FateGuard

Kael frowned in a dark corner of the great room. His dirty locks of hair fell around in his face like a burial shroud. The mute warrior had been off duty for a shift but had heard through the grapevine about a member of his brethren who had been felled by the darkness. A werewolf in the FateGuard; who would've thought?

The dirty leather armor that Kael adorned seemed dingy compared to most of his compatriots. Even Arkavenn's beaten mail appeared with more luster even though it was more to the compilation of dents than the actual material. Kael being mute never liked large social events. He didn't fit in and his attire added to this personality trait; or lack thereof. The cloak he wore was blessed but it did not look the part. It was ragged and so plain in color that if one was asked to define it the answer would more than likely contain an -ish or two.

Regardless, it was Kael's duty to attend such gatherings and here he was. Thrilled. -_- Using his right elbow as a prop, the warrior leaned against the wall and tried his best to remain in the shadows. In his left hand he held a wooden goblet that held a bitter red wine. Normally given to mead, Kael was slow to consume his beverage. He did have manners and a solid upbringing so he would finish this gift before switching to a less illustrious beverage. The food tonight was excellent. It far exceeded his normal meal of bread and dried meat but that was generally not hard to do. His eyes danced around the room from one member of the Guard to the next. He finally allowed them to rest on his commander.

Kael took another sip of his beverage while thoughts danced through his skull. He sighed in boredom and shut his eyes. He was almost praying for a drunk to act out so he would have something to do.

[In a rush and did not proofread; please pm if you find any.. awkwardness]
 
"Congratulations, my love."

With a shimmer of silk and diamond, Amadea Reimar arrived. She turned to stand side-by-side with her husband, a wine goblet half-filled. Her grip upon the vessel said all things all about her: talon-like with a show of daintiness. Her eyes were ever-calculating, keeping watch upon this noble or that courtier, spying the relationships and the microcosms of expression and gesture. She was a shark out for blood.

"For what?" Corben's voice caught a little and he coughed to clear his throat. They were the first words he had spoken since the banquet began.

"Why, your promotion, of course. The King will need a general when he marches beyond the wall."

Corben drank deeply, almost biting the side of his goblet. His wife was at play again, spinning rhetoric and mind-games. Royal functions brought out the worst in her. "There has been no such talk."

A smile. Her finger traced around her cup. Her eyes did not leave the crowd. "It is only a matter of time - now that the king has secured his line. You know this, Corben. Before tonight he was too afraid to make waves with Guild and Church. A king with a weak cock and no son to succeed him is easily overthrown. All that has changed now. He is the Father of the Heir, and any who question him risk their own future."

"He will not march beyond the wall. You confuse him for a fool."

"And you confuse him for a king." She turned, her words and gaze sharpened steel. Amadea could not be bested on this field. None had more knowledge of the tides and turnings of the aristocracy. "Though Ganthor wears the crown he is no more than a brawler and a huntsman. True power taxes the oaf. He longs for battle and the company of fighters."

Over his wife's shoulder, Corben watched the king call for another toast, his golden goblet overflowing with ale. Two of the palace knights had been goaded into wrestling and a circle of honour guard were clapping their gauntlets in time with the drumbeat. Street performers mixed with minstrels, the waif-like women dancing while others breathed fire and juggled tankards. Even now Corben recalled - the memory of a teenage Ganthor, big beyond his years and missing teeth, pushing him over in the royal gardens. Corben had been no more than six years old. He had tried to fight - to throw dirt in the bully's eyes, but Ganthor had picked him up and thrown him in the river. He would have to wait another ten years before he could take Ganthor in a fight. And the years had only made the king more boisterous.

The marshall shrugged and drank again. "He may be itching for a fight, Amadea, but the Guild and Church are not. No army will march without the three powers in agreement."

"Do not underestimate people's thirst for victory."

"The FateGuard give the city victories. Every night."

"And I'm sure Ferrick found comfort in that, as he lay dying."

Corben's empty goblet struck down on the table, the thud bringing an end to the joust. Amadea wore her slight smile, amused as always at the buttons she could push, but not daring to take it any further. She knew when she had almost crossed the line. It was her aphrodisiac.

A few seconds passed, then Corben wiped his mouth. "You're drunk."

He moved away.

With his wife's eyes upon him, the marshall crossed between the circles of guests, dispensing only the briefest pleasantries; and in time he found himself in the opposite corner, beside Kael, who seemed just as thrilled to be here. The two FateGuard watched the party in silence for long minutes, as Corben digested the fury his wife had roused. Then he spoke.

"Keep your eyes sharp, Kael." He was watching the performers in the chamber's centre - commonfolk dressed in gypsy silks and garish costume. They seemed to be a troupe, gathered from the slums. "The King has welcomed more strangers than usual to court this night."
 

The night had been one that none of the Fateguard would forget, for turning on one's own ranks was disheartening and taxing on them all. There was a peace of mind in her work, at solving the problems of the town, or at least there was most nights. She had bound Ferrick with her chains, an irony if ever there was one. She brushed her fingers over the shimmering silver loops, remembering the words that were spoken when she obtained the trinket, murmured words about the chains being blessed. Funny that this charm would be used to bind and subdue the wolf, and sad that its purpose had been so misused. Still, in the end, binding Ferrick had been his salvation; perhaps the chains had a will of their own in the matter.

Unlike others, Erilyn had not found her way to anywhere before heading home at the end of the night. Dawn broke as she reached the doorstep, causing her to shield her arms with her arm. When she finally crossed the threshold of the house, she found her brother, sitting at the table. His little candle had burnt out long ago and he was laying with his head in his arms. There was no doubt that he had fallen asleep at some point through the night, waiting up for Erilyn. She was moved, even as a pang of guilt fluttered in her chest. Her work was just, her cause pure, and her life was her own but even still, to worry another was a cause of great anxiety for her. Not wanting to wake him, she brushed a hand over his cheek gently before heading to the little room that was her own.

Seeing her brother so peacefully sleeping had only brought back memories of last night. Had Ferrick any family that would miss him, any friends outside of those who knew what had transpired? Surely if he did, they would think the worst of the ruin that his living space had become with the fighting. She wasn't sure if this was for the best of not, but as much grief as they would have, at least they were prepared. Every person who knew a member of the solemn guard knew that there was a chance each night that this person would not return from their duty. It was a fear that nestled within the hearts of family as they watched the darkness outside the windows and wondered, but they were prepared.

Weary, Erilyn changed from her combat attire to a simple nightgown of plain white. With her hair down from her helmet and her armor swapped for a white gown, this Erilyn looked entirely different from the one who had been wielding a sword not an hour prior. It was all that she could do to carry her armaments back to their proper places, though she worried that her sleepy movements might be loud enough to wake her brother. Fortunately, the task was finished without him stirring and she retreated to sleep for a short while before preparing to attend the banquet.

When Erilyn woke, it was to being jostled lightly by her brother, who seemed to be amused by something. Still a little disoriented from sleep, Erilyn rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on what he was holding. It seemed to be some sort of hoop with a slip of paper, though she couldn't imagine what exactly he was doing. Her confusion was quickly put to rest when he extended it to her, his expression doing nothing to conceal his mirth. Erilyn took the item in her hands and looked at it for a moment before understanding what she'd been given. A glance at the note and then to her brother was enough to assure her that it was not a present from him.

"You've got a secret admirer" he crooned, no longer able to contain his laughter "I found this on the doorstep when I woke and began to tend to things. Someone fancies you, but little do they know that you're only a lady by day." Erilyn swatted at him, shooing him out so that she could read the note and examine the bracelet without his interruption.

The bracelet was silver, a neat clasp on one side. It was thin with many spaces, almost like mesh, with a solid trim on either end. It was long, though, three finger widths perhaps and more than enough to entirely conceal her wrist if it were not so easily seen through. It was fairly plain, but she was oddly fond of it, putting it on before she had even read the note. Several minutes later, upon finishing reading the item's long explanation, she folded the letter away and tucked it in her clothing without another word on the matter. She was embarrassed and pleased in the same, not sure how to react, but certain that she wanted to thank Leonardo for the gesture.

Judging by the sky outside her window, she had little time before the feast would be in full swing and if she was to speak with Leo and not be terribly late, she would need to dress first and continue on from there. Her tastes did not tend to run toward clothing and for attire fitting, she really only owned one choice of clothing. A snowy white chemise was exchanged hastily for her nightgown and she spent several minutes fighting with the jade green overgown whose silver swirls matched the bracelet and the laces at its back. Unable to lace it herself, she instead stepped into a pair of green silk-embroidered shoes and exited the room in search of her brother, who laced her up without sparring a single chance to tease her. This included jests about the silver bracelet on her wrist.

Finally finished preparing, she hastened to find Leonardo, though she had only the vaguest idea of where he spent his time when he wasn't with the Fateguard. She was relying heavily on the church to help her find him and they did not disappoint. He was apparently rather well-known to them. It was with hardly any effort she found herself knocking on his door, slightly out of breath and cursing the impracticality of nice shoes.
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The sound of a cup loudly thumping itself on the railing rang out in the nearby vicinity of Derek. The culprit, Tahan, swung to face the suited man, his cheeks flushed and childish, impotent rage dancing through his eyes. Apparently, as a kid he was easily hurt. His fingers flexed, calling the dagger-length bone spikes to fall from his forearm -- but before he could do anything, Tahan was dragged off by a rather beautiful courtier. His struggles were silenced by giggling, and soon his blush was no longer only that which came from wounded pride. He finally managed to break off, and dashed back into the main room, running head first into Kael. The squeak of surprise he gave was quickly suppressed as he bounced backwards into something resembling a fighting stance, but it crumbled with a small hiccup. He stared at his feet, mumbled at his feet.

"Beautiful ladies everywhere."
 
Musical Ambiance: Whirlpool of Fate

"No, you're right Arkavenn. I don't do it for glory either, but even if I don't sometimes its the praise of the people that helps keep soldiers going, especially in times like this. However the people can't know of what happened now. It just makes me think. Having someone protect you and letting you believe everything will be okay. Sometimes I envy them for being able to lead lives like that still when we of the FateGuard have had such comforting thoughts taken from us. You know what I--" Derek stopped speaking when he heard the cup nearby hit the ground and Tahan face him with a glare, "What the hell do yo-...!!!"

Sensing danger the goblet Derek had been holding hit the floor with a loud clatter when he saw the look in Tahan's eye and the spike come from his forearm. Reached for Alondite's hilt Derek prepared to parry and counter the attack only to have a woman drag the boy away before Derek could even tense his muscles to draw the holy sword. His pupil still sharp as needles from the sudden adrenaline rush he looked up to Arkavenn who seemed equally surprised, "Did you see that? Did you fucking see that?!" Derek was in shock not because of the attack. He already knew the boy was trouble but this was something else entirely. Certainly the FateGuard had plenty of people with odd physical traits. The twins' eyes were different on account of their affliction, Alyss body required regular warming, but this? This was different. Never had he seen something like that meant for attacking. Not naturally in a normal human at least. And that look...the last time he felt a presence like that was...

"Arkavenn...would you like to hear my theory? What that kid is?"

Arkavenn couldn't have missed that. And having seen it Derek felt comfortable to say what was on his mind without it sounding like paranoia.
 
"'Spose we all got that bit of ego in us," Arkavenn rumbled and he shrugged nonchalantly. It wasn't something that bothered him. To be prideful was a part of being human and he would be more worried if someone didn't feel any pride nor humility at all. That'd mean that something was really very, very wrong with that person. The people get to live in peace because we're defending them. Someone will have to do that job, one way or another in the situation that we are in. After all, someone has to face the truth while the others dwelt in their happy lies. Arkavenn was about to reply when he heard the clatter and Derek turn around.

Having spent a good part of his life fighting against creatures from the shadows, Arkavenn, like the rest of the FateGuard had pretty sharp instincts when it came to danger. Derek had Alondite with him and was about to draw it, having spied Tahan brandish those spikes that looked suspiciously like the teeth of the dragon they had slain a while before. Arkavenn's mace wasn't with him now, so he had to improvise; with a quick shake the rest of the food fell off the metal plate Arkavenn had them on and he was about to swing it forward, throwing the disc-shaped implement into Tahan's body before Tahan was dragged off too, and Arkavenn managed to restrain himself, holding onto the plate by the very tip of his fingers. That was close. Knowing Arkavenn's strength, the plate would certainly ricochet and add unwanted inconveniences to the ordered chaos of the celebrations.

"Speak, Derek." Arkavenn was still taking deep breathes, chasing away the adrenaline that had come in a sudden surge when Tahan appeared and Derek noticed him.

He closed his eyes and took another, and he felt himself calm down.

"I wonder if we should speak to Corben about this."
 
Derek shook his head, "No. We're not telling Corben. Not right now at least," Derek looked up into the ballroom where he spotted Corben with Kael, the look on his face less that pleasing, "From the look on Corben's face that she-devil of a wife just got done pushing his buttons. The last thing we need is to get him angrier by telling him that some drunken brat we already want nothing to do with almost attacked his Lieutenant. Not to mention we're here to protect the king in case something happens. That and the kid is drunk off his ass. Had be been sober we'd be over there right now telling Corben what happened, but for now we'll have to settle for the fact that the kid is carrying what looks like a dragon tooth blade in his bloody forearm."

Derek took a deep breath and signaled for the servant from before to give him another goblet of cider to replace the one he had to drop in order to defend himself, "That actually brings me to my next point. Remember two nights ago? When we were battling those dragons and that suit of armor showed up and just started mindlessly hacking at the female's neck? The one that gives that hellish presence? I'm almost certain that kid is the one in the armor. And if that wasn't enough remember when I said last night I saw Father Gregory frantically trying to pull pieces off of the dragon's corpse?" Derek looked to Arkavenn, his gaze unwavering.

"We kill two dragons, Father Gregory starts dismembering it, the next night we get another useless church militant that's even creepier than the last ones, and now he's pulling a dragon bone blade on me from his forearm? There's far too many coincidences here. Something rotten is unfolding with Father Gregory and that kid in the center of it all," unfortunately a string of events like that would never hold up enough to allow the Mage's Guild and the Crown to launch an official investigation into the Church. In times like these that was the last thing they needed, "I don't like to admit it, but you and I? This isn't something we can just drag out into the open until we are absolutely without a doubt and can prove it. Right now we know that the kid was going to attack me and we have a relatively sound train of logic saying he's the armor. If we tell Corben we can start discussing what we can do internally," Derek fell silent for a moment as the servant returned. Taking the goblet from the man Derek drank half of it in one go to wet his lips.

"Together we tell Corben this at the end of the night when we're all going home: The kid is almost without a doubt the armor and tonight he attacked me with a dragon tooth blade that he could have gotten from the Church. Its not a lot...but its a start." Derek sighed knowing that this trail only went one way. If they were handling this internally there was only one person they could shake down for information after that.

"But for now? Let us focus at the task at hand, shall we? I'm the only one I've seen with a weapon on his person tonight. I haven't looked at Kael or Corben's belts too closely but from the look at that gown I'd say that Erilyn isn't armed unless she's hiding a dagger between her breasts," Derek chuckled hoping to let his joke lighten the mood a bit. At the same time his joke couldn't help but make him feel a tad disappointed Nadia wasn't there.
 
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Her frame was adorned by that of a lengthy ballgown, the lengthy maroon toned embroidery stroked against the stone surface of the pavement. The dark night sky with it's radiance reflecting off of the moon and onto her skin which was immaculately free of any odd pigmentation. Her lengthy red hair was tied up in a golden ring which formed it's way around her head with a gem on the front in the center of her brow. Raising her green eyes to the open gates of the castle grounds, she teetered over towards the doors. Picking up the pace, all she could think about is that she was late. It was unusual for her to be wearing such attire and this wasn't exactly her comfort zone. However, she had been invited to this celebration and of course she had to be there to protect the king and his unborn. Beneath her puffy ballgown was her garter strapped and aligned with different acidic poisons. She had taken part in a session of alchemy before leaving her home, and got into a hectic situation when the spillage occurred, causing her to be late.

Her black golden whip lay neatly under the corset which was tightly pulling in her waist to reveal her particularly feminine figure. It wasn't often that she was out of her armor, although this wasn't a first, those would possibly still be unable to recognise her. She was quite beautiful to say that she passed off for a man for the majority of her elongated life. Those around her didn't seem to associate their selves with her, they possibly thought that she was just another civilian. Her face usually being hidden isn't exactly one to be recognised by the others at this point. Not to mention she wasn't one of these who like to show off, she just did her duty and what was right in her morals. None of this 'namby-pamby-I'd-like-attention-please' nonsense.

In rotating her head back, the liquid bubbles in her neck cracked down her spine and she flexed her hands causing a repetition of the sound in her knuckles. The kitten heels hidden under the rather flamboyant dress mimicked the clicking sound as she walked up the pavement on the hill leading to the doors. Her pace picking up a little more in her walk, some would think that she would be running. The doors opened as she came closer to them, and she was greeted by the vast sound of conversation and laughter from those in the area. Spending no time to take in the wide and regal space around her she made her way straight to a servant and took a beaker of some disgusting alcoholic beverage, and quietly made her way to a quieter corner of the room, farthest from the music, to admire the artwork upon the walls. Every so often swirling the drink in her hand, giving the impression that she was content in her surroundings.
 

Alyss made her way over to Derek and Arkavenn, unable to think of anywhere else to go. She hadn't seen the commotion with Tahan, though it was easy enough to sense that something was bothering them. She attempted to lighten up the atmosphere.

"If you didn't know any better, you'd think that I was a leper with how the people here have been avoiding me... I'm not THAT cold this night, am I?" Alyss asked with the smallest smile. Where was Malwin? She felt a bit out of place here- and surely, people felt a little worried by her presence, that much was obvious. She was more at home among the people in FateGuard, though it was still an awkward trust and acceptance between them... Malwin was the only one she was sure of with this trust... even though, given the situation, it seemed as though their relationship was more improper than she wished it. She wasn't the type to want a man in her life for everything, but it would be some comfort if he was more than just trysts in dark alleys. She held no illusions of the truth in their relationship- she was probably just a release to him, that his ailing wife could not provide.

She shook her head of those thoughts. This was a celebration, something to be given ample attention. The king had finally impregnated his wife and queen, a heir to the throne.

"These people... fear us.... We give our time and safety to making sure that our people remain alive and healthy, and all we get is sidelong glances and whispers for our troubles." She added, sighing. Where was Malwin?
 
Derek gave Alyss a smile and a nod as she approached.

"If you didn't know any better, you'd think that I was a leper with how the people here have been avoiding me... I'm not THAT cold this night, am I?" Derek frowned and shook his right gauntlet off before touching the top of Alyss' hand.

"No, as a matter of fact you're doing alright tonight. Either way, I wouldn't let the people bother you. We're here to keep watch over the king after all," Derek put his gauntlet back on and leaned back against the railing again. After a few moments he glanced over as Alyss spoke of the people and their glances and whispers. It made Derek ponder his own situation. He was perhaps one of the few of the FateGuard who didn't have some foreboding rumor floating about him. As FateGuard by night and city constable by day he was rarely seen without the Regalia of Ancient Kings protecting his body. Perhaps it was a combination of the extended interactions his day job gave him and the people simply used to seeing Derek in his armor that allowed him to get along better and be more open with the people? The worst he seemed to get were questions as to why Ann wasn't in the FateGuard. It was a difficult question to answer; after all, how could he possibly say that a rogue mage went insane, gained power from beyond the wall, killed his parents, and now whenever Ann touched the Tempest Garb she received traumatic images of their mother dying? Discarding the question himself he gave a short shrug to Alyss.

"I know it probably doesn't mean much for me to say not to let it bother you that much. No matter how lonely it might get you always have the rest of the FateGuard. Hell, you guys are basically my family now that Mom and Dad are gone. Annette and I have said it to you once and I'll say it again since she's not here: If you ever want food and company you are always welcome at our house. I realize I might not be great conversation but Ann is always eager to talk with the FateGuard..." he sighed after that last statement, "She really should be with us...I really need to figure out what's wrong with the Tempest Garb..."
 
Kael opened his eyes at the sounds of Corben's footsteps as he approached. He bowed his head in respect to his superior and then allowed his gaze to trail about the party-goers. This odd mix of competition, subtle sexual signals, and debauchery created enough tension to fill the hall so that every soldier on the look out could go swimming in it. After some moments, Corben's voice cut through the ambient crud and added to the thoughts in Kael's mind. It's almost like the general population wanted something terrible to happen. That would explain why they behaved in such manners as they did. Conversely, Kael himself, was praying a few minutes ago for someone to get out of hand so that he might be able to subdue or bash the drunk.

Kael nodded to Corben and moved away along the shadows next to the wall. He slipped the nearly full cup of wine onto a passing server's tray and ducked behind a column. He slipped his hands behind the banner draped around it and removed some items. Using his ragged cloak to conceal his movements, Kael lifted a small quill of arrows[5] from the banner to his person and attached it to several latches across his chest. The warrior glanced around after achieving this to make sure he was not being watched. After a few sweeping glances, he removed the Thorn of the Pilgrims [his bow]. It is a short bow in basic construction but has several extra pieces attached from the center to the tips which increase resistance. This allows for extreme velocity and precision with his shots. This weapon was stashed behind him under the tunic. He had a small loop of leather hanging behind him so that he can move freely through the party with this bow concealed. The arrows sitting on his chest might be a bit odd but considering some of the outfits and Kael's already dingy appearance, he did not think anyone would notice.

Fully armed, Kael began to move his way along the outer edge of the hall towards the servants gathering place. He saw the door but was slowed when a drunk child crashed headlong into him. It wasn't really a child... was it? Kael narrowed his eyes to study the being before him. There was something familiar about this character but not so much to interfere with his present orders. Kael did not bow or acknowledge the person any further. He turned on his heel and moved quickly and quietly along the edge of the crowd towards his initial destination.

Once inside the servants' staging area, Kael looked about and saw the ladder off in the back. He noticed the covered faces and sideways stares. People really did fear him and his order. Do they have no idea the things that would besiege them if the FateGuard were not so? Or perhaps they feel in order to defeat evil, one must contain some evil. Regardless, the mute warrior shook his head and moved to the ladder.

Kael scaled the wood rungs quickly and reached a landing. He scaled another ladder that was set here and soon found himself in the high shadows near the corners of the dome? ceiling. He moved along a narrow ledge to a spot where there was more room. He position himself in a comfortable crouch that he could remain in for a long while. He began to scour the crowd with his eyes once more. He spotted Corben as well as several other members of the FateGuard. As he watched, he withdrew his bow and set it across his lap. He idly notched and arrow. Kael let his mind wander as his eyes did the same. Being up here all by himself was actually better than being by all of those civilians. The warrior sighed in relief and maintained his duty of keeping a watchful eye on the party.
 
As Kael continued towards his vantage point, Tahan's shoulder was seized. The boy was spun to face Marshall Corben, who leaned close so his hiss could pierce the banter. "You represent us tonight. Hold your drink, boy!"

There was another hiccup and Tahan returned a stare both vacant and labyrinthine. Corben kept hold of him, digging his fingers deeper, glaring in his eyes. "What's wrong with you, child? What did they do to y--"

"Problems with the Legionnaire?"

Corben and Tahan turned as one to find the Arch-Mage Endleweiz upon them. As ever the Lord of the Eldritch Guild had dressed for no occasion, adorned in his old brown robe that was, like his hair, silvered with age and phantom dirt. His skin had blackness in the wrinkles, as if someone had gone over him with ink, and it was no wonder he had approached so easily from the shadows. His ringed fingers clacked as he gripped his wooden staff. "The Bishop's bastards have always been troublesome. If you blind an animal with faith, it will lash out all the fiercer."

Corben put his shoulder in front of Tahan. "Just some high spirits, Arch-Mage." He kept his tone neutral, watching as Endleweiz took a goblet of mead from a passing servant. The wizard's eyes were almost coal-black, reflecting the torchlight.

"I was sorry to hear of Ferrick's misfortune. A wight assassin, I was told. Cruel irony indeed that your torchbearer should be slain by something striking from the shadows."

Corben did not break eye-contact. "The killer struck from the mists, my lord."

If Endleweiz picked up on the accusation, he did not show it. Sipping his mead, he answered, "Yes, our control spells are not yet perfected. The casting will take much time." His black orbs fixed the marshall again. "I'm sure you knew this when you asked us to change our priorities at the Seat of Council."

"I did not expect hindrance in return!" The words were shot back as Corben's anger crossed the verge of his etiquette. His eyes narrowed. They were moments from spilling into a quarrel, but then a wave of thuggish laughter cut through them. The King barrelled into Corben and threw one muscular arm around his shoulder. There was a waft of sweat and ale and the big man pulled the marshall along with him.

"CORBEN, YOU PIG-FUCKING BASTARD! COME AND DRINK WITH ME!" A flagon was forced into Corben's hands and he had no choice but to yield to the entourage of gypsy dancers.

And as they departed, Endleweiz and Tahan were left in the shadowed corner. The mage chuckled as he watched the king, then took one almost invisible step closer to the Legionnaire. "It seems we are back in favour, boy."

Tahan blinked, not understanding the comment.

"We enchanted ones, of course. Now the king is just like us."

Tahan looked over at the king, and the mage moved even closer as he did so. "So many years now, he has come to me. He would seek my potions and my encantations - all for the prize of restoring his ruined seed. And all these years I have known the truth - that he is beyond all remedy."

The king and his knights were clapping as they goaded Corben into downing the flagon of ale. Tahan watched the beautiful dancers and the frenzied minstrels, his eyes as dark as the man who whispered to him. Where his shoulder ached from the aftermath of Corben's grip there now came the ringed press of Endleweiz's fingers. "Mark my words, young Legionnaire. The King has found himself some powerful magic this night... and it did not come from my Guild."

And with that, the wizard moved away.
 
Darkness held a tight grip on the place Saint called home tonight. Not even a single candle burned in the entire house. Locked away within his room lay the bandaged knight unraveled of the wrappings which kept his disfigurement hidden from so many. Such was the level of his exhaustion that sleep had claimed him the whole day and even beyond sunset. After errands during the wee hours of the morning he had come straight home. One of his errands after depositing a certain gift was to leave a note at the hospital. For the first day in a long while he would not attend to those in need due to a weary state that might only endanger those who required constant supervision. One who fell asleep on the job could not save them. Visitation of the church soon followed for a few various reasons that included prayer and a warm meal. He ate the food often offered to the starving poor and asked for nothing more.

Dreams now played before those closed eyes in a world that only the mind or magic could create. Moonlight glittered down upon a wide open field in the night with a small pond in the middle. Large trees the size of giants remained rooted at the edges creating a wooden barrier of wilderness. Fireflies lit up the trees with a soft golden glow as though the sun, made of mystical glass, had shattered and these floating fragments were all that remained. Or were they faeries? Tricksters that brought whimsy and wonder into some lives while making mischief in others.

Saint made his way through the moonlit grass and dared to gaze down into the pond.

Reflected back at him was a face he had not seen in years, one unmarred by the torture of demons. A smile crossed his lips just as a sudden rumbling shook the waters of the pond. He turned around just as another rumble shook the field, just in time to witness the glowing fragments get shaken from their suspended state. Now they fell to the ground and set the grass alight with bright flames. Mere moments passed before Leonardo found himself encased in a ring of fire. Blazing straight for him, he could see horrifying shapes within those flames until they were finally upon him ready to scorch his flesh with their kisses which burnt with cruel passion.

Blue eyes flew open, as he heard the sound of knocking at his door.

A candle was lit, as he could not see through the night as certain others could. Blonde hair smoothed down and pushed from his face revealed a haunting visage by candlelight. Soon enough Erilyn would see a soft light coming from the other side of the door. But it did not swing open with greetings. Instead she heard his voice come through the door. Soft but strong, one could hear the grogginess in it and surmise that he had just been sleeping.

"Who is it?"
 

Despite the knowledge at the back of her mind that she should be nervous, or at the very least embarrassed, she simply couldn't force the emotion to surface. She had stolen away in the night, before the feast that she was expected to attend, to thank another of her order for a gift. Now, on top of that, she could tell from his voice that he was either preparing for bed or had already gone and she had woken him. A pang of guilt, perhaps, but still no unsteadiness. She considered the way that he was answering the door for a moment, calling through without so much as opening it a crack, but she understood well enough. Beyond the walls, the Fateguard knew better than any what danger could lay waiting in the shadows.

Composed and bold, Erilyn tossed her hair over her shoulder as she responded "No need to fear, Leo, it's only me, Erilyn. I came to thank you for the present - it was unexpected. You didn't have to get me anything for doing what was right and good, though. Or reminding you to be careful with a life that the rest of us depend upon. It sounds as if you've been asleep, though. Are you not going to attend the celebration this night?" The low light did little to illuminate the area and it was apparent that the candle was further inside the house than near the door. She realized that she did feel a bit bad for waking him, if she had, since the past few days had been easy on none of them. Before he could answer, she drew back a step from the door.

"If you are not attending and are resting instead, then I do apologize for rousing you from sleeping. I must be going, though, I'm expected and I'm not one to pass up free meal and drink when it's freely offered, anyway." She dark stones beneath her feet were hard to move across silently, each footfall from her fine shoes especially being heard with a soft tap. If someone had decided to accept her into the ranks as a full-fledged warrior, need she really aggravate them late in the night? Things would be easier if she could just beat people over the head with her shield until they agreed. She mused at how effective the task would be, especially with Derek's helmet. ​
 
As the wizard meandered away, a dark cloud of confusion hung over Tahan's head. His mind furiously worked in reverse ...

...

The courtiers clung to him, dragged him away. He struggled against their pulls; why was he not able to pull himself free? He was not weak, yet the hands (how many were there? two, four, six .. three?) stroked his hair, dragged their fingernails across his chest, leaving red marks across his skin. His hands clutched the spikes, but his grip faltered, two of them dropping noisily to the floor and shattering into a hundred small fragments, blown away as dust by the evening breeze.

Where were they taking him? His confusion slowly morphed into fear. The sounds of the party receded, the blazing torches grew dim, and the giggles and cooing grew louder. He chanced a look upward. The lips above him were plump, a cupid's bow, dyed a deep red, the colour of excitement.

Terrified, his strength and vision fading, he twisted his arm violently, spraining his shoulder tendons. He dashed away, chased away by taunting laughter and eyes that glowed brightly in the dark. Back to warmth(?) of the party, he sought the company of men, the overwhelming noise that promised safety -- and ran into Kael.

...

Tahan blinked. But a second had passed. A light drag on the cup in his hands offered no fortitude, did not bolster his spirit. His hands were cold, the fingers trembled, and his eyelids winked on and off, fighting this soporific feeling. He needed to warn someone. But who? He hung his head. Who would listen to him? Disappointment built a shell of apathy around him, and he sunk further into silence, rooted to the spot where the vizzard had left him.
 
Arkavenn shook her head, his eyes shifting their watchful gaze over to where Corben was, and judging from his expression Arkavenn agreed with what Derek had said. "Biggest problem with being high-born, I guess. You don't marry someone you like sometimes," the big giant shrugged thoughtfully, "and yeah, you're right. I don't think we need to piss Corben off further." Arkavenn glowered in the general direction that Tahan had been pulled off to and he shook his head, disapproving of what the boy had done; he was a drunkard, sure, but he made sure that he was always sober on the job when he could help it. That time after the dragons was just a bit of a mix up, really. You couldn't fault him for celebrating a victory after working hand-in-hand to slay a dragon, right?


Well .. You could but .. Who's gonna say that to Arkavenn's face?


The next part about Tahan being the one in the suit of armour raised Arkavenn's eyebrows a little. He didn't remember anything about that. Probably because he didn't see it happen. "I think I was busy hanging on for my dear life while trying to choke a dragon when that armour came, Derek. I don't recall seeing anything about that. The Church has always been mysterious with its inner workings, so I'm not very sure but dismembering a dragon really is a little too weird, even for them."


The giant nodded in affirmation of what Derek had said, grunting as the servant came to bring them their drinks. He waved the boy away, not too keen on any more beverages tonight. He would love a nice cold mug of mead but he knew that once that first sip touched his lips he would never stop and that would never do for an occasion like this. One of their own - in the most technical and loosest sense possible was already drunk out of his head and being entertained by a couple of courtesans. They didn't need a lumbering giant whose falling body could pose great danger to a number of people.


"I'd say that pair of breasts on her would be weapon enough .. If the enemy happens to be male all she needs to do is flash them and they'd be stunned," Arkavenn joked together with Derek with an amused smile on his face, before nudging the man in the side. He didn't speak for the others but he was sure that Corben should have brought something along - The Marshall of the FateGuard certainly seemed like the sort of man to always be ready. He wasn't too sure about Kael, since he didn't know him that well but Arkavenn knew that for himself, anything heavy could be used as a weapon.


Arkavenn shivered intentionally in an exaggerated manner as he flashed Alyss a smile to let her know that he was joking. In a way Arkavenn felt that he could relate to Alyss; they both had something about them that made the civilians fear them more than usual. Arkavenn his size, and Alyss her coldness. He nodded when Alyss spoke in a more serious tone, repeating a summarised version of what he had told Derek just now, "We don't fight for their approval. We're the last line of defence against the darkness,like a sliver of sunlight that separates the shadows. Though I do understand that a little encouragement here and there is good once in a while .."


"Heh. I still have my mother around but .. She hasn't been too well, lately. The FateGuard are like a family to me, too. Heck, it's like a family in general, even. Corben's the responsible father that keeps everyone in line. I'm the drunk uncle that everyone thinks is a good-for-nothing, etcetera, etcetera." Arkavenn thought for a moment regarding Ann, before he spoke again. "Give her time. Maybe it isn't her time to join us yet."
 
In the dim light behind the door, a soft smile came to his lips hidden only by the door between them both. Lips covered in old scars that tainted the warm-hearted expression with an ugliness that would inspire nausea rather than comfort. The skin surrounding them possessed just as many repulsive wounds that had long since healed enough to prevent infection. Bandages were worn at first just to help him heal. . . but now he wore them to hide this horrid visage. Old scars covered almost his entire face that came from, if not claws, came from burns suffered at the hands of those fowl creatures that scarred his face with their claws. Scattered here and there were small patches where his features remained untouched like fragments of a shattered mirror.

"And you didn't need to come here to thank me. If you enjoy it enough to wear it, that is enough for me."

Leonardo leaned against the door frame and used it for a crutch while hanging on every word Erilyn said to him. Upon mention of the King's celebration his face turned away from the dim candlelight into the shadows. Light danced along his disheveled golden mane that made each hair look like a strand of the sun itself.

"No, Erilyn. I doubt I will be going. I was not invited.

Annoyance found no place in his tone or inflections while speaking to her with all the social skills of a recluse. Instead a forlorn feeling underlies his words that invite her to stay and chat. Saint had nowhere to go tonight. . . which left him with all the time in the world to converse with dark-haired warrior women through the door. Even though he knew she had a celebration to attend it did not stop him from detaining Erilyn for as long as he could manage. Did he want company? Or was he prying information from her?

"Try to enjoy your meal then milady. After these past few days you deserve it. I'm sure Corben will be attending so give him my regards if you get the chance. Do you know who else is going, by chance? Tahan seems to have wandered off while I slept. . ."
 

Pausing in her retreat, which had been as hasty as possible without making copious amounts of noise, Erilyn shot a glance back to the door. Her fears were not entirely allayed and she was still at least half-convinced that she was irritating the man, but the tone of his voice did not suggest so much irritation as a certain dejected quality that tugged strongly at her compassionate side, a side that she preferred others not see lest they try to take advantage of her and her emotions. Was it so wrong to look up to Corben, to want to be a steely warrior such as he, who made the hard decisions? She didn't think so, not when she aspired to be as respected as he was, one day. Still, she could not disguise her hesitation and she relented a little - what would a bit of vulnerability hurt, in private?

"I don't really know who all will be there, though I'm certain that Corben would not pass up the chance for celebration. He and the king have a great deal of history. As for the boy... your ward? I don't really know, I do not socialize with too many of the guard after we're off of duty. Some of them, certainly, but likely no one of any interest to you." Had she just inadvertently alluded to him being a special case? Did it matter? She had covered it up, at least, so it would probably go overlooked. She took a few steps back toward the door, cautious as though he might at any moment toss projectiles through it for her precociousness in approaching.

"The entire Fateguard is invited, you are no exception. Come with me and you will see. I'm certain that no one will speak a word against you being there, especially if you are with the rest of the guard. Who would dare question one of the steadfast members who aided in slaying dragons and ridding the city of a werebeast? The king surely appreciates our work." Without meaning to have been cajoling, she realized that this speech sounded exactly like that. She placed her hand on the doorframe, expression determined but otherwise impassive. This was friendly and she refused to feel rejected should he turn the sentiment away. She had nothing vested in his agreement, after all, did she? So why did she feel so anxious for a response?

Hardly a second later, she decided that it was because she was running late to the party. That was why she was so impatiently awaiting his answer to the statement. There could be no other reason.
​
 
"DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!"

The King and Corben leant back-to-back, in the circle of soldiers, lifting their pitchers higher as the audience clapped. Finally the marshall choked. As he doubled over the king drained his ale and slapped his friend on the back, laughing. "TOO MUCH RIGHTEOUS WORK, OLD MAN!"

Corben cleared the ale from his lungs and flung the pitcher aside. "You've twice..." he spluttered, "...the stomach... Your Higheness!"

"Treasonous bastard!" The King got him in a headlock and they tussled as the courtiers laughed.

"Yield! I yield!" The headlock became a hug, the swaggering king clapping his arm across the marshall's shoulder. "Dammit Corben, you don't drink with me anymore. That wife of yours has made you soft!"

"My daughter makes me soft. My wife makes me porous."

"Then I'll have only sons!" The King yelled at the street performers, who twirled in their elaborate rags. "MORE MUSIC, YOU DOGS!" Then he thrust another pitcher into Corben's hand. "As God is my witness, I'll have more heirs in my court than on my balls."

"Ganthor..."

They did not hear the voice. The King downed more ale. "Then I'll leave one of the bastards in charge while you and me go off crusading!"

"That is..." Corben blinked as his senses slurred, "...uwise, Lord."

"Ganthor..."

"Wise, my bollocks, Corben. It's time we showed the Outside what we're made off. We've sat scratching our arses long enough. My people need a war!"

"We cannot... march...." Corben twisted from under the king's arm and placed one hand on his shoulder. Drunken eyes met. "Ganthor... I mean, My Lord... please.... enough good men have died... we cannot mar--"

"GANTHOOOOOOOOR!"

The furious, commanding shout cut across the banquet hall and made the music stall. There was a murmur from the courtiers and all eyes turned. Corben and the King moved apart, turning as one to behold the man at the edge of the dance floor. He was one of the gypsy performers the king had invited in - or at least he had been - before he had peeled his peasant rags away to reveal the tight-woven armour beneath.

"You reneged, Ganthor." His voice was of uncertain accent. His skin was unnaturally dark. There were tattoos weaving paths across his limbs. "Your debts must be paid."

Some of the honour guard drew tighter in their circle around the king, already unnerved by the stranger. Meanwhile, Corben stood in front of Ganthor and eyed the speaker. "You will address your king as 'Highness'. Or you will not speak at all."

"What is it, my King?" spoke the Queen's voice. She had risen from her throne at the back of the chamber, one hand on her pregnant belly, and was straining to see the source of the commotion. But Ganthor waved her away.

"It's nothing. A drunken peasant." He nodded to a guard. "Toss him back in the gutter!"

The stranger spoke before anyone could move. "You give us peasant girls like scraps from your table. That was not our deal."

Corben took a step forward, placing himself between the king and stranger. "I would leave this place now, friend, or--"

"Let it be known..." His voice seemed to fill the room. "...from royal tower to rat-choked alley... that the Wounded Hand collects all fees."

He moved, fast. The tattoos shifted. And for a moment, as Corben flinched, he thought he saw what the hand became - a claw, black-scaled and knotted with muscle, glistening with serrated nails. A projectile shot between the courtiers, trailing black, ethereal smoke. Corben gave no second thought. He shifted, stepping in front of the dart, shielding the king.

And then his blood ran cold. The object passed right through him, like smoke through smoke, and exited the other side, becoming solid again as it struck the king below the collarbone. Corben shuddered. The king fell. The shout went up.

"THE KING IS INJURED!

The assassin turned as the crowd parted, a desperate sprint taking him to a side-door through which he barged, shoulder-first, to flee into the passageway.

Then another cry. The Queen's hand had been seized. Another man, in leather and crimson rags, had slipped through the honour guard to seize her wrist. Behind him, an accomplice, large and ungainly, tugged the cord on his own robe. The gown fell open and as it did his body seemed to dissolve. The tumble of rats and spiders hit the floor and scuttled in all directions, rousing screams. The courtiers and minstrels scattered, colliding with the honour guard, who were too slow to save their queen. The woman was pulled from the throne by the second assassin and dragged into a passageway. As he moved his legs seemed to distort, boots splitting to sprout cloven hooves that sped his retreat.

More rags swirled. More street perfomers unmasked. More blades flashed. A man with lizard eyes moved through the stampede of guests, his dagger opening the throat of a soldier, whose blood sprayed. Corben caught the poor fellow, dropping with him as the third assassin made his escape. The attackers were fleeing in all directions, taking different passageways through the labyrinthine castle. He counted maybe seven of them in all.

Behind him the honour guard had closed around the king and were tending to him as he cried and convulsed. Corben laid the dead man down, yelling out above the panic. "ASSASSINS! SOUND THE ALARM!"

The King was cursing and spitting as he thrashed. Already the blood around his collar was turning black. "Get him to a side room! Lock the doors!" The honour guard picked up their king as Corben drew his blade and turned amidst the fleeing guests and scuttling vermin. "THE QUEEN IS TAKEN! SEAL THE CASTLE!"

And then, with a drunken stumble, he set off in pursuit of the first assassin.
 
There was no hesitation in Derek's movements. The moment he could see through the chaos taking place inside he grabbed his helmet and drew Alondite, already ablaze in white light drank in the strength enhancing magic of the blade. The king and queen were in danger; this was no time to hold back. Stepping into the room he smashed the back of his fist into a suit of armor he spotted upon coming in that was holding a large battle axe. Grabbing the weapon from the pieces of the armor he tossed it to Arkavenn, "I'm going after the queen!" he shouted before turning around and sprinting across the room towards the direction a few honor guard soldiers were trying to head, "Out of the way, out of the way, get out of the fucking way!" he screamed. Seeing the large black suit of armor charging with blade drawn the scrambled out of the way as if a bull was charging them. Turning the corner the queen's assailant was nowhere to be seen. He did however hear the hoof beats caused by the man's transformation. He had to catch him fast before he got away to the outside. Grabbing a small one handed axe from another one of the suits of armor decorating the hall he followed the sounds of the hoof beats. As he passed through the halls he saw the bodies of soldiers sprawled out. Some with their limbs broken and in pointing in incorrect directions, others with slash and stab wounds.

For a few moments he followed the sounds until he was lead out into one of the many the courtyards charging for the fence with the queen under his left arm. Derek gritted his teeth. There was only one option to stop the assailant from escaping. It might be a risk to the fetus, but Derek had to do it and hope that the queen would get a soft landing, land on her back, or both. Drawing back his arm he threw the one handed axe with all the strength Alondite could give him. The weapon spun through the air catching the assailant in the front right leg sending him falling to his right side. The queen fell from his arm in the process and landed in a nearby flowerbed. Luck would be on his side tonight with the queen's landing. Charging forward into the middle of the courtyard Derek put himself between the man and the unconscious queen. "Dammit. So close to escaping too," the man growled. Looking up he gave a short curt laugh, "You would be the one to chase me, wouldn't you? Just my luck. One of the only members of your little group to have the brains to bring their weapon tonight..." Derek's eyes narrowed as the man pulled the axe out of his front right leg and threw it aside. Half-man half-horse. Centaur.

"You weren't a Centaur inside the castle..." Derek's words were calm, despite his state of mind. He was human in the castle and centaurs weren't shape shifters. That could only mean he was using magic. Not that pitiful magic that the mage's guild used. This was more akin to the magic of the holy and magic blessings the FateGuard wielded without any of the subtlety or convenient excuses for what they did. The source of that was a terrifying thought but it would have to come later, "You're not taking the queen anywhere. If anyone is going anywhere its you going to the block. I'm sure King Ganthor will want to wield the executioner's axe personally in your case."

"Perhaps you did not hear us in there, young Derek: From royal tower to rat-choked alley, the Wounded Hand collects all fees," without another word Derek took his sword and assumed his fighting stance and looked around the courtyard. No terrain advantages and no cover. This was more a disadvantage than it was a boon in this battle. Large flat stretches of land meant the centaur man would be very difficult to catch. There wasn't anything stopping him from simply escaping without the queen right that instant, but as he said 'the Wounded Hand collects all fees'. Derek would just have to hope that was enough to keep him here. With that, the centaur took his stance as well as it became clear what harmed the soldiers in the hall: a halberd.

"Very well, Derek Vermilion. Show me what the FateGuard really is capable of. Let us separate fact from foolish fiction."
 
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