Tales from Evanotia: Episode 1-The Mirror IC

[Artorius]

An elderly man sifted through a pile of books upon an oak coffee table. A leather bound copy of Wizards: Reality or Myth? cought the old man's eye. He picked it up before noticing the book that lied beneath it. It was a curious selection, another leather bound book, blue in color, with gold print. It was in obvious neglect- the top right corner had been chewed off and the leather was cracked, detracting from any aesthetic beauty it possessed in times past. Yet, there was something about the title that intrigued him. It read The Great War:, but the rest of the golden lettering was illegible, or had been peeled off from mishandling. The old man took the little blue book and hobbled over to a small stool which stood before a brick fireplace. He took a seat and opened the flimsy, leather cover which encased brittle coffee stained pages. The binding was weak, had deteriorated over time; it loosened as he turned the pages of the small book. The old man found himself immediately drawn to the book's contents. The city of Fossa he had been there long ago...

---------------------------------
3rd World/ 200th year/ 2nd month/ 8th day

A dry winter wind circulated through the grand city of Fossa blanketing its rooftops with pure, white snow. Its street were bustling with life: merchants, soldiers, noblemen, peasants, and others. It seemed as if those within its walls were oblivious to the Great War which raged just miles south of its borders. From the tallest tower of the Royal Palace, to the lowest reaches in the tepid sewers, Fossa was the crown jewel of this age. No other city compared, no other city came close to its grandeur. It was a testament to the progress of the sentient beings, the cultural and technological advancement of their age was never matched in history and Fossa was the center of it all. There was not a citizen within its walls that was not prosperous, even the lowliest peasant possessed a sum of gold envied by the noblemen of numerous nations.

Yet, there was something amiss this day within Fossa. General Alan Sharash of Fester was to arrive at the Golden Palace (royal palace) to bring news from the Southern Front. Accompanied by the four Dragoons (elite of the elite)of Fester, the General marched through the capital at a slow and cautious pace. A crowd walked at his back, and waited at his front; they were eager to see the spectacle that lied before him, a most lavish parade and festival. The city streets were filled with a feeling of festivity. Most whom he passed by threw flowers at his feet and swept the ground before him in reverence. The marble streets of Fossa were clean where he would walk, but there were some in Fossa who would plot to see this general assassinated. Something zipped right past Anwa, the leader of the Dragoons of Fester. Blood spattered onto his scaly face as General Sharash's dead body hit the marble road to the Golden Palace.

An arrow was lodged between the general's eyes, right through the bridge of his nose. It had peirced through the frontal lobe of his brain and the tip had pierced clean through his skull. It was a gruesome sight for the crowd. Fossa became engulfed in chaos. Men, women, children, even military soldiers fled.

"Anarchy!!!" cried an elderly merchant

"Treachery!!!" yelled a Dragoon

"Betrayal!" yelled a nameless citizen

The Dragoons spread their wings and took to the skies in search of the assassin. The crowd was too thick, he had gotten away...

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3 Days Later.....

A blunt knock was heard at the red, wooden door to a small inn. The marble streets of Fossa were all but deserted. It was dark and an hour past the nine o' clock curfew. No one dared venture into the streets of Fossa. Soldiers patrolled the streets and punished, or captured all who violated the curfew. Yet, here this man was, knocking at The Pearl's door. The inn-keeper quickly opened the door and ushered in the hooded figure. As he withdrew his hood his features were not easily visible in the dim candle light. As the shadows bounced on his face, the inn-keeper noticed his crooked nose and sculpted features. He had hollow cheeks, a stoic face, and shoulder length brown hair. Strapped over his black cloak was a small messenger bag, who knew what contents it held; the only contents that mattered to the inn-keeper were Gornadan gold. Ten pieces to be precise, that would reserve the man a bed for the night. The mysterious stranger walked up to the second floor and entered the bedroom on his immediate right. As he entered, he noticed he would be sharing with three others. It was going to be a long night...

[Ruu]

A young boy, not yet past the age of 18, stumbled through the streets, en expression of weary concentration on his young features. His normally sparkling azure eyes were filmed with a pain he could not hide. The past few days had been such a blur...The attack of the guards...The confusion in the woods as arrows whistled and flew, horses snorted, and dogs bayed their wild notes. The separation from his guardian, the only other person he had ever known...The trek through the forests, surviving on berries and fruit, not having the heart to harm one of the creatures who had done him no wrong just for food. A perilous journey through mountains with no sense of direction...Until he came here to a magnificent city, the likes of which he had never seen before.

The boy's name was Alexander, but he knew now he was no ordinary child. He was Alexander Drakengard II, rightful heir to the throne of Enola. And yet here he was in a city he had heard of only stories...One even he had heard of in seclusion...A nation that was at war with his own people. He also knew it was dangerous to be here, but his lame leg has become inflamed from the constant travel. He was used to hard training and labor, but the endless journey had taken quite a toll on his health. His blurry vision barely recognized the sign on one of the buildings, The Pearl. The Pearl...that sounded like a nice place...Caeus had told him of inns, places where a traveler could find food and lodging if one had enough gold. And Caeus had supplied him with more than enough for his needs. He knew he needed rest quickly. This seemed to be the only place where haven would be granted. A sound of stomping boots could suddenly be heard. Even the Prince had been told of the legendary Dragoons and their strict enforcement of the curfew. With little choice, Alexander ducked into the Inn, trying to hide his hobbling.

The other inhabitants looked up, suspicion registered on their faces. Even with his face partially covered by the Draconian hood, they could sense his uneasiness. They knew a stranger when they saw one. The innkeeper looked askance at the boy in tatters now, tatters of green and gold. But the innkeeper's eyes became extremely friendly when Alexander dropped twenty gold coins in front of him.

"Are you...the proprietor of this establishment?" he asked in a soft voice, little used the harshness of city folk.

The innkeeper replied that indeed he was.

"Is this...enough to cover a room for the night?" he asked softly.

The innkeeper instructed that he had just the room for him, though the boy would have to share it with three others.

"That will be fine, good sir," nodded Alexander as the innkeeper showed him to the room.

When he got there, he hesitated, seeing another silhouette inside the dimly lit room. He knew the innkeeper said he would have to share, but he didn't want to disturb the person inside the room. He hesitated awkwardly, though his body was dying for the soft comfort of a warm bed.

[Artorius]

The cloaked man sat in the corner of the room, whittling away at a piece of wood, sculpting it into a tiny figurine, though of what could not yet be determined by its appearance. He looked a little more imposing than usual, shadows dance on his face, playing a visual trick on all who would look on him. It seemed as if his visage was that of some kind of fanged beast. He stared at the newcomer with his ice cold blue eyes. He continued to whittle away as a couple, quiet minutes passed. The silence was deafening, daunting, intimidating.

“Where are you from?” asked the cloaked man.

He continued with his carving, as if he was simply revealing the piece of art in the wood, not creating it. The man's stare was penetrating, solemn, and observant. Any details Alexander would fork up would be analyzed and poured over in a million different scenarios in a matter of seconds. The cloaked man knew how to read people.

[Ruu]

Alexander hesitated when the man regarded as if he were some kind of beast, almost as if he were stalking his prey. But Alexander had learned courage from his guardian and he was not to be intimidated. Besides, perhaps this man just looked frightening yet his heart was kind. He slowly threw back his hood to reveal his soft blonde hair and sapphire eyes, a visage that looked almost exactly like his father's had he but known it. Though the other man was still cloaked and hooded, Alexander wanted to show he had nothing to hide. Still limping, he took a few steps into the room and sank weakly upon a stool.

"I am sorry, good sir, for seating myself so quickly. But I have traveled very far and I am weary," he said before pausing to consider the other's questions.

How much should he reveal? His guardian had said never to reveal his true heritage, especially not within the walls of the Imperial city itself. Alexander wasn't sure now if this had been a good idea to come here...But this was where rumors of his master had taken him, and he would not leave until he was found.

"I...come from the forests far to the south," he said slowly, certain that this information wouldn't link him to the Enolan throne, "I lost a friend who was dear to me and came searching for him. Are you a traveler as well?"

Alexander shivered, suddenly cold though he did not know why. There was something about this man...almost as if he were looking through him. The young Prince prayed this man would be an ally after so many cold and indifferent stares on the road. He knew he had been outside of society for quite some time, but was he really that socially inept?

[Artorius]

Remaining indifferent to the withdrawn hood of his conversational partner, the darker looking man kept his own hood drawn. He continued to carve the figure until it was clearly done. With a light blow, several wood shavings fell onto the like colored floor. The wooden figurine was a knight, as if from some primitive chess set. He considered the limping man's question for several seconds before answering.

"I am a traveler, yes. Believe it or not, I arrived only several minutes before you did. If you payed more attention to detail you might have noticed the rain drops dripping from my hood, or the fresh scent that they give off as well. I come from a distant land, you would not know it, it is long dead. I have come to Fossa searching for someone as well. My name is Briek. (Bree-eck)"

Briek reinserted the carving knife into his boot. With a wicked smile he too sat on a stool.

"You should rest my friend... who knows what tomorrow may bring. I do hope you find a suitable physician in the morning, that leg isn't looking well."

With that last remark, Briek took the candle in his hand and blew out the flame.

--------------------------------
Meanwhile in Redstone, Fester...

"General Alan is dead my liege! They cannot even protect their allies within their own city. We are losing this war! The time to defect is now! We can offer them battle plans, information, an-"

The Drakonian general was cut off by an angry king.

"SILENCE!" yelled King Herold "We will not cower in our caves like weak beasts! We are strong! If Gornada should fall we will join them into oblivion. We will not defect." ordered King Herold

A war council was in session, with two generals present, as well as the king, his royal adviser, and the head of the legislative/elective body. At the moment, The leader of the elected parliament spoke.

"Your highness, it is no longer a question of if Gornada should fall... it is simply when. The northern front has been a stalemate since the beginning of this war, for goodness sake! There are rumors the Gornadan king chases a myth, his country is not united! They wish dearly for peace in a time of war, his name is slandered across his empire."

The king's royal vizier decided to include his two cents. "SIre, if I may, Gornada is weak. If we join Enola, we have Nock surrounded on all sides. We would join the fight to great success I assure you. Nock would fall in a matter of days, with Tallon not far behind. We could annex their lands for our people."

The Drakonian king sat in his throne, his crown weighed heavy upon his head. He did not want to be known as a traitor, or a coward. He did not want to run at the first sign of danger.

"We must act now. There is no time. If we are to defect, we must withdraw the Dragoons from Gornada and perhaps march on Tallon, pushing southward until our home force and the Dragoons meet in Nock. It is a perfect plan, but we must act now. Yes, the east is more suitable for us, but think of the possibilities. We are not in this war for the right reasons. We could save our morality, and our treasury if we defect now." concluded the second general.

"Leave me." ordered the king.

Two giant steel doors closed as all exited the throne room except the king. He sat in solitude, trying to develop his war plan. The fate of Fester depended on his decision.

[Guest]

Miles smiled in the murky light of the forge, and wiped off the sweat pouring from his brow. With his brow furrowed in concentration, the sweat was getting in his eyes, and he didn't dare make mistake at this part in the forging. Valcorian steel required as little light as possible to retain its dark color, and other more interesting properties. He normally hated working at night, it seemed suspicious to the paranoid dragoons. It didn't matter that he was normally well-regarded both by the populace and the regular watch, or that he forged some of the best armor for the Dragoons themselves. It was just suspicious. In this one instance, they were in part correct. He was making something taboo in his circles, anything of power was. It was a moot point; the grandmaster smith who did not want to make something for the Raven hadn't been born. Miles wasn't creating a legend, he was adding to one.

Marik stalked the streets alone. He was without his telltale sword today, it was too easily identifiable. Even so, he had no fear of a patrol of Dragoons. The arena had made him aware of the quality of his opponents, and while theirs was high, a patrol only had eight or ten men at the most. They would have to catch him first, and it was hard to run in armor. If they could even spot him, they deserved to catch him. He smiled, motionless in the shadows, as the Watch jangled by. His prey tonight was also unafraid of the clumsy city guard. He stayed in the shadows, waiting. Patience in the heat, was draining, frowned upon on the sands of the arena, but the fighting in the cool dark stone rooms beneath was often more viscous, with less flash. To live in the dark, you had to be ruthless, quick, and confident.

Miles set his lightest hammer and a special now ruined chisel down. He tied a rag around his forehead to stop the sweat from getting in his eyes. Valcorian steel was special, and any doubt would ruin it. He had once been forbidden by Alisiran, one of his teachers from making anything from Valcorian steel. If the maker wavered in his will, if the wielder wavered in his, the item made would be cursed, a demon-possessed menace. Miles smiled as he picked up the hammer, his last chisel, infused with crystallized essence. He wouldn't waver during the helm's creation, one of his finest pieces. The Raven would never falter, ever.

Marik smiled as caught sight of dark red cloth and gold thread beneath a furtive small man in a worn and shabby coat. This district was too rich for such a man not to stand out. Marik might be an amateur at the entire spy business, but he was an expert for spotting a weaknesses, that little bit out of place that others tried to hard to conceal. He had his courier. Marik silently scaled the nearest wall, crouching on it like a gargoyle on guard. The man was fidgeting, scared of getting caught. His caution was warranted, but his over-active imagination was sensing phantoms that weren't there, and missing the single waiting wraith. White teeth gleamed in the darkness.

Miles set down the last chisel in satisfaction and held up the finished work. His client would be pleased; the Great Raven engraved upon the helm, wings alight, looked like it would fly off at any time. Like the Raven could not wait to soar above the fields of carnage, could not wait to be a god above the realm of battle. He set the helm down with the tongs and left it. He came back with a knife in his belt, and struggling wild boar over head. Despite the fact that it weighed over a hundred pounds more than the massive man under it, it was helpless. Struggling, wild and proud, its blood would be the only fitting quench for Valcorian steel. Miles brought it down across his knee, breaking its spine. He held it up in one hand and strung it up with some preset rope in the other. The knife flashed, and the blood sprayed.

Marik had moved again, silently stalking his prey from the rooftops. The quiver of fear from heights had been ruthlessly quashed. His people deserved vengeance, and only the Scarlet Rose knew why they had committed such a purge in the first place. His hated savior hadn't known, and had probably killed the only two people who did. His hands twitched nervously. The Scarlet Rose was mercenary, the only reason the chapel he now waited on was allowed within the city grounds. Shabby Cloak was too predictable, also fidgeting underneath him. Marik slowly repressed the urge to drop down and crush the man's throat. He wanted information, not a nobody's life. The door slowly opened below him. As Marik knew, most people never looked up, so they didn't see him in plain sight. It squealed loudly.

Miles was pleased at the boar's tenacity, fighting until it had bled out. The helm was picked up, still a dark cherry red, and dropped in. It hissed and steamed. His forge smelt like a slaughtering yard now, but he simply clapped his hands together. It was the price of doing business, and the compensation would be enough to ransom the monarch of a small kingdom, which would be about the cost it took to make the damn thing in the first place. He sighed softly. He hadn't paid for the materials directly. All in all, Miles had probably only made about 100 gold after tariffs and cost. Wouldn't hurt his business though. The Raven was only wearing armor Miles had made, and after seven years, it would be complete. Miles pulled the helm out of the blood, and polished it.

The two men clasped forearms silently, the transaction complete. Marik's arms were beginning to ache, and his legs were cramping. He had confirmed the broker's information, and was going to make a tidy profit in exchange for some meaningless tidbits about something called Archon's Plight. Probably a code he didn't know. The Scarlets were a nasty bunch. Marik slowly scaled down the side, and made a decision to go back to the inn he was staying at, and working for. The Dog and the Dragon was the nastiest, toughest dive in Fossa, and paid him a gold a week to keep it relatively free from brawls.

Miles slowly packed up the helm, tucking it under his arm. While curfew was still in effect, it didn't really apply to him much. He also had news about the model of the arrow that was used to kill the General. It was in a distinct and very traceable style, his rival Erran Speck. It was also undoubtedly completely unrelated to the case, considering Speck mass produced weapons for the Watch, the Army, and anyone who would pay for bulk crap. A patient man could get one for free at one of his innumerable marketing advertisments. He shrugged, and hung up the leather apron. He started at the sound of a large crashing at his door. Maybe, he would deliver the helm tomorrow. Simultaneously with that thought, he picked up his heaviest forge hammer and walked up to greet whoever was stupid enough to pound on his door.

Marik silently cursed as his ribs parted ways after intimate contact with the brim of the stone roof he had just crashed into. The shrill whistles of the watch were heard through the still air of the night, and Marik's heart fluttered in quickly suppressed panic. He roughly scrambled over the roof, and slid down the opposite slope. He was only about half a mile from his inn, which now seemed as far away as the moon hanging low in the sky. The docks was patrolled by Dragoons, the only guards tough enough to regard the toughened cutthroats and thieves as chaff in the wind. He had into the twisted back alleys that formed a maze so close to the main streets. His only problem was the fact that he still had to cross two broad avenues that were typically used for transporting freight.

Miles set the helm down on the small side table next to the thick oaken door, polishing cloth still covering it. He cleared his throat and an spoke loudly. “I'm coming; stand away.” The door opened outwardly with a whisper. He encountered a brief resistance, and sighed in annoyance. He paused and then resumed opening the door, looking at the embarrassed, angry man. He had Speck's mass produced crap on him, and snorted. It was silent a moment, and he heard the clanking. A tall Drakonian slowly resolved in the dark. Miles scowled, “What do you want, Festus.”

Marik turned slowly to confront the Dragoon patrol. He held his hands up slowly, and staggered a bit, as if slightly punch drunk. He smiled sheepishly like a boy caught stealing candy. His hands were up as the four man patrol slowly lowered pikes. “How can I help ya boys?” The lead one began to approach him, and Marik shrugged imperceptibly, loosening his shoulder muscles. He focused on the four drakonians, noting the length of the pikes, the swords belted at the waist, and began calculating. He had fought their kind in the arena before, but not often. He began backing away slowly, enticing the lead to get overconfident and away from the rest of the patrol. “Halt.”

The Dragoon glared at Miles, and glanced inside the door. His eyes narrowed ferally at the sight of gleaming black metal. “What have you been doing, it is forbidden to work after curfew. You know--”
“It is forbidden to sell after curfew, Festus, not work. Read your dictates more carefully.” Miles' rumbled out menacingly, “Just as it is illegal to harass without a purpose. A man may engage in the defense of his property even against the Watch, if it is illegal.”
The men rustled uneasily, as Miles was built like a fort. They looked at Festus, and he glared and motioned them to go in. Miles crossed his arms, and exuded impending slaughter. They stopped. Festus moved close, trying an usually effective tactic. Miles barely craned his head to look at the taller being, smiling evilly. Miles was wider, stronger, and definitely faster without his armor on.
“That's a tough row to hoe, Festus.”
“You're making pure Valcorian steel, human. It is not allowed.” The Drakonian's face twisted in revulsion and hatred. Miles smile grew wider, baring teeth.
“You mean you thought it wasn't possible. Besides, I have not the courage to resist a request from the man whom is invincible on the field of battle. The Raven flies even higher than the Dragon after all. He should be coming soon. After all Death is never early or late after all.”

It was a voice that brooked no alternative. Marik even felt the chill of fear run down his spine. He had never heard a voice with such absolute command, as if a god was speaking with the confidence of being obeyed by his faithful. His hand began to twitch nervously, but the rest of him was still. It wasn't a loud voice, or particularly rough. The not unkind sound belied the adamant will beneath it though. For the third time in Marik's life, he was afraid. The Dragoons also halted. The lead Dragoon spoke.
“Who are you?” Marik had yet to turn around.
“I was looking for my guide. We have a pass for tonight.”
“I haven't heard anything about that.” The Dragoons eyes narrowed.
“And, nonetheless, I have one.” Marik heard some rustling, and the Dragoon looked visibly shaken.
“Who-Who... Who are you?”
“I am the Raven.” Marik tensed, and felt ice shoot through his veins.
“What are you here for?!”
“My final commission, I am leaving after I acquire it.”
“Humans cannot withstand the cursed black steel.”
“It simply requires unflinching will, or an unshakeable cause. I have both. Move aside, or follow. I care not.”

Festus rocked back as if struck, and started moving in to snatch the helm. Miles shoved an arm the size of a small tree in the way, strong as the steel he worked on.
“It isn't for greedy, worthless cowards. You can tell your compatriots hiding in the shadows that I will illuminate them in purifying light. Follower of anachronism and old festering hatreds have no place at my door. It makes my hands itch to use my hammer.” Miles smiled so wide it hurt, and dragged Festus a few inches to be level with his eyes. “Old Carius still loves me, lizard. He approved.” With no apparent effort, he shoved the heavily armored Drakonian to the ground. He turned and bowed to the Watch, strode instead his house and slammed the door.

[Ruu]

"Ah...it is very good to meet you, Sir Briek," replied Alexander as weariness persisted in striving to overcome him.

He shook his head dismissively, however, when Briek suggested that he see a doctor. He had lived with this pain as long as he could remember, and it only acted up at certain times anyway. Besides, if his master could not heal it, most likely no physician could.

"Do not worry, it should heal of its own accord in the morning," he replied, though he sounded thankful for the man's concern.

Even though Briek was a dark and eerie, Alexander didn't think there was an malicious intent in the man, even with his wicked smile. As the candle was blown out, Alexander sank wearily onto the bed.

"Good night, Sir Briek..." he whispered before falling into a deep slumber as soon as his head touched the pillows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexander's dreams were dark and troubled...Of dark shrouded figures on horseback, chasing him in the moonlight. The faster he tried to go, the more they drew closer. The more he ran, the slower he felt until they were upon him, the horses snorting and pawing, evil glinting eyes staring him down...

The prince awoke in a cold sweat. He looked around the room until he was certain he did hear the sound of horses pawing impatiently. Outside were men in armor, dismounting, and glancing warily at the establishment. The innkeeper bustled out, whispering something to the men. The men looked at each other, speaking in words Alexander could not hear. They soon headed inside. Alexander's eyes widened. Were these men after him? Had the innkeeper recognized him? He hesitated, wondering what he should do...

[Artorius]

~~~~~~~BBBBBWWWWWWOOOOOOOONNNNNGGGG!!!!!!~~~~~~~

A horn sounded throughout Fossa, a horn that had not been heard for centuries. A horn which had not sounded since the fall of the greatest empire ever amassed in Evanotia: the great Praetorian Empire. The natural protection of the Gaseous Mountains and the fabled impenetrability of Fossa's walls had protected it from invaders since its conception after The Fall. Fossa was under attack, and all of its able bodied men were called to arms. Town guards and palace guards rushed to fortify the walls. The 7th company was the lone remaining military presence within Fossa and they rushed to their posts. It went unsaid, but all men of fighting age were immediately conscripted into the Gornadan military.

Meanwhile, the Dragoons of Fester joined their allies the Gornadans in battle. The fierce Reardonians approached at an alarming speed, well armed and dressed in shining silver armor. As they march in their organized legions, the earth shook, as if cowering from the might of the great Reardon empire. Indeed, its military was known as the army with a country, rather than a country with an army.

Soldiers and town watch took their posts at the mile-high defensive wall which surrounded Fossa. As they looked out before them, only the mighty Readonian legions could be seen. They were many. Pikemen stood at the forefront of each legion, followed by archers and flanked by "artillery" (special essence users capable of channeling essence into offensive techniques able to eat or detroy matter) which were surrounded by cavalry. At the back of each legion was a legion commander who barked orders in their ugly language. Within the mass of soldiers stood many flagbearers, proudly displaying their country's infamous blue and black falcon. The earth ceased to shake as the Reardonians were but one hundred yards from Fossa's great wall. A war horn sounded, deep and proud, as Reardon declared war on Gornada's crown jewel.

Reardon archers and Gornadan archers alike lighted their arrows and prepared to fire. Time seemed to stand still as both defenders and attackers waited for a signal. The battle-hardened Reardonians were eager for battle, while the Gornadans cowered at their combined might. The Reardonians were a war machine; men and women born and bred for war. The Gornadans now fielded a ragtag combination of newly conscripted young, and old men, the 7th company, and town watch, as well as palace guards. No one dared fire a shot, no one dared cough or sneeze, or flinch, or shake. It was dead silent as the appropriate time for war approached. The morning mist settled, all Reardon commanders dropped their arms, and a volley of arrows descended upon Fossa.

None of the arrows hit human targets, they had alll either fallen uselessly to the cobblestone ground within Fossa, or hit common buildings. Because of the nature of the Gaseous Mountains, flame spread quickly, Fossa had begun to slowly burn.

At the front line, Reardonians tried to survive as they propped ladders up against the great wall of Fossa. The siege had officially begun. A giant ram had dented the giant steel doors which allowed entry to Fossa and essence users began to chip away at Fossa's stone wall. The crown jewel of the Gornadans was not long for this world...

--------------
The earth shook under Briek's idle body. He awoke to the sound of a great horn, the sound of war. Guests at The Pearl fled in horror. Briek tried to make sense of the situation, just seconds ago he laid soundly asleep in bed. That boy, Alexander, seemed to have fled already. Outside, barely audible over the blaring war horns was the neighing of horses. Briek quickly got up and slung his simple pack over his shoulder, and took care to once more don his black cloak. He drew the hood again and exited the inn.

Once outside he was surprised to see Alexander, the young man stood, dumbstruck. Clearly, something besides the war was afoot, but if Alexander wanted to survive, it would be smart to follow the seasoned traveler: Briek.

"Alexander! Fossa is under attack, as I'm sure you must know by now. Its going up in flames. I do not know what happened, nor do I care to know, but you must make a choice. I can take you as far as the Lake of Tears, far enough south of this place, it is safe there, a neutral haven. Do you accept my invitation? Make haste! Time is of the essence!"

As he communicated his ultimatum to Alexander, many arrows flew just beside him.

-------------
A shrill scream could be heard just outside Miles' home. Soon after, an agressive knock would be heard on the blacksmith's door.

"Open up! You are being conscripted into his majesty's army! You must begin forging weapons for his majesty's troops immediately."

Three more knocks were heard. Frustrated with receiving no response whatsoever, the town guard began to bang on the door with his fist.

"Open up! NOW!"

--------
Meanwhile in Windrow, Reardon...
A tall figure clothed in a white tunic, black leggings, black leather boots, and a green cloak approached Emperor Atrix Alfred Luftwaffe of Reardon. The tall figure's face was thin and pale, covered in scruffy, rough stubble, from neglected shaving habits. However, it was clear this man was capable; he boasted an athletic build and a giant steel longbow rested on his back along with a quiver filled with arrows. This man kneeled before Emperor Atrix's throne in reverence.

The Emperor was old in comparison to others of his time. His good years had long passed and his face was marked with wisdom: a long white beard, innumerable wrinkles, gaunt cheeks, and cataract stricken blue eyes proved this emperor to have seen many decades.

"You have served me well Al-Chem... I owe you a great debt. Though I know you fly under no flag, I would offer you a fortune to serve me as Grand Marshall. Fallon is aging... my sons are not yet leaders... you would be more than suitable." the old king talked in a raspy voice and it seemed almost as if it pained him to speak

Al-Chem licked his lips, dry and cracked before speaking to the old king, "Sir, I am a mercenary, an assassin, I don't take sides. However, I would like to know the sum offered, if I may ask as much. Perhaps I could extend my visit. Your military prowess always did impress me after all. Maybe I have found a temporary home."

Emperor Atrix inhaled, weezing and replied to the mercenary, "I would offer you the best arsenal money can buy, leadership over all of Reardons famed legions, and 50,000,000 Tins."

The mercenary was taken aback, though he hid his excitement well. His voice did not waver, "I quite like the sound of Grand Marshal Sharash..." said Al-Chem with a dastardly grin

[Rusty Wings]

Clytie was freezing.

She had dressed in the warmest clothes she owned, but the winters she had been accustomed to in Llyr were nothing to what she was currently experiencing in Fossa. She had only ever seen snow twice in her life before, and she had never seen this much of it. Shivering, she pulled her cloak tightly around her and trudged through the city streets in search of somewhere she could stay the night. She was new to the city, but she had heard word of the curfew, and she knew that the sooner she got out of this biting cold air the better.

She had just set her sights upon a place that looked as if it would suffice - The Pearl, it was called - when a deafening noise ripped through the air. Clytie gave a startled scream and clapped her hands to her ears as the city instantly sprang into motion at the sound of the horn, everyone rushing in different directions and shouting orders and calling names. Clytie merely stood, terrified and confused, for a moment before grabbing a passing man by the arm.

"Please! What's going on?" she shouted over the din.

"An attack, miss!" the man replied. "Best get into your house and stay there!"

"But I haven't got a - wait!" It was no use; the man was already hurrying to join the others who had been summoned by the horn.

Clytie stood, cold and scared and disoriented and alone in the midst of this strange city as it called its men to arms, wondering which way to run.

[Guest]

Miles snored loudly after finally delivering his final commission to the Raven. He slept through the great horn, but it caused him to toss fitfully in his sleep. It was a clarion call to war, and stirred his warrior's blood, tainting his peaceful dreams red. Slowly the shrill cries and pounding on his door woke him. Miles, heavily sleep deprived and feeling the call of havoc racing through his veins, stirred wrathfully. Light have mercy on that poor soul who woke him, for Miles intended to show none. He stomped down the stairs leading to the main door of his forge, wincing at every shrill cry, and grinding his teeth at the constant pounding, but his feet slammed down. Doom! Doom! Doom!

Clad only in fine cloth pants, Miles called out. “Stand aside!” He removed the heavy timber bar, and rendered the heavy lock-bolts undone. He kicked open the heavy door, narrowly missing the startled guard. Miles snorted, and snarled at the poor bastard who roused his ire. He stalked out, hands heavy on his hips. The boy shrank back at the sight of the ex-knight captain, who loomed out like an angry grizzly, with blood-shot eyes and huge slabs of scar covered muscle.

“What in the Seven Hells do you think you are doing, boy! I had nary but a few winks in the last two days. What demon brings you to bedevil me so!?” Miles' cheek began twitching in rage.

“You are conscrip--” The guard's loud shouting was cut off by growl from Miles.
“Keep it down, before I take yon sword and pike and wrap it round yon throat and hang ye from my sign. The next fool they send will at least know my gravity. Now, speaks softly.”
“You are cons-conscrip-conscripted into the Ki-King's army. You must begin forging weapons at once!”
“No.”
“No?! You--”
“Refuse, yes. No, I will not forge gear for such disrespectful, cowardly ingratiates such as you.”
“But, you can't--”
“Yes, I can, boy.” Miles clenched his fists hard enough crack his knucles. “First, my forge is cold. Second, from what munificent stocks of iron, coal and steel shall I forge ye such gleaming instruments of death? I told your boss, several, several times that I do not carry large quantities of high grade steel. I do not carry large, expensive stocks of coal. I have cheap pig iron, and somma wrought iron for specialty work. But,” Miles jabbed his fingers into the guard's chest hard, “not,” jab “weapons grade,” jab “steel.”
The guard gathered his courage and spoke eloquently, “Uh?”
“Furthermore, I have the right to a contract for compensation. A contract.”
“Huh?”
“Ye lack literacy, doncha dolt. A written document signed and sealed by both significant parties forming a legally binding agreement. Also, what kind of weapons? Swords, arrow heads, pikes, maces or something else? I do not waste my time for free, nor do I buy steel on credit.”

The wind changed, and Miles smelt blood and death on the air. He also smelt that tang that resulted in too much essence. His shoulder blades itched, and he yanked the stunned guard in the door. The rogue blast slammed into the stone cobbles half a second later, spraying deadly stone shards everywhere. The desperate guard wasn't aware enough yet, not enough time on the battlefield.

“Damn and bloody hell. Follow me.” Miles turned and walked deeper into his home, to his own personal armory. He would brook no assault on his home lying down; Miles bent the truth a bit, for he didn't have much weapon grade steel, but that didn't include more valuable and durable metals and alloys that were perfect for the best weapons and armor possible. Miles also had a small arsenal for display, but not for sale. He took private commissions for work, and thus everything was custom. He undid the dead bolt on the door to his private armory and walked.

“Take off tha' crap, boy; Marion Simsen couldn't forge anythin' other than horseshoes if his life depended on it. Pick somma that armor is mostly the righ' size.” Miles ignored the gasp of astonishment at the sheer variety of weapons available; especially at some locked in glass-steel cases. The big smith was a collector of special weaponry, more than half of it cursed. He strode wearily over to the alcove that his personal pride and joy, the three inch thick enchanted Dreadnaught armor, Darkness Bane. Miles pulled the heavy pulleys to separate the armor so it was possible to put on. Many years of practice even allowed him to armor himself in five minutes. The immense weight was reassuring, and comforting to Miles. He left the helm off, it felt suffocating, hanging against his gorget.

“Boy, ye pick something yet?” The guard gestured to a neat stack of light, flexible carapace armor. Miles snorted, “Have ye ever used anything like it before?” The man shook his head, and Miles laughed softly.
“We- We need these weapons!” The guard had managed to display a modicum of guts. Miles shook his head softly.
“Anything in glass-steel case is cursed. And locked by me, with essence. It'ld a take a mage half a day to break the seals, and I ain' openin' 'em for nothin' short of bonafide heroes.” Miles roughly stuffed the man into the carapace armor, and professionally fit it for him.
“Take me to your commander. If he wants me to forge though, he better have the materials.”


Marik awoke amongst the confusion; he smelt burning hay and tar. Adrenaline hit his central nervous system like a freight train, flooding his body with energized wakefulness. Marik thought of the Raven as he quickly grabbed his armor, money and sword. It was a strange and bizarre feeling to be rescued by a man admired. A gladiator was always ready to fight, and it took him little more time than an ordinary man getting dressed for work to put on all the armor. The light open faced helm dangled from one scarred fist, the heavy blade in his other, supported across the back. The tavern master was already gone, and panicking idiots were ransacking the bar.

“What in the name of God's bloody left testicle is going on here!” No one turned to answer him. He still smelt fire, and death though, and made a guess. His job was going down in flames. He cursed pithily, and kicked open the door to anarchy in the streets. Marik scowled, and stomped his way through the panicking crowd. He felt an old dread, an old hatred well up. This was what it was like to be in a city as it was being sacked. Marik didn't another hell bent asshole after his blood this early in the morning, but life seemed not to care. He strode up a winding avenue, dodging the occasional stray arrow, or fractured bit of siege missile.

Marik normally didn't care about bystanders, walking unfazed by scenes of grotesque carnage, men, women or children screaming as they died. Most of the dying had nothing to do with the siege, and everything to do with the nasty ugly panic in the streets. Marik still dodged into alleys to avoid soldiers streaming in company's to the walls. This wasn't his fight, and unless the Scarlet Rose was stupid enough to besiege the city, wasn't his enemy either. He slipped through the crowd, paying attention to the sky when he caromed into a slight girl from behind. His free hand instinctively caught her before she fell, and Marik noticed the deep tan, like the tan of the desert. And, she was too lightly clothed for the weather just as a desert woman would be. He felt a strange sense of nostalgia, and even more awkward, a desire to help the obviously lost girl. He repressed the feeling ruthlessly as he steadied her, still studying mostly the sky.

“Sorry. You probably should get off the streets. If you aren't too far from the Blue Gate, I'll even escort you home. I am leaving before politics demands something I would have to kick it in the balls for. Might be a good idea to find your trade caravan and get the hell out of here too.”

[Rusty Wings]

Clytie let out a short squeak of terror when she was nearly knocked over, then caught and steadied by a large, fearsome-looking man. He told her more or less what the last man had - that it was dangerous to be out here and that she should go home - but while he was clearly rougher around the edges than the other man, he offered to escort her rather than bustling off to the call of the government (which this newcomer seemed to hold in contempt), so she gathered her courage and her voice.

"I - " she started, then bit her lip when her voice quivered and tears tried to make their way into her eyes. Don't be silly, she admonished herself. You're just overwhelmed, trying to think of too many things all at one time. Clytie took a steadying breath and started over, her voice steady and her eyes clear. "I don't know where to go. I don't live here, I only just arrived here and was looking for an inn when the horn started, and I can't go back home, and I don't suppose an inn would do me much good now, and if I were to try to leave the city I can't imagine where I'd set out for, and..." She shrugged dejectedly, giving the man a pleading look. "I just don't know."

In the meantime it felt as though everyone was going mad around her, and she pulled her cloak around her even tighter, as though trying to ward off the mounting hysteria as well as the chill.

[Ruu]

Alexander looked up at Briek, the confusion soon replaced by determination, a princely sort of bearing in his young eyes. If Fossa was being attacked, did this mean Enolan forces were at work? Alexander resolved that the first thing he would do when he returned to Enola would be to call off this war. The war was senseless...so many innocent lives being taken...so many lives ripped asunder...But now was not the time to reflect on that. He took Briek's hand steadily, pulling himself behind the mercenary.

"I thank you, Sir Briek," he said with a nod, "It is most kind of you to offer your assistance and I gratefully accept."

His eyes wavered, however, as he surveyed the chaos beginning to unfold.

"I know...it is extremely dangerous here but...is there nothing we can do for these people?" he asked softly.

Though he had been sheltered, his guardian had taught him the ways of nobility and chivalry. Even in the face of great danger he could not leave all the innocents to their fate. But what could he and a lone mercenary do? His grasp over magic was tenuous at best. And it would never aid them against an entire army...

[Artorius]

Briek looked at Alexander with cold, detached eyes. He had witnessed the sacking of two cities before, and been exposed to death an innumberable amount of times. His reply to Alexander was short, and to the point.

"Let Fossa burn."

Briek meant this with conviction and a cold indifference. If Fossa were to fall, Gornada was not far behind. Strange winds flew through Fossa that day, and brought an unexpected guest with them. The wheels of fate had begun to turn, and the fate of Evanotia hangs in the balance...

-------------------------------------
The same day, in the Golden Palace of Fossa...

Emperor Talberd Ian Fasatune sat on his throne his face red in rage.

"NO ONE KNEW?! Surely, there was signs of mobilization! Surely, their marching could be heard and felt for miles! Surely, we should have known! You are an incompetent lot! ALL OF YOU! Fossa burns and falls while you cower in my throne room... LEAVE ME!" cried Emperor Talberd

The Emperor's war council cowered before their angry king, When he dismissed them, they were quick to leave. They scurried out from the throne room like mice. These generals were quick to arms and quick to aid their men, through leadership of course. Meanwhile, Emperor Talberd sat in his throne room and played with a simple golden coin. He tossed it in the air, twirled it on his throne, and finally cast it to the side. After several seconds he did not hear the usual metallic clang of the metal hitting the floor or the wall. He turned to his right to see a man standing there, fist clenched, holding his coin.

"I see... you are in need of assistance my king..."

[Guest]

Marik grunted slightly. His cursed in Phelsa, the tongue of the sands, and noticed a distinct lack of comprehension. No person of the desert would allow their ancestors to be called such vulgar things without a drawing a knife or a sword and attacking. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uhh, that makes things more difficult. I suppose you can tag along with me for now. I know a few people who can set you up.” Even if I hate that bastard. He rolled his shoulders absently, and let his hand fall. Marik caught sight of another squad badly trained soldiers rushing blindly to the walls.

“What a cluster fuck. Stay quite for a moment, will you?” Miles straightened to his full imposing height, and threw his shoulders back in a proud aggressive manner. He braced himself in their oncoming path. The helm dangled from the hilt of his sword, and he turned with authority on the onrushing squad. It bristled. Marik suppressed a laugh at the mix of desperation and defensive mindset that made that happen. Perfect. He cleared his throat with a growl. The sergeant leading the squad leaned back, instinctively bowing to a greater authority. Marik began barking at the smaller man.

“You!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Which gate is being guarded for evacuees? Eastern, or Blue?!”
“Eastern is currently under siege, sir! Blue is in the process of being sealed.”
“Which gate is evacuating non-combatants? She is the daughter of an ashalenth trade master, and needs to return before the city is sealed.”

The man scratched his nose, and shrugged. “Dusk should still be open, but not for long.”
“I see. Good luck, sergeant. I'll trust you'll show 'em hell 'til I get there. Evacuating VIPs just doesn't make the blood stir.” Marik spat on the ground and waved them off. They made a good hedgehog trotting off.

“Anyway, we need to leave now, unless you want to know what a siege is like. Name's Marik.” He offered his hand to shake.

[Rusty Wings]

Clytie's face lit in a grateful smile, but she remained silent as she was bid while the stranger hailed the leader of a group of soldiers to inquire about which gate they should make for. She smirked a little at being called the daughter of an ashalenth trade master before composing her features into a mask of mild fear until her new companion dismissed the sergeant. Then the man turned back to her and introduced himself as Marik and she allowed herself to smile once more.

"Clytie," she replied, grasping his large, calloused, warm hand in her small, strong, frigid one. "And as fascinating as a siege sounds, I believe I'm more interested in a gate called Dusk at present." Her smile softened into a more sincere expression. "Thank you, Marik. Really."

She released his hand and suppressed a shudder, pulling at her cloak as if she could be wrapped more tightly in it and grinding her teeth so they wouldn't chatter. She took a moment to be in awe of her situation; blindly trusting an intimidating-looking stranger to navigate her through a land that couldn't have been more foreign to her. As little as an hour ago she would have called such behavior mad, and yet here she was; pressed to desperate measures by her desperate circumstances. She thought Marik was all right, though. Rough around the edges, certainly, but all right.

[Ruu]

Alexander returned Briek's cold stare with quavering eyes before he sighed and nodded. There wouldn't be much they could do for the people of this city anyway. Still...the screams of the townsfolk and the march of the warriors sounded harsh to his ears, causing him to cringe.

"Alright...I...trust you've been in this situation before," he said slowly, "I will put my trust in your leadership."

He turned his eyes from the carnage he knew was to soon follow. If this place fell...what would that mean for other places allied with it? Would they too be sacked like this? Why couldn't the people just reconcile themselves. He resolved that his first act as King would be to settle this foolish war. The Emperor was a reasonable man, was he not? He was angry at his nephew, yes, but he had no reason to hate Alexander. They had to be able to find a mutually agreeable solution to his problem. But he couldn't present himself to the Emperor until he was back on his throne, the rightful heir to the Crown.

[Artorius]

Briek drew the dagger from his boot as a Reardonian soldier drew near. The soldier charged him and Briek tackled him to the floor before slitting his throat in the muddy gutter by The Pearl.

"Be vigiliant ALexander! It seems the wall has been overrun. People are evacuating, we must do the same. Follow the crowd and stay close, Reardonians are well trained and deadly warriors, make no mistake, our lives are in danger as long as we stay here."

As Briek finished, an arrow whizzed past his arm, creating a small gash, and tearing his black cloak. Briek turned to face the unlucky archer. It was a young man, not more than forty yards away. It was a wonder he didn't just get killed. Briek threw the knife in his hand with deadly skill. The knife embedded itself in the archer's chest, lodged just dead center in his sternum. The archer fell dead to the cobblestone road.

"Make haste! To the gate! Remember, follow the crowd!"

Briek picked up the sword from the Reardonian soldier and flew past Alexander, sprinting towards Dusk gate. Arrows continued to whiz by and Reardonian soldiers were now moving unmolested throughout Fossa. The flames from the initial assault had grown to unimaginable proportions engulfing almost half the city. Fossa was going to be nothing but a pile of ashes in the middle of this great mountain range.

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

"Go now! Move along! NO! Leave that damned dog, get out of here before you're roasted like a chicken." barked a Gornadan soldier

About six Gornadan soldiers were busy helping Fossa's citizens evacuate. There were so many citizens fleeing in terror, yet countless others who could not escape. Many women had been raped, men slaughtered, children orphaned. As this carried on, Reardon's ferocious army reorganized for one final march on the Golden Palace to complete the sacking of Fossa. There they would meet the final dragoons, willing to protect the royal blood of Gornada.

The proud warriors fought, killing scores of men each. Blood spattered every which way, limbs too. Their sweeping long swords engulfed in flame killed many. Yet, in time, with the superior tactics of the Reardonian generals, the four mighty dragoons of Fester fell. The elite unit which had lasted for centuries, had been wiped out in the blink of an eye. WIth a battering ram, a legion of Reardonians dented and destroyed the steel doors leading to Emperor Talberd's throne room.

All seemed lost as Gornada began to fall...

[Ruu]

Alexander’s eyes widened as Briek and a soldier got involved in a scuffle, but Briek quickly took the upper hand. The mercenary told him to go for the gate and he nodded, just as an arrow whizzed by them. Alexander hurried after Briek, putting all of the long of hours of training to practice.

He concentrated on going forward, one step at a time, yet his eyes were alert for danger. One…two…three…one…two…three…An arrow whizzed by and then two more, one nearly embedding itself in his neck. He ducked as another arrow flew over his head. A soldier spotted his fleeing figure and ran forward, sword drawn. The young Prince turned just in time, drawing his cloak around his body. The sword was aimed at his heart but was turned by the strange draconic material. The soldier barely registered shock before Alexander struck swiftly with the hilt of his sword, knocking the armored person out. Once again he was on the run, dodging arrows and even the occasional spear.

The heat was beginning to become intense, but he the draconic cloak shielded him from the heat as surely as dragon scales. The gate was in sight; they were going to make it!

”Almost there…” he murmured to himself.

[Artorius]

Just as the gate came within sight of Alexander, a rumbling could be heard throughout all of Fossa. It was akin to the marching of ten thousand Reardonians, yet, something was different. All of the earth trembled as the Golden Palace was miraculously lifted from its perch atop the white stone cliffs of the Gaseous Mountains. It shone magnificently in the sun as it levitated; higher and higher the palace ascended into the now blood red sky. Just as the sun was rising over the horizon and taking its rightful place in the sky, it was a brilliant sight to behold. Nothing had ever been seen of this magnitude in Evanotian history.

The Golden Palace rested, a hundred feet, maybe more in the sky, nothing to support it underneath. Had the royal blood of Gornada been saved by some wicked trick of Fate? It did not matter. Green smoke billowed from the crater under the grand Golden Palace, a common sight in the Gaseous Mountains. However, it was a reserve long kept in check under that grand palace. The flames, like bees drawn to honey, flew to the gas in earnest, engulfing the whole of the surrounding area. Reardon suffered heavy casualties. The might of the military machine was no match for nature, or Fate. This was apparent as Fossa was more quickly devoured by the insatiable flames. If any one was to survive, they needed to escape, and quickly.

All the Reardonians could do was retreat. This much was apparent, as their victory and sacking of Fossa was short-lived. The generals recalled what men they could, the rest were left to burn. Flame was all that thrived in Fossa that morning. The crown jewel of Gornada, even of all Evanotia, had been devoured.

--------------------------------------
Briek had escaped the flaming city, Alexander not far behind. Hundreds, if not thousands of Gornadan refugees traveled along a dirt path leading south. The Gornadan empire stretched far and wide to east and west, it was unusual that the refugees would migrate southward, if not westward. Briek stopped an old man who was hobbling along to inquire why.

"Excuse me good sir! Why do you not move westward to the safety of Fossa's sister cities?" asked Briek

The old man brushed off Briek's hand from atop his shoulder and scoffed in disgust before hobbling off at a quicker pace. Briek stopped a younger man, probably in his late twenties, but turned at the sound of Alexander's voice.

[Ruu]

Alexander’s eyes widened as the Palace itself lifted from the ground. What sort of sorcery was this? It was hauntingly beautiful, yet there was something sinister about the beauty. The awestruck Prince’s gaze turned from amazement to fear as the gaseous smoke began pouring from the crater where the palace had once rested. Fortunately, he and Briek had been given enough of a head start so as to escape the poisonous gas. Now they traveled swiftly upon the road along with many of the other fleeing citizens. Alexander watched as Briek questioned one of the fleeing citizens, but the old man brushed him off.

“These poor people…” sighed Alexander, “Losing their homes…everything and perhaps everyone they loved…I know their pain…”

He shook his head to rid himself of the sorrow pulling at his heart strings.


”How far is it to the lake of tears, good sir?” Alexander asked as he followed after Briek.

He had some knowledge of the geography of the area, but most of it was hearsay from his Master. He had never actually traveled such a great distance before.

[Artorius]

”How far is it to the lake of tears, good sir?” Alexander asked as he followed after Briek.

Briek turned to the young man. He thought to himself, before replying. "The Lake of Tears resides in the middle countries. Its north of Fester and Knock, you should know those well. The Middle Countries have stayed neutral and act as a buffer zone between the nothern and southern fronts, but here I am babbling on. Sorry. It is about a week's journey on foot, barring an hindrance. If we encounter anything but clear roads, it can turn into anything up to a month. Yet, there is a shortcut. I know the area well, but I wouldn't subject you to such a thing. Its a dangerous path boy." said Briek

Briek knew what he was doing, he knew he would only entice the young man. He had no intention of actually turning him off to the prospect. Yet, he was not lying, the road would be dangerous should they take that route.

[Artorius]

Alexander listened thoughtfully to Briek's words. At the mercenary's last statement, the thrill of the challenge rose in his young heart. His guardian had told him not to be afraid of anything, because there was nothing to fear but fear itself. A challenging path was always more rewarding than the easy route. Besides, his friend was most likely in an out of the way place, still avoiding the guards who were looking for their capture. This would be the best chance to find him. The young Prince knew that he was placing his life in the hands of a stranger he had just met, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Besides, the natural powers within had kept him safe in times of great danger. They wouldn't fail him now.

"I'm not afraid of danger," he said resolutely, "Time is important to me. I believe if I don't find who I am looking for on this journey, that I must press on to my own goals. I think this short cut would be the best route to take. I place my trust in you, good sir."

"I wouldn't just yet... the road ahead is very dangerous boy. I will do my best to guide you safely along the path, but simply put, there is no "safe" way to navigate this path. We'll be heading southwest, through the harsh deserts. There is war being fought there now, but their holy grounds are sacred, and subterranean. There will be no military resistance, but, the holy cities are dangerous places make no mistake. Outsiders are not welcome. It is said succubi overcome men and lead them to sacrificial altars where they are sacrificed to the Creator. Furthermore, the holy men know magiks beyond my comprehension.. it is not Essence, it baffles me. Neverless, that is the route we will be taking. We musn't rest while we are in a holy city, do you understand me? It will take two days to move through the caverns, and we must rest only in the outskirts of these holy cities. Do you understand me?" asked Briek

"I understand," nodded Alexander, a regal sort of resoluteness in his young eyes, "I know that the danger will be difficult. I have heard of the tales of the holy cities and I understand the perils involved. But I believe that if we work together, we can accomplish our goals. You seem as if you are a seasoned warrior. I...may not be honed in combat skills myself, but I have learned well of combat from my Master. Essence also works through me at times and it may be of help to us on our journey."

Briek mulled over Alexander's words before replying in kind. "We shall see, shant we? Off we go... steel yourself Alexander... its going to be a dangerous journey."

----------------------
A day later...

As Briek and Alexander approached the first holy city, Ramayat, they would notice the intricately carved stone gateway. It was an arch reaching to the top of the cavern, adorned in symbols and perhaps demons, maybe even angels to the desert peoples. These stone figures guarded Ramayat and protected it against evil spirits. They were the dragons of old in reality, deities of these desert peoples, worshipped over hundreds of years. The flesh and blood counterparts to these stone guardians were long considered to reside in the Barren Wastes of the Far East. Yet, their stone brethren were magnificent work, hardly a detail was left out; they seemed so real. Their long horns extended three feet in length, their talons were as large as a grown man's torso, and their long scaly bodies could extend as far as a river. It was truly a magnificent sight to behold.

However, Briek could not shake a feeling of uneasiness as he passed under those guardians and into Ramayat. A feeling of foreboding overcame him, yet he did not want to panic his young companion. As they entered the city, they would notice mysterious lights hanging overhead. These lights were long considered by the desert peoples to be lost souls, and why not, no one else could explain their existence. This lights numbered in the thousands and were the only source of light needed in Ramayat.

As the two walked further into the city, they would notice the great stone architecture carved into the subterranean walls. Entire mansions, temples, pyramids, and the like all made up Ramayat. It was a magnificent city, known to few, seen by even less and for good reason. The citizens of Ramayat, each and everyone a priest, or holy man, were dangerous. Skilled in dark magiks, long hidden, they killled all who entered their city uninvited. It was no mistake only outsiders were sacrificed to their Gods. Briek and Alexander would have to hurry; for every second spent in Ramayat, meant a second longer spent in danger.

[Ruu]

Alexander looked up to take in the statues of the demons, angels, or dragons, whatever they happened to be. No matter what they were, they appeared fierce. The young prince decided immediately he would not want to encounter the creatures should they be alive.

As the two entered the city, the youth could not help but feel as if a dark shroud had been placed over him. Even though the city was considered holy, it felt anything but sacred. The essence inside of Alexander roiled and raged, as if it wanted to escape, or perhaps it wished to destroy those who would dare use the dark artes. Either way, it was a struggle just to keep his Essence from flying loose.

As they continued through the streets, people eyed them suspiciously, and it took all of Alexander's willpower to refrain from staring back. He knew one wrong look could send Briek and himself into the mercies of dark magicks. They had to act cool and confident as if they belonged there. Alexander could sense the deep resentment these people had of strangers, and their hooded eyes veiled an even greater menace. Alexander suppressed a shiver; the sooner they got out of this place the better. Perhaps he had been hasty in making his decision...

[Artorius]

Marik looked at the shivering girl and shook his head minutely. What the hell was I thinking? On a better glance, Clytie looked to be both poor, and overwhelmed by the situation. He half cocked his head, and glanced at the sky. He listened for a moment, but couldn't hear anything through the commotion. He sighed at this. Not only had he saddled himself with a girl who would be worse than useless in a fight, but also in danger of freezing to death.

“I don't suppose you have any money for traveling?” He shook his head and held up a hand to cut off any reply. “Of course not, otherwise you would have warmer clothes. Do you have any idea where you are headed?”

Clytie shook her head in response to this. "I haven't an idea." Then, after a brief pause, "Anywhere but here."

“I don't have any idea either. Somewhere warm, eh? Well,” Marik paused and let the grin fade. “Follow me close. If you fall in the press or lose me, you will either get hopelessly lost or trampled. I can't help.” You would be completely screwed. The thought was paired with a shrug.

She smiled and nodded at his request that they head to a more friendly climate, but turned serious once more when he gave her these instructions.

"I understand," she said soberly.

“I would hold on to my cape or my hand once it we hit the press. They should clear out of the way for me.” His lips curled to show a hint of teeth, and his right hand jiggled the massive sword on his back.

"I should think so!" Clytie said with a laugh, wondering how she'd lucked into finding such an intimidating companion.

---

The two of them moved quickly through the hysteria that was Fossa, Clytie's hand tangled firmly into Marik's cape so that his hands would be free to clear their way. Most everyone stayed out of the imposing man's way, but whenever someone didn't he made short work of them, even with Clytie hiding her eyes in his cloak.

They were nearly to the gate Dusk, however, when a Reardonian soldier grabbed Clytie's cloak from behind and Marik's slipped from her grip. She screamed and Marik turned, the scowl of war on his face, but Clytie's instincts kicked in before the larger man's had to; she drew one of her three knives with blinding speed and rid the Reardonian of his clutching fingers with a single deft stroke. The soldier howled in pain and rage, charging at her with his other hand, which held a sword, raised, but Marik intercepted him and expertly ran him through.

This altercation brought to the pair's attention a large crowd of approaching Reardonians, chasing the retreat and taking what they could get.

"You must go," Marik said to Clytie in an urgent tone. "Run for the gate, and when you get there keep running. I'll hold these clowns here."

"But - !" Clytie started, unwilling to leave her savior here to fend off the Reardonians on his own.

"Go!" Marik yelled, pushing her shoulder roughly. "There is no time to argue!" He caught her fearful expression and realized with a sigh that she was worried about him, and why not? He had protected her when she had lost all hope, and there were a lot of bloodthirsty Reardonians approaching. He clasped her shoulder firmly and bent so that he was eye level with the shivering girl.

"Our paths may yet cross again," he said, his hazel eyes locked sincerely on her turquoise ones. "Now go."

With tears filling her eyes, Clytie wrapped Marik in a brief hug, at which he blinked and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Then she dashed, leaving him to fend off the horde of soldiers as she sprinted lightly for the gate.

---

She had nearly reached the gate when the castle began to rise from the ground and release its fire-feeding gas, but she dared not turn and look at the spectacle; she had one goal in mind and one goal only, and that was to make it through the gate and keep running as she'd been told. She ran blindly, dominated by her paralyzing terror, until her legs literally gave out beneath her, sending her tumbling into a bank of snow. Crying and shivering, she curled herself as tightly as she could into her cloak and fell into a dreamless sleep.

---

While sleeping in the snow had stiffened her joints and chilled her to her very bones, the rest had gone far toward calming Clytie's mind a bit and allowing her to at least try to rationalize a plan. Marik had not found her here and he had told her to keep running, so she stood, shook the snow out of her now-damp clothes as best she could, and continued to walk along the path which she'd been following the day before.

It wasn't long before she was passing beneath an intricately-carved gateway teeming with fearsome stone guardians that seemed to leer at her as she passed into this unknown territory. The feeling that instantly descended on her upon entering this new city was that of being watched, and she glanced around uncomfortably under the stares of the citizens. They seemed to pick up on her uneasiness, for several of them began to move slowly toward her, suspicion in their eyes. Clytie swallowed and tried her best to take on an aloof appearance in the hopes that they'd think she belonged here, but it was too late; they had already marked her as an outsider.

"Lost, dear?" asked one, his voice a raspy whisper.

"N-no," she replied, trying for a smile. "I was just, er..."

"Passing through?" asked another from right over Clytie's left shoulder, and she started badly, a nervous giggle bubbling up through her lips.

"Y-yes! Just passing through, exactly, so I'll just be on my wa - "

"You must be lost, dear," came a third voice, dark and menacing. "No one passes through here." They were surrounding her in a very tight circle now, and Clytie felt as if she would scream.

"Please, please I mean no harm! You want me to say I'm lost? All right, I'm lost, I fled from Fossa and I lost my way and I would very much appreciate it if - ow! What - ? Wait! Stop! Please, let me go!"

The first two cloaked figures had grabbed Clytie's arms and were pulling her toward a sinister-looking temple while the others that had gathered either pushed her from behind or led the way murmuring what sounded like prayers in some ancient tongue. As she was forced closer to the building, she saw another cloaked figure whetting a blade.

She could suppress her scream no longer.

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

A shrill scream could be heard throughout Ramayat. Briek turned around toward the source. However, none of the hooded figures had. This one second of worry, this one second of fear, had revealed him as well as Alexander.

How could I be so careless! thought Briek.

The brave wanderer drew his sword just in time to deflect a black flame. As it hit his blade, it seemed to hiss and then dispersed. However, Briek would notice the air where the black flame had hit his sword was distorted. As he defended against more of the black magick blasts, he would soon find himself trapped in some kind of warped area. It was incredibly hard to make out the area in front of him, and it slowed his reaction time considerably. Creepy, cloaked figures began to descend on Briek and his young companion. Briek ran out of the distorted zone in which he'd found himself and had to quickly roll to the side to avoid a magick blast to the face.

"Alex lets go! We must leave! The girl will distract the majority of them long enough to allow our escape!" yeled Briek as he blocked a magick attack before impaling a priest.

--------------------
Meanwhile in Redstone, Fester...

"The lot of you are fools! Fossa turned away the Reardonian soldiers swtiftly! The siege lasted a mere day!" yelled king Herold

"Your Highness, if I may..." said the vizier

"No! I've had enough of this so called council! Had I listened to you, we'd be fighting our most trusted ally in a losing war!"

"Sir, if I may, though Fossa has turned away the assault, there is still more to come. They suffered heavy casualities in the siege. I do not know if our Dragoons even survived the assault. I have no doubt they will need reinforcements to both help rebuild and forify Fossa. Sending them aid will greatly enhance relations. I'm sure, and let them know that the assassionation did not damage our status as allies."

The king cooled his anger and decided on agreement with General Zeron.

"Very well, send them aid, but they will remember it was I who aided them. Send it as a gift with a... suggestive message." ordered King Herold

"It shall be done my lord." uttered the general

[Torturous Flame]

"CLEAR!"

The world righted itself as green energy flooded the area. The forest green energy dissipated and a young woman stood in the center of the chaos, in her left hand was a staff with blades on either end. Brown eyes snapped in anger and blinked away a trickle of sweat. A headband held her frizzy brown curls back. The cloaked figures backed up slightly to continue circling the young woman. Her brown eyes flicked to the left, the direction they carried the girl.

"Great Mother I beg your pardon, for I must break my oath." The woman whispered.

Black magicks began to run down as the cloaked figured cast their twisted spells, the woman smirked. Green energy began to leak from her hands. She murmured a spell and her green magick filled the air once again. It surged into their black energy and cleared it. As this happened, the roots of the plants that sprouted beneath the stone under their feet began to rise. A few fell right there, others followed her as she went after the group with Clytie. More kept falling as roots rose to tripp them up. Finally she reached Clytie.

The woman rammed her full five feet, one hundred thirty pound body into the figure who held Clytie. She felt the wind rush out of the person's lungs in shock. She rammed her elbow into the ribcage of another who helped in holding Clytie down. The woman got a fistful of cloth from their captive's clothing and tried to pull her free.

"You okay gal? Name's Mariel." The woman said with a flash of a smile.

[Ruu]

Alexander kept his eyes forward, even as he heard the scream. When Briek turned back, however, he did so as well, unable to contain his uneasiness. A dark flame sped towards Briek, and as Alexander turned to help, he did not notice another scorched flame speeding towards him. It was fortunate that his natural powers kicked in at that moment as his hand rose almost of its own accord, causing a puddle to fling water in the way of the fire, dousing it instantly. The young heir to the throne heard a hiss of anger at the foiled attack.

"Foolish powers will not save you..." whispered a voice.

As Briek was assaulted, more flames of night continued to fly at him, but for the moment his own powers protected him, the water from the puddle rising and glistening like a shield to protect him. With a sudden ferocity, the water turned of its own power and smashed into the unknown assailant, sending him into the wall and breaking his spine, killing the creature instantly. It was at that moment Briek yelled for them to escape. Alexander hesitated, unwillingly to leave the girl to her fate.

"But Sir Briek...we can't leave the poor soul who wandered here, can we?" he asked, just as he noticed another woman rushing to save the girl.

Biting his lip in frustration, he still paused, uncertain if the woman would be able to hold her own.

[Artorius]

"We CANNOT stay! These holy men's deities are very much real I assure you. They may not be gods, but the sacrificies keep those ancient beasts at bay. That is why if the deity is starved, they will turn on their own. That is the reason for the lights shining on above us. That beast is master over these people's lives... and I fear it hasn't been fed for decades..."

Briek voiced his final desperate plea. He was afraid, of Ramayat, and its rumored deity. Briek had been trained to do but one thing, suvive. He was intent on performing that to the best of his ability. However, he knew somehow, Alexander was special. Only a select few could manipulate essence, he was more than a kid. As Briek and Alexander continued to fend off the priests, they soon began to retreat. A feeling of dread overcame Briek. The wanderer was no coward, but he suddenly felt the urge to run as far away as he could from Ramayat.

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

As Mariel introduced herself to Clytie, the priests in black robes surrounding them began to scatter like filthy roaches. They ran back into their dwellings like mice scurrying into their holes. Yet, a few stayed out in the open, all converging on one of their own. Hurriedly, they tried to take him to be sacrificed. They totalled five men in all. Four men held each of the sacrifice's extremeties, while the fifth followed the procession seemingly praying. Soon enough, the four men holding the unfortunate sacrifice made their way up their dark monument- the Black Pyramid. They entered the sacred temple atop that monument, and with vigor, tossed their sacrifice into the black pit that extended far into the Black Pyramid, and even farther into the earth.

It had seemed all was at peace.

[Rusty Wings]

The world around Clytie was suddenly filled with confusion. Many of the figures around her hissed and began to fling dark spells at someone she couldn't see for reasons she couldn't fathom. Then the cloaked malefactors began to fall around her, seemingly prey to plants... But that couldn't be, could it?

Before she could ponder these things any further a woman who was even shorter than Clytie herself charged the things that held her, plucking them off of Clytie one by one with swift and decisive movements before yanking Clytie from the fray.

"You okay gal? Name's Mariel," her unexpected savior said with a smile. Clytie stumbled over words for a moment before finding a grateful smile of her own.

"Cl-Clytie," she managed. "Thank you so much, how did you - ?" She stopped short as she noticed the priests who had only moments before set upon her almost hungrily were now scuttling away in a way that could only be described as fearful.

"What's - ?" Then she noticed the small group that had stayed and were closing around one of their own. She watched with her voice caught in her throat as they took him to the Black Pyramid and hurriedly sacrificed him to whatever deity they sought to please. Once the ritual had been performed silence hung in the air, and while things had calmed considerably, Clytie couldn't fight a growing feeling of unease.

"P-Perhaps we should go," she murmured, turning in the direction she had been walking before the priests had converged on her, seeing the other travelers, a young man and an older one, for the first time. She pulled her cloak around her; the excitement of being captured had momentarily distracted her from the cold, but in the following calm she found herself shivering again. "I will feel better about talking once I can dust this place off my shoes."

[Ruu]

Alexander looked surprised at Briek's words. If this creature caused Briek alarm, then certainly it would be wise to listen to his advice. His eyes turned as the dark men converged on one of their own, throwing the hapless victim into a dark structure, a place that resembled a pyramid. How could these people be so cruel? Why did the demon hold them under its sway? Was there not a way to liberate them? He shook his head, knowing there was nothing that could be done at the moment. He turned back to the girl, seeing that the woman had cleared her attackers and for the moment they seemed unharmed. Now would probably be the best time to make their escape.

"Alright, let's go," he nodded, turning to Briek and beginning to hasten for the city's exit, "It seems we are not wanted here."

Alexander could not believe everything that had happened in the span of a few days. For years it had been just him and his master...And now his master was gone and he was learning to fend for himself. He still did not understand his strange powers completely. His master had only begun to teach him how to cultivate them. They still activated on their own, and though he could influence when they appeared, he could never be certain that they would do what he wished.

[Torturous Flame]

Mariel smiled at Clytie then frowned as the girl began to shiver.

"We need to getcha some warmer clothes! What're you doing, running aroun' so far north without anythin thick!" Mariel said in concern.

The witch pulled the girl close and covered her in the excesses of the thick travelers cloak that covered Mariel's shoulders. The cloak was thick and lined with a few layers of wool and covered in pockets. Above all it was heavy, it didn't make much sense that Mariel walked around with something this heavy all the time. Clytie could feel an itchy feeling as bits of dried plant that stuck out through the openings of the pockets rubbed her skin. A comforting musty smell, similar to a mix between dried herbs and old books, radiated from the cloak. But what Clytie noticed the most was the warmth that radiated through the cloak. It seemed like more than just body heat.

" Don't be bothered if it wriggles a bit, there might be some door-mice in one'a the pockets." Mariel said with a smile.

Mariel ushered Clytie along the icy road. Clytie could soon see a faint light just off the road that slightly illuminated a large leather tent from within. Mariel hurried Clytie into the tent and settled Clytie down near the fire and rummaged through a bag in the corner. A living tree, at first glance, had grown into the perfect shape to use to pitch a tent. However on closer examination the bark was new, as if the entire growth had happened recently. The leather on the tent was worn and heavily patched but it fended off the worst of the wind. Mariel pulled out a thick cloak and some wool socks.

"Here, put these on" Mariel said.

The witch handed Clytie the clothes.

"Now I dunno what you plan on doin', but if ya wish you can come with me to the Lake of Tears." She said.

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