[EX3] Slouching Towards Harborhead (IC)

[Kymme]

~opening theme~ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Irnzddwty-E)

Somewhere in the Southeastern Threshold, Eight Hundred Ninety Miles from Kirighast.

Wind rustles the tall grasses, making them whisper in the mid-morning light. The susurrus sets Kraguri at ease as he makes his way along the ox-cart path that leads into the village of Red Tor. The herdsmen he passed at sunrise pointed him in the direction of their village, though they failed to hide their apprehension at sending a pale-skinned, giant-sword-carrying wanderer towards their homes.

The grass is tall here, rising to nearly six feet, but Kraguri still towers over the savanna. Ahead rises the hill-town of Red Tor, sitting astride a rock that rises like a knuckle from the tree-dotted plain. Terraced orchards of fruit trees ring the village's midsection like a girdle, and a temple cut from red stone crowns the hilltop; separated from the thatched roofed, mud walled houses by a temnos wall. A similar, higher wall curls around the bottom of the village, surrounded on the outside by a few outlying houses. The village has no gate - rather, a gap in the wall between two of the largest outbuildings marks the start of Red Tor's main road.

In the morning light the town is alive with people. Men and women move unladen, performing the work of the early day. Children play in the alleys and yards, safe from the hustle and bustle. All is serene and pastoral.

At least, until Kraguri steps through the threshold. At once the street clears as men and women choose different routes. Children are called back inside by their mothers and before long Kraguri is walking through a deserted thoroughfare, up towards the town’s central plaza. Occaisonaly he catches someone peering through the cloth shutters of their home, watching him with apprehension. The looks are nothing new. The past five villages all reacted the same way when Kraguri passed by. But Kraguri isn’t just passing though this village.

In the shrine at the top of Red Tor, there lies a golden statue of the Unconquered Sun. The red pedestal upon which the statue rests is marked with an inscription - a piece of the Sun’s true name, left behind aeons ago. His last words to Creation, before he departed to live in the sky with the moon and stars. At least, that’s how the legends go.

To Kraguri, it’s just another piece of the puzzle.

With the villagers actively avoiding him, Kraguri’s passage towards the temple is unimpeded. At least, until he encounters a small crowd of people in the town’s central plaza. About a dozen young men and women stand in a cluster where a spokesperson, clad in a red and black kilt with a long open jacket, shouts at an older, tanned woman wearing the beige smock and colored sash of an Immaculate missionary. They appear to be having a theological argument.

“How many times do we have to teach you this lesson, old woman! Get out of here! You frighten the children, anger the mothers and fathers, and corrupt the minds of my brothers and sisters! You’re a plague upon this land!”

The Immaculate missionary has her hands extended and head bowed in a gesture of humility. “I understand your anger at the Immaculate Faith, young man, but we do not wish to frighten, anger, or corrupt anyone. My companions and I seek only to enrich and protect this land, so that it may grow strong with the Dragon’s love. I--”

“Lies!” The tall youth thrusts a finger into the missionary’s face. “I’ve heard the stories! Your ‘Chosen’ raze temples to the Unconquered Sun to the ground, and kill the gods that stand in their way! Your kind subjugate our people, building lavish monuments to your ‘Immaculate Dragons’!” His friends in the crowd whoop and shout, egging him on. A few others, however, seem reluctant to add fuel to the fire.

The missionary recoils at the accusation, but doesn’t deny it. She glances over her shoulder, down a side street, and then back at the crowd in front of her. “Good… good young men and women of Red Tor, know that my brothers and sisters mean only the best for --”

“Enough of this!” The tall young man roars in her face. “Just looking at your self-righteous face pisses me off!” He raises his hand to strike her and one of his companions grabs his wrist. A shorter man, with a rounded face framed by two long, beaded braids. “Jade, don’t. You’ve said your piece, now let her go.”

Jade glares at his friend. “I refuse, Tawn. If we never make a stand, then the Immaculates will just crush our people under their heels! I-If you’re going to stop me, then you’re my enemy too!” He punches Tawn in the face and the plaza erupts into a whirling flurry.

The Immaculate missionary is paralyzed as the fighting encircles her. Behind her one of the young men breaks from the fighting and steps close, drawing his bronze knife from his belt.

Kraguri stands ten paces from the missionary, unnoticed by all.

Kraguri has time to take one action before the young man attempts to stab the missionary. She's unarmored, so she doesn't have any protection against the attack.

[TwentyFold]

Innocent creatures at work to disown their pretenses of peace and coordination, mortality at work, but not for long. Taking knee, Kraguri reaches for a nearby wagon, a handle brandished out of it's contents. Burning hatred and scalding anticipation grew upon the sheath on his back, but was quelled as his hand lowered to the cart's wheel. Taking it by a spoke, the wheel bent against it's axle, before ripping into a small shower of shards. The force threw off his balance, throwing him into chaotic fray, and right into the way of an upwards jab towards holy cloth.

Just as the attacker's arm drives into empty air, knocked into the thin of it by spokes and brute strength. With a grab and a twist, the attacker's dagger is thrown away, leaving Kraguri, and a small man.
Throwing aside the wheel, tall big and pale Kraguri attempts to threaten the attacker off by way of action and size.


Join Battle 2 successes + base of 4 i
Attack vs dagger boi, using wheel to disarm. 8 success
i = 4 successes

[Kymme]

The battle screeches to a halt, punches hanging in the air and tackles aborted mid-stride. All eyes are on Kraguri and the disarmed young man in front of him. The crowd's gaze moves from Kraguri, to the youth, to the discarded wheel and the bronze knife, lying a few paces away. They seem somewhat unsure of what to do.

The young man Kraguri disarmed clutches his wrist and whimpers. He quickly gathers his legs under him and dashes off, leaving his knife and his pride behind. Tawn and Jade dust each other off and then begin herding away the rest of their friends. The plaza empties, leaving Kraguri and the missionary.

"Thank you for sparing him." The missionary bows slightly and then stoops down to retrieve the fallen knife. "I'll have to return this to the boy's parents. Freemen must never part from their weapons." Standing, she cranes her neck to look Kraguri in the eye. The woman's face is tanned, creased from the labors of many years. Her head is shaven, and a mala of coin-sized beads drapes heavily around her thin neck. "You're far from wherever you call home, traveler. Would you like to sit down and rest for a while? My fellows and I maintain a small temple in the village. I could lead you there."

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri sizes up the missionary. Intently taking in her already calm attitude as she curtsies. Calm, sunken eyes peer out of Kraguri's skull, looking from knife to woman, to where the almost violent youth had retreated.

After his momentary survey, Kraguri bends down to the cart wheel and hefts it under his arm as though it takes out of him his very youth. Grunting as he straightened, Nakru's sheath drags across the ground, it's length overtaking bent legs and back of Kraguri.

Kraguri then gives a short bow that gives forbearance to the missionary's smaller figure. "Temples were once gracious to me, though I must admit such trappings find me no solace anymore," came out a harsh, unused voice from the depths of ragged, seldom used lungs.

Taken aback by his own sounding, Kraguri takes from his coat a small jade and leather flask, sloshing inside were contents better away from light and day. Turning to the side, Kraguri swigs the flask, aromatic and consuming lust came over Kraguri's mind, Nakru rattled in his sheath for a moment, then the flask was stopped, the urges subsided.

His throat rid of flesh made gravel, Kraguri's tone takes precedence as deep, wary, and his eyes fail to meet the Missionary's as he begins to counter her offer in High Realm, formality first.

"Forgive my tongue, for it has felt seldom use in long travels," Kraguri bows slowly, casting the smaller figure into shadow, forgetting his own size. "That dagger, it would not do to have such a foolish child play backstabber in worsening times such as these. They surely do not itch to draw blades in these parts? It would fall upon darker times if not for strangers with merciful wagon wheels."

A hidden smirk plays upon Kraguri's visage, casting his eyes humorously over the almost insignificant weapon.To Anethma, but a stick underfoot, to mortals, the coldest bronze between ribs. Taking measure of his words, he repeats in his newly restored voice: "I repeat for convenience, I would take upon you the offer of solace under holy roof, but my business leaves me to decline the offer. Though I do offer my services of calming or taming the unholy, as few can confidently say they have such skills."

[Kymme]

Despite Kraguri's towering figure, the small woman before him seems unmoved. There is certainty in her gaze.

"A wandering exorcist, then?" The missionary's eyes trace along the hilt that pokes up over Kraguri's shoulder. "Or perhaps a hunter of demons. I see. You are versed in the tongue of the Blessed Isle. Very far from home indeed."

She raises a hand to her chin, murmuring softly. "Red Tor has been blessed enough to avoid supernatural troubles, but the spiritual needs of this village cannot be overstated. If you are in need of work I've heard stories of dark happenings south of here, in the villages that huddle under the shadow of the Steam Mouth. Five blessings be upon you wherever you go, traveler."

With a quickened pace the missionary leaves the Plaza, heading in the direction of her Immaculate temple. Before she exits the square, however, she calls over her shoulder. "My name is Sister Vanthy. Should you have need of my temple, simply mention my name and the villagers will show you the way."

Kraguri makes his way further up the town, past the bright-painted homes of wealthy orchard-owners, until he reaches the temnos wall that divides the main town from the holy precinct at the summit. The temnos wall is more of a spiritual barricade than a physical one, standing only waist-high. It's made of blocks of stone caked together and encased in mud, with the occasional stick supporting a braided cord that wraps all the way around the mountaintop.

Coming closer, Kraguri gets his first good look at the temple. The building isn't opulent - a fresh coat of pale blue paint on the exterior porch and a few gold ribbons are the only signs of outer wealth. An awning rings the red stone structure, keeping out the worst of the sun. On the west side, facing towards Kirighast and its Fane of Upswept Horns, is a shrine to Ahlat, the Southern God of War and Cattle. The shrine is equipped with specially lacquered bowls and vessels for the storing of cattle blood, used often in sacrifices to the War God.

The temple's only attendant (https://static.zerochan.net/Archaic.Sealed.Heat.full.923155.jpg) stands at the gate, sipping water from a canteen. Her confident posture and lean muscles mark her as a warrior, and the curved back-sword at her hip and long, bayoneted firewand complete the image. In all likelihood she's a Bride of Ahlat - a woman sworn to the War God through a special ritual, endowed with his blessings in the arts of combat - the only defense this temple needs.

"You got business, traveler?" She quirks an eyebrow at Kraguri's approach. "People aren't allowed in until the priest has performed the noonday sanctification. Which is..." Shading her eyes, the Bride checks the progress of the morning sun. "...a few hours off."

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri takes a final step before the gate, taking a look over the Bride with a tactful eye. Taking in the make and design upon her firewand, Kraguri looks to the gate in curious thought. "My business is at best a winding slope, but perhaps you could help me out," Kraguri says, his eyes wandering over several of the sacrificial bowls lining the shrine. There, globs of congealed blood seem to quiver in the rising light (http://orig05.deviantart.net/5c3b/f/2012/139/4/5/i__m_hungry_by_o_melet-d50dy85.png)(A Hunger drives Nakru's expression), his eye's drift away, the idea sickening Kraguri.

"Is there a wait till the noon-day sanctification for questions, or are you free with time for gossip with a wandering traveler?"

[Kymme]

The Bride's lip curls in amusement. She eyes Kraguri up and down, drinking in as much of his stature and figure as his dark overcoat and high collar allow. "Sure, I've got time. First things first, what's your business? I'm sure the priest'll want me to explain it to him when he comes strolling up and sees Death Himself standing before his little brick god-house."

She folds her arms, shifting her stance to a more relaxed position.

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri slouches in stance, seeming to sigh into the position. Raising a hand to rub the warmed dome of his head, he traces by feeling the tattoos along his visage.

"My business," Kraguri begins with a tinge of gravel in his voice, "is better left to cake the inside of my skull. Though my current business is simpler. I seek that which can retract my burdens, perhaps an artifact that has bleached foul darkness's from people or beings before." Straightening, his spine realigns in heavy-set cracks and pops. "I am lead to these parts only on rumor, what better than to visit those people closest to the divines and trappings of the supernatural when gossip and tall tales run me short of a route?"

He then returns to eyeing the fire wand upon the guardian's back, reminiscing over fields of fire.

[Kymme]

Registering that Kraguri is looking at her weapons, the Bride of Ahlat swings her eyes up to take another look at his. She traces the lines of the hilt that peeks up past Kraguri's shoulder and clicks her tongue.

"That's quite the weapon you’ve got there. When you say ‘dark burdens,’ do you mean curses and the like? What kinds of trouble does a ‘wandering swordsman’ like you get into?”

Having exhausted her remaining questions, the Bride leans back slightly and rests her hands on her hips. She stands like this for quite a while, occasionally glancing down in the direction of the town proper.

Her eyes focus and she breaths a sigh of relief when she spots someone moving up the road. A young man, tall, with dark chocolate-colored skin that stands at contrast with his white hooded burnous. Golden beads hang from the brocade cap that sits atop his head, and he moves with deliberate purpose towards the temple.

“Good day, Nalia! Who is our visitor?” The priest wears a wide grin.

Nalia, the Bride of Ahlat, glances at Kraguri before answering. “Just a traveler on business, Basir! He’s here to pray before the statue of the Unconquered Sun once the noonday sanctification is over.”

“Ah! Well, let’s not keep him waiting!” Basir steps past Kraguri, offering him a curt nod, and steps inside the holy precinct. He claps Nalia on the shoulder as he passes.

Kraguri can see that, beneath the wide white grin and relaxed posture, there is fear in Basir’s expression. Burning just behind his eyes is a deep fear and with it a searing anger. He’s clearly on edge.
The sanctification is over with shortly, and Basir pokes his head out of the entrance to the temple to let Kraguri and Nalia know.

“Well you heard the man! Time to go about your ‘business.’" Nalia stands up from her post and gestures for Kraguri to step past her. She follows him towards the temple, matching his stride. As they near the entrance Nalia’s expression hardens. She turns to Kraguri and, keeping her voice low, asks him. “You’re from the Realm, aren’t you? Your accent, your pasty skin, that fancy curved sword, it all points towards it. Are you an Exalted? What would an Exalted from the Realm want with a temple to the Unconquered Sun?”

Now would be a good time to mention that, when talking with an NPC you can roll Perception/Wits+Socialize to perform a Read Intentions action on them. Your roll is opposed by the target's Guile, but if you succeed you get a brief description of the target’s intentions in the current social context. You may also specify a general type of Intimacy (Does she love anyone? Why does he dislike me?). If you succeed, you learn one of the target’s Intimacies, if any, that fits that general context.

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri takes a more side long stance at the mention of Nakru. Allowing most of the sheath to be swallowed by his frame. Looking off into the countryside, Kraguri takes a quick moment to reaffirm his tongue.

"The sword is not much for use for me anymore, more like one of those 'dark burdens' nowadays. If anything it brings me more trouble then I have so far solved." He finishes with a glance back towards the town, taking in the limited bustle of the small village.

When the priest appears upon the road to the temple, Kraguri narrows his eyes, watching the slow approach of the youth abundant holy-man. Even as small reflections of light off of the brazen gold beads illuminate his visage, it also throws into light eyes filled with something off compared to the rest. Taking note, Kraguri returns the curt nod from the priest with a weary bow.

As the last of white cloth disappears for the first time into the temple, Kraguri takes upon himself to looking for the reason of which the priest had reason for being upset. His eyes and ears bend towards where the priest came from for answers, visibly curious. Until Nalia and Kraguri are called in.

As Nalia pulls up to Kraguri's frame as they enter, he begins to slow down his steps as more and more inquisition besets him. Every question seemed to cause a deeper frown upon the pale man's face, barely hidden behind his darkened collar. And as they stop near the entrance of the temple. A look of seriousness muddled with grim silence met Nalia at first, his eye's searching ravenously over her face for the slimmest sign of treachery.

"That was a quick turnaround from my personal business to my very personal being. Let alone approaching a figure she believes to be a being of powerful influence, and questioning it's motives so blatantly." Kraguri folds his arms roughly, and stands there, coldly peering into her eye's. "By the way, what does a guardian of zealots and sacrifices doing asking a spare traveler if they happen to be one of the few exalted. They have their duties in the realm, and pronounce themselves in banners or flair. Though I will not lie that I come from the realm myself."

At this a faint wheezing chuckle echo's off the borders of Kraguri's mind. Ksh Ksh Ksh (http://orig15.deviantart.net/7417/f/2011/104/b/4/sanji__s_evil_face_by_al_zoro-d3dzd17.jpg)

[Kymme]

Nalia's expression softens somewhat, but her gaze remains steely. She doesn't respond beyond turning away with a huff and leading Kraguri past the threshold of the temple. The squat stone structure has no windows, but the inside is only slightly dimmer than the holy precinct outside.

The source of this light lies beyond the small antechamber, with it's small wooden closets for holding cloaks and weapons, through a short stone hallway. In the center of the temple, at the very summit of the hill, stands the image of the Unconquered Sun (https://img08.deviantart.net/f1ad/i/2014/250/0/e/the_unconqured_sun___colored_by_blaqueandstuff-d7xa8xm.jpg), captured in a statue of the finest gold. He stands tall and proud, resplendent in his glory. His face is full and kind, with a peaceful cast to his features. His hair is shaped to be long, flowing about his armored shoulders and down almost to his waist. In three of his hands he clutches his panoply: a spear, shield, and laurel. His fourth hand, however, is missing. The arm ends at the wrist, severed cleanly. The podium he stands upon is made of black and gold marble, much older than the temple itself. A golden tablet is set into the marble, bearing an inscription in Old Realm, the language of the gods. The symbols are beautifully etched by some ancient hand, but marred somewhat by scratches. The scratches intensify on the right side of the tablet, where a full fourth of the gold has been fully removed.

The statue and its surroundings suggest a glory and power that has been diminished by time. Somewhere, deep within the shrouded depths of Kraguri's soul, some ancient memory stirs.

If Kraguri wishes he may further analyze the statue, making some sort of Lore or Occult roll. He may also ask questions of the priest and the Bride of Ahlat, if he wishes.

[TwentyFold]

"Seeing hard times?"

Kraguri gestures first at the statue, then lazily at the tablet. He takes close notice of the statue's stump of a hand, where in prior memory a container resembling a tall and over decorated chalice. At first ignoring both priest and warrior, Krraguri steps up the statue and stares into the dull empty eyes, then bends down to the stump frozen in material glory as a defacing of such a great figure. Reaching out, Kraguri feels long the stump, memorizing the damaging grain of the removal, searching for lopsided cuts or warped gold for any damage.

Attempting to imagine such a removal, a glance thought of his own hand being removed causes Kraguri to pause. Looking down at his wrist, a long red line blushes upon his pale skin, right in the same position as the statue, and a small and harsh voice broils from his mind.

'Ksh, what are you doing, playing detective again, almost makes you a proper mortal now! Ksh Ksh Ksh. Yes, some proper mortal!'

Looking back at the priest, Kraguri raises his eyebrow. "I dare to hope you can accommodate fees without defacing your own holy house. Most other temples find a way. Unless they have been stolen?"

Kraguri lowers his eye's to the tablet, meeting the removed chunk with a look of serious curiosity. Raising himself to peer into the shallow hollow.

[Kymme]

A scowl winds its way across Basir's brow, but he quickly covers it up and steps forward. "No, we haven't fallen on hard times. Red Tor has been blessed by many years of bountiful harvests and even Ahlat sends his blessing! We're under the protection of one of his Brides and the magnanimous gaze of Ignis Divine!" His speaks with passion and overwrought cheer, but something rings deeper with Kraguri: Basir wants to believe the things he says.

Upon inspecting the flat end of the statue's wrist, Kraguri's finger finds a sharp piece of gold and draws blood. Pulling his hand away, Kraguri finds that, lodged in his finger, there is a tiny metal shard. Based on the shape it must be the tooth of a saw, long parted from its metal jaw. But not too long. This metal wasn't forged a thousand years ago, during the time of the Shogunate and the Contagion, but more recently. Perhaps a generation ago? No more than five decades. Looking closely at the tablet, Kraguri finds the subtle-yet-unmistakable marks of a chisel along the golden surface. The stone around where the tablet was cut is chipped as well, if only slightly.

It isn't until Kraguri has finished inspecting the statue and turned back to the priest that it becomes clear. "W-what? No, no, of course not! This statue hasn't been defaced, at least not by us. The Statue of Ignis Divine has stood atop this hill for thousands of years, long before any of my people settled here. It's certainly a shame that this statue lacks one hand and part of it's inscription, but there's nothing to be done. It happened back when no one bothered to consider preserving it for the faithful." He sighs, turning away.

Nalia shrugs. "Statue's been handless for as long as I've been around. I don't know how far back the story goes, but it goes back further than any of us." She gestures around the room with an open hand, signifying Basir, Kraguri, and herself. "Anyways, I've got to keep watch. I'm sure people will be gathering at the entrance to the precinct for their afternoon prayers. Finish up here and come out, traveler." She pauses. "Unless you intend to pray, too."

With a swishing of her long dark hair, Nalia exits the temple.

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri takes a quick last look at his environment, taking a leisure gander at all facets of the temple. Raising an eyebrow, he throws his gaze upon the desperate priest. Taking up his dark robed arms, Kraguri takes from his finger the shard in concealment. A quick itch on the forearm is his only attempt to mask the action.

Feeling the slow crawl of blood to wound, Kraguri takes the shard into his left palm, and lets it fall into his satchel pocket. Keeping his eye's locked with Basir's, Kraguri unlatches Nakru from his back and with full arm outstretched, leans the sizable Daiklaive against a corner. With almost immediate removal from Kraguri's touch, the corner itself seems to grow dark as the void, radiating a sense of powerful hunger.

From this dark corner, comes Nakru's voice, low, just below perception, but ever stalking and horribly present. It sings memories of thieves and looters, of troublemakers of the young and old alike, all slowly hunted, and used. Without ever hearing the words, the ranting of a madman grows in dread in Basir's Head, just impossible enough to define in reality for the poor fool.

Ksh Ksh Ksh, Iconoclast, Perversions of alter and ritual, A FELLOW HOLY MAN WOULD KNOW BETTER, Ksh Ksh Ksh

For Kraguri, the two long steps foreward felt a forceful saunter in a short moment. There is no telling the many moments Basir's mind has just developed. And just as Nakru retreats, the mortal's first view is the look up into the dark, searching, and angered eyes of Kraguri.

"Is this how your guests are greeted, in bravado and falsehood. I will not examine a holy site in such condition and be told that these fresh marks are even by greater means a figment of far gone history." Procuring from his satchel, the shard, his pale hand raises with force, to stop at Basir's chin level. The shard raises an inch in the air above the flat plane, turning and glinting in approaching day, before falling again to Kraguri's Palm.

"I reckon the blade of such a saw could still saw through a sapling ironwood," turning it over in his hand, Kraguri examines the metal, "and where is the rust from the years before your birth?"

Kraguri pockets the shard and sternly watches Basir. "The truth is what I come to hear, I hope you at least answer my questions with greater importance on the weight of your words."

[Kymme]

Basir recoils as though Kraguri had struck him. The priest's expression twists in outrage and he takes a step into Kraguri's reach, summoning up a furious voice. "I haven't lied to you once!"

And then he falters. Something about the gleam in Kraguri's eyes, the sword on his back, the menace that radiates from this traveler - it defeats him. Basir backs away from Kraguri, glancing nervously at the passage to the antechamber. "I haven't really lied, entirely. I wasn't here when this statue was defaced. It... it happened before I was the priest of this temple, before I was even born. My teacher, the old priest, told me the story. Thirty years ago, when Red Tor was a young village, a dark god upon a tribex of black smoke rode northwards from his domain near the Steam Mouth. He came to this village, much as you have done, seeking this statue. He found what he was looking for and had the shrine's attendants remove its hand and part of its inscription for him. Then he rode south again. This village has been safe since then. He doesn't trouble us, like he does the other peoples who live near his domain." Basir gasps for breath, watching Kraguri nervously.

The words upon the tablet are written in Old Realm pictographs, arranged in rows of characters.


No Evil / No Darkness / This Is
Born Of / Born Of / The Reason Why
A Human / A Hum-- / [Removed]
Heart Is / Soul -- / [Removed]
Beyond / Too ----- / [Removed]
Redemption / For ----- / [Removed]

Over the silence of the temple, Kraguri can hear voices echoing in from outside. Loud voices. There appears to be some sort of commotion happening outside.

[TwentyFold]

Scowling behind his collar, Kraguri takes his eyes off of Bosir, instead focusing on the tablet. The words inscribed were the best lead he had in a long time, he just needed to find this dark figure. Calling back on his memories, he searched through old bedtime prophecies and dark inscriptions on scrolls of skin, each melding together, causing a small delay of confusion between the two.

"This... god, how does it terrorize these other villages? And where is it seated near the steam mouth? Restoration of this tablet and statue is all I am here for now." His voice was now filled with small delays as his memories attempted to reaffirm themselves, separating the mortal reminders from the darker days.

Turning his gaze back on Bosir, Kraguri begins to inch their way through the priest's eyes. Searching for any changes of the weak figure, and with his right hand, retrieving Nakru from the now brightening corner.

[Kymme]

Basir shrugs as Kraguri moves to retrieve his blade. "I don't know a great deal about this god. It terrorized this village before I was born, and my teacher preferred not to speak about it." He looks up, meeting Kraguri's gaze. "He passed on four years ago. Otherwise I'm sure he would have shared more information with you."

A few memories surface in Kraguri's mind. A dark god riding a steed of smoke? Unless the mouth was an elemental, it would have to be some projection of sorcery or other magics. As for why such a god would want pieces of a tablet... Sorcery seems like the most plausible reason. Old Realm is just as much the language of magic as it is the language of spirits, and certain words and phrases hold special power in the field of sorcery.

Basir's eyes widen as the realization of Kraguri's meaning washes over him. "You-you wish to restore the monument? That would require... venturing South and... defeating the god who rules there." He takes a step back. "Is that your plan? What in Creation are you?"

Before Kraguri can give a response a shout echoes into the temple. Something is afoot outside.

Stepping across the temple threshold Kraguri feels a weight leave his shoulders. The likeness of the Unconquered Sun was overpowering in its majesty, and deep within himself Kraguri could sense a complicated knot of emotions. Now the knot is unraveled and what lies before Kraguri is as clear and uncomplicated as a cloudless day.

A crowd of about a dozen people, mostly women and children in colorful robes, huddles between the temple entrance and the temnos wall. In the center of the crowd, sitting stunned on the ground, is the young man that Kraguri disarmed earlier this morning. He is still without his knife, not to mention sporting a bruised and swollen eye. Blood drips from his split lip, cut open by a guantleted fist.

At the 'gate' of the temnos wall stands Nalia, arms defiantly outstretched. She's engaged in a shouting match with a broad-shouldered man in burgundy lamellar armor. The man's shock of short yellow hair rises from a thin pale face, twisted in rage. Behind him are several beige-robed Immaculate monks, among them Sister Vanthy.

"You're protecting the boy, then?" He snarls at Nalia, eyes flicking past her shoulder into the crowd beyond. "If he hadn't been stopped, he'd be a murderer."

"But he was stopped." Nalia replies, holding his gaze. "He hasn't committed any crime against your Order. In fact, it was you who struck him. That seems like a breach of Immaculate conduct, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm no monk! How dare you lecture me on Immaculate conduct, you god-wedded heathen!" He spits back, hands moving to the three long swords sheathed on his left hip. "If you won't hand him over then I'll have to take him by force. He threatened a peaceful monk and must face the penalty!" Sister Vanthy and her fellow monks take up positions behind him, faces set.

"You won't get even a single step past that wall." Nalia bares her teeth, hand flying to the hilt of her backsword.

If Kraguri wishes to take some action before this fight begins (or possibly try to avert it), he is welcome to do so. After that I'll roll Join Battle for all of the participants.

[TwentyFold]

Shielding his eye's, Kraguri looks upon the situation, his eyes slowly recovering from the moody temple interior. On his back, Nakru rattles in his sheath, feeling the emotions of the villager's congregation boiling over into rage, doubt, and confusion.

At first, Kraguri stands idly by, collecting in the situation as much as possible. Peering into the throng of onlookers, the Abyssal searches with fevered attention for the threat of weapons amongst them. Catching the gleams of trinkets and baubles in paranoid attentiveness, Kraguri steps forward to meet this rabble rouser in Lamallar.

Just as weapons meet their owner's hands, from behind Nalia, casting a deep and dark silhouette as though a dark cloud cast night upon the congregation, towers Kraguri. From his eyes come deep-set coals amongst the pale ash of his face. Behind him, far into the sky, the sun begin's it's slow decent, throwing into light the dark brown stains that dye Kraguri's robes.

As though his voice was projected from every sliver of nearby shade, Kraguri's voice grows steadily, eventually becoming a booming thunder over the callus revolt of Immaculate congregates.

"Cruel is this judgement you lay upon a child already broken of pride and beaten of frame," Taking a heavy stance, Kraguri resumes, "If you would trespass upon this sacred hill in seeking your violence, forget devoted warriors, forget sanctified oaths, forget YOURSELF, step forward, I am the wall you seek to pass for this child's punishment. After all, I saved one of your own, risking my own blood for peace, and you would turn my work against me. Insulted, I stand before you, fool, press forward your conviction, if you dare!"

Drawing no weapon, Kraguri, forgetting himself, forcefully replaces Nalia as the gate before the Immaculate. Now his gaze locks with the armored man before him, and he awaits their decision.

Kraguri makes no moves to defend himself from any actions from the Immaculate and their armored friend may make in the next round. Trying to use this to add to the level of confidence Kraguri has intimidating these guys. No matter the damage to his being.

The only thing he will be prepared to do is prevent this Lamallar bud from moving past him with any violent intentions. Only way around the situation for these guys is walking away from Kraguri.
That is his intentions if they attempt to search for it.

[Kymme]

The crowd behind Kraguri gasps, seeing him suddenly appear. Nalia's eyes flick to the side before going back to meet her opponent. The fingers on her right hand close around the hilt of her backsword and she grins cockily.

The fury never leaves the armored man's face, however. His scowl only deepens and his voice rises in pitch. "You think I care about your foolish pride, bastard? I am Sesus Myorell, loyal warrior of the Scarlet Empire, Chosen of the Dragon of Earth! I will destroy all walls that rise in my way, including you!"


~battle, joined!~

He leaps into the air, drawing two of the swords from his belt - their golden blades seem to glow in the midday light. Nalia lets go of her backsword and sweeps the firewand off her back, pulling back the flint-arm and flicking a bit of firedust into the pan in one swift motion.

Myorell is faster, though, front-flipping over her and closing the gap with Kraguri. ("So much for 'a single step.'") In midair the Dragon-Blooded is surrounded by a pale white glow. He pulls special triggers on his swords and at once the golden blades fracture into many pieces, held together by lengths of thin white chain. He swings blades behind him and then launches them forwards, like two whips aimed directly at Kraguri's solar plexus.

The impact is resounding and kicks up a cloud of dust that momentarily obscures the two fighters.

[TwentyFold]

Within the chocking clouds of dust, scraping of metal against metal is the only sound that meets any present. As a gust picks the obscurity away from the fighters, it is revealed Kraguri's robed right arm reaches to meet the whip blade. In his hand, a katana, common in size, but to it's wielder's giant frame, seems shocking his choice of weapon. Using his thumb, Kraguri grips the whip tendril around the blade, tangling Myorell's weapon against him.

As the gust of wind clears the battlefield, Kraguri's cloak flaps open revealing a skin tight, void blade skin suit beneath, surrounding a emaciated frame that seems little more than muscle and bone.

"Stand down dynast, your blades are intricate, your gifts immaculate, but they will never meet me on a field. I have lived with your kind too long to not know your weaknesses, not have recognized your power, you were the perfect knights upon the battlefields I laid, but in the end your power will corrupt you like the anethma you hate."

Raising his fist, Kraguri forces his arm around himself, turning his body forcefully, yanking the Earth terrestrial off of his feet.

"If I can prevent your rashness at any cost, I will sacrifice flesh, blood and bone. And so might you."

A casual glint of red crosses the pale flesh of Kraguri's right hand, it begins to radiate signs of the old realm, words of blades.

"ARTFUL MAIMING ONSLAUGHT!"

With a powerful leap foreword, Kraguri rushes to meet the dragon-blooded, brandishing his now bladed and armed arm with full extension, making no move to draw back the weapon.

[Kymme]

It's only the Dragonblooded's quick instincts that save him. His left whip-Klaive clicks and whirs, struggling to pull free of Kraguri's grasp even as the Abyssal's blade scythes through the air. He steps forward, planting a foot and driving the tip of his right whip-Klaive into the ground. The metal plates snap back together, seamlessly reforming into a long straight blade.

This gold sword meets Kraguri's own in a clash of sparks. Myorell shoves away from Kraguri and retracts his left whip-Klaive, snapping it back together with a similar thrust into the ground. He pants, fixing Kraguri in a steely glare. "I'll admit... that was unexpected. Figured you'd use that washing-pole on your back, not some little backsword number."

Nalia turns and points her firewand at him, ready to hip-fire the weapon and spill forth a cone of flames, but then the Immaculates crash down upon her. The monks move as one, with the defensive stances of the Dragon of Earth. Nalia wards them off with kicks and bayonet-thrusts, and Kraguri keeps them at bay with a glare that could melt steel.

A gap opens up around Kraguri, freeing him to move as he pleases.

[TwentyFold]

Standing strong, Kraguri widens his stance, throwing his left foot behind him and allowing his body to do a half turn. His right hand then rests upon his right knee, the tip of a katana barely visible. Squinting at the dragonblooded, Kraguri takes calm measure of his breathing, cautiously moving away from the Immaculate crowd, ignoring them completely.

"This sword is not for use, a rash war dog like you will take steel just fine," His glare softens as concentration takes over. His stance seems to embolden, the earth beneath his sandals fracturing from his stance's grip.

Taking Defense action: -1i (9-1=8), +2 Defense, also preparing to use Vengeful Riposte, rolling Decisive attack after his attack, but before his damage!

[Kymme]

Myorell pauses, analyzing Kraguri's stance and the calm killing intent in his eyes. He frowns. "Be you man or monster, it doesn't matter." He wedges his two whip-Klaives into the dirt on either side of him, where they hold fast to the earth. White light flickers from their parallel blades, and Myorell draws his the third sword on his belt - the largest one. "I will defeat you in two blows."

A washing pole sword with a blade like white marble flecked with gold emerges from the red-lacquered sheath. Myorell holds it high, near-vertical, and tightens his two handed grip on the blade's hilt. "This is Harmony in Alabaster, a young and storied Daiklaive. It was passed down to me from my older brother, Sesus Vyorell, who used it to slay the Devil-Boar of Crooked Horn. Now it will be your demise, O nameless traveler." The swords embedded in the ground on either side of him begin to vibrate, filling the air with a droning hum. The hum is echoed by Harmony in Alabaster.

Behind the Dragon-blooded Nalia fends off the Immaculates with her sword, keeping them suppressed. Every time she turns her attention to Myorell, however, the monks make a move and she is forced to hold them back.

"Now face your demise!" Myorell shouts. The ground under his feet buckles and begins to vibrate as well, small stones shaking where they lay. "THREE DRAGONS HARMONIZE!" He explodes forward, sending a shower of pebbles over Nalia and the Immaculate monks. Harmony in Alabaster sings with essence, overpowering the air that surrounds it, and strikes Kraguri like a landslide.

In the overwhelming force, however, there lies an opening.

[TwentyFold]

The force of the charged daiklaive squarely pounds into Kraguri's chest, sending him almost to a knee, where he resists rigidly against the avalanche. Taking his limited chance, Kraguri slashes at the opened side of Myorell, slashing with deadly force and throwing the Dragonblooded away from his devastated target. His chest heaving in response, Kraguri sternly watches Myorell as Kraguri raises himself back to full height.

Lay down your arms, earth blooded, we've shed enough blood as it is for petty reasons. Though, if your intention is to mat the dirt with blood, then come forth, we shall oblige each other with this trade!

Retaking stance, Kraguri watches coldly, his katana and arm resting at his side. His upper body a wall of pain, Kraguri faces his opponent with nary a flicker of feeling it.

[Kymme]

Kraguri’s sword traces a red line in one of the gaps of Myorell’s lamellar and the Dragon-Blooded grunts in pain even as his attack knocks Kraguri back.

Myorell is unmoved. Blood seeps through the padding under his armor and stains his left hip, but he remains resolute. Blinking sweat from his eyes, Myorell fixes Kraguri with a confident stare. “This is my second and final blow, nameless traveler. Make peace with whatever gods you hold dear, because you’re about to meet them.” Small stones skip around his feet and Harmony in Alabaster begins to reverberate.

Behind Myorell the Immaculate monks lunge forward. They close in on Nalia with the flickering footwork and powerful strikes of the Dragon of Fire. In their rush their stances lighten, becoming like fragile coals. Nalia smirks, even as she is forced backwards. She knows their secret.

Fire rises.

Nalia ducks under a reckless punch and sweeps with the blunt side of her backsword, catching an Immaculate in the knees and upending him. Before he can land, however, Nalia lunges, points her left elbow downwards, and drops to the ground with the monk under it. He lands with a loud whack and doesn’t stir.

Nalia fills the air with spinning steel and wards off the other Immaculates, getting to her feet as fast as possible. “One down.”

The hum of Harmony in Alabaster reaches crescendo and Myorell leaps forwards once more, a mighty battle-cry rising from his throat. “THREE DRAGONS CANTILLATE!”

Mightily charged with essence, the daiklave deflects Kraguri’s sword and cleaves into his chest. It pierces cloth and flesh and bone and then earth, arcing downwards to open a shallow trench in the ground. Myorell stands one side and Kraguri on the other.

“No…” The Dragon-Blooded gapes in awe. “You’re alive. No man should be able to survive a strike like that. How… How are you still standing!”

Nalia manages to hit the battlegroup, inflicting 1 magnitude damage. She also manages to avoid their counterattack.

Sesus Myorell uses his Anime Finishing Move and... doesn't kill Kraguri. Weird. Kraguri does take 7 damage, however. 2 of that damage can be mitigated if Kraguri sacrifices his katana, or more of he elects to take a Crippling Injury.

It is now Kraguri's turn. After that comes the beginning of Round 4!

[TwentyFold]

As the force of the blow settles across Kraguri, his robes fall to his waist, held in a half toga barely held on his shoulder from falling from a dark abyss of a frame. Beneath Kraguri's robes his skin, pale like ivory, is lightly shown along the new rend in his body, now exposed from under a skin tight sheet of pitch black material; his body is set sickly and gaunt, thin muscles sewn tight across what's left of Kraguri's most mortal frame. Never having taken his gaze from Myorell, Kraguri keeps his expression, even after the impact.

The dull thud of Nakru landing on the ground, fallen from hidden bandolier, resonated dully with the last of Harmony in Alabaster's power. Beneath it's casing, Nakru shakes violently, instinctively writhing with aberrant vigor. With the sound of Kraguri's grunting force of voice, the sword lay still, "Q-Quite a move, must have sharpened that skill on reed dummies many a long night."

Raising himself back to full height, blood draws quickly from the crescent in his chest, flowing freely to pool at the giant's feet. "This catalyst of a body has tasted pains to the point of numbing, has withstood powers vast enough to shred it apart, it will take more than that to finish me in two blows!!"

Taking stance, Kraguri lifts a steady arm, the katana now visible in his giant hands, it's blade drawn toward's Kraguri's self, preparing for a light jab foreward. "Face an Onslaught!"

Throwing himself forward, Kraguri stomps hard into the ground, raising the newly loosened soil around their feat once again, hiding his strikes to Myorell's upper arms.

[Kymme]

Myorell hugs his sword close to his chest, sacrificing his superior reach for quick responses to Kraguri's strikes. Kraguri's sword hasn't tasted flesh a second time, but Myorell is slowing down. Blood pours freely from his previous wound and runs down his left leg. He takes another step back and grunts in pain as the movement twists his wound. His left hand drops from his daiklaive's hilt and presses against the wound, but there's nothing he can do.

"I... I don't understand." The Dragon-blooded loses focus for a moment and his shoulders sags before picks himself up and swings his eyes back to Kraguri. "This isn't... how I want to die. B-brother! Sister Vanthy! Anyone! Help me..." But his words fall from his lips like dying birds.

[TwentyFold]

Stepping back from his work, Kraguri stares down Myorell. His voice now harsh and drawn out, the husk of Kraguri speaks, "My mercy is drawn thin, I gave you chances to turn, chances to run, chances to FINISH ME!!!"

Blood flows freely from Kraguri's chest, his sword arm raising in a wrathful down cut. His very sinew begins to roil in his arms, contorting his muscles and tendons harshly, his body preparing for a powerful final blow. His eyes, flaring red pupils amongst pitch black, now seethed with a strange contempt, though it did not belong to Kraguri, he bathed in it. From his brow, his flesh splits, fades, burns away, an eight pronged sun (https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/whitewolf/images/2/23/DuskCaste.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/200?cb=20090105233907) takes place upon the pale brow of Kraguri, blood now seeping freely from it's form.

Accept fear, enter the void, fate as judge, and I as executioner!

Dark lines of coagulated blood trace the blade in his hand, shifting to razor lining by Kraguri's will. Shifting his stance, Kraguri lower's himself for a weighty swipe at the now exposed neck of Myorell, blood on his sword reaching towards flesh.

Decisive attack at Myorell, supplementing 2 more dice into the attack with Artful Maiming Onslaught, 2m of Peripheral Spent

Behind them Nakru slowly hums in his sheath, concentrating on what he can reach around him. (http://pm1.narvii.com/5791/1df12916908f108cbf7b6726b0fad24865a0163a_hq.jpg)

[Kymme]

Kraguri’s blade whips through the air and slams into Myorell’s throat-guard. The stiff armor shatters against the steel and the Dragon-blooded’s breath catches in his throat.

Harmony In Alabaster’s hum fades as Myorell sinks to his knees. His breath comes in rough gasps. A shallow cut runs across his throat, just above his collarbones. He brings a gloved hand to his neck but before he can so much as touch the cut he passes out, legs folded under him.


~battle, end!~

Looking past him, Kraguri sees the pale faces of the Immaculate monks, frozen in fear. Sister Vanthy’s tanned and weathered face is twisted in shock. One of the Immaculates mumbles. “A-Anath…”

“Your protector isn’t dead, Immaculates, but he is trespassing on sacred ground. Remove him.” Nalia sheaths her backsword and checks the dust in her firewand. “Now.”

The monks comply, entering the holy precinct for just long enough to gingerly collect Myorell. Two monks lift him, taking care to not disturb the wound on his side. One remains outside the temnos wall and lifts his unconscious companion. A broad-chested female monk uproots Myorell’s two swords and rests their flat sides across her shoulder like spears. Sister Vanthy stoops down and picks up Harmony In Alabaster, uttering a short prayer under her breath.

She stands, sword held in her hands, and stares up into Kraguri’s eyes.

“Dragons protect us from this evil.”

[TwentyFold]

Watching the Monks retreat (http://www.anime-planet.com/images/characters/shouta-aizawa-64821.jpg), Kraguri slowly lowers his gaze. He would have to move on from this town, and maybe have to think of a new look by the time he got back. The dirt at his feet barely dusted the coagulating blood at his feet. With chest heaving, the now abashed Kraguri looks around for his abberant weapon, which rattled at his ankles as though attempting to lap blood from his leg. His face grim, Kraguri fastens the sword to hold what little of his upper robe remained.

"Sorry for mess," he looks over to Nalia, "best get moving, got little time before someone gets the right idea to start a manhunt for my cursed head."

Turning, Kraguri sternly says, "See what violence gets you kid? More damn violence...," looking around for the kid he attempted to protect.

[Kymme]

“You weren’t kidding about burdens.” Her hands clench and unclench, and she glances over Kraguri’s shoulder to the temple and the other townspeople. “Thank you for the help, but… you’re right. You ought to get moving.”

Kraguri isn’t able to get another look at the boy - the villagers retreat further into the holy precinct, jabbing warding gestures and holy hand-signs in his direction. Basir watches from the temple’s entrance, awed and terribly frightened.

And so Kraguri departs. Red Tor is silent and still, rumors of the clash at the summit spreading quickly, but not as quickly as the hushed murmurings of ‘Anathema’. He passes by the orchards and the boughs that hang over his head darken and wither. Fruit sours where it hangs. When he passes through the city gates and reenters the savanna the wind stops. No longer do the swaying stalks soothe Kraguri’s restlessness. Now they are infuriating, standing straight and still as though paralyzed in fear. Every fiber of Kraguri’s being is like a string being plucked by another greater, vast presence.

The Neverborn are displeased.


Gain 1 Resonance.

Kraguri’s path winds southwards, to the Steam-Mouth. It will be a journey of many days, but the first ends quickly. The pain of his wounds too much to bear, Kraguri is forced to take refuge and treat them. A small corpse of trees provides enough cover to rest.

[TwentyFold]

Grunting, Kraguri lower's himself amongst the tree's, shoving his form deeper into the shadows to hide it. Coughing into whats left of his robes, the abyssal takes Nakru and places the sword upright before him, another grim post in the shade. Looking down at his chest, his eyes finally set over his own wound, long forgotten in his trudging march. Taking his steel blade, he prepares to begin work. Nearby, gurgling of an underbrush brook shudders with an extra rush of water, over staunching the sound of thin scraping.

On current wound, scraping away loosened flesh, keeping the flesh for brooding for the rest of the night, attempting at ritual to pass the time.

Covering his chest with the leftover arm of his robes, Kraguri keeps his palms clasped together, in meditation. A vein in his head begins to pulse hard, impulse to let off his anger approaching his forefront of mind. Holding tight on his emotions, Kraguri slowly holds a steady trance, perhaps it would be better to save such anger for later.

[Kymme]

Though nowhere near healed, Kraguri’s treatments ensure that his wound will not fester and become infected.

Meditation does not come easily - the anger building in Kraguri’s mind pushes away peace and tranquility, but with tense effort the knots are unwound. Sound returns slowly. The creek behind him continues its gurgling and evening winds rustle through the high boughs. Small creatures dart through the underbrush and in the distance a wild gazelle cries out.

The pastoral quiet is broken by a commotion at the edge of the grove. Kraguri hears frantic movement, barking, and a yelp of pain - a human yelp. The leaves rustle and claws scratch against wood.

[TwentyFold]

Grimacing, Kraguri looks in the direction of the noises (https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/913518244211724289/7GRF_G2L.jpg). Above him the small grove shifts from his movement against the boughs of surrounding trees. Eye's searching, he scans the nearby area, careful to look for anything that could be watching.

With his injury, risk is involved in another encounter, though in the back of his mind knawed a very mortal craving. Contemplating a moment, doubt on his mind, the giant takes up his robes and abandons his resting point, towards the noise.

Rollin Perception + Awareness

[Kymme]

Kraguri steps out of the grove and into a tense standoff. A pack of half dozen dogs, wild and patterned with splotches of brown and red, surrounds a low tree. Some bark and others pace silently, glaring at the young man frantically clinging to the drooping branches. A few paces away from the base of the tree a cow-leather satchel sits, rent open by teeth. Its contents are strewn across the ground One of the dogs leaps up and nips at the boy’s hanging foot, eliciting a yelp of pain and surprise.

It’s the yelp that does it, sending Kraguri’s mind back to the events of the morning, to the dark-skinned, beardless boy with a knife that he so easily disarmed. This is the same boy, with knife in hand, fending for his life.

Nakru rustles in his sheath, the noise alerting the dogs to Kraguri’s silent presence. Two turn to Kraguri and bark, advancing on him slowly.

[TwentyFold]

With impatient movements, Kraguri lowers himself into a sidelong stance, one arm cross his chest, the other extended to catch one of the charging dogs. Sternly facing foreward, Kraguri holds his face forward, refusing to look in the mangy beasts in their eye's. The sheath on his back rocks back and forth, the sword jerking against it's container violently. Taking in his breath, Kraguri slides his back foot foreward, switching his arms quickly to the other's previous position, letting out his breath he continues in this manner to advance to dogs, slowly and steadily moving along the road towards the tree.

From his scabbard, Nakru begins to inch out of his sheat, before falling back with a slight clack. Each time he reveals himself, tendrils of vein esk shadows begin to slide down Kraguri's outward arm at the time, creating a gauntlet of miasma.

Declaring: Preparing action to use Spirit Strengthens the skin, using it to gain X soak based on Motes spent.
Also Declaring: Using Intimidate to cause the dogs to ward away in suspicion rather than attack in a fast approach.

Among his robes at his chest, his katana stays prepared, an inch out of it's sheath for preparation.

[Kymme]

Sensing easier prey than a small boy up in a tree the dogs break away from their encircling formation and rush Kraguri. Something about this stance gives them pause, though, and all but one lose their nerve and break off the charge. The bravest among them bites air as Kraguri pivots to the side, robes swishing like a banner in the wind.

The lead hound backs off and forms joins its fellows, encircling Kraguri. They steel themselves and regain their nerve, ready to charge in again.

Up in his tree, the boy looks on in awe.

[TwentyFold]

His eye's following his recent attacker, Kraguri stares down the mutt. With his arm slowly raised, a sheen of bright silver steel embarks across the daytime light, gleaning it's sharpness in orange light across the dog's face. Without reluctance, many previous failures and victories streaking across his mind as he strikes forward, drawing his blade across fur and flesh of jaw, attempting to incapacitate a dog. With forced stare, he focuses upon the next vicious creature.

Nakru begins to clatter again, though flesh drags his blade back to it's sheath with such force that it clacks across the clearing. echoing with a great sharpness. With fluid movement, in ignorance of the rest of the pack, Kraguri raises himself, intimidating and establishing himself instinctively above the famine degraded creatures. Taking his now bloody blade he waves it before him, drawing the blood upon it across the many predictions Kraguri's desperate mind races across. Reactive, sensitive, and waiting for the next move, returning to defense in his closest and most alluring form.

"Stay your place kid! If they are to tear me asunder, only then when flesh is separated and taken should you run! Raise your position, greaten your advantage in location, take your place on the field soldier!"

Becoming emboldened by old memories, Kraguri forgets himself, losing himself to a militaristic side (https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQkQil715BBvL4YDrIItkFjid_QC4Mbo fUoWd__fCtiytvwAfwM).

[Kymme]

Two pieces of flesh and fur and blood and bone fall to the ground in the wake of Kraguri's sword. The wild dog's eyes point in opposite directions from two opposite halves, and its tongue lolls out of its bifurcated muzzle in two parts. The other hounds whine in fear, finally catching on to the unnatural, monstrous presence before them. When Kraguri's eyes finally meet theirs instinct kicks in and the five remaining dogs flee with their heads down and tails between their legs.


~battle, end!~

Kraguri's muscles relax and Nakru ceases his rattling. By the time his sword rests back in its sheath the young man has descended the tree and set about collecting his strewn belongings. With silent urgency the boy works, stuffing cloth-wrapped bundles of food back into his satchel. A few of the the bundles lie unwrapped, with only crumbs remaining. Kraguri can still smell the lingering traces of meat - no doubt what attracted the dogs in the first place.

When he's finished the boy slings his satchel back over his shoulder and stands up, his somewhat impressive height still nothing before Kraguri's massive frame. His eyes are brimming with fear, but his legs do not quiver. There is certainty and dedication in the young man's gaze. He doesn't speak.

[TwentyFold]

Returning to his ragged breathing, Kraguri looks into the boy's fearful stare. His face somewhat softens from his sturdy battle expression, and he looks down at his viscera laden sandals. "What is this, the third time ive come across you, kid," Kraguri asks, his eyes becoming stern.

"Never mind, I'm pretty sure my day has been quite an exciting one in comparison to normal, compared to travel," passingly, Kraguri rubs his bald, tattoo laden head. "So, what in all of creation are you doing out here kid, danger round every corner, and weird things about, I would say stick to the town, after all its so easy to just lose to a pack of hungry hounds, knife or no, especially when you risk yourself with no training, a meager blade, and hardly packed food!"

Lowering his gaze back to the kid, Nakru clatters in his hold, "I, was meaning to talk to you earlier though, you have a knack for disposing of yourself from situations too quickly! Though I think it would have been better if the priestess' weren't so immediate to linger on some things, maybe I could have caught you around morning prayer, in case you were held accountable under chapel rather than some court, seeing as it was such an outstanding point. But I ramble..."

With his face contorting into a grimace, he meets the kid's gaze, "I just need to know that I am not going to leave someone behind that hasn't learned his lesson properly, that there is no bitterness. I just wanted to say sorry, and hope you understand my actions, and hope that if you raise a blade in the future, it won't be a stab from the dark, maybe you'll give a proper reason to raise your blade for something better."

[Kymme]

The boy stands resolute, meeting Kraguri’s words with naught but silence and a curt nod. Shoulders sagging, Kraguri turns to return to his rest and the boy’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

“Teach me.” The boy takes a step forward, hands curled into fists. “My mother called you Anathema, forsaken by the Sun and Ahlat, but she doesn’t understand. You defeated a demigod with three magical swords with just a simple steel blade. You restrain yourself, because your power is beyond even one of the Dynasts. You were holding back - I could see it in your eyes.”

He takes another step forward. “Jade and Tawn call me thin and waifish and weak, but they don’t understand either. I’m not going to live in some dirt-pile village my whole life, fending off cattle raids and tending orchards for rich coastal bastards. I’m going to leave them all in the dust of my strides.” His final step places him chest-to-chest with Kraguri, craning his neck to see the giant’s face. “You: foreigner, swordsman, and demon of war; you are the shining gate to that future. Let me pass beneath you, under your wing, and learn from you how to terrorize even the gods of this world.”

Kraguri knows that this child is putting on a brave face. This bravado is skin-deep, and his voice is quiet and rushed so as to not crack under the stress of this moment. But Kraguri, peering below the skin, can see something more. There is a wide and mighty ambition burning in this young man's eyes. Ambition and indignation and determination that Kraguri has seen before...

...in the blue eyes of a young soldier, standing beside his heroes as a forest of enemy spears grows ever closer.
...in the green eyes of a thin-faced tribeswoman, professing her auspicious fate for all the world (and one drunk Kraguri) to hear.
...in the hazel eyes of a stoic Dynastic officer, mind blazing like the sun with a thousand beams pointing towards glory.
...in the crimson eyes of a dark warrior, weapon aflame with dancing black lights and mouth alive with a hundred bone-white needles.
...in the black eyes of that same warrior, dying even as he stood, driven beyond death by black purpose.
...in the soft, furious eyes of a young man who destiny had the gall to name Ragara Kraguri.

Silence returns to the night, and the young man awaits Kraguri's answer.

[TwentyFold]

Regaining the moment, the eyes of Kraguri disappear into his sunken sockets, contemplation and torment equal in mind. After a moment, he shifts, procuring his steel katana in sheathe, Kraguri begins to speak.

"If you are to just put your life behind you, to leave friends and family, and pick up the sword...."

His arm extends, producing the weapon to the youth. Nakru buzzing in his sheathe, fuming and grinding invisible teeth. (https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSP3hHIWi79EDyi3AftqmoWmSzIsywqv mu5iyEql5GEQraPD2Tsjg)

"Then let me be guide and example for you, follow in my dark, shadowed trail, and learn, if you will. If you want a teacher, or just a good example, I implore, follow at your own risk"

[Kymme]

The boy takes Kraguri's sword from his hands like a knight receiving anointment. He bows unsteadily to Kraguri, joy overtaking the burning ambition in his eyes. He does his best to hide his excitement as the two of them return to Kraguri's resting site, but it is plainly visible in the way he holds the katana like a holy relic. He sits against a tree, satchel in his lap, and watches as Kraguri slumbers.

Come morning he is still there, still staring, eyes wide open and a meat-bun in his mouth. He finishes his breakfast as Kraguri rises and redresses his wounds, and as Kraguri dons what remains of his coat and heads back out onto the road he stands and threads the sheathed sword through a loop in his belt.

Kraguri's long strides carry him quickly, and the young man must make haste to match him. In the early morning light he looks flatly at Kraguri and speaks in a quiet tone. "What would you have me call you?"

[TwentyFold]

Taking his time, the abyssal ponders the disquieting question. Not wanting to risk any attention drawing details, the abyssal reserves himself to his old, most likely now long forgotten name again.

"My... name, is Kraguri, of the far House of Ragara. However, seeing as I am forgotten from family, just Kraguri is fine for the road."

The palpable unease in the giant's voice causes Kraguri to fall silent for a time, broken by occasional clacking from Nakru upon his back. He takes a long look into the back of his head, remembering what little he can of his childhood. The tutors, the greatest swordsmen to train under, and wealth to buy yourself an early death with. His sullen attitude at his early days begins to play on his face, though his eyes still dart from side to side of the road before them, wary of ambush. Clenching his fist in personal anger (http://images6.fanpop.com/image/answers/3526000/3526051_1400337414319.3res_429_359.jpg), he holds back the wave of less than wanted thoughts.

[Kymme]

The boy maintains his gaze as Kraguri speaks, only afterwards letting his eyes wander and his thoughts turn to the man’s response. The two of them proceed in silence, keeping the rising sun to their left, making their way southwards through less of a road and more of a beaten trail.

Grassy shrub-land gives way to thin forests cut by shallow ravines where creeks would run in the rainy season, and it is there that Kraguri is force to acknowledge the first difficulty of taking on a new student - their utter lack of stamina.

The boy collapses at the bottom of one of these ravines, craning his neck to see the lip of the high bank and the sun beyond it. “So… so far…” He rolls his eyes to the side, mouth hanging open, and promptly shuts it when he sees Kraguri effortlessly clambering up the steep incline without so much as a sound. At once a fervor enters him and he leaps to his feet. With hands raking the rough dirt and rocks and roots he pulls himself up from the bottom. He takes a moment to catch his breath and then rushes to Kraguri’s side.

While the boy tries to keep pace Kraguri sees through his second wind. Come sunset the boy will be out like a light, not to rise until well past sunup. Young people never know when to stop.

Four days and nights go by and Kraguri’s wounds begin to close. As his flesh knits together, so too do the muscles of his young protege. The boy no longer struggles to keep Kraugri’s pace, and come every morning his snares are inundated with game. He does not want for food or water, as springwater is plentiful here, but Kraguri cannot help but notice that the boy reeks of want. The fire behind his eyes burns even brighter now than it did those few nights ago.

Kraguri’s musings on the nature of the boy’s want are brought to an end when the two of them arrive at the first village on their route. Even now, on the distant horizon, Kraguri can make out the silhouette of the Steam-Mouth: a great flat-topped mountain from which a dozen plumes of gray mist rise into the sky.

This village is small and flat, surrounded by a packed earthen wall barely taller than a man. Only a dozen buildings rise within the wall, each four-walled and thatch-roofed. The gate lies open, and it doesn’t take long for Kraguri to see why.

Bandits have descended on this village, and even now they ransack it. As he approaches Kraguri can see people being torn from their houses by grey-clothed ruffians and herded into the largest building. Other bandits tear down smaller houses and outbuildings, bringing the wood and thatch to line the ground around the central hall. Where people refuse to be herded they are beaten senseless with clubs and fists and dragged instead. Kraguri notices the boy clutching his bronze knife tightly in one hand, with his other untying the knot on his gifted sword.

What does he do?

[TwentyFold]

Scowling at the sight of the pillaging, Kraguri takes from his back Nakru, leaving the soulsteel blade sheathed. Throwing his arms in forceful jerks to get the long trek out of his unused muscle and bones, grunting softly. Stiffly crouching as low as he can, he begins to descend on the town with as much guile as his large form can muster, calling back to his compatriot,

"Gather yourself, but don't compromise us, I don't want to face an brigand of these fools and get us in too much trouble before our travel to the Steam Mouth. Let us see this gathering and ambush them there if we can help it."

Attempting to approach the wall, Kraguri rushes to the wall, attempting to hide his form and move into the village if possible. His robes fluttering behind him as Nakru abides to his side, prepared for striking. Without use, Nakru shifts within his home, cackling in the motion of rushing the wall.

"And most of all," Kraugri calls back in a murmur, "watch my back, and keep up."

[Kymme]

The boy gestures in affirmation of Kraguri's command and slips into his shadow, creeping behind him through the abandoned outer streets of the village. The boy has no particular talent for stealth, and his footfalls are like an avalanche compared to the utter silence of Kraguri's steps. Fortunately for the two of them the bandits are preoccupied with herding up the villagers.

As they approach the final ring of buildings before the village hall, the pair hear voices rising up over the din.

"That's the last of them, ma'am!" A low masculine voice speaks, grunting with effort as though bearing a heavy weight.

"Good," comes the reply from a thin, high voice. She speaks with a reverent tone, as though lost in a trance. "Bar the door. You have the firedust, yes? Begin your holy work and I too shall begin mine."

Kraguri hears a few grunts of obedience and more movement, along with the raspy sound of a grainy substance being poured over wood. The woman's voice rises into a prayer.

"Red Horizon General, we hear your words! Please partake in our meager offering! Thirty souls, man and woman, to be kissed by red fire and sent to you as conscripts in your war against the heavens! Might black smoke pierce the firmament above! IA! IA!"

A chorus of voices, low and high, join hers as the chant begins in earnest. Kraguri hears the dull fwoosh of a pitch-soaked torch set alight by clicking steel. Time is short.

What does he do?

[TwentyFold]

Taking Nakru into his offhand, Kraguri derobes his upper torso, a thin, void black vest lies across his skin. It ripples as his tattoos do, and tenses with every fiber of muscle the abyssal has. Grimacing, he prepares for a short charge against the door, his back tensing, as he slowly raises the sheath of his Daiklaive, the chittering spirit inside quivering at the idea of the use. (data:image/jpeg;base64,/9j/4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD/2wCEAAkGBxAQEhISEhIPEBAQEBUQEBAPDw8PDxAQFREWFhUSFR UYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKDg0O GhAQGC0dHx0rLS0rKy0tLS0rLS0tLS0tLSstLS0tKy0tLS0tKy 0tLS0tKy0tLS0tLTUtLS0tLS0rK//AABEIAKgBLAMBIgACEQEDEQH/xAAcAAABBQEBAQAAAAAAAAAAAAAFAAIDBAYBBwj/xAA8EAABAwIEBAIIBQMDBQEAAAABAAIDBBEFEiExBkFRYXGREy IyUoGhscEHQtHh8BRicmOisjNDksLxI//EABoBAAIDAQEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMEAQIFAAb/xAAkEQACAwACAgICAwEAAAAAAAAAAQIDEQQSITEiURNBBTJxYf/aAAwDAQACEQMRAD8AxNLDmcGj+BbrgXhoSzCR49SI3HQu5LP8O 0JcQbauNgvZsCoBBE1o3tr3PNa3K5LUukRTrkdYSaE4LgTgkAa OhdCSSgsdXSVxQVUtgoJQ2WW5soWHVV2y3KnYhuQeMMLkb04lU 89k8SokXoKcWiVzkzMmPcmEq4IlzKJ0hPPyTdTvontaApRDIn2 AzH9UErKyV2jHFg7bojij9A3qgtXVCL8uZ3TZCnHRmqWFd+BT1 Bt/U1Db+6+ykP4eVIF48Rqb9HnM1RN4hrIxmjhhvyDib/VW8N4yrnf9SnhHg43+qp+Px6C/mW/2A1Vh+KUh9csqGdbWKt4fj5vZwdG73XXstvSV7aluV7cpI23CF V+AtdfQeSpnXyvAXt2WS8nKXEGu0OhV1Z5uHlhyG/YqSnrXxGzvWb8x4J2puaM++pReoN2TgVXbUtcMzTcfMdj0SbUh Xxi5NJGD49VFayeZgmGQFCspU/aCQscPQ9pTw5MbqnJKfE+huPJJNCm7LgXSlZUyQxG1MeCmlMDl IghCEt1VuByhAUjNFaHgsi0VUmpmuNyFZBSITKZJ5/whhYDgSNGC/wAeS38YsAhGE0wZp31RkJqmbs2x/sz+T4fX6HBPYExqkCMwKOFdum3XLrjjrnWQ6ql0V2Z2iEVD91S bxBKlrOwDmrQcoKYaKy61kq2PpLSKSYBVv6q5s1KWFzjYJ7YMo +p6oikorz7Byrc349EkT7KcPuqLinRvKsrQbowuhd2XGbaLpur ws8grKsQPrvaHgg+JQ+te2hR6SDM66vQ0LHCxFwrzlhWmOmLqx a3buuQkOdcWt2K1lfwlTTe16UX919vsqlJwLTQm8b5x2L8wUq7 FmFJcXZbpzDRYhaKQghVYaBkQ0OY9SoZ5CgTejtUGlhyqiadeY WbxOO2qPZiUPxCjLgS3fp18FPHt6S8l7qXKPgBw1Babg2PPoex HNW3VGYXGh5j+bhDy0g+GhTm3WviflGQ1hfjrOqk/qUPXQVHVEBSOqVyOqus+HEKeOosqus40DZAU8FBoqlWoqlAnSm WUmi5IE6J6ibJdNvYrN5HFzyhym/8ATLgClaFHFqp2hKRQ8h7RokU+2ijujIsU6Ic1cCq0e3wCshPV Q6QUfpGRZLtNslaukpl1wuViNOkpXTHFJxUkaMkN7oVO0l1kUe dFBBFckoV3oY439jhsxtyQAAgNTjTXO0OgOg6lBeO+JMr/AEEZuQcptzedPkocIpXZQXX0GpPVAUd8jjaXg0MeJPKsMxB3NB jV20a0nurNPVB2hFidlzgQrA3BUNf2KtshVKgouZRmNlghNYGU tGQxWXJVI9yrSvUxeMl19kRh+qtRVFlRItqdPquNrG7K07NZ1X H6oIuxUN5KvJjJOgHkmCIO1+10v6Pw/wDELu7J/FEQqnOTj3XBT2TgwqrbYWKSGgJ4CQantaoJeA7E8JEgzNsJB8A 8dD37rOubYkEEEaEHQg9FuWhC8bwz0gzsHrgaj3x+qd4vJ6PrL 0Z3K46n8o+zMpJEJLWMoSSS4uOOh1k9s5CiJTHLs04K09SiDH3 8VmopSEcopQ4DqgWRz2XUd9BOjfrZEGBB7lpBRiF1wD1Cyb6uk tXpmlxp9o4/0SKEqZQFBGStRnQ+Ksgqlh7vV+Kt3Wm0YmjiVwFNJXGldh2nXF IHRMeVyJ3JThw9yH4tiIpqeWY/9thcO7tmjzIV4lYv8TKrLTNj5Pfc9w0beZB+CFYtQah5IyHAWG SYhVPmfchhvc++79r+a3+OyxxSNpmbtbmk+Ow+nmn/AIUYa2ChbIRYyZpnHsfZ/wBoCzdJnmqZ6l9yJJDlHRo2/nZUhHXga6zrByDMUjegVygYyWZkbRd3tG3JoQ+pmYxrjb2W/a6J/hhQv9HLVS+3O8hgP5YweXx+iLalFC3GlKcm3+jWimDdlXkcrlV IGtJKEMmzEpKaNalaPe5JjLpMbdWIwBohjEniIn09x3QirgLTe y0Ca+MO3ChlFNg/DJLojZRRUrWm4uEp6ljBdzgPErireskypZFnK7iGDNZsrQfFFc LxASi1wXdRs4dV2k+cLuRODV1dUkacskupLiDM8QUGR3pGj1Xn UdHfug11uauASMcw8x5HkVkpqU66ajQ+I0K0eNysj1kZ/Io89kU7rhK7JGQoyVoxmpehNxaOkppKRKaSiJFRpV7DZspVElP p32cqWQ1F4PGa4DM2/ZXMOd6tvdNlQwp+ZtuivUgs4jqL+R/dY9z1NfRoVLJb9lxV3nUqwqsx1KUGgfhrvVV4OQjC5PVHgPoiO Za8l5MMmcUwFND1zMq4cOkUTH2KlfqFUcVKO0uPXn/4pNJYy3db1jrhZLjaDOWDlp/yVJoJU8ZsMKpslAxjeUAZ/sDUApaDKLW2WlwKS8YadgLKSSiZc62ul1LGOTh2RlKjCzLZgHt u18L3K21JC2KNrG6NY0NHwVSONrNRv1XJZ9FE5/tlqqs8IpYzWE6DkosOjNrnwCaY8x+KvRtslnLWaMYqMcM7xpxK 2hjaG6yyXyjo0buWApuOZg67r79UP49xM1FZMb3bGfRM/wAWaH53PxWdV1HwVZ7zw3xTFUNGZwDupO6fjPGlFSuDHyZ382x DPl/yI0HhuvB4p3t9lzm+BITC4lR0K4e2134iUDYy5khe+2jAx979z aw815nj/Fs9U46ljeQBWdukpUUSvA90rjuTfxKMcP8AEs9I9rmuLmg6scb ghBElLR2n0bgWMxVkTZYzofabzaeYKJBeCcE8RPophr/+Tzle3l4r3WmnbI0PabtcLgobWFWiZJcSUEHShVVAM7h1AcPjo fp80VKF4u/K6N3+TfoR91HVy8IrL0CqukQ2Wn0WndZ7UIxRmVhtuVenkSjLq xedSa1GfjeXOICe4WU+F0vrK5V0a34Wp4ISrwEkrl0+aMhQkpl eQRpuGqm7sp5iy0QbZw+I+SxGAzZZmd3D6reEbLD50elv+mpxn 2h/g5Uax1nfBXHvsgGJVhz6W9nv1KSS0ZbB9BLYDt+iKxzLP0r7D+ dFfhmW5KJhBcOuo3mygjmUhfdCw4tROuFBO2xT6Y6J8zLhR6Zx XhktoqmMU2cA8wpH6KVr7hS0duE+CT2arsk6GUkeUm2x5KwHJG 5dWanFamsJy9cK4wLqWb00YwSOMam4hP6OGR/uRud5BTMCF8Yuy0U5/wBMjzUHSZ4HO8ucSdybnxJumLpXEYGJJJTUlJJK7KxpcT0XHJa Qq5hmGTVLssTC4jc/laO55LSYZwHK+xmeI282t9Z5+w+a3WG4dFTsDI2hrR8ST1J5lC lal6Dwob9mGi4Clt6z236BUa/hGaPUahepJrmg76of5JBnTE8RmgdGbOFivUfw14kuwQvO2gv8l Q4uwRrmF7R+xWHwetMErXA21sUaL7IVsr6vD6PBSQHhnGBMwAn W2iPKgESC8UOsyM/6n/oUaWf4tfpGOpcfIAfdG4622KBXPK2MoKrRRVhzu7BCqOYg28kd oaQvIHmjXcZRt0Wqs2IsLovWvZXKujRmmpwwWC7NEHK8bMZLjp ia2kQSoiylbitpd1nMQpVo0W6K2QBmHvtIw/3t+q9Ic4DVeZReq9v+bf8AkFtKyv0GvJKfyUdnHPoZ4byLHV9a szW1vrfD7lNxCv7rKYniVn7/AJfuUCunwGlM1THWsrEUirN2SjWlNpLTLS1hNkimbMh0UqnbIF GFQjTz280RabrP50WoJcw8EGccOOVkXMKvEib23CpPjsVCfggn hCeW2KbFopTqhzipLAtVjreoe03TmhQNdYq4wXWdODi8Nyu5Tj qOsahHGbL0cw/tRtoQ/iGLNTyD+1UOb8nzo5cUtVHle4dHEfNRIxJJTQl7g0cyvVOGMHZ BGDYZiN+axPB9HnkBPVepMFhbogWy/Q1RHxp1JJJBGBJFcJVeoro2DVw+q44r47I1sErnaNawkrxxzrk nqbrb8W4g+oGQXbGDe3Nx5E/osTLGWpipYhXkPya/g/GiwhpOy9ewmvErRrrZfO1LMWOBC9R4Qxf2dVaSFmj0dZTiuW8r W+6z5uP7BaaKUOseoWIxaf0k0juRdYeA0H0TXAh2t36E+XLK8+ yTB6Yvfpy+pW6oaURjvzQvhWgyRNeR6z/WHgdvkjqLyLO02Cqj1idXEkkAKQVENws/iNNutNfWyHYlBoi1TxlJx1HnddHaRv8AmD5G/wBlNX4h3VjFI7P8L/T91k66clxHdN2r8kl/xFa/jEdV1hcdFQkojIb/AA+/3V2lpC5azBcHzRk2/MfoFWTUET7IYtQpmsVejdoPBW4zrZC5FvwAVQ+RDILFda5S1TL WVcb/ADRuJZ+StMpfDrMtQG6J4cbGyHUIuUSY2x8FW+eMvVX2QUBTHM UcEnL4hTqkZatQvKLi8ZGGpAqQBMf1UlTu6khky6HZQpZlScFN Ywtdsq3qCbXA7KvXtuwjqCFXZMWqw6Zr2kc0hZVKJqVXxmeBcV Uvo6h/Qm4Qdeg/iJhZvnA7/qvPl0XqGTccGMDbFaGuxRzdAszw/JYBX6l13IEl8h6r+pM7E5j+dw8E04jN77vNVUiFGBB8lZI7TMf ElRgc7knqTcpBq6pOI5o8wQSto0fUU0WZSnhWUexjpYCEf4WrC 026JlVSLmDUjjM1rQS5xsANyUXtqE514et0tflpnO5gWHiUAoa cyyNZ7zrHsOZ8ldxNnoYmRXuRq7u/n8Ar/B1LdxkPLQLT4q/HS5/tmTyH3sUfo17GgAAaACwHQBdUVTO2Npc7YLP1OOXOhSgZI0oKV 0BbimVo11KY7FPVOup0HxUpEBmkfmzO6nROqm3aVyhbZjfC6lk bcEdV37OMFjsRFz2WXp8PLnXPMrf49S8lSocL7JqNnjQeAyiw3 stdhVPkjA6kn5p9Jh1lby206IFk9LpHnEBymysTHKQVUcdQQrj vXZ3CRst2BMYeS7JZzAeyHSaa+7v4c1YoJ7tLeibINSmf4uftA uZH0yWgfZ47oz36b+CzcBLTbm3UeHL9PgtHFIHMDhsR8+YTHPT STJ4TTeCkNtRyVyCUOF/NBxLrl6bdwpIJyw35c0nRd1eMPyuN3XaPtBhIprHgi42KctAxy p6X0bsrvZPsn7KzlTKiAPbY/A8weqo09S6J3o5Nvyu5f/FbNXg4vliYQR4KcFJUa32WjJxeoCY5RelYRa/TqF49jeHGF500J8l72WgoFjnC0FUDe7HH8zbEfEJaXHx7E0Kua syaPNMHmtZGpDcqKp4SqqU6ASs5OZvbuCky9tQQRyOhSlkHF+T a49sZx+L0ckkkhjAkkklxwkkkVwjBJJyPyt6nf4BcRKSS1gttI 6QhrWlzjoABclbThvh1lE0zy2MxbYc/Rg/lHVxRzDsKipx6rbu68yhnEFWfZvr22CLVBylhn8i/V4ANbMZZCepsB0W0wFjY4xfRYilc1pL3GzW81zFuJS1hIOXSw7 D9Vr8lpRUEZdMXKTkwlxvxG0ERtdo062O5WWosUzuuToNSsjWV bpXFxJ12XWVJYLA77lJ4OqOI3MmM5naHTZEcNqTLKxvIarzukq jdbvhIW9c7nZWRRo9DbUWACminQBtUrlPMocSmBCppvSEFTw0z WrtMbi6mVdIEqxCsOUBUHHlUT0QpJNbcihbdCrMUlljuexGFHy Oe4xSX5fZX3m9iFBUxh7bjcJlI/TKeSc/jrOtmAOVHYkko/MN28uo5j+dERwuoA9W/qv1aeQdy81SUbfVNuTvZ7HmPv5r0Ftasi4szq7HCSkglUM1uNw f4F1j7hRtnzb77O7/3JA/zqsG2qVbxm7XbGcdRbpaksOurTv27ou1wIuNQUBBU9LUmPuzmO Y7j9Eai/PjIS5XE7fOHv6DChqadsgsfgeYT45A4Ag3B5hPT6f7MsGQSuhO R+rT7LuX87Ik119QmTRBwsdkPbK6E2NyzzIV/7f6cFElHFM14u0gg9E8lUwg44XQfEsHY/UAXRclMJXOCksZeFkoPYvDC1mFOZsh7mkbr0Cppw4d0Ar8OHRJ 28bPKNrjfyHbxMziSINwiVxsxjneANvNaLB+FSLOkA8DYnySji 0aX54ZugTA8HkncCG+r7ztG/uvQMPoWxC255n9FNBC1gsBYKvV4ixmgOZ3Qa2UehSdjmx1fUhj T1IWPr5N3OROeYvNz5INibLolVnV6DlXqMni1c9x6NGzfue6B1 tY6TTkOSP4hBus9UwG+iZU3LyyvVRWIrXXFN/Tu6JMi6qxxLRR3IW3w2pygAbBZOgZqtDSckSKKyRp4KhFKCXMQ AsmJzcNHxPRavBo7AHrt4KZA2amncLAdFMh0TirsQQWUHu2UJU r9lASoOPK6ht7OHNQ+kSSWG/Y0gjRy3FlyRpabhJJTCTjJNESWrGWI3XXXtBFiuJL19T2CZiTW SaORPOx9ofMdVO2TqkkqX1xnHyFoslCXgnY5SgJJLDsjjNuD1H YpXRm7ee7T7Lv0PdFaWrbJtoRu0+0P51SSTXGsb+LEObTHO69l gqCoizBcSThmAeaB8ZzMJaeeXY+I2Kmgxc7PHxbp8kkkZfJeSU XY6xjtnDwOhUpK4khJlpw6jSUy6SSv7KrwSCsA6nyTX4q/8oaO5u79Eklm8h4/Rq8aOrWVZamR/tOce2w8goUkkmPHFVrm6XSSUoky9ebmwCFvhXUkeLBsH1D+Q26 qtYrqSZSwqEsPYjecRge8dhzSSRoegdj84EcJpbkX33d+i2dHo FxJVmDYVpm3V8BJJCZQZMULqq5rHWJANr6pJKDj/9k=) Exchanging hands, his breath becomes steady, intaking for an intimidating roar into the group beyond, hopefully catching them unawares.

"As I said, behind me, and keep my back from being flayed. We are in for quite a skirmish."

With the end of his words, he cleaves against the door, his strength pushing along the spine of the container of his deranged companion. His breath loosed in a ragged roar, as he attempts the door. Hopefully stopping the sacrifice in the meantime. His shifting feet displacing dirt in a cloud around him with his furious strike, pebbles and dirt flooding around them. Without a weathered cough in the dust, he raises his daiklaive again, prepared to continue entry or cut down the first foe he comes across.

[Kymme]

Nakru, sheathed though he is, turns thick beams and metal hinges into dust and splinters in a single motion. What little remains of the great double-door's twin halves falls to either side of Kraguri in a thickening cloud of dust.

Kraguri feels the boy step into his shadow, backpedaling to keep the enemy in his sight. The edge of his vision catches the sight of unsheathed steel - the boy has drawn his sword and clings to it tightly.

When the dust clears Kraguri can peer into the shaded interior of the longhouse unobstructed. Thirty souls huddle in the middle of an open wooden floor, some with limbs tied and others lying unconscious in heaps. Their eyes are white and filled with fear as light filters in behind Kraguri, wreathing him like a specter of death.

Turning his attention away from the villagers for a brief moment Kraguri sizes up his opposition. A dozen or two men and women clad in beaten leather armor, ferociously painted shields in their hands. A few of them hold clubs of wood, but a handful carry axes and spears besides. What piques Kraguri's interest isn't the chaff, however. As soon as his eyes fall upon their leader he feels a knot grow in his heart.

The women leading these bandits wears only red and ashy grey wrappings that cover her from head to toe, leaving open only a circle atop her head from which spills her kinky dark hair. Another gap in the wrappings reveals her left eye, an angry white circle pierced by a crimson bullet of light.

Her words come out in a raspy scream, but one still charged with reverent power. "Take heed, seekers of the Horizon! A challenger, some agent of the heavens, has descended to despoil our ritual. Take heed, my seekers! The Red Horizon General shall not be denied! Go and make this agent the first burning branch of our great pyre! IA, IA!"

Her cry is taken up by the other followers, who heft their weapons and rush towards Kraguri. An older swarthy man whose hair is a grey cloud atop his head clutches his torch tightly and moves to stand beside the bandit's leader. She addresses him loudly. "Knoll, stay your fire. I shall set this place alight myself." From the folds of her cloth coverings she draws a clay jug. She uncorks it and pours its contents - red-stained sand and ash - through her fingers.

Knoll joins the charge of the other followers as they meet Kraguri.


~battle, joined!~

[TwentyFold]

Shifting his feet wider, Kraguri stares down the group of foes, his grip intensifying upon Nakru as he draws breath. His chest heaving, he crosses his right arm over his left, changing his overhand attempt to a long swipe. Before the abyssal wrappings over Nakru, dust flays to either side, parting the cloud across it's expanse and sending the dust to floor or to sky, flooding the upper beams of the town hall. Rays of light, made visible by the chocking storm, herald his strike as his forefoot drives forward, intensifying his crosscut and whipping his waist level robes about.

A vicious grunt escapes his first foe, crunching his nose flatly across his face, a gurgled scream emanating as he fell. The rest took flight, their upper bodies thrown across room and floor, weapons and cloth whipping through the air in sudden flight. Crunches of bone and splintered club, ringing of bent sword and scant plate, and screams of sudden pain escape the crowd of mortals, Nakru chattering in horrible cadence to the violence. Bodies thrown into bodies, Kraguri steps back from his work, staring sternly into Knoll's eye's as he retreats. He gives the man a small smirk, reeling from the force by straightening himself to full height, his sword hand speckled in small droplets of nose blood from his first victim.

Breath returning, Kraguri raises the Haunted Daiklaive once more, arcing it over and above his shoulders, prepared to arc his cut in either direction. Hiding once more the boy behind him, Kraguri lowers his stance jerkily, preparing for his next foe.

[Kymme]

In the space of a heartbeat half of the bandits are hurtling through the air, weapons and shields slipping free of their fingers as the blastwave of Kraguri's strike shocks them into the sky.

In the space of a second heartbeat the remaining half of the bandits have routed, some falling to the ground as fear overtakes them and others running frightened towards the village entrance.

Knoll and his mistress watch as their band streams past them with wide eyes. Then the woman shrieks and points towards Kraguri. "Knoll! This cowardly lot refuse to serve the Red Horizon General and in time shall be punished! But for the time being, hold that one back!"

She upends her jar of sand and ash entirely, letting it cascade through her fingers and form strange dangling strands. Blood flows from the sand, bubbling up in the palm of her hand and igniting in a bright conflagration. She sneers at Kraguri and begins to murmur heinous and vile words of necromancy. Wispy trails of smoke begin to rise from her wrappings.

[TwentyFold]

"I'm sick of this," Kraguri grumbles at the sorceress, "your general is a poor sod to let you bar my way, and fall so fruitlessly to just the blunt of my Daiklaive!"

Crouching to meet Knoll, Kraguri gathers his blade behind him. Barely missing a blunt strike to the boy, Nakru raises to meet the sky, Kraguri bowing to his opponent as though to draw the great blade across his foe in a deadly uppercut. The knots of weathered leather holding the blade in place shudder, the rich wood resembling a deep void seems to ripple in the daylight, as though blood pumps along the blade it holds. A vertical tower struck seemingly from the dark robes around his gut, it's silhouette seemingly impales his keeling form.

Stepping forward, in an awkward off step from his back foot, Kraguri lets go of the great blade, instead letting it round his emaciated behemoth of a form. Meeting the scabbard two thirds the way to it's blunt end, Kraguri's left hand takes a devastating grip upon his weapon. His right, bending to take a hard lock above his shoulders, the giant drives forward, forcing his weight into the blade, his muscles bounding and stretching to meet the strange movement.

"KNEEL, OR BE TAKEN LOW BEFORE ME!"

His eyes flaring like stoked embers, Kraguri attempts the guard on his path to the mage!

[Kymme]

Kraguri’s blow lands with incredible force, blowing a crater into the packed earth of the village center. Knoll backpedals from the awkward movement, avoid being torn in half by the blunt force, but that says little of the blastwave. Knoll is thrown back and lands hard on his back before rolling back onto his feet and collecting himself, but that short gap is all Kraguri needs. His path to the leader of this cult, this strange bandaged woman, is open.

And then it is closed by a curtain of fire. The conflagration borne from the blood and sand spirals upwards from the woman, meeting the smoke rising from her wrappings and forming a towering figure of fire and smoke. “Come, Sword of Red Horizons, gauntlet of the General Himself! Go now, and deliver to him these sacrifices! IA! IA!”

And so the figure moves, sweeping across the open village square towards Kraguri with the speed of a wild inferno. It sweeps up several of the incapacitated bandits in its path, consuming them utterly and growing larger with every additional sacrifice.

As a final bandit is pulled, screaming, into the maws of the fire Kraguri gleans the spell’s true intent - it means to sweep over him and ignite the firedust stacked around the village hall. Even now he can hear people behind him making a mad dash for the door, to escape as quickly as they can, but with a gnarled heart Kraguri knows only a handful will make it. Too many have been beating into unconciousness or injured beyond movement. He has to stop this blaze here and now.

And then Knoll is at his flank, and his axe is sharp and gleaming.

As fate would have it, so too is Kraguri’s mortal sword. The boy, young and brash and wonderful, leaps to intercept Knoll’s attack, striking in a totally unpracticed, totally unpolished, totally improvised manner.

Knoll never knew what hit him.

The bandit leader sprawls on his back and his axe clatters to the ground beside him, splintered and useless.

With no other distractions, Kraguri turns to face the fire.

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri's face screws in distaste as he watches Knoll's men wrapped and eaten in a cruel blaze. Recalling his time as a commander, his head begins to bulge in veins as anger wells in him. His face almost feels warm despite the almost dead quality of his pale skin, or was it the spell before him? Tightening his jaw, Kraguri grinds his teeth with the sound of steel against steel, chips of bone flying out of his bared maw.

"YOU CRUEL WITCH, SOLDIERS, BANDITS OR NOT, ARE NOT TO BE THROWN AWAY IN SUCH A FUTILE GOAL! FINE, HERETICAL FIEND, A GAUNTLET YOU WANT?"

Facing the almost unstoppable inferno, Kraugri calls back to his inexperienced companion, "Run, take yourself away from the firedust and this roof, even my attempts against it might prove the place a blazing inferno!"

His jaw barely opened as he spoke between his gritted teeth, forcing his gaze to meet the caster through the flames. (https://i.ytimg.com/vi/namxU_iRygc/maxresdefault.jpg)

Taking one step forward, the abyssal plants himself into the hard packed earthen floor. His sandals separating the earth in cracks and fissures, he raises Nakru to present a tall barrier between him and the necrotic flames. The wind whipping his robes about as the flames suck the very air from between the witch and Kraguri himself, he lets loose a hard-set breath, crying forward and whipping the daiklaive like a pole. His back foot uproots itself, and plants ahead of his forefoot, cracking the ground with tremendous force as he attempts to project as much wind as possible against his new foe.

Clouds of dust and loose earth project forward, stifling thin and weak flames, as he attempts to shove the flames at it's caster. Screwing his jaw open again

"THE GREAT GAUNTLET OF THE LION IS WHAT ILL FEED YOUR ROTTING MORTAL FRAME," yells the once great general of the armies of the abyss itself, behind him, his robes projecting a tall, horrible frame of a shadow on the walls and people fleeing behind him!

[Kymme]

And lo, the Gauntlet breaks the Sword. There is no struggle of wind and fire, no battle of power against power. The burning figure was diving towards Kraguri, all fire and black ash and burning souls, and now it is not. In its place are a few idle motes of ash, drifting back towards the witch.

Her white eye widens and she staggers backwards, sputtering words of disbelief through the wrappings that cover her mouth. "You... you beast! Creature of Darkness and Strength! Abyssal!" Her gaze darts around the clearing. Seeing her cronies feeling and her second in command on his back with a sword at his throat, her shoulders and stomach drop. She takes another step, all of her passion and devotion giving way to fear. Once, she glances up at the specter of shadows that hangs behind Kraguri, and then she begins to run. Her footsteps carry her away from the village center, following the trail of her fleeing forces.


~battle, end!~

The boy, eyes locked on Knoll and hands whitening around the hilt of his sword, speaks. "Should we kill them? I have this one. You can chase her down, right?"

The threat of conflagration avoided villagers return to the longhouse to help those who are still trapped, while others collect the unconscious bandits strewn about the scenery. All eyes are on Kraguri.

What does he do?

[TwentyFold]

Turning his gaze away from their wide eyes, Kraguri stares off in the direction of the Necromancer. He takes a glance back at the boy's first foe, an unlucky fate for the bandit leader. Even for one to stand within Abyssal's reach now, that was just not his fight Kraguri guessed, his mind trailing back to the random and pitiful deaths and injuries in his old days as he stares down at knoll.

"No, it's not worth it to spend more time on this trail chasing rogues through hills. With how poor my days have been on the road, they are bound to end up trying again in my path. At least with any luck to more of their victims. Either way their leadership is here, while that witch will be hard pressed to round up her alternate victims after what she just pulled."

Kraguri looks back to where the bandits fled, "And hey, mayhaps they will run into that dragon blooded I fought back in Red Tor, he will be thankful for such a quick round up of whats left. Then I won't have to worry too much about seeing her flee another battle in such a fear."

Strapping Nakru to his back, the clattering of the sword almost dead, it sits fuming over the lack of bloodshed. (https://image.myanimelist.net/ui/9N4z71Cd7OyAKLug3AoueNbRsO4D_dai4_n1kjB7YlfZ0Z_6oz gP0WB2AWMvFU3oh7Mn-m49Ezdw-2r1U25xAAI60S5_gJl0UHHiQ36Kg-o) Taking a spot against a nearby support to the hall, Kraguri waits for the villagers to remove their wounded, their foes, and gather if they would. He sits in dull silence, staring at Knoll's body until it is taken away as well. Then he takes in his surroundings, attempting to better understand the ritualistic sacrificing that the necromancer was doing.

[Kymme]

Further deliberation gets Kraguri nowhere. This Red Horizon General... isn't someone he's heard of. A powerful ghost or somesuch? The priestess woman proclaimed for all to hear her patron's war on Heaven. Strange memories stir in the back of Kraguri's head and Nakru rattles in his sheath. His old patron was certainly a general of the dead, but he never went by a name such as that. Where else but the South might one find a red horizon?

The woman was certainly a necromancer, Kraguri concludes. She was trying to sacrifice these people in a necromantic ritual. This Red Horizon General must be a ghost of some sort, but that means little to Kraguri. There are thousands of ghosts with cults, and nearly all of them have delusions of grandeur. That's what the Labyrinth does to people.

Kraguri's thoughts come to a halt when his companion, standing beside him, clears his throat. Turning his eyes back to the present Kraguri notices that Knoll is gone - no doubt he's been dragged away to be dealt with as the villagers see fit. In place of him stand dozens of villagers, men and women in simple tunics and kaftans. All bear bruises and and scrapes, marks of their will in face of sacrifice, and they watch Kraguri uneasily. A woman with hair that rises in a flattened grey column from her head steps forward and speaks. "My name is Nyah of the Brakhani, matriarch of this tribe. Be you dark god of ghost of blood and shadow, you are our savior." A chorus of agreement rises from the villagers behind her. "We offer you our hospitality for as long as you so desire, and we bless you in the name of Ignis Divine."

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri rubs the back of his head in thought. For a fighting day, they came out with almost no worries, no injuries, and seldom stamina lost. Taking his tattered robes in one hand, he half toga's his top before responding courteously to the villagers.

"The hospitality will need to taken up at another time, I travel from Red Tor, looking for a tablet of their temple. It was stolen by something hard to miss, a figure astride a cloud of smoke, most likely a small deity."

Looking down at his companion, Kraguri continues, "The priest at Red Tor mentioned the figure returning to the Steam Mouth, enough provisions for the boy and I for our journey would be enough for now if you have anything to spare?"

[Kymme]

Nyah listens intently as Kraguri describes his quest, and at Kraguri's mention of the dark god that dwells near the Steam Mouth a quiet passes over the assembled villagers. The elder's expression darkens and she turns her head to glance over her shoulder. Her posture slouches and she murmurs a quiet prayer to the god of sun. "It is the nature of darkness to seek itself, but that place..." She shakes her head. "Those peoples are debauched and heinous, traveler. It is true that the ruler 'neath the Steam Mouth rides atop a dark cloud. He might be the one that you seek, indeed. Provisions are the least we can do for one who has saved us thusly, but they come with a warning. Do not seek that god, for he consorts with demons and specters of ages past. The people who squat beneath the Steam Mouth grow weak and impure. Their only strength is the rot that festers within them and rises to banditry, to villainy, and to what you have seen here today. Whatever stone the dark god stole could not possibly maintain its purity under those conditions. It may be wise to turn back and let what is lost stay lost."

As she speaks she gestures to her people, who depart in small groups and return bearing salted meats and milk and water for Kraguri and the young man who follows him.

The boy hears the old woman's words and takes her condemnations like a wound. Kraguri can see that his companion is becoming angry.

What does he do?

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri puts a firm, but emaciated hand on his apprentices shoulder. With a firm squeeze he responds to the villagers with a bellowing tone, "I, practiced in the despondent of cruel spirits, will undertake the exorcism of the valley! But the possibility of a large fight remains, the citizens of Red Tor have given little to fight for their right, however..,"Kraguri pats again. Staring down at his so-far companion, Kraguri looks up.
"This young man has so far taken himself a wanderer like me, the start of what I hope to remain a band of people ready to rid their land of crude rulers and pressuring deities. This land of their own, I was once like the Scarlet Realm, and I cannot stand for what I once was ruled by, what I used to pressure by, I am looking for those willing to join us in storming this cloud in the back of your minds. If any are willing to join us, we march to the steam mouth to liberate at least the possessed citizens," calls Kraguri over his current apprentices shoulder.

"I am an exorcist from the Scarlet Isle," steadying his decaying voice, "however, since business is taken by Dragonblooded and realm exorcists, I stick to these parts, and I have taken interest in this tablet, now hallowed or not. In the meantime, whether you follow my path or not, I want you to at least defend your region while you can, and I doubt just I and my newly apprentice can do so alone, at least for now."

Kraguri looks down at his apprentice momentarily, avoiding eye contact for the time being, the kid needs to show more of his stuff first after all in Kraguri's thoughts.

Kraguri takes Nakru, sheathed, off his back and places it before the crowd. With a last hurrah, Kraguri calls to the audience, "I march on the steam mouth, for tablet, for valley, and for peace. Peace I have not experienced in decades." Kraguri lowers his gaze to his companion.
"Peace we should all work toward, with sharp or dull intentions."

Kraguri then looks darkly at the crowd, "Peace that can only be worked for, fought for, and bled for...." Kraguri then lowers his gaze to the provisions, then begins to gather them himself.

[Kymme]

The villagers and their leader keep their silence as Kraguri gathers their offerings and prepares to leave. Only when he has risen back to his full height with fully laden bags does Nyah speak. "I am sorry, exorcist from the Scarlet Isle, but we cannot fight with you. We are but a meager village, and our hunters and warriors are too hurt to go to war. All that besides, we are not like you. You conquered the dark magic of that sorceress with but a single stroke of your weapon. Even the greatest warriors among us pale in comparison to you. For a man to go into battle alongside you against whatever dark forces lie ahead..." her eyes turn slowly to the young man at Kraugri's side and Kraguri can see the pain in her face. "...he must be a madman."

The villagers watch as Kraguri and his companion leave, cresting a hill on the south edge of town and disappearing from sight. When they have walked for quite some time and the sun crests low in the sky, the young man speaks up. "Teacher, do all exorcists from the Scarlet Isle fight as you do?"

[TwentyFold]

Kraguri looks up the trail, his eyes staying as forward as he could keep while scanning to either side for rogue bandits. As though lost in thought, Kraguri speaks up in a murmur.

"What I do does not belong in the Isle. No, they fight more like the soldier in Red Tor, using their bloodlines and secrets passed down. The families of the Isle, and I will solemnly admit, I was once part of, lead armies of the scarlet empire, consort deals of trade and embargo behind closed doors, scheme greater plots for all those in the realms, and are commonly pretentious with their pride and power."

A scowl grows on Kraguri as he speaks, his gaze becoming glazed with old memories.

"When I was your age I felt just as helpless as the people at our backs, giants walking over them like gods among men. I was weak, a burden on my family for what I could not do, and a curse for what I tried to do. So I gave up my life to being a soldier, steadily gaining a place amongst them, willing to stoop to their level in hindsight. But I never chose to be this in the end, I tried to be the best I could, and now I wander these lands regretting what I did, and trying to take at least some of it back."

Kraguri looks to the boy, his face puzzling. His voice raising to a serious tone,he relays, "Ill try to make you a better man in the end, willing to climb out of weakness, but not willing to go as far as I was. For I will never be able to return to my home, they would rather cut me down like the one in Red Tor than listen to my blasphemous tongue. At least yours will see a hero when we return with the tablet piece, I think."

[Kymme]

The young man listens to Kraguri's story intently as their strides devour the southward road. He takes Kraguri's admission of being a Realm soldier quietly, though his brow does furrow. His expression softens, becoming one of disbelief as Kraguri describes his intentions.

"A... a hero? Kra-Kraguri, the people of my village might see me as a man, or even a proven warrior, when we return, but..." His eyes turn southward and he is quiet for some time as the words assemble in his head and heart. "That isn't what I want to be! Not to them, at least! Returning to that village, living out my life there - that would make everything that's happened since you arrived pointless! I don't care about goodness or nobility or avoiding your mistakes - I want to be able to live a life as I see fit, as you do!"

Perhaps stirred by the brashness of the young man's words, undergrowth begins to rustle in the shade of a corps of trees not too far from the path. Kraguri notices this and Nakru begins to rattle on his back.

What does he do?

[TwentyFold]

His gaze turning to stone on the point of movement, Kraguri extends his arm before his disciple. His fingers twitching to the rhythm of Nakru's clacking, and he slowly lowers his arm, his gaze lowering as he takes Nakru from his back, as he attempts to keep a steady pace.

"Out of the possible things you could think of for freedom, you might think it wise to take what you can get in these harsh times, especially...," Kraguri halts his sentence, already mid dash for the brush, Nakru held out before him as a shield, Kraguri's shoulder pressed into it as a bull of a charge.

Just before he reaches them however, he brakes to a halt, wind and rock forcing aside the brush as he comes to a halt, the boy hopefully ready to the uptake if needed.

[Kymme]

Kraguri's intimidating display rouses night-birds from their perches and the small game from where they hide in the nettles and brush, and it also startles larger game from within the corps of trees.

Stepping fearfully onto the path ahead are a dozen or so rough men and women, brown and grey garb black in the evening light. Kraguri recognizes a few of their faces - faces that blanched white with terror as he send the bodies attached flailing through the air. These were bandits, formerly loyal to Knoll and the necromancer, now looking to all the world like frightened animals.

One of the bandits gets a good look at Kraguri and faints into the arms of two of his companions. The bravest among them, thin-bodied and with their face hidden by a rough fringe of straight red hair, speaks in wavering Firetongue. "Have mercy on us, Demon of War. You are strong, and we shall serve you faithfully in the hopes that your strength may become a shield. Please..." Their voice drifts off and they bow, signaling their companions to do the same. It's a halfhearted gesture of fealty, but it's the best they can manage. "We will do anything."

What does Kraguri do?

[TwentyFold]

Eyeing the small crowd with a surprised expression, Kraguri stands to full height. These deserters seem to flock to the nearest powerhouse perhaps. Looking back to the boy, Kraguri gives the gaze of "close enough" (http://thumbpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/funny-Cell-Dragon-Ball-Z-costume-fail1.jpg) before turning back to the once goons, Nakru still in hand.
Taking a moment to collect his thoughts as he looked over the gazes of ear, awe, or glazed unconsciousness. Calling to the scrawny leader, Kraguri warns, " I march to the steam mouth, are you prepared to follow me to possibly dance with death?"
Returning Nakru to his back, Kraguri does a short bow, "My name is Kraguri of house Ragara," he calls, "I travel far from home in the hopes that my skills as an exorcist might yield me more answers to a personal quest. With how my journey so far has shown, it will be dangerous and exciting with just us two, let alone us all, and as a former military man, I can turn you into competent fighters if you strive alongside my cursed habits."

Kraguri takes a look around himself, "I have little to say over the mortality of our journey, even my companion here is understandably wary of the journey, though if you take my word for value, I will keep you as my crew."

[Kymme]

Murmurs move through the bandits as Kraguri mentions the Steam Mouth to the south. Their leader glances back at them, eyes flashing behind their bangs. At once the whispers stop and the bandits face Kraguri, deferring to the judgement of their leader.

“We… we will march with you, Kraguri of House Ragara. We will fight with you as well, for in matters of mortal danger one is better of beside the monster rather than against him. I say this as Ridge of the Izhalvi.”

And so time moves.

Kraguri walks, his student follows, and further behind ten bandits serve as rearguard.

Kraguri teaches, his student learns, and to one side ten bandits watch as closely as they can.

Kraguri hunts, his student assists, and with grateful faces ten bandits eat what he gives them.

So things continue for several days and several nights, as low hills march past with the occasional abandoned farmstead or empty gathering place to dot the spaces between. Ridge informs Kraguri, late in the evening as they camp atop a forested hill, that bandit groups swirl around the Steam Mouth like winds about a typhoon, spiraling outwards in all directions.

“I speak from experience, Kraguri of House Ragara, when I say this. The largest gangs lurk close to the villages and towns, happily taking food and plunder in exchange for protecting them from rival groups. Further out are little groups like our own, doing what we can to scrape by.”

The eyes of Kraguri’s student bore into the bandit, but he holds his tongue for the time being.

Casting an errant glance to the young man, Ridge continues. “Those larger groups are vicious when denied. They effectively rule the towns they protect. Other than tribute, everything else goes to them.” Unsure of how to continue Ridge is quiet for a while. Then they continue.

“You are no liberator, Kraguri of House Ragara. Why then, do you venture south?”

[TwentyFold]

Taking a long moment, Kraguri looks down at the embers of the small campfire before them, his eyes reflected in the luminous gaze of the tender flame before him. He thinks on his words, it would do no good to risk the liberation of a village, and he was focused on Ridge's words. They could lose many of his small troop, let alone his so far squire, to attempt the unknown gatherings of places now tended by the vultures that took them. But how were the bandits gathered as such?

Leaning back to look above, Kraguri takes a short moment before responding in half, "I, I look for something, some kind of tablet of unknown worth. It really is a selfish venture, however, it disturbs me, I heard about some creature astride a cloud taking it, and that sounds like the closest power in the near region to have this happen, perhaps. Do you possibly know what called this kind of structural control? I can't recall a single thing that could curb the minds of such a large gathering of bandits and brigands, at least not south of the northern realms that I've seen."

Kraguri lowers his head to take a quick look around their environment, surveying for possible encroaches.

"Within reason, with how much you've told me, I can at least guess that there must be something going on, and if there is something that must be taken first...," Kraguri pauses, to take a look back at the wind of murderous intent strewn around the Steam Mouth,"Such as the life that leads them, then yes, we cannot help but prey upon the weak, take out the roving, and take the fastest route towards the first target, a leader, a mesiah for corruption, perhaps even a god."

Kraguri is silent for a moment.

It's broken by, "or maybe we are just facing a horde of banditry of well known intent." (https://tse1.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.k3VP5ztH8GQU5FwFQXG5tgHaEK&pid=15.1&P=0&w=298&h=168)

[Kymme]

“So you are a treasure hunter, then.” Ridge’s voice grows low. “Or a godslayer.”

A hush falls over the assembled bandits. Kraguri can make out, past the rustling of the wind and the susurrus of the small crawling things, the cry of a wild dog, distant and mournful. The hairs on back of his neck rise, but Kraguri knows that his nerves are the products of human instincts - nothing more.

Ridge breaks the silence. “If the Steam Mouth and whatever lurks there is your goal, then I will tell you more. Though the bandit gangs control the small townships, even the greatest of those bands plays tribute to the god-monster of the Steam Mouth.” A few of the other bandits make small gestures, perhaps of warding or of homage to the figure of which Ridge speaks.

“You have heard true, Kraguri of House Ragara. When the god-monster rides forth, which is rare, he does so in the form of a dark-haired man on a three-horned steed of hell-clouds. He calls down an evil wind that flays the skin from his foes bones, which his demon servants crunch between their teeth.” Ridge nods, reassuring themself, before continuing. “The god-monster takes what he desires and then returns to his lair high on the mountain, beyond the geyser fields.”

And then the bandits are quiet.

[TwentyFold]

Sitting in thought, Kraguri thinks over his new companions words. Perhaps it would be easier to split the hordes with a well placed battle.

Taking a moment to look away from the surrounding hills to look back to their meager fire. "It might be easier to split the bandits, get them to high tail and run as fast as possible with the word of hell on their tongue," Kraguri mumbles, "If there is such a tribute to this strange cloud rider, we could interrupt it perhaps, drag him out of that lair of his, even if I can't kill him, I can show his bandits something worse to fear."

Looking down at the sword laying upon his lap, Nakru shakes and rattles with strange glee, as if the nerves of the voice within are shaking with expectation. (https://pm1.narvii.com/5914/d9bc64ac422ceb04c6ead4161a4b2d4469098cd0_hq.jpg)

[Kymme]

Ridge is quiet for some time, and Kraguri can see their eyes shift behind the fringe of their bangs, looking between the other bandits. “If you defeated tens of my fellows with an undrawn sword… if the blastwave your strength creates can send grown warriors flying like hurled stones… if you can do all of these things… godslaying cannot be too far beyond you.”

The other bandits nod, and the rest of the night passes in peaceful calm. Nakru rattles in his sheath, but a steady hand is more than enough to restrain him.

A few more days of careful travel takes Kraguri and his followers to the first township under the Steam Mouth: a dim cascade of short flat-topped houses shaded by a crest of rock. Ridge explains that the township is called Warmwater (https://brewminate.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/111817-08-Timbuktu.jpg), as the creek that cuts through the hills beside it flows directly from the geyser-field. It is a place home to hundreds, surrounded by plentiful grazing fields and ever more plentiful grazing herds of aurochs.

Naturally, these traits make Warmwater a wretched hive of scum and villainy. With his followers setting up camp just outside the village, Kraguri ventures forth to face whatever treacherous obstacles fate has lain for him.

What he finds does not bode well. The square packed-earth houses are dilapidated, with tattered linen banners and flags in sun-faded colors adding the only splashes of warmth to the dreariness of the town. The citizens bring no extra brightness to the environs.

Unlike in Red Tor, where his passing left a wake of empty streets and filled windows with frightened mothers cradling their children, Warmwater accepts him as yet another traveler on its dirty streets. Kraguri knows in an instant that this is a town ruled by bandits. The occupied houses all drape orange banners over their thresholds, and those without such banners lie empty with broken shutters and splinters in place of doors.

Rough-looking men and women stand on street corners, watching the passers-by with eyes like a hunter sighting prey. No one hides, but all watch Kraguri as he passes up the sloping road to Warmwater’s center square.

Here, midway up the hillside, Kraguri sets his eyes on Warmwater’s sturdiest building. What might have once been a town hall or even a temple had become a grand tavern and house of revelries. Even under the mid-morning sun he could see drunks and insensate ruffians sprawled about the place’s long porch. In a place as noisy as this, Kraguri could be sure to hear some careless and useful murmurings.

He strides towards the building’s open doors, but stops when he hears the crackle and whoosh of an igniting flame. A firewand, indoors? Foolishness like that could only lead to destruction. A second blast follows a few seconds later, accompanied by a few startled shouts and a bright crimson light. Then the swinging doors blow open and a burly ruffian in a tight hide vest comes tumbling out, trailing smoke from a smoking imprint on his chest. As he crashes to the ground before Kraguri the wanderer can see that his wound was not inflicted by a firewand - rather, the man was struck by a burning fist.

Then, with another burning roar a second man comes tumbling down the steps of the porch and onto the dirt. Following him is a young woman (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f9/1f/c3/f91fc3777f325c4c82d959938fd07fc8.jpg) with a blue bandanna about her neck. From her legs trail flickering flames, and she leaps from the porch and scars a burning mark into the town square where she lands.

The young woman turns to face the wide hall, assumes a practiced stance, and bellows a challenge. “I’ll tear your whole damn ‘temple’ down if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you bastards. I swear it to you, as sure as my name is Entei!”

Kraguri, standing beside this woman, sees nearly a dozen men pile out of the open doors, led by a lean youth with elaborately decorated cestus. The young man crooks a gauntleted finger at Entei and cries a challenge to her. “You’ll tear down nothing, halfbreed. Whatever you expect to find here, leave it and run back to Harborhead. That’s the only place freaks like you belong!”

When Entei fumes, fire flares from her nostrils and embers fall from her lips. Her stance tightens, and all is set for a confrontation. No one takes notice of Kraguri.

What does he do?

[TwentyFold]

Taken somewhat aback by his current events, Kraguri looks around with a sharp look, checking for others who may join the fight. He wasn't trying to get stuck into a brawl here, especially if it would lead to word spreading about his attempted coup making its journey. His left arm creaked as he slowly reached for Nakru from his lower back, attempting not to draw attention to himself. Beginning a clacking rhythm, the dark scabbarded blade cackled in its own way, yearning for bloodshed and cruelty.

Taking a careful step back, Kraguri takes position behind this newcomer, Entei. Nakru prepared to be drawn, Kraguri awaits the oncomers. With a stern and measured glance at this provoker of the battle, Kraguri wondered, could she hold her own with such a cocky attitude and her explosive flames alone versus this group of banditry, or if she was just lucky he came along.