The OOC

Soluunar


As Barth approached the large Lebi camp, wondering if he was once again simply wasting his time, he saw a single, armored man approaching from a distance. Although the sun wouldn't be rising for at least a few more hours, he had only to see the numerous marks and dents adorning the man's attire to know it was one of his own.

"The meeting has already begun, my Prince," the soldier said with a deferential lowering of his head. Barth grunted, scanning the camp for the largest of the canvas tents, which he located after just a couple of seconds as it stood out sharply compared to the others. He walked towards it, entering the camp's perimeter and passing a cluster of guards, who watched him amble past without acknowledging him. They knew who he was, but they obviously had no intention of showing him any recognition or respect. Which was fine by him, truth be told.

Barth could hear shouts and raised voices before he even reached the large brown tent; before ducking under the flaps, he paused long enough to release a long, slow sigh of exhaustion. Every moment spent with the Lebis was as trying as any battlefield. Perhaps even worse, since battle at least offered the chance to silence one's adversaries with a well timed sweep of a blade.


"I will not be spoken to like I am some peasant! I am King Paetar Krinwulf," Barth heard his father spit as he straightened up inside the warm enclosure, "and you will give me the respect I deserve."

"Aye, a King, minus a nation! Did you drag your throne with you, Krinwulf?" asked one of the Lebi lords, a man named Shalerin, if Barth remembered correctly. "Or shall we build you a new one? We have some scraps we could put together."

Paetar opened his mouth, furious, but closed it when he saw his son approaching the table. The others followed his eyes and spotted the newcomer as well.

Around the large, circular table there were six men seated, five of them representing Lebidan. The King sat in the center, with two of his Lords on either side of him. Barth dimly recalled there being one more Lord, but he wasn't bothered by the man's absence. One of these Lebi royals would have been more than enough for him, let alone all five of them. For the Lindenian side, there was only Barth and the older Krinwulf.

Barth watched the King, Thorin Sgaran Sahir, with his curly brown beard and the jeweled circlet sitting atop his long, thinning hair, and wondered if the fat man (his stomach was enormous) had ever lifted a sword in his life. He saw the jeweled pommel at Sahir's waist and decided the weapon was simply for show. He glanced resentfully at his father in turn, and at the tarnished silver hilt at the side of the much skinnier King of Linden.

Neither king would be much use on the field, he decided, but at least the Lebi has some wealth to flaunt. No wonder these men look down on us so.

The king watched him interestedly, but it was the lord to his right who spoke first. It was one of the ones he didn't know.

"Young Barth, I'm told you possess more brains than your father. I pray that is true, because otherwise I don't see these negotiations going anywhere."

No wonder father requested my presence this time. It is clear he is no match for these men.

"I am smart enough to have fought in many battles without dying," he replied evenly as he reached them, "judge that as you will."

When no one answered right away, he took advantage of the silence to continue.

"Do any of you know what is coming? Because I do. I have seen it. I have faced it. Your politics and your insults will not throw back the forest of black steel that is coming to your doorstep. I have seen your men- they wear the finest gear, polished so brightly it is painful to look at in the sunlight. But for every one of them that might be of some use, there are fifty more that wouldn't last a second in front of a Tutari horde."

One of the Lebi lords opened his mouth angrily but the Prince moved forward and slammed his gauntleted fist down onto the table, cutting him off.

"Yes, the same argument you've been carrying on for the last two days! You believe you are giving us too much, allowing our people to take shelter in your country, allowing us to use your resources. Our nation is in shambles, our lands ruined, our castles broken, and as such we need you. But make no mistake, lords of Lebidan. You need us too. Without our men you would fold. All of you. The Tutar would destroy you without breaking a sweat."

"Aye, and your men are so superior?" asked the Lord that had addressed him first. "They aren't even men! I heard you like to take your girlfriends with you to the front lines. What could an army of females possibly teach my knights?"

"My lieutenants have faced horrors you'd soil your pants just thinking about, My Lord," Barth shot back, his anger starting to bubble towards the surface. He could see a smirk on his father's face, but he wasn't concerned with the man's approval. He was defending the people he fought alongside. The only people he cared about. "They have earned their place, time and time again, and without them perhaps I would not be standing here dealing with your insufferable ignorance."

The offended lord began to rise to his feet, but stopped when the Lebi King seated to his left raised a hand.

"Peace, Garmind," he said softly as the man sat back down. "The Prince speaks harshly, but I do not believe him to be dishonest. His men have faced the Tutar again and again, and they have emerged victorious each time. He is no politician, but I do not doubt his prowess on the battlefield. Nor do I question the confidence he has in his soldiers."

He turned to look on either side of him, and seeing no opposition from the Lebi lords he rose from his chair with a smile, extending his hand to Paetar, who rose as well and grasped it immediately. "Our alliance is formed, then," the King of Lebidan said, still smiling. Barth could see a look of immense relief on the face of his father, but he also saw that the Lebi king's smile did not extend to his eyes. They remained hard and calculating as they turned to regard the younger of the Krinwulfs.

"I would like for you and your officers to confer with my knights. I have selected a small committee from within their ranks to lead the battle preparations moving forward. There is much for you all to discuss, I am sure. In the meanwhile, we will work with your father here to get your people settled in as quickly as possible. They are now under the protection of Lebidan," he added with an overly friendly widening of his grin, as if to drive it home that Linden needed him much more than he needed it.

"Yeah, great, thanks," Barth said as he turned and made for the tent flaps, deciding he needed to get out of there before his temper got the better of him. He straightened up in the much cooler air outside, frowning as he began making his way back to the smaller Lindenian camp. His lieutenants were probably going to be displeased when they found out who they were meeting with, assuming he could track them down anyway. They hadn't been in camp when he left for the meeting.

As he crossed the larger camp's outer perimeter again, this time moving in the direction of the small watchfires dotting his own camp, he prayed the knights of Lebidan were not as arrogant as their overlords.

If they are, this alliance may be an exceptionally short-lived one, he thought grimly.




_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Upper Regions


Lorkhan ran a hand through his pale blond hair, his eyes fixed on the smooth wooden table in front of him. "Lorkhan," Rolyn said from the end of the table where he sat, "it has been three days. Surely you've come to some kind of decision by now?"

The God of Light licked his lips and looked up for a moment before shaking his head to either side by the tiniest of fractions and looking down again. Rolyn sighed in spite of himself, unable to hide the disappointment he was experiencing. Every day that went by without some kind of decision was another victory for the other side- such was the nature of his position.

"What a shame, Skyhand," Malinar said calmly from the opposite end of the table, the same place he'd been sitting during their Conclaves for countless millennia. "It seems that we once again cannot reach a consensus. Conclave adjourned until next time, then?" he asked with a grim smile as Lorkhan and Freiya both rose from their seats and watched Rolyn expectantly. The Circle's Conclaves could only end if word was given by the two Eldest members.

"Very well. Adjourned."

Lorkhan left quickly, as was his custom, but Freiya lingered long enough to offer Rolyn a brief nod of farewell before following in his wake. On top of her cold, distant demeanor, the Goddess of Nature was usually in opposition of him, but the woman never let things get personal. Rolyn had to give her that much.

Malinar finally stood up and looked from Rolyn to Valiya, his smile widening. "Always ready to do battle for Rolyn, aren't you? Always in support of his… noble causes?"

Heartsong smiled back at Malinar, her pale face beneath the fiery red hair revealing nothing of what she was feeling. "Regarding this issue I believe him to be right, and so I place my Faith in him. A choice that is mine to make, Malinar."

He nodded, the grin still fixed on his face as if it had been carved there. He twitched his head ever so slightly, shifting aside the lock of reddish brown hair that was partially blocking one of his pale brown eyes. "It is. Whether or not it is the correct choice, however, remains to be seen."

He made his way to the exit, where he stopped just as Freiya had done. Unlike her, however, he had more than just a nod to offer. The smile was gone from his face as he stared at Rolyn, one hand on the door. "It is not our job to babysit humanity. You claim to be burdened with the prayers of the dying, Skyhand. Well if they bother you so much, perhaps you should stop listening."

With that he was gone, shutting the door loudly behind him. Now alone with the Goddess of Faith, Rolyn rubbed his eyes wearily, feeling Valiya's eyes on him.

"Many pray, Rolyn. Few are heard. It is good that you listen."

Agitated, he finally looked back at her, meeting her steady gaze with his own, exasperated version. "And what good is listening when I can do nothing? Every day we fail to come to a decision is another day closer to the end of humanity. An end to prayer and to hope."

"Mankind has endured, before," she replied, watching him closely now that he was finally looking at her. "What is to say they cannot do so now?"

"Something is different this time," he said softly, as if thinking out loud. "Something is unnatural. The Tutar should not be so strong, yet they are. They have amassed a force that is ultimately unstoppable. Soluunar will soon be drowned in the blood of man."

She frowned, suddenly appearing uncertain. "An overcorrection of the balance? The Tutar were pushed to the brink of extinction long ago, while mankind thrived and prospered. Perhaps this is simply the wheel of fate, turning back around."

He grunted, unconvinced.

"If it were so, I would not be plagued with doubt as I am. But perhaps my wisdom fails me. Perhaps Malinar has the right of it," he said bitterly as he examined the hands he held clasped on the table in front of him.

She smiled, patting him gently on the shoulder as she rose from her chair, the same one she always sat on, directly to his right. "I've known you for a long time, Rolyn, and I know when you truly believe something. Which is why I will not agree with such a notion."

She left him alone, then, and he listened to her leave without looking up from the hands he continued to study. She left the door open behind her, so he could see the beautiful day awaiting him outside the small stone building that was composed of just the one room. The Hall of the Circle it was called, although given its size it hardly qualified as a hall.

Hearing voices raised in conversation he finally looked up, seeing figures moving around outside. They spoke in carefree tones as they walked upon the smooth white marble, reflecting the atmosphere throughout the Upper Regions, which, as usual, was one of leisure and comfort. And peace. They did not feel the weight of Soluunar on their shoulders. They did not take on the burdens of the world below.

Finally, with a groan that was more based on frustration than fatigue, Rolyn stood up and made his way outside, blinking in the clear sunlight, staring around at the unblemished white structures around him with little interest. A light breeze was blowing; it was cool and refreshing, and pushed his silver hair back out of his face. It was a welcome change from the stuffiness within the Hall, but it did little to help his mood.

There was a large garden nearby he liked to walk through when he was troubled; he decided he would go there next, since at the moment his mind was anything but at peace.

_________________

The sound of heavy crunching earth and metallic clanging against worked grass was approaching, and from the misty morning fog the silhouettes of figures could be made out, growing in shape and opacity.

Soldiers, armored and armed with swords, polearms and the like road on horses, walked along the poorly maintained road that was lining the grasslands of central Soluunar. In the front of this squadron of individuals a darkly armored steel Knight walked a good distance away from the rest of them, a burgundy cloak draping over his shoulders and wavering on behind his steps. His face and head was covered by the sleek line-opened helmet that he wore, the horsetail of ornamental navy hair falling behind his back.

"Sir Morigan..." A young male voice called on from behind the solitary individual, his steps hurrying up that he may catch up with the long and consistent strides of the Knight.

"Surely you should ride upon your steed, you have been walking for the past three hours.." The lad spoke humbly and warily to him, motioning back to the black horse that was being led by his squire. The dark helm turned to gaze down at the shorter young man, the hidden eyes due to the shade of the metal roaming over his person.

As typical, all the soldiers were dressed in the colors of Lebidan: Red, gold and white. Their armor was not nearly as full or fancy as an official Knight of the King and Military, but still held their prestigious shine and strength without question.

After what seemed to be thirty seconds of long observation, the Knight finally spoke out to his assigned soldier; His voice strong, clear and concise, but with a monotone, cold touch to its rhythm and accents.

"No. I would rather walk."

As quickly as his words started, they seemed to end. A pause between the pair occurred, Morigan having already turned his gaze back and to the front of his lone march while the soldier continued to look on over to him, as if expecting something more to come from their lead and subject of their escort. When it was apparent that the Knight was not going to reply any further about the topic, he soldier slowed his strides to fall back in line with the others, albeit awkwardly and with a slightly hung head.

Morigan had an amazing ability to squish the confidence of his companions interactions with him.

After another hours walk, the view of the camp came into place - The few armored gatherings of guardsmen and soldiers alike scattered about the area, a few turning their shapes to salute at the arrival of their comrades. Morigan paid them almost no mind, instead lifting a gauntlet to motion off at someone behind him with expectation.

"Squire. My blade." The words came out flatly, and with a rushing motion the young lad that led his horse scrambled about the equipment tied to the saddle, taking down the wide and long, sheathed blade with some effort. His steps followed on in a trot before he stopped near his Master.

"My Lord..." He spoke eagerly, lifting up the blade obediently before Morigans hand gripped the handle, a single swift motion of repetitive habit making it all it took for him to extend the leather wrapping around his chest and shoulder, the blade now pressed against the cloak along his back.

With that, the dark steel body made his way on further, his intentions now locked on the gathering of fellow Lordly Knights at the side, though he himself did not bother to approach too closely or mingle. Instead, he was paused near the edge of their group, turning off to stare outwards in silence at whatever it was that met his fancy.

He had only one purpose here, and that was war. Anything else was either a chore that needed to be done, or an accessory to his duty.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


At the boundaries of a small run down village, a mother and her maiden of a daughter walked side by side in the twilight of the evening. The skies were painted a darkening blue, the diamonds of star light shining away consistently among the threads of whispering clouds, a light breeze flowing through the treetops and sending trickling leaves upon their person.

In the daughters hands, wrappings of fabric and cloth were held tightly against her chest, keeping close the variety of herbs and twigs that she had gathered through the woods. Her Mother herself held a similar assortment, though in a basket and with much more ample quantity.

"I think Rollaine will be very greedy about what we found today, don't you think Ma?" He girl spoke out eagerly, a wide smile upon her freckled features and ringlets of brown hair.

"She is always so outrageous when we find her medicines and such, gets right on to cleanin' them up and storing them away for sale... Hey, Ma, do you think that man is going to return with the coin he promised? It's been a whole two nights since he visited the shop."

"I think she will be quite pleased, yes. As for the man, I do not know. He needed the extracts a great deal however, and I do not see the harm in the occasional charity." The older female replied, smiling off at her child as her cotton dress moved slowly with her steps.

"Charity, huh... Don't we already donate some of our stock to the temple? I think that's charity enough, don't you think?" The girl said with a bit of disappointment, rolling her eyes as she began to scan the growing lights of the village.

"Now now, dear. That is no way to think at all, that man could have been any of us. These coming days are harsh, it is important to help one another around these parts." The woman slightly scolded, giving her daughter a look before her gaze caught something off in the bushes.

The pair of women stopped to stare with a bit of concern, the leaves and twigs shambling about at the side as a few groans and whimpers of pain could be heard. Immediately, the Mother stepped forward with a bit of a hurry, the daughter hesitantly following along as her guardian's voice called out to the shrubs.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Are you hurt?" The older woman asked, her body shifting as she tried to get a better view of who was in the plant-life. "Ma... Maybe it's an animal, come on.." The girl commented off, but her suggestions were ignored blatantly by her Mother's further approach.

"H-help... I've been wounded.." A male voice, weak and desperate, squeaked out of the leaves and grasses, his shape becoming more and more noticeable as his movements became stronger. He appeared to be in his early thirties, unshaven for the past few days and scriggily brown hair falling along his features.

"Oh, come then! Let's get you up, we can help you off to the doctor and see what we can do.." The girl's Mother reassured him, moving forward to take hold of his arm and try to bring him to his feet.

With a swift and quick movement, the man shot up in aggression; His arm clinging about the female's throat as he gave a growl and forced a ramming motion on her frame, pinning her against a tree trunk as his forearm shifted against her collar.

"Stupid wench! Where is your coin?!" He spat out at her, ignoring the daugher's loud screams and call for help, but not ignoring the sudden hits of her fists against his back. His feet moved off to the side, his hand grabbing at her hair as his fingers came into a locking position along the many curled locks, pulling her scalp as the girl cried out in pain.

"I'll kill the both of ya' and let your snapped necks drain out into the ground!" He cracked out angrily, pulling about and pressing against the Mother's chest bone to distance himself from her clawing, screaming attempts at his face.

Their cries and angered groans were interrupted by the flash of a brilliant white light, the criminal's eyes blinking off in pain as he tried to focus upon the source of the sound, staggering away from the Mother as he dragged on the young girl by her head. The women gasped out in alarm, blinking with pain as they tried to focus on the what appeared to be a figure coming into view ahead of them, somehow floating in the threads of the air.

Glimmering, silver armor was the first thing that they saw, and gentle moon-like light bathed the edge of the forest as if the very stars themselves had fallen down from the heavens above. Black and pristine feathers of varying lengths and widths wavered gently in the serene and indiscriminate breeze, gathered long around the hips of the divine figure that had arrived among their shadows.

It was as if the sky itself had given birth to a Knight, for the figure stood perfectly balanced in a hovering stance above the ground, ornamental armor that revealed no skin or clear features creating a powerful presence, and a long and wide-bladed spear of a weapon pointed down non-aggressively to the earth. A helm of a face was staring at the triad of folk directly, the human-like but unnatural, sharp metallic front of the helmet holding an expression of peace, despite the two pairs of curving horns and variety of staggered plates that flowed back from it.

"What business have you, dark figure, with these pair of women on this night?" A smooth, noble voice of a man rang out from the being, devoid of cruelty or anger, though questioning and firm with its inquiry. As he spoke, his grieves met the grassy ground and began to slowly walk forward, pausing after two steps as the shining, unnatural figure awaited the attacking man's reply.

The man immediately let loose the hair of the girl, falling to his knees as his expression held that of pure fear and desperation - His eyes were wide with pleading terror, his shaking and dirty hands rising up to grip together in the form of a prayer.

"R-rune's mercy, the God of the very Stars has come to place judgement on me!" He screamed out in alarm, shivering away in the light of being who gazed down at him in silence. "S-spare me, great lord! I beg of thee, do not slay my life this night!" He wailed on wards, the mans fear causing watery driblets of tears to peep down his cheeks. The women behind him had gathered up in their own awe and fear, the Mother clutching onto her daughter as their large, brown eyes looked up at the figure in shock.

The Knight did not answer, the collar of gathered feathers about his shoulders moving about in the moving air as he seemed to contemplate the groveling man before him, the slits for sight not revealing any irises, nor humanity. Finally, the voice returned, the spear being lifted upwards to point off to the woods.

"Flee this place. I do not wish to see you grovel." He spoke, perhaps demanded, but the softness of his voice hinted towards it being an offer. The man complied with a rush of his feet, sprinting off with a tripping movement as he bolted through the woods and shrubs, vanishing into the dark that the God did not touch with his light.

His helm continued to stare off in the direction the man had run, though eventually it did return to the pair of women that gripped each other in his presence. As if the reality of the situation had finally settled in for the Mother, she bit her lip and swallowed harshly, finally speaking with a croaked and nervous voice. "Thank you, Lord of Starlight... Your blessing of protection will not be forgotten, as you have never been." She managed to make out, her daughter still staring at him with a bit of softened awe, in a way that a girl might spy a heavenly Prince.

"Tis little I have done, My Lady, though your thanks will be held dearly in my heart." The shining Knight replied, a gauntlet rising to touch his chest plate with a bow of his upper half - as if bidding a noble woman farewell - before his shape turned and his attention moved off to the sky. The long, brown and rich braid of hair that followed along him swung slightly with his movement, his knees bending in the slight before pushing off in an elegant jump; Another great flash of light filled the forest, and the eyes of the women closed to spare them of being blinded once more before they opened wide in following, gazing off at the great trail of shimmering light the Elder God had made, leaving them in the tail of a shooting star.




Akryanus landed among the gardens of the Hall of the Circle, those beautiful curvings of flowers, fountains and trimmed hedges that held a serene life among the Upper Regions that could not be touched by grief or strife. The God's grieves hovered a moment before they touched the pathways of stone, a light click of the metal meeting rock being heard as the horned helm faced off in constant stares at its surroundings. Rolyn was here, the God could tell. He had arrived nearby, the movement of blue robes catching the sightlines of the Knight before the soft clicks of his movement brought him closer to his Lord, stopping short of his tall presence before an armored knee dropped to the ground, the feathered skirt folding along his legs as his hand was brought across his chest.

"My Lord..." He began, the devout tones of the Knight present as he stayed lowered before his raiser, teacher and father-figure. Finally he would rise, tilting his head upwards that he may address the silver-haired God of Time that stood much taller than his own person.

"You are here, which means you are displeased."

_________________

The first calls of the birds emitted softly throughout the trees that lightly littered the hillside, causing bright, cyan hues to slowly open to the surrounding world. The red-haired woman was up high in a tree, face up as she rests on two thick branches that completely shrouded her in thick greenery from all angles. Such was where she typically escaped the voices of countless Lebidans, though she was not asleep. She knew better than to be so far from camp and risk missing the horn that foretold a coming siege due to sleep. Verana was on her patrol that wasn’t ordered and instead of returning directly, the youth felt it better for her sanity to listen to silence for once.

Time off for personal affairs were limited, so Verana snuck what she could between her tasks. Such was of course known to Barth, him being stuck In a meeting with one too many pigs gave her the chance to escape the cruel eyes and teasing murmurs that lined the ranks of the Lebidans. She wasn’t afraid of them, if anything she was protecting them from shattered jaws and genitals because the humans needed every number they had. The true horrors that awaited man was not truly recognized among the numbers of the Lebidans, their pride and belief that they were superior to Linden because of polished armor and unused blades seemed far more important. The huntress knew better, she knew they would be tested just as her brothers and sisters were, and she did not expect much until they lost everything her people did.

She’d lazily roll off of the left branch, though keen reflexes soon grasped the sturdy branch as she fell, letting herself hang there for a moment. Her narrow gaze rolled toward her bow that dangled off of a short branch within reach and quickly grasping it before letting herself fall onto the branch below. A bit of finesse and even some fun would be had as she finally swings off the lowest branch, landing on her dark, stained boots that had seen better days. The sun wasn’t yet seen from over the horizon and if one were looking down the nearest hill, it would have been difficult to notice Verana and her nearly black armor from behind. Her almost snowy white skin would have betrayed her position if it wasn’t her constant desire to coat herself in mud. Even now, her face was smeared in a striped pattern of dirt to aid in her camouflage, though the rest of her form was completely concealed in leather.

She was indeed filthy with her time spent in the forest, though she was far more content there than at the camp, even if her ‘family’ was present. The young lieutenant removed a leather pouch from her belt, uncorking it as it’s raised to her chapped lips, letting the chilling water run down her tongue and clear her throat. Sticking close to the trees, she’d continue her steady motions, her shorter form making longer strides difficult, though her form was strong enough to keep a quick, yet quiet pace. Her armor lacked metal plating for the majority, and what was there was typically one, formed piece on key locations such as her shoulders, forearms, aiding in her desire to be silent.

The way back was peaceful, so much so she spotted a young doe in the distance. Her eyes widened, full lips parting as she let out a soft exhale. Remaining as quiet as possible, the woman carefully took her bow in hand, the other slowly taking an arrow from her slender quiver and drawing back. The wood groaned softly, each noise an indicator as was the length of the draw, aiding in the adjustments she made. The soft wind against her left cheek, the distance and slow movement of the deer, and even the chance of it dropping its head should it find something interesting to feast upon. Everything added up, but in reality it was all done within the blink of an eye. The arrow launched forward at terrifying speeds from the long bow, the crudely carved iron head cutting through the air rapidly. The arrow impaled the brown hide of the deer just above its front leg, piercing the heart with amazing accuracy.

Verana put more into her movement as she jogged over to her catch, a faint smile forming on her lips as she kneels down beside the fallen deer, resting her hand on its neck. “Thank you.” She whispered in a soft, feminine tone before she carefully retrieves the arrow. With a soft groan, she’d hoist the deer over her shoulder, its weight quite more than she anticipated, though it wasn’t impossible to carry the short distance from the camp. Even with her small stature, Verana had grown strong in her time out in the wilderness, trying to prove herself equal to the males the best she could. However such was in the past, now a lieutenant and beside the prince himself, she merely uses what she learned to survive and do the same for her brothers and sisters. She had become respected among her people, surviving several major assaults by the tutar with the scars to show for it. Though, all that was on her mind right now was eating.

Finally smelling the fires of the allied camp, she felt both relieved, and agitated that she was back. “Look there.” She heard nearby as one lebidan soldier nudged the other. “What’s wrong, girly? You need a man to carry that for you?” The soldier chuckled, his attire clearly showing his low rank. “How about I give you something thicker to hold onto?” It was then he’d burst into laughter along with his buddy. Verana did her best to ignore the two soldiers, finding herself used to the hassling after the weeks of spending her time in the camp. It wasn’t until he approached, his hand actually reaching up to press his hand upon her left shoulder, did she pause in her steps. The extra weight he purposely added was painful, though she didn’t reveal such openly. The faint noise of metal grinding against leather would be heard, though one wouldn’t have the time to react to it before her dagger was already unsheathed, the sharpened, though worn edge slipping between the plates of the males groin and pressing firmly against his thigh and what hung between.

Her voice was a low whisper, emotionless even as the male gasped loudly in his sudden horror of what could happen now. “You will take your hand off of me right now, or you will be using it to stop the bleeding from your ****..” She’d smirk at this, raising her chin toward the soldiers friend who seemed equally stunned by just how quick she was. “Or maybe that’s why you have him here?” Blinking repeatedly, jaw agape, the man quickly raised his hand off of Verana, stumbling backwards and falling back onto a rack of spears, causing them to scatter across the dirt. Taking a step forward now, she’d turn her attention to the other Lebidan, awaiting for him to make a move as he continued to stare at her. However, he quickly turned, rushing to his friends aid as he stuttered curses under his breath. Her smirk soon faded, looking away from them now even as others watched her move toward the Linden camps, dagger once more sheathed once she was in the presence of her ‘family’. Dropping the deer near her tent, Verana kneeled down in preparation of skinning the doe when prince Krinwulf approached. Quickly, she’d stand offering a low bow to her leader and a faint smile, if one had not seen the scene they wouldn’t have even known she was furious except those that knew her well. “My lord.” She pauses, studying his features carefully before continuing. “How did it go with their king… do they believe they own us now?”

=====================================================================================



Phyrexus stood at the gaping maw of a spiraling void before him, his gaze widening one moment, only to narrow the next as if watching some sort of theatrics. The elder god was embraced by a dome of darkness, created by his own powers and gave him the isolation he so craved from the others within the upper realm. Similar gateways surrounded the inner dome, each giving sight to Phyrexus a view of the lower realm and those he chose to watch, those that dwelled in the shadows committing ill-deeds. Above and below would be the sight of the galaxy itself. Swirling nebula and the very stars brought a beautiful light into what would be pitch black. It would be this very light that broke him free of his thoughts, and the soft clatter of metal plates would be heard behind him.

Turning on his heel, the god faced what would be a large bed with red, silken sheets that remain tousled. On the edge of the bed, the pale, beautiful form of a goddess was before him, her long, dark strands slowly being brushed back to perfection. A black, formfitting innerwear adorned her, though her curvaceous form still recognized with glowing starlight, and by her feet a massive suit of glamorous armor. Phyrexus chuckled softly, his shoulder length hair still a mess with loose curls lazily framing his pale visage. He’d fold his arms across his heavily scarred form, watching with a smirk as the woman slowly prepared to leave, her armor being pieced together one by one.

“Aurora… have I told just how much I adore seeing you wrapped up in our sheets? How beautiful you are? “
Phyrexus’ smiled warmly as the goddess's eyes widened a moment, as if surprised by the gentle words he whispered before turning to look upon him, her soft features glowing in the pale light; her lips curled up into the hints of a slight flattered smile before they fell calm and serene once more. She didn't reply, instead continuing to ready herself up for the night, though the occasional glances were filled with hints of embarrassed affection for the God of Shadows. Phyrexus continued to watch her, another playful chuckle escaping parted lips as she stands to continue slipping each piece of armor into place.

The god stepped forward, the ‘floor’ beneath his feet rippling with soft light as if he were walking on water itself. He wore only long, black pants that was unbound and hung loosely on his hips. “Such is a noble thing you are doing, my love… even if the work of your demigods surely do you enough justice and warrant your benevolent existence.” He did not expect a response, instead moving behind the Goddess of Stars, his arms wrapping around her to rest a hand upon her navel, the other on her hip, halting her progress of donning her breast plate.“I’ve never stopped watching you to this day… as you continue to risk your life for those far less fortunate.” His deep voice was soothing, words softly whispered as he leaned in to nuzzle against her ear.

Akryanus tilted her head, gaze moving to her peripheral as her full lips parted lightly before she spoke. “We were brought here, risen as gods to be the protectors of mortals.” She paused, the large breastplate being held, awaiting for her ‘freedom’ to be given, though was certainly in no hurry. Her patience even noticed as she continued in her soft, feminine voice that held compassion in her words “If we turned a blind eye then we surely have no reason to exist. I am merely doing what is right, what is my duty… nothing more.” She nodded once to this, her brow furrowing for only a moment as thoughts of her acts came to being, arousing that sense of honor within her.

Phyrexus nodded lightly, his fingertips lightly tracing along the thin, black liner she wore before he continued, his tone lowering further and holding less affection than prior. “I have been watching this man.” He’d begin, glancing at her for but a moment before continuing. “The hardships in his life have been plenty, though he has been using a new method, something he adapted so he too can survive. “ His body shook lightly with laughter, such being felt as he pressed his chest against her back. “Last month I watched him stab an elderly man while struggling for a loaf of bread and a few coin that barely paid for another meal. It was his first time ever committing such an act though even in the horrors of realizing what he has done, he has not stopped. “

The God of Shadows let this sink in, his eyes narrowing as a wicked smile formed on his lips. “We save who we can, but it is a shame that it is our choice as to whom or when we decide to aid in their affairs yet cannot help them all. I watched this man mug several more innocents, some of which all their savings now gone and their lives at risk. His greed has clouded his judgment, the belief of the gods hollowed out and filled with only the desire of wealth. “ Lowering his chin, he’d press his lips lightly against her shoulder and up her neck, pausing there with his head at an angle. “Right now he is preparing to ambush a woman and her young daughter, his hands shaking and stomach growling.”

His lips parted, head recoiling just enough to study the shift in Akryanus upon hearing the news. It was quite clear she was mentally struggling, her muscles growing tense as that well known sense of urgency and duty she always held reared its head. She’d attempt to pull herself free, only to realize she was locked in the grip of the much older god. “Where are they, which one of these doors?!” Her once calm and collected tone had shifted, though she didn’t snap or fight against him entirely. The male chuckled softly, head turning to look toward the void he had been peering into before approaching her. His voice remained calm, though he seemed rather excited by her struggle, purposely speaking slowly to make her sweat it out moments longer. Pointing, he gave a single nod as he continued to whisper.

“There, I am sure by now they are already at his mercy… the beautiful girl crying out to her mother. You would be lucky to have time to done your disguise before it’s too late. Gods forbid they realize the truth of their goddess.” The final word was hissed in a soft, sensual manner before finally releasing Aurora, taking a step away to watch her don the rest of her armor as he chuckled softly.

Phyrexus watched in silence as the goddess knight bound herself into the thick armor that shrouded her true gender into obscurity, leaving only her youthful features to be shown. Turning toward him, the goddess narrowed her gaze in a sort of half serious death-stare, which only widened his smirk. By the time she dons her helmet and picks up her iconic spear, Aurora was already moving toward the portal, only to look over her shoulder as she gave her farewells. “I will be back soon and in the garden at the meetings end.” With this, she quickly stepped into the inky darkness of the portal, it quickly consuming her into what seemed to be pure nothingness, where light would not dare to touch. With her gone, he’d sigh softly, realizing there was little time to watch. Dark tendrils snaked out from beneath the bed, wrapping around his arms, legs and finally his torso, melding into him to form his armor and robes. His clawed gauntlet opened, revealing the now present mask that hid his emotions, something quite important for such meetings. Pulling his hood up, he’d press the mask to his face until it seemed to push firmly, if digging into his flesh.

Seemingly slipping through the floor, Phyrexus would suddenly be outside his chambers, his movements hastened as he travels a white, shining marble path and to the Hall of the Circle where the meeting was held. Typically, the Hand of the Circle was required during trials or when he is to be summoned, but the days have been slow and in his boredom and with permission of the Circle, he could attend. Like always, Phyrexus was early, finding his place against the wall in the middle of the large table where the Circle Gods would gather. One by one they’d trickle in, his mask, without any visor or real way to peer out, made it impossible for others to tell where he was looking or even awake. Even in his ascension, he was a knight, his own decisions mattering not in the grand scheme of things and instead is a cog for what is considered the greater good. He liked it this way, maintaining silent as desires were argued, points being made between Malinar and Rolyn which was the fate of humankind. A faint smile formed on his hidden lips, finding the irony in his own play with mortals, deciding when and if he wanted to help an individual, or watch them succumb to their own fate.

At the meetings end, he would be the last to leave, his head turning to watch each individual go only leaving Rolyn in his seat. His presence was customary, and saw to it each left before he finally stepped through the threshold that led to the glorious beauty that was the Upper Realm. His dark armor and ragged cloak seemed unwelcomed in such a place that seemed so perfect, but this was certainly where the fun gossip was had. Phyrexus was only a few paces behind Rolyn, his gloved hand resting on top the other as he followed, mask still adorned mostly to shield himself from the light. Upon reaching the Gardens he’d separate himself from the almost stalking route he took, and decided to walk around the gardens while peering within.

Just in time the appearance of Akryanus was made only a few meters from him, her shining, powerful form making itself known as she eased to the stone beneath. Once she had lowered herself respectfully before the God of Time, Phyrexus smiled roguishly, eyes narrowing as he looked toward the pair in his silence, a brow quirked inquisitively upon seeing her arrive so soon. His plated boots would slide against the flat stone adjusting his form so he could look out toward the garden. Remaining still, he’d simply watch as the two conversed, his smile remaining as he recalls the trouble he caused recently.

_________________

Marthus stood near the entrance to the camp, a fire crackled before him, and though it looked as if he had a bored tired look on his face, it was a farce to hide that he was really looking over the Linden camp. He needed to gather information, needed to find a reason to be in their camp. Course he could always say the truth, but his experiences usually had people disbelieving him. From what he could tell there was no bard or story teller in their camp. He was sure it was because they had been through so many battles that they were either too tired, or dead.

As he stood, he caught the sight of a small woman carrying a doe on her back, this was impressive really, and if he had a spot of chivalry in him he would have gone up to her and offered his help, but instead he stood there, just watching. That is till she was harassed by two of the low ranking guards closer to the entrance. He saw her movement to pull her blade, and instantly hold it to the boy's groin. This had Marthus chuckling to himself.

He didn't care enough about the guards to go over to them to offer his support, but he was intrigued. Seeing her fast reaction had him wanting to see the rest of the warriors from Linden, if they were as swift and cutthroat as she was, then he understood how they had lasted so long. Rubbing his hands together over the fire, he stepped away, still chuckling a little to himself. "Saw that comin' a mile away," he said loud enough for the two guards to hear him. "You boy's really know how to judge the ferocity of your women." This last part he said sarcastically.

Both guards shouted at him, and the one who didn't get the dagger to his genitals ran up to Marthus, trying to take a swing at him which Marthus easily dodged. He was used to getting hit across the head by his master for something done incorrectly, He heard the sound of stomping feet in the mud, and the fientest hint of metal and cloth moving through the air that he easily ducked. "Tsk, Tsk. If you're this slow fighting me, good luck fighting an enraged demon." Marthus laughed out. The man took another swing at him, this one he just grabbed the guard's hand, Marthus' thumb and index finger grasping the pressure point between his own thumb and index finger and pressed down. The man let out a muffled groan and went weak at the knees. "If you are going to fight someone, make sure you know everything you can get on them, it might save you in the end," he growled into the man's ear before pushing to the ground and quickly walking away before the others could attack him again.

On silent feet, Marthus made his way into the Liden encampment. He didn't try to hide that he was there, and even kept his hands at his side so they could see he wasn't being hostile towards anyone in the camp. For now he just looked around, seeing the disarray the soldiers equipment is in, and even the kind of wounds sustained by the soldiers. At times he would just stop outside of a larger tent, ones used more for the healers or even the preparation of food, and just listened. He could learn a lot about the tutars this way, and what he gathered didn't settle well with him. He had agreed to do this, and he wasn't backing down now, no matter how seeing all of this made him get filled with a sense of fear and dread.

Marthus didn't try to find a high ranking soldier, just one who looked like he had been through several battle, but not so battle hardened that he would only get glared and sneared at for the questions he was going to ask. Finding such a soldier, a female soldier that seemed to be holding on to the smallest thread of hope, he asked her if she had time, and was willing to discuss the tutar with him. WHen asked why he wanted to talk about such a dark topic he answered truthfully. "Because I have not fought them, and I try to get to know everything I can about who I am to kill. I simply ask so I may better prepare myself for the coming battles."




#BF00FF A woman of exotic beauty stood in the center of a gazebo, darkly tanned arms crossed under her breasts, and eyes closed. It would seem that she was just standing there, breathing in and out while the wind played with her thinly braided black hair, there were too many braids to count, and each one ended with a set of four beads; arranged gold, blue, red and gold; each braid made a gentle bell sound when they pounced off of the other. She was dressed in a fine gown made of thin cottons; material prevalent in desert areas, though her clothing was so thin and light that one could almost see her body past the fabric; the fabric itself seemed to have at one time been white, but the color faded into a crimson red, the hem of her dress having the thickest crimson color with no white being shown. Her arms, chest, and shins were adorned with a golden armor that shimmered in the soft light.

Here in the realm of the gods, she rested, though she always kept a vigilant eye on the goings on of the mortal world. From this spot standing there breathing in and out as she was helped her look over the realm of men and see what was going on. War was raging on and on all throughout the mortal world, war always was. Despite loving it and being really good in a combat setting, she couldn't just let herself be pulled into any and every battle. No she had to find the reason's behind why the wars were taking place. Ever since the war broke out with the tutars, she had become even more vigilant, even instructing her two demigods to battle the tutars, and helping when she could. She had just returned from such a fight, her help had made it so the Linden lord who lead a small contingency into battle had helped to stem the tide, but she knew in her heart that it would not be enough.

She watched on for a little longer before gasping in breath and opening her dark brown eyes to look about. Sesk'ramat, Elder goddess of Rage, stepped from her gazebo and stormed off. She didn't know where she was going, she was walking off just to expend some of her building rage. Without realizing it, her golden sandaled feet took her straight to her cellar where she kept all her pomegranate alcoholic beverages. Grabbing a few bottles, popped the corks, and stormed back outside, lifting a bottle up to her lips and taking a long swig from it, the other held in her left hand at her side.

Walking around for a little bit, drinking straight from the bottle till it was empty, she could feel her rage starting to lessen, as her level of drunkenness rose. Soon both bottles were empty and she was just humming and drunkenly walking around the upper realm, not even realizing that she was heading very close to the Circle Gods meeting hall, and the circle god that she holds all her lyalty to was walking out of the doors of the meeting hall and started to walk right towards her.

"Ahhhh, Sesk'ramat," she said a smile on her lips. Her smile faded when she saw the state of her Elder God. "What is wrong, Sesk'ramat? You have been at war with your own rage lately," she stated, though it would almost sound like a question.

Sesk'ramat gave her a drunk smile and teetered a little bit, losing her footing and being caught by Valiya. "M'lady. These Tutars are killing children, sick and weak," she slurred, tears running down from her brown eyes, "any dents are small in comparison to their numbers. Why must Malinar fight your helping the mortals?"

Valiya only smiled, knowing that Sesk'ramat had raged because she felt she was doing so little, even though she was doing so very much to help the mortals in battle. With a soft cooing noise she lifted Sesk'ramat up and helped her walk down the pathway to a comfortable bench. "Let us go and get you a little sobered up."

_________________
"Nothing lasts forever."
"Nothing, yes except the purest forms of love. If your love is strong and pure, it can reach across the universes and bring both pieces of the same heart back together.
Over and over again.
So, yes, nothing but your spark will last forever.

I am having some reslly bad computer issues. For now all I have is my phone and tablet. My post length andnavsilability may suffer since all I have is my tablet and phone for the moment. If I am needed feel free to reach me on my skype account listed on my profile.

Farie Shalerin was lost in thought as he rode the last few leagues to the camp where his father and the delegation of Linden would be. Farie tried to not think of how that meeting would have gone. Privy to knowing of the alliance before it's general announcement Farie had had a lot of time to think about the advantages this would bring a view he knew was wholly unpopular. This was one of the reasons Farie had let his thoughts wander back to when he'd left the city... To Elisia...

Farie sat atop his horse as he looked down at the little demure figure of his fiancee, the female Elisia his mother had chosen for him to marry, as she held her hand against his leg. He leaned down and captured a light kiss from her before she stepped back. He gave her a gentle smile as his mother's arm snaked around her light figure clad in a flowing violet dress. He said very softly. "I will see you when this is over," he said and turned the black stallion to face the gate to their large manse. It was a show of wealth and power of course, Farie enjoyed the attention that this home got. Farie loved the attention he received. He liked to be the center of attention. It was about the only thing he had in common with other royals outside of the fact that he liked to dress richly and enjoyed the pleasures that came with richness.

He was dressed for war today. His rich dark red suit covered with his armour shining and inlaid with gold trim marking him for what he was, one born of the upper crust. His hair was bound at the nape of his neck by a thin band of black leather. His long white cloak lined with feathers at the neck was clasped with an intricate broach holding the coat of arms of his house. His sword a large broad sword designed more for war then for it's looks was strapped to his hip in it's scabbard. It was clear that even immaculately dressed, properly groomed and clean he was a warrior, even if he hated war. Even if the bloodshed and the chaos of the battlefield made is stomach knot.

Farie could still remember his first battlefield. The corpses lying everywhere in rivers of blood soaking into the muddy soil underfoot. The smells of war that permitted every inch of space. The carrion birds that coated the field with black swarms. He shook his head to push those thoughts away, he didn't want to remember that as he made his way out of the city to the nearby field where his men had gathered. His men. It was such a strange thought that at 27 he now found himself commanding a unit of man. He shouldn't be surprised after all his father was one of the Lords. Already present at the council. He wasn't overly surprised when he'd received the missive to bring a contingency of military force with him when he arrived. So here he was a day later facing for the first time a group of man, the same man who'd fought along side him and his father in many a scrapes in the past when Farie was finally old enough to go with his father. They knew him, not as their leader, but as one of their own. He wondered how that would change now that he was to lead them.

"We ride this day to join the army, to lend our sword and our skills, to join with our brothers and to stand strong against an enemy that poses a threat to all of our way of life. I will ask you to test your courage and some of you might well lose your lives the coming days, but know that all of Lebidan will remember your sacrifice and songs will praise your courage and valour! We ride to war!" Farie said the words simply flowing from his tongue. He hadn't known what to say to these man whom he knew he might well ask to die in the next days or months of this campaign. Yet here he was speaking words he'd heard his father use a thousand time and finally understanding the true weight of them. The sacrifice he was asking for. As he gazed at them he understood this now, some of these man he knew had wives and children, some lovers, some would soon be fathers. A darkness descended on him as the cheering subsided and they fell into formation around him. The thundering of hooves as they headed to the roads resounding in his ears like his own heartbeat from the earth...

Farie shook his head as he came out of his thoughts. He realized a young man had ridden up beside him. One of the scouts he'd sent ahead to check the roads and identify the location of the camp had been speaking to him and he'd not heard a word the young lad had said.

"Forgive me, I didn't catch that?" Farie said to the man, whose name he barely knew. He'd have to rectify that. His own thoughts, those he'd had when leaving and again just now reinforced the necessity that he know these man. Especially if he was to lead them into battle. He owed them that much at the very least. For sure he knew the older man of the unit those who'd been under his father when Farie was a lad.

"The camp is a few ticks to the east my lord," the man said and Farie nodded his understanding thanking him. He would find out soon how the alliance had fallen over. Yet even as the man joined the formation once more Farie took a moment to allow his thoughts to wander to the alliance itself. He, like most Lebidans, didn't particularly like the Lindens. However, Farie wasn't like most royals in that he didn't only think of himself, he was selfless when it came to the people. Farie knew the advantages of the alliance. They faced an enemy that Lebidan hadn't yet clashed swords with, they had not the experience against this foe that the Lindens did. Their knowledge could save lives. Bolster their forces with experienced man... and women he guess since Lindens allowed their woman to go to war how weird... Those that held the experience would share that knowledge with those who didn't so long as they were not complete imbeciles. The tactical advantage of this could turn the tide of the battle in one fowl sweep. However, to Farie it was more then merely tactical advantage, this was war.

Even if the Lindens were different from them they were still mortals. All mortals where threatened by this threat and must therefore unite. The squabbling of mortal kingdoms didn't matter when the extinction of a whole way of life was on the line. Differences could be set aside, had to be point of fact. They needed to unify, they needed to stand together. For unity in the face of adversity was mortalkins greatest weapon when faced with such a powerful enemy.

WIth these dark thoughts Farie found himself on a slight rise just above the camp. Everywhere he looked he saw tents and man and woman and youths going about their works spread out before his gaze. He slowed his stallion stopping just at the very edges of the small rise overlooking the camp. The column of man behind him formed up around him as they regarded the camp. Farie let his gaze assess what he saw before him. To judge the atmosphere he was walking into. He could see the camp was spread out easily. He could see the congregation of individuals as they mingled about camp. He saw immediately that there seemed a clear divide between the Lebidan side of the camp and the Linden side of the camp. This made him frown deeply, Farie didn't like to see this divide, it meant that things were not going as smoothly as he would have hoped. He knew his views on the matter where quite unpopular, but he had not thought they would be this unpopular. Then again what did he expect? That countless years of animosity towards one another would simply vanish in the wake of disaster. Damnation they were in for a rough ride on this one.

Farie didn't expect the tension that seemed to permeate the camp and drive itself home into the very marrow of his bones. He was no fool of the arrogance of his people. He shared a large dose of it too, but his father had showed him war, showed to him the true horror. If only once, it had been more then enough for Farie and it was no where near the war that awaited them. Could no other see the need to unite? Could they not sense the threat that this enemy posed to all mortalkind? Could they simply not grasp this concept? Unity was the only way to win. He turned then to his man, his saw their eyes on him. Less then a few feet from camp and within easy sight of the layout on the slight ridge he regarded them as they watched him. He knew his next words would be the most challenging of orders he could give them.

"Unity is key to winning this war, I want every single one of you to treat any Lindens you meet as though they were Lebidans. I realize this isn't popular you think me crazy, but they have seen the enemy we have yet to see, they have fought this enemy and lost it all, if we do not learn from their mistakes we too will loose everything. So I will not order you to follow my commands on this, but I beg of you, realize that all mortalkind is at risk here and rise above our petty grievances with one another. Lead by example and more will follow our lead," As he had figured the moment he began to speak Farie noticed the change in his mans demeanour their looks soured and though did not dare to directly defy him or call him out, he could see he had lost ground with them this day. He hated that, hated that he was making himself a target of unpopularity, he enjoyed the popularity quite dearly and this ate at him deeply, rising his anger to the fore. It took all his will not to lash out at the injustice of it all. Yet he couldn't. He sighed heavily and turned from their condemning stares knowing that a few would see the logic of his words, while the youngest of them most likely wouldn't and though most would follow his words and commands some would defy him.

With that he descended the rise and entered the camp itself.

_________________

Horse staked a bit from her location, the black stallion more than pleased with the fresh grass and the moment of peace now that they had come to rest at this camp. On her own, for the moment Ausan took the time to pray. Sword drawn, she laid it before the small fire she had built just for this moment. Fur cloak removed and placed alongside her person she took the chain and pendent from about her neck. As her mother had taught her all those years ago…


“My child, do you know why we pray to Naiya?” her mother asked the young girl was slightly bruised and banged up from a day of training with her father.

“I don’t pray to her, father says that such things are foolish. Especially to a Goddess and not a God,” she sniffled a bit; the simple action caused her wince in pain. There was a small trickle of blood from her left nostril and when she turned to the side her mother could see that the once perfectly aligned nose was crooked and swollen.

Whatever hopes she might have had for her young beautiful daughter were no longer there. She was to be a tool for her husband to further his own power and renown, regardless of what it did to her. “Come here by the fire with me,” her voice kind and gentle, a tone the daughter never heard from her father.

Another grimace as she was forced to move from where she had collapsed in the Den, but the warm embrace from her mother was more than worth the bit of pain.

“Now, look into the fire and tell me what do you see?”

Unsure of where this line of conversation was going, Ausan did as she was asked and gazed into the fire. “I see, orange, red and white flames…” her tone sounded far too old for the small body that it came from.

“Is that all that you see?”

The small girl nodded hesitantly; as she tensed prepared for some form of punishment like her father was want to do when she failed to give him the answer he desired.

“Be still child, you know that I would never hurt you like your father,” she cooed and stroked back the dirty matted hair of her child. “Do you know why a woman’s place is in the kitchen?” she asked then to try and get her daughter to relax some. Asuan shook her head and her mother smiled kindly, “That is because that is where the hearth is, the fire pit the source of the heat and where our livelihood resides. Sure, men would like to think that they are what keep the world going, but that is merely their egos needing to be stroked. A woman is the only one with the patience and nurturing side capable of sustaining the fire. That is why it is a Goddess who represents it,” she leaned back from her child to remove a small pendent from about her neck. “The Hearth of the House, the Fire of the world, that which protects us and allows us to shape the world into something greater. It is this that the symbol represents….

Softly she placed a kiss upon the pendent before she clasped it firmly between her fists and prayed.

“Naiya, Goddess of Fire, she who taught men to temper the steel and change the world to suit them; hear my prayer,” her voice calm and even as she gazed into the fire and watched the flames as they danced. “The people of Linden are broken and scared. This maiden would pray to you and hear your wisdom,” she looked down at the worn and battered sword. “Many I have slain in the name of my people and in the name of you, My Goddess. Their blood spilled to honor you, to praise you and show my faith in you,” her gazed lifted back to the fire hard and intense with unspoken determination. “Naiya, this maiden wish only for you to save her people, to save her prince from the war that is to come, spare their lives from the cold grasp of death and instead take her own instead. For her life is without meaning save for protecting those she loves,” she eyes closed in a final silent prayer, and then kissed the pendent once more, the final lesson of that day from her mother echoing in her thoughts.

“… Fire is a powerful tool and through the grace of Naiya, the men of this world have been allowed to rise to the top,” she held the chain over the fire and allowed the pendent to heat in the fire. “Never forget my child, for in your darkest moments, the light of her fire will always be there to guide you and give you strength. “

The chain was then slipped about her neck and she whimpered only slightly as the pendent burned and branded her with the mark of her Goddess. “Women are the givers of life and with the fire of Naiya burning in our souls we can also be the takers.”

Above the flames the pendent dangled, the tops of the flames just barely licked and lapped at the metal until it was properly heated before being returned to its rightful place about her neck. Only a slight grimace crossed her face as the hot medal settled into an old branded scar from countless prayers said to her Goddess.

Just as she snuffed the flames she heard the commotion within the camp and figured Barth had concluded the meeting with the other leaders. Likely in a sour mood if how they had thusly been treated was any hint to the respect he would have been given. Sword sheathed back at her side she headed toward her horse and was met by some of the Lebidan soldiers who thought it fun to tease and taunt her horse, who looked if nothing but bored at their antics.

“May I help you?” she asked them while she reattached her cloak to her armor.

“No worries there little miss. We are just here to take this beast back to the stables, he seemed to have wandered off from the rest of the horses,” not a one even taking the time look at her or take note of her garb.

“That is my horse, so he is exactly where I need him,” she responded and crossed her arms across her chest. “Please step away from him, I must return to my Prince.”

“Your what?” it was at this that they turned to face her for the first time. Both rather shocked that she was eye to eye with them and even more so that she was dressed like a soldier. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, for you are delaying me in my duties,” she said and strode toward them without an ounce of fear. “So, I say again, please step away from my horse.”

“Is this a joke?” one of the men asked the other.

“Wait a minute!” the other exclaimed as he snapped his fingers and pointed at Ausan as if she was not striding toward them. “That’s one of the prince’s girlfriends. You know the ones who always follow him into battle,” as she drew closer one of them made a face when they took in the scar across her face. “She must be pretty good in the sack for him to deal with that mug,” he laughed and so did the other, which caused Ausan to pause while between them.

“Have either of you seen a Tutar up close?”

“What?” they asked amongst their laughter.

“Huge hulking beasts that fight as if possessed and without any fear or even noting the pain we visit upon them blow after blow,” she turned to face the one that had made the comment. “Do you know how I got this scar?”

“No,” he scoffed as if it were not important.

“My prince was pinned down and in need of support, so I charged through the enemy lines to try and offer some relief. One of those monsters snatched from my horse by my face and threw me like a rag doll to the ground,” her hand went to the belt at her waist while she continued to speak, her gaze never wavering. “We engaged in combat though my blood ran thick into my face and I could hardly breathe from how hard I hit the ground,” her hand now started to withdraw what would appear to be a dagger. “By either my skill, luck or perhaps both I managed to best him and slay the beast. I even took something for what he did to my face.”

The hard unwavering gaze unnerved the man to some degree, though he did a good show of hiding it. “What’d you take?” He asked after he licked his suddenly dry lips.

“This,” she raised the glossy black talon up to his face. “I ripped out the claw that did this,” she ran it along the trail of her scar perfectly. “These things are surprisingly sharp and never needs to be sharpened either….want to feel?” she asked as she thrust it toward his face which made him jerk back.

“No…no. That’s fine,” he said though his voice cracked a bit.

“Well,” the talon returned to its place on her belt. “I believe I will be on my way then, yes?” Neither moved to stop her as she mounted up, “Oh, gentlemen,” she said as she sat easily atop her horse. “If you ever think it wise to insult either my prince or my people in anyway, I will do the same thing I did to that Tutar, to your own fingernails.” A small smile played on her lips as she dipped her head to him slightly before she kicked her horse into an easy trot back to camp.

Horsed handed over to her squire she strode to Barth’s tent, where she saw him with her sister, the other Maiden of Linden.

“I can already feel the anger rolling off his shoulders now,” she remarked with a tired sigh. “Tell me which one to kill and it shall be done.”



It was dark, as it usually was where they dwelled, but night had fallen and it was to be the time of slumber. The time to rest and prepare for the coming combat on the marrow, all was to be ready for an attack on a small village. However, it would seem that some could not sleep as shadows, silent and deadly slipped through the slumbering bodies of the females belonging to their Chieftain. All day he had spent among his females, copulating over and over again to celebrate their recent victory. It was hoped/expected that this evening would bring him another brood of healthy and strong warriors to continue with the fight. It was also; because of those activities that those who now stalked the shadows felt they had a chance. A chance to slay the famed Chieftain Grishnakh and take his seat of power for themselves.

The only reason they worked together was the chance of victory was greater if they attacked him as a group. Each of them knew that once he was dead they would have to slay their associates, but they were none too bothered by that notion. It was part of their daily lives, so they welcomed the backstabbing like anyone would welcome a hot meal into their cold empty stomachs. This was their world, their way of life and none of them had even the smallest thought to change any part of it.

The pebble strewn dirt of the cave offered a small challenge as each of the hulks had to carefully maneuver least the alarm be risen before they were in position.

Atop the platform a pile of bodies rested, the loud and obnoxious snoring reverberated off of the cave walls in a sound that was near deafening. Why, the would be assassins thought that they would end up rousing anyone seemed odd given the sound that currently dominated the space. However, the hearing of a Tutar was known far and wide to be keen and sharper than any other being that roamed the world. Knowing this, it was only right to be cautious when plotting the death of someone who could easily murder you with nothing but a glare. Or so the rumors have said.

The group of three stood over the platform; weapons raised high above their heads when they finally spoke for the first time since they entered the cave.

“DEATH TO GRISHNAKH!”

Over and over again, their blades plunged deep into the still waking bodies or those who had chosen to slumber there, namely the females Grishnakh had decided to bring to bed with him that night. Screams of pain, anguish and the soft gargle as some choked on their own blood echoed off the cave and roused the others who had still been slumbering. When it all fell silent the males though that they had succeed in their mission and slain the mighty Grishnakh.

The sound of whistling suddenly filled the silence, followed by the distinctive “thunk” as something impacted with something else. Two of the three stared in horror at the spear that now protruded from the chest of the third. Shock had yet to set in and he merely stood there staring at the weapon that held his large black heart on the end of it. Before he even fell over dead, their target charged them with sword held high as a roar of challenge bellowed from his throat. One of the males tried to run but he was snagged by the thrown bolas that was thrown which ensnared his legs. A loud crack was heard when he fell over and contacted with the impacted earth below, however, his chest still steadily rose with each breath.

The last male thought to make a stand and draw his blade to meet the challenge head on. They crossed swords a total of two times before the final blow was placed and his head went rolling off into the darkness of the cave.

“You think to take my power!” the Chieftain roared as he stalked over to the one he caught. “Take my females! Make your own brood!?” Now he stood over the male who still struggled to get free, only to have his actions halted by a clawed foot across his throat. “You’re weak! I take that weakness from you,” he snarled before he spat in his face, and then reached down between his legs to grasp hold of what made him a male.

The howls of pain as he twisted and jerked, were music to his ears and suited to soothe the angered Chieftain. Those had been some of his favorite females.”

_________________

Upper Regions


"You are here, which means you are displeased."

Rolyn was unsurprised; Akryanus was always aware of his movements, just as he was of hers. It certainly helped her cause that he could never leave the Upper Regions.

“You knew where to find me, as usual,” he said as he observed the Hand of the Circle standing off to one side, watching them from the shadows. Although Rolyn never actually spoke of it, he was aware of their relationship. It didn’t bother him, so long as it didn’t get them killed.

“You may rise.”


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


Akryanus pushed upwards from the ground, the feathers that flowed about the armored legs rising up with the movements of the silver Knight. The male voice that she used still rung out clear and unbroken, for the “God” of the Stars was always wary of prying eyes and spying ears. Phyrexus was proof of her doubt of privacy.

“The Conclave… It did not go as you expected.” She stated, though did not inquire as to what had transpired other than this. “Is there anything I can do to help ease your burdens, my Lord?” She asked with eagerness, the hidden expression of the Goddess detailing a pushing desire to bring some sort of higher spirits to her early caretaker.


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


Rolyn frowned, considering the offer. It did not surprise him that she wanted to help him; it was in her nature, always thrusting herself into whatever situation needed a voice of reason, or a skillfully wielded spear. But unfortunately, neither would serve him in his current need.

“Nothing has changed. I did not expect Freiya to waver, and the idea of Malinar coming around is laughable- but I had hopes for Lorkhan. I believed that as the situation down below worsened he would come around. No such luck,” he concluded bitterly. The gentle sounds of water reached his ears, coming from a nearby fountain, but it only served to irritate him further. He was in an uncommonly bad mood.


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


Akryanus lowered her horned, metallic head in thought of his words, though it was not without some strength of disappointment. “I do not know how much more must be skewed on the balances before they realize our involvement would be required.” She spoke more quietly, tilting her vision off to the side while she brought the imposing, wide-bladed weapon that was her spear closer to her body. “Sometimes I truly wonder if the Gods consider Soluunar anymore, or if Immortality has made them careless and bigoted.”

There was a very rare hiss in her speech, identifiable despite the smooth and velvet noble tones of her magic. It was out of her expectations for her kin not being met, though such expectations could at times be excessively high. She did not speak of such to any outside of her trusted peers, knowing the scrutiny such an opinion could bring upon her already alienating kin, but this did not bring transparency and absence of such inner thoughts to the Star God.


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


“Some still care,” Rolyn answered gently, his own irritation fading upon seeing it mirrored back at him from the young Goddess whom he’d taken under his wing so long ago.
“Some still fight for those who pray. We are not forgotten, on Soluunar. And the Mortals are not forgotten here either, despite the few who would stand in the way of intervention.”

He looked to his right, studying the shimmering wall nearly a mile away that marked one of the boundaries of the Upper Regions; it was just barely visible, and only those who knew it was there could hope to see it from such a distance. They represented much more than geographical borders, though few understood their full impact.

“I cannot approach Lorkhan- Malinar would take offense.”

Thus far the God of Chaos had not leaned on the younger Circle God, but Rolyn knew he would intimidate his way to the deciding vote given the chance. All he had to do was make a move, and Malinar would spring.

“And as it stands now, he already has the mastery. Each day with no decision brings us closer to the end. Each undecided Conclave a small victory for the other side. I grow weary of the politics, truth be told.” He stared at her sharply, his eyes aimed just barely downwards as he only just exceeded her height with his own.

“But the Circle exists for a reason. We must trust that the right decision shall be made. We cannot lose faith in our own, Akryanus.”


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


The Goddess bowed her head once more, touching her thick, layered plate-mail of a chest with her closed gauntlet. The pure shimmers of the serene and artistically designed metal had an effect of taking away from the small, almost unnoticeable details that the armor also held; The tips of her gauntlets were slightly clawed, though not for any weaponized effect. “Of course, my Lord. Forgive my words, for I speak out of my own discomfort and not with wisdom.” She apologized wholeheartedly, then straightening out once more with the clinking sounds her figure made.

“I do understand the opinion of Lord Malinar and Lady Freiya, as much as it may not fall in line with my own personal beliefs. They most definitely have merit in their concerns, I am sure. Though I will forever side with you in this particular matter, I will have faith in your hopes that whatever decision the Circle does indeed come to, it shall be one that is backed by knowledge and experience far exceeding my own.” She gave a stern nod at her own words, looking on silently for more direction, or perhaps even a small, insignificant errand that her Lord may send her on that she may feel somewhat useful to him.


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


“I… I must think,” he said softly as if to himself, though he knew Akryanus could hear him from where she stood. “I suspect you have come here seeking some task, some means of aiding my cause. But there is nothing you can do at this time. There is nothing either of us can do. Except wait, and hope. I just need time to think. I only need to… ” he trailed off, lost in the thoughts whirling his psyche. There had to be a way. He should’ve been well versed in such affairs, yet he felt as if something was blocking him- strangely, it didn’t feel like it was Malinar. He looked at where Phyrexus had been standing to see that he was no longer there. He turned back to Akryanus and smiled.

"You are ever restless, Akry- perhaps you should take a moment. Even the soldiers of Linden must rest between battles," he said with a nod of farewell as he left the garden, his footsteps aimlessly guiding him without conscious thought. He moved past a group of four Demigods attired in dull silver armor, who lowered their heads respectfully as he passed them. He believed they were Gaius', based on their number and attire, but he was too distracted to be sure.

Eventually, his footsteps led him towards the outskirts, a remote area containing nothing but grass and ancient trees where few went, quiet but eternally in the shadow of the small but magnificent city alongside it.


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


Akryanus bowed her horned head at his words, then proceeding to deepen her bow as farewells were made. She did reply quietly as he had turned to leave, though with a more sternness despite the lowered volume. "I am no soldier, my Lord... Twas' given a duty, and there is no rest from it." She said, but knew her words and opinion would fall on distancing ears. The masculine-appering Knight was not exactly pleased with his lack of assignment.

She turned to hopefully face Phyrexus, but her uncanny humanoid features of her helm instead scanned the empty distance, her secret love having indeed left the premises. She payed no heed to it, her attention being brought up to the skies as she took a moment of thought, the grip on the pole of her spear tightening as she made a light buckle of her knees.

In a near flash of brilliant white, the Goddess was once more gone in the blink of an eye, the signature trailing of a gleaming blade of white slowly fading away being her only indication of the direction she had taken. She was off to visit her remaining unfallen Demigods, her eldest "children" she could not have.


_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Soluunar


Barth watched Verana rise, the deer she was about to skin waiting on the ground beside her. The hands of his Lieutenants were seldom idle; such was the norm. "My lord. “How did it go with their king… do they believe they own us now?”

Barth wasn't particularly tall, but he still needed to aim his gaze slightly downward as to observe the younger of the Maidens; she wore a faint smile, but he knew her far too well to be fooled by something so simple as a facial expression. He could clearly see that she was agitated. Come to think of it, he was too.

"They do. And sadly, they are right," he said as he watched a tall woman approached them, immediately identifiable as Ausan, the other of the Maidens. Her hair made picking her out a simple task, but Barth had grown so accustomed to her he could identify her with nothing more than a glimpse at the corner of his eye. No one else walked like her. "We may not wish to admit it, but for the sake of our people we need their help. And they know it. Their king sees our value as soldiers, but the others see only our ragged banners and ravaged castles."


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


Verana kept eye contact with Barth as he explained, the muscles in her jaw tightening even though the conclusion was predicted. “But of course.” She softly muttered, finally averting her attention to the orange glow of a nearby Lebidan fire, her tone carrying clear disappointment. “The word of their king will mean little on the field… let us hope they mature after first contact for their sake. I’d rather not do it myself” She offered a dry smile, looking back to her prince with a light nod.


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


Barth watched as Ausan reached them, releasing a tired sigh that perfectly matched the mood hanging over the entirety of the Linden encampment. "Tell me which one to kill and it shall be done."

Barth grinned in spite of himself. She wasn't entirely serious, but he knew she wouldn't hesitate to begin lopping heads off if he gave the word. Countless battles had hardened her beyond recognition. Both she and Verana were thought of simply as females by their new, reluctant allies, yet within their own army the Maidens were recognized as instruments of death, the bane of any Tutar to cross their path.

He trusted them both with his life, but Ausan was the more familiar of the two, having been in his company for so long. The only time he recalled seeing her bow to him was when she was ducking under the Tutari spear that he'd nearly lost his left ear to. The memory made him finger the lobe, his thumb sliding into the small sliver of no flesh that marked the center of it.

"If we kill everyone who thinks ill of us," he answered, "we will find ourselves allied with an army of corpses."


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


The gesture at his ear reminded Ausan of that battle and it brought a mixture of pride and amusement. For days following she continued to suggest he get himself a pair of fancy earrings to wear, after he of coursed pierced the other one. A small smile came to her lips as she shrugged, “We can set them up as meat shields, or use their bodies to reinforce our walls. Not like they would be completely useless as corpses.”


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


The clatter of familiar armor drew Verana’s attention to the approaching Ausan. She exhaled softly, a genuine smile forming on her muddied features as she finally relaxes with the presence of her sister, chuckling softly at the words of the hardened woman. Verana kept her silence as the two spoke, looking between them with a deep respect she gave to no one else. At the jesting remarks, the young maiden’s eyes narrowed with a roguish grin that displayed the mischief she was capable of.

She wanted to quip on the subject but her gaze was once more caught by the faint orange glow. Her smile dwindled to a cold, stoic expression as she replied calmly. “I’d rather we be the one to turn their large asses into corpses.” She paused, biting her inner lip before continuing in a lowered tone, arms crossing over her abdomen. “There better be some warriors among those sheep.”


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


Barth saw movement at the corner of his eye and turned to see a retinue of Lebis approaching them, their armor gleaming in the early morning sunlight. He recognized two of them as knights almost immediately. They carried themselves a certain way- he knew his Lieutenants would be loth to admit it, but Lebidan's knights seemed like they had the makings of capable soldiers. So long as they were willing to set their egos aside.

The two knights moved ahead of the others; one of them had a curly red beard and a bald head, with a golden bear standing upright on his chest, undoubtedly the crest of his lord, whoever that was. The other had no sigil on his person, but he had a long, braided mustache that captured Barth's attention from the moment he saw it.

He… thinks that looks good? Gods above! he thought as the two men drew closer. He hoped the man trimmed it before entering battle- there was a reason long hair in general was seldom found in Linden's ranks. His own beard was thick but he made it a point to not let it grow too lengthy.

"Prince Krinwulf," the taller, mustached man said in a surprisingly level tone, "I've been instructed to meet with you and your officers." Barth noticed that he didn't look at either of the Maidens. Perhaps he was having difficulty coming to terms with the presence of females in Linden's army, but ignoring them was preferable to disrespect at least. Speaking of which, several female soldiers walked past at that moment and caught his eye, lowering their heads and slapping their right gauntlets onto their armored chests in the Linden salute before continuing past.

The sound of steel hitting steel made the knights look; mustache-man kept his expression unreadable, but his red-bearded friend did not bother hiding his distaste.

"Aye, and here we are," Barth replied lightly. "Barth Krinwulf, Ausan Benthey and Verana Snowblade."

"I am Jahal Resuran, Lord Knight of House Garth, and this is Lord Knight Borim Garth, also of House Garth." The bearded man grunted as his name was announced, watching Verana with a beady glare. "Would you like to accompany us to our tent?"

Barth grimaced; he was growing weary of meeting with these Lebis in their stuffy tents. "I'd prefer the open air, if it's all the same to you."

Resuran nodded calmly but Garth snorted, eyeing Barth appraisingly. "Do our tents fail to meet your standards? Or is it something else? I promise, we will not harm you or your…" he glanced at Ausan and Verana with a smug smile, and Barth prayed for the man's sake that he didn't call them his girlfriends. "Your friends."

Barth exhaled softly, somewhat relieved.


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


All of these pretty knights with their pretty armor were getting on the very last nerve of Ausan and that nerve was already frayed to the point of being nonexistent. At least one of them had a measure of respect, the other; his anus almost ached for her boot to be shoved so far up it his tongue would be used to polish the leather.

“You see, m’lords,” the title said with little respect and quite a bit of disgust. “I fear there will hardly be enough room in your tents for all your armor cleaning tools and of course the ego of Lord Borim. Which I am sure is the reason why his hair is no longer on his head, must have fallen out to make room for that hot air in his head,” she smiled and it was what one would figure a cat did to a mouse just before they swallowed it whole. “Besides, it is more for your safety that we remain out here. That way if you decide to insult my prince or my people, there will be plenty of witnesses when I cut out your tongue and make it lick the **** from my boot.”


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


Verana was surprised to see the calm demeanor and almost respectful tone Resuran held. Her expression didn't shift as she was was labled 'friend' though she felt an all too familiar warmth in her chest. It wasn't until she caught Garth's stare did the smaller redhead lift her chin, head tilting lightly to the right in her equally judgemental stare. Pale features remained expressionless, though her bright eyes looked as if they could set the man ablaze.

Her brow slowly rose up, finding Ausan's words heavily amusing though her dead stare with the bald man remained focused. She had nothing to say her eyes speaking mouthfuls. She had hoped he would try to make a move in the night or on the field, any excuse she could find to shove that shiny armor into a few orifices.


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


Ausan's threat hung over them, as a very ugly look became visible on Lord Garth's face. He drew himself up, although his height was far from impressive. His beard bristled with fury as he glared at Ausan.

"Is that right? Insults will be the least of your concerns, Wench, if you continue to flap your gums. I have half a mind to-"

Resuran put a hand on his comrade's shoulder and, looking very serious, whispered something into his ear. Reluctantly, he fell silent, though the stocky knight continued to glower at the Maidens. Verana hadn't spoken, but she was staring daggers at the man, her eyes carrying enough heat to scorch him. Barth decided what they needed was some distraction- then he remembered that they were supposed to be discussing battle strategy.

"Lord Resuran," he said loudly in an attempt to cut through the tension and remind everyone of why they were meeting with the knights in the first place, "are we waiting on anyone else?"

Resuran nodded, looking grateful for the change in subject. "Yes. There are more coming, some from another of our camps and more from the city. They should be close, now. I believe some have already arrived," he added as he glanced to the edges of the camp, squinting as he tried to pick out those they waited on.

"From the city?"

"Aye, the king summoned a large detachment of troops to bolster the guard protecting your people as they relocate."

Barth grunted; a long line of Linden wives, elderly and young children was slowly making its way from their ruined nation to the one that still stood, the one that still had walls to protect them. It was good that they'd receive more of a guard- Linden's army was already spread thin enough as it was.

"Your king works quickly. The alliance was only just now set in stone."

"King Sahir knew that joining forces was an inevitability. He made the necessary arrangements days ago," Resuran replied. Barth nodded, and began scanning the camp for signs of the other knights. He wondered what other arrangements the Lebi king could have made, unbeknownst to him, before abruptly deciding it didn't matter.

His people had to come first, regardless of his misgivings.


_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Upper Regions


“Naiya, Goddess of Fire, she who taught men to temper the steel and change the world to suit them; hear my prayer.”

Naiya Flamecloak sat very still, her emerald eyes closed as the throaty, raspy voice of the woman spoke to her from a world away. Her hands, as still as the rest of her, rested on his thighs, her palms pressed firmly against the green silk of her clothes.

“The people of Linden are broken and scared. This maiden would pray to you and hear your wisdom.”

Naiya's bright red hair was draped over her face as she leaned forward, touching her eyelids but she ignored it, listening intently as she was. This was a voice she had heard many times before, one that seemed to grow harder and colder with each listening. It was the voice of a person who had been shaped by the world around her, becoming something that was both gnarled and resilient.

“Many I have slain in the name of my people and in the name of you, My Goddess. Their blood spilled to honor you, to praise you and show my faith in you. Naiya, this maiden wish only for you to save her people, to save her prince from the war that is to come, spare their lives from the cold grasp of death and instead take her own instead. For her life is without meaning save for protecting those she loves.”

Finally the Elder Goddess of Fire opened her eyes and pushed her hair from eyes that were only slightly moist; there was nothing in the prayer that differed much from the last, except perhaps a weariness that went beyond words or flesh. She shook herself, rising to her feet from the small chair, feeling someone's eyes on her before she could even straighten up.

"My dear Naiya. Listening to the Skyhand's flock, then?"

She blinked, feeling momentary agitation as the God of Chaos moved closer, smiling down at her.

"The Mortals don't only pray to Rune, Malinar. You know this."

Malinar shrugged, the gleaming chain mail he always wore beneath his black robes becoming visible as the rough outer fabric shifted for a moment. "It is not my concern who prays to whom."

She closed the gap between them, peering up into his dark brown eyes. "So long as we leave them to their fate?"

The smile faded from his lips, and he placed a large hand gently on her shoulder. "You know my stance, Naiya. And you have agreed with me in the past."

"I have," she replied, "of course I have. And I still do."

She lent her power to the flames that shaped weapons, to the fires that lit the camps and the torches of those who stood against the Tutar, those that looked to her for aid, namely the females of Linden- but what Rolyn Skyhand spoke of was a different thing entirely. A force of Gods on Soluunar- such a thing had not been seen in many thousands of years, and Malinar was right to oppose it.

He grunted, the grin returning as he drew her close and kissed her. She kissed him back greedily, but then she heard the voice of the Maiden echoing through her mind alongside a wave of guilt and she pulled away. He saw her face and frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it?"

She shook her head, looking past his large frame to the world outside of the home they shared, watching as shapes moved back and forth. "The Conclave… how did it go?"

Does a part of me actually want Rolyn to gain the upper hand? What is happening to me?

Malinar shrugged, a satisfied look appearing across his visage as he reflected on what had undoubtedly been another victorious day for him. "It did not go at all. Which is precisely what I wanted."

To some Malinar would seem like the representation of evil itself, fighting to leave the Mortals to their fate as he was. His standing in Rolyn Skyhand's way was the talk of the Upper Regions, with many whispering amongst themselves about his motives for such behavior. They seldom spoke in such a fashion around her, but she was not deaf to their chatter.

Of course, he is the God of Destruction, but it goes far beyond that. Malinar believes in balance, and in letting things run their natural course. Nature itself is Chaos.

"But enough about the Circle. I-"

He broke off, as Naiya watched Phyrexus approaching from outside, his usual hooded robe on over the plate mail he always wore. The Elder God of Shadows stopped in the doorway, removing his mask respectfully as the Circle God observed him.

"My Lord."

"Good, you have come. Wait outside for me."

Phyrexus bowed low and turned on his heel; when they were alone again, Malinar looked to Naiya, his expression unreadable. "I shall return shortly."

Naiya bit back the questions before she could ask them- she always knew when Malinar was in a talkative mood, and now wasn't one of those times. He looked very serious.

"Of course."

He gave her a brief smile and followed in the other man's wake, his back straight as an arrow as always. She watched him disappear from view, his broad shoulders and heavy frame radiating the kind of power people would kill to possess. And he was in fact much stronger even than that, she knew.

She heard another voice, another female's, calling her name from a world away and she winced. Her guilt would not abate anytime soon, it seemed.

_________________

The helm of dark steel perked upwards at the sound of shuffling armored feet.

The Knights had begun to move. No doubt to meet with the Prince of Linden, and not a moment too soon; Perhaps even late, according to Morigan's opinion. Turning on his heel, he did not raise his sights to his peers, nor bother to walk directly with them. He would walk behind, to avoid their talk and banter of their noble duties and useless experience in the city.

He had hoped for silence, at least on his part. The long and reddened cloak that followed behind him moved almost as silently as the Knight himself did, and it was this quietness that he had valued more than anything else in the world. The only sounds that he wanted to hear was the gnashing of steel, and the glorious finale of him standing among slain enemies by the end of the long war.

His wish was not granted, and a fellow Knight had trailed back to walk alongside him a moment, the bright and young face of the blonde lad already giving an irritated irk to the green-eyed man behind the helm.

"Ah, you must be Lord Morigan! I had heard that you would be arriving to join us, but had not said a thing out of fear of being mistaken! Quite funny, no?" The lad chuckled away, going as far as to offer a pat on the silent figures back.

Morigan did not flinch. He did not even look at the Knight, instead keeping his attention perched to the walk ahead of them.

The young lad immediately fell silent at the lack of response, obviously having not known the famed Morigan Alhul enough to know not to bother speaking to him. Either that, or he believed he might have been mistaken with whom exactly he was talking with to begin with. Either way, the Knight continued on much to Morigan's displeasure.

"I-Isn't it funny that the Linden's now need our help? Look how raggedy they look! Surely they will not last the war! Ha h-"

Morigan had stopped walking at this point, his attention drawn perfectly to the lighter armored Knight who had tried to initiate small talk with him. The lad stumbled in shock, looking back with a surprised and confused expression. Finally he would speak again, this time with more concern.

"Lord Morigan? Are you alr-"

"Do you find this war funny, my Lord?"

Morigan asked with a demanding tone, his posture forever straight and statue-like in the morning foggy air.

"N-no, I don't, that's not what I me-"

"Then stop talking about it. There is no need use in discussing anything other than tactics with me. Do you have any strategies for the upcoming battle?"

He barked out rather quickly, as if speaking itself was exhausting to him.

"N-not yet, and I am not a tacti-"

"Then be silent."

With that, Morigan turned his attention forward once more, his strides taking him past the young Knight and further after the group. The lad was left behind for a moment, though it did not take long for him to trot on forward past the cold figure and off to his peers ahead, murmuring off to them in shock of his treatment; And only receiving compassionate glances of knowing.

Finally they reached the gathering of figures, the two well-known Lord Knights of their regiment and what he guessed to be the Prince Krinwulf and his two Maidens. He was not daft nor ignorant, he had heard tales of the two women at the Prince's side, though most were rumors of grand mockery and disgusting banter among his fellow troops. Such was far below Morigan Alhul, who did not waste his nerves on whom held a sword so long as they could hold it properly and be of use. If the women had survived the first waves of the Tutar, they had something going for them; The scar on the face of one of them spoke more on this tone.

The Knights almost unanimously did their bows and salutes to their seniors, and Morigan was not one to step out of line with such. His salute was robotic and practiced, as if a chore he had to repeat over and over again that he may have some freedom in what he did otherwise.

Morigan was no Commander or General of any type. The Lord Knights had far more official authority than he had, but if there was something he had earned through hard work, it was his untouchable person and reputation that had irked his higher-ups to no end.

Morigan Alhul - The famed and seemingly "immortal" black sheep of the regiment. What words he had said, and what treatment he had given his peers would have been enough to scold and demote him a thousand times over had he not proven himself to the limits of the heavens. The only thing that had kept him from being further advanced was time, for it was unheard of in the Bureaucracy of Lebidan for a Knight to swing up the ranks so quickly and suddenly as the had been honored their title in itself - Especially that Morigan had not the family to allow easy swing of such ranks or positions.

The fear of his rise was certainly there, though Morigan cared little for such titles and "authority" he did not already command with teeth gritting merit and demeanor. Soon enough, his commanders would need to face the inevitable, that Morigan would rise up to their level or above them and face the cold terror that was his unwavering demand for efficiency, silence and a perfect hand with a blade. The paperwork and requirements could only hold Morigan back so much, and they were long exhausted in strength or power.

Straightening up, his attention was once more brought blank and forward, awaiting business and battle-talk rather than pleasantries and the long explanation of family, who was who and where they came from.

_________________

Farie Shalerin could see the tension in the air all around him like a physical being bidding it's time before it exploded. He knew that though his views were controversial and unpopular if he could just hold onto them long enough to lead by example more would be drawn to it. He only had to hold those views until the first clash. Once battle started he knew views would change. People changed in battle.

Farie stopped again just on the outer edge of the camp passed the first few clumps and what he saw disappointed him deeply. Not far from the road four teenage men were bullying a small girl who could be no older than fourteen, she looked to be just reaching her feminine form. Anger sparked inside Farie. The girl had been playing with a few younger boys at war. Something the young teenage men didn't appear to approve of. The girl was clearly a Linden child one of the refugees he was certain of it, from the way she stood with her hair dishevelled and her clothing mud-stained, yet fiercely proud and determined. Though younger she stood facing them with fiery eyes and steel in her spine. It was exactly those traits that masters looked for in the young man they took into their ranks. Farie warred with this idea of females in battle. It went against the grain of his life, but regardless of how he felt this he wouldn't stand for. The four teenagers were shouting angry words at the girl.

"You think your a boy now?" One said leeringly. The other next to him laughed.

Farie swung himself down off his horse and signaled for the man to remain where they were shaking his head when one of his man, his next in command came up next to him. "Stay here, watch and make sure the man can all hear me and that those who are close enough see this," without waiting for the man's reply Farie took off down the road on foot leaving his horse with his man. He cut into the little dirt strip between camp sections and approached the children. For in that moment Farie couldn't call the teenage men, men at all, for they were nothing but big bullying children.

As Farie approached one of the men pushed the girl down hard onto the ground to the laughter of his fellows. For her part the girl didn't show fear. Farie reached them then as the boy readied himself to kick out at her. Farie locked his arms around the young man who was as tall as Farie was, but nowhere near as strong. Farie grabbed him and dragged him back. Looking down at the girl he said "Are you alright miss?" She just stared at him with huge wide eyes as he threw the teenager away from himself and turned to face the others who were backing away, anger evident on his face "You shame Lebidan with your actions here, you are grown men in a time of war acting like children. Worse you bully a girl! How can we have fallen so low as to be the very creatures we fight with our own behavior! I do not give two shits if you disagree with their lifestyle or not! This is abhorrent and I will not stand for it. If you cannot conduct yourselves as Lebidan soldiers then you shall be sent home as children!" Without waiting for a response from the shocked youths he held out his hand to the startled girl who took it and drew her up. He led her out of the little alley and back to the main road where the children she'd been playing with huddled in the shadows terrified and wide eyes.

Farie regarded the girl as she ran to the group of children watching him with wide startled eyes. Farie would need to do something more for this sort of thing, if it was happening here it was happening elsewhere and Farie wouldn't allow this type of behaviour to continue. They were at war and those who wore uniforms regardless of how young they were needed to act like adults or not be here. Of course like every army this one had youths barely eighteen in age. It was normal and typical for armies, but Farie wouldn't stand for behaviour like this and he would make a point to see that something got done. Farie was angry and it showed as he rejoined his men. He looked over at Cordian his second in command.

"Take half our troupes, head out towards the inflow of evacuees and start lending hand, I will join you as soon as I can with the rest," Farie told him, his father might be angry at his actions, but at this point Farie was in the full grip of his anger and he'd had enough of ignorance. Did no one realize they were at war?

Without another word, Farie leapt back up onto his horse and took off towards the meeting that he was now late too. Well that would go over well. He thought darkly. He reached the open space where the others were dismounted and left his man with simple orders to get refreshments and not to set up camp as they would be heading out as soon as he was done. They began to dissipate one taking his horse as he walked the last way towards those gathered. Two he recognized as fellow lords. The other male he presumed was the prince Krinwulf and the two must be warrior females. Farie walked up to them, he bowed to the prince with the same difference he'd show his own princes. Turning to the two warrior females he bowed his head to them a sign that he recognized them as fellow warriors on the same standing as any knight of the realm. He turned then to the two other lords and bowed his head to them as well in the same greeting.

"Lord Resuran, Lord Garth it is a pleasure to meet you again," he said smiling before turning back to the three Linden. "Prince Krinwulf I presume?" he said to the man. Though he didn't smile there was nothing on his face or in his posture that showed how angry he was at what he'd witnessed earlier. He might find it odd that the two warriors next to the prince were female, but he treated them as though they were knights, with the same difference he'd give knights of the Lebidan realm. They were warriors after all and to Farie this alliance and their experience was extremely important in winning, once the war was over they could all go back to hating each other. Until then he was going to work with them and to hell with what anyone else thought at this point Farie had seen enough! "I am Farie Shalerin, Lord knight of house Shalerin,"

_________________

One set, followed by the second set of eyes blinked, though never were both pair ever shut at the same time. The benefits to having four eyes truly came into play when one tried to rest or relax in a society where everyone was after your throat. At the moment he had his spear in hand, the black blood from the fools who had thought to slay him in his sleep still coated the bladed head and part of the shaft though no move has been made to clean it. It would stain the weapon much like the blood of the rest had before them. A mark to his strength, power and dominance over the rest of the Tutar, in a way it would be their one and final honor to grace the weapon of such a prominent male as Grishnakh.

“They killed some of my favorite females,” he grunted to the sniffling ****ing of a male that cowered on its knees at his feet.

“But they died in the only honorable way a female could, for her male breeder,” the worthless creature responded to him.

“True,” Grish grunted. The thing that thought to speak to him at all was one of the males that had thought to try and better his own position by attacking Grish. There was a measure of true pleasure when he castrated the bold ****. For it had been one of his “trusted” commanders in the raid parties, but as was common in this culture everyone wanted more out of their lives and a better chance at breeding. Unfortunately or fortunately, one would have to think about just what was different between the two situations to truly make a call, Grish kept him as a sort of pet. He enjoyed humiliating it and forcing it to do whatever he thought fun at the time. Inflicting pain on it was his favorite past time and the evidence was clear as day written on its body in the form of various scars and marks. “Fetch my eldest spawn Varduk, I want his females brought before me. I want to replace the ones that I lost,” a dismissive wave of his spear given and the sniveling creature at his feet scurried away to do as bidden.

Time marched on, one pair of black eyes closed while the other remained open though Grish had begun to breathe deep and rhythmic as if slumber had come to him. Even with this being the case, when his pet returned the opened set of eyes narrowed and the second set snapped open.

“I do not like to wait!” he roared before the pet could even get a word out. “Where are the females?! Where is my eldest spawn?!” his fist slammed down on the bone and stone throne chair, a crack appeared in its surface as the pet covered before its master.

“I…I…don’t know….Master. We can’t find him or his squad anywhere…”

“Find him! Bring him to me!! Now!!” he roared and jumped from his seat down before the pet which was rewarded with a swift kick to the gut for its trouble. Though the rampage did not end there, not for the chieftain who roared and raged at the continued offenses to his dominance and control.

_________________

Upper Regions


Rolyn walked on grass that stayed evergreen, never drying, never failing; his footfalls fell evenly as he approached the narrow woods, each tree that composed them gigantic, ancient, with each year contributing to their growth. They were thick enough that it took several strides to move past one, and tall enough that it took a keen eye to see anything aside from a vague greenness in the branches high above. He weaved through them, seeking something he knew lay somewhere near the center of the woods, his pale eyes darting to and fro as he moved, watchful for any signs of movement.

He had been at it for some time when one of his feet caught on a tree root that was sticking up over the ground; he stumbled, throwing out a hand and catching himself, the knuckles scraping against bark that was hard as stone. He shook his silver hair from his eyes and looked at them, watching a small trickle of blood began to form…


The blood was still trickling down from his knuckle, but he ignored it as he balled his hand into a fist once again and struck the stone wall once more, this time even harder, along with a shout of anger. When he pulled his hand back, readying for another blow, he saw a deep impression in the side of the Hall of the Circle, but he moved to strike it once more, his face a mask of snarling fury and his eyes narrowed with self-loathing. The only outlet for it all was physical damage, be it to the wall, or to himself- which one it was didn't matter to him.

His hand was an inch from colliding once more with the stone when another seized him by the elbow, stopping the forward progress instantly. Rolyn blinked and turned to his left to see Malinar regarding him calmly, though the God of Chaos had a fire in his eyes that was unmistakeable.

"Rolyn. You must not do this."

Rolyn snatched his arm out of the other Circle God's grip and stared at him, the rage still contorting his face. "What? What is it I must not do, Malinar? Betray my people? Stain the ground of the Upper Regions with the blood of some of our greatest, our most noble? Tis too late, Malinar! It is done, and finished, and a shadow has been thrown over this place. And over me," he finished bitterly, a muscle in his face twitching as he experienced self-reproach and anger beyond anything he'd felt in his years.

"You must not blame yourself for this, Rolyn. This was not your failing. This falls on more than one person, and you know that. You cannot claim responsibility for all of-"

"I should have seen it coming!" Rolyn interrupted, although his fist had finally unclenched and the anger was starting to fade from his features. "I was chosen to lead, and to protect. I have failed."

Malinar shook his head, a deep sadness now visible on his visage. "We all agreed with you. We all allowed it. None of us saw that Arixus would betray us all. We were all respons-"

"We nearly allowed him to join the Circle," Rolyn interrupted again, speaking more softly now. "What a disaster that could have been. Even worse than it was, anyway. We have lost…"

"I know, Rolyn," Malinar said, patting him on the shoulder. "Srathaam, Crucian, Galaia. Countless Demigods. All tremendous losses. It will take time to recover. But their sacrifices shall be remembered. They are Guardian Heroes of the Circle, their names shall be praised for all time."

"Heroes of the Circle," Rolyn replied bitterly, staring down at nothing in particular. "What Circle, I ask you?"

"The Skyfool is right. Circle be damned, it is nothing but a ring of ignorance!"

Malinar turned, a scowl twisting his face at first as a fire bloomed once again in his eyes, but he paused once he recognized the speaker. His anger was replaced immediately by a look of profound sadness. Rolyn turned, and saw a Demigod standing there staring at the both of them with bloodshot eyes. The heavyset man was swaying slightly where he stood, his matted, shoulder-length grey hair a tangled mess.

"Seagan," Rolyn said softly, unable to hide the pity he felt. "You have been drinking again. You must try to-"

"Shut your damn mouth!" the man shouted, nearly falling over with the force he put into the statement. Rolyn stopped, unable to argue with one who had lost so much. He exchanged a glance with Malinar, who nodded, and they turned and walked away, leaving the drunken mourner where he stood, staring balefully after them, his upper lip trembling with barely suppressed rage.


The blood stopped flowing, disappeared, and the scratch was gone as if it had never been. Rolyn grunted, then continued onward, this time taking extra care to look out for unexpected tree roots. It was some time before he finally reached his destination; a clearing containing a small wooden hut, as plain and unimpressive as any structure in the Upper Regions. Outside of it was a series of tree stumps and a small fire that was on the verge of dying out completely. Seated cross-legged on the ground in the smoke from the dying embers was a single man, evidently deep in meditation. A Demigod, to be precise. Rolyn approached him calmly, his face betraying nothing of what he was feeling. The man's eyes were closed, his breathing deep and measured. But after the Circle God had been staring at him for some time, he spoke without moving, his long grey hair moving slightly as a mild gust of wind passed through the clearing. His scraggly beard was also grey, with smatterings of white around his chin.

"I seldom get visitors, Skyhand. And when I do, they are young warriors, Demigods, seeking out the wisdom of an old, failed campaigner. There is nothing I can offer a God of your standing."

Seagan Kahz was indeed old; the Elder Goddess of Dreams was one of the oldest Goddesses outside of the Circle, and Kahz was the eldest of any Demigod that yet lived. He did indeed get visitors from time to time seeking his counsel, though his mood would often determine how forthcoming he was with his advice.

"There is actually much you can offer me. Galaia-"

"Do not speak her name," he growled, his dark brown eyes now open as he glared over the fire. "Never speak her name."

Rolyn lowered his head in acceptance of the term. An Elder God or Goddess that lost their Demigod would experience a moment of incredible loss and pain, but they could recover, in time, depending on the emotional attachment that existed between them. But when it happened the other way around- a Demigod that outlived its Uplifter would experience a vast emptiness that was beyond sadness or grief. Many killed themselves, unable to face living any longer. And the bond between Galaia and Seagan was quite possibly the strongest Rolyn had ever seen, something he hadn't seen rivaled until perhaps Akryanus and her own Demigods (though the Star Goddess's love for her charges still fell short). Many believed the Demigod had loved Galaia in more ways than only as a subject and a follower.

Seagan, knowing he'd have been stopped in the Upper Regions, had killed himself on Soluunar, and had only been narrowly deterred from leaving again in order to make it permanent. In time they had convinced him to remain, to guide the younger Demigods as they learned how to harness their new power.

"She was well-versed in matters of balance. Particularly in matters of balance regarding Soluunar, and our place in it. She was one of few outside the Circle whose counsel was weighed alongside our own. Her words were respected by all of us, and I know that she shared much with you."

The eyes narrowed for a moment, then closed again.

"Go away, Skyhand."

After a moment Rolyn nodded slowly and turned around, walking back in the direction from which he had come.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Soluunar


Barth watched as the newcomers fell in with them, some of them saluting, some bowing in the direction of the Lord Knights; one in particular caught his eye, as his salute was robotic and seemed to be a well practiced thing, almost to the point of being an automatic response. His movements in the dark grey armor were precise and calculated- he was no Lord Knight, but he was clearly a dangerous looking man. Barth grunted thoughtfully as yet another group of knights drew closer, led by one that was exceptionally tall, easily one of the tallest men he'd ever seen. He wasn't very heavyset, but he also wasn't too thin either. He had a solid frame, and there was an aura of authority about him that the others lacked. When he reached them, Barth felt momentary shock upon seeing him bow to him, and then his shock turned to utter disbelief when the stranger proceeded to also bow to the Maidens. Krinwulf's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly- a moment later when the man announced himself, Barth needed a moment to compose himself.

"Shalerin. I… I believe I met your father," he said, staring at the Lord Knight with great uncertainty. From his tone upon saying the word 'father', there was no mistaking how he felt about the Lebi Lord who had so eagerly tossed insults towards the King of Linden. "Which makes you… all the more surprising. I say well met, Lord Knight Farie Shalerin."

After blinking uncertainly at Ausan (Verana looked just as shocked as he was), Barth turned to Resuran, purposely avoiding the bald, red bearded Lord Knight standing next to him. It seemed that Borim Garth did not properly represent the rest of his kinsmen, which was something of a relief. Even if many of them followed his thinking, it was good to see that some stood against the tide.

"Lord Resuran, does it seem that all have come?"

The long-mustached man nodded, his eyes roving over the gathering, tallying silently as they moved. "Yes, Prince Krinwulf. I believe we may proceed. Now, the first matter to-"

From the outskirts of the camp they suddenly heard the sounds of a horse, galloping hard- they all looked around at the source of the commotion, watching as a small dust cloud rose up from beneath a solitary rider. Several of the Knights present instinctively reached for their weapons, but at a sharp word from one of the others they stopped, as it was clear that this was no enemy.

The beast was covered in sweat and there was a frenzy in its eyes that Barth knew only too well- the horse had seen bloodshed, and recently. His eyes whipped upward to see a man, one of his own, perched on top. He was slumped over in the saddle, and a great deal of blood appeared to have dried onto the armor protecting his right leg. After a moment Barth saw the broken spear shaft sticking out of his side.

"Pri-prince," he mumbled weakly as he reached him- the horse stopped and he immediately fell off of it, as if the animal's forward progress had been the only thing keeping him on top. Barth grabbed him before he could hit the ground. He had only to feel the blood running freely over his hands to know that the man was already lost. He stared into his eyes and he recognized him.

"Kelmin. What has happened?"

The man stared up at him, licking lips that were parched; he exhaled weakly and Barth could smell blood on his breath.

"Kelmin!"

"Tu…utar. Scouts… missed them. Mo…more than we th-thought. The wom…women…childre…en," he choked out, before finally his eyes shut and his movements ceased entirely.

"Rune's hand guide you. Eyes forward, forget the torment. You shall live on," Barth said as he gently put down the man's corpse. He stood up, feeling countless eyes on him. There was a moment of waiting silence that couldn't have lasted longer than a second, yet it felt more like an eternity. And then, it was over.

"My horse! Now!" he screamed, checking for the longsword's hilt over his right shoulder even though he already knew it was there, his feet already moving him swiftly to the camp's edge. Around him there was a frenzy of activity, akin to an ant's nest that had been disturbed. His helm was still in the tent, but there was no time for that. The first line of citizens, composed of their women, children and elderly, was under attack. The Tutar had eluded his scouts, had seen the easy prey and jumped on the opportunity.

The Lebis hadn't had enough time to reinforce their numbers- the timing would be the undoing of them all. He reached the perimeter just as the dirty, ashen colored stallion he had never named reached him, he leapt on top, hearing the others behind him but uncaring as to whether or not he would ride alone. He heard them, though. They rode on either side of him, and behind him, silent save for the sounds of their horses. Although Barth Krinwulf did not look around, focused as he was on the road ahead, he still knew.

The Prince did not ride alone.


_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_





The line of Linden citizens had reached the final leg of its slow, arduous journey, passing into old farmlands, almost leaving behind the dense forests that followed along south of them bordering their journey and hiding them from the ashen lands south, where, if one travelled far enough, the darkness and the terror that was the Ravine could be found. The trees did not shield them, however. Rather, the trees hid their attackers from the eyes of the Linden soldiers, who were spread too thin, weakened by the Lebidan King's insistence that a suitably sized contingent be brought to the Lebi camp, as well as by the fact that Linden's forces had been split into four groups. The citizens' guard would be reinforced by a considerable strength of men that was following behind, also moving from Linden's countryside, more slowly owing to their task of carrying many supplies that would be needed in the coming days. Linden's households had been stripped of all things potentially useful, and such items were too valuable to have unguarded.

Yet another strength of Linden soldiers followed behind that one, bringing with them the last remnant of their people, those from the northernmost reaches of the now defunct nation. Barth had argued that the citizens needed more protection, but his father had overruled him. Their being shorthanded would only be a temporary thing, they could last until the reinforcements arrived, the older Krinwulf had reasoned, so long as the scouts remained vigilant and that they minded their perimeter on all sides. This, they had been specifically instructed to do by their Prince before he departed for the Lebi camp that would soon become the Allied camp, circumstances permitting.

It was a long journey, and the scouts grew complacent as they drew closer to their destination. Too complacent, as they were unaware of the small Tutari horde that had gathered in the shadows of the southward trees, watching, waiting for an opening. The captain of the guard, a man named Fendanak, had not seen the point of continually sending the patrols southward, believing it wiser to simply bolster the guards on the group's perimeter, directly going against the orders he'd been given.

And then, as the sun reached a high point in the sky and the large camp was stirring, readying themselves for the day's march, now so close to the camp, the Tutar seized their opportunity. They came in one big wedge, aggressively pressing forward, heedless of their flanks in their desperation to cut through the paltry guard. The Linden soldiers, caught at unawares, suffered heavy losses as the Tutar attempted to drive through their numbers; they gathered together, holding the line somewhat, but not without suffering casualties. A lone rider, seeing that they wouldn't last, seeing that the citizens were in grave peril, rode off to bring back aid, a spear skewering him as he fled. It was a mortal wound, but he rode on, fighting to hold onto his life so that he could warn the others. Kelmin did not allow death to take away what could have been his people's last hope.


The citizen's guard was on its last legs when Barth Krinwulf arrived, the others close behind him. Helmless, his face was a mask of fury as he looked upon the scene. He and those with him had favored speed over numbers, for taking too long would have rendered their attempt pointless. The Tutar were being held back for the moment, thanks to the desperate skill of the soldiers there, but that would soon be changing. The corpses of men, women and children littered the ground- more would be joining them if the Tutar couldn't be stopped. There were perhaps eighty of the demons remaining, though their size and strength meant this would be akin to a host of nearly two hundred men. The Lindens were nearing the brink- fewer than one hundred remained on their feet, many were wounded, unable to continue fighting, and even more lay dead. And all of those still standing were at the end of their strength.

The people they defended were clustered in a massive group, many of them cowering in the face of their darkest fears coming to fruition, some of them watching in silence as their defenders were pushed back. The Linden fighters had formed a wavering semi circle in front of them, a makeshift shield around their charges, but it would not hold for much longer. Some wielded longswords with which they would block as well as attack, but the majority of those still standing were well versed in sword and shield. Many of them were too exhausted to even use their shields offensively anymore- they were beyond bashing, merely using the strength they had left to parry blow after blow in the face of their relentless foes, each block more taxing than the last.

Krinwulf had only a handful of supporters in the haste of their charge, but it would have to be enough. There was no other choice. It was time to see the ability of the Lebi Knights firsthand- his people's survival depended on it.


_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Soluunar


With a shout, Barth Krinwulf urged his stallion forward, his longsword held forward in one hand as he charged, drawing the attention of the Tutari attackers. To the left were gathered the citizens of Linden, to the right were the relentless Tutar, and sandwiched between them was what remained of the protectors. The protectors that were visibly at the very end of heir strength. If not for Kelmin's determination, they would have all been slaughtered, that much was certain.

"Tutar," he shouted as he drew closer, his face a mask of fury, his eyes wide and staring, his teeth bared, the frenzy of battle upon him, "we bring you your end!"

The men still standing saw him, saw the others, and hope was rekindled in their eyes even as the Tutar became aware of those just now entering the fray. Crude, black weapons turned to face the newcomers, offering a slight respite for the remaining defenders. The Tutar were savages, but they were not animals. They knew the people approaching now were not ordinary soldiers. Fangs were bared, growling, guttural sounds emerged from the horned host and spears were readied.

As Barth closed the distance, he allowed his body to go limp, and he rolled off of the saddle to the right, even as he yanked the reins to the left. He rolled off of the horse even as it turned abruptly in the other direction, beginning a circuit that would take it away from the action; spears whistled overhead, missing both him and the animal as he rolled to his feet, now in the midst of the enemy, both feet planted firmly on the ground and his blade in front of him. He hated fighting on horseback, and his reluctance to do so unless in the greatest need was the main reason his unnamed steed had survived as long as it had.

The frenzy was still upon him- he ducked a slashing scimitar that meant to part the top of his head from the rest of him, and struck out a heavy boot, shattering a leg, driving his own blade straight up, so that it emerged from the top of the attacker's head. He withdrew it smoothly and flowed easily to his right, engaging the next foe, still not blinking, his teeth still bared as the dance of the battle took hold of him.

Around him he could hear steel crashing against steel, could hear the sounds of fighting in every direction. The shouts of men and women, the snarls of their bestial foes, it all cascaded around him in a blurred whirlwind of motion and sound. He knew the others had engaged as well, though he only had eyes for the enemy. He cut a head off and was sprayed by Tutari blood even as he sidestepped a spear that embedded itself into a tree somewhere behind him.

"We bring you your end!" he screamed again, his face covered in blood that wasn't his. He was Linden. He was death itself.

_________________

The click of greaves against polished stone was graceful and delicate. The polished marble reflected the glow of the Star Goddess's descent, a brilliant cast of moonlight marking her presence in the hours of darkness. Akryanus now stood before a magnificently crafted temple of vines, a looming arch hovering above two large wooden doors, their colors rich and brown in contrast to the cold hues of the night.

This was her time of power. When the great light of the sun vanished below the horizon, giving a farewell kiss to the rest of the world by bathing it in crimson and violet, the many pins of white from up above came into view one by one. Their light individually non-sequential, but together they created a radiance of beauty unlike many of the other aspects of this world, and a danger to behold along with it.

Stars did not fall during the day, but in the darkness their grace upon the mortal world was one of raw cutting power, able to pierce and run through almost any mundane element without the lightest hint of effort. It was this ease of grace that she held in the darkness, for without any greater light to interfere with her own she was the brightest and highest image within the heavenly sky.

Her gauntlets touched the wooden surface, running over it a moment with the light tips of her metallic claws before her palm dressed and pushed forward. Her spear always was held at her side, gripped in her right hand as she creaked the doors into submission.

The sound of metal rustling and yelling rushed into her ears, the armored Knight stopping a moment as a breeze of pressure changes in the air flowed through her feathered collar. A moment of thought was considered before she pushed on-wards, the long feathers about her hip-line waving off after her. Torches brought some light to the inside chambers - which was otherwise hidden away from the view of the sky - and a scene of rivalry introduced itself to the horned-appearing deity.

Two Knights clashed against each other in a grappling of limbs, fists being thrown from one to the other as obsidian, sleek robes and light plating grinded against bright shining tones of thick copper. A young voice of a man cried out from the later to the former, growling as he lifted his arm and tried to throw an elbow of a jab into the darker figure's throat. His target was swifter, moving back and just out of his reach before he retorted with a swipe of his own, his forearm meeting against the visor of the coppery bronze helm and throwing it off with a burst of force. Her eyes followed the rolling of the helm until she found it resting before her feet, glancing back up as she watched a teal cape swerve about in frustration of the move played against him.

They had not noticed her yet, an amazing feat considering they should have been otherwise always aware of one each other. Their rage must have blinded them in this instance, and the Goddess dipped down to pick up the helmet with a a slight bend of her knee before she continued her steady approach.

The darker, hooded and masked opponent met her gaze first, immediately springing back to the shock of the other before he dipped into a low bow, his arm folding against his own chest in salute. Short locks of light brown hair tied away into a small ponytail beyond many wispy layers flowed forward in surprise, having halted his own movement before a glimmer of green hues turned to meet the Star Goddess in addition; He too fell to the ground in a bow of shame. Akryanus shook her head a few times, motioning for them to stand in the most un-regal of manners before she offered back the helmet to the young Knight.

"Helfin, Julian. You need not ever bow in front of me, I have expressed that many a time before." The calm and steady male voice of Akryanus called out, watching as the one known as Julian slowly rose and took the helm into his arms, averting his gaze from his uplifting Elder God.

"Why were you fighting?" She inquired, though her attention turned to Helfin, the most quietest and swiftest of her Demigods, for the answer.

He was taller than both Julian and herself, and had a slim and athletic figure that could be noticed even under his light-weight gear. He had functioned more as an assassin or a scout than a Knight in his mortal years, but it was his devotion to her like all of his kin that led him down the path of service to his kingdom and lords. Eventually, Akryanus had seen such and brought him up from the Soluunar; She recalled the time she had found him as but a child in the woods, alone and starving without a family to care for him before delivering him personally to what Lebidan had been at the time. They considered him blessed for her involvement in his life, and Helfin had not forgotten her. She in turn had not forgotten him.

"He does not take criticism well, Sir Akryanus." His harsh but quiet voice answered out from the black, featureless fabric masking he wore over his face, lightly lined with a thin covering of the same black metal that coated his robes. "He decided to take it out with physical force, a response I was forced to reply to."

Julian stared off at him with disdain before his pleading gaze met hers, and he shook his head in retaliation. "Not critisism, Sir Knight! He let out direct insults towards me and my ability! Called me young and inexperienced!"

Julian was just slightly shorter than her when she was armored. He had the face of youth, his cheeks and chin clean shaven and possessing large eyes and soft features. His armor was thick enough to be considered full and strong, teal fabrics lining his hips and the color returning in the tone of his cape. Like the others, she had known him since he was but a child on Soluunar, though he had been returned to his family ranch once he had gathered the courage to describe his home to her. He then worked hard to put himself forward as a Knight, and against all odds considering his commoner blood he was raised up into the order. Unlike Helfin, he wasn't fast or swift with his movements. Instead, Julian focused on his ability with a great-axe to take down his opponents, carrying momentum with each of his swings.

"Whatever the reason, I do not wish to see our brotherhood in petty physical brawls. Find other ways to settle your differences." Akryanus replied calmly. "Orweind would be ashamed to see you two like this, had he still had the grace to touch the Upper Regions." She was not afraid to summon her Eldest Demigod's name against them.

Though the other pair of her four Twilight Knights were now fallen and spending the rest of their time upon Soluunar, it was Orweind in their earliest years that had taken the time to explain the ways of their kin each time a new brother had been added to their squad, training with them when Akryanus could not and ensuring they were comfortable in their new immortal nature. Orweind was one the other three looked up to in all regards, and her third Demigod, Bolgarus, was currently patrolling with him as she spoke to these pair at the moment. She knew that if the need to prove themselves to her was not enough, the embarrassment and scolding of Orweind would do the trick.

Her heel turned, walking off to the side before she sat herself down on a raised platform, an assortment of weaponry and tools spread about the area. Bringing her spear into her lap, her gauntlet reached over and grasped a nearby sharpening stone, grinding it against the blade of her weapon without any more words. They would be left in their thoughts about how they were behaving, and nothing more.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________


Morigan turned at the sound of a horse moving fast against the earth, his dark steel helmet settling on the image of a heavily wounded soldier bleeding out, his eyes in a bath of desperation and duty. The Knight's own gaze narrowed as the Prince caught him from his call, cradling him away as he announced his news of trouble.

"Tu…utar. Scouts… missed them. Mo…more than we th-thought. The wom…women…childre…en,"

The helm turned to the Prince, watching as he announced what appeared to be a prayer after the man fell silent and into his last slumber. He watched as he announced his steed, the words immediately driving a spark of activity within the otherwise cold and distant stone of a Knight. To battle, and so soon... This war would not disappoint him. Without a word to his kin or superiors, he too moved off the the edge of the camp, his squire sitting along in wait besides his own beast before he saw the young man's eyes dart up with surprise, standing up upon his two feet.

"My lord?" He addressed, but Morigan waved him off.

"Men!" He announced to the squadron of soldiers he had brought with him, under his command as a troop leader. "Saddle your horses. We ride to battle!"

He did not wait for them. His body swung up with ease upon the saddle of the steed, his greaves kicking off into the sides of the animal and forcing it into a lurch of motion before he steered it off and after the Prince. They would catch up in due time, and not disappoint him. A flurry of brief dust followed off after the darkly armored Knight of a Lord, his red cape flapping in his swift and lightning ride away from the camp, and towards the awaiting violence.




It was a glorious sight to behold. Death, destruction, panic and the smell of steel and iron. As the troops all arrived and the Prince rain into the fray of battle, Morigan had to stop his steed for a moment to scope out the sights. With a stern nod to himself, he then made his dismount; His arm reached up and upon the handle of his two-handed great-sword, pulling it forth from the sheath as he slowly made his in turn after the rushing soldiers.

Never rush an attack, always plan. Scout the way they moved their weapons, learn where they carried their weight and how they brought their attacks on the opponents. Where were their openings? How large of a window did one have to take advantage of them? These were all the thoughts going through his mind as the duelist pulled his way forward, a high degree of interest in the new prey that was the Tutari hoard. Good opponents for him. Perfect and brute, bred for battle. A seasoned challenge, as if gifted from the Gods themselves.

They were violent. Their attacks had all of their power behind them, and they were strong and capable, but there was desperation and impatience in their movements. They relied on their strength and size to get to their prey, and they were not careful with their strikes. They were easily predictable.

The first came at him from the front. The slow movement must have made the human man mistaken for shocked or unready, though the Knight was far from it. As a large axe came down from above him, a snarl of fangs and thick skin bending with his muscle. Morigan raised his sword and lined the power all the way down. His steps were calculated and smooth, his body shifting to the side as he watched the shoulders of the Tutar move as expected - with the power of his strike, and lagging behind it due to such over-pressed power - and Morigan took this advantage to bring his blade up and against his flesh from his now side strafe along the Tutar's right.

Blood and skin was torn apart and drawn from the movement, his first kill falling down and onto the dying grass and dirt before he moved against his next. A spear-man this time, thrusting forth his weapon with the same high aggression as the previous. Another side-step was brought, quickly placing his weight against the pole of the weapon as he played a coy against his opponent, making the beast lurch forward in hopes of taking another strike at him. He was net with the flick of the blade digging into his throat, his steel armor sprayed a dark crimson.

Morigan existed for battle, every reason for it was an excuse. He had taken the honorable route, knowing that it would bring him forward to the wars and great clashes of weapons that he so craved, but this did not mean that he thrived off of the satisfaction of protection. His sights had ignored the innocent, the women and children they had been called to protect from the Demonic troops of fury. He only cared for the action, and anything else was simply a cause to an effect that he could reap the benefits from.

As he tore further through some of the enemy front-lines, he brought his sword up and out of the nape of one of his fallen foes as he looked on-wards. Many more awaited, and he had already watched a number of his allies been ripped apart by the same monsters he was fighting against. He did not know if their might would be enough to cover this offensive, but pushing forward was the only option that they had, and the only option he would consider. Raising his painted blade, he carried on and brought it against more hard metal.

_________________

Farie sighed at the mention of his father, it was clear his father had displayed his usual views on things. Farie might idealize his father, or at least more so when he was younger, he didn't exactly see eye to eye with the man. Farie was more likely to set differences aside and see all men as equal in war, but his father never would, no matter what the situation or benefit of doing just that would give. Farie gave a light smile and said softly, "Yes my father might have..." he paused searching for the correct word choice, "perceived things different," it was clear in the words that Farie didn't agree with his father's views or whatever insult the man was most likely to have uttered to the prince or king of Linden. Farie didn't wish to keep this particular line of conversation going, as it was likely to be very uncomfortable for him. Thus he was more than pleased when Barth turned back to Resuran and continued the meeting in a direction that didn't make him completely unusual. Farie already felt uncomfortable enough being different then his kinsmen. It wasn't a choice he regretted however, it was one he was proud to hold too no matter how unusual it was. No matter how different and how unpopular it made him in no time they would realize it was a wiser choice than being at odds with each other in these troubled times.

The sudden noise of horses moving too quickly drew Farie's thoughts away from the meeting and towards the source of the sound. Farie was all too aware of the presence of his men forming up behind him ready for battle. He held up a hand in silent warning to keep their weapons sheathed. This was no enemy, but certainly there was enemies coming nearby. Otherwise the frenzy of hooves wouldn't be necessary. Farie watched in saddened horror as the man approached and felt a deep sadness settling into his heart. It didn't matter to him what country the man belonged to. A man was dying before his eyes due to their enemy and that was something Farie couldn't overlook. He remained silent and still watching. His jaw clenched forcing his lips into a thin determined line. His eyes become cold and just as determined. He reamined silent as he watched and listened. The time had come for war and it was sooner then anyone would have thought.

Farie waited only long enough for Barth to call for his horse before he turned away from them all and walked back towards where his man had silently retreated. He got up onto his horse and drew his sword. It was war. He regarded the man around him for a moment and said softly, "We ride to war," and with that he kicked his horse into motion and fell in with the others riding towards the war that awaited them. The light of the sun reflecting on his armour and sword.

Farie regretted that he had split his reinforcements earlier. Sending a few on ahead towards the fleeing citizen and the rest he had sent to set up his own camp, keeping only a few man with him when he went to the meeting. He knew they wouldn't be enough, the number of people who rode with the Linden prince were too few, but they would have to do. There was nothing else for it. He rode hard on the prince's heels keeping up more by sheer will than anything else determined to defeat those who had taken so many lives. He hated them because they were the true enemy of all mankind. He needed no other reason, but one was given to him none the less as he neared the carnage. Dead bodies of woman and children and defenders alike littered the ground and that sight above all else made his blood burn with cold angry fury.

Farie raised his sword into the air and shouted a howling war cry before diving into the fray. His man followed and he soon lost track of everything as his vision focused only on the enemy coming at him. His senses reaching out around him as he dived at the nearest enemy meeting the savagery of the beasts with the brutal force of steel. His swing of the broadsword in his hand slicing cleanly through a neck taking down the nearest Tutar. And with that one move the battle closed around Farie and the rest became a blur of claws and teeth and steel. Nothing made sense to his brain, his instinct ruled and his training took hold. The fight was all that mattered. Somewhere along the way he had been unhorsed and now stood dripping with blood, some for all he knew might be his own. Most however would not be his. Even though non of it made sense to Farie he didn't stop. He would fight unto death if need be. He would fight until either none remained of the Tutar or he was unable to stand before them. He had seen enough in that one single glimpse of the bodies to know that regardless of whether or not they were his people his countryman, they were man, woman and children of mankind and did not deserve to be taken apart as they had defenseless.

Farie fought with everything he had, every skill, every technique and every fiber of will and shred of strength he possessed. An unending scream of fiery hatred fueling his attacks and parries. Though his words were drowned out by the class of battle. The moans and cries of wounded and the screams of bestial throats.

_________________

Marthus listened intently to what the soldier told him about the tutar, how there were many different ways that they fought but how they mostly fought in a way that was to overwhelm and over power the soldiers lines. He didn't say much, knowing that she would tell him what she could.

Before the female soldier had finished telling Marthus, the sound of pounding hooves of a frightened horse came rushing into the camp, the slumped form of the rider only barely visible from where Marthus and the female soldier sat. Marthus jumped up and turned to the large group of knights that surrounded the falling soldier, he couldn't hear what they were saying, but by looking at their body language, he could tell something was up.

This was confirmed when a large man who looked like he had seen more war than peace shouted something and charged out of the camp. Of course Marthus wasn't sure exactly what was happening, couldn't hear the commands that were being shouted above all the ruckus, all he knows is that something was up, and if he wanted to get in the middle of it he would have to follow the bear of a man who seemed to know exactly what was going on.

Marthus heard movement from behind him, the soldier he was speaking with was already running to join the man, loyalty and the hardness of battle shining in her eyes. This was all Marthus needed as encouragement to that there was a fight coming and he should join. Course he figured that as a good soldier he should report to the nearest Lebidan knight, but he had no loyalty to the knights or his country, the only loyalty he felt was to his master, and even that was only out of the respect he earned over the years of training.

Quickly looking over the area he dropped to a knee and pulled out his blades, placing a generous coating on each blade. He started to get his going to work smile on his face. He hated to admit it, but he loved killing, it didn't matter who it was and how much danger it put him in, he just loved it. His master had tried to get him to understand that loving to kill was not always good, that he needed to learn how precious life was. It didn't matter to the young lad how many hits to the head he got, he couldn't help but love what he had learned. When the war with the tutars came to Lebidan, his master had given him a choice; Marthus had of course chosen to join, he hadn't seen his master since, but for the moment he didn't mind.

With each blade coated in the different poisons, he sheathed them again and took off at run in the same direction as the knights and other soldiers were heading. He stole a horse that was tied up on a hitch, at a glance it seemed as if the owner of this horse had not called for it, Marthus figured that the reason was because the horse was not saddled, a fact that did not upset or bother him in the least. Since he wore leathers and not heavy plate mail, the stolen war horse was able to run at a faster pace that helped them catch up to the knights. The sounds of battle reached his ears, before he saw it, but he didn't have long to wait, as he saw the battle at the top of the hill. He stopped the horse, turning around a little bit this way and that, looking over the battlefield. For the first time he saw the Tutar. They were large and nasty looking, with muscles that looked honed from years of smashing trees between them, each one was scarred over, past human possibility. They all had tusks made for ripping into the flesh and rusted out blades that would do almost as much harm as the poisons that coated his blades. Marthus watched the clash of the fresh soldiers with the Tutar, and spurred his horse closer to the fray.

"To the god’s, those are ugly sons of… yeah that’s probably right," he said his smile was getting bigger, "but I can still kick their asses."

When he was fifteen feet from the battle, he leaped off the horse, landing on his feet and ran the rest of the way to the battle. The smell of the dead and the ringing of blades against flesh and metal made his head swim. Grabbing his blades out of their sheaths he charged into the battle. His head had never felt so clear before now, he could see the battle unfold before him in real time, and yet, it seemed as if time itself slowed down just enough for him to be a step ahead of his opponent.

With both swords clasped in hand he lunged at a nearby Tutar, the right blade cutting deep into its right arm, and cutting it off a chunk of skin just below the elbow. His left blade held at the ready, he had to roll out of the way to not be hit by the creature. From the force that the beast hit the ground, he knew he did not want to take a hit, or it may mean that he will be staggered long enough to be taken out.

"One, two, three, four, five," he counted, while blocking and hitting the Tutar.

Spinning around he continued counting, the poison on his right blade was used to disorient an opponent, used mainly when the target was near a cliff and you wanted their death to look like a suicide. On a human it took ten seconds to take effect. He got to ten and the Tutar was still attacking as ferociously as before. With a growl of his own Marthus realized that that poison would need to be stronger to take out these enemies. Giving a roar of his own back at the Tutar he leaped forward and slashed his left blade across the beast’s chest; counting in his mind. This blade was covered in a poison that would stop a human heart in five seconds. The result was the same, no effect. This infuriated Marthus, but it meant he would have to focus more on killing the beast than harming it. That was perfectly fine with him.

Now that he wasn't trying to harm the beast for his poison experiment, he spun around, dodged three hits from the Tutar in front and behind him before he was close enough to cut the head off of the one already injured. He didn't bask in the killing, not yet, not while he was still surrounded by the beasts. Turning to the one behind him he lunged forward, blades held diagonally over each other to form an X, he cut deeply into the beast's stomach, gutting him as his blades sliced through its stomach, Marthus pulling his blades out on either side of the beast. He moved on to the next, feeling even more focused now that he had been able to take down two so far.



Sesk'ramat opened her eyes and took a breath, the light from the upper realms stung for a moment, but she was able to get over it pretty quickly. Looking around, she saw that she was once again a lone, resting on a bench, the soft breeze and calls of birds in trees nearby had her looking up. She forced a smile before standing up, her hair feel a little out of place before she set the small braids back in place. Her dark brown eyes were clear now, the drink and rest having done their jobs. For a few moments the Elder Goddess stood there, looking almost statuesque with how still she was being.

The pose did not last for very long, a few short seconds, before she turned, looked about her and headed back towards her own personal space. In those few moments she had been still she had seen the growing battle, had even longed to go down and help out the humans, but she knew that would only bring on the wrath of the Circle God Malinar. For now she could only give her thoughts to the soldiers who were fighting, this wasn't a large battle, and help was on the way in the form of many knights.

At least that is what she told herself, and she hoped that was true. Her sandals made soft noises on the paths she walked on, a hand reaching out to gently touch some plants on her way; she stopped once to breathe in the scent of the papyrus plants that grew along the water's edge leading into her home. Taking a moment to stop and look around she smiled. This was her own safe haven, her resting place and strong hold. All around was the look of a desert, hot breezes moved the sand this way and that, catching and playing in the papyrus before moving on over the river that flowed under the bridge she walked on.

This place she had chosen after her first blood rage, it reminded her of the scourged plains, and what could happen if she lost control like that again. But instead of letting that memory tear her down, she had her home made of sandstone decorated with the history of the plains all across her walls. Mostly she had pillars holding up the roof to her home, and room separated by cotton curtains of blues, golds, whites, and reds, with the only room with walls being directly in the center. This was her room, but to call it a room was like calling a throne room a broom closet. All threw out her home she had statues of the animals of the creatures that used to and now live in the plains, all of a further display to show the history and evolution of the plains. All along the halls were golden couches, assortments of large pillows, tables and chairs of many different crafted materials, all of which came from the plains.

The center structure was where she headed, feeling more and more at peace the further into her home she went. Khemet was sitting on a set of pillows, her bronze skin gleaming in the light even as her feet were dipped into the river. Khemet was the youngest of Sesk'ramat's demi goddesses. She too had the beauty of the desert, but also with the ferocity of the scorching sun in battle. Khemet looked up with a smile as her Elder Goddess passed by. At a glance Khemet could see that her elder goddess was a little troubled, and rose from her seat near the river and stepped up to Sesk'ramat's side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Goddess," is all she said, her hand sliding down her Goddess' shoulder to her elbow.

Sesk'ramat stopped once she felt Khemet's gentle hand on her shoulder, giving the demi goddess a chance to step closer, placing a kisses along her curve of her neck.

"Oh, Khemet," Sesk'ramat said leaning against her demi goddess, "You and your sister always seem to know just when I am in need of your skillful fingers."

Sesk'ramat opened her eyes and looked around, "Where is Adora?" She didn't have to wonder long when her oldest demi goddess stepped into their home, holding a vase of flowers that she set on the table.

Adora, unlike the two plains women had soft pale skin and fire red hair. She was a woman far from the plains, so far in fact that until she became a demi goddess of Sesk'ramat, she could only dream of this kind of warmth that filled their home. Both demi goddess' had been tested, and watch by the Elder Goddess over the course of their lives, watching how they treated both the just and unjust. Sesk'ramat had chosen them as carefully as she chose which wars to fight in.

Adora had been born of the frozen deadlands, a few decades before the Injustice of Thaam. As child she had been a reader, finding any book she could on the world outside the icy lands she lived in. In her studies she read about Sesk'ramat ascension from human to demi goddess to the elder goddess of rage. How her heart had soared at the tales of the woman who brought justice onto a land that had forgotten justice. Growing up she started to pray to the goddess, standing up for the weak, and taking blows from the bullies. As she grew older she taught herself how to fight, finding it helpful when she or those weaker then herself were being attacked. Through it all she never lost faith in the goddess, praying to her every day, even when everyone around her ridiculed her for praying to a goddess born of the desert, instead of the god born of the ice they lived on. All through this time, Sesk'ramat kept an eye and ear on the young girl who prayed to her. At first she thought the girl was only praying to her as a form of rebellion, but as the years went on she found that the girl's heart was true and steadfast in doing what she could to be a warmth of justice in a place that was cold towards the world around it.

Khemet was born a millennium or two after Sesk'ramat's first blood lust. By this time a large temple had been lifted in her honor, the people of the plains were both grateful and fearful of the goddess. They had lifted the temple to honor her, and even leave offerings to appease the goddess. But as time went by, the stories of how she became an elder goddess became exaggerated; many forgot how she fought for justice, and not just to destroy those around her. However there were a few families who remembered and they kept the stories true for their children. Khemet came from such a family. Her mother had a child out of wedlock, something that even in the scorched plains was not looked kindly on. For the first few months, she was able to keep her pregnancy hidden, but towards the last of her term it became obvious.

The young mother, fearing for her life and the life of her unborn child, sought sanctuary in temple of her goddess. There she was given a safe haven, on the vow that if she gave birth to a girl, the child would be left in the care of the temple, and raised to be a priestess of the Goddess of Rage. Of all the priestess' who worshiped Sesk'ramat, Khemet caught the goddess' eye from birth. She watched the child grow older, even sending Adora to her frequently to guide the young priestess in the path of justice. Despite being guided by the demi goddess of the one she worshiped, Khemet stayed humble and kind.

As a priestess, she was trained in the way of fighting with a bow. She was taught how to give justice without blind eyes. Through the years she blossomed in the temple, this Sesk'ramat saw. Towards the woman's thirtieth year, Sesk'ramat allowed the priestess to be tested. Adora was sent to the woman, telling her that the Elder Goddess of Rage has been watching her grow, and wanted to warn her that a time was coming when a storm of injustice would sweep over the nation, that the Goddess had been forbidden to interfere. Adora comforted Khemet by saying that the only way she could help was through her priestesses. They needed to keep their hearts open to the truth and their bows ready for the coming fight.

Khemet had taken the demi goddess warning and prepared the temple for the coming tied. In the end, Khemet helped all she could, placing herself in the heart of the growing battle and stood firm as marble statue, placing any in her protection who could not protect themselves and standing firm against those that sought chaos over harmony. When the sands of the battles died down, she lay on the temples alter, the injuries of many attacks riddled her form, her blood soaking into the alter.
Off to the right, but not far from Khemet stood Sesk’ramat, surrounded by all she had slain, and to the left also stood Adora, surrounded by a multitude of slain enemies. Sesk’ramat’s heat had caused a whirlwind about them, driving all who were apart of the injustices to attack without thought or control. When the last had been slain Sesk’ramat walked over to Khemet and picked her up, a kind smile on her lips as she brought a cool drink to the dying preistess’ lips.

"My child, your soul shines with the honor in righteous rage. Come with me to bring this to the ends of the world."

Adora set the vase down and walked over to her goddess and sister. "My lady, you have gone too long in this state." She said in her soft kind voice.

Sesk'ramat smiled at them both, reaching forward to gently grasp one of Adora's hands in one of her own, while the other hand brushed over Khemet's chin, down her neck and arm to gently grasp her hand.

"I think it is time we all worked on relaxing a little, this war may go on much longer, and our vigilance will be tested. For now I can only watch, and only help in small measures," she spoke with a sad smile on her lips and a sad tone in her voice.

Both demi goddesses would know that for Sesk'ramat to not be able to fully commit herself into helping the humans of Soluunar against the crazed, beastly Tutar was a harsh test against her capability to not go into a full blown blood lust. They knew that if given the word, she would be down in the midst of the horrible army, slaying as many as she could, giving her own life if necessary to protect all human life. But for now they intended to keep her from doing just that, and though they could not keep her mind off the fighting down in Soluunar, they could help her relax and calm down some, and be her bow and arrows when she cannot join in the battle.

_________________
"Nothing lasts forever."
"Nothing, yes except the purest forms of love. If your love is strong and pure, it can reach across the universes and bring both pieces of the same heart back together.
Over and over again.
So, yes, nothing but your spark will last forever.

I am having some reslly bad computer issues. For now all I have is my phone and tablet. My post length andnavsilability may suffer since all I have is my tablet and phone for the moment. If I am needed feel free to reach me on my skype account listed on my profile.

The moment had been tense and even with the arrival of more even tempered individuals, Ausan held little love for the moment. Instead, all she wanted was to bash a couple of heads and make them all stop being the asses that they were. This was not the time for foolish pride and arrogance, this was the time to unite and focus on the enemy at hand. Out of the blue raised a cry and in charged a horse, one of their horses. Even before the horse and their rider came into the camp, she knew something horrible had happened.

“Naiya….help us…” she whispered to herself.

As usual, she and the prince moved as one, together they met the horse, which she grabbed the halter of the poor beast had been run to the point of death. Gentle strokes along its neck she gave, as she watched her prince get the report from the determined scout. Kelmin, he had been a good man, dutiful and proud to serve his people.

If she remembered correctly he had a family too…

“Naiya take this man into your arms and show him the warmth of your fire,” she said in silent prayer with Barth’s own words as he laid the man’s now stilled form on the cold earth. As if connected to the life of its rider, the horse whose reins she held lowered to the ground and shuddered merely once more before it too went still.

“Symas!” she called out and then whistled for her mount. The beast had only just been returned to the stables and as yet had not had his saddle removed. At her command, he reared back and kicked open his stall post and charged out to find her. Ausan, not one to wait for anything, ran after Barth until Symas came running up alongside of her. With practiced ease she grabbed a hold of her saddle horn and jumped off the ground while she pulled herself into the saddle of her horse. Soon she and Symas caught up to her prince, and felt into the proper position at his right. With ease she rode in the saddle, the place she was most familiar with and urged her mount onward to the people who needed them.

As they came to the battlefield her voice, wordless but filled with no less passion and determination rose out with that of Barth’s as they charged into the fray. Unlike her prince, however, she did not dismount, instead she and Symas charged through the line of Tutar, the armored horse protected from most blows as it trampled the vile beings beneath its hooves. Their line broken and filled with a desperate rage, some of the Tutar broke off from the combat the follow behind Ausan.

Which was just fine by her.

At the end of their line, she reversed Symas and charged back through the ranks, on this pass she slashed and hacked at all that she could reach until she finally dismounted beside Barth. Shield in hand and back to him, she raised the shield to block on the heavy downward swing from a blade. The training her father gave her brought instantly to bare as she turned with the force of the blow which caused her aggressor to stumble forward to be met with her blade as it was brought down cut the arm clean off at the joint. Now, with her shoulder she threw her weight into the Tutar and slammed into his chest hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He gasped for breath and stumbled back which she took the advantage of to slice him across the throat. A spray of blood and the gurgles as he died were lost in the chaos of the battle.

Though she hardly stopped there, instead she ducked under the blade of Barth as he swung over her head to open the chest of another Tutar. As she rose back up her shield was brought up higher to deflect an incoming spear that would have otherwise found a new home in the back of her prince. And so their dance of death began, for they were Linden and they were death.

_________________

Soluunar

Barth heard the sound of Ausan's shield deflecting a spear headed right for him; not even reacting to her saving his life, he glimpsed movement in his peripheral vision and thrusted his blade up in time to skewer the neck of the next Tutar, even as on his other side another demon fell to the ground, each eye pierced by an arrow courtesy of Verana's longbow.

Around him he glimpsed the others fighting; the Knights of Lebidan were holding their own, and in some cases doing more than that- the tall son of Lord Shalerin was fighting with a savagery that belied his calm demeanor, and the robotic silent Knight he'd noticed at the meeting earlier was dismantling their foes with deadly precision.

There was another Lebi, not a Knight, fighting with two swords and incredible speed. He was wearing leather armor, that would have seemed suicidal against such foes except the Tutar seemed to be unable to land a strike on him.

His attention was abruptly returned to his own immediate vicinity, as one of the largest Tutari beasts he'd ever seen reared up before him; Barth and Ausan moved forward as one, even as Verana covered their flank with a barrage of arrows that forced back the opportunists seeking to hack at them from behind.

With a savage shout he stomped down with all of the weight of his body and armor onto the beast's leg just above the knee, shattering it and forcing it down to a more manageable height even as Ausan's blade sliced through it's neck from one side while his own did the same from the other.

After a moment, once he'd withdrawn his bloodied blade from the neck of the demon, Barth realized it was over.

Behind them came a stampede of hooves as a large detachment of Lebi soldiers rode up, reinforcing them even as the remaining Tutar fled, their evident leader being covered in his retreat by the others. They had been beaten back by the ferocity of the defense, and had been denied their hopes of easy spoils. Barth saw Verana hoist herself up onto her horse and begin trotting after the large, dark shapes as they plunged into the southward forests, and called her back.

"No! Do not pursue."

She stopped her steed and turned to stare at him, and the others who looked to have been in the process of joining her watched him as well.

"We do not have the manpower to waste on them. That is their land, and there is no telling what ambushes await. The threat has been dealt with, and now we focus on our people," he finished, already turning to look in the direction of the battered citizen's guard, replacing his longsword on his back.

Many of them were badly injured, and there were more corpses than he'd have liked to see- but they were still mostly intact. Their determination, their will, was the only reason any of the civilians still lived. Overwhelmed as they were, they had not broken rank. Good soldiers, every last one of them. Barth stared regretfully at the fallen, as he walked past them, until finally reaching the survivors.

"Prince… we knew you would come. We would not have lasted much longer- we prayed Kelmin would reach you in time," said one of the defenders, a woman whose name Barth did not know. There was a large gash running across her brow, and half of her face was covered in blood, but she appeared to be healthy nonetheless. She slapped her gauntlet against her chest in the Linden salute, displaying little in the way of serious injury. Many of those around her were much worse for wear.

"Kelmin lives on," Barth said simply, and the woman lowered her gaze for a moment, hearing of the passing of her brother-in-arms. "But he held on long enough to pass on his message. He died a hero."

The female soldier's eyes did not rise up from the ground, but Barth had a question for her, even as the newly arrived reinforcements began dismounting from their horses, attending to the wounded.

"Where is Fendanak?"

She stared up at him, a muscle in her bloodstained face twitching as he asked of their leader, the one who had failed them.

"He lives on."

Barth stared at her for a moment, then spat onto the ground between them. "He is out of my reach, then," he said as his eyes swept over the bodies of his countrymen. "Their blood is on his hands."

"Prince Krinwulf."

He turned to see Resuran standing there watching him. His formerly gleaming armor now had some dents in it and was splattered in places with liberal amounts of blood. Additionally, there was a hardness in his eyes that had been missing before. A man who'd had his first taste of the Tutar- Barth could see the change over some of the others as well. Many Lebis had fallen, but those who had survived the confrontation had a similar look about them. They were different, already, and they'd only had a taste.

"Lord Resuran. Your men have aided us greatly."

"Tis the men of my father's house you speak of, Krinwulf," Borim Garth spat as he moved within earshot, cutting off what his fellow Lord Knight was about to say. "Men who gave their lives for your ragged kin."

Barth took a deep breath, struggling to quell his rage, but luckily Resuran stepped forward with an apologetic sideways glance at the bald Knight. "Prince Krinwulf, the men who have newly arrived will help bring your injured to camp. The citizens are being tended to as well- we have another detachment of men that shall reinforce the other two groups moving from Linden."

"You have my thanks," Barth replied as he inclined his head. Resuran nodded and turned to confer with his men; Barth began moving over to the section of battleground where the bodies were most plentiful, where the attack had undoubtedly first occurred.

There were numerous Tutari corpses there, scattered amongst the bodies of the wives and children that had been slain. Here and there were the bodies of an elderly man or woman, not fighters, not armed or armored, who had faced savage foes who knew nothing of mercy. He located a huddle of bodies that stood out to him; it was impossible to discern the individuals, as they were facing downward, yet he already knew what he would find before he turned them over.

A woman, middle-aged, staring vacantly up at the sky above; in her arms, a small child, also dead, with the same blank emptiness in his eyes. The Prince knelt down on the earth beside them, slowly removing the gauntlet from his right hand. Around him he could hear the others murmuring the words, the same words that flowed over every battlefield they had fought on since the beginning of the end.

"Rune's hand guide you. Eyes forward, forget the torment. You shall live on," he whispered as he gently pushed the woman's eyelids down. The child in her arms couldn't have been older than 5. Had Fendanak done as he was ordered, they would not have met such an end.

He gently moved the small boy from the arms of the caregiver that had spent her final moments attempting to shield him, the pointlessness of her efforts not mattering in the face of their impending doom. He had had a little brother who'd fallen from a horse while learning to ride, around the same age. Barth, just two years Garrin's senior, had been there when it happened; he'd watched as his only brother broke his neck upon impact.

This boy even resembled his brother as he remembered him. The sharp jawline, light brown eyes, the dark tousled hair that covered up his ears on either side...

Barth's hand trembled slightly as he eased the tiny eyelids down, covering up the glazed over pupils.

"Rune's hand guide you. Eyes forward. Forget… forget…"

He closed his own eyes, unable to go on. He wondered how much more would be lost before this war was over.


_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Upper Regions

"My Lady."

Naiya opened her eyes and turned to see Tamin and Kilkren standing in front of the doorway, their gazes lowered deferentially.

"Yes?"

"You are watching Soluunar. We have heard there is bloodshed, below."

She smiled, her green eyes narrowing slightly on the duo. "You have, now? From whom?"

"It is on the lips of everyone, My Lady," answered Tamin, who had been the initial speaker. He was the most soft-spoken and calm of her Demigods, and he was also the largest and most heavyset. He was extremely powerful, the knotted muscles of his body visible through the robes he wore in place of the armor he donned whenever he was permitted to venture to Soluunar. "Rolyn Skyhand has called another Conclave."

Naiya grunted, unsurprised. The Mortals of Linden prayed to Rune whenever lives were lost on the battlefield. Skyhand had heard more prayers than anyone else since the start of this war, and he would hear many more before the end.

"Your assumption," she began with a sharp glance at Tamin who now looked slightly ashamed, "was correct. I was indeed watching, but it is now over. It was a small engagement. A relatively small force of Tutar seeking easy spoils, attacked a large group of civilians. But they were beaten back."

A muscle in Kilkren's face twitched; Naiya knew he hated being away from the action. He was darker, slimmer and shorter than the other, but much less calm- in many ways he embodied the fire that was her area of dominion. Where Tamin's hair was kept very short and neat, his was scraggly and unkempt. More than Tamin, he savored battle and he missed it dearly. Naiya, as an open supporter of Malinar, had forbidden them from getting involved in the ongoing conflict below. Kilkren did not seek to disobey her orders, but he still made no secret of his distaste for them.

"A trio of Demigods would not make such a difference, My Lady," he said, attempting to keep his tone light in spite of his obvious agitation. "There are others on Soluunar, yet the Circle cares not for their presence there."

She stood up and moved towards the two of them, mindful of the missing third. "The ones on Soluunar have not taken part in this war. And some of them are Fallen and cannot return, even if they had the intention of doing so. You know this, Kilkren."

He grunted and bowed in acceptance of her logic, though he still looked distinctly unhappy; she turned to the other, venturing a question she'd been waiting to ask since first seeing the both of them.

"And where is Piedal?"

Tamin offered a rueful smile.

"He is training with Kahz, My Lady."

Naiya was unsurprised; although the only missing Demigod did not share in Kilkren's all encompassing love for battle, the man was only happy when he was training for it. He was nothing shy of obsessive about perfecting himself as a soldier, preparing himself with a fervor that suggested he expected the Upper Regions themselves to come under attack at any moment. But one thing made no sense.

"Training with him?" she asked doubtfully, and Tamin's smile widened somewhat.

"Well, he said he would try to agitate the old man into actually fighting with him."

Naiya shook her head and walked past them; with Malinar entrenched in yet another struggle with Skyhand she elected to see what Piedal was up to. "I am surprised you didn't join him, Kilkren," she said as she exited her dwelling.

The dark man snorted, following behind her as she strode out into the light. "To what end? Kahz says we are centuries of training away from being worth his time. And that's with the three of us together. It is bad enough he keeps sending us away, but there are only so many times I will be insulted in such a manner."

She nodded; yes, it made sense. Tamin was content with whatever happened, Kilkren was proud, too proud to go there only to be belittled and refused, and Piedal was determined enough to leave his ego behind and try his luck alone, hopeless as the endeavor might seem.


She had only made the trek to Kahz's place once, before- it was not very far away, but the man wanted his seclusion and the inhabitants of the Upper Regions respected his wishes. If he asked for one to leave, they left and without hesitation, even the Gods of the Circle. As for Naiya, the Demigod was many thousands of years her elder, and although they had seldom spoken, she was always somewhat uncomfortable around him. Silly as the notion was, it was as if the man knew things about her that she didn't want him to know.

They reached the clearing, emerging from the shadow of the forest's enormous trees to see Piedal standing very still on one side of a small campfire, across from a man with long, tangled grey hair and a scraggly beard to match it. The old Demigod was seated cross-legged in front of his small wooden hut with his eyes closed.

Naiya stopped and watched curiously, being careful not to make a sound.

"Your Goddess is here now, child," came the gruff voice of the old Demigod, his eyes still shut. "You have stood there staring at me for several hours now, for fear of being sent away- I would normally do just that, but since you now have an audience, I will give you a chance."

Piedal's face brightened immediately, and Naiya heard a soft sound of disappointment from next to her as Kilkren's expression darkened. She knew the man regretted not joining his comrade on his seemingly misguided mission, but whether or not it would yield any positive results for the young Demigod was yet to be seen.

"Yes, Master Kahz. What must I do?"

"Lay a single finger on me, before I can rise to my feet," replied the older man, still unmoving, eyes still closed, "and I will spar with you to your heart's content."

Piedal stared in shock at the man who was still perfectly still, seated flat on the ground. "What? But-"

"Well, what are you waiting for, fool?"

Naiya watched as Piedal immediately leaped over the fire, lunging towards Kahz with both hands outstretched and a look of triumph on his face.

A moment later he was sprawled out on the ground, skidding forward in the dirt as Kahz straightened up beside the fire, several yards away from where he had been sitting a split second earlier. He had moved so quickly she failed to even see it.

Naiya could only look on in shock- next to her, the other two stared with just as much surprise.

Demigods liked to exchange tales of slaying Tutar, or mighty warriors, or standing firm against entire armies- Seagan Kahz, however, was a man who had slain Gods. Kahz looked over to her, a knowing look in his eyes that made her shift uncomfortably in spite of herself, before turning to regard Piedal as the slim, pale man with the dirty blond hair sullenly pushed himself up to his feet, brushing dirt off of his clothes.

"Be gone, now. You and your brethren. I would speak to the Goddess for a moment."

Naiya approached the wooden hut as the trio of men moved past her, back into the forest, each of them glancing back at her and Kahz but none of them willing to linger given their dismissal. As she moved towards the fire she felt curiosity overpower her misgivings, of which there were many. She had heard many stories of the man, of what he had endured after the passing of his beloved Galaia- a tragic tale, of that there was no doubt- yet seeing him before her was very different. He was no knight in a fairytale. Rather, he was a blunt old man who had little taste for formalities, and even less patience for whose who did.

He moved around the fire, watching her with that same look in his eyes.

"I have a message for you to pass on."

She blinked; it was nothing short of bizarre, to be told something like that by a Demigod, regardless of his reputation. She was an Elder Goddess, after all.

"I-I'm sorry?"

His eyes narrowed. "A message. For you. To pass on."

His curt tone made her raise an eyebrow, but she stifled her irritation- once again, curiosity held dominion over her senses. "For Malinar?"

He snorted softly, shaking his grey head. "No, not him. For Skyhand."

"I don't understand. With the ongoing Conclaves I support Mali-"

"I don't care who you support, Goddess. The Circle is the Circle. They sit around and debate and deduce and manipulate, all while men slay men and worlds burn and the good die and the wicked linger. Until they die too, because everyone dies," he said, suddenly looking very different. Naiya could only stare at him, wondering at the change that had come over him so abruptly. "Everyone. The good, the bad… there is no such thing as immortality, whether you call this place home or not."

Seagan turned and stared into the depths of the fire, as if searching for something Naiya could not see. "Skyhand came to me and he asked me for something," he said without looking up, "and now I'm going to tell you what he wants to know. If you pass it on to him, if you don't, it makes no difference to me."

Finally he looked back up at her, his eyes shining with emotion. "I don't care, but I'm doing my part now because it's what she would have wanted. She could forgive anyone. She forgave me, even, and if I must be merciful as well, then it shall come in the form of a message that may never reach its intended recipient. It is more than I've managed thus far and it's all I see myself doing, in any case."

He stared off into the distance, seemingly at nothing in particular, before taking a deep breath and turning back to Naiya once more.

"She would say to find a way, because there is always a way. She would say that a law guides intentions but it does not govern wills. She would say that idle hands are idle minds, and that change comes whether or not we would move to bring it about. For good or for bad, the type of change is up to us."

With that Seagan Kahz turned, and without a backward glance he walked into the hut and shut the door behind him.

_________________

Farie was lost in the flow of battle everything came down to a single point a single moment. The opponent facing him. Sometime during the course of the fight the rest of his reinforcements arrived. They joined the fight, but Farie didn’t notice this until later. Not until the pounding in his veins stopped. Not until he stood panting watching the retreating horde. His eyes wide, his body covered in blood. He lowered his sword and barely heard the words spoken by Barth as he watched the Tutar retreat. He raised his hand to stop his men from following. There was no use in them going after the enemy into a trap. Better to secure the refugees and get them safely to camp.

A part of him felt empty. Lost. His heart was thundering in his chest and his eyes took in every detail of the world around them with an almost bleak dimmed view. The colors somehow seemed less bright, duller. Somehow more dim and removed from the world they belonged to. Farie felt dull and washed out himself. He always did after battle, like a part of him was also torn away with all the death that washed the earth in it’s crimson flow. He closed his eyes a moment to let the pain that was building inside of him settle to a dull ache.

He had sustained a few cuts, some scars would remain, but nothing threatening and certainly nothing he would mention until they returned to camp. Farie didn’t speak, he didn’t need to, he had worked with these men long enough. They knew what his orders would be. That was part of the key to being a good leader. To know what orders to give, to know when they were unnecessary. The man began to move around the field aiding those who could still be saved, doing what they could. They were a little too late. Farie looked and remembered. It would take a while, a long while, before these memories dulled in Farie’s mind. He looked over at Barth finally having had enough of the death and loss that could and should have been avoided.

He couldn’t of them as Linden or Lebi anymore. They were man, woman and children. Innocents who had fallen before the hatred and cruelty of beasts that threatened all humankind. Something that Farie could not condone. No matter the differences between countries. These were innocent people who should never ever ever have been here. They should be home with their loved ones. Now entire families were gone. Some would loose mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons and friends. He let that sink into his mind. He let their faces become a part of his memories. These people died, because no one was strong enough to protect them, because mistakes were made. This could have been avoided. In future it would be. He made that promise to himself, even if it was illogical to do so. Even though there really wasn’t any way for him to control anything. He still needed to remember this. He needed to grief for them, but most of all he need the raw edge of anger that rose up. He could not afford to be soft.

He walked slowly over to where Barth knelt with the child. He had been about to speak, but words could never be enough. Nothing could ease anyone’s heart in this situation. So he stood like a dark shadow behind the man, who’s birth origins had made their countries enemies, but who could have been a friend had they been born in the same kingdom. How odd that Farie thought of Barth not in terms of his origins as the young noble would have in the past, but as a battle-hardened warrior. Things were changing and this war was making those changes in Farie.

It was so easy to see just how quickly life could change in the blink of an eye. He waited a long moment before he finally broke the silence. ”We need to get those who yet life back to the camp. There’s nothing more we can do here. I am truly sorry.” What else could one say. There really were not enough words to describe the horror of this. Only weak attempts at words. He knew that nothing he said could ever ease this. Yet, he had to speak.

_________________

Blood, hot and sticky sprayed forth from the jugular of the beast and as it sank to the floor Ausan noticed something…

Silence

The familiar roar of battle ended and in its place stood the sounds of those who struggled to make a hasty retreat. But, it was over, just as soon as they had entered the fray it ended and Ausan was left in that hazed state where the mind came back to the present. Everything had moved so slow before, as if the whole world had chosen to slow down as they fought. Now, it all sped back up and she had to contend with that brief moment when she was still caught up in that slowed time.

It was the pain in her forearm that caught her attention and roused her from her thoughts first. A grunt of pain left her lips while she pulled off her heavy shield. The weighted metal was allowed a chance to fall to the ground with a thud, soon to be followed by her gauntlet which revealed the start of a bruise that she knew spread up onto her forearm. Numbness had already begun to set in, so she shook out her hand to try and alleviate it while Barth tended to the others. One of her Shield Sisters was questioned, Krista, if she recalled properly and the woman looked like she had held her own well enough.

Her shield and gauntlet were retrieved with the idea to walk over and speak with her, when the same insufferable prick from earlier spoke up once more. The look in Barth’s eyes mimicked her own, though instead on holding her tongue she voiced what she knew her Prince could not.

So, as he walked passed she extended her arm and caught him on the shoulder with her hand, her strength able to hold him in place despite the bruise.

“When a Tutar is about to rape your women and butcher your children, remember this moment when you have need for this ragged kin,” she spat back at him, gaze on his own which never wavered even as he was ushered away by the other man.

“Sister,” another voice drew her attention and the glare she held was replaced with a soft smile.

“Sister,” she greeted Krista as the other woman approached. The wound on her face more evident now and Ausan figured she would have a similar scar to the one she herself bore. “Naiya keep you safe,” she said as the two embraced in a warm hug, two fingers brought to her lips were kissed as she touched the scar below the other woman’s throat upon her burn and Krista did the same to her.

“What did you say to that bald jackass?”

“I told him he better guard the poor excuse of genitals, least I cut them off and choke him with it,” she snickered and Krista followed suit. “What of the others? How did the other Sisters fair?”

“Well,” Krista said with a glance back over the battle field. “They held their own and fought as well as the men with the fire of Naiya to urge them on,” she sighed and hung her head though in the end. “Still, many live on now with the Goddess.”

Ausan swore under her breath and lowered her own head, the guilt of whether or not she should have left Barth’s side to protect those who followed. Perhaps, things would have been different then?

“Gather the Sisters that remain and form up into a single unit,” Ausan instructed, her gaze cast back to the insufferable bastard who thought himself above her people. “We head back to camp now, but I want our Sisters to stand out and be a show of power within our forces.”

“Of course, Sister,” Krista said and saluted her the same way she had done to Barth before she ran off to do as she was asked.

That done, Ausan gave a sharp whistle and waited with some concern until the familiar gallop of her steed was heard.

“Symas,” she cooed to the horse that snorted and tossed his head in greeting to her. “I thought I had lost you,” she whispered to him as she stroked his head. “Let’s get back to camp,” she said before she secured her gear to his saddle, hoisted herself up and then rode him over to where Barth stood with one of the Lebi knights. No words did she have to share with Barth, both knew what must be done now, so they did not have to bother talking.

A victorious though dejected group returned to camp and dispersed to get what needed to be done, done. Ausan rode with her head high and loved the looks on many faces when they caught sight of her Battle Sisters as they marched into camp. It warmed her heart to see the shock and even more so to see the look of interest on the faces of some of the Lebi women. She would have to make it a point to go and see them later and speak with them about how important they were to the protection of their nation.

In her personal tent, Ausan stood and allowed her squire to remove her armor…carefully. Bruises and wounds that she had not noticed during the heat of battle showed up now with vengeance, mostly that of her arm that would have likely been broken had the fight lasted much longer. On a simple wood stool she sat, as cold water from a bucket was used to wash the filth of battle from her body. Eyes closed, she sent a silent prayer to Naiya and hoped that this alliance helped them rather than signed their death warrant.



The chieftain Grishnakh stared down at what had once been his favorite spawn, Varduk. Though that name would be stripped from him as well, for the disgrace he was now. The only reason he still lived was for the information he had and even that had not spared him the beating he suffered at the hands of his Creators males.

“Say it again,” he growled from the throne he sat upon. “I want to make sure you are clear and truthful with me.”

Varduk’s face was swollen, one of his tucks was broken clean off and the other was cracked in what could be assumed in a very painful manner. Two of the four eyes were swollen completely shut and Grish doubted if the others saw much better. This was all just his face, his body looked like he had been used for practice dummy, kicked and used like he was lower than low. Which at this moment, he was.

“The…men…” he began, his face grimaced from the pain in his jaw at being made to speak. “They have…joined forces. The polished-steel have allied with the dead-eyes,” he grunted as he shifted his weight to try and find some margin of comfort where he knelt before his Creator. “Together they fought and defeated us…”

“Defeated you!” Grish snapped and rewarded his spawn with a kick to the face that sent his final tusk off into the darkness of their dwelling. “They united against you!” He roared and those about him coward away, worried that they would be his next target. “HAD YOU NOT ATTACKED THEM! HAD YOU STAYED BEHIND AS I TOLD YOU! WE WOULD HAVE THEM WHERE WE NEEDED THEM! NOW!” he stalked over and backhanded the whelp as he tried to pull himself up. “YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO MY BLOOD!” he spat in his face and kicked him yet again.

Varduk breathed in more dirt than air at this point and was not fully back in the present world when a dull and rusty knife was thrown to his feet.

“With what bit of my blood still resides within you,” Grish began as he walked away. “Make your suffering last and ensure every drop of blood is spilled.”

The screams that followed lasted long into the night and well into the next day, though Grish could little enjoy it. His next spawn Karduk was brought forth to try and equal that of his fallen sibling. “The other Chieftains must be….made aware…”

Even if he did not want to do this, it was something that had to be done. For now at least.

_________________

Morigan seized his movements. His eyesight was a blur of glory and red, the world painted in crimson from the rush of violence and glorifying violence. His posture for a moment was inhumanly still, as if waiting like a wooden contraption for the next press of levers that he might move once more, but there was no sign of enemies before him that could prompt such a thing. Where were they? Had they run? Most likely. The small siege of Tutar had retreated, clearly overwhelmed by their human opponents forces. It all made sense now, but the violence had ended too soon. His muscles ached, and a dry taste was on his tongue that was similar to thirst.

Reality slowly set in, and with an efforted movement his blade was brought to lean against his shoulder, the free gauntlet of his left hand being raised as he tested his current grip and muscles of his fingers. The tightening of his flesh with repetitive crushing of his fist was a good sign, for it meant he was not cramped from his blade-work. His sword was heavy, and no amount of human strength could properly relieve the eventual soreness of mortal flesh. Next came the sensory of pain, from which he felt satisfied, as well as intrigued. A few cuts from the clashing blades of the Tutar had passed his armor and grazed into his skin. Minor, but a sign that his enemy had the luck to kill him if he was not careful. Morigan turned at this, moving back to the gathering line of various soldiers while his sights once again became focused.

His squire was well, though he had stayed out of battle. Instinctively, he sat himself upon the earth beside him, hearing the lad's words before they were even spoken due to their repetitive nature.

"My Lord~! I will call over the medicinal practitioner immediately!" He exclaimed before running off, and in response Morigan began to loosen the armored layers off of his left arm, letting them fall to the ground piece by piece before doing the same to the sectioned chain-mail, designed specifically for the purpose of being able to be taken off one by one. He did not remove his helmet, as if it were a part of his very face and being. It was unnecessary, and plainly a bother when he was to put it back on immediately after. He did not care for the metal marks on his face, or the gathered sweat. It was all part of the process.

Eventually, his squire returned with what he presumed to be the medical soldier of the squad, the man leaning over to examine the cuts upon his heavily muscled and bleeding arm before he brought out his kit and began to prepare his tools. Morigan's eyes remained trained forward, the thirst still present on his tongue as he waited and observed the aftermath of the battle and how everyone reacted to it, observed the Prince Krinwulf and his particular way of sending off the dead.

Tedious, and misplaced. His emotions were better suited for battle, the Knight thought, but such was only the opinion of himself. He wondered how much death he could muster before he finally gave up, Morigan himself having never bothered to grieve. A greater war was coming, and there would be countless more of his precious and year-acquainted kin to honor. Too many for one man's heart to hold, should he continue to decide to keep one.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Staring forward and into the sunrise, one stood alone upon a balcony of marble and stone. The familiar silver armor glittered away delicately, the shimmering reflection of the light painting the walls with a serene visage similar to that of the waves of water within the seas of Soluunar down below, but the face and physical visage of the owner was starkly different and less glamorous in the light of the sun, the horned helmet of Akryanus held firmly within the clawed gauntlets down below.

The Goddess's hair had become a deathly and lifeless gray, her skin paling away into something porcelain and near the strength in vitality of a corpse. Her eyes were lowered, a much more icy beauty becoming her as the normally serene expression of the female had become stone and as emotionless as the rest of her presentation. Her eyes closed as she brought the helmet upwards, placing it over her head as she once more became that which the world of mortals and her eternal kin knew her for, the valiant and shining God of the Stars, beloved son-in-spirit of Rune, God of the Sky, and perhaps more accurately, eternally loyal Knight of Rolyn for those more aware. She did not mind this visage, thought days did go by that she wished she had been given the truth of her armored and more known persona. There was nothing that she could live by that was feminine during her long life, and thus had found it redundant to even think of herself as anything otherwise. Not even Phyrexus could bring a maidenly part of her forever into part, for even under the sun she was of a man's stance. With a turn of her body, her clanking grieves took her away and into the shade of the building, preferring to move down along the stairs than otherwise.

Akryanus had been known for her varying forms of flight. Though in the night she was able to float upon the heavens, slowly move at the speed of a running man before pushing herself into a flash of speed and coating power to rival that of a falling star, she was reduced to only such destructive forces of flight during the day than the grace of moonlight in darkness. To take shortcuts could result in the crushing of earth when shown by the sun, and though this was greatly weakened compared to the burning craters and obliterating force of twilight, she would not be reckless. She had Demigods and Rolyn with expectations of her otherwise... And those that once would allow her to be reckless alongside them had outgrown the young Elder God by a few millennium.

When she did not sleep during the day, she did rounds about the gardens and stood at attention. It was not expected of her to be a sentinel up above, such a duty given to Demigods than any Elder God or Goddess. Nevertheless, certain habits had remained from her time before, particularly from when she was under the more constant guidance of Rolyn. She had remembered her dog-like attendance to him with a slight smile upon her face, the desire to see his appreciation of her loyalty something that she still thrived off of like a fish in water. It was the same desire that a child had for a parent, desperately seeking praise whenever they could receive it. Akryanus was much more refined in this methodology, but any whom closely observed the pair could easily draw the comparison.

A few Gods and Goddesses would pass on by, always met by the low bow of her head in response. Occasionally some of the females, be they Elder or Demigod, would stop to chit-chat and flaunt their beauty, no doubt convinced of her male gender as much as the rest of the world was. Akryanus was not rude, and thus would address them as she did anyone else and treat them with chivalrous respect and attention. This did not help with their clear infatuation of her, but it preserved her good image of knightly behavior, despite still being the mystery and black sheep of those that were far older than her and more at attention of her past. Her honor was second in importance to her loyalty to Rolyn, and she would not allow it to falter at the slight from whatever words and whispers were spread that concerned her.

The thoughts of her Demigods once again came into mind as they always did, her eyes staring up at the sky as she waited for the sun to move across and finally leave her presence. She was always a bit restless under its brightness, and thanked that her armor was reflective enough that it saved her from the majority of its light. The only restlessness that was greater than that which the sun gave her was the feeling she had in the Circle God of Light's presence, whose very being was like the sun walking upon the earth itself. Though the other Gods flocked to him, she couldn't bring herself to hang around too long, consistently shying away and trying to get a breather from his extinguishing radiance.

Eventually, it seemed that the thought of her Demigods came to address reality, for Helfin had joined her side and stood quietly with her. He was never talkative, but like she with Rolyn, her Knights seemed to thrive off of being around he and occasionally receiving praise. She wondered if her sire would come to join her when he was less busy, perhaps offer some sound advice to the darkly covered Knight of hers. He was much wiser than her after all, and there was much more experience under his belt than she could ever experience.

Time literally could only tell, and she continued her daily rounds without loneliness.

_________________

"Grug'jinka 1," the acolyte said as he knelt down on one knee, his head lowered, "one of those who went with Varduk brings word. The dead-eyes have been joined by the polished-steel."

Heldrith'thn inclined his ancient head, wholly unsurprised. It was only a matter of time before the two Kingdoms of Men joined forces. As old as he was, he had forgotten nothing- he knew Linden and Lebidan held no love for one another, but the desire to survive could overcome any differences. Alone, either Nation would fall before the Tutar- this was known, as it had been illuminated by the Flame. However even together, united, the men would fall. The process would simply take much longer.

"What of Varduk?"

The small, robed Tutar shook his head jerkily, as if trying to clear his mind of something particularly unpleasant. "He is disgraced. Grishnakh has given him the knife."

Heldrith'thn nodded, pleased but once again unsurprised. Amugam's spawn was perhaps the mightiest of the Tutari Chieftains, and if any understood proper protocol it was he. His son, formerly his favored offspring, had borrowed warriors from various Chieftains without permission, so as to go forth seeking easy spoils without the blessings of the Flame. Most significantly, Varduk failed and suffered a pitiful defeat, wasting warriors with his foolishness and inexperience. In doing so, he shamed himself beyond retrieval.

"Good. He was not fit to lead, and as such he shall now spend his days serving the females. Unless permitted to die," he finished almost as if thinking out loud, as he turned to regard the altar. There, in front of the immense, crude throne of black steel, on an iron pedestal, was a large, carved large bowl filled with fire. Within it he could see the piercing blue flames that grew gradually more orange approaching the top; the fire was maintained at all hours of the day, and if allowed to grow too dim, whichever acolyte was on call at the time would be executed immediately. The fire could never be allowed to go out- this was one of the Temple's most sacred laws, as important as the one that stated none but the true embodiment of the Flame Itself could sit upon the Black Throne.

"Lukmin," he said, addressing the young acolyte, who perked up immediately upon hearing his name, "I want you to send word to all of the Chieftains. They are to come to me, at nightfall when the Flame burns brightest."

They would meet in the Temple, of course- the stone construct was the largest building in the Ravine, and though it was roughly hewn and far from refined, it was treated with great reverence by all of the Tutar.

Constantly vying and maneuvering as they were, the 13 had not all been under the same roof in a very long time. In fact, such a thing had not yet even happened with the current group (there seemed to be a new Chieftain every week or so with the current environment within the Ravine. Only a few of them seemed immovable through their wariness and savagery, but attempts were constantly made on their lives regardless- such behavior would only abate with open war ). But they would answer his call. Their feuding would end for the time being, just as it had when they began their war against the dead-eyes.

He fixed his own eyes once again on the fire, moving closer to it so that he could feel its enlightening warmth against his skin.

"B'halinma 2, there is work to be done."



1. Enlightened One
2. By the Flame

_________________