Pegulis, Chapter 3

[Asmodeus]

Tavark

​

In the Great Hall of Tavark, all vices were in spring. The Heroes Hearth gave ambient light to the rapists, a dozen men with women snatched from their homes. What once were screams were now sobs or stoic silence, as shadows tore and writhed against each other. The show was watched by the square of feasting tables, where more men ate and drank. The food stores of the city had furnished a banquet and the tables overflowed with bones, fruit husks and spilled ale.

Choicer men inhabited the corners and continued their own delight, sending blows and kicks against their victims. Perhaps the soldiers who had resisted, or the elders of the hunting houses. Whoever the sufferers were, they seldom screamed. The raiders attacked them like bags of meat, venting the frustrated years.

Wrath, Lust and Gluttony. As for Sloth there were those in the opposite corner, strung out on pews and snoring away their troubles. The shifts were fast and hard, men coming in from the walls to snatch a few hours sleep before returning to their duties. For Greed there were footfalls in the cellars below, as treasuries were raided and possessions plundered. By the staircase down, Envy blossomed in the convicts who picked amongst the spoils, selecting new armour and weapons.

And for Pride, there was the demon at the heart of this hell.

Eimund Rath slammed the elder to the wall, holding him by throat and shoulder. "Why didn't you look for me, Grumond?"

His victim, a white-bearded hunter, still had the muscles of his youth. He strained with the Raider Captain and returned defiant scowls. "You went into the sea against all warnings, Rath! Your fate was your own!"

Eimund slammed him again. "Two years on the ocean, watching men die, watching madness root. We screamed for our home, Grumond. Why didn't you hear our screams?"

"You're mad, Rath!" The elder spat in the invader's face. "When my sons return from the south, they will crush this rabble."

Eimund drove his armoured knee into Grumond's gut, doubling him over for a savage headlock. "Let them come. I'll burn this city to the ground if Horrikson's army cross me. Mark my words."

"Soul-cursed wretch! I'll see you hang..." The elder's insults were lost as he choked. Eimund seized his tunic, swung him out to arm's length, then shattered his nose with a gauntlet punch. Grumond fell and a pair of raiders moved in to seize his arms.

"Chain him with the dogs." Eimund adjusted his gauntlet and paced towards his throne, catching sight M'Vae and Durael entering beyond the hearth.

"M'Lord this one has joined our cause. He was with another who attacked ours and I don't believe he's from Tavark, he may know of outside forces amounting against our city."

Eimund lifted a tankard from his throne, guzzling blood red wine as Grumond was dragged away. Only when he finished did he look at Durael and note the tan of his skin, the leather of his sheath, the fur cloak on his shoulders. "A Kaustiran? The desert rats are spreading." Laughter came from the tables, and was soon replaced by wary stares. The raiders did not stop eating; but neither did they look away from Durael. "What is your business in my city, Kaustiran?"

Tavark

Straddling the paladin, Suvius watched and listened as the Orden Oath was spoken. A smile, sad and sickly, played upon his features. At the finish he placed his dagger on Darin's lips, and raised his finger to his own.

"Ssssssssh." Again a tear, from his glazed eye, emulating the man beneath him. He whispered like a childish secret, "The words on my lips were never in my heart. I lied, my lord... such lies... in the evening and the morn. But at night, in the witching hours, I spoke my true vows."

He craned his head to the window, as if speaking with the sea. The dagger pirouetted on Darin's cheek. For moments there was silence before Suvius began shushing the paladin again and stroking through his hair. "My poor lord will not remember. How could he? All those books we gathered in the Orden library, saved from the wastes, rescued from bandits, plucked from burning homes and dead sages. We tried to return them, didn't we? The Brotherhood always tried to return the treasures their enemies seized. But not this book." He tapped the dagger on Darin's cheek, nose and brow. "Not that one little book I spirited away. I read and read until flesh and page were one, till the ink was in my brain and the dust in my lungs. Every night, while the brothers snored."

He reached around Darin's head and squeezed the slick flesh of the parasite. Its tendrils tightened, and the paladin was delivered into pain once more.

"We should not question God, Sir. No, no. I found Him in the book. And Eimund found Him on the island. And He told us both the same thing. To burn the abbey. He howled the words as he shook Darin's skull. "BURN BURN BURN!"

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

Darin tried to remember everything Suvius had said prior to his confession but between the pain, the rocking of his skull and the realization that he was at the mercy of one of the men responsible for the deaths of everyone he ever held dear, he couldn't. How had this happen? The mind of a young squire twisted beyond all reason by the texts of a book. The Gods were dead. This was the twisting of a young man's mind into utter darkness and provided Eimund with what he needed to ensure Tavark's fall. What better way to take a city than to strike down first, the best men to defend it. Eimund was brilliant in that act. As soon as the order heard of the fall of Tavark, every Paladin would have been summoned to march on the fallen city and retake it in the name of the Light, the Archon and Pegulis. Eimund and his raiders would not have stood a chance.

But Selphia was not at the Abbey. She was at home where she was supposed to be. Someone went out of their way to strike down his wife while she slept in her bed. It finally struck him that Suvius had described his wife's murder in detail. He had not caught it due to pain or confusion. Suvius had broken into his house and straddled his wife as he drove the blade into her chest. His red eyes narrowed on Suvius, the butcher of so many innocents, chief of them being Selphia.

"You bastard!" Darin wiggled under his body despite the blade and pain, "Why Selphia? Did she discover your plot? She was not at the Abbey. You went out of your way to kill my wife!" His eyes shed no more tears. He had become so consumed by anger, "She spoke highly of you as a squire! The discussion she and I had of the promise you showed! You killed her!"

Darin grew still but his inner rage ever burned on, "Suvius, even if it is not by my hand, know that you all will pay for your crimes. Wether it's now, or in a few weeks when the Archon marched the armies down here to retake the city. I pray the Light let Justice be mine to deliver though. I would drive that dagger through your heart as you did Selphia."

Justice would visit Suvius, Eimund, and every raider or man who sided with them. Darin's hope was that Justice would choose him as her vessel. That somehow he could avenge his brothers and sisters and Selphia.

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Barvelle, Indigo

"Will you join us, Captain?"

Ilsa nodded quietly, following along behind Arktus and Ethel, a few paces behind them but still within earshot. She wasn't eavesdropping, but couldn't help but hear their conversation. Unfortunately, their discussion only left Ilsa with more questions, rather than answers as she had hoped. Arktus suspected Medwick of being the Ghoul Sage? The tone he had taken with the question implied he was not alone in that belief. Ilsa remained silent, feeling it wasn't her place to interject as the sage and the fey clearly had more knowledge on Medwick - and the Ghoul Sage - than she did.

As they moved, Ilsa paused for a moment to turn back and look down the halls they had come from, concerned about the wounded crew she was leaving behind, even if only for a few moments. With thoughts still wandering on Vrein and Castigarian, she turned down the path again just in time to see Arktus and Ethel meeting with a group of others she didn't recognize - a soldier, an Anima, and.. the Northern Archon?

Ilsa reminded herself of the whole reason she had come to Barvelle in the first place, quickly catching up with the group just as they finished conversation. Bandaged and with missing plates of armor, the Guard Captain was certainly in no condition to meet the Archon now, but fate was hardly ever patient. Eyes in the group turned to her as she arrived, their voices falling silent. Turning to face the Northern Archon, Ilsa filled the silence with her introduction as she bowed in respect. "Lady Archon, it is a great honor to meet you. I am --"

"Captain Ilsa Lisbon, of the Aldus Watch," The Archon completed her sentence, to Ilsa's surprise. "I heard of your arrival. It's an honor to meet you as well."

Ilsa was flattered, and impressed by the Archon's calm sense of respect despite Ilsa's haggard appearance. Straightening, she nodded and continued. "The city of Aldus also received one of the letters sent by Galain Medwick. Fearing the worst, a military caravan was organized to send reinforcements to Barvelle." The words hung heavily in Ilsa's voice as her facial features dipped in sorrow. "I'm afraid there's not much left - of the ninety-some men who departed, only fourteen remain, including myself. We came under attack by the Ghoul Sage during the journey here." Her gaze wandered briefly as she recalled the events that brought them here, before refocusing on the Archon. "There is much to talk about. If it's alright with you," she looked to the others. "And with everyone else, I'd like to attend this meeting as well."

 

[Deathbyicecream]

Barvelle, #FFAA00

Kyra grabbed the few blankets available to her, whilst Eydis undressed herself; preparing to assist her by using her body heat to slowly warm Vrein. Being only mild Bone-Freeze the quickest way to warm him was with blankets.

With the few blankets Kyra had, she wrapped the pair. First covering the torso for a faster reaction, once the blood started pump normally Vrein's body would do the rest of the work. She used the thicker blanket that she had to cover their bodies.

"I'm going to need a few more blankets" she requested of the Scholar "Yes Kyra, right away." He scurried through the barracks grabbing as many throws as he could carry.

"Will these do?" he asked gently smiling at Kyra as he remembered the memories of when he had helped her in the past with looking after the citizens of Bravelle.

"That should be fine, thank you." She smiled back at him, returning to the bed placing a blanket mainly over the top of Eydis to ensure she didn't get to cold.

Grabbing a few herbs from her bag to mix into a tea, with the knowing they would help: Rhodiola, Cayenne Pepper and Ciwujia. Pouring water into a kettle on the stove she waited for it to hiss. Kyra started to grind the herbs into a powder adding a pinch of tea leaves to tone down the bitter taste. Quickly checking back on Eydis and Vrein she wrapped another blanket around them just to be sure. Once the kettle had fully boiled she went to pour the drink "Vrein I've made you a drink, it will help you feel better." Kyra called carrying it to Vrein.

Gently lifting Vrein's head Kyra held the mug to his lips allowing him to drink. The herbs would dull the pain and heal his bones.

 

[unanun]

DEEPER IN BARVELLE​

The small group, led by the Archon, arrived at an unusually polished cave wall. Eirene was the first to enter, disappearing into a door that began as a traced outline on the wall before smoothly swinging outwards. A figure in white, and another in black, were already present. The last one to go in, Arktus glanced at the party behind him. "You must all wait here for now." He picked up a black cloak and mask, disappearing into the chamber as the door sealed, the seams disappearing into a smooth unpolished wall.

Or so they thought. It opened a crack, and Arktus winked at Ethelwen before replacing the mask and ducking inside.

​

The chamber tapered to a point. The surface inside was smooth as wax, polished and cut to a very specific curve. When any of the three spoke, the chamber threw their voice, the echoes and resonances distorting their voice beyond recognition. Sentences spoken seconds earlier still echoed through the chamber. In their meditative state, the voices lingered like notes written down, ready to be grasped upon and used for logical deduction. Mnemonic meditation. The Northern Archon stood in the middle, a blindfold over her eyes and mouth. She would hear all, but was only allowed to speak for the final arbitration. That was the rules of the chamber.

"Medwick is not the Ghoul Sage?"
"Circumstances point to - "
"Evidence?"
"The letter."
"Told us to stay away from the eggs."
"Mythical creatures - " "- full of magical power."
"Why would he have wanted them?"
"Divine weapon."
"Divine weapon."
"Is Pegulis prepared?" "The younglings have not been schooled yet." "The other nations have not allowed us that luxury."
"Verdict?" "Conclusion?"
"Wrong. Ethel tells us -" "- Medwick isn't the one. He is still journeying forth." "Where is he now?" "Southern Pegulis." "Chersonese." "Possibly Viridos."
"If he is not the one ... " "... then he works against us." "He breaks the pact."
"HIM."​

Silence. Castigarian was called in. Just beyond the door, there was a small coloured area for visitors to stand and speak. He described the memory. Several times, he was interrupted by their unified voice.

"Golems."
"So he moves against us."
"In your dreams," "You were ..." "Male? Female?"
"Cradle?" ("Frozen?" "Who was frozen?")
"The North?"
"Dear Child ..."
"Liquid fire ..."
"It must be." "It has to be her." "Only her."
"UTANDIS."​

Castigarian left, Ilsa entered. Ilsa left, Ethel entered.

Their talks resumed. Unluckily, Ethel sealed the door behind her, and their final exchange was lost to those outside. Their voices unified, speaking in agreement.

"He will not be pleased."
"Is this why he breaks the pact?" "He is not mad." "The cradle was an accident." "Accident." "The golem brought them there." "We are innocent."
"We moved too rashly."
"We break the promise."
"We did not break the promise. He jumps to conclusions."
"An offering?" "To sate his anger." "To slake his vengeance."
Their voices dimmed to mumbling.
.....
...
.​

The three Sages burst from the chamber doors.

"You don't control your voice enough. We could easily tell who is who."
"That's because Arktus didn't shut the door properly, bat-dung!"
"Careless me."

​

Michel, the Tome Sage of Aldus. Helena, the Fierce Sage of Tavark. And Arktus, the Calm Sage of Barvelle. The three of the Inner Council of Pegulis.

 

[OverCast]

Tavark

Durael surveyed the room as he entered, watching as the men had their feast. His eyes moved over to Rath, who angrily paced back to his throne. After a gulp of what seemed to be wine, the man spoke. "A Kaustiran? The desert rats are spreading." Durael's expression did not react to the remark. His gaze again surveyed those who were eating, and he seemed to make direct eye contact with each of them as they laughed. He shrugged off what seemed to be an insult, and before he could speak, Rath had already began. "What is your business in my city, Kaustiran?"

Durael's eyes now locked with Rath's. He cleared his throat, and spoke loud enough so that he was heard. "Originally, I came to Tavark only to refuel for my trip back to Kaustir. As I approached the city, I noticed that one of your men had... dispatched of one of the city guards. I, along with another, entered the city initially unnoticed. My accomplice then disposed of a number of your men." he paused, and took a breath. "After a brief encounter with the Anima beside me, I killed the man who I originally entered with, which brings us to this point." He stopped speaking for a moment, and only now did he notice that the eyes of those who feasted were on him.

"I wish to join you. I assume that you are without a capable mage, which is a service I am both able and willing to provide, so long as you don't kill me here and now." This was his offer, a good one, in the eyes of Durael. Although he might have been wrong in assuming there was no other mage in the company of Rath, he had the ego to believe that he was the better option.

He only now felt a sliver of guilt for killing Darin. It was not his first kill, but it felt different. He had killed someone who had seemed undeserving of such a punishment. However, it was something he had to do for his own survival. Perhaps this murder was for the best.

 

[Astille]

Tavark, Blue

The way Azriel's patient stared at him upon opening her eyes made him self conscious. His wings instinctively folded behind him as he focused more intently on his work. He knew he was a bit odd, especially in the fact that he had four wings instead of two. It was both a blessing and a curse. It made him able to fly further distances, but also made him less agile, He began to object when the woman attempted to sit up, but she moved so suddenly that there was no time. So instead he shook his head in response to her statement. "There is no need to thank me." He told her. "In times like these it's the least we can do to keep an eye on each other." His breath was still labored as he dug through his array of concoctions before picking one out. It was a small glass vial with a white substance in it. It was held shut by a cork. Azriel looked at the vial for quite some time, and if deciding whether or not to take it, before releasing a heavy sigh, and returning it to the special compartment in his bag that held it.


It was at that moment that the woman fell from her propped elbows and hit her head on the ground. It was all Azriel could do not to chuckle, but an amused smile did manage to show on his face. "I do believe I asked you not to move." He said to her, as he placed a cool towel on her forehead. When she summoned the grand beast that rushed to her side, the Avian made no objection. in fact, he smiled before speaking up. "Not at all. May I?" He approached the horse slowly, but without fear. It appeared he understood the meaning of respecting wildlife. His hand reached out for the stallion's snout as he attempted to pet it, if it would allow, of course. "My name is Azriel, by the way."


It was at that moment that Xanther approached, landing on his shoulder. He scratched the head of the Red, Phoenix-like bird, and smiled. The bird then let out a series of screeches that changed his demeanor though. Things were going very wrong inside Tavark. At this rate it would fall within the hour. How could this have been overlooked?! Was the aftermath of the storm the moment that the invaders had been waiting for? Azriel looked around for the Sergeant who had summoned him, but to no avail. He was no member of the Army, and had no jurisdiction over a situation such as this one, but surely someone needed to know." If you'll excuse me for just a moment…" He said to his new acquaintance, as he went off in search of an Officer.

 

[Navras]

Aldus - A Day and a Half Before

"The council will see you - today, after they have convened their meeting."

"Wonderful, I'll be sure to be there without pause."

The messenger, the red headed boy in the services of the mayor, bowed his head and turned to leave. "One more thing before you depart."

He paused, turned back and looked at Azareth, "Yes?"

"I have a bit of urgent business I need to attend to. I was wondering if perhaps you'd help..."

*************​

The pickpocket moved through the crowds, looking for loose pockets and fat wallets. Today was a public meeting with the council, the crowds were always ripe on these days. He sifted through the crowd silently, his aux muffling his steps. He was following a man in a red cloak like blood, adorned with a few modest gem rings and a locket. He no doubt had something, and the boy intended to take it. Creeping up slowly behind him, bit by bit, he readied his hand. It was tingling slightly, as it always did before he was about to steal. A bit closer... just a little bit. His hand reached out. A few more steps and he would have something... one swipe of his hand and -

"Watch it, boy! Be on your way, ragamuffin!"

"Beggin' your pardon sir!" Success! He ran through the crowds now, no need to be silent, his little fists clutching a rather large wallet. His father would be pleased. A smile washed over him as he moved through the crowds, eager to get home and deposit his prize before coming back for more.

A whisper, barely audible yet right in his ear, told him to stop. Surprised, the boy nearly jumped out of his skin and turned around to see who had spoke. No one was stopped, no one was looking his direction. He could not even see the man int he red cloak he'd stolen from... so who had spoken to him? Taking it as his imagination playing tricks, the boy turned to run towards home but was stopped by the towering figure in black before him. Looking up, he saw the bandages and those eyes and remembered the night not two days before when he had been at his home. His heart skipped a beat when he recalled the color of his skin...

"I was wondering if you'd like to make some honest money for a change," Azareth said, his bandaged hand moving out from under his cloak and holding three of the gems he possessed to the boy. The boy looked to the gems and back to the bandaged face, silent, his heart pounding. "Take them, and I'll tell you what it is you'll be doing for more."

Reaching out hesitantly, the boy took the gems. Azareth bent a knee and leaned his head forward, whispering in the pickpockets' ear. Instructions.

*************​

"We have decided that it would be in our best interests to have you in our employ."

"Thank you kindly, members of the council." The now employed court scholar bowed his head and tapped his staff on the marble stand thrice. The crowds of the public meeting had dispersed and all that remained were the four guards, two note keepers, Azareth, and the members of the council themselves. Doubtless in their minds, Azareth was smiling beneath his bandaged face though none could be absolutely certain of this fact. "Your duties are to be as follows: - "

"No need for that Sir, I know well what is required of my position of employ."

"Do tell," the other woman of the council asked, the one who had not spoken before when they were all like this. A test perhaps? Lifting his head, Azareth turned to her and said, "As a court scholar, I am in charge of the keeping of records, the organization of books and the helping of financial affairs. I am to advise the council when they call for it, help in matters with civilians that would not necessarily require the council's presence - that is to say, meet with them, note their grievances, and then bring said grievances to you so that you may make a decision on the matter, wherefore after I am to deliver this news to the recipient. I - "

"You have much more experience as a scholar than we gave you credit for," the other councilwoman spoke, interrupting Azareth and drawing his gaze to her. "You have advised many councils?"

This councilwoman was acting very inquisitive towards him, as she had before. It was her job to do so, no doubt, but all the same it made things more difficult for the bandaged scholar. They wanted to know of his experience? He would tell them, an undeniable truth fashioned of his own accord. With another pulse of his Aux, Azareth spoke again and his words were the warmth of the sun; "None so illustrious as Aldus, but I have traveled many places and advised many councils and positions of power. Most notably Bravelle, but a few minor towns in between here and there to earn enough gem to get me where I am today. I am very well versed in the duties of a scholar."

Seemingly satisfied by this, the councilwoman nodded and stood up, followed by the others. "Your duties start tomorrow. Be here bright and early so that our other scholars might show you around and thoroughly explain your duties and show you around the building where you will be working."

The council walked away and Azareth bowed his head again, turning it slightly to look at the red headed assistant as he rolled up his parchment and gathered his quills. His eyes met Azareth's and the scholar nodded at him. The boy bit his lower lip and got up to follow the council members. Azareth turned to leave. That was one obstacle out of the way. Now for A Way's Away...

 

[Wanderfool]

Tavark Southern Forrest

The Avian man's feathers shook a bit before they folded flat against his back, and she glanced at him ever curiously. She wondered for a moment, what it would be like to fly. Milah however was either on the ground or on the back of a horse. She would leave the sky to those with the equipment for it, least to say she didn't envy the man-bird beside her. "There is no need to thank me." He told her. "In times like these it's the least we can do to keep an eye on each other." Milah smiled at the sentiment and shook her head a bit closing her eyes, she was glad that even a few still thought this way. Milah listened to the men around her, the best beside her, and also the man whose breaths were laboured. Whatever restoration he had performed on her leg took its toll on him, and Milah couldn't help but feel a tad guilty. But after a few moments she quickly got over this guilt, would she rather herself perish from an arrow and gash to the leg?

"Not at all. May I?" Milah opened her eyes to see the Avian tilting over her, his hand outstretched to Ssirm. Milah made no objection as she patted Ssirm's neck as he nickered doubtfully at first, the strange hand however did not shake. Horses always respected a fearless heart, which was made apparent by the way her stallion pushed his snout into the man's hand. Looking back to the Avian she smiled pleasantly, "Ssirm recognizes a strong heart, you would make for a good rider." She winked and scratched behind her beloved beast's ears. "My name is Azriel, by the way." Milah nodded and replied, "Milah, Milah Ferweh."

As Milah leaned back against her horse, a newcomer landed on Azriel's shoulder. Its feathers were iridescent red feathers, and Azriel smiled and continued to pet the strange bird. However as the bird began to screech in a way that made Milah's heart pound, the man's demeanor completely changed. His dark eyes held a look of alarm in them, the exchange between the man and his assumed aux was unsettling. " If you'll excuse me for just a moment…" Milah opened her mouth to protest, but he had already set off in search of something. Or someone.

Blinking at his retreating figure Milah frowned and looked at Ssirm who just sneezed and nipped at her hair, still matted with blood. Sitting there, the chill was beginning to seep into the furs beneath her making it very uncomfortable to stay seated. Pursing her lips, the woman fingered at a place in the light furs that reminded her of the Sabre bear pelts that had adorned her bed. "Do they really expect me to just sit here?" Ssirm just brayed at a passing soldier, who in turn cursed and glared at Milah. Laughing softly before being thrown into a fit of coughing, Milah groaned and hit the furs. "Dead Gods be dammed." Indignantly, the woman finally relaxed against her horse and was reduced to just watching a few men a distance away take the head of a fallen troll.

 

[Wolfsin]

Barvelle

A certain level of mutual respect passed between the Anima and Wolfsin as they both followed the Archon without question. Things were shaping up to make for an interesting day and fast, though he couldn't help but wonder what the hell was making everything so crazy as of late. Of course Wolf had heard whispers from people, just listening, he heard of things like a Ghoul Sage, and trouble in this or that place but it was never enough to be a sufficient source and follow up on anything. The Chambers were not a place for he or Ethelwyn unfortunately meaning his words had done little for the Anime who sought to be a true part of this society, he felt bad but the policies of such a secret place were not so easily overruled by an outsider.

As said Wolfsin did not belong to Barvelle, no he was a man born and raised near or in Tavark, and compared to the ease and calm of this place he almost missed the harsh struggle of his home land. Talking was well and good but when you were not allowed to be part of it, and half the time you were left on the bare end of your masters fingers; well it made for a truly unfulfilled day. Wolfsin, and Ethelwyn stopped outside the chambers of convening and Wolfsin stood against the wall shutting his eyes and focussing all of his odd senses towards the wall. it was not bound to be easy, not with such strong Mable and waved off walls but perhaps he could bring a small amount of light to the real situation that had everyone in an uproar.

..... and... wrong.. The gibberish of the people inside made it that much harder to understand much of anything that was going on, but a few things continued to pop up, names he had heard and knew of, which gave SOME evidence to things he had heard before. Of course he nor Ethelwyn; whom was probably having a much easier time understanding all of this; would speak of what they eavesdropped on, though it almost seemed they wanted it to happen with the way the door was cracked. "Ghoul sage, Medwick, and Utandis? Interesting." he said it just loud enough that the Anima could hear him and smirked at his new found "friend." "Well don't look at me with accusatory eyes friend, you know you are doing it too." he chuckled a bit to himself before listening again.

The talk had turned to murmurrs, nothing that could be heard and then the door slammed the rest of the way which made the rest unknown. "Ahh well, they must have caught on." though timing was very conveniant he didn't believe too much that it was so random, more like they had heard all that someone wanted them to hear." I supposed that is that, we just have to settle with what we have and wait for this whole thing to be done." he yawned a bit then slunk to the floor resting his head against the wall as his eyes closed and he fell into a conscious nap sleep state. he would know when they were coming back out and stand at attention when that time came but for now he had a lot to think about. And it didn't seem like their meeting was done so soon.

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN-BARVELLE, royalblue

Ethelwen watched the solid doors close behind the small group with a small twitch in his heart. They had allowed him to stay outside, which was more than he probably rightly deserved, but that was it. He wasn't going to get to hear anything... Until Arktus reappeared, opening up the door behind him. A grin spread over Ethelwen's face, and he tried to wink back at the Sage, but the man was gone.

Ethelwen was about to move in towards the door to get a better position, but suddenly he remembered Wolfsin looking over his shoulder. The bodyguard had already caught him eavesdropping once today. And he had backed Ethelwen up moments ago, but that didn't mean he was going to let Ethelwen listen in. To his surprise, however, the man seemed just as intent on listening in as Ethelwen was. With a small smile and a flick of his tail, the snow leopard settled in by the door, leaning back against the wall.

At first the sounds coming from inside were nearly incomprehensible. Ethelwen closed his eyes, desperately focusing all of his attention on his ears, and slowly things became clearer. He breathed deeply, forcing any frustration he may have felt to fade. Instead he worked on committing the words to memory as though they were lines in a script. He did not know what to make of it, but that did not mean he did not want to know it.

It was the little pixie of a girl who eventually closed the door on them. She had been glaring at them as they listened since the moment the conversations had begun, but Arktus' tacit approval had been enough to keep her still until she finally got up to enter the room. Somehow, Ethelwen doubted her closing the door was entirely by accident.

For a moment he considered pressing up a little closer to the door, seeing if any sounds at all slipped through the crack. Even a word at the right moment might tell him more than he knew now. Once more his eyes drifted to Wolfsin.

"Yes," he agreed, ears flicking towards the chamber. "Doesn't mean I don't want to know now." He shook his head, trying to dispel his impatience, and smiled innocently up at Wolfsin. "Curiosity killed the cat."

Ethelwen heard them exiting only a moment after Wolfsin. Both jumped to their feet and backed away from the door, giving a respectful amount of room for the sages who were exiting. Ethelwen couldn't help but smile at Arktus' words to his two fellow members.

In many ways, he could not understand the sage. Secrets were secrets for a reason. Yet Arktus seemed far more interested in giving Ethewlen a chance to grow and explore than preserve any secrets. Such was true now, and such was true with the magic that he was willing to teach.

But if Ethelwen thought too much about it he would begin to wonder why exactly Arktus was doing this, and if he allowed himself to think about that it was very possible that he would start making up reasons that could not be true. Better at the moment to just go with it.

His head churning with new information, Ethelwen fell in behind the entourage. He had still not been told to leave, and he would stay as long as he could.

 

[Navras]

Aldus - A Day Before

"... And this is the library, where we keep all of our records, important documents and the like."

The four of them came to a stop just inside of the library to let their newest colleague look around for himself. Azareth followed in tow and did what was expected of him. His head turned to and fro, looking from one set of books to the next. Unlike the other rooms they had visited thus far - the Council member's chamber, the mayor's office, so on and so forth, here Azareth was actually making an attempt to pay attention to what was in the room. "You should familiarize yourself with this room as much as you can, you'll be spending the vast majority of our time as an Aldus scholar here. Know it well."

"Yes, I fully intend to," Azareth replied, bringing his face back to the front to look at his fellow scholar, a short plump man with a deep voice despite his size and a balding head. He meant what he said there as well. This library was going to be important to him in the days that followed. The other three were rather ordinary in appreance with no real outstanding feature. Forgettable faces. Azareth made no attempt to memorize them. "Now, let us be off once more," the scholar said, stepping past Azareth out of the library and into the hall. Azareth followed reluctantly...

*************​

Azareth stood alone in the library. The tour had concluded and he had been fully lectured on what his duties were to be. Now, after the fact, he sought the solace and quiet of the library. The very air seemed to vibrate with the knowledge it contained, new and old. Records from generations past spanning back as far as three centuries or maybe more. Whispers of knowledge either forbidden or kept secret filled his ears and resonated with his newly acquired knowledge. The memories came back to him again and he welcomed their words of wisdom and power. Things were in motion now. Nothing could stop it.

"They'll be here soon..."

*************​

Outside of the council building, just as night was beginning to fall, a small group of seven boys walked up to the council building just as their employer, Azareth, was walking out. The eight of them met on the public conference stand at the front of the building and were silent for a moment. "Is this all of them?" Azareth asked.

"All that I could find on such short notice at least," the pickpocket said with a shrug. Azareth nodded and looked from one face to the next slowly. "You've told them what they're working for?"

"They know."

"And do they know why?"

"You've neglected to inform us..."

"Good lad. Go on then, you have work to do, and bring more if you can next time."

The seven little thieves all turned to walk away. Six of them did. The last, the original one who's father had brought him into their home to rest barely two days before, Azareth grabbed by the shoulder. "I have something special for you to do..."

 

[Forgotten Hero]

Jalidin - Barvelle

He stepped inside and their house was the same as it growing up, it brought back plenty of memories. He felt less timid now and he felt foolish for feeling like that to begin with. Their friendship had fell right back into place.

"Grand adventures, eh?" He replied with a small laugh. "I don't know if you could call them that. Every snowflake looks the same to me."

He sat down and lit up his pipe. "Tell me of yours. You look like you've been busy." So him and Jules sat there exchanging stories in front of the hearth talking of old times and new. It was well late into the night before he pulled out the parchment that was posted all over Barvelle now asking for recruits. He reached over to Jules forgetting about the drawing on the back.

"I've seen these all over town." She said looking down at it. "They must be really needing people if they begging like this."

"Yeah, it's the first time I can think of since they posted flyers asking for aid and I believe they need they really need it. I know Pegulis better than most people. I-" He paused and started rubbing his chin and felt cold chills run down his spine. "I can see it in the land. Feel it in the air even. It just doesn't feel right, ya know?"

Jules just kept looking down at parchment. "Yes, I believe I do." Her voice was more sullen now that they was talking the horrors the world. It was like a candle being blown out.

Jalidin took a big puff from his pipe and blew smoke rings and watched Rayne fly through them all the while contemplating his next words. In fact he's been contemplating it since leaving the Chersonese.

When he started to speak Jules looked back up at him. "I've traveled all over Pegulis, I've drunk plenty of ale in the Chersonese, and hell I've even stepped foot into Viridos once or twice. Leading people or helping chase criminals with bounty hunters. I'm not complaining I've had good moments and bad. But it's all felt meaningless and I want to do something great. I want to be part of something great. I-I just want to be remembered."

Then the words he was going to say next felt heavier than stone. He was good with a blade but never fancied fighting and joining the military would definitely involve fighting at some point or another. "I'm gonna join. Offer my services some how but I suspect I'll get pulled in as a grunt. And I guess I just wanted to see ya one last time. You're the closest thing I got to family now."

A few close words were said to each other before he finally left.

 

[LVL1337N00B]

Artorius Cale - Aldus, burlywood

"I will not continue to clean up your messes forever, boy."

"And why not? What's the point of status if not to abuse it?"

"I will not dignify that with a response."

"Oh come off it. It's not like I'm really hurting anything. The guy had so much coin it was practically overflowing from his purse, he was begging to be robbed. If anything, I saved him getting jumped by someone less inclined to make off with his money peacefully."

"How altruistic of you."

Two men stood in a grand hall, debating the consequence of what was undoubtedly a criminal act. Points were made on both sides, tones even and calm despite the nature of the discussion. "One of these days you're going to cross the wrong person and my influence will mean nothing. I don't want your body found dumped in a rat infested alley, son."

They stared silently at eachother for a time before the older man reached out toward the younger. The young man brushed his elder's hand away, then turned and made his way out of the building and into the bustle of Aldus' streets, tossing a pouch of stolen coin to his father just before crossing the threshold to the outside. The older man caught the pouch and lowered his head as his crook of a son departed, sighing and brushing a hand through his short graying hair. Soon he'd go off to return his boy's ill-won spoils to their rightful owner, but for now he'd contemplate a believable story that would keep the lad out of trouble.

--
Some short time later
--

Artorius rested against the outer wall of a shop, watching folk pass by and peruse the wares offered within the city's trade district. His eyes moved from one person to the next, evaluating the importance of each individual based on their attire and the way they carried themselves. Soon he'd settle on a target and be back to his game, casually strolling through the crowd.

As Artorius slid past a certain country-mouse with a mirror around his neck, his elbow nudged him. He didn't utter a word to the man, going on like nothing had happened. After all, in the busy streets of Aldus bumping into someone couldn't have been too uncommon an occurence. "'Scuse me, didn't see ya there!", the off-duty guardsman called to him, to which he waved dismissively as he idly rolled a coin between the fingers of his other hand.

A small blonde girl walking by the guardsman's side grabbed his arm and pointed toward Artorius. "Dane, that man had his hand in your pocket...", the girl whispered to her older friend, trying to keep her voice low so that he might catch the thief before he realized he'd been found out.

"Hey, get back here ya durn thievin' rat!", Dane called out after patting down his pockets, effectively ruining the advantage his companion's hushed tone might have given him.

Artorius ran, but it wasn't long before Dane caught up to him. He was a quick little bugger, but the guardsman's training kept him in the proper level of fitness to close in on him with relative ease. With a gloved hand gripping the collar of his coat, he gave up fleeing. He could have slipped out of the garment and beat feet again, but he had the feeling he wouldn't get too far ahead of the guy. "Alright, alright! You can have it back!", Artorius showed Dane the single coin he'd fished out of his pocket before pleading with him, "Please, just don't report me sir!"

"Please sir, I-..I just...", Artorius began, wriggling free of the guardsman's grasp once he'd taken his coin back and turning to face him with a false look of regret and sadness for full effect, "My poor sisters are starving, sir.. With our mother's passing, father fell into a deep depression, turned to the drink.. Lost his job to it.. I'm ever so sorry for trying to steal from you sir, but I've been turned down everywhere I've looked for work! I just didn't see any other option.."

 

[Lord Wraith]

M'VAE DON - TAVARK, blue

M'Vae let out a slight scoff as the Kaustian he had brought before Rath mentioned that he assumed they without a capable of Mage. That was definitely a large assumption on the part of the Kaustian and also incorrect. Seeing he was no longer needed in the Great Hall, M'Vae turned to leave. Moving through the men as they indulged their desires, M'Vae decided he needed to make better use of his time especially with a battle just on the horizon. Admittedly, M'Vae had lost track of time due to his imprisonment and the flurry of events that had happened after the matter but he knew a battle couldn't be too far off. The Tavarkian Army wouldn't be held outside the gates forever.

Though the sword he had pillaged earlier would do in a fix, M'Vae longed for a weapon more suited to someone of his size and stature. A long bow, a battle ax, a greatsword, heck he'd even settle for a warhammer at this point. Wandering around outside, M'Vae noted a blacksmith's shop and began his approach. Opening what was left of the door, the Sabertooth noted the place had already been looted though Rath's men would only have taken what was already usable. Shuffling around, M'Vae eventually found dried wood, exactly what he would need to form a bow. Gathering the pieces together, the Anima took a hold of the wood feeling for the natural curve before bending it in his strong arms. Satisfied with the strength of the wood, M'Vae moved on to binding as he found the supplies to equip the weapon with a drawstring.

After completing the bow, M'Vae moved on to looking around the shop for anything else the raiders may have left behind. Searching the forge, he stumbled across a large sword left on the forge, obviously the smith had found it unfinished in some manner. The handle was more than large enough for two human hands, though it wasn't wrapped. The cross guard was unrefined, somewhat undersized and not overly decorative like some of the finer swords. But the shape of the blade was the most peculiar part. A large flat blade, it became wider towards the top almost as though a sword had pierced its blade into the head of a battle ax. Picking the weapon up, M'Vae swung it with one hand and was surprised to find it wasn't particularly unbalanced. Slinging his longbow over his shoulder, M'Vae gripped the blade with both hands and gave it a hard swung, the blade reduced a nearby workbench to slivers as it splintered under the weight and force of the sword. With a satisfied smirk, M'Vae ran a furred finger down the blade before frowning. The blade hadn't been sharpened yet, which meant he had work to do.

Looking around the workshop, the beastial Anima located a grindstone and quickly moved to it. Tapping the pedal with his foot, he began to rhythmically move his new blade back and forth across it as he began to hum under his breath.

"Oh, eyes of the forest of lore,

Keep watch ov'r this hunter's soul.

And if I should die and be no mo'e,

Then guide my soul to the hunt below."

Continuing to hum as the edge of the blade started to form, M'Vae stayed in the small shop until he finished the blade before finding some leather and strapping the blade to his back. Hopefully Eimund's men hadn't taken all the arrows for themselves, he doubted that there was many good shots among a group of sailors. The men were used to using other means of warfare to fight their battles, or so M'Vae assumed. Given what he had seen earlier with the Kaustian, assuming could be dangerous business.

 

[ReaperOfFlames]

Castigarian - Halls of Barvelle, Cadetblue

Castigarian had no idea how long he'd been pacing the tunnels of Barvelle. While magic wasn't his forté, he could feel it alive in the walls around him, as if it were giving the city itself a pulse of its own.

Long had he been a hunter and many a time had he locked eyes with beasts and animals of the wood; to see their breasts rise and fall with each breath, not to see, but to feel the flame of life flickering within them, it was something he was well attuned with. He stopped his movement and raised his battered hand and instead of striking the wall, this time he simply laid his hand upon it out of curiosity. While firm, it felt warm beneath his touch; not a constant warmth as one would expect of a rock that had drawn in heat, but it almost felt as if something warm and alive were moving just underneath the rock in a faint, beating pattern, as if he were feeling the pulse of the mountain itself.

The large man stood enraptured for a time, feeling the magnitude of Barvelle's history flowing through him; not in visions as with his nightmares, but through the sheer force of their presence. Barvelle survived its history, baring it forth into countless new ages as one would guide a child to adulthood. Truly, just being here was something to behold in and of itself.

Castigarian - Gredihm Household (The Past), Cadetblue

"Am ah boring ye Castigarian?"

A voice, wizened with age and experience roused a young boy from his daydreams as he looked up from where he sat on the floor. Before the young Castigarian sat his Grandfather, Joachim; even at the ripe age of 80, the man cut a powerful figure of resolute muscle, his white beard hanging proudly past his chest and his sharp eyes seeming to look right through his grandson who scrambled to collect himself.

"O-of course na Grandfather! I were jus'...thinkin' 'bout..."

"How ye could be out causin' a fuss wit yer friends?"

"I...er..."

The old man laughed, a booming an jovial noise that shook the dust from the wood around the house as he slapped his knee. "Yer mah Grandson al'ight. Yer pa were the same way when 'e were yer age." Joachim said, his smile warm as he bade the young boy to take a seat on his knee, to which Castigarian complied. "That's some true...but ah jus' like yer stories more 'an hearin' bout some dusty old family history. Ah like hearin' yer huntin' stories t'best!" said the young hunter to be, his eyes full of light as he smiled up at his grandfather.

"Aye, they are a treat, ain't they? One day ye'll 'ave yer own t'tell." Joachim raised his bear paw of a hand and ruffled Castigarian's mop of auburn hair, causing the young boy to giggle as children are often wont to do. "But ye mus' understand. History 's jus' as important as any hutin' expedition. 'S what helps keep us connected t'our ancestors 'an t'the world. Without history, wouldn't be a man alive who'd 'member how mah da Bartholomew and others made their 'ere t'Tavark, or the times in the northern lands with his father Arcwain. Das why ye carry yer da's name 'tween yer first 'an last. Do ye understand?"

Castigarian thought about what his grandfather said, running it through his young mind and finding a truth in those words most children his age would simply cast aside. "I...understand. D'ya think...ye could tell meh more 'bout where Great Granda' used t'live a'fore here?"

Joachim's wrinkled face scrunched into an even softer smile as he gave his grandson a few soft claps on the shoulder, feeling his heart swell with pride. This young boy would certainly become a fine Gredihm, he was sure of it. "A'course little cub. Get yerself settled, y'might find that history more interestin' 'an any made up story."

Castigarian - Barvelle (Present), Cadetblue

Castigarian was roused from his dreams of the past by the sounds of approaching footsteps, and no sooner had he raised his head, he found that a messenger had been sent to fetch him.

With a nod, the large hunter followed behind the smaller man until he found himself waiting outside of a large door with others. He recognized Ilsa and despite his gaunt and underfed appearance, gave the captain a warm smile as he waited his turn. In what seemed like mere moments, he was being summoned into the chambers to find three robed and masked individuals standing before him, the three in unison asking about the memories and nightmares running about his head, somehow already knowing of what afflicted him before he had even had a chance to speak of it.

"Ah...yes. E'ery time ah close mah eyes...ah see through the eyes o'another man. Ah see a woman...hear talk o'a loomin' threat...hear mahself bein' shut in a s'cophagus o'ice...smell the comin' o'death as everythin' starts collaspin'...an' ah feel a sea o'fire run across me a'fore ah wake. These nightmares...its as if ah'm livin' the memories o'someone else...memories o'somethin' terrible. Ah canne sleep, these memories torment me at e'ery turn...if there's anythin' ye can do t'rid me of them, ah beg ye t'do it."

Castigarian finished his piece and when the masked individuals gave no response, he turned to leave, exiting the room so Ilsa could enter. All he could do now was wait until everyone had said what the counsel needed to hear and allowed them to deliberate on it. With any luck, someone would know how to free him of these night terrors that plagued him so vehemently, otherwise he had no other idea what he could do, and he wasn't at all content to simply waste away while there was still work to be done.

There had to be some cure, he was sure of it, though at what price he could have never guessed.

 

[unanun]

Barvelle halls, teal

"Well met, Castigarian."

The Fierce Sage stood before him, hands on her hips. It was a bit strange for Castigarian to acknowledge her as someone who was born in Tavark. Her skin, once brown and radiant from the sun, had gone pale from years in the tunnels. Her accent had vanished, replaced by a clipped and efficient Barvelle dialect. Yet her musculature was firm, and within her eyes shone the spirit of the hunting eagle. She was, without a doubt, still the truest embodiment of Tavark within Barvelle.

She clapped him on the shoulder. "We must catch up when opportunity allows. But let us discuss your dreams first."

"Ask the local apothecary for an extract of Deathroot." A sly grin. "When we are too high-strung, tired yet sleepless from the Assembly, you can take a drop in a bowl of water for deep, dreamless sleep."

"That will not ease the pain from Utandis' memories."

Michel approached the pair. A grizzled old man, the Tome Sage's advantage over most scholars in Pegulis, Arktus excluded, was the sheer amount of knowledge and experience he had accumulated in his long, long existence. Old, but not decrepit, Michel was always up to the challenge of dead-lifting, with proper form, various heavy rocks in Barvelle for young children. The local attraction in Barvelle was to hunt for old men and call them weak. The child who found the old man that reflexively lifted a rock upon hearing that statement received the betting pool of candy-ice and small coin.

"A highly unusual circumstance calls for a solution in kind." Michel drew a pattern on the wall, his vigour melting lines into the thin layer of ice.

"We can cut out her memories ... but we cannot safeguard the ones you formed around the same time either."

 

[Wolfsin]

Barvelle

Fast as they'd come the sages were off again, The Lady Eirene and his new found anima friend were going as well,a nd once again he was trudging along in the Archons shadow. "Gods... blasted this is getting annoying" he grumbled to himself as some stopped to talk to the sages, and others the Archon. No matter what he was going to follow her, that was the job and at least now he had some idea what the hell was going on, which helped to keep his battle-worn mind steady. War was upon them, possibly at their front gates, not so much In Barvelle, but if they considered the whole of Pegulis, then maybe... This Ghoul Sage had to be dangerous to have them all so god damned disturbed, and that only peaked his interest even more as he continued shadowing his charge

 

[Asmodeus]

Tavark Past

​

Laughter howled through the Great Hall, disturbing the hearth light, making discord with the cries of women. It was carried by a dozen raiders, who followed suit with their lord and master. Eimund, his head tipped back, had finally been given something to laugh about.

As M'Vae departed Eimund advanced on Durael, passing through the fire glare, stepping over prone women and bleeding men. Shadows danced on his blood red scale-mail. And as he stood close, a half-foot taller than the pyromancer, Durael felt the presence of this man as something tangible. It were as if a god had taken ink and traced again the curve of bone and feature. The darkness was ingrained. An exoskeleton.

"I assure you, Kaustiran..." Eimund's voice resounded with the ocean deep. "... we have a very... very... capable mage."

A part of Durael was ready for a gut-punch, a sword strike, a blow. But instead, as Eimund moved beyond him, it was with a different contact. The Raider Lord's arm clapped around his shoulders and led him, briskly, towards the doors. And as they moved an honour guard of seven men, draped in bearskin, fell in step beside them. The doors were opened and the morning air hit like a wall of ice.

"But what is the word of a usurper? Let me show you."

He was led across the main square, where wagons and horses were corralled. The raiders were industrious, blocking alleys with barricades of jagged iron. Ropes dangled from the inner keep walls and hoisted siege weapons to the battlements. It seemed the ships they once sailed on had now been cannibalized, turned into instruments of urban warfare. Durael moved amid the shadow of a ballista and between the savage points of two arrow launchers.

But the main work in this square was the shifting of barrels. Whale fat - he knew the smell. It was the primary fuel in the eastlands. From wagon to bicep, the barrels were moved and placed around the grain stores, conveyed to the battlements, or packed inside houses. It was the city's entire stockpile, supplemented by what the raiders had brought from the sea. The intent was clear... at least to a pyromancer.

They meant to burn the city, should it be stormed.

Eimund kept a steady march, his armoured limb never leaving Durael's shoulders. Across the square a townhouse waited, three storeys high and narrow. Once the lodging of a scribe or herald, if he had to guess. Durael was prompted ahead, up a cramped stairway. Wood creaked and platemail rapped as the honour guard followed him up.

"We found your man in the fire pit." Eimund's voice, in these confines, near shook the building. "I've heard Kaustirans like the slow kill. I suppose it keeps the dying warm while you fuck them."

More laughter. Durael was motioned through a door on the last floor, into an attic room. Footsteps echoed. He and the eight raiders circled out into a small, sparse-furnished room with sloping roof.

"God's work must not be disturbed."

There, beneath the thatching, stood a sickly man in glistening robes. And on the bed before him, the man Durael had dealt a mortal blow. The paladin, Sir Darin, was newly stripped and bathed. He lay face first on the furs, pale as a corpse and out cold.

It was five hours before Darin would wake. Perhaps in his dreams, between the fire pit and the blankets, he would sense the visitation, glimpse the face of the pyromancer who had cut him. But by then his fate would be sealed.

Durael beheld the grisly sight that bridged the two characters. Around the arm of the sorcerer, a creature was descending. Part octopus, part squid... part abomination. It used its tentacles to wrap the sorcerer's limb and slide down it, slowly, towards the neck of the paladin. And there, where the sword wound Durael had dealt festered and bled, the monster found its nesting place. With sucking, wriggling cacophony, it brought its undercarriage across the breach. Suckers attached, piercing and fusing with flesh. And when the position was perfect, the creature unwrapped its tentacles from its master and coiled them across the skull and back of the paladin.

The attic walls seemed to bleed with horror.

Only a faint glow, no more than a will-o-the-wisp, indicated Darin's aux beneath the blankets - a sign of his frail survival.

"Unclench your arse, Suvius. I've brought you a peer." He shoved Durael forward with his shoulder. "Says he's capable."

Eimund's stare had been unnerving; Suvius's was downright erosive. The cancerous eyes of the sorcerer found Durael's and conjured visions of deep sea horrors - dead-eyed crustaceans and unblinking sharks. The eyes of dead men on the ocean floor, picked out and devoured by crabs. The eyes of the drowning; of the damned.

The horror came to vivid life. Suvius moved from the bed and the last tentacle of the parasite unfurled with a wet slap. He crossed the attic room and Durael felt a shift in the guards around him, a subtle move of hands to hilts, the spreading of stance. If he moved he would die. The pyromancer froze and endured his coming, held his breath as Suvius reached out a yellow hand towards him.

The sorcerer pressed his palm to Durael's forehead, pushing fingers beyond his hairline, gripping by the temples. There was a burn of magic, a searing contact with the skin. Durael's heart ached with vulnerability - that dreamlike fear of nakedness - that sense of violation. The raiders to either side had their blades half-drawn and primed for execution.

The burning reached exquisite apex, and then Suvius pulled away and returned to the bed. "Pyromancer. Dragon-touched. We can use him."

The blades slid back into their sheaths. Eimund moved between Durael and the sight of the bed, where the parasite was fusing with Darin. "Capable." he grunted, and gave no indication of which magic-user he spoke of.

Tavark Present

The morning had passed. Durael was fed and rested; Darin had woken to the sorcerer's madness. And all Tavark was now in occupation.

With a painful crunch, Darin was hurled to the floor of the slaughterhouse. The parasite shifted and resettled on his neck, while Suvius moved on. The sorcerer circled the iron pillars where massive anchor chains bound the ice dragon, and with muttering checked the augmentation of the metal. Before him the dragon bellowed and hissed at a circle of raiders, and pulled in vain at the chains. Its jaw was wrapped in iron and it bled liquid snow from a dozen halberd wounds. Since the day the men of Tavark had captured it, it had suffered. And now the paladin lain half-dead before it was its mirror.

Further back, Lord Eimund donned a pair of gauntlets and glanced to Durael. "It will bleed ice. Its claws will freeze and it will summon snow with its wings and tail. Whatever it does, Kaustiran - dispel it. Fire to ice." The gauntlets were arcane, wreathed with shark teeth, as if he had plunged his hands into carcasses. "Show me you are capable, and you will serve with Suvius by my side."

The assembled soldiers gave them space. Eimund strode forward and scooped Darin up by one arm. He dragged the paladin and hurled him down in the dragon's shadow. To the left, beyond the pillars, Suvius muttered incantations and the chains constricted like flesh to pull the dragon prone.

"Heal the beast, Light-Bringer." Eimund kicked Darin's side. The parasite flooded endorphins through the man, giving him relief from the pain. "Put your hands on it. Seal its wounds."

As the dragon came down, Eimund slammed his gauntlets together, gripping each side of the monster's snout. His eyes met the beast's. Magic burned in his gauntlets, cut through with advent light. He did not back down.

Another raider stepped past Durael and lashed the paladin with a whip. "HEAL IT!"

The dragon thrashed, but could not tear its gaze from Eimund. The gauntlets clamped its skull. The chains glowed.

The Raider Lord began to tame the beast.

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

Darin looked on at the dragon the sting from the whip fading as the growth relieved his pain. He couldn't heal this beast; not with Eimund at its reigns. He would use it to rain destruction down on innocent people, not to mention to heal a dragon with so many wounds, would surely be suicide. Tavark wouldn't be the only place to suffer. Even then, how many people would die to this beast trying to free the city from Eimund's grasp? Nothing good would come from this healing.

Darin stood weakly to his feet and approached the captured beast after being reminded with a second lashing that he was not dealing with patient people. He softly placed his hands on the creature's cool scales. His eyes shifted from beast to Eimund, to raiders. He pressed his head against the scales apologizing for its fate. Sure it was a creature of destruction but it didn't deserve either fate he was to deliver it to.

Darin patted its scales. He would not heal it. He squared his shoulders and stood as tall as he could, "No," he replied. He turned to face the man with the whip, his hand lingering on the dragon, "I will not heal the beast," Darin's hand fell from the dragon and clenched into a fist at his side. He could not be the one to unleash such a creature on innocent people in the name of a madman and his even crazier mage.

The raider grinned as he drew the whip back. Darin knew what was coming, so for the first time since his arrival to Tavark, he focused on his training.

"To endure such pain is an honor! To stand strong for others a privilege! I will not faint, I will not surrender!" Darin recalled his own oath made the day of his inauguration.

Crack!

The whip lashed across his chest and he grunted, but stood his ground, "No," he repeated his defiance.

The whip drew back and Darin let a small grin spread across his face. Darin stepped forward and raised a forearm just as the whip was thrown and grimaced painfully as it wrapped around his arm. Quickly, he grabbed the leather with his free hand and then jerked it free. The raider's loosened grip gave way not expecting the weakened paladin to make a move. He had been complacent before this. Darin charged the man and slammed hard into him, throwing him into the mage that had betrayed him. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the man's sword and with a tug, it was free.

Unfortunately, now was not the time to celebrate over such a small victory. His act had attracted the attention of the other men who had attended what seemed to be a taming. Darin's eyes shifted to the pillars as he quickly moved toward them. They were the only cover and chance he had at making it out of this slaughterhouse alive. He could hear their shouts as his feet pounded against the floor in desperation, the exit coming into view. Darin spun the blade in his hand before swinging to cut through the last man that seperated him from the 'freedom' outside those doors.

As he pushed through the doors and out into the streets, he swayed slightly. He had yet to recover enough to exert so much, but that was the point. Eimund had only needed him to heal the dragon. His feet carried him through the streets as he prayed that his 'bandage' would hold long enough for him to make it to safety and seek proper aid.