Fantasy Freeform (IC)

[Kurai]

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=188322)
_________________

Gheist


"Well, my pet, are you excited for our little trip to the Northwest?"
Kandaro's voice grated on her nerves like the chalk across the assembly's stoneboards. After all these years one might think she'd finally be used to his arrogant, flippant tone with the always present hint of self-righteous amusement covering every word he spoke. Knowing he was awaiting an answer, she simply gave a non-committal grunt in reply, her gaze still focused on the patch of garden beneath her window, chin half-heartedly placed propped her palm.
"A little more energy, darling, this is your first real trip."
"I want to see Sheele before we leave."
He snorted and she could hear his elaborate clothing rustle as he turned in the room. "Why? We're not gone for that long. Surely your brother would understand if you wait two weeks, it's always such a hassle to get you over there."
Quickly turning her upper body on the seat, she send him a harsh, annoyed glare, watching with a numb sort of satisfaction as his emotional balance shifted with an inner flinch. It was kind of amusing that the one man who held ultimate power over her in his hands was also the one human being fearing her the most.
But why not? Aljoscha had seen with his own eyes how his eldest brother had slowly succumbed to depression, self-hate and thoughts of death, knowing that the source sat somewhere behind the walls and wasn't older than twelve years. Pushing, fanning, manipulating emotions for weeks without end, all day and night long.
The late king had been her first and most complicated victim, but not her last. Four assassins had tried to kill the new Kandaro II since then, all taken into custody with her help and then publicly executed.
She vividly remembered the first one. Gheist had woken up during the night after tasting the bitter, stinging emotions of killer instinct one room to the left. While it would be no loss for the country if someone stuck a knife in Aljoscha's heart during his sleep (were the circumstances different, she'd even be the holder of the grip), his death was inevitably connected to the death of her brother, so in a moment of panic Gheist had reached out with her inner self and forced her mind into the assassin's, violently ripping away every trace of human emotion he might feel.
It had taken her a minute or two to come back to her senses and alert the personal guards outside the door, stoking their feelings of suspicion, worry and duty, so when the soldiers burst into the king's room, they found an unmoving, numbly starring man with two sharp weapons beside his feet.
"If something happens to me, my dear pet," Aljoscha had told her back then smugly while patting her head, "Sheele's guards will have the order to kill. So it is by all means important for you to make sure my health is assured, don't you agree?"
Gheist had gotten more practice since then. She had send two assassins fleeing by touching their fear, terror and insecurities and another one had been made so guilty of his actions, that he freely confessed to the puzzled guards outside the door. Yet it was during the assemblies where she needed to work the most, alternating between making the people open for Kandaro's suggestions or pushing down every opinion that could oppose his own. It was straining and repetitive, but she prefered it to sitting around all day and dying of boredom.
And most importantly, it was during her working hours that she would find out more about what happened outside the walls of her cage. It was those information she craved like someone dying of thirst craved the life-giving water.
"Well, I'll be charitable for once..." Kandaro's voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she narrowed her eyes at him. "If you insist on it, you can go to him tomorrow. But in return for my good will I expect you to be ready for our journey, I don't want to delay it much longer."
Of course he had said yes. It was the one thing he couldn't gamble with. Despite his big words about charity and good will, he was like an open book: There were traces of fear interlaced with insecurity, false self-confidence, nervousness about Crag Ner and a myriad of minor feelings coursing through his being. How she longed to touch these, twisting them until he choked on his own agitation...
There were restrictions to her power. She could not create emotions that didn't exist in a person's being, but there only had to be even the barest trace of other, similar feelings and she would latch onto them like a striking snake. Respect and affection could be twisted into devotion, caution and reflectiveness manipulated into apprehension. It was like art, taking different colors and techniques for creating the master piece that you wanted.
But despite all of her talent, Kandaro II was and would be always off limits.
"Your wishes are my command, your highness," Gheist replied while pushing herself off the window sill, the false submissiveness in her tone coupled with nasty bitterness.
Aljoscha smirked in his usual way, the middle-aged man then snapping his fingers and leaving the room with his bunch of soldiers and personal servants trailing behind.
Gheist sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. Whether they were closed or open, she always saw, felt, tasted the emotion of the humans around her, so an empty chamber gave her room to breathe. Not that she would ever be left alone, there were living beings all around her, but they were dampened by the strong stone walls of the castle.
In two days she would be traveling to Crag Ner. Gheist glanced back out of the window and into the distance, a picture she knew like the back of her hand after years of sitting at the same window, wondering if it might be the last time to do so.

She had the distinct feeling that things would be changing soon.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

Ajkaliir growled discontently, looking over the three dimensional illusory map of the known world. He glared at the High Priest of Kat'Nabar, rage burning behind his eyes. "You want me, where?!"
The High Priest pointed his long bony finger at a small stretch of land surrounded by two rivers. "There..." he replied, malicious joy dripping from his voice.
"And why, pray tell, would you want me in Crag Ner?" Ajkaliir snarled, his dead lips turning upward into a snarl.
The High Priest smirked "I do not, but the Priestlord has demanded I send an Ambassador. You will of course be accompanied by a Mage, and a full escort of Guards.". The High Priest dismissed the illusory map, chuckling. "I'll have the mage sent to your chambers in two hours, then you will travel by Magic to a small tower in the marsh surrounding Tirnion. Your Guards are already in the tower, awaiting your arrival." he remarked as he walked towards the door. "Oh, and one more thing..."
"What?" Ajkaliir said, hatred dripping from his lips.
"This is a gathering of several nations, do mind your manners."The High Priest laughed.

[-Sentinel-]

"You're holding it upside down, father," said Sarimi patiently, voicing what Yoran was not brave enough to tell his teacher.

Dr Malgorand scowled at the map. "No, I'm not! See, this is the dried river we passed two days ago," he insisted, stubbornly ignoring the fact that the river he was pointing at was about a week's ride away.

His daughter rolled her eyes. "You can't even read Deathbound. I can, and I'm telling you the words on this map are upside down. Here, let me show you where we are."

Sarimi brought her camel closer to her father's and gently pried the centuries-old map from his bony fingers. The girl brushed a lock of brown hair away from her freckled face in a gesture Yoran found fascinating and stared hard at the map for a full minute, a strange expression dawning in her green eyes.

"Um. If the map is right, we're right on Katteba."

"As I was telling you!" exclaimed Malgorand triumphantly, never mind that less than five minutes ago he was absolutely sure that they were closer to Urekh. "Now we only need to start digging."

"Start digging where?" grunted Valrecht, the Kesshiran mercenary. "There's only sand as far as the eye can see. Loose, fine-grained sand. We couldn't dig in it even if we knew where."

"He, um, has a point," mumbled Yoran. "Are we even sure the map is right?"

"Of course it is!" protested Malgorand. "The people who drew it were the best cartographers and navigators the world ever saw. They knew more about the stars that even the astronomers at Luah University do."

"Maaaaybe," admitted Yoran skeptically. "Even if the map is right, can't we, um, find a Deathbound city that's not buried under fifty feet of sand?"

"Their cities were abandoned fifteen centuries ago, lad. Were you expecting to find them still squeaky-clean?" snapped Malgorand, glaring at his student from under his wide-brimmed hat.

"Not squeaky-clean," said Yoran placatingly. "But, um, it would be nice if bits of them still poked out of the sand."

"Bits like this, you mean?" asked Sarimi suddenly, pointing her finger at a large, strangely-shaped rock a few hundred yards to their left. No, not a rock... Though eroded, the shape was too regular. It was made of black basalt, a rock that had no place in the Deathmarch, meaning it had been carried here from a great distance.

"A channelling monolith," breathed Dr Malgorand, his eyes widening. "They put one at the top of every temple." He dug his spurs into his camel's flanks and rode towards the monolith so fast that his hat flew in the wind, exposing his almost-bald head to the scorching sun. He did not seem to care.

Sarimi rolled her eyes again, a long-suffering smile on her lips. "Ah well, let's take a look at this and keep my father out of trouble, shall we?" She rode after Dr Malgorand at a much more reasonable pace, Yoran and Valrecht following with only moderate enthusiasm.

[Devixer]

Wolfgang Hirsch

“Crag Ner?” Wolfgang asked of the Councilman of Shadows, while looking at the yellowed and crinkled map of the world. “Haven't I already been there?”

“You have,” the Councilman said in his deep, slow voice. “But you should know that we usually send Scouts to an area once every five years.”

Wolfgang nodded. “It's just that I was rather hoping to head to the Nethermarch desert this time around.”

His superior chuckled. “You always were a little rash when it came to where you wanted to go. You do realize that the Nethermarch was where your predecessor was killed? And he was a very experienced Scout. You would not likely survive very long, talented as you are.”

Again, the Scout nodded. “If that is all, then...” he watched the Councilman give his tacit agreement, “I shall go plan my route.” He headed to a small room, which was where he lived. He pulled out one of his own, newer maps, opened his hand above it, and released a small amount of Darkness to snake around on the paper according to his whims. As he went over his travel route in his mind, the Darkness moved along with the plan. Once Wolfgang's plans were finalized in his mind, what little Element he'd released stopped moving, showing how he was to get to Crag Ner.

Satisfied with this planned route, Wolfgang placed the map in a pouch on the inside of his cloak and strapped his knife back in its proper place. Immediately afterward, he left his residence and began leaving the Tro'cjien Jungle, in the general direction of Crag Ner. He wondered if anything had changed since he had last been there.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

"What do you mean Teleportation seems to be blocked?!" Ajkaliir screamed at the Mage who had arrived at his quarters. Ajkaliir shouted in rage, swinging his arm and knocking over a bottle of wine.

"My magic is not capable of Teleporting to Crag Ner at this time. Though I have arranged other passage for us, Ambassador." The withered mage said with a smirk, "We will be leaving shortly, taking a route over the ruins of Katteba, and then to the river near Halberra. There I should be able to transport us more easily."

"Bah, fine. I'll gather my guard detachment for the mission... Meet me at the Front gates in half an hour." Ajkaliir said to the Mage, dismissing him.

"Katteba..." Ajkaliir muttered to himself. "I have not been there since I was alive...". He smirked, picking up the shattered wine bottle. "Perhaps the Channeling Stone is still erect."

-------

"HYA, HYA!" Ajkaliir Urged his skeletal horse onward, frowning with frustration at having to take such a detour from his planned course of travel. "Harkin, Make sure your men are in fighting condition, I want to kill something on this trip!" he yelled behind him.

"Yessss, Massster..." The Arkhosian Guard Captain hissed, his fangs showing.

[-Sentinel-]

They rested for the remainder of the day, unwilling to waste their energy under the scorching sun, and got to work as soon as the cool night fell. Sarimi copied the glowing runes of the monolith on a roll of parchment while Dr Malgorand, Yoran and Valrecht grabbed their shovels and dug around the stone. The loose sand kept filling their holes again, making progress long and arduous, but the clay roof of the temple was thankfully only a few feet deep. They found a crack in the clay, poured a copious amount of black powder in it and detonated it. It was saddening to damage such an ancient monument, but it seemed to be the only way to enter it.

Malgorand peered down into the darkness. "Can't see the bottom. Get me a weight and a rope."

They slowly lowered a jug of water, while Sarimi measured the length of rope it took before it rested on the floor of the temple. "Eighty yards," she reported after a long moment, her voice hushed with awe.

Yoran gulped. They would now have to go down. And he was afraid of heights. He was afraid of a lot of things, truth to be told, but height was very close to the top of his list. He was not getting paid enough for this...

"Eighty yards," grinned Malgorand, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Twice as high as the university's largest conference room. That'll teach those narrow-minded cretins who think this civilization was primitive. Let's take a look at this now."

They tied a knotted rope around the monolith and climbed down one by one. At Yoran's vehement insistence, they did not use any lights: this way, he had no idea just how much emptiness was below him. They lit their lanterns only when all four of them were at the bottom.

The temple's main room was immense, so large that their lights could barely reach its walls. Enough benches to seat thousands of temple-goers occupied much of the space. At the front was a large altar of pitch-black obsidian, with gutters along its edges and drains on the floor around it. The tales of bloody sacrifices were true, then.

"Hey, look, corpse over here," said Sarimi matter-of-factly, as if showing them a beautiful butterfly or an unusually large mushroom. The corpse in question was wrinkled and desiccated by the centuries, but relatively well-preserved thanks to the dry climate. It was a man with snow-white hair, wearing a flowing black robe with a deep cowl. He was crumpled face-down, his hands pressed against his stomach. With his foot, Valrecht disdainfully turned the man over. The cause of his death was obvious enough: he had stabbed himself through the chest with a curved knife, still clenched in his fingers.

"Um, it's not the only one," said Yoran, his voice sick. He raised his lantern and walked some distance away, exposing more corpses, all of them black-robed. At least a score of priests and monks lay dead around them, all with curved knives stuck in their chests. "Oh gods," Yoran breathed, ashen-faced. "They all committed suicide. Like the legends said."

"So it's true after all," whispered Dr Malgorand. "It was not an epidemic, and it was not famine. It was self-genocide." He tried to sound cheerful now that one of his theories turned out to be right, but he was clearly more disturbed than he cared to admit. "Let's explore some more," he said abruptly. "There must have been a reason for this."

[Mindfield]

The fish was the same colour as the pebbles. The water rippled and sparkled in the noonday sun, making it almost impossible to notice.

He dipped his beak into the clear water of river, spearing the fish in a single stroke.

But he was getting good at this. Not that he’d had much choice…
He gulped down the little fish, raw and bloody. That had taken some getting used to as well, especially for a farm-boy from Tharan. But anything tasted good if you were hungry enough. You could live through anything if you were afraid of the alternative.

A piercing cry pierced above the dull roar of the marketplace. Arrad tensed. It had sounded like a woman. Cautiously, he placed both legs solidly into the muddy stones underneath him, and stretched his neck up to get a look through the reeds.

Ah, so it was her.

The initiate, the young priestess, back again to condemn the drinkers and dancers of the old Faction Hall. She had caught his beady yellow eye with her return visits. Too pretty for the temple, she was an idealist on top of it. It had seemed she had thought that with the army gone, that places like this would close down. A dreamer. It was good that she was only trying to redeem dancers here and not at the docks, or else she would get herself killed.

She was standing in front of older woman, withered but still imposing, in a wrapped dress of fuchsia-coloured silks, with a glorious head of copper-coloured ringlets, no doubt dyed and crimped earlier that morning. Arrad remembered him from his own misspent nights in the old Hall, though he’d never known her name. He had caught glimpses of her in the evenings he’d spent perched on the roof, watching the night’s entertainment through a crack in the central dome.

The older woman’s stance suggested that she had just slapped the initiate across the cheek, and was prepared to do so again. The girl rubbed her cheek and looked suitably shocked. Was this the priestess’s mother, then? There was a certain resemblance. What a contrast they made.

The scene had begun to draw a crowd. As a tableau, it reminded Arrad altogether too much of his own childhood.

Something wriggled through the water by his feet-- another fish. Arrad puffed out his feathers and looked away. Reduced to a spectator in someone else’s life? It was pathetic. He put it out of his mind and turned back to the river.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

'Life and Death are one, for all living things die in time. Death is not an ending, but a beginning. Since one's living days are but a fraction of the eternal existence of death, life is but a useless distraction to the study and understanding of the long darkness to come.' Ajkaliir muttered under his breath, reading from a scroll he had brought along. He was more stressed than usual, thinking about being in Katteba, his birthplace.
"Harkin, how far are we from Katteba?" He asked, looking in his gaunt companion's direction.
"About a full day's ride sir, we will be there by next nightfall." Harkin replied calmly.
"Good, good." Ajkaliir chuckled to himself, one good thing about being undead, undead mounts never need to rest, and neither do you.

[Kurai]

Gheist

Pressing the cloth against her mouth, she tried not to be sick.
Thousands of different people were around here and pressed on her mind, she wasn't used to feeling so many at a single time. Taking the carriage to Sheele's house once a month simply wasn't often enough to get used to a mass amount of people and she grew faint at the thought how many citizens would await her in Tirnion...

Finally the carriage halted and she stormed out the door, stumbling only slightly in her elaborate dress, followed hastily by her guards, who were used to the display.

Ten seconds later she had crossed the hall and thrown herself into the arms of her dearest brother, holding the thin, smaller body pressed close.

"Thank the Goddess, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to see you before traveling to Crag Ner," she said with relief and he let go of her to present a big, calm smile. He had lighter, shorter hair and blue eyes, but there was no way anyone could doubt that the two siblings were related.

"You shouldn't worry so much about me, Gheist," he replied with ease. "It should be me who needs to be worried."

As if reminded of something, Gheist send out her inner senses and felt the guards all far enough away for the moment. They gave them privacy, which was exactly what she needed. Taking Sheele's hands in a death grip, he looked only mildly surprised when something slipped inbetween his fingers. Since Empaths could neither read nor manipulate another, it felt good to know he had himself under control despite his isolation.

"It's Likka blood," Gheist carefully whispered, looking into his eyes with concern and determination. "It took me four years to get it. If something happens to Kataro, swallow it. The flower will make you appear dead for about ten hours, enough for the guards to believe you are already dead and maybe they'll throw out your body. Flee then, Sheele. Promise me!"

Sighing deeply, the smaller man knew that Gheist was right to give him such a gift. Everything could happen in Crag Ner and it was a small chance for him to live freely even with a death sentence looming over him. "I promise. But... take care of yourself first, please. If anything happens, I will search for you."

Smiling relieved and knowing that it gave her face a beautiful glow no one else was privy to, Gheist finally relaxed her body. Sheele would be safe (maybe) and that was the only important thing.

"Let us speak of something else, brother," she offered with a hand on his shoulder. "You started a new picture last time I was here and I'm dying to know how it looks finished.."

Today was for peace. Tomorrow, who knew what the future might bring.

[-Sentinel-]

By dawn, the four members of Dr Malgorand's little expedition were back in the tent they had erected next to the channelling monolith. The night-long search of the immense temple had yielded even more corpses, valuable artifacts (most of which could sadly not be carried back to Luah) and, most importantly, a chest full of ancient but well-preserved scrolls, apparently records of some kind.

They wolfed down a meal of dried fruit and salted camel meat, then closely observed everything they had taken from the temple. Dr Malgorand seemed fascinated by an urn on which a scene of human sacrifice was painted. Sarimi delicately unfurled the old scrolls and began to read them, helped by Yoran, who had a very basic knowledge of Deathbound language. Valrecht, like any mercenary, was far more interested in everything made of gold and silver.

"What do these scrolls even record?" murmured Yoran, puzzled. "Money?" There were a lot of numbers, most of them in the thousands or tens of thousands.

"No," said Sarimi, her face slightly pale. "They record the number of people killed."

Yoran just stared at her.

"It's Amaphar, their high priest," she explained. "It says here that he gave his armies orders to butcher everyone in the realm. Then he had his armies fight one another to the death. When everyone but the priests was dead, the priests all committed suicide. These scrolls were written by the last one to fall on his knife."

"That's..." Yoran was at a loss of words.

"Why would they even keep records, then?" asked Valrecht absent-mindedly, not taking his eyes off the golden cup he was examining. "If they were all supposed to die, who was going to need these records?"

"Legends say that they wanted to go beyond death," explained Dr Malgorand. "Through some sort of ritual magic, they hoped to attain immortality."

"Seems to me that it failed rather spectacularly," Valrecht remarked.

"Here in Katteba it did, for some reason," agreed Malgorand. "Perhaps whatever ritual was needed was not performed correctly. Or perhaps Amaphar caused the ritual to fail just to get rid of this city, possibly for political reasons. To learn more, we would need to go to a city where it succeeded."

Valrecht snorted. "You'll have to pay me quite a bit more than my current salary if you want me to follow you there."

"Oh, there's already plenty to see here in Katteba," Malgorand said. "I'm not planning to meet any Deathbound during this expedition."

"Don't tempt fate," muttered Yoran almost inaudibly.

[Devixer]

Wolfgang Hirsch

Wolfgang’s trek through the Jungle was both swift and silent, mostly due to the use of Shadowmancy. While it took the average explorer a week to go from the center of the area to the nearby Crag Ner area, a talented and experienced Eletan Scout can (and did) get out in just under one day. Wolfgang, however, took a little under three. He made a few stops to sleep and kill an animal for food, but almost all of the travel time was spent on the move. After those two days and ten hours, the Shadowmancer found the density of the jungle’s trees to be much lower, and he could actually see a good mile into the horizon.

The land of Crag Ner was very familiar to Wolfgang, as he had taken a few Scouting missions there in the past. But in the past years, he’d only been to the settlements on the outskirts of the district. This time, however, he felt that he was good enough to head to Tirnion. He’d had a fair amount of practice in using Shadowmancy in a practical situation, as opposed to when he was being taught in a safe environment, those decades ago. Apparently, the more experienced Scouts were being sent to farther places, such as the Aquonian Empire or Nalberra. This met that there hadn’t been many frequent updates on Tirnion. Although Wolfgang wanted to go to the more perilous places, maybe even Nethermarch, he decided that the Free City was a good place to start.

With this in mind, he stopped for a short rest at a river, about to make some sort of attempt to catch a fish. He was terrible at fishing, though, so all his efforts were quite fruitless. In the end, he just sat, feeling somewhat defeated. But he knew that he couldn’t rest for too terribly long, as he needed to continue his Scouting. So, Wolfgang only ended up resting for about ten minutes before he took out his map, drew a new route (making sure to avoid any roads,) and set off again.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

Ajakliir smirked as he saw the looming black monolith that marked Katteba's channeling stone on the horizon. He would soon be able to pray to the Dark Three for some power during the Diplomatic Mission.

"Harkin!" he barked, "We will stop at the Channeling Stone ahead."

"Sir, I must strongly disagree with that!" The mage shouted. "We had orders to get to Crag Ner as soon as possible!"

"Two or Three Hours of Prayer won't hurt our time, plus, I need some Necromantic Power, mine is running low." Ajakliir scoffed.

"Sssir, I will have the men take up sentry points when we arrive." the Arkhosian Captain replied, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. "No harm shall come to you, from neither men nor beast."

'Good' Ajkaliir thought, his mind racing through chants and incantations to he still had power left to use. The number was few, but it could sustain the group if they were attacked at the Stone.

[-Sentinel-]

Just as Yoran managed to fall asleep despite the pounding heat of the day, Valrecht burst into the tent and woke them all up.

"Riders coming," he reported. "They look heavily armed, and they're headed straight this way."

The mercenary quickly buckled his sword belt and loaded his crossbow. Dr Malgorand readied his old sword-cane, that he had not used in many years. Sarimi went for her grappling hook, which could serve as an improvised flail, while Yoran dug in his travel bag for his dirk.

"Let's see what they want first," Malgorand advised. "I want to avoid a fight."

"If they're here to fight," said Valrecht, "we're all dead anyway."

Doctor Malgorand was the first out of the tent, and Yoran the last.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir signals to his men to stop as they approach the Channeling Stone, seeing a small campsite.

His gaunt, nearly skeletal figure is mostly concealed by his black and red robes. Ajkaliir glares at the four archaeologists.
"Who are you who dare intrude upon the sacred temples of the Dark Three!?" he screams in Deathbound, drawing his Kopesh.

The Six other horsemen draw their weapons, and the mounted mage prepares to use his runic magic should the Priest order it.

[-Sentinel-]

Malgorand's bony hand tightened around his sword-cane as he recognized the newcomer as one of the dreaded mage-priests. Valrecht swung his crossbow straight toward the priest, but the archaeologist flashed him a warning glance.

"What's he saying?" Malgorand asked Sarimi.

"He wants to know what we're doing here." Pale-faced but determined, Sarimi stepped forward and imitated to the best of her ability the Deathbound women's curtsey, as seen on ancient carvings and statues. "We came for answers and enlightenment, my lord priest," she said haltingly, having apparently much less practice at speaking Deathbound than reading it. "We are scholars from the north, here to learn of what caused the downfa-- the disappearance of your migthy race."


OOC: Just so you know, all my characters except Yoran are perfectly expendable.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

"North you say?" He says harshly.

"Well, I should speak so that you may all understand" He exclaims in incredibly accented Aijukan. "What have you stolen from our City? And do you wish to keep your pathetic lives?!"

Ajkaliir Signals to his guards, who dismount and circle the group, not attacking, but cutting off escape.

[Kurai]

Gheist

It was like second nature to Gheist to repress Kandaro's feelings of lust and interest in her since her puperty, so the king hadn't even looked up when she had climbed into the carriage in a lowcut, fancy dress. Being a pretty puppet and asset on the king's arm, expensive, new clothes were a must and so her dresses changed almost every day. She would have gladly chosen to exchange all of them for a day all by herself.

"The day after tomorrow, we will arrive in Tirnion to take part in the meeting. There will be a Seer in the room, so try to be subtle."

Gheist tried to clamp down on her need to push the curtain away and peek out of the carriage's window, because every time she lifted her hand towards the door, a shock from the bracelets traveled along her arms. How many wonders did she miss out there? How far away was Crag Daman already?

"Why should I? Everyone knows you have me," she decided to reply with a bitter note. "It's not like they are stupid and believe you left your precious Weaver at home."

"Be a little nicer, young lady," Kandaro tried to ease her, his trademark smirk on his lips. To other young women it seemed charming and daring, but for Gheist it was the most infuriating expression he could have donned. "I am sure we will find a way to ease their suspicions, won't we? Oh, and once that is done, make sure to tell me about recent battle plans the Nerhi might have."

Rolling her eyes, Gheist pushed her temple against the rumbling wall. No matter how many times she told him that empathy was no mind reading, he would never learn the difference. She had tried to tell Kandaro about it often when he got annoying with his questioning, but he couldn't understand how it was to be always open to other people's feelings, to never have a quiet minute in your head however much you pressed your hands over your ears and eyes, to have walls and furniture and ground oozing emotions that had drenched them over decades, to never see a friendly emotion because everyone knew you could feel them and twist their head.

Despite her interest in Tirnion, she shuddered at the thought of riding into a city filled to the brim with different people and still covered in a layer of violence and pain, leftovers from the recent revolutionary war. Maybe she wouldn't be able to even lift her head from the overload, but there was no sense in telling the king about that.

Feeling a shift in the guards emotions around them, Gheist sat straight and waited with bated breath until one of them came closer and knocked on the door. Kandaro opened the small carriage window and the Weaver darted a glance into foreign territory, her heart skipping in rapturous wonder.

"Captain?"

"My lord," the guard answered after a perfect salute, "we have just passed the last hill. The city Tirnion lies before us, we will reach it in less than two hours."

"Wonderful news, carry on then." The king closed the window swiftly, sitting back in a nonchalant pose while refusing to look at her. Oh, but she could taste his fear, feel his nervousness vibrate behind her temple. It was sweeter than a bird's song.

You could cage me in Crag Damar, your own realm of power. But here? Watch out carefully, your pompous majesty. With the negotiations underway and your attention diverted, you cannot guard me all the time and that will cost you dearly..

[-Sentinel-]

Yoran

"Yoran, Valrecht," said Malgorand quickly, "fetch everything we took. Now."

The student and the mercenary darted back inside the tent and gathered all the artifacts in one large bag. Yoran thought he saw Valrecht slip a few gems into his boot, but there was no way to be sure and he was too nervous to ask.

"Right, it's all here," grumbled the mercenary, carrying the bag out of the tent and dumping its contents in front of Ajkaliir. "Though where I come from, if you leave your home abandoned for fifteen centuries, you pretty much lose your property rights."

"Perhaps we should, um, be polite with them," mumbled Yoran.

"Indeed we should," agreed Malgorand. He turned to the mage-priest. "We're not your enemies. Tell us what you want from us now."

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

"Watch your tongue mortal!" Ajkaliir snaps at Valrecht. "This is all of it?" he asks, "I want you to tell me everything you found, and what you make of it."

The Mage sighs, his mount creeps alongside Ajkaliir's and the mage whispers in his ear. "This is a waste of time, just let them go!"

Ajkaliir brushes the mage away, signaling to the guards to shift into a combat stance.

[-Sentinel-]

Valrecht had his crossbow in hand in a blink. "You so eager to die first?" he hissed at Ajkaliir, his voice deceptively mild.

Malgorand held up his hand. "Hold, Valrecht." He turned to Ajkaliir, trying to keep his voice firm and steady, although Yoran could see the beads of sweat on his brow. "We broke into the temple," explained Malgorand, "and found the corpses of the priests who fell on their own knives. We've been forced to conclude that Amaphar's legendary ritual of resurrection was a failure in Katteba." He raised a silvery eyebrow. "Can you enlighten us about this?"

[Devixer]

Wolfgang Hirsch

The sudden appearance of the carriage over a hill's crest came as something of a shock to Wolfgang, and he dropped to the ground as part of a habit born of paranoia. It was only after a few seconds, during which he ensured that he hadn't been seen (as he had been on top of another hill, which he rolled behind,) that he actually moved in order to see what the carriage was, and who was there. He couldn't see who was in the carriage, and at this point, he wasn't willing to use Shadowmancy to help his vision. He did, however, see a regiment of guards, which partially increased his paranoia, but also his curiosity. If there were guards, whomever was in that carriage must've been important. It also provided a good opportunity to see how Tirnion treated outsiders, since the Free City was probably their destination. With this in mind, Wolfgang made the decision to follow this carriage. Not closely, and definitely not in plain sight, but he would follow them.

As the carriage kept moving at a steady pace, the Scout got up, slowly and with patience. As he started walking, he slowly covered his body in Darkness. This was one of his main forms of stealth. If he was in sunlight during this state (and he wasn't,) he would be discovered faster than a Deathbound. But if he was in a shadow of some sort, he was rendered completely undetectable by the naked eye. Wolfgang kept to the natural shadows that hills and the occasional tree, switching between his normal form, and his Shadow-enhanced form, depending on whether there were nearby shadows or not.

The guards nearby did not manage to see Wolfgang, mostly due to his distance from them. And with this sudden and unwitting guide, the Shadowmancer found himself on a quick pace to Tirnion.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

Ajkaliir smirks, his eyes darting from Valrecht to Malgorand. "It seems your brutish companion has no clue who he's dealing with." Ajkaliir remarked, "These men have honed their art for almost a thousand years, if they want you dead, you'll be dead."

"Now, you ask why did the ritual fail in Katteba? Well, in short, it didn't. Amaphar did not teach them the correct ritual. He betrayed them because he felt they had strayed from the path of the Dark Three." Ajkaliir continued, "They did not show the proper respect to the deceased. Just, like, you. Now, I've told you something, you tell me something. Who, EXACTLY, are you?"

[Mindfield]

Arrad Aurriv

Flight…

Folding in his wings, feeling the wind gusting about him, Arrad alighted on the flagpole that jutted from the ruined Watchtower of Sentinels. A few hundred yards outside the main city walls, connected by a stone rampart, now collapsed, the ancient tower loomed over a few gutted fortifications that surrounded it, now lying abandoned. A few weeks ago, Arrad hesitated to fly far from the city walls--he was afraid of eagles. Yet as he flew further and more often, he instead grew afraid of the predators who lurked in the forest canopy. In the air, he had the advantage of size; among the broken stones of the tower, few creatures bothered to land these days, now that the crows had moved on. So the tower had become a sanctuary, of sorts. A nesting-place.

Arrad was startled, then, by the sound of men moving through the burned floors of the lower tower. He could see them moving about inside. They were dressed as farmers come to market, but by the way they moved, they were not farmers. They spoke, but were too far away to hear. Arrad was always suspicious of the hungry peasants-- even if they were only men dressed as peasants. Arrad cocked his head, and remembered his training.

The tales of Temiakhis were not widely circulated outside Crag Ner’s military, but among the soldiers his legend was told and retold to every raw recruit: Rallek himself never knew the half of it, but among other things, his most trusted general, Temiakhis, had been deaf for over forty years by the time the Dominator fell.

As a young legionary during the First Great Siege of Luah, Temiakhis was ordered to round up a number of refugees who had been trapped outside the city when the gates were closed. It was shiftwork and he was not taking the matter seriously. He stood among the children and clucked at them like an old woman, telling them to be off to their parents, or into the mountains to die if they were orphans. He was caught quite unawares, struck in the right ear by a boy with a sling. The stone crushed the bones in his ear-- a few inches further right and he might have been blinded or dead. The incident left him disgraced and permanently disfigured. He grew his beard and hair long, to cover his shame. And he learned that there no enemy too small, and there was no such thing as ‘harmless’.

It was not a year after that, while on a sea voyage across the northern water, that the newly promoted captain found his ship beset by sea witches-- storm hags-- hydromancers and aeromancers. The ship was tossed by high winds, lightning strokes, and hailstones the size of a man’s fist, and Captain Temiakhis fell overboard. All seemed lost. The waters were so rough that Temiakhis could not tell which way was up. He was surely drowned, his cause lost. And as he sank slowly into the sea, he felt a sudden excruciating pain in his good ear. It was a pain that drove all thoughts of falling into oblivion at the bottom of the sea from his mind. He had only one thought, and that was to make it stop. Though he should have drowned, Temiakhis suddenly surfaced. Part chance and part fate, one of the witches stood before him, in a calm he had created. Though he could not think through the agony, instinct took over. Temiakhis took hold of the witch and bore him down to the water. Though the mage screamed and struggled, though the captain’s sword caught in its waterlogged scabbard, Temiakhis ran the mage through. And it was enough. Without the water witch, the ship was steadied enough for one of the archers to kill the stormcaller. Though many men drowned, many more lived to tell the tale. And though Temiakhis never heard another sound, apart from a strange ringing when clouds gathered, he learned that there is no enemy too great, and no such thing as ‘hopeless’.

In short, that was why all Nerhi soldiers learned to read lips.

There were two of them that Arrad could see. Atall, balding man said, “This was the road they were on. If they are not delayed, they will be here within the day.”

A small, bearded man said, “You’re sure? You saw him yourself?”

The first man shook his head. “I memorized the guards’ faces. I am as sure as I can be...”

He turned to one of the others. After a short time, he began to nod slowly.

“How many guards?” asked the bearded one.

The tall one made several peculiar gestures using his right hand. Some sort of cipher? “And the empath left with him.”

“Damn it. That’s too many,” said the man with the beard. “We don’t have enough time to gather the others and set an ambush now. We’ll have to think of something else.”

There were sounds of an argument, and the bearded man stepped under the a charred rafter, momentarily out of sight. The argument got louder, briefly, but then suddenly hushed. The tall man looked on, face settling into a deep frown. The small man stepped out again, rumpled but composed

The tall one said, “You’re sure this is wise? Things are unstable as it is.”

“Kiani thinks so. We might never have this chance again, and besides, Kandaro is unpopular." The small man gritted his teeth, and pounded his fist against his palm. "We can’t let Ner fall under Damanhi influence, no matter *who* is Lord Minister...”

[Kurai]

Gheist

By now, Gheist was sick of the constant tension the guards emitted. They had foregone numbers for speed, Kandaro believing himself save with an encaged Weaver and his most loyal number of personal guards, but it seemed the escort had a different opinion. It was the cause of their neverending strain and restless exchanging of patrols.

"Imagine it, my pet," Kandaro started and she could already feel him drift into narcisstic dreams of self-importance. "The Crags and Tharan once again united under one man. I would lead them to fame and fortune, bringing peace and prosperity into the land-.."

"Do you even believe yourself?" Gheist interrupted him tiredly, hoping to the gods she wouldn't have to be the cause of misfortune for tenthousands of people. But if she manipulated the members of the meeting correctly, Kandaro would be a welcomed possible ruler, someone they felt would be the right one for the job. And it would be her fault, unable to counteract his direct wishes out of fear.

Pain shot through her body and she coughed for air, finding herself on the carriage's ground after she could think again without spasms raking her muscles.

"You are testing your boundaries, Gheist, and I don't like it." Kandaro's face was cold and heartless and for a long second she was afraid he would speak the words of pain again.

But then the vehicle lurched to a halt and the woman's senses were flooded with confusion, surprise and unrest. It left behind a dry, wooden taste in her mouth.

"What's happening?" Kandaro demanded from her, confused, cruel eyes gazing her up and down. "Why did we stop? Gheist?"

But Gheist swallowed only heavily, she was distracted by the number of new arrivals appearing in her inner eye from all sides.
And by the feel of it, they were not here to talk.

[-Sentinel-]

Yoran


"Now, I've told you something, you tell me something. Who, EXACTLY, are you?"

Malgorand drew himself up. "I'm Doctor Orsen Malgorand, historian and archaeologist of Luah University. This is my daughter Sarimi, linguist and interpreter. This man here is Valrecht of Kesshir, soldier of fortune." Then, almost as an afterthought: "Oh, and this is my student Yoran."

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

A Doctor? Oh, well then, you should be able to treat your friends wounds..." Ajkaliir laughed, signaling the guards to attack.

They moved swiftly, three of them closing in on Valrecht, the other three each attacking a single foe. Their millenia old art showed, their blades were nearly invisible, almost impossible to parry or block. They went for the legs first, then cut upwards to the chest in a twisting motion.

[-Sentinel-]

Valrecht fired his crossbow at the nearest attacker without taking more than a heartbeat to aim, then drew his sword in desperation to protect himself. He parried the first four attacks in quick succession, a credit to his skill, but even he could not hope to match three Deathbound with centuries of combat experience. Within seconds, Valrecht was lying on his back, his eyes staring at the sky, his blood soaking the sand in crimson torrents. "Not getting paid enough for this," he muttered as he died.

Doctor Malgorand was a crusty old man, long past his prime, but he did not lack courage and still had some reflexes born of his adventuring years. Turning his back on the Deathbound headed for him, he bowled into the bald one going for his daughter, catching him off-guard. Two swords hacked savagely at the archaeologist and butchered him in no time, but it gave Sarimi precious seconds to ready her grappling hook and rope.

As the bald Deathbound's eyes fell on Sarimi again, she swung the hook above her head in a broad arc, then threw it with all her strength. The hook hit the attacker's bloodied sword, tearing it from his hands. Then the girl turned, ran through the momentary gap in the Deathbound's circle and sprinted toward the hole in the temple's roof.

Without even drawing his dirk, Yoran just shrank back from the Deathbound trying to kill him. He thought himself lucky as he narrowly dodged the first few blows, but realized with dismay that the attacker was just making sport of him and could slay him any time he chose to.

"Mercy, in the name of the Dark Three," begged Yoran desperately in what little Deathbound language Sarimi had taught him. He held up his left hand in surrender... and the Deathbound's blade cleanly took off the two last fingers. The student screamed in pain.

[Darklady2831]

Ajkaliir

"Halt!" Ajkaliir Shouted in Deathbound, signaling his guards to stop. "Two of you, chase down the girl. The rest of you, stay with me."

"Yesss sire..." Harkin hissed.

"Mortal, do you apologize for your crimes against my people?" Ajkaliir asked of Yoran. "Do you wish to live?"

[-Sentinel-]

"Y-yes, sir," Yoran stammered, ashen-faced, pressing his wounded hand against his shirt. "I swear, sir, I didn't touch anything down there."

He risked a glance over his shoulder. Sarimi had disappeared from view, probably climbing down the knotted rope that hanged inside the temple.

[Devixer]

Wolfgang Hirsch

When the other men showed up, Wolfgang only became more tense. He did not know these newcomers' intentions, but when he saw them surrounding the carriage he'd been following, the situation became clear enough. This was either a robbery, or some sort of attack. Given the guards at the carriage, whose presence betrayed its passenger's importance, the latter was probably the more likely option. This was not a good thing for Wolfgang. The carriage's arrival provided a great opportunity. The Shadowmancer was not about to lose this opportunity. But, he still had no wish to reveal himself.

So, Wolfgang decided to step out of the shadows, back in his normal state. The guards were distracted by the apparent bandits, and the bandits were too focused to notice the Scout. He drew his knife, in case attack became inevitable. He hoped this could be resolved peacefully, but he doubted it. These bandits were determined. They would not be convinced to back down. And if someone attacked, Wolfgang would assist the guards. He wasn't entirely sure how to go about this without Shadowmancy, but these were just extra challenges.

[Kurai]

Gheist

When the cautiousness outside the vehicle erupted into anger and violence, it hit Gheist like a dull blow to the head. Unused to such ferocity, her bones ached and her ears rang. This is your fault, she accused the king silently, it's only thanks to your arrogance and lack of personal protection that this is happening at all!

Swords clashing, metal hitting metal, the sound of steel in the air combined with shouts and screams. Everything happened fast, Gheist could feel more than fourty strangers joining the two dozen guards protecting their ruler, but even though many Damanhi were on horseback, surprise and confidence was tilting the battle in the natives favor.

"Do something!" a harsh voice screamed into her ear and a iron hand clasped itself around her upper arm. Pain raced across her nerves when Kandaro activated the bracelets, but then the carriage shock violently. Shock had the arrogant ruler lose his concentration and Gheist gasped in desperatedly needed air.

"I can't," she hissed back, too confused by too many people. If this only hadn't been the first bloodshed she was part of...

Despite the heavy fighting still going on, the door to their safety was ripped open and two men silhouetted by the bright sunlight stood on the threshold.

"Get out and don't try anything funny. King Kandaro, you are now our prisoner." It were the only words the taller one spoke, then he dragged out the verbally protesting king by his arm. Confused and overwhelmed by the pressure in her head, Gheist wasn't able to fight back when the second man grabbed her as well, dragging her out into the bright sunlight that blinded the young woman for several moments.

The stench of blood and death and pain nearly made her retch.

[Devixer]

Wolfgang Hirsch

By the time these dozens of people decided to show up and have a little fun with the guards, Wolfgang had returned to a shady place, where he wouldn’t be seen, but could still get a good view of the area. It seemed that these attackers had the upper hand, which didn’t surprise the Shadowmancer at all. After all, numbers were a big part of any fight. That was the main reason he’d decided not to take part in this. There were dozens of them, and one of him. He could be killed, or worse - his abilities could be found out.

So, he decided to stay hidden and try to gain more information about the situation, for now. Nothing too terribly dramatic was really happening, but any amount of information could help the Union. Especially if it concerned the well-being of future, less experienced Scouts out on the field. And helping the next of the Eletan Scouts was priority number two in Wolfgang’s list (the first, of course, being the protection of the Union.) With this in mind, he listened to a couple of the attackers as they opened the doors of the carriage he was following until recently. He heard a lot of mumbling, until the much clearer words of "Get out and don't try anything funny. King Kandaro, you are now our prisoner." Then things were considerably more interesting.

Oh, this is just too rich, Wolfgang thought, feeling a cold type of humor from the situation. He’s read reports from other Scouts about Kandaro, of Crag Naman. A ruthless dictator, who hid under the abilities of a Weaver. And now, he’d been captured by vagrants. That, to Wolfgang, was quite humorous. And now he watched as Kandaro himself was forced out of the carriage. But where was the Weaver? Surely, the king would not have traveled without his most important asset. This question was answered was answered in a few seconds when a young woman was also forced out of the carriage.

The Shadowmancer felt no desire to help the king or his previous Weaver. Now that he knew who he’d been following, he felt rather disgusted by it. The sight of the woman clearly sickened by the scene garnered no sympathy, either. All that this provided was another opportunity for Wolfgang. If he followed the ones who captured them, then he would get much more information for the Union. He stepped out of the shadow he’d occupied, and resumed the guise of a normal traveler. Maybe these attackers would allow him to travel with them.