---

“Stick with me, and you may live another day,” Jack said ominously as the men stared at the light that penetrated the holes in the thick wooden gate. Twenty men, two men chained together, one wielding a sword, the other a small brass shield; every single one of them a slave for the Gladiatorial Arena of Gela. They would live to entertain the Avuvians as Maskmen would fight Maskmen, orcs, Drows, hell, they’d even make them fight the Ogre Jack had seen chained in the Salve Pits.

Jack quickly checked that his black veil still covered his face and then returned to breathing calmly. The sound of battle beyond the gates were clear as metal struck metal and the sound of grunts and cries of pain was drowned by the thunderous cheers of the spectators. Jack didn’t see it was cruel, he would have done the same if he had gotten the idea, alas he hadn’t.

“Listen up you worthless maggots!” Their master called as he stood up on a box to get a better view over his newly bought salves. “Even free, no of you would be worth the honor and entertaining the Avuvians beyond these gates. So if you’re going to die, you bloody well make sure that they will walk away from here with a smile on their face.”
He scanned the crowd for anyone to object or speak against him, but they all knew better than to raise their voice against someone who spend silver as easily as he drank water. “Give up your religion…Your God won’t hear you here. You have one common God now, and that’s me! Worship me like you would worship any other God, for I hold the wish of life and death. That is, if you live through this match at all.”
With that said their master got down from the box and left them to be ready for the gates to open. Jack spent the time coiling the chains around his arm, that way hi partner wouldn’t run away from him.

The gates soared opened, the light temporarily blinding the gladiators as they ran out to face their opponents. Blood flew through the air as the head of one gladiator was smashed by an Orc’s mace, his partner soon dragged off by the orc to be eaten alive, a second pair charged a triton armed gladiator, the shield carrier sacrificed himself for the swordman to jump in and stab the man through his rips.

Jack pushed his own shield carrier into an opponent, knocking him off balance long enough for him to step in and slash his throat wide open. “Get up and arm yourself with his damn sword!” Jack cursed at his partner, dragging him back onto his feet.

The poorly armed slaves were poor opponents for their better trained and armed opponents. The battle had barely lasted seven minutes and already half of the pairs had been cut to pieces, leaving only the battle-hardened Maskmen left to face them.

“To me!” Jack called, rallying the nearby Maskmen to gang up against three big shielded gladiators. “Flank them, right, left! You, with me!” Jack ordered jumping forward with another pair, baiting the central gladiator out of the group. Jack got too close and was punched in his face, send face-first to the ground but before the man could deliver the killing blow, a sword found its way into his bare back. The last man was made short work off as a chain was wrapped around his neck and his windpipe broke under the pressure.

A scream was heard to Jack’s side and he spun around to find his parter decapitated by an orc. “You bloody cu-” Jack cursed, rolling away from its sweeping axe, but he only evaded it by a small margin. The chains on his arm and the dead body were restricting him from any movement; he chopped the wrist of his dead partner, feeing himself.
He backed away, rejoining his other Maskmen as they stood face to face with the last orc gladiators. The Maskmen cursed, they knew they would be little of a challenge against orcs when it came to strength and fight for survival, “We’re dead!” one of the men called, but Jack shot him a venomous look.
“They smell your fear,” he hissed. “We may not be strong, but we’re faster, and think brighter. You are a Maskman, damn it, use your head!” Jack yelled, then ducked as an orc swung its sword out after his head.

Stabbing the orc in its stomach, he screamed in pain as the orc produced a rusty knife and stabbed him in his shoulder. Kicking the monster in its groin, he elbowed it square in the jaw, sending it wheeling down on the ground where he soon wrapped his chains around its throat and squeezed the life out of it. The last two orcs, outnumbers and cornered against the wall roared their last defiance to death as they fought the last Maskmen, dragging four with them in death.

Jack stood up, for a moment he couldn’t hear the applause of the crowd, and looked about those Maskmen who had survived all sighed in relief. They would life…For now.

---

Jim Mobley, & Baile Snowsong. Heckclown City

“Last time I check my invitation, I did not read anything about ‘Unorthodoxy Trade Method’ my dear Pirate Lord Snowson,” Jim Mobley said calmly.
The air was tense as the members of the Shadow Council looked to and fro as words were exchanged between the two Gang Lords. Assassin Guild Masters, Drug Lords and Mercenary Warlords made up the Shadow Counil, and which in turn determined all the decisions of the Heckclown Union.
Yet such a council was never without its friction and rivalries, especially when money, land and power was involved, and such complications was only worsened when every man present was a man of Mask.

“You sell slaves to the Avuvians, you use the catacomps of Crypt as lairs for your drugs, and you trade with the orcs. You, ser, are asking for more trouble than the Union can afford,” Baile Snowsong accused, slamming his hand down on the table. “We will face war if this goes on. We already suffer from trade embargoes from the Avuvian and every Ulmo-loving bastard, but now you will go as far as to offend the neutral kingdoms as well!”
Muttering of agreement and disapproval was heard along the long-table and all eyes turned to Jim Mobley. “I’m surprised that you are concerned about war when it is you, and your pirates that has been harassing the trade routes of Ulmo’s worshippers for decades. Tell me, Lord Baile, is it your Dark Elven nature or is it your hypocrisy which differs you from me?”

“Why you!-” Baile spat and drew his weapon. A move rarely done at the Shadow Council; every member flew to their feet, guns, swords and crossbows pointed at one another. “C’mon then! Lets settle this, right here and right now!” Baile challeneged.
“And risk civil war? You’re insane!” A warlord cried and turned his pistol from Mobley to Baile.
“Gentlemen,” Mobley’ silk-like voice said. “How about we treturn to our civilized manners of solving such problems?” Eyes were shifted and one by one the men nodded and returned their weapon, and seated themselves once again.

“Baile has a point, however. If you continue pressing your trade as you have, you’ll find the undead soldiers of Crypt crawling out your arse before you can find an alternative. No one touches their priests, but to defile their graveyards and crypts is to ask for the wrath of Crypt himself.” The men nodded in agreement, remembering that the Union had once insulted the people of Crypt badly enough to spark a war. Although they won, their economy was badly scarred, and they had never pressed the worshipers of Crypt again.

“Whatever the case may be here, Jim, you better stop using the Temples of Crypt as Drug Stroages, or I’ll see your business chocked, understood?” Charles Gripper, an influential Black Market Merchant, warned. “As for you, Baile, you better start choosing which ship to raid. We can’t afford a war with the Avuvian Confederation. Move to vote for this decision.” The vast majority of the dozen men present raised their hands in agreement and the feud was left at that.

The Heckclown Union was divided by gangs and tribal-like behavior, but when the Shadow Council voted for something it was followed. No one could stand up against the power of the Council; it was made up of the most wealthy merchants, powerful warlords and men of social influence. Go against those men, and you’d be better off swimming against the current of a waterfall; they controlled the Union and they controlled each other. Manipulation and economic ties forced each and every man to endure each other as they would sit present at the table.
The only man who wasn’t a part of the Council was Baron Karl von Sneiker. He didn’t care for power-bickering, he had his fort and contempt on staying put there, training and protecting the borders. He was respected and feared for his abilities as a general and for his influence; did he wish it, he could choke half other Union into submission as every caravan passed through his near bandit-free lands, and he rarely demanded toll for the grain from the people of Hallow.

Karl has always been hard to influence. Jim had learned that the hard way, and still bore scars from their first meeting, so he remained one of the few independent warlords, free of debt and reliance to others.

---

“The wards here are fading, have them fixed,” Sir Daniel Fortesque ordered as he pointed on the road where a wards had been carved and painted. The lands of Crypt were haunted in the night as the living restless-dead awakened from their sleep and sought to satisfy their thirst for revenge.

The Temple of Crypt wasn’t perfect. Although its priests and necromancers were taught its strict rules from when they were children, there were still the very few who’d run away and become ambitious, where it bordered insanity. Such necromancers were to be hunted down and killed, yet they never left the world without scarring it one way or the other. Whatever the case they always left undead who couldn’t easily be given rest, Daniel had ordered these undead to be imprisoned within the forests of his kingdom so they wouldn’t harm anyone else and to ensure they didn't harm his own people, magical wards were painted on every road, wall and independent house.

“Our work is given little acknowledgement, milord,” Captain Sammuel “Kain” commented. Kain was the Captain of the Grim Reaper Knights, the elite soldiers of Crypt.
“Our holy Texts never asked for acknowledgement nor understanding,” Daniel answered as he watched the necromancers finish painting the wards, they’d last another decade before they’d need repainting. “We do what others will not. If we didn’t, every field, city and sewer would-”
“End up like the infested nest of the Orcus cultists.” Kain said synchronically. “I know the holy Texts as well as you do, but what they’ve missed is the fact that humans move on. Look at every other kingdom and Empire; armed with muskets, canons and what not. The Temple of Crypt may guard the forbidden knowledge of the past, but we will never stop humans from ripping each others throats out.”

Daniel sighed. Kain was right, even with the wisdom of thousands of years behind him, Daniel had seen the same events unfold time after time, and at every conflict he had stood passively and watched as men had killed men, waiting only with a shovel to bury the dead.
“It may be so but we are not to determine the fate of mankind.”
“But we can determine whether or not the dead are allowed to rest in their graves,” Kain sneered.
“You know as well as I, that there are no spirits bound within the body of the Undead. They-”
“We demand their bodies to be mutilated further than what decay does. Does that not clash with the Crypt’s Ethics?”
Daniel fell silent. It was true, many of the doctrines and ethical codes clashed, yet they were based on idealism not realism. The ethics demanded that the services of the priests are not to be charged, yet every temple outside of the Theocratic Kingdom of Archious demanded money one way or the other to pay taxes, payment, restocking supplies, and so on.

“I know how frustrating it is when your work is overlooked, taken for granted and when you’re expected to clean up the messes of others,” Daniel finally said, taking Kain by surprise. “I’ve been there too. When I first became Crypt’s avatar, I dreamed that I’d build an Empire who would worship him as much as you and I. Yet, Crypt never gave me his blessings to go forth and win wars and take land, instead he asked me to put down my sword and shovel and go to an ancient field.
“There I saw bodies scattered. Orc and man alike, both decaying making ot near impossible to tell race apart. Crypt then told me, ‘were I not to do my duties and pay my respect to the dead as I did to the living, this is what would happen. Heroes would never be known, those who died would be unsung and the married would never know whether their husband would come home.’
“Kain, ambition and realism is what drives every other kingdom and empire forward, but who will look after those they leave behind? We move at out own pace, saving those we meet along the way.”
Kain bowed before this. “I understand,” he replied humbly.

With the wards repainted, the men headed back for Hedes.

The Return to Manchester

This letter, written by Madelina Seisk, Empress of the fallen Reich Empire, reached the doorstep of Karl Von Sneiker. No man delivered it but there was knocking on the door.
To: The Baron, Karl Von Sneiker

I will arrive at the gates of Manchester to discuss a matter most important to you for it could mean Death and Destruction for the Union or Continued Peace and added Wealth. You will know me and my escort by our banner, a red two headed Phoenix on a plain black background..

To deny me entry would be to spit in the faces of the Powerful and Wealthy Lords who have sent me. If you would cause harm to me, know that our spilled blood will result in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of your soldiers and many many more of your people.

Signed, The Lords of Nordstern.


"My Lady, should we really take this risk? Our Judges will not be able to provide support should the Mask-men try anything.".
Isabella's words echoed through the now silent ruin. Just moments ago this place was the battlefield but now the Maskmen had been beaten back, as always, and all was quiet for now. Madelina walked over several corpses, maskmen corpses. Purposely she stepped on them as she made her way through the ruins.
"You will be with me, Speaker. Shall they attempt anything, we Shout the City to pieces with our Voice and if the tales of Torrent Company are to be believed, Im sure Judge Captain 'Rex' and his men will do a fine job of keeping me safe.". Madelina sounded very confident. Isabella did not further question her, for it was the Avatar she spoke to.

"Besides..." She began again, " I sense It pulling me to the Lands of Mask.".

"You refer to the armor, do you not? Why would it be in such a forsaken place as that?", Isabella asked, now looking towards the sun as if Murali would answer her. This time, she did not.

"Murali has her reasons, though mortals will perhaps not understand.". Madelina too looked at the sun, which the Reich believed to be the Final Sanctum, and she had to squint her eyes.

Madelina recalled when she did not believe that Murali would place her heaven in such plain sight, that the sun was just a ball of fire placed in the sky to illuminated the day. Then she had to spent ages in the Final Sanctum and now she knew why it was so bright. The halls so grand, so...so_

"Divine....Should we not depart now?"

Madelina snapped out of it and answered. "Yes. Fetch, the captain, his men, and let us be off.".




Murali, the Goddess Empress sat on her throne and spectated what occurred in the Realm of the Mortals. She could see the specks which were Madelina and Isabella accompanied by a company of Judges. She also saw, how those left at the Sacred Capitol were busy fortifying their position in case of another group of Maskmen dared to venture there. Murali was also aware of the rebellion started by her servant, Alyss de Mandolin and how she headed towards the borders of the Denpadim's lands to find the Ancestral Home of Flamar. Alyss did not require any aid, she was on the path Murali had set for her but Madelina would need her help.

"Mask, come here. We have much to speak about and it is best if we discuss it now before blood is spilled.".

Murali waited for Mask to either arrive or respond and as she did, she removed her Crown and let go of her Sword(A rare thing for her to do under any circumstance.). At the snap of her fingers, all who were present in the Throne Room disappeared. Why? Who knows. It's quiet normal to see Murali have her servant in their best celestial attires and armors when another God is expected to visit. Perhaps she did thought it unnecessary to show off to Mask , the God of Criminality and Corruption and her opposite.

Sefthal
The rolling hills and plains surounding Orventis:

"Indeed my friend, the market prices in Carth could be affected by the yearly migration of cattle herders. However, I have been lead to believe that the cattle herders are coming late this year. Would it not be a prime opprotunity to open relations while there is a shortage? Surely they will take foreign cattle when even the Nobles can only muster the barest scraps of meat," Icarvi said, his tone short and clipped, as it often was when he debated with his Avatar. It appeared that even while they trod through the grassy hills the God and his Chosen One spoke about serious matters.

The mood was broken, as if it was inconsequential, when Seth clapped the God on the shoulder. "Hah! That is where you are wrong! Just today I recieved word that the Herders have already been in Carth nigh on two days."

Sefthal smiled to himself. It was just like Seth to send word ahead. The God was suprised however. Just a week ago, last he had checked, the Herder migration was weeks away from Carth. Considering this for a moment, the God came to a revelation. The Herder population of the steppes near Carth had indeed always paid him homage. It was then that he remembered his blessing. Last year, a great drought had nearly devastated the cattle of the herders. So, as one, all of the Herder's had called to Sefthal for safe passage on their journey to greener pastures.

Sefthal had been pleased, and had granted them quick passage to the rolling hills south of Carth, where the rivers and springs fed the plants sufficiently. The blessing must have had a profound effect on the cattle. Under normal circumstances, cattle from that area moved at a turtle's pace. But, energized by hearty eating and whatever else they had found, the herders had managed to rouse their cattle into a rare gallop all the way to Carth.

The God's in depth (if rather boring) thoughts were shattered by a war cry from many deep throats. Looking around, the Avatar and God sighted the Orcs at the same time. There were about twenty of them. All of their number were heavily muscled, and taller than any man. They carried a crude assortment of weaponry. As they charged at the pair, the Orcs bellowed their challenge. Seth was about to rase his staff when Sefthal held him back. The God raised his hand, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, the orcs stopped, almost frozen in mid run. Even the dust at their feet went to half a snails pace.

Walking over to the mob of orcs, Icarvi examined them. Bulging muscles and sharp teeth prevailed. Scruntinizing them, Icarvi was confused. In his short spans on the ground, he had never seen an Orc face to face. As he walked amongst them, Sefthal could not help but reach out and touch their minds. Crude thoughts swirled around his, quick as any humans, even as slowed as they were. Pretty much all of them had to do will killing. The God contemplated this. It appeared that Orcs were not indeed dumb animals as most people considered them. Just singularly focused.

Suddenly, Sefthal stopped mid-thought. He had felt something familiar. Focusing on that feeling he metaphorically reeled in whatever it was. In his mind, a tendril appeared. Following it, he walked through what he realized was the racial memory of the orcs. He saw only war for the majority of that, glued together with massive expansion and catastrophic declines. Then, suddenly, it came to an end. The tendril had become severed. Sefthal could faintly detect the other orcs, in their masses. But something was missing. By chance, he came upon a shard of a memory, only a few seconds. It was mostly emotions, that of the pain and indignation of... a God? Sefthal held onto the memory, even as he withdrew from the orc's mind. He examined the other orcs, and found similar shards.

Peicing what he could together, he came up with a short memory. In it, he witnessed what he realized was the last few moments of Urgael, the God of orcs. There, he watched as the Orc God's essence was torn from his body. What became of the body was not shown, but Sefthal quessed that it had probably just phased out of existence. Withdrawing from the memory, Sefthal stowed all that he had gathered in the back of his mind, stowing it away for future use.

Returning to his earthly form, Sefthal transported himself and Seth a safe distance away before releasing the Orcs. When question by his Avatar, Sefthal only said that he had something special planned, and that Seth should bring as many Orc employees of the Trading Union to him as he could in a timely manner. The pair then returned to Orventis.

---

Imperios
Soon to be destroyed but otherwise unremarkable city:

The city, despite its citizens' best efforts, was burning. The outer wall had long ago fallen, and the residential and market districts had been set to the torch. Desperate warriors and refugees crowded the few defensible structures that remained. It had all seemed so easy at first. The Imperium had largely ignored the city's defiance for years. Of course, minor raids had been staged, but nothing too troublesome. Now, the full might of the Adamantites was brought to the fray. The seige had only begun three days ago, and already it was coming to an end.

In the citadel, the Lord of the city was trying to think of a way out of this mess. Surrender was no longer an option. Not only would his own people string him up by his delicate part, most likely the Imperium would simply choose to wipe the city from the face of the planet. It had happened so many times before. Tryphon, Malgeeze, and Orvent had all suffered similar fates. Looking out the window od his study, the last thought that crossed the Lord's mind was: 'Was it really worth it?'

At that moment, the God descended to the earth, and the death of a city came to a resounding conclusion. Imperios himself had joined the battle. Appearing in a great flash of light, the God of the Imperium swept the defenders to their deaths swiftly and without mercy. He had grown tired of the seige. In the aftermath, he even had his soldier burn the rest of the city, citizens and all. Some might argue that this was wasteful, but what good would rebels be to the Imperium. Gazing out at the destruction, the God smiled. Maybe that would teach the bastard for missing the weekly mass.

Oh for a Muse of Fire!

Nemea in her High Hall

---

Alone.
She stood here before the Hearth, where countless aeons ago she awoke, and with the same hunger now as then. The cool air and shadows moving in like soldiers, tossed back in waves by each sputtering of fire. Oh the hunger for the story, for the Truth lost somewhere in the vapors floating on the corner of the moon. Stories of men and monsters, the stories which defined so much, what was good, what was real. Oh the sweet remembrances of bitter, bitter pasts. A story was so much more than words. It was the past, and the future, it was everything.

Into the warmth and fire she gazed, seeing the story unfold, again, as it had before. The kings and the slaves, the gods and the worms, the tales of love and loss and power corrupting.

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely—

Then what does this say of the Gods?


Avatar Igavene Elu before the Consortium in Osialquienem

---

Politics was an insufferable, damnable, and inexorable part of the life of the Avatar. Politics with nations was easy, but politics with men was hell.

Even now the Consortium was filled with yells, he could almost feel the foundations shaking.

"These books must be claimed, it could contain knowledge of the Aerghalad!"
"There are secrets that cannot be revealed, it is paramount that we send another expedition to seek more!"
"I believe if we bury the books with enough amber, we can produce more Munallnymbai! There is hope yet!"
"What if these can explain the Taperneth? We can prevent collapse! Rebuild!"
"They must be sold!"
"We have to burn them, what if they speak heresies? This cannot be allowed!"
"Are they translatable? Are we fretting over useless cuneiform?"
"Do they contain any amber, or...or light?"

The Avatar had lifted his Starweave wrapped hand to call silence, but the Alchemists were alight, and would not cease it. They did not even speak to him, they had all turned towards the door of the vaulting hall, where he stood.

Menale, the usurper. Still wearing his traveling garb, Avuvian style, but made out of Nymphweave, every inch of it. It was trimmed with thin flakes of pearl, and he wore symmetrical munallanymbai branches like a crown, holding a golden ring between the branches above his brow. He adorned his handsomeness with white and pearl and the light seemed to turn to him. He was so bright he seemed to be standing in fire.

When he spoke all the vaulting halls went silent.

"I will explain myself, clear the air of this uncertainty. First, these books remain in my possession. Only I have the means to preserve them. I will need every scribe available for translation and study. These tomes were taken from the catacombs of the forebears' cities. My expedition passed through the old forests of Ost-Lalaith, the remains of Cuvarkkam, the orclands and all the way to Esec-Nemyunosi. These documents cover centuries of advancement during the Golden Age, and they are in archaic language. We've rescued the following titles, at least that we have translated."

He was handed a long list of names, and began to read. The guildsmen, quiet until now, became interested as he read "On Nymphweave: The Management of Spiders" and "The Methods of Mining from Barren Veins", while the alchemists interest were piqued by "On Nature of Blue Amber," "The Phoenix in the Furnace" and "Of the Anatomy and Longevity of Elves" while the room remained quiet on unknown or uncared for titles such as "Psalms for Strangers" or "The Woman Named Enya."

The Avatar, however, was most interested in the last book mentioned, "Our Friends: The Wardens of Murali and Mariners of Ulmo" as well as countless books about past cultures, such as "On the Lands of Mask" and "The Dragons." Though out of date, the histories within would be invaluable.

But that man! That worthless, haughty man. Yet again he commanded more power than the Avatar, what did that say of Igavene? What did that say of Nemea?

"Menale, like our friends the Propagandists, hopes to control the future by controlling what we know. I, as Avatar, can speak with the authority given to me by Nemea that the books belong to the Dendapim as a whole. They are historical artifacts, and as such they shall be placed in the palace cellars and translated there. Copies will be made available for the highest bidder, as well as a set of copies for our friend Menale, as we all know he could buy us all out regardless."

The room was uneasy, staring at the Avatar, looking a bit pathetic compared to the man before him, but obviously, in speaking with Nemea's authority, couldn't be crossed.

Menale smiled, politely showing the back of his hand, bowing in proper Dendapim fashion, and left with his fists clenched.

Having handed off the chain that has been a burden to him for the last few days to one of the many inspectors roaming the camp, Melancholy took a seat on one of the scattered stools and waited to hear for the final verdict on the recent set of imports. He already anticipated a major complaint in that one of the bound, an Aryite, was badly beaten and missing an eye. It was a shame really, he would have likely fetched the greatest prize in pristine condition as he stood a good foot or so over the rest and looked as though he could lift a boulder. Unfortunately, for the lion-man and his captor, he thought it would be clever to attack the admittedly smaller man while they were traveling; he got a hit or two in but wound up with a knife in the eye and a few cudgel marks covering every one of his limbs.

It normally took about twenty minutes for the standard affair, more if a unique captive was brought in and even more if there were injuries, leading to a rather lengthy wait in a stool that was likely never intended to be sat upon. After thoroughly looking at every detail of the four man group, the processing, as far as a hunter was concerned, and the inspector now stood in front of the occupied stool. "It's been some time since we've seen a lion in these parts, shame he needs to be fixed up before we sell him."

The hunter changed his line of sight from the average shoes of the speaker to his two greenish eyes and a smirk that hinted at the man's current interest. "Least you won't have too much trouble later, and he won't need too long if you cover up the bruises. How much for the other three?"

"Ah, that would be deceitful of us and we can't go about ruining our reputation, people might start braving those dark lands for a better market. As for the humans, they seem healthy so the standard fifty is our offer."

"And the Aryite?"

"The lion, in his rough state, will fetch for two-hundred and fifty, three-hundred if none of his bones are broken."

"Three-hundred!? That's a damn Aryite! They are worth five men without being that size. He'll be fixed in a few days and sold at seven-hundred at least." This sort of bargaining was common around the processing camps.

Still holding onto that smirk, the inspector looked back at the captive and let a soft sigh escape his throat. "If it were any other circumstance I would refuse, but they always fetch such a high return. I'll throw another fifty onto the prices, and if you would still like to walk away, you may enjoy dealing with that lion once he's healed."

He held out a hand holding the money for the men and Melancholy used it to prop himself away from that ungodly seat, causing the slender man to lose his balance a bit. "I'll return in a few hours for the Aryite's payment." He walked off to find someplace to buy some food and possibly some good, local brew instead of that disgusting slop they serve near the lion's holy war.


The office, residing at the highest elevation of any building in the territory, was unsurprisingly large and contained a large quantity of small odds and ends. Shelves on the eastern wall contained a number of gemstones and trophies from before the owner's elevation to her current position while the western wall contained an assortment of books, all neatly organized in a way reminiscent of a library; every saga and encyclopedia sat in proper order and each one, barring a few old exceptions, was in near pristine condition. There were no chairs in the room, only a set of plush carpets to hide the hardened floor and a couch that seemed fit for a noble resided in case a rest was ever needed. The desk where the actual work was done, while still relatively in order considering the amount of work, was much less pristine and elegant than the rest of the room, not that one could really see it under the stacks of papers and piles of books.

With such a pile of busywork that the matriarch is forced to plow through day after day to keep a guild and community operational, one must wonder how she manages to accomplish all of it with ample time to do less annoying things. Normally she would have the work finished before the sun had fallen under the horizon so that she could enjoy the cool night breeze, that would not be happening today. On this day, she had the added obligation of watching over an immortal, transdimensional beast that slumbered in her office. Protecting her wasn't difficult, not many could breach her skin let alone cause her actual harm, but Ourae had decided on an orthodox substance to use as her mattress, Kurae's tails. While normally set out across the floor in an organized manner, the occupant had twisted the, supposedly comfortable, material out of its proper placing and into what she deemed best for its current task.

Even with a the extra burden on the nine tails and the occasional pulling, it was still preferred over her being awake and active, for the former was apparently equal to the latter in her eyes. That is why when one of the secretaries entered the office talking at an acceptable volume for such a place, she was immediately hushed by a thrown utensil. "If you manage to wake her, I'll see to it that you are the one keeping her attention until she has fallen again." She spoke the threat in the tone of an audible whisper and it came accompanied by a glare one would usually save for a hated enemy. The woman didn't speak again and simply placed a few sheets of paper on the desk and rushed out before that threat could be brought about.

Lahar’s realm
The turning of the stars where logical after all wasn’t everything logical? How could he then be the god of logic? It’s a foolish because the answer is already there: he exits so not everything can be logical because he isn’t everything nor will he survive everything. But these mindless machines down on the earth he had given them sometimes wondered this and he always crushed the idea out of there minds. Lahar over looked his empire, to be precise not all of Lahar over looked his empire only 22 percent of him because he had mastered the art of splitting his mind into multiple parts but remaining one being to make it possible to multitask without effort or problem. This part watched his empire destroying illogical thoughts in his followers and more importantly he did his daily check for believers in other gods. The mighty god of order and logic couldn’t allow other god’s such as Asiysia, she had spread her followers all around the globe and Lahar couldn’t think of a reason why she would do such a stupid thing? He prosecuted her people in Remaire and he did so effectively and almost none of her people remained in Remaire. Lahar decided to dedicate 3 percent to Guardian checking the mind for any information that could be useful because he thought about visiting another god and he first had to have all of his work done.

Remaire, Cler’s training grounds
Hundred Remaire soldiers pounded the stone floor of there training ground marching in there perfectly straight lines and identical uniforms each red and armed. Guardian towered above the much smaller but still tall Altrer. Altrer was a tall slim and bald man that had the muscle that was needed to be a good warrior and his hard authority rich voice said against the machine at his right side that calmly overlooked the Gerdish (A hundred soldiers regiment) “These troops are the finest available.” Guardian didn’t turn his head nor did he respond instead he kept looking to the Gerdish. Finally his unnatural voice sounded “Work better, not ready yet.” Altrer nodded and yelled a order to his soldiers. Guardian abruptly stopped his march when the monotone voice of Lahar sounded in his head ”Altrer is useful enough to keep don’t stop the thought’s to execute him yet but he will be needed in the future. Travel to Tros and gather ten Gerdish and one Alim (Kretal force counting 500) take ten wizards with you from the library. Prepare Tros for warfare but take your time there’s no need to haste.”

The city of Imperios
Power was shaped and bended, Lahar didn’t know how a god obtained power form worship but the permanent 5 percent he had dedicated to researching it had made some interesting advancements. He reshaped his form behind the god he wanted to talk to, Imperios wasn’t stupid he would know Lahar had arrived to talk about possible conflicts and alliances. Lahar spoke with his monotone voice permanently locked in a tone that said nothing and his face didn’t tell you more ”Imperios I have arrived to converse some maters at hand with you as you undoubtedly see them coming too. I think a alliance between our nations would be best seeing we share interests it would work but I suggest in case of acceptance of the offer this is kept largely secret to avoid fear reactions from other deities.” Lahar had been direct without any manipulations as he would have done with other less rational gods but Imperios wasn’t one that could be as easily manipulated as the others instead you had to bring reasonable offers and wile this alliance seemed reasonable Lahar had a reputation of dishonourable choices but in this case he aimed at a real alliance his future target would require more numerous and still smart forces than he currently had in his might.

Imperios realm and later Lahars realm
Lahar never bothered with family connections he didn’t have family after all Lahar had been created in seemingly a different way than the other gods. He had traced the divine line down to the point where it became impossible to track them but it wasn’t something worthy to be researched now. ”Acceptable terms not many details to be discussed.” Lahar disappeared again sending a quick message to Remder ”Gather twenty librarians and ten wizards with sixty soldiers to guard them with the needed supplies and take them to The Adamantium Imperium to aid the army there, assist them on there journey.” He was thought to be soulless and so he was but Remder wasn’t the man didn’t appreciate getting dragged out of his live work but Lahar knew the mind of his slave the man would follow every order expect senseless ones.

The great Library of Remder
Remder heard his order and divine quest without the agreement he normally experienced when he heard the cold empty voice of Lahar demanding something of him but the god of logic knew better than he ever would. Remder had never been a handsome man with a large nose and his black hair and also black irises that really where a very dark brown but he had always been the brightest of all of the mortals around him or at least the smartest so he fully understood a order of Lahar was a reasonable order. ”Almir keep a eye on the collection and send group two to the harbour. Request standard wizard support with a sixty guard for protection.” Almir was the second in charge of Remder but the shorter (Still tall for other nations standards) skinnier man said firmly “Not achievable in this time span.” Remder said calmly wile walking away “Do it or consider yourself fired.” No such thing as being fired in Remaire existed because you got the job that fitted you perfectly Lahar (2 percent of him) chose this personally and he didn’t make mistakes in your capabilities or personality so if you were found unsuitable you have clearly forsaken your job and so your charged with treason and the punishment for treason is execution and execution is serving as a host for Kretal eggs.

From The Unexplored East

From the unexplored East, on an island known only to the Judges was the city of Frieden, the only safe haven they had should Nordstern fall. From that very place, five ships, made entirely of metal, were to sail to the lands of the Avuvians and attempt to recreate the Alliance that they once had with the Judges and the Reich. This was absolutely necessary if they ever wished to reconstruct the Sacred Citadel.

The Judges did, though it was a peace mission, prepare for the worse. The ship was loaded with shell after colossal shell for the guns on the deck and with them they brought 1, 512 fully armed soldiers and 144 Spellswords. (Spellswords is the name given to those who fought using Magic and were members of the Reich Imperial Army or Order of Judges ) Much gunpowder was brought with them, as well as food for the sailors and food for the Judge Soldiers that were to embark on this journey. Despite all this if it came to battle, their was very little chance of victory. The Avuvians were the best sailors this world had ever known and last the Reich stood, their Navy was known as the best through all the existing Nations.

It took a while for everything and everyone to be loaded up but as soon as all were aboard. They set sail. A black smoke arose from the tall thick tube that every one of the Judge Ships had, which would gaurantee that any Avuvian ship with people on it would see them miles off but then again, if things had not changed much, so could any Maskmen Pirates. The Grand Knight Commander assured them that if any Pirates dared attack those ships the deck guns would blast them out of the water but just because the ship was made out of metal, did not mean that they could withstand anything thrown at them.

It would be a long journey, the ships being made of metal, they moved rather slowly but they would get there and with Murali's Blessings the People of Ulmo will prove to be the friendly people the tales of the Old Reich always depicted them as.




Alyss De Mandolin. A woman, a flamarite witch, and a descendant of Flamar himself which rightfully made her the rightful Sovereign of Flamar ( only while in absence of the Empress Madelina). She grew up, like all Flamarite children on tales of their once mighty empire, of all the glorious Exalted Marches and of all their sacrifice. They alone stood against the horde of undead, in a time of great of darkness, and they risked their very existence to ensure that the rest of world would have a better chance against a Dark God. This of course made her, and all the other children ask.

"Is the world not thankful?".

And of course the answer was not sugar coated simply because they were children. They were told the truth.

"No my child...They were not."

No truer words than those had been spoken since the very dawn of All Life, for if the world were truly thankful they would have permitted the Mask-men to slaughter and pillage a people too weak to defend themselves. They would not have permitted Jack to defile the Grand Temple of Murali with his disgusting presence. They would not have permitted the Denpadim swine to enslave the few remnants of the Reich and they would have allowed these 'Overlords' to twist ancient traditions and destroy two distinct cultures in order to 'preserve' their own. None of these would have ever occurred in a world that appreciated it's saviors. But then again, life is not fair.

Young Alyss grew up with a deep hatred for the Denpadim and once she became of age, she rebelled against them. The Denpadim laughed at her, thinking that such a cause was foolish and that no one would join her. In return, Alyss has had many of these Denpadim assassinated by the Alumni (which is what the Denpadim call the Black Hats, the assassins that served all Emperors of the Reich) and to further spit in their face, she now stands at the Border of their Domain which an Army. An Army of Flamarites that numbers over 100,000 thousand, that has slaughtered many Denpadim and sacrificed many more to their Goddess, Murali. (The Flamarites worship Murali by offering human sacrifices and performing cannibalistic rituals)

A force this large, all fueled by hatred, by the need to please their Goddess Empress, and by the wish to be free, stand ready to fight and die. Of course were the Denpadim to simply let them go, release the Imperials (Imperials refers to both the descendents of Flamar and Justiciar) then there would be no problem. They would peacefully move out of their lands and return to their old way of life. But the Denpadim did not wish to lose about half of their population or their slaves and so they opposed the Rebels. And so they were all to die.

The Guardians of Life

To: The Temple of Asysia
From: The Remants of a Dead Empire

Wir sind die Nachkommen von dem, den Sie Dame Justice anrufen, der Auftrag der Richter. Wir tun, wie durch unsere Gottheit, Murali angewiesen und schicken 100 Richter zu Ihrem Tempel, damit er besser geschützt werden kann. Sie können unser Hilfsmittel zurückweisen, wenn Sie wünschen.

Ritter-Kommandant Meredith

(For those of you who not speak german and wish to know what this message says)

There is a Tide in the Affairs of Men.

The Hills Outside Grelep-Grep

---

The terrain was harsh, steep, and rocky at the roots. On the crests of the steep hills grew asphodel in sorry little clusters, and in the ridges snowdrops bent their heads like white-veiled mourners. The wind and the earth fought here, it was not peaceful. The grasses blowing in the wind, the rivers carving deep ravines through the hillsides were things of beauty to the Dendapim, and had attracted them here.

Now the field fell under hoof, and was shaded by banners and blades of an extinct civilization, and the Yeafix, watchers of the perimeters of Dendapim territory, came storming back to the city in fear.

And in the barracks men were hurrying. Rich men were loading weaponry onto heavily armored horses, cloaking themselves in metal, while other men loaded slings and arrows, and over all of the tumult a voice rang through the ranks and sunk into the rafters.

"Damnable cretins, curse them! We give them water and food, civilization! They are cannibals, maneaters! We civilized them! We let them integrate with us, of a nobler breed! Never would they have survived without us! We could have let them be overrun by orcs, or let the Maskmen loose upon them! Yet we helped them, and why? Because we both worship goddesses of fire? Theirs is the hunger of fire, its need to destroy, ours is the warmth of fire!"

The propagandist had to take a breath, the passion was building, and the crowds of men being mobilized needed his strength to bolster their own.

"They have long sought to be the ember that o'erleaps the Hearth, and burns the home! They have no purpose in their hearts but destruction. The Flamarites will not get far. Snuff out this flame that turns against us, and let loose the inferno you have long held back from them, for it is better to burn the home in smiting them than for one Flamarite to go living!"

In quieter halls the Avatar was being briefed. The Propagandists had acted without permission in demonizing the Flamarites. It was figured that there were Justicars willing to compromise, but the Flamar had never been a firm enough pressure to make compromise attractive. Now the Dendapim, ripped from a normal day, were being pulled into ranks they had only studied theoretically. Most of them had never had any intention to be fighters.

"What are the options?" said Igavene, wringing his wrists, feeling the dread of his impotence. The council before him shuffled amongst themselves, before one man, meekest of the lot, spoke up.
"We are not in the position to sacrifice the population. This revolution will draw out the Muraliiq and leave us drained. We shouldn't put forth any troops, we should compromise."
"What was that you said?" said Igavene, with sudden impatience, "Revolution? You've given up already, haven't you? This is a revolt, there will be no revolution!"

A long silence followed, before the meek man spoke again.

"Sir, we are not facing the armies of the Flamar, we are facing all of the Flamar. They have every sword and horse they can command. Unless we call for a similar conscription, we will be slaughtered. We have the higher ground, the better weaponry, but they number in the tens of thousands, certainly more."

"There, you have said it! Higher ground! Better weaponry! These are the things that make mockery of numbers and mindless cannibals!"

"My Lord, for all our steel and bullets, I know not where we stand against men who scorch the ground as they ride."

"We can retreat, they will be stopped at the ramps of the city, we can rain arrows on them from the cliffsides where their sorcery cannot reach!"

The meek man looked down, and said, in the tone of an executioner, "Menale has already rode out to meet them at the perimeter, far from our walls. He intends to fight."

The Serpent's Egg

The Perimeter

---

The rocky tors and crags were not fit for horses. Menale led his men to the smoother hills, stamping snowdrops beneath their hooves. He covered himself with a heavy black cloak, and led a great train of horse after horse, so decorated with metal they seemed more machine than beast. His guardsmen stood out from the lesser horsemen, those who had but muskets and a breastplate for their mounts, quicker, but less destructive. Trailing then were the archers, lugging rockets, and the slingers, dispersed throughout with little order. For a culture so valuing order and geometry, the mass moved as a mob, not a battalion.

Menale's eyes, green as emeralds, seemed to shine out, scanning the Flamar lined there, along the crest of the other hill. The divide between them was harsh, a crick winding through the valley all these years between the tufts of asphodel gave the hill two steep faces.

He had gathered his own guard and every mercenary he could find as soon as the scout informed him. The money he had spent to bribe the scouts, that they would deliver news to him before the Avatar, had now been worth every scrap, for it now allowed him to claim more. He now stood upon the precipice of his age, and could survey, and claim, great swaths of his future. He kept his cloak tight around him, and raised a hand to parley, while the Dendapim still shifted and gathered into position.

Dwindling Morale

Alyss grinned when she saw the force that was to oppose her. her steed, which was adorned in armor so beautiful that no one would have ever doubted this was the steed of an Army General, moved her to the front of the force she commanded.

"Behold, sons and daughters of Flamar! Our Overlords have shown up to give us blessings!".

Laughter arose in such a sudden thunderous roar, that if one were not expecting it, they would have leaped off the ground and banged their head on the clouds above. The rebels were truly a fearsome sight to behold. In front of their line were recently decapitated bodies and their heads were being used to adorned spears. You could see men and women kneeling down, dipping their hands in the blood and painting their faces with it. Yet the worse was yet to come.

"Sound the horn!", Alyss commanded and a horn, so large that 3 men carried it while a fourth blew it, sent a deep ugly sound high unto the heavens.

For a moment it was all silent. Not a breath. Not a step. Nothing. Then, out of the blue, one could hear that distinct sound of many many many boots hitting the ground all at once. From behind the came the rest the Flamar, all who marched out in their ranks and fell right into place. The entire hill was covered with them and from the sides you could see their calvary, which was composed of two men per horse all light armored cavalry.(lancer on the front, archer or spell-sword on the back or spell-sword on the front and archer on the back. The Denpadim forces would have to fight the full, 100,000+ Flamars that were present and win. If only they knew, that Flamars were the ones who made this policy in the Old Reich.

"No Surrender, No Retreat, No Exceptions"

They seemed well outfitted and disciplined then they should be, for a bunch of rebels. That was, as the Denpadim surely knew, that had been killing any military patrol that they saw too far from the city and once the soldiers were dead they were stripped of their gear and disposed off (eaten or sacrifice). They also assaulted caravans which had weapon shipments and scavenged anything they could from the towns. The equipment, if made of metal would be metal and reformed to fit the Flamarites, who were on average bigger then the Denpadim, both in height and muscle. (The Flamarites took pleasure in doing hard labor.)

Alyss motioned her hand in the air and at least two legions of Cavalry moved to her. They then started to move towards the Denpadim Lines. Alyss was quite distant from the rest of these men, they were her bodyguard and it showed. They stopped at half way and waited. One wondered what the hell they were doing and then one realized they were waiting for the enemy general or whoever was in-charge to meet them halfway as well with his bodyguards.

If any of the Denpadim knew anything of Flamarites and their traditions, they'd know that before the battle the two Generals would speak, mostly trying to tell one another how the other should surrender and if neither did they would ask their Deity, or Deities to bless the families of the opposing army's soldiers. Then the Generals would head back to their soldiers and the fight would commence.

One does not simply walk into the Shadow Lands of Erebuz fom the Imperium. Neither does one prepare their campaign in one's own kingdom, which is so far away from one's homeland. No. To prepare the armies of the Imperium for the horrors that would face them, war was needed. Many of the Adamantine's finest regiments were as of now unprepared to the forces of darkness that lay in the evil land. So, the Imperium sought to test their soldiers in every combat possible, stretching them to wits end, only to reforge them in the fires of battle. But, it would have been foolish to send an entire army into a battle beyond its means to handle.

Unlike some other kingdoms, the common solider was not simply fodder with which the Imperium would clog its foe's arteries. Down to the lowest ranking officer, every man was instructed to know his men's strengths and weaknesses, for the purpose of using them to maximum efficiency. Aswell, the sense of comradery was encouraged, so as to make them fight harder when their friends died. Keeping this in mind, a screaming rampage was not encouraged. In boot camp, every last soldier was taught to harness their anger into a mighty weapon, the likes of which could crush even the mightiest of demons.

As things so often occur in the Imperium, a large contingent of the Imperial Army was in the vicinity of the battle soon to occur between the followers of Murali and Nemea. Imperios, while otherwise occupied with Vara, devoted a portion of himself to speak with the acting commander of the approximately forty-score regiments in the area. The man's name was Typhos Maxwell, and he had risen to his position through brilliant politcal and martial maneuvers. There was evenb rumors of a possible promotion to Lorch Arch General. Typhos of course denied such claims, but one could enver truely tell.

Manifesting the portion of himself in the form of the Imperium's symbol, the eagle, Imperios imparted to the somewhat suprised commander that he should turn his army's march a few degrees to the east, so as to swerve around a roving pack of orcs, then to proceed post haste to the aid of the Dendapim. Imperios did not particularly like Nemea. She had always appeared rather self important to him. But, he liked Murali just about as much as a man cat likes a pit-viper. Typhos was reluctant, but Imperios managed to swing him to willingly change course in short order. After all, what better way to test the battle-hardened warrios under his command, than to fight against mighty cannibalistic savages, though admittedly well armed ones. Keeping that in mind, Imperios further instructed the General to take the high ground behind the hill the Flamarites were situated on, and only to engage when either they charged at the Imperials, or once they were wrapped up in fighting the Dendapim.

The General did ask one final question. Would the Avatar of Murali not appear in the battle? If so, they very well might be slaughtered. Imperios considered this, and promised to grant the greatest champion of the army, a huge man named Criph, temporary blessing should such an event occur. If all appeared lost, the army was instructed to fall back to the highest ground available. Why they would stand and be slaughtered confused Typhos, but once Imperios explained his plan, he was more than eager.

The sea
Remder looked to the high waves that brutally pushed the ship towards it’s goal ”Sir, your calculations were correct sir. If the wind and current stays this way we will reach the target in two to three hours.” Remder looked to the captain of the guard division he had enlisted for this expedition, the guards weren’t the best force close to the worst because they consisted of the people that failed to become true soldiers but were too good for other purposes so they were given duties such as patrols and they served as police but also as the guard force for the wizards. Remder didn’t respond, why would he? It was none of the captains business to ask his hidden question and useless confirmation of something Remder already knew so the Archiver didn’t respond.

A eye in every place wasn’t one of Lahars powers instead Lahar observed the world as if he floated above it, some may argue that Lahar was one of the weakest gods and they would be close to right, if you looked to the others then he looked a bit weaker but Lahar was intelligent. He had simply build something in the upper atmosphere above Remaire and something in his own realm that could bend the border between his plane of reality and the mortal realm so that he could use the construction on the device to observe the world. The system had served him perfectly and no god really knew or cared that Lahar didn’t use power to observe the world. Currently Lahar observed the Denpadims lands and the Flamarite rebels there a fight was about to start. Lahar had never been pleased with the hard tough Flamarites, they had a heart of battle and power threat to his power but they could be useful. Lahar never needed a battle between the Denpadim and there rebels but it could be quit useful, Depadim would be weakened and battered bloodily after the fight whatever they won or lost and this brought despair the perfect place for him to act.

How the Fish Live in the Sea. Why, as Men do a-land.

The Perimeter

---

Menale rode down the face of the hill, to the party of Flamar who approached. His guard followed, and stopped a ways away, mirroring their enemies. He approached the woman general, she in her shining armor, he swathed in a heavy black robe, staring at her rather lasciviously.

He spoke clearly, but seemed distracted, and his shifting eyes did not match a man seeking to inspire.

"Alyss de Mandolin, I have heard your cause. The Flamarites yearn for their ancestral homeland, but I say this: For more reasons than you know, I fear, to Mandolin there is no returning!"

Behind him the Dendapim ranks had not ceased their shuffling, men laying down sacks of equipment. They were a sorry sight, with more supplies than soldiers, and most of them without a horse to ride.

The Most Unkindest Cut of All

Nemea in her High Hall

---

The goddess stepped back from her Hearth, stirred with old feelings. She spoke into the fire as it roared.

"Long ago I was as wrathful as a woman, and such offense would feel the treachery of a Bitter Liquor, and the world would know my fury. When the Orcs came against my people like the waves against the rocks, I descended bodily into the world to murder and lay bare their pits. I feel now the same stirring ambitions."

Nemea closed her eyes, leaned closer into the warmth of the fire, and the light marked her wrinkled face and greying hair.

"But in the human realm a god cannot remain in wrath. The pain that followed, I cannot stand again. But this betrayal by my own kin will sting as much I think, though the venom I shall give, rather than receive."

She stepped back from the Hearth, towards the august structures of her hall, woven from the unbreakable stone. She felt a strength again, even an old woman could be stirred to youthful vigor with enough rage.

"There will be blessings in this bloodshed yet, and in this betrayal I am awoken from a long slumber, where I fled the warfield for a dream of a peaceful path. No path is lined with primrose, all are ripe with weeds and betrayal, and serpents who shall bite and be crushed beneath my feet."

She sighed, and turned from the Hearth to the open arches of her hall.

"I weep for the serpents who shall fall along my path."

Maybe We're Not Supposed to Sleep So Well

The City Center

---

He went around the room putting out lights, as though the villainy was in the firelight.

"We are ruined, oh that worthless, awful man! Bring me a horse, oh if Nemea could grant me time! If they would leave let them leave! What would make him do this? What could inspire such treachery, such idiocy!"

The council was off to quell the propagandists, and a servant brought the horse, straight into the council hall. Igavene climbed atop and thundered through the marble hallways to the outside, holding back the fire that was burning through his veins. What would lead that man to sacrifice lives? What would lead any man to go blindly into the fire?

Ulmo's Realm- The Sea the Flows Beyond the World

Three millenia of peace. It was hard to believe that it had been that long since the Breaking of the World and the Defeat of Apollyon. It had only seemed like yesterday that the earth shuddered, the Sea boiled, and the Sky warred with itself as Gods and Mortals thought to save what could be saved and end the threat that promised to bring about the end of everything, Mortal and Immortal alike. Those events had aged the Sea God. He no longer took the form of a young black-haired youth with a bare chest and simple black trousers. Now he wore silvery blue armor and a Trident, ever sharp and still shining from piercing a being so evil that it took all of Creation to destroy and imprison it, though the blood had long since been wiped away.

Ulmo's realm was beautiful. White sandy beaches and crystal blue skies and waters. It was here that his followers found rest in Eternity, the Realm ever expanding to meet their needs and bordering both the Realms of the Other Gods and the Seas of the Earth. Yet, Ulmo felt grim. The peoples of the world had recovered completely and were now meeting each other for perhaps the first time in three thousand years. Other gods were plotting, making plans to better the position of their people and of themselves and it was for this reason that he sent a message to a being he had not spoken to in a thousand years.

"Panio, my son. Come to my Realm and speak with me. We have much to discuss," the Sea God announced. Even as he said this, a bubble formed upon the Sea before him and sunk. It would appear in the lake of Panio's realm. Whether the boy chose to respond or forced him to come after him, the old god could not guess.

The Sea Lords

To say that the armada of ships that sailed to meet the strange, metallic behemouths that spewed smoke were their complete opposite would be a vast understatement. Though technology and seacraft continued to be refined by the inventive minds of every age, the shape and beauty of the Avuvian warships remained the same. Sails were arched forward to catch the favorable wind that even now guided them to the strange interlopers before them as the sun glinted off the figures of merpeople, humans, serpents, dragons, and even creatures that have long thought to dwell only in myth and legend. The planks of wood that made up the frame of the ships seemed to be untouched by age or the elements, as though the ships themselves were newly made. Unlike the navies of the Maskmen and the metallic ships before them, the Avuvian ships sported no cannons, but ballistaes as the Avuvians refused to use the crude gunpowder weapons that the world seemed to favor. Rather, they had developed an answer to the cannon in the last couple decades: Avuvian Fire.

Within the tips of the projectiles that the Mariners were ready to load and release at the newcomers should they become hostile was a curious, yellow powder. When packed so tightly as they were now, the arrow-like projectiles only needed to come in contact with an object with enough force in order to produce a small explosion as devastating as any cannonball and far more accurate than the Maskmen had yet developed. For close range, the ships brandished metallic pumps that poured out an oily liquid version of this substance. As it poured forth, the engineer operating the pump clicked a contraption to ignite sparks to light the liquid, producing a torrent of flame that fed upon the liquid. Water could not put it out. It merely added to the mixture, further intensifying the flames. These two innovations, accompanied with traditional longbows and crossbows were what kept the Avuvian Navy the most advanced in the known world.

As the flaghship, the fastest and most well-armed in the fleet, approached, three notable figures in Avuvian society stood. An Aryite, a feline-like being in blue and silver, eyed the ships suspiciously through a spyglass flanked by a blindfolded woman in naval blue robes and a a well-dressed man that, unusually for an Avuvian male, dressed in fine red clothing and gold adornments upon his head and arms, including a monocles that seemed glow faintly as he gazed in the distance.

"Alexius, would our weapons pierce the metal armor of these ships," Admiral Leah Porter asked the monocled man beside her, who snorted indignantly.

"Of course! Do you doubt my work? I modified the mixture as you asked. The explosion would be twice the standard size. I do not believe caution is needed. These crude machines are no threat to our people with my inventions applied to our Fleets," Alexius Medes announced arrogantly, "My time would be better spent in my workshop. I have almost unlocked the secrets of creating a moving automaton."

"As you say," Leah told him, resisting the urge to remind him that he had been saying this for the past three years. Now that the inventor had decided the mysterious ships used technology that was of no use to him, he seemed to be sulking. She turned to her right to speak to the blindfolded woman, by she beat her to the punch.

"I sense no hostility within the hearts of these people. They are disciplined and ready to fight to the death should we attack, but their mission is a peaceful one at the moment," Themis Agape stated. Leah merely nodded. Themis had a reputation for never being wrong when she looked into the hearts of others, but that didn't mean that the Admiral was taking any chances.

"Sail up to the side of their flagship and hail them. Do not drop your guard until we know these people are peaceful," she ordered the crew as the ship drew near the metallic one sailing ahead of its fellows.

"You are entering the waters of the Avuvian Confederation. Halt and declare your identities and intentions," a crewman called through a horn. It was magically enhanced. Thus, his voice had no trouble making its away across the waters between them.

The Legendary Captain

A ship, smaller than those of the Avuvian Navy but still quite well-armed sailed towards shores that had not seen an Avuvian ship in millenia where upon the prow stood a scruffy-looking, but handsome sailor with a map that seemed as though it would crumble within his hands any moment. He flashed his somewhat nervous-looking crew a bright, reassuring grin as the ship began to slow to dock.

"Behold, ladies and gentlemen of fortune, I give you the cave that houses the Riches of Lord Hamelton. The First and only Emperor of the Avuvian Empire," Captain Aristo Grey announced, pointing over at a river that flowed between two statues and into a deep, dark cave.

"Err... Captain. Didn't the map say that it was guarded by the Reich?" one of his crewmen asked rather nervously.

"Of course. I read that. But, as everyone knows, the Reich is long dead. So we got not blind Miralukan Judges. No diligent Justicars. And, of course, no creepy Flamarite Cannibals. Just the traps that the First Avuvian Emperor set up for treasure hunters like us, which, as you know, is jotted down on this neat little paper for us. Besides, now that it's unguarded, it falls upon the ownership of any Avuvian able to claim it, which gives us a grave duty of recovering these priceless artifacts and selling them to the proper collectors. savvy? Besides, Lord Hamelton didn't exactly get these tresures by asking nicely, did he? Now, come on. Lower the lifeboats and sail into the creepy tunnel," he ordered with a bright grin as a few of his braver, more trustworthy crew followed him into the boats.

The Coliseum of Gela

"Behold! The Maskmen have against all odds bested the fearsome Orcs. Have they won the right to survive one more day?" boomed a voice throughout the bloody arena as the crowd roared, some in approval, others in bloodlust. Upon the highest balcony in the Coliseum stood a fat and sumptuously dressed man shouting into a horn, catering to the crowd of Avuvians and different nationalities who flocked to the Coliseum of Gela to see the finest entertainment within the civilized world. Behind him a fair-skinned, blonde haired woman watched in boredom. As Governess, Helena Priam was required to attend the big matches in the city's Coliseum, but the fighting had gotten repetitive. This was the only match that was proving even remotely interesting. She whispered something to the shouter.

"Just get this over with, Antonius," she demanded with a sigh.

"Citizens and Honored Guests," the man boomed with glee, "It has been decided that the Maskmen will, for their crimes, face the one, the only, DEVOURER!!!!!!!"

With that announcement, the crowd went wild, shouting and cheering as a gargantuan beast emerged from the sand of the arena. Its stingers twitched and its claws chopped as its beady little black eyes adjusted to the light and fell upon the intruders that had dared step into its domain. With a hiss, it approached, spearing an unlucky gladiator with one of its stingers before the other one thrust forward at the veiled man that seemed to be the leader.

Party around the City
The River City of Nedreth

The preparations of a great festival occupy the people of the trading center of Ruwen. Every citizen seems to be busy with something, no single inhabitant stands still. Those that don't practice their profession, decorate the city with colorful ornaments and garlands. Even the children do their part, filling the city with self-made figures and paintings. People from across the country side fill the streets and inns, far traveled merchants sell their exotic goods to anyone with enough coins. The smiths work hard to smooth out any last, possible flaw in their showpiece for tomorrow. The guild masters are discussing, who is responsible for what part of the festivity. Old people muse about how everything was better in the days long gone. Barkers loudly announce the various activities that take place on different locations everywhere around the town. One could not walk a single step without having their shouts in the ear.

"Visit the Camp of the Soleado in the west! Allow your senses to experience the wonders of foreign cultures!", shouts a man dressed in comfortable, colorful robes. "Come to the Dragonbreath Tavern, best dwarven ale you will find outside the Deep Halls!", another shouts from the opposite direction. A third barker, standing close to a giant of a man, loudly shouts "Fight the mighty, the undefeated Tobor, if you dare! There are glorious prizes to win for the man that last five rounds! Yes, you there, come on up..."

It's Brinulfsday, the day to celebrate a famous hero of Ruwen. The man, who was elected to Knighthood and fought the traitor Borbaranko the Malicious, eventually freed the Ruwenians from become slaves to an ancient dragonwyrm. The town of Nedreth nearly turned into a wasteland during the battle that went on for days, but in the end the beast and the traitor were defeated. From these days on, which lay well over hundred years in the past now, the Ruwenians celebrated the triumph of their hero with a festival equally long. In a long-existent tradition, the guild of the smith start the celebration by allowing smith apprentices to present their art. As St. Brinulf was a young apprentice of a smith himself, before his heroic career began, the best creator of the best showpiece earns himself the prestigious name of 'Brinulf' for the remainder of festivities. Though that's not the only reason for the flurry of activity. Like every year, the Queen herself takes the opportunity to visit the city of Nedreth with her court. Along with all the nobles also came the foreigners from nearby islands and kingdoms. While the city guard traditionally utters their dislike of such an open event, the guilds see the opportunities to further their relationship with their trade partners from afar.

With a little sadness in his blue eyes, does Leon look back towards the city. A gust of wind carries the sounds of the bards already playing their songs towards him. He urges his steed forward, in the opposite direction of the stream of visitors. Only wearing simple riders gear, his armor stuffed in bags that are carried by his horse, he slowly rides along the road towards Castle Ardeford, one of the fortresses guarding the borders of Ruwen. His stay in Nedreth was all to short, but sadly he has to move on, even before he festivities would start. His blade strapped on his back he let his eyes wander over the merchant caravans, the groups of artist and the simple people making their way to the event. Behind him he could hear a bard testing her new flute, playing a few notes on it, before putting it aside.

"Hey, Leon, why are we leaving Nedreth again?", the girl asked from behind. The young knight shakes his head, why did he decide to take this girl with him again? However, not it's to late to turn back and hand her over to the queen, again... "The usual things, Fiya, adventures and the protection of the world await us. You know, you don't have to follow me around if you want to stay...", while Leon speaks, the first bard of the queen catches up on her horse. "And miss all these interesting places you would surely see without me?", Fiya exclaims with a wide motion of her hand, "Don't worry, I'll make sure the people will remember our tale, mister 'knight-because-I-have-to'." With Leon sighting, the two continue their way to the Castle that thrones on a hill in the distance.

The words of a General

"You say there is no Mandolin..." Alyss then reached for a bag which hang loosely on the side of her steed and she closed the gap between her and Menale and held it out so Menale could forth and grab it. Inside was dirt, which amounted to nothing in reality but close inspection would show that this soil was not from Denpadim lands, it came from somewhere much more North of the continent, supposedly the very Plains of Mandolin.

"Now Menale, I ask you, why do you come here to fight Flamar with this rabble? Or is it a custom of your people to send the youth to their deaths?"

Alyss was close to their line now but she kept her calm. From this distance one could see just how tall she was, and while she wasn't the tallest of the Flamarites, she was a head taller then the Denpadim. Her hair was black, like the sky would be on a starless night and long, but one could tell it had been shortened. Her eyes were dark too but they had a sort of glow ,a spark even, to them, perhaps this was just something all direct descendants of Flamar himself had inherited. She was fit, young too, and above all, by Flamarite standards, she was beautiful.

"This lot, will not win you the battle nor slay many of my troops. I advise you to return to your home, so that mothers will not mourn their sons. Flamar will march across the border, we will not demolish any more of your towns on our way you have my word."

Alyss's expression was serious, as if she knew of war. Yet her youth testified against that.

The Neutral State.

And so it was that 55 Judge descended from the hidden fortress Nordstern and rode to the lands of Vara. The Order of Judges did not know much about them or of their God. Only that they were neutral in most, if not all, conflicts. This was good for if the Judges could befriend them then it would mean that they could possibly trade and when the time of war came, not have to worry about being stabbed in the back. They must be cautious still. If they even hinted at where Nordstern, or worse yet Frieden, the Order could be compromised and the Miraluka race could be at risk.

One of the 55 rode ahead, as a messenger to tell their leader, whomever that was, that 54 others were riding behind him and that they came to negotiate, not to cause harm. It would take him a while to get the, the lands around the Solitary Mountains were still torn from the war with the Dark God but once he got past this he would reach in no time and he nothing to fear, Judge horses did not tire quickly and needed little rest.

The Sword of the Exalted One

The Sword of the Exalted One, known to all others as King's Bane was the sword wielded by Lady Justice herself during the 1st Exalted March against the orcs. It was crafted by Murali herself for only the Avatar. The sword had been lost for Ages and the first Emperor of the Reich sent a message to all the nations that any who located the blade would be rewarded handsomely for this blade. None ever found it.

The Judges themselves had searched for this weapon but they failed to find it. It was only just recently, literally moments ago in the ruins of the sacred citadel, that they found why.

The blade was not in the form of a blade but it was actually an Ancient Dragon, that when bested in combat would turn into the sword. This was why they could not find it. It was a colossal beast that roamed who knew were and did as it pleased, awaiting the Avatar of Murali. Madelina was busy at the moment and knew that she would only be able to feel the Sword's pull when she collected all the other items that Lady Justice used in the 1st Exalted March.

And so it was that by order of the Sovereign Guard, 300 Judges headed to where Tamonis's followers, a well known Guild of Mercenaries, were located with the intent to see if these swords for hire could slay such a beast an recover the sword of the Exalted One, thus doing them and Madelina Seisk a huge favor. The price would be high, perhaps very high, but the Judges knew when the time came to present themselves to the world would come they must prepare, and this is why they had a huge treasury because interacting with other factions would not be cheap.

The First to Know

The Judges had spotted the Avuvians from afar, through telescopic lenses and while they were outnumbered, had they come to cause harm the guns on the deck could have begun bombarding their ships from here but they had not come to destroy. They came to ask for peace and so they changed their course and purposely came towards them. The Avuvian ships were just as the ancient texts had described them and while their were a slight minor difference, they knew these were indeed Avuvians.

The Sailor who held a fairly large horn with both hands in order to respond to the Avuvians question looked over to the Judge Admiral who in turn nodded, giving him permission to proceed.

"We are the descendants of Lady Justice, The Order of Judges. We did not die, as the world thinks we did, at the Siege of the Sacred Citadel all those years ago and by orders of the Knight Commander and our Goddess Murali, we have come to speak with the avatar of Ulmo, whom in our times was the beloved Caspain, in hopes of re-establishing the prosperous alliance we had with the Avuvians before the fall of the Reich Empire."

To this the Judges, who were on the starboard side of the ship, removed their helmets to show their faces. They were exactly like those of humans but they all had blindfolds over were there eyes would be, which would declare to anyone who knew anything of the Reich, these before us are the Miraluka, the 'Toy Soldiers' of Murali.