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Fantasy Guardians of Landfall

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Characters
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Morg

Morg

Surrender The Pizza Rolls
Landfall is a world filled to the brim with magic. Living within all things and all people, it is a gift, a gift that is being taken away. Slowly pockets of the world are losing its magic, and people turning up missing or dead with not a trace of magic left in there body. Now it is up to a few brave souls looking to uncover the mystery of something no one wants to believe. At the helm of this is Morgrim Hemwick a cursed soul who will find the few people capable of taking on this journey. It's a race against the clock, where the very fate of the world hangs in the balance.



\\ This will be a detailed Rp, with a minimum requirement of one average length paragraph, and decent spelling and punctuation. Small mistakes here and there are fine. For rules just use common sense – be respectful, be patient, and try to have a good time. The world in question is an original creation, and as such multiverse characters, mary sues, and anything that would go against the rules of the world will not be allowed. If you have any questions regarding the roleplay or world feel free to DM me. //
 
This was the day, his day. Morgrim had been granted permission to see the guides of Landfall, a group of legendary heroes, warriors, mages, and mercenaries, people who have each saved the world time and time again, but alas their time was behind them. Once great warriors now succumbed to the sands of time, and could do little more in the line of duty than advise. Still though, as Morgrim stood before them he showed respect. He had everything to prove to them, and them to him, nothing. They could see it in him, the old men and woman saw a spark in him that could be nurtured into a wildfire. It was not just anyone who got to be a guide though, someone who would lead others down a path of grandeur and greatness. As they examined him though, and listened to his words the old men and woman all silently nodded their assent.

"Yes he will do." Said one raspy old woman in elegant purple robes with royal embroidery, gray hair stretching down to her shoulder, nodding to the others.

"Yes, I feel you are right." Said a man that stood nearly seven foot tall, and bore a nasty looking scar going from his left eyebrow down to his chin blinding him in one eye. He wore a chest piece that had a lions head of gold, and sleeveless armor that showed off even in his old age sinewy muscles and tanned skin.

They all said their agreements, and at the head of them all was a cloaked figure that even Morgrim couldn't recognize. "Very well, they have spoken. Kneel, and raise out your right hand." He said as he pulled out what looked like an obsidian box. As he flipped open the lid with lithe quick fingers, there was a ordinary looking silver needle, and a small hammer, lastly a bottle on swirling black ink that seemed to have a faint cosmic glow to it that looks almost a trick of light, Morgrim knew well enough though.

He knelt before the hooded figure, and lifted his right hand, revealing a small part of Morgrim's cursed body, a hand that had been rotted away in several parts, a curse from playing with powers greater than himself when he was young and desperate. This was not the strangest thing the council had seen though, and even less so for the figure with needle in one hand, and hammer in other. The burly man with the lion-head armor grabbed Morgrim's hand with a vice like grip to keep him still, and the hooded figure pressed the now ink laden needle to his skin, and struck the base of it with a hammer. The needle went into bone, and the ink seeped inside said bone, and Morgrim had to hold back a cry of pain. This was a special ink known as ether ink, ether being the source of magic in this world. Sounded better than magic ink though. It had special properties, one of which was that it would never fade, and never erase, and could be molded into any shape or style based on the will of the one placing it there. The main use of this was by slavers and masters to mark human property as theirs, but for the guides it was a mark to say they are a slave to the greater good, to protecting the realm. TapTapTap went the needle and hammer as the shape was beginning to form on his hand, ink shifting around in the bone and flesh never to fade, and forming a compass with the map of Landfall inside the borders, and a sword pointing north. This way anyone seeing this would know that he has been granted the favor of the council.

After several more minutes of working the needle the figure stopped, and Morgrim was thankful as he was close to biting his tongue in two with how hard he was trying to hold back the pain. He raised his hand before his eyes, and saw that it was true, the first step to his dream had been achieved, that even a broken soul like him could one day have the potential to leave his mark, and leave the world better off than he had entered it though. Still this was one step, and there are many left before him. He lowered his hand again, and took in the final words that would set him on his journey.

"You are one of us now, but you have much to prove. Go north to the Ashkii forest, there have been rumors of people going missing, and the forest withering and decaying, as if the magic has been sucked dry. Take what you need with you, and find those that will aid you, then let us know what is happening. This is your quest, and this is on your head. If you fail countless people could die, as such we are counting on you. Now go." The old mage woman said with a final word, and sent him off. Morgrim nodded, he already had his tools, but he would need people who could help him do this. The guides took on suicide quests, and almost never do them alone, and those that do usually end up dead. He would not be the same. First he needed to find the two people who had a hope in hell at helping him. The blind Assassin, and the Arena champ.
 

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Health: 68%

  • Tags: Morg Morg

    Addressed: Falaern Damaer

    Mentioned: Morgrim Hemwick
The door slammed behind her with a reverberating thud! The paintings on the wall quivered in response, and embers from the dying fire in the hearth fluttered from the sudden draft, dancing briefly before settling within the hearth again. Despite the anger bubbling within her, her boots were silent against the maple flooring of the suite—an expensive trait that she had happily paid extra for. The sconces flickered in fear as she swiftly strode towards the desk in the middle of the study, her shadows threatening the flames with suffocation. If she lost any more control on her magic, then the room would've been plunged into darkness the moment she stepped through. Not like it would have made her journey to her desk any more difficult.

Roxii rounded her desk and, after aggressively pushing the chair out of her way, stood over her desk with her hands braced against the edges. Her shadows passed over the stacks of paper laid neatly upon its surface, her fuming ceasing for just a moment as she focused on the task at hand. Once her darkness found their target, she grabbed the corner of a seemingly nondescript page out of the stack and, with expert grace, yanked the page out of the middle of the stack. The rest of the pages remained untouched and unmoved, despite the disruption. Laying the chosen page upon the desk in front of her, the assassin allowed her shadows to travel across the page, feeling the ink ridges across the page with her magic. This particular letter requested her assistance in taking out an unremarkable shopkeeper. Perhaps the man angered the customer in some way—maybe raised his prices or swindled them out of some prized possession. Either way, it wasn't her place to ask questions. She was just supposed to receive the request, complete it, and get paid.

But she can't complete her mission if her targets keep going missing! This is the fifth target to go missing in the past two days! Whisked away on a silent wind with only a mocking calling card left behind: "Better luck next time" it read. No signature, no name, nothing save for a stamp of an oddly familiar symbol at the bottom. She'd attempted to gather information on the cryptic person or persons that have been deliberately ruining her business, but she couldn't get much further beyond rumors. A mystery that had been terrorizing some of the best thieves, mercenaries, and assassins for a while now. Whatever they were trying to accomplish, they were selective in who they targeted. As for why, she couldn't be sure, and no one else was quite sure either. She couldn't exactly go out and ask their previous targets because, unfortunately for her, they just up and disappeared.

Anger began bubbling up inside her again. Her shadows thrashed violently out from her and her knuckles turned white from the harsh grip she had upon the desk. Her lips locked into a fine line until an animalistic snarl ripped from her and her fingers viciously ripped the assassination request to shreds. How dare these strangers mock her so! A stab at her pride, her reputation. Each of these unfulfilled requests were failures, ones that wounded her killing streak. Humiliating!

Roxii released a slow, calming breath. The assassin's fingers drummed against the solid cedar in a steady rhythm as she turned a thought over in her head a few times, tasting the sour plan in her mouth. It'd be risky, but she could perhaps find out who has been destroying her career. After all, they were directly affecting her income, and that did not sit well with the Lythari whatsoever. One of her wolf ears twitched in irritation at the thought. She definitely possessed enough gold to allow her to sit comfortably for a couple years, but the lack of steady income, the lack of growing closer to being considered "wealthy" was bothersome. If she was to go back to completing assassination requests unhindered, then she needed to neutralize the threat. Immediately.

Nodding to herself, the wolf-elf picked a random request out of her "incomplete" stack and set out. The target was another unremarkable civilian: a 41-year-old botanist named Milris Parieth. No reasoning behind the request whatsoever, but that was fine. It wasn't like she was going to have a chance to complete the mission anyways. As long as she could find her target quickly, Roxii could be able to put an end to all this troublesome nonsense.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

It took some time and some... questionable methods, but the hybrid was able to track down Parieth quickly enough to watch her get taken away by a hooded figure. The stranger was hushed as they spoke to the middle-aged human botanist, explaining the situation and hurriedly wrapping her in a similar cloak to keep her out of sight. They traveled by cart out of the city and down the main road for quite a while before splitting off onto a hardly noticeable path. They were silent the entire time, even as they approached a wooden cabin that looked to have been abandoned for years. The duo disappeared inside and all was silent for a while.

Roxii waited outside the cabin for some time before moving in closer. Her footfalls were silent as she crept closer, allowing her to listen carefully for anyone inside or outside who might betray or discover her presence. However, she couldn't hear anyone whatsoever. She hesitantly reached out with her shadows, searching for any souls while being careful to not alert anyone with an affinity for magic. Her magic touched no one. Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air.

Once she was at the entrance of the decrepit building, she slowly pushed the door open, hoping that the hinges wouldn't creak. The gods seemed to be merciful today. She sent out a pulse of darkness throughout the rooms of the cabin, but her magic touched no one. It was vacant, the only trace of their presence being their lingering scents. She bit her lip thoughtfully. An old cabin like this ought to have some sort of wine cellar. Her shadows spread out across the floor of the decrepit cabin, searching for any drafts between the cracks and an empty space of some sort. It wasn't difficult for her to find it. Peeling back the rug the door was hidden under, Roxii gripped the handle and hefted the cellar door open. She was met with the thick, damp air of the cellar, and she suppressed the desire to cough.

The assassin tread down the steps carefully and slowly, keeping her shadows reined in just in case these mystery people could detect her darkness. However, she kept her ears up and attentive, listening for any telltale signs of her mystery targets. All she could hear, though, was the steady drip of water falling from the cave ceiling. The drips echoed throughout the cavern, making it difficult for the wolf-elf to pinpoint her own location. Not to mention that the air here was thicker than tar, and despite the humidity it scratched against her throat. Deciding that it may be better for the assassin to risk her location by being able to see, she sent out a soft, short pulse of darkness.

It revealed to her the lone person standing before her, watching her with mixed interest like a master studying a prospective animal. "It's about time you arrived," he mocked. Before the wolf-elf could react, another person seemingly appeared out of thin air behind her, and she was violently struck in the back of the head. And this time, the darkness was not so comforting.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

Only a few minutes had passed before the wolf-elf regained consciousness. Her head spun like a dancer, and she could feel the familiar trickle of blood sliding down the nape of her neck. Roxii allowed herself only a moment to gather herself before she realized the potential danger she was in. The hybrid scanned the room, searching for the threats and their locations around her. Her attention fixated upon the lone figure that had spoken to her before. She noted that no one else was in the room with her and the stranger. She allowed an inhuman growl to escape her lips as she attempted to lunge towards the man. However, before she could even push herself off the ground, she was met with a heart-stopping shock. The electricity flowed through her body as easily as her blood, and her expression relayed the shock as plainly as the sun on a cloudless day. She opened her mouth to scream in pain, but she couldn't find her breath. So she stayed there, still as a statue, as the electricity ravaged her body.

It really only lasted for about five seconds, but it felt like a lifetime before the electricity ebbed. Shaking violently, Roxii collapsed to the cold, moist ground as she desperately gulped down air. Her fingers slowly traveled up to her neck where the electricity seemed to originate. Only then did she realize that there was a steel collar there, clamped tightly around her neck. Focusing upon it, she could practically hear the dormant electricity flowing through the collar. How it worked, she wasn't sure, but she didn't want to keep it around any longer to find out more about it. She pried at the collar, but it wouldn't budge. She couldn't even find a seam or a latch in the metalwork. It was as if it was forged around her neck. The Lythari rasped, "What is this?"

The cloaked man before her ignored her question. "Roxii Dae Sicarius, it is nice to see you again." He cocked his head to one side like an intrigued dog. "How have you been, m'dear? It sure has been an awfully long time since we last spoke."

The hybrid's brows furrowed in confusion. She couldn't get her shadows close enough to this man to identify him. An odd shield-like bubble surrounded him, masking his features and physical characteristics. His magic was very similar to hers, if not identical. But his scent, his voice, his demeanor... Why was it so familiar? How did he know her name? "Who are you?" she asked hesitantly.

The stranger sighed as if disappointed. "I would have hoped you had recognized me a little quicker." His masking shield dropped slowly, allowing her magic to discern the male's facial features. No. It couldn't be– "Perhaps you remember me by the name of Master Damaer?"

A knot formed in her throat, and she felt the blood leave her face, leaving her ghostly pale. She couldn't tell if the emotions that ravaged her were from the pain that enveloped her just moments ago, from the fear that her old master was standing before her, or from the anger that this bastard had tricked her.

The wolf hybrid bared her teeth and snarled at Falaern, "You set me up." Her shadows began gathering at her fingertips. "You had me sent to one of the most deadly places in Landfall." She began pushing herself off the ground as she began readying for magic for an attack. "How could you–"

Another jolt of electricity shot through her body, quick and painful enough to stop her in her tracks and to keep her on her hands and knees before the hooded man. Despite her blindness, stars danced across her vision and she gulped down air once she regained control of her lungs. "What is this?" Roxii repeated, each word forced between labored breaths.

"Do you like it? It's of my own design." Falaern grinned smugly, and she wanted to punch the grin right off his face. "It's controlled remotely, and it releases a jarring amount of electricity into the wearer's body in real time." That grin remained on his face as he strode towards his former pupil. "I would absolutely love to catch up, but I am afraid we are both very busy, so let me not waste any more of your precious time. I have a proposition for you."

"I don't do deals. Especially not for you." Venom dripped from each word.

Falaern tsked. "Wrong answer." Just then, another jolt of electricity ravaged the assassin's body. She convulsed for a moment as the electricity gorged itself upon her. This shock was shorter, but it was still as effective in silencing her. "You see, you don't have a choice in this, my dear etriel. You disobey me, and I destroy your body from the inside out. You do as I say, and I will release you from your torture when your task is completed." He stopped before her, peering down at her like she were the scum of the land. "Do you understand?"

Roxii grit her teeth, and her fingers dug into the packed dirt below her. "Go to hell."

Falaern sighed and the assassin braced herself for the inevitable shock. Unfortunately, it still wasn't enough. The electricity flowed angrily, and this time was more powerful than the previous times. She shook violently at the increased amount of voltage in her body, and the air was knocked out of her in the form of a blood-curdling scream. The shock was about as long as the first, only a few seconds, but it left the hybrid in a heap on the floor once it subsided. The tips of her fingers tickled from the remainder of the electricity, and she pressed her forehead against the dirt, the cool earth contrasting the heated sweat that broke upon her brow. Falaern waited a moment before repeating slowly, "Do you understand?"

This time, the wolf-elf stayed silent.

"Excellent!" Falaern clasped his hands together in front of him. "You are under my stead once again, Sicarius. As such, you will refer to me as Master. Is that understood?" He gazed at the assassin expectantly.

She was half-tempted to spit in his face, to choke him out and leave him to rot, but the cool band around her neck reminded her of her current circumstances, forcing her to reconsider. "Yes... Master." The title was forced through gritted teeth, but she knew the consequences of her disobedience.

Master Damaer lifted his chin in approval. "I need you to seek out a particular Guide for me—Morgrim Hemwick. You are to join his cause, follow him around like the obedient pup you are." The Lythari flinched at the subliminal insult and the unfortunate truth. "You are to sabotage his efforts. Makes sure he doesn't succeed."

"Why do you not have me just kill him, Master?" The question tumbled from her mouth before she could restrain it.

"Because," he answered matter-of-factly, "He could prove to be of use to me later on."

Roxii took a moment to carefully pick her reply this time. "How am I to find this Morgrim, Master?"

Falaern procured a neatly sealed envelope from his cloak and tossed it to the ground in front of the blind assassin. "You will fulfill his request, and you will meet him at Ravenscrye Tavern to receive your payment. There, he will request your assistance with his journey." He stooped down to be level with the crouching assassin. His eyes traveled over her face, occasionally stopping at the blindfold wrapped around her head. He reached out a hand and gingerly lifted her chin, making sure that she was listening. Roxii fought back the urge to flinch away from his touch, making sure to not give him another reason to electrocute her. "I trust you will do this for me, my etriel. Else..." His finger tapped the steel collar menacingly, his fingernail clinking against the cool metal. This time, she couldn't resist pulling back from him.

Falaern suddenly straightened and walked away, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't let me down, Roxii Dae Sicarius," he called over his shoulder. "And remember: I am always watching." A beat later, the wolf-elf was struck in the head once again, this time much harder than before. She crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, and she embraced the safety of the darkness that enveloped her.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

Roxii awoke hours later to the moonlight filtering in through her window. She groaned as she sat up, her mattress mirroring her discomfort as she moved. A hand went to her head, hoping to steady the spinning. She pulled her fingers away and found them dry; in fact, there was no blood on her. The assassin gingerly prodded the back of her head. The split was still there, but the blood had been cleaned before Falaern and his assassins deposited her at her home. She moved her attention to the collar still clamped around her neck. The metal was cool to the touch despite the raging heat and energy contained within. She shivered, remembering the volts that devastated her body just hours before. She knew Falaern. He was a madman who took calculated risks, but he was no idiot. She knew there was little to no way out of this.

She was trapped.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

It only took a day for her to learn who Morgrim's target was: Julius Dolloway, a nobleman whose love for money and whores was far greater than his love for his family. Charity was not in his vocabulary, and gluttony was his most defining trait. He was not a difficult target—at least for an assassin with her experience. His guards' rotations were easy to figure out and memorize, and his floorplan was simple and generic. Within moments, she was in and out with another's blood on her blade and a request fulfilled. Not one of the guards suspected a thing, and the nobleman didn't even get a chance to let out a shocked gasp before his life was ripped from him so swiftly. It was a perfect assassination, one that she hadn't been able to perform since the Crimson Shadow began meddling in her work.

With the assassination request completed and Falaern's plan in motion, Roxii made her way silently through the crowds towards her rendezvous point: a lively tavern settled on the outskirts of the market district. It was one of her favorite places, harboring alcohols of all sorts, foods of enormous flavor, and patrons who understood that some people just didn't want to be bothered. And so, as she shouldered her way through the door and nodded towards the barkeep, the assassin made her way to her signature two-person booth in the back of the tavern, wondering what exactly this Guide looked like.

 
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Morgrim stepped out of the guides' leader base, an old dilapidated looking cathedral. It saw no practical use of religious worship anymore, as it was for the god of innocence, a god that the world had seemed to forgotten about. Vines had grown up around the sides of the towering structure, and the stain glass windows have all but been smashed and weathered. It left some to wonder why the legendary guides would hideaway in such a sad looking building.



Morgrim looked away, and flexed his right hand, it still hurt from the ink branding, but he'd live. Now he had to focus on his mission, first he would have to find the assassin. The last dead drop said that he was to meet her in Ravenscyre tavern, a place he was very familiar with. She had completed an assassination, and now she needed her pay, a pay that truth be told he did not entirely have at the moment. Still, he had a plan though, the arena where he would pick up the other follower would be a great place to pick up the coin so that he could officially hire the blind assassin.



The journey would be two days walking if he went by foot, but Morgrim had a few summons available in his repertoire, one being a horse that belonged to his father; Ebony. The horse was long dead, but a necromancer like himself could summon and imbue a small semblance of life into a creature, by using his own life force, and loaning it so to speak. A black pool several meters across opened up on the ground as Morgrim concentrated, and slowly a skeletal horse rose from the puddle, when it was standing at full height the black liquid covered the horse, and gave it flesh, or at least where it could. Bone would still show in some places, but at least it was enough so that Morgrim could actually sit on the beast.



He rode south on a beast that would never tire, and as such he could easily make the journey by nightfall. The journey was quiet, safe for the stomping sounds given off by the horse on the dirt path thudding along. No one stopped him, the road was quiet this time, no bandits or highway men, and often beasts hide in the forests or caves, staying away from a well traveled road. As the twin suns started to reach the horizon opposite from each other, burning the sky red, and bleeding orange. Morgrim saw the town come into view. It was a humble town, with enough to distinguish it from another, but it paled in comparison to the huge cities of Landfall. Normally a black cloaked figure, riding on a zombie horse would draw some alarm from the guards working the gate, but Morgrim was a frequent visitor in Ravenscyre, and he even still had a home there.



The guards let him in, and they each gave a respectful nod, and greeted him. “Good day Morgrim, I hope the roads have fared thee well.” Said a burly looking man on the left side of the gate, standing atop a rampart.



“Thank you Brutus, they have, I come back a new man.” He said showing off the ink on his right hand, which both the guards recognized as the mark of a guide. Each of the two guards grinning the delight that their decrepit friend could do what he sought out.



“You'll make a fine guide Morgrim, speaking of which maybe you could look into something. A strange person came into town last sunrise, a Lythari if you would believe it. Strange folk that one, go make sure she isn't up to anything.” He said in a way half between telling and asking. The guard had sensed something off about the blind girl, and he didn't want to find out what it was the hard way.



Morgrim nodded, and dismounted his stead. The same black pool arose beneath its feet and swallowed it up until nothing remained, Morgrim felt some of his strength returning as some of his own life and ether from the beast came back to him. He was tired, but would see to the beastkin first before retreating to his home. He strode into the town, and went to its center most building the tavern, the hub for anyone living or visiting the town. As he entered he quickly scanned the surrounding and could see the figure in question, a blindfolded Lythari, small and lithe, but menacing all the same. He didn't know it yet, but this was the assassin he was to hire. Somehow Morgrim expected a bit more from one of the most legendary assassins of the entire province, though he has learned not to judge things by the appearance, if that were the case he wouldn't have been cursed with his decaying body.



As Morgrim had promised to the two guards, he would talk to the blind girl. She certainly did have a menacing air about her, and it looked like she was waiting for something or someone. Ravenscrye was a small peaceful town, and she looked like only one of those things. He approached the wolf girl, not with any sort of authority in his step or stance, but just as another person. "Hello there, I can't help but notice you aren't from around here, you've certainly turned a few heads with my friends at the gate." Morgrim said, taking a seat across the table from her trying to gauge her expression. "I'm Morgrim Hemwick, can you tell me who you are, and what you are doing here? I promise you will find me far more understanding then some of the other people in this town." When he referred to people he really meant the guards. They were good folk, but jumpy at best. With talk of magic disappearing, and a possible war looming on the horizon it was fair to say many people were feeling a bit tense.


Javax Javax
 
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Health: 72%

  • Tags: Morg Morg

    Addressed: Morgrim Hemwick

    Mentioned: Falaern Damaer
The assassin had opted to buy a shot of whiskey to keep her occupied during her wait. She wasn't entirely sure when the Guide would arrive, nor what to expect when he did. Master Damaer gave her no insight on what to expect nor what—or who—to look for. What race was he? Was he tall or short? Big and burly or thin as a skeleton? Was he a wealthy merchant looking to change his ways or a peasant who wished to do more than work on a farm for the rest of his life? Did he harbor magic?

The only clue she had was the request in her pocket. Fingers played at the broken seal on the exterior. The seal had the mark of the Guide, and the paper had an odd, though familiar, smell of muskiness that made her scrunch her nose in disgust. She couldn't place the scent very well. What exactly did it remind her of? An old friend? If she were to accompany anyone who smelled like that all the time, she definitely would've abandoned them soon after meeting them. A place she had once visited? Quite probable, as some places she frequented were located in the slums district of many cities.

The door to the tavern opened, interrupting her mental investigation. Roxii released a pulse of darkness to reveal to her the man who had entered—well, at least what was left of him. He was a gruesome sight to behold, and she wondered if the man would fall apart right then and there like a sack of dust. She couldn't quite pinpoint his age, but she would've guessed that he was in the later years. He held himself high and proud, though the air about him was... inviting, friendly almost. The stranger seemed to scan the interior of the establishment for a moment before his attention settled upon the wolf-elf.

Roxii couldn't help but groan silently to herself as the man strode towards her. It didn't take him long to reach her table with the beeline he made for her. "Hello there," he greeted calmly. He hardly allowed the wolf hybrid to respond as he explained his reasoning for approaching her. Of course the city guards were suspicious of her. She was different; able to handle herself while being disabled. Even then, she had an air of death about her.

Death.

That's what muskiness surrounded the request that was hidden away in her pocket. And this man before her, the man who'd introduced himself as Morgrim Hemwick, was the one she was supposed to meet. It was expected that he didn't know who she was nor what she looked like. That was one of the points for being one of the greatest assassins in Landfall. She was unfamiliar to him, but he was no longer a complete stranger to her. Especially since her magic picked up the strong energies of the ether ink infused into his right hand, the magic arranged in the mark of the Guide.

The Lythari lifted her chin pridefully towards the Guide. "Your friends do not have much to worry about, Morgrim Hemwick." Her voice was smooth but held the hard edge of a ruthless killer. A hand went to the unsealed request in her pocket, and she set it upon the table before them. "As for what I am doing here: I have been waiting for you, actually." Roxii sat back in her chair coolly, awaiting a response from the rather putrid-smelling man.

 
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The Dragon



  • Guinevere I





    Waves lap against the walls of the harbor, and overhead gulls caw away in the open bay. With only the occasional cloud, the sun freely glimmers in the afternoon sky. Winds carry the muffled cries of the crowds surrounding the Solis Bay. Merchants load and unload their cargo while workers carry on with repairs and transports. Stationed on small platforms are soldiers on duty, guarding against the occasional wandering sea serpent or drunk. Idle chit chat and bits of lazy conversations pierce the atmosphere of the never-ending bustle of the port.

    A tall, tanned, woman emerges from the deck of an anchored merchant’s ship and steps onto one of the stone piers. Her long and wavy chestnut-brown hair bounces lightly in the ocean breeze. Everything about her is sharp and defined: large, strong hands; athletic arms; wide, almost slopping, shoulders. Taut cheeks and small cheekbones rest just above a square, defined jawline. Her posture painted the picture of a weary soldier returning home, but her clenched jaw and flickering gaze betrayed this persona. Light blue eyes keep a watchful gaze on the afternoon crowd. Her hand resting atop the hilt of a bastard sword adorned to her hip.

    With each step through the market the sound of wood being sawed apart and nails being hammered ring through the air. A slight clink echoes her every step. Outfitted in steel armor, she wore mostly leather under a breastplate and pauldrons on top, with greeves and worn leather boots on her feet. She passes by a few houses and shops that line the cliffs. Each house hand-crafted to suit hanging over the ocean. Some were of a newer design, being crafted after the fallout of the betrayal. She remembered her mother saying that some were built during the founding of Oweumont; back during the old age of heroes and legends. Relics of a bygone era. What secrets did these buildings hold?

    The delectable smell of fresh fruit captured her attention. About fifteen paces from her was a stand filled to the brim with fresh fruit and vegetables. For a moment she finds respite from the salty air and is instead treated to the smells of oranges and apples and other exotic goods shipped to the city. Before long she finds her mouth-watering over the thought of fresh fruit, something that was hard to come by on long voyages on the Cursed Sea.

    She made her way past the handful of folk picking out their own fruit and grabs a bright pinkish-red apple. Cold juices stain her lips as she bites into the red fruit. “That’ll be a silv,’” A loud voice booms from behind the stall. An older man, similar in build to her, places down two caskets of other fruits. Save his gray beard, he was entirely bald. She takes one look at him before reaching into the coin pouch strung to her hip and flipping him two. “Good seeing you Ibrin.”

    Ibrin catches the coins in his leather gloves and gives her a hearty smile. “Likewise Dragon, likewise.” He gives her a friendly nod before picking up his caskets and moving on to his next customer.

    She turns about and makes her way to the nearest bench. She places her free arm behind her neck and reclines as she eats her apple, staring at the city above her. Built into the actual cliffs, the city spirals up the rocky sides and lay sprawling on the uneven hills and flatlands of the overhang.

    Oweumont. Considered to be the largest city in the world, and one of the wealthiest. Rebuilt three times and expanded more since, the city is more akin to a mountainous tower than a city. They say every man here lives in a golden palace with pillars of pearl; that each bed is fitted with fine silks; that every man, woman, and child eat like kings; and companionship can be found at any hour of any day. But we know better. I know better the woman thinks to herself dimly. Rumors she inevitably heard from the mouths that live past their walls.

    Protected by three outer walls and a river that spirals into a system of dark caves and tunnels, Oweumont looms proudly atop the Rockridge. The city overlooks a small respite of the Cursed Sea. Stone houses with red tile roofing line each mountain and cliff that make up the backside of the range. Plants, trees, gardens, and all sorts of greenery intersect with the copious amounts of houses that make up this level of Oweumont. Named after the famous sunny weather, the Solis Bay is home to the middle-class workers and merchants that help keep the coin flowing through the city.

    She sits here for the better part of the hour, eating her apple and quietly watching the city and the people go about their daily business. She draws a single breath and sighed. She stands and throws the apple core to the nearby gulls before continuing her walk through the bustling city. Following the spiral up the main cliff, she scales the bluffs at a leisurely pace, stopping every now and again to people watch. Sometimes she looks down at the ever distancing bridges, and other times she stops by a small garden or shop to simply kill time. As she gets closer to the cliff tops and overhangs, she’s stopped and greeted by more and more folk. Most are pleasantries while others offer meals. Politely she declines the offers and continues on her way.

    Before long the armored woman finds herself on the overhangs of Oweumont. Even up here, hundreds of feet above the ocean, she could still faintly smell the sea salt. However, the smells of roasted meats and ales began to submerge the salt. The Pýrgos Market. One of the centerpieces of Oweumont. From here, one can get themselves anywhere.

    Traveling south you will find yourself at the bottom of the Iron Keep, a military encampment that spans three city blocks. Here you will find the small military force of Oweumont; the space they occupy for training and housing. Sometimes, when she wasn’t in the coliseum, she would find her way there to train with the guards.

    Crossing the bridges to the west are the councilmen and their residences. She heard whispers of the size and wealth were even grander than the Northern district, but she had no way to gauge the truth of those rumors. With no business in that district, she never ventured that way.

    Going north and scaling the ever inclines of the city rests the Fairwater: the wealthiest part of the city and the crown that all outsiders see. All the important noblemen and lords hold land in Fairwater.

    Venture too far east, however, and you would end up in the Rat’s Nest, the poorest part of the city. Nestled into a small separate quarter of the city, the gathering point for the poor that stay topside. And if you looked hard enough, you would find your way to the underbelly of the city.

    She turns to tread toward Fairwater, which continues to scale up past the overlook and onto the clifftops. In between each section of the city are walls that connect themselves with a vast, complicated system that allows for quick transport to and from the city’s outer walls. With little time needed to climb to the pinnacle sector of the city, the sight of this wall comes quickly to her. Posted atop the walls and on either side of the metal gates is a platoon of guards. With very little to do the guards are usually lax, but as she approaches the doors of the gate the familiar atmosphere is absent. Instead of lounging around, the guards are instead surrounding a lone individual knight. Standing a fair size shorter than herself is an athletic man with a full set of blue-tinted plate armor. Hanging from a loose chain fastened to his hip is his helmet, revealing a dark man with shaven brown hair, pointed ears, and a small bristle of hair on his pointed chin. Small and quick, dark of face, with restless black eyes and sharp, strong features. Painted on his cloak is a falcon across a blue sea. She thinks back to the history lessons DeRosso tried to force upon her. Vaguely, she remembers that to be the sigil of House Sieger.

    As she approaches the gathered guards the blue knight glances to meet her gaze and waves off the guards, who slowly disperse back to their stations. He steps towards her. Despite the amount of armor he adorns, he almost glides across the ground. Like a bird flying close to the floor she thought to herself. “I see you have returned” The man extends his arm. “It is good to see you Guinevere” His voice is low and calm, yet has a disciplined quality to it.

    She reaches out to firmly shake it before offering a pat on the back. “It’s good to see you too, Ser Merrick.” She walks past the open doors and continues down the street. “He had you pass by the Vale, right? How do the others fair?” Merrick follows in suit, matching her stride with his own despite the height difference.

    “They are well” The two turn the corner. "They should be arriving tomorrow morning.” She gives a small nod towards two guardsmen as they pass by.

    “And the people?” The knight prods.

    “As well as they can be, with all this craziness going on” The two continue to talk down the streets and towards the coliseum, before finally stopping in front of a large villa of white stone and marble columns. She grabs the metal circle hanging off the doors and slams it hard into the door, sending a loud thud through the villa. Guinevere turned to face Merrick directly. “Any signs of her?” She inquires hopefully.

    Merrick shakes his head. “She's hard to find. I’ll send you a letter if we come across anything." She nods towards him.

    “Thank you. Be safe out there.” The two salute as the large metal doors open inward to reveal the lavish garden of the owner.

    She bids Merrick farewell before entering the villa. Atop the stairs leading to the main house stands a finely dressed man. He is draped with simple, yet elegant blue silk and gold embroidered leather. He wears the same golden leather boots and a red cloak. On the back of his cloak is the sigil of his house: a single, red, blooming rose with a key in front of it. The same as the tattoo chiseled into his neck. His face is sharp and symmetrical. His eyes are a piercing red, cheekbones well defined, and a square jawline. His hair is well kept and short, and a small, well-trimmed goatee of black hair adorns his chin. With arms crossed, he looks down upon the land below him. Like a lion ready to pounce on its next meal, the man awaits in a cold and silent focus.

    “You’ve returned.” his stern voice echoes in her ears. He spoke with a frightful inefficiency. Never hanging onto any word, each syllable was pronounced and decisive.

    Upon seeing him, she straightens to perfection and places a clenched fist just above her left breast, similar to the salute she gave Merrick a few moments ago. “I have.” In the corner of her right eye, the tattoo that adorns the man before her resides just out of view on her shoulder.

    "Come. We've much to discuss on short time."

    She nodded her head and followed the man through the gardens and into the main villa. Whatever matters he wanted to discuss she could not tell, but the unpleasant mood his face portrayed made her uneasy.








    empty
NOTHING


 
Morgrim looked at the small wolf girl as she reached into her pocket with sharp, attentive, hawk-like eyes. Now that Morgrim was close to her he could sense all the death on her, much like himself. As she laid down a letter on the table, he saw the stamp of a guide, and he relaxed. He could piece it together now, that was the very same assassin he was looking for. “Well, you must be Roxii then.” He said neutrally, as if they were simple acquaintances, though far more handshaking would be going on in the dealings in the near future, he was sure of it.



“I'm sure you know this, but I am here to hire you, I'm about to under take a dangerous job, and well I will need a dangerous sort of allies to have any chance of making it through the job alive.” He went into further details about the plan, first that there was another person he would have to hire. A warrior that was known pretty much all throughout Landfall, the Arena champion of Oweumont, a port city far to the east. He went further on to detail about how he would have to fight in the same such arena as to earn the champion's favor. Even before their journey started it was going to prove to be a daunting task.



He moved on next to how when the team was assembled they would have to head to the Ashkii forest, a place where faeries and elves had made their home, but a place that had been quickly dying for no explainable reason. Most of the inhabitants had gone missing, or found dead, and the forest looked as if all the magic had been sucked out of it. Trees that had withered and decayed, the sky blotted out by a blanket of ash. A once beautiful and peaceful habitat had turned barren, and he was going to find out why. After laying out the details he licked his lips and took a drink, as he had been rambling for a good few minutes.



“Oh and there is one other thing. I do not actually have the money for your sign on bonus per-say, but I know where to get it. Second place in the Arena is a reward of one thousand gold pieces, you come with me, and it will be yours once I get it.” He said rather sure of himself. He had no plans to win first place, he knew he couldn't win with Guinevere as the champion. He had heard stories of the woman ripping a man's arm out of its socket and beating him to death with it. Was that true, he did not know. He knew that anyone that could hold that position for years was not someone to take lightly. So he would aim for second place, something he knew he could actually win. “So what do you say, shall we get going?” He asked the assassin.
 

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Health: 72%

  • Tags: Morg Morg | Federoff Federoff

    Addressed: Morgrim Hemwick

    Mentioned: Guinevere [Very Vaguely] | Falaern Damaer
The assassin noted Morgrim's attentiveness towards her and her actions. The way his back stiffened, his shoulders slightly more squared, his fingers tensed; all telltale signs of someone who didn't trust the other entirely. She almost chuckled at his nervousness. He was right to not feel entirely comfortable in her presence; she was a killer-for-hire, after all. Death was her art form, and living beings were her canvas. She was comfortable doing what most could never do: murdering innocent people. She ran a no-questions-asked business, and sometimes that came with unfortunate results.

Just as Master Damaer informed her, the Guide got straight to the point for his seeking her out. As a precautionary measure, the shadowy rogue gathered the shadows around them and formed them into an almost impossibly thin barrier around the booth they occupied. With a soft "Rosze'a", Roxii transformed the shadows into something more like as sound barrier rather than a defensive shield. It would not be visible by the naked eye, but it could be sensed by other magic users. Due to its thinness, anyone could easily pass through it still.

Once she was sure no one would be able to eavesdrop on their conversation, Roxii listened to what the Guide had to say. He sought to enlist the aid of another from Oweumont. She half-wondered if she knew the person he was talking about, but she doubted it; that would be too much of a coincidence. As he continued informing her of the current situation of Landfall, she found that she... honestly didn't care. The magical essence of the land was disappearing? The very thought of it almost made her erupt in laughter. It sounded absurd to her. Perhaps there was just someone who was abusing their newfound magic, or there was someone testing out new potions. She was sure that the Ashkii Forest would be fine. A temporary problem that would end up fixing itself in time. As Landfall had always done. The land didn't need its inhabitants to babysit it.

As for the Ashkii Forest's inhabitants, perhaps the new magic user went in way over their head or the potions tester poisoned a water source. Disappearances and mysterious deaths were nothing new to the Lythari. She was an assassin, after all; causing people to disappear and die mysteriously was a part of her job description. It was somewhat sad that the faeries and elves were suffering such terrible fates, especially to such an inexperienced being with more power than it could handle, but its not like the faeries and purebred elves ever cared about her race. It wasn't like they sought to protect the Lythari when they were suffering prosecution and enslavement when—

The hybrid shook the thoughts and memories away. That was long ago. No need to dwell on the past, now.

"I do not actually have the money." An ear twitched at the honesty that laced his words. If it were up to her, she'd have impaled the man with his own exposed bones and left him for the crows. She'd have laughed at the man and walked out on him, leaving him to figure out how to complete his mission on his own. Perhaps his other enlistment would join him.

But it wasn't up to her. Roxii was suddenly very aware of the steel collar clamped around her throat, the electricity within buzzing violently. She gulped silently, and she could've sworn the metal tightened slightly to constrict the action. Her fingers went to slightly tighten the cloak that covered her, hiding the collar more than before. Not like it could've been seen before. But to have this Guide see her like this—to have anyone see her like this—it would absolutely ruin her; her reputation, her pride. It was humiliating.

The wolf-elf hesitated for a moment. How far was the range on the remote Master Damaer possessed? Could she abandon this forced mission? Perhaps she could disappear like she did before and figure out how to get this blasted collar off. And then she'd go and find Falaern and make him regret his actions. She could leave. She just needed to take the risk.

But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't afraid. What if she couldn't leave? What if he allowed the electricity to gorge itself upon her again? There was no way he'd allow her out of his sight, out of his range. I am always watching he had said, and there was not a doubt in her mind that he wasn't bluffing. He was here, and he was watching her every move. He might quite possibly be reading her every thought, for all she knew. Even when she was a part of the Crimson Shadow all those years ago and was his closest pupil, when she had considered him father, he was still a mystery. She had no idea who he was, nor what he was capable of. And she still didn't know.

Roxii sighed in defeat. "Very well," she responded. The wolf-elf recalled that when she was out earlier, the day was growing cooler as the sun sank below the horizon. She wondered what time of day—or night—it was now. Either way, it was probably best for them to take the night to rest and set out at first light.

 
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The truth was that Morgrim did not know what exactly he was getting into with this assassin. He knew he was taking a risk on it, if his prior physical expressions did not reveal that. It was going to be his job to teach this ruthless assassin that there was more to life than just money and murder. That there was still some good left in the world, and it was up to people like him to protect it with their lives. Landfall's problems never just 'fixed' themselves, at each great calamity there were a group of brave heroes, lead by a guide making the difference. His mind went over all these things, but as she agreed to go with him his focus shifted back his day dreams to the present.


“Excellent, I am glad to hear it. I'm a bit taken aback, I was worried you would be displeased about the pay not being immediate, but maybe there is more to it for you than just money.” He said, and if only he knew the real reason she was tagging along, the fact that she had become a hostage, and sent to sabotage him.


“You get some rest now, night is falling. Meet me by the eastern gates in the morning, we'll make our journey then.” He stated matter-of-factually. They had a half day's journey east to the nearest port city, and then take a boat to Oweumont where they would actually be able to pick up the second member for their journey.


Morgrim wished the assassin well, none the wiser of her shock collar, and her current allegiances, and left the tavern. He had his own home in this city, a humble two story dwelling with a stone roof, wood walls and foundation. Ravenscrye sat near the center of Landfall and as such it was almost perpetually summer, insulation was not a thing to fuss over, so most buildings were of simple design. He stepped inside, door already unlocked just as he left it. He trusted everyone in this town, and they him.


There was a massive hearth sitting in the middle back part of the room, farthest from where he entered, and the walls were lined with shelves that had all sorts of text, scrolls, tomes, and alchemical ingredients. A place right at home for any wizard or mage. There was a small stove, and icebox a few steps away from it giving off a bad smell. He hadn't been here in weeks, and the food was clearly spoiled, smelling of old meat, and rotted vegetables. The smell was no worse than him, and he was tired so he surrendered himself to get rid of it in the morning. He headed up the stairs, to a small dwelling almost like an attic. There was the master and spare bedroom, and had retreated to the master bedroom. Dropping himself on the bed covered in animal furs, and resting his head against the feather filled pillows, letting himself slink into the land of dreams.


His dreams were plagued by nightmares, or more accurately memories. Every night he had closed his eyes, he would see a paladin warband, see torches and bloodstained swords. Of his family and friends running, and pleading, not raising a weapon in retaliation. At the center of it all there was a cloaked figure surrounded by black wispy smoke, guttural whispers coming from all around it. Morgrim couldn't understand the words, other than two “Find me.” it said, and then Morgrim came crashing back, and awoke in a cold sweat. His familiar was perched on a bird stand.


The familiar took the form of a Raven, only one that shared a body like Morgrim's; rotted and decayed. Morgrim knew it bothered his pet conscious far less than his own body bothered him. “More bad dreams master? Perhaps you should listen to what they have to say?” When the beast spoke it sounded like it's throat was missing a few pieces, and parts, and that it had been bloated with blood or oil. Morgrim shared a deeper connection with the beast, and even if other's could not fully understand the undead birds words, he could.


“Kind of hard to do that when they only person saying anything in the dream is talking like you after twelve drinks.” He said glaring at the bird. “I know you can see my dreams can't you make anything of it?” He asked his familiar.


“Sorry master, I am only a part of your consciousness, perhaps if you were smarter I could tell you something useful.” If the bird could grin maliciously at his own insult he would be.


“Well aren't you fucking helpful, here maybe do something useful. Keep an eye on the assassin. Stay out of sight, and tell me what you find.” Morgrim commanded, and the bird vanished in a haze of smoke, the only sign there he was there a very faint magical signal that it would take a master to sense. There was still another two hours until sunrise, but Morgrim knew he would not be falling back asleep. He stretched his withered body, popping bones, and cracking joints, after he was done his little dance he let out a sigh of satisfaction, seeing that he could still move everything.


Remembering the spoiled smell of the fridge he went to the heart and started a fire. He put in some logs that were sitting nearby, tossed them into the stone furnace, and cast a spark from his hand, and ignited them instantly. A simple cantrip good for creating light or starting fires, but didn't actually do much against an armored foe. When the fire was crackling and roaring at him and spitting embers he went to the fridge and tossed all the spoiled food into it. Better to burn it up then throw it outside the walls, and attract a beast. He took five days rations from a cupboard plus some trail mix, and left his home when the food had all but disintegrated. After making any final preparations the sun was finally breaching the skyline, and painting the skies in the early morning shades and hues. His Raven Luna returned to him on his way to the gate and would fill him in all the details, or none if nothing of note had happened.


Morgrim stood before the assassin. “I hope you slept well, we should be making it to Oweumont by late afternoon, then I'll be entering into the arena, this should give you some room to look about and relax.”


And then on a mostly quiet journey they departed, Morgrim taking up his stead. He could easily see that Roxii was not one for small talk, if ever he did try to say something it was usually met with silence or a passive aggressive stare. Morgrim reigned in his attempt to strike conversation with her for now. He'd have to wait until she got to know him better, and was more open to the idea of sharing. The rest of the journey was quiet.


Several hours later they made it to the nearest port city; Riverden, and payed the fee for the next boat to Oweumont, twenty silvers, nearly the last of his money on hand. Morgrim would have to hope the longer he holds onto his Guide position the more it would pay in the future. Now thoroughly broke they were heading to one of the wealthiest cities in all of Landfall, if there was any time to pick up coin for an adventure it would be there. It was smooth sailing, the boat was large, and had three separate floors, bottom being storage and bunks, mid floor being for rowers, a good number of which were slaves, and top floor being the deck where Morgrim spent most of his time. He socialized with the few people who would actually talk to him, and picked up any sort of information he could. He learned something of interest.


The man talking to him told him of the King of Ellanor, and how in the past ten years he went from being a strict but charitable leader, providing safe haven for thousands of people, and over that time seemingly in an instant went from a good king, and friend to many, into a tyrant, more than tripling the guard, and hauling people away for the smallest slight. Morgrim promised himself he would look into it when he could, but he had troubles of his own to worry about right now.


During the trip a storm had started to pick up, fiercely guarding the city of Oweumont. The boat rocked and swayed, and the captain yelled orders for the rowers to pick up the speed, lest they get carried away on the rising waves. After about a half hour peaking through the storm clouds, and the rain the city came into view. Even in such unfavorable weather it was a sight to behold. Mixing natural architect with human ingenuity it was like a fortress city. Natural defenses by ways of bottle-necked entry points, a singular massive, and well fortified dock, and high cliffs that Morgrim had no doubt the city could dump pitch and boulders onto invading ships. While Morgrim would love to get to see the sights of the city, he had a singular focus right now, competing in the arena, and earning council with Guinevere. The arena is question was not hard to see at all, a massive structure hundreds of meters wide and long, and spanning probably forty meters high if he had to guess.


“That's our target, let's go.” He said to the wolf elf, and made his way to the building. There was an arena for anyone who wished to fight, handing out a arm ribbon with red, and bearing the mark of the city, was a small fat man. He jubilantly greeted everyone who stood up, and Morgrim did the same, and he gave Morgrim one of the ribbons, of which in the box there were hundreds. It would be a slaughter. “I'll see you after the fight, feel free to look around, or watch if you like.” He said to Roxii, and donned the ribbon, heading inside where he would have to wait for someone to summon him to the fight.
 

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Health: 81%

  • Tags: Morg Morg

    Addressed: Morgrim Hemwick | Falaern Damaer

    Mentioned: N/A
"Maybe there is more to it for you than just money." The wolf-elf huffed at the n'til'nond. If only he knew. She expected the Guide to be surprised at her willingness to accept his invitation. After all, what possible gain could the assassin acquire joining this man she just met as he traveled Landfall to chase a mystery? He didn't need to know the truth, though. He could believe whatever he wanted, whether that be she just wanted her pay and then she'd bail, or that she was just bored and wanted a little more "fun" in her life. She wished it were one of those reasons and not the fact that someone was watching her from the shadows, pulling the strings...

Her half-ear twitched at the subtle command to rest. Roxii was a bit disappointed that night had fallen so quickly. She was hoping to begin the mission as soon as possible. The sooner they began, the sooner she could complete her part of the deal. It wasn't like she needed the rest. The rogue had gone at least a week without sleep on multiple occasions. Some missions required her undivided attention for many consecutive hours, and since she ran a solo business, she was the only one who could complete the tasks. Though if she were honest with herself, she ought to value the rest she'd get tonight. There was no telling how long this mission could last.

The realization settled within her and created a yawning pit of dread. How long exactly would this mission take? Days? Weeks? Months? She wasn't sure if she could even survive the circumstances for more than a week. She was strong, but to have this steel collar, this dangerous, shining beacon that screamed "I have been bested!" to all who looked upon her for gods know how long... What would she do then? This terrible fate would either drive her insane or she'd end up dying by her own hand. How poetic.

Roxii nodded respectively towards Morgrim as he bid her good night, silently dropping the sound barrier as he left. She ought to take him up on his suggestion; she'd need as much of her strength as possible to survive this ordeal. Within minutes, she had purchased a room from the tavern's barkeep, found the room, and locked the door behind her when she'd entered. It was a simple room, one that she was familiar with from her previous times here at Ravenscrye. A cheap mattress sat in the far corner with a small chest as its foot for personal belongings. A simple wooden table and two chairs took up the adjacent corner, and a small bowl of ripened fruits sat atop the table.

The Lythari sighed as she sat upon the bed. She could already tell that the night would be full of tossing and turning, and she couldn't help but wonder when would be the next time she'd be able to sleep in her own bed again. There was no point in dwelling on possibilities. She needed to focus on now. And right now, she needed to rest for the night. Roxii removed her weapons from her person—though opting to keep her daggers underneath her pillow—and took off her cloak, pouches, and bags of essentials. A hand went to the collar again, and she tried to see if she could find a seam in the metalwork. Wherever it was, it was either smoothed over, or there wasn't one to begin with. The latter thought made a shiver run down her spine. She cast the thoughts away and laid down on the bed, trying to clear her mind for a dreamless slumber.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

The night was far from restful. There were times that she had begun to sleep—or at least started to doze off—, but her mind kept replaying the pain that enveloped her as she writhed from the electricity that was oh, so close to her. Every time, she was met with her own agonizing screams, and there were times that it never stopped. And every time, Master Damaer was in the shadows, watching her with a malicious grin upon his face.

So instead of trying to sleep, she instead allowed herself to just lay in bed for hours. It got boring after a while, so she started thinking about the journey ahead of her. What could Master Damaer hope to achieve from her efforts? She was doubting the Guide's words when he explained the situation to her, and she still didn't care, but now she was starting to have second thoughts. If Falaern was having her sabotage Morgrim's mission, then perhaps what the Guide was saying was true... But why would Master Damaer want her to keep him from figuring out the truth? What was Master Damaer hiding?

"That is not for you to know, mia daja." Within a second, Roxii had her daggers pointed towards the voice defensively. Her shadows passed over the man, and it revealed to her the last person she wanted to see. Falaern looked the same as before: cloaked in mystery, magic enveloping him in strong waves. It was... intimidating, almost.

The assassin could tell that her room was surrounded in the male's magic, similar to that of her magic but much stronger, and she wondered if it was for the same reasons that she had hidden her conversation with Morgrim last night. "It is," he confirmed verbally. Her brow furrowed in annoyance at his lack of consideration for her privacy. "What news do you have for me?" he asked of the wolf-elf, ignoring her irritation.

Roxii lowered her weapons slowly. "Could you not see that for yourself?" Her response was cold and malicious. If this man could watch her every move, read her every thought, why did he have to request details from her? If he already knew everything that was going on, why did she need to repeat it?

A short shock sent the wolf-elf to her knees as her weapons clattered to the floor. She gasped as her heart hammered against her chest. "We're going to have to work on your attitude. You were never this disobedient when you were with the Crimson Shadow." The room was silent for a moment, save for the wolf-elf's ragged breathing as she tried to regulate her beating heart. "Your magic is stronger than I remember. An effect of learning Xeigin, no doubt," Falaern admitted. Roxii silently wondered how he knew of her relatively newfound knowledge. "I could only gather bits and pieces of your conversation past your magic, so I want you to fill in the blanks."

The wolf-elf sighed and recounted the night's events to the leader of the Crimson Shadow. He was silent the entire time, and his face relayed no emotions whatsoever. The source of her own stoic demeanor. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, and it terrified her. When she had finished, Falaern only gazed at her for a few moments, allowing the information to sink in. "You are doing well. I will see you next in Oweumont." And with that, Master Damaer disappeared on a silent wind, his suffocating magic going with him.

It only took her a few minutes to don her cloak and equipment, munching on an apple as she did so. When she had prepared herself, Roxii began making her way to the Ravenscrye gates, arriving at the perfect time. She could feel the slight change in temperature as the suns broke the horizon. She huffed at the Guide's greeting but stayed silent. She was interested in their next destination, however. Oweumont was a great city, one that harbored many opportunities for people of all walks of life. Even for Roxii, and she wondered if she could perhaps discover some quick jobs while she was in town.

Until then, she'd have to endure the company of the foul-smelling Guide. In silence, hopefully.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

Most of the journey was silent, fortunately. Morgrim had attempted to strike up a conversation or two with the assassin via small talk, but he had learned quickly that she was not sociable. She hated small talk, even more so than just talking. At least he had respected her wont for silence. Most ignored her wishes and tested how far they could push her. It never ended well for her companions.

When they arrived at Riverden, she realized she was in for a treat. Boats were not... fun for the blind Lythari. Yes, she could still "see" her surroundings to an extent, but not being able to actually see, to be rocking back and forth at the mercy of the water's movements... It left her feeling nauseous for the entirety of the ride, and she opted to sit next to the railing in case her body decided to empty the contents of her stomach. And when she heard the rolling thunder in the distance over the crashing waves and caws of sea birds, she attempted to brace herself for the worst. It wasn't enough, of course. The rough waters tossed the boat and sea- and rain-water soaked her. At some point during the storm, her body had succumbed to the nausea, and the apple she'd eaten that morning had gone into the raging waters.

She was beyond relieved when they arrived in Oweumont. The storm clouds had refused to dissipate, but she'd rather endure the storm on land than on sea. While Morgrim attempted to situate himself with the layout of Oweumont, searching for their destination, Roxii opted to limit her use of magic and instead use her hidden longsword as a form of maneuvering the crowds. She'd still send out very small pulses of her magic, but she'd rather reduce the chances for the residents of Oweumont to know she was there. There were still some who wished to find Lythari slaves for their households or businesses, and one with magic would be a valuable find. She tugged her cloak closer to her and flattened her ears against her head in an attempt to make herself look uninteresting and small—well, smaller.

"That's our target." Roxii brought her attention back to the Guide and was slightly annoyed with the first words he'd spoken to her since the beginning of their travels. Her shadows couldn't go that far. Though she suspected it was because he'd never had a blind person accompany him. It wasn't like many blind people survived the perils of life. The blind rogue didn't respond as she followed Morgrim closely as he wound his way towards the arena. She watched as he donned one of the contestant's ribbons, and she half-wondered if the ribbon could sever his arm if tightened to tightly. He bid her farewell, and she waited as he disappeared into the crowds.

She wondered what she could do while waiting. She could go bide her time in a nearby tavern. Surely she could get a nice glass or two in the wealthiest city in Landfall, and perhaps gather some information from the barkeep. Were there any quick jobs she could complete while here? It was worth a shot. Roxii began making her way to the nearest bar when someone strode up next to her. "You are to stay with the Guide."

Roxii frowned. "He is going to win the favor of the council to gather the attention of the Champion, Master," she responded matter-of-factly. "I do not feel that I need to babysit the Guide. I am sure he can fend for himself."

Falaern stopped, forcing her to stop with him. "Perhaps, but I need you to make sure I have him alive. You are to make sure the Guide does not fall at the hands of his competitors." And with that, Master Damaer walked away, disappearing into the Oweumont crowds without a trace.

The Lythari sighed in aggravation before turning on her heel and heading back towards the arena. At least he wasn't asking her to join the arena. She felt no desire to fight to the death against unknown foes. She'd already done her part in the Pits. All she needed to do was sit in the stands and keep an eye on the Guide. If it looked like he were going to lose, then she just needed to tip the scales a bit. That shouldn't be too hard... But she couldn't see. Which meant she needed to risk her location with her magic to keep this n'til'nond alive. She could already tell that this was going to be the worst mission she had ever partaken in.

 
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604145

The Dragon



  • A Fateful Storm





    Fire crackled brightly in the fireplace, the smell of wood burning filled the interior with a light, smokey smell. Warmth illuminated the dining hall, a sharp contrast to the cold storm that had taken hold over the city. Muffled winds and the pattering of rain could faintly be heard from the residents inside the villa. Inside the dinning hall sat two individuals across from each other with a fine meal prepared for them by the lord's personal staff. In contrast to the wild and unrurly gladiator, the lord ate little and sat with dignity and grace. He sipped from his small glass of wine. The taste of fermented fruit was something that, in contrast to the others of Oweumont, DeRosso consumed in moderation. He placed his empty glass down on the table and continued to speak once again. "Are we clear?" Through the soft clanging of silverware and the quiet sounds of deliciously prepared fine meats, slices of bread, and wines being consumed delightfully, Lord DeRosso's voice rung from the opposite side of the long dining table. Despite his austere deminer, the man still spoke and moved with the elegance and grace that one would expect from a man of his position. As head of House Rose, one of the founding houses of Oweumont, Lusciun DeRosso II fixated himself on perfection and control. His every move was perfection and his every action was a grab for control. A sharp contrast to herself. Guinevere found it hard to act in the desired way in the higher echelons of Oweumont, and instead found solace in remaining quiet until spoken to.

    The woman, ever on guard, stacked her plate full of the next serving of food she replied with a simple confirmation. It had been weeks since her last proper meal. During her travels, she relied heavily on rations, similar to the other soldiers that she was assigned to. She knew what awaited her and took advantage of the meal laid out in front of them. From the sounds of it, she wouldn't see a meal like this again for a while. She would need all the strength she could muster.

    "You understand your orders?"

    Like a dog eating its first meal after several days without a successful hunt, the gladiator tore through her meal with haste and ferocity."Understood"
    she replied in between the mouthfuls of pork and bread.

    "Good." Still, adorn in his cloak and silks the man rose, his own armor, adorned with the sigil and color scheme of his house banner, making no sound in comparison to the gladiators own armor. "I have business to attend to then. I will see you when its time"

    Bidding the Lord farewell, Guinevere found herself left alone in the lit chambers of the dining hall. The ambient atmosphere was all that filled the silence she found herself in. Not even allowed time to rest, she already had a heavy plate in front of her. She sighed and continued to finish her meal.

    After finishing her meal she found herself wandering the streets of Oweumont. Even during rain, the city was still alive and bustling. Tarps were set up through much of the city, allowing for a less wet journey. But she did not mind the rain. Even with thunder being heard in the distance she found herself strolling through with no urgency

    Slowly she found herself passing by the Pýrgos Market and out towards the outer walls of the city. Outside the occasional guard passing her by, she found little traffic on her way to the edge of the city. Few people cared to be out during this time. She found and spoke with a few of the guards, easily gaining access to the large three rings of walls that guarded the city. By the time she ascended to the top of the second wall, the storm was in full swing. Standing atop the wall she had no protection from the storm. She felt the battering of icy raindrops on her bare face and the strong gales whipping away at her.

    Standing atop the wall she could see outstretched lands that went on for nearly two miles. Even now, years after the incursion, she could still smell the brimstone and feel the ringing of cannons in her bones. Green no longer grew in this area. All of it had been burnt away; all that was left was the rubble and debris from the chaos. Scattered across the land you could still see the pillars of holy light that were called down from above during the fight, still burning with the same intensity from Oloma's flame that day. She could still remember the power of that cleric. Guinevere was glad that she was on their side that fateful war. During the night time the fountain of light, as the citizens liked to call it, was a beautiful show not seen anywhere else, but for her, all it did was remind her of all the men that died in the service of their city that day.

    Lightning and Thunder crackled in the heavy clouds above her, seizing her from those distant memories. She lifted her head high and into the low hanging sky and breathed in the cool air. She stared silently into the rumbling skyline, her gaze fixated on the clouds themselves. Calloused fingers, worn from years of combat, smoothed over the symbol dangling from the necklace she kept hidden around her neck. A single cloud with a bolt of lightning extending from the cloud. She felt at peace. It was rare for her, but these storms always gave her peace of mind. And this one was no exception. Or was it?

    With every flash of lightning and every strike of thunder she swore she could hear something. Something that resided deep within the hot bolts of white radiance and deep echoes reverberating with each blast of thunder. She felt something faint tug against her mind. She thought...no she was sure. This storm was not natural, it was a warning...

    A warning for something...

    Something was coming...

    And she would be ready for it...









    empty
NOTHING


 
Morgrim was finally led into one of the 'waiting rooms' by a figure clad in golden, and green silks. The man was a pig if he ever saw one, bloated and fat, haven put more care into maintaining his beard hairs then given thought to the people about to be butchered. Someone who was happy to feast on the spoils while other's risked their lives, while Morgrim was about to risk his life. When he was guided to a room that had been soaked seven times over in the blood of those who managed to stagger back after the fight, or perhaps also from those dead, mutilated bodies being dragged through. The very room smelled of metal and rust, blood clouding his senses. At least the ones he had been surrounded by were fellow volunteers, people very clearly seeking their fame, or maybe just risking life and limb to get an ultimate close up of the steel dragon in action. He would have hated it if he was lumped in with the common criminals.


Morgrim did not count himself among them, not a single one. He could see each of them had young eyes, and despite everything around them bore a smile that said they could fight, that they could win. Morgrim bore no such smile, and while yes he sought the steel dragon his plan was to get her to do something even more, to participate more than just in a blood sport. People all around him were talking, showing off with each other, Morgrim his deigned to make himself small, he hid in a corner, keep his features well hidden. As he looked over them all they had been wearing armor, simple breast plates, helmets with red crests, bracers and leather sandals. They all dressed the part, and while many had different styles, they all fit into the same theme. Morgrim however did not wear any such armor. Maybe he was suicidal, or just not that festive, but he never relied on any sort of metal or traditional armor. He was one of the last necromancers in the world, he was not some common warrior, his very bones were an impregnable armor, and a sword of personal judgment. He swore to himself he would not die here, for the very fate of the world hung in the balance.


The same such fat man from earlier came down into the pits, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and idly scratching his abundant chest hair. He summoned the warriors in this current room, and sent them through a great portcullis in a long hallway leading directly up to the sands of the arena, Morgrim lagging behind them all. This was probably a good time to explain one of Morgrim's abilities, a special thing that magic could not replicate. His cursed body had additional bones in both his arms and legs, detached from any joint or muscle, but serving as a malleable bone supply for some of his spells, such as bone melding. As he was walking up behind the group and cut his right arm where the forearm met the wrist, and physically tore out a long bone, its shape melding into that of a short sword with a curved edge. It was sharper than any normal steel, and just as easily durable. The blade was already coated in his blood, and while it hurt like hell to do that, he did not trust normal metal over his own powers. He made another cut on his left arm, but left the wound open, he didn't pull any bone out of it, not yet at least, just a contingency.


The signal had been declared, the die cast. The battle had started, and Morgrim took one last look over everyone, and it was easy to see the criminals, from the actual fighters. The fighters all wore armor, and had fine looking weapons, plus the band that each of them wore. The criminals on the other had, had looked beaten, starved, filthy, and used crude weapons with little to no armor. This was not a place for the wrong doers to earn their freedom, it was not a place for them to earn glory, it was a place for them to die, and Morgrim would have no issue delivering them to their fate. It was then his raven had made himself known to Morgrim. The bird cackled in a raspy voice at the impending carnage.


“I think someone will be most pleased. You've worked yourself so hard master, why don't you send some guilty souls to the afterlife to cheer you up.” The bird roared out in a guttural laughter, as if made with power.


“Not now you filthy scavenger, I need to focus.” Was all Morgrim managed to say, as some of the criminals had taken notice of a robed, unarmored man, and saw it as an easy kill, a means to acquire a weapon that would likely not break after two swings. Three of them, who looked like friends made out of desperation charged him. Morgrim countered the first swing made at him, and as he deflected the sword to the side, he stepped into the foe, and plunged the sword right into his stomach, and twisting the blade. In another swift motion he tore the blade to the left, and ripped through his flesh and bone letting his guts spill out. The two left looked on in horror, as their friend had just lost the better part of his stomach, and the contents within. They faltered for a moment, but both came at him. Morgrim side stepped, and plunged the blade into his chest, then he tackled into his body to send the blade poking out through his backside right into the second criminal, skewering both of them. They barely got to scream, and Morgim's boots and pants had been soaked with what remained of the three hopefuls. Morgrim went almost exclusively after the weaker targets, letting gladiators fight among themselves. He cut through people like a bloody swathe, whenever a fellow fighter went to attack him he aimed for their arms and legs, settling for countering and baiting out attacks. He did not posses quite the same speed and strength some of these fighters did, but he had a sharp mind, and could predict their attacks. He played every person before him like a piece on a chest board, manipulating their attack patterns, and landing non-lethal blows.


The fight went on quickly, and it was a blood bath. He had killed twelve, and disabled five others, that was until his bird whispered something in his ear. “You better look out master.” Giving the warning all too late, a lion had jumped on Morgrim's back and was frantically clawing at him with razor sharp claws. He'd suffered a few bad cuts on his arm, but using a spell amidst the chaos, four skeletal hands reached up from the sand underneath him, and each brandishing a sword, they stabbed into the belly of the beast again and again, until Morgrim was sure it was truly dead, he canceled out the spell, none were likely to see it, but those deeply intune with magic could have felt something, something small but there. He pushed the hulking beast off of him, now drenched head to toe in blood, and cut up badly on some parts of his body he looked around and saw that there were now only two standing. It was him, and Guinevere, the one he had come to find and recruit to his suicide mission.


Morgrim stood there, black robes torn and blood soaked, and a dripping red sword made from bone in his right hand, he looked like the reaper to collect a lost soul. He heaved a heavy breath, and pointed his sword at her, like a compass points north. “I'm ah-” He panted finding his words and licking his lips. “So glad I get this chance to talk to you. I have a favor to ask of you, I need your help in a quest. The world hangs in the balance.” He knew though deep down, there was no point in talking now. They were two fighters of different strokes in an arena bathed in gore, and still as he stood it was a stepping stone for her. He was a person standing in the way of her title, and he damn well knew she wasn't going to hand it over. “So what say we get a drink after this... nasty business. I'll warn you though I won't hold back.” He said standing on guard and preparing for an attack from the champion, one that would hopefully not break his nose.


Javax Javax Federoff Federoff
 

604504

The Dragon



  • A merciful Storm





    Thunder cracked the air, threatening to tear asunder the very heavens themselves. Like the ash from a volcano, so to did the thunder roll with a booming rumble unmatched and unchallenged. It declared the raw power within these livid black clouds, reared up like a cobra readying itself for an attack. They spat lightning mercilessly onto the pitiful scene below, which cut through the sky not unlike burning venom. In a storm it can be tough to recall the light, hard to see the temporary nature of such beasts. But with each jagged bolt of white-hot fury the sky's above sent below illumination materialized for but a moment of a clock. And with this small window of time, the true nature of the beast was revealed.

    Annihilation had ensued, men and women alike lay strewn across the floor, the walls and floor painted crimson red with the blood of the slain gladiators; both alive and dead. Like marching to the beat of a drum, so to did each groan of pain and whimper escape the living and the conscious. Although some remained alive, it was impossible to tell as the winds had carried away any semblance of difference between life and death. It screamed like a banshee, harvesting the souls of the deceased. Matching the electrifying atmosphere that rested above with their own, the crowd continued to cheer at the bloodied scene in front of them.

    With brutal efficiency, the gladiator, now soaked in excess blood, had quickly and mercilessly torn apart her competition. Each swing of her sword tore apart the human flesh with the same precision and strength as the bolts raining down from above. The Dragon moved through the Coliseum like a hurricane, unrelenting and without apathy for her foes. Her eyes glowed with a white-hot rage, unrelenting. and unyielding like her fists. But it was not a wild rage, no, it was a tempered one. Tempered by her iron will, she was not a wild or crazy beast. She was a dragon, powerful and ferocious, but still cognizant.

    She leaped onto her final victim and plunged the same spear he fought with into his chest. She rose and walked away from the man's bleeding corpse, leaving him another corpse in a sea of numberless bodies. She saw her last remaining competitor and waded towards them through the bodies. Her eyes, still a tempered rage, analyzed the man as the two slowly drew nearer the center. She had watched this man fight from the corner of her eyes. This robed figure fought like a fencer, with precisions and counter-attacks. His weapons, clearly made from bone, were all he held. As she drew closer, through the corners she saw the red eyes of DeRosso silently gazing from the top of the Coliseum. She nodded.

    Just then, for a split second, she recognized that a voice spoke. The words shook and faltered, signifying that his wounds were severe. He stumbled over himself, trying to find breath for each word. Her face was unreadable, her rage hid any emotion or thoughts she had. Before he could finish his last word she launched a dagger she had picked up an early contestant. She continued forward and threw another dagger. Each body she passed she would rip the weapon from and launch it at the unarmored man. He would have to dodge or deflect, lest he sustains even more wounds. And with each step she took, he would have to back away. A single swing of her sword would be all she needed to end the fragile man's life. She led him further back until she had him where she wanted him. With one quick motion, she threw two more daggers at the man, both aimed at his forearms. She darted forward and as she did she launched her heavy bastard sword right at his face. He would have to evade this one, it was already too heavy for most warriors to even throw. And the daggers thrown made sure he would have to duck.

    The bastard sword broke through the Coliseum with a large thud, pinning the cloak and the man both to the wall.

    Through this the gladiator's momentum did not stop. Her feet continued to pound towards him. He could not do anything to stop her armored momentum nor flee from her. He fell right for her trap and was now pinned between a dragon and the wall. The Jagged bolts that had endlessly protruded from the clouds now struck down on the Coliseum with undying flashes of radiance. Small threads of charged energy that remained after each strike danced around her with wild movements. With a blink of an eye she appeared in front of Morgrim. She did not need a weapon for she was a weapon. Her fist, draped in lightning, was death itself. With the weight of her entire body behind it, her swift punch came for Morgrim and with a single blow death was inevitable.

    With a deafening slam, her fist entered the stone adjacent to the man's head. As her fist pierced the wall a roaring discharge of lightning glided over her arm and into the wall. A small dust cloud exploded from the wall, covering the two for the briefest of moments. And in this short period of time she looked down at the man and her expression returned to normal. "Very well" She whispered before effortlessly ripping her hand, and bastard sword, out of the wall and walking back over to the metal gate in which she entered.

    As the dust cloud parted ways te brass echo of a bell rung through the air once again, signaling the end of the event.

    "THE DRAGON HAS SHOW MERCY! OUR WINNER IS CLEAR AS SHE IS KIND"

    The crowd surged to their feet, or who remained sitting did, and the cacophony of cheering and screaming climaxed into one loud symphony. Guinevere waved to the crowd as she disappeared into the chambers below. And as she did the faintest smile parted through DeRossos' curled lips.










    empty
NOTHING


 
She was a feisty one was all Morgrim could manage to think before she chucked a couple of daggers at him, aimed at both of his arms. He dug his right hand into the gash in his left arm, and with a viscous rip, and a sound of flesh being torn he formed a bone shield. The first of the two daggers though did not reach him, he could feel a dark wind surround him, and push away the dagger. It was subtle, but it was surely there. He couldn't be sure if her aim had just been bad, or if there was some sort of intervention going on. The other dagger weakly bounced off of his shield, his bone stronger than the metal of the weapons that were being thrown at him.


Every time the raving woman threw a weapon at him she stepped closer, and he was forced to step back, but as he promised he wouldn't hold back, and not a weapon had actually hit him yet. With his right hand he threw some of his life force into the ground underneath Guinevere, and skeletal hands rose up to grab her, they did not brandish weapons, but had razor sharp claws, and they dug deeply into her flesh, akin to a bird's talons. They hungrily crawled up her leg and she would be forced to get rid of them while Morgrim could catch his breath and compose himself. He lowered his arm, and took a deep breath, but when he looked up the gladiator had crushed the heads of the skeletons underneath her foot.


The gladiator woman charged at him with a sword and aimed it at his head, Morgrim quickly raised his sword to block, but the force of it was too much, her strength outmatched his three times over, and he was forced to rest his shield against the flat end of his blade. Switching back to his duelist-esque fighting style he redirected the blow, and sent her sword into the ground. Overtaken by a primal bloodlust he headbutt her, that was truthfully not his smartest idea. A sliver of blood ran down his forehead and he was left with a headache, she looked completely unfazed. In fact she looked more pissed than ever, her eyes shone with hatred, and maybe a small amount of amusement, but this close to her he could feel her blood boiling. Morgrim quickly disengaged, but she moved like lightning, and threw a giant bastard sword directly at him. He went to dodge out of the way, but the weight and force of the weapon impaled thankfully not him, but his cloak to the wall. As he tried to free himself she stood before him in an instant. She had death in her eyes, but he stared back, no look of fear, only defiance. He was not afraid, and even if he was to perish here he fought a great last battle, he would not surrender, beg, or look weak. Her fist went right into the wall beside his head, and small stone rubble hit him against the head.


“I like this one master, much more lively then the mangy mutt you picked up. She also gave you a run for your money.” The bird chipped in with his happy bloated speech, clearly bemused by the whole situation that the one he oath sworn himself to was some easily battered away by an unruly woman. Morgrim simply acted like the bird was not there.


Then she spoke. “Very well.” Morgrim lowered his arms, and then gave a nod of assent. He did not come here to win the arena, he came to have a word in private with her, and it looks like he would get that. So he left, even if the people in the arena had seen him use magic, even if they boo'd him and threw things at him he didn't care. He succeeded and he didn't care what the people had to say about it. Now there was only one problem, where the hell was he suppose to meet her. Then a man approached Morgrim, he did not say much, but had an air of nobility about him, and every word was a command. “Come, she is waiting.”


Morgrim followed in silence, taking in the sights around them, they went into the market, and he could see since the storm has subsided, that everyone was out. The sounds of coin jingling in pockets was hypnotic, the clang of many small metal coins bouncing against each other, and the not so subtle ambiance of people trading goods, haggling and finding the best deals. The man paid them no heed, and took him into a little hidden away tavern. There the Dragon was sitting, Morgrim still feeling the stinging of his wounds. He took a seat in front of her, and began detailing what he knew so far, that a forest to the south had been dying, and the people turning up missing or dead, the magic from the land suffocated, and nothing left but a dead, ashen forest.
 

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Health: 84%

  • Tags: Morg Morg | Federoff Federoff

    Addressed: Falaern Damaer

    Mentioned: Morgrim Hemwick | Guinevere "The Dragon"
No one paid the cloaked figure any mind as she wound her way through growing crowds towards the Coliseum. The towering arena was a building that she had to admit was impressive. Even from what she could see—which wasn't much compared to how large the arena actually was—the details in the architecture, the massive size of the building, the absolute beauty of the piece was astonishing. It was a shame that the main purpose of the Coliseum was to host people from all walks of life in a battle to the death—or at least close to it. She was no stranger to death, and battles and contests excited her, but for something like this, perhaps a concert or a theater would be better fitting. Just let the criminals be put the death instead of pitting them against impossible odds as a form of entertainment.

At least Roxii was no longer a part of the entertainment. She'd done her part in the Pits, though she'd be lying if she said it wasn't a learning experience. The assassin had learned how to use her surroundings and her enemies to her advantage. Many of the times, she was given nothing to protect herself—no armor, no shields, no weapons. She was simply thrown into the Pit to battle against whatever the Blackshade had to throw at her: other prisoners, Blackshade fighters and champions, rabid animals, ferocious creatures from the depths of hell. But she had survived, and she had soon become the Blackshade's own champion in their Pit. So much so that they allowed her to become one of them. For a little while, at least.

Her shadows were reigned in closely as she relied on the cane in her grasp. It clicked on the ground as she tapped it, feigning the innocence of a blind traveler. Some gave her odd looks of shock or annoyance, but no one bothered her. She was surprised, to say the least. The rogue expected some skilled fingers to attempt to slip their way into her bags and steal from her, but no one dared touch the traveler. She wondered if it was because of the growing excitement as the festivities grew as the day wore on, not to mention that the battles were to begin soon. If she were in their shoes, this would be the perfect time to begin pick-pocketing. Everyone was distracted, on a high from the euphoria that overcame them. But she needed to keep a low profile, so there would be no thievery. Not right now.

It didn't take her long to make her way through the crowds, into the Coliseum, and taking up a spot close to the middle of the arena. She needed to keep an eye on the Guide, and she couldn't do that if she were hiding in the back. The droning of the crowds grew louder by the minute as people began to file into their seats, attempting to get as close to the battle as possible. They wanted to be able to see the fight, after all. She was a bit disappointed—and rather irritated—when a couple people took a seat next to her, but she knew it was inevitable. She was attending a public event, and she was near the front; of course there would be people seated near her. However, no one else sat on the other side of her, which allowed her to have a little bit of breathing room.

Roxii barely listened to the speech the elder man gave. She was never one for listening to the droning of men, and she wasn't going to start now. Instead, she allowed her shadows to creep through the Coliseum, allowing her to get a feel of the layout and how far she could monitor her surroundings. The shadowy rogue was in a good spot to keep an eye on Morgrim. However, if he happened to get pinned against the wall furthest from her, there would be nothing she could do to keep him from death. She supposed it wouldn't be so bad if that were to happen. She would have tried her best, given the circumstances, and Falaern would have no reason to have her on this mission anymore. It was a win-win situation in her mind.

Finally, the contestants began filing into the arena. The ones that bore the ribbon, like Morgrim, harbored useful armor and fine weaponry. They were looking to fight and to win, and there was nothing much to keep them from doing so except for their own skill. The criminals, however, were easy to identify. Starved bodies with little to no protection from the ones that had a chance. She knew what those criminals had endured beforehand. They most likely hadn't eaten in at least a week, water was a rarity, and their skin had paled since sunlight no longer existed in their lives. She couldn't tell if the storm overhead made them feel disappointed, that they would never see the sun again before their life was taken from them, or if it made them feel relieved that they would not be blinded by the sun as they emerged from the depths of darkness.

A knot formed in her chest. She knew what they felt.

"Now entering the stage... Our very own: The Dragon!" Roxii attention averted to the movement past the gates as the Oweumont Champion emerged into the arena. An ear flicked slightly as she allowed her shadows to pass over the woman. She could swear she knew this woman, this Champion, this Dragon. Could it be—?

"This will be a breeze for Guinevere." The young girl next to her was speaking briefly with her companion. A sly smirk crept onto the assassin's face. It was, indeed. It seems the Dragon had made a life for herself. Whether she was content with it or not, it was difficult to tell. But if the wolf-elf knew anything, it was that the Champion down in the arena was one who found peace in slaying men, much like she. It was rather convenient that the Guide wanted to enlist the aid of the woman that Roxii could call more than an acquaintance. Perhaps this journey wouldn't be so unbearable.

Though she was worried. This man wished to gather the attention of the Dragon, and that meant fighting face-to-face with the Dragon herself. There was no way he was a match for the Champion, and there was no telling whether or not the woman would not kill him. Unfortunately, for the wolf-elf, she'd have to try and keep the woman from killing him through her rage. She knew firsthand that Guinevere would be difficult to stop once she began her bloodshed.

And as she expected, the moment the signal touched the ground, Guinevere had sprung into action and had already taken the life of one of the contestants before the signal had even gotten a chance to settle on the ground. Likewise, the calculating Guide sized up his opponents and began fighting for his life, as well. She was impressed by the man's ability to fend for himself. He was not as frail as his appearance led others to believe. She was not surprised by this, however; she was a contrast to her own appearance, as well. Blood spilled into the ground in waves, and the tangy smell barraged her senses. She could practically taste the coppery tinge of blood from how much death was occurring in the immediate vicinity. Both Morgrim and Guinevere were skilled in combat, and it was intriguing to monitor their differing dances of death.

She saw it a mile away, the lion that was charging at the Guide with death in its eyes. Its fur was already soaked with blood, its mane matted and tangled. But the Guide was capable. and the Lythari was aware of that. His familiar—a bird that she'd grown to not care about—was his second set of eyes, warning him of the danger looming behind him. He was taken down and took a couple hits, but the animal soon fell by the hand of the n'til'nond's magic.

And as quickly as the fight began, it was down to two lone warriors: the hardy Guide and the renowned Champion. She was impressed by his ability to stay standing, but would the Dragon show mercy? She hoped not. Roxii refused to put her life on the line for the Guide, especially when the Oweumont Champion was the opponent. She'd fought Guinevere before. They were nearly evenly matched, but Roxii didn't want to fight the battle-hardened woman again. Their battle would not be a short one.

Roxii began gathering her shadows around Morgrim as he spoke to Guinevere. Her Lythari heritage allowed her to hear his invitation over the roaring of the crowd, but she couldn't tell if the woman heard him. Within moments, the Dragon began her descent upon the man with no remorse. She flung daggers and other small bladed weapons at Morgrim with deadly precision, though they were not killing blows. However, the Lythari manipulated her shadows around the Guide, carefully deflecting the weapons by small margins; she didn't want to make it obvious that he was being protected, but she also didn't want the man to become a walking pincushion.

And then Guinevere lobbed a sword at Morgrim. There was nothing that she could do to stop something that large without making her intervention known to the audience. Fortunately, it was not meant to be fatal. Instead the large bladed weapon caught the Guide's cloak and pinned him into the arena wall. The wall opposite of the assassin, furthest away from where she stationed herself and where her shadows couldn't reach. She could no longer monitor the Guide as the Champion advanced upon her opponent. A thunderous crack reverberated through the Coliseum, and the audience quieted down into a stunned silence. The wolf-elf was bothered by the lack of discussion around her. She had no idea if Guinevere finally landed a killing blow.

"The Dragon has shown mercy!" Roxii released a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. She was disappointed that the Guide continued the breathe, that her mission was still far from over, but at least this meant that the Dragon would perhaps be joining them.

With the event now over, people began filing out of the Coliseum. The hybrid watched as the Dragon disappeared into the labyrinth below the Coliseum. She also noted the figure that approached Morgrim. It was an odd figure, one that wasn't human. Its soul, its aura felt real, but it felt like an echo. It was almost like the figure was a clone of its original. A magical sort of being that the creator projected to the Guide. Its physical characteristics were very familiar to the wolf-elf, however. Luscius DeRosso the Second, the Oweumont Champion's master. There was no way the pompous noble would approach a dangerous stranger on the battlefield, so it was expected for DeRosso to find another means to speak to the Guide.

Morgrim and DeRosso exited the arena, and Roxii silently began leaving the Coliseum as well. She made sure to keep DeRosso's echo and the Guide's familiar close enough for her to follow them without losing them. She maneuvered her way through the crowds quietly, allowing her shadows to travel far enough to keep up with the duo. The rogue kept an eye on her surroundings, however; there was no telling what some of the Oweumont residents would do if they knew a Lythari was in their midst.

The assassin watched the duo disappear into a small building; a tavern she realized, judging by the floating smells of juicy meats, scrumptious pies, and the all-too-familiar sweetness of alcohols. The tavern was not on the road, instead tucked away in the shadows for only those who knew of its existence. It was not a bustling establishment for common folk; it was a meeting grounds, a hideaway for those of power who wished to experience the novelty of normalcy, guarded by two large men who wished to keep the Red Lion a place of secrecy.

But Roxii was not going to sit this one out. Her shadows gathered at her fingertips and she cloaked herself in the intangible substance. A quick "Uhsse'ar" thrust her into a place she was very familiar with: the Shadow Realm. A world that closely paralleled the one she walked daily, but allowed her to pass unseen through various situations. It was practically an invisibility spell, though it made her leave her home plane and thrust her soul into the one that was colder, darker, and much more quieter than its parallel. She blinked her eyes a couple times, getting used to having her sight back. It was an odd feeling, being able to see again only to see a gray-scale landscape. But she cherished these moments, and so she would make the most of this one.

The assassin silently walked through the entrance of the Red Lion, skirting past the guards' auras. She stepped her way through the common area and continued to follow the decaying aura of the Guide and the echo of DeRosso. Here, it was odd. The echo, the clone of DeRosso was a full being, one that she could recognize as a person rather than only being able to sense their presence via soul. It was as if he were linked to this plane in some way. But she followed regardless, along with the addition of a third soul to their silent posse, one she realized belonged to the Dragon herself.

She watched as Morgrim and Guinevere disappeared into a back room, and Roxii was about to follow when she realized the echo was staring directly at her. The assassin watched his every move carefully as he smirked at the assassin and gestured towards the door the Guide and the Champion entered before disappearing inside himself. A knowing smirk grew on her lips as she accepted the invitation and followed. Into the back room, down the stairs, and down into the very depths of Landfall.

And as she descended behind the trio and the soul who led them, she realized someone was walking beside her. Her gaze trailed up towards Falaern's face before settling back on the DeRosso clone in front of her. Morgrim, Guinevere, or anyone else living only on the earthly plane would not be able to hear them because they are not linked to this realm. But would the echo be able to hear them? She couldn't risk it, and she hoped the Master would understand the predicament.

He did, she concluded, as she felt an outside consciousness prod her own. The Champion is not your friend.

The corners of her mouth tugged downwards into a frown. She was never a friend, she confirmed. Friends are a weakness.

She didn't have to look over at Master Damaer to see the victorious smirk adorning his features. You have retained your training well. Perhaps you will succeed in this mission. A beat of silence passed between them as they continued beyond the stairs and across the newfound common area towards their destination. The Champion cannot compromise our efforts, mia daja. You will not allow her nor the Guide to discover the truth.

Roxii bit back her urge to fling retorts at the man. Yes, Master. She had hardly finished the acknowledgement before the man disappeared, back to whatever sinister work he was accomplishing.

She'd barely noticed that DeRosso's echo had disappeared during their exchange, but she figured that he was no longer useful here. Perhaps he had other important matters to attend to. Within moments, Guinevere, Morgrim, and unknowingly the assassin were guided towards a small, private balcony setting. The warrior and the man sat across from each other, and Roxii figured this was a good time to make her presence known. The shadows were released from her grasp, the spell broken, and she stood behind the Guide with arms crossed and an air of haughtiness surrounding her. She wondered if the woman would recognize her, or if she could keep her identity a secret. The latter option seemed unlikely.

Until then, she would allow the Guide to speak, to explain the problems and his goals to the Champion. She would stand silently behind Morgrim, in the shadows, silently wondering if there was any way to speed up this mission so that she could go back to her very normal lifestyle that she'd grown to love.

 
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605981

The Dragon



  • Guinevere III





    The adrenaline she had been high on slowly faded from her as she retreated back into the dark hallway and back into the waiting room. The cheering of the crowds became fainter and fainter until they were no more than a distant memory. In this chamber, she would find a small respite. Like a lazy river, she found her thoughts flowing back to her. Shallow breaths entered and exited her body as she slowly lifted her arm into her sight. While she was never perfect, riddled with bruises and cuts from all manner of wounds, she found herself lost for words when she saw the state of her arm. She thought it was all a dream. But that was cut aside when she saw the burn marks outlining her arm. Her fingers still twitched and her hand still trembled from the electricity that enveloped them in that short few moments. "It happened again...Just like before..."

    Her mind wandered back to that day atop the wall. In a single blink, a single breath, she found herself back in front of Oweumont. Volleys of cannon fire rung in her ears as the smell of salt and flame assaulted her nostrils. Lightning flashed in her eyes. A spear of white-hot fury charged forward and broke into a line of brimstone and fire. Her vision flickered with each blink. Her brothers pleading for aid, an unrelenting mass of horned beasts, a bolt of lightning. She closed her eyes and when they opened dragon flames consumed her arm. Blood pooled in her palm and the overflow spilled in every direction to the ground below; the remains of an incinerated heart lay cupped in her hand.

    "Gu...evere?" A faint voice called quietly. She lifted her gaze up to meet the origin of the voice. Two glowing red eyes met her over a smile overflowing with sharp, pointed teeth. She felt the flames emanating from its mouth flowing around her, singing what few neck hairs were left.

    "Guinevere?" The voice spoke again. The soft nature juxtaposed by the monster that laid before her. As the flames rushed from the mouth of the beast and towards her, she felt her vision disappear into a blinding white light.


    Guinevere eyes jolted open with a small gasp, returning back to the soft lighting of the chamber. She winced as her vision tried to readjust itself. Beats of sweat lined her brow. Her heart banged in her chest, begging to be let out. She quickly picked up on the soft footsteps of a person entering in one of the archways. She quickly lowered her arm back to her side and hid it with the fur cloak she wore on her back. When she finally turned to meet the source of the voice she found herself met by the girl from earlier, Olivia, with folded towels in her arms. Guinevere let out a sigh of relief as she took the offered towels to wipe away the blood and dirt. She would still have to clean herself tonight but it would due for now.

    "Thanks, Olivia."

    "No problem" A small, almost quizzical, look etched over the soft features of her face; a sharp contrast to her surrogate guardians'. "Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost" Concern filled her voice, bringing a small smile to the gladiators' lips. Taking care not to show her arm to the girl Guinevere placed the, now, crimson towels on the nearby bench.

    "Yeah. I am" She guzzled down the remainder of the drink left for her and placed the mug back down. "That man wanted to talk. Something about work"

    Disappointment lined the younger girls face. "Oh really, is that so? How long will you be away this time?"

    She had been back less than a week and she would already have to been leaving again. It wasn't ideal, Guinevere knew that, but it's what DeRosso wants. "Who knows" she shrugged "A few months? Maybe a year. Hard to tell"

    The tall woman brought herself closer to Olivia, towering over her by nearly a full foot. Quietly she spoke to the girl once more. "I need a private place to talk. Will you prepare us a small table? Preferably a balcony one"

    Olivia sighed before composing herself and nodding. "Fine" she spoke with a sad voice. "But you owe me"

    Guinevere chuckled before conceding to her. "Fine. I'll owe you one"









    empty
NOTHING


 
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Health: 88%

  • Tags: Federoff Federoff | Morg Morg

    Addressed: Guinevere "The Dragon"

    Mentioned: Morgrim Hemwick [Vaguely]
Her entrance did not go unnoticed by the gladiator, though she didn't expect it to. The woman was highly aware of her surroundings, so it was fitting when the woman immediately lost her train of thought when her eyes caught the appearance of the shadowy figure. What Roxii didn't expect, however, was for the brunette to be completely entranced by her presence. The assassin tensed as Guinevere rose from her seat and approached her. Was she to inquire of her presence, despite not being outright invited? Was she to call the guards and have her removed? Perhaps she shouldn't have made herself known...

The Dragon towered over her, and Roxii had forgotten how much of a height difference existed between them. She was thankful for the fact that she didn't have her sight; she'd rather not have to crane her neck to know what expressions crossed the other's face. And where Roxii expected to feel the taught lines and tensed muscles of suspicion and skepticism, she instead felt the soft features of curiosity and... what was akin to sadness. Relief, perhaps, as well? It was difficult to tell. Especially when the woman wasn't speaking at all, and if she didn't have the blessings of her Lythari heritage, she would've believed the woman wasn't even breathing.

And then she spoke. "Roxii...?" Her name was soft and endearing on the Dragon's lips, a stark contrast to the pure hatred and skepticism others tended to spew her name with.

The hybrid was about to confirm the woman's suspicions when she brought the wolf-elf into a tight embrace. Roxii tensed and nearly reached for her weapons out of habit. She fought the urge to fight her way out of captivity. The sudden physical contact scared her. All other times, if someone were to attempt to embrace her or similar, it was to restrain her, capture her, harm her. But this... This was pure emotion. This was no attempt on her life. This was a result of surging emotion; care for the small assassin, and something she hadn't received in a long time: love.

An odd feeling of warmth grew in the pit of the Lythari, and she couldn't pinpoint what the feeling was. So instead, she focused on the woman whose arms were wrapped tightly around her, as if she were trying to keep the assassin from disappearing. Roxii carefully and awkwardly brought her arms up and around the Dragon, carefully returning the hug. She released a slow breath, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "It is good to see you, too, Guinevere."

The wolf hybrid was released from the unrelenting grip of the Dragon. The rogue's harsh, cold demeanor had lifted slightly, having been replaced by softer features. Her body had visibly relaxed, the taught lines in her face dissipated, and her jaw was no longer tensed. The woman declared her acceptance to Morgrim's invitation, and it brought Roxii back to the situation at hand. And it made her aware of her own questionable loyalties and the reason behind them. She'd hoped the Dragon hadn't felt the cool steel nor somehow heard the buzzing that rattled the assassin's head constantly. She couldn't allow the gladiator to get close. For her own sake.

 
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Morgrim had just finished discussing the deals of the plan, or well what there was of one with Guinevere when he felt a cold shadow form behind him. He nonchalantly looked behind him to see the petite assassin looking grim and gloomy as ever. He wasn't entirely surprised, he knew there would be no taming Roxii, and that she would always do as she wanted; little did he know. Guin's next action he could not account for though, she stood up to her hulking height and looked Roxii dead center as if she had just saw a ghost. Morgrim decided to remain quiet and see how all this would pan out. When she walked up to the small rogue he couldn't tell if she was going to kill her or hug her, but the answer made itself known as she pulled her in for a tight embrace.


“Well this is good, you two know each other then, saves me some trouble.” Morgrim stated tactlessly, he didn't know of their past, but he didn't really care to find out how they met. It was clear it would be a needlessly violent story, and it was possibly something that was personal to both of them, especially if a hardened arena champion, and a cutthroat assassin would be hugging over it, well the best said assassin could do at hugging. It was then that Guinevere gave her answer, and said that she would be accompanying them on the journey, and Morgrim clapped both his hands together, and smiled


“Perfect, glad to have you on board. We'll be setting out immediately. The longer we delay the more the damage could spread.” He stated matter of factually. Morgrim knew a lot about magic, though he had never seen anything like what was happening in the Ashkii forest. What he knew for certain though was the source of it was not natural, was incredibly power, and was equally evil. The last time a tally had been made to the lives lost was well over two hundred, and rising. Morgrim wanted to see an end come to this almost as much as he wanted to fulfill to his other more personal dream, to bring an end to the Paladins. If he didn't know any better he would say that they were the source of it, there have been plenty of their kind that saw many types of magic as heresy and evil. Their answer to his home town was to see it burned to the ground instead of learning to accept it.


“Oh and Roxii, you needn't sneak around everywhere, if you want to listen in to important conversations we can just pretend you are my servant.” He said with a low dark chuckle. He fancied the thought of her carrying around his stuff, and saying things like yes master. He never really agreed with someone being worth less than another, but he would sure enjoy seeing the assassin being humbled. He push the thought quickly away, and focused on the task at hand.


“Make any last preparations you have, and then meet me at the south side docks in an hour. Then we will leave, and head for the city of Kingsglade. We can restock their, and plan out ahead what we will do should we encounter any threats in the forest.” He stated, and left the two blood-born women to themselves. If he was being honest the smell in the tavern was making his head hurt, it was rich of alcohol, and swooning with scented smoke, the noise didn't help either. One bar was never unlike another, and he didn't find them the most soothing place. He left, and went to clear his head, and as he finally made it out of the hidden away building he was greeted to the smell of salt water, and smoked meats. The market was right there, and while he was not a big spender, and also since he had no money he settled for just browsing.


Most of the people had dressed in fine silks, and soft furs, even the servants and slaves were dressed to impress. Morgrim must have looked quite out of place in the markets as he was still covered in blood, and his robes cut up and torn. Most people stepped away from him, but a rare few went up to greet him. They recognized him in the arena, and complimented him for the courage he showed in the face of death. They asked him of his unusual fighting style, and he told the truth where he learned it, from his father. None lingered for long, and he was left to his own devices until an unusual man at an unusual stall beckoned him over. The man in question had many strange intricate tattoos, and a few piercings in uncomfortable looking places, but he grinned an ominous grin through crooked teeth.


“Ah yes you, I recognize you. Not everyone may have saw that trick at the arena, but I know better, yes I do. Dark magic that.” The strange man said in a giddy hyperactive voice, but somehow no more than a whisper. His mirth was clear, but his intent less so. Morgrim looked at him unfazed.


“We do what we must to survive. Can I help you with something?” Morgrim asked the odd merchant.


“No, no, quite the opposite, I wanted to help you with something actually. I'm looking to part with a special item, but no one here could truly appreciate its worth; the stuck up snobs.” He said spitting on the ground next to him. “See I procured this item from a village that burned down years ago, deep in the Eldergloom- Morgrim's blood turned to fire. This man was a scavenger, not a merchant, and he picked the bones clean of his home. The man continued though. “See they had this school that practiced magic, dark things, things you might appreciate. I couldn't tell you who it belonged to, but I have seen this magic once before, soul magic. I can't make it all out, but I suspect this is a book that could resurrect the dead.” The man's expression went from unreadable to pure evil, like a vulture watching a dying man trudge through a desert, unblinkingly waiting for him to die to pick whatever he had clean.


Morgrim wanted to grab this man by the throat, to stick his fingers in his flesh and pull apart in either direction. He wanted to see him in a puddle of gore for dare trespassing on the remains of all he loved, and taking what he liked like a kid in a bakery. He kept his cool though, balling his hands up into fists until the skin turned a sickly pale, and he could feel his blood constricting. “What?!” Was all Morgrim could manage to utter.


“Well you see, only a special type of person could use this book, and I don't have the will or the way, but I suspect you may. I'll never find a buyer for it though, so take it free of charge. Consider it a gift.” The man said holding out the book in a single hand. The tome looked withered and old, the pages frail as if narrowly avoided the fires. It was covered in a fine sheet of dust, Morgrim suspected he handled it very little since he found it. Morgrim snapped it out of his bony fingers, and stormed off. He didn't look back, if he saw that man's face again he feared he would split it in two. Morgrim stowed the book away in his satchel, and headed straight for the docks. He had enough of this damn city, and wanted out, but he'd have to wait for the others. He sat at a bench by the water, and he was thumping his foot like a jack rabbit in heat. Part of him wanted to tear open his satchel and read the book, but he knew better to not do that her in the open. He was gritting his teeth now, and looked with eyes narrowed. “Where the hell are they.” He asked no one.
 

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Health: 89%

  • Tags: Federoff Federoff | Morg Morg

    Addressed: Guinevere "The Dragon" [duh lol]

    Mentioned: Morgrim Hemwick
She supposed the situation turned out well in Morgrim's eyes. His two enlistments wouldn't be striving to slit the other's throat, even going far as to already knowing each other. He wouldn't have to keep an eye on them, and both females would be able to take care of themselves. It was a convenient group so far. And fortunately, it made things easier so that they could continue with the mission a bit faster. The sooner they embarked, the sooner they began this investigation, the sooner they ended this mission, and the sooner Roxii would be free from the prison she'd walked herself in to.

"...We can just pretend you are my servant." Roxii's attention snapped back to Guide. A low growl emanated from the wolf-elf as a hand went to the dagger at her side. Her fingers played with the hilt as she contemplated ending the man's life then and there. She could do it easily. He was of no value to her, and nor did she really enjoy his company. He had a habit of telling others what he wanted them to do, his humor was nonexistent, and not to mention that he smelled terrible.

The brunette noticed the rogue's animosity towards the Guide. Not wanting to have the mission end so early—and to keep the employees from having to clean up putrid, rotting blood—, Guinevere reached out a hand and rested it on the hybrid's shoulder. Roxii tensed underneath the other's touch but realized the silent message the action conveyed. The gladiator woman didn't understand the situation fully, but the wolf-elf was grateful for the woman's presence. She couldn't kill the Guide just yet. Not while this damned collar was around her neck. Not while Falaern was watching her.

The Guide bid them a temporary farewell, telling them to meet him at the docks in an hour. An hour seemed a bit much for the two; perhaps the man had personal plans? It was unclear, but the assassin was relieved to be away from the foul-smelling male for a short time.

Sensing the frustration and impact that slight made on Roxii, Guinevere, seeking a way to mediate the situation, spoke up. “Why don’t we head somewhere else?”

Roxii reluctantly dragged her attention back to the Dragon. It was a simple suggestion, one that would prevent her from murdering the Guide and would perhaps give them a chance to catch up. She hadn’t seen the fighter in many years, and she wondered how the woman fared since their last “meeting”. After a moment of contemplation, she finally responded, "Very well."

A small smile formed itself on Guineveres lips. Phew, disaster avoided. For now.

The tall woman made a small gesture with her hand and fell to the smaller assassin, the height difference almost comical when compared side by side. The two women made their way out of the Red Lion and back into the streets of the city, conversing quietly among themselves and keeping a distance from others when not wanting to be overheard.

The two ultimately ended up heading towards the bay, stopping to question sailors, merchants, and any other travelers about recent events going on in Landfall. While the information was nice to have, Guinevere preferred the in-between in which they were given time to catch up. Although it was hard to get Roxii to talk for more than a few sentences, it was nice to still hear her speak and hear about how she escaped that dreaded camp and of what she had been doing up until recently.

“This has been nice,” Guinevere commented as she returned with a small selection of fresh fruits from one of the stands. A small snack that would make the wait easier. “I know you don’t like to, but I enjoyed talking…” The tall woman took her seat on one of the many benches sitting at the bay. “It’s been good catching up.”

The wolf-elf stayed silent once again, simply nodding in acknowledgement and taking a seat beside the woman. It was, indeed. Not many stayed in her life, and those who did were either no longer wanted or no longer alive. She was not one to have conversations, especially about her own life, but it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t want to put her head on a spike, throw her in a dungeon, or simply use her for their own personal gain. She felt… almost normal, in a sense.

Their hour was beginning to come to an end, so the duo opted to begin making their way towards their rendezvous with Morgrim. The crashing of waves against the bay sent a mist over the onlookers, carried onward by the breeze. Where Guinevere was used to the environment, Roxii was bothered by being sprayed by salty seawater. But it didn’t stop the traveling merchants and boatmen from bustling about, loading up their ships and carts for long journeys. The crashing waters weren’t enough to drown out the chattering, either.

So when the two women were passing by a particularly interesting conversation, the shadowy rogue couldn’t help but slow her pace to listen in.

“Are you sure you want to go there at this time?”

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Either way, the pay’s going to be well worth my time.”

Two men were conversing. A young lad—around Roxii and Guinevere’s age, perhaps—was loading up a small boat whilst the other, an older man whose gray and white hairs were outnumbering his brown ones, was helping hand crates and boxes from a cart. It looked like an impending shipment. Of what, it was difficult to tell. Where was the shipment going that was so disconcerting? Was it to the town near Ashkii Forest? Perhaps the merchants knew something. If so, then Roxii wanted to make sure they didn’t stick around long. If the Dragon hadn’t noticed their conversation yet, then the wolf-elf could make sure she didn’t gather any more information on the subject. Just as Master Damaer wanted.

But it was not Ashkii Forest they were talking about.

“Traveling to Felnethyr doesn’t sound well worth the time.” There was a hint of disgust in the older man’s tone. “Have you heard the rumors?”

There was hesitation in the younger male’s voice. “Yes.”

“Then you know as well as I do that it’s too risky to go there. Find another buyer.”

“I don’t think the queen is going to imprison me just for bringing supplies and gifts, father.”

“I’m sure that’s what the last merchant said before he was carried off and executed by her high commander.”

“He tried to poison her!”

“That was never proven. She’s growing paranoid, and it’s costing the people their lives.”

A silence passed between the two men. Even from afar, the Lythari could feel the tension between them.

The younger male finally spoke, much softer than before, “I’ll be careful, father. I’m not one of them blasted Lythari like that last merchant, so hopefully she’ll turn a blind eye to me.”

With but a short amount of time left before the decided on rendezvous, this small peaceful respite was welcomed. While clouds still hung overhead, the majority of the storm had passed and now the sun began to peak out over the harbor. But as the two continued on their journey, she noticed that Roxii had halted her progress. Guinevere stopped a few paces in front of her and turns to monitor Roxii, who had now all but gone completely silent. After a few moments of silence and contemplation she finally spoke up. "What's wrong?" The tall brunette whispered towards her small companion.

The two men continued their work and conversation, and the assassin realized she’d stopped in the middle of the way in an effort to hear their conversation. She’d forgotten Guinevere was there, and if the woman said anything to her, she didn’t hear it. She made no move to apologize for the sudden halt in their short journey. Instead, she jerked herself forward to force herself to walk, wanting to get as far away from the two men as possible.

After a moment, the taller woman followed after the short rogue, and the rest of their walk was silent. Roxii mulled on the words the two merchants spoke, hardly paying attention to her own surroundings. She allowed the fighter to somewhat guide her to their meeting place with the Guide, who was silently waiting for them.

It was obvious that he was angry. Taut features, restless bouncing, and angry mumblings gave it all away. Roxii herself wondered what got Morgrim all worked up in the short amount of time that they’d spent away from each other, but she figured it was no use to ask. It was not her place to offer consolation. So instead, she stood before the Guide in silence, waiting for the man to initiate the next step in their expedition.

 
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The ground's shaking? No- the world's spinning... or is it him? The smell of strong liquor blocks off the incoming smell of salt water and fish. Jass blinks a couple of times, staring at the blurry sight ahead of him then squinting towards the sky. His body swings left and right before he steadies himself. With a short kick behind him, he closes the tavern door while taking another swing of the bottle of spiced rum he carried. In his other hand twirls his flute; it's red tassel fluttering in the circles Jass draws. The wanderer hums a simple familiar tune, which he currently can't recall its origins. What was he supposed to do again? Jass blinks once more before the usual images flash through his mind; his whole being freezes during his episode.

A hand marked. Bloody robes. A blind girl. A tall muscly lady? Birds. Ships. Jass scrunches up his face at this random occurrence of images. Usually they were more coherent and could be pieced together- or the string of images would be less eerie, like a man offering a bottle of spiced rum after his confident drinking showdown. He liked those visions more than ones that look troublesome but, he's learned to trust the messages in his drunken state. If the drink wants him to search for whatever it just presented him, he'll do so. The wander wipes the ends of his mouth with his long sleeve, accidentally spilling some rum on his robes in the process.

Now where to start.

The ship is probably the easiest. Jass was already near the dock area but was he sure which ship to get on? With a shrug, he continues heading towards the ship he decides is the most appealing. A trail of rum follows behind him as he does his best to walk in a straight line. If one were to spectate this drunk's mini adventure to his chosen ship, one would think they were hallucinating. In the matter of minutes a couple of events happen...

Jass halts in the middle of his beeline, taking interest in a seagull flying by. A sailor makes his way behind the wanderer, carrying a ladder on his shoulders. The sailor turns, facing away from Jass, causing the ladder to swing near Jass's head level. At the same time, Jass's flute falls out of his hand and he bends down to pick it up, missing the wood by an inch. Jass stands back up, brushing the dirt off his instrument. He continues, passing by stacks of cargo which blocks his view of incoming traffic. He steps out into the open, not noticing a wagon carrying goods is about to his him. Jass is stopped from going further because a part of his robe is caught on a loose nail.

"Hey! Watch it!" yells the driver as his wagon rides a little too close pass the wanderer. Jass pulls at his robe, somehow managing to get it loose without ripping it. He shakes his head, confused on what just happened. He shrugs it off, taking another swing of his rum. Jass spots where passengers and cargo are boarding or leaving the ship; a sailor with a notebook guards the entrance. Jass lazily pats himself before finding what he was looking for. He slips his hand into a hidden pocket in his robes, then quickly pops a spice hard candy in his mouth. He then ties his rum bottle to his belt and brushes a hand over his face.

Walk straight. Act. Normal.

The sailor with the notebook looks up, noticing the stranger approaching.. He eyes suspiciously, "Who're you?"

"...I'm the new... flute guy," says Jass as his eyes narrow, mimicking the sailor.

The sailor crosses his arms, "We don't have musicians on board. You're wasting my time. Scram." The man goes back to writing down something in his notes. Jass frowns, while he making way for two sailors carrying out large cargo. This blocks the view of the sailor guarding the entrance as Jass nonchalantly boards the ship. He did want to board under friendlier terms, but...

I guess I'll play stowaway for now.

Jass returns to humming the familiar tune as he slips back into his drunken mood. All he has to do is pick a place to sit- or possibly throw up soon- and he'll probably run into those fated strangers. Now that he thought of throwing up, Jass's face turns green as he hurries to the other side of the ship to find an open window. He speeds walk pass a few busy sailors before entering a storage area full of crates and barrels. Eyeing the first open window, Jass sticks his head through it.
 
The minutes passed, and it was all Morgrim could do, but to reflect on the past. He remembered the smell of the woods, of cooking meats, of herbs and ingredients being mixed together into potions. He remembered the dampness that was omnipresent in the air, and the cool of the dark. It was things like this that put him at ease on the rougher days, but now as he thought back on it, and how someone trespassed on it, he grit his teeth. He wished the tattooed man would get very sick and explode from both ends, he wished he would trip and fall on the cobblestone and shatter all his teeth so he would have to eat everything as a paste, most of all he wished he knew how that cursed man made it in and back from the Eldergloom.


Morgrim continued to ponder his thoughts, and as the red from around his vision slowly subsided a small figure appeared in front of him, taking the form of a rotten bird. Somehow, even with a beak it looked like it was grinning, a sinister expression hidden behind its eyes.


“We could poison the man master, all it would take is a drop of cursed blood. He'd bleed from every orifice and no one would know it was you since you'd be long gone. Better yet we could let him know and promise a cure if he told you. Oh I am so smart aren't I master?” The bird chirped and jumped about on his leg like a child jacked up on sugar.


“As much as I'd like to... No.” Morgrim said flatly to his companion, he wasn't in the mood for the bird's shit, even though he knew it was his own thoughts speaking from somewhere deep and dark. He did want to see the man dead, and he did want answers, but he made a promise, to only kill those that truly deserved it, and killing a looter so violently probably seemed only morally sound to him and his bird at the given moment.


Morgrim's hands traced over the cover of the book that he was given, it was old and leathery, and he could feel the slight tingle of dust on his fingers, perhaps the same dust from the ashes of his village, from the burning wood, and charred corpses. How did he miss it he wondered. Then his thoughts were interrupted as the Lythari stood before him, and the bird disappeared. Luna did not trust Roxii, not fully, which must have meant some part of Morgrim did not either. She never revealed her motives for joining without pay, and while she did receive it after the fight, something was still off. She dressed quite heavily even though they were out in the blistering heat. The rain had long stopped, and the twin's suns harsh glares covered everything, but still she dressed in all black.


“Good, you are here, now let's go.” Morgrim said, placing the leather bound ashen book into his satchel, pocketing it like a memory for another day. Their ship was only a hop-skip away, and Morgrim flashed a ticket before a burly looking man standing guard with a list in hand. The man took the ticket with a large meaty hand, looked at it with beady intense eyes, and then ripped it up.


“You may go.” He said, and Morgrim motioned to Guinevere and Roxii for them to follow him. It would likely be a very long time before they stepped foot in Owuemont again, their next step was Kings Rest, an old city bordering the forest. Morgrim walked aboard the plank to the ship, and took a long and needed breath. He had no idea what he would find on the ship though, nor would he be able to account for the chaos that would befall them. The journey would only be a quarter of a day, but would he survive it?


Morgrim took a seat by the back of the ship, looking around he noticed there were few people, less than on the journey here. It seemed that most came to see the dragon fight, and those same people were still busy indulging in their revelries, eating until full, drinking until sloshed, and smoking herbs and spices until their heads were foggy. After a moment longer the ticket man at the dock rang his bell, and pulled away the plank, the rowers below deck sending the ship on its merry way. Now the sound that filled the air was idle chatter and splashing waves and sea breeze. When the sounds of the city died down, and they were on the waves Morgrim reached back into his satchel and pulled out the tome. He looked to his left, then right craning his neck, and he was mostly alone. He opened the book, and was greeted by a secret set of runes, it took him a moment at first, but he realized they were not arcane at all, it was code, a code that only two people knew, and he was one of them.


A childhood memory flashed in his mind, suddenly he was in the collage dorm, and next to him was a girl. She was skinny and hallow, shallow faced, and ivory skin, with raven black hair. She looked weak, but her eyes were sharp and knowledgeable. She liked games of the mind, and she showed him a scrap of paper with runes marked on them. Try as young Morgrim might he could not figure out what they meant. She laughed at him, and gave him a hint, that only she and him could truly decipher them. He bite down on his tongue in thought, but still came up blank. She sighed and rolled her eyes, then she grabbed his hand, and pulled out a bone needle and pricked his finger. Morgrim yelled, and glared daggers at her, but she took a drop of his blood and swiped it across the letters until the blood mutated them, and they danced around in a macabre way. Then the letters became clear as day, forming into the words “Good luck tomorrow.” He remembered it, it was the night before his final exam, the last night he'd see any of them.


With a jolt he was back, and did the same such thing as she did as a child. He pricked his finger and swiped it across the page. The runes formed the recipe for a ritual, a ritual that required three special recipes. First: the flesh of a powerful wizard. Second: A Death Blossom from a place of perpetual night. Lastly: The blood of a god. The rest of the spell was simple for Morgrim though involving ether, and necromancy with only little deviation in casting. The spell promised to bring back a creature from the dead, the only problem was that Morgrim only knew where to get one of the ingredients, the flower. The apothecary in his home stocked them for the college, but those all perished, so if he were to preform this ritual he would have to get them from the forest, no small feat that.


Morgrim had no idea what his childhood friend Luna had been doing with a book that could bring back the dead, but he was determined to find out. Quickly he smeared more of his blood against the pages, but as he did this the runes began to glow and flash as if a threat, then Morgrim could smell it; smoke. His eyes widened, and he threw the book, aiming to throw it overboard, but just as it left his hands it detonated, and sent out a searing explosion that covered up his entire right arm, and some of his torso, after the flames ate away at his flesh he was sent knocked back flying against the wall of the ship in a secondary explosion. He lay there on the ground with his right arm missing, body partially burnt, and blood dripping from all around him. The last thing he heard was his familiar Luna calling out to him to wake up before the world went dark.
 

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Health: 90%

  • Tags: Morg Morg | Federoff Federoff | AnimusLight AnimusLight

    Addressed: Morgrim Hemwick

    Mentioned: Guinevere "The Dragon" [Very vaguely]
The Lythari noticed the Guide's pause as she approached. His avian familiar disappeared, and his gaze was calculating, questioning. She knew the man didn't trust her nor understand her intentions. It was obvious in the way he cast wary glances her way every now and again, the way he kept a reasonable distance from her and her daggers, and especially in the way he spoke to her. The friendliness he conveyed when they'd first met was long gone, and she was often met with an indifferent, cautious tone. It was almost like he wanted this journey to end as quickly as she wanted it to, just to get as far away from the assassin as possible. She wondered if he had expected her to bail as soon as she'd received her payment. Any other time, she would have. But for now, she'd have to stick with him, much to the displeasure of both of them.

Roxii noticed Morgrim stuff an odd book in his satchel. She didn't remember him carrying the old piece. Did he get reeled in by one of the merchants in the markets? Hopefully not, because it was most likely a waste of precious money. Perhaps she hadn't noticed it before, but she doubted it. There was something odd about that book, one that made her feel uneasy. If he'd had it before, she would've noticed it.

Having noticed the duo's arrival, the Guide led them to one of the ships in the docks. Another bout of uneasiness settled within the rogue at the thought of another boat ride. Hopefully there would be no storms this time. She wasn't sure she could survive another whilst on the water. Morgrim flashed a ticket to the keeper, who allowed them access on the ship. Roxii followed silently and carefully, making sure not to lose her footing on the plank.

It was humid in the ship. Being in an enclosed area surrounded by other bodies of warmth and seawater evaporating in the sun made the place feel like a sauna. Sweat began to break out upon the wolf-elf's brow, and she swiped it away with the sleeve of her coat. She wondered if she could've bought some lighter weight clothing and armor. Perhaps she could've, but it would've been a risk. She'd live with what she had now; there were worse predicaments that she'd been in. But for now, she could deal with what she could do in the moment. The assassin made her way to one of the seats away from Morgrim, away from the other men and women, and moved her hood off her head. A small form of relief washed over her as she was no longer confined in the heat captured by her hood. Fortunately, the collar was still hidden beneath the collar of her coat.

A bell sounded, and the ship began leaving. Roxii tried not to think about the motion sickness that overcame her, and instead allowed her mind to wander. Unfortunately, it wandered to the conversation the two merchants were having. Felnethyr was a northern kingdom, one that experienced mild summers and beautiful yet harsh winters. Its people were mostly made up of her own kind, the Lythari, but there were others that enjoyed the blankets of snow, the beautiful arts, and wonderful festivities Felnethyr had to offer. Beautiful music and masterful archers were two of the things Felnethyr was most known for. It was a peaceful land, one that sought to maintain peace with bordering kingdoms while quashing evil forces that may be hurting the common-folk.

At least, that's how it was the last time Roxii was there. From what she'd gathered from the men's conversation, things weren't looking so good for the Felnethyr people and their allies. The queen, Alannis Vaneiros, was beginning to create problems for the people. Her paranoia was spiking, leading to the deaths of many, even innocents. Though her actions seemed just in her eyes. there were some that were beginning to speak of rebellion. But the rogue knew that if the queen caught wind of the rumors, she'd have the rebellion extinguished like a campfire in floodwaters.

The smell of blood hit the wolf hybrid directly in the face, and she was brought out of her thoughts in an instant. Her brow furrowed as she followed the familiar scent to the Guide, who was reading through the odd book. His blood swiped across a page, and the assassin could sense the slight change in aura that surrounded the object. It felt dark, sinister. The wolf-elf got up, approaching Morgrim cautiously. "What are you doing?" Her voice was hard, almost accusing.

The man ignored Roxii, and she wondered if he'd even heard her. Whatever desire overcame the man, he began swiping his foul-smelling blood across the pages in desperation, as if the pages could tell him more than what was already on them—which just looked like gibberish to her. Some sort of variant of blood magic, she realized. She never trusted it, especially with how precarious and delicate the art was.

And when she smelled the smoke, she knew he'd done something terribly stupid. And he knew, too, since a look of fear crossed his features, and he attempted to chuck the book. Before it could leave his hand, however, an explosion occurred. Roxii brought her arms up, in turn bringing up her shadows in a shield-like defense. Morgrim was sent backwards into the wall of the ship in a heap, and Roxii wondered if the man had been killed right then and there before her very eyes. Her shadows dropped slowly, and she debated on just going back to her seat and allowing the Guide to suffer the consequences of his actions.

You will keep the Guide alive, Master Damaer's voice hissed in her mind.

The wolf-elf growled in disdain and knelt by the Guide. "Dos haaku! Are you mad?" Roxii snarled. Her shadows gathered at her fingertips, and she willed them to begin mending the gaping hole where his arm used to be and tending the burns and scrapes along his torso. There wouldn't be much she could do about the arm, and she wondered if the man could regenerate his limbs like other n'til'nond edainra she'd encountered. If she could keep the man from bleeding out, then perhaps she would find out. And then she wouldn't have to deal with the wrath of Falaern at the expense of the Guide's absolute stupidity.

 
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Guinevere.png

The Dragon



  • Guinevere V





    Seasalt, the sounds of lapping waves, gulls flying overhead. As the pair got closer to the bay her sense was once again being filled by these all too familiar stimuli. The rest of the walk, though, was a silent one. Whatever had piqued Roxii's interest had a profound effect on her. Although she was already quiet, she was dead silent the rest of the walk, the woman's mind somewhere else. Her facial expressions, the way she walked, all of it gave it away to the tall woman. Knowing the girl, she would not get any more out of her for now. So, instead, Guinevere resided to guiding the assassin to the docks below. But, truth be told, she was never one needing guidance. It was more akin to preventing others from running into them rather than the contrary.

    However, she had very few things to do. Most of the people that would have filled this walk were instead congregated around the Coliseum. The few that remained were mainly those who worked on the docs, with a few groups of merchants scattered about, no doubt conversing about new endeavors and trading useful information for future voyages. Oweumont was a city of wealth and riches, an endless flow of merchants. Naturally, this made the harbor a massive hub of information. And the right information could make anyway a few gold.

    By the time the women regrouped with Morgrim the storm had continued on its path, now rolling in the distance. Landfall's twin suns beginning to peak over the leftover clouds, rays of sun already illuminating parts of the Solis Bay. As they approached Guinevere noticed him putting away a leather-bound book of some sort. While he may have hidden the source, he could not hide his stressed look. His face was strained, taut, and he exuded fatigue. Just like her companion, something was weighing on her employer's mind. Such a merry band we are. It was not her place to ask questions, she was hired to hit things and hit them hard. Still, she wondered, they had only parted ways for less than an hour. Whatever had happened in the short time had taken a toll on the man. He had already looked, and reeked, of death and exhaustion; but now she couldn't ignore it.

    Not wasting a moment, the guide voiced for them to follow him towards a small sailing ship. From the look of it, this was a standard ferry. Many merchants knew how easily one could make a few extra coin from those looking to passage into the city. A few would even make a business out of it, purposely leaving extra rooms om their boats; and those lacking the skill and wit to be a successful merchant would just end up using their ships strictly for transportation.

    The group stepped on board of the sailing vessel and, after returning a friendly nod to the ferryman, the group was free to roam around the ship as they waiting for takeoff. It was apparent to her the moment they stepped on the ship that, out of the three of them, the brunette was the only one accommodated to traveling on the sea. Her blue eyes picked up on the small movements of her companions. They were restless, unsure of their movements. Especially Roxii, who was already sweating up a storm. While it was hotter and more humid down here, it almost looked like she was already ready to chuck up her lunch. The three quickly separated and went on their way, Morgrim and Roxii descending to below deck. Before Roxii could leave, however, the tall woman leaned over and spoke whispered a small farewell.

    "I'll be close if you need anything" Despite her rough and treble voice, Guinevere spoke quiet and measured, keeping her voice from carrying out like her usual conversations.

    Guinevere opted to stay on the deck of the ship, standing near the edge of the bow and out of the way of the sailors, who were now making their final preparations before they shipped off. At the apex of the ship, she stood facing the mountains in the distance, her metallic blue eyes scanning the horizon. Despite the suns now dominating most of the sky, she could still make out the storm off in the distance. She concentrated in that, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she could hear the faint sound of thunder.














    empty
NOTHING


 
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"-Hhurk.... HURRKK!" Jass grips the ends of the window while his stomach empties itself. A few minutes pass by as Jass slowly sobers up with his head out the circular window. He rests his chin on the cold metal as stares blankly at the stretch of blue. If the wanderer knew he was going to be on a ship so soon, he wouldn't have taken up the drinking challenge. Jass's head returns inside; he grabs the rum tied to his belt, gargles his mouth (ignoring the burn), and spits it out the window. He shakes the bottle to discover it contains a quarter left. Just before he reties it to his belt, a large bang shakes the whole ship. Jass steadies himself with a cannon nearby. "Wha- Did I do something?" He frowns, peaking out the window; was some god of the ocean trying to smite the ship he's on because he defiled the water? Curious about the commotion, Jass makes his way through confused passengers, following the crowd to the deck of the ship.

Now at the back of the ship, Jass spies a circle being formed around- possibly- the source of the explosion. The smell of something burning and rotten reaches to his position; knowing the source is going to be a mess, Jass takes a swing of the rum before squeezing himself through the bystanders. The first thing that catches his eyes is the sparks coming out of a very buff lady's hand. Jass tilts his head, while he observes the scene-

Damn. It's not even the beginning of this boat ride and someone's already bleeding.

Some poor guy in bloody robes is in a pool of his own blood. "Ooof-" Jass cringes, noticing the missing arm with only bandages trying to stop the bleeding. The man's two companions look lost. Taking interest in the scene, Jass puts the bottle near his lips before going wide eyed; these three are the strangers from the images. Jass squeezes himself out of the last ring of bystanders, accidentally spilling the rest of the rum on both the injured man and the large lady. The spectacle causes the crowd to gasp. Jass covers his mouth with the hand that carries his flute, shocked at his accident. He speaks up before anyone makes the situation worse.

"I should have something to stop the bleeding and ease a bit of the pain. Hold on!" Jass opens his satchel, also named by him as the "Mysterious Endless Bag" and sticks his hand in. He sticks his whole arm, almost to his shoulder. The bag looked like it was consuming his arm for a sec, until Jass takes his whole arm out. "Found it!" A half empty bottle labeled "Poshon of Blud-Stahp-Payn-Gon" in almost unreadable potion. Jass crouches down near the one-armed guy, opens the poorly labeled potion, forces the guy's mouth open and pours the liquid. After a second, he stops pouring and has a shit eating grin plaster to his face. "That should help! I don't know what this is but this stuff usually stops me from bleeding and numbs pain."
 
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All Morgrim could remember is the smell of smoke, the panic filling his chest, and screaming in his mind, and then the flash of fire surrounding his arm. When he blinked he was suddenly looking up at the ceiling, somehow through closed eyes. First came the voice of the she wolf, and then the shouting of the much larger warrior. It was all distorted to him, he knew he was surrounded, but at the same time he was alone. One last voice filled his head, that of a drunken musician, and the damp feeling of a drink being spilled on him. Even in the afterlife he was grumbling as he was disrespected by a stranger. Morgrim tried to lift his his arm, first his left feeling a massive weight pressed down on it that become present as he shifted. When he tried to move the other one he felt nothingness, and as he tried to crane his head he failed as the same such weight was there. He couldn't figure it out, where he was, but suddenly he became aware of a faint rippling sound, like the water of a stony creek deep in the woods. It was the only ambiance around him save for the darkness, but then he could feel water.


No that wasn't right, it wasn't water he realized, but pure, raw ether. It was dark as night, and began to rise around him. Suddenly he felt very cold, a coldness he had never experienced, and it made him feel small and weak, like a child stuck in a blizzard. The ether swallowed him up, and just before it reached his mouth he tried to take a breath, but could not force himself to do so, and something dawned on him. He had not breathed at all for the entire time he was here, and when he thought about it, he did not know how long it was, or where here was. Then he was pulled down under the water of ether by a thousand hungry hands, paralyzed and unable to do anything. He couldn't scream, couldn't breath or move, all he could do was let the invisible hands take him away. He got to see it though, for just a moment; infinity. There was a darkness around him that stretched on forever, and he was sure of it now, he was dead, he had failed.


Guinevere could feel it with her hands as she tried to bring him back, as with every pulse of shock, and lightning his heartbeat grew fainter, and weaker. Roxii could feel it with her magic, see the very life leaving his body, his magical signature dim to a hollow light. Both at once they could see and feel in there own way he had died. The mortal body of the corpse guide had finally taken a beaten and forced rest. His spirit though somewhere that only very few people had been before.


Peering through the endless void of infinity something appeared as he was whisked away, there was a magic gate that looked like a liquid mirror. It shuddered and pulsed, and a feeling overcame him, a sense to look deep into it as it drew closer. He could see a village, dark and shrouded in twilight and gray. There were people but they were all small, and still, until he was shot into the mirror, the hands finally relinquishing him. He fell, unblinking, staring at the village, and the soil, and the people all getting closer and closer. He was falling straight into the center of town where there was a large open space with nothing in it, like the crater left by a meteor. Just before he touched it, he blinked and he was standing. He finally had feeling in his limbs again, but a figure was before him, emanating a dark pulse. Every pulse sang to him, and he felt drawn to it, like a moth to the flame, and when he was mere steps away the figure turned around.


They were wreathed in shadows that seemed to bounce between every state of matter, sometimes liquid, others solid, and lastly gas, fluctuating in random patterns. It had a hood, but inside was the same void of the place in between, and he could see nothing. It stared at him, and he stared at it in silence, and Morgrim felt he had finally meet the reaper, and it was ready to take his soul. He was only half right though.


“You are looking worse for wear my prodigy, did my gifts not suit you?” It said in a low, guttural tongue, that sound like it was bloated by blood and oil, Morgrim recognized the voice.


“Luna?” He said confused, the bird did not look like quite the same bird anymore.


“Not entirely, but not dissimilar, I am a part of you like that memory, but physical as well. I'm stuck here, and need you to seek me out.” The thing said, the voice coming from everywhere all around him, and in his head.


“Where is here even, who are you?” Morgrim asked, the questions bursting out. He'd seen this figure in his dreams before, present in all the ones he could remember, but he had never heard its name, never knew its source. Until now that is.


“You have eyes, look around you.” The thing paused, observing with a faceless visage as Morgrim took in the sight around him. It was his home village, before it went to ruin, the people were those he remembered burying. “You took something from me Morgrim, you took part of my power when you absorbed that stone. I am Nekros, the god of the dead. You Morgrim are the key to restoring the balance, to stopping the intruders.”


More questions, how did the head professor get his hands on the piece of a god? Who were the intruders? How was he meant to restore the balance when he still didn't know any of the pieces.


“There is no time, find what lies in the Ashkii forest, then return here and preform the ritual.” And with that Morgrim could feel a shock pulse through his body, and sent him shooting back, as if through time. He desperately grasped for anything, to hold on and get more answers, but try as he might, he failed. It was not Nekros's day to collect, not yet.


By now half an hour had passed since Morgrim's pulse had stopped, since his ether had been drained, and his spirit departed. One of the deckhands had put a canvas sheet over his body like they do for the dead, but they would not through him overboard. Their plan was to give him a funeral, probably a lonely one, but then something happened. Roxii would be the first to notice it, a ghastly presence coming from under the ship, something not tangible, or visible, but something that was undoubtedly there. Like the dead rising from the graved it crawled up, and clambered over the side of the deck in one swift motion, rushing towards the corpse guide. The spirit forced its way into the body of Morgrim, and then Morgrim shot up.


The life had returned to him, not likely a trick he could repeated a second time, and not one that would leave him without some shock. All he saw was darkness, and felt a cloth over him, he tried to grab it with his arm, but felt nothing there. A deep sense of dread filled him, as he finally manage to peel off the canvas with his other arm, and see the stump that remained.


“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He said looking at the missing limb. “Gods damnit why does my luck have to be so shit.” Looking at the situation he knew he was still lucky to be alive for one, but now more problems were piling themselves onto his plate. He didn't know if he would be able to tackle everything thrown at him, but he would damn well have to try, or it all would have been for naught. Another stroke of luck for him was the lack of pain, he didn't remember the drunkard forcing the liquid into his mouth, but it was working wonders for him. With Roxii's magic, and the potions effect in the short thirty minutes the part where his arm had disintegrated had completely forced itself shut and stopped the blood flow. On top of that the painkiller effect made it so he barely felt any of the pain. The burn marks stung, his head rang slightly from the concussion, and his arm still retained some phantom pain, but he had enough strength to walk.


So he did, he rose to his feet, and saw that he was below deck now, but beside him was the assassin, the champion, and another figure he did not recognize, someone ambiguously beautiful, but the smell of alcohol soured it a little. Morgrim felt he knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway, just to be sure. “What happened?” Luna for once was silent and not present, even though he had just come back from the dead. Something was off.
 
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