The War, Part I: The Awakening

[dark fuschia]

Uni was alone when the guard brought her the dwarf, and she was surprised.. very surprised that he should show up so soon after she had used the ring... it showed that fate still had a grasp on the world... or perhaps chaos moved in rythms of it's own.

"Grangir." she said, and her voice was liquid with welcome and absent of the deep suspicion she felt at his presence. She gestured to the seat where her father had been earlier, and the dwarf coughed awkwardly, "I would prefer to stand Princess Unique." He mumbled, and Uni realised his predicament, the seat was too tall for him, it would leave his legs dangling.

She managed to subdue the cruel smirk that threatened to jump onto her lips, "Of course." she said, and she also remained standing, "So you are trapped here and want me to help you." she transformed her oncoming smirk into a happy grin, "You know I do enjoy a good dabble in the arts."

Grangir nodded, "I would be most grateful Princess, if you could find a way."

Uni began to pace thoughtfully about the room, "hmm I can think of a few courses of action that might work, but let us cut to the heart of the issue first, what would you be willing to give me in return?"

[Apoc]

The Deor rode at a slow trot, this unnatural darkness could cause a horse to break its ankle at a quicker pace and they still had a distance to cover. Enias could hear curses from the men behind about the strange turn in the weather, it had become much colder than usual since the sun had turned black and the winds had also picked up somewhat. He had never really paid too much attention to the sun, but since its change, he missed it greatly. The great grass plains of Ehrenhal, just looked like a black sea to his eyes now. The night also caused a major problem in the defending of the land, it was hard for patrols and watchtowers to keep the land safe from outsiders. The wildmen from earlier had proved that.

They had only ridden about two leagues from where they fought the wildmen, when a shout went up from one of his men. Signalling a halt, Enias suddenly realised what the Rider had seen. Standing not twenty paces away in front of the Deor was a large man. If the Rider had not seen the large man, he would have been run down. Spears were raised and arrows nocked, Enias and three other Riders approached, if the man tried anything, Enias had faith the man would be taken down before there was any danger to him. As he drew closer to the stranger, he noticed the man was Ehrenon. The Riders that accompanied him dismounted, “You should know better than to wonder the plains...”

Enias was cut off with a gasp from one of his men, “He’s covered in blood!”

In the darkness it just seemed like black splotches, but on closer inspection the man was indeed covered in a spray of blood and guts. “Whose blood is that? Speak.”

The large man regarded him with a totally blank expression, devoid of any emotion, he replied, “They’re all dead.”

“Whose dead? Why are you covered in blood?” The man just stared at Enias.

One of the Riders approached from behind, “Sir, I know this man, he’s a tavern tough at a small village a league from here.”

Enias looked from the Rider too the tavern tough, “Well it appears he has murdered someone and fled. Bind his hands and take his weapon, prepare to move. It looks like we will have to postpone going too Arandil at the moment.”

The tavern tough suddenly started speaking, Enias missed the first couple of words but they seemed unimportant, “...if I am to go back there, I will not go unarmed and tied up.”

Enias now had doubt over what was going on, “You will return like that unless you answer my questions, now what happened?”

The man took in a deep breath, then began, “A wildwoman came to our village two days past, she was ill and acting strangely. I don’t know entirely what happened, but I believe she was the cause of the sickness.”

“What sickness?” asked Enias.

“After a couple of hours I noticed some people were acting crazylike and looking a bit worse for wear. Some sort of illness, they began spewing up blood and then, it all happened so fast, one moment a couple of crazy ill people, the next....they became violent, attacking and killing folk, those who survived an attack got the illness if they were scratched. My son...”, tears welled up in the big mans eyes,”Reis take me, I killed my son!” Enias felt pity for the man, his son must have caught the illness, but the man continued, “I found him in the hall....he was teari...he had caught the illness and ha...he killed my wife, then he attac... I killed him.” wiping the tears away he continued, “The village was mad, in the dark of the day and night, half had gone mad and the other half were dead, after killing my...leaving my son and wife, I went out and butchered all I came across, I wondered the village for hours looking for survivors or more ill folk, after a while I fled the horror of my slaughter. That was only a couple of hours ago, if I am to go back, it will not be unarmed.”

“I will put you under guard for the time being, until we find out more, I have a full Deor here, nothing will happen, even a mad person wouldn’t attack all of us armed and on horseback and even if they tried, they wouldn’t get within ten feet.” He turned in his saddle to address his Deor,” We ride east!”

[~KA3AK~]

“Well, I think I just might be able to help you out...” – the answer followed.

Mirtan reached the Kemper road just before nightfall. He spent the night in some village and continued his journey towards Bloomingdale. He hoped to reach the city before nightfall. As he got closer to Bloomingdale, the force that drawn him to the city became stronger. He did not understand what was happening to him. On the other hand he had no control over his life in the past few years. He was flowing along the current of events. Somewhere deep inside, in the very fibers of his being, he was very angry but at the same time terrified at all this. Sometimes he felt like he was loosing the grasp of reality. However, he did his best to suppress those feelings and feel at peace again, one with the Sword.

As he walked along the Kemper road he saw many travelers, but paid little attention to any of them and never answered when someone tried to strike up a conversation. One look into his dark eyes instantly silenced even the bravest.

The road went uphill again. Sometimes Mirtan wished that horses would not be so terrified of him. Riding was certainly faster and more comfortable then traveling afoot. All of a sudden he heard screams and sounds of weapons drawn from the other side of the hill. He also felt something strange, yet powerful from there.

Mirtan drew his Sword and ran uphill. A frightening scene laid itself out in front of him. About half a dozen men, from their looks Enforcers of Dereko, were fighting something that could not be characterized by any word that Mirtan knew. It was about 8 feet tall with human-like body with the remainders of clothes still hanging on it. Instead of skin it had some sort of dark brown armor. Its hands ended with long razor-sharp claws. The head of the beast was a mixture of human and beastly traits with long fangs sticking out of its mouth. The monster was apparently winning the fight. Weapons of the Enforcers did not seem to harm it at all, while the beast used its claws to rip the humans into pieces.

Mirtan’s whole being filled with rage, even his vision seemed to be clouded with it. He hated to Enforces and he hated the monster even more. He must rid the world of them. With a growl Mirtan charged into battle.

Mirtan always surprised his opponents in battle. Everyone expected the huge Zweihänder to be very heavy, but Mirtan knew that it had the weight of a regular sword, which meant that for Mirtan with his complexion it was like a stick. He was also a very skilled swordsman, sometimes he felt that the Sword of Kereder itself controlled him moves. The Enforcers were just not strong and fast enough to fight him. After about a minute only Mirtan and the beast were still alive. Six decapitated bodies lied between them.

Then the creature leaped forward, trying to slice Mirtan with its claws. The Sword of Kereder met the beast in the air, cutting it in two along the waist. Two halves of the creature landed on the ground. Brown blood sprouted everywhere. The creature’s face showed only one emotion – surprise. Then death took the beast.

Mirtan’s rage faded as quickly as it appeared. He sheathed his sword and continued on his journey. He never wiped the Sword clean. The blade seemed to consume blood by itself. Mirtan did feel a certain satisfaction, although he couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or the sword.

***

Stil was observing Naker’s house from the roof of the neighboring building. The bartender also told him that Naker himself rarely got out of bed nowadays. Sickness and old age finally got to him. From what Stil remembered, the man drank like a horse.

All Stil had to do was find which window led to Naker’s room. He did not want to run into anyone else. Naker’s room was pretty easy to find – it was right in the middle of the top floor and had the largest windows and a balcony. Stil leaped from the roof and landed on the balcony. Bat settled on Stil’s shoulder. Then he climbed on to his head, gripping Stil’s hear to keep himself from falling. Stil entered the room.

Naker was sleeping. He really aged since Stil last saw him, but Stil nevertheless recognized the face that haunted his dreams. Naker was asleep.

All the slaves from Stil’s caravan were sold to Naker Altraen. That man really scared Stil. It was the way he treated his slaves. His face showed only indifference to the fate of the slaves. He had no anger of hatred towards them. They were just cattle to Naker. Twelve-year-old Stil was absolutely terrified with his attitude.

Naker himself examined every slave and designate a place where they would be sold. When Stil’s turn came, the slaver told Naker that Stil would probably make the worst slave ever. At the age of 12 he already managed to get into fights with his guards, never obeyed orders and continued his escape attempts.

“I’ll sell him to the mines”- came Naker’s verdict – “although he will never last there”. That was 12 years ago.

Stil walked over to Naker’s bed. He took a glass with wine from the nearby table and spilled the wine over Naker’s face causing him to wake up.

“What in the name of Locus is going on here” – the old man yelled. The wine burned his eyes, when he finally managed to clean them, he saw the man who disturbed him. His heart froze in terror. He could only see the silhouette, since the lamps that lighted the room were behind Stil. Then Bat spread his wings. To Naker it appeared as though Stil just grew wings out of the sides of his head. Naker gasped for air.

Stil drew his dagger. “Naker Altraen, your time has come” – he said with the same indifference that scared him years ago. He slowly dragged the dagger along the blankets, testing its sharpness. The dagger left behind a straight cut.

Then he heard the sound that he was waiting for. Naker got so afraid, he wet himself. “Now you’re going to die with no dignity, like the animal you are” – Stil said.

“You’re not going to kill a helpless old man” – Naker finally regained his tongue, finally realizing that his attacker was just a man.

Stil suddenly felt unsure. Could he really go through with this? Could he kill an old man in his own bed? He put away his dagger. Then a memory echoed in his mind:

“I’ll sell him to the mines...”

You bet he could! Stil put his hands on the sides of Naker’s head, and twisted. He could hear the sound of Naker’s neck breaking. “Just like an animal” – he said and prepared to walk away. Suddenly the door that led into the room opened…

[Jennifer]

Stil put his hands on the sides of Naker’s head, and twisted. He could hear the sound of Naker’s neck breaking. “Just like an animal” – he said and prepared to walk away. Suddenly the door that led into the room opened…

The young woman awoke with a start, raising a hand to rub her neck. For some reason a sudden cramp had woken her, but now it just felt stiff …well, stiffer than it normally did after a night sleeping on a hard cot. She was lying back down on her cot, preparing to catch what little sleep she might have left, when the bell over her bed rang. Her eyebrows drew together. The bell hadn’t moved. She was certain she would have seen it sway if it had been rung, a sound that was all too familiar. Nevertheless, she got up and hastily got dressed. She had learned a long time ago, very quickly, not to keep the old man waiting. Ever.

Her master was getting older, and starting to lose control of his bladder. Whenever he wet the bed, he pulled the cord that rang the bell over her cot so she could come to his chambers and clean him up. A distasteful job, but Celi did it without complaining or even thinking of complaining. She had taken care of the man for as long as she could remember. His demands dominated her entire life, she knew nothing different.

Lighting an candle, she quickly and silently padded to his room, not far from her own tiny quarters. A shiver wracked her body as she approached his door, but she thought nothing of it. It did, after all, get drafty in the manor. It didn’t occur to her as odd that she shivered but was not cold. He would be waiting, and she didn’t want to face his anger if he sat in his own piss for too long. She opened the door without knocking, since he would be expecting her. Celi stepped into the room and turned to shut the heavy door. Before she knew what was happening, she was pressed against the door she had just closed, a dagger at her throat and a rough hand covering her nose and mouth.

The candle dropped to the floor, the flame smothered in the puddling wax. She was too shocked to struggle. Having never been handled like this, she wouldn’t have known what to do anyways.

“Do you want steel in your throat?” a man’s voice whispered, his breath hot in her ear. Trembling, Celi managed to shake her head slightly, wincing when his dagger pressed against her neck. “Do you want to breath now?” he whispered. Celi, afraid of the dagger piercing her skin, barely managed a tiny nod. “I’ll move my hand, and if you try to scream, you’ll have my steel in you neck before you can manage to draw the breath to do it.” She didn’t, or couldn’t, respond, her air supply being rather low now. The man moved his hand, but she didn’t dare draw a deep breath, afraid he might mistake it for an oncoming scream. So she drew short gasps, her hands going to rub her throat where his dagger had pressed her flesh.

“Who…” she started to ask, when suddenly a flap of leathery wings cut her off. She saw a shape blacker than the darkness settle on the man’s outline. Then her eyes drifted behind the man, and her adjusting vision saw what lay on the bed. The old man, his head at an odd angle.

Her eyes widened.

“I think I should be asking you that,” the man said, no longer bothering to whisper.

“I’m his…”

“Slave? Yes, yes…I know that,” the man said impatiently. “But what are you doing here?”

“Bell….the…b-bell rang…I thought he had l-l-lost his bladder a-again,” she started to tremble.

Stil’s eyes narrowed at this. He had, of course, seen the cord to the call-bell, but he knew Naker’s hand had gone nowhere near it. However, he didn’t have the time nor the inclination to ponder this. He knew if he left her, she would sound an alarm. He could easily escape, but he didn’t want the bother. He also didn’t want to kill her. The woman couldn’t help that she was a slave in an evil man’s household.

Making up his mind to take her back to her chambers and bind her, he roughly grabbed her arm and walked out the door. “Take me to your room, slave.”

“My name isn’t ‘slave’…it’s Celi.”

He just looked at her.

“Celi Altraen.” It didn’t occur to her that a man who would kill the father might kill the daughter.

His own daughter as a slave? Still wondered to himself. Now he had to figure out what to do with her, for surely a daughter would want to avenge her father. He knew about vengeance all too well. But he kept her as a slave…

[Apoc]

In the darkness it just seemed like black splotches, but on closer inspection the man was indeed covered in a spray of blood and guts. “Whose blood is that? Speak.”

The large man regarded him with a totally blank expression, devoid of any emotion, he replied, “They’re all dead.”

The village was dark, devoid of life bar the soldiers now rummaging for survivors, a womans body lay in a puddle on the villages main street. Her head cleaved in two, a hand she was missing also. She had probably tried to protect herself. Enias could see that further down the street other small ragged heaps lay sprawled in the gutter. The place stank of death. Soldiers reamerged from houses, pale and grief stricken at the sights they had just witnessed, battle hardened men were being sick while others just looked lost, as if they didn’t believe what their eyes were seeing.

It was eerily quiet, nothing except the sound of the horses, the wind and men being sick. Everyone searched in complete silence, the flickering flames of the torches moving house too house in the darkness of what should have been mid day. A look of grief and horror was painted on every face.

Enias looked on the tavern tough, the survivor of this horror. He stood amidst four guards with his eyes closed tight.

Two men stumbled out of a nearby house, one coughing and wheezing began being sick, the other looked close to it but composed himself as he signalled Enias to approach.

Dismounting before the two men, Enias looked upon them, the man who had waved him over looked from Enias too the dark abyss of the doorway, the soldier paled even more as he looked back. He had a look of total loss and misunderstanding as he returned his gaze back too his captain. The other man was still being sick as Enias entered the door of blackness. A soldier followed with a flaming torch.

The smell hit them like an avalanche, tying strips of black cloth around their mouths and nose they proceeded. In the quiet, only the sounds of flies and the creaking of the floor from their footsteps accompanied them. A dog lay in the corner, it looked asleep at first, but as they moved closer they noticed a small wood axe had opened its belly, spilling its intestines over the floor.

They proceeded slowly into the next room, a mans headless body welcomed them, sprawled across the ground, where his head was, Enias could not see. A babies crib sat at their right. As the light flickered, Enias made out a large bloody splotch on the wall and the baby at its foot, the head smashed into an indescribable horror.

A large bed dominated the room to their right, the remains of what must have been the wildwoman lay tangled in the sheets. As the flickering torch further illuminated it, Enias could see that the white sheets, now dark with dried blood, had been torn up with the body. Many blows from an axe had separated her limbs, three blows had also divided her head. Excrement covered the sheets also, indicating she was alive when the first blows rained down on her. Bowls sat at the bedside, filled with blood. She had had a sickness, the tavern tough had spoken true.

As they reamerged into the street, a cold wind hit them sending a shiver up Enias’ spine. Removing the cloth from his face, he stood for a moment in the coolness of the street, it still smelled terribly but it was like flowers in summer to what he had just endured. The man who had accompanied him vomited, Enias thought he was close too aswell but regained his composure. Climbing back in his saddle, he rode back to the gate.

He felt tears in his eyes as he approached the waiting company at the gate. They had nearly all returned from searching the village, most waited outside the villages wooden wall, not able to bare waiting in the red villages grounds. At the forefront of the Deor stood the tavern tough amongst his guard, he had opened his eyes. Enias saw sadness in those eyes that was greater than in the eyes of his soldiers, for the survivor had witnessed his son murdering his wife and had killed him in what will haunt him till the end of his days.

Atop his horse, Enias addressed the Deor, “There was a contagious sickness here that could threaten our lands and its people, for this the red villages inhabitants will not receive a burial, may the gods take sympathy on them in the afterlife and on us for what we must do.” Enias looked on the survivor, “Release him and return his weapon.” Turning his horse he looked back at the village, “Burn it.....all of it.”

[QuirkyTemplate]

Tak wrapped the gaudy cape around his shoulders and bumped into the doorway as they headed out. The horrid sequins were too sparkly and he was having trouble seeing. This was going to be a rough day.

Tak glanced about the halls nervously as Monique walked briskly in front of him. All that talk of sweet tarts had him on edge. He didn’t know if there were sweet tarts in this city … in fact, he’d been surprised at the fact that there was an actual Slave-N-Save. Just threw that one out there, he mused as they walked along. What the heck kind of city actually had a place called Slave-N-Save anyway?

“Tell me,” Monique ordered. “Where is this Slave-N-Save? It must be new, and on the east side of town. Otherwise I’d have heard of it.”

Crap! thought Tak. Instead of answering, he ventured a weak, “How ‘bout that Dwarf? Sure was … misdirected, huh?”

“What was that?”

“Oh. Nothing.” He wracked his brains. “Ya know … it must be the Slave-O-Rama that I was thinking of …”

“The what?”

“Slave-mart?”

“Unlikely.”

“Slave Emporium?”

“’fraid not.”

“Slave-expo”

“No.”

“Ah … “ Tak was at his wits end. “Slave Savers Haven?”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

He threw his hands up. “Is there even a slave store in this city?” he asked hopelessly.

“Fool! There is!”

“Yes then, it must have been that one …”

Monique eyed him suspiciously. “Obviously …”

And so they both wandered out of the palace, one guard falling dead at Monique’s passing, just on principle. The darkness outside seemed to loom up at Tak, full of evil and bad people holding pointy objects that inflicted damage. And I’m supposed to protect her in all this?

He shook his head; then almost tripped on his extravagant cape as he tried to keep pace with Monique. Any time now Hayalet … he thought as he fingered the tarot card.

Leading his horse through the gates, Marsolus made his way towards the Temple amongst the milling crowds

Isaac could feel it through the ground. It was that oddness that he just couldn’t flow with. Kemper’s path came strait through this city, and Kemper with it. His mind spurred slightly, and from the door came a knocking. Already? he thought. Standing, he folded the Book of Order shut and unlatched the door.

N’halm stood, hands behind his back. “D’Alessio,” he said. “Luckily there were quite a few Fuerza de la orden already here. You may choose your squad of twelve now.” He smiled slightly. “But … “

Isaac arced a brow. “But?”

“But there is Marsolus among them.”

That Marsolus? He didn’t even know he’d said it aloud until N’halm nodded. Isaac paused, his inner eye almost completely frozen, and then he nodded in return. Very slowly. The thought occurred to him that N’halm delivered the news himself just to see Isaac’s expression.

“I will be there shortly, tell them this if you would.”

“Absolutely.” Came the reply, and with that Isaac was alone once more.

Marsolus was his equal when it came to rank. He’d only seen him once, and that had been from a distance. It had caused his inner eye to simply vanish for an entire day. Even now the mere thought of seeing him crippled his hidden sense. And though he'd never met the man up close, there were subtle rumors floating around about him. He was wild at best; mad was a better description. The only reason he'd never been reprimanded was the incredible fact that he somehow managed to always do his tasks alone, without the aid of twelve others. A one man squad, never once failing to 'complete' his task. The rumor seemed silly; Isaac couldn't even handle some of the runs alone. But there it was ....

Marsolus cannot come with me. This would ruin everything. Then another though came, almost mockingly. Do I even have a choice?

Isaac pushed the door open, striding out to meet the awaiting Enforcers.

[lam sam]

Rodim looked at the headless corpse creating a pool of blood staining the edge of his white cloak. Tsking, he stepped away from the remains of the roadside tough. He would have to clean his cloak tonight if he didn't want any permanent damage done to his stunning mass of woolens and silk and cotton. Scanning the sky, he noticed a raven fall from the sky. Curiously making his way over to it, he noticed that the twilight had grown oddly darker since the birds fatal plummet. Shrugging, he picked up the hastily wrtten parchment, read the contents, and dropped it on the ground. Heh. He's probably dead by now anyways. Rose, eh? Damn bastard deserves to die. The exiled prince mounted his horse and rode away into the indefinite twilight, completely unaware of his direction. He would have no idea what the horseplains of Arandil would hold for him, and even less of a clue that the forgotten letter behind him would hold his fate firmly in it's harsh, unforgiving hands.



(OoC: This guy will be my new main character...)

[LaughingTurtle]

Isaac pushed the door open, striding out to meet the awaiting Enforcers.

Such gaudiness did Marsolus’s eyes behold as he was led towards the council’s audience chamber. Golden statues here, rich foreign tapestries there…had he actually once believed this ostentatious place to be his home for the many years during his training? With a sneer at a passing jeweled fountain he shook his head. No, things had been different back then. He remembered the walls that had been bear, though properly cleaned and polished…the rooms Spartan yet purposeful. The temple used to be a place of enlightenment and education, not an exhibition in extravagance as it stands today.

It would appear that the latest head of the council valued superficial spirituality over the teachings in the Book of Order. Much had changed since Marsolus had set out into the world in what seemed so long ago. But who was he to question the chosen avatar of Derecko? As long as the path of order was still taught and followed, what did it matter how materialistic the Order had become? With an ever growing following, should they not be allowed to worship and teach in some measure of affluence? The questions gnawed at Marsolus who knew all too well the answers but didn’t like it them all the same.

Entering the hall he took notice of all the gathered Fuerza de la orden and the council members seated up on the dais. Nineteen enforcers, quite a showing indeed. Finding a spot along the fringe of the room he took a seat and waited.

Seeing the arrival of the last expected Enforcer, Sigurd, the head councilman, rose and addressed the crowd.

“Peace be unto you, upholders of Order, vanquishers of chaos, guardians of the Way.

“Peace be unto you your Eminence.” They chanted in unison.

“You must be wondering why we have gathered you all here on such short notice. I’m afraid our tidings shall bring neither happiness nor cheer. Dark times are upon us…times that may very well be the ones prophesized about in the Book of Order. Alazar’s puppets wreck havoc across the countryside and throughout the cities. It is our duty nay, our calling to insure that those strings are severed and order restored to the land.

For a chosen few of you, your mission will be to travel to Bloomingdale. Once there you will deliver this package,” Sigurd gestured towards a rather large - nearly the length of a man - rectangular shaped wrapped bundle just below the dais, “to a man named Winton. The rest of you will be given assignments discussed later. In the interest of our dwindling time, we shall forgo the rest of the formal proceedings and get right to the choosing...Isaac?”

From behind the dais, a door swung wide admitting the robed figure of Isaac D’Alessio. To Marsolus’s eyes he looked to be slightly troubled yet he carried himself with a profound sense of purpose and responsibility. Gazing over the assembled enforcers he appeared to be measuring and weighing each man. Some he found wanting, others sufficient. When his eyes passed over Marsolus one might have thought he had flinched if they were watching close enough, Marsolus was.

After a few moments it appeared as if he had made his decisions. Turning first towards the council members and then towards the enforcers he began reading off the names of his selected squad. Marsolus, thinking this tedious sojourn in his journey was just about over was surprised to hear the last name out of Isaac’s mouth to be none other than his own. Before he could say anything the head councilman rose once again.

“The decisions are final. The council is in full agreement with Isaac, those named shall report to him at once, the rest of you are summarily dismissed until further notice.”

With that, the council retired and the unnamed enforcers filed out the way they had come. Striding towards the dais, Marsolus found Isaac waiting.

“Deliverymen? Surely they don’t need a full squad to transport some ordinary package, what is it D'Alessio?”

“Quite right Enforcer Marsolus, this indeed will be no ordinary transfer.” Lifting the covering he could see the gleaming edge of a sword...a pure white sword shining in the lamp light.

His only reaction was to furrow his brow in thought. “That is an ungodly sized sword. Is this Winton some giant in Bloomingdale strong enough to wield it, and for that matter, willing enough to fight something so immense as to warrant a weapon of such dimensions?

“Tis not size of the beast but rather the size of its evil that requires it to be so,” Isaac replied.

“Interesting...but I have my own pressing agenda to attend to. Though I am willing go on this little farce as it shares the same destination as my original journey. But know this, you may have authority when it comes to your little squad, I grant you that but make no mistake Isaac, I am bound by no one save Derecko himself.”

Turning towards the door he added, “I assume we are leaving as soon as possible…so let’s get to it then.”

[sir archely]

Uni sighed and walked up close to Dorian and whispered in his ear so her father could not hear, "My love, I am not asking you to buy custard, I am asking you to find out what happened to Terek, and and to find his killer."

Dorian went a bit red, "Oh... I see... um yes.." he coughed and added loudly for the kings benefit, "I suppose I better go to get the custard now."

Dorian was frustrated. Every time he thought he found a clue, it vanished out from under his nose. What am I doing? I kill people, I'm not some freezin' tracker. What he had thought was his best chance at finding Terek's killer, the servant Din, had also vanished, leaving him with a vague description at best. The only thing Dorian had learned from him was that the apparent killer had striking blue eyes and a couple of scars on his face. Not exactly telling information in a city of slaves, toughs and pain-worshippers.

Before Din had remembered anything else for Dorian, he had run off. Or, at least, there was a note left in his servant cube amongst bloody sheets that said he was leaving. Dorian didn't think Din could read, much less write. That little incident had all the markings of the heavy-handed, stupid attempts at trickery the agents of Verlet See liked to use, and all their marks of unnecessary violence. Even Dorian saw through that.

Besides, he'd seen them taking Din to the temple. Dorian wasn't about to step into that viper's nest just to save a servant who may or may not know anything useful. What he couldn't figure out was why they wanted Din. Was it a case of covering their tracks, or because they, too, wanted to find out who killed Terek?

Dorian's head spun in circles. This is too complicated. Can't she get someone else to do this and just stick to telling me who to kill? Uni's prostitution services for the temple had to be buying something...too bad Dorian only knew half of the deal. The half he didn't really want to know about in the first place.

The only other thing Dorain knew was that someone had put up Terek's head at the slave market. What's the point of that? Risk getting caught with a severed head just to put it up? It wasn't exactly a secret that Terek dealt in slaves, but that didn't help either. Dorian saw too many possibilities for this to get anywhere. Ahh, maybe i should just catch someone and tell Uni it was them who did it. That fellow looks like a worthy candidate.

From his vantage point in the palace, Dorian could see down onto the city's rooftops, a highway entirely too busy as of late. A man crouched amid the debris on a nearby building, looking to be watching the palace. Any man who has reason to spy on the palace is a good thing to check out in any case. Following his well worn path, Dorian made his way nimbly down to the buildings, and closed in on the man. He padded silently, used to catching people unawares, and was surprised himself when the man whirled to face him before he could strike.

In his surprise, he could only utter one word. "You!?"

The blue eyes of Rien stared back at him in the unnatural night.

[~KA3AK~]

His own daughter as a slave? Still wondered to himself. Now he had to figure out what to do with her, for surely a daughter would want to avenge her father. He knew about vengeance all too well. But he kept her as a slave…

Stil followed Celi to her room, lost in his thoughts. This was not supposed to happen. How could he anticipate that the old bastard will enslave his own daughter? And now, he, Stil destroyed the girl’s life. Since Naker was now dead, Celi became the heir to his riches. That means that whoever comes to claim Naker’s inheritance, will not leave the girl alive.

The girl was not her father’s accomplice, but his victim, just like him. Stil signed. Celi was now his responsibility. He took it upon himself by killing her father. Again he thought about how right his Master was, revenge just created more problems in his life. Bat shifted and stared at him worriedly from his shoulder. Stil knew that Bat could sense his feelings.

Celi’s room was tiny. The only pieces of furniture there were a bed and a very small closet. How could Naker keep his daughter, his own flesh and blood, this way? In his life Stil met many cruel men, but this was beyond his understanding. Well, he already made up his mind about what he would do with her. He didn’t have many options.

“Gather you things” – he said - “you’re coming with me.”

Celi just looked at him with fear in her eyes. Stil silently cursed. So many times he wished that he was more eloquent, but all the time he spent in the Mines beat wordiness out of him. At the sight of the scared girl his gaze softened and he put away his dagger.

“You stay here, you die” – he tried to explain. “They are not going to leave you alive. I’m your only chance.”

Stil knew his explanation was terrible, but Celi trusted him for some reason. She started to hastily pack up. Years of being a slave did not leave her with many belongings, so she was done in about ten minutes.

“Is there another exit from this house?” – asked Stil.

“Yes, there is, it’s a back door” – despite her fear Celi’s voice did not tremble. Stil figured that she was used to being afraid.

“Lead the way”

They wend down a staircase and were rounding a corner in one of the hallways, when Bat suddenly flew off Stil’s shoulder and started to circle above his head. Then Stil too head footsteps. He wanted to catch Celi, but it was too late, she was already behind the corner. He stopped and waited.

“Hey!” – Stil heard a man’s voice – “where in Persiana’s name are you going?”

”Answer me you little bitch!” – the man yelled after a couple moments and Stil heard him slap Celi.

That was it. Stil’s blood started boiling with rage, something snapped inside of him letting forth an avalanche of fury. Nobody hits a girl, especially not the one under his protection. He went around the corner and saw Celi slowly backing away from a large man, dressed in fine clothes. Tears formed in the girl’s eyes, and her cheek was red from the slap the man gave her.

Then man opened his mouth to say something, but Stil moved too fast. His fist hit the man in the nose, turning his face into a bloody mash. The man collapsed. Stil did not need to check to know that he was dead. The bone from the man’s broken nose went into his brain. Stil turned to Celi and saw a mask of terror covering her face. He suddenly realized that he was breathing heavily, like after running a couple of kilometers. He simply stood there for a second, allowing his fury to settle and his breathing to return to normal. He knew he should not have snapped this way, but with all his frustration he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t be afraid” – he told Celi – “I won’t hurt you. Now let’s get out of here.”

Stil knew that they will search for Celi after they discover Naker and that man, who was also important, judging by his clothes. Usually, a runaway slave would most likely try to get as many kilometers between him and his master, as possible. So the first places that they would search are the city gates and the roads that lead away from Bloomingdale. Their best bet was to disappear in the city for a couple days. Stil did not think that Celi would be searched for long time. The fact that she disappeared is beneficial to whoever will take over Naker’s property. Stil and Celi will just sit this out, and then quietly leave Bloomingdale. He had no idea what they would do afterwards, but he preferred not to think that far ahead. The important thing was that his vengeance was complete and his father’s and brothers’ souls could rest in peace.

He led Celi to the abandoned tower where he spent the previous night, a perfect hiding place. Bat decided to go hunting. Without him Stil always felt completely alone. He did not talk to Celi, he already exhausted his word bank for a while. They reached the tower seemingly without incident. As they entered, Stil finally decided to try and explain their situation to the girl.

“We’re going to stay here for a couple days, to get everyone off our tracks. Then we’re getting out of this damn city.”

“Why are you taking me with you?” – Celi asked.

“I put you in danger, now up tome to get you out.” – the answer followed.

“I don’t even know you name”

“People call me Predator.”

“Predator” – Celi was tasting the name on her tongue – “Master Predator, what are we going to do after we leave Bloomingdale?”

“I don’t know. And I’m not your Master.” – answered Stil and Celi could feel that these were his last words for the evening. Stil lied down in the corner, wrapped himself in his cloak and fell asleep. Celi realized that “Master Predator” sounded kind of stupid. She lied down on the old dusty bed and started think over the events of the last two hours. Then exhaustion got to her and she fell asleep.

***

“I found him. It is him, there is no doubt, I could feel it” – said one Guellin’s murderers – “I followed him from Naker’s house to that abandoned library. I wonder what was he doing there. And who’s the girl?”

“How did you find him?” – wondered another murderer.

“I was patrolling the streets, when I accidentally saw the two of them walking out from the back yard of the Altraen residence. I do not believe it was luck. Verlet See guided me!”

“Let’s gather the rest of our men, we’ll take him while he is asleep.”

“What about the girl?”

“We’ll take her too. Maybe Guellin will have some fun with her.”

[Tatum]

He shook his head; then almost tripped on his extravagant cape as he tried to keep pace with Monique. Any time now Hayalet … he thought as he fingered the tarot card.

The pair exited the palace gates and headed through the overcrowded streets of Bloomingdale. Despite the fact that its residence were crowded shoulder to shoulder, Moni and Tak had no problem finding a clear path where ever they walked. The residents seemed to recognize the painfully gaudy cape, signifying the Princesses royal escort. A few citizens were unable to contain their laughter however, as Moni had picked an especially glittery cape for her newest escort. Tak would've turned to glare at the hateful laughter had the blinding sequines not given him a headache.

"The slave market is just around the corner. There better be sweetarts there or I may have to take the sweet out of your tart!" Moni said briskly over her shoulder. Tak swallowed hard. "Umm...yeah...about that.." Moni turned to regard him...or tried to. She had to keep blinking her eyes from the incredible light the cape was giving off.

"They might be out."

Moni eyed Tak suspiciously. "Out?"

"yeah, you know, they ARE pretty popular. All the cool kids have some." Tak tried to stall.

"Are you saying I'm not cool?" Moni asked as her eyes narrowed.

"Oh no! I would never say that..you're cool...very cool!" Tak replied quickly.

"How cool?"

Tak sighed internally. "Women!" he thought. "Next she'll be asking me if the cape she's wearing makes her look fat." "Very cool Princess..as cool as...umm... as cool as a breeze on an autumn day?" he finished hopefully.

Moni twisted her lip in distaste. Apparently Uni had bought her one of those pansey poetry reciting slaves. Well it was good that she'd given him the purple cape. Maybe it would keep him happy for a bit. Though it did make him look a little fat in the hip area. She suddenly realized Tak was continuing to stammer out random comparisons of her coolness.

".... as cool as an icy lake....no...as cool as the molecules of the ice in icy lake...no...as cool as the"

"all right all right. Thats enough slave. Geez, get a grip."

Tak swallowed what he was going to say and hid a scowl. This woman was damn near impossible to please. He found himself wondering if the blinding qualities of the cape would give him time to get away, but dismissed it. He still wore the blasted ring and so he was tied to her. He would have to find a way to get it off. Until then, he just needed to keep his neck out of the noose. Just then, Moni grasped her head and sank to her knees. Tak was kneeling beside her before he knew what he was doing. "Princess?"

"headache...I get them before...just get me off the street." she said through gritted teeth. Tak unceremoniously hauled Moni off her feet and into the nearest building. Had he not been in such a hurry to get the Princess off the street, he might've noticed the large sign over the building which read. "Temple of Verlet See".

[Apoc]

"Right this way." The man said at last when they reached Tyret's estate. Once inside, he the servant gained a voice. He asked where the shipment was being stored.
"Ummm. What shipment?"
"You don't have it?"
"What shipment do you speak of? I was not aware of this shipment."
"Well, then perhaps you should to Tyret about it. I'm sure he will forgive you." Wow. Definetly not the most cordial servant this one.
"Ok. I shall. It will be good to talk to an old friend again."

The five riders swept through the streets of Balenoct, their black cloaks flapped wildly bearing the white horse of Ehrenhal. They came to a halt outside their destination.

Lord Tyrets manor stood ominously in the darkness, two guards armed with pikes awaited them at the manors front gates. Imrahl dismounted before them, the two guards backed away slightly at the third Marshals’ approach.

“You here for the pirate?” asked one of the guards, a hint of worry touched his voice as he looked upon the Riders and Imrahl.

Imrahl slightly confused by the question spoke up in a stern yet polite voice, “We are here for the overdue payment of the horses Lord Tyret procured last month.”

“Wait here, I will find out if my lord has finished with his last gues....” the guard was cut off as a bell began ringing violently from the manor. A look of panic touched their faces, signalling with an upraised hand for Imrahl and his men to wait, they retreated toward the manors front doors twenty or so paces down the path from the gate.

Imrahl watched as the guards made their way toward the manor when the path suddenly was bathed with a wave of light.

As the front doors were kicked open, a short man leapt from the steps upon one of the guards, using his hands he broke the firsts neck. Another man accompanied the dwarf from the doorway, swinging his sword skilfully he took the other guard down in one swing.

Unsheathing his sword, Imrahl stood awaiting them at the gates. The short man was the first to see them, running awkwardly the little man charged. As he approached his features became more apparent, long straggly hair was mixed with a long beard.

Imrahl noticed the dwarfman was retarded as it lunged for him, moving aside at the last moment the retard was suddenly faced with the rearing horse of a Rider, it kicked him too the ground where he was then taken by two spears, one through the throat the other in the chest.

One of Imrahls’ Riders pointed, “Sir, the other man.”

Standing ten paces down the path, the man raised his sword with both hands. Imrahl raised his own with only his left. A couple of Lord Tyrets guards came out of the manor behind. They all stood still for a moment, a small wind thrashed their cloaks, the guards waited at the manors door while the Riders waited at the gates, between them stood Imrahl and the man, swords raised. There was no escape for the man and he seemed to know it.

The man leapt forward, long blonde hair blowing at the speed of his attack, Imrahl stood firm. A loud clash of steel was followed by the crunching sound of steel on bone. Imrahl had parried the mans attack with his sword in his left hand, but at the same time had buried his knife under the mans chin with his dagger in his right hand.

Imrahl was covered in a spray of blood as he withdrew his dagger from the mans throat. Gurgling and choking, the blonde haired man gripped at the gaping wound in his throat. As he fell to the ground, the man stared up at Imrahl, his hazel green eyes had a look of disbelief and immense pain in them. Blood was still flooding through the mans fingers, his lips were turning blue and he was going pale.

Imrahl looked up at the now approaching guards, “Who were these men?”

“I do not know who the one behind you is, but the one at your feet is, or was, Saeran Rose. A pirate.”

“Why were they being chased?”

“He just murdered Lord Tyret.” the guard looked from the spasming body at his feet to Imrahl, “Why are you here horselord?”

Imrahl looked down at the pirate, the spasming had stopped with a last gurgle. He had just done what Imrahl thought he might have to have done. Yet it still meant they probably weren’t going to get the horses or the money owed, “We were here to see Lord Tyret, you said he was dead, so we will now return too our lands. I am sorry for your loss but we will be leaving now.” with a slight bow, Imrahl remounted his horse.

With a last look at the corpses of the pirate Saeran Rose and his retarded friend, Imrahl and the Riders galloped off into the darkness toward Ehrenhal.

[QuirkyTemplate]

Isaac could feel it through the ground. It was that oddness that he just couldn’t flow with. Kemper’s path came strait through this city, and Kemper with it ....

Kemper began to see it. Four hundred miles away, there was a man hurriedly driving his wagon south; Kemper was there with him. Near the marshes an armed escort was leading a wealthy merchant to Neves; Kemper could feel every footfall. In the Obb Pass, a small rodent scampered away quickly; it was Kemper that it sensed. The diverging paths were like tendrils from a living host, and Kemper rode on them all, but only on that one road, that long stretch of traveled dirt, did Kemper truly have dominion. It smiled—if such a thing were possible—and pulled on a skin, in the crude likeness of man. Tall by anyone’s standards, where the head should have been only a tall shadow stood; two eyes malevolently piercing out. And there was the teeth. The vicious smile it wore seemed to suck sanity from the mind; baptizing it in fear. I should have a weapon, it mused. It held its arm out, like a liquid shadow it held it out—and a sword the color of night appeared in one hand. Apparently the new age had come at last. Idly it wondered if that naïve Winton was still kept alive.

And so it began to walk … not in the normal way, but in odd disjointed leaps—appearing at one spot, then vanishing and suddenly appearing closer, as if it were unaccustomed to moving in a continuous manner. Reaching up nonchalantly it smothered the life of a lone horseman that traveled Kemper road over 20 leagues away. A sound issued forth from it, like rusty knifes sharpening one another—it would have been hard to guess it was laughter.

((ooc: kemper = absurdly evil ... to the point where it makes you want to laugh))

[~KA3AK~]

“Let’s gather the rest of our men, we’ll take him while he is asleep.”

“What about the girl?”

“We’ll take her too. Maybe Guellin will have some fun with her.”

Stil awoke as he felt someone standing over him. Whoever it was, it sure wasn’t Celi, the smell was different. It was a man he never met before. Without any hesitation Stil grabbed the man’s ankle and pulled. The man fell to the floor. He was still falling when Stil’s body arched and he jolted to his feet. Stil immediately saw the dagger in the man’s hand. He also saw seven other men in the room, all of them armed.

Stil did not take any time to wonder what these men were doing in an abandoned tower. He could tell they were enemies. He broke the man’s neck with one kick at the same time grabbing his dagger. The other men finally realized what was happening and charged him. They probably thought that his power was in his swiftness. Fools!

Stil dove under the first man’s sword and split his stomach open with his dagger. Not giving the others any time to recover, he fell to the floor, kicking the second man’s legs from beneath him. The he swiftly sprang back to his feet and buried his dagger under the third man’s chin, before he could even raise his sword. The second man tried to get up, but Stil’s foot ended his struggle with a loud crack. The remaining three men stopped and were eyeing him cautiously. But where is the last man?

Suddenly he heard a voice: “Surrender or the girl dies!” No! They found his only weakness!

Stil saw that one the last man was holding Celi, with his dagger pressed tightly to her neck. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear. Damn! They found his only weakness! He couldn’t let them kill the girl. He lowered his arms, as if signaling his surrender. Two men approached him, trying to cuff him. Just when they almost grabbed him, Stil suddenly caught and twisted one man’s arm, while kicking the other one in the stomach. The man fell to his feet, while Stil twisted the other’s arm, forcing him to turn his back on Stil and bend over.

“I am serious! Surrender or the girl is dead” – repeated the man that was holding Celi.

“You won’t dare. Kill her, and you’re all dead.” – grunted Stil in response.

“Maybe, but if we won’t bring you, we will die a death that is much more painful then would worst nightmare.” Stil could see the man’s hands start shaking of the same fear that filled in his voice. They cornered him! There was nothing he else could do. If Bat was here, them maybe…But Bat was out hunting. Stil cursed his luck for the second time in the last day. He then released the man he was holding. The man quickly jumped away from him, in case Stil changed his mind.

“Brel, you lead the way” – the ordered Celi’s capturer - “He will follow you, with Peot and Artak behind him. I’ll follow them and watch the girl.” He the turned to Stil: “If you try anything funny, I’ll slit her throat in a heartbeat, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Stil followed the guy named Brel through the dark empty streets of Bloomingdale. The city folk seemed to be growing somewhat used to the darkness, already identifying night and day correctly. Stil was surprised when Brel headed into an ordinary-looking house. He was sure these men were working for someone powerful and important.

Guatar, the man holding Celi, was watching Stil very closely. This man scared him to death. He was calm now, but Guatar just witnessed him kill four of his fellow assassins in just a few seconds. He knew his colleagues were all pretty good in a fight, only the best worked for Verlet See. Yet the man killed them with incredible ease, there wasn’t a scratch on him. Guatar recalled only one other person he knew was capable of that – Oke’ Skein – the High priest himself.

Stil’s silent question was answered when Brel lead him downstairs to the basement. He could clearly see a hatch in the floor. Brel opened the hatch and Stil could see steps leading downwards. A tunnel! That was clever. Brel took a torch of the wall and followed the steps downwards to a tunnel.

The tunnel turned out to be much longer then Stil had expected. Whoever dug it sure went through great length to cover up his dirty deeds. Several times they passed sometimes Brel would turn into another tunnel. Finally, after many turns and and corridors they reached another set of stairs. The stairs led to a dungeon room with many entrances. The only decorations in the room were banners with black half of the yin-yang symbol on them. They were in the temple of Verlet See! Great, just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.

[lam sam]

He would have no idea what the horseplains of Arandil would hold for him, and even less of a clue that the forgotten letter behind him would hold his fate firmly in it's harsh, unforgiving hands.

Exhausted, Rodim directed his horse toward the village. He hoped these people wouldn't treat him as badly as the assholes at the other one did. Hehe. Those buggers learned not to show me disrespect. Regaining his senses, he realized there would be no drink in this town. The whole place was dead. Women, ripped to pieces on the streets, mangled men caught in the act of ripping a child's hair from it's head. Without a second glance, Rodim vomited all he had stolen in the last village. He then proceeded in passing out.


Woken by a hard jab to the ribs, Rodim woke up to a horses face.

"...wha....who...wha..." Rodim managed to get out.
"I am Eeorin, soldier of this Deor. You seem unscathed. What's your name?"
"I..wait.." Holy mother of Sankra!!! A horse is talking to me!!!! Rodim rolled over, only to find the torn face of a dog staring back at him. He vomited. Suddenly, he was pulled to his feet. He found himself looking into the eyes of a man.
"Oh...did you know...that that horse is talking?" Rodim said shakily, pointing wildly at the armored horse.
"You are hereby a prisoner of this Deor, and you will come with me so that our comander can better observe your...state of mind."
"But...but... you don't..understand. The horse, see...." And Rodim was led off mumbling.