Old IC Thread [Taming The Flame]

Ayl

Ayl

The Tale Weaver


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-credits to @Jaysunn for adding the text to the already existing image. Thanks, dude.


~Taming The Flame~


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The reason for the war was a considered later on as childish, each race wanting more power for themselves. The Duenders thought they should have more rights over the others, since they were the guardians of the Emberwell, albeit self-proclaimed. The Mjulnirs longed for war, wishing to test their mettle against the other races and gain supremacy, enslaving them and using them as work force. The Dylenors refused to give out their lands to the greedy Duenders, fact which led to war due to their pride as warriors, as they employed their entire army and Navy to the task. THe Sharians on the other hand, wished no part of the war, but were nevertheless dragged in it as soon as Dylenor pirate ships doning Navy flags attacked their harbors on the Free Islands. The Keepers of the Emberwell, making their presence felt all over the world, interacting with the four races, teaching and talking with them about so many domains the mortals were captivated. They soon became the source of religion, each race choosing to serve the immortals, granting them the name of "Aeons", a word common to all the four languages spoken which meant "The strongest of all" . The Mjulnirs started revering both Huren, Keeper of Hunt and Luck and Mektor, Aeon of Death and War, due to their favourite activity and food gain, hunting and their ever warrious nature, many times organising feasts which would be accompanied by games in the arena of Hjaltland . The Dylenors were once honored to behold Ridsk, Keeper of Balance and Justice, defeat an entire batallion of their best man, building around him their main religion, praising his skill in battle and sense of justice, placing him together with Tumar, Keeper of Wisdom and Magic, whom they value for his knowledge and pray to him for guidance and the wisdom to elaborate the best military strategies. The Duenders also centered their religion around Tumar for the same reason, his vast knowledge of magic, which suited them perfectly as they were avid for power and longed for more understanding of magic, and Syrae, Aeon of Nature and Life, for they lived on the most forest-populated continent and not few were their encounters with Syrae, which helped them understand the value nature has in the life of every living person and being. While all the other races worshipped two of the Keepers, the Sharians followed only Huren, because of his nature and status, being a half-man half-beast as they were, granting them luck on their many business dealings and hunting trips. The Fourfold Slaughter ended 250 years ago, inflicting the most damage on the Sharian population, more than a third of the beast people having died on the battlefield or drown, their ships sinked on the majestic Azure Sea. Peace had been restored, as the four races signed the "Sangae Magnum Concordat", the treaty that bound their kingdoms to never wage war on each other again, but instead, help each other prosper.

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Alas, there is no such thing as ever lasting peace. Due to the long period without hostilities, a certain group of ambitious Duender and Dylenor wizards and sorceresses that had practiced their foul magic since the days of the war now emerged from the shadows. Their primary reason for creating this group was due to the loss of their loved ones during the war, and so they all joined in the attempt of bringing them back to life. But while their purpose at first was noble, over the years they had become twisted, seeking only to further their interests. They attempted to ressurect the dead from their eternal slumber not from their love for them, but in an attempt to seize power and rule Issoss themselves. These foul mageswere branded the title of "Necromancers" upon their discovery and exiled from the civilised worlds of the four kingdoms. Fortunately, these Necromancers were too few in number to become a great threat, and their magic was too weak to ever be able to create an army of undead powerful enough to claim the world as their own. But that would soon change upon a mistake caused by the Mjulnirs. Seeing as the war was over and no other conflict would sparkle in the near future, the proud Northern people have ceased their adoration of Mektor, taking up following Syrae instead, becoming farmers as well, continuing their adoration for Huren however and thus keeping hunting as now both a means of gathering food and to sate their thirst for adrenaline. The Keeper of War and Death was not pleased with this turn of events, and such he swore vengeance upon the people of Issoss. Knowing about the ailment of the Necromancers, his mind immediatly concocted a plan unworthy of his title of protector of the Flame Fountain.

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Using his extensive knowledge of the death and of the Emberwell, Mektor created the Necronomicon, the Book of the Dead. In it were recorded advance rituals of black magic that could be used to raise the dead by the thousands. He passed this book on the the leader of the death mages, in exchange for their promise to serve him for all eternity.

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The mages were quick to accept and so they gathered their forces and marched upon the weakest of kingdoms, the Sharian Empire. Before the beastmen could even know what was happening, their capital city of Shan'Manrir was besieged by hordes of undead soldiers and zombies. The poor nation stood no chance, as with each fallen soldier of theirs, the enemy grew stronger. Now, the beautiful city has become an atrocity, filled with undead, patrolling its streets of the new Obsydian Keep. From here, the Necromancers control their army, laying siege upon all they meet in their way, being backed up by Mektor himself.

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The other Aeons, seeing Mektor's betrayal, have risen to stop him. Each of them took power from the Fountain of Flame and created a new dimension, the Outworld, where they exiled the vile Necromancers together with their Keeper master. Alas, this has not stopped them, for it seems that Mektor had granted them more power than the Aeons originally estimated. Now the legions of undead march upon the lands of Issoss, with the Keepers too exhausted from their feat to oppose them. The fate of the world now lies within the hands of the four races who now must unite against the imminent threat from the south.

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~The Races of Issos~





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    The race with the biggest army and best tactical generals, they have easilly conquered the whole continent of Mloik in just two decades since they had appeared on the face of Issoss, establishing the Asralshar Kingdom. Establishing mostly port cities, their Navy is the most powerful in the land, followed by that of the Sharians. They are the number one customer of the beastmen and have a close relationship with them. They regret that with all their military strenght, they were unable to save their capital from falling into the hands of the dreadful Necromancers. Now they harbor in their kingdom most of the Sharian refugees, helping them get by. Their army now encompasses a quarter of the survivors of the destruction of their homeland. Their capital is the grand port city of Kwovat where most of their fleets are stationed. Their forte is their cavalry, with hotblood horses, fitted for battle with back armor and the like. They have a democratic monarhic government, the king being elected and not chosen by blood right, detaining the right of passing judgement on the ones who dare break the laws of the realm, the laws being debated and taken by the Assembly of Elders, which are representatives of the noble Houses. Their sense of justice is so high, that a special outift was created just for upholding the peace itself. The Redguards are elite troops, sworn to the Temple of Kirsk, unable to have a family or leave the service after joinning, selected from the best among the guards and soldiers of the army, which scour the land high and low in search for criminals to apprehend and bring before the King to be judged. They are given a fair trial of their choosing, either by holding court, or combat.


    They are a very prideful people, which take great honor in their culture and military. If you insult either of them, in any possible way, then be prepared to face their wrath as they will no doubtly challenge you to a duel to the death, being honored for their courage if killed. Many statues dot the port city of Kwovat, remembering those fallen in combat defending the brave nation of Asralshar. They have mixed feelings about the Mjulnirs, secretly resent the Duender for their self-righteousness and generally have a positive reaction towards Sharian.



~The Kingdom Capitals~





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    The biggest port in all of Issoss, it houses one third of the Dylenor population of the world, at the same time harbouring half the fleet of the tactical people, also being the capital of the Asralshar Kingdom. It is where the seat of the throne is and also where three of the great Houses of the Kingdom reside: House Knoss, House Garvin and House Turiem. The tidal waves of the Azure sea used to brush the piers of the harbour every day, until the great Ancestor Wall was built to prevent the waves. The Wall was dotted with the figures of the Kings of the Dylenor Empire from the beginning to the day the Wall was finished, with two roles, to support the Ancestor Wall, and as lighthouses, for the ships to reach safety. Being assaulted countless times, the city never once was conquered, it's huge dock gates closing themselves, making the citadel impregnable. If any ship dared to siege the city, it would be sunk immediatly with the aid of the catapults and trebuchets from the upper walls. Not many temples dot the city, but the grandest of all is the Red Keep, which is parted into two layers. An upper layer, which is the the seat of the Crown, where the royal family resides, and the lower layer which contains the Temple of Ridsk, the biggest temple in Issoss, guarded day and night by the famous Redguards.



~The Keepers of the Emberwell~





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    The Keeper of Justice and Balance, he is known for his correctitude, strong sense of right and wrong and his silence. While other Keepers often interact with the mortals of Issoss directly, Ridsk prefers to keep out of sight, letting the wrongdoers commit their petty crimes, showing up to exact justice when the sins have piled to much. He believes in redemption, but never wastes time to show up out of nowhere and strike fear in the hearts of criminals everywhere. He enjoys sword fighting and music, often giving his targets the chance to turn their lives around, if they best him in single combat. Not even the Warchief Tormund the Betrayer, who sold out his nation's battle plans to the Dylenor assuring their defeat, considered the best fighter in Issoss could scratch the Aeon. He is held in high regard by the Dylenor, especially by the Redguards who devote themselves to the path of righteousness and justice.



~The Undead Legion~








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    Once respectable members of society, these wizards, mages and sorceresses refused to consider themselves helpless in the face of Mektor, and so started their own quest of defying death, by attempting to manipulate the energy that granted life to everything around them, the Essence of the Emberwell. Understanding how the Essence worked, they eventually suceeded in trapping the Essence leaving a dying man's body and reintroducing it in a new vessel, under their control. Alas, this technique was slow and ineffective, as the number of bodies resurrected was insignificant compared to the number of the armies of Issoss. Even the Duenders could easily beat them in a straight up fight without too much effort. It was not until irony said its word, and the Keeper Mektor gifted the Necromancers his Book of Dead, the Necronomicon.


    With the rituals in it, the Necromancers' power grew a hundredfold, being able to resurrect several hundreds of loyal servants with the Essence extracted from just one body. Soon their army was large enough to be put to the test. The downfall of the Sharians rung throughout Issoss that the newly created Legion was a sounding succees. After witnessing the threat that Mektor and his new servants had become, the Keepers united their forces and sealed away the Necromancers together with their Master into the Outworld, creating a vortex inside the Obsydian Keep that slowly absorved them into the new plane of existence. In spite of all Necromancers, together with Mektor, being sucked in the other world, the Undead Legion still hasn't ceased its existence and thus now marches against the living on the mainland. Led by the Revived, an elite group of resurrected heroes who opposed the Legion and died, becoming generals of the army, the undead now have taken the first steps to an all out invasion.





~The Magic Of Issoss~


When the world of Issoss first came to be, the first entity that was created was the famous Emberwell, also known as the Fountain of Flame. In this Fountain, all the mystical and magical energy of Issoss, known as the Essence, was stored into. The Emberwell is known to reside atop the Sky High Mount, inside an enormous tower, on the last level. Noone has ever entered the tower before and such it is impossible to determine what lies within.


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When any other sentient being was born, the Emberwell would empower the newborn with Essence, granting him life. Whenever a person died, the Essence that gave him life would return to the Flame Fountain, bringing with it all the memories and feelings the deceased person experienced throughout his life. Without this Essence, a being cannot live, being as essential as water and food.

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Over the time, some persons realised they were blessed by the Emberwell with a stronger connection to it, being able to manipulate to a certain level the Essence it bestowed upon them. Such were born the magicians of the realm, who used their strong links and knowledge to use the Essence to control elements, casting powerful spells. Even the most meager of spells required, in exchange, a great amount of the user's own Essence, which led to serious exhaustion and sometimes, death itself, for once the Essence was used as catalyst, it would return to the Emberwell. Thus, the Wizards of Issoss have gone and sought out ways to ease the usage of magic.


To use magic, however, one must use one of the 5 distinct runes, each designated to one school. Without using a specific, correctly drawn rune, the spell will almost certainly either fail, or backfire with a random effect, affecting the caster. Thus, most wizards are very dextrous in drawing such symbols, due to the many years of practice. Those most clever carry around the runes engraved on a piece of armor, making it more accesible, saving them the time to draw the rune and only taking the time to use a reagent or a catalyst to spellcast.

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~Magic Schools~





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    Flesh Mending is the school of magic that contains healing and rejuvenation magic. Using very hard to find ingredients as reagents, most of them herbs and plants,it allows those who study it to heal even missing chunks of flesh or place back together broken bones like nothing happened. It is, however, an understudied school, since the materials are hard to find and most of the people do not survive long enough to get to a healer and even if they do, there is no guarantee the said healer has what he needs to cure the wound. Flesh Mending can also be used to cure diseases, as well as purify poisons inside the organism. Although, as the name suggests there is more to that than just healing. A practitioner of Flesh Mending can also use the spells to damage his foes, making their tissues come apart or shut down their lesser organs. They cannot inflict as much damage as other spells, but they can be deadly nevertheless. It takes a lot of Essence to channel the stronger spells of this school, but the spells consume much lesser Essence if casted using a topaz as a main catalyst.



~Reagents~





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    Obviously an element required in any spell, the source of Essence is irrelevant, but it is the spark that ignites a spell into the raging inferno it must become. Other catalysts reduce the quantity of Essence required for a given spell, but can never completely erase the requirement. Essence can only be found in living, organic beings. Inanimate objects have no Essence to begin with and cannot auto replenish their Essence, should they be imbued with it. Also, living beings can be killed and their Essence transferred to the object. Once that Essence is used, however, it cannot be transferred again and must return to the Emberwell. While hunting animals and killing them for their Essence is permitted, killing humans to use their Essence is strictly forbidden, and practiced only by the Necromancers.





~Alternative Magic~





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    Not to be confused with Artifice, Inscription is the art of creating a scroll imbued with magicks to be used at a later time. To inscribe a scroll, one requires the knowledge of runes representing the intended function of a scroll. In addition to the magical glyphs, a physical catalyst is required, either related to the casting, a precious metal, or a gemstone, which crumble into dust after infusion. Said scroll can later be used on a moment's notice, providing the full effect of a prepared spell, though only once as the scroll loses any magical property afterward, exploding into tiny scraps of the original material.





~The Outworld~





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Not being able to destroy Mektos, as he was a Keeper just like them and therefore a pillar that hold the Emberwell in place, the other Aeons found it most fitting to exile him and his new found followers into a world where their influence could no longer affect the peaceful world of Issoss. Channeling the Essence of the Flame Fount, they united and created a new dimension, separate from the green world of the mortals. This world bore no resemblence to the first one, being its exact opposite. Whereas Issoss was a lush green world, ripe with a rich flora and fauna, where Mjulnirs, Sharians, Duenders and Dylenors coexisted peacefully, the Outworld was a world filled with abominations. Hateful creatures that continously warred each other, craving nothing but bloodshed.


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Everything here was in a total ruin, massive cliffs and mountain ranges dotting the landscape, the dimension being infinite in size. It is within here that the Keeper of Death and War and the vile Necromancers were exiled within. Regrettably, this had no effect, for the Undead Legion still remained on Issoss, plaguing the land with its neverending thirst for dead. It is yet unknown how the army still exists after its masters have been sent into the Outworld, but one thing is certain: the Legion will not be content until it has wiped out all living life on Issoss.


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Such does our story begin but one month before the rise of the Undead Legion and the fall of Shan'Manrir.

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~The World of Issoss~


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~Other Towns, Villages and Hamlets~


~Mloik~





1. Leyll


2. Adsan


3. Sirecy


4. Loberi


5. Artaia


6. Nyton


7. Lerwar


8. Oughin


9. Kimah


10. Polelm


11. Torurn


~Tor'Valen~


12. Hiniss


13. Asami


14. Loros


15. Aleoth


16. Lywfild


~The War Front~


17. Tiaessban


18. Lor'tony


19. Ums


20. Nar'Aktir


~Luyn~


21. Bolos


22. Tov'Skai


23. Uskortai


24. Shykal


25. Undaw


26. Hjaltland


27. Denos


28. Serrmos


29. Issgar


30. Ponut


31. Achril


~The Free Isles~


32. Chamorest


33. Tiayer


34. Isat


35. Hat'old


36. Shy'rise


37. Ufes


38. Err


39. Ackess


40. Nalor


~Undead Controlled Cities~


41. Awann


42. Osas


43. Tas'tas


44. Elera


45. End'et


46. Aldr


47. Daron


48. Rydus


49. Ir'ar


50. Soell


51. Ustum


52. Wapitu


53. Ormarsh


54. Redwyvern

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1. All RpN rules and regulations apply here


2. No one-liners.Posts in the RP shall be minimum 2(two) paragraphs lenght. Keep it detailed, 'cuz me likey details!


3. No Erotic RP. Romance is allowed, but fade to black when naughty stuff comes up.


4. Be polite. If I see an argument that does not come to a resolution within the OOC, then someone will be kicked. Swears are permitted In-Character, and only there.


5. No godmodding, bunnying, meta gameing, and all that funny stuff. i will appreciate constructive criticism though.


6. I.Own.Your.Soul. No,seriously, just don't do stupid s*** and I won't get pissed,alright?


7. Must be approved by me before you can post in the actual RP


8. I don't know and don't care how you do it, but post the word flame in your Character Sheet so I know you've read this stuff. Failling to abide by this rule shall result in an immediate rejection of the character sheet.


9. We will use a Dice Rolling system to determine if your character succesfully dodges the trap/poison etc. The dice rolled will have 20 faces, anything above 11 is a succes, anything below 10 is a failure with 20 and 0 being critical points. If your character rolls a 0 at a trap, he dies/loses a limb/becomes disfigured/etc .


10. Same rules as rule no. 11 apply to PvP. Should your character get in a conflict, in character, with another Playing Character, all fighting moves' success shall be based on the 20-dice rules aforementioned.


11. Proper English spelling and grammar required to partake in this RP.


12. Please give others time to think their posts through, as well as allow others to join in on whatever conversation or activity you are doing IC.
 
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The mountains of Hjaltland, high above the ground they stood, proud and strong like the people they hold within them. There you could find the soft glitter of the snow reflecting in mornings first light. There you could fight a curious red bearded man within the whipping of the wind. Between two small boulders you would find him pressing himself upward repeatedly with his arms, legs fully extended, and large rocks on his back. He was Kearg and he loved to keep himself strong.


"AAAH!" A shout escaped his mouth as he lifted one last time and fell into the snow. His chest was bare showing skin that was red from strain and purpled from the cold. The rocks rolled off onto the snow as did his sweat that caused the snow to melt and steam.


"Haha! YEAH!" The man laughed, "That's what I'm talkin' about! Grrrr, yeah!" His breath was heavy as he peeled himself from the form he made in the snow. He felt the cold sting of the air as his body began cooling down, so he grabbed his faded red cloak and placed it upon his shoulders and wrapping his chest and head within. His large calloused hands gripped his bag and items and swung them swiftly onto his back.


"T, t, t!" Three clicks made he into the wind and soon after a bright red beast popped his head out of the snow. Andur'mir the dire fox swiftly made his way to the call of his master.


"You gettin' into trouble again?" Kearg had an accent common among the natives of Denos, similar to that of most of the Mjulnir; however Denos accents were typically thought to belong to the unlearned and foolish. Those with the accent of Denos were often mimicked.


"Come now. We best be leavin'."


Done near the markets of the Hjaltland was a small store that was visited by the more "humbled" of the Hjaltlanders. It was ran by a weary old Sharian merchant who had some success in the capitol over his long years selling there. He used to sell only gems and foreign wares that intrigued a few natives, but recently he opened his business to selling meats and skins.


"Good mornin' Shun'pa!" Kearg shouts warmly with a smile on his face as he enters; stopping at the Sharian's counter near the wall closest to the door.


"I should have never taught you the old Sharian word for grandpa. I have a name you know?" The old Sharian sputters as he organizes his wares.


"Now why would I ever call you by that?" Kearg says with an endearing sarcasm as he makes his way to the back stair case.


"Perhaps, because it's my name?"


"Bah!"


Just then the sly fox Andur'mir races in and around the shop in excitement, knocking over a barrel of tools before following his master upstairs.


The old Sharian frustratingly grunts as he makes his way over to clean up the foxes mess.


"If it wasn't for your meats and skins you bring in here daily I'd have thrown you out a long time ago!" He has an odd slow movement as he makes his way across the store floor due to simply being old.


Kearg returns from his small room upstairs with his hunting gear to find the old Sharian having trouble fixing the mess Andur'mir made. The old Sharian begins an all too familiar sputtering, "I am Xhuma'an Gro'virre former member of the proud Merchant's Guild! I have seen the Free Isles and sailed the Azure Sea, I've climbed the High Peaks and set foot in the Forrests of Tor'Valen! I have sailed with the legendary Dylenor navy--"


"Served their captains and King and have accompanied the Veraendyl Empress to the Sky High Mount to pay respects to the Emberwell." Kearg interrupted as he fixed the barrel and it's things then helped up Xhuma'an.


"You are a proud old man, and took me in with a charitable heart."


"-and an empty purse."


"That too.... Now, what would you do without me and my charming personality?" Kearg said with a smirk.


There was a moment of endearing silence as the two men smiled at eachother before Xhuma'an began, "Kearg my boy. Listen...I am old and-"


"Not this again!"


"Kearg! I wish to go home to Shan'Manrir! It's where I was born, it is where I wish to die. Please boy."


Kearg thought a moment then looked back Xhuma'an.


"We will speak of this when I return from the hunt." He said swinging his bow and quiver onto his back. "Until then Shun'pa, Syrae keep you."


Xhuma'an looked on as Kearg left with his pet Andur'mir.


"Syrae keep you..."
 
"You do eat a lot!", a short duender in his carriage sneered at his horse after checking the quantity of the hay. For his fortune the small hay field which he rents to get the horse's feed wasn't too far away. "I shouldn't have paid so much for you, you eat so much..", he continued his muttering as the brown horse wandered on a long forest road. Soon, however, he patted the horse with a small smile upon his lips. "You're a good horse, though", he added with a hollow and kind voice. It was an expensive purchase for him, but he knew the horse was a good one.


As the road wasn't as broad as others Miderenm has wandered, he glanced behind then once a while because he couldn't hear the approaching steps. He had no hurry to go anywhere but he didn't want to be on someone's way, in case someone was rushing behind him. The duender came to conclude by the loss of the marks on the ground that people seldom used this road. It wasn't a surprise to him: the road was in the quiet and peaceful country-side with no infrastructure. He couldn't think the reason for anyone to wander along this road. When he came to think about that, the whole road felt unnecessary. 'Maybe it was important back there..', he puzzled in his mind after a slight shrug. The thoughts made him smile a bit more: he liked to just stop and think such a useless things.


It didn't take long for them to turn next to a huge hay field, and he stepped out from his carriage with a scythe and a big bag, taking a big leaps in his long natural while toga-like clothing and sandals, also hoping that none bug would eat him alive in that long hay. 'This year had a crop..', he thought with a smile still on his lips, glancing the environment after the field. It was a beautiful sunny day, almost only 7 AM. He breathed the fresh air deeply but slowly inside before starting to scythe his small area. He was glad that he could still enjoy the gifts of the nature even the illness has ben spreaded for a long time. As long as he doesn't too much physical work, everything is going to be fine. But he didn't mind to worry about it right now as he placed the hays in the bag. He was aware though that he couldn't survive on his own. And he was not afraid to slip away in case it happens.


"Look!". A whisper was heard at the border of the road and the field. "It's one of them.. What a luck we got!", the young duender boy gasped, glaring in disgust the collecting man's long red stripes attached to his long ears. Two boys had no idea why they used those stripes, but they were sure that nobody other but terület would use them.
 
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When the night sky appeared, when there was no one on the streets of a certain sector in Kwovat ...... That was when the bars and the night life of Kwovat buzzed and awoken from it's 12 hour slumber. The streets were always lit with lanterns and candles, and filled with people who enjoyed the night life. Most of the time there would be drunken fights that had to be broken up, or sleazy people that tried to con you for your money which could get repetitive. There you would always find street performers, and street venders you wouldn't usually find during the day.


Helena loved coming to this placed. It was something different then anything she'd ever experienced in her life. She lived a very refined and sophisticated lifestyle so she didn't often get to see things like this everyday. In fact, it was her first time in weeks coming here. The lass had so many events and parties to go to with her father that she hardly had anytime to herself. He was a great tactical general and it was expected that many people wanted to meet him and his one and only daughter. But the parties were always so boring and bland, nothing compared to this.


"Listen up Everyone!" Helena yelled as she climbed atop a table of a bar that she frequents. It was called "Fight bar" because of the amount of drunken men that came and fought with each other due to no other reason but for the thrill of it. The bar had round wooden tables scattered through out , with wooden chairs at each table. The place wasn't small but it was always so over crowded.


Everyone turned to look at Helena, as they always did. It was impossible not too, she'd catch anyone's attention with her loud mouth, and beautiful face. "I'm going to Dance for you all, and you're going to like it. Watch me and maybe i'll give you the time of day, or even look your way." She jumped down from the table rather gracefully considering she was wearing heels. People murmured and whispered in curiosity for what was to come. She looked to the pianist sitting at at an black piano. H was an older man probably in her 40's. Helena snapped her fingers in authority,"Play". The man star struck at her behavior,took a moment to stare at her in awe, and then immediately started to play a string of fast Dylenor jazz music. Helena began to twirl around in circles and sway her hips. She danced gracefully and light as if her body was a feather. People started to clap, and yell loud compliments. Others started to dance along with her, not long after the whole bar was dancing with her and clapping. When the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, mostly at Helena. She did a curtsey lifting up her short white dress with ruffles. She grinned with satisfaction at the recognition. She live for compliments and recognition.


"Now I must bare farewell" Before she could even move a foot, three men blocked her way. They were all much older then herself, probably in their thirty's. They seemed still in awe of her antics.


"Must you leave now?" One said, "I want to betroth you" said another,"Please don't leave" begged the last one.Helena smirked. None of them were her type, espicially since they were so old, but she was glad they thought she was beautiful. Usually she would of told all of them to duck off, in the very rude manner that she always used, but since she was in such a good mood she decided she would be nice...for once. She pecked each man a kiss on the cheek, and winked. "Maybe some other time. But I must turn in for the night" And then she marched straight through them out the bar doors, still hearing the cheering behind her. Nothing could ruine her good mood now......except maybe if her father found out she had sneaked out again. And with that thought in mind, she put a little peep to her step.
 
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The check office was small, cramped and always made Algos uncomfortable. Not that he wasn't used to small spaces, indeed he loved little nooks and crannies with comfortable spaces to read. He had even crawled through a tunnel full of sand and scorpions once. No the problem with the office was the High checker. He was a tall and imposing Duender, with a face of iron and stone and a temper hotter that fire. Algos had heard that the man had once burned someones house down for dog-earing a page. Needless to say it wasn't pleasant being in a small room with the man who's entire job was to scrutinize Algos's work down to the last page. The younger Duender peered at the manuscript h had brought again praying that he didn'tfind some flaw or scar that would severely dock his pay. Thankfully, the old Mjulnir text seemed unblemished, which was surprising considering the ordeal Algos had gone through to get it.


"Ahem." The check master coughed for the third time.


"Oh right! Yes sorry!" Algos snapped to attention quickly, realizing the Checker had been trying to get his attention for the past minute. "Your review sir?"


"The text is fine Seeker Algos." The Checker said slowly, "But I must draw attention to your report."


Algos winced, his method for retrieving the text had been somewhat unorthodox, even for him.


"You say here," The checker continued, "That you broke into the inn, drugged all the drinks and made it look like all of the working men in the town were knocked out drunk. Snuck into the top floor, took the book, left fair compensation, And snuck out again."


"Yes sir, a commonly used method in unfriendly territory, if that's all there is I'll just be..." Algos began to edge out of his seat.


"Then how exactly to you justify the need to make the local tribe leaders daughter set a house alight?" The Checker continued, completely straight faced.


Algos sat still for what felt like an eternity then spoke, "Right, that." He took a deep breath, "I forgot about how resistant to alcohol Mjulnirs are so they woke up more quickly then I expected. I had to make a run for it when I was well... abducted by said daughter. She... was in her rebellious phase so to speak."


The checker raised a single. Bloody. Eyebrow. The closest Algos had ever seen to any facial expression on the man. "Continue." he said.


"Ahem...heh." Algos said blushing a bit. "She thought being "in love." With a Duender was the ultimate cultural taboo for her to defy so she well became quite infatuated with me."


"So you made her burn down a house."


"Wrong, I said lighting the biggest possible fire would prove her love to me. She was the one who decided to burn down a house."


"Semantics."


"Effective though...sir."


The Checker sighed and took another weary look at the ancient tome of stories. "Well Seeker Algos this is a very valuable book, so I can't dock your pay since you brought it back in perfect condition."


Algos visible exhaled , a mountain of tension leaving his body. 'Thank you sir."


"But next time you're out on assignment try not to seduce any daughters of important power figures."


Algos fought down a protest, "Yes sir."


"Good. Dismissed."


The younger DUnder fled the room and nearly slammed the door behind him. After a moment of breath and thanks to Tumar, a weight alighted on his shoulder and nipped him affectionately, before proceeding to laugh. Algos turned his head to pet the miniature dragon-golem. "yes, yes." Laugh it up Arch." he said pointedly. "The other gillers are going to have a fit when they hear it too."


He sighed and streached, then immediately made way to the closest bar.
 
Whilst the capital of Kwovat was bustling with life and noise, outside the walls it was quiet and serene. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the wilderness that was just a day's travel outside of Kwovat. The soft mossy ground was covered by a thick fog. Off in the distance there was the call of a wolf to the night mother. Then other wolves began to howl to the night mother, crying their beautiful song as tribute to her. The opportunity to stand amidst the woods as this beautiful song was sung was an honour to on Zevran Sha'dan. She often made the trip out to these woods on the full moon just so that she would have the opportunity to listen to the singing.


Zevran stood in the middle of a small clearing, her strong, muscled body tense as she kept a lookout for any dangers. There were always dangers with being a female Sharian, and being completely alone out in the woods. One had to keep light on their toes, and ever ready to dodge an attack. Her beast like vision allowed her to easily see in the soft moonlight. She could see all the little prey animals running around, going from cover to cover, hoping to not be the meal for a creature that day. A soft wind came from the West and made Zevran's hair sway in the wind. She took in a deep breath, her chest rising as her powerful lungs expanded. Her upper lip curled back to show her fangs in a vicious grin.


Tonight, the wolf song was not her only prey. She had been hired by a store owner to retrieve two exotic pelts from larger animals, and then she also had a request from the butcher to get him some food. She was hunting the bigger prey to go ahead and get it over with, then in the morning she would go after the smaller, food animals. When she had entered the area she had smelled just what she needed. It wasn't exactly exotic, but it would be better than what he would normally get, she was sure. Bears. Bears, especially dire bears, were very hard to take down without getting brutally killed. Tonight she was going to kill two, and live. She had smelled a den of them not too far away from her current location, and since it was mating season she was sure to kill just a couple of bears and not parents.


She heard a rustling to the north and watched as her dire wolf, Fenris, jump out from behind a bush and into the cleaning. His large paws landed softly on the ground, his eyes going straight for his masters, staring her down. She stared right back, snarling just a bit to show dominance, and it wasn't long before the animal turned from her, showing submission. She patted the creature upon the head and turned. Her staff made a clunking sound as it hit rock, then she put her foot forward and began her march tot he bear den, eager to be done with her mission and get her pay.


"Come along, Fenris. There is work to be done."
 
Brae idly sipped on a bottle of imported coconut and mango rum, enjoying the pleasant burn and tingle as it washed down the back of her throat and rushed down into her stomach. Coupled with the heat wafting up from the fire place of the tavern as she sat on the rafters, she was fairly chuffed for the night.


The hunt earlier that day for the wolves that had been harassing the caravaners had been troublesome, mostly because the wolves themselves seemed to have been worked up by something. A lot of the more superstitious villagers were under the sign that the wolves being more wily was a bad omen, signs of trouble to come. Other less superstitious peoples simply stated that they were getting smarter.


Then, certain buzzed cat peoples simply rested in the rafters enjoying their drink that they could afford because they were the only one stubborn enough to track down, kill, skin, treat and sell the products of said wolves.


It was most certainly a good day.


Still, it had been oddly challenging to track the wolves, and while the payout was good, it was not normal for the wolves to have been so skiddish of her in particular. Generally they settled with chasing her up a tree and deciding they made a mistake after a couple bolts had slain their packmates.


Taking another swig of her drink, Brae decided she would keep an eye open for any other incidents with animals, but in the meantime not worry about it.


"Brae," called a deep rumbling voice belonging to Horgon, the tavern keep, "I'm getting ready to close up for the night. You going to head home?"


Rolling off the rafter, Brae landed softly on her paws, her digitigrade legs absorbing the shock and barely letting her feel the landing. Nodding, she made her way past Horgon and out the door, noting that his dog, while usually always happy to see her, was staying further inside, towards the bar.


Noting this, but note putting too much thought into it, Brae stepped out into the cold street and began making her way home. This mystery with the animals would have to wait for a later time.
 
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The hour was steadily growing later as Zevran neared closer and closer to the den where she hoped to find two dire bears. Her companion, Fenris, had run off ten minutes prior, most likely rejoining his pack for a time. He always seemed to find her when she ventured outside of city walls. As she neared closer she strapped her staff to her back and began to walk on all fours. She knew all too well that animals quickly became skittish if they heard the bipedal footsteps of the more intelligent races that roamed the earth. Her clothing was very sparse, but covered everything that it needed to, so it was both decent, and allowed her to move with much freedom. She swiftly pushed through the thick foliage that separated her from her prey and she was met with a most gruesome sight. A sight that set every strand of her fur on edge.


Dead bodies.


The ground was littered with the bones, organs, and gristle of men and women, and fur...fur was everywhere. She stood in shock for what seemed forever, but a screaming voice snapped her out of her stupor. She looked up to find the two dire bears that she had been hunting now had a small, Sharian, child cornered. The child was male and it was screaming for its mother. The child had blood matting its fur, and with how weak the poor thing was it was obviously his own. His eyes met Zevran's, the pale blue meeting her own vibrant green, and in that moment, Zevran couldn't let the child die. The larger of the two bears reared back, ready for the kill. Zevran acted without thinking. Blind rage hitting her like a boulder. She let out a battle roar before jumping atop the back of the rearing bear and digging her claws deep into its flesh.


The bear roared out in pain and began to flail backwards. The fellow bear was immediately distracted from the young one and turned to see its companion being attacked. Zevran tried to keep a good hold on the dire bear as she reached for her short sword, ready to slice the bears throat open, but the bear began to topple backwards and Zevran jumped from the bears back to avoid being crushed under the weight of the beast. She rolled backwards, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the bear. Dire bears were frightful creatures, the bigger one's shoulders meeting Zevran's forehead.


She looked to the young one that was shaking violently at the entrance to what looked to be an abandoned mine. "Go! Run into the treetop! I will find you when I am done!" She cried to the child as the second bear took a charge at her. She saw the child run to the nearest tree and scramble up it before she had to roll to the left, escaping the vicious bite from the dire bear. She quickly jumped to the top of the bear that just went by and instead of digging claws in, she dug a short sword right at the spine of the bear, making it paralyzed. It went down like a sack of bricks.


She was about to land the killing blow when a massive pain welled up in her side and she was flung to the ground. She gasped in pain and quickly attempted to roll onto her back and get up. Before she could get up the other bear was on top of her, his hot breath in her face, ruffling her fur. She stared straight into the bears eyes and before it could do anything else she drove her remaining short sword straight through his chest cavity. She quickly put her feet on the bears stomach and rolled with the momentum so that it landed on its side and not on her. Then she went to the other bear, that was whining pitifully and took the short sword from its back and shoved it into its eye socket, ending its life quickly.


Zevran looked down at the carcasses and wondered if she could just present the butcher with the meat of the two creatures as she turned to go the tree the little one was in, but when she took the step she cried out in pain and fell to her knees. Her hand went to her side and found that it was wet with blood. She heard the sound of skittering claws and looked up to see the little one running towards her, holding his own wounds. He looked to be the age of fifteen, but the way he moved and acted made her think that he was a couple years younger than that, and he was only about five feet six in height. It was obvious that he was going to be a tall one.


He was fox like in nature, his blood nearly blending into his reddish fur. He didn't seem to be too hurt, just a bit scratched up, probably from his parents pushing him to safety.


"Hello little one," Zevran started, her voice deep with a slight growl to it, "what is your name?" She asked, trying to hide her injury from him.


"Jenesari," he told her, looking at where her hand rested on her side.

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Raicus Cyper


Prologue


Raicus knelt down, touching a finger to the bright scarlet spot among an infinite sea of white. The constant gusts of wind howled and screamed, tugging at the hem of his fur coat, blasting freezing droplets of snow into the exposed skin of his forehead and around his eyes. An ever-moving mist of obscurity covered his surrounding from every direction, blocking the view from going further than a few feet at most. The snow storm was getting stronger, the howl of the wind created a distance hum at the background of his mind, even through several layers of protective clothes, practically blocking out all but the insistent moaning of the climate. The sun was at its peak, directly over his head, but only as a visible bright circle among a sea of rushing shadows. The ground seemed mostly smooth, an illusion of a treacherously rocky mountain side, with gaps covered in neck-height snow, creating unseen sink holes that could swallow any foolish enough creature that try to navigate this path. Raicus was neither foolish nor suicidal. Even with the endless terrain hidden in the storm, he could walk the land like a bright summer day, the otherwise invisible death traps stood out in stark contrast in his mind's eyes, the eyes of a trained hunter who had traveled this land so many times before, and furthermore, a hunter with a prey. The beast couldn't have gotten far, not with his arrow lodged in its left shoulder, and a poisoned arrow at that. The blood trail was getting more recent, this one yet to be overlaid with snow. It was the fourth day that he had relentlessly pursuit the beast, its strength waning with every step, while his determination and patience was inhumanly untiring. Raicus looked up into the sky, estimating the time. He might have just enough time to catch up with his prey, finishing if off and find its and himself a shelter before the sun set. Even a seasoned hunter like him would rather not stay out in the open at night, the storm if not the scavengers likely to take him down when he would be most vulnerable. Raicus quickened his pace, carefully testing his foothold before taking another step, meandering his way across the intersecting lines of obscure hard rocks.


He spotted his target when he was 10 feet from it, seeing only a darker shape among a sea of white, but the size told him he had found what he had been looking for. The brown short-faced bear lay on its side unmoving, its massive shoulders and back already frosting over. It had to be the biggest bear he had seen in a good long time, almost 8 feet tall from head to toe, its head nearly reached his chest while on all four. Others would run as soon as they see the like of it, but not him. Its size had only forced him to take a less merciful action, poisoning his arrows with frustbane, the deadliest poison he knew. A mere scratch from the arrows covered in frustbane could have dropped the strongest man within a few hours, yet the beast had held out for four whole days with 5 cuts and an arrow in its shoulder. Raicus usually preferred to spare his pry the pain, taking them out with bolts to the head or similarly fatal wounds. He had tried the same to the bear, using the fastest acting poison he knew, but the ever-changing wind only allowed him 5 glances off its fur-covered thighs and ribs, and the bolt meant for the eye instead stuck itself in the bear's left shoulder. He could only imagine such agony and desperation it must have gone through, running away from him until its last breath ran out, knowing it wouldn't survive yet stubbornly refused to give in.


There hadn't been as much as he had thought, which meant that its fur was thicker than he had expected. A worthy prize for a long and hard hunt, he decided. Raicus knelt, put his arms under the beast's shoulder and started to tug. With the bear's size, he couldn't really pull it along with him looking for shelter like he had planned. His best chance would be to find a solid enough rock, cover the bear in frost to avoid scavengers and leave a mark so he could find it again the next day. The sun was already falling dangerously low, his time rapidly running out. Raicus tugged and pulled, moving the hulking form inches by inches, steadily making his way toward the chosen area. His hands and body already started to go numb, well-protected inside layers of fur and wool but not invulnerable to the cold of the Far East Mountains. The sweat on his forehead, the only part on his person not covered, froze as soon as it came out, breaking away to leave uncomfortable tingling sensation on his skin. The work was quickly tiring him out, while the sun dived lower and lower.


Raicus went dead still at the distant growling. Dusk was upon him, that time of near dark but light still linger that made it hard to focus his eyes. Not that they would make out much through the still howling gusts of snow and wind, only slowed somewhat to allow him hear that unnatural sound. The hair on the back of his head rose up, all of his hunter senses expanded to perceive any movement or sound that might alert him of the oncoming danger. There were plenty of creatures in the land that could make such growl, and with the wind distorting the sound, he couldn't tell what he was facing. In the worst snow storm he had seen in years, and at the unholy hour of light and dark, when his strength was almost gone, he had to face the unknown. Raicus felt something he had never felt in nearly a decade, something he thought to never feel again. He felt fear and uncertainty, fear for his own being and uncertainty of his ability to defend himself. He dropped the bear and crouched into a defensive position, slowly edging away from the dark form that must have been what had betrayed his position to the lurking predator. May be the blinding wind could hide him as much as it was hiding whatever was there. Silently, he made his way to a snow-covered rock protruding from the ground, which provided some cover for him to slip behind. He went from a crouching position to lying flat on his stomach, his hood pulled low to leave only a narrow sight toward to pile of fur and flesh a few paces away.


He almost missed it, its fur as white as the snow surrounding them, a perfect cover for a predator. The lean figure was only a shimmer of movement in the infinite white terrain, jumping from rocks to rocks just as he had done, stopping every few steps to check its bearing. Finally the thing landed lightly next to the unmoving form, carefully sniffed the bear's fur to check for sign of life. The snow hound was almost indistinguishable from its surrounding, its fur fit the mountain side perfectly in color, only its brilliant orange alert eyes darting around stood out. The scavenger had found his prey before he could hide it, just as he had feared, and at the worst possible moment as well. But Raicus couldn't help himself from releasing a breath of relief. A snow hound he could deal with, its speed fast but its size was only average, plus he had dealt with the like of it on many hunts previously. The factor of surprise was also on his side, it, not the blade he held in his hand, the most dangerous weapon a hunter could have. Returning to a crouching position, Raicus tensed in anticipation. The first blow had to be precise and deadly, or else his surprise would be lost and he would have to face the hound on equal ground, giving it more chance than he would like to. A peek around the edge of the rock showed the hound losing its alertness, instead content to feed itself, gnawing at the fur at the bear's rib, trying to tear it out to get at the flesh beyond.


Raicus pounced, throwing himself over rock he was hiding behind toward the unsuspecting snow hound. The animal started at the sound of his sudden appearance, but he was on it before it had a chance to react. In a smooth motion, Raicus plunged the knife into the creature's side and slashed downward, tearing its stomach open. Blood pooled on the snow-covered ground, the hound collapsed on its side and could only whimper for a few moments before it died, the intelligence light left its eyes as they began to close. Raicus stood over the animal, triumphant yet dizzy, trembling with the excitement and the exhaustion of the kill. Blood spattered over his white fur coat, staining his boots and covered his gloved hands. He felt absolutely no pride over the kill, or any satisfaction. It was not a place for human feelings, only instincts and survival. It was kill or be killed, something only the most primal part of his brain understood. The human part only observed from deep within, buried away to be replaced by the hunter. And that hunter saw these animals not as achievement, but as food, nothing more, nothing less.


Growls brought his head around to be faced with 2 more snow hounds. Raicus almost collapsed at the mere sight. He had forgotten that snow hounds hunted in group of 3, one male and 2 female. His legs unsteady, he turned to face them once again in a defensive posture, trying to keep them both in his peripheral vision. The two beasts started circling him in different directions, still growling low in their throat, forcing him to constantly turn to keep both of them in sight. His chance was slim and he knew it, most of his strength spent and his hand holding the hunting knife slick with blood, his knees struggled to keep his body upright. The bow and arrow on his back would do him little good in such close quarter, his sword even less. With slow but definite movements, Raicus loosened the baldric and the bow string, dropping them with the quiver full of poisoned arrows at his feet, all the while trying his best not to show any opening. The two hounds follow his every movement, their predatory eyes searching for weaknesses, their threatening growl gradually growing in volume. Raicus blinked the sweat away from his eyes, the drops stinging and at the same time obscuring his vision. That was all the snow hound needed, and they attacked without hesitation.


One went for his throat while the other went for his ankle, trapping him in a two ways trap. Almost caught off guard, his instincts and experience in years of hunting reacted before his brain could catch up. Falling backward, using his momentum to add force to the blow, Raicus's knife hand came up in an upward slash across the jumping hound's stomach, catching it low and cutting his way toward the head, his feet came off the ground with the movement to barely miss the jaw of the second on. All in one second, the hound above him flew past with its and his added momentum, ripping the knife embedded in its stomach away from his hand while he felt his back hit a soft patch of snow, which instantly tried to suck him down. Raicus rolled just in time, snatching his life back from the grip of the death the second time in that very second. But that left him wide open for the attack of the remaining hound, weaponless and on his back. The hound didn't waste any time, pouncing on him with all the speed and strength of a wild animal sensing blood. Desperate, Raicus did the only thing he could. He jammed his left forearm into the saliva-dripping jaw snapping at his face. The hound bit down hard, its teeth sinking through the thick layers of clothing to jam into his flesh, although the thick fur stopped most of the force of the bite. Raicus screamed in agony, feeling blood coating his sleeve. His right hand clawed around madly, and by a either a Keeper's intervention or extreme luck, landed on something long and sharp. He screamed again as he jammed the poison-covered arrow into the hound's head, pushing it all the way through with the sudden power of desperation. Then he pulled it out to jam again. Again. And again. He kept screaming and stabbing the beast long after it was dead.


Finally his blood rage worn off somewhat, enough for him to stop stabbing the dead corpse and to dislodge its teeth from his arm. Raicus collapsed on the ground, his whole person covered with blood, the same thing pooling in great puddles around the 4 dead bodies. He had somehow cheated death again that day, as he had done so many times before and so many times after. But it was the most traumatising experience, staring Death in the face and feeling its fingers closing around his soul. He was sure he would die, that he WAS dead. Everything felt so blurry the moment his hand felt on the arrow. He had clutched at it like the life-line of a drowning man, and it in fact had been. He still clutched it and refused to let go for several minutes later, lying on his back staring into the overcast of a sky, bathing himself in the blood and lives he had spilled. Life was so fragile, he had realized. Like a fluttering candle, snuffed out by the smallest of breeze. He shuddered, thinking about the effect of hurricanes that was the Keepers on such a fragile mortal life.


At last, Raicus pushed himself on his feet, still unsteady but determine. He could have stayed there all night, pondering at the meaning of mortality, and not likely to wake up the next morning. But he was a hunter, and at that moment, he had work to do.
 
As the sun shed its warming light on the sleeping city of Shan'Manrir, the bells at the Naval Academy woke the recruits. Sheut had been there four months and still hadn't befriended anyone, even those from his home village. His eyes sprang open as he heard the chiming of the bells and he stretched, letting out a yawn. He got up from his bed and padded over to the lamp beside his wardrobe, lighting it with a match. He prefered the warm glow of firelight to that of the magical orbs that lit up the city streets.


As the light filled the room, Apophis stirred from underneath the bed, hissing happily. A bard laid on a hammock in the corner, an acoustic guitar propped against the wall. As the bard snored, Sheut threw a rock at him. The rock hit the bard between the eyes, making him wake up suddenly, gasping for air.


"Your services are required, Gates"


"Yes, right away, sir"


The bard quickly picked up the guitar, checked if it was in tune, and let his nimble fingers go to work. Sheut turned to his wardrobe and pulled out his bow, which was made of polished ebony wood. He picked up his quiver and counted the arrows. Twelve. He was going to have to make some more before he went hunting in the woods outside the city walls. He was part of a rotation of recruits that brought fresh meat back to the Academy. The furs were sold to various shops throughout the city to help fund new weapons, traning equipment, and the overall upkeep of the Academy.


After a few hours, the sun hung high in the morning sky and Sheut admired his handiwork. He'd made a couple dozen more of his custom arrows, which left him with 36. He decided to leave half of them in the room and put the other half in his quiver.


"I am going out, Gates. You may rest"


"Thank you, sir. I do believe my calluses are about to rip open.", the bard said as he looked at his red fingertips. Sheut ignored him and donned his hunting robes. They were sleek, black, and fit his form to allow for maximum movement. He left, Apophis slithering at his heels. As he walked out the doors of the Academy, an old, grey-furred, mangy-looking man came up to him.


"Young man, my grandson was taken from his home to be trained in the Academy. Could you give him--"


"I do not speak with those who are below me.", Sheut cut him off. He looked the man dead in the eye, purple eyes glowing with arrogance. "If you will excuse me, I have business to take care of." Sheut pulled the hood of his robe up, fitting the holes in the top around his tall, pointy ears with ease. He reached his hand down to let Apophis slither onto his shoulders and proceeded to the city walls. He showed the guard his Academy pass and waited for the gate to raise. Once on the outside of the city, he took off at a sprint, heading towards the thick treeline in the distance.
 
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The sun just barely shone in the heart of Hjaltland, peeking through the peeks of the mountains, a faint glimmer caught in Loenth's eyes. It was just the crack of dawn, yet the sun dared to show itself so early in the morning. Loenth laid in his berth as the sun shone through his hangings. He was used to the sun interrupting his slumber, always up and out of his quarters before the light managed to touch his skin. This time, he chose to stay in, it was only once in a month that he could lay in.


He got out after a moment, letting the light peek through, his bare body revealed under the sheets. It was covered in scars, from the front to the back, leaving not an inch of skin in perfection. He'd usually go out for a run outside, keeping himself fit. He'd train until his mother would call him back in for nourishment. But not today. Today, he wanted to take the day slow, cherishing every moment, for he was a busy man, and could not do this much. He gazed out of his window, a clear view of many a man outside training and sparring with one another. He spotted females watching them as they sparred out in the center of the road, causing ruckus and chaos in the early morn. This gave him energy, for a battle was one thing he could not resist.


He quickly wore his garments and headed outside, wielding his sword in one hand, a smile plastered on his face. "How come none has given me an invite?" He called out, looking to the males, who quickly stopped what they were doing. He passed by the women watching them and turned to them. "Now, 'tis a lovely morning for you females to be out and about. Should you not be in bed, getting much of your beauty rest?" He told them, flashing them a smile. They just giggled and nodded in response, quickly getting up and heading back to their respective homes.


Once that was done and over with, he turned back to the males and eyed each one of them from top to bottom. There were four of them in total. "A battle between pairs, eh?" He asked them, looking to the porkiest one of the bunch. "Now, would anyone care to enlighten me as to why I had received no invite to a spar?" He asked them again, leaning against his sword, which he had beside him. "W-we, we are but novices Sir Loenth.." One of them muttered, a scared look to his face. 'Yes, be very scared little one.' He thought, a smirk forming on his lips. "But even a novice such as yourselves should be honored as to duel one such as me." He told them, waving his sword in front of them, swaying his sword from one man to the other. "Y-yes, sir." The porky one answered back, looking rather pale at the moment.


He smiled and dropped his sword, a clang could be heard at that exact moment. "You gentlemen have the chance to duel me, for I am barehanded and it would seem most appropriate to fight you this way." He told them, an air of confidence could be seen around him. "B-but, sir. Would you not be harmed without your weaponry?" another one asked him, a shocked expression on his face. Loenth turned to him and smiled, flashing them his white teeth. "Would you be able to graze my body even without my sword?" He asked him back, looking rather smug. At that, all four of them turned a pale white, almost matching the color of the snow beneath their feet. "W-we have to leave now, sir! We've got some very important business to attend to!" The porky one called out, the look of fear etched into his face, as did the others. "Oh? Perhaps I should-" he was cut off by the sound of his mother calling him.


"Loenth! Get home! A meal awaits you!" She called out, looking at him from their front door. He picked up his sword and look back to where the males stood, giving them a smile. "Looks like we will have to cut this sparring session short lads. A feast awaits my hungry belly." He said to them, placing his sword back into it's sheath. "Fair well, we should spar again soon!" He cried out, jogging back to his home, leaving the men slumped on the ground in a heap, relieved that any sort of danger they would face has been sent away.


As he headed home, his mother met him at the door, giving him a hug and letting him in. "Scaring the new trainees, love?" She asked him, sitting on the other side of the dinner table. Loenth let out a laugh at this. "It is how father has taught me. I merely wish to teach them the way I was taught." He told her, taking a swig from his cup. She let out a tsk at his reply. "Battle talk will be later. For now, we feast." She said to him, smiling warmly. Now he couldn't refuse his mother, he reluctantly agreed. "Yes, mother." Was he said, before diving into his meal.
 
Shame was the only word what echoed in the boys ears. Shame. And so they said. "H-hey you shameful litter!", the other boy shouted at him. He couldn't do anything but just stare, back towards them, in a total oblivion of the incoming unlucky abuse. The youngers had brought a modern touch to this semi-small countryside, but it only needs a few sceptic olders to trash their opinions into youngers' skulls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!", he shouted again. No reaction, just harvesting the hay in a peaceful silence. "Playing tough, huh?! Let's see who's though now!", the muscular younger kept shouting, approaching him in a long hay. "Val, I think he's deaf or something.. I think..", the other guy stated with a small point towards him. "That he's a perfect start for clearing these scums? Yeah, awesome, huh!". The man probably would've run if he heard that blackmail if he had a hearing, and the poor boy was very right.


Miderenm was so concentrated on his harvesting that he didn't see the hay poking ominously around, and the fist came to nowhere to grab his white hand which had the scythe. The sudden movement made him cry out in terror, but it didn't take too long for the boys to cover his mouth and pressed him on the ground after they managed to throw the scythe away. Hell, we aren't murderers, the boys stated to himself. The scythe was meant to harvest, not to draw dirty blood of the Terület to spoil the healthy hay of the cozy countryside, even ironically Területs lived longer when it comes to a whole Duender population: total zero-tolerance with magic and usage of the natural medicines were the golden tricks to the quiet tribe, known as 'baby-slaughters and barbaric cannibalists.'





The boy pulled the rather short Duender's arm against his back, which made Miderenm squint and hiss against the boys hand in agony. He was never a big noise-maker, even when he felt an ernomous pain. Usually it happened once a month, but the quantity has reduced in his lifetime so much that he's really graceful of it. The Duender tried to resist by pushing his head up, but it was soon paralyzed by a big press against his skinny cheeks, making a red visible mark on them. The boys heard the man moan 'please' in any language he possible could make up, the words high-pitching at every turn as he felt his hand being pushed into wrong rotation and his cheek pushed against the tickling hay. The rest of his begging was something weeping about deafness and mercy. The boy pulled him a bit up from his neck and turned him on his back, revealing Miderenm's mud-dirty terrified face and a long ear-piercings which have nearly ripped off. "You're nothing but a scum!", the boy shouted at his face, making him flinch into more a useless ball inside his now-brown toga. "Come on, he had enough", the other boy muttered next to him. "Oh what are you, a coward?", the other boy sneered at him with an aggressive frown, glancing down the helpless Terület who kept grimacing and breathing fast-paced due his body kept misplacing his arm second after second. The final movements of this abuse were a kick against his face and midriff, which left his hand misplaced. The screeching scream were heard meters away, and like a switch it lighted up a familiar cottage nearby the field. "Oh shit lets go!", the boy shouted before stumbling out of the field to the dark road. The boy took the joy of spitting on Miderenm before fleeing into darkness, even a low screams were heard nearby, and he was left to gasp the air back to his lungs after rolling off from the top of his misplaced arm. He didn't see the approaching man yet, and he pushed his body to lean against his healthy air, trying to drag himself out of the field hastily to the caravan. "Hey hey hey I got you I got you!", the man mumbled to himself as the took the man from his healthy arm. The grip made Miderenm freeze in terror again. He didn't have guts to glance the man, but he felt the warmth of the hand. They couldn't be the abusers: it was a greatest feeling of a long time for him.





"Wow, you got they bad", the man commented. "Just leave.. Leave me at the caravan.. I'll make it on my own, it's.. it's not that bad.."; he spluttered hollowly between breaths and made up a small grateful smile on his bleeding lips before coughing aloud. The man gave him a paper bag hastily, he knew he had a sensitive throwing up feelings after some traumatic events. Instead of vomiting, he breathed in and out to the bag a few times before lowering it a bit down, gulping. "Oh thank you..", he muttered with a small bit of his lower lips and a flashing smile, even a missing tooth can be found from his well-traited mouth. "But I'm sorry that I woke you up and ruined your free day.. It is free now isn't it?", he started to chit chat with a bit trembling voice as a pain grew stronger. "The farmer knows no free days. We better get you in and patch you up", the man continued to speak towards his face. The words made Miderenm blink few times in a small ashame and a dodge of the head: he was supposed to heal others, not being others patient. The scene was really humiliating for him and Területs generally. However, e reached for the mans shoulder with his left arm, taking a good grip from it and pulling him closer, slowly being picked up by his bartender friend. "You would've spoiled my night if I would've woke up by seeing you all freezed at the middle of your journey!", he pointed out with a lushing laugh. The Duender was concentrated on trying to wash the pain away but keeping the eyes closed but the tremble of the Dylenor's body made him smile warmly.
 
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Sheut broke through the treeline, Apophis around his shoulders, sprinting through the underbrush dodging twigs and branches. The weight of the quiver on his back and the bow in his hand was so familiar they seemed weightless to him. He swung up onto a branch with his free hand and surveyed the area. He smelled the air for any signs of prey. As he did so, a memory came back to him and he had to brace himself against the tree. He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to break free of the flashback. His father, looming over him, whip in hand.


"You will not leave this training ground until you have hit the center of the target a dozen times!"


He cringed as he remembered the sting, reaching inside the hood of his robe, gently rubbing his shoulder where the remnants of a scar resided. He turned back to the task at hand and quickly picked up a scent. Two deer, female, upwind of him luckily. He closed his eyes and listened, searching for the familiar sound of twigs snapping and leaves being eaten. As he listened he noticed that the sound of snapping twigs was getting louder, quicker, and more frantic. He opened his eyes in time to see the two deer barrel past his perch in the tree, fleeing from something. In confusion, he looked at the direction they came from.


The leaves were rustling, a faint thudding was getting louder, and Sheut climbed higher in the tree in an attempt to see better. He looked down upon the bushes and what he saw filled him with dread. He'd heard rumors of them, but he never had seen one. In the distance, he could see a chimera, ripping through the forest in chase of the deer. The lion head on the front of its body let loose a roar. Sheut wished he'd brought his blades as he knocked an arrow and took aim.


((will stop here so I don't go too far, if you would prefer keeping the wildlife to what is available in real life please let me know and I will change chimera to somethign else.))
 
Minke, in the town of Bolos

​



A quiet room, motes of dust dancing slowly in the gold of early morning sunrise that leaked in the windows. The room was mostly empty, of life anyways, only one wrinkling man at the far end, behind a scarred oaken bar, polished to a sheen despite its condition, keeping his hands busy by polishing all of the tankards he kept in back. At the other end of the room, crimson-tressed head down on a wooden table, looking just as worn as the counter, was a small form, likely belonging to a youth, though it didn't.


Silently snoring into her favourite table, Minke slept off the previous evening's activity, her feet barely reaching the floor from her seat.


Outside, the sound of activity slowly began to rise as the rest of town came awake with the sun, and the sound of boots slowly coming up the wooden porch out front. The door opening, more golden light spilled into the room like a flood, drawing a groan from Minke in her vain attempt to remain asleep. A man entered through the now open door, wearing the livery of Bolos' militia, a man who also wore a poorly groomed beard of darkest black, and one of the most irritated expressions a face can make.


"Broz, git th' fook up will ye!?" the man demanded more than asked, seeming to become more frustrated with every word passing the bushy beard on his face, much to the bartender's dismay, who made to utter something before he was cut off.


"Don't ye dare come to 'er defense Odran, she's in 'ere still drunk, an' 'er patrol's long since started."


"No," came a muffled groan from the barroom table as Minke refused to budge, burrowing her face deeper into the crook of her elbow as she tried to shut out the voice of her commanding officer.


"Whassat?" he nearly bellowed back, stomping across the room, shunting one of the many benches he passed aside, face beginning to grow red as his temper quite visibly neared its end.


"Ah said no," she muttered back, awkwardly trying to cover her ears with her arms, hoping the storm would pass.


"An' ah said git up!" the guard-captain yelled, dragging Minke to her feet by the scruff of her neck with relative ease, what with being near two feet taller and broader than she was.


As she rose to the tips of her toes, eyes red and puffy, spirits still on her breath, Minke squinted at the officer keeping her upright, some utensil or another still in her hand apparently. Without hesitation she brought it up to the man's throat with demands of her own.


"Ye should put me down now, an' leave me be so'sat ah can sleep off 'is headache," she practically growled in frustration, feeling vomit well up in her throat at all the sudden motion, the pounding behind her eyes not letting up in the slightest, "or ah slit yer throat here an' now te watch yer juices spill out."


Familiar enough with her attitude, the bearded man glanced down casually, seeing what exactly his subordinate held in her hand.


"Thassa fork, now quit wit' th' jokes," he snarled back, leaning on the table with his free hand, and dropping Minke to her heels again. A smile just starting to brew on his face as he trumped her little faux-threat, she surprised him. Surprised him by putting the fork through his hand, effectively nailing it to the table.


"Oh tha's funny, real funny. Wanna hear mah joke?" Minke said, obviously displeased nearly as much as her captain was, who'd just elicited a colourful string of profanity, drawing his now-free hand to the fork in his other.


"Ye put a bleedin' fork in me 'and! I'm not a fookin' ham!" he shouted right in her face.


"Ere it is; whassat noise?" she asked, wishing dearly for one of three things, another drink, to be asleep, or possibly to be deaf at this very moment. Before his mouth could form the words he was next looking for, a tiny pair of hands wrapped behind the guard-captain's head, and he got an extremely close look at Minke's scalp as her forehead met his nose with a crunching noise.


"It'ssa sound o' yer bleedin' fool nose breakin! Now fook off!" she yelled back, a response which he was dissatisfied with.


Blood making its way into his mustache, the captain made his reply known,


"Now yer in for it ye little shite!" he shouted back, putting the fork in Minke's hand now, grabbing her opposite wrist in his other hand, then kneeing her in the stomach, driving the wind from her lungs.


"Now git yer skinny arse te work, yer on all the sun-shinin' day now."


Having slumped into her seat, it took Minke a good few breaths to gather herself enough to reply, which her commander patiently waited for, scowl back on his face like it'd been there all his life.


"Mektor be damned!" she exclaimed, pulling the fork free of her palm.


"Whassa matter Mini, y'got a problem wit me judgement?" he asked as though it were some grand joke.


"No such thin' sir, but issat really how bad a fork in th' 'and 'urts?" with a grin on her face, confusingly enough, Minke pulled herself out of her seat, tossed the fork, bloodied on two hands so far, with a morning still young, to Odran.


"Ah'll see ye tonight then?" she continued on with a laugh, now making for the door.


"Ah swearsat yer gonna kill somebody one'a these days," the captain said, just behind the crimson-haired woman as she stepped out into the daylight, trying to shield her eyes from the brilliant sunrise, and failing.


"Y'know me better'n that Tarmo, or ah suppose tha's Cap'n Tarmo 'ese days innit?" Minke said with some pain in her voice at the aggravation the golden light was having on her liquor-fuelled migraine.


"Ya, ah know ye better'n that, but regardless, yer on th' West road today, an' ah wasn' jokin' about workin' all th' day, ye hafta pay back sommat respect ye owe fer makin' a fool o' yerself in fronta Odran." Tarmo clarified, bringing a hand to his nose, checking that it wasn't any more twisted than usual as it continued to bleed all through his beard and into his mouth, though in hindsight, his hand was doing more or less the same.


"An' fer alla 'is!" he continued, still quite upset with Minke, and while he was the only guard that tolerated the short woman, he still certainly didn't enjoy dealing with her unless he was drunk too.


"Oi, yer not even a pretty-boy, so quit actin' like one sir!" she replied with a hearty laugh, turning Westward down the narrow dirt road that crossed through their little farming village of Bolos.
 
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Zevran could clearly see that the child was shaken and scared. His narrow shoulders were shaking in fear, and the fur around his eyes was very damp.


“That's a strong name,” she paused for a moment, looking down at her wound again, seeing that the blood was quickly drying and that the wound was beginning to stop bleeding as much as it had been. She let out a sigh of relief as the pain began to numb. She turned her attention back to the young boy, trying to keep his attention focused on her. There was so much carnage that no one should have to see, especially a small child. It was obvious that the dire bear had killed them, but what she didn't know was why they were at these mines, nor why they had young ones with them. She could see the bodies of at least three other young ones scattered amongst the elder Sharians. She knew that dire bears were nothing but beasts, but that didn't make her any less glad that she had killed them. She just hoped that they didn't have any disease that made them so aggressive, otherwise their meat would be useless.


She had to look up at the child as she stood on her knees, having most of her height in her legs. The boy's fur was matted and stained with not his own blood, but the blood of his companions. The bears had splattered him with their blood, and Zevran knew immediately that she needed to get him to a river to wash it off before he realized that he was wearing their blood. She didn't touch him, afraid of scaring him off sicne she was covered in blood as well, staring into his eyes so he knew that she was the alpha of this meeting nonetheless.


The boy looked severely undernourished, scared, and he looked like he was about ready to cry again. She wanted to reach out to him, but she dared not. Right at this moment was a delicate moment that needed careful execution, otherwise he could run off. Sharian children were known to be a bit skittish around strangers if they were not friends with their own parents.


Zevran looked about for a moment, seeing the fur, the bodies, the blood. Everything that those bears had brought upon this boy and his family. She let out a soft growl before bringing her attention back to the boy.


“Why were you and your family here at the mines?” She asked, her voice rough to the ears of any other species, but she was speaking downright soft to the ears of the small child.


“W-we weren't here by ch-choice,” he sniffled, almost looking back to the carnage. She knew that he could smell it. She let out a small warning growl and he focused back on her.


“Tell me more,” she whispered.


The child gulped down some spit, his tongue falling out of his mouth to pant. He was hot and nervous. “This is my entire family. W-we were here because my f-family were trying to g-get some extra money,” he stopped for a moment, looking down at his feet, seeing that they were covered in blood wetted mud. “My mom and dad were working. Me and my brother's were playing outside...then the b-b-b-bears c-c-came,” he couldn't say anymore as he burst out in tears, sobs wracking his body. “They tore apart my family!” He cried out, putting his face in his delicate hands. “I-I think the m-m-masters set them on u-us.”


Zevran's breath hitched as he said that. If what he said was true, their employers murdered them, but why? She shook her head and slowly put a large hand on the child's frail shoulder, getting up on her feet to tower over him. “I am sorry for what has happened here, Jenesari, but you must be strong,” the child sniffled and looked up at her. His eyes were a beautiful deep brown that was rimmed with black fur. They were simply beautiful.


“Why?” Was all he asked.


“I don't know why, but if you travel with me to Kwovat I will be sure to help you find out the answers,” she said softly. The pup simply nodded his head and followed her direction as she took his arm and took him to a nearby tree. “Climb and wait for me, little one,” she said before turning away, hearing his claws scambling up the tree. She could still hear him sniffling, but she persevered and went straight back to her kills. She quickly skinned the animals and butchered some of their meat. The process took about an hour. As quickly as she could she piled everything up into the blanket that she had brought with her just in case the night had been chillier than her fur could handle comfortably and dragged it back to the tree where the little one still sat.


“Jenesari?” She called out, watching the little one stir and look down at her. He looked very tired, his fur still matted with blood. She let out a sigh and motioned for him to come down. He followed her orders and came down.


“What are we going to do now?” He asked, his voice weak and frail. Zevran had slept earlier that day, so she would be just fine staying awake all through the night, but the little one was very weak and she had to provide him with nourishment, and also a bath. The night was warm, which she was thankful for. She took in a deep breath and perked her ears. She smelled an area where many an animal have gone to that was more towards the city.


“First, we are going to give you a bath. Then we shall find you nourishment,” she said motioning him to follow her as she laborously dragged the blanket full of meat and bear pelts. Her injury had been staunched of bleeding, but too much exertion and it would begin to bleed again, and she began to pray to the forest elder that her wound would stay closed at least until they got to the city.

~*~*~*~*~Jump Cut~*~*~*~*~

​



Zevran held Jenesari's hand as they walked into the city. His eyes widened at the pure size and beauty of the city. Zevran had seen it many times before and didn't really notice it any longer, it was just second nature to see the gran city now.


“Th-th-this is Kyivit?” he asked, horribly mispronouncing the word.


“Kwovat,” she corrected, “and yes, this is the city that I live in, and hopefully it will welcome you with open arms,” she said as she held her side. She had been carrying the back clear into the afternoon hours, and it was becoming too much. She could feel her side begin to bleed, but she quickly needed to get this meat to the butcher, and the pelts to the merchant. She attempted to ignore the pain in her side and began walking to the butcher's shop.


When she entered the shop there was only the butcher and one other man. The other man stood at an even six foot, nearly able to come face to face with Zevran. He was dressed in all black with a hood over his head. She stood to the side with the young boy, awaiting the butcher to be done with his customer. The man turned towards them, his gaze going to Jenesari. His gaze remained neautral, but something about his scent changed that made Zevran's fur go on edge. Something was not right with this man, but before she could say anything the man took his order and swiftly left, leaving her with questions unanswered.


“'Ello Zev,” he affectionately said, “Wot have you go' for me?” he asked in his garbled accent. He was lucky that anyone could understand him.


“Can you do anything with bear meat?” She asked him, a hopeful look in her eyes.


The butcher smiled widely, showing nearly perfect teeth, which was usually rare in these times. “I be believing that I will be able t'do somethin' with that meat, Zev,” he said, motioning her to the back. As she moved he caught sight of Jenesari who was staring hungrily at all the meat that was hanging all around his shop. He chuckled and took down several pieces of jerky and gave it to the young one, who quickly began to gobble it down. “Free of charge,” he said quickly when he saw the concerned look on Zevran's face, which quickly fell.


She towered above the butcher, who's name was Randall. She set the heavy bag down on the table and let it fall open, a large pile of meat being revealed. Randall got a huge cheshire grin on his face as he began to touch the meat, testing how good it was.


“Dire bear?” He asked, seeing the large pelts.


Zevran nodded, “Yes, some of the largest I have ever seen.”


“How did you slay 'em?” he asked, beginning to weight the meat so that he knew just what to pay her.


“The element of surprise,” she said, looking back at Jenesari who, thankfully, was too occupied with his jerky to pay attention to what they were talking about.


Randall fell silent after that, focusing on the meat for a while before going to where he kept his money. He quickly fetched a hefty sum of gold and handed it to her whilst handing Jenesari some more jerky which he stored in a little pack on his hip.


“Thank you,” Zevran said as she began to turn away with the pelts in hand.


Randall nodded to her and waved her goodbye. “Fare thee well, dear girl,” he said as he began to put his newly purchased meat on display for customers.


They swiftly went to the merchant who wanted the furs. He paid a hefty sum for the two dire bear pelts, and Zevran left the shop with a small smile on her face. Now she knew that she had enough to go to the healer for some stitches.

~*~*~*~*~Jump Cut~*~*~*~*~

​



Zevran opened the door to her room at the local inn, herding Jenesari in quickly before anyone else could look at him. It wasn't the most savory of places within the grand city of Kwovat, and she suddenly wished that she had gone with an inn in a better part of town, but she was rather poor. She didn't know where all her money went, but it seemed to always have a constant depletion. She lowered herself down on a chair with handy bars on the back for her to lay her tail through and she relaxed, holding her side. There was a dull ache from the stitches that had to be administered to her. There had been three gashed upon her side, and she was sure that she would scar there. She hated scars, they always looked odd on Sharian's. They weren't able to grow hair on them, so they simply looked like gaps in the fur.


Jenesari stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not entirely sure what to do with himself.


“Please just sit down, Jenesari,” she said weakly, her lack of sleep beginning to get to her. He quickly did what she said and sat on the floor instead of the other chair that was across the room. She began to wonder why he would do such a thing, but she was too tired to think very much.


“You may have the bed,” she said to him, motioning to the only bed in the room. It wasn't so much a bed as a..cot. The bedding on it was poor, the mattress was nearly nonexistent. The room was in poor condition, but at least it kept her safe from the rain and the cold. The boy looked at her, bewildered.


“You would let me sleep in a bed?” he asked her, his voice very quizzical, as if he had never been offered a bed.


Zevran was taken aback by this question and stared down at him. “Why would you be surprised at this?”


“Masters sleep in the bed.”


In that moment everything clicked. Employers setting bears upon the employee's, them being at the mines. They hadn't been employee's...they had been slaves. Jenesari was a slave child. She stared at him for three more beats of her large heart.


“Please, take the bed. You deserve it,” she said, motioning over to it. She couldn't say anything about the slavery, not yet. She just couldn't.


Jenesari followed her command and crawled into the bed, looking as nervous as someone walking death row. Zevran commanded him to rest as she closed her own eyes, still sitting in that chair. It wasn't long before she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
 
The Chimera stopped and sniffed the air. The goat head on its back had three distinct red eyes, the only way to tell it from an ordinary goat. The snake tail hissed violently, tongue flicking out to "smell" any signs of prey. Sheut loosened his grip on the bowstring and the arrow went flying. It lodged itself into the flesh of the goat's neck and the beast went into a frenzy. The lion head let loose a pained roar and flicked back and forth searching for the source of the arrow. Sheut remained hidden in the tree branches and fired another arrow. This one lodged itself into the base of the snake/tail where scales met fur, making the creature let out a horrid sound.


At this point, the Chimera was in pain, ticked off, and searching the bushes frantically. Sheut was safe on the tree branch since the beast could not reach him. After waiting for it to face him, Sheut fired off anther arrow, hitting the lion head dead in the eye. The arrow lodged itself deep into the beast's skull, severely damaging the brain. The beast slumped to the ground and let out one last dying roar before going still. The goat head fell to the side, the snake no longer writhed.


Sheut jumped down from his perch and cautiously moved to the beast. He carefully severed the goat head and serpent tail from the rest of the body and placed them in a bag. He hauled the rest of it up over his shoulder ignoring the blood pouring from the open wounds. As he looked up from his kill, he could have sworn he saw a figure gazing at him from afar. Wide antlers, white fur, blue eyes, and a limber, minotaur-like build.


"But it can't be"


Sheut muttered in disbelief. The figure was no longer there and he dismissed it as his imagination.



****Jump about an hour****

​



Sheut returned to the city and made his way to the skinner. He did have to pay a price to have them skin it, but he could afford it and rarely did it himself. People stared at the awkward sight walking down the street. A large beast-man in a black hooded robe carrying a lion over one shoulder, a king cobra on the other, bow and quiver across his back, a large sack in his free hand. He made his way into the shop, which was empty. The man at the counter grinned.


"Hey boy-o! I've been wondering when you'd be coming 'round"


"You know the drill. Skin it, give me the pelt, and send the meat on up to the Academy. I have some other errands, but I'll be back in a little bit to get the pelt


"I'll get right on it. M'gosh boy, what treasure ya bring me today?"





Sheut laid the lion on the counter and smirked as the man looked in awe.





"I haven't seen one up close before. You find this in the forest?"


"It was chasing two deer and I figured I'd go for it instead."


"Even a fool could see that. I will be extra careful skinning this one"





Sheut gave the man a fair price , the man went into the back to get started, and Sheut made his way to the potion shop. Inside was dimly lit with an eerie green glow. Bottles of various medicines and poisons lined the walls. Ingredients hung from the ceiling and grew in various pots around the room. The elderly woman behind the counter gazed upon Sheut with a grin.





"And what might ya be needin, dear."





Sheut took the snake from the bag and placed it on the table.





"Chimera venom."


"Quite the prize you've got yerself. Ain't cheatin me are ya?"





Sheut showed the woman the goat head, the three distinct red eyes giving away that it was from a Chimera. The woman gasped





"So they are real. I've never seen one up close, only heard rumors. No one has ever brought in quite a prize. Here, have all this and you can pick out one bottle of anything that suits your fancy."





The woman handed Sheut nearly triple what he paid to have the Chimera skinned. He browsed the shelves and found a poison he could tip his arrows with. The poison would cause temporary paralysis of the area immediately around where the arrow hit. He exited the shop and headed back to the skinner. The sun was getting lower in the sky, the clouds gaining an orange tint. He picked up his pelt and made his way back to the Academy.





****Jump about thirty minutes****




​



Sheut knocked on the doors of his regiment's general. A moment later, a scarred Sharian with an eyepatch opened the door. Sheut had to look up to the nearly 7 foot tall panther-like man.





"Why are you bothering me, soldier?"


"I have a trophy of sorts that I feel you need to see. I encountered it while hunting."


"Ah yes, come in."





He ushered Sheut into the room and Sheut took a seat in front of the large desk. The general made his way to the elegant chair behind the desk and steepled his fingers. Sheut rummaged through his bag and brought out the pelt.





"Chimera. And before you think I'm just trying to impress you with a fake."





Sheut pulled out the goat head and laid it on the desk. The general looked between the head and Sheut, a look of bewildered respect on his face.





"This is quite a feat. You took this down single-handed?"


"Yes, sir. I had my arrows and shot from a distance, of course. It was quite hard to do seeing as the hide of a Chimera is quite tough and my arrows would never have pierced far enough to be fatal. I shot it through the eye, damaging its brain severely.:"


"I would call you a coward for your distant approach, yet I would praise you for your excellent shot. I think I may have an assignment for you."





The general rummaged through some papers and found the right one.





"Ah yes, we are expecting to send a ship to Kwovat soon to transport goods to the army bases. We need some strong-willed defenders on this ship and you have more than proven your worth. I will expect you on that boat tomorrow morning at dawn. Do you hear me."


"Loud and clear sir. I am honored to be given such a task."





The general rose, signaling for Sheut to do the same. Sheut saluted, the general did the same, and Sheut was dismissed. Sheut laid in bed that night, trying to imagine what Kwovat was like.
 
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~Sebastian Grauwen~


~Somewhere in the South-East of the Azure Sea~


The waves of the wild Azure Sea were bumpy, as always so far South. The vanguard sent by the Dylenor Navy composed of 10 of the finest ships belonging to the Wolf Fleet to scout out this area found no trace of the pirate port they're intelligence said would be. One of the islans belonging to the Sharian Terago Coalition was rumored to have been hosting a port of outlaws that decided breaking and entering into the houses of honest folk and stealing their valuables was too easy, thus taking to the seas.


The Merchant's Guild had kindly asked of the Dylenor Military High Command to seek out these lawbreakers and bring them to justice. The generals and admirals debated this matter for a relatively short time, as the Merchant's Guild was quite proeminent and wealthy. Angering them would be a rather considerable detriment to both the economy and their naval industry. Afterall, a great deal of the Dylenor Navy ships were either built in one of the many Sharian ports, or built from wood specially imported by the Sharians, all the way from the forests surrounding Shan'Manrir.


The plan was simple. Send out a squadron of ships to intercept the bay where the pirate port city was supposed to be located and use the superior fire power of the cannons of the Lion Fleet ships to level the entire area. The great and renowned Navy of the Asralshar Kingdom was composed out of 3 main fleets, each fleet having its own distinctive characteristics.


The Lion Fleet was the Fleet led by Admiral Dakascus the Wild. The name of this fleet comes from a very frightening phenomenon. The ships here are built large and are the slowest of the Dylenor Navy. What they lack in speed and endurance, they make up in firepower. On these mighty man-o-wars, there are no less than 124 cannons, each. When one of these galleons fire all their cannons, the sound that results is very sounds exactly like a lion's roar, inspiring utmost fear into the sailors that dare oppose it. The Lion Fleet encompassed more than 75 ships and is the smallest, although the most deadly of all the fleets.


The Bull Fleet was the armor of the Navy. Its large and endurant ships are often used as a battering ram to sow destruction into the enemy ranks by simply smashing itself against the them. The hull of the bow of each ship of this fleet were equipped with steel, so that the impact would not deal much damage on the galleon itself. Often the steel would be dotted with spikes, for a bigger punch, perforating anything that would dare stand in the path of Admiral Gelleon's fleet. Currently, the Bull Fleet numbers over 100 ships. However, this number tends to go up and down due to its main role in a battle.


And finally, the last, but not least component of the Navy is the dreaded Wolf Fleet. Led by the young, yet experienced Admiral Sebastian Grauwen, this Fleet is the most used of all Fleets. The main reason for this is that this fleet was the most versatile of all the others by far. Not equipped with enough cannons to raze an entire island, nor the armor to bash their way through danger, the Wolf Fleet made up for all this in speed and precision. While the other Fleet counted only large vessels, used for either strength or cargo, Grauwen's ships were small-to-average, which allowed them to perform many tasks the other boats could not, like flanking the enemy while the Bull Fleet held the line and the Lion Fleet bombarded the hell out of them.


These traits were what were taken into consideration when the Army High Command put together a task force to take out the assignment granted by the Sharian people. Our story begins on the deck of the "Edged Fang", the flagship of the squadron that was now waiting for the report of the scouts sent ahead. As Admiral Sebastian stepped out of the captain's quarters, the entire crew stopped momentarily from their active duties and performed a quick, disciplined salute to their leader. Sebastian saluted his trusty men as well, before speaking out loud. "As you were, men!". At this simple command, the bustle of the ship returned to life once more, each man and woman working towards maintaining the ship in proper state.


The storm from last night was not beneficial at all, but thankfully, the legendary speed of the Wolf Fleet lived up to its reputation. Now, they were simply waiting to check for any anomaly in the hull, for the 5 ships from the Lion Fleet dispatched with them to catch up and for the reconnaissance ships to report their findings.


Sebastian paced firmly around the main deck, overseeing with keen eyes all the movement, when a shout coming from above him. "Captain, the scouts are coming back! Up from the bow!" the sailor manning the crow nest spoke. Sebastian nodded and glanced forward, watching as the "Red Eagle" and the "Valiance" emerged from the thin mist before them. Soon, both captains stepped aboard the flagship, respectfully saluting the Admiral who was now facing them. "At ease, captains. So, any news on our goal?"


"Yes, sir! We have finally located the objective's location. It is in a small cove, a few miles to the East." the man commanding the "Red Eagle" stated. Sebastian nodded again, shifting his gaze towards the main mast, his eyes setting on the crow nest up above. "Sailor Tuomas, any sign of the ships from the Lion Fleet?"


"Aye, captain! They've just arrived and are waving they have no casualties nor damages."


"Thank you, mister Tuomas. Mister Dagon, how are the ships holding up?" Sebastian asked his Chief Mason.


"Everything is top notch state, Admiral! We are ready to go on your signal!" the latter replied.


"Very well!" were the Admiral's last words before performing a gentle gesture towards the man with ginger hair on the quarterdeck. The First Mate immediatly started shouting at the top of his lungs, as Sebastian went towards the front of the galleon. "Everybody, man your posts," he screamed "we're gonna go blow up some pirate scum!"


His mighty scream was met with joyful cheers coming from the sailors, ready for a good fight. they had been anticipating this moment for a long time now, their blades aching them in their scabbards.


"Onwards, to victory, glory and honor!" came the Admiral's final reply!

​



~Somewhere in Southern Tor'Valen, at the foot of the Sky High Mount~


The wind suddenly died down, as the moon reflected its light over the now calm forests of the home continent of the Duenders. The Emberwell Tower stood proudly at the peak of the highest mountain in all of Issoss, seen from afar as a spear protruding the mighty iluminating jewel that adorned the bleu marine sky. In vain did the stars try to shine this night, for their beautiful sparkles were covered by a looming dark veil that suddenly fell over the lush green woods, as a small group of people were up late, while the honest folk fell under sleep's sweet spell.


The chanting could be heard from the top of the secret staircase hidden behind the rocks accessible by the use of unknown and forbidden magicks. The walls of the hideout were adorned with skulls, painted with blood, with ritual marks drawed on them. The smell was foul, but that did not seem to bother the temporary denizens.


The ones that retreated in this forgotten, underground dwelling, did not wish to be disturbed by any outside distraction, nor found out about the authorities. Their group had been persecuted ever since its foundation, during the fabled Fourfold Slaughter. It was not fair, how the lives of some families were simply torn apart by the deaths of their loved ones, all for the sake of a stupid war. That loving flame was what pushed a select group of people who rose up and started dabbling into the deepest reaches of the Reanimation magick school, seeking a way to bring back their dear ones.


After years of gainning knowledge and practicing horrid experiments, their work finally bared fruit. Pooling their Essence together, they finally succeeded in reanimating the body of a fallen warrior. Not little was their joy, which was replaced soon by utmost horripilation. The body they had brought back was nothing but an empty husk, a shadow of its former, mighty self.


They dispaired, broke into tears as they saw all their efforts turn up to have been for naught. Blood, sweat and reputation, all sacrificed for an impossible dream. They went mad, starting to resent life and those who had survived the war, returning to their families alive. It was like fate itself mocked them. They retreated, plotted their revenge, hoarding every dead body they could come across, gathered every piece of information and magick they found, all to further their agenda. Over the time, however, their main goal for vengeance was soon replaced with simple lust for power, this hunger becoming more emphasized with each new generation that would carry on the Old Order's legacy.


Now, their wait finally has finally come to an end. A few weeks prior to their present gathering, they were contacted by a being most unexpected. A demon, they thought at first, who whispered in their dreams promises of power and greatness, should they accept him as their patron and swear to serve him with their whole being, dedicating their soul to him. In exchange, he would grant them their primordial wish: the power to bend the world to their will.


The choice was a really easy one. In less than a day, all of them met and shared their slumbery experience, all equally shocked of the event. Deciding it was by no means a coincidence, they settled their plan. The entity from their sleep instructed them on what to do to gain his favour and trust, providing them with the location of the same underground cave they were holed up in the present. After a few weeks, everything was ready and prepared to be put in action.


Now, all the members of the Old Order sat around the main altar, which represented the centerpiece of the chamber. Around it, stood the magicians, either kneeled down or standing up straight. Only one was near the altar, contemplating the beauty that was chained against it, a blade sparkling in his hand due to the candle lighting that was used to repel the darkness that covered their eyes. In his other hand, he held a most peculiar lantern, from which a fire glowed, not a reddish yellow, but a bright green.


The one in the middle was the one leading the chant, his words being repeated by each member out loud, in the same unknown tongue that had guided them this far. Quiet moans started to come from the restrained girl, which was starting to awake from her drug induced slumber. Her eyes blinked repeatedly, trying to shake away the numb feeling after a long, unwanted sleep. The first things she woke up to where strange mumblings and a dim, damp and damp-like room. Her mind started to try and process this situation, not liking it one bit. Her fear amplified once she realised her limbs were unable to move, the cold, steel chains hurting her wrists and ankles.


"Please!" she tried to beg, only short growls leaving her throat.


Her only reply was a quick and painful slap across the face. She was worthless now, at least for them. A means to an end. As the chant stopped, all the eyes in the room shifted their focus to the altar. The robed person near the ritual place approached the girl, which was now reaching the peak of despair, as her eyes caught the sight of the blade that drew nearer and nearer with each footstep that echoed throughout the chamber like a thousand bells that heralded her imminent doom.


Her scream of pain was muffled by the Necromancer's hand as the blade slit her neck from right to left, letting blood flow all over the pedestal. The young maiden let out a few last gurggles of blood, before finally giving her last breathe.


"Munias, Vas Tergara mon Ghiszna Se Relet!" the murderer shouted, yellow light beaming out of the girl's corpse, as well as from the others rallied around the center, all of it gathering into grand ball of Essence, up in the air, slowly descending unto the altar.


"Did...did it work?" some of them voiced after a time.


"Thou did well, my servants!" a dark, growling voice thundered. " 'Tis but the first step in thy journey for greatness. Thou hast now proven thy loyalty to me, so I shall present thee with my greatest gift."


As the voice stopped speaking, the giant mass of Essence became as bright as the sun itself, forcing the Necromancers to turn their heads away for a moment. When the light dimmed down, they gazed upon altar again, to see the orb of magick dissapeared, in its stead standing a horrid looking book, which gazed at them back at them through the eyes of beast engraved upon the cover.


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​



"That which stands before thee now is my necronomicon. Inside it thou shall find the secrets of the Emberwell itself and how to manipulate its powers. Use it well, Necromancers, and bring down the kingdoms of those who dare look down on me, Mektor, the Keeper of Death and War! Go now, wreck havoc on my enemies, bow them to thy will and rule this realm in my name!"



The one who used the knife to end the life of the chained woman approached the book, taking it into his hand and mustered courage to open it. Inside, there was more than just written words. Inside, there was power, control, the legacy of not just a simple demon, but a being considered a God, a Aeon! Skimming through it, the Necromancer's lips started arching progressively into a smirk, then a grin, finally ending in a mad laughter. The laughter of sweet success.


<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_07/336338.jpg.7d0d4b1a6287ff9c414e9e6d8c870f4a.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="21662" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_07/336338.jpg.7d0d4b1a6287ff9c414e9e6d8c870f4a.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>


After the laughter had finally stopped and silence dominated the room once again, the priest spoke again, in a common tongue for all to understand its meaning. "We did it brothers. Finally, the power to overturn the world is finally ours. We lack but one component to fulfill our goal..."


"What, brother? What do we still need to get before we finally turn our dream into reality?!" the others asked in confusion.


The first one's reply came as swift as the girl before him's death.


"An army!"

​




 

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Kearg


Hjaltland, the Sparring Grounds





----"DESERTER!" "COWARD!" "BLOODY TRAITOR!"


----Names...they were just names Kearg would tell himself and he was right. Every Mjulnir had anger in them, a kind of fire that when prodded would ignite. It was joked that this flame is what kept the Mjulnir alive in the harsh cold of the mountains, but Kearg had to learn to keep his from exploding. Every day there was someone else who had to make their opinion known to Kearg of his family. The Rjunlir name wasn't very well respected here in the capitol or anywhere besides his home of Denos really. If Kearg had let himself become the common Mjulnir then he would have gone mad ages ago. No he wanted more, he wanted his family name, his father's name to be respected again. So he did as his parents taught him. 'Turn the other cheek.'


----He had just left the wild and with him carried bodies of animals that he had hunted; a dozen rabbits, two quail and a large pheasant. He had a good hunt and so far a good day, but these boys of the sparring grounds where he passed today were going to test his patience. They were novices, four of them in particular wanted to ruin his day. There were four of them, one on the 'porkier' side of stature. More than likely someone had beaten them or made them feel worthless so they sought to take it out on someone else that they thought they could beat. Kearg hardly ever used the sparring grounds considering the last time all who were there decided to gang up on him and give him a good beating. It wasn't a pleasant experience...even though he had won, but that was many months ago and no one gave the Rjunlir any glory. Kearg had almost made it out of the the area before one of the four stepped forward and called him out directly. Tall and slim built, strong but hardly a scar on him.


----"Can't you hear us deserter? You're no Mjulnir...you and your family are better off farming like weak cowards for the rest of yer lives!" This boy had to be the spoiled son of some war hero who thought he had some right to victory. Kearg summoned all the strength with in to carry--


----"Ptoo!" ... It was wet, cold, and on the side of his face. The boy had spit on Kearg. Then he, Kearg, turned to the boy...Turn the other cheek, turn the other cheek, turn the other...


----"Watch these." Kearg said to his furry companion Andur'mir as he set the killings of his hunt down in front of the fox.


----Kearg's steps were slow drawing him closer to the boy on the other side of a small wooden fence that separated the fighters and the onlookers. Lovely women were watching in excitement as their local flavor of the day put down the 'Deserter.' The boy watched Kearg approaching with a smirk on his face, he got him.


----"Look here, the stupid farmsboy is going to give me a few words. What are you going to say Rjunlir?" He said the name with disgusting judgement. "Are you going to--"


----CRACK!


----A communal gasp was heard by all the onlookers as Kearg's skull drove through the boy’s nose and made a noise so loud you could hear it from the city walls. Even the others sparring stopped to watch as the boy crumpled like a damp rag onto the snowy, muddy ground, bleeding profusely from his nose.


----"You need a scar on your face." Kearg stated with content.


----"GET'EM!" The companions of the broken boy shouted as they ran and tackled his assailant. Kearg had hoped that his demonstration would've scared the others. He was surprised tp be wrong. The three novices tried beating him with the training weapons, but Kearg managed to disarm two of them and knocking the third back onto the now broken fence that had once stood between them. One of them managed to elbow Kearg in the face before being knocked down as well, however to the other boy's surprise it didn't do much to Kearg who with ease dispatched the last boy right before getting kneed in the gut knocking him back down. It seemed the rest of the fighters wanted to play. Kearg was quick back to his feat with his fists in front of him. The whole sparring group had now turned against him. There had to be at least a dozen of them, a few older men too who had joined from the streets and one old man that had a certain distaste for the Rjunlir name. There was a moment as the group and Kearg had a chance to size up the other challenge and judge if they had ability to be the victor. The great part was that both sides thought it would be them. And so in the streets of Hjaltland, fighters by nature warriors by craft Mjulnirs by birth, there was a brawl between a large group of angered Hjaltlander men and one Kearg Rjunlir.
 
Running. There was, in this moment, only running. Speed. Distance. Endurance. And then, stillness.


~-~-Gates of Nir'Amen-~-~


Soph'ana had run the seventeen miles from her house on the outskirts to the main gate of Nir'Amen, and now she had stopped, panting to catch her breath. It had taken her several hours, of course, her physical strength was thin and wore easily. But she had made this journey many times through her life, she knew almost every stone and tree along the way. She came here as she had hundreds of times before in the last months, for help, to find a way to return her sister to health. And the only place she knew to look was the Library of Infinity.


The Library's great golden doors stood before here, easily a hundred times her size, yet they magically slid open at her touch as if they were made of paper. She had often examined the doors and their carvings set in the precious metal, depicting the Emberwell and the Aeons who serve it. But there was now no time indeed to admire the artful carvings, Soph needed answers to her questions. And most importantly, she needed a direction.


The halls upon rows of books were more than any one being but for an Aeon could ever read in their lifetime, though Soph had often tried. She shuffled through the corridors, searching for someone she thought would be there. Farin, the Duender whom she had met several times here in her readings, a Grand Librarian was his title. He had been friendly before, usually helping her find a specific, obscure book she had asked for, then making up some tale as to how he had retrieved it 'for the good of the Library' or something like that. He would know how to get her out of this, how to find a cure for her sister. Soph nearly broke down at the thought of her sister, comatose and health failing. 'I will go through with this for you, Finn,' she prayed silently, 'so hold out for me.' She pat her satchel at her side, where the doll containing what was left of her sister's Essence sat silently.


She searched through the aisles of tomes, scrolls, and books, calling out Farin's name every few moments, but softly so as not to disturb any other readers in the library. If she could not find him in a few minutes, she would search for her answers on her own. She knew most of this library on her own, but it was the unknown portion she wanted to navigate. She continued to scour the rows and columns of books for any sign of either Farin to help her or a book to help herself.
 
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When Zevran awoke she was greeted with the sad eyes of the pup that she had found in the woods. He was dressed down to just his underthing, the rest of him was bare. He looked as if he hadn't slept a single wink the entire night. She wasn't startled by his presence, as she had known that he would be up before her. He was still scared and confused, and he didn't know what to do with himself. She understood this all too well. She had lost her own parents at an early age and also hadn't know what to do with herself. And he also had been a slave child, so he very well might have not known how to care for himself at all. He was as helpless as a newborn babe, and Zevran was taking it upon herself to be his protector.


She really didn't understand why she felt such a need to protect the child, if the child had been Duender she would have let him slip into oblivion and killed the bears whilst they were feeding on him and his family, but Sharians...she just couldn't let them suffer. Especially children.


“What is wrong, little one?” Her voice was heavy and deep with sleep as she righted herself up in the chair, thanking her body for not slipping down so low that she hurt her tail. She brought a large, clawed hand up to her face and did her best to rub her eyes.


She opened her eyes, seeing the child still on the floor, looking up at her. “It doesn't feel right to be in a bed. It's too wrong. I keep expecting fo the pain to come. The pain that always comes. No matter what.” There were pauses in his speech, and he seemed to be lost in thought. It was quite obvious that he had been abused in his life. She looked out the window and saw that it was most likely only four hours past when she had gone to sleep. She needed more sleep than this. She was gonna loathe what she was about to do, but it was the only way she could get him rested.


She slowly got up out of her chair, growling softly in pain as her side flared with pain. Then she went to the wardrobe that stood at the far corner, staring out in the room in all its battered glory. She rummaged around until she found the extra blanket and pillow she had given and placed them on the ground in the middle of the room.


“There, you may sleep here,” she said, sad that she had to do this, and her heart winced when the boy nearly looked excited to be able to sleep on the floor.


“Thank you,” he simply said as he laid his thin body down on the floor and passed right out. Zevran let out a small sigh as she went over to her bed and crawled into it. She faced her head outwards to be able to look at the child for a while. She could tell that he was a kind soul, and that he was deeply scarred from his time in slavery. And the memory of his family being torn apart most likely didn't help that scarring. If she decided to keep him she would have a lot of work ahead of her to be able to assist in healing her scarring. She didn't know the first thing about raising a child, but she was going to try her best to give the child a life worthy of his sweet and innocent soul.


She slowly drifted back off to sleep, having a bittersweet gratitude to being able to sleep in her bed once again. With that final though she drifted into blackness, not a sound heard, nor a sight seen.

~*~*~*~*~*~Time Skip~*~*~*~*~*~

​



Zevran was suddenly startled awake by the sounds of struggling. She quickly opened her eyes, only to be greeted with the site of the sun shining into her light sensitive eyes. She rolled out of bed and away from the sun so that she could see. When her eyes finally adjusted to the dark again she saw Jenesari thrashing around on the floor, his teeth bared, his whole body tense, and his eyes wide open. He was having a night terror.


She let out a rough bark and crawled on the floor towards him, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into her. She wrapped herself around him and held his muzzle shut so that he didn't try biting her and rocked him. She rocked him until he finally settled down. He went still, his beautiful brown eyes staring up into her pale green eyes.


“Are you okay?” She asked simply, slowly letting him go so that he could clumsily slip away from her.


“Y-yes,” he whimpered, looking around himself as if the dire bears were going to descend upon him once again.


“What did you dream of?”


He looked up at her, terror in his eyes. “I dreamed of...” he paused for a moment, looking back downa t the ground. “I was dreaming of nothing,” he said in defeat before returning to his blankets, facing away from her. She could see that his shoulders were shaking in a silent sob. She wanted to reach out and give him another hug, but she understood that he probably didn't want her to see him like this. So instead of giving into her motherly instinct she got up and went to the window, looking out into what appeared to be a new day already. She looked back at the fox pup and saw that he truly needed some new clothing, and she had some extra cash on her. She would buy him some new clothing, and perhaps take him to the healer for a close inspection on his health.


She went to her wardrobe and brought out a white shirt that was akin to a sailor's shirt, a pair of black pants and nothing else. The previous day she had gotten some looks walking around in nothing but a skirt that only barely hid her area, and a top that did the same. So she was dressing a bit more conservatively. Granted, this was more for a man than a woman, but Sharian women had a hard time fitting into dresses. Mostly because of the tails.


“Jenesari, get up and put on your clothing. We are going out,” she said, waiting at the door for him. He didn't make a sound as he slipped on the ragged pants and vest that he had been wearing when she found him. He looked like a little wretch that would stop at nothing to relieve you of your coin purse. She let out a sigh and shook her head as she opened the door and walked out, motioning for Jenesari to come out. She quickly locked the door and traveled down the stairs, hearing various creaks and cracked in the floor board 'neath her. She emerged into the main area, seeing some people already wallowing in their own misery with three mugs on their table filled with spirits, others were enjoying a nice little morning meal with their mother's or lovers, and then there were the workers who were being hassled by a couple of men dressed in all black.


“There are two Sharian's in this inn, we know it. Tell us where they are roomed, now!” The bigger of the two yelled out, obviously very frustrated with the uncooperative inn keepers. The barmaid looked over to see the both of them in the doorway to the stairs. Her head made the softest of movements and Zevran slowly back up, pushing Jenesari behind her. They quickly hid out of sight of the men. She closed her eyes, tensing up.


“Fine, we'll be back later! Maybe you'll be more talkative at a later time,” the man hissed out. There were footsteps, then the slam of the inn door. Zevran waited for a full minute before finally coming out from her hiding spot with the pup. The two owners of the inn immediately came up to her and drug her into the kitchen, away from the other occupants.


“T'ey were here ta see ya. Why?” The man asked her, his voice attempting to be calm and collected.


Zevran looked down at the pup then back up to the owners.


“I think they may be slavers,” she said quietly before taking Jenesari by the arm and leading him out of the kitchen and out into the streets without saying another word to the people who give her room and board. If those men became more persistent she would not take kindly to it. In fact, she could very well get so mad that her fangs may wish to sink into their flesh.


“Who were those men?” The pup asked. She would think he would know who they were, but he most likely didn't see their faces as he had been behind Zevran.


“I don't know, but I do know that they aren't our friends.”
 

Minke, in the town of Bolos




​



The early morning light gave everything a golden edge, and of course turned the street into a veritable storm of lights for Minke to wade through on her way to the barracks where her sword awaited.


"Avin' fun o'er there Mini?" a voice called from the roadside, punctuated shortly after by the metallic clang of a hammer striking its anvil, which echoed through the short guardswoman's head a thousand times with a sensation akin to glass peeling her scalp back. No, that's not quite right, Minke had been bottled plenty of times, more like a frozen rod of metal driven between her ears, yes, that certainly seemed a more accurate comparison.


"Go fook yerself Jyri," Minke replied with a dismissive wave of her hand to the resident blacksmith.


"Aw, whassa matter? Little headache?" Jyri joked in reply, sure to strike his anvil once more, just to watch the crimson-haired woman flinch again.


"Shove off or ah'll hafta do it fer ye!" she shouted, bringing both hands to her temples, gently kneading them with her knuckles in the failing battle against this hangover.


Moving on down the road to the next building, the barracks, Minke heard Jyri strike his anvil again and shout something after her:


"Issat any way te talk te th' only blacksmith around?"


Oh how that bald old bastard loved to remind everyone of that, whether it was when he ratcheted prices up just because he felt like taking the day off, or when he payed the tavern a visit, he just pissed Minke off. Perfectly willing to spit on anyone in range, but never willing to trade blows evenly, he was just a coward in her mind.


Brushing contemplation aside for the moment, Minke grabbed hold of the barracks door by its ring, and hauled, only to be greeted by the hinges' squeeling, which added another iron pile to the collection she was starting to gather in the back of her head. Inside, three of the other guards were starting an early game of bones, though they paid no more attention than a glance Minke's way as she reached for her blade.


On the hook, where normally her greatsword hung, there was nothing. Of course, Minke found time for a string of interesting profanity before one of the dice-players called over to her, "Alvar's gottit," she said, rolling her hand in the middle of her statement, obviously uncaring in making the comment.


Shutting the door quickly, nearly slamming it, Minke turned Westward again in a huff, trying and failing to ignore the splitting pain that the hinges had left in her head.


"Agh, ah oughtta cut back a little," the red-haired woman muttered to herself, trying to rub some of the pain out of her temples once more.





The walk through town, while more eventful than might have been expected, was still quite brief as Minke arrived at the Western edge of town, spotting Alvar at the edge of the first field, leaning leisurely against its fence. Still on the approach, Minke was about to call out to her watchpartner, but thought better of it, and instead just tucked her chin into her collar, and walked the rest of the distance with her head down, trying to avoid any more direct sunlight than was absolutely necessary.


"Ave fun las' night?" a deep voice asked, what seemed like just moments after Minke had looked at the ground. With a start, suddenly bolt-upright, Minke realized that she'd in fact walked right past Alvar without realizing, and turned around again to rest on the fencepost as well, though it was halfway up her back rather than directly below her bottom like the man-bear she was partnered to.


"Acourse ah did, 'is mornin' though?" she replied without missing a beat, leaving the end of her comment to interpretation.


"S'Tarmo still found ye did 'e?" Alvar asked, loosening the strap of his short-statured partner's sword from his ink-stained shoulder.


"Course; 'e must jes' check Odran's erry mornin," Minke replied, taking her enormous cleaver, still sheathed, before hopping up onto the fence to take a seat, carefully positioning herself with practiced ease so as not to fall off immediately.


"Y'know, if ye weren't there erry mornin' 'e mightn't always be there," Alvar commented with a laugh, deep and rumbling from the back of his throat, slapping his shield hand against his stomach in that way that he did. A superstition apparently, one of the many that the foothill tribes seemed to be plagued with.


"Real funny 'at, bleedin' hilarious." Minke was obviously displeased, and probably would have crossed her arms in combination with the pained scowl that was already on her face, though her hands were busy moving her blade to cross her lap rather than keeping hold of it.


"By th' way; Tarmo said we'll be on th' 'ole sun-shinin' day; still funny?" the shorter of the pair asked, no laugh to accompany her joke, not even the crack of a smile.


"Ybroke 'is nose again!?" Alvar asked incredulously, recoiling back from Minke, who leveled a glare on him, more at the fact that he knew exactly why they got the full-day shift than anything else.


"E picked me up by th' scruff o' me neck!" she whined in response, everyone knew full-well that Minke hated being lifted from the ground, which always lead to an instinctive act of violence.


"Ye really oughtta gettat sorted," Alvar replied, barely stifling a laugh, and while it didn't even make a show on his face, Minke knew that it was there, the two of them definitely spent too much time together...


"Yer laughin' at me! Ye gigantic arse!" she practically shrieked, which she immediately regretted, eyes screwing shut as she brought both hands up to her temples again, though the motion still did nothing to ease her pain.


"An' there ain't a damned thing ye can do 'bout it," Alvar chuckled, slapping his stomach again with an audible clapping noise, though before the conversation could continue, a carriage crested the hill that Bolos was built upon, coming into sight some distance away.


"Looks like there's work te do," Alvar commented, tightening the straps on his shield again, and taking a cursory check of the enormous steel mace slung from his hip, well, enormous to Minke, the head of that mace was damned near the size of her own head.


"Y'think it's a lady?" Minke asked, a quiet laugh lilting on the backs of her words, "Ah betcha it's a lady, ridin' in on 'er little carriage. Betcha she's got servants drivin' 'er behind around."


"Y'mean a lordlin," Alvar said with an exasperated sigh, knowing that his comment was pointless even before he said it.


"S'what ah said, a lady, wit' 'er fancy britches and jewels," the crimson-haired guard replied, ending the joke with a small outburst of her own laughter, hangover apparently forgotten, she was looking forward to antagonizing their town's newest visitor.


The pair made their way to the middle of the road, striding out to meet their latest visitors partway, Alvar leaving his mace in its loop, though Minke had pulled the scabbard of her own weapon up to rest across her shoulders, arms across the top like a yoke.


"Oi, stoppat," Alvar whispered sharply to his partner, hoping by the keepers that they could just welcome these visitors normally rather than making themselves out to seem like bandits.


Ignoring his request, Minke sped up, shouting to the approaching carriage, which seemed to be of a fine dark wood with small gold trimming, an expensive thing to be sure, and likely foreign by the lack of discolouration in the wood.


"Why 'ello there m'lady," the red-haired guardswoman shouted, coming to a stop in the road, and while the carriage was still a short distance away, the passenger was quite clearly male, despite his bundling up against the icy wind of the lowlands.


"Ello sir, welcome to Bolos, what be yer business?" Alvar asked shortly after, as was expected of them, attempting dearly to salvage the situation before Minke made them another enemy.


"This is the esteemed lord Driskoll," the driver replied in kind, giving a withering look to Minke, though his comment was obviously directed to the more civil of the pair, the one which he'd expected to have the more trouble from by the tattoos winding across every visible bit of skin on the man, and as he finally came to a stop, realized that said man could have probably used the mace at his hip to pulp the heads of his horses with ease, thank the Keepers he was the civil one.


"We're passing through the lowlands on our way up to Hjatland, there is to be a meeting you see, regarding trade between the kingdom of Asralshar and your own," the driver continued, obviously figuring that these guards, by their livery at least, would give him no trouble for official business with the Warchief, especially regarding something as beneficial as trade.


"What sorta trade?" Alvar asked, approaching the seat at the front of the wagon, sure to take hold of the reigns to prevent them from riding off should they prove to be problematic. Meanwhile, Minke made her way to the main seating, and leaned against the lip of it, trying to draw some response from the esteemed lord Driskoll.


Taken aback by his interest in the trade talks, and somewhat discomforted by losing control of his horses, the driver kept his composure, and carefully chose his response:


"Well you see, the King wishes to establish port villages on the islands of the strait between our lands, he hopes that this might bring a long-lasting and prosperous alliance between our peoples."


Meanwhile, in the back, Minke had chosen her first taunt for the little lordling.


"So yer from 'at land o' lilylivers are ye? Didn' wanna bring yer 'usband along fer th' journey?" she asked, no laughing in her voice, only mocking superiority as she tried to draw a rise from the man.


"Port villages eh? So yer lookin' fer a stagin' area fer yer navy off our coast? I dunno if 'e'll be too innerested innat," Alvar replied, picking the proposed idea apart with ease, though he took no joy in it, obviously just testing the driver to see how much he knew of the exchange, and how much of the story was truth.


Despite the cold, sweat began to form on the driver's brow as he began to feel more and more that these guards were in fact bandits, and not affiliated with the village they were to pass through on this road Northward into the mountains.


"I'm quite certain that that was not the intent of our king, but your warchief is welcome to decline at his leisure, we are merely making the journey to propose the offer," the driver replied, and while he glanced about, it was to the sides of the road, barren as they were, in search of anyone lying in wait for an ambush, though they could have done it at any point beforehand, which quickly calmed him down.


"Whatcha got in back 'ere?" Minke asked from the back of the carriage, moving around to the flat-bedded back, laden down with a fair amount of cargo, including a couple of small casks.


"Oh, ye brought somma yer fruity sissy-drinks did ye? Maybe hopin' ye can get th' big chief drunk off 'is rocker, try an' get 'im to agree te yer little offer?" she went on, picking up on Alvar's comment, getting a little suspicious now herself, though she still wanted oh so dearly to see the little prettyboy fight.


At the female guard's comment from the back of the carriage, the lordling shot to his feet, hopping over the backboard of his seat into the bed behind, rapier clearing its scabbard in an instant with a sharp rasp of steel on leather, point coming to a stop inches from the tip of Minke's nose, though it was at the end of his reach anyways.


"You'll back away from that, it was very expensive, and not suited for your tongue, wench," he said, as though the insult held some weight with the woman he held at swordpoint.


"Oh Keepers no, git 'im to back down," Alvar almost begged, knowing full well that Minke would probably kill the man, regardless of his position, if he even twitched in her direction now.


"She'll lop 'is head off," Alvar warned before the driver tried to talk about how impressive his lordship's swordsmanship was.


"Wellat's a pretty little toy, might keepat fer pickin' me teeth," Minke said, grasping hold of the thrusting sword by its blade, not even a hint of pain in her face as it bit into flesh, likely because it couldn't even make it through the thick callus of her palm after she'd broken so many bottles in it.


A grimace coming onto the lordling's face, he withdrew the blade and sheathed it, after taking a moment to glance over the blade, seeing no blood where it'd been taken hold of.


"Aw, whassa matter m'lady? Can't dance outta one 'a yer little balls?" she continued to mock, though the man's patience was too great, and took his seat again impassively, after which, Alvar relinquished the reigns, and allowed the pair to move on into the town.


"Awful sore 'bout 'is apple juice innee?" Minke asked, watching the back end of the carriage as it trundled up the road into Bolos, bouncing on the hard dirt.


"Prolly trynna make a good impression, move 'imself out 'ere fer some reason," Alvar commented dismissively, regarding as to his protectiveness of the casks.


"But what sorta lilyliver'd wanna live out 'ere, too cold fer 'em lot, can't grow all their little fruits," Minke joked again, drawing her first laugh for the day out of Alvar that wasn't at her expense.
 
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Sheut- Just Arrived in Kwovat

​



Sheut did not wait for the boat to stop as it pulled into the port. He sprinted to the front, did a front flip off of it, and landed lightly on the dock. He was wearing black robes, similar to the ones he used for hunting. The difference between the two was that these robes had a built in scabbard on both sides of the waist. This allowed Sheut to carry his khopesh blades, which he did not need while hunting.


He pulled an arrow out of the quiver, knocked it, and searched the area for any signs of ambush. Apophis slithered down the dock and came back a few minutes later, just as the boat came to a full stop. He slithered up to Sheut's shoulder and hissed a specific pattern. Sheut muttered to himself,


"Two potential hostiles, heading away from the boat, shouldn't be a problem."





Sheut gave the signal for all clear and the boat lowered its gangplank to the dock. The crew began unloading crates onto the dock, which were then put into carriages and taken to the nearest naval base. Sheut continued to survey the area for the two hostiles, but did not see any signs of danger.





****Jump a few hours****




​



Once the whole boat was unloaded, the crew and guards were dismissed to go about the city. They would be staying here 2 days before heading back to Shan'Manrir. As Sheut walked down the street, two men in black hooded robes shoved past him. Apophis hissed in Sheut's ear and Sheut turned and watched the men shove through the crowd.





"So those were the men from the dock."





Sheut shook his head and continued on. He found a tavern and went in, where he was greeted with quite a commotion. A tan-furred, canine-like Sharian woman was dragging a young fox-like Sharian child out of what Sheut guessed was the kitchen. She seemed to be quite flustered as he watched her exit the building. He sat down and waved over one of the workers.





"Do I have to tell you again? I do not know specific Sharian that stay here."





Sheut pulled down his hood and looked up at the woman in confusion.





"I came here looking for food and drink. I just arrived from Shan'Manrir a few hours ago on a Navy cargo ship and I am quite hungry."


"Oh yes, of course, sir. There were men in here with robes like yours hasslin' us about two Sharian. Thought one decided to come back."


"Did either of them have a cobra with them?"





Sheut let out the best grin that a jackal could as Apophis slithered onto the table. The worker looked like she was about to scream and faint, yet at the same time had the utmost curiosity about her.





"You are quite the surprise aren't ya. So what will ya be needing, dear?"


"I'll take the biggest slab of meat you have. I like it to be quite bloody, but not raw. I think I'll just have some water to drink and Apophis here could take care of any mice you may have a problem with."





Sheut handed the woman a handful of gold coins.





"I think I can talk something up with the cook. Oh, sir, this is entirely too much. Please, take some back."


"I think that should cover the fee of a room for two nights?"


"Oh, thank you sir. I did not know you would be staying. I will be right back with your food."





****Jump about two hours****




​



After he ate, Sheut got a key for his room. He stored his bow and quiver in the safe trunk before heading out to explore the city. He left Apophis back at the tavern to rest and so that he would not be a burden if Sheut needed to act quickly. Those hooded men from earlier made him uneasy and he had to watch around every corner.


His thoughts were cut short by a cry of fear and Sheut started sprinting. He turned into an alleyway and saw the two men, backs facing him. This alleyway came to a dead end, and huddled in a corner was a young Sharian. The Sharian appeared to be a spotted feline, but Sheut could not tell any more than that with the dim lighting of they alley.





"So, you enjoy picking on small children?"





Both men turned around and snarled at Sheut.





"Stay out of it, boy. This child belongs to someone who will be very displeased if it is not returned."


"It? Do you have no respect? That child is either a boy or a girl."


"The only respect we have, is for the boss's money. He's paying a hefty sum for this one."


Sheut pulled out his blades and assumed a defensive position at the opening of the alley.





"If you want to take the child, I have news for you. I am here on business with the Sharian Navy, and I will not let criminal activities go on whether I am stationed here or not."


"You asked for it, kid."


"We ain't lettin the likes of you cut us short."





Sheut sprinted forward, swung his blades in wide arcs, and stopped just behind the two men. The men did not have time to react as their heads slid to the ground with a thud, blud staining the stone. Sheut sheathed his swords and went to the child. He could see now that it was a boy, cheetah-like. He spoke softly.





"Where is your family?"





The child sniffled.


"My ma is the only one left. They killed the rest, but Ma and me made it. She turned 'round for a sec to see somethin. Them men grabbed me, but I tried runnin'. Din't know this alley was a fake."


"Where did you last see her?"


Sheut felt a pang of sympathy. His father's whip a cold reminder that he'd never once felt the touch of a mother's love. A love he constantly searched for.





"I can take you there, mista"


"Call me Sheut."





Sheut helped the boy find his mother, who tried giving Sheut money. Sheut kindly refused and handed her a few coins.





"Go get yourself a room at the tavern. Those men won't be looking for you anymore. Get out of the city as soon as you can. Chamorest is a nice little city where men like them aren't allowed."





With that, Sheut headed back to the tavern. The sun was setting and he was tired. As he headed to his room he brushed past the flustered Sharian woman from earlier as she was heading from her room. The fox pup wasn't with her, however, and he assumed she'd left him in the room.


----------------------------------


@The Lady Kitsunerisu


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