Fantasy TOTTDLMTH Episode 1 (Harbinger)

[Pilgrim59]

Hershey
Nova Heights, Haven
Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3
ElenaIsCool (Mentioned)​

Hershey quickly abandoned the communication relay post, running off towards the eastern side of the prison after Galius crashed his golem.

She quickly descended the stairs, as the other guards stood dumbfounded by the golem that blocked their path. As the smokes cleared, it revealed a collapsed wall from where the golem's limb fell. Zooming out of those cells were the prisoners, quickly overwhelming the PIAG team, while the others tackled the guards on the other side of the golem. It seemed that Galius's plan to crash his golem divided the reinforcing guards, while inadvertently freed some of the prisoners to their cause. The salamander's tactical decision, whether by luck or acute calculations, nevertheless aided their cause - buying them some time to carry on with their plans, while the prisoners kept the guards busy.

Hershey leapt from the catwalk and onto the golem's back. She pried the construct's apex open with the help of her lambs. She let out an expedited pattern of exhales, before pulling Galius out of the golem.

"You have done well, Sir Meeples. But it might be unwise to praise the day before the high moon. Come, let us rally with Hassan." Hershey said, shouldering Galius out of the golem, as they hurried past the incoming guards.

"Loose!" cried one of the guards, as the swarms of prisoners overwhelmed the barricade in the courtyard.

Long behold, a hail of canisters fell before them, fizzling then sparking a blanket of ivory white smoke. The squarebacks' deployment of tear gas quickly dispersed the prisoners. A resounding sound of unified drummings quickly followed. The heavily-armored responders emerged from the white horizon, banging their batons against their shields.

"Do not resist! Back to your cells NOW!" the captain yelled.

"Not one step back! Down with the Imperial pigs! To freedom!" one of the prisoners cried, urging the rest of his companions to follow suit. The two sides clashed in melee, with the anti-riot enforcers forming a manipular formation to combat the charge, while the prisoners used what they could to break the formation.

Hershey and Galius managed to slipped by the ensuing conflict, as she laid Galius down against the wall, checking him for wounds. Some minor contusions, she found, assumed to be from the hard impact. Thankfully, the salamander was still in good shape for most. Hershey eyed her surroundings, before settling on a certain body in the dirt. One of the guards laid unconscious, with his rifle beside him. Hershey's lambs chewed through the bandoliers, and fetched the squareback's M95 and ammunition webbing.

(Hershey to Hassan. The Golem's out of commission. Sir Meeples is extracted. We will rally at the Western Gate once you have The White Wolf in tow. Be advised, Hershey is no longer on the communication relay post, be wary of unexpected company on your way. May your sword be swift and steady, Hassan. Hershey and Sir Meeples shall see you soon.)

She then inspected the rifle, bolting it promptly, then dry-firing it. While the rifle was in good shape, the ammunition type was for anti-riot, totally non-lethal. It was still better to be armed with a rubber slinger than none at all, she thought. Hershey then handed the rifle and munition webbing to Galius.

"Still shipshape, Sir Meeples? Or have your talents expired like that of your golem?" she remarked, standing up, and offering her hand.

Hassan's Details ( Celestial Speck ): Free Bisila and head to West Gates.
I. Hassan managed to eavesdrop a piece of intel for remaining in concealment and letting the guards pass.

Spoiler: intel1

"... so what was that all about earlier today?"

"Something about a prisoner transfer in Cell Block H. Damn if I know. I just work here Leon. They pay us to keep Sertek's fanboys and girls behind bars, not think."

"On who's authority?"

"Some enforcer, claimed to be on the Crown's business. I ain't got much to eavesdrop when the walls are thicker than your mother's rear."

"Toss off! It's only been a year since Saarema and all hell's broken loose. What the hell's going on out there?!"

"Something about a golem running amok. We lost contact with the windcallers, just a few minutes ago too. PIAG team's getting ready, so we are playing fodder for the next few minutes or so."

"Saint Keed... Ain't this swell for a winter night? Can't have shit in Haven these days."

"All weapons teams to the east wing! Windcallers are out of commission, so we're doing this the old fashioned way! Pass the word! The Warden's riot squad is en route to support! Let's move it, ladies!"

II. As Hassan arrived at Bisila's cell, he gets an unsettling feeling. The hallway was silent, almost eerily vacant, despite the ongoing chaos outside. A cold breeze passed him by, rendering him immobile in his tracks, as Hassan's eyes fixed forward. A foreboding calm before the storm.

Galius's Details ( Huntertabbysandshark3 ): Head to West Gates with Hershey.
I. Galius's decision to crash the golem against the support prevented the soldiers from linking up with on another. It also bought them some time as the breach in the wall freed some of the prisoners.

HARBINGERS ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
Hassan - "Shadow Specktator"
Galius - "Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends..."
​

 

[Malphaestus]

DRAGONSREACH
NOVA HEIGHTS, EPIREAN COUNTRYSIDE
​

Time had seemed so uniform, every instance and happening within the prison's second-most well-guarded secret, the deathrow cellblock, no doubt already routine for the place's only Harbinger captive. Security, at first, had been at an extreme level, no doubt expecting some form of retaliation at any moment. However now, stagnation had taken root, and safety and security had been taken as a given. Security re-prioritized, guards re-trained for new and less tedious tasks, all the whilst maintaing little but a skeleton crew to ensure the prisoner didn't vanish into mist. No doubt it was a joyful playground to test what little mischief one could manage whilst tied and left with no other outlet than to bring everyone down together. Perhaps fostering, carefully, an act of insanity so obscene that one's own escape was the only natural result.

Though, no matter how, or why, one spent their day within that one lonely hallway, fenced off from the world by a mechanical gate far too intricate for any ordinary prison to fashion, it had now come to an end. A violent shake danced across the cold concrete inmates spent the rest of their lives living upon, pebbles and the small debris of aged wall fragments flying in any and all directions as the quakes grew more numerous, and more violent.

The guards on duty, none other than Jeshua and his fellow shift-mate Oren. Hardly the creme de la creme of the prison's guard corps. Merely two, nigh-forgotten, men, left to hold fort for the most secure and neglected part of the entire prison. Soon it should have changed, their fortunes so close to shifting, the thorne in their minds so close to her due date. They had been informed of her time, the procedure which should have happened soon. Very soon. A few hours from now.

"What the hell was that?!" Jeshua roared as he rose from his cheap stool placed in the middle of the hallway's lone corridor, attempting to get his words through the incredible rumbling, failing horrendously, his voice itself instead shook making it near incomprehensible to any ear that could've maybe been lent to him. Oren followed suit, rising from his own seat, interrupting their game of cards as his knee scraped across low table they had been using just prior. Not that they could resume, half the cards already sent flying into whatever cell they seemed fit. "The hell's going on?!" Jeshua repeated, clearly talking to none but himself.

The thunderous rumble, the world-shattering quakes, this apparent orchestra of destruction soon crescendoed in an almost fitting cacophony of ear-numbing reverberations. The tale of some distant battle almost carried along the surface of every wall, floor, and roof throughout the vast complex. No doubt, most were scared. Without neither window nor hole with which to peer into the beyond-world, there were no answers for what they were experiencing. As tough as Jeshua liked to make himself seem, especially before Oren, the two of them shared a most unfortunately malady, that of fear and terror. "Was there a breach," Oren finally muttered in his body-frozen wisdom.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the only entrance and exit into the deathrow cellblock started creaking, it's arcane sequence clearly activated from the outside, since they didn't have the ability to do so from within. Not that there should even be anyone else inside besides them and the soon-to-be departed. They were always let out, never on their own, but by the far-too-strict procedures of a place which masquerades as proper, whilst hiding the cracks with ornate decoratives.

The White Wolf had no real way of knowing exactly what was occuring, or what was soon to happen, but she surely had her ideas. Fun ones, no doubt.

Unfortunately, those who had opened the door would soon reveal that they had no interest in her games.

As the heavy-metal door swung open, and revealed the appearance of two jet-black, plate-clad... Soldiers, Oren and Jeshua reached for their own armaments, gently rested against their stools, as if they could somehow oppose those who had now taken their first steps into the sacred hall where justice dies.

Oren was about to open his mouth, but he was met with a muffled "gag 'em," a voice distorted, no doubt, by the full suit of combat gear those newly emerged embodied.

"What?" Jeshua responded in nigh-automation, though he was met with little else but the echoing steps of steel and leathered boots as these... Crows asserted themselves even further. Now standing outside of the first cell in the row of twelve which consisted the 'Deathrow Housing.'

"Gag 'em," the first of the Crows repeated, pointing at the first prisoner. In the Crow's hand, a riot shield, though none like the kind that Oren had seen the other, more accomplished guards, had trained with. Certainly, even Jeshua drew a blank at its strange, yet rudimentary design. It seemed to be a simple slab of plate, bent gently at the sides, with a hole in the middle protected by glass magitechnically hardened, like any other. Though there was an ominous spirit lingering, least of all in the pistol held in the opposite hand.

"We can't, that's against regulation. You know, in case they confes-"

"Gag 'em," repeated the first Crow again. Waving them over towards them.

Oren could hardly believe what was happening, though Jeshua, seeing no issue, had no issue either. It would hardly take long, though he fought the urge to look over his shoulder, as he battled both the screaming of a desperate criminal and the far more villainous airs which seemed to crawl into his vision, and placed a harshly crumpled piece of ancient newspaper into the mouth of the first amongst the twelve most infamous prisoners throughout, perhaps, the entire empire. He couldn't help but breath heavily as he finished, finally turning around, only to be met by the towering figure of the Crow looming at his back. He quickly stepped aside, making sure to steer clear of their way. Slithering out of the cell, he ended up besides the second Crow, who had remained within the hallway. "I assume you mean all of them...?" Jeshua said, motioning further inwards.

The second crow acknowledged him with a nod, to which the two of them moved further inwards.

Oren, amazed by the pure ludicrousness which was occuring before him, mustered up the entirety of his courage as he roared towards the entrance, and thus, towards the Crows: "What the hell are you doing?! What's going on, on what authority do you think you can get away with this shit!"

Jeshua had already begun gagging the second amongst the twelve, no doubt shaking in his boots all throughout. The second Crow, however, had not yet entered the second cell. Instead, it reached into one of the many magazine pouches laced across the top of his magitech armour, and tossed a badge across the entirety of the hallway, landing at Oren's feet.

"The Crown," he whispered, as he looked across its expert embroidery, it's artistically fashioned metallurgy, and it's gold-powdered embossings.

His whispers were met by the sudden ringing, not of thunderous earthquakes or draconic firebreathing, but of the serene monotony of a ringing gun-barrel which had just unhinged a single bullet from within its intricate yet rugged mechanism.

The sound of death, so pure and simple, so precise and unanimous. There were no longer twelve amongst the 'twelve most infamous,' and with the roaring of yet another letter adressed to death did he know that the now eleven, had become ten. He started shaking, whatever experience he'd had with actual combat long gone under the monotonous peace that his surprisingly enjoyable job as a deathrow warden had garnered him. Instead opting to rush past the trio which seemed to now include his closest work associate, Jeshua, amongst their ranks.

He needed answers, or so he told himself as he headed for the guard barracks.

The routine would continue unperturbed, until at last, the Crows stood at the mouth of the Wolf's den. A shitty indentation in an equally shitty hallway.

"Her next, eh?" Jeshua mouthed, crackling yet another old newspaper, standing behind the two human giants as the glared into the cell. He'd entered into the rythm. Even though he was still shaking, he had managed to trick himself into thinking some just bollocks, no doubt. Though he was met with no compassion, to be sure. The first crow, clearly the more talkative amongst them, leaned its shield along the cell's bars, a metallic thud echoing as it did, an object clearly containing more mass than it let on, though that seemed barely relevant, "leave, peon. Your paper is now useless." The Crow mouthed from behind its magitech helm.

"Wh-"

"Disperse," the first amongst the Crows finalized, before the two Crows returned from their glaring at the Wolf, instead choosing to submerge themselves into the second-to-last cell along the hallway. Jeshua, having seen their 'work ethic' first hand, spared no effort. Third time's charm, said death, he's sure, as he attempted to randevouz with Oren by employing his most secretive of techniques, 'high-speed sprint.'

The Wolf, no doubt with plenty to say, was left with nothing. In fact, everything was as silent as the death which reeked through the air.

Until the arrival of an 'unexpected' visitor. No doubt having found their way into the Wolf's Den after strenuous efforts. The Crows breathed their first breaths of air within a time far longer than what any normal individual could survive without, as they quickly rattled back into motion.

As Hassan walked beyond the boundery between the rest of the prison, and this, the prison's most "hallowed hall," the Crows emerged from within the depths of the second-last cell, and stared into his eyes with their rageful, red visors.

Huntertabbysandshark3 , ElenaIsCool .

 

[Celestial Speck]

Malphaestus | Pilgrim59

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Nova Heights, Epirean Courtside



​

Nothing but the wind accompanied Hassan's hasty footsteps as he ran through the awfully quiet prison block cells in Nova Heights by himself. He barely reacted or responded to Hershey's own warning to him beyond a mild sound of recognition for having gotten the message, thoughts still rushing through his head like invaders on his brain. The question of why those memories came to him, and why he couldn't move his damn body to cut down those guards was still in his mind. A part of him tried to rationalize it was because they had useful info, which they absolutely did, but he knew that couldn't be farther from the truth. What was happening to him? Did that damn woman cast a spell on him? Did Sertek cast a spell on him? His body feels like freezing every time he thinks of cutting someone down, every time he wants to-!

The mental battle inside of Hassan's head and the silence outside of it were both finally snapped. The sound of footsteps rang to him almost like the bells of a church that didn't exist anymore, causing his amber eyes to look forward at where his destination was.

...The smell of death permeated the air. Hassan's face suddenly became much, much darker under the helmet he was wearing. Suddenly, as he stared deep down in those two's red visors with nothing but a calm red hatred under them, those feelings of freezing up, of not being able to swing his blade were gone. Perhaps it was his essence understanding something his mind didn't yet, or perhaps it was simply the fact that Hassan knew that there were no surprises now. No sneak attacks, nothing. He was seen, and he had his blades, they had theirs and whatever weapon they carried.

An undeniable relief raised from his chest, as Hassan soon smiled with that dark expression, a chuckle coming from him that soon became a laugh of pure relief, echoing through the hallway that now not only had shit and sorrows on it but now actual death and blood that even if it disappeared, would never go away. In all senses of the word, this place became a death zone. Not that Hassan knew. Not that he cared. He knew exactly that he would have to spill more blood here. His own, or theirs.

"Let's get this over with," He breathed out, as with a swing flick of his hands, Umbra and Solaris, his twin blades, were unsheathed. "I have no reason to drag this further."

They say that the first Harbinger and the second hand of the Demon Lord Sertek was a fearful man in battle. With speed and strength that was rarely matched by any means, he truly gained his title as the Thousand Armed Swordsman by the sheer skill and aura he permeated every time he fought, either in the battlefields or in isolated, personal battles. And it showed. When he unsheathed both of his blades, both of them suddenly had cold air surrounding them. The energies coming from small grozium crystals deep within them doing their job with utter excellence as always. But even if Hassan only had one magical ability that could be described a magical, one could almost swear Hassan was letting out his own, dark red, snake-shaped magical energy from around his body.

"Moonlight."

A sudden sprint-jump to the left, Hassan glued himself to one of the walls, before with momentum, he jumped to the other opposite of the one he landed, and the other, getting above the two Crow's heads with incredible superhuman speed, both of his blades dancing with the aspect of ice and the moon on them. If one looked at his movements closely, it almost looked as if he was dancing. Twirls and twists of his body, almost as if some sort of crescent moon rotation...

That didn't matter now, as when Hassan was decently close, with the strength to match his speed, he would 'sting' both of the blades on his hands towards each of the Crows, only one thought popping into his mind.

Man, I had a really bad year.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious Meeples
interaction: Pilgrim59​

so it seemed his little plan had worked... PERFECTLY exactly what he had planned at least. Subconsciously Galious knew he'd obviously crashed the golem with the intention of not only blocking the way for the PIAG team. But also released a bunch of angry prisons all according to plan. but he was sorta stuck.. now.. Great oh well the salamander was sure Hershey wouldn't leave him here... right? with a reluctant sigh Galious realized that yes they probably would leave him here wouldn't they?

Waiting in disappointment Galious was somewhat surprised when the lambs ripped open the golem to let the salamander out. Well more pulling him out to the annoying squeaking of the golemancer. laying him against the walls luckily it seemed Galious was hardly injured just fairly annoyed with the situation. just crossing his arms a little. "you see everything went according to plan". he mumbled under his breath just to make sure Hershey knew that this was most definitely the case. Now Hershey had handed him a rifle not exactly the best weapon for the tiny salamander. The weapon seeming somewhat oversized for him but none the less he could use it. Fumbling around with the weapon for a moment Galious quickly straightened up his posture when Hershey dared claim he was useless without his golems. "HOW DARE YOU ASSERT SUCH A THING I'm more than capable of... ok.. perhaps I am far less combat-capable without a golem but I assure you I can do just fine with this weapon you have provided me with" Galious spoke with great conviction turning to slight unsureness by the end... and just squeaking a little. "let's make haste then... before anyone else spots us" Galious then suggested. deciding to make haste towards the nearest gate and attempted to tug Hershey along... despite not being able to due to his small and deminutive stature

 

[Malphaestus]

DRAGONSREACH
NOVA HEIGHTS, EPIREAN COUNTRYSIDE
​

They had walked with heavy steps, steps which loomed as their presence did, clearly dwarfing any regular mortal as they bent their backs whilst emerging from within the prison cell they had taken refuge until the commencing of their clash with a would-be saviour. Covering the hallway, their ownership of it all but evident as the Swordsman whose skill could only be equalled by half a millennium's worth of bladesmen began to contest it with his mere emergence. They fought over the prize, one wolf so neatly tied up in her prison cell that all she could do in return was to spew obscenities and enrage the feeble-minded, a present which could only be bettered had she wore a ribbon. These Crows were not succeptible to such mischief however, as they could only be brought down by those who's hands were not tied; those capable of action equalled or superior to their own bloodthirst.

They would spare no effort, as the foremost amongst them broke their staring contest and levelled his roaring, fire-spewing armament against the opposition. As each shell-casing was spewed haphazardly from his light machine-gun- painting the wall black with the remnant gunpowder, the power of the weapon setting the very wall ablaze as melted copper spewed from within it's chamber- their shells barrelled down the hallway and out beyond the since-opened security door, hitting everything but their intended target in a frankly divine combination of both skill unparralleled and luck unequaled. Were it not for the swordsman's expertly, and quite frankly inhuman, skillfulness the alchemically primed shells would've undoubtedly proved a fatal obstacle, primed to explode at the mere suggestion of physical contact. Where they landed, the walls rumbled and bent as the prison's structure proved no significant obstacle to the Crow's hellish barrel.

The firing Crow, stubbornly stood at the center of the hallway, and to the immediate front of Hassan, allowed the pistol-bearing Crow to meander his way to the last cell of the Deathrow Housing where the miscreant Bisila yet remained captive. His movements accentuated by the unceasing roar of a now-smoking gun-barrel, the pistol-bearing Crow reclaimed his shield, firmly placed at the bars of Bisila's prison, and re-affirmed his grip along the shield's handle before uttering their first words to the swordsman.

"We knew of these events, prophesied by the stellar King," a muffled breath accentuated his words as he faced down the hallway, only to observe the draconic might of Hassan unleash upon the both of them.

Hassan had managed to unleash whatever primal force was entombed within him, allowing him to pass over the only Crow how stood in opposition with his ordinarily finality-rending fire-arm. But Hassan was no ordinary combatant, or force of will. As he barreled over the light machine-gun bearing Crow, he descended in the midst between the two Crows, and unloaded a recoiled sting with force here-to-fore unequaled by his opposition.

His sting struck true, piercing the back of the first Crow, his fire now silenced as an umbral substance with the qualities of both gas and liquid spilled out from the wound as the black-plated soldier's body grew weak, and fell against the concrete.

At the same time, a great clang rang as the foremost blade was deflected under the almighty strength of a black-coloured shield, deflecting towards the now blazing surface of the deathrow walls. The Crow who seemed more inclined to the spoken tongue clearly not caught off-guard even though he'd not spared a single gaze at Hassan's advance.

As the last remaining Crow presented his own expertise to the battle through fashion of his outlandish riot shield, he threw his own arm against the opposing wall whilst he thrusted his firearm towards the swordsman's scalp, the pistol emanating a deathly air as a phantasmal scream recoiled from it's chamber as it spewed it's first round against Hassan. Simultaneously, the Crow released a feat of strength potent enough to force his own bone to shatter, or at least that is what it sounded like, as he collided his shield against the wall, and ricochet it off of it, placing it back inbetween their duel.

The Crow, seemingly secure behind his yet impervious shield, resumed his tirade.

"The stellar King knew. He spoke to us, and we answered. We are here, in death and dishonour. We crawl the walls where he basks in sunlight: falsified yet turned real. Real! The true Sun."

Using his own words as fuel, the Crow pushed forward, using his shield to attempt to overpower Hassan and force him backwards. Had the swordsman the mind to pay attention to the entirety of the hallway, he'd notice the gradual evaporation of the foe he'd just skewered, the words of the Crows ringing darker as their mystery grew greater.

"Who sent you- who told you. Of plans you ought not know, of tales and stories destined for higher places! Who-"

The Crow roared as his blood-red eyes grew ever more crimson, his words slurred, warped over eachother as madness beset him. "Who is the traitor? Tell me so that I may crucify them atop the tallest mountain in your honour," roars turned to screams as the Crow capitalized on his weapon advantage, attempting to finish Hassan off with a bash of the shield, using its opening to fashion his phatasmal firearm against Hassan once more to finalize their battle and claw truth from his skull.

Huntertabbysandshark3 , ElenaIsCool .

 

[Celestial Speck]

Malphaestus | ElenaIsCool | Pilgrim59

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Nova Heights, Epirean Courtside



​

His strike rang true to one of them, while in a show of sparks and ice flying through the air, the other was able to deflect away from his attack by sheer luck. Perhaps, were Hassan's blade a different type, the result would have been different. Seoju swords were often used to cut away quickly and cleanly at their eyes, being extremely sharp- yet, most of them fell short to other blades to the sheer thinness of the metal, making the blades extremely brittle and easy to break if one incorrect swing was made. If the blade hit against something hard that didn't break, something blunt. These were blades meant to cut, not to tear. Yet, Umbra and Solaris were anything but common blades.

Despite one of them shaking like some sort of blanket in the wind for half a second after meeting with the hard metal of the riot shield the Crow used, it didn't break, it didn't crack- either by sheer luck or perhaps these blades weren't exactly common, either. Much like their wielder.

Because Hassan, skilled as he was in the legends, stories, and in real life, couldn't rewrite the world and physics- at least not entirely, even if his limiters were burnt away by his liege. No, these two blades, shining the ethereal blue glow of ice were special. They weren't folded a million times like some sort of silly children's story, they couldn't cut 'anything' like some exaggerated weapon from the gods, and they didn't have any particular impressive skills. But they were crafted with one thing in mind.

Their wielder.

The smell of burning powder in the air could be felt by Hassan as his ears ringed after the noise of yet another shot. Hassan's amber eyes turned to the side quickly as after putting his hand down on the bloodied (?) ground, not paying any mind to the unnatural color of the thing he just killed. Using force and momentum by pushing his body to the side, Hassan flipped his body over to the left, his body moving in an ascending then descending manner as he flipped to the side before his feet landed on the ground once more- the bullet hitting the wall behind it with a loud crack as the stone fell from the ever-more broken building.

There were a few moments of pure silence in the air as the Endless Swordsman stared down at his last remaining prey- the creature still having the balls to speak.

Words had power on the battlefield. He knew that much- Sertek's words towards the Harbingers filled them with a burning fire. Which in turn allowed them to share that fire with their own troops, even in the face of despair. Hassan could see it, the crow burning away that realistic feeling of despair away into a great, great fire of hatred and anger, allowing it to push forward against an enemy it has no chance of winning against.

Moving backward with a few jumps and footsteps, Hassan's grin grew wider. Good, he could see it. He could taste it. That anger, that hatred, that desire! To fight against someone greater than them, to fight for a future someone else's believes in, he could see it, he could smell that desire! So massive, so burning, despite it coming from such a small speck such as the being in front of him. But, will it survive in the face of absolute realism and despair? Will those ideals hold true up until the end? That desire to fight, that almost maddened desire...

CLANK

Two things happened at once when the Crow bashed his shield against Hassan, and went to pull his firearm.

One. The helmet Hassan wore atop his head cracked and broke, falling down his face, as shards of metal and pieces of cloth flew down towards the ground. And two. The Crow would soon realize that moved as he might with his arm to pull the trigger, the bang never came. That feeling of his 'muscles' pulling never was felt, as he could see black ink flying in the air, and with a wet thud, he could see something long with armor and cloth around it holding something made out of metal.

Ah. That was his arm. Another blade, not the one who cut it out, was also sticking through his chest.

"Look at me."

If the Crow did, he could see his enemies' face for the first time. There was a gentle smile on his face that seemed to stretch itself just a little bit too much in a forced manner, as aether pumped through the swordsman's eyes, giving them a yellow glow akin to sunlight- yet they were cold. Cold and round, like some sort of shining moon at the same time. A paradoxical pair of eyes that could only truly be understood to the Crow who saw them at that moment.

The Kingdom of Seoju had a story.

The story of a demon born at twilight.

That demon's name was Ankmphala.

A demon with the face of a man with tusks and white eyes on his front, the face of a chameleon by his left, and the face of a snake by his right. The Demon was born by the once-in-a-lifetime experience of the sun and the moon meeting as a storm took the entire world, as the legends told it. The demon, with a million arms and a laughing and grinning face, stole both the sun and the moon, its technical parents, and shaped them to be his million weapons.

Ankmphala represented order in disorder in the old myths involving him. A being of opposition to the greater causes of the world and who cared not to them, yet one who was just as willing to follow those from whichever corner of life into battle and laugh with them, or even serve them. He wasn't one-above-all, but he wasn't one bellow all, either. He was disorder and order in the sense he was the greatest ally one could ever have, one who could have the greatest freedom one could ever seek at any moment, yet was loyal to those who proved themselves to him- but mindless cut down millions with each one of his arms.

Loyalty and freedom. A paradoxical demon used in stories to warn those of how cunning beings can defeat even the greatest of adversaries by making them trust them.

Hassan didn't see it that way. To him, Ankmphala was a demon that represented bonds. An unbreakable friendship in the face of laws that wished to control people. Someone who would break into heaven or hell to find you and laugh with you once again even if it meant spending another eternity looking for you. Loyalty and freedom can coexist, to think otherwise is foolish. You can be angry because of someone you care about getting hurt and be free. You can fight for someone and be free. You can live your life next to someone else and be free. Ankmphala was a villain who loved bonds. Ankmphala was a villain that loved love.

And when the Crow saw Hassan's face, smiling and staring with those burning amber eyes as gas came from the blood that was spilled at him, he could see another man in his place- or perhaps that was simply death coming closer.

A million arms...Darkened skin and a smiling face...A great oak tree with roots reaching out to many others, nearly impossible to cut down...

"Burn with that desire to fight for someone greater than you even as you die. Let that anger carry you even beyond death so you may find your king one day after I cut him down in the path to find my own. Let it boil, let it gush out of you as the blood that comes out of your skin." The nameless swordsman stabbed his blade further into the Crow's chest, definitely cutting through his heart- if he even had one.

"But it doesn't matter anymore."

Pulling out the blade, with a swift motion, the Endless Swordsman moving his blades in the air- as the Crow could perhaps, if impossibility allowed, see his own body, headless, as his vision flew in the air- before both body and head landed on the ground with an emotionless thump.

"Through heaven and hell, through earth and limbo, in the stars and the cosmos, I alone shall be the one who will see it all in his honor. Even if he lives when I don't anymore."

Yet there was something else there- hidden, small, a desire overshadowed by his loyalty to the Daemon King. The desire to see something else, something much simpler. The image of a woman with white hair came to his mind- yet he did not know or care why for that moment, as not even looking at the head of the being he defeated, he walked towards the cell where his ally stood, but not before saying the final words that solidified his fate.

"I alone shall be the Honored One."

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hershey
Nova Heights, Haven
Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3
ElenaIsCool (Mentioned)​

Hershey and Galius fought their way towards the Western Gates, sparing neither the expense of their vigor nor their innate destructive conducts. A reminiscent atmosphere of smoke and chaos, one could say it was their finest hour to regain their reputable place in the world. Their combined might quickly paved the way towards their planned escape.

Hershey's magic made short works of the feeble-minded garrisons, covering Galius as they pushed forward. In quick succession, one by one they all fell. Hershey remained silent throughout the entire ordeal. A deep-seated thought that could not be spilled so easily like the bloody mess that tainted the cold stones and soil. Perhaps Hershey was too caught up relishing the onslaught to be bothered with the typical one-liners like those of her past peers. Or perhaps there was some other ulterior motive that she will take with her to the graves. One thing was certain - she and the salamander have secured two fresh horses for their escape. The only thing left to do now was to wait for Hassan and Bisila.

(We have secured our means of exfiltration, Hassan. Best make haste lest we miss the window.)

Upon her telepathic message's delivery, a couple of guards came upon the aries and her amphibian partner-in-crime. A quick glance at the bodies littering the ground, it did not take long for her to spring into action again. Raising her lantern, Hershey's eyes glowed briefly, as ghastly tendrils erupted from the ground, constricting the soldiers like hungry anacondas. First the lunacy in their screams, then abrupt silence upon the synchronized melody of their broken spines and collapsed ribs. Bits of dented armor, tainted by smeared ligaments and shattered cartilage.

The spell drained her words, for she had refrained herself from squandering her aetherial pool. It has been a while since she was placed in such a predicament. It is a small price for a sound investment, Hershey thought to herself. When she disposed of the responders, an eerie sentiment crept over her. One that she had not felt since her departure from Karelia. Was she becoming clouded with paranoia now that she is among the few Harbingers that lurked in the Empire's shadows like Hassan and Galius? Or could it be possible that her self-indulged mania was fully-justified by the phantoms of the stage? Altogether, it mattered not who, but rather when. For now, it was best to cast her thoughts into the morning.

"Sir Meeples. On your left." she called out some stragglers taking a flanking position on Galius, all the while yawning nonchalantly as she shook her sleeves of dirt.

There, in the middle of their not-so-subtle prison heist, the first snow descended upon the tip of Hershey's nose. A calming sensation that beckoned the aries to dwell upon her purpose. Among those varied calculations and unspoken schemes, she concluded that the path ahead was sure to be riddled with Lady Winter's acerbity. Winter snow never seemed so ominous until that fateful day on Mount Hornet.

 

[Pilgrim59]

End of Episode 1:
The Swordsman Harbinger got The White Wolf out of her cell with a swift cut of his blade. They took a detour via a certain room that housed Bisila's equipment - what was left of it when they confiscated from her anyways. The two eventually made it to the Western Gate, where Hershey and Galius awaited them. The Eastern situation was eventually handled when the Warden arrived. With more guards tailing the Harbingers in the West. With only two horses, Hershey mounted one with Galius, while Hassan took Bisila with him. They sped off in different directions, having made a rendezvous point prior. They managed to split their pursuers. From a distance, a shrouded figure eyed them off, not before displacing themselves from the treeline and disappearing into the shadows.

At the crossroads at the edge of the city, Hershey dropped Galius off just two fields away from their rally point. She then rode off in an attempt to mislead her pursuers. In fact, the aries had other plans, as she headed towards the Central District. Dismounting some few blocks away from DiConti's, Hershey made her way on foot towards 59th Street, with her bright blue lantern in hand.

"So this is your new fortress..." mumbled Hershey to herself, as she eyed the apartment complex before her.

Her lantern was vibrating upon her approach of the apartment. Her master's presence was close. She could feel it in her bones. It was there, she finally got her eyes on them again, but surprised to see them in a different form. Perhaps it was all an illusion. The dreamweaver vaulted from one balcony to the other, finally situating herself closer. It was there, she finally accepted her master's new form as a mere homemaker. It was time she finally remind the man of his older self, Hershey thought.

​

 

[Malphaestus]

???

DRAGONSREACH
NOVA HEIGHTS, EPIREAN COUNTRYSIDE​

The hallways remained chaotic even as the invaders scattered off against the winds, guardsmen rampaging their way through each corridor, hurriedly making sure that no one could escape. Escape, however, they had. And with the target to boot. The Trenchcoated Man had managed to enter the prison complex through the pre-ordained underground passage, all too aware of what was occuring. As he wandered, the chaos simmered down, and eventually he was alone outside a single room, a room which he had pursued, filled with an individual which he had targeted. To speak the truth, all that had happened was no surprise to him. He had spread the hints with his arrival to the prison, the crumbs with which the dissidents had managed to succeed in their task. A puppet master in his own mind, though ultimately guessing and connecting dots as opposed to the complete control he desired.

As he opened the door, a calm creaking emerging from its hinges, a drop of water emerged from his thumb, and remained there as it congealed into a gellatinous substance. The gel boiled, as it was alchemically altered, and its destination was just before him. A cowering guardsman stood paranoid in the room's furthest-right corner, staring at the Trenchcoated Man with a far too complex mixture of emotions for his own tastes. D'Orier would see it fit to alter it to his own tastes.

"Who're you?! Can't you see the sign? Guards only!" He roared as his voice itself shook, clearly the chaos was of no friend to him. But it was to the man who now approached him, all too happy to go to any manner of extremes to suit his own plans. No one could stop him, whether force or law. They were paper to him, as he raised his hand, took one more step, and bolted the Guard to the wall with enough force to break the man's ribcage into splinters.

"You sure had your fun, Jeshua," d'Orier responded, his glasses masking the accursed eyes with which he stared a hole through the man, stuck to the wall, reaching at any and all straws for consciousness. "Assisted murder on eleven accounts, the magic number." The gel, hovering at the back of d'Orier's hand, slowly edged itself into Jeshua's mouth. Whilst obscured by the iron grip which the Trenchcoated Man had over the poor man's face, the gel slipped in between the cracks, and took root within his interior. "Your options are death. Or, should you wish to cling to life, the act of assisting in bringing your collaborators to justice," making sure to slither with his words as he spoke, serenading to himself as opposed to giving any valuable advice.

The guard was already far gone, a puppet to him. He had no reason to speak to him any longer, but clearly, the Trenchcoated Man enjoyed the ring of his own voice, he seemed rather sure of himself, confident and calm, measuredly violent.

The Trenchcoated Man let loose of his grip, and Jeshua collapsed against the ground. His chest broken and shattered, no doubt his entire body beyond ordinary measures of recovery. Though the Trenchcoated Man knelt down besides him, the wounded deer gasping for air, his eyes wild and stale, the substance keeping him awake and keeping him stable. D'Orier stared at him, a lifeless glance, a sudden twitch of the arm. The clockwork tocked into place as a loud roar emerged from his chest, and in conjunction, Jeshua was risen from the ground, and placed on his own two feet. The Trenchcoated Man, all too fond of clocks, rose from his knees within the same moment. Timely to say the least.

Jeshua, now disfigured, his chest dented in as obscene a manner as concievable, his face ripped by the grip of his subjugator, remained as still as ice, unmoving, "Tell me now, Jeshua, son of no one, pride of none, worthy of nothing, where is your friend?" D'Orier said as he turned towards the room's exit, making sure to adjust his glasses, his sudden burst of violence having pulled them inches off from perfection. Everything had to be precise, precisely perfect. His feet, firmly planted, each bearing the optimal amount of load at all times. His posture immaculate, stellar.

"Or do you not know where Oren went?" He asked, speaking to nobody, speaking to himself. "No worry, I know."

"I know about everything," he finished, indulging in himself as he took his first step towards the room's exit. His sinister mind no doubt set on targeting those most proximally close to the target, because no doubt, she was still one. But there were now many more, several more. He wanted them, needed them. They said so, those numerous and hidden. They had pleaded to him for their capture, made a pact with him over them. As a God, a King, a celestial being, he would make sure of any and all promises, there would be no failure.

Jeshua, somehow, followed the Trenchcoated Man in his exit of the room. Their destination for none to know, what would occure would be under no one's purview.