The wind carried an edge to it as it swept over the turrets of Skysong Castle. The flags carrying the coat of arms fluttered, as if anxious about what the wind had to say. Tension lay over the castle like a dark cloud. At the tallest tower, the wind howled mournfully around the peak of the roof, and whipped around the lone figure standing sentinel at the inland face of the tower. The figure's blue gaze was shrouded in worry, narrowed against the wind. The full lips were pursed, as though she was thinking hard.

In truth, she waited. Waited for hope to shine through the dark cloud of anxiety and worry. She waited for the Four to arrive, as promised by Aliath, the Lycan Elder. She waited for the King to recover... She feared that wouldn't happen. Silently, she turned her gaze toward the Lycan Territory. She wanted to call to the Elder, to see how her Grandfather fared. But she refrained. She knew Aliath would share the news of Lionel's recovery... Or... Briena bit her lower lip at the thought of the other possibility.

She stared across the city, turning her gaze toward the Human Kingdom. Trouble brewed there. That was normal. Axelander always was causing trouble. She snorted. Nothing new there. Again, she turned, this time, facing toward where she knew the sea lay. Trouble, not so normal, loomed on it's waves. A new enemy came on the wind of the sea. Had her Grandfather not fallen ill soon after the honorable warning of conquest came on the leg of a black raven. Briena frowned. Then sighed and went inside.

Taking the steps with swift strides, Briena made her way down the tower, boots clicking on the stone. Her cloak billowed behind her. Reaching the door at the base of the stairs, she swept through. Grace nearly bumped into her. Briena stepped back out of surprise, then gave Grace a tired smile. Who couldn't smile at the sight of her sister. The deep green eyes sparkled up at Briena's blue eyes. Her sweet voice echoed softly off the walls. "Briena, I was just going up to see if you were alright... You've been up there for two full hours. You haven't eaten, either."

Briena sighed slightly. "I'm sorry. I got lost in thought... Food does sound good. I--" She broke off as a young boy came up to the two sisters at a run. "Yes, Norram?" The young page drew himself up, bright brown eyes wide with the importance of the moment, and handed Briena a scroll, tied in an emerald ribbon, Emeraldhaven's color... It couldn't have been another invitation to one of his parties, at a time like this?

Unrolling the scroll, Briena thanked Norram, who bobbed his head, then bounded away. Briena's eyes fell to the scroll. Not an invitation. "There's been a sighting of four Lycans in Elven Territory. Not far from here." Briena paused, letting her pulse slow. "They were traveling together, it seems, and toward Skysong City. This could be the Four." She gave the scroll to Grace, who read it as well. The sisters shared a grin of genuine relief. "This could be them."

A thunder of paws echoed throughout the fiery colored forest, speeding faster than any one horse could ever hope to go. From a thousand miles away these Elite warriors of the sanctuary, travel with haste to Skysong Castle, sent for by the queen. With eager hearts, empty bellies, tired muscles, the Four sped onward to their destination. A distant land home to a race of Elves, who sought for help in a time of chaos due to an assassination attempt on their former king. The four Lycans are the answers to the Elves' pleas.

A powerful leader, he is the biggest, fastest, and the strongest of them. Azazyl Zolotah Strakhov is in the front of the group. His luminous golden eyes burn anxiously for the clearing he knows with come within miles and minutes. With a mental bark to the others, his scarred facial features pull into a subtle grin. ~ We are nearing the castle, put your strength into your strides. ~ The others behind him, both relieved and reluctant, obey their leader and keep pace.

Second in command, Slyvhanes Kachrichten, smirks happily as she hears her best friend's voice flow with its deepness through her mind. She lithely speeds up with him, and ceases acceleration as she arrives neck to neck with him. She sends him a silvery glance with a seductress' smile, something shining euphorically within her irises. Though she is even with him, she lacks size when at his side. She reaches two feet less than his near nine foot stature. She sends a mental thought to him. ~ Eager are we, Big Boy? ~ She mockingly throws him a wink, then falls back before his grinning, guttural bark orders her back.

The third, Dahksi Markonzhir, The oldest of the four, immensely patient, kind and quiet, is next to Sylvhanes as she gives Azazyl her 'look'. He simply smiles, relieved to have this journey at an end for now. He is cool natured, much like his leader. With a beige glint in his tawny eyes he gives a knowing glance to his rear where the last of The Four is falling behind and terribly impatient. He sighs at him and his smile fades slightly, but presses onwards.

Sahtir Dreighton, the youngest, loudest, most impatient, and energetic of The Four. Currently heaving for air, unable to stabilize his pace and is whining about his orders to speed up under his breath. "Faster? Why Faster?" The young black Lycan rants for a moment, then yells to the front of the pack. "Why don't you just carry me Azazyl?! You you push me too hard!" Though he is complaining, he throws his last reserves of youthful energy into his arms and legs, speeding towards the group to reclaim his spot beside Dahksi.

A dimmed, sleepy sun, floods their eyes with a fading light, silhouetting what lies before them as they burst from the forest. They stop and marvel at what lies before them. An enormous castle, tall as is wide, still a few miles or so away resides on the horizon. A beautiful field, shin-high to the Lycans, of flowers and tall grass, swaying, dancing with each other in the mood lightened field of reddish orange rays from the waning sun. Their cloaks settle on their forms as their movement stops, Azazyl and Dahksi's size and bulk, Sylvhanes' curvy beauty, and Sahtir's young, toned frame. Their armor and weapons cease clinking, clanging, and jingling and they look at each other with weary smiles, though Sahtir's face is more pouty. Azazyl speaks, "We have arrived. Now let's make our way to the castle, where surely we'll be fed and bedded after our journey here." Sylvhanes smiles and wiggles happily at the thought of a lovely meal, Dahksi smiles and nods, and Sahtir grunts and mumbles to himself, something about more walking. "Yes, we are still walking." Azazyl scolds him with a deep voice, brimming with bass and accented slightly with a Russian tone. He nods to the horizon, to Skysong Castle, where the queen awaits their arrival with an incredibly heavy heart.

The Four, silhouettes upon the blood-lit field, walk to the glimmering crimson castle as the sun spills it's final light upon the cold night. After a handful of months of journeying, sent as guardians by the elder Aliath, to aid Queen Briena in a time of encroaching war and hardship.


They have arrived.

Not too far from the Elven Kingdom, one man stood on a hill. In his left hand, he held a map that shook in the breeze. In his right hand, a brilliant red spear was pointed to the sky. His crimson hair and beige cloak immediately separated him from the fair green landscape that extended beyond the horizon. This man was on a mission; called away by higher powers and his objectives led him here.

His name from Rein Infinitus Akasha.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Where in Calraida am I supposed to find that blasted castle?" Whoever made this map was very inept; he was currently standing on a hill that was marked to be a pond and all he could see within fifty metres were plains while he should be right next to a cave. Maybe he was reading it wrong? Well, the compass was pointing in the right direction... unless it was marked wrong on the map. He turned the map this way and that, but no direction matched up with the layout of the thing. Maybe he bought the wrong one? Well then, he was in dire straits. He began to fold it to-

Wait, what was that on the back?

Choosing not to fold the map, he saw another map on the back. It was double-sided. Rein was apt to confirm the map's validity by raising his compass and aligning his map in the direction that the compass pointed. Sure enough, it turned out to be correct. To his luck, the castle wasn't fair away, just inside the city right beyond the... sacred... elven... forest.

Rein sighed. "This is going to be a long day," he remarked before venturing into the forest with an easy pace.

Thwack!
An arrow sprouted from the wood a mere hairsbreadth from Faolan’s face, sending splinters flying as the brittle plank exploded. Too close... At this range it was a miracle that it hadn’t hit him.
“Who designs these blasted city’s anyways?” he muttered, crouching behind a pile of crates, “Putting a God’s be damned fence in the middle of an alleyway...” He thought for a moment, “Well... actually it’s probably to stop thieves like Me.” he grinned ruefully, before daring a quick glance over the crate to check on his pursuers.

A guardsman with a drawn bow met his gaze, and two others with cold steel in hand were advancing towards him in slow, measured steps. He pulled his head back, drawing a short knife from a sheath in his boot, Just a few more steps... Gravel crunched under one of the Guard’s heavy step next to his hiding spot and Faolan sprang up, smashing into the lead swordsman. In an instant he was away, sidestepping to avoid the other Guard’s probing blade.

Either the archer wasn’t sure he wouldn’t hit his fellows or he just couldn’t keep track of Faolan’s movements, for whatever reason, it was a blessing. Faolan’s arm lashed out and the knife suddenly appeared lodged in the man’s stomach. The archer gave a guttural cry and fell, slumping down to the ground in a quivering heap. Faolan wasted no time, dashing forwards as the archer fell, skidding to a halt to retrieve his throwing knife before the lumbering guards could reach him.
A thundering of hoof beats and the jingle of tack made him look up, knife in hand. Two men on horseback with long, and more importantly, sharp, lances, were at the mouth of the alley. Both they and their steeds wore a mix of chain and plate, and the emblazoned crest on their shields Faolan recognized as the City Guard.

Cavalry?! Bloody hell, the noblemen of this city take safety to the absolute maximum... He glanced back over his shoulder, the swordsman had stepped to the sides, content it seemed to leave him to the mounted Guards, but still ready to flank him should it be needed. Faolan turned back to the cavalry just in time to catch them beginning to charge him, their lances pointed at his chest. No time to fight them all, I have to- his thought was cut short as the magic, triggered by feeling, thought and will alone, took effect. In half a heartbeat he had become immaterial, a ghost, fog.

The horsemen reigned in, unable to touch him, and Faolan drifted through the alley wall and into the building beyond.

He solidified once more on the inside of a bustling tavern, which had grown still and silent on his arrival. Faolan could care less though, that particular feeling of leaving all your insides in a different place than where the rest of you were standing was not very pleasant, and he leaned drunkenly against the wall, clutching his stomach and breathing heavily through his mouth. A plate crashed to the ground in the kitchen, deafening in the silence, and he looked up. Somewhere in the back of his head he could sense Hrafn’s mirth at his plight, but he pushed it aside and straightened himself, ignoring the cramping in his stomach as he walked slowly over to the bar. All this for a little note that might hint at where the Jötunhorn had been stashed, and now the city guard would be combing the city looking for him.

He pulled the piece of soft vellum out of a hidden pocket on his belt, unfolding it on the bar. He hadn’t gotten to just memorize it and put it back as he had originally intended. Some kind of magical alarm had been triggered and well... The barkeep sidled over and Faolan realized that the inn had returned to it’s normal bustle and noise. “Anything I can get ya... Sir?” He looked up; the bartender was nervously cleaning a glass with a grimy washrag, apparently the allure of good coin was enough to overcome even the fear of strange men appearing from out of nowhere.

“Whiskey... Whatever’s strongest.” Hopefully the spirit would wash away whatever foul things lurked in the cup it would be served in. He turned back to the paper as the bartender retreated, a frown creasing his young face as he read. The drink was set down in front of Faolan with a clink and a splash. He tossed a few sovereigns on the counter and sighed, it looked as if he would have to travel even farther to find this blasted relic. Standing up, he downed the drink in one gulp and turned to go. For a moment he paused, and then looked over his shoulder at the barkeep, cool eyes twinkling, the most charming smile he could muster on his now innocent face.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to know how far it is to the Elven kingdom from here?”

Skysong City was a bustle of voices, speculating on what the outcome of the coming events would be. Most spoke confidently of eminent victory, and their loyalty to the Lady Briena. Others were neutral, ready for whatever might happen. Still others were packing their things, closing their shops, and when asked of their view, would merely grunt, and say that they were going into hiding. The voices hushed as the two sisters trotted through the streets of the city, Briena riding a great black horse, and Grace on a petite white mare with unusual markings like grey wings on her shoulders.

Briena quivered slightly, still uneasy in her new garb, and the circlet upon her brow. Her blue eyes flicked to the crowds, and she gave what she hoped was a reassuring nod. A few cheers rose up from the throngs, and Grace smiled, waving to them. Then they were out of the square, and the voices went back to conversation. Prices being called out, and others speculating on where the Queen and Princess were going. The stallion tossed his head, working the bit in his mouth, and Briena ran her hand along the crest. "If they were seen around Emeraldhaven, then they should be here, perhaps within the hour." Briena spoke quietly, as they turned a corner and reined in to allow a wagon to pass, the horses nickering hello's to the heavy drafts pulling the cart. The wagon driver waved his free hand in greeting, with a respectful bow of his head, and then they were gone.

Briena and Grace continued on to the city gates, centered in a great wall, forty feet high, and built of white marble. The gates themselves were build of charmed steel, inlaid with gold and silver, with the Skysong crest set with gems at the top. They were open for trade, and at the sides stood four guards, two to a side. The men stepped up briskly, with salutes, then held the horses as the two sisters dismounted. The horses were led to the guard barracks, while Briena and Grace gazed out over the meadow to the forest. Briena squinted. The setting sun's light glinted off of something metallic, and bounced off the silhouettes of four large figures, one larger than the rest.

Briena sent a light touch tow the minds of the figures, inquiring as to who they were, and were they the ones sent months ago by Aliath. She waited, breath held, for the answer.