Pegulis, Chapter 3

[unanun]

Arktus caught Ethelwen's reaction, but only smiled in return.

He re-positioned himself across the table from the Anima. Feneri looked on. The Calm Sage placed his index finger on the stone surface.

"ICE."
​

His words rang clear and sharp in the room as he pulled his finger up, a small stalagmite of frozen water following the tip. He placed his index finger down again.

"یخ."

"பனிக்கட்டி."

"ਆਈਸ."

"лед."

"冰."

"πάγος."​

Each incantation left behind an identical pillar. He reached under the desk and removed an ink block and a pen, standard tools available under all tables in Barvelle. He melted a bit of ice between his palms, wetting the ink block and deftly swirling circles into the table:

"A spell circle we use in the North."

"Another commonly used by Kaustir warlocks."

Each circle, and a dozen more he drew onto the table, produced the same small pile of ice. "The people of Viridos have their own way of doing things." He did not draw an example.

"As you can see, there are many different ways to reach the same effect. We have all discovered it at one time or another. A special case of it is an advent, the feat, the daily, the heroic. It is something we have in all of us. But the one thing all Scholars eventually reach is the known unknown. What is it? Aether, essence, alchemy, incantation, voodoo, augury, prophecy ... "

He swept his hand over a stack of small stone disks.

"Magic."
​

The performance from rote over, Arktus folded his hands into his sleeves. "Anyone can learn magic. The only difficult part is finding the particular sect of teachings that you are in tune with."

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Near Barvelle, Indigo

It had been three days.

Three days in the biting Pegulian cold, countless paces through the unrelenting snow, and 14 soldiers - each with varying degrees of injuries. Castigarian was left with night terrors. Vrein, barely kept amongst the living by Ilsa's daily use of Advents to keep him alive. Ilsa, struggling with exhaustion from overuse of her Advent, and battling the internal struggle of knowing she had effectively led eighty men and women to their deaths. For some, she didn't even know their names.

It would take weeks for word to reach Aldus that the caravan had arrived in Barvelle, with a list of the names of the survivors. Ilsa could already envision the mourning, the sobs of anguish, the cries of regret from the family members of the deceased whenever that letter were to finally reach home. For three days, Ilsa spent every waking moment poring over each decision, desperately attempting to find where she had gone wrong. For three days they trudged after leaving the caverns, without Arcantos as a guide. For three days they were forced to ration their food, limit their use of thermic gems out of fear of them weakening from constant use without a mage's re-enchantment.

Ilsa had meant to lead a battalion of soldiers to reinforce Barvelle's military, when instead in this condition it would be more accurate to describe them as a band of refugees. Pax, her Aux, was slumped in his walk through the snow as well, his presence so faint that when the storms grew more severe, he could barely be seen. The other Aux in the party moved with similar temperament.

For one day, they circled. Without a guide and without anyone who knew of Barvelle's exact whereabouts, they searched on their own for the path to the secret city. None were able enough to search on their own, so the entire party was forced to stick together or die apart. Ilsa, so lost within her thoughts, had already begun to lose hope, until a light flashed past her vision and caught her attention. One that, to the untrained eye, would've been nothing more than the sunlight refracting off ice and snow.

But the light was fuller, more bodied, and more rounded. Even in the brief moment it passed by it was gradual, dim around the edges and bright at its center. Anyone else in the caravan would likely have missed it, but for Ilsa it was unmistakeable. For a moment, Ilsa almost feared they'd fallen so far off track that they had somehow wound up back at Aldus. She retrained her eye in the direction the light had come from, and sure enough, it passed again. Fumbling to pull the Aldus Watch mirror pendant out from beneath her armor, she focused it back towards the area it had come from: an ordinary looking cliffside just like the myriad others in the Pegulian mountains.

Moments later, the wall she had been looking at showed itself to be merely an illusion as it flickered away, and a group of armored guards rushed out to their aid, among them a familiar face - a young redheaded woman previously of the Aldus Watch. The survivors from Aldus were promptly escorted inside before the illusion of the mountain wall was replaced. Once inside, the former Aldean gave Ilsa a hearty embrace. "I knew that mirror would find use someday," she explained. "I've not forgotten the things you've taught, Ser Ilsa." Ilsa returned the embrace briefly before pulling away, turning towards the other guards and weakly enclosing a fist over her heart in salute. "I am Ser Ilsa Lisbon, Captain of--"

"Save your formalities." The woman interrupted. Though the words were meant to reassure, they echoed with eerie reminiscence.

She introduced Ilsa to the other guardsmen, and directed the guards to ensure the Aldeans had shelter, food, and medical aid. "I must.. have an audience with the Archon," Ilsa insisted wearily. "Rest first. You are our guests now, and certainly in no condition to be seeing the Archon in this state. We'll see to it that you're taken care of. Worry not, Captain. You're in good hands. Welcome to Barvelle."

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

Telra preformed magnificently, just as she always did when needed to serve as a distractions. While she continued to crane the neck of the guard, Darin watched as the man that spoke with him retreated far back to the tree line. He sighed quietly as he peeked back around to find the other three guards busying themselves. If he was going to enter the city, it had to be now.

He nodded as he slowly slid his shield onto his back and let his sword fall unlocked in its sheath. It was times like these he wished the order had chosen quieter armor. Sneaking was close to impossible, but Telra was serving as an excellent enough distraction. Darin approached the man swiftly in a crouch, still it was farther into the open than he wanted to go. He needed to do this silently for surely if the others heard their comrade, they would be upon Darin and the gate closed. Darin approached the man from behind. He licked in the back of the guards leg and as he fell to his knees, Darin snapped his neck. Darin's eyes fell shut and his breath stilled as he waited just a second for sounds of rushing guards. When none came, he quickly dragged the dead man to the wall where he had been hiding.

His eyes moved to the tree line and he nodded before he moved swiftly and as quietly through the gates. Darin let out a breath of relief as they cleared the gates without incident as the guards were too distracted to notice the plated warrior.

Once safely tucked away in an alley, Darin pulled the roll of paper from his belt and unrolled it. The first name on his list of possible recruits was M'Vae Don. But first things first, get out of this blasted plate. It was too hard to sneak around in it.

After hiding his armor in two barrels tucked in the alley he was in, Darin slid his sword onto his belt. His shield was on his back, he carried his small pouch that contained the roll of names and the murderer's knife. The last thing he put on his person was Selphia's necklace. Darin, dressed in his brown pants, white shirt and boots turned to the man that accompanied him.

"You can come with me, or not," with that, Darin headed south through the streets. [\solid]

 

[Asmodeus]

Tavark West Gate

With a final grunt and metal screech, the portcullis was freed from the icy grip of seven years. The guards in the west gatehouse checked the ropes and oiled the workings of the lever. Once satisfied, two men dragged a wooden barricade across the archway, while the third threw the lever and brought the metal grate down.

It had lowered halfway when the leader raised a signalling fist. The portcullis halted. The trio stepped beyond the gatehouse and stared at the body of their fourth companion, head twisted on the west road.

One of them, a Nocturne, closed the distance swiftly and touched the cheek of the dead man. Hand signals followed. The head guard turned to the third man, who was knelt by mud and snow-slush footprints crossing under the archway to the city.

"Fetch the tracker dogs."

Tavark Southern Farmsteads

The three raiders broke the treeline, dragging Nola by the hair as her knees and skirts caked in mud. With Milah by the tree and the last sabre-bear in the stables, a triangle of menace was formed in the farmyard.

The farrier's bow was matched by the third man's crossbow. Both targets were locked.

"I was hoping you could help us, Miss."

The sincerity was mockery, all innocence undermined by the sight of the weeping servant girl.

"See, we have a problem: you, me and my friends." The leader was fast with his words, his body the streamlined, wiry kind of cut-throats and thieves. He let Nola's horse run free in the yard, to be hounded by his jackal Aux. "Three dicks and one cunt." His comrade twisted Nola till her back was arched. "I'm sure you know what that means, Miss. She'll be torn, and we'll be sloppy. Everyone loses."

He raised a sword and circled the tip, pointing around Milah's abdomen. "But if there's TWO cunts..." Snickers sounded from the third, who kept his crossbow trained, right eye squinting with a wreath of Aux tattoos. "A woman of business can see the mutual benefit, can't she?"

Though hot-blooded they were not fools. They kept their distance. They waited.

"Put that bow down, Miss. And we can work out the details."

The second raider brought his blade to Nola's throat, sparking tears and whimpers as his Aux bracelet glowed.

Tavark

​

In days of old, when Tavark was little more than a trapper's campsite, the Great Hall was the sleeping place of legends. Here the heads of the great families would meet each evening and make accounts of their hunts and adventures. Men like Swalharba, the berserker in wolf-clothing. Glarrs of the Oaken brotherhood, nine foot tall and born of giants. Finley, the Raven Lord, black-toothed and treacherous. And Bursa Thornblood, the storm widow. Around the Heroes Hearth, a fire kept burning in the council room till this very day, these hunters would share their kills and share their stories. And from this epic tradition a city was born and a nation cemented.

The Hall was the symbol of the unchanging - the union of the families. But now it stood witness to a different epic, and suffered the waves of change.

M'Vae's head was wrenched back, a hand pressing to his brow. Over him stood a figure in brown-green robes, slick and putrid, more like seaweed than cloth. Only the slightest edge of features could be seen beneath the mage's hood. Nose, cheekbones, the wet glisten of eyes.

"Advents of hunting. No magic." The voice was a nasal rasp, like wasp wings aflutter. The robed mage moved on to the next convict, and M'Vae was nudged to his feet. He moved ahead and into the blaze-light of the Heroes Hearth. And as he crashed to his knees a second time he spied his host ahead of him. A chair had been dragged before the tapestry of the Smith God Libras - a throne for a room that should have none.

And there, in a slick and black-hued facsimile of remembrance, sat the dead man Eimund Rath.

The name had been whispered as M'Vae was brought here. He had seen it painted on walls and sewn on banners. His memory was given time to search itself. Eimund's story was one from two years past. It was told on one day - a day of unsettling calm. Some strange condition of the atmosphere - some freak wind or magical eddy - had caused the mists to lift. And for one day the men of Tavark had peered further into the Lost Ocean than any had in centuries. Most called it a curse, and chided the city not to stare. But men more curious - men like Eimund - set out to the headlands and dared to watch.

Something was seen on the unveiled horizon. An outline of bones, disturbing the waves and calling birds to scavenge. A skeleton - the husk of something massive and ancient. It had been there all along, and only now had the mists revealed it.

Of the men who went to the headlands, half came back in terror, and lent their voice to the cries of caution. But Eimund - honourable Eimund of the city watch - came back with ambition in his heart. He declared that he would take three longships and explore the island of bones. With orator's grace, the likes of which would make old patriarchs proud, he prophecised Divine Weapons and treasures of the ages. Soldiers joined him in scores and filled the three boats. And then this army... this lost army... sailed into the Ocean and were swallowed by the mists.

No one looked for them. No one dared. And neither Eimund nor the island of bones were seen again.


The lord waited for each convict to be examined by the hooded mage. And only when all had been brought to kneel before the Hearth, did he speak. "I won't blow smoke up your arses..."

The creaking of ships; the murmur of sea beds. Eimund's voice was ocean deep.

"There is no creed here. No cause." He looked to the band of black-furred, rust-armoured warriors that circled the Great Hall. "My men are hungry. My men are cold. My men have needs. We have been locked away too long, and we are here now to take what can be taken."

His black eyes trailed across the faces of the convicts. "You can understand that."

Then, rising from his chair, he strode between the feasting tables and into the aura of the Hearth. His features grew no lighter in the fire. The blackness was ingrained. "Tavark gave you nothing but the inside of a cell. I give you the chance to roam."

One spoke up - an Anima imprisoned for horse-theft. "But the army will return! And Barvelle will know of thi--" His objection ended with a heel to the back. The Anima was kicked forward, toppling over the sacred stones into the ash bed of the Hearth. He landed flat, and in a moment was thrashing, fur and clothing catching fire, screams resounding in the Great Hall. But the din was cut short as the guard responsible plunged a longsword through his back. The convict fell silent, and his upper body was left to burn.

Merciful silence returned. Eimund continued as if uninterrupted. "Feast and fuck for yourselves. Fight for me. We live like kings till the stores are empty."

Where fear ended and greed began, it could not be told in the cascade of assent that followed. Prisoners nodded, hailed Eimund's name, and held up chained hands for the locksmiths. Manacles were replaced with weapons; the kneeling became the standing. And Aux dull with despair now brightened with the redder colours of delight.

Eimund's army grew. And M'Vae, with the smell of the burning dead in his nostrils, was offered his choice.

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN-BARVELLE, royalblue

There was something pounding in Ethelwen's chest. He almost reached up a hand to try and find the spear point that should have been sticking out of his body, but instead he closed his hand even tighter around the arm of his chair. What was this feeling? Was it fear? No, Ethelwen knew fear. He and fear were old friends, and he had tasted nearly every flavor it had to offer. No, this was not fear.

Ethelwen glanced over at Feneri, and the man was smiling, his ghostly owl totem aux hovering an inch over his shoulder. Ethelwen couldn't look into his own eyes to see the passion glowing there, past any layers of restraint he may have tried to place on it, but he could almost see it reflecting in Feneri's blue eyes. The Calm Sage knew magic like almost no one else in Barvelle. And here he was, sitting across from Ethelwen, outlining the basics. Now Ethelwen knew the feeling in his chest, and he knew why it was foreign. He was so excited he could hardly breathe, the kind of excitement he had only felt back when he was too young to know that his family secretly hated him, and that he was destined to spend his teenage years trapped by expectations and pain.

His tongue flicked out briefly, in something almost like a pant. "You..." he tried to begin, voice nearly breaking. He swallowed, and tried again. "You want to teach me magic?"

 

[OverCast]

Tavark

Durael lay frozen in the grass as the guard inched closer. His fear was cut short when Darin dispatched of the foe. He cringed at sound of a neck snapping in half, the sound was not as satisfying as he had imagined it would be. He got up off the ground and hurried over to the wall.

He followed Darin into the city, careful not to make any noise as he went. Unlike Darin, he had worn Leather armor, which was lighter, and definitely not as noisy. Once in the alley way, he removed his travelling pack and set it out of sight. His heart rate evened out a little bit now, and he felt a little bit safer in the cover of the alley.t

What were they supposed to do now that they were inside Tavark? He hadn't exactly thought about what his goals were before he entered. He tended to rush into dangerous situations like this without considering the consequences, a flaw he only ever seemed to notice in hindsight. A flaw that might one day be fatal.

He waited as Darin shed his cumbersome armor. Yet another worry passed through his mind. He had nearly exhausted his magical energy during his trip. Unaccustomed to the freezing temperatures, he had used his fire magic to keep his body at average temperature during his trek. Because of this constant use of magic, Durael was left exhausted; part of the reason he was stopping at Tavark in the first place. He hoped he wouldn't have to use magic today.

After his accomplice was ready, he was asked a question. Durael looked at the man when he answered: "I'll come with you, stranger. Seems best we stick together anyway. I suggest we try to get a vantage point of the town before we do anything, however" he said, his voice uneven and hushed. He was truly fearful for what was to come. He knew this would end in a fight sooner or later.

But there was no telling when.

 

[Lord Wraith]

M'VAE DON - TAVARK, blue

he man in the robes sent a shiver down M'Vae's spine as the older man examined him before M'Vae sent forward and crashed to his knees in front of the man he could only assume was 'Lord Rath'. A gnawing thought hung at the back of M'Vae's thought as the shiver referred to completely remove itself from his spine, how did the robed man know what his Advents were and what they consisted of? In all of M'Vae's travels he had never encountered one with such an ability. Looking around the room of the Great Hall, M'Vae saw the name of 'Eimund Rath' decorating the walls and banners that had been hung.

The man at the head of the room finally spoke, his shadow surrounding those who had been brought before him as it flickered on the wall and danced in the flames of the great hearth. The man's words seemed to penetrate the air like a hot dagger between the ribs on the coldest night in Barvelle. Screams interrupted the man's speech as an Anima who dared speak out was pushed to the flames of the hearth. A long sword in the back ended his pain and his life and M'Vae felt a grin cross his lips. As Rath finished his speech, M'Vae was among those who stood and hailed his name. This was a man who understood, a man that M'Vae hadn't encountered in a very long time. Holding his arms before him, M'Vae rubbed his wrists as the irons dropped to the ground. Finding himself some armor among the loot gathered from Tavark, the Anima strapped up before sheathing his new blade at his side. Giving it a draw, he felt the fine craftsmanship in the weapon as he spun it around. The sword, like weapons forged in Tavark was expertly made. Still though, it wasn't 'Godric', but the old Tavark guards had no doubt destroyed that axe.

Wandering around the Great Hall, M'Vae chewed on a slab of meat. The sounds of feasting and passion filled the hall as men found women and took them into the corners while others chose to indulge their stomachs. Tavark was indeed in for a new age of rule under Eimund Rath. One that would restore the city to its roots of honor and the hunt. Chugging back a mug of alcohol, M'Vae wiped his lips as he ripped through another piece of meat. Walking outside, the former huntsman was greeted by the cool air as he stood there and listened to everything happening in the city. Tavark didn't stand a chance of fighting back.

 

[Asmodeus]

Barvelle Outskirts

On the southwest slopes of the Barvelle Mountains, black flickered against the white. The straight line of archway and pillar stood out among the rocks. The illusion covering the entrance trembled as each refugee passed through.

Ilsa's party had been the first, but their snow tracks had been followed. Now came others. A convoy from the south east had arrived within the hour, weeping joyful as they were ushered into the outlying tunnel. They were pale souls and bore the mark of plague - boils and rashes on the skin, festering wounds and swollen eyes. For a moment Ilsa's people had feared, but the guards had assured them these walking wounded were expected... and quite harmless.

They were Barvellians - the first caravan sent out with the Wizard Medwick, in search of the Divine Weapons.

What an end they had come to. Flattened to the wall of the inner tunnel, Ilsa and her people could only stare at the double file of plague-victims who shuffled past. The disease had been rendered inert. Yet their misery was infectious.

"Thank Ilium for that Paladin, is all I can say." The banter of a nearby Forest Kin distracted Ilsa from her staring. One of the convoy was a healer, a small and cheery girl named Ethel Lysander. She was kneeling next to the stretcher on which Vrein was bundled. Her slender hand, with skin like insect wings, stroked the man's chest and bestowed auras to numb the pain. Of all the people in the convoy, Ethel had kept her spirits. Perhaps it was thanks to that strange deity she had praised just now.

"Sir Darin was his name. He rode on for Tavark, but not before pointing us in the right direction. We would have died in the wilderness if not for him."

Ilsa nodded, while taking a bowl of soup from a passing guard. "You've all been very lucky."

The Forest Kin brought a hand across her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Hrmph! Sorry. It's just... if Medwick could hear you say that..."

"You knew him? The Wizard who wrote the messages?"

"Oh yes, we had quite the adventure." It was almost said with bitterness. "We set out three weeks ago - this entire caravan. Got as far as the Norsigal Steps before this storm came out of nowhere, hard from the east. The Ghoul Sage, of course. We didn't know then, but we would soon enough. Medwick and I were separated from the convoy, along with his assistant, Shardis, sergeant Tegol of the guard, the ranger Kana, a wildling by the name of Caoimhe, and this awful Avian." She paused mid-recollection, and her face grew sterner. "And Kal... a man we took for a mercenary."

Ilsa shuddered as the hot soup coursed down her throat, fish and umber milk washing out the tang of blood. "Took?"

"It was the Ghoul Sage, of course. Disguised. He changed his face, his voice - even made the illusion of an Aux. And he travelled with us all the way through the mountains, as we tried to find the caravan again. We had almost found the way down, when we came upon.... that tower. And that was when Kal revealed himself. It was like he had drawn us there... to gloat..."

Ilsa heard the pain in those words and saw the Forest Kin scratch herself. There were wounds on her arms - deep punctures and grazes. Ethel looked up at Castigarian and the other survivors. "That Ice Golem you fought, Captain - it wasn't alone. We found three inside that tower. The Wizard was making them. They killed..." She swallowed. "They killed Kana... and the Ghoul Sage almost killed Medwick. We barely escaped, with the help of one of the prisoners. Arcantos. He was a pillar of strength in those days. He helped us carry the wounded and find a way down the mountainside."

Ilsa felt an ache, and watched Ethel crouch to fix the bindings on her snow boots. The Forest Kin didn't know; no one had told her.

"Anyway, we got back to the plains and found the convoy again, but they had already caught this plague. Another of the Ghoul Sage's gifts. I volunteered to stay with them and get them back to Barvelle, while Medwick and the others continued south."

Ethel stood up again, her head to shoulder-height with Ilsa. The Forest Kin beamed another smile as her fey-light bloomed. "Take heart, Captain Ilsa. I know Medwick, and he will not stop until he finds that Weapon. And when he brings it back, we'll have power to stand against this Ghoul Sage, and ensure no one else suffers at his hands."

Her hummingbird Aux fluttered deftly around the tunnel, lighting the way for her people into the deep embrace of the Secret City.

 

[Diana]

BARVELLE, chocolate

Clothed head to toe in heavy old furs, the traveler walked. Both hands were tightly gripped around a thick rope with the other end tied to a large sled that was burdened with a lumpy form buried under piles of similar shabby furs. They marched right through the city gates, saluting the men that stood watch. Dragged their cargo down the paths that led in to the mountain side and deep in to the Secret City. Expertly turning corners and winding paths until reaching their destination. Where they strode right in through the doors, sled and all. Dropping the rope on the ground with a thump and kicking the cargo off the sled.

There was a guttural groan from beneath the lump of furs.

"Heers yuh bountuh. Now whurs muh munneh."

"Egads, child! You sound like one of those southern wildmen! We did not slave away for your education just to have you throw it all away and behave like a barbarian. Why, your brother-"

"Is a Dick Baron on the other side of the city. I'm not so sure he's using that education either. Unless he went to the school of sucking co-"

"OH MY! Oh! Oh I am going to swoon! Harim, catch me!"

There was another thump to the floor. This time the silver-haired woman's body.

"Ah, Jules, so you caught him!" An older gentleman stepped out from the back, pushing crooked spectacles up on his nose and balancing a few books on his arms. A rust colored fox aux sat on one of his shoulders. He stepped over the woman now sprawled across the floor with her arm draped over her forehead, and wandered to the pile of groaning furs. With interest he pulled them back, revealing a grizzled beast of a man trussed up like a captured animal.

Shoving back the hood to sharing a round face covered in freckles, the woman smiled. "Greetings Fa. He was trying to hide in a village up north. I suppose he thought no one would be brave enough to go up there." As she spoke, she tugged at her ear, gently fussing with the bit of ornate silver aux that adorned it. "Got anything new in the books? Something exciting or challenging?"

A snort was heard from the floor, along with a bit of fumbling as the woman dragged herself back to her feet. Her head took a haughty tilt while she took one of the books from the gentleman's hands and flipped to the most recent pages. "You missed everything while you were away! A great, terrible storm devastated Tavark, there was an avalanche out to the east, someone even tried to assassinate the Northern Archon!"

"Now darling, there has been no definitive proof or claims of such a thing. We shouldn't make judgement and pass idle gossip-"

"Do not interrupt me, Harim, I am doing no such thing! I have connections through-out the city, my information is without compare." Her mother gave a smug grin, tugging gently at her own ear where a diamond earring glimmered. The style of aux and tugging habit seemed to be something she passed down to her daughter. She wished she had passed down her class and manners too.

Jules was standing there picking her teeth, completely uninterested in what her mother was talking about. "Anyway, DO we have another job? Five minutes is about all I can stand of mum."

The look of offense on the woman's face only lasted a second. Soon, she had a rather sly expression as she idly turned the pages of the book, while not actually reading the contents. "As a matter of fact, there is a rather special mission being ordered by the Archon herself. I have heard there is even to be a decree drafted and posted around the city."

"Curious, I haven't heard a word of this from the other wizards. Where do you get these things."

"It's no gossip, Harim! I heard it directly from a woman in The Tower. There will be a search party sent after that archeologist, Gavin Medswitch or whatever his name is. Danger in the city, dragon business and what not. Of course I don't know the full story. But they will most certainly need a tracker and our daughter would be a MUCH finer choice than that shirtless yeti Jalidin. He's returned to town and sure to get wind of it. I just saw him wandering in to a tavern down the way. Honestly, I was shocked to see him dressed at all with the way that boy used to run naked through the caves."

There was a strange sounding snort from Jules. Her mother was a shameless gossip, but she did have an uncanny knack for discovering useful tidbits of information. She suspected it had something to do with her advent, but the woman never would spill the secret. If it was true, though... a mission from the Archon could mean a real adventure. No more of this tailing petty criminals or runaway brides inside and around the outskirts of Barvelle. Jules could see the world.

"Huh, I'll look in to that after a bite to eat. Thanks, mum!" The elder woman was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. Her father received the same. And then she was gone.

"...Darling, what IS a Dick Baron..?"

"Harim, please!"

 

[unanun]

A learner's excitement. And a teacher's excitement. Arktus gazed back at the pair in front of him. Feneri felt the excitement anew. The keen, star-like gaze that a student gave him always stirred his enthusiasm.

"Advent is magic .. is magic is advent."

"Anyone who is a citizen of Pegulis can ask me to learn." As a teacher, Arktus' philosophy was to teach, instead of judging, and in teaching, hopefully also convey a sense of responsibility to those who would learn the art of the known unknown.

There was no need to teach responsibility anyways. Arktus drew a simple circle on the table, the force of the stroke evident.

"Long ago, the Czar of Kaustir discovered magic."

He placed his hands on the circle.

"He had the bright idea of conquering his foes in one stroke."

"Then the logic of the world ended. Kaustir, the Mad Carnival."​

"Pegulis, the Crystal Death."​

"Viridos, the Black Moon."​

He removed his hands from the circle, and the memories faded. The world was restored to normalcy. "Everyone in Sunne draws upon a shared, finite resource. And when it is overdrawn, everyone feels the consequences." The smile on Arktus' face faded. "Do you fear death? Even if you do not, there are many more cowards in this world than you. And they will hunt you down."

"This is the one principle you must keep in mind as you learn." Arktus smiled apologetically. "I hope I have not frightened you too much. This event was many score years ago." He stood up from the table. "Seek me out later today. There are some events in Barvelle I need to attend to ... you may follow, if you wish."

Arktus spoke of the arrival of many people in Barvelle, an unusual circumstance, given the city's unusual location.

 

[Voices of Nerat]

Dane Myros - Aldus, gold

"Rise and shine, men!"

A brusque voice cut through the relative silence of the barracks dormitory, echoing off the stone walls. The exclamation was followed shortly by the obnoxious sound of a dinner bell being rung with little patience. "Come on, you lazy sods, up and at 'em!" The commotion received a mixed response, some sliding reluctantly out of their bunks while others merely shifted beneath the sheets, wanting a few more minutes of rest.

The stern lieutenant, however, already clad in her plate armor at this early hour, would have none of that. Grimacing in frustration, she strode forward to the nearest layabout and promptly planted a solid greave right into his midsection. "What did I say, you oaf! Wake up! That's an order!"

Dane was abruptly ripped from his dreams by the heavy steel pressing into his gut. "Ghk-!" he gasped, the pressure taking the breath out of his lungs. Reactively his hands went to grasp at the boot, eyes wide with shock. "I-Imma 'wake, sir! Imma 'wake!" he pleaded, breathless.

The dark haired woman would eventually relent, perhaps a glint of enjoyment dancing in her black eyes as she took her foot off the poor guy. "Oh, it's just you, Dane. Nevermind, you can stay in bed. Gods know you're just as useful in here as you are out there."

The country boy had gotten himself up, legs swung over the side of the bed, he nursed the aching spot on his stomach. As much as he wanted to retort in some way, Dane held his words back; he respected the chain of command, after all, even if it didn't respect him... He'd only wished the captain had left someone a little nicer in charge. "Yes, sir," was instead all he chose to say, getting to his feet with a groan.

The lieutenant turned her back to him, narrowed eyes scanning over the other watchmen who were gradually rousing from their sleep. "You'll be posted outside the stables today, soldier. Do try not to spook them, will you? We have so few good horses left as it is." Without looking back, she strode off, leaving Dane to collect himself.

--------------

This time, it'd only taken him about a half hour to ready, getting a quick scrub in the bathing area and throwing on that heavy set of armor he was still getting acclimated to. One quick training drill in the courtyard and then he was out of there, swinging open the front door of the barracks and making his way down the street, crossbow hung on his back, spear resting against his shoulder, and a smile on his face.

For the last week or so in Aldus, the weather had been quite beautiful, and today was no different. The sun's rays shone brightly from on high, bathing the frigid landscape in a warm glow that it seldom felt. The sky itself was a clear blue, marked occasionally by a stray cloud or two. Peasants and nobles alike shuffled along the winding streets of the city, discussing their business in an upbeat manner as they did so. All in all, it was a pleasant day.

Dane whistled a jaunty tune while he trudged along, offering a friendly wave to passersby in the meanwhile, a gesture that was sometimes returned, sometimes not. Stopping just outside a modest establishment of brick and wood, he knocked loudly at the entrance, calling inside. "Bjorn! Ya awake yet? Ya got school, r'member?" After a long moment in which there was no response, he tried again, knocking a bit louder this time. After the fourth or fifth attempt, he gave up, hand dropping to his side with a sigh. "Musta gone off on his own already. Stubborn goat, that kid is. Reminds me of summin'."

Shrugging, he turned away, continuing his way down the narrow street, headed towards the far opposite side of the residential district. There was still one other kid he had to check in on before heading to his post.

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

Darin might have agreed with his new companion if it was not so important that he found the names on his list before whatever was going on in the city made it impossible to do so. He moved swiftly through the streets, avoiding all contact with anyone that carried a weapon as best he could. He couldn't get dragged into this, not yet. No distractions, just vengeance.

Telra hovered closely and her light dimmed. He knew she was itching to scold him for putting vengeance over the safety of innocents but thankfully she couldn't say anything for now without giving them away.

They rounded a corner and Darin slowed as the sounds of celebration fell on his ears. He came to a sudden stop as he heard laughter mixed with whimpers and cries. His eyes darted to the source of the sound. It was in the shadows of the buildings, but light enough outside for it to be seen. Two men hovered over a battered naked woman. They weren't too far from full nudity themselves. Her eyes locked with his and he saw nothing but pain and fear in them.

His sword drew of its own accord, "Hey," he called out. At least he was not getting dragged in, he was jumping in, "Hey!" He spoke louder, probably more than needed.

The two men turned to him, their pants around their ankles. The uglier one spoke first, "Relax, there's plenty here for one more," his grin sickened Darin. The whole ordeal almost making him vomit. This was not right. There was no honor in this. This was unlawful and deserved swift justice.

Darin didn't think twice, his sword whistled slightly through the air just before it cut through the ugly one's neck. His head toppled to the ground. The second man reached for a weapon at his waist only to find nothing. He had taken it off to rape this poor woman. He fell to the ground and tried to push himself away from justice but one could not simply run from such a thing. Darin's sword bit into the man's stomach before he tore it free. The man's hands went to his abdomen to hold in his entrails as he cried out in agony. Darin would let him suffer for his sin.

He hurried to the naked woman and his comrade. Though he was sure there would be someone on his list further in, this man's cries would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention. Darin scooped up the broken woman and turned to his companion, "We need to get out of the street, you're going to have to take point." Darin could put the woman down to fight, but with how desperately she clung to him, that would be more of a chore and most likely get them both killed. [\solid]

 

[OverCast]

Tavark

Durael suggestion was rejected. Perhaps his new accomplice had a better plan. It was no use to argue now anyway. He followed closely behind Darin, avoiding most of the armed guards that now freely roamed the streets. As they moved, Durael drew his sword. Better to have it out now, that way he would be ready if he was caught off guard.

They rounded a corner, and the quick, precise movement they had been travelling at slowed. Darin stopped suddenly, as did Durael at his side. Whimpers and hushed pleas caused his gaze wondered to a shadowy area. He saw two of what he presumed to be the enemy, and a girl beneath them. All three we're half naked. "Hey" Darin's voice startled Durael at first "Hey!" His companion was nearly shouting at the two. He watched Darin move upon them after they invited him to join them. He stood where he was, spectating to see just exactly what Darin was going to do.

Durael was pushed into movement by the thud of the guard's severed head hitting the ground. He approached the scene, ready to help Darin, but he did not need it. His eagerness to help turned into anger as Darin sliced through the other guard. And worse yet, he allowed his victim to scream. This would surely be heard by all the guard in the immediate vicinity, if not by that entire section of town. There was nothing to be done about it now. Darin had just compromised the safety of their little group. He said nothing as Darin picked up the woman. This was not the time for such foolish mistakes.

"We need to get out of the street, you're going to have to take point." Durael looked up at Darin as he spoke to him. He again said nothing, only nodding. He tried not to let his anger at the situation cloud his judgement. He moved down the street a bit further, turning into yet another alley. He moved slower than before to compensate for his companion, who was carrying another person. The screaming stopped, and he was sure that Darin's victim was finally succumbing to his wounds.

In all honesty, Durael was completely lost. He had moved so quickly to get off of that street that he had failed to note where they were going. He made it to the end of this alley, and he thought they might have a small window to regroup and make a solid plan. He looked to Darin and spoke.

"Fantastic job, what'll you have us do now?" he said, his tone frustrated, and rightfully so. After all, Darin had just put the lives of both of them in even more danger than ever. Now whoever was taking over Tavark would be invested in pursuing them.

 

[Torsty]

Barvelle, brown

Everything is so different.

He had heard Gulzar, the Mayor of Avarath mention how civilized and upright Pegulian customs can be, but this was outrageous.

Mahavir moves awkwardly through the corridors. The guards have handed him crutches, one of his legs have healed to such an extent that he can lean on it without too much pain.

During the three days he had spent in prison he heard no screams of fellow inmates being tortured, they fed him regurarly. Fresh clothes, clean water to wash his hair, a chance to shave.

Now one guard follows him as they make their way to meet the Archon. Not as much as a line of verbal abuse is cast his way. Even with the snail-like pace of a man that is walking on crutches for the first time in his life – he recieves no kick or push to the back as a motion to 'hurry it up'.

This is nothing like Kaustir. It has made most of his homesickness go away.

Mahavir is asked to sit and wait in the hall until the Archon can take his message.

Shortly thereafter, he can enter. Mahavir does not take the chance to get a good look at her or the others in the room, the instincts of his homeland is still intact.

He walks to where he is about ten walking steps away from the Archon, goes down on his knees supporting the weight of his upper body with his crutches, his face grimacing in pain. He lets go of the crutches that fall outwards to each side of his body. He bows forward, butt in the air, face down, arms out and forward, palms down.

"Your Highness...Northern Archon..." Mahavir talks without changing his position. "I am Mahavir, messenger of Gulzar Ganguly. Mayor of Avarath, the city of merchants..."

He delivers the message.

 

[Lord Wraith]

M'VAE DON - TAVARK, blue

he sounds of women crying out echoed through the city as M'Vae's ears peaked up catching the sound. Turning his wandering path towards the sounds, M'Vae put a hand on the hilt of his weapon. While he supported Rath's mission, he did have a problem with woman being forced to pleasure a man against their will. These soldiers could find woman more than willing to service them without forcing themselves on them.

As he moved, M'Vae's sharp ears heard the screaming cease and yelling replace it before the sound of a blade rang out through the air followed by a resounding thud. Quickening his pace, M'Vae moved from a fast walk into a jog before the smell of blood pushed him into a full tilt run. Rounding the bend, M'Vae drew his blade as he came to a stop. Before him, two bodies lay on the ground, steam rising off their fresh blood as it slowly flowed out onto the stone floor beneath them. The smell of iron was overwhelming as M'Vae narrowed his eyes and focused, calling upon his Aux to grant him his Stalker's Sense. Closing his eyes and inhaling, M'Vae opened his eyes as his nostrils flared, a red mist floated before his eyes highlighting the scent of blood while a thin trail of the mist led away from the bodies, beneath it an illuminated path showing two steps of footsteps. Swinging his blade into a reverse grip, M'Vae rushed forward following the trail knowing he had to make the best of the limited time he had to use it.

It didn't take long for him to spot two figures ahead of him in the darkness, the glowing drawing connecting to a luminscent outline around the figures. The one was carrying another figure in his arms, likely the woman who had been a victim of the corpses. While M'Vae couldn't disagree with him saving the woman, he had taken of Rath's colours and these two had killed two of his. Letting out a powerful roar, the eight foot tall Anima, rushed towards them as his vision returned to normal

"Surrender now or suffer the same fate as those you left to bleed out in the street!"

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

Darin followed after his companion for sometime until they stopped in an alley. Telra shone brighter as he sun continued to rise, slightly proud of what Darin had done. He had saved an innocent though his method could have been wiser. The frustration in his companion's voice only further supported that. He was right, what were they going to do now?

Darin shifted under the weight of the woman in his arms. She was small in frame but he had been jogging with her in his arms. Darin lowered her to the ground despite her pleas against it and turned back to the man, "I have to find a list of people on a list. These people will hopefully help me find the man who murdered my wife and the order I was a part of. I was look for an Anima named-"

The order to surrender accompanied by heavy foot falls spun Darin around. His hand moved to the hilt of his blade, but his shield was ready first. No matter, for him it was as deadly as his blade. Darin's empty sword hand came up behind his shield as he addressed the Anima, "I only saved this woman from the rape your comrades were carrying out. Look at her!" He tilted his head toward the sobbing woman, "I only came to Tavark to find the man that murdered my wife. He's here, that's the information I was given." What was he doing, reasoning with the likes of a man who sided with these rapists, "I only want the man who murdered my wife," his eyes took on a grim look, "I will kill anyone who gets in my way."

Darin's foot slid back as he prepared to fight. He hadn't drawn his blade, but anyone who knew of him knew all he needed was his shield. His wife's locket dangled off his wrist in full few of the giant of an Anima, "I'm going to leave this alley with this woman and this man," he tilted his head to both respectively, "Wether it's through you or around you. No one, will stop me from passing down judgment." His eyes watched the Anima waiting for him to make his move. Would there be a fight? Would Darin have to kill yet another man on his quest for justice?

 

[Porg]

Tavark

Ture gave a noticeable jump as there were several loud knocks at the door and Dion's voice boomed through the house. Ture dropped the clutch of maps he held on the floor and turned towards the door.

"I'll get it!" Amara chimed and was up and half-way across the house before Ture could react. Scrabbling to his feet Ture quickly slammed the door to the room and ran after the huntress. The avian wasn't quick enough to stop her flinging the door open.

Dion was greeted by a grinning Amara who's face swiftly dropped as she noticed the crowd. Ture appeared around the door frame a second later, panting a little. "It's not what it looks- What's with the horde?"

Dion sighed deeply, he could hear the few marauders placing their hands on the weapons behind him. He'd really hoped Ture wouldn't say anything stupid or inflammatory, hoped, but not expected. "Ture. I'll explain on the way. Just… step out of the house and bring your little friend along." He waved his hand at the huntress. In more lighthearted circumstances he might have smirked, but the large man's features remained resolutely grim, a detail Ture did not miss.

"Come on" He said nudging Amara out into the cold and closing the door behind them both. "You saw no maps of Barvelle" he whispered as quietly as he could manage to her as she brushed past him. He fell into line next to Dion as the crowd advanced down the street, several others being called out of houses as they went. "Dion what's going on here?" Ture asked as he nervously looked around the assembled faces. The avian recognised a few of the faces, but he couldn't claim to have ever mingled with them.

Despite any potential familiarities there was an obvious divide between the new arrivals and the residents of the town. You could see it in the way they walked, the differences in the glances they exchanged with each other. "Aren't they..?." "Yes Ture. Let's just. Keep our heads down for now."

 

[OverCast]

Tavark

Durael's eyes shot up at the command to surrender. He immediately began to panic, fearing for his own life. Why did he let his curiosity fog up his judgement. He cursed himself under his breath. He shouldn't have come here. One guard had come to apprehend them, an Anima, and he figured more would follow. He had to think about how he would approach this. He didn't have much time to consider his next action. If it came down to a fight he had just enough energy to cast one fireball. If he were to use a spell, he would likely be too exhausted to fight again. This was his dilemma. If he chose to fought, it would have to be strictly sword-play, which Durael was not as adept at as he was in the arcane arts.

Darin threatened the guard, and in his omens he revealed what his goal in this entire ordeal was: vengeance. He could tell that Darin wasn't just bluffing either, he would either complete this act of vengeance, or die trying. This skirmish would end quickly, but there was no telling who would emerge from it. Durael noticed that Darin hadn't yet drawn his sword, a fighting concept that he found hard to understand. What exactly was Darin planning to do? Block their swords until the cavalry came? He waited until Darin finished speaking.

"Aye, you there..." he said, lifting his sword and pointing the tip of the blade at the Anima "... I intend to leave this alley. Whether or not my blade draws blood is your decision, my friend."

His eyes locked with the eyes of the guard. Durael would not surrender...

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN-BARVELLE, royalblue

A small shiver ran through Ethelwen at the sight of that long-ago Sunne, and his Aux lengthened, almost as though an actual blast of cold air had touched his body, instead of his heart. But the shiver passed quickly enough. That was fear, and he was familiar with fear. Its touches in his heart passed quickly enough, and the excitement returned. It was more tempered, but undeniably there.

"Everything has a cost," he replied quietly. The concept was not unfamiliar to him. The ability to shift his form took energy. Overdraw on that, and he would die, no matter how important the shift. It was the same with magic, just on a whole world's scale. That was easy enough for him to understand.

"Thank you for the offer," Ethelwen responded "But I need to deliver this" he gestured towards the recruitment bulletin, "to General Cole, and, if he likes it, spread it across Barvelle. Once that is done, the Archon requested to see me." His eyes flicked briefly between the piles of ice, and the space that the memories had briefly inhabited. "Can I..." Confidence, he reminded himself. "Where can I find you, when I'm done? To learn more?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to track me down," Arktus replied, only a trace of disappointment at the delay touching his expression. "But you can always come find me, whenever you are ready."

"Thank you," Ethelwen said, before bowing briefly to Arktus and Feneri. He rolled up the bulletin carefully, placed it in his satchel, and then he was out the door, moving with all haste through the hallways.

Over the next three days, while working with the Barvelle military to distribute the Bulletin across the city, two thoughts kept bouncing around in Ethelwen's head. Both of them kept a smile plastered on his face. The Calm Sage was going to teach him magic, and the Archon had instructed him to return to her as soon as all of the bulletins had been posted. A week ago he never would have dreamed that he would be able to speak comfortably with people as important as them. He was becoming better known, and, more importantly, better trusted. He was no longer just the new Anima who had wandered by accident into Barvelle. He was starting to feel like a citizen.

His satisfaction was completed on his way to the Archon' Remembering his last encounter with the guards who guarded her, Ethelwen had expected it to take a good half hour to work his way from the common pathways to her doors. However, the soldiers of Barvelle had apparently grown more used to seeing him, for they did not harass him. Some even nodded respectfully as he passed. Ethelwen, completely taken by surprise, tried his best to remember to nod back, and smile politely. The last thing he wanted was for the guards to think he was being aloof.

Just around the corner from the Archon's meeting chambers a couple of guards finally brought Ethelwen to a halt.

"The Archon requested to see me," Ethelwen said, preemptively.

One of the guards nodded. "Someone is currently speaking with the Archon. You are free to enter once he has been escorted out."

"Oh," Ethelwen said, ears flitting back in slight embarrassment. "Thank you." The guards stepped back to their posts, and Ethelwen hurried onwards.

To his surprise, the door was guarded only from the inside. He was not about to break his promise to the guards though, even if he didn't know they would surely hear the sound of the door opening, and the guards inside would catch him. He would wait. But the tail end of a sentence slipped through a crack in the door. "Mayor of Avarath, the city of merchants..."

Ethelwen's eyes went wide, and the constantly smoldering flame of curiosity inside of him burst into roaring life. Avarath was in Kaustir. What would someone from there be doing here? He glanced back down the hallway, checking to see that the guards were still out of sight, before carefully pressing his ear to the door.

 

[Ai]

Vrein Bealithar - Barvelle , #285bd2

Captured between the grasp of life and death Vrein laid upon the stretcher, solemnly dreaming of a desolate black space. Alone inside what he considered a black hell with no salvation but the serenity of silence.

"Vrein" the faint cry of a woman called to him, a strange light slowly emerging from the darkness. Rising from his seated position he looked toward it. 'Who?' The blinding light grew stronger coming further and further toward him. In the distance, a silhouette of woman approached. Wide-eyed with disbelief he starred at the figure in shining copper armour, with long golden hair and a radiant smile as she out her hand out to him "Vrein" she called again, her voice crystal clear "Ilsa?"

This had to be a dream Ilsa is alive. Heck, any dream with a hot chick was a good one, might as well run with it. Taking her hand Vrein let her lead him deeper into the light that dimmed into a dull grey.

A groan escaped his lips as the harsh chill of reality's icy talons gripped at Vrein's conscious. His eyes slowly beginning to shift open he found himself warmly wrapped up on top of a stretcher with a strange woman touching his chest. Bloody Typical Well, she was cute at least "Thank you," he coughed toward the girl smiling.

Much to his relief he could hear that the others were close, Ion's low growl coming from behind him. It must have taken a while, but it appeared that the survivors had finally reached Barvelle and he was alive. Vrein turned his head toward Ilsa with a grin That's your fault isn't it? Dumbass, you should have left me. He chuckled. Ah well. I live to eat, sleep, drink and fuck till another day. Unwilling to cause a fuss Vrien settled back into stretcher, closing his eyes with a huge grin planted across his face.