banners held by hand or mounted on the back cuirass. Brown and green with a violet chrysanthemum flower. The subtle symbols of House Cynis. Other vassal lords of House Cynis had their banners raised to demarcate where their troops were. Hundreds of men were gathered in the forward trenches. Ducking or hunching as enemy projectiles rained down. House Cynis archers and arbalests fired back while a Cynis crew mounted a lightning ballista behind a protective hide shield and with a shout, unleashed a torrenting bolt that struck the upper ramparts. Screams from above as at least one defender was struck by the lightning bolt.

Zychere raised a whistle to his lips and with a deep inhale it screamed out. Men yelled and screamed in bravery or panic as battalions of men surged forth towards the breach. A breach ten meters wide. Swiftly becoming a narrow funnel. Zychere kept his head down as he sprinted forth. Cries behind him, blood curdling, painful, signaled men struck by the enemy missiles sailing from the battlements. Zychere drew his blade, a typical Imperial katana style sword, as he led the front ranks to connect with the waiting hoots and hollers of the Northmen. Meeting their axes and spears head on in a resounding thunderclap of steel, iron, and bronze.

Zychere lunged to open a carotid artery. Fountaining red mist into the air. Sweeping his right foot forward the Dragon-blooded of House Cynis caused a trio of northmen to become overwhelmed momentarily with fatigue. They sagged and the Cynis soldiers doggedly attacked. Bashing them down to bloody ruin. Slowly, a wedge was forming in the Northmen lines, then another, and finally a third, a radial of Cynis troops spreading inward into the castle as the Imperials penetrated into the Northmen ranks. Zychere could see other blocks of northmen coming, forming shield walls, an attempt to contain the breach and collapse it.

Zychere pressed forward with determination. Striking down four Northmen in quick succession. His Dragon-blooded training, strength and speed outclassing all but a master warrior, with the other brethren of House Cynis cutting a bloody ruin in their wake. The mortal soldiers of their House following them even as the vanguards casualties mounted. Dozens slain on both sides. The breach itself behind Zychere was choked with the dead and dying. Looking up he saw Imperial artillery arc over the curtain wall to crash into the interior structures and streets. Some were filled with flammable oils which caught wooden architecture alight or formed ponds of flame. Still, he pushed on as the initial Northmen formation gave way to chaotic melee or fell back to their second line compatriots and their shield walls.

Zara Azairya Vai

One of Zara's officers was peering into a spyglass and spoke quickly, "Enemy is funneling reinforcements towards the breaches."

"Shrapnel rounds," said Zara sharply.

One of the officers, belonging to one of the infantry regiments spoke up, "My Lady we risk hitting Imperial sol--."

"Load shot and prepare salvo," she continued. The Artillery officers of House Vai looked at each other for a moment.

"Loose on my mark," she pressed. The Artillerists turned quickly and shouted orders, raising signal flags, the crews double timing to load the casket barrel looking shot onto their siege engines. Many of the artillerists were sweating profusely by the pace of the bombardment. Some stripping down to their trousers while logistic troops poured water on them. The cool air causing it to steam away.

"Artillery ready!" came a response from behind Zara.

"Loose."

Zychere

Zychere and his kin were about to make contact with the shield walls when a whistling sound came over head. Crash-boom. Cries and screams. Looking left he saw a tumbling barrel crash down the street and detonate into a fiery gulf which stretched across the narrow castle street. It's what shot out of the fire which caused his eyes to widen as a dozen Northmen in the back ranks of the shield wall crumbled with scathing wails. The face of one exploding as a ball bearing the iron the size of a hand ball removed the innards of his skull at high speed. Others lost limbs. Down the street oncoming reinforcements suffered similar fates. Others were clutching their bodies as the barrels were not just full of iron balls but nails, metal shavings, and smithy waste ranging from lead to ceramic. Crashed behind him, he looked right and saw a similar situation. The Empire was dropping shrapnel shot across the entire southern half of the castle.

"Forward!" Zychere shouted as he crashed into the shield wall. The Northmen themselves growing afraid as their reinforcements were hailed on by the artillery of the Imperials. Filling streets and alleys with lethal debris. Dozens of bodies littering were salvos fell. The smell of burnt flesh growing, permeating, saturating the interior of the castle's atmosphere.

Zara Azairya Vai

"Ladders. General assault, infantry form up for advance."

The infantry regiments of House Vai formed up in ordered rectangular blocks. Ladders held by dedicated crews trained for the swift mounting of the large equipment. Zara nodded and a horn blew five swift notes. The infantry surged forth in a slightly bent wave matching the contours of the walls. While the Artillery released a deadly timed barrage onto the ramparts with caskets filled with charms and ash to generate temporary smoke screams to mask the infantry's approach.

The House Vai infantry advanced in good order and docked their ladders. The crews leveraging two cranks, one on each side, which connected to rods on the sides of the ladders. Pressuring them into placed. The enemy would have to heave the ladders top hooks up and over to defeat the torque. The infantry did not pause as the infantry drew swords, maces, and axes. Climbing the ladders until they reached the top and into the smoky fog were shouts rapidly spread. The fight for over a quarter of the outer curtain walls were underway.

[Luminesa]

House Mahajan and House Ledaal - The Rhythm of Shrapnel

"HOLY HELL!"

Lang jerked his horse back, and it skid to a screeching, whining halt as it almost slid into the line of Cynis soldiers several rows ahead. The beat of shrapnel was palpable from as far back as Daana's own position, and under the horse's hooves he could feel the earth almost splitting apart. He grimaced, as he saw that the trenches were full of fire that was not from House Mahajan. No, House Vai had decided to take Cynis along with the enemy, and the leading Imperial Forces bore heavy casualties.

"...Good gods..."

He could glimpse the blood and gore as it rose in a fearful symphony, and he just grit his teeth behind his lips. Lang had no problems with the destruction of war, but seeing their leading general fire into their own forces to kill the enemy, even if that clan was Cynis, was a disturbing sight. Zychere was the one who deserved to die, but no. A civil war was peeling away from under the thin veneer of unity and cooperation. Lang looked down at his horse for just a moment, whispering to it to calm his steed. "Easy, Cao. Easy. Just ride, we're almost there."

Gregor's eyes narrowed at the sight as well, but he had different aims. He looked toward Lang, and then toward Daana. "Get Medi to fire the catapults on the Bull's forces, and have him and Azraellia bring supplies for Ledaal and Cathak. They are taking heavy attacks, they need medical supplies now."

Daana nodded, and he went to grab Medi and Azraellia. His horse pounded almost through the earth, while Daana sliced apart any stray enemy soldiers in the path of his spear. Even when he was covered in blood and gore, he managed a hearty grin in the direction of his allies. "Yoohoo, kids, don't stay out here on the front lines without a group around you, huh?" He ushered a group around them, and gave their mission. "Go find the catapults at the back of Ledaal's forces and go fire them, help with the siege in the back. Follow these horsemen and I'm sure the two of you can find the catapults. Go to one of Ledaal's generals and ask what they need and how much. They need the logistics to keep running smooth. Shan Yui should be at the front, don't go that far up if you don't want to stab anyone. And stay with this group, huh?"

All the while, Gregor fired the occasion blast of fire toward the castle. Stray enemy soldiers continued to find themselves caught in the midst of painful fireworks, and as they went in smoke, the Mahajan scion looked for a way to move his army forward. They would have to deal with Cynis dying and piling in front of them, but he knew that he could not help such matters. Casualties would come either way, Vai's army was full. He felt no pity for them, and he only hoped this assault could be finished before the Bull's soldiers got a new round of resources of their own. He had gotten lucky with the battle at the river. Yet he was still willing to flood another trench, and would, if the battle took too long.

[Imperialisium]

Siege of Castle Breton
What Fire Wroughts

Lord's Keep

The Lord's Keep was echoed with the impacts of the Imperial artillery as its ordinance ranged deeper into the castle. Fire and smoke already arising throughout parts of the outer bailey residential and commercial districts. Heavy leather booted feet stomped on the flagstones as a man clad in furs bearing the blue woad markings of a Great Clan Chieftain entered.

There, the castellan of the city, and appointed Great Chief of the 'South Lands' as appointed by The Bull, Ethgard Bonebreaker stood. His whitening beard and frost-colored eyes glancing over at the younger man, who was middle aged and long past youth, came to join him. Not in the fashion of the 'Southerners' with the bowing and prostrating. No, that was not the custom of the men of the Far North, beyond the boundaries of the Scarlet Empress' dominions.

"Velrik, of Clan Giantsbane, not the best of tidings?"

Velrik cleared his nostrils before speaking, "The Imperials have breached the walls in two locations. The Residential and Commercial Outer Bailey districts are lost. Serpent Banners have taken the outer curtain wall on the east side of the road, and even now make progress through the main outer gate defenses."

"Pull back to the second wall. Evacuate all supplies in the Upper trade district to the Marshall's Keep."

"Their artillery is very precise. Our own cannot match them," remarked a younger chieftain standing nearby, a rather young man known as Uthbert Blackclaw of Clan Blackclaw.

"Their Great Chief seems to not care for the lives of their soldiers. They break our defenses, but also catch some of their own of other clans in the crossfire."

"Houses I believe they call it, and their leader is no chief. The Bull's sorcerers tell me that they have scried their leaders as a woman, a scion of the Storm Dragon's ilk."

Another set of footsteps became audible. A thinner man bearing the golden sun sigil of the Bull's solar emblem on his forehead came into view, a sorcerer. "She is a spitting image of Azairya Vai, the cursed Storm Dragon of the Islegard. Their serpent banners the plague of many Northmen, of whom our southern cousins bend their knee in fealty."

Zara Azairya Vai

Zara inhaled deeply as the horns of retreat sounded from the Northmen within the Castle. Even now she watched as banners of various Houses rise above different towers of the outer curtain wall. Reports of battalion strength detachments pouring into the castle from either breach or up ladders. The northmen caught on the walls would be slaughtered or captured. Turning to her side she picked up the draconic helm of her ancestor and placed it upon her head. Its scarlet plume hanging long behind it, swaying in the breeze with her cloak as she began to step away from the ensconce. Her white clad bodyguards forming up beside her as she strode forth. Across wooden boards over trenches, past wicket defensive palisades for missile and artillerists, by now the danger of enemy missiles was nonexistent anyways. The Imperial artillery was targeting the second curtain's walls still functioning emplacements. The rumble of another tower partially collapsing bore testament to that.

Moving across to the main gate, not to the breach, which had been taken by her own House Vai soldiers. She walked through with the gates opening before her. Stepping into the outer bailey district she heard the din of metal on metal, steel clanging with steel and bronze, of whistling cries and bloody wails as the fighting moved deeper into the Castle. Moving past the gate her soldiers holding there bowed or knelt down to one knee. Many were bloodied and bruised. Looks of exhaustion in their eyes. The bodies of the slain strewn hither and thither.

Moving into an opening area she House Vai troops of the 11th Regiment guarding a column of prisoners numbering at least two hundred heads readying to be marched out. Rope tying their hands at the wrists. Their weapons and armor stripped in piles by a small fountain that no longer flowed with water.

"Move along!"

A second column of a greater amount came into view. Women and youths, camp followers of the far northmen. Clearly, the Bull had planned to settle tribes on vacated lands.

"Captain," said Zara as she started walking by the men and women. The 11th Regiment officer that was supervising the prisoner columns turned and fell in line behind his liege. "Your Eminence?" he said, Zara did not respond. Instead, she kept walking past the men and onto the women and youths. Pausing to take a young woman's face in her gauntlet by the chin. The girl tried to resist, it only served to bruise her jaw, she was fair faced with pretty eyes. Zara spoke again to the women this time, "What is your name?" Her Skytongue perfect and the woman's eyes widened as she could understand, even if not a perfect one-to-one mutuality of language, what Zara had asked.

The young woman spat onto Zara's gauntlet in response. "Hmmm," hymned Zara as she wiped the spit onto the girl's forehead roughly in response. Earning some small cries as strands of her wild hair were caught in the process. Stepping away she looked onward to the Marshal's Keep. "We will have enough male slaves by the time this siege is over. Kill the men, make sure the women and children see it."

The Captain straightened, "Yes, my lady."

Zara returned to her sauntering pace deeper into the outer district. Her guards moving with her at demi-company strength. Behind her the Captain shouted a series of complex orders that saw all two hundred men roughly placed on their knees. It was not ceremonial or elegant. Rather, 11th Regiment soldiers noted for their sure accuracy and strength made their ways along with axe and spear. Heads rolled to the tune of gurgling slashed throats and the lamenting screams of northern women.

The Forlorn Hope

Just as quickly as the Imperial shrapnel bombardment had begun, it had moved away, following the now retreating Northmen as they broke. Hundreds dying in the route to Imperial swords, spears, axes, and maces. The House Cynis troops now joined by Mahajan forces had followed closely behind and in a stroke of fortune managed to close behind the failing rearguard to break into a gatehouse before its doors could be shut and bolted. Pressing into the Upper Trade District the Imperials rampaged forward. Turning the planned evacuation of supplies and ordered defense of the area into a chaotic disorganized battlefield of individual companies and battalions fighting their own miniature battles for towers, ramparts, gatehouse floors, buildings, alleys, and pavilions.

The Dragonblooded amplified the chaos as their elemental powers scattered any chance of the districts defense being organized. Within the hour House Cynis vanguard with Zychere among them were contesting the southern gatehouse to the Marshal's Keep district. Under normal circumstances a much smaller force could have held against a whole army. But with the Dragonblooded the tall walls and towers were circumvented by their elemental powers. Cynis charms cast on their troops gave them great stamina and with siege axes brought up they hacked at the gate doors. While Cynis sorcerers worked spells of rot. The mighty doors falling away into crumbling remnants as the masses of men clashed in the stone corridors. Zychere pressed forward with a company and breached the second gate house doors. Breaking into the area around the keep. Right as a magnificent, focused barrage of round shot and incendiary jars struck the Marshal's Keep. Wreathing stretches of its defenses in fire and crumbled masonry.

Zychere pressed forward doggedly, striking down Northmen left and right, pressing forward until as the Sun began its terminal decline to evening and eventual dusk, he managed to claw his way up a ladder into the charred ramparts. Even as not one but two arrows struck him in the torso, embedding into his armor, merely snapping their shafts in reaction. His company now reduced to a couple platoons of bloody grizzled veterans. But they would not be without reinforcement. For as they breached the ramparts perimeter and took the fight into the courtyard more Imperial troops of Cynis came forward. Having advanced at pace with the general advance through the Upper Trade District.

It was in the courtyard that Zychere was confronted by a grizzled Northman bearing a solar sigil on his forehead. Zychere readied himself as he squared off with the man who hefted a frost-colored double-headed axe. Shouting some guttural Skytongue curse the Northmen charged and Zychere advanced. Shield and spear before him. Picking up the pace at the last second, he side-stepped and lunged. The Northmen turned on his side and barreled into the former. Knocking the Dragonblooded to the ground, booted foot cracking his spear tip with an audible crack, the axe came down. Zychere caught the blade with his shield which was now splintered and ruined. Tossing the shield aside with the embedded axe head he rolled and kicked. The blow hitting the northman's knee which buckled. Zychere spun up and made to draw a knife. The Northman backhanded Zychere who stumbled with the knife falling in front of him.

The Northman dove to grab it and yelling in his harsh language he grappled onto Zychere. Intent on stabbing the Dragonblooded to death, the Northman's eyes glowing bright, skin glowing as Zychere tried to use his elemental powers of Life to temporarily exhaust the man's muscles. For naught, he was warded. As such he did the only thing he knew how and punched the man in the face. Cracking an ocular lobe, the man clutched his eyes and fell back as Zychere pushed him off. Swooping up the knife Zychere stabbed, the man screamed, having used his hand as a shield he caught the knife. Blood bursting in thick rivulets from the wound, Zychere kicked with a steel-clad boot into the man's midriff. Falling on top of him Zychere made to strangle the man with his free hand when a sharp pain struck him in the back. An arrow had struck him, failed to penetrate his rear plates and mail, but had caused him to straighten and for a moment take his eyes off the Northman. The latter having desperately taken the moment to reach for the handle of his axe and swing it. Impacting Zychere on the side. The axe blades frost runes freezing and cracking the Dragonblood's armor, allowing the blade to cut his side and crack ribs. Zychere let out a yell. The Northman made to pull the axe out by Zychere gripped the handle. Preventing it from coming free, and with a bellow of victory he yanked the knife free and plunged it into the throat of the Northman.

Zychere stumbled to stand up, pulling the axe free, as exhaustion finally made itself known in his body. He could only bleed deeply as he took in the sights and sounds of the conflict around him.

[Parcia]

A Blade in the Shadows

Yang let the bow fall to the ground as he surged forward from his hiding place, the cold body of the Northman archer having been his only company for some time as he tracked and set up an ambush point for his prey. If the northmen hadn't ruined his chance, Zychere would have an arrow in his throat. Alas, the gods had different ideas in mind.

He drew the short blade he had scavenged and put his hand out. "My lord, my lord please, lets get you to safety please." He went to the man's side, his face covered by a shawl and his voice a near perfect imitation of a native to the Isle. He brought the man to his feet and nearly half carried him towards the safety of an abandoned Tavern. The boy was battle shocked, having nearly survived a close brush with death.

"By the Dragons my lord that was close, lets get you in cover for a moment, I can check your wounds." He used his free hand to throw the wooden door open and carry the lord inside. He set Zychere down on the nearest chair before he turned and barred the door. Turning, he quickly went to the still fatigued dragonblooded and did his best mimicry of checking him over until he came to his face and locked eyes with the man.

All went silent as the look of recognition registered on his face and Yang let any attempt at the masquerade fall. Yang Sprang forward, the blade drawn and tackled Zychere off the chair, clamping his hand over the man's mouth and silencing his cries as he brought the short sword up and dawn, stabbing down just above the top edge of his armor, slicing through padding and flesh and piercing his heart.

Yang was many things, a sloppy killer was not one. Yanking the blade free he drew its edge across his throat and sliced as deep as he could. His muffled screams became soft gargling and gagging as his life blood flowed in to the hard wooden floor. All the while, Yang kept his eyes on his, watching the light fade from his eyes and the last of his movement's stopped.

Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, all was still. Yang reached down and dipped his hands in the still warm blood of his enemy. Taking a moment he went about drawing a crude version of the Bull's Sigil on his chest plate and drawing another on his fore head, sealing the menagerie of just who killed him. In the grand scheme of things the death of one minor lord wouldn't do much to change things. There might be some investigation in to it but as far as Yang could fore see, if he played the rest of this right, he could slip out and ditch the uniform.

The Banging on the door brought him back to reality. He could here them, more of house Cynis troops trying to get in and see were their lord had gone. Yang moved quickly, crossing the room and climbing the bar to the small window in the back wall that had been the only source of light for his killing. He took the hilt of the still bloody blade and smashed the window out, scrambling through and on to the roof.

Yang would indeed slip away in to the night, shucking the armor pieces in to the night and quickly finding the hay loft were he stashed his own.

The Lion does not sleep this night.

Arthur had spent the day watching the reign of hell fire land on his home. If he wasn't aware of the cosmic irony of it all he'd be angered to see the old granite walls of his home fall. Still he had a job to do. He had his men cover them selves in cloaks, to cover their swords in pitch and their shields in paint. Today they would be the Heroes, today they would emerge from the darkness and take back their home.

He told them as such, and they roared in approval. As the sun set and the battle raged on in to the streets he grew up on, Arthur took his men, all 500 of them, and marched out under silence to the first part of their mission.

The Pine thicket was secluded, calm, far away from the war. He took a moment to take in a breath of the crisp night air when a runner approached him. "M'lord, The Mercenary captain under lord Xao Long wishes to join us." Arthur turned to the tanned man and looked him up and down.

"Xao-Long speaks well of you, he says your men are quick, lethal, and far better shots then most in the legion, a fair match for my own longbowmen." Arimuhl Kahn stepped forward in to the moon light with a feline smile. "All embellishments I assure you." Arthur stepped forward and took his hand. "Know this, If we survive this you and yours will rewarded greatly and I-" Kahn held up his hand. "We do not do this for money or fame. My men do this as they are loyal to me, and I do this because Yang is blood of my blood. My brother."

Arthur put a hand on Kahn's shoulder. "Do this with me and you will be mine, all the gods as my witness."



An Hour later.

It took some doing, but he found the old length of willow wood wedged in the long since dead tree. It felt strange, holding the object of power that his mother had wielded for so long. It felt even stranger when it brought back the long ago held memory of what she told him to do if he ever needed to run. The entrance to the tunnel was enchanted, warded from all save those who held the staff and could only be opened with one word.

As he stood there, in the darkness, armor and sword tarnished by pitch and ash, he caught the faintest sight of the word etched in to the wood and for a moment, he was dumbstruck. His mother had a sense or humor.

He raised the staff and tapped it's end on the large stone out cropping that served to cover the entrance to the tunnel. With a sigh and a smirk, he spoke the phrase aloud. "Little, Golden Kitten."

With a low rumbling the stone parted and the dark cave opened further. With a single motion of his arm, the men fallowed him in to the Tunnel.



The Crypt

Again the ground rumbled, the ancient stones folded out of the way and from the darkness emerged Arthur Breton, fallowed by his knights and the most veteran of his men fallowed behind them. Armored boots wrapped in cloth to muffle their steps. Swords dark as the night they left. In minuets they where through, filling up the entire crypt and basement. It was a tight fit, and the way back was shut behind him. This was it, They had one chance to do it. The only knowledge they had on what lay in store was Arthur's encyclopedic knowledge of the Castle he grew up in.

He slowly opened the large wooden door and took a peak out side. Empty. The entire hall was empty, he could see all the way down to the door that led to the kitchen that would lead to a set of stairs that would lead, via a semi hidden servant's door, to the main hall, were in all likelihood, most of the enemy leadership would be.

He stepped out, already slipping on his helm and starting down the hall, his knights fallowing close, their weapons drawn. He quietly opened the door and found most of the kitchen deserted sans a pair of cook maids. Two he recognized. "Lord Arthur, is that you?" The Elderly cook motioned to his general location with an old cooking spoon. He cocked his head and approached the old blind cook. He knew her, she was Myrtle some one who had been making meals for Arthur since he was born, hell she nursed him.

"Myrtle?" He was cut off, the soft thud of the women conking him on the armored head with said spoon. "Oie, is Aunt Myrtle to you little lion, now hush up and get these fuckin ice walkers out mah home befo-" He wrapped the old women in a bear hug that shut her up. He turned to the other, younger cook maid, "Both of you get to the crypt and hide. Dont' Come out, go." He let the women go and had them ushered through the mass of armored men before turning to the door leading up the stairs and going through and up, seeing the last door. He put a hand up and the men all paused behind him. He closed his eyes, reaching out and feeling the vibrations in the stones and saw them as they stood. He couldn't see the entire hall, not at all, but he could get a general idea of the nearest 2 dozen or so feet and he could only see the two guards.

He reached out and took hold of the rock, the ancient granite that made them and for just a moment, they stood still. With lethal force the stones shot out, splintering the door, its frame, and acting as a giant blast as if from a powder charge and killing the two men standing near it and showering all others with lethal fragments. He turned to his men and gave our a yell as he drew Godpiercer.

"Men of the North, reclaim. Your. Home!

[Luminesa]

When the Fire Rises

Another sound of retreat. The Imperial Forces were advancing, marching toward the gates and now into the courtyard of Castle Breton. Mahajan cheered once again as the Castle's outer reaches continued to be consumed by flames, as if a dragon had arisen from beneath them to devour them. Indeed, when such a mighty dragon did arise from such depths, all this smaller army could do was pull away, hoping to secure what gains they had remaining. Yet they would not last long, not if the Imperial Forces continued to move at this speed.

Once the gates opened, the three leading armies-Vai, Cynis, and Mahajan-all moved into the opening and approached those whom the Bull's Forces had left behind. Gregor saw the plethora of space before them, and he grunted in approval as he pulled his pipe from his coat and began to smoke it. A breath of the icy air passed in his lungs, but he much preferred the ashen warmth of his pipe. Any heat to keep him awake and alert.

"They've got a lot of prisoners up ahead, I see..." Daana rode his horse next to Gregor, guiding Navid to keep the Mahajan scion's horse calm as Gregor walked to greet Zara and the Captain of Vai.

"The Bull may be powerful, but he has no regard for those who cannot stand in battle. Of course...that is his own concern, and not ours. What is left behind will not survive." The Mahajan scion gave a puff of smoke as he watched Zara walk among the prisoners in the distance ahead. He knew what would come next, and he had no qualms. They had killed members of his own clan, and they wished to continue to disturb the fragile peace of the Imperial Realms. No quarter.

Lang and Navid watched as the heads rolled, and the younger Lieutenant turned away as he heard the screams of the women and children. His Captain, on the other hand, walked up further to stand near the Vai Captain. He had no interest in the execution, but he did want to read the emotions of the area. The crime against Vai was only a day old, and no honor trials had been had. He could only imagine what might be the fever pitch.

The peace was short-lived, as they saw an opportunity now to seize the flooding Northmen. Gregor ordered his soldiers to keep the salvo of arrows and artillery strong, in order to destroy those who remained running in the distance. He was in no hurry to move, not when the Imperial Forces had struck such terror into the crowd. Zara knew her strength, and used it well. The rhythm of battle had moved in their favor.

Or perhaps the Bull's other forces would make an appearance first.

"Tell the Exalted ahead to continue setting them ablaze."

"Understood." Daana pulled ahead on his horse, calling to the frontlines. He could only hope that Medi, on the other side of the building, was doing as he was told and was surviving well enough.

Unholy Witness

Shan Yui kept Ledaal disciplined, knowing that his side of the front had a much harder battle than the main three Houses. Cathak and Ledaal moved ahead, and as they filled the outskirts of the Northern Wall, they caught sight of the Northmen moving from the other end of the castle. He remained seated on his horse, watching them in case one of them turned back toward Ledaal. Yet none of them moved closer.

Shan Yui slashed aside a group of men who seemed to lag behind the rest of the army. Some tried to be bold, but he was ever calm and ever swift with his blade. At least a half-dozen fell at his feet before he turned to look to one of his Captains.

"Lord Shi, Mahajan has sent assistance with medical supplies and artillery."

He nodded, his long ponytail rippling down his back. "Very good. Make sure they were not deferred, let them know of our wounded and where to bring the supplies. For now, they need to remain mobile and assist in pushing our way inside."

The Captain who had spoken to the General hurried back on horse to find Medi and Azraellia. All the while, Shan smelled blood and gore compiling ahead of them. The air almost seemed to burn and boil, even if most of the Exalted on this side of the Castle's walls used Water, Wind, and Earth to stir the land and to shift it in their favor. The sun would eventually set as Breton's forces moved deeper into their castle to regain the Castle and their territory, but he wondered how much of it would remain once the Bull's forces were actually gone.

All the while, something sat wrong in his chest. Cynis and Vai's mutual hatred could not keep them from destroying each other forever. His eyes flickered through the crowd, as if he sensed that soon, something would go deeply amiss among the Imperial Forces. Zara's assault was already one egregious example, and he could not help but wonder how much more dishonor would pass between them before the bad blood was permanent.

"May Dana'ad keep us swift, stern, and wise as the rivers...and may our flood allow for the rebirth of this tainted land..." he whispered, as he held his sword ready and moved his army ahead. They had quite a lot of forces left to kill.

[Revlona]

Silisia

"Forward! Forward for Viper!" Silisia called, her cry clear and loud even over the din of battle, her troops responded, pressing forward as the battle on the ramparts of the Marshalls keep grew evermore viscous. The 33rd heavy infantry regiment of house Vai had been hard pressed throughout the quick paced and fluid battle for Castle Breton, they had been among the first of the Vai banners to gain the outer walls and had followed the vanguards of house Cynis towards the defiant mass which was the Marshalls keep. It had been a bloody and hard battle, already her file of 8 had been reduced to six, two of whom were the troublemakers Berk and Tu. A dark part of her mind had hoped they would be dead already but even with the mauling she had given them with the whip, they had survived this long.

Her blade was already bloody as it slid into the stomach of another northman, his defiant last blow literally cut short as she withdrew the blade and took his arm off at the shoulder, her family blade as sharp as ever. She had always wondered about the blades history, it was obviously not a normal weapon, it had been in her family for generations and had stayed in near perfect condition, its edge requiring minimal attention to cut true. It didn't matter now however and Silisia quickly brought her mind back to the present less she risk losing her mind to the maul of a rapidly approaching northman.

Her file was not the only unit of the 33rd to have made it this far, in fact, a quick glance over her shoulder showed the regimental colors, a spread silver eagle on a vermilion background with a stylized "XXXIII" beneath the eagle, climbing the wall with her immediate superior, Senior Lieutenant Myru. He grimaced as they locked eyes before showing alarm in his face as he looked past her, "Lieutenant!" A voice called out and she felt herself shoved aside.

It seemed that the northmen had approached much faster than she had anticipated and had crashed into her and her men, she had been saved when one of them, Berk her mind whispered to her, had pushed her out of their path. She recovered her feet in an instant and quickly shoved one of the approaching foe off the rampart and down into the courtyard, where she noticed what she assumed was a Cynis lordling dueling a particulary large Northmen, where he landed with a sickening crunch.

Silisia turned quickly and watched as her shocked unit was reduced to five as a spear went in the front and out the back of one of her mens faces. She rushed forward, barreling into two of the northmen, grimly smiling as the two unbalanced men were quickly skewered by Berk and another of her men, a third she saw soundlessly screaming as Tu cut his throat. He smiled grimly at her as they locked eyes, a warning and threat in that smile, he would never get to deliver on that unspoken threat however as his head quickly dissipated in an explosion of red matter, the giant maul finding no resistance thanks to the huge strength of the solar tattooed northman that wielded it.

"Form up! On me!" She called, thankful that her voice didn't crack and that her men responded quickly, even in the face of this beast as he broke into a sprint towards the group. Relief flood through her as Senior Lieutenant Myru and several other men joined them, realizing the threat they faced, they didn't know what this man was but they could all sense he was trouble. The relief was short lasting. Berk scored first blood and was the first to die as he stabbed his spear into the northmens leg, the northman bellowed and soon Berk was flying through the air, a bloody mess as he and the man beside him was caught by the maul. They flew what felt like the length of the ramparts and slammed into a man who had just made the top, sending him back down the ladder screaming.

Silisia pressed forward, her blade flashing and scoring a cut across his upper arm. Her victory was short lived however, her body launched itself forward into a roll finding herself at the mans feet as the maul swished through the air above her, doing nothing but disturbing her hair and scaring her out of ten years of life. He kicked her hard then and she felt and heard something crack in her stomach. "Kill him! Kill him!" the Senior Lieutenant yelled as she gasped in pain, still at the monsters feet. She didn't see Myru die, but she heard the sickening crunch on metal meeting flesh and bone. He killed three men in that swing someone later told her.

"End him! Archers!" Someone screamed, but they died to, all while Silisia sat there on hands and knees at the killers feet. Enraged at herself for allowing this to happen, at her enemy for being a inhuman beast, and at fate for making her so weak, she screamed and grabbed her blade, her lower body shooting up as it was an arrow released from its bow. Her blade sunk all the way to the hilt into his stomach, a long explosive breath of air escaping him as she made contact. It didn't end there however, she drove with all her strength, her feet and legs straining as they drove forward, onward, her body screaming in pain before they no longer could feel the stone beneath them. She had driven them both over the edge.

Later in life Silisia still wasn't sure what had saved her life, her best guess being the sheer size of the man beneath her cushioned the impact which had finished him off. The 33rd regiment still told the story she had heard, of how after driving herself off the edge of the rampart and down into the courtyard, she picked herself up, bloodied and bruised, to lead her two surviving squad members, the survivors of Myrus former unit, and those simply caught up in the action into a devastating charge which soon saw the courtyard completely under Imperial control. Soon after, the regimental colors were waving besides House Vais and Cynis colors from the ramparts of the Marshalls keep, though fighting still continued.

Silisia smiled grimly as the fighting continued, watching from the courtyard, blood covered her, her armor, and her blade. She wasn't quite sure how much of it was hers and how much her foes, but she knew the pain she felt in her side was definitely hers, "Healer?" she cried out weakly, her men grasping her as she sank to a sitting position, coughing with pain as the very air she breathed pained her in ragged gasps."Healer!" She heard them cry, flinching as she looked about to see if it worked. "Damn it all," She said to herself, she hated her weak body that the gods had given her, she hated her weakness and she hated that she could do nothing about it.

[Luminesa]

Mahajan/Ledaal - Where There’s A Cure There’s A Way

A call for a medic pierced the air in many directions. With the behemoth armies marching along like massive Ice-Age creatures mowing through the ice and frost, many were left in the melting mud and blood waiting for help. Many medics from both Mahajan and Ledaal were rushing to and fro, but a Mahajan soldier was the first to notice Silisia on the ground.

The young Lieutenant had carried more than a Captain’s share in her own battles, and now she was bleeding from her side on the ground and screaming for help. The soldier kept an eye on her, and then called ahead for Navid.

“Lieutenant Silisia is behind her army, she’s fallen.”

“Right, lemme get a captain to get a medic.” Poor Navid felt overworked and outsworded in every sense of the word, but he had to maneuver through the artillery, the swords, and the monstrous clanging of armor and weapons in order to wade toward a medic.

When he explained the issue, the Mahajan medic sought for her with haste. They had plentiful amounts of Ledaal’s excellent medicines, courtesy of Lord Eugeni. They partially had hoped he would come with the armies, but they understood the risk of losing one of their Major House’s main scions to war on the cusp of their own major civil conflict.

“Lady Silisia!” The medic hopped off his horse and scurried toward her, coming to salve and wrap her nasty wounds as soon as he could. He practically tripped on his way there, as he was sure his foot had gotten caught in a dead man’s bloodied helmet. Yet such gore did not deter him, as at this point he was sure he would see many more horrors before the night was through.

“Lieutenant Navid Mahajan requested for me to come to your aid. I’m Avi. Let’s get you up. Does your horse also need help? Any of your men?”

[Antimersia]

Medi and Azraelia

Orders came through the lines to Medi and Azraelia, still holding back on the edge of camp. Daana had rode to them, relaying the orders from Gregor. The pair were tasked with firing catapults, and helping bring medical supplies to the forces of Ledaal and Cathak. Daana specified to keep close to the group and mentioned that if they seen Shan Yui, they are far too close to the front of the lines. Although As Daana rides off Medi takes some personal initiative. Her stands up and speaks to Azraelia. His words below with authority, loudly so that the other soldiers in the group with them will hear as well.

"I can defend myself in all of this. You travel with the group and get those supplies to the forces as fast as you can. I'll handle firing the catapults. I may have only one arm, but I can pull a lever release." Medi says, his grey blind eyes scanning around at the group with him.

"No! I won't allow it. If you get hurt out there you'd be on your own. Daana just say to stick with the group." Azraelia pleaded. Medi knew she was right but he cared little. His itch for adventure and desire to help was driving him more so than any sort of sense could.

"This is war Azraelia. I might get hurt. But if I can move faster alone than fewer of our own people will be hurt." Medi starts sprinting off towards the catapults before Azraelia can even reply. Steam belows from her head as she stomps with anger as his bull headedness.

"Fine, let's hurry. If we're quick maybe we can meet up with him and help before he even finishes." Azraelia yells out to the group with her. They all grab as much as they can carry. Bandages, splits, and medicinal herbs, fill their hands as they make their way to the Ledaal and Cathak forces to bring them aid.

Medi meanwhile, sprints to the nearest unmanned catapult. Medi ignored the bodies of the fallen, simply pulled the already loaded catapult's release lever, letting more ordinance fly at the forces of the Bull. He moves to the next, releasing it as well. Then the third before finally running out of catapults to fire. He rushes to make his way to meet up with Azraelia and the rest of the group. Dodging shrapnel and advancing forces along the way. Doing his best to be of aid while not getting in the way.

[Revlona]

Silisia

The fighting continued to slow in the courtyard and ramparts of the Marshalls keep, the final northmen being cornered and butchered. Soon, the groans, moans, and other cries of wounded men and women began to sound. Silisia watched from a seated position as Imperial soldiers both Vai and Cynis alike began to roam the courtyard, faces set grimly as they searched for living friends and foes. Medics rushed to those under Cynis and Vai colors who still drew breath while spears and swords slipped into the still living forms of northmen.

"I think its just broken ribs Avi," She said as the Mahajan medic approached, not really caring what house he belonged to. She looked around at her own men, both those directly under her and those she had inherited from other dead officers all of whom were drawn up in a protective circle around her. "I think just something for the pain is all I need, my house will be needing us further into the castle." She said, taking his proffered hand and rising to her feet as he began to go to work on her ribs.

"I'd appreciate seeing to my men as well, we ran into some heavy resistance here and not everyone came out unscathed." Silisia said, slipping her blade into its scabbard and then looking to the men. " Get me a head count of what's left of the 33rd," She said to one who nodded, "Retrieve the regimental colors and post them here, we'll see if we can gather any stray soldiers," She said to another who darted away to find the colors immediately, "See if you can find any other officers from the 33rd, we need to know who is in charge." She said to a final man who also nodded his head, darting off to do her bidding.

"Am I fit for duty?" Silisia said to the medic, she felt pain of course in her ribs, but she could soldier through pain. She'd probably do so even if the medic told her otherwise, but an official opinion would be nice.

[Luminesa]

Silisia

The fighting continued to slow in the courtyard and ramparts of the Marshalls keep, the final northmen being cornered and butchered. Soon, the groans, moans, and other cries of wounded men and women began to sound. Silisia watched from a seated position as Imperial soldiers both Vai and Cynis alike began to roam the courtyard, faces set grimly as they searched for living friends and foes. Medics rushed to those under Cynis and Vai colors who still drew breath while spears and swords slipped into the still living forms of northmen.

"I think its just broken ribs Avi," She said as the Mahajan medic approached, not really caring what house he belonged to. She looked around at her own men, both those directly under her and those she had inherited from other dead officers all of whom were drawn up in a protective circle around her. "I think just something for the pain is all I need, my house will be needing us further into the castle." She said, taking his proffered hand and rising to her feet as he began to go to work on her ribs.

"I'd appreciate seeing to my men as well, we ran into some heavy resistance here and not everyone came out unscathed." Silisia said, slipping her blade into its scabbard and then looking to the men. " Get me a head count of what's left of the 33rd," She said to one who nodded, "Retrieve the regimental colors and post them here, we'll see if we can gather any stray soldiers," She said to another who darted away to find the colors immediately, "See if you can find any other officers from the 33rd, we need to know who is in charge." She said to a final man who also nodded his head, darting off to do her bidding.

"Am I fit for duty?" Silisia said to the medic, she felt pain of course in her ribs, but she could soldier through pain. She'd probably do so even if the medic told her otherwise, but an official opinion would be nice.

Just a Flesh Wound

Avi shook his head. “Broken ribs? Hmmm.” He looked over his salves and oils quickly, after he dealt with Silisia’s cuts and gashes. “Lord Ledaal has made quite the variety of medicines and ointments, but I do not believe we have anything for broken ribs. But if you need something for pain, we do have that.”

He found a bottle of ointment, and he pulled it from his shoulder bag. As he uncorked the bottle, the concentrated sweet, almost-floral scent rose to Silisia’s nose. “This is made from frankincense and myrrh resin. Put it on the areas which are in pain, rub it in, and it will heal your aches instantly. You will be able to-”

Another soldier rushed toward them, wearing the turquoise of Ledaal. His appearance interrupted the conversation, as he called to him without pause. “Are you from House Mahajan?”

“Yes, I’m busy. What is it?”

“Did Mahajan send the blind artilleryman?”

“Yes, they did.”

“I am Captain Yae. I am asking you to let General Mahajan know that he has moved to the front. I cannot keep track of every man running loose and wild around the field when I have my own to watch.”

“Yes, let me tend to the wounded and I shall do so.”

“I was ordered here by Shan Yui. The news traveled up to him and he told me not to waste time. He does not want a Mahajan subject up close to the front, as he does not expect for Cathak to watch for them.”

Avi sighed. “War makes brave and foolish of strange men, and such is a dangerous combination. Let General Yui know that I shall speak to Captain Lang and let him know.”

“Very well.”

And so the never-ending Jacob’s Ladder that was the chain of command would reach up to the Heavens and down once again, into the Hell in which the Imperial Army occupied. Avi turned back to some other nearby medics and called them over. “Quickly, take care of Lieutenant Silisia’s wounded men. Help her, help her horse, get her back into the field of battle.” Avi then shot the plucky Lieutenant a smile and a nod, and he hurried back to find Captain Lang further to the front of the line.

In the Ledaal crowd, Shan Yui continued to guide his men to cut down the Northmen. He knew that Ledaal and Cathak were beginning to fill the corners of the castle, and would soon flood into the Marshall’s Keep. There, they would find much of the mire which they had avoided from the outside, and they would have to plow through it. He re-organized his troops, having Wind Exalted move to the front. Some well-placed slashes and cuts, and the drowning of a few thousand Bull’s men in the mud, would give Ledaal a path to victory. Making use of those tight spaces quickly, however, was key.

The seasoned General remained calm and collected, as a twelfth man fell at his feet. Then thirteen, then fourteen. Sweat and blood splattered the ground, and the armor of his trusty stallion, but he kept his breath even and his eyes wide open. He knew that Medi was marching, in his excitement, into territory which could kill him. He whispered a prayer, and hoped that Captain Yae would find him and stop him in time.

[Imperialisium]

Dusk

As Dusk settled the embers of dying fires caste a thousand tendril pillars into the cold skies. The Moon was beginning its ascent as the Sun dipped below the Western Horizon. The fighting had largely subsided with the Northmen holding the areas outside of the Breton Residence and in the Theatre District. Their communications lines bound by the walls and towers still in their position. Yet, pockets of the Bull's soldiers remained in the densely packed residential areas or hunkered down in the basements of commercial structures. No fire could be lit by them and as such they huddled together for warmth, as the night still bore Winter's bite. The Imperials for the most part hunkered down along these urban, confusing, non-linear front lines of buildings, rooms, and alleyways. However, the Imperials could afford the fire and so dozens of hearths sprung up within the castle to match those outside.

Despite the carnage in the Residency the Northmen appeared to remain some form of cohesion. As if some unseen commander still gave orders to surviving lieutenants. One could but wonder what would come of the surviving Northmen, hemmed in now tight between the encircling forces of the Imperial expedition. Casualties were high, four hundred and twenty-six along the Northern walls, two hundred and thirty-eight around the Northern breach with nearly double at the Southern, six hundred and fifty-nine around the main gatehouse and eastern walls, and within the bodies would be still gathered and burned well into the night. The exact numbers that fell in plazas, rooms, and alleyways would not be known till well after the fighting had concluded but at present tabulations earmarked at least eleven thousand. Of the captured the Imperials counted seven thousand nine-hundred and ninety-four.

Of Zara Azairya Vai she made her way to the Marshall's Keep where she moved her banner. The staff of her headquarters moving and readying rooms while Vai battalions scoured the Keep of any sign of treacherous assault. She never saw Zychere's body, nor wished too, only giving a frosty glance at Yang when he returned to the new centre of House Vai's military efforts.

Of the Imperials themselves the casualties were expectant for a siege of this magnitude. Cynis had lost around a quarter of their detachment. Vai has lost over fifteen hundred with more wounded. Cathak, Ledaal, and Mahajan would have suffered similar ratios while the other Houses that had followed on still lost at least ten percent of their total contributing strength between slain, wounded, and sick.

Darkness slowly descended and, in the sky, at any sign of movement, for a watch was set up by the Imperials, arrows would fly straight into the sky and dazzle in a fiery illumeniscent explosion. Casting artificial light as the special wrought arrows slowly fluttered down. Allowing sentries to see temporarily and spot potential raiders or saboteurs.

[Parcia]

Passage to the Main Hall

They were on them in a moment. There were estimated to be nearly 30,000 thousand tribesmen and icewalkers in his home, and it seemed most of them were deployed along the walls as when Arthur emerged from the shattered ruins of the door way, there lie maybe a dozen or so guards between him and the main hall. With a war cry he and his men streamed forth, forming ranks and charging down the hall nearly 8 men abreast, shields up and spears drawn.

Arthur lead them from the front, his sword held high. With an out stretched hand he called forth large chunks of the rubble that was once the stone door way to the stair well and forth they flung, smashing in to the heads of the nearest three enemies and sending to them to the ground.

The two lines met with a clash of metal and flesh, the screams of the struck and wounded only adding to this cacophony of war. The few guards outside the door gave a good resistance but were almost literally rolled over by the wall of Breton soldiers and soon enough Arthur reach the large oak door that sealed the entrance to the main hall.

His blood boiled as he realized the cowards had barred the door, likely when he detonated the door frame a few moments prior. He was about to call for something to break it when his Knight Sergeant gave a call and the front line of men crashed in to the door. Seeing the idea, Arthur joined them. Again they slammed their shoulders, shields, all their might in to the large Oaken slab.

With the next surge of men came the strength of those in the second and third lines, having finally climbed the stairs and joined in.

As the men readied for another push at the door, Arthur cried out in rage, "In the name of all the gods, opened this damned door your whore born bastards!" With a thundering crack the bar gave way and the door flung open to reveal those inside...


They numbered nearly a hundred men, most the personal retinues of he guessed to be nearly half a dozen northern lords and a few mages. There was a brief moment of hesitation and just as one of the Ice walker chiefs began to speak is when Arthur raised his sword and gave a thunderous cry. "Give no quarter, take none alive!"

His men charged forward and set upon the enemy with righteous furry, spear met shield, sword met armor. Arthur threw him self in to the fray like a men possessed, cutting down man after men with swings of his longsword in his rush towards the nearest enemy lord. He was not that large of a man, and he seemed to be trying to throw man after man in Arthurs way as his comparatively giant, armored form drew near. He shoulder checked another men and sent him to the stone floor, turned, and brought Godpiercer up in time to parry the blade of the chief. It was a wretched thing, ill suited for war, and upon Arthur's counter it our right shattered from the shock of the strike.

With a flurry he took the mans head from his shoulders, retrieved his head from the ground and held it aloft. "Glory and gold to the man who brings me the rest of their heads! For the North, For the Realm! Prey the Dragons have Mercy, for we shall not!"

With this, he threw the head towards the ad hoc lines of the enemy and rushed forward in to the mass of men, sword held high. His soldiers fallowing behind bellowing war cries and insults, cheers and jeers. They were like demons, inexhaustible hounds of war finally let loose on the enemy that had defiled their home and it showed. The Personal guards of the northern chieftains did their best to form a defense yet they were out numbered and fighting men just as skilled and just as experienced, fighting with a furious zeal only those liberating their home could ever hope to hold.

Arthur formed together with his knights and formed an armored fist, launching forward in to the last combined line of the guards and hacking their way in. This was brutal, close quarters fighting that would later by fantasitfied by bards and Skalds the realm over. It was also a quick affair, the sheer weight and zeal of the Breton soldiers won out and the northmen faltered, being broken up and routed in to small pockets that were quickly cut down.

All would be put to the sword, chief and soldier alike and when it was done, Arthur had their heads piled in front of the throne of his father as tribute.

There was no time to celebrate through, and soon the Soldiers of the lion were clearing the Lord's keep were flowing through its ancient halls and rooms, clearing any who resisted and taking any who surrender hostage.

As the Dragon banner of House Vai was set upon the Marshal's keep, a host of House Breton climbed the peak of the Lord's Keep and as the sun set, raised a new banner. Long and made of the last of the fine silk in the House's possession, it displayed a new, fiercer version of the House's Lion sigil, a paw out stretched to meet the clawed hand of the Dragon of Vai. Were the two met was a clear rendition of Arthur's Sword Godpiercer.

They settled in for the night, using the small hoard of fine foods and drinks the Chieftains had kept for them selves to rest and eat. Tonight a small feast was held, for tomorrow they would they would retake their home.

[Luminesa]

Resting In Ruined Halls
Evening, Castle Breton Grounds

The evening sun finally set, not only lowering over the horizon but also lowering over the Bull’s remaining numbers on the outskirts of Castle Breton. The cool breeze of early spring seemed to settle like a blanket over both the living and the dead. More mass losses, more blood coagulating and freezing in the snow beneath the feet of the Imperial Army. In a way, it was almost monotonous, especially given how much more the Army had to march in the coming days.

But for now, a victory was a victory, and somehow life continued.

House Mahajan, having followed Vai into the thick of battle, found itself dealing with a large number of casualties for their relatively smaller army. Gregor was not pleased, and his orders came quick and firm-heal whatever and whoever could be salvaged, now. So healers of both Ledaal and Mahajan rushed between the encampments of each House, in particular Ledaal, Cathak, and Mahajan, in order to bring whatever those clans might need.

Gregor surveyed the damages with a heavy foot and a smoking pipe, possibly the warmest object in the freezing outskirts of the enormous castle grounds. He looked steaming, and the pipe gave a steady stream of his anger and concern. Lang and another Captain ran to give reports of their losses, and he just gave a small shake of his head.

“Whoever cannot be saved, bury them in the snow outside. We will see to their dignified ends, whether this weather permits it or not.”

Lang frowned. “Understood.”

The other captain looked worried, and stared up at his General. “Sir, many of them are not in one piece. What shall we do, find their missing limbs?”

“If possible, yes. If not, bury what can be buried. Then we shall rest, and prepare for our next endeavor. The days get heavier, the healers need as much rest as they can manage.” As usual, the Mahajan General would not allow himself to frame or entertain anything that could be perceived as “failure”. A dignified burial was still a victory, one way or another.

As Lang and the other Captain hurried away, Navid came almost tripping through the snow. He had a gash in his shoulder, one which was still healing thanks to a Ledaal medic’s quick attention. The wound still bothered him, and he was sweating as he rushed over to see his General.

“At ease, Lieutenant. What is the matter?”

“Ledaal messengers found Medi and Azraellia. They are safe, but the former supposedly moved to the front lines against orders.”

Gregor paused, and took a long puff of his pipe. He might as well have almost blown a fireball. “Is he still in the Ledaal encampment?”

“Yessir. General Yui found him and is planning to talk with him.”

“Very good. Send Shan my regards. And Navid?”

“Yessir?”

“Be sure to get your dinner before the other men take it all. You have done well today. A promotion will be in order for you, provided we all get back home alive.”

Navid could feel a chill run up his spine, and he shuddered. A promotion, for all of his stumbling and calling and running orders back and forth. He was still quite young, and did not have some of the coldness or love for bloodshed of some other First Lieutenants. He gave a shivering smile, and wrapped his cloak further around his arms. “...I…I am honored, sir. Truly. I am very honored. Th…thank you.”

Gregor gave a ghost of a grin, and then looked onward at the carnage before him. “Silisia is among them, is she not?”

“Yessir? She’s with one of our medics at this time?”

“Let her know to come see me during supper. We do not have as much as we should, but we have enough for another Lieutenant tossed into such a disaster.”

With a new kick in his step, the First Lieutenant hurried through the snow to find Silisia, who was hopefully at one of the medical tents and out of the cold. All the while, Gregor watched the revolving chaos around him. His horse was nearby, snorting almost as much as his master was puffing smoke. Daana had brought him food, and was in the process of moving along other soldiers to feed their subordinates and the horses. For what they could have been, they were healthy, and as the men were sitting to eat their soup and rations, the Mahajan general gave a slightly wider smile as he heard them laughing, talking, and commiserating in a way they had not done since before Cynis and Vai’s incident. Morale victories were still victories.

All the while, in the Ledaal camp, Shan Yui’s old wound had been checked privately by a medic. Still healthy, no signs of infection or disease. It was all more or less healed at this point, and he smiled and spoke softly to the medic as they gave him the good news. He was brought his meat and bread, though he insisted he could have gotten it himself.

“You do not need to treat me as one of the wounded.”

“But you are still in a state of undress!”

“Goodness, what makes you believe that I cannot dress myself? Do not let your heart be troubled by my wounds, they are minor. Please, attend to those who have not been so fortunate, though I shall thank you for kindly bringing my food nonetheless.”

The fussing medic looked over his calm General for a few more worrisome moments, and then bowed deeply. “Medi will be coming soon. I have requested for him to meet with you.”

“Yes. Thank you. I do not wish to grief Lord Mahajan further by delaying such a discussion. I imagine he will want his soldier back sooner than later.”

As the medic left, Shan Yui took a long breath. Ledaal had, numerically, even more casualties than Mahajan. A burial might not have even been possible. He considered the gruesome options, and they rattled at his intrinsically gentle heart. He hated war, even when he was good at it.

As he redressed himself in his simpler robes, and quietly ate his food while it was warm, he considered the circumstances of the major Houses. Breton had managed to disappear further into the castle, while the other Houses were outside bickering amongst themselves or tending to their wounded. Such pomp, ceremony, and a lack of concern for the various Houses brought a wrinkle to his arched brow. As he finished his tea, which was a little waterier than expected, he nodded to himself. “I’m far too old.”

With his lamenting whisper, he found his pens and his parchment, and he began to write something as he sat in his tent. All the while, he waited for the blind soldier and the young ghost girl to reach him.

[Antimersia]

“Ledaal messengers found Medi and Azraellia. They are safe, but the former supposedly moved to the front lines against orders.”

Gregor paused, and took a long puff of his pipe. He might as well have almost blown a fireball. “Is he still in the Ledaal encampment?”

“Yessir. General Yui found him and is planning to talk with him.”

Medi and Azraelia

The ghostly spirit angrily taps the bottom of her fist against the head of her nomadic compatriot. They walk together in the snow, Medi’s tunic stained with blood, and Azraelia’s coat covered in crystals of ice from the constant cold. For once at least, the blood on Medi’s tunic is someone’s other than his own. She continues to hit him, hard enough to be felt but not hard enough to really be painful. Azraelia berates Medi for going into the front lines. But having already explained himself repeatedly to her, he doesn’t continue to waste energy trying to do so again. Instead he simply soldiers on as the pair heads towards General Shan Yui’s tent.

“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt AGAIN! Do you have a death wish or are you more blind than you let on! And now we’re in trouble too! I went from enjoying a nice stroll in a warm part of the world, to getting in a shipwreck, marching in someone else’s war, and nearly seeing you die several times over, just because you’re my first real friend! You are not repaying me back for this very well!” Azraelia’s complaints are founded, though clearly come from a place of concern rather than anger.

The pair approach the tent. It is so much larger than the ones around it that it can’t be mistaken. The grand turquoise and gold canvas tent, brazened the with the sigil of house Ledaal above the entrance, sits proudly near the center of the encampment. Two guards stand post on either side of the entrance. They stop Medi and Azraelia as they approach, They form an ‘X’ with their spears, blocking the entrance.

“General Shan Yui requested we speak with him. I am Maediacles Munkii, and this is Azraelia.” Medi says stoutly. He hates using his full name. And his surname especially so. But he knows the formalities of higher society enough to know that it is simply easier to grit his teeth and deal with it. The guards look at one another and nod before pulling their weapons back and allowing the two to pass. The enter, pushing aside the canvas covering of the entrance and walking into the dimply lit tent. Seeing Shan Yui standing at a table in the center of the tent, the pair step forward, and make their presence known. “You wanted to speak with us?” Medi asks bluntly.

[Luminesa]

“Ledaal messengers found Medi and Azraellia. They are safe, but the former supposedly moved to the front lines against orders.”

Gregor paused, and took a long puff of his pipe. He might as well have almost blown a fireball. “Is he still in the Ledaal encampment?”

“Yessir. General Yui found him and is planning to talk with him.”

Medi and Azraelia

The ghostly spirit angrily taps the bottom of her fist against the head of her nomadic compatriot. They walk together in the snow, Medi’s tunic stained with blood, and Azraelia’s coat covered in crystals of ice from the constant cold. For once at least, the blood on Medi’s tunic is someone’s other than his own. She continues to hit him, hard enough to be felt but not hard enough to really be painful. Azraelia berates Medi for going into the front lines. But having already explained himself repeatedly to her, he doesn’t continue to waste energy trying to do so again. Instead he simply soldiers on as the pair heads towards General Shan Yui’s tent.

“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt AGAIN! Do you have a death wish or are you more blind than you let on! And now we’re in trouble too! I went from enjoying a nice stroll in a warm part of the world, to getting in a shipwreck, marching in someone else’s war, and nearly seeing you die several times over, just because you’re my first real friend! You are not repaying me back for this very well!” Azraelia’s complaints are founded, though clearly come from a place of concern rather than anger.

The pair approach the tent. It is so much larger than the ones around it that it can’t be mistaken. The grand turquoise and gold canvas tent, brazened the with the sigil of house Ledaal above the entrance, sits proudly near the center of the encampment. Two guards stand post on either side of the entrance. They stop Medi and Azraelia as they approach, They form an ‘X’ with their spears, blocking the entrance.

“General Shan Yui requested we speak with him. I am Maediacles Munkii, and this is Azraelia.” Medi says stoutly. He hates using his full name. And his surname especially so. But he knows the formalities of higher society enough to know that it is simply easier to grit his teeth and deal with it. The guards look at one another and nod before pulling their weapons back and allowing the two to pass. The enter, pushing aside the canvas covering of the entrance and walking into the dimply lit tent. Seeing Shan Yui standing at a table in the center of the tent, the pair step forward, and make their presence known. “You wanted to speak with us?” Medi asks bluntly.

House Ledaal - As The Poet Says
Evening, Ledaal General’s Tent, Castle Breton Grounds

Shan Yui’s tent was large enough to fit a couple dozen people, mostly for meetings, dinner with officers, and war talk. Even for the General himself it was rather large, but at the same time he did not mind the space. He was allowed his own quiet place to think and to make decisions, which in itself was a luxury not afforded to most soldiers. And so in the minutes that followed the medic’s leave, he had finished his food and he begun writing on his parchment.

Azraellia and Medi’s argument was not difficult to miss, but he did not immediately raise his head. No, he waited for them to make their way into the tent. The guards at the entrance were wary, but one of them happened to look inside and saw the Ledaal General nod briefly. Such a gesture was enough, and the duo was allowed inside.

Medi was blunt, but Shan was not a person whose patience waivered easily. Rather, he nodded again to acknowledge his presence, and he finished his writing before turning his eyes to look upon the man and the ghost. His posture was dignified and calm, and he placed his parchment facedown on a nearby tea table as he began.

“Maediacles. Azraellia. I see that the two of you have walked quite some distance. I suppose based on the condition of your wounds that you’ve allowed someone to examine your injuries as a part of combat. Very good.” He nodded to a servant, who brought tea for the table. “Thank you.” Shan took his time pouring the cups, and he frowned over the ever-lessening amount of tea powder among the army. Still enough to drink comfortably, but for how long.

“I…have very little experience with ghosts and spirits, but if you are capable, I would extend to you a drink as well.” Turning his gaze to Azraellia, he betrayed no changes in emotion. His voice gave all the gentle hospitality he would normally give a guest. But they were not merely guests.

As pleasantries would give way to business, and as he had them sit with their cups of tea, he frowned. “Lord Mahajan sent the two of you, it seems, to assist in the movement of supplies around our camp. As he is an ally of ours, the extra help is always appreciated. We suffered quite a plentiful amount of casualties this afternoon, as you are aware…”

He allowed himself a pause as he sipped his tea. “But I am very surprised, based on your actions, that you are not among the worst casualties. And so I would like for you to explain…what brought you to disobey a direct order from Generals Mahajan. It is not a move to recognize lightly, and I would not like to lose an ally’s soldiers when they have been so graciously sent into my employ.”

Shan’s voice was as level as the ice over the River Nerei during the peak of winter. He showed no cracks in his tone, no rage or fury. Then again, perhaps such a lack of fluctuation might make him all the more frightening to face in such a manner. Yet his servant standing in the corner also did not change his expression. Perhaps Shan intended this meeting as more of a lesson than a reprimand. Yet the toughest lessons often came from the kindest teachers.