Unlucky lucky patrons mill about the upper level of the inn. Two sit at the bar, no more than a wood-top counter blanketed in a fine coating of dust, and a few wander the room aimlessly, engaged in idle conversation. Five tables lay scattered beneath a brass chandelier suffusing the room in arylide candlelight and casting long shadows along the walls and over an enormous battleaxe mounted on the wall above the bar. The innkeeper, a broad man with heavy-lidded eyes and a face like a bulldog's, is paging through a book.

The city, busy from morning until dusk, had several founts built into the stone walls and dug into the ground, offering a pleasant atmosphere for locals and travelers. Guards with red garments bearing black flower symbols over their armor, stood at posts throughout the city. Traders, and families with children in tow, headed down Merchant's Way toward the marketplace. A stray animal or two ran through the city's residential streets, weaving between people and buildings or begging passersby for food, Everyone was always preoccupied with some sort of business, yet every person moved as though acutely aware of each other. Such is the way of city life until night fell, business waned, shops closed up and people headed to the places from whence they came only to begin the cycle anew the next day.

Today, however, there appeared to be less soldiers and more guards from the Imperial Watch on duty. Recruiters, with scrolls in their hands and dressed in simple attire of crimson and black stood at posts throughout the city, seeking to enlist aid for the Crimson Blades up at Blood Fang Caves, who were looking for the Orc stronghold somewhere north underground. All that was known to most of the citizens was that the Orcs, nasty creatures who had been hassling [eating] or raiding travelers and caravans along Old Forest for years, had been steadily increasing in number in the past few weeks, when they suddenly made a hasty retreat.

Outside the Arielis, people are enjoying the fresh air and smell of the flowers in the Gardens. There are stone benches strategically place on the veranda, with flowering plants and climbing vines surrounding the pillars and stairway leading up into the Arielis itself. Horse-drawn caravans are parked or traveling Merchant's Way, the main trade route running past the Arielis and through the Gardens. Inside the hotel, a high, vaulted roof gives the hotel a much grander appearance, with a great silver chandelier suspended out over a wide, spiraling stair. The floors in the Arielis appear to be polished marble, and heels click along as several guests pass through the lobby. A large, curved wooden desk stretches across the right side of the open room, and there are three clerks behind it checking guests in and out. Two bellhops climb up and down the stairs, hauling luggage through a huge, arched wooden door at the top of the staircase. To the left of the desk, an opening in the wall reveals a dumbwaiter, which another man fills with baggage and uses a pulley system to send the items to the third floor, where another bellhop will attend to them. On the left side of the room sits a banquet table filled with fruits, light meats, non-alcoholic drinks and breads. Beside the table, an archway opens into a grand ballroom, where parties are held almost every night. Beneath the spiral staircase, a door leads into another section on the first level, where most of the traders and persons of less-noble status take their lodging.

The Imperial Gardens, outside the Arielis, has many trees, plants and shrubs, tended and trimmed to near perfection. Statues and arches decorate stone paths all throughout the gardens. Fences and gates section off more private parts of the gardens, where wrought iron benches and tables allow travelers to rest. Couples hold hands as they stroll the paths, mothers watch their children play, while still other people chat idly as they sit or walk along. Some are reading, writing, drawing, or even playing music, which drifts through the air at different places throughout, lending a peaceful ambiance to the pleasant place. In a somewhat remote part of the Gardens, the sound of a flute can be heard, soft and clear. Amid the trees, on a small bench, an elf woman with plaited, waist-length rich red hair plays the instrument, her eyes closing from time to time, though she occasionally glances down at the man knelt before her. With one hand resting on the sword planted, blade down in the ground beside him, he shifts a little, relaxing as he watches her play. The armor he wears places him as an Imperial Soldier, and he has the poise of a man of authority, though it would seem, at present, he is off duty.

During daylight hours, the Marketplace was full of open-air stalls laden with foods, crafts, jewelry, clothing and other wares. The indoor shops other products including books, weapons, armor, apparel, toys and accessories, while traders outside marketed their goods, bartering and selling, upstaging other merchants. The indistinct sounds of chatter and yelling filled the breezy, afternoon air. By early evening, horses' hooves click on the cobblestone as caravans pass through, on their way to stalls or other places outside the city walls. By nighttime, most of the merchants had already closed up and packed away their goods for their next destination, or if they were local, to head home.

Once a castle, the Imperial "Palace," surrounding the monumental Crystal Temple, had been abandoned and repurposed when Beraud Cylas, Osiric's father, had a newer, much bigger castle built south of the Imperial City, as such, the castle only ever had one entrance, with the exception of a couple of passages leading out of the Council Hall. Climbing rose trellis, weaving around wrought iron latticework bolted into the outer walls of the council Hall, led all the way up the stone to stained glass arched bay windows, most of them shut. The rooms overlooking the city went as far as the lobby and ended where the courtyard, encircled by high stone walls led to the immense library and entrance to the temple.

The main entrance leads directly into the tax office, connecting to both the central hall and the library, which leads out into a courtyard with the main doors to the temple at the south end. In the tax office, a short, stout man seated on a chair behind a sturdy wooden desk flips through papers, peering over the rims of his spectacles and lifting and lowering pages several times as he compares records. To the left of the desk, two huge doors locked with a heavy bar block the entryway into the Council Hall, and to the right, stands the door to the library.

The library, upon first glance seems daunting, with shelves of books so high there are long ladders extending toward the vaulted ceiling in several aisles. Further back, the exit to a circular courtyard is visible behind rows of shorter shelves. A few people reading silently sit on chairs at the wide tables in the center of the library. In the right wing, a tall, pale-skinned man with long robes and white hair leans toward a shelf on the highest rung of a ladder, his fingers clasping a book. He appears to be deeply engrossed in what he is reading. No one lingers in the courtyard. Some people walk around the courtyard toward the library or temple entrance.

The Crystal Temple, on the outside, is white against the sun, but otherwise unadorned. Inside, however, it is easy to see where the temple gets its name. Great stone and marble walls take a back seat to the faceted crystal filigrees, paintings and small altars with tithe plates, kneelers and pews around the temple. There is a large, round altar filled with clear water surrounded by candles, gemstones, little purple flowers and paper origami floating in the center. A chandelier suspended high from all points on the ceiling offer a soothing light, while torches and the stained glass windows lower down, add the illusion of multicolored lights shining on the decor. The sound of a harp reverberates off the walls as a woman with long locks of brown hair sits near one of the altars, her delicate hands brushing the strings. She seems tranquil, a serene smile on her face as she plays, watching the patrons praying or paying homage to their deities.

The Gooseneck Tavern, an establishment on the outskirts of the sleepy town, is quiet, with only a few off duty soldiers seated around a table near a small window, glancing out at the road occasionally. A couple of patrons drink, silently, at the bar. The aromas of mead and baking bread waft out of the kitchen in another room accessible behind the counter. A plump, balding man in his mid-50s can be seen going back and forth between kegs and the oven holding a tray laden with food and mugs in one hand.

The Merchant's Lodge, the halfway point between the Imperial City and three major ports in Zamil, is a well-kept, year-round establishment. Inside, the atmosphere is cozy, with a fireplace for cold nights and winters. The tavern/shop and inn are run by a middle-aged couple who take turns attending travelers throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Some are headed for the Imperial City and have taken lunch at one of the many sturdy tables in the tavern. Others, even the seedier patrons, headed for one of the port towns, who've dropped in for a night or two, check out, taking probably the last home-cooked meals they will eat for months with them. No matter the season or time of day, the place, as always, is busy. Someone is always coming and going, and someone is always there to tend to their needs.

At present, the man is checking in new guests, and sending off others with farewells, while his wife makes the final preparations in the kitchen for meals large enough to feed an army. Outside the lodge, there are a handful of Crimson Blade recruiters looking for fighters to assist the fighter's guild at Blood Fang Caves, a day and half's journey from the lodge, for the average traveler.

The town of Gooseneck's only bookstore is open for business from noon to last light. With a simple, crudely handwritten sign in the front window, and a rusty, creaky door, one would not expect to find much in the way of literature, but it is here several rare books can be found or ordered and bought for a reasonable price. There are tomes and novels, collections of poetry, almanacs and books worthy of any scholar's attention, all lining shelves no more than five feet high. The establishment is musty with the papery smell of papyrus and the scent of worn leather bindings. An elderly man, perhaps in his late 60's, is going through organizing books by author and title, his arthritic, gnarled hands shaking as he reaches for each book with the care and doting given by mother or father to a newborn child. Perched on the shelf next to him, a funny-looking blue bird with a fat black beak cocks its head from time to time, watching the old man organize the books.

The academy, a massive building blocked off with high, wrought iron gates guarded by Imperial Soldiers has 3 additional towers and peaked roofs. Rarely does anyone come outside during daylight hours, as most of their time is spent studying for extended periods of time. However, a lone mage with a gray cowl and long, loose-fitting robe exits the towers with little more than a nod to both guards. He lowers his head, hands close at his sides as he walks briskly down the path toward the city.

Outside the outpost, burly soldiers of Thaya stood watch along the stone stairway leading up to the entrance of the fort. Some wielded axes, others have maces or hammers. Here, a dwarf tugged at his coarse, beard, taking care not to get his fingers entangled. There, a guard watched the few traders going in and coming out of the fort. The atmosphere, generally at ease, is offset by the constant, stalwart attitudes of the Dwarves. Within the outpost, traders of all types are engaged with the Dwarves stationed at each table or post, haggling for weapons or armor, the majority of items for sale. When business finally slowed down, the Dwarves changed shifts, allowing others to rest or take meals. The outpost was never empty, so when came time for rotation, relief would come down from Thaya on the Emerald Road.

Massive evergreens and smaller deciduous trees surrounding and shading the road seem to take on a life of their own in the midday sun, as if they had waited for the exact moment the golden rays of light would thrust between their branches. The My'bael mountains cannot be seen from here, but the northern Nysel range with snow-capped peaks is barely visible above the treeline. The celadon and lavender sky, as far as the eye can see, is nearly crystal clear with nary a wisp of cloud. Far in the distance, above the snowy peaks, a griffon soars, the tip of its tail glinting like a flame as it dives out of sight.

The Emerald Road, extending into the foothills of the My'Bael mountains, is quiet save for the footfalls of the occasional passerby, the sound of clopping hooves from a horse-drawn carriage. Even the sounds of the wilderness, bird, insect or woodland critter fade into the background, adding to the air of near-stillness untarnished by the noise of the big city.

Port Arn, busy from dawn til dusk, is packed at noon with sailors on leave, dockworkers hauling freight to warehouses and dirty steerage men, barefoot and coated with coal dust, making last minute rounds to clear ships for departure. The warm, eastern ocean, lapping lazily at the wood pilings of the piers, is calm and glistening along the coast. From one of the smaller ships, with strange symbols painted onto the port side, a figure clad in silks of gold and royal blue is being escorted by two armed soldiers with similar markings on their shields and cloth. Each soldier, helmeted and bearing steel long swords sheathed at their hips, keeps the figure between both of them and their shields facing forward, pushing a throng of workers and peasants out of their way. Behind the trio, half a dozen men and women wearing similar silks follow them down the ramp from the ship.

"The Docks," as referred to by locals, was just off the main drag and sectioned off from the port itself. There were eateries, shops and warehouses on the streets. Small boats, tethered to the pilings of old piers, bobbed gently on the waves. The yellow sun, Sha, shone down on a curved slide decorated as a little wooden ship with a mermaid on the prow. Children played here, away from the commotion of adults on the streets, climbing a ladder or swinging from rope swings. On the piers, fisherman with buckets of bait and their catches sat waiting for a bite or cast their lines as far as they can into the water. Tiny silhouettes of ships off in the distance looked dark below the tiny blue sun below the eastern horizon, their hulls blurred by a glimmer of heat that lingered above the water well into the evening, only beginning to cool when the last rays of light disappeared behind the city.

Mystery has its own mystery, there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs, and that is what is known as infinity.

City of Ther
Castle Throne Room
Year 3455, Ruyn Calendar

“Eight, the perfect number,” Naonna’s voice, clear as droplets of rainwater into a shallow pool, resounded in the Great Hall, “A symbol of infinite wisdom, boundless as the stars, for that is why we chose the Avani. But, did we truly think their power alone could harness the fate of an entire world?”

Laonna, staring out one of the arched windows overlooking the city in the clouds below, deliberated before slowly shifting her scarlet gaze to the woman seated on the throne.

“It has been almost ten thousand years since Anael quelled the Rebellion and cast out Kudokuten. The Sleepers, even Drakrelib and his own, dwell deep beneath the surface, and the Dreamwalkers are all but forgotten by the most devout of mortal scholars. One, let alone eight, cannot alter the course of fate.”

“As we speak, Kudokuten already moves, silent as the shadows, spreading her dark influence to all she touches. Surely, the others will not stand for-“

“The others won’t stand for anything,” Laonna interrupted. “You know our sister would never leave the Eytherghymn. Azavar has the countryside, Alavara, the sea.” Lifting sharp white brows, she cast a hand toward the window. “The world will end while they are content to turn the other cheek. Why wait? Do you think the rest will be as forgiving when they learn of the ensuing chaos? Granted, no one knew Ruyn’s energy would be so intricately interwoven with the threads that bind the realms together, but we did what we came to do. It is better to sever ties while we can still count our losses.”

“I would hardly debit mortal lives as a trivial loss,” Naonna uttered the last word with such force, her younger sibling drew back, lips forming astonishment in the shape of an ‘O’. “What of the humans, and your husband?”

“Nimae? Bah!” Laonna gestured heatedly with one hand. “He sits under the West Mountains, getting fat off his charges. He cares not for the affairs of men, and humans are but a pestilence we’ve allowed to run amok far too long. I regret the day we dragged those slovenly, drooling knuckle-draggers from their homeworld.”

“You would not be so quick to judge, if you saw them as I-”

Both women looked up at the sound of the throne room’s massive steel door sliding into the marble floor.

“Your Grace,” Anael folded ebony wings, his dark hair falling in front of his face as he crossed the floor and swept into a low bow at Naonna’s feet.

The two women exchanged knowing looks.

“Rise,” Naonna commanded, lifting a hand to bid him stand before her. “Has the barrier been breached?” she asked, her tone resonating like the strings of a harp.

“No, not yet, my lady,” he replied, “but it has weakened, and Kudokuten’s power grows steadily. She now seeks a gatekey and stone to gain access to the Vaults and kill the Sleepers before they can be awakened.”

“And the Guardians?”

“They may only delay the inevitable.”

“Anael, the Dawn is on final approach,” Naonna interjected calmly. “The Ka’ua have been amassing their army and preparing to send an emissary to the surface to investigate the barrier thinning. You know that barrier has separated and protected our realms for eons. If Kudokuten is allowed to destroy it-”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he cut in, shielding his gaze, glancing up only once to see her give the slightest of nods. “The remaining keys and stones are still hidden, but even if we reach the Sleepers before she does, without our forces at full strength, the battle will be lost before it is begun.”

The High Elven stood, considering his words in a moment of silence before answering, “Do not despair, for a hope yet remains.”

“Excellency, do you mean…?”

“You know of whom I speak. Now, go, and see you do not fail.”

“Your Grace,” Anael bowed once more and turned, the trailing edges of his wing feathers gliding along the floor as he exited the throne room.

“Do you not wonder,” Laonna said aloud, when they were alone again, “that there might be something else out there, watching, in all its perfection, amusing itself with our fruitless attempts at playing a role for which we were not meant?”

Naonna swung her gaze away from the window, bearing contemplatively upon her blue-skinned sister. “A vain thought, well-versed, but vain, nonetheless. You know as well as I, even gods are not perfect.”

As Pestifere exits the forest to cross the road he finds a traveller unconscious on the side of the road he slowly proceeds to investigate when he finds a nasty bump on the back of her head he concludes she was ambushed. Pestifere makes the decision to carry her to his tree home. While she is still unconscious he doctors the wound and gets curious leaving obvious evidence of a search thru her satchel and armor.

The human woman wore iron braces on hands and feet, and her clothes, torn and tattered beyond repair, reeked of dirt and the musky body odor of sweat mixed days weeks, maybe even months without washing. She did not stir, but as the Druid picked her up, her fingers brushed a small object gleaming underneath road dust. It seemed to have gone unnoticed as he carried her off to his humble abode.

The Crystal Temple, on the outside, is white against the sun, but otherwise unadorned. Inside, however, it is easy to see where the temple gets its name. Great stone and marble walls take a back seat to the faceted crystal filigrees, paintings and small altars with tithe plates, kneelers and pews around the temple. There is a large, round altar filled with clear water surrounded by candles, gemstones, little purple flowers and paper origami floating in the center. A chandelier suspended high from all points on the ceiling offer a soothing light, while torches and the stained glass windows lower down, add the illusion of multicolored lights shining on the decor. The sound of a harp reverberates off the walls as a woman with long locks of brown hair sits near one of the altars, her delicate hands brushing the strings. She seems tranquil, a serene smile on her face as she plays, watching the patrons praying or paying homage to their deities.

Worried about this stranger that is still out cold Pestifere decides to go out and pick herbs for a potion to help the stranger. Once he is out of his house he walks back to the road where he found the stranger and when he got to the center of the road he sees something shine in the morning sun when he finally gets close enough to see what it is he discovers a dagger with the Trynea Drenn insignia he retrieves it and continues into the forest to pick herbs