MISSION ONE: REFUGE FROM THE STORM

Along the Via Aurora, the major eastern highway that spans all the way from the very heart of the Geian Empire in Val Onetti to its most remote Njordic territories, rests the small village of Nacona. Unless you are one of the few hundred men and women who call this village home you likely have no business in Nacona beyond passing through, and might not even have stopped for the night were it not for the thunderstorm that began to rage earlier today. You have sought the refuge of the village's inn, a squat two-story building of stone and oak built to withstand the centuries and the elements. Your rooms are upstairs but tonight your beds call to you naught - these are no times for sleep. It has been six months since the death of the Father of Greatness, and the Kingdom of Darkness has spread across Verold to conquer city after city, enslaving all people. To the west of Nacona the great city of Val Onetti was one of the very first to fall to the Dark Horde - perhaps you are one of the lucky few to have fled the capital during its corruption.

With the fall of Val Onetti the mighty legions of the world's greatest empire were without central direction, and were quickly destroyed by the Dark Horde whether they fought or fled. The maintained network of highways that ran throughout the land, once considered the lifeblood of the empire, was turned against the people as the Kingdom of Darkness spread like poison through veins, corrupting and conquering every major city. Those who did not die in the initial battles and failed to escape are held captive, worked to death and fed to the growing minions of darkness. Those lucky few who managed to escape the slaughter have swarmed to the countryside villages and towns seeking refuge, yet finding only starvation, brigandry and pestilence.

Six months after the fall of the Father of Greatness, there is little hope to be found anywhere, least of all in the hearts of these villagers of Nacona, for lately there have been seen imps and other lesser minions of darkness throughout the village and surrounding countryside. Luckily Nacona is of too little importance to warrant a full invasion, although the fact that this could change at any time has kept these villagers utterly cowed. Are you, too, willing to wait for the end of all existence as a welcome relief to the hell of the Kingdom of Darkness, or is there perhaps yet a small spark of life and light within you, ready to be fanned to greatness once more?

Objective: Introduce your characters and survive the night.

AIUS CARRINUS

Despite having only ever seen his son twice, and his daughter just once, Aius dreamt of his children often. Over the long years of his absence from his family - nearly ten now - his dreams of them never had much pattern or substance; sometimes he was greeting them for the first time; sometimes chasing them through his father's wheat fields; other times standing from afar watching them sit at his wife's feet as she told them stories, their imaginations animated by the warm light of coals in the nearby fireplace. Whenever he had these dreams Aius woke slowly and languorously, hoping to cherish them for as long as possible before their inevitable fading from his recollection.

Now he dreamt of his family's death almost nightly, and woke with a choked cry every morn. With visions of their torture, murder and dismemberment rampaging through his mind, obliterating his usually composed trains of thought, Aius would dart from his tattered bedroll and begin his grim march anew each day, like Belisarius of legend who was burned alive every night only to be reborn every day. If Aius remembered correctly Belisarius was punished for kin-slaying - an evil omen for his own plight, no doubt.

Still, the Valonni warrior could not allow himself to fall to despair, and so once again he cleared his small camp and set out east once more. He kept away from the roads - despite their legendary safety throughout his country's history - for any eyes could be watching for movement now, and even though the chances of running into any minions of darkness was quite low, there was the distinct possibility of being beset by any number of outlaws that roamed the countryside.

Not outlaws, he reminded himself. You have to have laws for there to be outlaws. With the ascent of the Kingdom of Darkness and the destruction of the Geian Empire, there was no government from the lowliest jarl in Njord to the very Crowned Seat itself. Now it was every man for himself, and one man on the road alone was an easy target for anyone hoping to find food or hard coin.

Working his way along the gentle sloping plains surrounding the Via Aurora, Aius made steady progress throughout the day. Long years marching as a centurion in the Empire's legions served him well as his sturdy legs ate up the endless miles between fallen Val Onetti and his hometown of Batroun. Each step east took him closer toward his goal, but instead of elation Aius felt only a growing, gnawing fear with each passing day - in the months since the fall of Valon and the empire at large, the Dark Horde was slowly turning from the great cities it had conquered toward the smaller towns and villages that offered more fresh souls to torment and befoul. Would he find upon his arrival that he was too late to reunite with his family? No, he decided firmly. He would find them and keep them safe until the approaching end of all existence.

His dour thoughts were enshrouded by the sudden deluge that had been foretold all day by blackened skies, as though the great downpour had been summoned by his very mood. Aius pulled his red travelling cloak from his pack and quickly threw it about his shoulders, wrapping the loose back folds over his head as a hood. The cloak covered him only to just below the belt, but truth be told after a few minutes of rain it mattered not - there was only so soaked a man could become, and the cloak was more ceremonial than practical. It, along with the embossed cuirass he still wore, revealed his status as a member of the Secutorian Guard, who were not often called to marching desolate landscapes during thunderstorms.

Refuge was found sometime that evening, as after the sun went down a faint light could be found in the distance off to his left. Turning back toward the road Aius soon found himself approaching a small village. He guessed by its layout - squat stone structures encircling a communal plaza, with all windows and doors facing in toward the plaza, not out to the country - that the village had been built during the Dark King's last invasion some five hundred years ago. The village was meant to quickly double as fortification if a passing Valonni legion so required. Now, however, when the village might most need such protection Aius was shocked to see upon his approach that the barricades that had been designed to be quickly built between the structures to complete the fort's protective circle, were nowhere to be found. It was as though the village welcomed any effort to subdue it, whether by bandits or the Dark Horde.

Aius found the village inn easily, as it was the largest structure and the only one well-lit. Thankful for the overhang that finally allowed him respite from the torrential rainfall, the Valonni warrior took a moment to collect himself before pushing open the heavy oaken door - still half-expecting to find it barred. An immediate burst of warmth struck him as he stepped into the crowded common room. A low ceiling and thick stone walls protected the combined heat of a few dozen bodies and a roaring fireplace.

Despite the great crowd gathered this place was like no inn Aius was used to. He could hear a general murmur of a dozen conversations, but all were so muted that he could pick out individual voices, punctuated by coughs that reminded him more of a sick ward than a tavern. Since the rise of the Kingdom of Darkness, of course, this was to be expected. There was no joy in the land, and mankind crowded together for simple protection, not camaraderie.

"What do you have?" he asked a man who passed by with a harried look, obviously a worker here.

"What do you have?" the man replied quickly, not looking at Aius as he quickly scooped up empty mugs from a nearby table.

"Hard coin." For the last hundred years or so the Empire had developed the creditory - too few coins among too many citizens had created a need for paper currency known as creditory notes or simply notes, which had the full backing of the Empire's gold reserves. Of course, in the last six months the notes weren't worth their value as kindling. Aius suspected that hard coin ought to be just as useless, but a civilization's old habits died hard and the gold in his pockets still commanded some respect.

"Got some blackbread rolls and whey beer for a solid crown - no bits - and that don't include a room, I don't have any to let." Aius nodded as he fished a single coin out of his small leather purse, choking back an embittered laugh at the price. Normally a meal like that wouldn't be fit to be served to the pigs, but even were a man charging for such poor fare it would cost a bit or two at most. With eight bits to a mark, eight marks to a crescent and eight crescents to a crown, Aius ought to have expected a place at the Emperor's right hand for such a price!

As the man left Aius turned longingly toward the fire, around which stood a phalanx of men and women packed together shoulder-to-shoulder, each man occasionally rotating which way he faced like some sort of pathetic, shambolic folk dance. Soaked to the bone and beginning to shiver fiercely, Aius stood and made his way to the fire, pulling some lad out of the way and taking his spot without a backward glance.

Pylas Quixos

Rain pelted the stone structure, hammering a staccato rhythm against the windows. The sky's grim visage mirrored the people who sought shelter: grey, forlorn, tired, and bitter. Comprised mostly of refugees fleeing from the inexorable Dark Horde, the inn's patrons huddled around the fire harbouring the memories of the last six months. A hard six months. No different was the figure nursing a battered lyre in the corner of the inn. Despite the half-smile he wore, his eyes did not share the merriment.

Pylas was travelling in the wake of a Valonni regiment when the King of Darkness rose. They were returning to Val Onetti battle weary at the end of their tour. Pylas accompanied the wounded, hoping to bring some joy to those who had suffered, and peace to those who would pass. Some twenty-five miles from their respite from war a lone messenger arrived, claiming that Val Onetti had fallen. His message delivered, the runner collapsed from exhaustion and was promptly sent to join the wounded. The commander called together the men fit enough for duty and led them in a counter-attack against the Dark Horde. And amongst their number was Pylas, adopting the soldier's path he had forsaken.

Brave men fought with foul creatures; Claw clashed with steel; but this was no ordinary battle. Men did not scream as they did when fighting other men, and he fallen were not devoured by the victor. Pylas' phonology tore into the ranks of the enemy, but their advance never abated. Despite their bravery, when a colossal monstrosity broke the centre of the formation, they fled. And amongst those that fled was Pylas.

He had wandered the countryside, eschewing the easier highways for fear of coming across the King of Darkness' forces. They were a lonely six months of taking shelter under rock outcrops, in abandoned homesteads and out on open fields, with only the memories of that battle to whisper its dark lullabies and guide him to restless sleep. After acknowledging that he was lost, Pylas was forced to return to the roads. He came upon Nacona, travel stained and without coin. All his belongings were left in the Valonni camp, save for his lyre and a knife he had found in one of the abandoned homes. He stayed in Nacona finding work as he could in exchange for some stale bread and a roof over his head. Although his fortunes had turned sour, he felt inclined to stay in the village. Seeing the hopelessness in the residents he felt obliged to make them smile. When the thunderstorm drove villagers into the inn, he slipped in unnoticed.

The roar of the storm broke Pylas from his thoughts. Looking down at the lyre in his hands he realised that he had long since ceased playing. Looking up again he saw the bleak faces of the survivors, their eyes full of fear and dark tidings on their lips. Pylas' half-smile grew to a heartfelt grin, as he remembered his purpose. He rose from his seat and smoothed the creases from his light green chiton. Plucking a happy chord on his lyre, he began to sing:



As he sang three figures appeared midst the crowd made from light. They danced along with the tune, while their golden locks trailed behind them. The song was one he had often sang for soldiers. It was the song that earned him his nickname: Sirayo. Round the room the girls dance offering a coquettish smile here and a caress there. Some of the men backed away from the apparitions, while some joined into the dance. Pylas had even noticed a few scornful looks from women he presumed to be wives, but it did not bother him. This was just a bit of fun. The cheerful grin remained plastered to his face as he danced along with the circle of men and illusions.

The combination of his voice and the lyre's notes blended together to form the phonological sounds of power, summoning the illusions. It was a technique developed by his mother, and taught to him. Writing a simple ditty took some time as phonological Questioning had to be melded with the notes and words, but time was something he had in abundance in his travels. "All that time is worth it," though Pylas, "if it brought only one smile."

"You! Get out of here!"

The shout cut the song short. The light figure flickered and collapsed into wisps of smoke as Pylas plucked a discordant note. The voice belonged to the innkeeper, who's beady eyes straddled a broad nose. He had recognised Pylas from when he first sought shelter there and quickly kicked him out for not having any coin. The burly man crossed the room quickly and grabbed Pylas by the arm as he proceeded to manhandle him towards the door.

_________________
That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with stranger aeons even death may die

In the cool grey of early morning, not a whisper could be heard but that of the wind making its rounds through the trees. The sky was heavy with the weight of clouds and the air sang of moisture. It would rain to day, and heavily. Most would be still sleeping at this early pre-dawn hour, only to scramble for the safety of a roof and a warm hearth when they woke to taste the rain.

None of that mattered to the Huntress and the Dog, as they crept silently through the forest roughly a couple yards apart. Zoe’s sharp eyes picked up disturbances on the lush ground before her. A bent leaf, the smell of soil disturbed from its slow decomposition, a scrape on a tree branch…. The little tell-tale signals where coming stronger and more often. They where nearly on their prey.

A glance told the woman that Dog could feel it too, the fur on the back of his shaggy brown neck standing on end in anticipation. With a short click of her tongue, Zoe slowed their pace to a crawl. They were so close that she swore she could smell the unnatural scent of imps on the morning breeze. A few more steps put Zoe on the edge of a clearing in the forest, and she pressed herself against a large oak on the border, the fur of the Dog tickling her legs as he came up behind her.

In the clearing was a small woodsman’s hut surrounded by a half-dozen snoring imps. Zoe guessed that the six imps had overpowered the man and gorged themselves on the spoils of his labor the night before. This would make them slow, the Huntress noted with a grin and a barely suppressed giggle—her mind would not pity the woodsman. There was simply too much sorrow in this twisted world to feel it all.

With a ringing metallic cry, Zoe’s sword slipped from it’s sheath and she and the dog charged the clearing with a mingled howl. As she had predicted, the imps were slow to react. Two lay headless and a third limp in the Dog’s jaws before any attempted to put up a fight. The others also met quick and bloody deaths in Zoe’s fanatic charge, and in the middle of the carnage she stood and laughed at the rumbling sky, a bead of black imp blood dripping down her katana.

When she regained control of her facilities, the Huntress momentarily surveyed the bloody scene and debated eating the fallen imps. Finally, she decided that they would probably only make her and Dog sick, so she shared out a ration of dried meat between them, and cleaned her sword.

A quick look in the woodsman’s hut revealed enough quality furs to buy a meal and a bath at the inn not too far from there, so Zoe added them to her pack with no hesitation.

“Mmmmmmm a real bath,” she sighed with pleasure, “How about that, Dog?”

The Dog shook himself, and the Huntress giggled uncontrollably. Together they strolled away from the blood-ridden meadow.

* * * * *

Wet and bedraggled from the relentless torrent of rain falling outside, the Huntress and the Dog tumbled into the overcrowded inn in Nacona just in time to hear a tune sung by a fairly talented musician. The topic was of romance and fair maidens, a topic Zoe immediately dismissed as boring, and the Dog paid it no attention at all; the affairs of humans were no concern to him. The pair made their way to the counter in the back of the room, where Zoe found and addressed the innkeeper.

“I have a number of quality furs with which I would like to purchase a meal, some scraps for my dog, a bath, and a place to sleep,” she articulated her words carefully, without smiling. Zoe had been practicing—on the Dog, of course.

She unwrapped the furs she had so carefully kept dry and laid them on the table.

“This here is what I’m talking about,” the rotund man said, eyeing the furs critically. “Much more useful than a scrap of paper or a bit o coin. Have yerself a place to sit and ma girl will bring you some food—aye and yer dog too. You’ll get yer bath later, but all I can offer you in the way of sleeping is a scrap of floor next to the hearth and an old blanket,”

Zoe just nodded her thanks and slipped into one of the few unoccupied corners, bumping into a bedraggled guard on her way. Finally warm, and with food on the way, a small giggle escaped her throat, and the Huntress scratched the Dog’s ears happily, just as the innkeeper started yelling at the poor musician.

_________________

Estella came downstairs from her room in the inn. She was wearing a pale blue silk stola that covered her small form from her breasts to her feet in long pleated folds but left her slender shoulders and arms bare. The hem of the stola was dirty from her travels but otherwise she was clean and refreshed compared to the other travelers because she had arranged for a bath last night. Even though the rooms were expensive and she didn't have much money the innkeeper was letting her stay in exchange for her services in healing the men and women of the village along with any travelers who were coming through. She was also offered many strong drinks like ale and wine by the innkeeper but she always turned him down politely.

"Good evening Miss Turia" he said with a bow at her approach. Estella gave him a pretty smile and nodded her head in return, making her golden curls dance above her bare shoulders in waves. "Good evening sir" she said as she moved into the main room with all of the men. She looked around trying to find a spot to sit but because all of the seats were taken, the innkeeper came by, practically barking like a dog at the men to clear some room while he and a servant placed a small table and stool down for her, which even came with a cushion. "There you are, Miss Turia" he said. "Would you like anything for dinner?"

"Do you have any fruit?" She asked politely.

"I'll see what I can do" the innkeeper said with a frown because it would be difficult to have fresh fruit in stock after the Kingdom of Darkness began. Estella crossed her sandaled feet beneath her demurely as she waited, occasionally looking around her at all the men in the room, many of whom she could tell were eyeing her with too much interest. That was why she mostly stayed in her room except for meals or when someone needed healing. She had been in town for almost two weeks now and although she wanted to travel more to try to help other people in the countryside, it was far too dangerous for her to go on her own. She felt trapped in this town but she put up with it becaise she knew she was doing good for a lot of people.

"Oh well done!" She said clapping her hands with joy when the musician created a lovely scene with his music and voice for the tired and sad souls in the room. She felt like dancing along with the spritely visions but didn't want to interrupt the song. Also it was too crowded in here even though she loved dancing. When the music suddenly stopped she looked around in confusion, wondering who was shouting in the middle of the song.

"You! Get out of here!" The innkeeper shouted as he grabbed the singer and began to pull him out of the room. Shocked, Estella rose to her feet and moved over to the two. "Unhand him at once!" She demanded, standing in front of them as though the bear-like innkeeper couldn't push her small form out of the way with one hand. "Otherwise I'll start charging you for my healing!" It was true, the innkeeper made a lot of coin and goods charging people for food and drinks and rooms when they came here because of rumors of a healer. If she left he wouldn't make nearly as much coin and he knew it. Even though Estella would never charge for her gifts more than enough to get by, the innkeeper didn't know that.

"Hello there" she said to the singer after turning away from the innkeeper like he was no longer there. "My name is Estella Aurelia Turia. You can call me Estelle. You have a lovely singing voice" You wouldn't know it to look at her because she was quite pretty but Estella was a terrible singer, she sounded like a dying cat.

Sent from my SAMSUNG-SGH-I997 using Tapatalk 2

He didn't turn to watch the golden ephemeral spirits that danced about the room, except when his front became too hot from the fire and he turned to warm his back. Even then he didn't watch so much as let their motion wash over his eyes; as the music did his ears; the fire his skin. The lyrist was skilled, that Aius Carrinus could not dispute. He played with a deft hand, striking notes that weren't about impressing the audience so much as about soothing them. Aius had heard such a player once, years before as a Centurion in the fallen barracks of Corcyra. The Valonni legion had barricaded itself within the barracks, waiting with little hope for reinforcements to fend off the encamping Argean phalanxes that had the barracks surrounded.

For three days the battle was waged as either army threw everything it had at other. Both sides knew it was a matter of time before the palisades were overrun - the Valonni captain hoped only to take as many Argeans with his men as possible. Knowing that the fourth battle the next morn would see his forces victorious, the Argean commander had sent tokens of earth and water beneath a white flag as sign of truce. Aius remembered the messengers words as though hearing them fresh before him once more:

"If the Valonni men wish to surrender with honor, the option is hereby given them-" cries and jeers greeted these words; the Valonni legions were not given to surrender. The messenger continued unconcerned: "If we are to battle, then, let us both sides lay down our arms for the span of one day. A day and night of feasting, drinking and contests of physical prowess in offering to the Father of Greatness!" This option, the men surely preferred. With their cries of approval ringing throughout the fallen barracks around him, the Valonni captain accepted the tokens of earth and water as each side laid down their arms. A burnt offering was made in sacrifice by the Valonni chaplains and the Argean priests, consecrating a solemn vow of armistice. The barracks gates were set open as the Valonni men came forth, bearing neither arms nor armor; greeted by the Argeans with open arms.

Then began a day of feasting the likes of which Aius would never have forgotten, had it not been for the vast quantities of wine he consumed, tinting all of his memories of that night with pleasant rosy tones. He did remember coming third in the contest of fisticuffs, with a scrappy Argean potter somehow winning the day to the amazement of all. No doubt Aius still had the silver mark he'd won that day, stamped with Argean writing he couldn't understand yet had prized all the same - buried with all his other abandoned possessions at his quarters in Val Onetti.

That night, as the men sat about campfires without regard to rank or even country, Sirayo played his lyre for them all. A different song than tonight's, of course, but similar all the same not in notes but in mood. Despite the fact that the men were slated to pick up their arms and armor that next morning, tonight they were all captivated by the lyrist's gently melodies and entrancing phonological lightshows.

A discordant note jerked the Secutorian soldier from his reverie, and he turned to see the golden dancers gone, as the truculent innkeeper sought to kick the Argean lad from the common room. Although Aius was eager to hear more from the lyre, the business between innkeeper, Sirayo and now the blonde girl, was no business of his own. Only just now getting warm from the fire, Aius saw no reason to jeopardize his place under the roof tonight - and perhaps now with one fewer occupants there would open up for Aius somewhere a cot or even small bedroll. He turned away from the scene, putting the struggle from his mind as he warmed his hands before the fire once more.

"...nothing but rumors..." he heard one man mutter a few shoulders down to his right. Straining his ears, Aius leaned in to pick up more tones from the conversation around him. His only goal was to reach Batroun and be reunited with his wife and children - and to make it there alive he needed to know more about the surrounding countryside. He knew that for the last few weeks the Dark Horde had completely consolidated its hold over the larger cities of the fallen Geian Empire, and were now beginning to move into the countryside in pursuit of renegade forces. Alone, Aius had no option to fight the King of Darkness; but he could perhaps sneak through its forces as he made his way further east. Any bit of news, no matter how small, could aid him in such an endeavor.

"...angel...outside town..." answered another voice, this one with the chesty, deep-set rumbling cough indicative of the white plague. As a centurion Aius had been inoculated against the white plague by the sulfurous fumes that all recruits had to be purified in. As for the other men who didn't seem worried by the man's symptoms, perhaps they either didn't know or didn't care. What did lungers' disease matter when world's end was just around the corner?

"...capture it..." Aius heard. Intrigued, he reluctantly gave up his spot before the flames and tried to surreptitiously make his way closer to the conspiring conversationalists. He kept his back to the men, and moved an eye about the room, noticing the furthering developments between the innkeeper and Sirayo, whatever they were.

"Because," the plagued man wheezed, "if we catch the angel and give it to the Dark Horde, we will be taken care of. If the minions find the angel first, we'll all be punished for sheltering the thing." Aius heard the man spit phlegm into the fireplace where it sizzled among the crackling logs. "Which will it be, Avienus, one angel vs the death of everyone in the village?"

Although his immediate reaction was to align himself with the angel - an obvious choice; the Father of Greatness vs the King of Darkness - Aius found himself not acting. Instead, although it shamed him deeply, he considered which option would greater increase his chances of reaching his wife and children. Were the angel to be captured by the Dark Horde tonight, he'd have to escape the village with their greater presence and greater risk of being caught. If he left now he'd risk the storm and the wakes of imps roaming the countryside. Were he to try to find the angel himself - would he turn it in to secure his own safety or would he commit himself to the righteous cause even if that meant potentially abandoning his search for his family?

Despite being a man of simplistic thoughts, Aius found himself plagued by his choices once more. In the Kingdom of Darkness it was kill or be killed, surely - but how far would he fall just to see to his own selfish ends? In the fallen barracks of Corcyra he'd vowed death before dishonor, but now he found the way less sure. With a low muttering growl he turned away from the fire.

Pylas Quixos

The vice-like grip of the innkeeper broke. So preoccupied with shielding his age worn lute from the roughhousing he received, Pylas had not noticed the cause of his release. He turned to see what brought the man to a halt and was confronted with the near comical scene of a small girl staring down the innkeeper. Her petite frame was drowned in the shadow of the man, but she stood undaunted in his path. "Unhand him at once! Otherwise I'll start charging you for my healing!" The declaration seemed to bring a reaction from the man despite the lightness of her voice compared to that of the gruff innkeeper.

"A healer," thought Pylas. Given by her simple clothing and philanthropic action he suspected she was an Avowed, a travelling sister devoted to Iesous, the Answer. He had come across several such sisters while spending time in the Pysicians' tent, plying his trade amongst the wounded. He pitied them though. "Their work must seem so fruitless. Healing soldiers only to watch them watch them march to the front lines once more," he brooded. They we're well respected figures on both sides of a battle field, giving their aid to those who needed it regardless of the uniform they wore.

But this changed with the outbreak of the Kingdom of Darkness. Those dedicated to The Father of Light and Iesous were treated without mercy by the minions of darkness. While wandering the grasslands he had seen evidence of the brutality of the minions. After roaming under the waning light of a setting sun, he came across the remains of a small settlement. It was clear that the minions of darkness had passed through. Burnt shells of the simple wooden homes surrounded the shattered walls of a temple. As the only remaining roof amidst the forest of charred supports, Pylas sought refuge within. The temple was a mausoleum. Priests, sisters, mothers, brothers, fathers, all lay quiet. The death grips of parents who tried to shield their infants from the descending darkness still clutched the lifeless forms of children. The carved statues of Iesous was defiled by the blood of his followers. He was not a religious man, but such desecration shocked even him.

The Sister introduced herself as the shadow of the innkeeper receded, letting the light catch her golden hair. "It seems that the Father has answered my song," spoke Pylas with a playful grin. With a bow he introduced himself, "My name is Pylas, but many know me as Sirayo. You have my gratitude Estelle, but I fear I can offer no recompense." Leaning close to Estelle he whispered, "I would continue to play, but I fear that she may brandish something more fierce than her toungue." He subtly gestured at the plump, red-faced woman who was clearly reprimanding her henpecked husband for dancing with the illusions.

"What bring such a maiden fair to Nacona?" He asked although he already suspected the reason. Why were any of these people, packed into an inn and huddling around a fireplace, brought to an out of the way town? The Kingdom of Darkness. As it spread it forced citizens from their homes, driving refugees ahead of it like driftwood before a wave.

_________________
That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with stranger aeons even death may die