FateGuard

[Delnoir]

Derek was, to say the least, shaken when Ganthor dragged him through the crowd. Had he given up on getting Corben to battle beyond the wall and turned to the second in command? And more importantly how did he know Arcanium lived? As far as he knew he had not come up in any of the inquiries following the night they sneaked out. All of that aside when he put his helmet back on he looked to where the queen had followed Ganthor. She was nowhere to be seen in the crowd. Walking back up to the pyre Annette looked at him confused, "I had no idea you knew the queen, Derek," his sister tilted her head.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say I know her. I protected her from Kael and cultists during the first Wounded Hand attack. At the very least it appears I've earned an ally amongst the crown. Pity she doesn't have the influence of Ganthor. Still, she's a powerful ally to have..."

"Assuming that her little inquiry didn't spark the rumor mill again..." Derek shook his head knowing exactly what his sister was thinking.

"Yes, there is that. The last thing I need is the idea that I'm having an affair with the queen."

"And Ganthor knows about Arcanium..." Derek sighed at Annette's words.

"Yes. I have no idea how. More importantly I'll have to make clear that I'm not one for suicide missions by going out beyond the wall...besides...I'm not so sure Arcanium is staying behind the wall so much..."

"How do you stay incognito in a town when you're a nexus of arcane energy encased in chains and shards of the monolith? You said that it looked like his chest had a proxy eye."

"Not important right now. We have to focus at the tasks at hand," Derek folded his arms and looked to the sky. The moment night fell he'd be busy again. Unless, God forbid, the previous day set a trend of horrors appearing during the day soon...

"And if Arcanium comes to you first?"

"....." Derek didn't answer right away. There was no way to destroy his barriers...they would have to run or die. It was unsettling. He and the old guard knew the truth.

"...We flee...as things stand now...Arcanium is completely invincible."

 

[Hecatoncheires]

They corner him in an alley, the last of the FateGuard traitors.

He comes at the first two like a cornered wolf, face contorted into a silent snarl as he ducks under the swing of a sword and drives a blade into the side of his first pursuer. Marcus Howe goes down clutching his side in agony, and the traitor rises to hurl the blade across the alley at Melody, the blade slamming between a gap in her armour at her armpit. A painful wound, but not lethal.

There's no time for lethal: he has to keep moving.

Yet he does not make it ten steps up the alley before he's brought down, something detaching from the shadows and slamming a fist into his face. He's knocked off his feet, momentum carrying him several metres further before he lands heavily on the ground. As he struggles to rise he can already feel the metallic taste of blood beginning to flood his mouth, and the crunch of a tooth knocked loose.

Kael, the last of the Wounded Hand, has finally lost this chase.

He does not recognise the two that approach him, a cocky, self-assured young one wearing an eye-patch and a darkly-clad figure. The eye-patched one is demeaning his fallen comrades as he strides forwards and removes the bow from Kael's back, insulting it's craftsmanship with the dismissive tone only some as young as he could muster. Kael makes a note to remember his face, should he ever get a chance to slip these bonds.

Not that he will. He's well aware of what comes next. They'll ship him off to the Church, where the holy men will torture him for any and all information he has on the terrors outside the walls of Gothenheim. They'll keep him this way for weeks, even months. And only then will they grant him the mercy of dying. Such is the fate of a traitor.

Such is the fate of a heretic.

He spits a gob of blood and tooth on the floor and stares up at his captors, locking eyes with eye-patch. He does not look away, does not blink, even as the dark figure named Vilamos binds his arms and legs. There's no fear in his gaze, no anger or remorse; they are animalistic, a predator looking for signs of weakness. After several long minutes the gaze shifts to Vilamos, looking the assassin up and down, taking in all there is to see. These two are as green as summer grass, new recruits who have only just joined the ranks of the FateGuard. This is something he can exploit, should he find the opportunity.

Vilamos reaches down to pull Kael up but he shoulders away the hand, rising to his feet by his own volition. His gaze locks on Eye-Patch once again, and he raises an eyebrow.

Half-mocking, half-daring.

 

[Kitti]

It was all Erilyn could do to not simply kick Atlas in the shins in a vain attempt to stay his tongue for once. It was Eric's funeral, even if it seemed less a funeral and more a celebration at this point in time. Would he have appreciated the noise and the hard, uncompromising sorrow that lined the smiles of the men or would Eric have more preferred a quiet and sobbing sendoff? The answer to that, Erilyn was fairly certain, was actually the former. He would have wanted them to look forward and leave him to the past, to keep their eyes leveled on the sky instead of turned to look at the dust beneath the pyre.​

​

After dabbing her misty eyes with her sleeve, Erilyn released the arm of the bishop and afforded him a small curtsey. Someone with either good sense or a miraculous luck for helping the man had pushed Atlas away from the bishop and Erilyn wished she could have seen who to thank them. The last thing that the Fateguard needed was another of their members garnering hatred and suspicion from the townspeople. As a result of the now absent Atlas, though, Erilyn no longer needed to draw attention away from whatever it was he had been saying to the bishop.​

​

The bishop gave her a small nod and moved away from her and toward the pyre, both he and his clerics doing their best to calm the crowd that the king had roused and begin the ceremony. Grateful for the chance to escape from the stifling atmosphere around the bishop, Erilyn scanned the crowd for the faces of her fellows and pressed through the crowd to stand near Corben's side. She gave him a little incline of the head when she thought she saw him glance in her direction, before turning her gaze to the pyre. Her eyes were dry now without the need to distract from heretical words but her chest still felt as though it were being compressed painfully. ​

​

Hidden by the sleeve of her robes, Erilyn was worrying the fabric without meaning to, restraining herself from fidgeting with the silvery chain draped around her neck. She was feeling livelier than she had when she'd first crawled out of her bed but she could feel the weariness still and the events of the day had been spiraling into their own whirlpool of chaos. Everything that had been comfortable or reassuring seemed to be fading away from them. She pushed away thoughts of the bracelet she'd elected not to wear and chided herself to focus. Wallstein was speaking now and his clerics seemed content to hum their litany around him.​

 

[Wolfsin]

Responding to the Marshal~

Arias had no idea by just reading the Marshals feature as to whether he was angry with him or not. A dread familiar to nervousness transfixed its way around him like an enveloping aura, and he almost thought to run away from the gaze of Corben. "I.." he started but before he could the mood changed and with it the anxiety that sought to build with him dispersed as well. The Marshal said what need be said, he said it outright and still held the coy wording of a leader, and Arias awestruck by the response and the amount of power it provoked at him; stayed his words and merely nodded. What else could he do in that moment, he had been accepted, not truly accepted but he was not sent away like he'd expected. Sure; Arias had all rights of conviction planned out in his head, for if the Marshal denied his request, but would he of actually been able to sort himself enough to be able to stay true in such conviction?

At the Funeral~

Arias' thoughts were soon interrupted as Corben called out to find his wife, and Arias took the brief moment of simple understanding to allow himself leave from the Marshals Presence. Arias had not seen this many people gathered amongst the city in a very long time, so it was almost queer; but he did his best to move about the area phantasmal as he possibly could. Others of the Fateguard gathered, and most of those that he saw were engulfed in one conversation or the next. Arias would not think to interrupt them, and instead chose to stay to himself; even though as clarity revealed itself within him he remembered his second goal for this day.

Almost instantly Arias began scanning the crowds for some sign of the snow white hair that revealed Alyss. Sure he had not catch with her, but he knew where she stood at this point due to Malwin's betrayal. Silently Arias began to ghost around the area glancing each direction to see if she had actually made it here, he expected she would but also thought that of the rumors that plagued the girl shed not likely show face so easily in public like this. Arias' eyes shot to the rooftops, hoping to comb over her position but to no avail, and just as he reached the center of the crowd, he heard a bellowing voice; only to turn and see the King of the great city speaking.

Arias froze in position wary to even accidentally draw attention of the King, he listened to each word, and once again noticed the Marshal standing opposite side of him. Arias knew this had to be hard, especially for any of the current Fateguard, hell even for him it was difficult and he could feel the knot in his chest, at the mere thought of this mans cruel death. Soon after the King stopped his speech, and everything fell to an unique silence in these times. Arias moved at this point and headed away from the place, he wanted to pay all respects to this man, a true Hero to this city, but paying them here like this somehow did not feel right, perhaps not even as sincere when everyone else thought to make a celebration of the mans Death. Maybe it was his own child-like ignorance but death was never something to celebrate in his eyes.

On his way to Alyss Home~

The crowds cleared and as they did Arias made his way from the area and started down the streets of Gothenheim wary to avoid attention. It was silent, almost barren honestly; but that was expected with the Funeral. Surprisingly knowing that did not provide him comfort, as silence was a devils trickery in most cases to hide the truth of chaos. Half way to his destination a soft voice almost Majestic and hypnotic in tone. His gaze averted instantly to see a beautiful woman sitting upon a newly cut stump of an old oak. The woman had an almost flawless pale; yet fair complexion. Her eyes were a shade of blue that almost reminded Arias of the sea, and every feature almost appeared to be sculpted to her form perfectly. She had raven black hair braided to hang around elegantly upon her head, and another that resembled more of a war braid, but still Arias had never seen a beauty so majestic as this.

"Milady." he finally spoke up taking light stride over to where she sat and dipping his head and body in respect and chivalry to her. She did not grace him the same, only smiled and watched for a moment while she sat. "Did you not know the Hero eric Milady?" Arias asked and she nodded all the while smiling. This confused Arias but he didn't let it show outright, instead he stepped back for a second raised his brow and asked "Milady can you speak." This time she spoke, again with an almost angelic sort of tone 'When I choose I can, yes" Arias nodded with a simple "Ahh" and a bit of a silence captivated the atmosphere between them. Finally Arias broke silence asking more outright now "What are you doing out here milady?" to which she replied in reverse to him, another question said; "where do you live." Out of simple curiosity he wondered because she was odd for a woman of this city, but all she did is return his question reverse again. Finally Arias after a bit of thought asked her "Do you sing?" The woman's smile grew even more as she nodded and stepped forward with no reservation or hesitation to place him where she had just been sitting. She backed off of him but as she did; and right as her lips passed his ears she started to sing something, a song of some sort. Arias found no lyrics in her music, only an unnatural bit of comfort, heat, desire, and confusion that started to engulf his mind and then nothing...

The words made no sense but they were beautiful beyond words for him to describe. Actually describing this seemed almost impossible, but was he actually hearing anything? His mind engulf in a cloud of smoke, some internal conflict began to wage war with him as the soft tone more like a wisp like serpent coiled around his mind and engulfed him with sweet words, laced with a dark after tone, but he didn't know a thing of what was truly going on with him. "its a dream Arias..." The voice whispered hissing the final words but leaving no lack int he power behind them. "A dream arias, you shall wake up... seek me.. " The final words continued to chant within him for what seemed like hours while the real Arias Lay there asleep in the grass as if he had taken an afternoon nap. The woman who had been there was gone.

 

[unanun]

Tahan awoke on the dull wooden table, his skin soaked through with a smoldering pain. Embers sparked in his neck as he lifted his head to gaze at his body, his blurred vision taking in his rotating hands. Ah, yes - the ink on his body was now nothing more than violent splashes of black. He ran his fingers down his face, trying to feel where it was from the coarse texture underneath his fingertips.

The voice, the voice was gone. Sometimes it was not even a voice, just noise that seemed to tickle his head in an unscratchable spot. It was maddening because it was never quite maddening. But it was gone now, and the silence in his mind rang. A foggy memory told him that he had already told Father Gregory all the bishop had wanted to hear, and that he was free to go. He pushed himself off the table and stumbled outside.

The dim rays burned his eyes, filling in the dark cavities in his mind. He realized, for the first time, that he felt something. It bewildered him, because all along he was simply something that was defined by others. The pang in his stomach irritated him. He was hungry. Still naked, he had the presence of mind to drape himself in simple robes and descend into the streets.

---

He sat on a tombstone at the edge of the field. The apple was delicious. The proceedings in front of him were rambunctious and their energy suffused him with a warm glow that did not come from the sun.

This .. is nice, he thought.

 

[Faulkner]

"Dyne..."

The young woman's eyebrows furrowed with concern as she carefully knelt beside him. "You must speak to someone," she told him, as firmly as she could. "My brother is..." She had to close her eyes, and swallow hard for a moment, before continuing. "He was not alone, among those who would aid you. He trusted in Corben, as a brother. And Atlas--he may not have my brother's sight, but he knows magic. If aught is ill with your siblings, then they shall surely know what to do to help them. But after all that has happened... To so many members of the Fateguard... You cannot hold this to yourself."

That way would surely lead to more loss.

 

[Asmodeus]

I am a Farborn, child of the Pilgrims,
Seed of my ancestors who crossed the Barren Sea.
To Gothenheim I pledge my strength,
To the city alone in a land of winter.
When all is lost the walls shall lean upon me,
When gates are breached I shall bar the way.
I am FateGuard, bound to my brothers and sisters,
And shall not let the Pilgrim's City fall.​

Corben carried the torch of Ferrick towards the pyre. Its flame was like some swirling mantle, as mighty as the banners that veiled the eastern hills. Red against the yellow sun, it blossomed with a hunger as it touched the kindling bed. Eric, with his captain's badge around his neck, his ring of shadows upon his finger, his Kromos dagger clutched in one lifeless hand, was set around with flame and smoke. And at his feet and head the armour pieces laid by Bjeorn gave furnace impetus to the heat.

Eric would need his weapons in the next life. It was written in the scriptures, that all good men will serve as knights in the Court of God.

Between the three largest standing stones, the Bishop read the words as deacons lit incense and raised symbolic goblets. "It is now our hundredth year upon the soil of the promised land. For one whole century we have endeavoured with the grace of God and the sacrifice of his warriors, the Guards of Fate. We bid our brother fair journey to the court of angels, and pray that we may follow, by and by."

"Amen." Corben whispered as he backed away. The pyre was taken by the flames and the face of his mentor lost. Eric vanished as Aloysius before him, as the Twins and Dimaethordis. As countless others in the years before and the years to come. As he would... in time...

And till then... he would learn the tiredness and the grey that ever-haunted Captain Ashcroft.

* * * * * *​

"You look like shit, Corben."

Upon a standing stone lined with furs, the King and Queen accepted the honours of the departing nobles. With the ceremony ended the guests were departing in a three-armed spiral of courtiers, mages and clerics who returned to their respective homes. As Corben approached it was with a half-smile, and beyond his shoulder the pyre still smouldered and framed the distant sight the other FateGuard rousing Arias from his slumber beneath a tree.

"Like you did when we stole your father's Orc wine."

Ganthor smirked at the memory and sized the Marshall up. "I would we were those boys again. We never got bored and our dicks stood up straight."

Corben bowed to the queen beside him, who was taking water from one of her hand-maidens. "I trust you are in good health, Highness."

"Course she is," the King answered while putting a tickling hand on his wife's belly. "She's got an Isalt boy in her." He chuckled as the Queen flushed and shoved him playfully. "He'll be first king of the wall-less city."

Corben held his tongue. Saying nothing was the greater part of his friendship with Ganthor. From the first time they brawled as four year olds at the last king's coronation, Corben had learned the subtle art of circling the king's temper. The principle was no different from tempering a sword.

"I pray..." the Marshall's pause was imperceptible as his gaze passed across the belly of the queen, where the next king slumbered, ready to be born into a world pulled in all directions. "... he will have the best of friends."

* * * * * *​

In the old faith, there were stories of apples - of forbidden fruit been eaten by the ones who damned the rest. The idea of an original sin, inflicted by curiosity and wandering, was perhaps the biggest tenet of the religion that persecuted the Pilgrim Fathers.

For indeed, without straying from the path, there would not have been an Exodus, and those ships would not have been filled with criminals, sorcerers and nation-builders.

Yet still, when Corben came upon Tahan at the edge of the funeral field, sat upon the grave of Alexander's uncle and chewing on an apple, his first reminder was of Original Sin... of the one flaw that would undo the collective... of the mistake from which generations would be cursed.

So he had been released. Perhaps Malwin and Leonardo would be waiting at the chapter house when they returned. He could still see the indents of the armoured suit this boy once wore - the suit which last night was taken as avatar by the God Prince Tamoldes. Perhaps if they met again, that demon would strike in the form of that very armour, in the form of the Legionnaire who they first resented. Perhaps Tahan's entrance, upon the night of the dragons, where the recent spate of FateGuard troubles began, was merely omen of things to come. That suit was a vision... a sign... no more.

So what then was this boy? This pale and dark-eyed teen who looked up at him now with apple juice on his chin? Was he but the by-product of that symbol, fallen out like a newborn foal as the evil manifested? Or was he like Malwin's daughter and Clara, like Atlas and Arias... a child caught up in the bloodshed of Gothenheim, not yet tarnished but so very, very near the edge?

Corben snatched the apple from Tahan. The move was sudden, violent. Tahan looked up at him. Behind them, Arias was being helped to his feet and Annette was bidding them all farewell before returning home. The funeral grounds were all but empty and a lone streak of smoke stretched up into the noon sky.

Perhaps another vision... a flash of how this all would end... one FateGuard and one Legionnaire facing each other on a smoking field.

Corben held the boy's stare, and felt the weight of the apple as it bled in his hand. Then, with a motion that seemed to dispel the tension, he tossed the fruit aside.

"You'll ruin your appetite." His voice rasped from the after-effects of the poison. It was as if these were the first true words he had ever spoken to Tahan. The Marshall wiped his hand then extended it to the boy. "Follow us."

* * * * * *​

As recently as 40 years ago, the tradition was that the FateGuard should eat food laced with the ashes of their fallen comrades. It was one-part sin eating and one-part alchemy, for to eat the dead was to remove the corruption they carried to the next life and to infuse your own body with the strength they bore. It was contradiction, clearly, but such was the medley of old beliefs and superstitions the Pilgrims had brought with them from the Old World. For many FateGuard marshalls the idea of union was appealing - the idea that each watchman was a part of a family... blood of my blood... flesh of my flesh.

But Eric's predecessor had done away with the ritual... and kept the better half of the ceremony.

As the FateGuard returned to the Chapter House, it was to the sight of the feasting hall laid out and ready. Arkavenn, Castanamir and Alexander were already seated, and as the others entered Harrell went on ahead and placed on the table a silver urn that held Eric's remains. The captain's bones were being interred in the vaults by Heydrich, but in this urn were the ashes scraped from the funeral pyre. These would be the centrepiece as the FateGuard ate and drank in his honour.

And eat they would. After the ravages of the poison, stomachs were rumbling, and each soldier knew this would be their one reprieve from the onslaughts of adrenaline before the next night rolled in. And, moreover, they were at last in the privacy of their own company, away from those who plotted and discerned.

The atmosphere was almost cheerful.

"Sit. All of you. Rest yourselves." Corben placed a hand on Alexander's shoulder to stop him rising out of courtesy. The last thing any of them needed now was more formality. With a sigh the Marshall slumped down into a chair at the table's head and watched the others find their seats. He took a mug of wine and drank deeply, then looked across at one particular amongst their brethren.

He smiled a little. "You will have to get used to staying awake, Arias."

From the door behind him, exquisite aromas were wafting from the kitchen.

 

[Yaoi Master Gavin]

Ryste met Kael's eyes with his own baleful glare, his head tilted slightly, the leer on his face growing darker. He recognized those eyes, had seen them on the wild beasts. It was the look of a cornered fiend – the eyes that had nothing left to lose. Slinging his bow onto his back he drew one of the daggers from his belt and spun it once before settling on an overhand grip. Even the moonlight above seemed to catch the keen edge upon the blade; it was meant for skinning and dividing sinews for new bows.

Before Ryste had joined up with the FateGuard the first time, before his father passed away, he had had dreams of being among the men and women who went on the hunting parties – these people were the lifeblood of Gothenheim. Of course his skill with a bow was undeniable and he was an asset; as a result a number of the bows in the armoury had his initials etched into the leather that was one of the rewards for killing a beast. He had studied long and hard for such moments: watching the butcher break down the meats, practicing on his own in the small archery range next to the shop, honing his skill with a knife on the unusable scraps left over. And then his father became ill, before Ryste had even been on five of these hunts, and he was required more and more in the shop. But the knowledge stayed with him.

"I wonder what they would do to you at the church heretic… Of course they'll want information from you but… they won't be pleasant about it. I could probably deliver them damaged goods and call it a battle wound."

He shifted around Kael to look at the Icon upon the heretic's back. Already the gears of precision were whirling.

"You should know this, there are spots on any normal creature's body that will render them… useless. Not dead, just…immobile, ineffective. There's a general structure to most and the right spot will… make you much more compliant."

Settling into place behind Kael, he nodded to Vilamos.

"Take our ineffective comrades to the temple and get them healed."

The assassin gave a nod of acknowledgement and went over to Melody and Marcus.

"Now, either move forward heretic or you'll find that everything below your waist is beyond your control."

 

[Hecatoncheires]

Kael does not comply with the orders. Not right away.

First he twists round to face his eye-patch wearing captor, staring down at the blade he was being threatened with. Ryste talks of places on the body that, when severed, injured or otherwise damaged, can leave a man as naught but an empty shell. Kael knows this all too well.

Slice tendons on lower leg, just above the foot. Render leg useless, inflict excruciating pain.

Blade to the base of the neck, stab and twist. Sever the spinal column, watch as opponent topples into a pile of useless skin and bones.

Pierce front-left of neck with thin weapon, arrows working best. Silence them, leave them a bleeding mess on the floor. They are still breathing. They can still feel.

They just cannot scream.

Snapping his gaze up from the blade to lock eyes with Ryste once again, Kael leans in closer, too close for comfort. He inhales through his nose deeply, taking in his captor's scent. The breath holds for several seconds as he leans back out, all the while still staring.

Only then does he release the breath. He does so with a bloody smile.

With that, Kael finally complies. Turning back around, he begins to walk.

A doomed traitor walking to the gallows.

 

[Zen]

The alchemist filed into the chamber with an exhausted expression. The aromas of the kitchen did lift his spirits slightly; after all the man was surviving off of stale bread and hard cheese. And there was relief in knowing that at last the Fateguard found some privacy.

He shuffled over to an empty seat, away from Corben. He wondered how much the Marshall heard of his heretic words, or if Erilyn passed it on to his ears. The jest about the theater caused a tinge of red to appear on Atlas' cheeks. Should he thank her? Surely he wasn't in debt to the girl, he could have handled himself if the conversation with the bishop turned nasty.

He looked across the table to the others, seeing them greet each other and glance mournfully at Eric's urn. There was that familiar solidarity to their group once more and it made Atlas' stomach lurch forward painfully. Perhaps Erilyn didn't interfere to save his skin. Perhaps she did it to save everyone scrutiny.

Atlas sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. His heart would always be with the Fateguard, but his head... Oh his mind was something else, always questioning and prodding at things that shouldn't be prodded at. It was maddening.

Awkwardly Atlas cleared his throat and grabbed a nearby goblet of wine. The others stilled and fell silent, waiting. The silence only added to Atlas' nerves, and he promptly coughed into his fist. He raised the goblet, eyes set on Erilyn and nodded stiffly.

"Um thank you Erilyn. I erm... I was an idiot. Next time just step on my foot or something."

 

[Delnoir]

Derek's metallic footsteps echoed against the stone of the Chapter House. As usual the first place he went was to quietly stand in front of the tomb of his parents. It held a greater significance now than it did before however. He had a mission and he wouldn't disrespect his parents' memory by failing to do what they could. His silent greeting complete he turned to look at his allies gathered around the table. The funeral had been more eventful than he had anticipated. Words exchanged that perhaps shouldn't have, others trying to restrain their own tongues and those of others, and other emotions ran high. Derek inhaled deeply and sighed as he reached up and removed his helmet. Placing it on the table in front of his usual seat he turned around and walked away from the table. Having already eaten that morning he wasn't particularly hungry and was more weary than he was willing to ever admit. He slowly walked over to the corner he slept in the night they were confined to the chapter house before slumping down and closing his eyes. Lack of sleep the past few days were beginning to truly take their toll.

 

[Yaoi Master Gavin]

Ryste's smirk only grew wider at Kael's closeness.

"Beryl amaranth, a native plant that we've cultivated. It's a strong dye and as you can smell, the scent never left me either. If I have my way though, I'll make sure it's the last scent on your memory before oblivion."

It had been a container of beryl amaranth extract that had given him his distinctive hair colour. It had been diluted enough that it only stained his skin for a few days before washing out or peeling off but it had infiltrated his scalp and seemingly turned his hair to the matching colour. And left it with the scent of the selfsame flower. Granted it would help him hide from the beasts but to humans it was just another marker that made him different.

Following behind Kael with a few paces space between them in case the heretic tried to pull something, the bowyer found himself musing over the aftermath of the torture. Maybe he had a hidden sadistic streak or maybe he was just the sort of person to not let anything go to waste, but he was already thinking about repurposing the bones and sinew for arrowheads and bowstrings. Wouldn't it be ironic that though Kael died a heretic, in his death he would serve the church? Ryste could appreciate that.

 

[Wolfsin]

Arias Calmly wandered into the Feast Hall and took a seat nodding to Corbens words with a misplaced look. He wasn't exactly all there in that moment. His brain was swimming with a distorted memory of something or someone, and still a voice echoed within his mind as he sat there and listened to the rest of the Fateguard go on about their ideas and the like. "what was I doing?" He tried to ask himself, but try as he would; there was nothing in his head that gave him any indication as to what he had been doing before he passed out, nothing left there but a blank. So Arias would remain as such for a time, waiting and watching the others as he waited for the food, and when it arrived he would eat, but he'd stay silent and too himself, almost like a ghost. He wasn't normally anti social, even if he would have been in this awkward of a situation but, for some reason he didn't quite feel himself while sitting there.

 

[Asmodeus]

Corben refilled his wine and passed the stoup to Castanamir. After three days without drink the sweetness was addictive, and his poison-frail body glad for sustenance.

"Our fortunes remain uncertain, Atlas," he said to the youth while drinking deep. "The people see bones coming up from the catacombs and rejoice that we vanquished those wights. But still they ask why the Saint Brothers are imprisoned, and why so many limped home with poison in their veins. Three nights ago there were traitors to the Crown amongst us, and the streets still whisper." He looked sincerely at Atlas. "Do not throw your life away for the sake of pride. All of Gothenheim save the King and High Mage must hold their tongue before the Bishop."

He looked into his drink as he swirled it, then muttered in afterthought. "It is a game we all must play."

His stomach grumbled. To break from gloom he looked up and cleared his throat. "A toast... to Arias and Bjeorn... the newbloods who safeguarded all our lives. We thank the gods that Malwin did not have your poison."

The mention of his old alchemist made Corben's smile flicker, only slightly, as he raised his goblet.

 

[unanun]

This. Tahan tilted his head upwards to gaze at Corben, still chewing the last bite of apple. He did not show much emotion when the fruit was taken from him, although his hunger was far from being satisfied. This man .. . He reached forward slowly and took the Leader's hand, following him in silence as they meandered into the hall. There he took his seat at a corner of the table, not at the head, but far away from the center. Tahan sat in silence, his eyes playing over the gathering before him. They looked fragmented.

He took a deep drink from the liquid in the cup. The drink burned a fiery path down to his stomach, causing him to grimace and quietly yelp. A flush slowly came across his pale cheeks.

~

Father Gregory's head was buried in his hands, his hair in disarray. His hunched figure radiated great amounts of tension, and it was clear that he was deep in thought. Papers, drawings, plans, scriptures lay haphazardly around him on the desk and the floor.

Evil could not be purified. Even when purged and covered with the most compelling of scripture, the shivering black heart at its core would always respond to the call of darkness.

Then ...

His figure rustled, and he turned his head to gaze upon his most treasured artifact.

A single feather, tightly corked in an elaborately fashioned glass jar.

 

[Delnoir]

The from the corner of the room came an audible snort. Derek opened his eyes and glanced over in Corben's direction after the toast. It seemed he hadn't actually fallen asleep and took to quiet listening instead, "Frankly I think the Bishop should shut his trap and shove it. I don't see him risking his pompous ass every night and we all know that's because he knows as well as we do that he hasn't the power to do anything on his own," Derek stood up and walked over to the table unable to sleep, "Honestly I don't think the Archmage is much better. The only one in this entire damned government with any stones between his legs is Ganthor. Too bad he has enough for all three of them. Far too overzealous for his own good. I certainly hope his coming to me instead of you with ideas of conquest beyond the wall was a one time thing. You know how to deal with him better than I do, Corben."

Derek almost sat down in his chair before remembering that he'd probably break it in his armor. He opted to hoist a stone bench from the side of the room over and sit at the table with it instead and hushed his voice, "I'd also like to apologize for my outburst about your wife and Erilyn, Corben. It's just with everything that's happened the last few days I'm having a hard time not seeing the worst in the events around me. Especially after...well...you know..." Derek was no fool. Even if they hadn't discussed it he knew that Corben was more or less aware of Derek's worries about Arcanium. How could he not? Arcanium had tried to kill him and the rest of the FateGuard in the past.

"So I suppose I'll say what we're all thinking...that thing in the tunnels escaped yesterday. What does everyone think we should do? Certainly we can't think to recover the armor. The kid can't use it anymore, which frankly I think is for the better. Maybe now we can train him in some proper fighting." Derek's worries about Tahan and the armor had been put to rest the previous day. As far as he could tell he had managed to repel the armor rather than it leaving. This was assurance enough that if something like that happened again the FateGuard could handle it. But the God Prince was the pressing matter now.

"So. Who here has any bright ideas while we're waiting for food?"

 

[Squee]

Gordon Lawrance was a man of many loves. Most of his loves were nothing more than the adoration of his own habits no matter how frowned upon they were. However, at the end of the day, Gordons one true love would always be the feeling of a job well done. It was neither the normal jobs nor the errand jobs that filled his smiles, but it was the job of protecting the people. As a member of the FateGuard, Gordon had taken much time off to simply wind down and relax. However, he had also received word of the recent events. Having acquired a higher sense of duty over the times with the FateGuard, Gordon knew that he was needed to keep the people safe, and it was keeping people safe that kept Gordon happy.

It was not a happy day, so he had refused to open his bar for the day. Instead he had gone to his old armor stand. After sitting for the time that it had the Cirus Armor had collected a fair bit of dust. It was simple to wipe away with a nearby cloth to bring back it's full luster. Normally Gordon would wear his formal facings to a funeral feast, however this would be the day he would return to the FateGuard. To show the other members of his return he had considered wearing his armor in full set. Glancing at his nearby mantle that had gone with the armor, he was hesitant to leave it behind, however, in the end he chose to leave it behind until it was necessary. The same was also decided for his sword. It would be awkward to wear a set of armor to a funeral.

Once fully dressed, Gordon headed to the funeral.

Once arrived the first sounds he heard echo through the room were words spoken from the voice of Derek Vermillion, which was a voice unmistakable to Gordon due to his memory etching near everything into his head.

"So. Who here has any bright ideas while we're waiting for food?"

To respond to this, Gordon stalled in taking a seat to clear his throat rather loudly to try attracting attention which was quickly followed by his own words. "I have one. Or had, rather, seeing as how I am now acting upon my ideas." His eyes drifted over to Corben with a solemn look. "Marshall, I have decided to return to duty. My body is still able and my armor is still worn. If you will have my sword, then my mantle shall be the shield of you and our people." As these words flowed with such a smooth texture, Gordon contemplated bowing his head in respect, however he chose not to.

"Right now the FateGuard needs as many as it can get, and as I understand," With a quick pause he had dropped the formal attitude and returned to his normal persona as he continued, "You've recently been in a situation where my skills would have been met with much gratitude, yet you didn't invite me." This was said with a crude sense of humor, but it was not intended to be rude.

After speaking he had grabbed a seat without minding any real attention to where he would be in regards to the Urn containing Erics ashes. Pouring himself a small sip of wine and tasting it, he simply smiled and commented to the quality of the wine, "Should have known it'd not be strong enough for myself."

 

[Kitti]

While the others spoke, their mouthes moving more with speech than with chewing the fest set before them, Erilyn focused her attention on the cup before her, filled with mead of a golden brown hue. She's been quietly working on draining it while the others spoke and had thus far only offered a wry smile to Atlas when he'd given his form of thanks for her dramatic interference in his conversation. She had little to say still, her mind wandering between the death of her old mentor and the implications of all that had happened beneath the city.

​

Thinking to the taint of evil and the poison within them all turned her errant thoughts to the queen's unborn child, who among them could yet say for sure if it was the unborn child of the king, after all? Her gaze slid to where the woman sat, hidden by her thick lashes as she looked from beneath half-closed eyes. The words of Amadea still swirled in her thoughts, along with the other pressing matters, and it gave her some unease though she was not certain what the woman had been aiming to do. They had stumbled out of comfort and into a viper's nest where every step they took only yielded another pair of fangs, it seemed. It was clear now that they would not all make it out alive. ​

​

A man who'd once served the Guard, if memory served her well, remained on his feet and answered something Derek had said. While the words of the often quarrelsome and overbold Derek had barely registered, she was broken from her reverie by the curiosity in the unfamiliar man's presence and what he was saying. So he thought that he could have saved them, did he? From all that had happened, with his presence? That perhaps Eric would still be alive had only they invited him? She was not in the mood for humor, sitting near to the still-warm ashes of Eric and her expression turned a little sterner. ​

​

"Should we search for knowledge on the ruins beneath the city? Surely there must be some record of what came before this, somewhere. We ought to arm ourselves against the evil before it can strike again and take more of our number. Unless, of course, this good ser thinks he can protect us from the danger."​

​

​

 

[Asmodeus]

Before any quarrel could seed between Erilyn and Gordon, the Marshall greeted the newcomer. "You are welcome back at our table, Gordon. The Rove Maw allowed no time to recall our veterans. But now that you are here, we will have you blooded soon enough."

He took another mouthful of wine, then glanced at Derek and Erilyn. "I share your concerns. How can I not? Yet this creature Tamoldes... he is neither the first nor last to call himself a god. We have faced such things beyond number. Those visions we suffered in the catacombs - of the God-Prince taking all evils into himself - they might be nothing more than cantrips... illusions to ward off grave robbers."

Corben's eye drifted to Tahan. "All we know for certain, is that a spirit took the boy's armour and fled. For now... we must treat this as we treat all perils to Gothenheim. Tamoldes is beyond the city. His threat to us is curbed by the blessings of the Church, the magics of the Guild and the wisdom of the Crown. Gothenheim has stood sanctified against the Farborn Field for one hundred years, and this year will be no different."

His gaze settled on the urn - the vessel of onyx and silver that formed the centrepiece of the banquet table. "We hold the Watch... as Eric did... as all have done."

The doors at the far end cracked open, and with a waft of exotic aromas the servants brought in the platters. Their approach was to a backdrop of distant sounds from the kitchen - pots clattering, fires flaring, and... things hissing. But such was the standard din of the ChapterHouse kitchens. The FateGuard had grown used to it.

... and to the menus.

Corben smiled as the first plate was set down in the table's centre. A long, thick chunk of serpent-like meat had been honey-glazed with garlic-cloves studded between its scales. Beside this was a plate of scrambled eggs, blood-red in colour, and of jelly consistency that was anything but poultry-related. Next, a stew that reeked of the ocean, with fish tails the size of shoes floating in it. A plate of steamed king spider legs with dipping butter. A bowl of purple toadstools and gooseberries. A satyr's horn filled with gryphon liver pate. And a roast dire hog stuffed with apples and venus worm.

The Alchymia Chapter were not the only ones plundering what the FateGuard slew. For years a secret war had been waging, between the clerics and one particular... tenacious... ChapterHouse cook.

And by her imaginative dishes, the immune system, health and resilience of the FateGuard was assured. Many of them would have died long ago just from breathing in the presence of monsters, were it not for their unique diet.

Reaching across the table, Corben broke off a spider leg, took a pair of blacksmith tongs, cracked the carapace, and sucked out the delicious meat inside. "Eat your fill, my friends."

 

[Hounds]

Bjeorn for the most part had simply sat in silence listening to the discussions between the elder members of the Guard, since the funeral he'd removed his armor his sword how ever was still tied at the waist. Once the food had been brought out everyone fell silent gorging themselves on the feast in front of them, Bjeorn wasted no time eating his fill. He pulled over a plate that had what looked like a giant rat over and began pulling one of the legs off and dipping it in a fluffy mush made from mashed sheep brain. Next to it was also a large plate of mixed meats from several types of monsters. Looking at the multitude of dishes it was a smorgasbord of exotic foods, Bjeorn questioned if he'd be able to try all of them especially with everyone else tearing into it so rapidly several of the plates had already been cleaned of there contents. There was one though he desperately wanted before it was gone and that was the stew made from basilisk meat.