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View Likes PostPosted: Mon Jul 25, 2016 9:51 pm 
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Don't forget the sollerets, boy...

Her last fitting had definitely been less comfortable, though whether it was due to being on the opposite side or due to Derrald, she couldn't begin to guess.

“There. She was a bit more shapely than you, so it might need a bit of – oh, nevermind, fits pretty well actually.” The Sister gave a final tug to the belted part of the old sheath, verifying its stability, her wolfish grin adding humor to the vaguely insulting advice. She returned to full height and set her hands on her own shapely hips, shaggy chestnut hair reminding Sen for the umpteenth time of the roguish wild ponies that occasionally drifted down from the northern mountains. Kee –a nickname, no one remembered her real one- had been particularly close to some of their fallen Sisters, and her eternal lighthearted prodding and joking led many a woman to question her mental status. Sen didn’t mind, even if she was crazy; the teasing felt normal, comforting. She’d found something similarly comforting in Rajah, though she attributed it more toward his musical accent and open smile than any form of insanity.

Verana’s long knife rested naturally alongside her left thigh, encased once more in its old home of cured black leather. It did fit well. “Thanks,” she replied, keeping her tone to about half of the instinctive sarcasm level. Kee had gone all the way to Barth’s tent to get it, after seeing the younger Sister pull it from her boot late last night.

“Not at all, little bird. Take care of it,” she added a bit more seriously, before given one of Sen’s braids a tug and continuing on her way. The blonde woman sat back down, picking up the half-eaten chunk of cold chicken that she’d set on the barrel next to her for the fitting. It was extra gritty now, but it hadn’t exactly started clean and Sen was more or less used to camp fare at this point. She took a swig of warm beer from the dirty mug, then set it back on the barrel. Nutritious.

… I did what felt right to do.

Her conversation the previous night with the remaining Maiden resurfaced in her mind, floating up as the blade’s handle glinted in the early morning light. She still couldn’t understand the reason for the seasoned warrior to suddenly become so tense, but at least there hadn’t been any obvious animosity as far as she could tell. Sen admired her steadfast moral confidence, the trust in her own actions… even after all the blowback from the burning, she would do it all again. The lanky novice sighed and looked up, almost subconsciously searching for any of the strange bits of light or shapes that had been accompanying her since the battle.

Whatever it takes.

The belt rested low on her hips, a little lower than she would have guessed proper, but it was secure and seemed a more respectful place to keep Verana’s white blade than a left boot that was quickly becoming worn out. Sen wondered if she should leave it somewhere safe at first, before the shortness of that list occurred to her. In addition to that sad fact, she was fairly certain the red-headed Maiden would have been irked with the impracticality of leaving a perfectly good blade behind when there were yet hides to be pierced.

If you stay, you won’t have either.

The beer turned sour in her belly and she forced herself to swallow another bit of chicken, standing up as if she could leave the nagging memories in the chair.

Maybe.

“Sen!” Another Sister hailed her; Seliniya was almost as thin as she, and about a head shorter, but with a predictable speed and a not-so-predictably high pain tolerance. “Enemy approaching,” the sharp-eyed woman barked, “Reported already, but it’ll take these boys another few hours just to get the message up the ranks and get their boots on. Grab your stick and be ready.” With a comradely slap to the lankier woman’s shoulder, she continued briskly on her way.

With a deep breath, the newest Sister straightened her leather armor and grabbed the glaive behind her, letting her breakfast form a rock in the pit of her stomach. It felt as though she hadn’t had any time at all to recover from the latest bloodletting, but there was already to be another; in the back of her mind, a small, pessimistic voice told her she really shouldn’t be all that surprised. Things hadn’t been fantastic thus far in her military career, and the only high points had only come on the breath and heels of trauma. At least her lady-softness had been tempered by bruises and cynicism.

She tossed the last of her chicken to the same disgruntled tomcat from last night (who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere), scratched him behind the ear, snatched her hand away before he could bite and then headed toward the outskirts. The camp seemed to have been injected with anxiety via a Seliniya-shaped needle and everywhere she watched sleepy men stumble from tents, buckling on scabbards before putting on pants and absently nodding to each other with an energy that was almost pure will power; Sen wasn’t sure where Yorinth was, but she hoped he was rapidly being made aware of the situation. In fact, she hoped all the Gods had already been told.

Instinctively, she glanced around, checking for spots of extreme brightness or color. She didn’t know how exactly this new eye of hers was supposed to work, or why she had heard stories of “the dusky battle” and “men who had nothing with which to see beyond the glow of the torchlight” while she had been debilitated by the brilliance of the lights. Lydia’s influence by Yorinth’s hand, and yet even they appeared intrigued by the newness. Regardless of how or why something was wrong with her, something was wrong, and there probably wouldn’t be a bratty immortal underling there to shred his clothing for her every time it got a little too bright to function.

In fact, she should do what she could now. Without pausing her stride, Sen reached across her chest and pulled Luke’s bit of cloak from her upper arm. She held one end in her teeth and wrapped the rest around her head, tying it firmly and sliding it up on her forehead until it functioned more as a headband than an eyepatch.

-------

The crowd gathered quickly, though it hadn’t been much when she’d arrived. A few people still milled about in various states of half-drunk or half-asleep, but for the most part a sense of alarm had lit a metaphorical fire beneath them and most sought information, a view or a superior officer. Sen stood patiently amidst the rabble, the butt of her glaive planted in the soil near her feet, picking up snatches of barked orders or hurried conversations from the hubbub around her. There was a new sort of tension in the men, a tension that stemmed from a lack of knowledge; something new was happening. Not just horrific and terrifying; events like that would be old news to anyone from Linden.

The Prince-Commander’s voice rang out like a thunder crack in the air above her head and she jerked her gaze in his direction, feeling the en masse shift of the men and women around her as they morphed from a mob to a unit. She started moving to the front, shadowing the Prince’s steps at a respectful distance, even before she noticed the faint glow that radiated from the presumed destination.

She was not even close enough to catch whatever counsel Barth held with his inner circle of officers and Gods, but even outside of earshot she could see the expressions on their faces well enough. They were uncertain. Even the Commander’s brow quirked slightly in confused disbelief, before being smothered in decision as he formed a plan. She could almost see the cogs and gears turning in his skull, still working out possible plans as he nodded to Ausan and then scanned the formations behind him, sharp eyes darting along the surface. A few times he stopped, nodding or gesturing someone forward, and a few soldiers from the front stepped up of their own accord.

His searching gaze finally met her own stare, and in a way that would have been unthinkable even two days ago, Sen held his eye contact. He made no gesture or nod, but by the time his eyes had turned back to the horizon she had stepped forward knowingly to join the small party gathered around him. The air shimmered as the group moved forward, silent except for the crunch of boots across the ground; Sen found herself swiveling her head slightly, trying to find a part of the shimmer on which she could focus. Logically, there couldn’t be any, but… this seemed so different. Almost… tangible.


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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Aug 04, 2016 3:42 am 
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For the last twenty years there had been but three constants in Daria's life. The Company, her late father and practice. The first two were either no longer viable for solace, or lost to her counsel, which left practice. She trained alone and often, a means to escape the pressures of command when they left a bitter taste in her mouth. And so that was where she found herself, striking through imaginary enemies from the Guard of the Lady, blocking invisible strikes from the Boar's Tusk and practicing her footwork in what might have looked like a drunk man's line-dance, shuffling back forth, stepping side to side and rotating on the spot. She was in her own little world, where her foes were very real and the Lancers around her in the packed down drill square they had fashioned were merely projections on her consciousness. One such foe came at her with a backhanded slash, which she deflected from the Trailing Guard and then followed with a slash to the face and a thrust to the throat. Pure efficiency, no more, no less.

She kept a steady pace, which to an average swordsman must have seemed quite fast indeed, but to her it was simply how she trained. Of course that focus nearly resulted in the Lindenian messenger losing his throat, which he might have done anyway had she not possessed the wrist strength to stop the blade mid swing. The man's face was quite pale as he realised how close he had just come to death, but he plowed on with his message all the same to his credit, being glared at all the while.

"Ma'am, Tutar have been sighted approaching the camp. They are unarmed. The Prince has called the army to arms." Daria nodded graciously and sent the man on his way with a wave of her hand. This didn't make any sense. Everything she had heard of the Tutar indicated viciousness and a refusal to admit defeat. They would never parley... right? Perhaps it was time to stop thinking of them as dumb beasts and more as clever enemies. Either way, it had to be a trap. They would have to prepare. Lady save us, we're not ready. Not so soon.

"Colour Sergeant Harrow! Company to arms!" Harrow was a veteran, forty years under the banner. He was unflappable as he turned and called his orders, rousing the Guard from it's stupor, but the fear she could see on all their faces must be mirrored in the man's heart. It had certainly found a home in her own.

In the command tent she found her captains girding themselves for war. Tall, thick Brodyn, stout Montin, gangly Jurez and bright eyed Arela, who was stuffing her trousers with gauze. At her questioning look the Lance-Captain shrugged.

"Nothing to be done First. Mother Nature waits on no woman." Of course Montin snickered, which earned him a dirty look from both women. He turned back to his own tasks, still chuckling to himself. Then Jurez spoke up.

"Never fear, sweet Arela. I pity any Tutar you face in battle today. They shall be the first beings to see the realm of the Gods without dying first, eh?" That was cause for laughter, however crude. Daria could only continue laughing as she prepared. What a bunch of scoundrels they all were.



The Guard was still forming it's ranks, two Lances mounted with three on foot. There hadn't been enough time to prepare all the horses, and so near two thirds of the Lancers would be on foot for this fight. It did not sit well with Daria at all that her troops were so ill prepared, but it was all they had.

Leaving the Guard in the temporary command of Lance-Captain Brodyn, she rode forward with Barth, armoured from head to toe in steel and courage, armed only with her determination. Well, that and the shortsword she had hidden under Stepper's saddle blanket. No sense in going into what would likely end up a fight with only her fists.


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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Aug 30, 2016 12:54 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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The camp was unusually silent. Or rather, the general area surrounding the stables was unusually silent. It was a horrible place - smelly and cramped and no place for a person let alone for a horse - but usually Rajah could hear the general banter and back-and-forth from the soldiers outside, and it was oddly comforting even though he could barely make any of it out. He could appreciate the silence though, even through Emira’s agitated whickering.

“Shh, Emira,” he whispered to her, giving the horse a firm clap on the neck from his seat atop her back. She was unbridled; Raj had no intention of riding her, but being at his regular perch was a source of familiarity in an unfamiliar place. “Fi angen i fynd adref yn rhy.”

Waves of black tumbled down his back and draped over his shoulders as his fingers dragged through it, attempting to soothe out the mess and knots that had formed. His hair was long now, if it hadn’t been before. Longer than it had ever been by any means, but maybe still shorter than Radu’s had been.

He was halfway through his braid when the first noises broke through the silence. Men passed by the open face of the stables, but Rajah did not look up from his work. Men passed by all the time. It wasn’t until one man turned to three, turned to five, each more frantic than the last that Rajah tied his hair off and slowly slid down from Emira’s back.

Slow and careful steps took him outside, and the previously quiet camp seemed to erupt all at once. Men-at-arms moved quickly with expressions that ranged from grave to alarmed. The young stablehand that was rushing toward him, however, looked nothing short of terrified.

Rajah stuck his arm out as the boy made to rush past him, his chest making a sickeningly hollow sound as it collided with Raj’s forearm. Long, calloused fingers tangled in the already ripped and dirty white tunic, preventing the boy from going anywhere. “What is happening?” he asked, staring ahead and trying to follow the soldiers with his eyes to see where they were going.

“Let [i]go,[/]” the stablehand protested, surprisingly and effectively twisting out of Rajah’s grasp. He watched with careful eyes as stall doors were pulled open, including Emira’s. He made quick strides, slamming Emira’s stall door shut again and provoking a series of startled whinnies from the line of mounts. “The Tutar are within **** distance, and if this goes south, these soldiers are going to need mounts, and-”

He kept talking, and Rajah let him as he pulled himself up onto Emira’s back. Before the stableboy could protest - or during, he hadn’t been paying attention - Rajah dug his heels into Emira’s sides and they were off.

It didn’t take long to find where the soldiers he’d seen before had congregated. The words ‘unarmed’ and ‘white flag’ were thrown around, and it didn’t take long to understand what they were talking about. Rajah understood a fair bit of nothern tongue, but what he was hearing was nonsensical at best. The Tutar did not surrender. They plundered and killed, and forced entire civilizations to uproot themselves and move to resourceless wastelands. White flags or no, Rajah didn’t buy it.

Rajah pushed through the guard, using Emira’s stocky yet overwhelming build to slip between Lances and footsoldiers until he found Barth and a small militia of sorts, armed with nothing save for expressions ranging from critical to concerned. Rajah watched them prepare to meet with the Tutar, never breaking from his gaze as he slowly slid down Emira’s side. They were preparing to meet with the Tutar unarmed. Even if the only things they wielded were the white flags they hoisted high in name of surrender, that didn’t mean anything. You could still impale someone on the end of a white flag.

“Bydd i eich gweld yn fuan,” he whispered to Emira, though it didn’t help soothe her. She jerked her muzzle from his hand, whickering softly in protest. She was too smart for her own good. He repeated himself anyway, patting her solidly on the neck before joining the others.

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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Sep 14, 2016 5:08 pm 

It is a hollow shell of what it once was.

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Environmental Post





The group that travelled forth from the Allied lines was a random assortment in appearance, yet they moved as one beneath the light of the red sun.

Three mounted, four on foot - the company that moved towards an unlikely parley and an uncertain future had not been arranged with balances in mind, but they still came together seamlessly as the unarmed Tutari warriors waited. Barth Krinwulf, commander of mankind’s last alliance and prince of a dead kingdom strode forward with calm steps, his eyes held steady on the brutal would-be emissaries awaiting his presence. He would speak of no doubts or fears, but if one was to look closely they would have seen the shadows of both in his eyes.

Sen the Sister, who in a life long since concluded had been a noblewoman from a respected House, followed along with the others after exchanging a silent glance with her commander. Her mismatched eyes, one of which had been pierced in battle before being touched by the unique influence of two Elder Gods, searched the air for the source of what she perceived as something unnatural, but she could not place it.

Not yet.

Rajah of the Plains, many leagues from his home, moved lightly over foreign soil amongst people who’d only a short time before been total strangers. In the present, however, they were the last hope of his people. Their plight was now his, as the number of miles between the Scorched Plains and the Lebi countryside was rendered meaningless by the need for survival. Alistair, the Knight of Lebidan who understood the authority of no House, but who fought for his land - and himself, although he still did not fully understand what that meant - moved along with the others. The fox pelt draped over a muscular shoulder stood as a reminder of his lineage, and of his father, but in the current time his more notable adornment was the new determination that gripped him as he voluntarily strode forth with the commander’s group.

The First-Captain of the Heart Guard was one of the riders; Daria of Colbyne was no stranger to war, yet the eyes beneath the Thaamin red of her hair had seen things she’d never imagined possible since her arrival at the Battle of Landfall. She was no fool, and expected no peaceful parley, yet she moved forward with the others, representing her company and showing no fear at whatever waited ahead. Behind her was Captain Resuran, newly appointed head of the Red Company, who also elected to move forward as another leader within the retinue. Some among his men were apprehensive of what a group of seemingly unarmed Tutar could be doing there, but the eyes above the braided mustache displayed no such trepidation.

Riding near her prince, Ausan Benthey’s eyes were oddly empty as the distance between the two groups continued to fade. The Maiden of Linden, last of her title, leader of the Sisters would stand at Barth’s side, regardless of what the future held. Yet, if one was to examine her closely they would have discovered a person whose hopes had dwindled into shadow, and who sought out no future joy - whether in personal life, or the battlefield, the bleakness was all-encompassing. Still, the Maiden would lay steel between her foes and her friends, for in that regard she would never lose her way.

Finally, at long last, the group reached the Tutar.

The Chieftain, a hulking brute with no traces of intellect in his eyes, grunted, inclining his head at the prince. There was a tension in the air as the two parties stood in silence, each regarding the other with distrust that was painfully obvious. It was only a matter of time before the peace, uncomfortable and tense as it was, would come to a violent end. Realizing this, Barth Krinwulf took a step forward and opened his mouth only to close it in surprise as a disturbance swept over the field.

The ground underneath them trembled, softly at first, but then violently enough to nearly throw the riders from their mounts as a distant roaring sound drew closer. From where the two groups stood, a series of reddish dots became visible high up in the skies above. The air grew swelteringly hot and there was a faint shimmer in the breeze, as if it carried on it an energy that even eyes untouched by Gods could discern, to an extent.

Cries rose up among the masses, and although suspicion immediately fell upon the group of Tutar, the bestial warriors looked just as alarmed as anyone else. Their fanged mouths hung open as shock clouded eyes that were more accustomed to demonstrating savagery than uncertainty.

The Elder Gods, understanding what the others could not, surged forward. Yorinth raised his hands, intending to cast a fog of protection over the entirety of the field, even as Lydia threw her dice, the small smile now noticeably absent from her ageless face. Gaius Stormbreath alone did not act immediately, as he was more concerned with pondering the power descending into their midst.

Yorinth’s fog fizzled away into nothing, easily overwhelmed by what was coming, and the dice turned black as they returned to Lydia’s hand. She frowned down at them, then threw them once more, only to see the same result. A final attempt was made, and the two stone squares exploded as they reached her, making the Goddess flinch, recoiling. Gaius glared up at the fireballs that were growing larger with dizzying speed, and shook his head before turning to face the remainder of the allied army.

“These can be saved,” he said, his Demigods standing dutifully on either side of him, and he waved his staff, shouting as he threw forth every ounce of his power. The other Gods, along with the entirety of the army were flung back, soaring through the air on the sheet of wind surging out of the length of wood. Many landed painfully, and more than one horse suffered a broken leg, but the bearded immortal did not hesitate as he saved their lives.

Like Gaius and his Demigods, however, the ones at the center of the field could not be spared.

The boulders that fell were wreathed in fire, and some were nearly the size of mountain peaks as they crashed down into their midst. One landed towards the rear of the Tutari warriors, obliterating them completely — the Chieftain had enough time to let out a high pitched squeal of pain and fear before his entire body was turned to ash. Another projectile landed closer to Barth’s group, sending sprays of dirt into the air as a massive chasm formed beneath its weight. The impacts sent violent tremors through the ground, making it difficult to stay on their feet; a single rock, roughly the size of a pony, flew in at an angle and tore Ausan’s horse out from under her, killing it instantly and breaking both of her legs. The rock would have continued all the way through the army’s main body if not for the Elder God of Wind, who threw everything he had at it. It skidded to a halt, just feet away from the front lines, but the effort left him with a staff that was broken in half. Drained of all his remaining strength, Gaius Stormbreath fell to his knees as his Demigods formed a protective circle around him. Their movements were in vain, however, as they were all crushed by the next boulder, which landed directly on top of them.

Daria and Resuran were both merely inches from a massive impact; the fiery rock left a deep, long trench in the ground, into which the captain of the Red Company’s steed fell. The man atop it leapt from his mount just in time to avoid falling in as well, but the next fireball struck the field just behind him, sending him forward as debris shot up and shattered his collarbone, leaving him to fall close to where Daria was sprawled, her horse nowhere to be seen and her back broken. The rock that collided with Alistair’s chest sent him soaring backward through the air, but before he could land another flaming segment of stone came crashing down on him from above, slamming him into the ground and breaking most of his ribs.

A smaller rock, merely the size of Haman, landed on an uneven stretch of ground and shot horizontally down the field, slamming into Rajah’s lower body. He flipped over like a rag doll, landing on his head and narrowly avoiding a broken neck, although one of his feet was no longer attached to his body when the boulder continued past, crashing into the nearby woods. Sen narrowly avoided that particular boulder, but the next one was much larger and hit the ground just in front of her. Flames scorched her and bits of rock pierced her body, with several fiery chunks hitting her hard enough to shatter her arm at the elbow. Another crashed into her head, if not hard enough to kill her instantly, forcefully enough to send her flying.

Barth stood at the center of a decimated battlefield, surrounded by fire and the cries of the dying. His forehead had been cut open, and blood ran down his face and into his eyes as he stared up at the final fireball, large enough to cover the entire center of the field. He dropped to the ground, and wordlessly turned and stared at his comrades, his half-blinded eyes lingering helplessly on Ausan before looking back to the approaching doom. He opened his mouth, but no words came out as the flaming mountain peak landed, killing all of them.





The Ravine

“FLAME, THAT BURNS”

"The Flame burns our enemies."

"FLAME, THAT MELTS"

"The Flame melts our weakness away."

"FLAME, THAT LIGHTS"

"The Flame illuminates the path before us."

"FLAME, THAT ENGULFS"

"The Flame shall fuel us."

"FLAME, THAT ENGULFS"

"The Flame shall ignite our obstacles."

"FLAME, THAT ENGULFS"

"The world will burn.”



The chants rang through the Ravine, the rasped language echoing back onto itself, discordant tones battling futilely for supremacy as Heldrith'thn knelt. The acolytes leading the others in praise were also stooped over, their low voices rising up in a single hum as their eyes remained downcast. The Flame was upon them, among them, and the measure of such an honor was beyond description. If death came to them now, it would be as auspicious an end as could even be conceived. More glorious even than death upon the battlefield, clutching jagged blades caked in the blood of their hated foes.

“You have done well in preparing your people, High Priest. I am pleased with your service.”

He trembled, and tears leaked from the corners of Heldrith'thn’s closed eyes as he accepted the loftiest of compliments. He bowed even lower, his brow touching upon the ashen ground as the figure standing in front of him drew closer, the fire that wreathed it now so intense the glow was visible through his eyelids. “It is an honor to serve, oh mighty and All Knowing Flame.”

“The Flame is all things, Heldrith'thn, and it resides within all things. It lives within each of you, and I am its messenger, its embodiment. You may call me by my true name.” A hand, powerful beyond words, grasped him by the shoulder and raised him, effortlessly lifting the ancient Tutar into the air and setting him down, his spine now straight as he stared up at the towering figure. His hair was long and reddish brown, open about his shoulders, and his black robes billowed around him, displaying the occasional glints of chain mail underneath. A long sword hung at his side, and a fire burned in his dark eyes — he was the Flame, yet he looked like a God of war, now descended to bring glory to the Ravine.

“You may call me Malinar.”

A distant rumble sounded as the name was given, and to the priest it felt as if the world itself shook upon recognizing its speaker. Such power had never touched upon Soluunar before, and as the Tutar gazed, enraptured, he knew such a thing would never happen again.

“Yes, my Lord Malinar,” he whispered, standing quickly aside as the God strode forward with long, loping strides. He followed eagerly behind him, the chants of the Ravine still ringing chaotically behind and around him as they entered the sacred Temple. The large bowl atop the iron pedestal was a beacon, pointing out the throne behind it, and when Malinar approached it the flames within the vessel rose, becoming a narrow pillow of white-hot fire that nearly reached the ceiling high above.

Heldrith'thn flinched, shielding his eyes from the sight; when he was finally able to see again, the fire had died back down to its usual state, and Malinar sat upon the black throne. The crude steel construct looked uncomfortable, yet the God sat at his ease, looking formidable and regal as he gazed into the distance, seeing things Heldrith'thn could only imagine at. “The sacrifices are no more,” he said, now fixing his stare on the priest. “The enemy has suffered a blow.”

“By your grace,” Heldrith'thn breathed in response, and the Flame nodded. The tremors running through the surface of Soluunar were undeniable; he’d laid waste to the field, as was promised in the bloody, burning visions the priest glimpsed during his tormented prayers. The Flame knew all, and it never failed to keep its promises. So long as one remained loyal.

“Yes. And now I have a task for you. Tell me, how many chieftains are within your people’s ranks? How many tribes yet have leaders?”

“Twelve remain, after Roumjain’s sacrifice, my Lord.”

“Too many,” the mighty God replied dismissively, once more staring into infinite depths. The fire smoldering in his eyes was edged with the promise of pain and death, and there was something in the set of his strong jaw that made it clear the Tutar could only imagine at what he had in store for them. “Have them brought to me. And then have them fight to the death. They will stop once five remain, for I only have need of that many.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a small smile became visible on his ageless face.

”They will be my Chosen.”




Upper Regions

The screams rang in Rolyn’s ears, but he knew something was wrong even before the desperate prayers reached him. The same power that had been alluding him, deceptive enough that even Phyrexus could not locate it, had erupted beneath him. But Malinar’s power was not as it should have been. It was unleashed, wielded without reservation, yet it was also closed off, a world away. And there was only one explanation for it.

“He has broken the Sacred Oath.”

The faces that stared back at him were masks of shock; Valiya looked even paler than usual, and for the first time in many years Freiya's eyes had widened as his words washed over them. Lorkhan nearly fell from his seat. “Wh-what? That’s impossible!”

There was no time to argue the point. Without another word Rolyn whirled around and moved quickly out into the open space outside of the Conclave’s building. He heard words pursuing him, but he ignored them as he watched the proceedings down below. The fireballs rained down onto a field that held the last hopes of mankind. Leaders among the allied forces, some with large followings, others sources of immeasurable inspiration or potential, all on the brink of destruction. The Skyhand stared, helplessly looking on as the strength of the Elder Gods failed in the face of Malinar’s tremendous power. Against such a force they were miles out of their league.

That wasn’t enough to stop Gaius from trying, however.

The unsmiling voice of the righteous. Always that was you, Stormbreath, he thought numbly as the Elder God saved countless lives, throwing them recklessly out of harm’s way while placing himself in danger. The bearded immortal could move the army, but he couldn’t contend with Malinar’s power. None of them could. And while Malinar was upon Soluunar, not even Rolyn Firstborn could stop him. Not from the Upper Regions. Not without violating the Oath and sentencing himself to an eternity of torment within the vast emptiness of the Void. And even if he was of a mind to make such a sacrifice, there was simply no time.

The Elder God of Wind was crushed, along with his Demigods, and seconds later there was a stirring in the space behind him as Gaius and the others appeared, in a crumpled heap on the pristine white ground. They were now Fallen, stricken of the ability to exist in both realms; either they were confined to the Upper Regions, or they would forsake them in favor of Soluunar, the land currently being ravaged by the horrific power of a Circle God.

“I could not save them,” Gaius’ solemn voice uttered as a fireball the size of a mountain peak descended into the midst of Barth Krinwulf and his companions. Against Malinar, there was no one who could stand up. There could be no turning back the carnage that was to come, and the mortals below would be cheated of life, robbed of the chance to defend their people. The alliance would fall, and all because of Malinar. All because the most powerful of all the Gods had descended into their midst, his mind intent on malice.

“I will not allow this,” Rolyn said, now raising both hands into the air. He had not been entrusted with the protection of Creation only to stand by as an oathbreaker wreaked havoc on humanity’s last chance. Whether they knew it or not, the fate of Soluunar was hinging upon the people who were about to be destroyed, and their deaths would spell the beginning of the end. He couldn’t contend with Malinar’s power, not from another realm, but there was something else that could be done. “Worthy, every one of them.”

He knew no one had ever attempted to Uplift so many at once - Galaia had done two at the same time, and the act nearly killed her - but he also knew that it was within his power. A blue light enveloped him, as at the corner of his vision he began to see figures gathering, looking on as the Circle God slowed the passage of time all around him. A bead of sweat dropped from the jawline of one of Gaius’ Demigods and fell slowly to the ground, its progress taking nearly half a minute as Rolyn collected his power.

Everything slowed to a crawl, the soldiers on the field, the screams of the dying, and even the fiery mountaintop’s plunge slowed down as the Skyhand's power surged downward. A blinding blue light surrounded the figures below, and Rolyn knew he’d done it.

"A second chance,” he said softly, as they all perished far below.





Barth’s eyes opened and he saw only a vague pale color, which somehow looked oddly familiar. It took some time, but eventually he identified it as skin. Still, he had trouble understanding what he was looking at, and why. Odd, that the afterlife would be entirely flesh colored. This is strange, he thought, even as the possibility that he wasn’t actually dead occurred to him. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Sen’s mostly unconscious form was shifted off of him, her neck leaving his face where it had been pressed up against his eyes when he sat up. Now able to see, he found himself blinking rapidly as his eyes were assailed by a flood of white light. Everything around him seemed to be glowing, and the terrain was completely unlike anything he’d ever seen. The ground was white and unmarred, and everything around him was clean and pure, looking untouched by both war and the passage of time. Every structure within view was made of some kind of smooth, white stone, and the people there-

“Gods,” Barth whispered, and then he saw him. They were all there, Ausan, Sen, Rajah, Daria, Resuran and the Lebi knight he’d seen accompanied by a wolf, all of them who’d moved forward to meet the Tutari warriors, all of them in a heap on the ground. And in front of them, stood Rune.

There was no mistaking him; the God’s likeness had been carved into the sides of many an ancient temple, and the resemblance was uncanny. Barth pushed himself to his feet, even as he began hearing the others stirring behind him. “What is this place? What happened? I thought we died,” he said, his voice scarcely louder than before, and the God nodded solemnly, his face unsmiling as he surveyed the newcomers.

“You did. But you were also made Demigods, right before your deaths. My Demigods,” Rune added, as a murmur swept through the massive assembled crowd that Barth was only just then noticing. “You are now Fallen, and can remain here for the remainder of your days. Or you can forsake this place so you may go back, and fight,” he added, turning to face a group of Gods standing behind him. There were three of them, and something about their appearance made Barth certain that they were of some importance. “The decision is yours, but I have other matters to attend to.”

He moved away, blue robes swirling around him as he followed the other three into a small building not far away. “I… don’t understand,” Barth said, rubbing his head wearily as the surrounding people continued to stare at them all as if they had three heads.

“You are immortal now. Nearly,” said a voice he recognized, that was laced with a grim note that was growing all too familiar. “You are Demigods, by the hand of Lord Rolyn himself, and no Circle God has Uplifted a Demigod in many millennia. You possess greater speed and strength than ever before, and you can heal from most hurts with little trouble. But you had better learn how to use your powers soon, for I fear time runs short,” Gaius said, looking odd without his usual staff.

Barth shook his head, struggling to come to terms with what he was being told. There was simply too much new information coming his way, and none of it was even remotely believable. So now they were Gods? And Rune himself saved them? None of it made any sense. “Why did he do it? And who caused all of this? Who killed us?” he asked, and the bearded man’s face suddenly housed a very dark look as he spat on the ground near his feet.

“Malinar Oathbreaker. The most powerful being in existence has descended upon Soluunar. You are lucky your entire army was not destroyed.”

Barth opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding his comprehension wasn’t as important as figuring out what would be happening next. If the God was right, and he suspected he was, then they needed to get back to their people before anything else could go wrong. “What now?”

“You collect yourselves, and you wait,” Gaius replied, turning to glance in the direction of the building into which Rune - or Rolyn, apparently - had disappeared. “Things have been set into motion, and I believe the next few moments will determine the fate of humanity itself.” There was still much Barth didn’t understand, but the direness of the situation was difficult to miss. For the time being, he was content with fixing the others with a look of profound confusion as an ominous feeling of impending doom settled over the vicinity.

_________________
Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.


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