The War, Part I: The Awakening

[Malcor Sylverwood]

It is said by the woodsfolk that when the goddess Tierra made the earth she also made the Sylverwash, the river that flows from the Grey Mountains, though the Woods of Sylver and onwards to the Great Sea. It is also said that one day when she was lonely she spoke a sacred word and all life came forth from the river. Dorian thought this was a load of codswollop, and he smirked as he unlaced his pants to take a piss in the shining moonlit waters.

"Hurry up, Dorian!" His companion's voice was thick with unhidden urgency, "They say the woodsfolk don't like strangers in these parts."

"We have no quarrel with them." Dorian replied, "Besides when you gotta go--" He went silent at the sound of a body hitting the earth with a thud, and as he turned he felt the cold of steel against his neck, along with the heat of someone's breath against his ear.

"We don't like strangers in these parts." a husky voice said mockingly.

"That's ok..." answered Dorian politely, "We'll be going then."

"Your friend is dead, and you have something we want." He felt large hands reaching inside his coat.

"Ahem, sorry. You're not really my type." Dorian said, and there was a snort of disgust as he was shoved to the ground, where he suppressed a laugh. His captor stood above him, holding the gleaming golden box he had taken from his pocket. Somehow he had known exactly which pocket it was hidden in, "You've been watching me!" He became aware that three men had surrounded him, all looking upon the golden box greedily.

"Who sent you?" asked one, "Where did you get it?" asked another, "Are there more?" asked the man who held it.

Dorian grimaced as he pushed himself up on his elbows, uncertain if his captors would let him stand, "One question at a time boys. A pretty lady, I stole it from a dragon, and more? I bloody well hope not. That would rather reduce its value wouldn't it?"

The woodsmen murmured frantically, in shock and disbelief. Dorian decided to take the opportunity to stand after all and as he brushed himself off he said, "Whatever you do don't open it. It's cursed."

The closest man, who also happened to be the largest, grabbed him by his collar, "Cursed?" He asked, "I don't believe in such nancy frippery!" He shoved Dorian to the ground again. "Open it, Ted."

The man holding the box made no move to open the box, "He says it's cursed..."

"Damn it, give it over then!"

"No." said Ted. "You just want the gold for yourself!"

"If anyone should open it, it should be me." the last woodsman said quietly, "I have a lucky charm against curses."

Dorian sat in the dust as they continued to argue, deciding not to risk another shove by standing again. When it finally came to blows unsurprisingly the largest won possession of the box, and over the unconscious bodies of his companions, he flipped the lid open triumphantly. "I told you not to do that,” said Dorian dryly.

"Cursed my grandmas red bucket!" said the woodsman in disgust, "it's empty!" he then promptly dropped dead. Dorian picked up the box and snapped it shut. He looked at the body of his companion regretfully and hurried off into the night, leaving the Sylverwash and skirting the woods to head north. He didn't believe in nancy frippery either, but the fact was, he had awoken a great beast to steal a piece of gold for a pretty lady, and she had warned him not to open it.

When he finally handed it to her many days later in Bloomingdale, he had to ask her, "What do you plan my love?"

"Domination my darling. Domination." And he knew fear as she nonchalantly opened it.

"No!" he gasped.

She looked up at him, her starry violet eyes holding a fair measure of mirth, "It's alright there's is a trick to it, see?" She passed him some parchment. It was filled with diagrams of the box, and instructions on how to open it without facing death.

"It's not cursed... it's just rigged!"

"Oh, no...it's cursed alright." Said the Princess Unique as she pulled something small from the box. It was a tiny silver whistle. She put it to her lips and gently blew. It made a very pretty sound.

"What have you done?" asked Dorian nervously, he still held the parchment in his hand, it was so fine with age it threatened to crumble to dust in his hands. Warily he began to read the text out loud in his disjointed and only partially educated manner: "Alazar's whistle: it is believed that to blow on this whistle will bring on The Age of Alazar, or by some translations, The Age of Chaos. Prophecies speak of plagues, war and unimaginable adversity and a shift in the balance of power throughout the world." Dorian stopped reading and frowned, "You know I didn't used to believe in this stuff, Uni, but now I have seen some things and I begin to wonder... where did you find this parchment?"

Unique examined her perfectly manicured fingernails, "I dreamt about a woman hiding it, burying it deeply, somewhere long ago. So I sent someone to fetch it for me, just as I sent you to fetch the box."

"But... why would you do something like this? If it were true it could mean the end of everything as we know it!"

Unique smiled, so that her eyes sparkled and he longed to kiss her dimpled cheeks, she shrugged "I was bored."

*****

Deep within the cavernous mountains, for the first time in an age, something stirred. Something had dared to take a treasure from its great hoard, something had awoken it from the sleep of ages, and something would be made to pay. It was time for its kind to hunt again.

[Buck]

It was late in the afternoon, a time when the sun reaches the western sky and turns golden as it bids its goodbye. Kreyce sat on a rock near a pine and enjoyed the setting. A bull frog was starting to croak, rehearsing for its nightly sonnet. A hawk was heading back to its nest clutching a dead chipmunk.

Kreyce sat up and watched the hawk take its find to its nest to feed its young. He had named the hawk he had. Kreyce gave all his animal friends names. They were afterall his only companions that truely understood him; and spoke to him. Strike, the hawk he was watching was circling down the pine on which her nest was hidden up in some high branch. Kreyce enjoyed this the most. Nothing was much better to his eyes than a mother tending to young. Always a good sign that was. Kreyce like good signs. It made him feel safe.

A thunderous roar of flapping arose from the west. It was a storm of crows, hundreds of them. They were spooked by something and fleeing. Kreyce was startled and afraid now. His skin tingled and goose bumped. The setting sun was very red now. Kreyce saw the sky bleed in agony. The crows streamed across the sky and flew overhead Kreyce they did. Kreyce was speechless. As the last of the crows zoomed past all went quiet. The bull frog had gone silent. Kreyce felt fear as he watched. He watched the hawk he had known as Strike fall and land on the ground. That was the only sound Kreyce heard. He saw and knew, knew what was comming.

[Cloric the Cleric]

Deep within the cavernous mountains, for the first time in an age, something stirred. Something had dared to take a treasure from its great hoard, something had awoken it from the sleep of ages, and something would be made to pay. It was time for its kind to hunt again.

Deep in the mountain that housed Darkstone, Grangir stood from his forge, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Something wasn’t right. The feel of the earth beneath his feet had changed, gotten deeper, somehow, though he didn’t even know that was possible. It felt menacing.

Looking about the vast cavern, he saw others of his kind look up, shrug, and bend back to their tasks. I should be doing the same, he thought, but knew that his work, at least for today, was done. Hmph, Mother was right, I do have too much of a curiosity streak for a dwarf. Gently he put away his tools and locked the cabinet. He banked back the coals in the forge to smolder for the night, and picked up his pack. The items in that pack were his greatest treasure, and what allowed him to live alone as he did in the packed dwarven tunnels. The things he made were special, magical. The combination of dwarven workmanship and magical enhancement was a rarity that paid him well, and financed his very undwarf-like interest in the arcane.

He made his way to the elevator to take him up to the public levels, where he kept his apartments. Entering, he sealed the door behind him, and locked it with a word. Delving deep into his dwarven nature, he felt the earth again. Still it rumbled with displeasure. This was not right. He pulled an extremely old spell book off the shelf and began to search for something to help him solve this mystery.

[Tatum]

Monique wiped the blood from her blade on the corpses cloak and stepped over him like so much rubbish. She regreted killing one so pleasing to the eye, but this time she was there to learn the art of the sword, not the art of lust. True he had been a good lover, but she'd had many of those, and none had the ability to melt the polar heart that barely beat inside her. This one had been no different and so, in the end, it had been his swordsmanship that she'd come for that day. Unfortunately for him, the pupil had outgrown the teacher and the cost had been his life. Monique smiled down at the vacant blue/grey eyes and slashed another notch in the hilt of her sword. He was nothing to her, as all before had been and all to come would be.

Whistling something close to the Death March tune, Monique wound her way through the throng of peasants, hiding her striking blonde hair and bright violet eyes beneath the hood of her cloak. It was not unusual to find her in the poorer section of Bloomingdale. She spent most of her time here learning the crudest forms of survival. Her twin sister Unique often ridiculed her for wasting her time on "such primitive attempts at worth" but Monique enjoyed the simpleness with which death could come. It did not have to be a fancy potion or a fire breathing dragon, death could come with the simple stroke of a knife and the messiness of it was just added bonus.

With the slight flick of her wrists she allowed a few platinum strands to peak from the hood and the gate guards allowed her onto the palace grounds without hesitation. The palace wall still displayed a patch of deep red from the last guard who'd been too slow to recognize one of the princesses. Sweeping past the guard, Monique entered the palace and wound her way up the stairs until she reached her sisters room. Without knocking she pushed the heavy brass door open and found her sister peering at a small whistle while Dorian looked on. Monique twisted her lips in distaste. She had hoped her sister would be alone.

"Moni, you will never guess what simply delightful toy master Dorian has brought me." Monique snorted at the completely unnecessary title her sister had given the street tough. At times she felt like slapping Unique for being so frivolous with her affections. Monique regarded Dorian, "kissing some royal ass yet again Dorian?" Dorian scowled back at Monique but held his tongue. He was one of the most dangerous assassins on the streets of Bloomingdale, but even he knew when to save his own hide. "I've blown the whistle of Alazar." Unique continued proudly. "Yes, and I blew the whistle of Salazar but now he's dead because he couldn't remember to feign left when he should've parried right." Monique snapped back. Unique clicked her tongue in exasperation. "You can be so crude sometimes sister. Alazars whistle is said to bring about the Age of Chaos. You know, plague, war, a shift in the balance. Its all so exciting!" Uniques eyes shown with a mad fervor as she explained the legend to her sister. Monique listened with only half an ear as she wondered whether Uni would get upset if she slit Dorian's throat. Just then a loud knock at the door brought both women out of their reverie. Dorian, with a scowl on his face, was sent to answer the door like a common servant but before he could get there, the door burst open itself, admitting Mistress Jansen, head of the royal staff. "Mistresses, forgive the intrusion but I had to warn you immediately. A darkness has taken the sun. Bloomingdale and as far as the eye can see has been shrouded in twilight. What omen is this, I do not know. But surely we are about to fall on grave times. For your safety the King has asked that you travel to your estates at the farthest corner until whatever evil has befouled us dissapates. The horses are being prepared as we speak." Both women stared back at Mistress Jansen dully. They both dispised the way the woman spoke in such a formal manner. But instead of ridiculing her as they often did, they both began protesting the message at once. "You are high on goats milk..." Uni began as Monique road over her with "Ha! shrouded in twilight, you are as daft as our father." Mistress Jansen ignored the girls protests and marched over to the window, throwing back the curtains to reveal the milky twilight that had descended hours too early. Monique stopped dead in her tracks but Unique smiled, the dimples in her cheeks compressing deeply. "Alazars Whistle" she whispered softly. Monique caught the phrase and took a closer look at the small silver whistle in Uni's hand. "Bravo" Moni whispered back. "This one will be hard to beat. Awakening the Lord of Chaos...you've outdone yourself sister." Uni smiled proudly.

[Malcor Sylverwood]

Rien had decided; decided that to prevent himself from become a slave in this treacherous city he needed to have money enough to buy a slave himself. Sadly, even the low-end slaves cost more than a street performer could afford to shell out. So, he found himself moving through the crowds looking for a suitable mark.

Suddenly, the crowd around him seemed to be moving in slow motion, each moment slower than the last. A noise began to build in his ears; faint and distant slowly building till the sheer volume threatened to shatter his skull like so much crystal. Even slowed as the crowd was, Rien could tell he was the only one so affected. The pain was near unbearable and he falls to his knees, crying in pain. Time was impossible to judge in this state, but it seemed to be an eternity. Finally, we he thought he would pass out, a final wave of energy bowls him off his feet.

The crowd resumes its normal pace, as if nothing had happened. Not a single person even spared a glance for the fallen Rien. Shaking his head to clear it, he pulls himself to his feet. He dusts himself off and shrugs, strange things like this happened to him from time to time, although usually not so intense—or so painful.

Rien smiles, apparently his bad luck was finally being countered, a woman—obviously not a peasant--was moving through the crowd towards him. Although her face was deep within her hood, to Rien her face seemed to glow—and she was the very picture of beauty.

He positions himself in her path, stands his ground, and puts on his most dashing smile. The woman strides purposefully through the crowd, seeming not to see him. He waits till the last moment, before slipping to one side just missing a collision—a collision that would have no doubt gotten him in trouble.

“Humph…women, “ Rien mutters, glowering at the woman’s back. “Still, not a total loss.”

Twirling the woman’s purse, he smiles and moves off the street. Once away from prying eyes, he pulls the purse open, pouring the contents into his hand. Rien’s eyes pop open in wide-eyed surprise. Where he had expected silver and gold coins, befitting a merchant’s daughter or some such, instead there was a king’s ransom of gold, platinum, and jewels.

“Bloody hell...”

[Malcor Sylverwood]

Rien mutters every curse in every tongue he can recall. Most thieves would be happy to have gotten so lucky, but Rien knows, such thieves would likely end up dead. People with this much money to carry on their person could afford to come looking for it and usually had the vanity to do so. If he could only return the purse before its absence was noted…

His mind made up, Rien shoves the purse into his vest. Running as fast as he can through the crowd, he manages to catch up to the beautiful woman—just as she passes a well-guarded gate. One look at the guards and bloodstained wall quickly dismisses any thoughts of passing that way.

“Damnation, “ Rien curses, “Just a little help for once, Lamorah…how about it?”

As if by his request, the sky suddenly begins to darken, but, more importantly to Rien, the guards become distracted and stare at something in the skies. Shaking his head to clear the shock, he strolls nonchalantly past the guards. Once in the courtyard, he looks around at the people scurrying about. They all appeared to be focused on their tasks, hardly looking at things around them—most hadn’t even noticed the darkening sky as of yet.

Rien smiles, he probably wouldn’t even be seen. The guards were mostly to keep people out, the servants were moving frantically as if their lived depended upon the hasty completion of their tasks (and it probably did), and the rich folk almost never noticed the poor. “Too easy, ” he chuckles.

Then he took stock of the building across the courtyard. It was an opulent structure, a palace. No, not ‘a palace’ he realizes, ‘THE palace’—home of the ruling family. His hand unconsciously strays to the stolen purse. The woman…one of the princesses?

“Bugger me!”

Rien’s confidence quickly fades, he was going to end up in a noose yet. Still, perhaps there was some small hope left.

*****

Sneaking about the palace had been too easy, and by what seemed to be pure chance he found himself outside a window eavesdropping on the princesses. It seemed that the theft had not been noted yet…if he could just get close to the right princess, he could return the purse and be off with nobody the wiser.

The sky darkens another shade and another burst of energy rolls away from the palace—the same energy that had hurt him so in the streets earlier—the palace was the source. Very likely the strange, unnatural twilight was related. Rien quietly rests his forehead against the cool glass pane. Distracted by the wave of energy, he didn’t hear someone stride across the room toward the window.

*****

Mistress Jansen ignored the girl’s protests and marched over to the window, throwing back the curtains to reveal the milky twilight that had descended hours too early. Monique stopped dead in her tracks but Unique smiled the dimples in her cheeks compressing deeply. "Alazar’s Whistle" she whispered softly. Monique caught the phrase and took a closer look at the small silver whistle in Uni's hand. "Bravo" Moni whispered back. "This one will be hard to beat. Awakening the Lord of Chaos...you've outdone yourself sister." Uni smiled proudly.

“Who’s that?” Dorian asks pointing at the face pressed against the window.

Rien looks up and into the room, at the four people staring at him, “Oh Gods…”

[lam sam]

The boat rocked as it pulled into the harbor at Ameloct. A quiet came over the crew as a navy boat sailed by. He could see the fear on Boeron's face when the captain of the little patrol boat hailed them. Saeran answered his questions with short quick answers, like any innocent captain would do. The other captain gave them leave to pass, and he could see color returning to his Boeron's face.

"Relax Boeron, they've not caught me for 5 years. And even if they did, their wife would probably convince them to let me go." Saeran chuckled at the puzzled look his half-brother gave him, and went below deck.
"The goods should be ready to unload within the hour, sir." His second mate told him.
"Take your time. I don't expect them to come for another day at least."
"What's going on Saeran? Who's coming? I thought you were going to deliver me to my brother, without smuggling anything. If you lied to my father about what you were here to do, he'll literally have your hide." Boeran said hotly. Saeran simply regarded him with a cool gaze and turned back to the second mate.
"About your business. And be quick." Saeran said
"Yes sir." Said the second mate, bowing his head and leaving.
"Tell me, bastard. What's going on? TELL ME!" Before Boeron could say another word, Saeran punched him in the stomach, threw him against the wall, and drew his knife. Holding him against the wall, Saeran put his knife to Boeron's throat.
"You will never speak to me like you are my superior on my own ship again. You want to know what's going on? I've made a deal with a man who wants you dead."
"Who would dare kill me? I'm second in line for the rule of Belfas and Wolf's Keep. Tell me who bastard, and while your at it, quit this foolery and take your shit-stained, bastard-tainted knife from my throat." Seeing Saeran silent, Boeron laughed.
"Your own father." Saeran said quietly, his knife still pressing against Boeron's flabby neck
"What'd you say?" Boeron tried to say cooly, but could only cringe in pain as a small trickle of blood escaped between his half-brother's knife.
"Your own father ordered you dead." He said as he slit the rest of Boeron's throat.

[ChronoDmin]

It is said by the woodsfolk that when the goddess Tierra made the earth she also made the Sylverwash, the river that flows from the Grey Mountains, though the Woods of Sylver and onwards to the Great Sea. It is also said that one day when she was lonely she spoke a sacred word and all life came forth from the river. Dorian thought this was a load of codswollop, and he smirked as he unlaced his pants to take a piss in the shining moonlit waters.


*****

Deep within the cavernous mountains, for the first time in an age, something stirred. Something had dared to take a treasure from its great hoard, something had awoken it from the sleep of ages, and something would be made to pay. It was time for its kind to hunt again.

Deep within the earth, farther then the Dawven race has delved, something stirred...the ground protested with a groan and a shudder, animals who made their lairs in the earth trembled and froze...waiting for the scent of something which had not walk on the surface for centuries to pass.

The two watched where the cloaked man had knelt by the tree in the Woods of Sylver, he had been kneeling there for some time now and the two were quietly argueing on what to do with him.
"I say we cut his throat and take everything he's got " Borac muttered while griping the hilt of his dagger at his belt.
Chianna rolled her eyes, that was Borac standard answer to everything. She fingered her bowstring to make sure the morning dew had not gotten it wet. This was the third time she had checked it but she did it so she did not have to look at Borac's weasly face. She hated how his face became like a sewer rat when greed took hold of it
"We wait and see what he does...there's something about him i don't like"
Borac spat into the ground "fah, you worry too much" and began to move away from the small mound of fallen trees they were hiding behind.
Chianna hissed between clenched theeth and nocked an arrow into her short bow "fool" she thought, "you'll get yourself killed"

Borac easily closed the distance between himself and the stranger quietly, moving deflty through the verge and behind the trees...sneaking up on people had always been easy for him."just a little closer he thought" as a smile begin to dance upon his lips while he slid the dagger, sharpened to a razors edge out of it's scabbard. The stranger still kneeled with his back to Borac and showed no sign of hearing the impending doom about to fall on him.Chianna drew the arrow back to her cheek and waited, she was the ace if something should go wrong..and she never missed, even when she was a child and her father first showed her how to use a bow. She saw Borac strike the stranger with his dagger into his cloak right where the space between the ribs are, Borac crying out in triumph. The problem was the stranger didn't fall down..he stood up, which made matter worse for he towered over Borac by at least 3 feet. She heard Borac make a sound, a sort of wet gurgleing sound but she couldn't understand why. Everything seem to move so slow.... she could see the stream of blood shoot from where Borac clamped his hand over his throat, but the stranger didn't seem to move at all. She let lose the arrow from her grip and watched it hurtle to the man, strike him where his heart should be and fall to the ground.

Thats when the stranger turned his head to look dead at her and she dropped her bow from trembling numb fingers, tried to flee and ran right into him and fell flat on her ass.She looked up and saw a pair of green eyes glowing from the cowl's shadow , black hair wich was braided into a thick rope coiled around his neck and fell down his back, which trailed on the ground for a few more feet, but the braid moved, moving in rythm from side to side, whipping her eyes back to the stranger head she saw his hand come out from his cloak, a hand which had talons like daggers point to her. "How did he move so fast" was the last thought she had
"Sheinlent te hasnet" she dimly heard him say in voice which sounded like gravel and leaves being slowly ground together as blackness surrounded her and consumed her leaving only the metal arrowheads and buckles to fall into the grass.

Darksmoke turned and tapped the crystal with a talon and watched as the female bowman quiver inside it. She would be usefull to him later,so he tucked the crytal into a pouch under his cloak, which wasn't really a cloak, but rather his wings. Unfolding his leathery wings from his shoulders he turned and walked back to the tree, making sure to plant a taloned foot into the thief still bleeding out his life in the grass. He did not seem to take pleasure in the sound of the thief's ribcage cracking and splintering under his weight As soon as he was sure that the rat faced human was truly put out of his misery ,Darksmoke moved back to the tree and knelt once more. His pupils which were vertical ,narrowed to a thin line within his dark green irises and looked upon the world as no other can. Choatic residue swirled in the air and coated the tree and the remains of the man whom the animals and nature did not fully devour and cover from a few days before. A growl grew deep within him and he stood removeing the cowl and cloth he had cover over his body to blend in , lest he run into mortals, now their was no need. The morning light began to dim as the sky darkened, Darksmoke moved in a circle sniffing the air stopping bout half way when he caught the scent he was looking for. Crouching down for a moment ,coiling his legs beneath him he smiled showing a gleam of white fang, then he launch himself into the air. His wings stretched and caught the air propelling him higher above the tree and into the fading light. Slowly his chamelon ablitlies blended him into the sky till no mortal eye could see him.


The mortals at Blomingdale would not see him either when he landed on the city wall a day later

[Anita Blake]

Selena d'Muerte sat alone in the corner of the seediest tavern in all Bloomingdale. Men often came to flirt with her, settling down with a foolishly drunken grin, but one look into her cold eyes often sent them scrambling, muttering curses mingled with apologies under their breath.

The barmaid was also afraid of Selena. But curious. When she brought the fifth cup of wine to Selena, her curiosity overcame her fear.

"Who are you, madam? You are so lovely, yet men run from you as if you were the devil!" She put the cup hastily down on the table and took a step back, afraid of what the mysterius woman before her might do at such a bold question.

Selena didn't so much as glance at the barmaid. "If I told you, i wouldn't be very mysterious, now would I?" was all she said, looking intently at the door. The barmaid ran off.

Selena wondered what she was doing back here. Bloomingdale. She had despised the place when she first came here all those years ago. It had a feel of ... corruption ... to it. She'd had to leave, after having her foster parents killed ... she'd discovered that they intended to scour the land to find a sorceror who could remove her corset. Their intentions could only have been scandalous at the least, and evil at the most. She had vowed never to come back to this cursed city, but here she was, sitting in a tavern, being mysterious and drinking wine.

She dropped a handful of coin on the table and rose to leave. Something was happening outside, and not many people had yet realized it, but she had, she could feel it.

It was something that came with the corset, this "knowing". Ever since it had been bonded to her, she had been gifted with a sixth sense, the sense of evil. She always just knew when something evil was going on around her. And right now, that sense was kicking her in the brain like a mule trying to get out of a stable. She knew that she should run, that it would be in her best interest to just leave this forsaken town behind and go back to the desert and hide, but a deeper sense in her screamed that if there was evil, she must fight it. And really, she did have a lot more fun fighting evil than she did cowering in fear. Cowering in fear was decidedly non-mysterious.

Outside the tavern, she immediately saw what had made her skin crawl. The sun was going black. In the middle of the afternoon.

For the third time in her life, Salena d'Muerte knew the cold taste of fear.

She savoured it, knowing that the hard tang of justice, her justice, would soon be felt by those responsible.

That secret knowledge spoke up in her mind again, and she wasn't sure if it was knowledge or her own desire, but she listened to it nontheless. It told her that the Princesses were responsible.

Whether it was true or not, Selena smiled coldly at the thought of finally bringing those spoiled little sluts to some kind of justice.

She turned her back on the darkened sun, her black leather cloak flaring behind her as she went to bide some time broodingly before making her ultimately mysterious move.

[Tatum]

“Who’s that?” Dorian asks pointing at the face pressed against the window.

Rien looks up and into the room, at the four people staring at him, “Oh Gods…”

Dorian's hand was out the window and around the strange mans throat before either Princess was able to react. This fact grated on Monique but the only sign it bothered her was a slight tightening of the eyes. "Bring our guest in and offer him a seat Dorian." Monique's voice sounded tight. "How about I just crush his windpipe right here." Dorian's eyes never left those of the newcomer. "Because then we wouldn't know why he risks his life to spy on us. But I wouldn't expect someone of your low intelligence to have thought of that so I forgive you your ignorance this time." Monique bit back.

"Enough!" Unique snapped before Dorian could reply. "Just bring him in Dorian." Without hesitation Dorian wound his hand in Rien's hair and drug him through the window. Monique approached the man with a smile that barely touched her lips much less her eyes. Softly she began to run her hands down Rien's chest. "Is this what you were looking for? Maybe a little tussel with one of the princesses?" she asked breathily allowing her hands to trail down the man's sides and onto his hips. Rien could hear his breath getting quicker, the sound of blood rushing through his ear. He struggled not to drown in the intoxicating violet eyes that filled his vision. He had to focus, he knew this wasn't right, but why couldn't he focus. Suddenly he heard giggling and realized Monique had stepped away from him and was examining a pile of objects on the table next to her. It was everything he owned, including the purse he'd stolen from her. "How did you..." he began but cut off as Monique raised a finger for silence. "Men think with their pants, or rather whats in their pants. A well placed smile, a soft touch, and a woman can have anything she wants." she said as she picked up the purse. "Hmm. I didn't realize this was missing. You must be very good, it will be a shame to have to kill you. Perhaps I will honor you by killing you with your own dagger." Monique smiled hungrily as she picked up the dagger and approached Rien with it. Suddenly Unique cleared her throat. "Moni, dear. Didn't you just get done telling Dorian that we must'nt kill him before we find out what he was doing?" Monique's eyes flashed and the only sound in the room came from Dorian's vindicated chuckles. With a grunt, the dagger flew through the air and landed with a loud *thunk* in the wood just to the left of Dorian's ear. "Then find out sister. I'm done with him." And she swept from the room.

[sir archely]

Suddenly Unique cleared her throat. "Moni, dear. Didn't you just get done telling Dorian that we must'nt kill him before we find out what he was doing?" Monique's eyes flashed and the only sound in the room came from Dorian's vindicated chuckles. With a grunt, the dagger flew through the air and landed with a loud *thunk* in the wood just to the left of Dorian's ear. "Then find out sister. I'm done with him." And she swept from the room.

Regretting that the dagger had cut short his laughter against his will, Dorian yanked the blade from where it quivered in the wall and glared and Monique's retreating back. Though, he knew he would do no more than glare, he bore scars from previous meetings with the minx. He took no small pleasure in the line he had place under her eye, out in the open for all to see, though he suspected she probably thought it more of a prize than a wound. Starting, Dorian realized he had been staring through the empty door frame, toying with the man's dagger and ignoring both the man and the princess. Not a good idea.

He turned back to see Unique smiling coyly at the man as he fidgeted nervously, glancing both at the window and towards him at the door. As Unique advanced towards the man, Dorian glanced down at the large serrated dagger and started growing nervous. The light coming in the window was rapidly dwindling, strange men coming in through the window on a day like this could not be a good thing....especially when those men were as fast as this one. Dorian prided himself on being fast, in his line of work you were either fast or you were dead. He would venture to say this man was as fast as he was. Dorian's telling the Princesses he would crush the man's throat had been mostly show. Somehow, impossibly in Dorian's mind, this man had reacted within the same span of time to have this dagger out and at Dorian's stomach. Dorian had seen the man's blue eyes flicker to the Princesses behind him, and then back to Dorian. Exchanging...something...Dorian relaxed his grip and the man quietly shifted to sheath his dagger. Though, he hadn't exactly proven himself against Monique's charms, but Dorian was as guilty or moreso.

Still Dorian found himself opening his mouth, "Unique, maybe you should not get so-"

"Close?" Unique fixed Dorian with the stare of a viper before veiling her eyes again and smiling as she turned back, "I don't think it will be a problem, do you sir?"

The man continued to shift nervously and avoid looking at the Princess as she brushed her fingertips along his jawbone. Even though he knew she was only toying with him, Dorian still felt a flash of jealously, and still berated himself for it. Fool, he thought, as if she's doing anything more than toying with you too.

Unique continued, "What's your name good sir, and what business do you have in the palace exactly?"

Steeling himself visably the man looked up into Unique's face to answer. Dorian had to give him even more credit for that. "My name's Rien, Princess. I was only returning something that your sister, um...lost in the street."

"Yes, i'm sure she lost it Rien." The Princess spat out the words with contempt. "Have you met many nobles of the city? Not all of us are as daft as we seem. I suppose once you realized you had lifted the purse of a princess you decided to return it? Either brave and skilled, or skilled yet stupid. Well, either way I suppose it is ultimately up to Moni what to do with you." The man paled slightly, not easy for one of his coloring, and Dorian started. Again! This woman is going to be the death of me yet. Dorian had found himself lost in Unique's motions and grace. Even that dragon was graceful you fool. Graceful and deadly.

Shaking his head, Dorian spoke up. "Unique, ah..." He had not been prepared for Unique's attention.

"Yes Dorian?"

"Well, this man is obviously skilled, to lift Monique's purse is no easy feat. And he did make it past the guards and to the window. Might he be of some use?"

"Are you looking for a replacement Dorian?" Unique's lips lifted in the hint of smile. "I suppose you two could fight for it..."

"Ah, that is...no princess...I just thought that-"

The darkness had been growing since the start of their conversation, and was now past what could reasonably be called twilight. With the intrusion, it seemed no one had thought to light a lamp. The man, Rien, saw his chance and was off like a flash. Retrieving his dagger from Dorian's hand with a wrench, he was out the door and down the hallway. Dorian found himself smiling at the man's audacity even as he drew his own daggers and raced after him. I hope I don't have to kill him, thought Dorian. Maybe... Possibilites entered into Dorian's head one after the other, and his smile grew to a grin.

...Unique found herself alone in the darkness of the room, with her mouth open. Clacking her teeth together in annoyance, she stared after the men until she realized it truly was dark. The servants who came to light a fire and lamps for her found her at the window, laughing.

[QuirkyTemplate]

Deep within the cavernous mountains, for the first time in an age, something stirred. Something had dared to take a treasure from its great hoard, something had awoken it from the sleep of ages, and something would be made to pay. It was time for its kind to hunt again.

Tak laid back in the small boat trying to ignore the man snooping in his pack. Knock yourself out bud. Like I have anything to steal. Sleep, which seemed so easy to come by most times, eluded him this night. Something in the air was wrong on the windy river. He had no idea what it could be, but it was sure stopping him from sleeping. Then again … that fellow snooping in his bag wasn’t helping either.

“Hey.” He finally said, and was slightly amused when the man flinched, knowing he’d been caught. “If you find anything valuable in there, let me know eh?” He had no doubt that the man would’ve just taken the entire pack and been done with it if he weren’t the only other lad on their boat.

“Yeah … “ he muttered dejectedly. “But a poor fellow couldn’t be blamed, true? Wasn’t like he actually stole anything, just a little harmless peak as it were.” So Tak shrugged, pulling his cloak around himself tighter. Sure, that works. He closed his eyes again, trying to find some type of sleep, and ended up just gazing out onto the river. They were slowly moving along now, and soon they’d be at the lovely city of Bloomingdale. Not that Tak would care at this point. Any city was fine for him. Just make it large enough to get lost in. He was just drifting off when it suddenly felt as if his body was somehow expanding, shooting up into the sky at an incredible rate. His eyes snapped open and he jerked sharply, nearly overturning the boat. “Slowly!” yelled the man. “There he sees Bloomingworth … or Bloomsburrow … or maybe Bloomington it’s called.”

“Bloomingdale” Tak corrected, patting his body down to be sure he was still alive. How could this fool be a river guide if he didn’t know the name of the cities on the river? “Listen man, are you even serious? How could you not know Bloomingdale? It’s … it’s …” he finally opted to just quit talking when the man’s face showed all the understanding of a fence post. “Bah.”

The man smiled brightly and tossed him his sack. “So he’ll be getting off here in Bloomsberg?”

Tak paused. “So … when you say ‘he’ do you mean me or you, because you have this nasty habit of saying ‘he’ when you actually mean ‘I.’”

The man smiled and helpfully pointed at the city as its docks slowly became larger, “Yes, he’ll be able to dock soon now.”

Tak sighed. “I mean … I know this isn’t a language barrier. You already told me that it wasn’t.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “Oh, hold on a tick, you could have actually meant ‘you’ when you said ‘he doesn’t speak languages multiply.’ So if that’s the case, you were really commenting on ‘my’ speaking. But if THAT were the case … “ but the man was already pulling down the very small triangle of sail and preparing to dock, totally oblivious to any other movement around him. By the time Tak had finished his conclusion, not even he really understood what was going on.

The boat man didn’t even bother tying the boat down, he only grabbed hold of a post as they went by with one hand and shoved the other toward Tak, palm up. “He certainly needs the payment, four silver for that long, long voyage.”

Tak grunted and moved closer. Voyage? “Yeah … I have all that silver and what have you.” He reached into his cloak with one hand and cleverly clipped the fellow on the back of the head with the other. “Heh … sucker.” Deftly landing on the dock, Tak slung his pack over his shoulder and began to saunter off.

Suddenly a voice rung out, sounding like some tacky hero in a child’s book. “I detect some kind of robbery! Seize him!” Tak whirled around to see three guards headed up by what appeared to be a muscle-bound set of teeth (but upon closer examination, was actually an absurdly muscular guard who also happened to have an extraordinary pare of teeth). Tak cursed to himself and began running in the opposite direction. He couldn’t have moved more than five feet before the sun seemed to suddenly dim, as if night were descending prematurely.

Tak didn’t have time to be shocked, quickness and guile had gotten him this far and he simply adapted. Darting to the left, over some barrels, around a stack of crates, under a net, and through the gates he ran. A grin finally graced his face as he looked back, his trackers completely lost.

Besides that odd blackening of the sky, I’d say today is going to end up a nice day. He paused, then shrugged to himself. Well … maybe it will be a mediocre day. Best to not get the hopes up too high And with that, he dove into the city.

[Malcor Sylverwood]

...Unique found herself alone in the darkness of the room, with her mouth open. Clacking her teeth together in annoyance, she stared after the men until she realized it truly was dark. The servants who came to light a fire and lamps for her found her at the window, laughing.

Rien fought to keep his breathing silent—not an easy thing to do when holding yourself five paces above the hallway's floor. He knew he didn’t want to tangle with the man who was chasing him. Dorian had the feel about him of a natural killer, and a good one at that. Nor did he really want to tangle with those princesses again, the things he had seen in their eyes had frightened him like he was a child. It seemed he fallen into quite a viper’s nest—only with less compassion and humanity.

He heard rather than saw Dorian move below him in the darkened hall. Dorian was moving quickly and determinedly, but not recklessly. Rien waits for a long moment, letting his pursuer move into the next corridor before dropping quietly to the floor. He sheathes his dagger and checks to be sure the stolen purse is once again securely tucked away in his vest…the princesses certainly didn’t need it—or in his mind deserve it. Grinning, he spins his new acquisition between his fingers. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but from what he’d overheard, it might be important…and thus valuable. Just resisting the urge to whistle a tune, he tucks the silvered whistle into his vest.

A sound down the hallway makes Rien tense--apparently Dorian was returning this way. Frowning, he mutters to himself, “He’s good.” Not knowing the layout of the palace, Rien decides to go to the one place that Dorian couldn’t possibly expect him to go. Reversing direction, he goes back down the hall. Dodging a few oblivious servants, he slips through a door, shutting it quietly behind him. Resting his hand easily on the hilt of his dagger, he smiles broadly, “Hello again, princess. Unique, isn’t it? Rien at your service.” He bows shallowly before putting a single finger to his lips, “Shhh…”

[~KA3AK~]

Deep within the cavernous mountains, for the first time in an age, something stirred. Something had dared to take a treasure from its great hoard, something had awoken it from the sleep of ages, and something would be made to pay. It was time for its kind to hunt again.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was high above the horizon and no clouds were in sight. The Milten Tract was crossing a huge field, with grass that was almost a meter and a half tall. A man was walking along the tract towards Bloomingdale. He was dressed in a grey worn hoodless cloak, an old green shirt patched in many places , loose brown pants and leather boots that went up to his knees. Behind his back he was carrying a half-empty bag of belongings. He was unarmed, except for a long dagger at his belt and a long wooden stuff in his hand, which is not normally considered a weapon.

The man was slowly catching up with a caravan of wagons, no more then 50 meters in front of him. A merchant was transporting his goods to Bloomingdale. The merchant was well aware that this part of the tract was very dangerous. Guards on horseback were surrounding the wagons. They were armed with swords and axes. All of them carried shields and wore chain mails and helmets. A couple even had bows. Occasionally one of the guards would glance back at the man, eyeing his suspiciously. The man did not seem to care. He just kept up his steady pace.

Stil figured that he would reach Bloomingdale in about a day, if nothing would slow him down. It’s not like he was in a big hurry, but he did not want to waste time. The quicker it was all finished, the quicker he could finally move on. He was trying to decide where he would head after he finished his business in Bloomingdale. Suddenly Stil stopped and glanced around. He just had a very strange feeling. The feeling was hard to describe, but it most closely resembled some kind of unrest all around him. Something was wrong. Then he saw a big bat flying towards him from the river. Normally bats don’t come out during the day, but this one was used to the sunlight. Instead of landing on Stil’s shoulder, like he usually did, Bat stated to circle abound him, just above his head. Stil could feel Bat’s agitation.

“Take it easy” – said Stil- “Everything is fine.” But bat wouldn’t come down. He flew in the direction of the river, obviously wanting Stil to follow him. Stil signed and followed his through the sea of grass. Only about 5 meters into the field, Stil suddenly froze. He just heard a strange sound coming from the river bank. A human voice! Stil quickly ducked, so he couldn’t be seen above the grass. Thoughts raced through Stil’s mind: Bandits! It has to be bandits! And they are setting a trap for the caravan! How could he not sense them himself before? He had to warn the merchant, or the guards would be slaughtered. Then he heard a sound of bowstrings snapping followed by the screams of wounded caravan guards. Then he raised his head and saw 3 bandits closing up on him from every direction. Stil signed, dropped his bag and gripped the staff with both hands. If they want a fight, they will get one…

[LaughingTurtle]

“Dust to dust indeed…” Brushing his robes clean of any residual debris, Marsolus straightened from where he was kneeling on the hut’s dirt floor and the remains of his previous task. He was infused with the satisfying sensation of yet another job well done. Even in this forsaken corner of the world, there is no place that the guiding hand of Derecko cannot reach.

Returning to the sandy path that ran between the rows of shabby shanties and dilapidated dens, Marsolus was surprisingly not greeted with the searing heat and blinding light of the noonday sun. Gazing skyward he gave a weary sigh as he witnessed the tainting of the heavens. His momentary euphoria had faded into his familiar profession demeanor. “The work of the righteous is never finished.”

The remaining insurgents in Sacnoth would just have to wait as more important matters were attended to. Striking a purposeful stride, Marsolus headed towards the one place in town where he knew he could uncover some insights on this new development.

******

Sweeping aside the beaded ropes hung in the doorway with his staff, Marsolus ducked into a smoky storefront near the edge of the marketplace. Dodging past precariously stacked jars of Derecko knows what, books upon books of arcane lore, and various other mysterious objects, he made his way to the back of the establishment. Without even bothering to notice the befuddled clerk inquiring after him, Marsolus opened the back room door and shut it firmly behind him. Seated in a rocking chair that occupied the majority of the tiny back room, was a fossil of an old woman, humming a wordless tune to herself. Smiling at his appearance, she knew who he was but her vision had long ago reached a point where sight was of little use to her.

She rasped in a voice that only old age could procure. “Back so soon? No doubt curious about the same thing everyone else is. Been only a few moments and already the masses are starting to run around like chickens with their heads cut off. Doom-Sayers proclaiming the end of the world is upon us in their ‘I told you so’ way. Lootings, beatings, fires…almost a normal day if not for the unnatural darkness.” She paused for a moment to cackle at her own wit.

“You shall receive all that I know, for it is little enough as it is. As with last time, my services shall be of no charge for you.”

Marsolus made no remark as to how the old women already knew all of this from within the confines of her little box. What he knew about the supernatural was limited to fighting or destroying it, not trying to understand it. “It better be useful. My tolerance of your perversion ends if you are no longer of any value to me.”

“I can’t presume to know what you would consider useful or not but I’ve lived a long and full life. The only reason I acquiescent with your demands is that I wish to find out how this little pickle will turn out. Tis not every day that everyone in the world becomes as blind as me…hehehe”

Growing impatient, he sought to bring her to the point. “Sorceress, I care not for your motives. One day you and all of your kind will be brought back into the proper order of things. For now, what do you know?”

With a wiry grin she answered in a hushed whisper. “The Age of Chaos has come. Seek its source to the north.”

Marsolus could barely contain his laughter. “Tell me something I don’t already know! Chaos has been apon us for hundreds of thousands of years, that there is more now than before means little. Though, the direction is important enough for now, your services have proved sufficient.”

Leaving the old woman behind Marsolus exited the shop and headed for the northern road. He didn’t hate magic or its users, most of them couldn’t help who or what they were. But the fact remained that magic was an element of chaos. It symbolized the unknown, the uncontrollable, and thus would require that it be brought into line one day for the Golden Age of Order to come about.

Once again setting a purposeful stride, with book and staff in hand, Marsolus began his long journey northward...