OOC: Alright, in Sel's absence I've posted the IC thread for us all, like she asked someone to in the OOC thread. So don't get all gun-ho and close this, supa-mods.

Ti’Aurthan. Still three days from that god-awful place. Still three days until I get out of this god-awful land. After177 days, I couldn’t wait to be back in that town. 177 days of nothing but blighted, disgusting land.

177 days…in hunting.

For these past few months, I’ve been traveling in the abandoned blasted lands that now encompass the Demon Lord’s area of dominance. These lands were once apart of our kingdom some 50 years ago, but the savage swiftness of the demon legions has put an end to our free living. Where we once had a mighty kingdom to live in safely, we have been pushed back, far back, into a small nation fighting for its survival. Over the past few months I have traveled to towns now abandoned, picking up information of enemy supply lines and killing the few lone demons or lawless bandits I come across. I had even….

…I was sent to these lands with a mission. I wasn’t just here to spy on supplies, I was hunting. Not a demon colonel or some stolen artifact or recovering prisoners of war. No, prisoners of war only existed as food in a demon’s stomach. Any solider in this war, town militia or specially trained like I am had to learn that first and foremost. Capture was worse than death. And sure as #####, that was the truth. Instead of all that, I was charged by the Mayor of Ti’Aurthan to go out and execute a runner. He was a former captain of the garrison who decided to defect and turn his soul demonic, along with 20 townsmen who served under him. They left wife, children and all to join the demons.

On Day 100, I was very deep into demonic territory. While the land doesn’t look much different, no flowers grow in demon land anymore, even during the springtime, and everything seems to be suffering from a very slow death. I was so deep; I encountered entire towns where humans still live, under the rule and servitude of the demons. You don’t see that along the border where fighting is intense, but you see it there, where the people have long since been pacified and the resistance…eaten. I had only been behind my targets by at least 3 or 4 days, and I could tell the trip was making them suffer a lot more than it made me, by their tracks, and on Day 100 I finally caught them. They had spent many weeks moving to and from demon outposts, supposedly receiving orders, and many more days without any demon contact. When I finally did find them, the 21 was now 14. The rest, I learnt, had been killed for insubordination.

So I found them. I was tired, and they were exhausted. They knew I was after them too, so I walked into a very nice ambush. The hunter became the hunted as I charged my way back home for the next week, barely avoiding ‘capture’ myself. Finally, I put in place a counter ambush, and took out the former captain. That was all I needed, and I decided to head home. I wasn’t being paid enough for the rest.

And so here I rest for another night, 3 days from what I now call home. But if home is where the heart is, then my home is where-ever I choose to rest for the night. My home for these past few months has been this god-awful land.

- Fernand. Day 177.

---

Fernand was riding hard, very hard, to reach the gates of Ti’Aurthan. Now that it stood before him, he didn’t want to waste a second getting in. He could hear the shouts of garrison men, and see them scuttling along the heavy wooden palisade walls to the town. Archers were stringing their bows and the gates were being open for Fernand.

Behind Fernand rode half a dozen black-clad riders, each swinging standard long scythes of the demonic legions. They were humans, once, but their voices sounded more like a wolf being murdered slowly in the night. It was ferocious, it was terrifying, and it was certainly inhuman. The former men of the garrison were now too deep in demonics to go back.

The bowmen on the wall all stood in line together, notching their arrows and drawing back. Many of these bowmen were just townsfolk, members of the militia, and the only training they had received was on-the-fly during an attack. They weren’t soldiers, but they had shot enough demons in their time to qualify as veterans. Ti’Aurthan was a town that often found itself under siege, and had done quite well considering the meager palisade defenses. The bowmen all had drawn back now, and were waiting for their targets to get in range.

Fernand was still riding hard, and he noticed a large white stone pass him as he covered the distance of the field to the town. He was in range now. At the now open gate stood a phalanx of militiamen wielding spears. They were covered by leather armor, and some wore steel caps or chain mesh over their chests. Most of them were mismatched and a little uncertain about a horsemen’s charge coming their way, hoping the archers could do the job.

A shout sounded from the wall and arrows flew towards Fernand and his pursuers. Between 20 and 30 arrows started to pierce the ground behind Fernand, and he turned his head in time to see a black-clad rider take two arrows, in the throat and chest. He howled, a wild, ear-shattering scream, but his horse dropped off from the chase as he fell from the saddle, dead.

Another volley of arrows soared towards them, except this time all of them found the ground instead of a target. The black-clad riders were still in hot pursuit, but had now taken on a looser formation, flanking Fernand instead of riding behind him. Fernand saw the opening directly behind him and decided to take a risk.

Clearing his mind of all other thoughts, even his need to outpace the riders, his mind became like a blank canvas. Every muscle in Fernand’s body relaxed and he even let go of his grip to his horse’s reigns. His hands fell back to his sides as he sat in the saddle, too easy to fall off. A kind of music entered Fernand’s head, the soft melody of his spirit and a power far beyond his own comprehension. He opened himself to the power, and it transformed to magic pulsing throw his veins. The blankness was replaced by a swirl of colours as the world around him seemed to blur and become distant with the softening flow of magical energy surrounding him. His cloak, with its own magical properties, also began to glow and the colours began to shift. Black to blue, blue to green, green to red. The melody became faster and faster, until the noise became a blur and he was ready.

Holding onto the magical power, he painted a shroud of fire surrounding him onto the blank canvas, and suddenly there was one, surround him, horse and all. The shroud made him disappear to anyone else’s sight, and as the first scythe of a black-clad rider descended on him, the metal touched the fire, and an explosion of heat traveled up the blade of the scythe, down the shaft and burnt the rider’s hand with massive intensity. He shrieked desperately, trying to pull away from the shroud of fire, but the fire also caught and traveled up the scythe blade, until the wooden shaft burst into flames. The magical flame didn’t stop there, and soon the long tattered black cloak of the rider burst into an intense fire, covering all of the rider and his demonic warhorse in flames. He burnt away into ashes in a matter of seconds, and the horse followed. And then there were four riders left.

The bowmen had stopped firing, realizing that it was too difficult for them to hit targets at this speed. They were getting closer and closer to the palisade, and the spearmen guarding it just looked on in horror and amazement as Fernand rode towards them, shrouded in fire, followed by the remaining riders.

Fernand next painted a long celestial spear within his hands, formed by his spiritual energy. The spear, like any other magically created weapon, was a temporary device, and drew on quite a lot of strength from Fernand to properly fashion. All of his magical energy seemed to travel through his veins and into his extended right hand, where sparks were forming, and soon a spear shaft of light was growing in his hands. It grew long, and then finished with two blades of light on each end. The shroud of flame had disappeared around him now, with all of his energy focused on the weapon. He swung it in the air, and with it a small pocket of wind gust was formed and burst into the ground next to another rider, leaving his horse dazed, but he didn’t give up the chase.

Unlike proper magical users, who had spent years training and mastering their craft, Fernand was a warrior first. He was a Spellsword, giving him access to some magical talents, but his magical capabilities were not enough to maintain several high-powered craftings at the same time. All of his focus now was on the spear, and on the gap behind him.

Pulling up on the reigns with his left hand, his horse came to a fast stop, dropping through the gaps between his pursuers. He was now behind them for a split second before they realized what had happened, but it was more then enough. The shaft on his spear extended further, and her swung the spear around so that the light blade sliced through the back of two of the black riders, the force taking them both from their horses and into the dust below. Instead of a shriek, all the sound made was the noise of their heads both shattering on the ground below with the impact. Dead.

The last two riders came to a halt and wheeled around their horses, right in front of the gate, to see what had just happened. They now faced Fernand directly; expect Fernand was riding again when they had stopped. He rode through their gap, with his long light spear held horizontal in front of him. As he rode through the gaps, the light blades on each end of the spear took a rider in the chest with the fast momentum of Fernand’s horse. The light on both ends exploded as it struck the demonic humans, and Fernand let go of the magical flows holding the spear at that point. It was enough to kill them, even if they didn’t realize yet. Fernand was now ahead of them, and they turned to face him with wide-eyed horror. Before they had a chance to ride on, or shriek, or die though, a volley was released from the walls above by the militia bowmen, and both riders were sitting ducks. Both of them were covered with arrows, the ends protruding towards the skies, and they were all dead.

Exhausted from holding onto that amount of magical energy, and having rode so hard to finally reach the gates, Fernand’s horse slowed to a trot and stopped completely at the gates, where all the spearman had gathered around to see him in. Fernand just fell from his saddle though into the dust, collapsing from exhaustion. At least he was back in Ti’Aurthan.

EMERY

The cathedral of the Life God, Ran’Diel, was one of the most impressive and primordial buildings of the human stronghold, Ti’Lethan. The entire church compound was enclosed within imposing black wrought iron fences. At the center of the Ran’Diel church’s compound, its famous bell tower rose high above the other buildings surrounding it. The bell tower was atop the cathedral, with its glass windows in ethereal colours, depicting scenes of the beauty and delicacy of life. The huge wooden doors stood open for most of the day, closed at night by guards, and reopened in the morning to let in the early parishioners. The entire compound was surrounded by strategically planted trees and bushes, all along the cobblestone pathway, and looming over benches to catch shade where it was most needed.

Beyond the giant doors of the cathedral, was the huge archway of the church, with rows and rows of pews intersected by a long red carpet gilded with gold. It lead to a smooth, gray stone dais where a simple wooden podium stood, with a copy of the Ran’Diel’s Word sitting open on it. Behind the podium was a small bookshelf with copies of the Ran’Diel’s Word in different languages and written in different hands at different stages of life. On either side of the dais, were two braziers, usually glowing with a warm light. The huge glass windows of the church cast oddly coloured shadows to the room, giving it the appropriately divine atmosphere of a revered holy place.

In the southwest corner, beside the doors and guarding the Holy Water, was a marble statue of the god of life, Ran’Diel, with curls, a serious visage, and flowers in hand. Small animals were at his feet, and a tiny squirrel sat atop his shoulder, stretching its neck out to Ran’Diel’s outstretched left hand, which held in it a tiny acorn, representing the life of a tree.

In the northwest corner, was the enormous organ on which most of the priests in the Order of Ran’Diel was able to play. It cast a melancholic look to the huge room, foreboding in a way. The music it created was just as forlorn; sad, bittersweet, calling to the Life God for his love and guidance.

In the northeast corner, a long winding staircase led up to the bell tower. The bells were rung to warn others of an impending invasion, to tell the time, and announce births and deaths. There was a small lookout window of clear glass for the bell ringer to look out upon Ti’Lethan and beyond, and a small chair set beside a table with a candle set in a brass holder for the bell ringer to occupy his or her time reading. The acolytes who served under the higher ranked priests took turns doing this.

Looking out the small window, one could see the rest of the compound; the stables and fenced area for the animals, the herb garden, the L-shaped housing unit, and a little toward the back of the compound, the cemetery.

And above all this was the rising sun, beckoning a new day to begin. Its light started out weak, and grew as the sun began to rise up, touching the renowned Ran’Diel Cathedral, the garden, the cemetery… And all through the great stronghold that was Ti’Lethan…


Emery Quinn lay in his bed, sunlight streaming in through the meager and curtain-less windows of his room, which was one among many in the housing units. He turned over, rubbing his dark blue eyes gently, warring with the sleep still in his head. After a moment, waking won, and he propped himself up on his elbow, long, ink-black hair falling across his shoulders, and where it was shorter, curving slightly under his chin. He yawned as he moved to sit completely up, and even alone, he covered his mouth politely.

Emery left the tiny room with its modest (at best) accommodations and went out to the hallway, which was lined with closets, each with a small name placard indicating who owned whatever was in the closet. Well, “owned” was rather a loose term, as the church of Ran’Diel considered everything everyone’s. One of the Order was given space (to sleep for the most part), clothing, a paltry stipend, and food, but they were, in turn, expected to be pious, pure, and live in poverty (or what was close to it). Emery thought of them as the three P’s when he first began his training, and it had stuck with him since.

Emery took out his clothing; the customary black robes, as well as his other layers; cloak, gloves, stockings… He liked to be as covered as possible without being invisible. He thought it was a reasonable wish; he wasn’t baring his skin, and that surely counted as purity, right? He liked to think of it as that way, because if he delved too deep into the real reason, he only reminded himself of things better left forgotten.

He took his morning bath, ate his breakfast, and said his morning prayers… Once he was finished with all the daily morning rituals, he thought he would have a little free time to check on the baby calf that had been delivered two nights ago. But, as luck would have it, he was summoned to the Main Hall by the High Priest. It was rare for the High Priest to be around, especially with skirmishes breaking out everywhere and with no warning, but he had to be present for the annual Blessing.

The Blessing was a huge ceremony taking place once a year, in order to bring peace and purification to all those within Ti’Lethan’s walls. It was especially imperative to observe this ritual in these trying times. Though it had yet to bring peace, the High Priest and the rest of the followers of the great god, Ran’Diel, were confident that if they kept their faith, the god would eventually have mercy on his subjects.

This particular year, however, was significant to Emery himself… For he would be the main focus of the ceremony, the Teth’du’Aul… The player of the part of the Life God himself, Ran’Diel… Which was a scary thought. Emery hated to have all eyes on him, and this year, he would have most of the holding of Ti’Lethan’s eyes on him. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up.

Bowing before the High Priest, who stood before him with an enigmatic smile, Emery tried to remind himself of what an honor it was to assigned such a role. But even as he lifted his head, he had a hard time trying to smile sincerely back at the High Priest Talisen. His smile was shaky, at best, and he tried to cover that by bringing his hand up to his mouth and coughing, ever so delicately. Big mistake.

The High Priest looked at him with concern. “Are you feeling ill again, Brother Emery?”

Emery’s eyes widened, realizing his mistake, and he quickly snapped his hand back down at his side. “N-no! Of course not! I am well, Father. Really I am.” He smiled reassuringly, hoping that the other man wouldn’t pursue the matter further.

High Priest Talisen frowned for a moment, turning from Emery, hands behind his back. He was a handsome man of 40, with red-orange hair that reached his shoulders and smiling green eyes that sometimes seemed very far away. When Emery had first met the man nine years ago, he hadn’t even guessed that he was the High Priest. Talisen opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, but his intended words were bitten back when a young sandy haired acolyte burst into the room.

“Brother Merik is looking for you, Emery! And he looks like a demon, he’s so mad--!” The young acolyte stopped in his tracks when he saw the important man with whom Emery was speaking. “Oh my! Ah, pardon me, Father! I meant no disrespect!” He bowed, a sloppy, hurried movement that looked more spastic than anything else.

Emery hid a giggle behind his hand, his eyes softening with mirth. The High Priest’s eyes were on him, and he said with an apologetic smile, “Ah, well… What I had to say was not so important as the Blessing. I had better let you go, so you’ll be ready by the time it begins.”

“Ah, yes of course… Father.” Emery bit his lip quickly to conceal his smile, and bowed. Talisen put a hand to his head. Emery was so surprised, he jerked his head back up, knocking the hand from his head. “S-sir?”

“It’s nothing,” Talisen told him sagely. “I was just blessing you.”

“R-right!” Emery blushed, feeling stupid. “I should be going…!” He turned so fast his feet caught the hem of his robes and he stumbled. He quickly righted himself, not looking back at the High Priest, who he knew was silently laughing at him. His blush deepened, and he rushed past Henri, the acolyte, who chased after him.

The two hurried their way to the high gates that surrounded the church’s compound, where a harried looking Merik stood. His balding pate and rotund figure made him the very picture of what most people thought of religious men. He rushed over, grabbing Emery’s arm and dragging him alongside him as the hurried to the Circle, which was a large, religious area used for important events.

“You…don’t have to…drag me…” Emery gasped, trying to keep up with the man walking in bounces beside him. Henri ran alongside the two, watching them anxiously.

“If we don’t hurry, you won’t have time to prepare properly!” Merik announced, unyielding. If anything, his grip on Emery’s arm merely grew tighter. Emery whimpered a little, but wasn’t heard over the noise of the crowd gathering around the Circle. He nearly tripped on his own feet when Merik suddenly stopped outside a long, low-ceilinged building with open doorways. “This is where I drop you. May Ran’Diel be with you.” The fat man squeezed Emery’s hands briefly, before striding off for his next task.

Emery exhaled a long breath, slumping as he put a hand on the wall to steady himself, and took in a few shaky breaths. He closed his eyes, concentrating on not coughing.

“Are you okay?” Henri’s voice invaded his meditation, and Emery’s eyes slid open again. The kid was bending before him, head turned and staring up into his eyes. Emery blinked and drew an arm over his forehead. He was tired, even from that short rush. He wondered if he was getting worse…

“I-I’m fine. Where do I go next?” Emery drew in a deep breath and pulled himself back into standing position. Henri led the way into the building, and toward the back, where a beautiful, glowing white robe sat spread out on seat where guests usually sat. A fidgety woman rushed over to him.

“Emery?” Emery nodded mutely. She nodded in return, looking him up and down. “You are just the size they said you were. I was skeptical, but…” She seemed to realize she was speaking aloud, and she straightened up. “Liren.” She introduced herself curtly. “Maker of the robe. Hurry, hurry.” She shoved him toward the dress as she moved to leave.

“Here?!” Emery cried, his voice a high-pitched squeak.

“Yes, yes,” she said quickly. “Now, hurry, hurry.” She gestured at him again, then swept out of the room.

“Why is everyone in such a hurry?” Emery sighed heavily as he sat beside the robe and fingered the intricate gold embroidery. He felt guilty even touching such a masterpiece. It was so… white, so pure… Unfit for a person such as him…

“I’ll stand watch for you,” Henri offered, breaking Emery again from his contemplation. Emery shook his head to clear it.

“That would be very kind of you, Henri.” Emery felt a little better… But not much.

He quickly changed into the robe, glancing frequently at the doorway to make sure that nobody came through, or that Henri hadn’t turned to watch him. Once the robes were in place, he alerted Henri, who was here to help him with the sashes and the elaborate hair-do that befit his part. His hair was parted from the long, waist-length braid that he usually wore, and when free from the confines of his braid, his black hair fell almost to his knees. Just having his hair done was extremely time-consuming, and Emery could see why there was such a rush.

Once Henri was done, Emery was to sit and wait until his part in the ceremony. He sat stiffly, his mouth dry, his hands damp. He kept having to close his eyes and remember to breathe, he was in such a state of panic. Henri kept trying to talk him through it, but it didn’t help much when Emery couldn’t concentrate on his words. Then at last, he was beckoned to come out to the Circle. He thought he was going to faint just by standing up, but Henri took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You can do this,” he whispered, his eyes full of truth. “You have practiced the moves many times before. I know you can do it.” Henri handed him the two ornamental fans that were used in the dance. Emery gripped them for dear life, attempting to give Henri a smile. It came out strained, tight. But Henri’s eyes still shone. It gave him a little courage to see such belief in him.

Emery nodded and stepped out into the circle.

All eyes were on him, as he knew they would be. He fought it, but he couldn’t help it; his cheeks flamed bright red. He grit his teeth and willed his bashfulness down. He closed his eyes, listening to the beautiful music, and listening to the swish as the others who were taking part in this ceremony moved in a circle around him, then away. He let the music take over, and he forgot there was an audience at all as he began the Dance of Ran’Diel, the Dance of Life…


RHYS

Rhys Ge’Tuathawyn lay on the grass, feeling a cool breeze as it gently sliced through the field. His hands were pressed against his eyes, and his legs were spread apart, lying flat on the ground. His bright sunset wings stretched out on either side of his shoulders. Sweat made his naked chest glisten in the waning sun, and his hair was plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck. The cool breeze upon his sweaty form was definitely a welcome respite. His spear lay at his side, where he had dropped it when he had thrown himself on the ground. He had been training, but finally decided that he needed a break.

Rhys lay still in the quiet of the fields, listening to his own breathing as it went from labored to the slow, steady rhythm of rest. He eventually took his hands from his eyes, letting one arm fall to the grass flaccidly and the other across his stomach. Absently, he traced the jagged, disfiguring scar that lay across his abdomen. He lazily blinked up into the darkening sky, his fiery red gaze in another time… The scar brought back many memories… and mixed feelings that were directly linked to those memories…

The image of a hard-eyed, raven-haired demon came unbidden to his mind. Severely handsome, with sharp features. Rhys remembered many things from that time… And some of those memories made him ache with longing…

Rhys shuddered and squeezed his eyes closed so tightly it hurt, trying to banish such thoughts from his head. Opening them again, he saw his sister bending over him, her long, crimson hair brushing his bare torso. She always had been one to dispose of the rules. Most girls her age were scolded for wearing their hair loose like that. His sister smiled mischievously down at him.

“What’cha think’ about, Big Brother?” she sang, her tone light, but devious. Rhys reached out and tugged his little sister’s hair, grinning up at her.

“Oh…” he said leisurely, eyes dancing, lips curling into an impish grin. “Tonight’s little party… Complete with alcohol, singing, dancing, and… people.”

His sister pursed her lips sternly, unthreading her hair from her brother’s fingers. “Hmph, you know the purpose of all these parties, right? They’re trying to find YOU a wife.”

Rhys frowned. “Not possible. There’s no woman who could match with me.”

His sister laughed, flopping down gracelessly beside her brother. She lay on her stomach, her chin supported by her hands. “Maybe it’ll be romantic…” She looked all starry-eyed as she looked up at her brother. Rhys rolled his own eyes.

“What man would want you, Rube?” he teased, poking her forehead. He knew where her thoughts were, and they weren’t with him and some girl.

“Well, why not?” She retorted, slapping his hand away. “I am the noble Lady Ruby Ge’Tuathwyn. I’m a High Sorceress. Lady Syiana and I are the only pretty ones. We have quite a reputation, you know!”

She and Lady Syiana were the only young women in the Council. Rhys hardly thought the “reputation” extended beyond that.

Suddenly, Ruby’s eyes lit up with a sudden idea, and she sat up, clapping her hands in delight. “I know! What about you and Lady Syiana?”

Rhys snorted in derision. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Ruby demanded. “She’s gorgeous, and calm, to offset your unruliness! It’d be a perfect match!”

Rhys gave her a Look.

“Pfft!” She blew her bangs out in an undignified manner. She looked back at him, annoyed, but resigned to the fact that she couldn’t change her brother. Ruby bent forward and lowered her voice, as if someone might be lurking about and she didn’t want them to hear her. “Rhys… You can’t be with THAT type. How could you possibly produce an heir?”

“There’s you.” Rhys pointed out. She’d always hogged the glory, anyway. Not that he minded. He rather preferred it, actually.

“You know what I mean!” she protested, pouting. “People will shun you; you might even be killed!” Real concern shone in her bright scarlet eyes. “People don’t like things that are different, things that go beyond what they’re used to!”

Rhys’s eyes became hooded, and he turned away from her, moving his arm so that it covered his face, his hand resting on his head. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it is to deny your true self.”

Ruby was silent a very long time. Rhys thought she was going to get mad and storm away in a huff, but he felt her slender hand on his arm. “Rhys… It’s not that I don’t want to see you happy… But I also don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m a big boy!” Rhys said defiantly, and when he turned to look at her, the normal flame was back in his eyes. He grinned at her and tweaked her cheek like an aunty who hasn’t seen their nephew in a long time. “I can take care of myself!” His eyes softened, though. “Seriously, Ruby. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Ruby stared into her brother’s eyes, sad, but unable to do anything to stop her brother from his reckless behavior. She hated that he seemed dead-set on destroying himself.

“I’ll try…” But her tone wasn’t very convincing.

Barnett, one of the old advisors, came rushing through the grass, huffing and puffing. “Young Master! Please get to the castle immediately! The guests are arriving!” The poor old man was wringing his hands, and it was quite obvious to both siblings that he had been searching for Rhys for some time.

Rhys stood up, lending a hand to his sister, and helped Ruby up. “Settle down, old man.”

“Y-you aren’t even dressed properly!” the old man spluttered. His face was red as a tomato; he looked like he was about to pass out.

“C’mon, Barnett. I can be dressed and ready for this party in five minutes. What’s the big deal?” Rhys looked down at the small old man, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Ruby, at his side, giggled. It was true; he was only wearing pants. His chest was bare as were his feet, and he obviously needed a bath, having just trained moments ago.

“Th-this is a big deal!” the old man’s voice was shrill as he grew more anxious. “Many suitable women--!”

Rhys clapped the little man on the shoulder as he walked past him. “Hey, it’s nothing against you, all right? And this is no bigger than that party we had two weeks ago, the only difference is the girls’ faces. We all know what’s going to happen. I don’t see why they keep insisting on all this…frivolity.” He removed his hand and strode towards the castle, the little man running after him and trying to put some sense into his head. Ruby picked up her brother’s spear and walked after them, shaking her head. Her brother would never change.

“Do it and you’ll lose boy.”

Samuel glared sharply back at the dwarven woman seated to his right. His left hand perched atop a small pewter figure of a rifleman. “Shenru, do you have any pieces left on the board?”

“No.” the woman said flatly.

“Then please let me make my own decisions, I am doing better than you.” Samuel said with a firm tone as he took his hand off the piece, silently stared at the board, and once again rethought his move.

“You get like this every time.” Shenru breathed as she rolled her eyes. The dwarf focused her attention back on the weights in her hands.

The colorfully dressed human on Samuel’s left rose from his seat and stretched with a yawn. “You can not blame him dear. I’d be cross too if Wenru beat me at Soldier’s Crossing every time.” The clown said with a smile.

“Merv, “ Samuel said without looking up from the board. “be quiet.”

There was no malice in either the tone or intent of Samuel’s statements. This scene had played it self out countless times in the year and a half the four friends had been with the circus. Every week they would gather and play a friendly game of Soldier’s Crossing; well it was a friendly game until it came down to Samuel and Wenru.

“Well,” Merv continued on unabated by Samuel’s command. ”she is the fortune teller.” The clown’s voice deepened and became overly dramatic, which was his style. “MAAYYBE SSHE’S GAAZZING INTO THE FUTURE!” Merv accentuated the statement by wiggling his long fingers at the brown haired elf seated in the remaining chair at the table.

Shenru laughed at her husband’s antics. Wenru favored the human with a smile. Samuel just stared at the board trying to block it all out. He had an overwhelming advantage; three riflemen, five calvary, and three swordsmen against Wenru’s lone priestess. Wenru had the high ground and three spell cards left, but that was no match compared to Samuel’s numbers. Still he had been in good positions before just to fall prey to the elf’s tricks.

“I have told you before Merv and I will tell you again. Fortune telling does not work that way, it is all just vague notions that fall into place as event nears. Half the time you do not realized the fore-told event has happened until it has passed.” Wenru said with a smile.

Never had it occurred to Samuel he would become addicted to a simple board game. A year ago when Wenru had joined the circus she had brought that damned game with her. It was a fun game to be sure, but Samuel could never seem to beat her at it. He had beaten everyone in the troupe at least once, but Wenru refused to lose to him no matter what he did. It grated on his every last nerve.

Wenru slid one of her remaining spell cards forward indicating she was sacrificing it for some health points.

“Go ahead, you are not winning this time.” Samuel said with a smile as he pushed all of his pieces across the board towards her lone figure. The time for indescion was past, this time she could not win. “No matter what you what you do, there is no way you can avoid everything at once. I win.”

The elf just tossed her shoulder length hair back with a flip of her right hand and returned the gunman’s smile. As if she was turning over her tarot cards, she slowly and reverently turned over the sacrificed card with her free hand. “Light of Ran’Deil” A powerful and rarely used card that destroyed all attacking creatures, but destroyed the priestess and half of her army as well. The card also had to be sacrificed right before the attack.

“How in Hell did you know I was going to commit everything?!” Samuel’s frustration clearly evident at losing yet again to the elven maiden. Since she had initiated the act that ended the game, she had won despite both armies being destroyed. Samuel slumped back in his chair dejected.

Merv quickly thrust a drink into the young man’s chest. “Well you’ve lost, so know it’s time to drink. Besides,” Merv said with a nudge of his elbow, “tomorrow we board the train and venture into the deepest parts of the forest, to be the first outsiders to perform for the Elven Queen’s court!” The clown said with pride in his eyes as he downed his own glass. “You get to shoot things in front of royalty!”

The small tent was filled with laughter, this time Samuel’s was among them.

Samuel’s friendly nature returned quickly once the defeat at Wenru’s hands was over. The four friends sat around drinking for several hours, laughing, joking and telling stories of home. Eventually, time came to call it a night. Wenru and Samuel’s tents were in the same part of the encampment, so they shared the walk through the silent and still camp.

“You know why you lost to night?” Wenru’s normally melodic voice sounding like a thundering drum in the silent night air.

“Because I’m a gentleman and let you?” Samuel said with a grin.

“No.” Wenru’s voice did not echo Samuel’s good natured kidding. “You lost because you let your pride get in the way. You wanted to beat me so badly you put everything into the attack. If you had only sent some of your men you would have won.”

“Yeah I kind of over did it.” Samuel said with a shrug and continued walking. “But, I did get you. Next time I’ll just do it before you get me as well.”

He was abruptly jerked to a halt as Wenru grabbed his wrist and held fast with much more strength than her frail frame should have allowed her. Samuel turned around only to stare into two blue orbs of sheer determination. “You got me? Samuel, you died getting me, that is not a win by any means.” Her voice had a harshness to it Samuel had never heard before. “You do stupid stuff like that all the time! It gets you far but you always get in over your head! You believe you can do anything, and that is a noble quality to strive for, but you need to realize that there are some things you just can not do.”

Samuel’s face was one of confusion. “Wenru, you have beaten me, literally, a hundred times before at that game and never lectured me about my method of playing. What’s wrong?”

The elf’s crystal eyes dropped to the ground and she let go of Samuel’s hand. “I did a few readings today that sacred me.” Her dejected voice holding none of the fierceness it had seconds before. Wenru quickly fumbled in one of the pockets on her dress and retrieved an object. She quickly pressed it into his hand and turned away toward her tent, her eyes never rising up from the ground to meet his. “Just remember what I said.” Wenru softly said as she walked off.

Samuel was left standing in the moonlight amid a forest of tents, staring at the small pewter priestess Wenru had given him.


(OCC: Dang that took forever to write and I am still not satisfied with it. I’m trying to demonstrate Samuel’s logic mind, his arrogance, set up some plot points for later and I feel I have only half-way meet those goals. So I apologize if this is not up to the normal quality of my posts. )

(Edit: Dumb grammar mistakes. I'm sure I did not catch them all)

Wind rushed across the plain, waves of grass bent to its will. The grass was dry, dead. Dust swirled around a pair of travelers. The sun beat down mercilessly. The smell of horse sweat and hot leather lingered about the travelers. A young Elven woman riding a sorrel mare with flaxen mane and tail took up the lead. The woman could have passed for a young male due to the facial scarring when her body shape was hidden, but with the sun out, her cloak lay across the rump of her horse. The wind caught her dark hair, bellowing her ponytail to one side. She turned in her saddle pointing at a distant hill. The human male behind her nodded in agreement.

He was 38, old for a warrior these days. In terms of looks, the woman and the man were opposites, while she was pale, dark-haired, and dark-eyed, he was deeply tanned, with blonde hair and green eyes. She stood at only 5'2", he towered over her at 6'4".

The man's large bay gelding sniffed at the grasses listlessly as it walked by. As they crested the hill, the young woman stifled a groan. Before her was the burnt remains of a town. Ash coated the ground. The horsed snorted, tossing their heads and refusing to go any further. There was nothing horses hated more than fire. The combination of burnt wood and corpses, completely repelled the animals. The woman dismounted to investigate.

She knelt, her fingers gathering a small amount of the sooty, dark red soil. She rubbed the earth between her thumb and index finger, watching it cling to the leather of her glove.

"Iron," she stated emotionlessly.

"Blood," queried her male companion, his deep bass voice echoing slightly. She nodded and nonchalantly brushed off her glove on the leg of her pants as she rose from crouched position.

"I'd say about a week ago." The man shook his head sadly. He had too much of this to be significantly impacted but still the loss of so many lives bothered him. She was the same, though she showed only by a grimace. A sigh slipped from her lips. "Let's go, Kalrion. Maybe the next town managed to hold out."



Night fell and their horses were as weary as their humans. They paced beside their animals, sparing them their weight. Their saddle bags, once heavy with rations, now lay flaccid. She had some concern about that. While she and Kalrion could make do, the horses needed grain. They were well-breed animals, battle trained and eating only grass would make them ill.

Her mare stopped, head drooping in exhaustion. She gave the reins a pull, the horse shambled forward a couple steps, stopping again.

"Move it, Elka."

"Captain. Lights, there is a town out there," Kalrion said, triumph in his voice. She blinked, turning to look. Hope filled her eyes. She frowned suddenly, picking up faint sounds of movement.

"Kal," she murmured, sliding her sword out of its sheath and gazed into the dark. He automatically pulled his sword out as well. Lacking her stronger Elven senses, he could only wait until she made a move. There was a faint glean in the moonlight, she reacted, knocking a knife out of the air with a quick slash of her blade. The caution in the throw suggested a human. Her keen eyesight caught sight of men creeping towards them stealthily. They did not seem demonic.

"Hold," she called out "We are but mercenaries. I'm Nanaira of El'Lerione, my companion is Kalrion of Ti'Lethan." She sheathed her sword, removed her cloak, and letting the moonlight fall onto her features. Kalrion followed her lead, but his hand rest ready on his sheathed sword. The men straightened, paused, then strode forward to greet them.

"Pardons, we are part of the patrol," their representative said, expending his hand to her. She clasped hands with the man. "Well met. I am Niarn." She nodded, reclaiming her hand to grab the reins of her horse.

"We were starting to lose hope until we saw the lights of your town. All the other we have come across have been burnt to ashes."
"Ah, the smaller towns couldn't hold out. Luckily some managed to escape to join us. I doubt you will earn a lot of coin here, but at least you can get a decent nights sleep. Gan, why don't you guide them back to town," Niarn said, turning to the man on his left, who smiled at Nanaira.

"We are grateful," she said in reply

"This way Miss, Sir."




After seeing to their horses, Nanaira paid the inn keeper for a nights stay, food, and stabling. She struggled with her boots as she sat on the bed. The laces were dirt encrusted and resisted her efforts to loosen the knots. She yanked her gloved off, throwing them across the room, they hit the wall and landed on the dusty wooden floor. Her vambraces were already settled on the bedside table. She wouldn't bother with changing as exhausted as she was, but it would be nice to her feet free. She dung her nails into the knots trying to pry them apart. Finally she managed to get a finger under a knot and pull leather laces open. Standing up, she used the heel of her other boot to get her heel out. The boot dropped to the floor. Relieved, Nanaira started worked on the other boot. The worn leather laces gave away, tearing apart. She let loose a string of foul curses. Yet another thing that would have to be replaced. That would be tomorrow worries along with where she could get a bath. For now, she would sleep.



OOC: apologies for the crappy opening post, normally I do a bit better. My mind is crap right now. XD

Fernand was running again, shirtless with sweat rolling down his face. An infinitely deep fog surrounding him at all sides, and it was impossible to tell in which direction he was running. He wasn’t just running though, he was being chased through this infinite fog. It seemed like a force greater than demon was stalking him through the nothingness, and he dared not stop to find out what it was.

Fernand’s body wasn’t a pretty sight to behold. While he was occasionally remarked by tavern maids and mistresses as having a handsome face and features, and while he had had his fair share of opportunities, Fernand rarely took of his shirt for another’s eyes to behold him. The multitude of scars that painted his chest and back were each a horrific story he didn’t like to recall, and they made him less of a man and more of a creature in some women’s eyes.

Injuries from battles, near escapes from demonic hands, fellfire burnings, and a wicked branding in his ribs all covered him, but some of those scarred memories were more painful than others. His first scars belonged to his time training as a Spellsword, a magical swordsman who upheld the holy justice of the human race against demonic forces, but his second set belonged to the last time he was staying in Ti’Lethan. A dark time in Fernand’s past, where he committed murder and driven mad with lust, jealousy and betrayed fury. It seemed ironically fitting that he was to become a demon himself, after so recently finishing his Spellsword training.

Fernand was still being chased through the fog, endlessly nowhere, and the fog was everywhere. His pursuer too, was everywhere. A set of bloody red eyes that followed him wherever he went. This was his dream, or nightmare however you wanted to look at it. It was always this dream. Running through the fog from a pair of eyes. Sometimes he had different dreams, normal dreams, like finally taking to bed one of those tavern maids or even strange premonitions, like seeing an image of himself being scorched by fellfire a few days before it actually took place, but most of the time it was this dream.

Fernand tried to wake, like he always did. Somehow this dream terrified him more than fighting demons or the touch of fellfire, because somehow he always knew who owned that pair of eyes. A force greater than demons. Those eyes belonged to a force that could rival the Demon Lord himself, in Fernand’s mind. Agonizing terror, his scars burnt as if freshly made. He tried to wake, and failed.

But then, his dream changed suddenly. The fog was gone, and all he saw was a starless night on some endless stretch of grass. With mountains ahead of him, and the silhouette of a city behind him. Somehow he knew it was Ti’Lethan, but he had never dreamt this before. The owner of the eyes materialized in front of him. Those eyes that bled for him.

The owner of the bleeding eyes was just who he thought it would be. A woman with ruby red lips, celestial silk pale skin, and fiery red-blonde hair that flowed down to her waste, curling at the end. She was naked, the blood from her eyes rolling down her cheeks like tears, and she gave a smile so wickedly seductive it stopped Fernand in his tracks.

“My dear Animae,” she whispered, and the words struck Fernand like a slap to the face, and her breath smelt of ashes and sulfur.

“Valentine…”

Valentine, the nightmare woman of his dreams, smiled again, but this time her smile was much more wicked, which gave her a sadistic look, Fernand thought it looked like she took pleasure in his suffering. She probably would, if she could see him today. Funny for Fernand to think something like that, a kind of funny that made him want to vomit in disgust, while laughing at himself in the same sadistic way that she looked. Valentine was blind, her eyes bleeding in his dreams as a reminder of what he did to her. He blinded her, all those years ago, with his magic in a fit of rage and fury.

‘Look at me Animae, look at my skin,” Valentine said, her tone was sweet, but it couldn’t mask the venom hidden in her speech. Fernand took his eyes away from her body, skyward and away. “Look at me, my dearest! Look! LOOK!”

Fernand did look, and regretted it. Not only had Fernand blinded her, but scarred her badly with fire, and her flesh had turned from celestial pale to charred black, welting and disgusting. He did that to her, destroyed her beauty with a magical outburst.

“Animae, how fitting that now we both are scarred. I was beautiful once, and so were you. You robbed me of my beauty, and you ran. Now, your own scars show the cost of running from me. But they won’t be the last,” with her last sentence, all the sweetness had evaporated, and it was now a tone of pure hate.

“I don’t understand,” Fernand said, mystified.

“My foolish one, you never did understand a thing till it was too late,” Valentine laughed, a blood-curling, filthy sort of laugh that intensified the smell of ashes leaving her throat. “You blinded me, you burnt me, and you make me endure the worst pain of all. You broke my heart, dear Animae, and for that I shall have revenge.”

“Revenge? You are a weak, blind and disgusting creature of the streets!” Fernand retorted, gaining some of his old defiance back.

Valentine laughed again, in a more condescending way this time. She knew something, somehow, in her condition she acted like she still had all the cards over Fernand, like she did once before, many years ago. “It’s time you learnt, my dear man. I may be appearing to you now, but I am no ghost! I submitted myself to the will of the Demon Lord long ago, submitted my soul to His mighty will and His majestic power. The world turned its back on a scarred and blind whore, all except my Great Master. I was found by his malevolent kindness, his light and power, and I was restored! The Demon Lord himself gave me a new start, so that I may do his bidding and have my revenge against this world, and YOU!”

Fernand was stunned, lost for words. Valentine appeared before him, once again in a beautiful form, her scars had disappeared, and her eyes had stopped bleeding. Her eyes, which were once bright blue, were now a deep red color, and glowed with a new revitalizing power. In his idiotic stupor, all Fernand could ask was, “The Demon Lord is in Ti’Lethan?”

“You naïve fool! After so many years on your quest, you still have no idea what you’re really fighting!” Valentine laughed again, revering back to her evil, wicked cackle that made Fernand’s blood run cold. “No, The Demon Lord is not within Ti’Lethan, but he may appear in dreams, just like I am now within your dreams, my dear naïve man.”

Fernand could feel his rage swelling up once again, a powerful emotion he had little control over when it came to Valentine. He could feel that defiant anger creeping back into his mind. “You arrogant girl! If you think you can win a war inside my head, you are sadly mistaken!”

Instead of laughing, Valentine took on a haunting demeanor, her eyes narrowing on Fernand in concentration. “How I do love your spirit, Animae. You did spare me, and perhaps I will spare you. Make you my dog, my scarred little war dog, on the fateful day when the Demon Lord snuffs out human light and life! Oh, but I will still find you one day, Animae, and I will still take my revenge first! I am reborn a servant to the Great Master, and now I walk this world searching for you again, and when I find you, I WILL HAVE-! ”

Valentine was cut short, as Fernand’s hands gripped her neck with ferocious speed. His eyes glinted with an insane, furious light, and his hands crunched down on her fragile neck. She choked and tried to get free, and in a desperate sweep of her hands, her fingernails cut Fernand’s own neck, and she dug in. Fernand let out a howl and pushed Valentine to the floor; she had just enough air in her lungs left to scream before the dream shattered and he was pulled back into the waking world.

---

Waking with a start, he shot up in his bed. He was inside his old room in one of the Ti’Aurthan Inns. It was called ‘The Vigil Watchmen’ and was ironic in the fact a lot of garrison men came here to drink and be anything but vigil on the palisade walls of the town.

The sunlight from his window assaulted his eyes, and he noticed his gear in the corner of the room, his clothes had been washed and neatly folded, his weaponry and backpack lying motionless on the floor. Pushing long stands of hair from his face, he noticed that he wasn’t dressed, and he must have been moved up here and tended to after he collapsed in front of the town gate. He didn’t know how long he had slept for, but it seemed like days, and felt like months in his bones. He touched the place on his neck where Valentine had dug in, in his dream, and didn’t feel any injury or see any blood on his hands. It was a dream after all, just a stupid dream. Valentine couldn’t be a servant to the Demon Lord, and it was just some silly justification in his mind for being afraid of her.

There was a knock on the door, and Fernand called ‘enter’ even when the door was already being pushed open. Standing there was a familiar face, one he liked seeing after being away for so long, a friend in a sense, for someone without many friends. She was the mistress and owner of this Inn; Miranda was her name, a human woman in her early 30s, quite pretty although recently widowed, so the drunken patrons who frequented her Inn made exception not to hit on her. She commonly wore a black bonnet to hide her face, but despite the loss of her husband she did a good job at maintaining business at the Inn, and had a lot of support from the townspeople. She first met Fernand after shortly after her husband’s death; Fernand was apart of the patrol that was ambushed by brigades on that fateful day.

Miranda had recoiled when she first saw Fernand’s chest some months ago, but now it was a common enough sight for her. Miranda had been charged with tending to Fernand’s injuries many times since his arrival in Ti’Aurthan, and subsequent employment as an agent of the garrison. She had in her hands some fresh bandages, and following behind her was another maid with a small tray of food, preserved bacon rations and potato. She shot Fernand a look that made him almost jump out of the bed, and sat down at the foot of it while the maid placed the tray on the bedside table and left.

When the door was closed shut, she threw the rolled-up bandages at Fernand and huffed. “You are far too reckless! You could have been killed last week!”

“Last week?” Fernand said weakly, pushing away the bandages. “What are you talking about woman?”

“Last week! You’ve been out cold for 8 days, Fernand. I’m surprised your hunger didn’t kill you in your sleep. In fact, I’m surprised you came back alive, you foolish man! You’re so reckless! Haven’t you…haven’t you learnt…” The tears began to well up in Miranda’s eyes as she spoke. Miranda leaned closer to Fernand and embraced him as he sat weakly in bed. With considerable effort, he lifted his hand and placed it around her shoulders to hug her.

“It’s alright, I’m back now,” Fernand said quietly. Suddenly it felt like someone had punched him with an iron fist in the stomach, and he realized what it felt like not to eat for a week.

“Oh…silly, you should eat something,” Miranda said pulling away, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.

Fernand grabbed the tray and lifted it onto his lap. He picked up his knife and fork and slowly began to eat. “Hmm…the cooking at this inn…has always been terrible,” Fernand said jokingly between mouthfuls.

“I’m sorry about that…it’s just after my husband’s…I didn’t want someone else to die,” Miranda said, wiping away the last tear. “I’m glad you’re back, do you need help with your bandages?”

Fernand looked up from his plate and looked Miranda in the eye, giving her a rare smile. “I thank you for your compassion, but you have other customers to attend to I’m sure. I’ll bandage myself.”

---

Sometime later, Fernand stepped into the common room of the Inn. He looked around and saw an odd assortment of guards and travelers eating their breakfast, as well as the occasional local townsperson who came in to barter rations with the Inn’s kitchen staff. Fernand spotted Miranda hurrying around busily, getting some guards seated and taking breakfast orders along with her maids. Fernand didn’t pay her any mind, and walked out the door.

Fernand had taken off his old bandages before, and was now wrapped in a new set. In truth, his wounds were minor, but he liked to remain bandaged for a while after sustaining a wound in order to keep it clean. Letting a wound received by demons become infected was a mistake Fernand never wanted to make. His neck was also bandaged as well, when he looked in the mirror and found small scratch marks there, to his dread. While it did hurt to move too much, he decided he should report in as soon as he could, now that he was back. He wore a long-sleeved white button shirt, with the sleeves rolled halfway up. Fernand didn’t like to wear armor chest plates or shirts much, so refrained from putting on his leather armor plate. Fernand also wore dark, near-black pants, with a belt for his pants and another belt for the rapier at his side. The rapier was a standard weapon, not magically enhanced in any way, as Fernand found his own magic adequate most of the time. Finally, he wore his dark blue cloak that went down to his ankles.

Walking down the street, he received a few nods of recognition from guards and townsfolk alike. His position and importance to the garrison wasn’t unnoticed here in Ti’Aurthan, despite the fact he was essentially a mercenary spellsword without the proper legal authority that came with the position, given his crimes in Ti’Lethan. The people here respected his skills though, and he was sure that his return was known by the entire town at this stage. They didn’t treat him like a Lord, Fernand had put a stop to that quickly during his first weeks when he was addressed as ‘Lord Spellsword’, but they knew him nonetheless. Sometimes, Fernand preferred not to be known.

He scratched at his face, he had gone about 2 weeks without shaving and the makings of a beard were appearing. His hair was also longer since the last time he set foot in this town, and he supposed in the more cultured and cultivated society of Ti’Lethan he would look something like a vagabond or rogue, instead of a solider. Sometimes he didn’t realize how the lordship and nobility could wine and dine themselves to death while a war was being waged against their borders by forces supernatural. The world of the nobles, as always, was closed doors to him and everyone else though.

Arriving at a large wooden house, he saw a sign suspended from the doorway. On it was written a single word in the borderland common tongue, ‘mayor’, and there was a small fading painting of a justice’s scales. He opened the heavy wooden door slowly, and stepped inside shutting it quickly to keep out the cold wind.

"Are you absolutely certain that information is reliable, Lieara?"

In a small cozy shop located in a human town that was small enough that it almost did not make it to the map, all kinds of magical items were left around with a careless but strangely organized way. The air held a heavy scent of musk, jasmine and ylang-ylang, a sure sign that a love potion was recently brewed in the small iron cauldron at one of the inner corners.

The woman named Lieara was sitting on a wooden chair beside the cauldron with what had to be a half completed money pouch on her lap, a golden needle and a silver thread in her hands. Her plump kindly appearance that hinted that she had been through at least thirty summers were lightly affected by solemnness, and her dark gray eyes were grave and sharp like that of a falcon's.

"I can bet my life on it too if you want. The spy I have in the cult of Verkase was killed not long after he sent this information to my messangers. Two of them who were playing decoys were caught and killed too. I have just sent money for their Ceremony of the Passing."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have doubted." The Unician sorceress sitting in front of Lieara lowered her head, soft silver hair following the motion to caress her ears. The words were regretful and apologetic, and a slender hand came up to draw a symbol of a Passing prayer in the air. "I will double the price to compensate for their family's loss."

"You are too kind, Syiana, nobody else would propose to pay for the lives sacrificed to dig out secrets. They who need not dirty their hands, they do not understand the true value behind the information they bought, only recognising the importance." Lieara's tone was bitter. "Half the days, I wanted to lift the price beyond reasonable."

Syiana's voice was understanding. "I am willing to accomodate any change in your pricing."

"Oh Syia, you know that I won't do that to you." Lieara was quickly shaken out of her dark mood and she patted Syiana's hand with a warm smile that lit her face up like a light orb. "We have been friends for most of my lifetime now, you should know that if not for your insistence, I wouldn't even have agreed to take your money."

"You need it more than I do. I know that you are not earning enough from this shop that your husband left you, or you wouldn't have taken up your old trade."

Lieara raised her eyebrows enigmatically, "What if I am doing it for revenge? Demons took the life of husband and son, why wouldn't I want to find a way to get at them?"

Syiana opened her eyes fully and gazed straight into Lieara's own, "Because you're stronger than that."

The information trader was silent for a long moment before she impulsively dropped the sewing and embraced the Unician tightly. There were no tears, no sounds of distress but her body was trembling and her breathing had turned erratic.

Syiana breathed in the scent that surrounded Lieara's being, and her hands making soothing motions on her friend's back. She understood how much Lieara needed the hug, knowing how the once happily married woman was cruelly deprived of her family in an assault on the town by demons and the deep loss had remained a permanent hole in her heart.

"Thanks..." Lieara finally pulled away from Syiana and she rubbed her hands together, a gesture which meant that she was embarressed. "I shouldn't delay you any longer, you need to get the information back to your queen after all."

"Not before you take this." Syiana took a small pouch of coins that had been dangling from her girdle and pressed it into Lieara's hands. "You must accept this."

"Alright alright." Lieara sighed and tossed the pouch into an open drawer nearby without even checking the content out, "Now off you go, I have work to do. The wife of the baker wants the charmed money pouch in an hour."

"Make me one next time?"

"Out of my shop, Syiana Rue Ishyciel!"

Syiana walked out of the shop grinning, but it quickly morphed into grave expression when her thoughts were directed onto the information she had received. Lieara was right, she should get back to the queen with it as fast as she can. With that set in her mind, she went towards the inn where she had left her horse.

---

"Lady Syiana! You're back!" Syiana had just entered through the gates of Unician city, Nil'Noere, when a child dashed out from one of the buildings, yelling as she came.

Spotting the young girl, Syiana whispered to her horse, affectionately named as Snow because of its pure white coat, and it slowed to a stop. She was still getting off the horse when the girl latched onto her and she laughed. "Eirea! Blessings from Vie'Neria, what got you so excited?"

"Mother said that you have got something for me for my birthday?" Eirea's eyes were practially shining with anticipation and her cheeks were rosy from the little run she had made to reach Syiana. Her soft silver hair were tied up in braid and bounced against her back as she jumped up and down. "Show me, show me!"

Syiana laughed as she scooped the child up, earning a delighted squeal. "Oh you! Have some patience, it's only one more day to your birthday."

Eirea pouted, "But I want to see!"

"You'll see it tomorrow. I'll come and give it to you personally." Syiana pinched the girl's cheek playfully and set her down on the ground. "Now, go and help your mother with the mid-day meal. She won't be happy if you stay out here so long."

Eirea waved exuberantly and rushed back to her house, leaving Syiana shaking her head. The girl was like the younger sister that she never had, and she could not help but dote on the child. Briefly she wondered if she had been like Eirea when she was younger, and she shook her head again as she mounted her horse and rode the short distance home.

Her house was quiet as usual, to the point of being so silent that one would almost doubt that there was nobody home. When Syiana's feet brought her to the inner study, there was the faint scratching sound made by writing, and she pushed the door open to find her mother working laboriously on a long piece of scroll surrounded by piles of thick tomes. "I'm home."

Shizu looked up, her pale green eyes unfocused at first due to the abrupt shift in attention, then a smile transformed her tired-looking face to one that had attracted much attention from the opposite gender when she was younger. "Welcome back. You are back earlier than expected. Were there any problems with the negotiation?"

"No, mother." Syiana went to her side and knelt to kiss her hand, a sign of respect and love. It ached her heart when she found that Shizu was thinner than when she last saw her, and she knew that her mother had been submerging herself in her research in an attempt to forget the painful loss of her husband a year ago. "King Kuroeis Merieon has agreed to help keep an eye on the worshippers of Verkase after their attempted assassination of Princess Gereia in Ti'Lethan, and he will let us know if he discovers anything. The king felt bad that such a thing happened in the city of his rule."

"King Kuroeis is a good man." Shizu nodded, "It is well that he has promised his help, for he has a lot of capable people working for him. The God of Chaos's worshippers increased hostility is most puzzling, we need all the assistance that we can get to figure the reason behind it."

Not for the first time, Syiana was reminded why her queen had lamented loud and long about Shizu's refusal to take the position that she currently held. Her mother's mind was brilliant, especially since Syiana did not reveal much about the matter in the first place. "Indeed. Queen Jibriela said as much."

"Speaking of that, the Queen asked that you to see her as soon as you get yourself settled back, she seemed to have something important to say to you. Which means you should take a well-needed bath and meal first before you leave for the palace."

"You cooked?" Syiana was reasonably surprised for Shizu rarely cooked, even after the man of the house fell ill and eventually, lost the battle to that which ate his health away. The task then fell onto Syiana, and when she was not available, the older Unician would take the chance to impose on the few friends in Nil'Noere that she had. "What is the occasion, mother?"

"Nothing. I just had the feeling that I should cook this meal today, and so I did." Shizu's cheeks actually turned a little pink before she pulled her best stern look on. "Now, no more questions from and for you, young lady. Off you go to the bath."

"Yes, mother." Syiana grinned and did as told, more because she really needed the bath than because her mother all but commanded her to take it. Then mother and child sat on the common room for a surprisingly good meal, after which she retreated to her room to prepare herself.

Syiana was sitting on her bed, trying to adjust the diamond-shaped sapphire into its right place below her horn before checking her appearance a final time when she was suddenly hit by a strong wave of doziness. Sensing that it was not of natural cause, she struggled to keep awake as she staggered towards her staff. She managed to reach it, but the moment she did, the world blacked out.

[OOC: I don't really have a plan as to where to drop Syiana into the present world, although I was contemplating Ti'Aurthan. But in the end, I decided that it'll be more interesting to leave it in the hands of somebody else. XD]

The pewter priestess stared back at Samuel with emotionless features. Lying on his cot, he held the small figurine in the air, examining it from every angle as he recalled the conversation with Wenru. The elf’s words and sudden departure confused him. She had always been a difficult person to read, but tonight had been beyond normal for the elf.

Samuel rolled onto his side and set the game piece on a small barrel of gunpowder he was using as a makeshift nightstand. What was she trying to say? Samuel asked himself with a frown.Just because she is a fortune teller, doesn’t mean she always has to be vague. Normally he would have just dismissed her predictions, only to find them accurate in hindsight. But, this one concerned him. Not because it was .about him. This time she was actually worried, Samuel even suspected she might have been crying. Wenru was constantly telling him his fortune, vaguely warning him about various things that were going to happen, but her tone was always light-hearted. She knew he would always come out of it okay, even if in possession of a few bruises and broken bones.

Shaking his head, Samuel tried to get rid of the thoughts. I will just have to deal with it when it happens. He admonished himself. Without details, which Wenru either did not know or for some reason refused to divulge, worrying about it would be useless. He glanced at the black and white suit hanging from the crossbars of the sparsely furnished tent; tomorrow was the immediate concern anyway.

Samuel rolled onto his back as he observed the suit. Tomorrow he would be wearing it in front of a royal court. He smiled and closed his eyes as he listened to the roar of applause in his head. Samuel had preformed in front of numerous crowds, but never royalty. The fact it was the Elven court made it even more special. The Elven court had not had any outsiders in the royal castle in the last three hundred years, even ambassadors had only been permitted to talk with the queen and king in a separate building specifically made for the purpose. Yet, the completion of the first railway between Ti'Aurthan and the Elven capital was apparently an occasion worthy enough to make an exception. The circus had been invited there by royal invitation to aid the celebration.

Glancing about the tent Samuel made a few mental notes for tomorrow. In the far corner, his holsters we carelessly draped over the trunk containing Samuel’s other clothes. The guns themselves were carefully stored in a small, custom made mahogany box near the gunpowder barrel. I’ll need to clean those again tomorrow. The medium sized metal box beside the gun case housed his gunsmith kit which he had used earlier to make all the ammo he would need tomorrow. Double check the number in the morning.

With a sigh, Samuel mentally admitted he was just stalling. Closing his eyes, Samuel rolled over to face the tent wall. It was already late, and Samuel needed to sleep. Forcing his mind to be quiet, Samuel quickly fell asleep.

*_*

A yawn preceded Samuel waking up. Through half-open eyelids he sleepily looked around the tent as he sat up. Stretching his arms above his head, Samuel stopped in the middle of a second yawn as he stared at one of the tent walls. The normally dark brown canvas that made up the tent was now light tan as bright light diffused through the fabric. “Damn it.” It must have been at least mid-morning; far beyond the time the circus was supposed to have left.

Forcing his still waking body to move as fast as it could, Samuel quickly yanked down his suit from the cross-beams of the tent. Several curses were the only sound besides rustling clothing as Samuel hurriedly dressed. He was jumping around tugging on his black and white pants, when a creeping sense that something was missing wormed its way into his already frantic thoughts. He paused, unsure of what the sensation was. Nothing. Everything is here. He tried reassured himself. But in that brief moment there were no sounds distracting him, and he heard it for the first time; silence. The circus employed almost a hundred people, numerous animals, and had commission a train, yet the only thing Samuel could hear was birds.

Shirtless, Samuel quickly dashed through the flaps of his tent. Instead of being surrounded by a small encampment of tents, all he could see was an empty field leading up to the forest which marked the border of the elven kingdom. Samuel opened his mouth, but no words came out, he just stared blankly at the vacant field before him. The general lay of the land was the same, a few things here and there were different but, it was the same placed it was last night.

Slowly, Samuel absent mindedly began walking around to the back of his tent, as if maybe everyone had decided to hide from him back there. No luck, just more of the field and a few rolling hills in the distance. Trudging back into the tent Samuel sat down on his cot and just stared at tent flaps. His mind had gone from a panicked whirl to a sudden screeching halt.

For several long minutes Samuel sat trying to figure out what was going on. Had they left without him? “No, there is no way they could have gone without making a racket and waking me up. Besides why wouldn’t they wake me up? Not to mention where did the train tracks go?’ Had he been kidnapped? “That is just stupid. Who kidnaps someone and takes their tent as well?” Every reason Samuel could come up with, he could shoot down as well. Eventually, Samuel stopped thinking and stood up.

Time to stop thinking and start doing. Samuel strode across the tent and grabbed his holsters from atop the trunk they were perched on. The troupe should be in the Elven capital for a few days. With practiced moves he slung each holster around his waist and fastened in securely. I just need to find a way to get to the capital before they leave. Opening the small box containing his guns Samuel pulled out the black handled six-shooter and quickly began loading it with ammo from the box. He quickly repeated the process with his white gripped revolver. Go look around the woods real quick and see if I can find the train tracks. Holding the black trimmed gun in his right hand and the white trimmed one in his left, he twirled each gun then slid them into their respective holsters as he had done thousands of times. He left his special three-shooter in the box, it was heavier and he did not have a holster for it. Just need get to the capital. I’ll figure out what happened later. Samuel grabbed the small pewter priestess off the gun powder barrel and stuffed it in his pocket before walking out


*_*

Thirty minutes latter Samuel emerged from the woods beating his hair with his hands dislodging a few twigs. When he saw his tent Samuel smiled. “Well, at least I didn’t get lost.” A small bright point for the dark morning he was having. Traipsing through the woods had been useless, it was as if there had never a railroad running through this part of the country.

An exasperated sigh escaped and Samuel made his way back to his tent. “Well, back to the tent and grab what I can. Then just pick a direction and start walking.” It was not a motivating idea. Samuel would have to leave almost everything behind. Plus, he had no idea which direction was the right one.

Samuel was only a few paces away from his tent when a young male elf emerged from inside, his arms laden with things from Samuel’s tent. The elf looked to be about Samuel’s age, but looks were deceiving where elves were concerned. The man’s clothes were a bit on the tattered side, probably down on his luck Samuel thought. The elf seemed more surprised to see Samuel and than Samuel was. Shocked, the elf dropped his ill-gotten goods.

“Hey! Careful with that stuff!” Samuel shouted as he saw several of his finer suits and some of his gunsmith equipment clatter to the ground. Samuel was more concerned with his stuff, than with the person stealing it. He knelt down and began looking over his stuff..

The young elf seemed disturbed and a bit slighted at the human’s lack of attention. The elf took several steps back and drew a battered sword from a sheath on his belt and held it up as it he was going to attack. Samuel, still knelling, incredulously stared at the elf. “Please. Don’t you know who I am?” In a flash the black trimmed revolver was in his right hand, a heartbeat latter the trigger was pulled. The sword flew out of the elf’s hand as the bullet impacted the blade, sending the ruined weapon several yards away.

The elf’s wide eyes and horrified face made Samuel chuckle. “Please spare me wizard!” The elf begged as he dropped to his knees, the fear apparent in the man’s voice. Wizard? This guy must live in the woods or something if he thinks that was magic. Samuel stood up, gun still casually leveled at the elf. “Go. Get out of here, I have bigger problems to worry about than an amateur thief.”

The elf did not wait for Samuel to even finish before he jumped to his feet and began running. The elf only got about twenty feet though, when he heard the same loud pop as before and a small bit of earth in front of him jumped up. “Wait a second.” The wizard commanded. The elf turned around, the strange human wizard was still standing there, arms crossed, his weird magic wand held loosely in his hand, a huge grin on his face. “I have an idea.”

*_*

Several hours later, the elf trudging along in front of the wizard, loaded down with most of the wizard’s possessions. The wizard was only a few steps behind him, carrying several items himself, still threatening him with his unusual wand. “Are you sure this is the way to the nearest town?”

(OCC: Sorry about this post everyone. I wrote this during breaks over the last two days, so I am worried about continuity. Plus, I am a bit worried about the ending. Looking back I worry if it comes off as a bit of god modding. But I figure an amature thief is no match for a gunman “never bring a knife to a gunfight” and seeing a gun in action without knowing what one is has got to be scary. But there it is, let me know if it needs editing.)

EMERY

Once the ceremony was over, Emery was back in the long, low building, sighing in relief. He sank into a seat as he was swarmed by all manner of priests congratulating him and telling he’d done wonderfully. He hated all the attention, and would much rather be back in the quiet of the church compound picking herbs and taking care of animals to all this. Henri was at his elbow, excitedly jabbering about what a great year it would be, while others who had taken part in the ceremony graciously well-wished him.

Merik came into the building, ushering the others out of his way.

“Excellent job, Brother Emery!” he said joyously. “We’re sure to have a wonderful year, blessed as we were by your engaging performance as our Teth’du’Aul! Bravo! Bravo!”

Emery ducked his head. “Sir,” he mumbled. “May I please get dressed properly and go back to the compound?”

Merik, who had to bow forward to hear Emery’s quiet voice among the many around him in the cramped space, rubbed his forehead distractedly with a cloth. “You can get out of the ceremonial robes, yes. But I need you to run a few errands for me before you get back to the compound.”

Emery didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, but at least he could get back into something that suited him more than something so sacred that he had no right wearing it. He felt as if Ran’Diel was looking down at him this very moment, and, with trepidation, he disagreed very much with their proclamation of a good year, much as he loathed to. He felt something; something stirring within him that said it wasn’t going to be a good year at all. But he hoped it was merely superstition on his part and not truth.

He waited until the crowds were swept away by Merik before hastily donning his regular clothing, watching over his shoulder nervously the entire time. Once he was dressed, he came outside the long, low building to find Henri waiting with parchment and pouch in hand. He gave them to Emery with a shy smile on his round face.

“You were very good.”

“It was nothing,” Emery flushed. “I mean, I practiced for such a long time… It came naturally once the music started.”

“Well, still…” Henri lingered around, obviously waiting to see what Emery was to do.

Emery unrolled the parchment to read an itemized list. There were various animal necessities, food for the kitchens, and other various tools needed at he compound. He rolled the parchment back up and tucked the pouch away into a small bag he had tied around his waist for just these occasions. Still, Henri lingered.

“What is it, Henri? Don’t you have duties of your own to attend to?” Emery asked, wondering why the boy still stood here. After all, if they could spare Henri, why wasn’t he the one doing the shopping?

“It’s just that, the High Priest requests your presence after supper. I was to deliver you that message as well.”

The High Priest…again?! Emery didn’t know whether to feel apprehension or pride. After all, the High Priest was a very busy man.

“He must be very pleased with your performance!” Henri said, as though he could read Emery’s very thoughts. “He has so much to do, yet he wishes to see you! You should be excited!”

Emery could see that Henri was excited, but Emery couldn’t help but worry if the High Priest had finally found out his secret. He nodded and smiled tightly at Henri.

“Well, I should be getting on with… this…” He indicated the list. Henri gave him a puzzled look, but nodded.

“Yes, and I have much work ahead of me, as well! See you later, Brother!”

“Yes…” Emery watched as the young boy skipped off, to whatever mundane chore had been set before him. Acolytes famously had the worst and most boring jobs set for them, such as sitting in the bell tower for hours, or picking up animal droppings.

Emery opened the list and began his walk to the marketplace. It was a short, brisk walk, though it was lengthened by all the happy people who stopped and talked to him about the shining hope for a good new year. Emery kept his foreboding feeling to himself, and obligingly stopped to talk to some of the people.

As the day wore on, he had most of the supplies packed in a wagon ready to go to the compound, though he still had to go to the port for some fish. He sent the wagon on ahead, as he had enough money in the pouch to purchase a little help bringing the fish to the compound.

Emery had left the port for last because it was one of his least favorite places to go. It was always loud and rowdy, and there were bars lining the way there, which made it all the more loud and rowdy. Typically, Emery wasn’t supposed to go alone, but since it was still light, he didn’t think it would hurt to quickly buy the fish and get out of there.

At the stall, he purchased what was on the list, and was just about to open his mouth to ask for a little labor for an additional coin, when he heard someone loudly calling out, “Father! Father!”

At first, Emery dismissed it; but he finally turned when he realized they were calling out to him.

A short, fat man with exaggerated sideburns and a handkerchief tied around his head was sprinting over to him, bushy eyebrows drawn low.

“Yeah, I was talkin’ to you!” he pointed a filthy finger to close to Emery’s face, to which the priest flinched back. His breath reeked of rum as it washed over Emery’s face. “I need yer help!”

“Uh, right… What do you need m--?” he couldn’t even finish his sentence because the strange man had a steel grip on his arm and was dragging him over to one of the ships moored at the docks. Emery’s feet stumbled forward on their own as he tried to regain his balance.

He tried again. “What do you need my help for?” His voice rattled as he faltered, still falling over his own feet. Emery was strongly reminded of Merik, from earlier that day.

They finally came to an abrupt halt beside a crowd of unwashed men standing outside a semi-large ship with splintered sides. It looked as though it had seen better days. Even the sails seemed to droop in the windless air.

The short man pushed his way through the crowd shouting curses, and as the men parted, Emery could see a young man lying on his back and being propped up by two other men. He was sweating and gasping, and had a huge gash in his side and across his left arm. He seemed to be holding onto the wound, as if holding it would keep his guts in, or maybe to ease the pain. Emery couldn’t help it. He knew it was dangerous, but he rushed forward into the crowd of stinking men and knelt beside the young man.

“What happened to this man?” he cried, looking up to the others surrounding him. It was then he noticed that a good many of them suffered wounds; one man had half his nose gone, another was missing a finger. They all had bruises and welts and cuts. A cold stone settled into the bottom of his stomach as realization fell over him like cold water. They were pirates.

Pirates hadn’t been seen in at least a decade. It was thought that they had all been killed by demons, or turned to the demon’s side. But that really wasn’t an issue for a man of the cloth, especially Emery, who could never leave a man to suffer like this.

“Do you have clean water?” he asked the short man, as he seemed to be the one in charge.

“No, but we’ll get some.” The short man cuffed one of the men on the back of the head. “Get some clean water, Snurt!”

Snurt rushed off, evidently to get clean water. But clean water was not going to cut it. Emery needed his herbs and tools, and he had left them all back in his room at the compound. And he could just imagine the priests when pirates came knocking at the door asking for his things…

“I-I need my things,” Emery said, bringing his eyes to meet the short man’s. The short man’s brown eyes met his.

“And where would those ‘things’ be?” he asked gruffly.

“Back at the compound. The—the church I belong to.”

The short man looked down at the young man, his eyes gone soft.

“Do whatever you must to keep the boy alive.”

The sweating man was still gasping and shivering, but he looked over at Emery and managed a smile. “Tell me, Father. Am I going to die?”

Emery looked at the wound. It was clearly infected and probably had been for some time. But that didn’t mean death. Emery knew the healing arts, and was exceptional at them. If Emery could take him back to the compound, to a clean, warm place with all his tools, and everything he needed at hand… Maybe. Maybe he would live. But there were no certainties. And he couldn’t bear to lie to the man, with his eyes so trusting.

“Perhaps.”

A great gasp rose from the men, and Emery felt the short man grab the back of his robe quite violently. Emery began coughing and choking, and the man lying down sat up.

“Dad!” he said sharply, wincing in pain and holding his side gingerly. The two men behind him grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to make him lie down again, but he shrugged them off. “Dad,” he said more gently. “Please. Let him speak.”

The short man let Emery go, but it more like a shove away from him than anything else.

“Speak then!” he barked.

With their relationship revealed, Emery could see now why the short man was more concerned over this young man than anyone else here, even though they were all clearly injured. Though they all looked as though they could heal on their own, they would not be the better for it. He thought of the man with a chunk of his nose gone missing.

“I-I… was thinking…” Emery said hesitantly, afraid of the short man’s reaction to his proposal.

“Aye? Spit it out already, you great coward!” The short man looked as though he wanted to cuff Emery as one of his men.

“I need to take him to the compound.” He said it with great conviction, and he met the man’s eyes again, fearful as he was. This man could be dealt with no other way.

The short man’s face turned red with anger, and he looked as though he were going to shout at him or beat him. But his son put a bloody hand to his father’s arm. Looking at his son, he could not refuse him, this much was obvious.

“All my tools and supplies are there,” Emery put in quickly. “I would have all the experienced help on hand when I need it, and all the tools that I need. It’s the only way I know of that will save his life. Short of taking him to the surgeon.”

At the mention of a surgeon, the short man spat. “Ain’t no surgeon gonna touch this boy!”

Emery would have liked to know why he hated surgeons, but he supposed it would have to wait. Emery drew himself up and dusted off his robes. He reached into the small bag at his hip and withdrew the rest of the coins. He handed them to the short man.

“Please, take this as my word that I will do all that I can to save your son.”

“Who said he was my son?” the short man growled, but his pirate’s greed got the best of him as he took the money and pocketed it. Emery decided not to say anything about how the boy had called him Dad. Perhaps he had misunderstood?

The short man waved at the two men beside the young man. “Cowl, Shade, get him up, will you? Follow this priest to his compound. What’s your name, boy?” The short man nodded at Emery.

“It’s Emery, sir. Emery Quinn.”

“Name’s Scourge, this here kid’s called Griff. You take good care of ‘em, or I’ll slice down every one of your precious priests. You hear me?”

Emery nodded timidly. “Yes, sir…”

“Good!” Scourge looked at him approvingly for the first time. “If you need me, ask for Scourge, the Captain of the Omen, you hear? Ask ‘round the taverns. They’ll know of me. Or find one of my men here,” he jerked a thumb at the men still standing around. “And they’ll know where to find me.”

Emery nodded again.

“Now git out of here!” He swung a hand violently towards the town, and Emery quickly took off without a backwards glance. He waited for the two men to catch up. He was guessing Shade was the tall, dark skinned man, and Cowl was the medium, overweight one. Emery had seen few people of dark skin as Shade was, though he didn’t have much time to sit and stare. Just as he began leading them away from the docks, Snurt came back, with the clean water. He looked peeved to see them taking off.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Ask the boss,” Cowl said. “We gotta carry this lump to who-knows-where.”

As Snurt scurried off to his Captain, the injured man looked up at Cowl.

“Who’re you callin’ a lump?” his voice was faint, but Emery still detected a playful hint in it. The young man tried to grin, but he looked like he was going to black out.

“Let’s hurry,” Emery suggested.

~*~

RHYS

The party was as dull as Rhys knew it would be. He stood beside the refreshment table, idly fidgeting with his nearly empty wine glass. Glancing around, he saw all the important people, chatting or dancing. What he could decipher from snatches of conversation were mind-numbingly dull. Or maybe it was the wine. He’d had quite a lot from the start of this party.

Rhys edged over and popped some cheese in his mouth, scanning the room for his little sister. When he found her, he couldn’t help but grin. She was flirting with two handsome men, smile on her face, and laughing every now and then. Then the grin vanished as fast as it had come. At least one of us is having a good time… he thought grimly.

“Not enjoying yourself?” said a teasing and familiar voice from beside him. Rhys looked over to see his best friend, Theodore, standing there with an amused look on his face and glass of wine in his hand.

“Not as much as Ruby is,” he sighed, quickly draining his glass of wine and taking Theo’s. Theo watched him down his drink, still amused. When he had polished off that glass as well, Theo grinned.

“That was mine.”

“I know.” Rhys flashed his friend a smile before going back to his melancholy look. He put the glass down and crossed his arms. “I think these parties are meant to make me hate myself.”

“It’s a party, Rhys. You’re supposed to enjoy yourself.”

“I know,” Rhys said, irritated. “But they keep shoving these nit-wit women at me, whose greatest accomplishments are batting their eyes and giggling like a whore.”

Theodore smiled at that.

“I’m tired.”

“You should be.” Theodore had seen all that wine he’d been drinking.

“And woozy.”

“What did you expect?”

Rhys laid his head sleepily on his friend’s shoulder. “Take me to bed?”

Theodore glanced around, noting that Rhys’s parents were no longer in the room either. He cast his warm eyes down at his friend. “Okay.” He threaded his hand through Rhys’s and led him out of the great hall and through the long corridor to the stairs. Rhys was indeed tipsy; he was starting to fall asleep. Theodore stopped at the stairs and shook his friend’s shoulders.

“Come on, Rhys. Wake up!”

Rhys shook his head in order to clear it. “Right, right. Where were we?”

“Come on. You need to go to bed…” He led his friend up the stairs carefully.

“I thought we were gonna sleep together?” Rhys said.

“Not in the way you were thinking.” Theodore opened the door to Rhys’s room and pretty much dragged him to his huge bed. He helped Rhys lie down, and once he looked comfortable, he tried to leave, but Rhys wouldn’t let go of his hand.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

Theodore sighed and settled himself to sit next to Rhys on the bed. Rhys finally closed his eyes and fell asleep.

~*~

Rhys came awake with a start; someone had just kicked his side. What a rude awakening! He sat up, and the kicking stopped.

“It’s awake!” A deep man’s voice said. “Go call the Captain!”

There was a rustling and then footsteps running off, which Rhys assumed was to go get the Captain. The man who was kicking him came into focus after Rhys had rubbed his eyes and sought him out. He was wearing some kind of dark blue uniform and had severely cut, short dark hair.

“Where the hell am I?”

The man standing before him glared. “What we want to know is, what the hell are you? Are you a new breed of demon?”

“Demon?!” Rhys sat up angrily. “I am no demon! I happen to be the Phoenian Lord’s son!”

“Phoenian?” The man looked at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “That can’t be true…” But he was taking in Rhys’s features, and he looked a little sick with realization. As well he should! Rhys stood up, rubbing his sore side.

“Bastard…” he lifted his shirt to see dark bruises along his ribcage. “Man…” he complained. “Who’s gonna want me now?”

The man blinked in surprise, having expected a different reaction.

“Well? Are you going to tell me where I am? This looks like a dungeon!” Rhys looked around, as he noticed he and the man were inside a closed cell. “You arrested me! Why?”

“Is this yours?” the man asked, trying to divert the conversation. He pointed at a red spear set against the wall outside the cell.

“It is! How did you get that? I left that in my room!”

“I have no idea; it was with you when you suddenly appeared here, at the gates.”

Rhys scratched his head. “And where’s here, at the gates?” He was growing impatient.

“Here is the great fortress city of Ti’Lethan,” the man finally replied. The name sounded distantly familiar to Rhys. “This is the holding cell just inside the gates.”

“Okay…” he said slowly. “Now, why am I here?”

“I have no idea, sir…” the man said. “But if it’s true, and you are a Phoenian…”

The man looked at him with apprehension.

Rhys sighed. “Whatever. Can I at least get outta here? It’s a little cramped.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that until the Captain of the guards arrives… We have to determine whether you are, in fact, a real Phoenian.”

“And if I am?” Rhys asked, wondering if they were outlawed or something; and he was going to be killed because he somehow ‘appeared’ here.

“Then the ceremony for good luck may have worked this year,” was all he had to say.

~*~

(OOC: Wow, this one is longer than my first post!)

[ Vidula ]
(Liam comes in my next post)





A smile glinted at the corners of a pale mouth, with slender hand courting a rosy apple the femme walked down hallowed halls of her employer’s mansion. Wearing the usual outfit, which consisted of the dress and furred jacket, which clung tightly to the curvaceous frame of the female elf, sunlight played as well, warming her features and other immobile objects around her. A free hand rose up to brush a wisp of pale hair behind a pointed and quite delicate ear studded with gold pieces that were either polished and rounded or ordinate as they punched up her exposed audit. Pale eyes flickered here and there before her feet came to a pause in front of a large stain glass window that was virtually clear of any colors but delicate and intricate looking to give it the title of stained glass. To others it seemed that she was looking for something as the hand that courted that rosé apple pressed to pale lips. Only to have them open and crack down in a brisk crunch of apple skin and flesh, Vidula’s pools of gray glittered in frustration. Yet to other male servants and workers her casual smile and her frustrated eyes threw them off greatly, some of the female servants only smiled dully as others glared as her personage passed by. Other noises of conversations in private alcoves and soft footsteps rebounded off cold marble and wood walls, as she stood placating on her thoughts in the public hall. Outside it was humid with a slight chance of rain hitting the forest and meadow regions of the continent, as sunlight flitted from sight once more by the puffy gray clouds. But her peace was interrupted by her own self sneezing twice in a row, a free hand reached to cover her nose just in case there was mucus flinging free.

Vidula felt at peace for a little bit, well at peace of mind knowing that her so called ‘lord’ did not need anything of her services as he was busy meeting with other influential business men and families. Shoulders slumped as those usually serious and frustrated eyes searched for a trash receptacle to deposit her apple core in after figuring out that she finished stripping the fruit of all its flesh. Soon enough her body moved off in to an alcove nestled farther ahead after spotting a corner of a square trashcan, as it would seem. Boots clicking in time as legs parted and met again in the movement of walking, pale tendrils held back by a simple band flowed after in an invisible breeze. Facial features were straight as her mind combed over new ideas and thoughts that were formulating and bubbling up wards. A finger rose up and tapped under cupid lips as she walked in stride reaching her destination after a minute or so. Soon after a moment of thought her arm launched the core in to the air trying to make a basket in to the can and successfully did so. Even if the can it’s self wriggled a little bit from the sudden impact of a used food product hitting the in sides like a ball in to a hoop Vidula did not alert any of the fine serving ladies, men or guests of her unlady like actions. Soon enough her heels were brought together as she stood almost knock-kneed in the cozy alcove. It reminded her of a teashop in the smaller and poorer part of town, with lacy curtains to hide whom ever sat in it from people in the hallway it’s self. As well to the color schemes being warm and the sitting arrangement around a thick table suggested comfort and the ability to converse with others.

The seemingly young woman snapped from her thoughts and observations about the manor it’s self, now wondering what she was really striving for after her little brigade down the silenced hall ways as only murmurs of her lords meetings floated easily from thick oak doors at the end that opened in to a large and quite elegant room. Once more a sight escaped pale lips and thoughts began to rank over her mind as the elven female positioned her self over a pillowy maroon and orange chair. A hand rose up to her left temple rubbing in a circular pattern before sweeping over the top of her cranium and the simple band as oddly grayed eyes stared off at the worn table. Soon enough a serving made walked in to the alcove with a tray with a mug of coffee or Tea what ever she preferred with a silver sugar spoon and a white porcelain bowl with a pristine top holding sugar. Soon enough the woman slid the oddly marble tray on the table and left but of course Vidula knew that this was custom in some homes that the serving people only gave you the choices and you picked and made your own snacks and drinks the way you liked it so the servers would not be brow beat on making anything exactly perfect for guests. But Vidula wasn’t a guest she worked here and stayed here but still they treated her with the utmost respect as if she were the lady of the home or an important guest. Legs crossed easily one over the others feeling the slide of skin hit as she bent over to take up the mug of tea left on the tray next to the pretty mug of coffee. ‘ I’ll have the coffee after the tea’ She murmured in her thoughts smiling as she picked up the spoon delicately with her forefinger and thumb, scooping out the white hills of sugar till there was as least a small film of sugar at the bottom before swirling the contents easily in soft clinks. The thick ceramics of the mug pressed to her lips as green tinted hot water flowed and hit her lips only to bring the liquid in to her mouth and belly.

A smile once again formed on her lips as her thoughts prodded deeper in to what she was searching for earlier on in the day. Soon a light bulb clicked or more the less flickered and fizzled in Vidula’s mind as the shape of a bag that was created for her and designed by her appeared in her thoughts. Soon enough lips moved on the edge of the thick cup, speaking to one’s self. “ Ah that was what I was looking for, my bag! I wonder where I set it. Must be in one of the bay windows in the west wing or the alcoves in this hallway.” A giggle sprouted and grin formed easily with pools of slate closing almost giving a devilish look to her face that would startle any one who didn’t know her well enough to know her pleased look. Outside birds chirped louder as they pranced tree to tree with this thunder created a low rumble and crack signaling the coming of a storm.

“How much further?” Samuel said as he adjusted the way the barrel of gun powder was riding on his left shoulder. The sun was beginning its descent for the day. They had been traveling along the simple dirt road for several hours.

“N-n-not much further, sir.” The thief responded with strained tones. The elf was beginning to show fatigue from carrying most of Samuel’s possessions. A small pang of guilt struck Samuel for making the guy carry almost everything. It quickly vanished though as he reminded himself that the elf had not only tried to steal from him but had drawn a sword on him as well.

Samuel patted the gun resting in the black holster on his right hip, making sure the sound was audible to the elf trudging in front of him. “Just remember, if this is a trap or you try anything funny, you’ll be lying on the ground full of holes.” The elf’s posture straightened slightly, signaling he understood the implications. Samuel had never actually killed anyone. From time to time some hot shot in a backwater town had something to prove, but the threat of death and a demonstration of speed were usually enough to resolve most issues. When threats and a show of force did not work, Samuel could easily disable an opponent without killing them, which was much more impressive. A smile crept across Samuel’s lips as he fondly remembered the few encounters.

Absorbed in thoughts of the past, Samuel was startled by a sudden command from the elf. “Halt!” The elf’s entire body went rigid and he began trying to look in all at once.

Samuel quickly came up behind the nervous elf and peeked over his shoulder. A small form was lying on the side of the road a small staff beside her. Even with its back to them, Samuel could tell from the curves and blue robes draping its frame that the form was female. She was silent and still, but even from here Samuel could see her body expand slightly with each breath. Glancing around, Samuel saw nothing be the empty fields of grass and scattered trees. Shrugging, he side-stepped the elf and began toward the woman.

“Wait!’ The elf hissed as he roughly dropped Samuel’s belongings in the dirt. “It could be a trap set by them!”

Spinning around, Samuel raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Set by who?”

“The Demons!”

Rolling his eyes, Samuel turned around. “Man you really must live in the woods.” He muttered under his breath as he resumed walking towards the woman’s prone form. Ignoring the elf’s continuing pleas to stop.

Putting the barrel down, Samuel knelt beside the woman and gently touched her shoulder. In reaction, the woman’s body rolled over onto her back. Now that he was closer, Samuel could clearly see the quality and artistry of the woman’s clothing, he could also see her small, petit, almost elven-like features. However, the only thing holding his and the elf’s attention was the small, white horn protruding from her forehead.

“Demon!” The elf whispered with harsh tones as he absently reached for his missing sword.

“I’ll admit, that is weird.” Samuel tilted his head to the side as he continued to stare at the horn. “But that doesn’t make her a demon. Probably just a lady who drank too much at a party celebrating the railway.” Must have stuck the horn on as a party gag or something. “She must have wandered out here and passed out.” Samuel glanced back at the elf with a grin. “Means we must be real close to town.”

The elf’s face was a mask of fear. “She is a demon! Use your magic and kill her now!”

Rolling his eyes again, Samuel turned his attention back to the woman. “Now I know you’re crazy.” Reaching out Samuel, gently shook the woman. “Hey, lady. It’s is not real safe to just fall asleep out here in the middle of nowhere.”

The horned woman’s blue eyes slowly fluttered open as she returned to the waking world. “Hmm… What? Who are …you?” The blue eyes focused on Samuel’s unfamiliar face and began to widen in panic.

“Does no one around here know who I am?” Samuel said with a smile. “Relax. We just found you here lying on the road.”

“We?” The confused woman asked.

“Yeah me and this …” Samuel turned around to indicate the elf, but was left pointing at only his luggage lying in the middle of the road. “Damn,” he cursed as he stood up looking back down the road, “fast little thief.”

“What?” Asked the woman. She was now sitting up rubbing her eyes, forcing herself awake.

“Nothing. Just a stupid thief I caught trying to take my stuff.” He said as he offered a hand to help her up. “I forced him to carry my stuff and it now looks like he ran off.”

The woman took his hand and stood up. She absent-mindedly brushed off her robes as she looked around. The rising panic was clear in her eyes. “Where am I?” She asked, confused.

“Don’t you know where you are?”

“No.” She answered, holding a hand to her head. “I was in my room a second ago.” The confusion Samuel has experienced early this morning showing clearly on her face.

Samuel frowned, “Sorry, I can’t help you there. I’m a bit lost myself.” Samuel walked over and began picking through his luggage scattered in the dirt. “Woke up this morning and the entire circus was gone, not to mention the damn train tracks.” His tone now a bit deflated from its previous cheerfulness.

Worry and confusion began to creep up in Samuel. Not only had he been misplaced, but this lady was lost too. It is just a little too coincidental. But, true to form, Samuel buried the doubts in his mind under a thick layer of bravado and pushed forward. “Well, the elf said there was a town just up ahead. So I figure I’d go there, get my bearings and catch up with my friends.” He said as he began gathering up his things. “If you wouldn’t mind helping me carry a few things, I’d sure appreciate the company.”

The horned woman looked him over, sizing him up, doubt and fear still showing on her face.

“Come on.” Samuel said with a smirk. “You just going to sit around here until you figure out what’s going on?”

(OCC:
Sorry if the quality began to fade a little toward the end, it's late.

Seluna, let me know if I misrepresented Syiana. I’ll leave introductions up to you. Let me know if I need to re-write this. I’ll PM you tomorrow with a few ideas I have.

It will take a lot to convince Samuel what is really going on. He is suspicious, but is forcing himself to believe he is just lost.

Just in case anyone is wondering Samuel will not shoot somebody unless he has too (he is a showman not a gun slinger). But, he has no problem shooting people if he has too, he is good enough he can make his shots disabling instead of lethal and will do so unless forced to kill. I plan on dealing with him actually killing someone and the repercussions a bit later in the story.)

The scent of stale beer and dust was almost comforting. Nanaira had long been accustomed to taverns, not so much out of her choice but because her companions liked drinking. She peered across the room looking for her current partner. A slatternly serving wench was wiping down tables with lazy hand. Light poured in from the windows making the dust particles visible. There was a few groups of people taking in their breakfast at the dingy tables. Most of them had looked up when she had entered, then quickly looked away again. A typical response. She spotted Kalrion, he hoisted a tankard, gesturing her over.

"You aren't drinking this early in the morning are you?" Nanaira frowned down at him before taking a seat.

"Have a heart Captain. This old body need alcohol to soothe all the old injuries."

"You aren't that old," she replied loyally but let the waste of their coin go. Delicately, using the tips of her fingers she snatched a piece of bacon from him plate and nibbled on it. "I need to get straps for my boots. Then I'll go see if there is any hire for us here. We are a bit short of coin to be leaving again," she said with another frown, then rose.



Her search lead her to a small armor shop. She had paid over a copper coin to pay for the strap of leather. She had her foot resting on a cart as she wove the string in and out of the holes. The armory man stood next to her, watching.

"Are they hiring guards here?"

"Well, we are always glad for a bit more support, but the pay isn't as large as you would get in a bigger city probably." She pulled the straps tight then tied them. Lowering her foot back to the floor, she turned and faced the man.

"Coin isn't so much the problem. We need to restock our animals, so we can get out this town. That coupled with the cost of the inn." She shrugged her explanation.

"Ahh, I see. Well, it's food stuff you need and a deal with the inn keeper. If you go talk to the mayor, he might have some way to help you."

"How would I find him?" She said raising her eyebrows with a hopeful gaze.

"'cross the street, four house down. The one with the white walls."

"My thanks," she nodded at the man and left the building.


After some negotiating, Nanaira wrestled a deal from the mayor. It was less than ideal, but at least it would suit their needs for now. Nanaira and Kalrion were on patrol with one of the town's guards. While patrol was better than sitting above some gate constantly watching for enemies, it was still not one of her favorite activities. At least when you were on the wall you could talk, still at least she felt like she was actually doing something. Some movement caught the corner of her eye. She reached out and grasped the guards arm, giving it yank. He turned and look to the area she nodded at. They spread out from each other and approached slowly. The figures defined as they approached.

"Halt, what is your purpose here," Nanaira said, as she got close enough to clearly see the two people.


OOC: Just a quick post for now. Seluna, shadows, you can deal with this when you get to it. if you want to have your characters chatting a bit or something before getting to it, I don't mind at all.

[OOC: Syiana is usually the cool and serious, but concerned type, but right now she's not exactly in her usual condition, so it's okay.]

Syiana's hand slipped up to touch a temple and massaged gently, hoping that it would help her with the unusually intense confusion and giddiness that she was feeling. Her mind felt like somebody had taken a huge ladle to it and stirred a dozen times over, and she could not focus on things for more than a moment. The only other times she felt that way was when she was suffering from magical backlash.

Blue eyes slipped closed, and she frowned, trying to waddle through her muddled memory in search of answers, and got them in a more or less chronological order, albeit somewhat slowly. She was at Lieara's before she rushed back to Nil'Noere with news about Verkase's fanatical worshippers. Then she met Eirea on her way home where her mother had cooked for her. She was in her room, about to make a trip to the palace when... when she fell asleep unnaturally.

"That... ohh... my head" The sorceress clutched her head in her hands and groaned, the pounding in her head resembling that of a blacksmith's work more and more. The only good thing was that the giddiness was fading, and her mind was getting clearer by the second.

"We don't have all the time in the world to sit around, lady." The strangely dressed man with a weird looking instrument in his hand repeated as he extended a hand towards her. Syiana muttered an agreement as she took it and helped herself up, almost stumbling as her legs could not take all her weight at once. "Woah there, careful."

Syiana waited before she could be on her feet on her on before she let go of the man's hand and retrieved her staff. Patting away the dust on her dress, she tried to compose herself as best as possible while she took in the surroundings. "Thank you. Now... what was it that you asked me to help you with?"

[OOC: By the way, Syiana keeps her eyes half-open/closed. It makes it harder for other to read things from her eyes, and shields the telltale glow of magic casting in her eyes. Kinda like Fuji Syusuke of Prince of Tennis.]

A frown accompanied the strained expression on Samuel’s face as he trudged down the dirt road. Leaving behind a sizable portion of his belongings had dampened his normally upbeat mood. Sitting on his left shoulder was a wad of clothing. He had stuffed an oversized cost with several of his most expensive changes of clothes and then tied the coat into a crude make-shift sack. Buried in the heart of the bundle was his wooden gun case, adding to the weight on his shoulder. Dangling from his right hand, his metal tool kit was by far the heaviest item he had decided to bring. Reluctant to leave his livelihood behind, he silently lugged the heavy mass around. Syiana was managing the small barrel of gunpowder under her free arm. Everything else was lying in the road about half a mile behind him. Samuel had no qualms about making the thief bear the burdens, it served him right. But, he was not going to make someone else drag all that stuff and he was sure not going to.

Samuel stole another quick glance as the woman walking beside him. Her demeanor had changed considerably since she had woken up. After she had regained her composure she introduced herself as Syiana and had agreed to help him carry a few things. For the first few moments she asked questions while they walked. She inquired about how he had found himself lost, where he believed he was headed, and a few general questions about who he was and what he was doing. Now she strode silently beside him, her staff thudding into the dirt every other step. Her half-open eyes stared blankly ahead as they walked. Samuel could hear her thinking, trying to piece together what had happened. The questions had not been polite conversation. Though she had been most polite and considerate, her real purpose had been gathering information.

“Yes?” She inquired without turning her head. Obviously, she had noticed his glances.

“Nothing.” Samuel said matter of factly as turned his gaze back to the path. “Your ears are just wrong.”

This time she turned her head, her face plainly asking the question on her mind.

He had noticed it the second time he had looked at her. Something was off about her features, aside from the horn. At first he had though she was simply and elf who had too much to drink, but he had noticed her ears were not pointed. Then slowly he realized the features he had mistaken for elven were not. Yet she still had some of the small, petit looking features Wenru had so he was having trouble placing her race.

“Your ears aren’t pointed.” He paused slightly wondering if his next question might be considered offensive, but quickly plowed forward regardless. “Half-elf?”

Syiana’s hypnotic rhythm of walking suddenly stopped and resumed. She opened her mouth to say something but another voice interrupted her.

“Halt, what is your purpose here?” Several people were on the side of the road ahead.

Samuel grinned, “Being lost. Is there a town up ahead?”

(OOC: Late, but I got a bit sick this weekend. Sel, let me know if I misrepresented Syiana. There now, we are all caught up.)

Nanaira walked forward, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. Kalrion moved slightly to stand at her side. Their companion was a bit further away and had his crossbow out and ready.

"What the hell is she," queried the bowman in a hushed tone. "She isn't human that's for sure."

Nanaira took in the woman's features, noting the horn. An unician? She sensed no demonic aura from them, although some demonic servants could hide their aura. Still, the use of unician appearance would be highly unlikely. People around these area had forgotten about them and were likely to be fearful of any unusual person.

"I'm not human either," she reprimanded the man. Kalrion was looking in Nanaira way with a raised questioning eyebrow. She shook her head. He relaxed in response. The bowman was still peering at the unician woman with suspicion despite her words. Nanaira continued
forward until she was standing right in front of the woman.

"Yes, there is a town around here," she said answering the human's earlier question. She looked over the woman once more. They were about the same height, though the Unician woman was built lighter and her shoulders were less broad. Nanaira sense the power emanating from her small frame. She couldn't be wrong then. The woman's clothing was odd as well. She spared a glance for the human male. He dressed far too well to be out in the middle of nowhere. This was very strange. A thought fluttered at the corner of her mind. A look at Kalrion told her he shared the same thought.

"Are you a Unician, Miss? I didn't think any remained after The Extinction. Is there some village of your folk remaining?"

"An Unician," sputtered the bowman, eyes wide.

"Captain, we should get her out of the open," Kalrion said, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Yes, you are quite right. We'll lead you back to the town. Perhaps you two can explain why how you two ended up all the way out here. Pardon my saying, but you don't look like typical travelers." As Nanaira guided them, the bowman trailed behind, still sputtering protests that neither of the mercenaries paid any attention to.

"To answer your question, I am indeed a Unician. I hail from our capital of Nil'Noere." Syiana opened her eyes fully and flicked a glance towards Samuel, the other two men ushering them into the town, then finally, settling her gaze on the female elf. "May I inquire... what do you mean by the ‘extinction’?"

Deep inside, Syiana felt that there was something very wrong, even though she