Black wisps of smoke formed a fretboard in his hand. The red body of the instrument formed quickly, curves to strings to head as Tyro pulled it up and began to play.

It was time to leave. It had been a rather quiet week. This place has got embassies everywhere, pleasant people but maybe the robbers and murdered were just waiting for something big. Maybe they were just else where but you'd think a place like this would have a few bastards he could turn in. Maybe he could...He turned round to looked back out into the street from the alleyway he was going to vanish into. Nah! It would be better to move onwards. There ought to other places he's needed. Maybe he's at the wrong hour for bastards? It's only...ummm...Actually, never mind. He barely new the date let alone the time. Its not important. Its time to leave. Anywhere but here.

He strummed to go into a finger picking pattern but then stopped. Why isn't anything happening? When he does this, there's wind, things get chucked around, the whole 'I'm-disappearing!" thing. There is supposed to be a whirlwind. That's how he ought to be getting out of here. I mean, what the heck is wrong with this?! He looked at the strings. Nothing. He raised the body to his ear, gave it a shake. Nope. Not that there was going to be anything, right? But he could hear wind. Strong wind. Was, was it getting louder? There was a slight whistle through the hole in the front as air was forced through. Then the G string broke. Then E, A, The other E.
"No, no, no, no,no, no, no, no, no!" The crack of the wood let more of the wind escape. Another hole punched through before the thin wood couldn't take it any more.

There is a cathedral dedicated to the Old Gods. Built to thank them for the first Ordain. You get the odd man or woman praying for their own little things. The woman over there, look, wants a happy life with her new husband. You see the old woman by the candle stand? She hopes for her grandson is OK overseas, asking for protection over him. That man is asking for what to do. He's found a lovely bejewelled ring and he's not sure what to do with it.

It was at this time that the air itself pirouetted on the marble floor, ragging and howling in its tantrum before vomiting the hapless Tyro with the destroyed instrument clattering beside him from the ether. A second object clattered next to him: 'The Kitsune Tail'. A startled and confused Tyro started open mouthed at the wind. Mentally winded. He then looks around at the Man, the Old Woman and the Newly-Wed. He smiles embarrassed, looking at their faces. A nervous giggle.
"I, I, I. Well...Ha...Hello..."

In the city of Taivas you shall find further orders. Go now, Sir Lucius! You are more important than you think....

"Woah, Kâl," The knight said to his beast and companion as they touched down at the gates to Taivas. "Woah."

It was surprising. Lucius had not been to Taivas in many years, mostly because of the Winged Order's lack of jurisdiction in the area. He was a boy then, and he remembered the place being grander and much less... dirty. The streets looked as if they were cleaner than the people who walked them.

"You do know the city laws, right?" A tired gate guard said, eyeing Sir Lucius and Kâl coldly. "Beasts must be stabled. I don't make the rules, I just make sure you follow them."

"Pray, good sir, but does Taivas indeed have a griffonry?" Lucius inquired. "I fear no horse stable is large enough for my friend."

"No, I'm afraid not. As far as I know, though, the Winged Order used to have a compound on the East end of the city, but ever since the decree, it's been abandoned. Don't suppose you'd want to check there. Might be breaking some laws to go there, however. Even so... bet there are some squatters there."

"What do you suggest, then?" Lucius asked, a bit annoyed. "No matter what I do, I'm going to be stepping on somebody's toes."

"Let me ask." The guard disappeared into the gatehouse for a few minutes. "Commander says he could get you a permit to use the building." The tanned man's eyes darted back and forth once underneath the steel cap on his head. "Don't think you'd have anything to compensate for the favor?" It wasn't a question.

Lucius fished around in his wallet for a few seconds before producing a few silver coins. He handed them to the gate guard.

"Thanks." The coins disappeared into the guard's clothing. "I'll be right out with that."

Taivas was loud, busy, and it smelled as if a breeze had not blown through the city in years. It was nothing like the quaint little seaside town that Lorelei called home. Clouton was a beautiful little hovel where the breeze was always crisp and fresh, and the people were friendly. You could not walk through town without having to stop and chat at every turn. The fact that Lorelei was essentially a hermit living on the outskirts of such a town only personified her shelteredness. The sounds and noises of Taivas, combined with the frequent jostling she received from the people coming and going around her was enough to make her very flustered.

Lorelei did not like this city. She did not like its people or its stale stench, and she was too shy to ask for directions. Literally blind with no sense of the direction in which she should be headed, Lorelei could only wish she had made a different choice when she had received the summons which brought her to this loathsome city.

Why had she come?

Perhaps it was because she had once made a difference in the world -- or at least, in the lives of the soldiers who came to her for relief -- and she needed to prove to herself that she wasn’t completely obsolete. Since her sight had been stolen from her, as well as the only man she had ever loved, she had been the one who needed to be taken care of. Now, someone needed her. It had been a long time since that was the case, and she couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

Besides, she had been wallowing in self-pity for years. It was time she let her tragedies rest in the past and move on with her life. She was just learning how to do that, and it was not an easy lesson.

Lorelei was now realizing that coming to Taivas on her own had been rather impulsive. She had never been to the city, and she had no idea where she was going. She knew that she was lost, and she was beginning to feel anxious and claustrophobic. Lorelei hovered near a wall for a moment with a faint sigh praying to the Goddess she still served for the guidance to make it through this.

A lone figure on a horse came riding up the road heading towards Taivas. His head hung sleepily as the chestnut mare gently trotted towards the city. The figure shuddered as he lifted his head up to catch sight of the city. This was to be where his last mission of the army took place. Whatever that may be, his superiors did not give him anymore information but it sounded rather urgent. Plus, they told him if he did this, he would be free of the army. That was his main goal as he had seen too much death and grown tired of it. The man pulled out a jumble of three tags and one of them flashed his name.

Cpt Koganeiro, Lykus D.

Lykus sighed. This was the life he was trying to leave. He had witness something no man should have a week earlier. He had seen his squad annihilated right before his eyes. His friends killed while he survived with only mere scars. The scars were still fresh and pained him every time he made a wrong turn.

Within minutes of reminiscing about his past and the turn of events that led him, now the Captain of none, to the gates of Taivas, he realized he had arrived. As he passed under the portcullis a young gate guard halted him with a lowering of his halberd. The gate guard looked over Lykus as to size up the gruff man. Upon realizing that the man probably had more experience than he would ever wish to see the guard began with great respect, "I apologize sir, but the rule states that beasts must be stabled. I'm very sorry sir."

Lykus sighed but agreed. It wasn't the young man's rule after all, but the cities. With a light step and a flourish of his cape, he came off the horse and landed deftly on his feet. He then came around with the mare's reins still in hand and handed it to the guard as will as a gold piece. "Take care of her son," He said to the guard.

"Your name sir?" The guard asked. "Captain Lykus Del Koganeiro. For now, I plan to be free of the title soon enough," He said with a glimmer of humor. The guard nodded and went to the stable with the chestnut mare leaving Lykus standing there with his hands on his hips looking into the city. Then a stray thought wandered through him mind. He wondered where this town's taverns were located. He shrugged and stepped off into the great buzzing city.

The journey across the sands

Eight figures stood in every cardinal direction of Onillren's position, the still cascading sand falling from their forms slowly revealing them to be Assassins of a Rahalm order of Schiendi, one of the most steadfast practitioners of ancient tradition. Onillren knew why they were here and what they were here for. It had been 50 miles since his flight from Schiendi, and in his wake there had been nothing but bloodshed. Priests, soldiers, even other Heralds of Schiendi had tried to destroy Onillren in his exile but all had failed.

His trail would not have been hard to follow, initially Onillren's footsteps had been dragging as he walked in solemn meditation, channeling the demonic powers to heal the tatters of flesh that bore from his wounds. The sands were also soaked in the blood of trackers and hunters that Onillren had slain. With a lucid moon in the sky there would be no threat of the searing heat that plagues travelers in Schiendian days and the stars radiated more than enough light to guide his tracker's way to where he stood, just outside a tomb of Ishmallar.

Onillren's ancestors had constantly whispered the word "Taivas" in both his dreams and his meditations long before he fled from the capital of Thildrassil. Visions of upcoming destruction and war had thrown -his- ancestors into a frenzy. There was much in their cries that he could not understand, but he felt their emotion, their sorrow....their remorse.

Thus did Onillren recall hearing of Taivas in a text he once studied, though now he was frustrated for his vast memory had failed him greater details of the place. Thus had he wandered within the desert for miles, but he was fair from aimless....

So now he stood, outside the entrance of the aforementioned tomb where he would invoke the demon T'challoc. A lazy entity that had long abandoned drive to cause turmoil in the mortal sphere. T'challoc would enable Onillren to step into a traveler's gate, which would have him within the city of Taivas in a matter of seconds.

But now... now these eight were in his way and this fight would not be easy. Onillren's hand went towards the hilt of his weapon Ladonon, the blade had been floating lazily by his hip and now pulsed at the sense of more blood to be shed. The blade shone brilliantly in the lunar light, however the eight surrounding Onillren were still unwavering in their posture.

They had come to kill.

Onillren spoke low, his bronze glare darting to his left and right as their appearing leader walked forward. He walked heavy, wielding a massive hammer & shield as his weapons. The native tongue of Schiendi echoed across the arid sands.

"spical usv si gou slent vux shio slek si zklaen" With those words Onillren readied himself, chanting something soft as their leader continued to approach. The man spoke out, raising his hammer as he ran abnormally fast towards Onillren.

YITH ZLKLEEN LEOR DOUTA!!!!!

The man brought his mace down towards Onillren but his attack came too slow. Onillren tumbled under the blow, his blade lashing out into a whip and catching the attacker by his legs. The sound of bone snapping crackled in the air as Onillren snapped back to his feet bringing his attacker down. The attacker to Onillren's left came at him, spear at the ready. Onillren's weapon snapped back into sword form, parrying the thrust to the right. Onillren's body span along the length of the spear shaft, stopping and arcing his blade into the air. The head of the attacker rolled to the ground as it's body kneeled beside Onillren. Two more attackers moved one, one stumbling over the prone screaming body of the first one that attacked. Their fierce blades came towards Onillren in a dizzying blur. It was only due to his training that each of their attacks rang deflected in the night. Steadying himself, Onillren dashed backwards, watching as his opponents continued their charge towards him. Onillren thrust his blade forward, flicking his wrist so that it assembled into a whip once more. The two attackers both dodged the blow, continuing their charge until Onillren gave out a loud shout that pierced the night! "LOI EHN VAH!"

Onillren's other hand waved itself over the hilt of his weapon. An ethereal jade light loudly cascaded over the hilt, sending an instant surge of demonic energy coursing along the length of the whip! The energy fluxed at the end of the weapon, sending hundreds of jade tendrils out towards the two attackers. When the tendrils met their flesh, a loud burning could be heard as it melted their skin like acid. Their horrifying screams tore through the night as their flesh gave way to bone and life passed from their eyes.

The other five attackers paused in their formation, the sight that they now beheld ruining their flanking maneuver. Onillren took charge of this situation and bounded forward, snapping his whip so that it wrapped around the neck of another assassin, easily removing the head as he brought the whip back to sword form. The next attacker attacked with a mace, Onillren caught the blow mid-strike and brought his opponent's weapon arm down, backhanding the man's face causing him to stumble backwards. Onillren thrust forward with his blade, driving it deep into the mans chest. The man tried a desperate grasp upon Onillren's shoulder but the firm hand quickly loosened as his severed heart quit it's final beat.

Onillren was aware of the final three and turned to meet them. All held tridents that Onillren knew were poisoned at the tips. He ran backwards, doing his best to parry their blows. They fought brilliantly, attacking two at a time and having the final attacker try to attack a weak point in Onillren's defense. However this routine was quick to end, as two pairs of skeletal hands wrapped themselves upon the ankles of two of his attackers. To their dismay, the warriors who had died as a result of Onillren's acidic spell had been returned as ravaging skeletons, determined to feast upon their flesh! The warriors were terrified and tried desperately to beat the skeletons from atop of them but it was of no use. The skeletal jaws pierced through their flesh as their claws raked their skin. It was a horrible sight to behold and the final warrior standing did his best to try to kill the skeletal abominations. However he realized that he had left Onillren unguarded and turned to see as Onillren held in his hand an ethereal bow. The guise of the bow wavered in the desert winds but he knew what was about to happen. The warrior could only yelp as an ethereal arrow burst forward from the bow and passed through him. The arrow did not tear flesh, but simply removed the man's soul from his body, causing his empty corpse to fall flat upon the sands.

Onillren finished off the final warrior that had his legs snapped at the beginning of the battle and turned to face the tomb.

Invoking the demon within was as simple as he thought, for it was satisfied with the bodies of those that lay outside.

Cursing to himself for the slaying of so many of his brethren, Onillren stepped through the gate towards Taivas. Praying to his ancestors that he would find the purpose of his exile there.

My dearest, my very dearest... What have you become? Buried in common dirt, and yet so very very uniquely lovely.

In a place deep underground, where darkness and frost had reigned peacefully for a thousand years, a ragged gasp rent the silence.

Have you heard the whispers of the outside world? You are forgotten. They sing of your frivolity. Tameness. Who is alive to fear the Eastern Ghost?

Hands worked the frozen earth, slipping in the trickling streams of water. Her extremeties were numb with cold, but her core... her heart and her mind burned hot with her passion. With her fury. "Hours. Give me two hours, and I will give you two hundred men who fear me." It took seconds for her to stretch her muscles, relearning where they were soft and where they were strong, and the stand firmly on her feet. It took moments for her to stretch her mind, reaching far outside of her self, flexing her claws. She knew this tomb intimately, for while her body had succumbed to her icy cage, her mind had remained strong, alert. She turned to her right and strolled into the darkness, passing her fingers over the wall as she went and humming a little ditty.

What do you want, lovely?

"Blood under my fingers and the soil of Taivas under my feet."

What my lovely desires, the Forsaken shall provide. Travel south and west, build your army. Take the city of Thildrassil and then to Taivas. Keep your rage, raise our allies, send forth the battle song, my dearest, my brightest, my Asahara...

Asahara Ya smiled and shoved her dirty, grimy hair out of her face, still trekking steadily out of her prison. She giggled a bit as she stumbled over a loose stone, working her fingers. Finally, Asahara Ya, the most beautiful creature ever to walk the lands of the Old World threw her head back and laughed as the light of day filtered down into her eyes for the first time in more than a thousand years and planned the death of the little farming village she had often felt on still nights, slumbering in the distance.

In the farthest corner of Hessil, guarded by a dense forest of trees, a waterfall sits, trickling water peacefully. All was calm, until a small crack could be heard from behind the waterfall. Inside a small cave, a large block of ice was hidden, with something inside. The crack grew bigger and bigger, eventually shattering and the thing inside floated there, fast asleep. Slowly it lowered down to the ground, with a tut, tut its feet touched the ground. The thing opened its eye, slowly, revealing two black eyes full of nothing. It opened its mouth and quietly, in a mono tone, said, "It seems like it is too soon, my lord." Lilla Drong stood still listening, for something unknown. "My lord?" She still did nothing. "My connection has been severed, I will have to find a different way." She took one step, and nearly fell, straightening herself up, she took another step, and another after that. It seems my skills have become sloppy, I will have to fix that. Slowly but surely, her steps became normal, and fast after that she made no noise when taking a step. She got the edge of the cave and, faster than the blink of an eye, she went right through the waterfall, completely dry, and started walking again.

As Lilla was walking, a creature appeared out in front of her. She drew her katana, and almost sliced it's head off. But, out of its mouth, a voice said, "Well my princess, you have woken." Lilla then sheathed her katana in one motion. She walked up closer to the animal, "My lord, you have lost me. But I have returned, and am ready for your will." She dropped down to one knee, bringing her fist down to the ground. The beast said, "My princess, you have become weak with me. The only way to speak with me is by talking to a creature like this." The beast showed its claws, and roared. "Out of the fiercest animals, comes the voice of the God."The beast took 2 steps forward. "And before you can do anything, you must regain your skills." The beast walked all the way to her, Lilla didn't move. It touched its head to hers, "Let the moon flow within you, dear princess. Become what others fear, become one with the night, become the dark. Become fear incarnate." Instantly, a cloud of shadow engulfed Lilla and the animal. A few seconds later, the shadows were swallowed into Lilla. "Now, my princess, your quest is to raise an army of fear. Enlist an army of the night, and gear them with the weapons of fear. Nothing will be able to stop you here, and you will make an army to fear within a few days. Now go." Lilla stood up, and walked past the animal. When she was a few yards away, a streak of blood came from the beast neck. Its head dropped to the ground, shortly after its body followed. "Yes, my lord." She disappeared into the shadows, making her way to a small village that radiated with fear.

Oh. Oh my.

Aiya Tsare paused, her hand frozen in the action of raising her fork to her lips, and turned her face to the north east. The rest of the men seated at the table continued eating and talking loudly, one of them jostling her elbow with his own. She did not falter, her pupils dancing back and forth, watching something that was not in front of her. That prescense... which had lain still for so many years... and now, she was breathed again.

Oh, the complications this would cause.

Finally, one of her dining companions called out to her, and Aiya turned her head slowly toward the head of the table. "Lady!" he called. He was drunk. She could smell the sourness on his breath from where she sat. "Lady, how do you find our humble company? You have seen us from the edges of Geemrot to here, the center of the Old World, Taivas. What say you?"

Aiya sighed and sipped her water. "Your company is good and strong. Your generals remind me of idiots though. Smart men, but they do not even sneeze without confirmation from their superior officers. Discipline is good, but autonomy will save lives. Please excuse me." She rose from her seat without waiting for proper permission and left the dining hall, her mind uncomfortably full. Decisions had to be made, and soon, but they could not be made at the moment. She simply did not have all of the pieces. Aiya frowned, feeling annoyed at her lack of control, and stepped out of the building, onto the streets of Taivas.

She stepped without hesitation into the weak sunlight. She had been communing with the sun since her first century and it no longer sent alarm bells ringing through her head. Her head bowed slightly as she walked, fingering the hems of her sleeves, weighing what could happen and what most certainly would.

The snow-capped peak was as untouched as when the Old Ones had first made it. The mountaintop was peaceful, if unforgiving to the unprepared. The ice lay softly and thickly at the peak as if a frost giant had chosen it as a place to lay its head.

Within however was a dark secret. Forgotten and made into myth, true horror had been transformed into scolding words.

“Eat the rest of it child, or the Northern Sun will carry you away…forever.”

They would regret forgetting. He realized this. His vengeance would return and there would be no hiding or fighting it. He would return.

He just had wait.

And now his time had come.

Come…return to me son…the world has forgotten you…

Show them….fear…show them…The Northern Sun….

He heard the call and began to rage at his shackles. Weakened by time and the power of the Forsaken they could no longer bind him. The Old Ones? Pah! They were powerless in the face of this onslaught, The Forsaken had birthed him into the world to show mortals that the Old Ones were indeed that. Old. A new pantheon had risen and it was time for them to take their place at the head of the celestial court.

The cold and ice began to shatter and crack; unholy fire began to blaze out of it. It bled lava, trickling down the side, crying, as if its jugular had been slashed. Melting, the water was tainted black, never to run pure once more.

And he was free.

“Come to me! Lesser children of the Forsaken! Arm me! Heed the call and your reward shall be great!”

The former Ordain had sought to redeem the lesser races by entrusting each with a piece of his armor. To guard it against his return, and in that their mistake was great. He knew the truth. How can you redeem that which was never loyal to you? And come they did, these hostile mountains being their natural homes.

The ogres returned his chestpiece and greaves, forged dragon bone, powered by souls.
The trolls, his skull belt praising his Gods, they took it as standard garb.
The orcs, Mol’tok, his unholy hammer taken as their symbol.
The goblins, his helm, a treasured reliquary.
And his most fearsome soldiers, his lieutenants, the Gorems.
Unsightly creatures, ugly and misshapen, but brute and strong. They have razor sharp teeth and claws and their skin is disfigured and looks like it's melting off them.
Returning his locket, contained within a handful of soil from the area in which he was born, a direct link to the Forsaken.
The cacophony would be unbearable to mortal ears.
Togron smiled at that.

“I have returned as was foretold! Who here doubted? Told lies and dissembled? Come forth and face your judge!”

And they were shoved forward, gagged, bound and abused they still had the fire of hate in their eyes.

“Untie them. Let them fight the iron fist of the Forsaken.”

Armed with sword and shield and spear they rushed forth, to their doom. Togron smiled at their folly.

Come Mol’tok, let us show them the meaning of pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You show me only failure, and for that you shall die.” Togron snarled.

He used Mol’tok to pull the blubbering orc close and Togron plucked the sobbing creature’s eyes out, and placed them in a bowl. Already there were six pairs within. He tore the beast’s head off and tossed the body to the ground. Tiroch and Wuldum, his Gorem bodyguards proven loyal by combat, defeating hundreds of their brethren, tossed the body outside to be added to the cook fire.

“Mount the head and add it to those of the non-believers.”

Already the failed orc’s replacement had appeared and placed a map before Togron. He had already been informed that the area in which they were now was called Geemrot, a mountainous region with a nomadic populace. They’d already had an encounter with the populace in the sense that Togron had just feasted on a family of six. They were however not the right people. The orc sniveled on about having narrowed the place down to three possible areas that were at this moment being covered by troll reconnaissance. Togron grunted and waved the orc away unscathed.

The Forsaken whispered to him of an ancient city. Protected by the high peaks and forgotten by time, as he had been. They would not escape him this time, all would succumb to his wrath. And within the city was a secret that would aid him in his mission. A secret of fire and destruction.

It was high noon in the city of Taivas. Inside of a local tavern there was a small group of people enjoying a drink. Among them was a man with a claymore across his back, knocking back drinks as if they were water. "Sir," The man behind the bar began "Ive told you several times that you need to get rid of that weapon. We don't need any accidents around here." Charles slammed his empty glass onto the table. "Aye, you did say that." Charles responded "But I'm afraid I cant abide by that rule sir." He stood up to the sounds of discontent of his new drinking buddies. "Its the rules my friends, unless you have a reason for me to stay Ill be on my way." He exited the tavern and made his way down the road.

As he walked he could not help but notice the people around him, for the city of the gods as was proclaimed, the people seemed to suffer the same facts of life that everyone suffered throughout the land. Men doing simple jobs earning a menial pay so they could feed their families, women disciplining their children when they misbehaved. If the stories about this city were to be believed, these were the holiest people in the land who are always in the light of the gods. If these are the people favored by the gods I can only imagine how those who fell out of favor live. he thought to himself.

He continued his walk when he stopped abruptly. "Oh crap" he said aloud "Where was I supposed to go?" he looked at his current surroundings and realized that he had no idea where he was, of course he wouldn't this was his first time in Taivas. He had no choice but to continue putting one foot in front of the other, if he was in the gods favor then he would be lead to his destination.

His faith was rewarded in a sense when he came across a stall with a man selling strange items. "Hello good sir." the man welcomed as Charles approached the vendor "How can I help you this fine day." Giving a quick glance at the strange items Charles could already see that this man did not belong in a marketplace. "Uh...Aye sir" Charles began "I'm afraid that this is my first time in Taivas and I don't know the way to....well anything." The man clapped his hands together and stood over the counter, "Well you are in luck good sir!" he exclaimed "For a simple two bits I will guarantee that you will know this city as if you lived here your entire life!" Charles reluctantly handed the man the coins and stood waiting for a map or something similar. The man pulled our a small trinket and handed it to Charles. "This is a magical compass" the man said "Just pronounce the name of your destination to it and it shall lead you without fail."

Angrily Charles left without saying another word. "Magic," he said to himself with disgust "Such a thing can only ruin our world." He threw the item against a wall letting it shatter and fall to the ground. "Id rather get lost and never be found again than to use such a foul thing."

If there was one thing a resident of Taivas would notice everyday it was the din created by the people of the city at mid-day. If one listens carefully one is able to pinpoint certain noises belonging to people of a certain profession, be it the carpenter, who saws the wood to craft his much sought after furniture or the fish monger, who sells his goods while continously yet futilely attempting to get rid of the stench emanating from his store. There is one sound that rings out across the market district of the city, unnoticable at first, but it is unique and ever present; the blacksmith's symphony.

Erik slammed the hammer onto the blade's side of the fiftieth time. Sweat dripping from his brow, chest, arms and back. It was his first weapon of the week, the one he took the most care on. Erik usually crafted decent and reliable weapons, but he always had a burning desire to make one great one, and so at the beginning of every week he would choose his first weapon and spend hours attempting to make it perfectly balanced, strong and aesthetically pleasing. He has yet to create such a weapon. He had been working since midnight on the sword with short breaks to nourish and relieve himself. This was his life really, he had nowhere else to go, he was good at nothing else. Except one thing, fighting.

Erik threw the blade in cold water, it hissed as he sat down. "That's it, it's useless. I was able to keep the blood channel straight but that made the blade lighter. I'll just attach a guard, reinforce the tang to form a decent hilt and add a lethal pommel. That should make someone happy." A fellow blacksmith working nearby turned and laughed, "Tis what it tis mate, don't see it for something it ain't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I dunno, jus' wanted to help is all."
"Well thanks but no thanks, i'm done for the day." With that Erik leaned back on his chair, he propped up his legs onto the table and pushed the chair onto two of it's own. "An' what about yer thingy?"
"What 'thingy'?"
"I dunno, just some thingy."
Erik just closed his eyes and listened to the sounds.

The demonic gate that Onillren passed through saw him enter an alley of one of Taivas' "better off" streets. His entrance was concealed through means of an alleyway that was vacant, thus there was no one he would have to worry about setting off. The gate disappeared behind Onillren in a blink, and all that was remnant was the brief scent of sulfur.

When Onillren stepped into the main streets and passages of Taivas there was a simultaneous culture shock. He stared at the people of Taivas as much as they stared at him! To Onillren the people of Taivas seemed pathetic. There were beggars on the street, people swindling one another in foul transactions, and an overall sense of competition amongst the people that developed a scenery of despair. Onillren wondered how such a people could even have pride to call themselves one. For one of the strongest qualities of Schiendi was that there was no sense of *class* that he had studied. Sciendians were one and all which made their armies even greater as Schiendians had something truly special to defend. The people of Taivas however, were separated and weak. Something was definitely wrong.

Thus did Onillren wander the vast streets of Taivas, learning every step of the way. The people there amused him. Not in a way that would reflect a sense of superiority but in an curious manner. Their every actions, every words echoed in his ears. He felt a strange sense of delight being around so many people at once, people that weren't out to kill him or invoke demons to be slain. Still, he recognized that he wandered the streets of Taivas for a reason, and the whispers of his ancestors were too far gone now to guide him.

The people still eyed the darker-skinned fellow, wondering about his beautiful yet unnerving gold & silver bronzed bone armor as well as his foreign mannerisms. Every inch of Onillren spoke outlander but the people here were too absorbed in their own affairs to question his footsteps.

After a time Onillren felt lost. He had finally come to Taivas but no answers were present. Why where his ancestors insistent on calling out the name of this failing city? Why had he forsaken all that he had known to journey here? In a surge of fury he slammed his fist upon the table of a poor merchant trying to sell fruit. Onillren eyed the poor man, trying his best to apologize in the common tongue and reassured the man that he meant no harm to his mortal well being.

Much to Onillren's surprise, the man offered Onillren some food instead of harsh words. Onillren graciously accepted, handing the poor merchant some jewels from Schiendi that the poor man eyed with wonder. Surely these would earn him valuable coin!

The man left Onillren and the merchants table, leaving him alone in this vast city.

Onillren prayed that he would be lead in the right direction, and fast...

A small shipped sailed across the icy sea toward the shores of Valk’aa. It was the only ship on the water. The sky was abnormally dark, and thunder rumbled threateningly overhead. Anyone in their right mind would not be sailing on a night such as this. It required either great daring, or great insanity. Luckily, Fabian Ra was gifted with both.

He relished in the icy night. The sky grew continually darker above him, and the thunder stuck more loudly the closer he grew to the shore. It was as if even the earth feared him, and in turn, reacted to fend him off. Fabian breathed in satisfactorily. The earth should fear him, and he was ready to once again show the inhabitants of Old World just how fear-inspiring he could be.

He had been trapped too long, his powers useless, unable to wreak havoc on any one. He had been harmless. Fabian shuddered at the thought. Harmless was such a nauseating word. For too long he was left only to plot his revenge in a icy prison, knowing that one day his masters would return and he would be set free.

The icy prison did not bother him. Ice was his essence. At times it seemed as if it ran through his very veins instead of blood, and being incarcerated in it was rather pleasant. It was his uselessness that he couldn’t abide. Above all he craved one thing: power. The power to inspire fear. The power to take a life. His masters had endowed him with such power. It had been stolen from him.

But now it was time to get it back.

Fabian turned away from the bow to face one of his skeletal soldiers. They were abnormally tall, and their bones were frozen. The crunch and scrape of ice could be heard as they walked along the deck of the ship. They didn’t speak, but Fabian could understand their meaning without words. They were under his command, but more than that they were a part of him, like an extension of his body and his mind.

The soldier looked at Fabian significantly.

“Yes,” Fabian replied to an unspoken question, “take us in.” The soldier nodded and walked away, his icy bones screeching along the wooden floor.

Fabian surveyed the ship he had stolen to make his escape toward Valk’aa. It was still littered with the frozen bodies of the men who originally owned it. It had been Fabian’s first kill in a long, long time, and he had reviled in every life he had taken. He kept the bodies on board. He liked it that way: a reminder that he was free to terrorize Old World once again.

One of the bodies had a frozen locket around its neck. It was the first time Fabian had noticed it. He pulled it from the body, and there was a sickening crack as the head came off with it, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

“Oops,” Fabian smiled wryly.

He opened the locket to see a family portrait. The dead man, a woman, and a small child smiled happily out at him from the black and white paper. An inscription read “Morlan,” and it was dated for earlier that year. Morlan was a small harbor town in Valk’aa.

Fabian smiled.

“We’ll have to remember to make a stop in Morlan,” he said, “I have a family to call on. No doubt they will be wondering where Daddy is. Perhaps they’d even like to join him.”

One of the soldiers by his side made a strange noise that resembled a laugh.

Aiya's feet had taken her farther and farther from the ridiculous tavern hall in which those ridiculous men badgered her for advice. She would submit a formal report in the morning, the Blazing Hawks, or whatever their name was this time, would most likely linger in the city as the men got their fill of beer and barmaids, and then they would leave. Aiya pondered briefly where she would go after that. She had convinced the commander of the... whatevers... to pay her far more than was necessary. She would include his own stupidity in her report. Her purse was uncommonly heavy just with her advanced payment even after she had sent money back to her estate for its upkeep.

She was walking past a row of food merchants when the street suddenly paused in its frantic bustle. Aiya craned her head and saw a dark-skinned foreigner, plated with the gaudy armor of his people. She raised an eyebrow as a merchant handed over a few pieces of fruit and the foreigner returned with a handful of Schiendilian jewels that could probably pay for the contents of the entire stand. Aiya tsked as the merchant pocketted the money and quickly cleared out of the area, probably heading a few rows over to hawk the payment immidiately.

Aiya sighed and stepped forward, taking the larger and more muscled man by the elbow firmly. "In the city hall, there are men from all over who will take charge of confused visitors for payment. Come, I will show you the way," she muttered.

Lahyo glanced upwards at the clerestory windows illuminating the sun's light into the rotunda. Through the windows, he could see the shapes of the nearby planets - beautiful but inhabitable - and the clouds of all different patterns, painting the sky as if it was their canvas. He had always appreciated this area of Taivas that the embassies and political buildings were located in, for it was a less polluted area and not as clustered with the usual skyscrapers who tended to rise so high that they nearly eclipsed the stars at night. Lahyo had been feeling the pain of the world weighed down upon his shoulders as if he was the planet himself the past few weeks. He did not doubt at all that there had been a powerful disturbance erupt across the lands. It was only until a few days ago had the reports actually started to roll in.

Allegedly in the far mountainous region of Geemrot, there had been described as what was a great earthquake that shook throughout the entire region. The creatures of the region were fleeing their homes and running aimless and wild, a look of what seemed to be terror and chaos glowing in their eyes. Such disoriented activity had not been observed amongst the animals for over a millennia and that was when--

'Then it's true...', his face tensed up and his jaw clenched.

Another report came from the amazons of the Hessil region. In the rivers running near a community there were horrific sights in its water: poisoned with bones and body parts running through the current and what was even worse was how the water was described. It was said that the whole river had seemed to solute into a color of a deep blood red that flowed endlessly. The people had no idea of what could possibly be the source of such abhorrence, but they were fearful for their lives just like the creatures of Geemrot were.

"And sadly, this is only the beginning..." the Chancellor could only mutter to himself as he slightly hanged his head down in thought. This is why he knew he had to act quickly. When he first felt this disturbance, he didn't hesitate to send messengers at once across the regions. Messengers sent to call summons branded with a specific individual's name. This was not a task for just anyone, but the destiny of the world lied in the hands of these fighters. He could feel the voice of the Gods speak to him in sleep and at times he wanted to disobey and disregard some of the fighters. Unfortunately, this was not his decision to make and he was only the instrument to do the duties called upon him from the Gods.

The Gods had seemed to be distant from him for the past few decades, leaving him to fend for himself in the game of politics against an opponent consisting of the entire world. He wanted to ask them where had they been and why had they come to him now and only so briefly? Even he had started to become doubtful just like the rest of the planet. He only could hope these would be the right fighters.

Even though they were Gods, Lahyo had to scold himself for constantly having to wonder if they really knew what they were doing...

Erik suddenly opened his eyes and kicked a mug off the table trying to get out of the chair. He had been listening to the activity in the streets for some time and suddenly realized what the other blacksmith was talking about. This “Thingy” he referred to was the reason why he was only working for half the day.

A few days ago while maintaining his axe Erik had received a message from a strange man, his face was covered and upon entering the room Erik could feel as if something more had come in with him. The message handed to Erik was within a neatly rolled scroll, it bore the seal of Taivas and was bound with smooth silk. Initially Erik thought little of it and went back to his weapon, but not before telling the man he’d read the scroll, and consider the proposition written upon it. The message was very vague, but intriguing nonetheless. Erik decided he'd attend the function, gathering or whatever is was supposed to be. The only thing he could tell that made this message slightly significant and even a little urgent was material from which it was made and the seal.

Forgetting that he had planned to do this was easy. Erik was totally focused on his work, which took up most of his time.
“Where you goin’?” Erik was asked as he got up. “Heading to City Hall. You’ll cover me for the rest of the day won’t you? I don’t have too many orders in just yet.” Erik didn’t allow the other man to talk, he patted the man’s head, which reached just below his chest, grabbed his axe and headed off.

City Hall wasn’t all that far from his shop, but the crowds at this time of day forced just about everyone to slow down a little. Of course Erik would grab a drink and some food along the way, which added a significant amount of time but he didn’t mind. He was just glad to be focusing on something else for a change.

((Taivas))

"Dammit. I could always find my way in the wilderness, but this is ridiculous." Lykus said as he was jarred by the many people going about their business busily. He had spent the better part of the morning trying to find a nice and quiet quarter of the city but alas to no avail. He was no just wandering aimlessly through the city taking in the sights and trying to not push down throngs of people.

He had decided to go to the market district as Lykus thought that he had plenty of time to waste before the function he was ordered to attend at the City hall. He withdrew the fine paper he had received from his superiors from one of his pockets and opened it reading it's contents over once again. It really didn't tell much other than that. Lykus shook his head in dismay, he hoped he could find the City Hall.

He arrived in the market district and began to carouse wares the vendors were hocking at poor hapless saps. On more than one occasion he found something that intrigued him such as a shiny bauble that was always shined, a bottle of Lizard noses, and a collection of swords, shields, and other arms. Although at one point he rounded a corner and something that looked like a compass whizzed in front of him crashing into the wall, shattering into pieces. This made Lykus hop back a pace and yelped, "Oi! The Hell?" He said catching sight of the thrower. However, the thrower didn't seem to notice him and he continued off muttering something about magic.

Lykus decided it was about time to head to the City Hall, so he began to make his way to the middle of the City, as that was where most City Halls were located.

Kali calmly strided through the streets of the city of Taivas. The number of people in this place was more than massive, as she had to dip, dive, and dodge her way through the crowds. Appearently, these people cared not for smaller elven people, as some of them simply bumped right into her, and kept walking. And with each knock, smack and collision, the female's frown turned more and more into a scowl. These people had no respect, most didn't even utter 'sorry' or an excuse, while other shouted at the elven girl to 'watch where she was going'. She was the one having to fight crowds to get to her destination.... But the sad thing was that Kali was not the only one doing what she was doing.

She finally was able to get past the masses waging war with her, and she was gaining proximity to the Town Hall... or at least she hoped so. It was tiresome swimming through people to get there! But at least she had eaten earlier, so she wouldn't have to both with it for now. But it seemed her struggle had paid off, as she set eyes on the town hall. The building was beautiful, the old marble the only detail marring the glory of the building, but even that didn't compare to the building's dome, which was brightened with crystaline forms; perhaps saphires.... She began to move towards the building, in sheer awe that things could've been built like this. It almost seemed to hypnotize her. She probably looked foolish, simply standing around and staring at the building.

So, she was here. How that messenger found her was by no chance a miracle, the plains she was striding in beforehand were vast. She was quite enthralled by such a nice city (although some of it's residents proved to be rather rude). But she discarded such thoughts, and started up the stairs to the door, and stepped inside. The inside was even more glorious, having colors of elegance and regality all over. Rich blues and violets, bold reds and golds. Such handsome colors and trinkets were cascaded and draped all around. It was a majestic building, and Kali was simply lost in it, and she was hardly two steps in the door!

She was unique, even among her brothers and sisters. She loved silk. And jewels. And oh the feeling of a warm, soft bed cradling her aching body after a thousand years of stone and ice. Asahara stretched like a cat and rubbed her cheek against the clean sheets. She was dressed in a soft pink nightgown, taken from the inn-keeper's daughter. She had arranged an audience with a man called Kek Zalarn, the leader of this little village. Hell, she had been sneaking all night and morning into the minds of the men and women who passed by the window, soothing, luring, enticing. By the time she got to what served as a city hall, she knew that half the town would be in attendance, and once she was done, all of them would come before her, one way or another.

There was a knock at the door and a young girl peeked in. "Excuse me, lady. Your audience is in half an hour. Would you like for us to gather water for another bath?" she asked, her eyes trained on the ground before her. Asahara grinned and flopped back onto her back in the inkeeper's bed.

"Tell them that I will appear one hour before noon. No sooner. Now, go find me breakfast, and if the food pleases me, I will let you brush my hair." And with that, Asahara rolled over and went back to bed.



That same day as the sun hung high in the sky, so that it shined perfectly onto her face and the crowd of people who had come to see her held their breaths, Asahara felt a thrill go through her. This was her power. And now that they had felt her grace, her favor, now she would make them tremble.

Ever so slowly, Asahara's eyes filled with water. She sniffed and brushed at her face with trembling fingers, tilting her head forward to hide behind her hair. The crowd murmured, some of them reaching out toward her in despair. The one called Kek was one of them, reaching out to take her shoulders gently. She gave him a watery smile and began her magic.

"Do you... do you like me?" she asked in a wavering, heart-breaking voice. "Yes, yes," the crowd cried in response. She sniffed. "You have all been so kind... it makes my heart heavy to tell you that... well..." she raised her chin and fixed her shoulders, putting on a tragically brave face. "I am a hunted woman. There are men and women here who want to kill me."

The reaction in the crowd was instantaneous. They wanted the names of these monsters who sought to hurt such a delicate flower. Their leader, Kek, had begun gnashing his teeth and his hands were balled into tight fists. She held up her hand for silence, and slowly, they quieted. Her consciousness had begun to seep through the crowd, installing her will where their own would reside. It was a heady feeling. The control. The obedience. The love made unconditional. She turned on the raised surface, to survey the faces turned up at her.

"Then you will protect me?"

"Yes, yes!" they cried.

"You will kill those who wish to kill me?"

"We will!"

Her benevolent smile waned as her ire grew. "And those who have attacked me in the past... what of them?"

"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!" The chant echoed up and down the hall and she held up her hand for silence. Mouths clapped shut audibly mid-chant.

Asahara smiled sweetly and crooked her finger at a man in the crowd. The man, tall and bearded, scrambled onto the dais. Asahara approached him, hips swaying, and pressed her palms to his cheeks. She stretched onto her toes so that she could kiss his forehead. His eyes, his temples, his cheeks and finally a lingering kiss on his lips. "A hundred hundred years ago," she whispered sensually, "your ancestor raised a sword against me," her tone lowered to a snake's hiss. "He led a force of five hundred men, intent on raising my head on a pike!" Asahara's cry ended in a snarl as she dug her finger's into the man's face, gouging four ragged marks through his eye and down his face. He threw him into the crowd, releasing the hold she had on him so that he could fully understand the mistake he had made, being born to such a family. The crowd fell upon him, wild with rage and deaf to his cries. Asahara whirled, taking a fist full of hair from a pretty stablemaid whom she had compelled to come before her. "And this, this whore," she spat. "Many great grandmothers ago, her ancestor, more skilled than most, brought a whip to my face!" Guards had drawn swords and come to flank her, and they made short work of the girl, who pled her forgiveness with her last breath. A line of people was pushing, shoving to climb onto the dais at her call and she snarled at each one. "Guilty," she hissed at one, and he was slain. "Guilty." Another was cut down. "Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guiltyguiltyguiltyguilty! You are ALL guilty!"

She stood with a heaving breast before a crowd that had gone completely still. The guards on either side of her paused as well, in the action of taking the head of a muscled young warrior, who had raised his arms in defense. The raised dais was littered with hot, bleeding bodies. Asahara smiled and touched the warrior's hair. "But I am kind," she told him. She turned out to the swaying masses. They belonged to her. The only question was how many would she keep for work, and how many would she play with. "I am merciful.” Her tone became soft and patient, a teacher talking to a small child. “Any who regret, who wish to repent, may come before me and be judged. And those who are worthy will be spared. Those who swear allegiance to me will be saved." She smiled for them, giving them her very best, and spoke slowly with emotion. "Those who vow to serve me will be favored."

A cheer went through the crowd as Asahara turned to exit, her hands folded contentedly in the sleeves of her dress. She sang under her breath a song that her brother from the north had once taught her, loving the way it harmonized with the terrified screams of the few men and women who were not taken in by her, who were of their own minds completely, and who now quaked in the presence of a nightmare made real. She called to a guard in her mind and he came to her immediately. "Save two or three of the screaming ones, darling, and have someone open a portal into the streets of Taivas. Know you any songs of the Eastern Ghost, my dear?"

The guard nodded. "A bedtime tune for naughty children, mistress," he said. Asahara laughed a laugh like tinkling bells.

"Delightful. Teach it to the dissenters and send them through. I wish those holy fools to tell their gods exactly what they are dealing with this time."

After a fine meal with a pint, Erik tried to limit his drinking; he was back on his way to City Hall. The number of people did not seem to have lessened as the day wore on. Fortunately for Erik his great size and tattooed arms intimidated the people of Taivas, giving him the room he needed to move about comfortably. Unfortunately he could not stop any commotion that went on up ahead. This time it so happened that one merchant had found one of his items in another merchant's stall. Accusations flew as easily as the dust was kicked up. Naturally the people gathered around, some even intervening in an attempt to stop any further trouble, they were only making it worse. It was times like these when Erik was unsure if he wanted to spend the rest of his life here.

The most trouble came from the guards, the more naive ones at least. Erik had no place to put his axe as he walked, so he held it in his hand, the caused guards to eye him suspiciously and flat-out stop him from going any further. It took a while to clear things up but he eventually got out with all his items. This wasn’t an uncommon occurance.
"Halt! You'll have to carry that weapon in a safe and proper place sir!" A young guard pointed his spear at Erik's sternum.
"I don't have any place to put it, and I assure you that no one will get hurt." Erik moved the spear point away and kept walking.
"No! I'm sorry you'll have to come with me then. We'll take you to the nearest gate. We'll release you once everything is in order." The guard had to crane his neck upwards now that he was much closer to Erik.
"Everything is in order." Erik protested but allowed himself to be taken to the gate. He couldn't stand losing anymore time.

Every gate had a house attached to the adjacent wall. This was vital to the quick and efficient changing of the guards at different times of the day. It contained the arms and armor of the soldiers designated to the respective gate. It also housed a captain, who was in charge of the guard. Erik sat on a chair at one end of a small room, which contained a table and more chairs. On the walls messages and codes of conduct were pinned for the newer soldiers. The young guard came in followed by a captain.
"This is the man sir."
The captain patted the guard on the shoulder. "Congratulations young man, you've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive!" He subsequently burst out laughing. Erik smiled and got up, shook the captain's hand and walked out the door, leaving an awestruck guard and his captain explaining everything. Erik had been the center of attention of the local law enforcement many times. But that was years ago. Now both they and he knew Erik was a changed man.

Erik finally reached the steps of the City Hall. He'd passed by before, but he still marvelled at the structure as much as he did then. This was his first time stepping foot inside the building. As he did he tried hard to take in as much as he could. Erik was able to appreciate the structure on a level that was different from many others. He was a craftsman as well. It was the paintings that captured his attention the most, he peered at each one closely, trying to remember the stories he had heard to see if these were depicting any of them.

He turned to see someone standing there. To him she would seem like a small person, everyone seemed small to Erik. But upon closer inspection he noticed that she was an elf. So, i'm not the first here he thought.