Land of Five

Laslo Windstride

I gazed up at the tiled roofs of the houses as I passed. Despite my beautiful and unique surroundings, I felt my mood beginning to deteriorate. It wasn't entirely my annoyance at loosing my collection of coins, though that was a contributing factor. There was a continuous screaming of gulls from the docks to my left, and I could feel a headache building from behind my temples. I also felt slightlly irritated at the endless stream of weaponry in Dralge. Everyone, man, woman, and child, all had some form of weapon hanging from some part of their person. It made me wonder if I had been the only one to have been pulled aside for the sole purpose of patting for arms. I watched two boys playing with fishing spears, and grimaced. I was less than fond of the metal monstrosities that came from constant war. I refused to even carry a dagger for protection. I often thought that this choice was to be my undoing. Only Dolcen knew...

The sudden thought brought me to a stop in the middle of the street, forcing the people behind me to hop to one side to avoid collision. I ignored their glares as they passed. I hadn't prayed to Dolcen for some time, a month at best. I had never been a fanatic, nor did I desire to be, but I always enjoyed some contact with the other side. Humans often thoughts Fynians and their religion to be radical. We believed that heaven and earth were the same, seperated by a door, the Divisi. The other side was the realm of Dolcen and her creatures, and the earth side was the realm of her servants, the Fynians.

I looked to the sky. Even in the bright early morning sun, the pale silhouette of the moon was still visible to the naked eye. Fynians believed the moon to be where Dolcen's unfaithful were sent. What worse punishment could there be than being exiled from your creator? There were many stories my mother had told me of entire tribes of unfaithful Fynians simply disappearing into thin air, without a trace. I wonder if they are there now?

"Come on, move, you're in my way!"

I jumped, and turned to see a tall old man pulling a cart behind him.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I muttered, inwardly judging the man for his rudeness, and stepping to the side to let him pass.

"It's nothing." The man said. His face was covered in sweat, and his breathing labored.

"Do you need help?" I asked, before I could stop myself. Great, another distraction. I wondered if I was doing it on purpose.

"Would you?" The old man said, setting down the handles of the cart, and straightening to his full height with a loud groan. A sickening pop came from his back.

Silently, I moved to the cart, and deftly lifted the handles. It was better suited to me, with my shorter stature. "Lead the way." I said.

The man clapped my shoulder with surprising force, and set off down the wooden street.

"You don't often find such generosity anymore, least of all from foreigners." He said as he walked, and peered down past his large grey beard at me, "A bard, eh?"

I nodded, too focused on pulling the heavy cart to respond. I was impressed that the man had gotten it as far as he had. He must be stronger than he looked.

"And what do they call you, Sir bard?" He asked, still tucking his chin into his breast to watch me. He was much taller than I.

"Laslo." I huffed, yelping as my tail got caught in one of the wheels.

"Are you alright?" The man asked, leaning down as I cradled my delicate tail.

"Yes." I said, eager for this task to be over, "You may continue."

The man grinned roguishly, and turned to resume his steady pace. "My name is Orel."

I gave a grunt of assent. Orel let out a small chuckle as he walked, "Not one for talking are you?"

I bit back my retort. It would do me no good to be rude. I'd talk once I'd finished.

"Just a bit further." Orel said, leading me into the merchant's square, and toward a large wagon. How convenient. The merchant's square was filled with wagons and stands, and people bustled about to look at the goods. A myriad different smells assailed my nose, making my mouth water, and reminding me that I hadn't eaten since dawn.

"And right here is good." Orel said, as we reached a long empty table covered in a white cloth outside the covered caravan.

I lowered the cart, and collapsed out of breath beside it. Orel chuckled again, and I watched as he began to uncover the cart's contents. It was filled with glass and metal wares varying from vases to ornate silver flowers. He delicately lifted each item, and inspected it for damage, before laying it on some predestined spot on the table. When he had finished, he turned back to me, and placed his hands on his hips.

"Now, Sir Laslo," He began, "have you eaten yet today?"

Slowly, I shook my head.

"Follow me then." He continued, and entered the wagon, reappearing and waving invitingly when I hesitated.

I entered, feeling nervous. It was incredibly cramped inside. There were cupboards everywhere, several hammocks hanging between, and even a round table at the back, with four chairs; one of which was occupied by a ginger haired man who waved cheerily. Orel was digging through all the cuboards at once, with a practice that was nothing short of impressive.

I continued to examine the inside of the wagon as Orel worked, engrossed by the disorder. There was a gap beneath one cupboard with the corner of a blanket peeking from it, and I knelt down, finding to my surprise that there was a girl sleeping within, her face obscured by long dark hair. Straightening, I found Orel giving me a suspicious look.

"Here." He said slowly, glancing at the gap, before handing me a loaf of bread, and a lump of cheese. Today was my lucky day. "Out here."

I followed him from the wagon, and felt his iron hand close around the back of my neck, rooting me to the spot.

"Who sent you?" He said, his voice suddenly full of anger.

 

I had walked all night. I was just outside Ceilien when I collapsed from exhaustion and the fever that had suddenly come over me. As I drifted out of consciousness I had strange dreams that were not really dreams but flashes of memory. In the dreams I saw my sweet, innocent brother's murder and I heard my father's voice you are a Brandt, Alexandrus and every man in this family will be a hunter. Us Brandt men are born hunters and we die as hunters." I dreamed I was drowning and I couldn't breathe, I woke up gasping for air. My whole body ached and I couldn't pull myself up from the dirt where I lay. I closed my eyes and for a second I wanted to laugh. I was dying from an illness caused by an infected wound in my shoulder and yet most of the hunters in my family had died by violence. I almost felt like I was letting them down.

 

"No, really hart, i can't", Randy said bashfully.

"Really, take it, i don't go na were anyways" Hart said gesturing to a horse. it wasn't much, but it was more than well enough to get him to the treaty signing.

randy sighed, knowing the horse would be a great conveinience for him," somehow i'll pay ya back hart, i don't know what i'd do with'at ya".

""Randy, you've helped me out with a lot of tough jams, hell, ya might have kept me in buisness? not to mention you always keep the place copasetic."

"well that guy had it coming", he said riding off.

"till next time", Hart said waving".

Randy spoke abouve a light chuckle," untill next time Hart".

Randy drove throguh Terillo.He had never really left, not too far anyways. it was his home and it always would be. he stopped the horse once he got to the gate. he had to say good bye to tel.

"Randy!", she yelled esticaly.

"Hi tel", he said happily to his friend.

"Shipping out 'eh", she said solemnly, looking at the ground.

"Yeah Tel, thought it'd be nice to see the treaty that makes my parents deaths in vein", Randy siad cynically.

"oh..uhh..", Tell mumbled," well, I really wish you wouldn't leave, you belong here..with the tavern, the woods you love so much, with ....".

"Tel, il be back", Randy said getting off his horse. he walked to her and hugged her and whispered in her ear", ...I promise"

They huged for about ten seconds, but Randy broke the embrace," Tel, I will see you again".

"Don't ya go and brak'een that promise St.john, and whatever you see, who ever you meet...remember, you belong here with us", "Tel said as Randy got on his horse and rode off over the horizen.

 

Alliace Rottenthorn
_______________________________


I woke with a start as i usually did. not quite dawn but not night either, i was awake and alert before i opened my eyes.

time to get this day started.

it was always simpler to pack up your bedding when you had none, so once i had stretched out my cold muscles and recovered my knife from a crack in a nearby wall, i brushed the dirt off my grubby clothing stretched my back once and set my way towards the bakery.
The Lower tier bakeries which lay at the far end of this already busy street were really better quality then these people paid for, the baker once worked for a nobleman but had since fallen on hard times with the murder of his lord. But with the influx of people coming and going from the busy port town with regard to the signing, his business was taking a turn for the better.

walking past his stall a small roll happened to fall into my pocket, and a larger loaf of bread fell off the table as i walked past. i decided that it was no longer worth selling so i continued on my way with my breakfast.

The dock yards were that of any industry port, three long board walks stretched out into the harbour each lined with a dozen ships or more being loaded or unloaded by men, on the shore, piles of goods ranged from grain sacks and wine barrels to caged animals and mineral ores. it was here i spent most of my days exploring and taking small trinkets and belt purses.

today was going to be a good day.

 

Kilas Ashenas

I watched the young assassin walk through the polished oak doors into the morning sun, her hair glistening like quicksilver in the sun before being covered by her hood. Her silhouette disappearing into the growing crowds. Forgot to ask her about the hair, I think with a chuckle.

“Farewell, Jaedis Averian. Al'has shiari malanas.” I say aloud to myself. My Old Far'el sounding quite poor after years of neglect. The Refugee Level has not cared much for culture these days.

I blinked as I stepped out of the inn and into the sun. My ears filling with clomping of hundreds of pairs of feet colliding rhythmically with the marble floor. I take my first steps into the light, breathing in the fresh air, catching the scent of fresh baked goods from the bakeries and the scented perfumes that the wealthy sometimes doused themselves with before embarking for the day. It felt safe here, for now at least.

I began a walk I had done for years, just at a different point. I can't remember when I started, but it was always the same. My feet carrying me along on their own as my mind could drift about. I had always rushed through the bottom level of Andant, eager to separate myself from my dismal surroundings. With every other step, I could feel my body's disapproval, the aches and sores a constant dull roar.

I walked along the balcony edge, the warm sun blanketing my skin. I could look out to the horizon, seeing the farmer's tilling the soil and monitoring the herds. The great horned beasts shaking off their morning sleepiness in the dew covered grasslands. I chuckled a bit as one of the farmhands was swatted like a fly by an idle swipe of the animal's tail.

I walked for almost half an hour, my steps taking me past the clustered shops of white stone. I stopped for a rest along the gateway of a grand cathedral. The Temple of Old Stone was relativity new when compared to the ancient city. It walls still gleaming in the golden light and the carved effigies not yet worn with time. Scenes of Azrahael freeing the Old Ones from the stone still radiating a sense of greatness.

I could see the Scions praying softly in the courtyards. Their robes seeming to radiate of their skin. The silvery-gray of the thread almost meshing into the rock, the only discerning feature the gold circlets representing their office. Walking along the edge of the gates, I saw a rather older Scion talking to a group of children. His wizened features emulating an aura of kindness, a warm smile heightening it. I could only pick off a few of his words to the children, but I knew the story well.

The Birth of Andant. I could almost hear my mother's words. I was so young then, but her words are etched into my mind. An eager child waiting for his bedtime story.

It began during the Era of Darkness. A time where man was wicked and evil, and constant war covered the land. Our ancestors grew weary though, for the wars on the plainslands were cruel and bloody. Gathering their people, they traveled far, to find a place where peace could be found. The traveled for many miles before coming upon the Elros Mountains. So vast and were they to the rest of Farisce that travelers were known to stop and gape with awe.

I remember chuckling at this as a boy. I had known my Andant my whole life, it was silly to me that someone could be so impressed by my home. I had yet to leave the city, yet to see how strange my home was from the rolling plains that that dominated the rest of the country. I felt such a pride then.

When they reached the immense stone, they were humbled by the stability of the rocks. Unchanging and unyielding as the world descended into chaos. So they dug into the rock, looking for an escape from a terrible world. Deeper and deeper they went, gaining a sense of understanding and enlightenment not seen anywhere else. They had finally found a sense of peace. A peace that shattered the day they found the....

“Ah, well if it isn't the young Ashenas.” interupted a kindhearted voice not far from me. I woke from my memories, turning my head to the aging Scion before me. The children had begun to disperse, laughter filling the air around the temple.

“To what to owe this honor, Thelovis?” lazily waving my hand in mock reverence.

“A shepherd looks after all his flock, Kilas.” he says with a smile. “Your father asked me to check up on you next time I could.”

“I'm not a child.” I say with a sneer.

“That your not.” he says with a nod. “But Shila can hardly stop being your father, aye?”

“Just stay out of it old man.” I snap. I could visibly see his shoulders sag at the remark.

“Alright then, m'boy.” he sighs. “Allhas halana.”

I ignore him and walk off with a scowl. Feeling bitter memories bringing about a rather sour mood. I don't bother waving goodbye to the elderly Scion. I can see his frown on the edge of my perception, adding further wrinkles to his face. Thelovis was never one to simply let things go. It just wasn't in his nature. Damn the old priest's meddling.

The sun's light was now wasted on me, I no longer wishing to be outside. I make my way back, to the grand stairway. The soreness caused from each step doing wonders for my mood. I could only groan as I looked upon the stairway, swearing at every cursed step. Slowly I made my way back to the life I have chosen. Back to the disapproval and disappointment. I need a drink.

I avoided the main streets, instead opting to take the side streets and back alleys. I was hoping to avoid any confrontation in my current state. After what seemed an eternity, I finally could see a familiar down-trodden pub. Whose stone was weary and covered with simple wood-works where it had finally given way. I push my way through the doors, taking in the pitiful aroma of the room. The Popper's Purse never changes. Rogues and drunkards abound cluttered around the shoddy tables and chairs. Off at a booth in the corner a rather inebriated man expels his last meal before returning to his drink.

I figured that Silas wouldn't figure that I would be stupid enough to return to the bar. For now I guess, I was right. Seeing no sign of the fat butcher or his brood. I plop myself at the bar counter, giving a slight whistle to summon the bartender.

Frahcias brought himself in from the kitchens,the smell of bland breads and ill-gotton meats flooding the room. He was hobbling slightly with his cane as he approached. A veteran from the great war, Frahcias used the coin he received for his service to open this bar not five years ago. Which was lucky for him. He was injured during one of the dead-lands sieges against the Argebar shamans, their foul magicks crippling his left leg. The battle was eventually won, but his days within the legions were over. That itself turned out to blessing within a curse, as his entire legion was later annihilated during the final days of the war.

He wasn't completely helpless mind you. Years of a the warrior's life doesn't just magic away. He was a capable bouncer, easily dispatching of any drunks who got too handsy with the bar-maidens. His years as the field-cook helped some too, army rations always preferable to the slop the other innkeepers would scam us with.

H walked up to my spot without taking any particular glances at me. Figuring me for just another unfortunate patron. His steely green eyes surveying over the other patrons. He asked what poison I would prefer. I whistle again,gaining his eye. I don't know what exactly I expected, but he barely even gave me a glance before gazing out over his tavern.

“I see you ain't dead yet, Ashenas.” he says with a rather unsettling tone.

“Close enough. No thanks to you.”

He gives me one of his cold stares. Even after all this time, it still difficult to match it, but I do my best.

“Don't go blaming me for your poor decisions. They merely asked what room a 'bastard named Kilas Ashenas' was staying in. I simply answered a question.”

“And you never thought they were planning on beating me senseless?” I retort.

“You never said anything. Should I just expect all your visitors are hostile from now on?”

Piss and Ash. He had a point. I never really mentioned it to the old innkeep, not in the mood for another lecture about my foolish gambling habits. I let out a rather obnoxious sigh before slamming my head against the table, finally just giving in to life's bull****. A muscled hand pushes a rather large mug of bubbling liquids near my face, a small bag of cigarettes with them. I look up to see Frahcias giving off one of his rare smiles.

“For your troubles.” he says. And walks off without another word.

And just like that my troubles are over.

Several pints of alcohol later...

“And itsh...itsh the most beautiful thing. An oak shtock with....with glistening steel mechanishms and a silvery finnish. An...And on the side is the most beautiful name in tha world!” I drunkenly rabble. To myself.

“But he...but dad...he won't...he won't give it to me. I'm of age...I'm *hiccup* strong enough to pull the cords back to load it. It's the only thing I have that reminds me....”

I drain the last of my mug and stumble my way through the bar, pushing my way past the last of the patrons and stumbling at every bump. I think that Frahcias is giving me a look, but my mind is too dulled to notice. My face crashes into the door as I walk head on into its badly painted frame. I stumble a few steps back, more confused than hurt. A kind of rage only a drunk can gain overcomes me as I kick the door, holding back a scream as I remember the bruising on my leg.

I eventually remember how a door works and make my way outside, a cool mountain breeze brushing against my face. Stone-mice scurry at my feet, their razer-sharp claws skittering against the ground. I felt angry, I felt sad, I felt bitter. And I knew the cause of it all.

It was a path well-trodden. I walked a mindless stumble, completely detached as my body took me. I walked up the stairways and more, past the places I've become so familiar too, no more like used to. I stepped across the merchant quarter, past the gleaming homes. The sun had begun to set low by now, a glowering angry red dot on the horizon's edge.

My feet brought me to a small house along the massive balconies. It was simple in itself, with a small gate and garden that led to the door. A small beacon stood at the gate entrance, wisps of light swimming within the glass. Memories rushed through my skull, summers of laughing and running, winters huddled under a quilt, listening to tales of the old heroes and forgotten lands. This was not the first time I have returned. I'm always drawn back here. Back to what's rightfully mine.

I walk through the stone path up to the bright blue door. I lay my hand over the brass handle and knock four times. The door opens, it's hinges properly oiled and maintained. And old man stands before me. Silver-plates lined with intricate patterns were laced over a tabard of scarlet. A helmet hung at his side, shimmering even in the dim lighting. A gauntleted hand reaches out. I don't return it.

“Kilas.”

“Guard-Captain.”

We walk into the home, everything so carefully cleaned and dusted. As if it stood frozen in time. It was a home that was sparsely furnished but lovingly cared for. In but a moment we were in the parlor, him in his chair and I on the couch. His armor clanked as he sat. I won't let him start.

“I'm here for it.”

He stares at me with seeming apathy. His frame an imposing figure.

“I know.”

How dare he stand so righteous. How dare he think himself on the high-ground.I could feel a vein stinking out of my forehead. The alcohol flowing through my veins acting as a fuel for my anger.

“Enough!” I scream at the unflinching man.

“Like the seasons I've come back here time and time again. The tradition has always that once I'm of age and can nock the strings, the crossbow would be mine. It is my birthright as heir to House Allana. That was mother's family, not yours. You have no right to deprive me!” I could feel the blood pumping in my face, picturing myself to be as red as the moon.

A man that was my mirror image just stood there. Any could tell the resemblance between us. The hair, the eyes, the expressions, I was almost a reflection of him. Almost. For anybody who decided to look hard enough could see the face of my mother. A face of pale complexion and intricacy that spoke of an air of arrogance. It was a face of wealth.

“I can't do that.” said the Guard-Captain.

There was a loud thump as I slammed my hand against the wall. Veins popping on the arms surface. The stone though, was unyielding. A trickle of blood dripped down my hands.

My father hadn't seemed to notice.

“Your too narrow. You don't see the bigger picture. I can't let you have it yet. You aren't ready.” he said in an annoyingly monotone voice.

I stood up.

“ To ash with your wishes, old man. I'm taking i-” I managed to stammer before metal crashed against my face.

My father had moved at speed that shouldn't of been possible at his age, his fist upon me like a meteor. I hit the ground hard, rolling slightly before stopping on my back. Blood was trickling down my chin.

“You aren't ready, my son. And as long as you remain as you are you never will be.”

He turned from me, his face becoming sullen.

“You've changed so much the past few years. You've given up so much, trying to push away all that you once had. Think of what you chosen to abandon. Think of your mother.”

Like an act of the divine I rose from the floor with a leap, screaming with all my might.

“Don't you dare! Don't you ever mention her like that. Your the reason she's gone! You and your damn pride!”

My words struck with a fury weapon-smith's could only dream of. I could see the weight of his armor finally way in at his shoulders, his eyes went cold and despairing. His resolve was breaking. He looks at me with as much energy as he could still muster.

“Everyday my mind goes over what I could of done those years ago. Everyday I remember the smiles and love I'll never know again. I loved your mother, so so much. Your so much like her. Her passions and energy flows in you so strongly.”

He paused a moment before looking at me. A fire I had never seen before blazing in his eyes. He spoke simply.

“I love you, my son. But if you every accuse me of pride again. Accuse me of not wanting to give up anything to stop that night... I'll remind you of my pain.”

That was all he said before walking out. With nary a goodbye. I practically fell on the chair, his words holding a weight over me. With as much effort as I could produce I lifted myself up and to the door. The crisp night air helped clear my mind, the last of my drunkenness burned away in my rage. I was so lost right now.

I took a cigarette from my pouch, swiftly making an ember in my hands. The smoke laced my breath as poison does. With another drag I let go of myself and let my legs carry me. Without knowing I head south, a spire was growing on the horizon with every step.

 

Laslo Windstride

I stared into the old man's steely grey eyes. They had lost all of their warmth, and now stared blankly out at me.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said calmly, wincing as his grip tightened on the scruff of my neck.

Orel leaned in close, and glared into my eyes. From a distance, it just looked as though we were speaking privately.

"If I think that you are from Euphel..." Orel said in a low voice.

"You'd be wrong." I said, still with the same calmness. I sensed that I was in a very dangerous situation, even with Orel's old age. "I'm from the Dargadel."

Orel peered intently into my eyes for several tense seconds, then seemed to conclude something at the sight, because he released me, and unruffled my cloak.

"Walk with me." He said. It was not a question.

I followed him into an alley void of people, as the ginger haired man emerged from the wagon to guard the table. When we were alone, Orel let out a great sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I apologize Laslo." He said, pacing between the walls of the houses like a great caged beast.

I shrugged. What could I say? I took a bite of my bread and cheese, which I'd managed to maintain a grip on. After a while, Orel stopped pacing, and stepped to my side.

"Tell me," He said, "Have you heard of an Oculis?"

He stared expectantly at me, but I merely raised an eyebrow and shook my head. It was true, I'd never heard the name before. Who or what could he be talking about?

"Why did you grab me?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of my caution.

"I feared you were after Rauo." Orel said, looking fierce once more. I merely shook my head again. Who was Rauo? Orel sighed, and sat down on the dampened wooden planks, and leaned his back against the wall behind him. I joined him, and he held out his hands in front of himself, opening and closing his fingers.

"Two years ago," He began softly, pausing for a moment to check that we were truly alone. I heard him mutter something inaudible, before continuing, "Two years ago, I was walking through the Meritten forest that acts as the border between Ceilien and Argebar." -I nodded. I'd passed through there not three nights ago.- "I found a girl-, well you've seen her. She was naked and covered in blood. She had fled from an army camped outside of Argebar. She had fallen, and pierced her left eye on a dagger that she was carrying." I shuddered, and Orel nodded sadly. "Of course, I couldn't just leave her there. She had fled for a reason, though she's never told me, but I can probably guess... I was not willing to have her go back to that place. Not willing to see her die as the hundreds before her had."

"Why was she in the army at all?" I interjected, "An army is no place for a girl."

"No indeed." Orel said, his voice filled with anger, "But those bastards care not for her safety. Only for their own advantages."

"You still haven't told me why she was there." I interuppted, and Orel waved an impatient hand.

"She's an Oculis." He said.

"I still don-"

"An Oculis is someone born with the power to see a person's aura. To see a person's intentions, and to see the very core of nature. They are said to have been kissed by the gods upon birth, and that is was makes their eyes purple." I gave a grunt of surprise. I had seen a person with purple eyes before, in the Dargadel. I remained silent though, as Orel continued. "Oculis are priceless to militia. When they hear of the birth of one, they steal into their home, and take the child, killing any who resist. The child is then raised to be obedient. They are trained to find certain people in a crowd. They are sent with assassins to take out leaders and nobles."

And they just follow?" I asked.

"They don't have a choice." Orel replied in an empty voice, "They are tortured into obeying their "masters", and are only spared from pain when they do so. They are viewed only as tools, and are treated as such, thrown into the thick of combat without even a stick for protection."

I sat in silence, trying to contemplate a life of constant murder and torture. The thought was unbearable.

"How do you know all this?" I asked in a whisper. I saw a streak of silver fall from the old man's eyes.

"We all have our pasts." He said, coughing, and slowly lifting himself back onto his feet, "I have sworn that Rauo shall never be forced to do any of those things again."

"I understand." I said, rising to my feet as well. I now knew why Orel had looked so angry when I had peered at the girl. I would have done the same thing.

Orel inclined his head, then began making his way back into the merchant's square. I followed at a quick pace to keep up. Orel didn't speak another word to me, but merely sat in a chair behind the cloth covered table, and began to flourish the goods to the passersby, a large fake smile stamped upon his face.

"Hello newcomer, here to join our troupe?" Asked a voice to my right, and I turned to see the ginger haired man grinning at me.

"No no, I'm just passing through." I said, not knowing why, but suddenly at a loss for words. I couldn't get the image of the sleeping dark haired girl from my mind, and what had happened to her. The man made a move to walk away, but I held out a hand for him to wait, "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a ship to Ca'bilè, would you?" I asked. I saw Orel glance at me from the corner of his eye.

"To Ca'bilè?" The man repeated, scratching his chin, "You'll want to head to the docks for that. There are many sailors there, perhaps you might ask one of them?"

I nodded, and muttered a quick "thank you" before falling completely silent. I saw the girl, who had just emerged from the wagon with a tall thin man. The girl was in one word, small. She had long grey hair that fell down to her dainty waist. I bit my lip, as I saw a white bandage wrapping around the left side of her head over her hair. She turned to wave at the ginger man, who waved back, and I could see her face. The eye that wasn't covered with the bandage was large, wide, and purple, with long eyelashes. Even while waving, and with a smile upon her small lips, she looked sad, almost defeated. I felt as though I were staring at a different version of myself.

I turned and gaped at Orel, who met my gaze, and nodded. I turned around quickly, desperate to see the girl again, but she had disappeared, along with the other man.

 

Alexandrus Brandt

When I finally gained enough strength to climb to my feet I felt truly sick.

Not just physically sick but a deep kind of mental and emotional exhaustion. As I walked slowly through the city I couldn't stop remembering my

brother's murder. It was so stupid, so meaningless that my sweet Estienne had had to

die so senselessly. He'd been 16 at the time and I was 18. We'd been out hunting in the

forests of Euphel. We hadn't had much luck and we were heading back to Ceilen laughing and joking about how we had a thankless job. On the

way back we were accosted by a small pack of robbers. My brother who never seemed

to know when was a good time to stop joking had laughed and mocked the robbers. Even as the

robbers stabbed him over and over even as I screamed and begged them to spare my brother to take me instead, the smile never quite left my brother's face.

"Sorry, little brother" I stopped walking as if expecting someone to answer back. I knew no one would. My brother was dead. I kept walking, every face I saw looked like my Estienne's

 

Jaedis Averian

I stand masked by the shadows, taking careful time to observe every inch of the building before me. The Spire of the Second is no paltry edifice. It seems to radiate an oppressive power from its very being. Members of the Faceless Legion make their way around the perimeter, ever wary of possible intruders. As far as one can tell, there is only a single door into the tower and it is guarded by six of the Legion – stoic and unmoving. Some say they are immortal.

There is another way in, I remember the nervous man saying, his face shrouded in shadow. It is masked by magic and protected by wards. However, this stone will allow you to pass through unhindered.

I smirk in satisfaction, holding up the odd trinket I was given. It is covered in small runes and symbols and seems to radiate a soft blue glow. With this, getting in should be no trouble at all. Looking back at the Spire, I begin to make my way stealthily towards the location of the hidden entrance and ponder my assignment.

Killing a Scion, eh?
Seems an odd target, but I’m not one to question the motives of my employers. He must’ve done something to require a contract with this much money and risk involved.

Avoiding the notice of the Faceless Legion is really no large feat for someone with my level of training. They follow a very specific set of patterns, changing ever so often but eventually going through the same ones again. The opening I am waiting for finally comes and I start to sprint for the shadows of the Spire itself when some movement catches my eye. Turning my head to get a clearer view, my jaw almost drops.

What the hell is Kilas doing here? He continues walking distractedly, clearly not paying attention to where he’s going. The Legion is about to come around again any minute now. He could ruin everything if they see him! For all I know, they might even kill him on sight. Making a snap decision, I veer off and try to get to him in time. I reach him just as the shine on their armor becomes visible, tackling him into the shadows and quickly shoving my hand over his mouth.

At first Kilas is alarmed and it takes all I have to keep him still and silent before he finally recognizes me.

“I’m here on business. Get me discovered and you become my business as well,” I whisper coldly.

 

Alliance Rottenthorn
_________________

the docks were my favourite place to be. The sound of gulls mixed in with the far off shouts of men, The ocean lapping at the dock piers and boat hulls played in my personal felling of home.

i sat on a large boulder out the front of a warehouse eating my breakfast and watching the world pass me by. There is a real peace in knowing no responsibility, no schedules and above all, no one.
i would listen to the chatter of crowds and work men, picking up gossip and news, but as i had no one to tell i was content in simply knowing.
A white gull landed at my feet, and with a caw it cocked its head sideways and stared at my food. absentmindedly i broke of a small piece of that i had left and tossed it to the bird. the bread never touched the ground as the bird caught it before flying off in the wake of a bakers cart.

over the past month, Dralge had become a major port for travellers headed to Ca'bilè for the signing. Bringing with it many potential targets. the small thieve gangs had started to feud over territory with the dock and connecting roads becoming rivers of gold to the quick of hand and light of foot.
I never saw the appeal of thieve guilds and gangs, sleeping in a sewer or shack with thirty other rather than on a roof or the street by myself. i had no need to give a portion of my takings, i never took more than i needed anyway - i had no where to put things i couldn't carry.

the port was home to many strange folk. ruffians and pirates from my past were not welcome at the civilised ports, that that it stopped them. Dwarves and elves were easy to spot as they rarely travelled alone. magic guilds members noted for their bald heads and rich purple robes were also rarely seen alone, or at all near the docks.
But as i sat on my boulder i noticed a man who was very nondescript, aged and stooped over from either pain or exhaustion i did not notice him for his clothing or any other defining feature...

other than his tail!

intrigued to see if it was real, or if the man was actually a man at all i waited for him to walk past on his way to the docks before i slipped off my boulder and followed him, removing myself from his line of sight with grain cart heading in the same direction.

 

Randy Kimberly St. John

With the horse, arrow hart had named it, Randy was able to make fantastic time, he turned a 5 day walk into a one and a half day ride. Though he was reluctant to accept the horse, he knew it was a great conveinience.

He felt very unconfortable in cielein, he also hated all other places that arnt argebar, but the warm climate was nice, especially when he was faced with harsh cold in his home town...he hated the cold, so so much. Dralge, sure it wasn't bad this time of year, but it still wasnt terillo. as he neared the bridge , the primary passage into the city, he entertained a thought. he couldn't really use his last name, though it had been years, the news of an officers betrayel to his own army would have gained a lot of publicity. he would have to use a fake surname, to avoid attention to himself long enough to get to the ports. he had to make his way to ca'bile in order to get to the signing.

he crossed the eerily suspended bridge , walking beside his horse. he kept his head down and barley made any notion to passer-byers. he was able to slip past the guards, even with his lagre recurve bow on his back.

as he trudged through the city, he thought about that fynian, he would'nt get here for about three days, not that it was a race or anything...thanks to hart.He was walking past a salloon when a guard stopped him.

"aye, you ain't from 'round her are ya", he spoke.

"No, i'm from argebar, I'm on my way to witness the singning", Randy spoke articulately, worried he might be picked or for just being from one of the other nations...especially argebar.

"ah, Argebar aye, So how about your weapon", the guard said with a gesture that said give 'em to me.

Randy let a small smile out," which one", he spoke quietly.

"huh..you..let me see all of da weap'uns yer carri'in", the guard said, started to lose his patience.

Randy removed the recurve bow from his back, along with its quiver, the pulled back his cloak to reveal a sword. it had a galiant, glowing handle, amde of gold. the sheath was hard leather embroided with silver . the sword itself was an old family eirlume, one of the soldiers that came back from the war of five knew his father and gave it back to the rightful owner, who was now randy.

"that's a nice lookin' sword boy, pray tell did you come to obtain a blade like this 'er, did you perhaps steal it", the guard accused randy.

"what, no, its an eirloom, i got it when my father died", Randy explained.

"your father aye, and who was that?", the guard tested his story.

"richard st....richard kaplan", Randy said, covering his sur name.

"well...i guess you can get out of here, but stay out of the shops, if i cacth you stealing thats a 80 scale fine", the guard warned.

"Scale", Randy asked questionlingly.

"Currency, thats what we take here, infact, you otta get any non-ceilien currency exchanged", the guard said,"' theres a currency exchange just up the way".
"allright, then ill be off", Randy said, trying to put distance between himself anf the guard. he walked up the way, looking for the currency exchange within the lattice work of shops , carts and stands, not to mention the populace.he was longing for Terillo already.

 

Alexandrus Brandt

I walked quietly ignoring the stares I received from the random people walking by. I knew I must have been a sight.

My long hair was a tangled mess and clung to my forehead. My clothes were torn and dirty and stained with blood and my face was scratched and bruised.

My body ached and my shoulder burned. I thought back on my first hunt. My father had insisted I learn to hunt because "It was in my blood" as he had always told me. I remembered my first kill hadn't been my own kill. There had been a deer in the clearing, it had been perfectly innocent and it had been completely unsuspecting as my father fired his first arrow into it.

I had been 9 at the time and had cried and begged my father not to kill it. My father had hit me and told me
that I was weak and I was disgracing my family name and if I kept crying he would give me something to cry about.

As I was walking I bumped into someone, my injured shoulder colliding with his much larger one. "Watch it, kid" the large man growled angrily and shoved me roughly. I felt the anger starting to bubble in my chest. I really didn't like being pushed but I forced it down. "Sorry." I mumbled.

"No problem, you alright?" the man asked taking in my worn appearance. "I'm fine" I looked up at the man and froze as I recognized him instantly. The horror of my brother's death replayed in my mind. It was one of the robbers who had murdered my Estienne. "Can I ask you something?" I whispered to the older man looking him straight in his eye. "What?" the man had shockingly friendly eyes for a murderer. "Do I look like him?" I whispered reaching in my pack and closing my hand over my dagger. "What?" the man was clearly confused. Too confused to fight back as I pulled out my dagger from my pack and stabbed him hundreds of times. When I was done, his body was a mass of blood and his face was unrecognizable. I wiped my dagger on my already bloody tunic which was now dyed red with his blood, his blood was all over my clothes, on my hands, on my face. I smiled. I felt much better now.

 

Laslo Windstride

I walked to where Orel sat, but he spoke before I could say a word.

"She'll be back, she's merely doing a quick job." He turned to look at me, then added, "You're welcome to wait here if you wish."

"N-no." I said, feeling oddly embarrassed, "I'll go look around the town a bit. By the way, do you know how much these are worth?"

I pulled out the three coins to show him. He gave a bark of laughter.

"Laslo, those couldn't buy you one loaf! Whoever you got them from peddled you."

I inwardly cursed, and was even tempted to cast the coins aside then and there. Orel smiled sympathetically at me.

"Go explore the town a bit, then head back here. I'm sure I could find you a number of jobs that need doing."

"I can't afford to waste my time here." I said, ignoring the rudeness of my words. I didn't want his pity. "I have to get to Cabile."

Orel waved a hand, "I understand, although it's a shame. I feel Rauo would have liked you."

Frowning, I left Orel to head to the docks. Ask there, the ginger man had said. I hadn't seen him when I'd left, perhaps he'd gone back into the wagon. I felt my temper rising with each step, and quickly played a simple melody on my lute to calm myself. Nothing but music could make me forget my worries. I had tried alcohol, and couldn't stomach the foul drink. Mead was the worst. I had been given a chaser of the brew while staying in an inn, and had been sick for five days.

I closed my eyes, as I became lost in my music. Barely looking where I was going, I followed the shrieks of gulls to where I'd seen the docks at a distance. Twice I nearly lost my footing, and had to pause from my playing to regain my balance. At each stop, my sour mood returned with a vengeance. Sometimes I wished I were a more aggressive person; I could have gotten my coins back.

I stopped walking as I emerged from the tangle of houses onto the docks. Sweaty shirtless men, hooded villains, and the smell of rotten disgusting fish predominated the wooden walkways The burly tattooed men carried crates on and off of large ships, as thinner more wealthy looking men checked lists as the shipments passed. I stared at the forest of masts and sails, seeking a likely looking ship. I didn't like the looks of any of these men, they all seemed the kind to stab one in the back while turned.

I scanned the less occupied docks to my left then, which seemed to be filled more with local fishers than merchants and thieves. Squinting to see past the cloud of gulls, I watched the bearded men weaving their nets, and carrying loads of foul fish from their vessels. I saw a flash of grey hair, a glimpse of a dress, something that didn't belong there. I took a couple steps foward, and peered curiously at the girl from earlier. She was still accompanied by the tall black haired man, and they were heading for the furthest dock, away from the busy and tired fishermen. I remained still and watching, as the two stopped. I looked past them at a small craft tied to the end of the dock. Perhaps they were heading out to fish themselves? The old man hadn't mentioned owning a boat to me.

I did a double take, and my jaw dropped in shock. The black haired man was now holding the struggling girl off the dock, and over the water. I quickly directed my gaze to the fishermen nearby, but they were too absorbed in their own work to notice anything amiss. I took a step toward the dock, then regained it chewing my lip. There was nothing I could do, I told myself. It would be better to simply tell the old man, and have him sort it out. Feeling like a coward, I ran back along the path I'd come. The girl was in trouble, I should be helping not fleeing, but I knew I wouldn't have made any difference; or was I just making excuses? I felt a low growl of frustration building in the back of my throat, as I redoubled my pace. I burst out into the crowded square, and hurried to Orel's table. He was nowhere to be seen. I hurried to the wagon, and threw open the door. Empty. I cursed again and again, shuffling indecisively back and forth in the direction of the docks. Finally, something clicked into place, and I ran as I had never done before.

 

Alliace Rottenthorn

The man with the tail poking out under his long cloak was a minor interest, and from what i could tell had some very serious business. I watch as he became very distressed before running faster than i would have given him credit for, And faster than i could be bothered to match. Yet as no one paid any heed to a man running along the docks, i decided that it was time to do a little gambling.

I bumped into a middle-aged man walking towards the docks as i moved to leave the area. As fast as i could apologise i slipped my knife back into my belt and his belt-purse up my shirt and under my armpit. i covered this motion with the appearance of scratching my chest, then quickly had an urge to scratch the very real lice in my hair.
with some coin assured i turned in search of the 'bubbling broth' a minor inn with bad drink and worse company.

The bubbling broth was as close to a pirate tavern as one would see on these docks. Dirty old three story building. the original grey stone had turned near black from chimney smoke and dock dust. The inside was furnished with wood that had also turned black like a wheelwrights work bench. one long service bar cut across the room far to my left, and the rest of this room was filled with long tables and equally long benches.

i waked towards the bartender and asked "Be any lords lookin' to make em' a crown o' two?"

looking up from whatever he sorted under the bench he saw me and stood, probably so he could look down at me. "ain't ye a little short t' be cheatin' at cards?"

"I just be looking for an honest game afore m' boat cast off."

"second room second floor" he replied, pointing up for emphasis.

As i walked up the stairs i looked into my newly acquired leather pouch to see what sort of game i would be playing. a single gold piece, half a dozen pieces of silver and as many copper. There was also a small piece of parchment sealed with wax, breaking the seal as i reached the top of the stairs and stopped before opening it. a pungent smell broke from the parchment, which was lined with wax on the inside as well. a small amount of dried greenery was held within, and from the smell my guess was Topoca weed. equal in value to the rest of the coin purse.

i entered the room slowly and looked around at the faces playing cards. the room was not large, but 3 tables held perhaps two dozen men. some men looked around, but most continued to play their games and drink their brew. another smaller service bar was in once corner.

a single man caught my attention in the far corner of the room. well dressed and smoking the better of the cigars he looked up at me as i entered the room.
His face turned instantly from the sympathetic joy of winning, to pure, disgusting hate.
"SCURVY RUTTING CHEATER!!!" he bellowed and pointed at me. He stood in an instant, bumping the table and causing commotion from the others as they grappled for their mugs. all eyes turned to him, then those same eyes follow his to the now empty doorway.

i turned on my heel and hopped down the stairs as fast as i dare as the sounds of military boots followed.
the shout of "SON OF A WHORING BILGE RAT!" followed me off the stairs as i jumped the final few and sprinted out the door of the inn.

my would be attacker was hot on my tail. he had given up shouting instead it put all his effort in running me down. the thief in me urged me to keep running, but my pirate heritage made me do something far more stupid. i turned down a tiny back alley where the three story buildings dominated the sunlight, and two large men would not have been able to walk side by side.

i slowed to a jog, then turned and stopped as Lord Rue ran into the alley with his sword drawn.
he slowed his run to a walk and advanced on me, point first.

"you owe me money, peasant filth" he said, then spat towards me. the gap between us was not so close that i bother flinching.

"My lord, I but played ye game and i got the better of ye. ye can't be killing a boy over the account of ye tricks ain't workin'.

this was at least true. we played a simple game of poker, and when i noticed him keeping cards from previous hands i had beat him at his own game and taken at tidy profit.

"you filthy piece of peasant filth!" he said through gritted teeth as he advanced on me.

"ye trousers are gettn' mud on em" i pointed out.

he took the bait and looked down if only for an instant. I took the two steps necessary to get my shoulder past the point of his sword with my own knife drawn. he took a step back to recover his position and drew his sword hilt to his waist in order to keep it at my chest. i knocked it out of the way with my wrist and before he could recover i had my curved knife at his throat. i was shorter than he so my arm was angled upwards.

"gimme ye belt purse" i said in a level voice.
without moving his head he undid the knot that held it in place and placed it in my out stretched hand.

"dont be making a motion" was all i said as i backed away a half step. I swapped by blade to my left hand smashed the hilt of my knife into his wrist that still held a sword. He reflexively dropped it and brought his hand to his chest. i punched him across my body into his right shoulder and as he rolled with the blow i cut his left shoulder, not too deep. his fine shirt quickly stuck to him with blood as he yelled in pain.

"my blessing on ya." i said as the man - Lord - as stared at me "ye play a thug at the wrong end a' town an' ye will wind up dead."

"i will hunt you down and..."

"with all your fancy new scars the women will not be able to help themselves." As i said this, i flicked my knife at him again, catching the tip of it across the collar bone. he swore at me colourfully. i doubt this man had ever needed to protect himself before.
"my blessing" i finished and punched him full in the face hopefully knocking him out.

It had been a thing my father taught me. that noble vain folk always want the excitement and danger, but never the consequence.
I mildly hoped that Lord Rue would actually get attention from his vicious robbery. but either way, this incident proved that it was time i picked my self a different port to try my hand.

 

Kilas Ashenas

I walked for what felt like an eternity. My mind was dulled to the world, only knowing the immediate perceptions. The chillness of the night breeze, the soreness of my steps, and the ember on my cigarette, these were all I knew. All I was. I ascended step after step, rising from the den of merchants to the levels above. I walked on paths only I knew, paths abandoned and forgotten, known only to a boy who had played adventurer all those years ago. Eager to come home to a mother's love.

Through decaying homes and broken sanctuaries I tread, smiling as I immersed myself in familiar memories. Running with boyhood friends, challenging ourselves to childish feats of bravery. Laughing all the time, smiles cemented on their faces. Things were so beautifully simple back then.

I shuddered and fell against a pillar, watching my last meal escape from my insides. I stood there for a few uncomfortable moments, my body heaving away until it felt my insides would give way.
When I finished I wiped away the bile and spittle from my chin, flicking it off my hand. Desiring something to wash my mouth, I knelt and sunk my head into a cool puddle of water. Holding my breath until my lungs felt like fire, I rose from it with ravenous gulps for air. Spiteful trails of filth now marred the once clear waters, like serpents searching for prey. I looked into the reflection for but a moments before kicking the waters.

I remembered the twists and turns well, so many hours spent playing around the maze of ruins. But for the life of me I couldn't remember the destination. I could only remember the feelings. The joy and excitement of it, and the childish pride of knowing a secret. Eventually I was upon a crude cave entrance, the tunnels so narrow that my frame could almost not get through. I slide sideways through it, my memories picturing it as massive to a child's eyes. I felt the rock walls with my palms, remembering every crack and point. I saw a silvery light at the end of it, my hearts pattering in the excitement of it all. I finally slid my body through and gazed up.

Myyrosak had finally reached the end of it's cycle. The silver twin of Malog'gorath sliding over it's larger brother, soon ready to eclipse him. The Star Serpent, he could remember the old teachers calling it. The words were as ominous and strange now as they were then.

I lowered my sight only slightly, and remembered why I treasured this place. The Tower of the Second stood immersed in the light of the moons. Strange shadows playing off the complicated and intricate patterns that lined it's surface. Normally the tower had but one entrance, the Silent Gate. The rest being surrounded by the solid stone of the mountain.

My childhood entrance was at the side of the tower, where it's carved surfaces met the jagged rock face it was borne from. I peered over as far as I dared to gaze at the grounds around the spire. Courtyards of such splendor covered the area, the twin moons shinning down benevolently upon them. The silence broken only broken by the treads of the Faceless Legion. The massive, armored warriors imposing even from above. They were covered head to to toe in extravagant armors. Not a single bit of flesh peaked through at all. Their helmets had no eyes-holes, nor breathing holes. It was merely a slab of metal that covered their face. They're weapons varied from massive halberds that gleamed in the moonlight to Tower shields paired with vicious axes.

I lay there, my head peering over the ledge and just watched. It was all I wanted to do, all I could do. I stood there for a couple hours, mesmerized by the patterns of the legion's patrol. It was through me becoming so accustomed to the patterns, that I noticed it. A shadowy figure had crept over the gate entrance.

With an elegance that seemed so familiar the figure darted between the pillars of the gardens, narrowly avoiding the guards sights each time. It was done with a precision that suggested a prior knowledge of the legion's movements. What could it hope to accomplish? Surely it did not expect to go through the front gates, the only doorway into the spire. I was completely perplexed by the new figure in the pattern. But it was not to the front that it traveled, instead , it steadily made it's way towards the side of the tower that I was, dodging the guard along the way. Curiosity overriding whatever fear I may have had. I put my feet over the edge, climbing steadily down. It took me only a few minutes to reach a non-lethal height, and almost as an act of fate, my foot slipped and I fell.

The sand of the rock gardens below me cushioned my fall, but as my legs gave way at the bottom, my head hit the rock. Stars of indescribable color lined my vision. I brought up in a stumble, my steps were as if I stood on water. I began to walk towards the figure, the bump to my skull taking away my fears.

In a flash a shadow was upon me, slamming me into the ground. Shock covered my face as I looked at the assailant. Silvery bangs descended from her hood as steely eyes glared at me. A name floated through my mind.

“I’m here on business. Get me discovered and you become my business as well.” says a cold voice.

“Jaedis!” I yelled. Or, would of yelled if not for the palm covering my mouth and the dagger at my throat. My mind was working diligently to think of a reason for her being here. It took a minute to swim through the drunken mugginess in my head to remember a particular feature of her character. Assassin.

Before I could question further, she pulls me closer, silver strands of hair almost touching my face. “Keep quiet and follow.” she harshly whispers. I but nod, my mind in no mood for witty responses. We slid into the shadow of the tower along the mountain wall, I look up for a few moments to my entrance, having to focus before I could make it out among the jagged rocks. It quickly dawned on me how it could have been undiscovered for so long.

The elegant assassin stopped dead in her tracks, me almost colliding with her slender frame. My eyes bulged from my face as I saw the obstacle before us. Two of the legionaries had diverted off their path, walking steadily through the twin moonlight towards us. Their armor looked almost divine with its gleaming.

I felt a feminine hand reach out at my collar, grasping it firmly. She crouched, ready to take what ever actions necessary. Suddenly, the faint flapping of wings came to my ears. A familiar caw that brought a smirk to my lips. I saw a flash of black dive at the silent soldiers. Majestically swirling around them at the final moments, cawing loudly as it did.

Like children the guards seem transfixed by the bird. And as it swept back into the night sky they followed. I couldn't believe my luck. After a minute of silent waiting, he felt a familiar weight on his shoulder. He glanced at the bird before looking at the two guards, still aimlessly walking away.

“You old trickster.” I chuckled at the crow.

“Not the smartest in the world, are they?” I turn to say to my assassin acquaintance.

A swift rap across my head was her reply. Her finger pushed to her lips, shushing me. I grumble quietly as we continued on. After what seemed like an hour she stopped once more, this time I managed to collide head on with her, a sharp voice and cruel eyes quickly making me back away.

She reached into her pocket to pull a stone from it. It was an odd thing, polished and smooth. Strange symbols lining it's surface. She pressed it onto the wall, the stone seeming to shake in her hands. The walls folded in, revealing a dimly lit hallway. I gasped in surprise before I was pulled in, the walls folding back as I entered. Mordus did not care for the treatment, cawing loudly at the girl.

Turning towards me with a look of annoyance, her hand reached out. I gladly took it, lifting myself off the stone floors.

“Just what the hell are you doing here?” the assassin finally said in a fiery tone.

“Could ask you the same thing.” I reply. Deciding to hold my body up for a rather dignified effect. Didn't know if it actually helped.

“My job.” she countered rather coldly.

“That what the children call it these days? Back in my day we called it murder.”

“Strange how quickly a drunk could take the moral high ground. Don't think I can't smell your rancid breath.” she says with a cruel smirk.

I grimace at the remark. She got me on that one. Mordus glared daggers at her from my shoulder.

“So who is it, eh?” I ask her. “What poor soul are you here to end merely at the whims of money?” My guess was one of the Scions. Seeing as few others are even allowed in the tower.

“Don't act like I have to tell you anything. By all accounts I should just kill you.” she replies. Her threatening tone sounding forced.

“By all accounts you don't have the right to just end someones life.” I say smirking. “It's just down right impolite.” My hand falling on the pommel of my rapier. It's polished surface comforting. My eyes lock on hers, meeting her glare.

She looks at my hand. In a flash of movement two elegant daggers appear in her hands. She gave me a toying grin.

“You think you can stop me?” she says with an annoyingly condescending tone.

“No. But I'm drunk enough to try.” I un-sheath my blade, listening to it sing in the air. Let's hope that confidence pays off. Even if its the drunken variety. I extend out my arm, Mordus flying out at the signal. He arcs towards the girl, going under a swipe of her dagger and flying up through her vision. Thank the Old Ones the hallway was spacious.

Her wrist collides with the bird, hitting it away. But I was already upon her, my sword ready to sink into her stomach. With an almost impossible act of flexibility, she kicked her leg up, striking me under the chin. I fell back dazed, turning to the side at the last moment to avoid a stab by her blades. Thinking quickly, which at this point is something I'm not good at, I grab the collar of her shirt and collide my forehead into hers.

I immediately regretted that.

I fell back, blood from the both of us covering my head. What is with these days and my head? I swear it must be cracked by now. I covered my face in my palms, using my rather extensive collection of swears loudly. My foul words echoing through the hall. I managed to peak through my fingers to see my opponent. She was up leaning against a wall, her hand clutching her head. A slew of curses in a language I couldn't understand flew from her lips. I couldn't see Morty anywhere...

She stood up suddenly, shaking off her dizziness. Piss and ash, she's recovering fast, the room is still spinning. I try to force the room to stop, pulling myself up with a single motion. That also proved to be a bad idea as the first step caused me to fall on my ass. I saw her get finally grab her bearings, making awkward strides towards me, I scrambled to pull myself up, using my sword as a cane. But it was too late, she was already within striking distance, the one dagger she held on to poised to stab. A fluttering of ebony wings comes from behind, filthy talons sink into her neck. She screeches,turning to slash at a foe who had already flown off. Good bird.

Taking advantage of the timing, I put all my weight on my sword, pushing myself up. I say a silent prayer of thanks that the blade didn't buckle under my weight. Finally standing, I hobble quickly to my distracted foe. Since my blade was the only thing keeping me up, I option to try and throw a punch, only to stop dead in my tracks. A blade had extended from above her left wrist. It's gleaming point directly at my throat. I pull my hand back in a gesture of surrender.

“Enough.” she says. Her breath heavy, almost to a wheeze. She motions her wrist blade to the wall, me hobbling in compliance. Suddenly she pauses, her face twisted into a strange look. She turns from me and spits a phlegm of blood, shuddering as she did so.

“Lucky for you, I'm only here for one life.” She pulls a small needle-like knife from a pouch in her coat. She twirls it in her fingers with a skillful grace. “This should deal with you for now. Give me time to figure out what to do with you.” And flicks it into my chest. I try to dodge, but I only succeed in moving it to the side of my chest. The puncture was relatively painless. I could feel tendrils of poison leak from the blade into me. My muscles tightened to the point of agony, before giving way to sweet relaxation. My knees buckle, but I barely feel them hit the elegantly carved stone. A smile hits my lips before I fall to the floor.

I hear her steps echo through the hallway. I can guess this is some sort of tranquilizer. For now I was completely helpless. Mordus comes from the shadows of the hallway to swoop down next to me, his talons making scratching noises on the rock, his head nuzzling up against me. I love that bird.

I'm guessing this was supposed to put me to sleep, most likely for a few hours. But she didn't take account for one thing. Andantan liquor is very potent. A big source of pride for both the brewers and the idiots who drink it. Got to give credit to any people who would find a way to make alcohol from rocks and moss. Right now that terrible drink was acting as a buffer for the main effects of the poison. Even now, I could feel my toes again, I started to twitch them, trying to get movement back in my body. Morty sat there watching patiently.

It took almost an hour. A full hour of slowly getting movement back from my toes, to my knees, to my thighs and so on. Morty stayed with me, a watchful guardian in an empty passage way. Once I could move my neck again, I began pulling myself up, a pleasant burning traversed my muscles, purging away the effects of the poison.

I finally am able to hobble up, and after the first few steps regain my sense of balance. I walked with a stride, the sense of dizziness also evaporating. Morty flew ahead, guiding my way to my target.
Through shifting hallways he led me, I myself having no clue how he knew the way. But it was my only chance so I trusted the bird.

If it weren't for my hurry, I may of stopped to admire the architecture. The walls were of polished granite, the torchlight gleaming of the smooth surfaces. The ceilings and floors lined with carvings and mosaics of Farisian lore. Most notably, along the path that his crow took him, was the tale of Azrahael slaying the great aether beast that had broken free of its home and ransacked the world. The hero looked akin to a defiant ant in the face of such a massive creature.

Eventually Mordus had stopped, the bird swooping in a wide arc to plop himself on my shoulder. What we stopped at was a grand doorway, twice as tall as me. It's hard wood material a stark contrast to the stone tower. The door was creaked open. I push my frame against the door and slide in, Mordus still clenched on my shoulder, tearing into my vest.

As I walked in the room I could see so many details hit me at once. The room was vast and grand. A perfect cube that seemed to focus on the center of the room with various and intricate carvings. Symbols that hurt they eye dotted the room, twisted perversions of the their brethren within the temples. This place had an almost overwhelming ominousness. A sense of wrong.

I could see my assassin-acquaintance fighting off two members of the Faceless legion, their halberds clashing against the stone, missing every swipe. Their armor looked different than the others. The material looking more akin to stone than that of the steel of the warriors outside. Jaedis held her own though, her nimbleness equal to their strength.

But in one moment the entire room's purpose made sense. I could see white flames, shifting in and out of perception, the soared and crashed upon the stone. A man directed the power. His robes were like that of a Scion, but dirtied and stained by weeks of neglect. His hair was cut short, merely to remove it as a distraction. His body moved moved as if in a feral dance, twisting and arcing to match the flames. But his face was cool and passive. His eyes glaring with twisted ambition.

This is madness.

I didn't care what this situation was, I didn't care what this man, this thing, was trying to accomplish. This was wrong. Both in the eyes of the Old Ones and nature itself. I pull my sword up from using it as a cane and twirl it in my wrist to properly grip it. I take a steps forward, each one faster than the last. Soon I was running, then sprinting. My blade pointed at the man. Invisible energies began to flow around him, white fire erupting from his eyes.

I rush past Jaedis, her fight with the Faceless Legionaries still at a standstill. Our eyes meet as I go, a simple nod all that needed to be said. I try to push my legs even faster, the burning pain in them snarling in defiance. Morty flew alongside me, his flight slowed to match me. I blurred from my mind all distractions, everything from my gambling debts to my father. Right at this moment I was only a man correcting a wrong.

I turn around a final time to Jaedis. I see her finally land a well-aimed swipe to one of the armored soldier’s neck, only for it to pass through him without resistance. The solider continued on undaunted, no blood draining from him. The assassin paused only a moment in shock before dodging another blow from his halberd.

She'll have to handle herself for now. I thought. I say a silent prayer for her safety. I was almost upon the monster that was causing this. I stomach a quick look at his ritual once more, the people, every single one of them, had turned to ash. I could see their remains flowing around the flames, only to be breathed in by the Scion. I look until bile comes up my throat. He hadn't noticed me yet, his whole attention fixated on his own maddening work. Mordus caws with anger in my ear. His ebony wings seemingly louder than everything else.

When I reached him finally, feeling the madness and malevolent power chocking at my heart, I thrust my sword forward. It passed through the greasy, stained robes without effort. His flesh offered little better, his body fragile and weak. I feel it miss his spine, but shoot through his organs like an arrow. I arc my rapier's point up, slicing through his beating heart. At then end I feel his flesh tear away, my swords bloody tip appearing out of his chest. As I did this, Morty did his own strike. His claws had sunk into the filthy man's left shoulder, his dirty claws digging deep and viciously into him. Streams of crimson flowed freely from the wound.

For a second, I only knew a sickening satisfaction. The scum before me turned his wicked head in shock. Eyes once filled with ambition and passion were washed away by a terrible fear. The energies seemed even more chaotic now. Every hair on my neck sticking straight up. Mordus caws out in surprise, his claws still embedded in the man. He opens his mouth, blood seeping out between his teeth.

“Wh...what...have..you....”he said in a gargled, creaky voice. Then the life passed from his eyes, his essence flowing out to be judged by the Old Ones. Riistru nallu morrhis! I curse to him. Then it all started to burn.

The white flame, the ash, the invisible energies all around us, they all suddenly poured into the into the corpse perched on my blade. Energies ripped through the body, its eyes alight in chaotic flame. Mordus screeched out, his claws stuck into the body, immune to his twists of escape. The robes burned away, disintegrated by the energies. The body phased in and out of perception, as if being ripped into somewhere far beyond comprehension.

I could see tendrils of energy snake up to Mordus, enveloping him despite his resistances. I see it rip him apart, his flesh peeling away before the energy consumed his essence. I scream out to him, only to feel my arm erupt in pain. My blade was acting as a channel for the white flames, allowing them to envelop my arm. I could see my flesh tearing off like ribbons, my muscles unfolding, my bones blazing. My hand won't stop its grip on my blade as the pain travels up, steadily destroying my arm. I couldn't see the bones of my hand anymore. Only a clear light in the outline of where my hand once gripped. I turned my head in desperation, I could see one of the legionaries fallen on the floor. A slight puncture was at his left side, only the slightest trickle of blood leaking out. Jaedis still occupied with the other, dodging the powerful swipes of his weapon with increasing exhaustion.

I look back to my arm as the pain reached my elbow, my forearm now only made up of light. I couldn't see Morty anymore. Only an outline of him in light, cawing out to me in pain. I see his energies pull his claws from the dead Scion, and drifting through the air to perch onto my arm. The outline of him began to absorb slowly into my arm, Mordus halfheartedly struggling with exhaustion. His body sinking deeper into a nothingness until he completely vanished. But I could still hear his cries in my head. The pain was maddening. The pain and light traveled upwards, past my elbow and steadily approaching my shoulder. I screamed out for something, anything to help me. But I received nothing.

Strange thoughts swum through my mind. My life flashed before me. Regrets and unfulfilled wishes eating into me. Highest among them was the regret that I would never be able to reconcile with my father. And it took me dying to realize it. I sobbed a little, overwhelmed by everything.

And then it stopped.

Not just he pain, everything. Even the flames stood still like glass sculptures. I swung around to see Jaedis clinging to the last legionnaire, her dagger frozen inside his chestpeice. Her silver hair was caught mid flow, shooting out on various directions. Her eyes darted around in surprise just as mine did. Our eyes met in shared confusion.

The sound of footsteps echoing throughout the room suddenly caught our attention, and we turned to the doorway. An old man in heavy, ornate robes walked before us. A beard of pure snow white lined his face. A leather cap with silvery lining covered his bald head. He walked with a confidence that would not be weathered by age. Around him was an aura of respect not given to, but earned.

He walks past the frozen assassin, hardly noticing the petrified battle. With a small stride he closed the distance to me, my eyes darting to look at him as my body remained still. He approached not me, but the body perched on my blade. I could see him scowl softly before speaking in a voice of aged honey.

“Malitis, Malitis.” he said. Shaking his head as he did so. “I always wondered how far your twisted ambitions would drag you. Never quite thought it end up like this though.”

With a wave of his weathered hand I drop to the floor, letting go of the blade as I do so. My arm glows softly, the petrified light that composed giving it a radiant appearance. The old man walks to the body, and slightly twitches his hand. To my surprise my blade levitated from the dead Scion, twirling lightly in the air. The metal itself was now darkly corroded by the chaotic energies.

He smiles softly, looking at me. With a movement of his finger the blade traveled the air to land quietly by my side. He chuckles at my expression.

“That your blade?” he says.

I softly nod my head.

“Tis a fine blade. Very good condition. Well...up until now. You should be proud.” he answers warmly.

I turn my head to the charred and mangled blade and frowned slightly. The old man apparently noticed.

“Oh don't worry. I'm sure I can do something for it.” he says reassuringly. “Though there are larger things to worry about right now.” he says with a slight scowl. A bit of empathy briefly flickered in his eyes as he looked at me and then my glowing arm. He turns away.

“Such as the pain your going to be feeling in a moment. I'm afraid the incantation can only last so long, but I needed a good look at the situation.” he finishes in an almost apologetic tone.

 

Kilas Ashenas

Suddenly time resumed once more. And my arm erupted in pain. I screamed out, my voice echoing through the room. I hear a huge crash and see that the legionnaire lay dead on the floor, a dagger implanted in his chest. Jaedis lay on top of the armored frame in gasps of breath, the exhaustion having taken its toll on the young assassin. I try to pull myself off the stone floor, but as the moment I put weight on my glowing arm, it sank through the floor causing my nose to collide on the surface. I head Mordus cawing in my head.

I try several more times to push up, every time my arm failing me and phasing through the rock. Rage and humiliation coursed through me with the pain. I look out at the old man, who still merely gazed at the dead Scion.

“What's...happening...to...m-...” I try to yell, but the agony blurred my words. I collide once more into the stone floor. My arm felt as if it had been ripped off entirely. I just lay huddled on the ground.

“Interesting. Very Interesting.” was all that he replied. I tried to yell at him more, annoyed by his calmness, but all that came out was a gargling sound.

“You see, our bodies are a single entity. We may have parts of them ripped off, but they are still a part of us. That's why this is interesting. For only a part of your body was ripped into the aether.” he told me in the tone of a scholar. His eyes looking down my arm like a new-found tome. I was in no position to argue.

“Your very lucky you weren't just ripped whole instantly. Very Curious. It probably be best to seal it until I think of a better solution.” he tells me.

I look at him to question, but he puts a hand on my back, holding me down. I feel him clench, a strange, colorless energy flowing into me. I can feel complex symbols dig into my skin, but the pain of my arm dulled their effect. As the last rune was finished I immediately felt the pain subside. A sudden gasp of surprise escaped my lips, I began drawing desperate breaths of relief.

Gazing at my arm, I saw it's faint outline in white light. I try and push myself up with it, but it phased through whatever it touched. Eventually I managed to get up with only my left hand. Sitting up I immediately began unbuttoning my leather chestpeice and shirt, throwing them off to look at my arm. My eyes widened as I saw dozens of tiny and intricate runes dotted my arm where the flesh met the light. I put my hand over it, feeling no indention as my fingers passed over the symbols.

He was over by Jaedis now. His hand was outstretched before him as one of her daggers floated softly above his palm. They appeared to speak to one another. I pull myself to my feet to walk over, not even processing any of the pain at this point. After a short distance I was finally able to stumble close enough to hear their conversation.

“Quite the piece of craftsmanship you have here, young lady. Very elegant. It's Ceilien isn't it?”

“Yes.” replies the assassin. Her tone sounding somewhat nervous.

“You appear to be quite skilled with them.” he says in a friendly voice, motioning towards her two newest kills.

She tries to speak out in some kind of defense for her actions, but the old man interrupts her.

“Tell me, did you manage to figure out their secret?”

“The armor was empty.” she states rather quickly.

The old man's eyes seemed to light up. “Yes, yes. Very good. Then how did you know how to best them?” his voice seeming to get more excited.

“They both had strange stances. No matter how they stuck at me, they never lowered their guard on a particular part of their bodies. One was on the left side of the torso, the other in the center of the chest. So that's where I attacked.”

“Impressive.” he says with a very humble tone. “Would you care to hear a secret?”

She nods very quickly. Surprisingly he arcs his head towards me, giving me a questioning look. I nod my head as well.

“The aether, the realm where the Old Ones were born, is where we Scions draw our power from. But there are other beings that reside their as well.” he pauses. As if this were some lecture at one of the colleges. His voice exactly like a teacher.

“These beings are of vast varieties, as they are born into a plane of existence far beyond our comprehension. Some seek entrance into our realm, to experience its unique majesty.” his voice now had a very recognizable tint of excitement.

“We were the first to learn of such beings. So we made a deal with them.” he says with a sly grin.

“In return for being our guardians, we would give them a body to inhabit and experience all the feelings of being mortal.” he finishes, turning to us. By know both of us were looking at him, our mouths gaping open.

With a flick of his wrist, the two chest-guards of the massive warriors burst open, revealing nothing inside. Save for a small, bleeding organ. A liver.

When the old man saw this he shook his head disappointingly.

“Very clever. Human liver. Brutal, but very effective as a binding totem. Such as shame your ambition got the better of you Malitis.”

He turned once more to Jaedis. By know she appeared to be more relaxed around him.

“Pray tell, how did you manage to get in here? The Faceless happen to pride themselves on their guardian abilities.” he says with a tone more curious than inquisitive.

“I had help.” She states quite plainly. She then reached into her cloak and pulled out the strange stone from before.
Like magic, the stone lifted out of her hand to float through the air, settling itself a few inches above the old man's palm. He examined it for a few minutes, a smile increasing on his face. He spoke to us without looking up.

“Genius work. Extremely intricate rune work, proper channeling methods, multiple usage....” he says. His voice holding a tone of a man who speaks of his life's work and passions.

“Defiantly appears to be be the work of certain young Scion....” he rambles to himself. I was surprised at how easily this man could hold my interest. I was never a scholar. But there was something peaceful about his voice. I hear him rumble to himself for a few minutes before looking up at our expressions and chuckling softly.

“Oh dear me, I'm rambling.” he says shaking his head.

“How is your arm now?” he says to me with a hint of concern. He motions me closer with his aged hand, I comply as I grumble an answer.

“Fine now, I guess.”

“Good. Now let me see about fixing it.”

He reaches into his cloak to produce a small knife, pricking himself on the thumb to draw blood. He pulls me to him and marks on my skin, creating a simplistic rune over his jumble of tinier ones. He presses his palm hard over his work, a rush of invisible energies escapes through his fingers and he releases me. His blood rune now cemented intro my shoulder, almost appearing to a reddish tattoo. He then preceded to take his knife and poked my arm.

“Ow!” I said rather harshly. Then my eyes widened. I felt that. The old man just smiled.

“Right now your arm is in between realms. That rune should keep it solid, but it's going to be hazy the next few days. Remember, such a thing is not meant to be looked upon with mortal eyes. You must keep whenever your around other people. The effects could be....complicated.”

He pulls a cloth of crimson silk from a pocket, and begins to wrap around my arm, completely covering the skin all the way to the shoulder. It felt rather snug, I thought. Suddenly he pulled my very close, whispering in my ear so to keep the assassin from hearing.

“Put this in your pocket.” he whispers quickly. Putting something that felt like a necklace in my hand. I quickly put it into my pocket without looking.

“Use it in a safe place. Keep it a secret.” he whispered once more, walking away from me.

He goes and helps Jaedis to her feet. Handing her a small bag of what sounded like coins. She quickly hid it away. He then addressed us both.

“You both need to leave. Now.”

We both gave him a confused glare.

“Malitis may have deserved his fate, but there are those who would want you imprisoned for bypassing the law. And you boy, some could easily consider what you've become as an abomination. Something to be put to the torch.” adding extra emphasis on the latter. I gulped as he said this. “I've given you enough coin for travel, go anywhere but don't stay here. You at best have a few hours before this is discovered.”

I got up and began to leave, motioning for Jaedis to accompany me, but she was stopped dead in her tracks.

“Why are you helping us.” she said. A question I had secretly wondered as well.

He sighed, smiling to himself. His head wandered up, staring up at the intricate ceiling.

“Fate binds us all. It pushes and pulls us. Guiding us to whatever path it chooses. We are mercy to it's whims.”

He looks down back at us. His stare filled with a sort of wild intensity.

“Except for you two. My eyes have long burned away, but I can see other things now. With every step you both make, the curtains of fate ripple. Your every action changing it to your will. You control your own fates. There are others like you, seek them out.”

“Why? What is this all about? I don't...” I say, trying to not just be dumbstruck by the man's ominous words.

“Malitis was not working alone. What he was doing, trying to do, is much bigger than any of us. It is something that will change the coarse of the world as we know it if it isn't stopped.”

The assassin and I could only stare at him dumbstruck, our voices refusing to work. He motioned us away. It took willpower to summon voice.

“Who are you?” I finally said in a meek, cracking voice.

“Al'haman the XV.” he said without an ounce of pride.

My mouth gaped open. The Grand Scion...

“Go now, before this all goes to waste.” he said. Shooing us away as if we were animals.

We rushed out of the room, our legs carrying us with a fear we honestly didn't understand. I made sure to grab my shirt and vest, pulling them over me as I went. I almost forgetting to grab my mangled sword, having to turn back to retrieve it as I got to the door. After a short trek through the hallways we reached the wall we came through, surprised that it was already opened. We continued through it without a second thought. It was daybreak now, the sun beginning to shine over the horizon. Miraculously, the legions guarding before were strangely absent. I brought Jaedis to the cliff-face that my entrance hung over. We began climbing without hesitation, strange forces guiding our hands.

We pushed our way through the narrow passageway, I occasionally speaking to give directions. We split up when we reached the merchant quarter, her taking the coin and to purchase supplies and a wagon, and me to get my affairs in order. We agreed to meet at the main gates within two hours.

I made my way down the familiar path once more. My footsteps taking me back to the small, quaint home by the grand balconies. I walk up through the rock gardens and knock on the door. Within a few seconds I'm hugging the man who opened it, light tears streaming down my face.

“I'm sorry father.”

I tell him I'm leaving, that I don't know when I'll be back. I just didn't want to leave before apologizing. That I felt like such a fool. He releases me, his old, hardened face looking into my eyes. He smiled one of his rare smiles.

“That's the son I remembered.”

He goes into the home for a few minutes, coming back down with a small case of ebony wood. Lovingly cleaned and maintained. A familiar name was scrawled on it's surface. I knew it immediately on sight.

“Father...I can't..” I began.

“Your ready Kilas.” he states. Putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I take the case and tuck it under my arm. I hug my father one more time, telling him I love him. He hugs back and we just share the moment for a bit. We part ways, he handing me a small bag, pushing it into my palm. “Just in case” he says. I walked back through the city, taking in views I wasn't sure if I'd ever see again. I stop at my favorite bakery, picking up two loaves of freshly made bread. The owner curious to if I had been crying. I ignored him and moved on, stopping at a couple more shops for an assortment of mementos. A decent batch of stone whiskey, aged eight years. A few leather straps to fix my wasted sandles, and bird-seed for....

I stopped for a minute to mourn, trying to hold back tears for a fallen friend. Jeez, I'm turning into a sissy. I walk further through, walking down the grand stairwell one more time. To be honest I felt my feet rush through the refugee district, fears of my debtors seeping into me. The gates were in site finally, more or less a great square hole in the wall with the gate itself lowered into the ground. I saw Jaedis with a traveler's cart right outside, a rather sleek looking traveling elekk saddled to the front of it. It's horns glistening in the sunlight. A small assortment of supplies littered the back.

I pulled myself in without a word, throwing my little bags of mementos into the back. I didn't bother going to my house, nothing their but trash and bad memories. I offer Jaedis the bread, which she takes eagerly. She bites into it quickly, a small smile showing. She cracks the reigns,and the animal moves with a groan, pulling us onward. The valley farmlands looked beautiful. As we past a series of stone obelisks, I ask her stop.

She complies with a questionable look that I hardly noticed. What she didn't know was that this was a grave yard. The obelisks the compressed remains of people's ash. Foreign poets were always known to have a field-day upon learning this. A top each obelisk was a small dish for oil, meant to be lit as an act of remembrance. Most were unlit, the few that were standing out amongst their dull brethren. I walk to patch of grass I had always known of, but never went, and read off a plaque that stood before a wonderfully cared for obelisk.

Lyanna Ashenas.

A tear fell as I noticed how cared for it was. The obelisk's surface shined to a glisten and the glass around carefully cut. Father never tried to forget her. I see that her dish had run out of oils, and reach into my pouch to retrieve my whiskey, pouring it plentifully into the dish. I take a match from my cigarette bag and ignite the liquid, the flame shinning brighter than any other in sight.

I walk back to the cart without a word. Besides a curious look the assassin seemed to pick up on the mood and avoid any questions. I take the ebony case, and hug it to me. She looked at me as if she were about to ask, but didn't. If she had, I would of opened the case. If she had, she would of seen the beautiful object inside with the beautiful name written on it's surface. A name that had only been recently added to it's surface. A name my father had personally carved unto it. I'd let her guess who it was.

 

Laslo Windstride

Wind swept my hair back as I ran, blind to all about me but the docks ahead. Surely the man had taken the girl by now, there would be no way to stop him. I would have to pursue him, but how? I raked the docks with my eyes, searching for something I could use, an unfamiliar recklessness replacing the calm demeanour that I prided myself in. With a jolt I saw Orel, walking along the fishing docks with the ginger haired man to a boat, where upon reaching it, the ginger haired man handed a greasy man a sack of coins. Placing a hand upon the stitch in my side, and wiping the sweat from my brow with the other, I pressed myself to run faster. I wouldn't make it before they cast off.

"Hey, watch it!"

A wooden plank came into sight, before I collided with it, sending me flying up and falling hard upon my back. I heard a sickening crack from beneath me. Letting out a long moan of sorrow and frustration, I pulled the ruined lute up in my arms, cradling it as though it were a dying child. I felt all my dreams shatter at that moment, and lept to my feet. All I saw now was the girl.

I slammed my feet into the ground, and rushed forward, everything around me becoming a blur. A savage scream escaped my lips as I ran down the dock to where Orel and the ginger haired man stood. The ginger haired man turned to look, but my lute connected with his face before he could react. I held back tears as, seemingly in slow motion, the beautiful instrument I held held for half my life shattered into a million pieces, the force of its blow knocking the man unconscious into the boat he had been about to untie. I stood trembling, my bloodied hand holding the splintered neck of the lute, and glared at Orel.

"You." I said, my voice hoarse from my previous outcry. I felt the curious and frightened stares of the public upon me, but all I saw was the lying old man. "You!" I repeated, my mind working furiously to find something else to say or do.

Orel closed his eyes, and lifted a hand. "Thank you, Laslo." He said.

"Thank you." I repeated blankly.

"Yes." Orel said, "There's no time to explain everything to you here. Get on the boat."

"No! You're going to tell me right-"

"If you hold me up, Rauo will be lost." Orel said softly, his voice filled with impatience.

I felt suspicion, and doubt. In going could I actually be helping the man to hurt the girl? I hissed, wondering why I was so obsessed with it. It wasn't any of my business, I should be trying to get to the signing to-...

Wordlessly, I stepped into the boat, and sat down in the back, while Orel untied the vessel, and pushed it out to sea; releasing the sail as he stepped aboard. The fishers, women, and children continued to stare as we drew further and further away from the docks. The glimmer of soldiers' armor appeared, approaching the docks, before it was all swept from sight by the horizon. I glared at Orel the whole time, still squeezing the remains of my lute with my hand, as if hoping it would come back. I winced as I felt a million slivers crawl under my skin like worms, but refused to relinquish my treasure.

At last, Orel sat down across from me, and stared impassively at me. What could I expect now?

"Again." Orel said, seeming to relax, his broad shoulders lowering from their odd perch next to his face, "Thank you, Laslo. You have no idea how much you've just helped me."

I couldn't speak anymore, I didn't even want to. I was still fighting back tears over my lost instrument. Orel gave me a sympathetic look, and made a move to pat my shoulder, but pulled his hand back when I shook my head quickly. I didn't want to be touched.

"Duncan has taken Ruao." Orel said softly, gripping the hem of his cloak in both hands.

Silence.

"Duncan and his brother Getty worked for me for a little over a year, and helped me to sell my-"

"Did you question them too?" I interrupted.

Orel stared at me for a moment, sorrow on his face, "No."

"If you're so suspicious, how could you not see what they were up to?" I muttered angrily, looking up from my mangled hand to see Orel sigh.

"I did know their intentions." He said slowly, but held out a hand as I stood to my feet, causing the boat to rock dangerously back and forth. "I admit, it was a mistake."

"What were you thinking?" I said loudly, still inwardly questioning my wisdom for involving myself with any of this.

"I thought I could change them." He sighed again, and stroked his silver beard with a hand.

"How would you-"

"Getty is not evil, Laslo. While I have no doubt he's made many bad choices, they were under the direction of his brother. I thought he might one day stand up to his brother, and stop this plan."

"How in Dolcen's name would you know if a person is evil or not? How do you know their plan? Why didn't you stop it!" I had made the wrong choice after all. I could always jump overboard, and swim to shore, but something stayed my body from moving.

"The same way I know that Rauo will like you, and that you need to save her."

"I'm not doing your job for you old man." I said coldly, "This is your fault to begin with, the moment we land I'm leaving."

"What if I offered you a new instrument?" Orel said craftily, staring at the splinters that were now embedded into my palm, "We are headed to Ca'bilè even now. If you help me save Rauo, I swear that I shall buy you a new instrument to put your old one to shame."

I bit my lip, every fiber of my being calling for me to take the deal at the promise of a new lute, but...

"How can I trust you?" I asked.

Orel extended a hand, "Shake my hand, if you accept. If you say no, I shall not stop you."

Just then, a terrible scream rent the air. I shuddered, as something cold pressed against my heart. Orel's eyes bulged to the point of bursting, and his head whipped to where the sound had emanated. I turned more slowly, and saw the mast of a ship in the distance.

"Was that..." I whispered, turning to find Orel standing over me, his hand inches from my face.

"Take my hand." He commanded.

Cautiously, I released my cramped grip on my lute's neck, letting it fall lifeless to the deck, and placed my bloody hand into the old man's. I felt fire shoot up my arm, and a tickling feeling behind the right side of my neck, that traveled down my spine, making me shake convulsively.

Orel collapsed back onto the deck, making the boat sway violently once more. Even as I watched, he seemed to age, the silver in his beard slowly being replaced by white; lines appearing on his face as his skin sagged against the pull of the earth.

"Thank you." Orel wheezed, his voice now rent with age, "Yet I am sorry as well, for I have decieved you..." Tears fell from the old man's eyes, and he shook upon the deck, wiping his weary eyes with his palms.

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling a lump build within my chest.

"I will not be able to provide you with a lute in time..." He said.

"For what? In time for what!" I found myself shouting, and holding the old man by the front of his robes, shaking his withered frame.

"Please..." He whispered, "let me start from the beginning..."

 

Laslo Windstride

"It started twenty years ago, after the Battle of the Forgotten." Orel said, as I released his garb, and sat back down with my arms folded. Orel slowly, painfully, lifted himself into a sitting position. I felt a twinge of guilt at my rough treatment of the old man, but it was quickly suppressed.

"The Battle of the Forgotten was a battle between four groups of magic users in the city of Largi, which is where I am from. I saw innocent men, women, and children that were caught in the cross-fire ripped to pieces by the sheer power of the spells cast. Eventually, only five men were left standing. One of them said that the battle was over, and left, while the other four insisted upon fighting to the death. I watched as all four of them were blown apart by their own magics. The last man caught my eye, and asked me to keep his survival hidden. He was tired of fighting, and wished to leave the army, and live a peaceful life. In return for my silence he taught me the art of the Sage, which is a rather obscure method of magic, and a more dangerous one."

"There are different types of magic?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"Yes, there are many. The most common are rune users, Gypsies, who sell stones and stories of superstition for coin. Any powers they might have are limited to small things like lighting a candle, or moving a book; and even then, they need runed stones to perform such spells.

Higher priests often have arcane spells used for healing and saving. They recieve their powers from the gods, and channel it through their bodies. Priests who misuse these powers are destroyed by golden fire, which bursts from within them.

Scions are similar to priests, though with some differences. They obtain powers from the aether, by allowing spirits to possess their bodies, as well as runes. They are not destroyed when they misuse their powers, because unlike the gods, the spirits of the aether are not aware of right and wrong; but prefer to merely watch the happenings around their host, no matter what they be. They are ever fascinated by the realm of the mortals..."

"And Sages?" I asked, when Orel paused to cough, almost eager to hear about them. I could feel my anger being slowly replaced by excitement. I always had loved stories, and it seemed that today was no exception.

"I'm not finished yet." Orel said, looking even more tired, "There are two more kinds of magics before Sagehood.

There are Seekers. While they are not human, they are still magic users, and receive their powers from nature. They are governed by the laws of nature, and their spells are of neutral use, helping or hindering on the whims of the earth. Not much more is known about them, as they live apart from our land, and no one has seen one for some time.

Then there are Chargers, who are very unique. While they have no spells for use outside of their craft, their main power is the ability to charge runes. They gain their powers from fire, and always keep a candle lit while they write the marks upon their stones, lest they be torn apart by the seals they create. They can easily become very wealthy, because of the constant demand for runes from Gypsies and Scions. Unfortunately there haven't been very many recently, and there has been a shortage of runes; since most have only one charge before they shatter."

"... And Sages?" I repeated.

"Quite cuious, aren't you?" Orel chuckled softly.

"I just want to know what you did to me." I said defensively, and guilt replaced the amusement on his face.

"Yes... Sages are the only magic users that have no limits to what spell they can use. One could choose to summon spirits like a Scion, while another might choose to charge runes like a Charger. They are by far the rarest of the magical branches, as very few are able to grasp the method."

"And where does a Sage's power come from?" I asked.

"Have you not guessed?" Orel said, interrupting himself to cough into his hands. I saw flecks of blood in his beard, as he lowered them. "A Sage gains his powers from himself. You can see the repercussions, then? A Sage sacrifices his life to perform spells, whereas others gain power from something that is eternal. Since a Sage may only perform a limited number of spells before his death, he is free to choose whichever he would prefer."

I frowned at Orel's words. "Sacrifice your life?" I asked, and he nodded. I stared into his white beard, vaguely remembering it being grey when I'd first seen him. My eyebrows lifted in shock. "How old are you?" I asked slowly.

"Thirty-one." Orel said, and I gasped. Orel chuckled again, then began coughing violently, vomiting up blood and bile onto the deck.

"Are you alright?" I started, but Orel lifted a hand stopping me.

"Let me finish, we don't have time." He said. "After learning to use magic, I joined the army, wanting to bring glory to myself and my nation. I met a man who was an Oculis, who had spent his whole life in the army. I assisted in the capture of a second Oculis, before I was confronted by the first, who I considered a friend by that time. He informed me of the seriousness of my actions, and showed me his scars. Immediately, I wanted to fix what I had done, and I tried, but was captured, and exiled from my nation. I wandered for over a year, before I came upon Dralge, where I began making crafts for people. I sought a 'simple life', ha! Like I could have one after what I'd done. I'd condemned that child to a life of pain and torture! Then, two years ago, I came across Rauo in the Meritten forest, naked, and covered in blood and scars. While it was not the baby I'd stolen away, who had been a boy, I still took the girl, and vowed not to let her suffer like the child I'd damned."

Orel spoke hastily, his words accelerating to the point where I could barely gain any meaning from them. Orel suddenly spewed up a torrent of blood from his mouth, nose, and even his ears and the corners of his eyes.

"Time runs short..." He muttered, peering at me from his bloodshot eyes, "I'm so sorry for what I've done."

"What did you do?" I asked, the nervous lump returning to sit upon my chest like a weight.

"I placed a seal upon the both of us." Orel said, closing his streaming eyes, "An oath seal. Both of us shall be held to our ends, even unto death. I will not live to get you a new lute Laslo, the strain of that spell is crushing me... The fact that I knew this, and my deceit is quickening my dea-" Orel fell backwards onto the deck, in a splash of blood.

 

Randy Kimberley St.John

"bull****, i'm not an expert on exchange rates, but six scale, no, i know what i have is worth atleast 20, what type of fool would fall for this trick", Randy said angerley.

"oh...you'd be surprised," the man said pulling 12 more scale from under the desk.

"thats better, and remember, the saints will judge these actions, may they have mercy on that crooked soul of yours...", randy said and walked away.

Randy walked his horse to an inn he had spotted while finding that damned exchange office. luckily the inn had stableing, so he was able to tie his horse up for the night. he walked into the inn, the curious owl... a strange name for an inn, but it was also a bar and brothel.

Randy stepped in to the curious owl, it was warm, not as appreciated in this climate though. Even with the fires burning, the whole inn hosted an adumbral atmosphere. Randy promptly went to the bar.

"yeah, uh, i'd like to rent a room for the night and how much for a brew?", randy asked the bar keep.

"well", the older man said," a room 'ell caost ya 5 scale, and the beer, well, i dont got any change to break a scale, so this ones on the house", the bar keep said.

"well, i'd contest that if i had anymore money, and also, how much for a boat to ca'bile", Randy asked, hoping he could afford it.

"well, that i'll run you about 120 scale", the barman said.

Randy's heart sunk as he heard the price of a ship," alright..ill be in my room....".

 

Alexandrus Brandt. I stared down at the man's corpse, the dagger clutched loosely in my hand. I had killed a man. We are honorable men, Alexandrus. Remember that. Never kill when you don't have to. Honorable, my father told me, my father hadn't been honorable in life. The dagger fell from my hand and I heard a woman screaming "My husband!" I turned to see who was screaming like that but as I did I felt someone grab me from behind and held me in a strong grip I gasped in pain as the wound in my shoulder was reopened from the force. The man who had me pulled me back and started to drag me away. I fought feebly against the grip of my captors but I was weak from the fever and finally I let myself go limp and be taken away. My eyes were still fixed on the body in front of me until I was so far away I couldn't see it anymore. I tried to cry out, to scream and rage at the man who had me but no sound came. "Filthy murdering scum!" the man growled in my ear. I was going to say something along the lines of he had it coming but I thought better of it. By the looks of it I had enough trouble on my hands already. I was so weak now I felt cold all over and I could barely keep my eyes open.

 

Randy Kimberley St.John

Randy lay in bed...he just laid there, thinking...how could he come up with the money? he could call apon his merit as a handy man, the city was bound to be in repair in many places. he could also hunt some animal and sell their meat.

Randy looked out his window...it was still dark, he had awoken too soon...sleep would be benefitial this time, he could stand to catch a few extra z's, especially if he was to work all day and make fare for the ride to ceilien.

lying there, randy drifted back into sleep.

the saints shall come, in the end as the beginning

Randy found himself in a rolling green field, but it was not quiet, it was chaos, he was in the niddle of a battle. men in bronze and steel, glowing in the sunlight clashed with mortal intent.the illuminated armour dripped with the blood of our fellow man as the nations crushed each other.

One man in particular was running through the battle field, Randy could not ivert his gaze. the man was large but ran like a gazelle, he was swift, kiling his enemies in one fall swoop, never stopping to check the bodies, just sure of the kill. the man was wearing silver armour, but it was so coated in blod that it looked bronze. he dropped his enemies, running, running ,running.

then the man fell, he tumbled and lay motionless...what had happened, had he been wounded, was he running like an animal while the blood draind from his body, was he -

Randy woke up, it wasnt a calm fade to light, it was rigid. he woke up in an instant, heart pumping. he never awoke this way before, what had caused this dream...no, it was a vision, a vision of what, was it...was it a scene from the war of five, where was he , what nation had he seen the ground washed red with the blood of men?

Randy sat up...," Kearin...",he spoke softly, as if it was a curse, a word you wern't meant to utter. kearin the saint was the saint of war and peace. he was often veiwed as too ambiivilent to be a saint by others , but his father beleived in him so truley that he took up kearin as his guidance, his provider. kearin was the youngest of all saints, as it was fortold. often shunned by his brothers and the father, that is untill the times of great wars and the air of peace that swept through the land at the closing of a war, the uneasy restfullness that the air was thick with untill a decade of peace had finally come to a close, then kearin beacame startleing insignificant, but not to Randy's father, a man of the army, but believing the peace should stand true.

had kearin came to randy in his dreams, sent the vision of a war since passed into his mind...perhaps. reguardless, randy need to get up and earn his fare to ca'bile, maybe when he got to the signing, answeres would come to him, but untill then, he had to work.

Randy got dresses and left his room. the curious owl was a dreadful sught in the morning, the prostitutes were up, early risers Randy supposed. they were groggy and seems that they would turn to violent anials if disturbed. the bar man was wide awake, ready for visitors already, curious how an old man was the most chipper person here.

"ah, mr kaplan", the bar keep said.

Ramdy stopped...he looked around, not seeing any other man around.. then it finally hit hit that kaplan was his alias.

"um, yes..mr....", randy purposley trailed off to provoke information from the man.

"jennings...archer jennings", the barman told randy," but call me arch, saves time, and not everyone has the luxury of time".

"alright arch, i actually have a favour to ask...", Randy said," do you know of any work in these parts?"

"well, that really depends on you", Arch said.

"well, im a handy man,but i also am a ranger in terillo", randy boasted his title.

"terillo aye, rough woods them parts, but you probably know them like the back of your hand, don't you", Arch spoke with commradery.

"yes, as a matter of fact i spend more time in the woods than anyone else..if i don't say myself", Randy said.

"well, that probably explains this", Arch siad, holding a swift fox by its scruff.

"oh yes, thats a little riend of mine, he likes to follow me, however i had hoped he stay in terillo, the road is no place for a forrest dweller like himself.", Randy told the little foxes excuse.

"either way, go talk to the barber, he has a whole in his roof and half of his shop gets soaked whenever the climate goes to ****", Arch said, pointing him out.

"thanks. and ill probably need the room another night", Randy said putting five scale on the hard oak counter.

"alright then", Arch said," and i suppose ill put this little bugger in you room, its a miracle he was'nt treampeled on the way in."

Randy left the bar to find the barber Arch spoke of. the street were alot calmer...but stil busy.

 

Jaedis Averian

The circumstances leading to our departure from Andant were strange, to say the least. I often find my eyes drawn to Kilas’ arm – completely covered to the shoulder in the Scion’s wrappings. What sort of repercussions would come of this? I also had a nagging discomfort in the back of my mind… the Scion had given something to Kilas while speaking quietly enough that I couldn’t hear. I don’t like being kept in the dark, but I let it slide for now.

Control our own fates, eh? Well it seems I’ve steered mine right into trouble.

After the mad rush from the Spire, I had successfully sought out my contact and retrieved payment. Relief washed over his face when I told him of our success. With the money Al'haman gave us and coin from my fulfilled contract, it was easy enough to get supplies for our quick exit. Only getting enough to last until the next town, I was ready to go by the time Kilas came back from whatever business he had. A new item accompanied him in the form of an ebony case that seemed very precious to him. At his request, we stopped not too far from the city near a grouping of obelisks. It was a touching scene as he stood before one of particular beauty, a tear making its way down his face. I knew better than to ask questions upon his return to the wagon, and so we simply continued on our venture.

It had been an… interesting couple of days since we left. Kilas and I had spent most of the trip in strained silence. I’m sure normal folk would find our attempts at conversing laughable, but dealing with people was never really my strong suit… well, unless ‘dealing with’ entailed sudden, violent death. We had yet to decide on a final destination, instead choosing to just head south to the nearest city. It is taking longer than I had expected. This is our second night spent outside so far. I’m not bothered by the sleeping outdoors so much as not truly knowing the company I’m with.

I glance over at my sleeping traveling companion. The flickering light from the fire plays upon his face, and I’m startled by a growing fondness. Though typically seeming more brown, his hair flashes almost copper when the light strikes it just so. His eyes are closed, but I can picture their aqua depths sparkling in mischief as a roguish grin marks his face. My eyebrows furrow – I shouldn’t let myself get so attached. Sighing quietly, I readjust the coarse wool blanket protecting me from the night’s cold and let sleep take me.

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

“Jaedis…” his eyes are filled with warmth and caring as a gentle smile touches his lips. “It’s not your fault. Please don’t cry…”

My eyes fly open and I bolt upright, a cold sweat on my brow. It’s still dark, so I can’t have been asleep for too long. Looking over at Kilas, I see him still fast asleep despite my sudden start. Some small amusement strikes me at his seeming ability to sleep like a stone. Glancing down at my makeshift pillow, I am unwilling to return to the ghosts plaguing my subconscious. Slowly rising, my feet take me to a grassy knoll some little ways from our encampment. A wave of sadness washes over me as I gaze over the wild, sweeping expanse.
The moons are beautiful right now. I haven’t seen them so large since that night…

An urge hits me – one that has long been dormant. One that hadn’t surfaced since the last time I was with him. I thought it had died then. Strange that it should manifest now.
With meaning lost in time and a melody older than remembrance, I give my voice to the silence.

“Y buene, son katay. Metso intuya meriste diya…
Y buene, son katay. Senno covora inurae shensa...

Eso rentuna coro senevai.
Concha menria sicour fenesai.
Icina portua foros metenay,
Orin seraena parin covinae.

Y buene, son katay. Metso intuya meriste diya…
Y buene, son katay. Senno covora inurae shensa...”

Letting the song fade into the night, I head back to the campfire and resign myself to the personal demons awaiting my troubled mind.

 

Rauo Curoh

I screamed as iron claws ripped at my shoulders. I was trapped within my mind as pain enveloped me, such familiar pain, yet I knew something was different. The pain was missing it's burn, and I could feel the blades shredding my skin rather than slicing. I found it disturbing how much I knew about this method of torture. A man would wear a metal gauntlet with a thin double-bladed iron razor on each finger. The first blade was meant to slice the victim, while the second was dipped in an acid which cauterized and sealed the wound as it followed.

Tears streamed down my face as a new line of jagged cuts tore open my old scars. I felt dizzy, and the deck beneath me swayed. (More so than before.) I realized then that there was no acid on the blades, that every stroke only caused more bloodloss. I lay rent and helpless under the iron claw. I wanted to scream to Duncan, to tell him that I would bleed to death, but I suspected that he knew what he was doing. That he intentionally left the acid off. I would be weaker this way.

Then, abruptly, it stopped. The boot holding my head to the deck lifted, and I saw Duncan move back to his bag. He pulled off the grizzly stained glove, then rummaged again through the bag, pulling out a loaf of bread. I watched as he sat, and chewed the loaf, smirking sadistically at the glove beside him. My stomach ached for nourishment, but I knew better than to ask for any. I doubted I was even strong enough to speak anyway. I merely lay there, flat against the deck of the boat.

To my surprise, Duncan did not resume his torture upon finishing his food; instead, he leaned against the bag, and closed his eyes. Slowly, I tried to move, but felt my head spin. I wasn't fully aware of the seriousness of my injuries, having cut my mind off from the rest of my body. As tendrils of thought slowly wound their way through my veins and to my fingertips, I felt blood. Lots of blood. As feeling made it's way to my back, I had to bite my lips until they bled to keep from screaming again. The damage was so severe, I wondered if I'd become a cripple. Hopelessly, I closed my eye...

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

Slowly, the world began to swim back into focus. It was night. I tried to swallow, and felt my throat crack from dryness. I must have swallowed some seawater earlier. Again, I tried to move, succeeding only in twitching my index finger. Even that small movement drained my body of much of it's few remaining ounces of strength. I turned my gaze to the sky, hoping to see the twin moons. I found the sky obscured by a pulsing greyish blue flame. I dropped my gaze to the deck, only to see it engulfed by the aura as well. This was not Duncan, it felt calmer, impassive, almost unreadable. I looked to where I'd last seen Duncan, and found him sleeping still. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I directed my gaze to the side of the boat, where a tailed figure was boarding. Had I more senses, I may have been frightened, as the figure made it's way to where I lay. Perhaps it was Death. I had heard stories from people, who said that Death was a person. The figure leaned down, as I closed my eye expecting a fatal blow. Instead, something soft and warm fell upon my back, alleviating the pain somewhat. I opened my eye again, and fought to see past the blue flames, which were so strong. I had seen them before, on the ship following ours. Orel had been... Was Orel here now? Where was Orel?

"O-" A thin croak escaped my lips, and the figure leaned in closer.

A pair of large dark green eyes stared at me, and a thin mouth of sharp teeth stretched into a frown. Without a word, I felt the figure lift me in its arms, and carry me to the side where it had emerged. I looked down, and found myself bundled in a yellow cloak. I remembered then, that my dress had been destroyed by the glove, and tried to pull the cloak tighter about myself to hide my nakedness; again, succeeding in only moving a finger. I stared back at the figure, my mind sluggishly trying to grasp the meaning of what was going on, and failing. I felt myself being lowered into another swaying boat, before the figure hopped in after me. I stared into its green eyes, and they turned and peered blankly into mine. As blackness began to envelop me, I couldn't tell if I was safe, or still in danger.

 

Falron entered the Tavern, it’s dank and musty smell hit her instantly. She hated these places, but she didn’t choose the meeting points.
She stepped over someone, walking towards one of the corner, aware of the eyes following her. Someone whistled, making a joke to a near by friend, she ignored it, use to such morons. She sat at a table, the one designated for receiving jobs.
Not 5 minuets passed before someone walked over, he loomed over her as she sat, waiting.
“Hey, missy, I think you’ve got the wrong table”
“Really…”
She looked at him, noticing a twitch in his jaw as he took in her eyes. They gleamed a deep blue, seeming to swirl.
“This table is no place for a lady… especially one such as your self…”
He grinned, leaving closer to her, his eyes set on her chest.
“You should come and join me and my friends over there”
He pointed, nearly hitting one of his friends who’d come over with him.
“See there? Lovely isn’t it? Now come on”
He gripped her shoulder, then tugged her, she didn’t move an inch.
“Come on, this is no place for a lady, especially one as bumptious as your self”
He moved his hand to grip her chest, she grabbed his arm, turning as she did, then drove her fist into his groin. He collapsed as she let go. His hands covering his now bruised organs.
No one other then his friends noticed, everything continued as normal as they scooped up their friend and carried him to the other side of the bar.
He managed to say one word as they carried him away. “Bitch…”
Every bar, it was always the same, there where always idiots that came after her. She cursed her body.
Someone sat on the other chair to the table, a cloaked figure, he pulled back hi hood, revealing an aged, scared face.
“I noticed them looking at you as you came in, they didn’t take their eyes off of you, thought I’d see what you did before offering you the job”
“Well… I’m sure they’re not done, so lets get this over with…”
He laughed.
“I’m Totan, you’ll be the 3rd person I’ll of sent to kill Forsley, you know the bounty, 100 gold pieces, bring back his pendant, an extra 100 gold if you can bring back his staff as well”
“Any advance payment?”
“No, after 3 failing, I’m giving no advance payments, it’s just a waste of my money”
“Ok then”
“You’ll need to travel afterwards, there’s a small port in Everon, I’m going there to catch a ship to the signing”
“Arrange a place for me as well, then I’ll get on with this”
“Very well, but the ship leaves in 8 days, be there before then or you’ll be missing your payment”
Falron got up and began to walk away.
“Oh yes, and if you don’t know, he’s one of your kind”
Falron continued walking, the one’s who’d come over had gone, that was bad. She already knew who Forsley was, she checked asked around, he was a corrupt seeker, he’d been causing some kind of uprising, attacking all manner of villages with his merry crew. She could at least be glad that she’d now have a way to get to the Signing before it was over.
The instant she walked out of the tavern, the cool air greeted her, blowing through her shortened hair. She began to walk down the cobbled road.
They ran out of the alleys between buildings, each armed with a knife, one with a sword.
“You stinking bitch, I’ll get you for hitting me!”
They all ran at her, 3 in front,2 behind, she sighed, drawing her sword.
It was over in 3 seconds, her blade flashed as it hit away each knife, her foot flashing backwards and hitting the would be assassins, one screamed as his knife shattered and bits of the blade cut into his flesh. She swung her sword down hard on her friend as he charged her head on, shattering his cheap sword it into nothing but a ruined hilt.
She side stepped as he continued his lunge, tripping him, causing him to fall hard, he scrambled on the floor, turning to face her, then froze. The tip of her sword rested against his crotch, she lent closer, her eye’s glowing a bright Blue, then whispered.
“I see you again, and I’ll cut these off”
He looked about ready to cry at the thought that a women had over powered him and threatened him. She pulled back, returned her sword and continued to walk away, leaving them to pick them self’s up. Her eye’s dimmed as she walked away. What a waste of time.

 

Alexandrus Brandt

I awoke in a jail cell. My head was killing me, I thought about getting up from the stone floor I was laying on but I thought better of it. Someone in one of the cells across from me was singing. I growled in annoyance and closed my eyes hoping he would stop. He didn't, of course. If I wasn't feeling like I was on my deathbed or locked up in some god awful prison cell I would have strangled this guy. I groaned aloud, irritated at myself. How could I think something like that when I was in jail for murdering someone? "Hey kid!" I sat up and turned toward the man who had addressed me. He stood outside the cell glaring at me. He was tall and had long dark hair like my own and his clothes were worn and dirty. " Yes?" I answered glaring right back at him. "You realize you killed a very important man tonight?" he said. "Important to who? If I may ask." I growled, feeling the anger growing steadily hotter inside me. " He was a nobleman" the man said. "He killed my brother." I snapped at the man. The man looked surprised for a moment "I'm sorry." he said. "No your not." I said turning away from the man. "Yes I am. I...I was a friend of your father's I knew Estienne" the man said softly. My breath caught in my throat "Your lying." I murmured. "No, Alexandrus" the man said. "My name is Ellisedd. You probably don't remember me. You were ten the last time I saw you. Your father was my best friend." Ellisedd paced the floor slowly, a sad look on his worn face "Were you there when he died?" I whispered staring at the wall in front of me not daring to look at Ellisedd. "Your father? I was there with him to the end." He murmured. "And where were you when Estienne died?!" I snarled in anger. Ellisedd looked sad " Your brother would be so sad to see you this way, dear Alexandrus" he whispered. I smiled bitterly "So he would."

 

Laslo Windstride

I stared at the corpse lying at my feet. That stupid old man... I checked to make sure that he was indeed dead, then ran to the mast to change the ship's course. Wherever I ended up was fine, but I no longer wished to go to Euphel. Dolcen would watch over the girl, hopefully, but I had become too involved, and needed to escape. This was none of my concern. As I reached a hand out to grab the rope holding the sail in place, I felt something tighten over my heart. Choking, I pulled my hand back, and placed it over my chest. The pain slowly diminished, and I took several stabilizing breaths before putting my hand out a second time. The pain returned stronger this time, nearly driving me to my knees. Cursing, I pulled my hand back again, and clutched at my chest until the pain receded.

I knew that it was hopeless, knew that this must have something to do with the seal Orel had mentioned; but that didn't stop me from trying four more times to alter the vessel's course away from the second boat, which was drawing closer. The last attempt left my lying upon the deck, both hands practically clawing into my chest, as my heart convulsed inside its ribcage. It took a full five minutes before the pain left, leaving me panting and worn.

I opened my mouh to yell out in frustration, but my hand flew up as if of its acord, and slapped itself over my mouth, stifling my cry. I let my head flop defeated to the side, and found myself face to face with Orel. I glared with hatred at the old man. I no longer held any will of my own, it was all held by the girl. I heard a groan from the ginger haired man, whom I'd forgotten about. I watched as the man stumbled and tried to clamber to his feet. He seemed disoriented, which must have been due to the large chip of wood buried in his right temple. He lifted himself to his knees, then fell sideways onto the deck.

Unconsciously, I felt my body move toward the struggling man, and I watched as it grabbed the man's hair and slammed his face into the deck, causing him to go limp once more. I stared wide eyed at what I'd done, biting my tongue, and trying to think of some reason for my actions. I was disconcerted by his stillness, he lay just as motionless as the dead Orel. Panicking, I let my body go limp, which resulted in it pulling the unconscious man to the mast, and tying him to it with some spare rope. I opened my eyes, and was met with my work.

That man had better wake up. I thought to myself, running a trembling hand over my forehead, then through my hair, terror welling inside me. What would this mean for the future? What would I have to do to fulfill this oath?

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

I sat in the back of the boat with my arms tightly crossed. Darkness had fallen, and the moons shone over the still sea. Their beauty was lost upon me however, as all I could do was think about was what the old man had done to me. I stared at the dried blood staining the deck. I had pushed the old man overboard, not keen on scaring the girl, nor traveling with a rotting corpse. Shuddering, I pulled my cloak closer about myself to ward off the chill air, though it didn't help the feeling of coldness within me. I watched as the boat drew closer and closer to the other that held the girl and the black haired man.

Both of us shall be held to our ends, even unto death... Would that mean that I would have to fight? I realized the stupidness of my question, as my eyes fell on the ginger haired man, who I'd attacked twice that day. I didn't even own a weapon...

I could always get one...

Disturbed by my thoughts, I rose to my feet as the two boats met, their sides brushing against one another. I peered over the edge of the second boat, which was markably larger than the one that I was in. I saw the black haired man, seemingly asleep, lying against a large bag. I continued to scan the boat, until my eyes fell upon a small bundle.

Gritting my teeth when my body's movements told me it would be futile to resist, I gave in to the seal, and took control of my body once more; leaping up into the second boat. If I had to do it, I wanted to do it my way.

As stealthily as I could, I crawled toward the bundle, which began to take shape as I approached. I saw the glimmer of an eye as I drew closer still. It was the girl, though her appearance was unrecognizable from my earlier encounter with her. There was a pool of blood oozing from beneath her, and there were large patches of skin sticking out from her shoulders and back. I moved closer still, until I could feel the girl's rasping breaths upon my face. I stared into her eye, lost again by the sadness held within.

Acting before the seal, I unclasped my cloak, and placed it over the girl. Part of the bundle I'd seen were the torn remains of the girl's dress. All the girl wore were her sandals over knee length woolen leggings. I lifted an edge of the dress, suppressing a sigh when I saw that it was not salvageable.

"O..." I stared back at the girl. This was neither the time nor place to converse, and I was relieved when she did not try to speak again.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted the girl into my arms, surprised at the lightness of her frame. I frowned as I felt the cloak beginning to dampen in my hands. Moving the girl like this was not a good idea, but it was all that I could think of, and with the seal not hindering me, I was going to follow my own plan. I carried the girl to the edge of the boat, then turned to stare at the black haired man, who was still asleep. It all seemed too easy. A flash of silver caught my eye, and I saw an odd barbed glove, that was covered in blood and skin. I felt the girl's gaze upon me, and I looked down at her. I stared in horror at the large hole that marred her face. The bandage that she had been wearing was no longer there. The girl's remaining eye stared continually at me, making me almost squirm with discomfort. Her eye was too big, too sad; surely this was not reality. Perhaps I was asleep.

As gently as I could, I lowered the girl down into the smaller boat, then turned to stare at the black haired man alone. I could feel hatred build inside me, and was almost tempted to seize the barbed glove as slit the man's throat with it. Shaking my head in confusion, I reminded myself that I was peaceful. I had no want to spill blood. But what if he followed? I wasn't sure if the seal would allow me to keep him alive if he did. Even now, the effort of keeping my body from killing him was bringing sweat to my brow.

Cursing, I grabbed the glove, giving a convulsive shake of disgust at the wetness of it, and severed the rope holding the sail in place; before hurling it out into the sea. I leaped into the boat quietly, and pushed it away from the larger, as the glove connected with the water with a muffled splash.