Fantasy &nbsp; TOTTDLMTH Episode 2

Trappy

Pilgrim59 · Jan 13, 2021

Sylvia
Nova Heights, Dragonsreach, Haven

Nessi

Friedhelm of Brecourt
Nova Heights, Dragonsreach, Haven

A light tug upon a shared blanket, and a pair of drowsy eyes that wandered the room. Perhaps it was the alcohol from last night that dulled her senses where she could not steer the pointy tip of her lance across the room like she did before. But even in her hungover stupor, the deadly calm of the twilight hours made her ears rang. So much so that she had wished to stay in the comforts of shrieking artillery to lull her to sleep. Alas, there was no hope to drown the perpetual horrors that awaited her at night. The only thing, or rather, the only one to keep her sane was that of a certain man that laid beside her. Neglecting her ruffled silvery hair, the displaced strap and wrinkles of her camisole, and the whiskey breath that she has, Sylvia turned to her husband, of whom was still asleep. She did not want to wake him. A wall erected between them ever since she returned home. Ra'el did not utter a word. The dishes undone, and he had broken out of her curiosity with a dormant gesture. Perhaps it was something she did or said that upset him, Sylvia thought, before dwelling on it. Her husband was not the type to simply turn the blanket and leapt into the realm of dreams without kissing her forehead and wishing her a good night. Something had gone awry. Even now, she failed to recall his eyes before they settled for the warm comfort of their mattress.

The hero reached out her hand, hovering it over his back, in hopes of feeling his warm self. But in the end, she could not bring herself to initiate such a topic. Perhaps he was simply tired, she convinced herself. Climbing out of bed, the girl dragged herself across the room. A certain fold of parchment at their doorsteps. Sylvia reached out for it, turning the cover over with great surprise.
"NOVA HEIGHTS BESIEGED // AUTHORITIES BAFFLED BY MYSTERIOUS ASSAILANTS", the words that quickly undid the torpidity in her. Without thinking, she reached for her armored attires, donning them within the minute. As she reached the door, she gave Ra'el one last look as she sashayed towards the corner of their bed. Her steely gauntlet unfurled, brushing his hair softly as she whispered into his ears. Before long, the room had discharged Sylvia's presence, as the latter took off for Nova Heights.

The hero wasted little time, jogging her way from one end of the Central District to the other, regulating her breath as her combat instincts took over. The initial frosted lungs were quickly warmed up by her sheer determination. The lancer came upon a certain stable, and tapped on one of the squareback's shoulder firmly.

"I shall return him by the end of the day." she said, before riding eastwards. The dumbfounded guard was caught in a state of awe, but did not stop the one that saved Grozny.

Upon her arrival, Sylvia eyed the facility in ruins. A construction golem being towed off, the belated reinforcements, the garrison tending to body bags that littered the Western Gate, and a certain sort of company that Sylvia was less keen on making contact with. The hero studied all that she could in the courtyard, before a certain heated argument ensued between the prison guards and those in black armor. Blending into the crowd of squarebacks that was legging off towards the main holding blocks, the hero managed to slip past the Black Watchers at the main gate. Before long, she realized that the soldiers were in awe of her presence. Before anyone of them could utter a word, the hero cleared her throat slightly. The squarebacks eyed her briefly then at the Black Watch enforcers approaching from the other wings. Without a word, one of them gave her a helmet, and another covered her torso with their winter cloak. The soldiers then led her into the facility, shielding her from the Black Watchers.

"I appreciate it." she finally said, when they were out of the Black Watch's line of sight, before returning the helmet and the cloak.

"It's the least we could do for the Angel of Verdan. Besides, none of us here are on friendly terms with the Watchers." replied the guard.

"We must return to our posts now. Hope you find what you're looking for, Hero." the last man replied, before pacing himself alongside the others down the hallway.

Sylvia wandered the facility, simulating different takes on the incident within her head, all the while pondering the assailants' goal. It was not exactly ideal to run headlong into an investigation with no leads, let alone the disciplinary eyes of the Black Watch. Even when they have served under the same banner, Sylvia was not exactly the type to bow down to the Black Watch's authority. To her, the Black Watch Order had attached themselves to the chewed-down-to-the-bones definition of the law. By law, it meant that they were not ready to pursue the truth, but only their truths. Even when the Chancellor had deactivated the Company, Sylvia must sought out justice with all her might. A promise that made her the woman she is today. One that constitutes her renewed existence and be the change she wishes to see in the world - to seek true justice, no matter the cause. Having witnessed the aftermath of the heist in the debris-ridden courtyard, it was fair to say that a couple of new players are in town. Plural, for the varied methods caused by different weapons upon the fallen ones. The question was the intent of their ignoble crusade. That would determine her purpose here. Having scanned the hallways leading to the most-secure floor for ten minutes, Sylvia came to a halt. A new theory emerged.

Marks of torn ligaments, ashen projectiles, footprints all over. The bodies in the courtyard, twisted inside out, while others constricted. Yet, with all these diverse skillsets, not a single trace of aetherian deposit. Sylvia's eyes turned over her shoulders, then towards the ground. Her eyes widened.

"It can't be." she muttered beneath her breath.

Before she could confirm her suspicions, Sylvia ended up in Cell Block H, where two peculiar mounds of ash laid before her. At first, she deferred to the natural assumption of Fireblazers. The evidence proved to be sketchy at best. The ashes were less bright in color, as well as the natural size of a regular Blazer. During the war, Fireblazers often formed the mechanized vanguards of the Shadow Legion. But they were often taller than what the ceiling could hold where Sylvia stood. Thoughts ran her by, but the hero decided it was best to confirm it with help. Withdrawing a vial from her sleeve, Sylvia collected the ashes. As she secured the samples, an uninvited presence begged her attention.

"Riddle me this, a retired hero stumbling upon a crime scene that so happens to be half-an-hour ride away." said the man in black.

The hero sighed slightly.

"The Black Watch Grandmaster graces Nova Heights with his presence, alongside his contingency of Watchers?"

"Command- ... my apologies, Lady Sylvia, now is it?" remarked the man, with a slightly condescending chuckle when addressing Sylvia.

"Grandmaster Friedhelm."

The two exchanged their nonconforming glares, without so much as a blink.

"No need for the formalities. I tire of your self-indulged need to look for troubles, Lady Sylvia. Sygis or not, this is Imperial soil, and you will be held accountable for your deeds. Perhaps you have forgotten that the war is over?"

"The War might be over, but there are still deeds to be resolved."

"Need I remind you that the Company has been deactivated, effective as of yesternight. This is now a case under the jurisdiction of the Black Watch, not Iris. I suggest you return home this instance, or be defined by your actions this day, milady. I cannot ill-afford another Onyx, at the behest of the Hero's selfish crusade."

A brief silence befell them, before Sylvia finally moved, but not before halting beside the Black Watch Grandmaster.

"I will not ask you to forgive me. I only hope that your sense of lawful justice isn't shrouded by your disdains for me." she said softly, before being escorted outside by Friedhelm's men.

The Grandmaster turned to the shadows of the broken cells, his eyes faded into the dimlit room, alongside his vicious fists.

Soviet Panda · Jan 13, 2021

"You just have to meet my sister's daughter. A lovely girl if you ask me. You two would get along, I can just feel it. And I've got a way of knowing when people will get along." An elderly woman with silvery hair said, walking with the kind of confidence that only age and respect bring with it, even when the help of a cane is needed. Her companion, a nearly 7' giant with hair as white as snow and dragging a massive, dire deer carcass on a sled behind him, could only grunt in acknowledgement. Fealca had seen this specimen a few days ago, and simply could not wait for an adventurer to take up the task. Luckily for him, there was a loophole that allowed him to post and then accept a quest within mere minutes.

"Mrs. Seolfor, while I'm glad that you think so, as you can see I'm a busy man. It will take me all day just to even begin preparing the meat of this-"

"Phaw, then I will bring her down to meet you. How does tomorrow sound? At lunch? We'll eat out, my treat. Oh, and don't forget about my order."

"Yes, Mrs. Seolfor, one pound Albion beef from the Charlemange ranch. The best quality beef in all of Grozny, so you claim. Owned by your brother, if I remember correctly. If I may say so, your family has quite the reach."

"You may, it is, and it does. Until tomorrow, Mr. Irons." And with that, the small woman broke ahead of Fealca and disappeared into the crowd. Giving a disappointed sigh, he then begins to plan for company. Mrs. Seolfor had been trying to get him to join her family for months now, for what purpose he was not sure. After days of wondering what the potential reasoning behind all of it was, he had settled on her wanting a family discount at his shop. Well, she would be disappointed, for even if he did marry into her family, he wouldn't give them a discount. If anything, he'd be hard pressed not to charge her, in particular, more.

As he trudged back to his shop, wrestling with the dire deer carcass as he went, he was unaware of the events of the night prior. He had been out tracking what now lies dead on the sled behind him, after all. But it was nothing a quick read of the day's papers couldn't fix, once he got around to reading them that is.

Pilgrim59 · Jan 14, 2021

Hershey
Epirean District, Dragonsreach, Haven
Interacted:

Celestial Speck
Mentioned:

The Harbingers' successful prison break was a short-lived triumph. Beneath the rural bridge, were four distinctive individuals that neglected the cold breeze since the night's wintry breeze carried them to sleep. Hershey had only turned up a few hours when Hassan was on firewatch, while Bisila and Galius took respite. She knew what Hassan had to inquire about her divergent path. While she certainly was not the type to defect their shared integrity, it was truly an unorthodox decision for a cohesive Dreamweaver to part ways without so much as a a word. An ulterior motive, designed solely by and for the aries to execute. Hershey took to heart these things, but never uttered anything.

"Hershey comprehends thine inquisitive mind. I can assure thee, revelation will come as the dawn upon our cause. Conjure for thyself a reprieve, milord." was the last thing Hershey said to Hassan when she finally arrived at their rendezvous point.

Reclining against the cold stones, Hershey dwelled on her recent encounter with her overlord. Was her action to reel them back to the old life a just one? Could it be that the Daemon Lord had moved on and forsaken his comrades now that he was situated? No, her master was not a materialistic slave to the Groznyan society, Hershey convinced herself. The entire reason for her current situation was illustrated as thus. She saw his eyes, and visage for perhaps the first time ever. But her lantern does not lie. Long before the Havenites came to Saarema, the pact they made was prime for this very occasion. Yet, even now, the Daemon Lord's distant eyes were that of a lost individual. Even when she tried to refresh his memories, it was as if he was a blank check. Like a rusted key upon a chest that had no keys. Was it all for naught? No, there has to be something more than that. Dawn is coming, and with it, perhaps the Daemon Lord will take heed of her apparition. For now, the Harbingers needed to situate themselves properly in the long run. Hershey will try time and time again to see her master return to power. A purpose for a higher purpose. The road will be long and hard, but knowing that she was not alone, it will be done. The last grozium that Hershey used to bring about the Daemon Lord's supposed psychogenic amnesia finally faded, as she sighed slightly before turning over to catch a wink of sleep.

Hershey opened her eyes to the morning light bouncing off the stream. She lightly tug on her cloak and turned it over to sleeping Galius, covering him from the cold morning wind. Hassan was wide awake when she came to, with his eyes fixed into the distance. Even now, Hershey refuses to impart her encounter with the Daemon Lord. She must confirm it via other methods before rushing to conclusions. For now, they needed a roof over their heads, some revenues to go by the day and lay low. It was best not to awaken the Companions from their slumber. Hershey could only speculate that it was a matter of time before the Iris Company would involve themselves.

"Lord Nox I-Sen, it is the duty of this dreamweaver to advise thee of our current destitute conditions. We may yet need facilities, proper capitals and means to seek out the Daemon Lord. Alas, another concern plagues Hershey. What events transpired within the facilities? Hershey felt thy vitality spiked with anticipation, even for what Hershey assumed were mere squareback sentries..."

Hershey emphasized on the latter inquiry, curious as to who or what Hassan came across within Nova Heights. Nothing was more dangerous than having a thorn in their blindside. Hershey had her suspicions of a third party intervention. But even those hypotheticals were unbacked at best. Rather, whoever they were, these specters covered their tracks well. Even now, she recalled the details of her travels across Grozny, filled with the same sentiment of being trailed like what she felt at Nova Heights. Should Hassan confirm her suspicions, she will only be more concerned rather than relieved. Such was the nature of truths, she contemplated.

Celestial Speck · Jan 14, 2021

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Epirean District, Dragonsreach, Haven

There was a certain melancholy to him after the raid on Nova Heights. It wasn't anything serious- at least not that he could notice (as well as someone like him could within himself) but it stood there like some sort of sore spot after a battle. A small closing of his neck, and a pull inside his chest. Nothing more, nothing less. It felt like nothing but a small itch inside his being, yet it wasn't just something he immediately was able to scratch away, principally when he didn't understand where it came from and why. His determination, he could remember, was still at its peak once he finished defeating the enemies ready to execute Bisi. But once he exited the prison grounds alongside Hershey and the rest, there was nothing left aside relief, happiness, and his usual confidence after a battle- but that melancholy stood.

Maybe I shouldn't have spoken those words, honestly. His mind told himself. They were embarrassing despite being true- (if only partially) after all, he was ever loyal to Sertek. He saw the man as nothing but a being who he would follow down to the depths of hell itself, so why did that melancholy came to him? It wasn't as if he believed him to be dead- falling off a mountain is such an unfitting and nonsensical end to a man with so much power like him, so-

The crackling of firewood and the movements of a petite yet old woman thankfully interrupted his thoughts during his fire watch. Hershey's arrival was something Hassan secretly appreciated despite his face not changing aside from a small turn of his head to meet her gaze as she approached. Someone to talk to should be able to get his mind out of those strange thoughts that do more harm than good. Besides, he needs to focus on their collective safety. He can't afford to have these thoughts when everyone is counting on him for their safety. What would the soldiers that followed him to battle eons ago think?

He couldn't help but frown at her words though. She was right. "I know, I know," He breathed out with a bit of a tired sigh. "Living under the bridge isn't exactly befitting of individuals such as ourselves, is it? I know many places here- some abandoned buildings where other shelterless individuals reside. I spent time with them, at times." The memories of the harsh but surprisingly socialistic lifestyle of those without a roof atop their head came to his mind. It was truly something curious, the poor simply working together and finding reasons to smile despite that...But he soon shook his head. "I would recommend finding a place of our own, though. And I'm not sure how effective having jobs will be...Gallius seemingly had one, if I'm not mistaken, though."

That particular topic was soon short-lived as Hershey mentioned something else- undoubtedly, his battle against the strange figures he met within Nova Heights, and from there, he frowned. Admittedly, he...Really didn't put much thought into them at all ever since his battle with those individuals/creatures. Perhaps it was foolish, but his emotions and beliefs took the better of him, and he truly didn't think much of them. At least not until now.

"There is some sort of strange conspiracy occurring yet again, my loyal friend," He spoke, resting his chin atop the hilt of one of his blades as he sat down, closing his eyes yet for a moment. "Something about a 'King' and the 'True Sun' those whom I fought were loyal to. When I reached Bisi- two warriors clad in dark, not Astrian nor Solarian, for when my blades cut across them, black liquid oozed from them and they became nothing but gas after a moment's notice." He paused, recalling anything else. Nothing came to mind, but... "They remind me of your constructs, Hershey. I'm not sure if they're the same, as they had the intelligence to speak and had weapons you'd expect from guards with them, but alas, this what I recall of these strange beings. Watch your back, my friend. It seems we stumbled into some sort of third party. But worry not. They will fall to my blade."

A small smile of reassurance came to him as he gave a small pat on her shoulder.

Nessi · Jan 14, 2021

Ra'el
Dragonsreach, Haven

Ra'el knew that he w

as dreaming, but he couldn't wake himself up. He was back in that place, the place where all his strange dreams took place, with the group of people that he couldn't remember clearly. All of them were just dark outlines, all but one. It was the girl, the one who had came to him in the dead of night, and called him that name. Sertek, the demon lord who was killed by his wife. Ra'el woke up in a cold sweat, alone, which wasn't normal. Usually, he'd wake up next to Sylvia, but it seemed like she had stepped out earlier. After that strange woman visited him last night, he knew that he wasn't himself, and had been a little cold towards his wife. "I'll have to make it up to her, but, maybe that girl knows more about me. It's the only lead I have about myself, even if it is merely false, I have to know." Ra'el muttered to himself as he got out of bed.

Ra'el made sure to clean the kitchen and dishes from last nights party, leaving the kitchen spotless. He also left a note for Sylvia if she were to come home before he did, saying that he was sorry for being a bit distant last night, and had went out to clear his mind. Ra'el put on a blue coat, which was a gift from Sylvia, and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

Ra'el didn't know where he would find that girl from his past. She hadn't exactly told him much after their little meeting. He'd just have ask around, see if anyone has seen a small lamb child recently. He hoped that she was still in the area, it would be pointless if she had already left Dragonsreach.

Worthlessplebian · Jan 14, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions:

Pilgrim59 and Iris Company.

Another morning, another day of patients running in fear. The arachnoid sensed that it is morning, accelerated his cognitive activity, and awoke from the perceived period of rest. He dropped from his web although this time, his feet were shaky, the alcohol was the most likely suspect. A mighty stretch that was hampered by the verticality of his antic. His four limbs fluttered momentarily then ceased, slumping down to relax from a night of stiffness. A hand reached up to hold his head. It felt as though, a little rattus astrian pounded his brain with a mallet. He went about his usual routine, a mug of joe, noise from the phonograph, breakfast, and... Ah, the morning newspaper. He had almost forgotten it.

His opaque drapes were parted and the sunlight fully illuminated the cramped antic. The white blanket on the city would've made the arachnoid smile if he had lips. Although the chilly wind that caressed his scarred shell didn't bring him much joy. A quick thwip from his hand through the hole in the porch roof and up goes the folded gazette. He set aside the funny pages on the table in his antic alongside the plate with his morning breakfast. He poured the boiling water onto the ground and took in the fragrance.

One delightful breakfast later, Preston flipped over the papers to the first page. At the moment, his mug of coffee was halfway between his exposed maw and the table when he read the headline. "NOVA HEIGHTS BESIEGED // AUTHORITIES BAFFLED BY MYSTERIOUS ASSAILANTS" - The words flickered in his head.

The grip around the mug's handle began to tighten, threatening to break it. His eight eyes stared hatefully at the words as if angered at the truth in front of them. Preston began counting aloud. "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10..." Calming his nerves by breathing in and out between the numbers. The combat surgeon had managed to suppress the rage within him. Placing the mug and newspaper on the table, Preston got up and began to prepare himself for the coming investigation. Test tubes, reactants, tweezers, and other various tools for sample collection or on-site testing, even a device that utilized a special filter to produce ultraviolet light.

It is no secret that Preston, a Silk Weaver from Met Di Plurida, is not on amicable terms with the squarebacks or the rest of the Empire, not even being a war-hero could carry him into their good graces. He flung open the small cabinet that contained all his articles of clothing, neatly organized. Obviously, the goal was to dress inconspicuously. In preparation for a day like this, a small group of the clothing that he bought after the war is plain, darker colors, yes but not jet-black or anything eye-catching. Plus he had acquired them unmodified and did not attempt to modify them as he did to his other clothes.

With preparations done and Preston dressed, he grabbed the specialized bag that held his tools and began to descend his clinic. From the antic to the administrative floor then the receptionist area that was adjoint to the medical unit to the side. Before he left however Preston was a doctor first, soldier second so he ran through his schedule today to see if he had any appointments with patients from previous days. Lady Luck had smiled on him as his schedule was clear for the entire day. He was just about to depart before a realization struck him. He froze in front of the door.

What about the others? The other members of Iris Company... In his determined state, he had forgotten all about them. "Damn." He was about to blithely charge into a crime scene, putting not only himself but his comrades at risk. Fine then, he'll wait for now. His commander Sylvia or someone else has until nightfall to get to him before he departs for the rooftops and faces off against the Black Watchers and Squarebacks in a dance between the shadows.

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Jan 15, 2021

Galious Meeples
location: under a bridge.
interaction:

Celestial Speck mention:

Galious awoke with what looked like so sort of vague scowl on his features however it still ended up looking like a smile. the events of yesterday where.. well, they were definitely the most exciting few minutes the small Astrian had had in months. what he wasn't used to however was sleeping on the ground as unlike some of the other harbingers Galious had managed to somewhat make a life for himself however monotonous it was. so sleeping on the ground under some random bridge was very uncomfortable. letting out a squeaky yawn Galious got up and made his way over to Hershy and Hassan as the pair made conversation about their current situation and something else that had occurred during their raid of nova heights.

now that there was a moment of quiet. Galious had some time to comment on the situation. "yes indeed I do have a job.. and somewhere to live but... I wouldn't be the most comfortable bunking with everyone you see it is very small, actually speaking of my job, I really should get back there I'd much like to keep my job and that will require me framing CARL."Galious spoke the name with a venomous chirping. Carl would pay this day, oh yes this thought made Galious cackle evilly. It was now that the small Astarian's mind drifted between everything he could now do that he remembered something that was vitally important to himself almost as much as framing Carl. "actually now that the four of us are here, I can finally convince Fealca that I am indeed me... oh and also Fealca alive and runs a butchers shop" Galious speaking about this as if it wasn't all too important that another one of the harbingers was alive putting more emphasis on convincing the very tall Astarian that he was indeed a Harbinger. Galious had tried numerous times to convince Fealca. All attempts ending with Galious coin pouch being lighter because he'd simply given up and bought something.

ElenaIsCool · Jan 15, 2021

Bisila Nzo "White Wolf"

Under A Bridge

Interacting with:

Celestial Speck
Mentions:

Soviet Panda

Bisila never thought she'd be indebted to someone, especially if that someone was Hassan. Not in money but with her life, which in her opinion woth quite a lot. It didn't sound very appealing, really being the one in debt instead of the other way round. It bothered the Trickster a bit but not that much. If the obvious authority he had over her never stopped her from bothering him, then what would a life debt do? Although she would probably have to thread lightly on this landmine if she was going to keep on tricking him. Wouldn't want him to slice her in half sometime.

Sleeping on the floor under a bridge, while not the most comfortable, was a huge improvement from her cell which was designed as if it had every aspect of making the inmate as uncomfortable as possible before execution, which could maybe be true. She had so many stretches to do and her wrists still felt the effects of the chains, along with her back needing a very long massage. Those all felt great right then, really. How long had it been? She didn't know, Oren was never one to answer her questions about the time. She had been awake for a while now but her eyes were still closed. It helped her focus, if a bit, on her many rampaging thoughts. She had felt so many things while they were on horseback, looking back on Nova Heights, mostly the now faded, thrilling pump of adrenaline and rush she always had whenever she was in such situations, followed by relief and a weird feeling that hadn’t left her since her fellow inmates, her 'lads' got executed. As she saw Jeshua approach, newspaper ball in hand, she felt this feeling overwhelm her, even though her cheeky attitude shone through. Was it fear? It was, but more than that. Terror, helplessness, dread. All of them at once. The realization that she was next, that she was going to die, got her in the last minute. Hell, even then she kind of regretted being so bothersome to her fellow Harbringers. Why then, of all times? Most of her life-or-death situations were mostly filled with fun and excitement, maybe because she knew she was going to get out of it. But then? She was chained, helpless, unable to help herself. It was a terribly icky feeling.

The White Wolf groaned from her fake-sleep, her thinking time not seeming so pleasing anymore so she opened her eyes and glanced over to the chatting Harbringers. She only managed to get something about Fealca being alive and a butcher shop.

“That so? Then maybe sleeping with chopped mince meat and dead pigs would be better than sleeping under a bridge. Not to sound ungrateful but compared to this, the prision was kind of like a 5 star hotel. Food, a roof above your head 24/7, nice roomates and the guards were total sweethearts too. Welp, too late to complain now”

Bisila’s signature grin was plastered on her face as she sat up, stretching her arms as she glanced over to the strange guns she had picked up from the Crows. She would have to pick them and tick them later. That reminded her of something she’d heard from the Crows, and Oren.

“Not to damper this already damp day but I’m pretty sure we should lay lower than normal. Whoever the mask-wearing bird people were, they were sent by the Crown. I know we get a lot of attention but this kind.. Tis a bother”

Pilgrim59 · Jan 15, 2021

Sylvia
29th Street, Central District, Dragonsreach

Worthlessplebian

Sylvia parted way with the solemn Black Watchers, giving the facility one last look before she left. The Grandmaster of the Black Watch have always been at odds with the Hero since the events that transpired at Onyx Valley. Even when he did not say it, Friedhelm's spiteful eyes were earnest in its rights. Sylvia knew of what he had to say, long before he did. Even in the polite atmosphere at Barley's Keep, Friedhelm was always the first to oppose Sylvia and the Company's proposals. The most ironic measure of it all was the fact that Friedhelm fought alongside the Company throughout the entire war. Their common grounds were that of late-night battle plans and the blooded steel of the next day. It was common to consider Friedhelm an ally, yet reality differed by sun and moon. How could she blame the man for feeling what he did? After all, it was her impetuous self that wrote the tragedies of that day.

Sylvia eventually returned to the stables in the Central District, and relinquished her borrowed steed to the garrisons. She eyed the high Aurelian District in the distance, where the simple monument to the fallen of the War basked in the snowy morning light. The price that the Imperial citizens had to pay for their current way of life, in the form of an unturned slab of stone. It did not take long for the hero to wind up where she cast her gaze upon prior. Where she walked, donning her distinguishable armor, pedestrians steered clear and in turn cast their eyes upon the lonesome hero. She passed a small child, of whom was holding onto a basket of flowers. A smile, followed by a generous exchange of ryns for a some flowers before she continued pacing herself forward. Sylvia finally halted before the memorial, where the changing of the guards gave her a brief moment of silence. In her hands, a bouquet of edelweiss, so pure yet melancholic, was quickly laid upon monument's steps. Beside her bouquet were the others', as per traditions of this sacred place. Yet, a peculiar bottle of Blackford Scotch stood out. If she had not known any better, Sylvia would have assumed it to be Markas's unspoken tender side. But in reality, he was simply not foolish enough to waste it on a slab of stone. Call the man a gloomy, realistic warrior, but somewhere deep down, Sylvia could make out his better sides.

The hero turned away from the memorial, giving it one last look, before running her fingers upon her gauntlet's sleeves, where the samples she retrieved from Nova Heights resides. There was no time to rest, simply from being driven away by Friedhelm. Whoever broke into Nova Heights were skilled individuals, armed with a particular goal. While the Black Watch were not keen on releasing such information, it was time for Sylvia to do this the old fashioned way, with or without the backing of the authorities. But to whom must she refer to? It was not particularly right for her to crawl up at one of her companion's door and reel them back into the fray, going back on the very words she gave last night. Sylvia took a gamble, and made her way towards the Central District. There was none other than two specific individuals she had in mind for the detail, but even so, they might need a few persuasions. A quick turn upon a couple of blocks, just past DiConti's and a certain butcher shop, the woman eventually halted on the corner of 29th Street.

A few knocks upon the door, followed by a chiming bell. Eventually, she was met by a face none other than the Company's most ardent appreciator of gramophone selections. Taking a deep breath where she stood, Sylvia finally gave word.

"I hope Markas's procurement of Hibernian persuasion from yesternight have yet to impair your morning senses, Preston? What I have to say may very well contradict my words just less than a day ago... Alas, I have a favor to ask of you." Sylvia said to the arachnoid, unsheathing a vial filled with the ashen residue from Nova Heights. Her crimson eyes veered towards Preston's with a strong determination.

Celestial Speck · Jan 15, 2021

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Epirean District, Dragonsreach, Haven

It seems Hassan's semi idle chatter with Hershey was caught by the ear of his other now awakened companions as well. Hassan didn't offer much change in his demeanor or face, assuming it was just their internal clocks waking them up. After all, as soldiers, they all shared that sort of clock to be able to wake at the correct time and be able to save their energies- or not. But still, he'd be lying if he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt over them waking up- and annoyance, but that was mostly due to Bisi rather than anyone else. Maybe a bit of Meeples as well, but his 'cute' (annoying to him) squeaky voice was bearable compared to the girl's antics. Sometimes he had to wonder if she wasn't actually a teen.

"Well, would you look at that? Meeples, abandoning his duties and getting a life for himself, just like master said, huh?" Despite the fact his voice had a more comedic and teasing tone to it, there was a hint of melancholy and anger in there. Or maybe it was simply frustration. Hershey herself, like him, never truly gave up. What did he do?

He'd need to bury away that small contempt and anger that suddenly grew in him, however. He couldn't be angry at his companions, not after he spent so much trying to find all of them. Even if he wanted to berate the lizard for abandoning his duties like that, he had to admit there were some advantages to the fact. Namely, money, and even shelter, however small it may be. However, what truly surprised him was the mention of yet another one of their companions- namely, the ex-grand general of Sertek's army, Sir Fealca.

"What?" He blurted out, genuinely surprised at that reveal. Were all Harbingers located in this blasted city? How could he miss something like that? Is he just incompetent, or did the fates just decide to bring them all together at the right moment? It wasn't as if he was complaining- while he wasn't exactly close to the Grand General, the two did share mutual, silent respect to one another even if they weren't necessarily close to one another. And he doesn't think he wished for anything more or less from a man with his position. And besides, he's a second hand without any sort of brain to lead him. "Sir Fealca is here in this city as well?"

His attention however turned to Bisi as she soon had her own thoughts on the matter. That silver tongue that was still slippery and trickery to cut down was still there, he could tell, but she was more...Restrained? It was hard to put to words- certainly felt odd to see her this way. Was the prison truly that much to her?

"We should probably move if that's the case." The Endless Swordsman said, getting himself up and adjusting the cloak around him to cover his face. He made a mention for Bisi to do the same with the blankets- after all, she was a fugitive. "We had many more enemies in the past aside from kings and queens. We will get through this, believe me. Our next course of action should find sir Fealca and hope he is willing to join our side once more. Make sure you're all prepared and keep yourselves low. I wouldn't be surprised if the town's guardsmen were on high alert after our raid."

Hassan mentioned for all to follow him- but not after looking at Bisi, and said something that was true despite his opinions about her.

"...And, Bisi. It's good to have you back. It's good to have you all back, storms."

Worthlessplebian · Jan 15, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions:

Preston simply sat down at the receptionist desk. With the decision made, there is simply nothing more to do than to wait. He leaned to the right side and opened the lowest drawer. A clawed hand jostled the contents then retrieved a silver strip. When the parents didn't rush their children away from the eight-legged, eight eyed Doctor, he likes to give the children a stick of gum with differing flavors. Peeling back the packaging revealed the zesty flavor of lemon. It was not Preston's favorite stimuli on his taste buds but beggars can not be choosers. He crumpled the package then set it on the edge of his desk, pointing towards the trashcan near the door to the examination room. He tucked his forefinger into his thumb then moved the hand in front of the wrapping. His eight eyes gauged the distance, adjusted the angle then flicked the crumpled wrapping towards the trashcan. Much to his chagrin, it did not find its' mark. Hopefully, this was not an omen of things to come.

Preston groaned partially, at least the gum provided an iota of satisfaction with its' taste. Clawed fingers began tapping against second-rate wood with a third-rate finish. His memories drifted back to the time when his mentor showed him a claw kata or claw drill that he practiced. While he'd like to reenact it to past the time, it was never written down anywhere, nor did he repeat it so Preston could commit it to memory. Just yesterday at the party, Preston had walked the path of nostalgia. He began to wonder whether the arachnoid felt a longing to return to his cavernous home in Met Di Plurida... Although with how he left it after the second visitation... It would be best to forget such a place existed, at least for now. A bitter sigh escaped the Surgeon-Turned-Soldier.

Then a knock on the door. His eyes and body shot up at the noise. With haste, Preston threw the gum and its' wrapping into the trashcan. He adjusted the shirt's sleeves and collar then opened his door to greet the visitor. Fate had deemed the commander to be Preston's co-conspirator in the infiltration of Nova Heights.

He spoke about breaking her promise to him and Iris Company and revealed a vial of ash. Her crimson eyes blazed with the fires of determination. Three clawed fingers gently picked up the vial and displayed it towards the morning sun that pierced into the room. A glance at the glassware then he met his commander's gaze again. "Dare I presume these cinders are from Nova Heights?" The spider spun on his heel and his back turned towards his commander. Luckily, he had decided to wrap his four other appendages around his chest and hide them underneath the shirt (although the bulging lines were noticeable upclose), or else his commander might have gotten a mouth full of chitin.

"Enter, I've been expecting you or anyone, truthfully." Preston invited enthusiastically while walking towards the door to the examination room. "Take a seat." He turned around and pointed at the blue, upholstered chairs, they seemed high-priced when compared to the prior desk. A solid minute of noises emanated from the exam room then Preston once again emerged. "My laboratory is ready to begin the tests but first, I must inquire. How is the situation over at the prison?"

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Jan 15, 2021

Galious Meeples
location: under a bridge.
interaction:

ElenaIsCool mention:

Galious stared up at Hassan his little quip at the Astarian had not gone unnoticed By him. Normally he’d have a fairly long rant to go on about such a thing but this time... well it would be incredibly inappropriate.. but there was certainly time for something small. The gecko man's face managed to contort to a blank look his tiny fists clenching up. His eyes locking onto Hassans. “Yes.. I did exactly as lord Sertek asked, because I trusted his judgment and every one of his orders, at least when he was around then the universe stopped trying to spite me.. and Hassan is it really abandoning my duties when I only followed lord Srtek’s last wishes?” Galious spoke flatly still somewhat squeaking it was clear that this was the utmost serious comment he’d made all day.

the conversation afterward quickly shifted to Fealca being alive. Galious’s grin returning and he nodded to Hassan. “ he most certainly is alive. oh and the meat there is great but anyway I can lead us there if need be, perhaps yourself and Hershey will have more luck convincing him." Galious replied being fairly happy to bring the group to another one of their long-lost comrades. now of course Bisi was awake now complaining about sleeping under a bridge. Clenching his first even more he forced himself to hold his tongue on the subject because aside from that she actually made some good points. "but yes I suppose we should remain more careful.. if they realize who we are... they may put iris company on the case, hmm anyway shall we get moving?" he asked everyone with a tilt of the head hoping they could get going before being caught out by anyone or anything

Pilgrim59 · Jan 16, 2021

Hershey
Isern Braede, Central District, Dragonsreach

Even when Hassan had reminded Hershey of their current dispositions the day before, the aries could not relinquish her force of habit to address the man with courtesy. It was simply wired into her very being after nine long years of war. If what Hassan recounted were true, then they were truely in the dark. While the Iris Company have proved themselves a resilient opponent in the war, the primary concern was now that of an unknown organization that has the Harbingers dead on-sight. They will need a long-term plan to root out these entities, and resources to do it.

"Hershey is of the same mind. However, this Dreamweaver's constructs are mere apparitions taken form via aetherial spectrum of illusions. What milord described is reminiscent of the Sentinels, when Master Paracelsus was still alive. Ashen demise, however, dictates a mere replication of our Fireblazers. Alas, black silts contradicts our Fireblazer's scorching metal. Hmm... T'is quite a prickly sensation to be left in the unknown." Hershey reviewed what Hassan said and dissected it briefly. Before she could dwell too much on it, Bisila and Galius joined them.

"It seems that the Imperials have finally broken thy wills. How disgraceful. Our exalted Daemon Lord entrusted us with a mission to be free. Not whimper at the Empire's dictated societal materialism and their bootlicking temporal pleasures that befit a deathrow inmate." she sighed at Bisila and Galius's remarks.

"Folly! Hershey hath witnessed their fall at Kaen by the hands of that haughty Siegebreaker and the Sygis's lapdop of a self-proclaimed Dragon Slayer. Alas, if what thou saith rings true..." Hershey claimed, not before veering her eyes towards Hassan.

While she was surprised, Hershey was also comforted by the fact that the illustrious Grand General of the Shadow Legion was very much alive. It was a miracle to see a man of his tall stature to somehow slipped past the Imperials. Then again, the White Wolf was apprehended, even for her optimistic sense of cunning decisions in the past. Fate can certainly be odd and unpredictable.

"Hershey concurs. Let us away." the aries nodded, as she brushed off her attires and picked up her lantern.

The Harbinger quadruplet made their way towards the Central district, in hopes of finding the Grand General. By now, Hershey would expect her Master to wander the streets to look for her. Or perhaps they simply dismissed what happened prior as that of a nightmare. As they nonchalantly went about their ways, they kept it to themselves. The vigiles urbani were keen on getting through the day with ease, rather than be caught up in patrol duties. Even so, the Harbingers took precautions, with Hershey as their insurance. It was a miracle to simply pass through the city due to the fact that she was in their company. It irked the aries that she was the poster-girl for their oppositions to gawk at. Despite this, she clenched her teeth through it, all in the mind of their greater cause. Long behold, Hershey cast her gaze at their destination.

ISERN BRAEDE, so simple, yet so provocative. Blatantly in plain sight. If the citizens of this degenerate Empire had so much as a cell of brain, and a good look at the War's history, then maybe a six foot nine inches Astrian would not be living right under their nose. Hershey thought to herself with an unamused and perhaps disappointed look. The only thing she made sense of it was the reassurance that the Grand General did this as an insult towards the feeble-minded Imperials, to great effects. Following closely by Hassan and the others, Hershey caught the eyes of a certain long-haired individual, their inmistakeable amber eyes and a peculiar pair of avian auricle.

"It seemed that Fate hath made short works of our diaspora... Grand General." she said to the man from a distance.

Malphaestus · Jan 16, 2021

???

DRAGONSREACH
BARLEY'S KEEP, AURELIAN ROYAL PALACE

The city was embelished in a form of peacefulness far removed from typical content or general social satisfaction. It was a peace of inaction, where those disgruntled elected to do nothing, allowing the order which reigned in the city, that of the Empress', to continue on its monotonous course. Almost as monotonous a course as the path from his hideout to the Imperial Palace, having to drastically prolong the walk by traversing all manner of backstreet passages for little other reason than to obstruct the place where he finds peace and pursuits. Not that it mattered now, he was Alister d'Orier, an Imperial secret serviceman, but looked like little else than an individual of a higher station as the crossed the street, its sides lined with all manner of military refuse. Warriors who could not adapt to society, warriors who had no help in adapting to society, drafted into a war which gave them nothing. All were fools, for what did they expect to receive in return. Their state had not given them anything before the war, and would not do so thereafter. War was a basis to solidify power, a necessary aspect of modern nation building. The Daemon Lord, so long as he did not win, was an excellent pawn with which to embroil the public into the game of life and sacrifice, a game whose rules were orchestrated by individuals of such great power that they were immune to the game's contents.

These individuals play as idols and heroes, toying with the common folk as they inspire courage and character within those who have nothing, whilst those who play at popularity were gifted everything, solely because of convenience, for reasons of manipulation and cleverness. Ministers granting awards and rewards in coin and gold embroideries to those who conveniently would not oppose it, ideas festering within the minds of men and women that they could become someone else, but never will. For one deed is never twice-paid. Sylvia, the national hero, and those who follow in her willful wake would not give up what they gained for those who gained nothing. They led men and women, warriors, who now mete out suffering and sickness on the backalley streets whilst they make their lives in spires and acropolises by comparison.

Alister gave a kind nod, and forced a smile as he stepped past a combat amputee, obstructing his clear path to the Official Entrance to the Imperial Centerpiece, Barley's Keep. These kinds of people, these wayward sods, had no other choice now but to force others into generosity for their own survival. Alister would not oppose, as he reached into his coat, and tossed out a calculated sum into the veteran's four-fingered hand. It spilled, as the coins rolled against the street, Alister not stopping in his steps. He was on schedule, after all, for quite an important meeting. An official mission regarding the Nova Heights debaucle. His interior pockets brimming with documents, fabricated and otherwise, though to anyone but him, they would all be real.

Determined footsteps, or perhaps simply assured, carried him to the guard post at the entrance of the Keep, to which he procured his Imperial Seal before the eyes of the guards, and passed through without hassle, as opposed to those many after him, who would need fitting documentation and proceduring to be processed through and into the most holy sanctum of Imperial administration. He passed through the hallways without standing out, the guards not deeming it worth their while to even scan his appearance. They had seen him before, or some had not, but his air carried him like only one kind of Imperial Serviceman, that of those who delved in secrets. Obscene and hidden from view, those who gathered information, dangerous and necessary. He was there, today, to share this information, under communicated order from official channels, with men in black cloth and cynical mindsets. Deterministic hyenas who prey on success and fuel their ambition in hate and disdain for others.

His steps ceased, as he procured from his coat pocket a watch and raised it to his bespectacled eyes for observation. He stared at the pointer as it meandered across the marble-white surface. It went in circles, as people passed by him, until finally, as each of the pointers at last tocked in unison, it was time. He took a half-step forward, and lowered his hand, and raised the other to a door. A door which he knocked, knocked, and knocked thrice to gain entry.

---

BEFORE - UNKNOWN

A room in gloom, illuminated only by a pair of intense overhead surgical lights which still did not reach far beyond their subjects beneath. They cast colour upon a trio of individuals. One of power, two of subservience. One overlooking two operating stations, within hand a pen and notebook both of used condition. Two entombed into a complex system of wires and tubes, of artificial respiration and liquid recycling, their forms disfigured and scarred beyond their condition to allow for their invasive treatment.

Two engines whirled, powered by science and energies incomprehensible to the layman's understanding of reality, incomprehensible even to most scientific conventions. Some of many inventions to come based on their creator's theories of 'liquid magic.' These engines of mechanical ascension systemically agitating their subjects fiercefully as Oren and Jeshua's neurons and nervous systems are individually targetted by a combination of alchemical mixtures and energy circulation. A controlled series of localized seizures had been undergoing for what might as well have been the entire night, all to ensure the condition and rigidity of the subjects' baseline. It was, for all functional purposes, the first exploratory step to measure how best to proceed with the following procedures. Procedures of which were being individualized by their overseer, a man clad in a butcher's cloth, his typical trenchcoat hung at the side of the dreary room's distant entrance.

His notebook, filled with scribbles and formulae up to the 256th page, a page with which was soon running empty of space, written by a half-sized pencil and a hand which remained steady and systemically repetitive throughout. The author had created a system of written documation which eliminated much of the need of conventional inefficiency within the written word, instead there were scribbles which, under no linguistic lense, made sense, accentuated by drawings and diagrams which were hasty in their documentation but clearly made under the watchful gaze and mind of someone with experience and understanding of his own mastery.

It was documentation, one of hundreds, to be stockpiled in the room's corner for later examination. This was an experiment, an attempt to finalize the newest step in his own theories of mechanization of the mortal condition, but ultimately merely another step in his ultimate goal of attaining dominion over that which dwelled beneath proper heaven. Under Solarian heritage. That of science, understanding, and the mastery of reality.

Monotony was spoiled as the machines entered their final cycle of investigative probing, accentuated by the stimulation of their subjects' vocal cords, a chilling screech blurted from the two of them in unison. To be frank, it forced the experimentor into a brief stillness, his thoughts maligned as he clearly disproved of the noise. Not that it would be compromising, the location of his operation base known to none, least of all any whom he made collaboration with. His official terms of operation allowing more liberty than any other terms of service his twisted mind had managed to slither within over his years.

Finally, it ceased, and in immediate response, the man in glasses folded his notebook, and put it and his toiling pen at the operating table. From the machines, three lights shone in seven colours and four sequences. They did not shine alike, finishing abruptly with a burst of red, and the other a burst of yellow. It would indicate the fact that one subject was the veritable definition of garbage, and the other and unideal collection of flesh suitable only because of its relatively unharmed condition as opposed to any innate biological nature.

The man stared from behind his glasses at the two bodies, for all intents and purposes dead, but functionally alive. One would be discarded, used for scraps. And the other molded, shaped and formed into something better. He thought, anyway, as he stepped over to the machines, switching one off, and changing the other as he adjusted the alignment of twelve gauges. Once finished, he turned around, and stepped to the side of the individual who was once Jeshua, now only a fleshly automata animated solely by the 'bonding gel.' Soon, nothing. He was terminated, as the gel melted within his brainstem, having spread throughout the entirety of his muscularity. Though it would not matter now.

The man Jeshua would disappear. Vanishing under the chaos of the Nova Heights prison assault, perhaps even kidnapped by its assailants. The man in glasses was not yet sure what tale to spin, as he turned his gaze from one husk to another, one lifeless and the other functionally no different. Though its lungs were still pumped with air, its heart charged with intermittent electric invigoration, and its throat filled with the complex mixture. A brown liquid, only because of the fact that it was filled with all manner of chemicals and stimulants. He wheeled over the table, conveniently mobile, and took a grip around a pre-prepared mechanism. Its destination guided by the preperatory modifications he had made by carving into their chest. A steel structure had been implanted, and the last piece which he now held would be its finishing touch.

It would take some time, carving, and the re-use of tissue from his 'stockpile' to conclude this next procedure. His hands were cool and still, his mind filled with purpose and lacking hesitation or the expected conscience of any ordinary personality. He was something else, after all. A creator, a being sent from the constellations. He had seen truth beyond the ordinary veil of reality. Gleamed the secrets which mortal eyes do not reach. He would align the cosmic work into its proper course, away from the delusions of lesser minds and factions and their drive for chaos and disguised falsities.

It would take several more hours, as his solipsistic mind entertained itself whilst remodeling the flesh and turning it into a more ideal shape. Allowing it new strength. The mechanism was in place, the locks and pieces aligned, and the skin grafts covering up any obscurities. The man in glasses put his tools at the table, and instead pick up within his steady hand crystalline grozium. His hand heated, as his chest roared. The grozium began to melt, and it slipped from his palm, and landed within the mechanism on his subject's chest. He sealed the mechanism, and adjusted the ascension engine, before finally being satisfied with his work.

He procured from the shadows a black liquidy substance, vialed and chemically sealed, before he returned to the side of his finishing construct. A servant better than those who he'd used before, of greater strength, and greater versatility. He melted the glass vial's top with the palm of his hand once again, the contained substance beginning to evaporate under the normal atmosphere, streaks of black smog reaching towards the room's ceiling. He would not let it go to waste, as he topped of the vial's contents into an already prepared and modified syringe.

All that was needed next would be to stab it into the subject's blood system, and allow it to circulate and cultivate itself within the flesh and take root within the foundations of the body. A lesser version of his own divine form, but one more conveniently created, and one which could be done quickly, as opposed to decades of preparation necessary to build him. A fleshly puppet, another avatar with which his own superior mind could embody and perpetuate truth within a land so vehemently shrouded in false concepts and ideologues.

The man in glasses did so, and the procedure would be complete. The body was now ready to be used, and would be eventually. The raid on Nova Heights had turned into night, and the night into day, and the plans were now progressing in so much finer form. What was once disguised was no revealed, and the information he had toyed into being would soon perpetuate and manipulate. The wires with which the puppeteer puppets placed along Dragonsreach like a spider's web. A harbinger in freedom perceived, but not in fact. He pulled off his operational attire, and instead procured for himself something more fitting for an 'official' meeting. With his task done, and his losses at least partially replenished from the Nova Heights step of his plans, he would now play with pets of another faction.

Switching shoes, and pulling on a more military attire, he donned an overcoat, and a fitting hat, before turning off the lights, and leaving the room in a poetic darkness as the monster he had created was slowly restructuring what once was man.

Pilgrim59 · Jan 17, 2021

Sylvia
29th Street, Central District, Dragonsreach

Worthlessplebian

When asked of the residue's origins, Sylvia gave Preston a slight nod. As she relinquished the vial over to Preston, her hand curled up beneath her chin, while her eyes veered towards the ground.

"Present on site, but I doubt it is a part of your typical Nova Heights' arsenal."

Sylvia turned to her sides, where the butcher shop was in clear sight, pondering a multitude of correlation that might be of use. As a few individuals made their way towards the butcher shop, particularly a short Aries in white attires, Sylvia's eyes followed them briefly. A horse-drawn carriage would pull up, placing the peculiar individual and her company out of sight, as Sylvia looked back when being called inside by Preston. She was surprised to hear the man's remarks. She was then reminded of how a certain combat medic eventually ended up in the Company's entourage. Their impetuous nature, fueled by a certain eccentric coping mechanism that carried them through the War. Certainly, the man proved to be an enthusiastic curator of orchestrated pieces, a skillful mender of lacerations, but most importantly - a vehement companion. Sylvia followed him, eyeing her surroundings in an appreciative demeanor as opposed to her scrutinizing visual examinations at Nova Heights. She could not recall the last time she frequent this place, if at all. Rather, she had only sustained wounds when she deemed it a critical drawback on the field. It was only recently that she has taken a liking to proper diet, thanks to Ra'el's persuasive methods. It was a miracle that she has yet to destroy her tastebuds after six years of living on stale rations.

"Collapsed wall on the Eastern side, caused by a construction golem. But with the distance from the response team, that would not be an ideal point of entry. A mere distraction, while they took control of the relay tower and made their way towards the main facility. One does not break into a secure prison, unless... It was a rescue mission. Whoever these people are, they were coordinated and well-versed with Astartes. The most puzzling part was neither an aetherial footprint, nor a trace of grozium residue. Only two particular mounds of these ... peculiar substances."

Sylvia recapped what she saw of importance and reconstructed the scene from her deductions. Abruptly, she took a deep breath and sighed. Her eyes turned to the side, innocently guilty.

"Friedhelm was also there..." she continued, this time with a melancholic tone.

"I made him a promise and broke it. In his eyes, I am no different from Sertek." she shifted from the topic of Nova Heights, and descended into a state of reserved bitterness.

Pilgrim59 · Jan 17, 2021

Laure
Central District, Dragonsreach

Midrick

Laure spent much of her morning at the Drakensreiter Academy. Brought there, at the behest of a certain Drakensreiter of whom she was on good terms with, as a guest speaker for the future knights of the imperial sky. Most of it were elaborate stories of the War, followed by some friendly spars and team-building exercises. Her audience took heed of her advices and were kind enough to orchestrate a short brunch in honor of Sylvia's mentor. The dovean was elated for most parts to keep the morale of her peers, but her thoughts the entire time was upon that of a certain drunkard that now dwells in the Central District. Laure took her leave and waved the cadets goodbye, with hasty steps to seek after the man in her thoughts. Neither a passionate fantasy nor a reflection of compassion, Laure was simply being tasked with keeping an eye on Markas for good reasons. Luckily, the Dragon Slayer was not as hard to find as the others. Having traveled alongside him for the last five years, the man lived true to his not-so-chivalric principles. It was either Olys's back alleys when he have had too many, or completely quarantined in his home. The extreme measures of an audacious warrior, whose fair hair invites the ladies like bees to honey, to that of a reclusive old coot. Even so, Laure was not the type to despise the man, even if his conducts on the field are questionably brutish, to say the least. On her way, she procured an order of marinated chicken tenders, bacon-wrapped cheese rolls, clam congee and some cornbread, all neatly packed up in a stacked tiffin carrier.

"I know you're in there, Dragon Slayer. So lend an ear at least!" yelled Laure at the man's doors, throwing five-to-six intervals of knocks.

"There's an end-of-the-year seminar up in the Aure' District. Heard they've got some new products that might help with your sleeping problems, Markas. Here's your exclusive pass, and breakfast, courtesy of your ex-Vice Commander. No need to thank me, I already know that I am a good friend. Anyways, if ya ain't gonna let me in, at least finish up your food, ya hear? Gotta head back to down to Thirty-Second for some groceries. Don't be late for that seminar!" Laure spent the entire time talking to a door, as she slid the lettered seminar invitation beneath the door and placed the tiffin carrier to the side.

She gave the door one last look, before departing.

Pilgrim59 · Jan 17, 2021

Friedhelm of Brecourt
Barley's Keep, Dragonsreach
Written with:

Malphaestus

Having driven away his most disdained associate, the Grandmaster eyed the scene briefly. While he contemplated the situation, his foremost thoughts were clouded by a certain sentiment of hostility. Where others perceived her to be a national hero, Friedhelm would beg to differ. Ironically, her very existence and conduct were the driving forces that made him who he is this very day. Yet, despite his personal clashes with the hero, the man kept true to his line of work, abiding by his principles for the greater good of the Empire. The situation at Nova Heights was not simply an average break-in, not when the hero’s presence within these walls were prolonged. Surely, it was common sense to regard Sylvia’s arrival as an instinctive obligation. The Grandmaster’s notion of constituent was far from what is perceived on the surface.

Cladded footsteps called to him, as a list of dossiers made it into his hands. The Grandmaster glanced over the names, before settling his eyes upon a derelict folder. A face and name so foreign, yet all the while the only one unaccounted for in these cells. Another of his subordinates showed up, handing him a set of parchments that would otherwise be dismissed if it was not for a particular content that piqued his interests.

“Get me a secure line to the Keep.” commanded Friedhelm in a calm manner, as he waved his attendants in black towards the courtyard.

A windtalker hurried their way towards Friedhelm, as the latter picked up the device and spoke into it. Within the minute, the platoon of Black Watchers were mounted and quickly fell in line. Carrying the Dragon Banner, with Friedhelm taking lead, they rode hard westward.

Before long, Friedhelm found himself dismounting at the grand gate to Barley’s Keep, with a set of documents tucked in his hands. His point of entry was reassured by the men in jet-black armor behind him. Neither the need to present his papers, nor to be questioned of his arrival. A malevolent aura followed him, turning the heads of the gentries, and putting more zeal in the average sentinels of the Keep. He strode past the squarebacks, with his steel grey eyes fixed forward. Where small conversations and discourses littered the hallway, all would fade into oblivion as the men in black marched past them. Among the nobler faces were eyes filled with fear and respect. The duality that came hand-in-hand towards the Virulent Conductor. Rather than wasting away his purse over midnight companions and booze, everything must be by the book when it came to the ledgers. In this case that he was taken charge of, there were a few pieces that did not fit. An inquiry must be made, but to whom? His prior relay of message was met with great efficiency as he expected of his aide. The closest thing to unit cohesion that he could make good use of in this wretched place. Degenerate gossip and promises of fortunes roamed these halls on a daily basis.

His office has not seen a single color more than the monotonous cherrywood furnitures and tricolored Imperial Banners. A framed portrait of the Empress eyeing him from across the room. A cabinet with a flair of certain strong spirits to draw the hidden intents out of a voluble politician if needed be. The most sacred memento was a certain tobacco case, silvery-black in hue with a touch of a crescent insignia. His latest collection for his office were a dossier, an affidavit for a certain prisoner transfer, and a note from his aide. Friedhelm’s hand pressed against his desk in a starlike configuration, while his other lifted the tobacco case. As he tucked the brown roll of tobacco between his index, middle, and thumb, the man tapped the oval end of his cigar against the laminated wood. Gradually, the tapping sensation synchronized with the ticking pendulum in his head. Thoughts ran him by, eating away at him, yet never had he gave into the temptation of lighting the cigar. He felt it gnawing at him, as he tried to decipher the simple words that his aide wrote on a torn piece of parchment. Eventually, the tapping would stop - replaced by a reticent knock upon the door opposite of him.

“The door is unlocked.” he said simply to the apparition that lurked behind the wooden panel. And in immediate response, the unlocked door would open, revealing a tall and slender individual, clothed in what might as well be seen as the default administrative outfit throughout Barley’s Keep. Perhaps seeming, indeed, to be the visual representation of a stately phantom. Were it not for his bespectacled eyes which shone with a hint of sinister flame as he traversed the doorframe, he would no doubt seem like any amongst the many ‘unimportants’ which roamed the corridors. Hidden in plain sight.

Though unlike them, the man carried himself with an individualized precision. It would not take long for him to close the door behind him and seal the Black Watch’s Grandmaster and himself beyond the world of regular knowing. Once he had done so, he removed his hat, revealing his grizzled and unkempt brownish hair. As he lowered the hat against his abdomen in greeting, he offered a more official word in addition.

“Ser Friedhelm, Grandmaster of the Black Watch.” the man addressed the Grandmaster.

The Grandmaster studied the man across from him. A uniformed personnel, of whom possessed a certain aura like that of a greyman. Neither a dereliction upon his attire, nor the improper appropriation of his words when addressing the leader of the Black Watch. Countless mundane faces that passed him by day and night at the Keep, yet never have he seen such a calm, but dogged persona before. Their eyes saw no glints of your typical Imperial, only the dark hues of indifference. The perfect Imperial, as most would say. But even the most astute fall prey to Friedhelm's eyes. There was, but one dereliction that his unscheduled guest had failed to perform just yet. Without a single word, the Grandmaster shifted his eyes towards the Empress' portrait on the wall, then back at the man.

The man followed his gaze with precision, his own eyes falling upon the rather illustrious self-portrait of the Empire’s head. Whilst the man lowered his head as he gazed upon her, making sure to lower his own eyes upon the floor in reverence, he could not help but feel that the Grandmaster was rooted a step in excess in his own expectations of those who’ve never visited his office before. “Why, of course,” the man added, as he finished his reserved salutation, stepping forward, and adding another phrase in addition as he did so.

“A fair face for a fair ruler, of course. Naturally, my own home is made all the better by her presence upon its walls.” Finalizing his extended verbal prodding by raising his jaw and straightening his back. His formerly hidden hand, placed firmly within his pocket, was presented before the Grandmaster as it was raised across his chest. The man whispered the sanctified words and terms to himself, and none other, with a reserved breath. As Friedhelm no doubt observed his lips, he could see the whispered words of “Havena Aeterna, Serafina Aeterna” reveal themselves. Before finally, he finished simply, by relaxing himself and awaiting his long-overdue request, made in silence, of being seated.

Friedhelm unfurled his hand towards the empty seat in front of his desk, as he circled around towards his cabinet. There, he procured two tumbler glasses, and in a swift course of action, had them filled with Blackfords. The bottle labelled a rare cask from 1157. Never once did the man blink, especially when he offered the Imperial the scotch. Friedhelm was not expecting company for the day, let alone a mysterious Imperial agent within the Keep. As he reflected on the events at Nova Heights, it was a far-reached conclusion that this man may very well be here for one exclusive reason. But it was not at all null for a slight chance of coincidental intrigue.

"You are clearly not here for the run-of-the-mill affairs of the Keep, nor are you on my list of expected personnel. Present yourself proper." Friedhelm said to the man, leaning back into his seat as he took a sip out of his glass.

“Alister d’Orier,” the man immediately responded, taking no time to avoid the personal comforts present in the typical high-ranking official’s offices. Whilst Friedhelm was procuring from his cabinets the holy grail of Imperial spirits, ordinary men and women would find its presence a respect to themselves. Naturally, why else would one take out such a rare specimen? Though this Alister was no individual of lesser character, instead choosing to challenge the Black Watch’s leader with his own tongue.

“I would have taken offense, Ser Friedhelm, if I wasn’t an appreciator.” It would perhaps make no sense, at least to those who did not posture and vie for positions within the Empire’s arduous intrigues, but certainly, to Friedhelm who did, and to the man now sat opposite him, clearly relaxed in his seat, it would. With few words, he made it obvious that he was no run-of-the-mill henchman.

To illustrate his point, the man unbuttoned his overcoat, and extracted from within an Imperial Directive. “Yes, to the point. I can see it in your eyes that you prefer swiftness as opposed to the regular officials.” The man placed it firmly upon the desk, and written upon it were the simple and concise words which would highlight their meeting. Those of ‘Transfer of Authority Regarding Intelligence and Operational Authority in Relation to Nova Heights Maximum-Security Crown-Prison.’

Friedhelm's eyes etched those words into his head, before looking back at d'Orier. Nothing seems more out of place than an operational incoherence just as the situation was entrusted to the Grandmaster himself this very morning. While it irked the man, Friedhelm could not see any plausible path to dispute Alister's sudden appearance. There was more to it than the simple forthwith announcement of his involvement. Was this a sinister joke of some kind? Or perhaps there was something Alister wanted in return for an ulterior motive? Friedhelm grew more cautious with every second’s passing.

"I was not aware of any sanctioned operations prior to the designation of this case. I dislike things being handed to me on a platter, and I reckon you have something you want in return" replied Friedhelm, raising his brow slightly. He was met with the strange mixing of a humorous grin, and the sinister stare which accentuated Alister’s appearance. He raised his hand, as if to halt any thoughts Friedhelm might have had in response, before proceeding to excuse himself for his improper display.

“Think nothing of my smile, Ser Friedhelm. I simply remembered that the Prison Director uttered the mirror of those words only yesterday.” Lowering his hand, Alister instead placed it upon his lap, as he crossed his left leg across his right. “Yes, it would be strange if you were aware,” Alister resumed before he reached deep within his pockets once more, clearly containing far in excess to what one would expect. This time, however, there were no documents or secret knowledge to be revealed, but the simple ornament of the Crown across a small silver pin. Something few people are made to witness, the operating sigil of the Crown’s personal Imperial Intelligence Bureau.

“Those documents were written by me, but the orders came from my superiors. You will be contacted in more… Official capacity within swift haste,” Alister’s words rang like fire, though were not yet destined to cease and allow Friedhelm his due time to think and respond. Instead he continued, “knowing your character, I deemed it fit to visit you now. To make the transfer, and your task, simpler. Easier.”

“I was the one in charge of the Prison before now, and as you will be from here forward, I am here today to share my information. No return expected, after all, we’re not in some backwater establishment. This is Barley’s Keep,” he added swiftly thereafter, allowing his finishing words to simmer as he took his own taste of the Blackford.

Friedhelm studied the sigil carefully, before giving Alister an unamused glare.

“You see, Mister d’Orier, uniformity is what makes an Imperial. It benefits us with the expected response of every cog in the machine. It strengthens us in a cohesive manner, to be an unbreakable unit. When everyone is on the same page, ab ordine libertas. Individualism breeds personal ambitions, and inevitably corruption. It troubles me, that you do not conform to the normalities of the Keep’s more… courteous traditions…” said Friedhelm, before letting out a slight sigh, while turning the documents.

“Alas, we all benefit from an unwrinkled transition of delegations. So long as we are on the same page, Mister d’Orier. Although I feel the need to inquire of your current capacity upon this case.” Friedhelm’s sharp eyes shot at the man, curious of the latter’s details. The Grandmaster knew there was something else underneath all the seemingly cooperative intentions. After all, the mere nature of the Imperial Intelligence Bureau is ever mentioned by names, and never by face. Whispered gossip and purposeful references were all that the Intelligence Bureau was worth, but what the commoners of the Keep did not know of was the most disturbing aspect, Friedhelm contemplated. While it was not his place to question something these ravens did not want to relinquish in the first place, Friedhelm was poised to gauge the measures of their resolve for this case. It was not everyday where an intelligence agent landed on his steps, following an ongoing investigation of a breached maximum-security detention center in Dragonsreach.

Having entertained Friedhelm’s burst of ideologueing, only out of courtesy in truth, he readied from within his interior coat pockets yet more documents. Placing them neatly upon the Grandmaster’s desk for analysis. Realistically, the man sat comfortably in his seat in direct opposition to the office’s master and had no real obligation or duty to play into this game which Friedhelm was spinning. Though, he thought, why not.

A brief silence, followed by what could perhaps be described as Alister’s reply. “There’s many things to say, Ser Friedhelm. Chiefly the fact that the Nova Heights incident occured to begin with. And that its contents, secret to all but the state, were stolen. You know of what I speak, and you’re also vehemently aware of… A person of much repute, snooping where she ought not venture.”

Having placed his own gaze towards the ground for much of the conversation’s recent developments, Alister opted to raise his own sinister eyes and their reddish hues to meet with Friedhelm’s own, no doubt ‘engaged,’ vision. “Needless to say, this is very… Important. I reckon we have not seen the last of eachother once we’re done here.”

As they locked gazes with one another, Friedhelm felt an uneasy sentiment creeping up. The man certainly had the backing of the higher ups, whose identities were unknown to the Grandmaster himself. There was no disputing the claims he made with the documents unfurled before him, let alone the Intelligence Bureau’s minimal signatures or perhaps none at all. Even during the War, they were only mentioned in despatches and nothing more beyond scribbled words. For the time being, Friedhelm must abide by d’Orier’s eerily confident collaboration.

“Undoubtedly so, Mister d’Orier...” Friedhelm remarked, tapping his unlit cigar twice, before placing it back in the ornate case.

“Although I feel the need to seek after the Chancellor’s words as soon as he returns from Cromwald. Very well, let us move on to...” he continued, sorting through the stacks of papers, leading the two to converse within his office.

Soviet Panda · Jan 17, 2021

Fealca Isern
Location: Isern Braede
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ElenaIsCool

Nearly parallel to the ground as was, hauling the large cervine, he did not see the four familiar faces that were stood outside his shop. It wasn't until a familiar voice spoke to him that he looked up and saw three ghosts of the past, and one strange yet loyal customer. "Impossible," he whispered softly to himself. Surely he had been the only one to have escaped with his life? Bisi he knew had been on death row, and as much as he wanted to free her himself he simply couldn't in his current situation. Galious' armor had been found empty, the Dragon having simply vanished or perhaps consumed by the heat of his rage. Hassan, he had convinced himself, would die in a whirlwind of steel and drenched in blood. And Hershey.... Well he wasn't sure what she had done, but certainly not end up in Dragonsreach as he had chosen to do.

Dropping the rope that he had been using to pull the sled, he quickly pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket, and deftly grabbing one, unlocks the shop's door. "All of you, in, now. And you," he said pointing to the small reptile man that had claimed so many times to be none other than Galious himself, "will have to explain to me how you know these three. I will be with you all shortly, I have another matter to attend to." Nodding to the carcass he had been dragging to indicate what that other matter was, he holds the door open for the small party. "Don't touch anything," he said to Bisi as she passed by, "or I'll hand you over to the authorities myself and finally be rid of you." Pausing a moment as the last of them entered his modest shop, he looks through the doorway to say one last thing. "I am glad to see you all alive. You all have a story to tell. You may tell it when I return." And with that, the door shut.

It did not take long for the noise of a backdoor unlocking and then opening to be heard as Isern wrestled with the carcass to get it through the door. Once the commotion died down, a rattling of chains was heard, followed by grunting, before Fealca emerged from the back, slightly huffing and puffing from whatever it was he was doing. If one were curious enough and took a peek into the back, they would see the dire deer now hanging from two hooks, it's back nearly touching the floor.

"Would anyone like something to drink?" He enquired after a brief moment of silence, wordlessly getting to work making some tea regardless of anyone's answer.

Celestial Speck · Jan 17, 2021

ElenaIsCool |

Soviet Panda

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Epirean District, Dragonsreach, Haven

The arrival and encounter with the grand general was something he expected but certainly wasn't used to yet. Despite having encountered a quite large quantity of his old companions and allies in an extremely short span of time and being overwhelmed with positive and hopeful emotions, (as well as strange ones) Hassan thought he'd be used to it by now. He was wrong. Even if Fealca and he weren't exactly 'glued to the hip' like say, him, Hershey, and a few others, he still couldn't help but feel for the man and the expression he gave to them, that being one of seeing ghosts walking in front of him. Even then, all the second in command could do was smile.

"Sir Fealca," He spoke, and despite his appearance suffering from all the time that has passed, what with a beard growing, his body weaker and somewhat malnourished, and long hair nearly reaching the ground, that voice still very clearly belonged to the Endless Swordsman. "It's been too long, my ally."

Making sure to bottle up the same words and thoughts Hershey shared to Gallious about the fact he got such a job when no longer then a few months ago they were fighting against this very land they stood over, the Endless Swordsman allowed the general to take a moment to do whatever he wished inside his shed- a small look going over his companions as he scratched his cheek in a somewhat awkward way before his eyes landed on Gallious. Wow, he...Really didn't believe he was one of them, huh? Not that he could blame him, really. Gallious sure was...Different. Yeah, different was a good way to put it.

They didn't need to wait long- at least not ridiculously so before he urged them inside. Hassan allowed himself to follow orders from his equal and at the same time lower in command- even if they weren't on the battlefield anymore. Putting his cloak down and allowing his face to be looked at with less difficulty (something that truly saved his life as he earlier nearly went past a certain woman unknowingly) by those currently in the room.

"While something heavy would be appreciated after today's events, I will refrain from drinking," Hassan replied, being the first to speak, naturally. While he wasn't exactly decided as the leader of this little group, it was still within him to take the lead, even if just for this moment. "And...To answer your question, this..." He waved his hand towards Gallious, but otherwise not looking at the reptile. "...Person here, is indeed sir Meeples. Appearances can be quite deceiving, as you may know by now. But I don't exactly blame you, I didn't quite believe it either at first," He shrugged, telling the truth despite it likely giving a blow to Meeples ego.

"Sir Fealca..." He began, not looking at all his companions, before sighing. "I can't speak for everyone, but as you know, I was...Spared. By the woman of the sun- the one who swore revenge on us after her city fell under our banner. Either mockingly or out of pity, she allowed me to live and 'life with the weight of my sins.' To which involved surviving and scouting the city in search of the rest of you all for little more of a year," He then looked at Hershey- a smile coming to his features. "Until I met Hershey once more, and from there, a domino effect occurred- and we are now located here, to you, seeking your aid."

Pilgrim59 · Jan 18, 2021

Hershey
Isern Braede, Central District, Dragonsreach

Hershey followed suit with the General's words, sashaying alongside the others into the shop. She felt a glare from down the street, but could not make out the assailant as a carriage drawn past her. Perhaps it was just her imagination, or a simple trick of the calm winter breeze.

When situated indoors, Hershey laid her lantern atop her grimoire next to her, as she took a seat upon a wooden chair. The furniture was somewhat unsuitable to her liking, but offered generous leg room for the aries to kick her legs back and forth, like a suppressed child awaiting supper. When inquired about a preference of beverages, she simply nodded at the tall avian, as the latter made ready to brew some tea.

As Hassan recounted his personal endeavors and the attendance of the current Harbingers in his company, Hershey leaned back and eyed the General over her shoulders. The man have clearly blended into Imperial society without fault, even for a tall stature of a well-known Harbinger in the past. How quickly they forget, that the very beings in charge of their misery were now at their doorsteps. It was as if the War changed nothing for those who dwell so far from the bloody soils.

She turned back towards Hassan when the latter mentioned her recent involvements, and gave him a blank stare, tilting her head slightly as if it the entire reunion was his doing entirely.

"Hershey acknowledges thy stable settlement. However, our great supreme Master is very much alive, and Hershey has it on good authority that they have taken residency here in Dragonsreach. We Harbingers owe them our practical applications and undying loyalty when the oaths were made. As milord Nox I-Sen had saith, we are obligated by our duties to continue the struggles. With thine aid, surely our homecoming shall see fruition." elaborated Hershey, piggybacking on Hassan's words.

"What say thee, O' Grand General?" inquired Hershey, as the tea kettle whistling gradually climax.

ElenaIsCool · Jan 18, 2021

Bisila Nzo

Isern Braede, Epirean District

Interacting with: Huntertabbysandshark3 | Pilgrim59 | Celestial Speck | Soviet Panda

Bisila had switched her sights from the rest of the Harbingers to get to packing her things when she heard Hershey’s comment, making her slightly roll her eyes with a sigh.

“Excuse you, my will as strong as it always was. You can’t exactly be free when you’re locked up in the worst part of jail”

While her words had the usual snark, there was also a thin layer of bitterness coated in them. As fun as it was, bothering the guards and delaying her execution, she hated every second of it. Her freedom, what she loved more than the concept of excitement, stripped from her. Being a pain was just a small way of expressing her hate of the situation, of lashing out. If she could, if she wanted to, if she wasn’t overwhelmed by those feelings then and the serious want to escape, Bisila would have one more crime to add to the list, other than the war crimes and the pranks that were apparently crimes.
Hassan’s words to her made her stop in her tracks and stared at him in a mixture of confusion and surprise. Was he actually being serious? Well, he had to be considering how much he didn’t like her. Bisi opened her mouth, to probably say something rude before stopping herself

“Well, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t miss you all too. Your reactions are always fun, especially yours, Chief”

Her small smile of what could be considered gratitude eventually turned into a wolfish grin as she walked past him after adding that last part. Hey, she was being honest, after all.

With the blanket covering most of her body and whatever was left of her possessions, Bisi could say she did a good job with the disguising, although a mask or something would be nice. Throughout most of the journey, she mentally listed the names of places and the occasional guard that she remembered being there and a few that she didn’t know what they were. There were also places she would have to go to later since she had business over there. The butcher shop definitely had to be new or just a place she hadn’t paid attention to yet. It was especially important now that it was known that Sir Fealca owned it, apparently. How he, a tower of a man hadn’t got caught yet was beyond her knowledge. Were squarebacks really that stupid to not notice the giant man in town? Or maybe because she tended to attract a lot of attention with her pranks and in general, good or otherwise and the fact that she was well known for her pranks, mask on at least.

Bisila gave the ex-grand general a small wave just as they were told to go in. Fealca’s message to her destroyed any hopes of her looking for possible prank contraptions or satiating her curiosity. Mostly out of the fact that Fealca would probably, most definitely do good on his threat if she tried and a tiny, tiny bit out of actual fear of going back to jail.

“Weak. I have feelings, you know?”

She huffed in response as they got into the surprisingly comfy-looking place, glancing around and raising a brow at whatever was going on back there, sparing a quick glance only to be disappointed to see it was only deer. Boring. It would’ve been more fun if it was a person’s body, at least. Unless there was a way to turn people into deer. Now that there was at least some light and she had taken off her disguise, she looked in not-so good shape. A thinner, her hair was unkept and a bit longer and there were hints of bags under her eyes. At the offer of a drink, Bisila perked up immediately.

“Yes, a drink would be great! What they give to you over there is horrendous and I don’t even know how I didn’t die of food poisoning.”

She gagged slightly to emphasize before then turned to the little salamander she was told to be Galious with a grin as she knelt down and pinched his cheeks as Hassan and Fealca conversed

“This widdle guy is Galious, the same golemancer that was with us? You sure about that, Hassan? That’s unbelievable! Imagine him in his armor, pressing buttons while yelling about how great he is, aww! Can’t believe people were actually afraid of you when you’re so cute! Look im’ and tell me he isn’t adorable with his widdle cheeks”

This was all just to annoy him, of course. She didn't believe him, not completely anyways. If it was true then she now had ammo to bother him with even though he was, in fact adorable. Bisila stopped bothering Galious when she heard Hershey say that Sertek was alive, prompting her to give the aries her full attention

“Lord Sertek is alive.. Of course he is..”

Bisila sighed and crossed her arms, walking over to take a seat as well. Sertek was possibly the only of the Harbingers that she showed respect to and to hear that he was alive was fulfilling, in a way. Heck, even thinking that he could've died was impossible, to say the least

“So that’s the plan? Rounding up the party and doing what next?

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Jan 18, 2021

Galious Meeples
interaction:

Unlike some of his companions, Galious didn’t need a disguise to walk the streets of the city simply strolling with his almost pompous attitude if not for his small size making it look more goofy than intentional. Upon arriving at their destination they were in luck to intercept the grand general outside His shop. Hershey being the first to greet Fealce who seemed surprised addressed them all, particular attention being placed at Galious inside of the acknowledgment that he so desired. But instead, fealce simply questioned how he even knew the others. This left Galious’s mouth hanging open only to let out a long exasperated Sigh one that would almost always accompany his previous attempts at convincing the grand general and he was indeed a harbinger. “How did this not work be damn you you... whatever you are” Galious mumbled under his breath with blatant annoyance in his soft squeaky voice.

even with this blow to the small Astrian’s Ego, it didn’t stop him from following everyone else inside Fealce threading to out then all to the authorities if Bisi tried any of her tricks and a good thing too as it seemed to have worked on her. Fealce making them wait a bit while he finished. It was then that Hassan butted in to point out Galious was indeed the great dragon himself. of course, mention how odd he looked without his armor. Something the Golemancer really did need to get back eventually. The comment still hurt a little bit at least the feeling of validation was present to smooth those wounds. “Oh yes I would like some tea a lot of sugar please“ he‘d reply to the offer of a drink. he would have joined in on trying to convince Fealce to rejoin them alongside Hershey and Hassan if it was not for Bisi.

The aggravating woman had decided to incite Galious great rage by pinching his cheeks only to further degrade him, such action by others was what had sparked and Fuelled Galious’s rage for decades.. and of course, it would be Bisi to fan the flames again. "YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A MANNER I WILL PERSONALLY DRAG YOU ALL THE WAY BACK TO NOVA HEIGHTS AND THROW YOU BACK INTO THAT CELL YOU UNDERSTAND THAT" Galious screamed with angry squeaking though his voice wasn't loud enough to penetrate the walls of the house.. it was still the loudest he'd been since they had met up. Galious grabbing Bisi by the shirt and attempting to pull her face closer as he yelled instead he just pulled himself up closer to her. "now anyway... wait.. lord Sertek alive? Hershey? why didn't you say something earlier? or is there some other issue?" Galious let go of Bisi and turned to Hershey with an incredulous look however it looked more like a cute head tilt and puppy dog eyes.

Worthlessplebian · Jan 19, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
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