At the city wall the Legion holds steady, just beyond the range of the city's archers, they wait as more of their kind march forward from the western woods. No mindless creatures, the Black Legion pauses only to reform its ranks and then its assault continues. As the Legion recollects itself, the Knight-Captain cries out orders to his men, new arrows to each archer, new blades for each broken sword, and the fervorous sounds of hammers pounded on metal echo through the air as dozens of blacksmiths work tirelessly to keep the troops well armed and well armored. Most of the cities magi cast what protective runes they know upon the city wall, their chanting and burning concoctions would bring fear to the soldiers another day, but now they are the only thing keeping the wall intact. Maidens, the unmarried young daughters and sisters of many of the soldiers on the wall bring food and drink to the cities defenders. Many speak of these as the final days of their lives. The Valigart, an entirely female archery unit, receives trinkets of good luck from their admirers.

Orlay has long been a powerful nation, boasting its pride at having nearly a hundred magi within its wall, more than any other human nation can claim. The Great Wall, now but a simple bump in the path of the Black Legion's reinforcements, once was considered to be impassible my any standing army. Orlay, beautiful Orlay, now was facing its end, as endless cursed warriors marched towards its city walls, their feet stepping in a foul coordination. Where pottery was once made, ceramic arrow heads are prepared; Where once beautiful glass was blown, now metal is forged. Every artisan has been transformed into a producer of weapons or armor or gear. Every scrap of metal is being given up by the citizens to help the defenders at the wall. Every tree is being cut down, split up into arrow shafts and spears. While it is true the men and women at the city wall may be doing the fighting, everyone in the city does what they can for the war.

The Palace, with a secondary inner wall surrounding it is the only place that appears untouched by the ravages of the war. Here warriors, magi, archers and outsiders gather to answer the kings call. Nearly a hundred men and women have show today, each to honor the call of the king of Orlay. The Black Legion must be stopped and the stargazers claim that they have found the way to do so. As each warrior approaches the grand hall, a old and nearly blind Stargazer woman gestures to a spot where the younger stargazers guide. On each spot there is a mark that has been drawn, an arcane rune of one type or another, and strangely there are exactly enough spots for each person who comes to stand in the King's grand hall.

Young men and women, barely older than children move through the rows of standing warriors with goblets of mead. Their eyes look on to each potential with awe, wondering who here would be selected to join on the King's quest.

Ashchrom Manor was all but deserted now that the war had really hit home. Often Kalad found that he was the only person in the family home, aside from the odd servant here or there which had been asked to stay behind and make sure the heat mage actually ate something rather than spend all of his days and nights crating new runes. Like the rest of the Ashchrom family, he was doing his part, crating metalworks and runes and whatever else was asked of him to aid with the defenses of the city. But, having also been asked to take up the call of the king, he had been working on something for himself as well. A suit of armor, covered in rune etching which would allow him to channel his fire magic through the metal plates. He had just finished up the last rune on the chest plate when the daily servant came running up, urging him to pack his things and set off for the castle. "It's nearly time for the assembly!" The man urges.

Looking longingly over at the helmet he was just about to begin work on, Kalad picks up the armor and slings it on, the metal being made of a light but sturdy and strong alloy created by his father, which would be able to handle his heat magic as well as incoming arrows and the clash of swords. With the chest plate he puts on a tasset made of the same material, and then a pair of long gloves made of leather but with plate armored attached over the surface, allowing a freedom of movements to the hands.

"Alright, wish me luck!" Kalad says to the servant before rushing out the rood with his things in tow.

Some time later and Kalad arrives at the inner wall which guards the palace of the royal family, the place where, inside, even now, warriors from every walk of life were gathering together, hoping to be chosen by the king to help save the kingdom. Looking around the streets as he moves closer to the wall Kalad can see a flurry of activity. People are running from building to building, some of them gather arrows, others gather pieces of armor or sword. Still more people are rushing around with broken swords and pieces of armor, bringing them in to be recycled into new weapons of war. He was sure his father was out there somewhere, maybe not on the front line, but using his magic to do whatever was asked of him by his king. An image enters his mind, one from a mural that hangs in the halls of Ashchrom Manor, one of his father, the great forgemage, one foot set atop an anvil, a warhammer in his left hand, resting on his shoulder, his right hand engulfed in blue flames. Shaking his head to remove the image, to clear his mind and set himself forward, he moves through the courtyard of the inner wall and closer to the gathering. He stands in awe, looking around, taking an offered mug of mead from a passing man.

"The hell is this? A trinket? Because I need to look my best when fighting those blighters, right? Stun them with my beauty? Trip over themselves at my extravagance?" A blonde woman said, holding a golden pendent in hand. She was talking to another young woman who had brought the gift to her, "Look. My brother said bring it to the archer named Rosaline. I brought it, but I didn't expect her to snark at me!" She said, holding her hands up defeated. The nerve of the woman. "Obviously, you nor your brother knows me," She said, looking at the pendent in her hand. Sighing, she shrugged, "I'll hold on to it, for his sake. Tell Mr..." "Caine," the woman said. "Right, tell him I'd much rather have it's price in arrows. But I'll take it I guess," she said, shooing the woman off.

"Oooh, Rose has an admirer," another female archer of the Valigart spoke when the sister of Caine got out of earshot, "How dreamy. Maybe he'll stop by and sweep you off your feet like a prince." She teased. "Shut up Adel, else I'm going to shove this necklace down your throat," Rose threatened over the laughter of the other archers. "Here, catch. It's not like I'm going to remember his name anyway," Rose said, tossing the necklace to Adel. "Maybe he'll like you better. I can hear it now. 'That Rose girl was a hellcat and won't listen to damn word I have to say. She won't even make me my dinner! But that Adel? That Adel will make me sandwiches all day. Too bad she isn't as pretty as Rose.' Better trade off really," Rose said, as the other archers around the pair laughed, as Adel merely glared at Rose, until she acquiesced a smile.

As the laughter died down, Rose leaned on the ramparts, her chin resting on her arm. Moments passed as more trinkets and arrows were handed out (Someone even fetched a quiver full of Rose's runic arrows. She made a stockpile a while back) throughout the ranks of the Valigart before Rose finally spoke again. "I hate the waiting. It's... So dreary, like we're waiting on our own funerals," she said rather bluntly before looking over to the other archers and smiled, "I don't know about you ladies, but this certainly isn't my funeral, and each bastard who even comes within shooting distance, will find a new hole to breathe out of," She said to the agreement of the archers. She turned around, sliding down the rampart and sat with her back against it. "I wonder how dad is holding up. This has got to be taking a lot out of him," She said, genuinely worried, "He's the only reason the Legion regroup as far back as they do," She said, leaning back, wishing there was something else she could do.

"Hey Rose, don't you have to answer the call today?" Lily, the woman on the other side of Rose, said. "That was today?" Rose asked. Another wave of laughter as Lily tapped the top of Rose's head, "Yes it is, you idiot. Didn't your father explicitly ask you to be there?" Lily asked. Rose shrugged and replied, "Oh. Well, when was the last time I listened to dad?" She asked, purposely trying to be as difficult as possible. "Rose, get your ass to the palace," Lily monotoned. Rose smiled, she really irritated Lily that time. "But I don't just want to leave you like this..." She said, these words actually sincere. "Look, we'll be all right. You're just one of the Valigart. I think we can find someone to replace you," Lily said, teasing again. Rose chuckled as Lily helped her to her feet. "You know you can't replace me. Fine, I'll go, but only because you asked so nicely," She said, smiling, "Oh, and Adel? you better treat that Caine boy good," She said with a wink before making off towards the palace.

As promised, Rose made her way to the palace and was greeted by a blind old bat, who pointed to a seemingly random spot where the other stargazers shuffled her off to. The rune where she was led to piqued her curiosity. Rose didn't know what kind of rune it was, as she practiced a more... Practical set of runecrafting. Even then, she wasn't as well versed as she should had been. "Oh well," She muttered as she stood on top of the rune. She did manage to snag a goblet of mead though.

Marielle counted herself lucky to have made it this far. Even as she entered the north eastern frontiers of Orlay, she had thought the Black Legion to be nothing more than a myth to frighten children from venturing beyond the ice fields of the Western Border Range. Yet she'd been one of the last people to be let inside Orlay City itself before the soldiers barred the gates and manned the ramparts. Then Marielle saw Them. The Black Legion was real, and it was coming. It was a miracle the city's defenders had held this long, and Marielle found herself wondering if the high peaks, glaciers, and ridges of the Western Border Range would be enough to keep them out, should the worst happen to the Sky Elven defenders on the western flanks.

She had always imagined Orlay to be a great city, full of wealth and beauty, compared to the dull poverty of the Sky Elves' Realm. Perhaps it once was, but with the coming of invasion, it was being torn up into a war zone. Marielle would have liked to see it in its heyday, but that was no longer possible. Now all there was to do was make sure what was happening to Orlay would not happen anywhere else - assuming the King's quest really could stop the Black Legion.

As she milled around the great hall, she paid no attention to the stares she was getting. Her hood was down, so her long, pointed ears were clearly visible. She'd heard non-humans - especially Elves, not to mention Sky Elves - were rare sights in Orlay, and her presence was highly unusual. People were looking at her as though she were a wolf standing on its hind legs. Not that Marielle minded too much. Humans of any kind were rare in the Sky Elves' Realm, and if Marielle saw one of these humans back home, she'd be the one gawking and whispering to her sisters about such a curious sight. Still, it was rude of them, so Marielle just kept her ears in thier relaxed, neutral position to avoid drawing anymore attention to herself; and to keep from hearing any of the conversations around her. Not that people spoke very much when she was anywhere near them. She was a stranger in a strange place.

Marielle wondered what the strange human characters were for, but she was too polite to go bother the old crone guarding them. Maybe a little scared too, since when Elves aged, they retained thier youthful beauty and stature instead of becoming shrivelled and ugly. Perhaps the markings - runes, she'd heard someone call them - had something to do with the humans' pagan religion? A blessing for the quest? Marielle was sure she'd find out soon enough, once the King came out to reveal the exact nature of this quest.

After walking many miles Django Faraelis saw with his own eyes the extent of the damage on the City of Orlay. He felt a weight drop on his usual merry heart but shrugged it off as he heaved a great sigh to ward it off as he walked towards the inner wall and the gathering that was taking place, all the while pulling on the new gloves that had metal plating attached to the backs of the hands with a Number on each one, both the same. XII. According to his master and family friend, the numbers on his gloves represented the title he once wore back when he was younger. Django's master was well over sixty years old, and gave instructions to him to take the title and to go out and do great things with it.

"I'll make you proud Master, as the new Black XII." he said to himself as he reached the gathering and took a goblet of mead and drank thereof. He looked around at the other few dozen warriors that were here along with magic folk and thieves and archers. he chuckled to himself as he was escorted to a spot in the crowd, feeling the excitement of the possible great quest he'd go on. Then he realized that half of the quest was to stop the black legion, and the weight upon his heart dropped again as he frowned slightly. He knocked on his chest a few times to get a humorous burp to cheer his spirits and he gave a small laugh. "That was a good one." he muttered.

He was nervous and would wonder how everyone in the room would react if he said he was Black XII. Most of the older warriors would be skeptical but would understand as they knew His mentor, the last Black XII who swore to keep his real name a secret from the rest of the known world, would get older and that his apprentice, if he ever had one, would take his place one day. However the reputation of the famous, and infamous, Black XII are large shoes to fit. He knew he had to be confident, and if the king didn't choose him, he'd show him what he'd do by goading another warrior into a match by a playful prank. Django loved to have some humor in his heart, making him a slightly more goofy Black XII overall.

However, He'll prove to be a worthy warrior, wherever this quest may lead.

Among the lines of various rough and tough looking warriors, only one was busy reading the newest theories on rune applications in dealing with amputations instead of trying to grab a free drink of alcohol .The paper itself was just as Nathaniel expected from the medical higher ups, criminally inefficient . The medic had already spotted room for at least five better incantations that would both ease the patients pain significantly (plus some potential adverse reactions) and produce the same result. It infuriated Nate that he had to serve under these feeble minded buffoons, but hopefully he would be remedying that situation soon.

Of course the Medic shouldn't be complaining, he had been given the day off from his service at the medical front lines, not having to deal with the screams of the hundred of wounded some of whom called out desperately to a religious or maternal figure. With Orlay in the state it had been for the past couple years, the medics were stretched thin enough but if the King's decree had any portion of truth, a possible end to the black legion, someone with a intellect as high as Nate's should surely be there to provide assistance. That and having a king owe you favour meant that the medic could finally leave the battlefield behind for good.

Every city, no matter how nice, has a refuge for criminals - a home for the cutpurses, the thugs, the murderers. It's just a matter of how hard you're willing to look.

Sometimes it's obvious; the ramshackle buildings skewed on sunken foundations, leaning over the streets like stone gods. Men lining the sidewalks, peddling poor-quality goods for a king's ransom in silver and gold. Women in scant clothing peddling their poor-quality selves for the same. Children in threadbare tunics chasing small rodents through the street, sometimes for entertainment, sometimes for a meal. And always, always, the scent of decay. Death lurks around every corner; by knife, by disease, by debris, any number of things, and sometimes the bodies stack too high. This is no longer a place to live, it is a waystation between life and death. It's where people who want to shuffle off the mortal coil in filth and obscurity go, and where people with no hope for anything but that stay.

Other times it's merely a run-down part of the city. The underground is there, but its pulse is faint - occasionally a man or woman, a bit too well-dressed for this part of town, will stride with authority down the cobbled street, thronged by large men dressed in black carrying oaken clubs, swords, axes. Occasionally a beggar will step from an alley and ask for a copper. Most of the signs will come from the local tavern, where amongst the usual crowd there are three or four folk who stand out amongst the rest - they carry themselves differently, speak differently, they aren't enjoying themselves as much or something about them is generally just off.

Such was the case in Orlay. A man in multicolored robes, faded by the desert sun, nursed a small mug of some exotic-smelling spiced drink, waiting for nobody in particular it would seem. He would occasionally sip from the drink or shift it around the bar, as if to stave off boredom - and, in truth, the man did seem quite disinterested in it all. He perched upon the stool in perfect still silence, like a human gargoyle, always poised, waiting to leap down on unsuspecting prey.

Eventually, a packet slid down the bar. The man opened it, read what was inside, left quietly. No one said anything, as though his entrance and exit had never happened.

--

Shurik quickly mounted the steps of the palace gates, weaving through the gathering crowd of warriors and citizens alike. He had no thoughts in his mind other than the mission at hand, no thoughts of the Legion invasion, no thoughts of home, nothing. He was directed by the old Starseeker crone, and came to stand on his rune. He did not inspect his surroundings, but quickly stood at attention, steepled his fingers and bowed his head. Those standing close enough could hear him muttering.

"Alad shi nobor, ta'ryar na-n Shurik bo ay'adaam, du irin jaast..."

A simple bump around the corner of the alley Bridget lay rest in, was enough to signal the opening of her eyes. As silently as the night itself, she lifted herself from her seat against the wall and mounted into a crouch position, staying close to the wall. It didn't matter if it was an enemy, or just a random street dweller, helping out with the fight, and in search of spare weapons, she didn't like being snuck up upon, there for she was ready for whatever it was. Or I can always climb, she thought, quickly glancing the building to the right of her, against which she had been sleeping. She was in one of the poorer sides of the kingdom, therefor the roofs were low, and easily reached. And as she heard another step, she saw the person rounding the corner.

"Hunter." She said, standing up with a sigh of relief. The boy grinned, sticking out his tongue, then speaking. "I was looking for you." He said simply, but Bridget rolled her eyes. "You don't have to try and protect me. I know how to take care of myself." She said, giving him a small glare, then pushing past him, her bow in her hand. Hunter had almost reached out for her, but thinking it better to just follow her, he didn't. "Where you going?" He said, scampering after her. "Castle." She replied, looking at him. Again, she sighed, turning around and quickly hugging him, then nodding her head and running off.

It was hard to remember the exact moment when Bridget had met Hunter, but ever since, he had been one of her best friends. Scratch that, her only friend. When she had first moved into the heart of the city, his fathers store had been the first she had stolen from, and he had walked in on her. Turned out he had been hiding around the corner the whole time, but somehow, that interaction made them friends. He had trained for the military, for a while, but it was certain he wasn't the best fighter, so instead he would do what ever field work he could, and helped his father out in the fields. Bridget remembered the day, a couple of weeks ago when Hunter had told her that one day, he wanted to marry her, but, because he was two years younger, it would have to wait. Bridget had shot down the idea immediately.

Bridget arrived at the palace, entering quick as she could, keeping her head down. Coming into a room with few people scattered around, she saw s couple standing on top of.. oh what were they called again? Ruines. That's it, she thought. Not trusting herself to know what to do though, considering she knew nothing about spells or ruines alike, she just stood still. Wow, this was definitely going to be an experience.

The Black Legion had been quite busy before advancing on Orlay. The smell of death and burning flesh had marked the insides of Shawn's nostrils, but this time the scent brought him no smile or sense of pride in a battle well fought. No, this time it was his own clan that lay dead in defeat, for the first time, decimated as though one thousand battles had been waged, defeated as though they were children waving sticks at men. They had been chased from their lands, and taken in by another clan so long as they bore that clan's name. It was a dishonor worse than death, and many refused to take it. Those who refused dishonor and still bore the name Holyfield had stood one last time as the Legion pressed onward to the walls guarding the cowards who relied on magic to defend themselves. The Holyfield had no intentions of winning this fight, but rather to break the Legions ranks and make it to Orlay, as they had one thing the clans did not at the moment... people. Shawn was the only one to survive making it through the walls, some of the archers of the city itself claiming a few of his clan, and it took much strength to swallow the hate in the interest of defeating the greater enemy. Shawn would rally the clans to burn this city to the ground when the hellspawn had fallen, as his hate would not be repressed long past that.

He had been surrounded after breaching the gate, with Shawn dropping to his knees and laying down his sword as a sign that he bore no aggression to Orlay right now, and considering he'd just driven down through the rank and file of the Legion, they decided to take him at his word and allow him refuge, so long as he swore to fight for Orlay. He agreed and reclaimed his blade, silently bearing the shame of his actions, almost glad his clan was gone so they could not see how far their Battlemaster had fallen in the face of a strong enemy. He was fitted with a suit of armor, but Shawn refused to wear it aside from the piece that covered his chest. He left his back uncovered as was his clan traditions, since no warrior should be injured at their back unless they flee battle, and to do so is punishable by death. Scarring another's back was the highest insult amongst his people, though he wondered how many in Orlay bore that mark.

After a day or so of submitting himself to the orders of the Orlay guard, he heard rumors about a quest that could save the kingdom, which would mean it could kill the Legion. Shawn abandoned his post to take to the woods within the boundaries of the Great Wall, and found a bear to slay. He did this without the aid of any blade or club, using only his fists to bludgeon the beast to death, and carried the corpse back into Orlay with him, to the Palace where he planned to demand allowance on the quest he'd heard of. Many gave him strange looks, more so outright fled in terror at the sight of blood, which caused Shaun to sigh in disappointment. The weakness of these people was beginning to become more sad than comical, and it ceased to be entertaining in the growing shadow of the Legion. The guard stopped him from entering the palace, which prompted Shaun to lay the corpse at their feet, saying he wished to go save Orlay, and brought this offering for the King so that his skill would be known. He dared the guard to find a single cut in the bear's flesh, proud of the fact it had been killed with just his hands. Reluctantly he'd been allowed through, the guards promising to give the bear carcass to the King themselves, which made Shawn smile for the first time since he arrived in this strange place of weakness.

He pushed his way through the crowds of people and found himself face to face with some sort of wrinkled hag, her eyes refusing to look at anyone as she spoke, relying on others to carry her words.

"This King?! Can no talk without minion! Weak city doomed. King not worthy of bear... should killed donkey" Shawn said in a shameful tone as he was directed to a place on the floor, marked with strange symbols, which confused the barbarian. Magic was foreign to his people, and saw practitioners as weak for being unable to fight or defend with their own strength. Lo and behold, to his left was just such a mage, a healer it turned out. Shawn looked the scrawny whelp over and sighed, sitting down and placing his head in his hands.

"Your clan allowed survival with such weak spawn?" He asked, looking over at the magic man with a look of disbelief.

As the Stargazers finished the last of the placements, the eldest among them called for the doors to be shut and for those assembled to be silenced. After a few minutes of effort on the part of the Stargazers, the voices were quieted down to a hushed whisper from one or two particularly rude members of the crowd. The silence was maintained for a few moments, till the Stargazers started to unroll an old scroll, part of which began to chip apart from age as it was unrolled. One member of the Stargazers came before the crowd to speak.

"I understand that with such a grand task, there are many among you who are eager to do what you can to end the crisis." He spoke loudly, selected among his peers for his strong voice and his ability to speak clearly, something often lost among the older and more reclusive Stargazers. "However, we have seen that it will be necessarily to send but a few warriors, chosen by the stars themselves. Sending more will result in disaster." He paused to allow a moment for those gathered to understand what he was saying. "As such, we will select you soon, choosing out those destined by fate to join upon this dangerous task. When you are asked to step forward, please follow along and stand up here." The Stargazer gestured behind him, where the highest part of the flooring was, on par with the rest of the palace. It was an invitation to stand on the same ground as the Royal family, some more loyal citizens would consider it an honor.

The Stargazers were gathered around a scroll, where they whispered and discussed how to interpret the signs, after each choice was made, a young man or woman from their apprentices would be sent off to bring forward the selected. Kalad Ashchrom was the first to be selected, the young woman who came for him smiled pleasantly as she held her hand out to guide him. Then Shawn Holyfield, the young man sent before him gestured to the warrior to come up to the stage, far too frightened to make contact with the outsider. The Stargazers had brought before them: Rosaline, Django, Shurik, Bridget, Marielle and finally after a quick argument between the Stargazers, Nathaniel.

Each were told to stand next to the one selected before them, each was given bowed heads of respect from the servants to the Stargazers. An angry looking man wielding two swords left the spot where he was standing and started walking towards the group of selected, he spoke with fury in his voice, "You would choose such weaklings over me! That girl is barely a child! And look at him!" His face was red with anger and passion, deep feelings of betrayal in his heart. One of the Stargazers held out her hand in front of him, her voice was fearless, "You may not approach further. You are you leave immediately." The man drew his blade and struck her across the side with a single motion, having lost his senses.

Many would move to react, many would place hands on their weapons or start to take steps, but a whirling axe blade tossed from further in the room split the raging man's skull apart, his body dropping backwards towards the ground. As eyes turned to look, there stood the King, his arm outstretched from his toss. He stood up straight and continued to walk towards the group as attendants ran to assist the wounded Stargazer. The King's path lead him to stand before those that had been chosen, a severe look upon his face as he studied each of them intently for flaws and weaknesses. Even as he bore his gaze down upon him the Stargazers were encouraging the others to make their way out, and for those who would still see their bravery noticed, to make their way toward the Knight-Captains post. The city still needed brave warriors to defend it.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, King Albrect stepped before Kalad, patting the man on the arm firmly and grabbing on to the front panel of Kalad's armor. "You are the Ashchrom boy, all grown up. Good, you father once forged me a fine blade. I expect you to be forged with the same dedication he has always shown. A good man from a good family." The King nodded his head in approval, but kept his stern look as he moved down the line.

His judging eyes came upon Shawn, peering firmly into his eyes, as though they were two beasts in a staredown. Finally the King gave a nod of respect to the barbarian. "I received the bear. Killed with strong hands, hands I hope will give their strength to less hardened warriors." He paused for a moment to study the man, "And to crush the Black Legion." His eyes held firmly locked with Shawn's even as he began to walk down the line.

King Albrect looked upon Rosaline, the first softening of his facial expression came. "The daughter of Arthur Mellikot." He put his hand on her armor and gave it a tug, as older warriors were known to do with the young. "Shoot well," he patted the patch of her belly that lacked any armor to protect it, "and avoid a wound to the gut." Being mocked and complimented in the same was a difficult thing, but there was little choice but to accept his words. "Aim for the underbelly of the great lizards, arrows won't pierce their hide elsewhere." He continued down the line, his stern look returning.

Django fell before that deeply judging gaze, while the King stared down at the man as though he were a child being looked at for signs of guilt. "A swordsman, hopefully a brave one. You remind me of a man I once fought beside. Use you talents to guard my daughter well." He gave Django a firm pat on the shoulder and continued along.

As he came before Shurik Mad-Blade he seemed almost frustrated, he looked forward at the man with a deep scrutiny that he had not placed upon the others. "I will confess, I know nothing of you. My men tell me you come from the deserts to the south, I have never ventured there." The king placed his fist to his chest and made a firm pounding noise. "Use what skills you possess for this quest, ensure that the Black Legion falls. And perhaps, after this is over, you will be willing to tell us about your people."

King Albrect stood before Bridget his left hand tensed into a ball, his eyes slowly edged from a look of study to a gaze of anger. He reached out and grabbed her arm like a man about to scold a child. His senses seemed to take hold and he relaxed his grip and gave her a gentler pat on her arm. "I know your face, and it hurts my pride to have you stand before me, yet I cannot deny the need for those with your skills. You have killed many, yet all this will be pardoned if you complete this quest. You will find yourself rewarded." He paused as if to let go of something in his heart, "Bring my daughter back to me when the task is done and you will also have my forgiveness."

He stepped away from Bridget quickly, moving to stand far above the Sky Elf before him, "If you have received any ill treatment from my people, please forgive us, we are not used to meeting with your kind." He held out his hand to take hers and gently held it for a moment, "In Orlay, our elders are respected, and you should have received such respect while you were within our city. I will try to secure you a much more appropriate reception when you return. I thank you for coming."

Finally he came to the last, Nathaniel. He shook his head a bit when he came before the young man. "Youth and ambition often follow hand in hand. I do not know what role you will play in this tale, yet you are a part of it as destined by the stars. You are young, and were I choosing men for this task by my eye alone you would not be here. Do not take these words as insult." He grabbed Nathaniel by his armor and pulled at it to check it was firmly in place. "Regardless of age, you return as a man with full rights. You will bear the title of hero as mightily as any other."

The King stood at his full height, stepping before the group as a whole and looking over them. "Do you have any questions for me? Any thing you need to request or any clarifications I can make as to the intent of this quest?" His voice was firm and strong, possessing the refined quality of nobility and the strength of a veteran warrior. As he finished speaking, a young man came up and handed the king the axe he had thrown earlier, now cleaned of gore.

Kalad stood on one of the many runes placed on the floor without even realizing what it was until he was already on it. Nothing bad had happened, that was good, but he would have to pay more attention later on. Glancing down at the rune as the others who had been gathered talked to one another, asking questions, comparing war stories, he realized that it was of a very old variety of rune, ancient, some might say. The books and scrolls he had read on such things said that such runes often spoke of fate and destiny far more often than any sort of magic he or any of the modern day runecrafters would use them for.

When the Stargazers asked for their silence, Kalad stood at attention and waited patiently for silence to fall upon the crowd. Occasionally he would take a sip of his mead, but otherwise he did not move and made no sounds. He was nervous, having never actually ventured beyond the inner walls of Orlay before, let alone enter the palace itself. When he was a child he had been brought here by his father and had met the king, but he didn't remember this himself and knew it only from the stories his father would tell him on occasion when they sat before their home hearth at night. Some distance away he could see a man from the lands beyond the castle walls, along side someone who seemed to be a mage of some sort, though he didn't know enough to tell what his specialty might be from looks alone. The larger man asked the mage something about how he was allowed to be here with such a weak clan. Or something like that. Looking down at the runes on which they stood, and glancing back to the one he was on, he could swear they seemed to glow very faintly, something only a person who worked with runes day in and our would see. Looking around him, few others did this.

Eventually, silence did fall, and the Stargazers began to speak once more, well, one man in particular who, despite his age and the idea that most of his kind had grown quiet, somewhat meek, spoke with a booming voice full of authority to the crowd, which made Kalad smile a bit. When he said that only a few warriors would be sent on this all important mission, Kalad understood the runes, and as he thought about it, understood why few would be better than many. He did not know much about military and tactics, but he did realize that a small group could move more quickly through the Legion and towards their destination.

Despite the fact that he had realized he would be called up anyway, Kalad was still surprised when his name was called, and when a young woman came to him, offering her hand and a smile, he give her a small smile in return and finishes his mead, setting the goblet aside before taking her offered hand and following her up to the platform, where he takes his place. Soon the large outsider he had noticed before stood beside him, and as he watched others came up to join them. The only one he recognized right of was Rosaline. The two were not close, but with both of their fathers being close to the king and a part of his force against the Legions, they had met once or twice. He could not be sure, but he would almost swear that one of them women who had passed by him to take their spot was an elf.

Shaking his head slightly, he turns and faces forward when he hears a voice of anger from the crowd. Looking around he spots a man arguing with one of the Stargazers, reaching for his sword. On instinct Kalad raises his left hand, and the runes on his gauntlet begin to glow orange, but as the fireball he had been creating forms in the palm of his hand, an axe comes tumbling through the room and takes care of the man. Breathing a sigh of relief, he lets the fire magic dissipate and the fireball turns to nothing but heat and flows up harmlessly as the armor cools back down and he lowers his arms, standing straighter as the sees the king enter the room and turns to face them. According to his father, he had met the king before, but was too young to remember it now, and while he had seen the great man in the city before, never had it been this close. Kalad was both excited and nervous as he was approached.

When the king patted his shoulder, he could feel the strength of the man and knew that, if the king had wanted, he could have probably taken his head off with a single swipe of that arm. He was glad for the compliments, and as the king passed by and onto the outsider beside him, Kalad nods and mutters a 'thank you sire' which probably goes unnoticed. When the inspections are over and they are asked if they have any questions Kalad cannot think of any, and so remains silent.

"Wait, what? Me? ... Fuck." Rose cursed, startling the men around her. Who would have imagined the pretty little lass beside them would drop such a vulgar word. The reason for the drop was that she wasn't actually expecting to be chosen for anything. Her father asked her to make the trip in his stead because he was so busy lately, what with organizing the archers against the legion and all. She fully expected to see some sort of ceremony, with big buff men being chosen for a daring and dangerous mission. She'd clap, cheer, blow kisses in their directions, and then head back to the wall with the rest of the Valigart. She didn't expect that some trouble-making archer would be chosen instead of a big man with her weight in muscle alone. Well, there was that one fellow who looked like a barbarian who wrestled bears for fun. Huh, Rose had found the guy she was standing behind if things got too intense.

Despite her initial outburst, she followed the young stargazer who came to collect her courteously (well, for Rose) and was deposited between the barbarian... Shawn was it? and some other guy with a brown bandana she had never seen before. Where were they scraping this lot from? It seemed like the stars had the same sense of humor as Rose did. She chuckled with this thought. The shock and surprise at being chosen had worn off and she had returned to her jovial optimistic self. What a fun adventure this was going to be. Her cheer was cut short as some man seemed mad he wasn't going to get in on the adventure either. "Asshole," Rose muttered, "Who's he calling a little girl?" She asked Shawn, knowing it couldn't be her. She was a soldier dammit, and she was to be treated like one. Her irritation was alleviated when she looked down the line and saw that there were, in fact, other women who looked younger than she did. "Oh," She added.

Time for words passed when the man drew his blade, likewise causing Rose to draw her bow. By the time she finally got an arrow nocked, the man had already cut the Stargazer, and when she finally sighted the man and began to pull the bowstring taut, an axe beat her to the prize. Rose's eyes shifted to where the axe had came from and found the King sitting with his hand outstretched. "Beaten by the King," Rose muttered dourly. Immediately though she brightened and spoke at the men around her," Good thing King Albrect's a badass, yeah? I can take that loss," She said, allowing the bowstring to slacken and replaced the arrow back in her quiver. She did not, however, replace the bow. Who knew how many other idiots would attempt the same thing?

As those who weren't chosen began to file out of the Palace, the King began to go down the line and give words of encouragement to each chosen. First was Shawn. Then her. Her's was a complement and a mocking gesture. "Of course Sire," She said about shooting well. "Gah," She said with surpise when his rough hands patted her belly, "They'd have to get close first," she added said with a confident smile. Then came the foreigner bandanna man. She should probably get his name eventually. Then came the others. Needed their names too. Well, except for Kalad. She knew of him. And was that an elf?

When the King had finally finished, Rose was leaning on her bow like a walking stick. He asked if there were any questions. The thought almost made Rose laugh. It was like when a mentor asked if there was anything else their students needed to know. Looking down the line once and to Shawn, she spoke first. "Uh, yeah, I guess I have one," She said raising her hand, "When do we start?"

Rose never was the patient one.

Django didn't expect to be chosen that fast. "Whoa, that was...easy, but never underestimate the Stargazers, they know their ways of predicting things. At last, I won't fail you in carrying on your legacy Master!" he thought quietly as He walked to where the others were being gathered and noticed the rage filled warrior ranting about the choices. He gripped the iron sword at his side and prepared for a struggle but saw the immediate answer to those who dared stood up to the stargazers choice as he saw an axe cleave the man's head in two. Realizing as he turned that the one who stopped the struggle before it began was King Albrect.

King Albrect! Oh how his Master talked about his exploits in Orlay with this man. To Django, both his Mentor and King Albrect, were his idols in the ways of a warrior. He watched as The king made careful inspection of the people gathered. He looked through the lines to list who was chosen. He noted the large Barbarian right away. He knew that he would have to cover his back him. There was a female archer in Orlay's soldier attire, whom he thought was giving him the most peculiar stares, that the king gave familiarty with a bit of an insulting gesture to the bare stomach of the lass. He was about to chuckle until the king turned his attention to him.

The King's eyes felt like they were piercing into Django's soul to find a fault in him. He never felt such piercing eyes before, the eyes of an old veteran warrior who knew his way of judging one's skill, save for his own mentor's eyes. He was then patted on the shoulder and looked at the others he was inspecting. A desert dweller, two wielders of magic, one wearing the look of a medic about him and one that was next to the Barbarian, another woman warrior, and then to his realization, an elf. "As I live and breathe.." He muttered to himself. He only heard about the reclusive elves, but he never thought he saw one.

When the King was finished inspecting and asked for questions he only had one thing to say. "I'm willing and able to go upon this quest." He saluted to the king by closing his right hand into a fist and placing it to his heart, showing the back of the glove that displayed the Number upon it. "I am Django Faraelis and I am at your service, as was my master before me."

It wasn't hard to read Bridget's expression when her name was called. It was a look of pure amazement. She really had been chosen? Her with the bad record that could suit fifty men? But she wasn't one to pass up on an opportunity. Hiding her grin and replacing her expression with an emotionless one, she stepped up to where she was led, examining the other chosen few. Surprisingly, a man walked out from the remaining unchosen people. Shouting of unfairness, and a girl that was barely a child. She had rolled her eyes.

She assumed he was talking about her, but that didn't bother her. Often times her age and looks helped her complete whatever she was being payed to do, and it humored her that people actually spent time discussing or thinking about it. It turned out to be one of her best weapons. Although most of the people in the room reached for their weapons as the man attacked a stargazer, but she sat still. She wasn't one to pick a fight. She watched as an axe came out of no where, killing the man, and then her eyes were drawn to the thrower, the king. Wow, he was quite frightening in person.

She watched him observe the chosen few, starting to talk to each one personally. Bridget didn't try to listen to what he said, she figured if it was important, she would find out soon enough, and instead examined the room around her. When the king finally came to her, she braced herself for the harsh words she was expecting. She saw the kids left hand tense into a ball, watching his face turn to a sheer look of anger. He quickly grabbed her in a firm grasp, one of a man about to lose his temper, but she just stood there watching as he loosened his grip. His words, probably meant to scare or warn her, did nothing of the sorts, and she just stood there, keeping her blank expression as he quickly moved on.

This would be fun.

Shurik had continued his prayer unabated the entire time. After he had stepped onto his rune, two more had arrived - a slight framed man carrying a sword and lance, and a man easily larger than most draft horses. He mentioned something about a bear, but Shurik was not paying attention to that one, or indeed anyone around him. He continued his diligent praying, his voice low, his eyes closed. He couldn't see anything outside, but a change in the atmosphere of the palace courtyard keyed him in - the ceremony was beginning. One by one, footsteps started around him - the soft, careful padding of Stargazers making their choices.

Inside the assassin's head, a soft humming emanated from the runes around him. The Malud were not known for their mages -- indeed, magic was a completely different caste in Dailak-shir society, one that the Malud were technically not allowed to study -- but it was not unheard of for the Malud to occasionally have possession of a few select men or women that could feel the power of magic in the world, to know the discordant tones of the various runes. The Odosun, or 'song of the ancients', the arcanists called it, the tune that a properly-inscribed series of runes made, when completed, in the conscious mind of the writer and those around him sensitive enough to know the feeling. All around him, discordant tones rang out, but occasionally, through the jangling hum, a distinct pattern would emerge - eight sounds, repeated over and over again.

One of those notes was beneath his feet.

Shurik knew he was chosen before he felt the tug of the Stargazer on the hem of his robes. Without breaking his prayer, he opened his eyes, the music of the runes fading from his mind. He looked at the Stargazer pulling him forward briefly. She -- and, he noted, the other seven Stargazers moving through the crowd were also shes -- was young, with waist-length brown hair and fair skin. Her back was to him, but her figure was thin, fingers long, limbs almost spindly. Shurik imagined, in a detached manner, she would be pretty to someone somewhere. Perhaps even Shurik. But his duty was not to some astrologist woman, it was to the task at hand.

At last they broke from the crowd, and the seven others stood in a line with Shurik towards the middle. He resumed his prayers, ignoring the belligerent in the crowd, even as the whistle of an axe came across his right shoulder, abruptly halted by the wet sound of it embedding itself in the man's face. Shurik was impressed with the throw's accuracy, but did not raise his eyes until he was addressed.

He saw what he expected from Albrect; a tall, fair-skinned blond man with the appearance of a man who may once have been a great warrior, but was now watching the sun set on him. He said a few words to everyone in the party, stopping briefly to speak with Shurik. The warrior-king pounded his chest with a closed fist and nodded. Shurik's face didn't change, but he raised two fingers on his left hand; touched them to his forehead and his heart, and then repeated the gesture upon Albrect. "I expect I know as much of my own peoples' ways as you do, perhaps less," he intoned softly, evenly, "but should I return from this encounter, I will request that our elders come to speak with you, my liege."

Then the two moved on. Time passed, and the floor was opened for questions. Shurik remained silent.

Marielle's ears involuntarily perked up when she heard the human priests call for order. She listened intently as they explained the quest, then waited patiently to see who would be selected. She hoped one of them would be her. She didn't want to have come all the way out here only be turned away from the quest. Otherwise, she might as well have just stayed home, where her skills could be better put to use defending the Sky Elves' realm.

It was rather long and drawn out to wait for the humans to bother fussing with thier scrolls. Marielle didn't really understand what all the fuss was about. Pagans and thier pagan ways... In the end, things worked out for Marielle. A young woman came, and escorted Marielle to the raised platform at the end of the hall, where the rest of those chosen for this errand were taken. She looked back and forth at her apparent companions, sizing them up in her head. She was startled by the outburst from the hooligan in the crowd. Her ears pricked up in alarm. Weakling, am I? she thought. You've obviously never seen an elf before. I might look small, but I'm sure I can give you a good thrashing. You're probably just barely as strong as me.

She reached for her sword and shield when the human struck the priestess. She really was about to teach the brute a lesson. With her size and her strength combined, she probably could take him out more easily than she could an elf with similar strength. She brought her shield out in front of her to defend herself. Then an ax came, and embedded itself in the man's skull. Her attention snapped to the regal man standing at the back of the hall. The King of Orlay! He showed signs of the deteroiration of human aging, but that was only his physical features. But the way he carried himself, the obvious definition in his frame, and the fire in his eyes were all of a man probably half his age. He was very much like an elf-lord - though the funny growth of hair on his face was a bit disturbing. Out of respect, Marielle quickly re-sheathed her sword and slung her shield back over her back, and stood up as straight as she could.

She listened politely as the king addressed them, then watched as he inspected each individual warrior. When he came to her, she pulled her ears back into a submissive position. She accepted his hand and smiled up at him as he spoke to her, offering her his apology for her reception.

"I am honored to be able to offer my assistance," she said. "The Black Legion is the enemy of us all, and it is our duty to see them vanquished." At the conclusion of his speech, Marielle paused thinking of what she could ask, considering most of her questions had been answered already; and the ones she still had were mere petty curiousity she could probably satisfy later.

To Shawn, this ceremony seemed drawn out and pointless, two things of which were not tolerated in the clans. Waiting was a foreign thing to his people, as action was the only thing respected amongst the clans. If you had any sway with others, and you failed to produce results quickly, you were cut down and replaced. Looking around at the others, the barbarian noticed a man nearby muttering things to himself, in a language which seemed foreign to any tongue in Orlay. The man seemed small, and his skin looked... wrong. If this was the best this kingdom could manage, then they deserved to fall. He was the only one of size and strength in the room, which meant to Shawn that he'd be pulling all the weight on this quest, though this didn't matter much to Shawn. He'd drag that girl's corpse west if he had to to defeat the Legion and restore his Clan's name. He'd take their General's sword and use it to slay Clan Warheim's Clan-leader, and slay every Holyfield that swore allegiance so they would die without honor or name. He'd use that blade to unite the clans and drag them to glory, testing their might against these city walls.

Before much longer, those who had been coordinating everyone to the runes had sent out a man to speak and spoke of fate and stars. Shawn didn't bother paying attention to the rest of the flowery speech, only noting where to stand where called. The stars would not be what lead him to go, and he'd slaughter everyone in this room if he had to to go on this quest. Luckily, before Shawn had the chance to favor the idea of slaughter more than patience, he was asked to step forward. He obliged, knocking anyone aside before him who did not move to allow his passage, standing next to a man with weak eyes, and a woman being called to stand next to him, and the odd whisperer from before next to her. Shawn watched in interest as the rest were called, no longer having doubt that he'd have to do all the work. A weakling who was not chosen began barking about, saying that the chosen were weak... that Shawn was weak. Shaun clenched his fists but allowed the man to approach, curious as to how well these people of Orlay would deal with the insolent whelp. The woman beside him drew an arrow and took aim, but before any had the chance to strike, an axe lodged itself in the man's head, silencing his cries of unfair selection. Shawn grunted his approval as he looked over to see the warrior who threw the weapon, and realized that this must be the King, not that woman. The man addressed them all, and then began going down the line to speak to each one on one, annoying Shawn a bit as this drew out the ceremony further. The King said he had gotten the bear, which made the barbarian smirk as he slammed a fist to his chest, never breaking his gaze with the King, even as he moved on to speak to the woman. This man was strong... maybe laying waste to this kingdom would challenge the clans after all.

When all was said and done, the King asked if they had questions or requests, the woman beside him asking only when they would be getting started. He liked that. Shawn looked once again to the King before speaking.

"Shawn keep Legion Battlemaster's weapon" He said simply, this being his only request. He could care less about riches or fame... he would have both with that weapon when he returned to his people.

Watching as various people within the crowd were brought up to the stage, Nate's eyebrow is raised slightly when the brute next to him is called forward . The fates must have a interesting sense of humor picking one who could barely form a simple sentence, but at least the other candidates seemed more than qualified. However as the stargazers continued announcing names, the medic became slightly more and more anxious, a sensation Nate hadn't felt since he was waiting to be assigned to a military division. Something however caught his attention, something that was rarely seen by those outside the Stargazers rank , infighting. Which is why when his name was called, Nate couldn't help but feel slightly odd, so he decided to instead drown out his feelings by running a simulation in his head on the quickest way to deal with a plague....

Finally standing where he deserved amongst the others, Nate had a small grin on his face as he looked through the crowd of adventures still awkwardly standing in the throne room. The medic's happiness was cut short however as some buffoon seemed to take offense that he was not among the chosen. Thankfully it was of all people the king who was able to silence the man... with a axe to the face, a surprisingly effective way to deal with the problem. Albrect then began to make his down the line of the chosen, offering words of insight, kindness and possible redemption. Finally at long fast he reached Nathaniel and said a few words, most of which slightly offended the medic . His age should have nothing to do with his position in the world. His youth had been the reason he had been turned down several times from various promotions despite his intelligence. Though as the king pulled at his armour, Nate was a tad unprepared by the man's action and subsequently faltered as he pulled, causing Nate to have to reposition his foot to avoid falling.

"Thank you my liege. I will not fail you." Nathanial said as Albrect walked off, bowing his head in respect and remaining silent when the King asked if anyone had any questions. The task seemed straightforward enough.

Many of the Stargazers gather their things and beginning returning towards their tower, even with the importance of sending off the heroes, they have many tasks ahead of them. There are stages to this battle that go beyond what a commander can judge with his eyes, and to this end the Stargazers regroup to see beyond what normal men can see. They gather to tell of what will come, to serve as the King's wise advisers in the darkest of hours.

King Albrect is a strong willed man with the heart of a lion, but his body is aged and his nights have been restless, even as he stands before the selected heroes, expending his composure to appear strong before a tide of destruction. Many friends lost, many more still to lose, yet a King cannot afford tears nor sorrow. He lifts his hand, fingers gesturing to a woman standing far behind, a lady in service to the queen. The middle-aged woman turns and begins heading towards the inner part of the castle, where the royal family makes their home.

No severe questions came from the heroes, yet there were things that must be said all the same. After a deep breath and a moment of thought the king began to speak.

"No simple task awaits you in the west, there are many dangers, as I am sure many of you are familiar with. The Black Legion is marching upon us, and more of their numbers emerge with each day. Many of my men and women await for the beginning of this quest and they will give you the opening you need to make it to the cover of the woods. I ask that you honor their sacrifice, for they march out knowing they face death in leaving the city walls."

His eyes closed for a moment, as he pictured what he could remember of the paths beyond the western wall. His fist tensed as he struggled to recall a name.

"Many years have past since I once walked in the outer lands, my mind is not clear on the paths nor should I advise you on where to go when you enter. My daughter seems to feel the pull, her eyes sometimes drift, her attention absent as she peers off to something beyond out sight. Follow her gaze should you become unsure of the way to the Black Legions' lair."

He glanced over each of them, "You will have a short period of time in order to prepare yourselves, I had packs of dried food readied, bread and salted meat along with waterskins. It would be best not to take the time to hunt, unless need demands it. Every day it takes for this quest to complete is a day that we spend having to hold our walls. My generals tell me they believe we can hold against this siege for three weeks, I do not believe we have more than two. Rapacity is a virtue in this, mix it well with carefulness but dread to tarry. We place the fate of Orlay in your hands."

A woman, beautiful with a steady look appears in regal clothing, from her eyes it is clear that she has been crying though she has done her best to cover it up. Beside her is a younger woman, wearing plainer, yet still fancy, clothing. The first of the two is the queen, a necklace bearing the crest of the royal family intends to make it clear to those who would not otherwise know. The woman at her side is her handmaiden, a woman of distinction and scholarly wit. Behind the two, a small girl peeks out to see the strangers who have gathered in her home.

Neither woman says anything as they walk closer, nor does the girl, who swiftly returns to hide behind her mother. The King gives a brief glance behind him, hearing the clack of less practical shoes on the wood and stone of the floors.

"Here comes my wife with my daughter now, please forgive her grieving, she does not wish to see our daughter part from our arms. It is a thing of sorrow for us both, as I imagine any parent would feel. Excuse us for showing our hearts so plainly," the King spoke with a softer tone, his voice shifting from how he speaks to his subjects into how he speaks around his child and wife. "Have Mylina come over here, these are our champions, selected by the stars of destiny."

The little girl was lifted up by the Queen's handmaiden and carried over towards her father. Mylina desperately buried her face in the handmaiden's neck, hiding away from the unusual people who she was being introduced to. The handmaiden stood the girl beside her father and pressed a hand on the child's back with a whispered, "stand properly." The Queen stood back, watching from a short distance away, she did not wish to come closer as her heart was already pressing her close to tears again.

"This is Mylina. My only daughter. She was born with strange markings upon her back, circles and line with runes and other archaic markings. They were recorded and many have worked on deciphering what it means but to no avail. The Stargazers tell me that this is what will undo the bindings of the Black Legion and reduce them to dust before us. No other reason would I let my daughter part my sight were it not for the end that meets us should she not go. I am glad so many of you speak of dedication, and I ask that you do what you can to protect Mylina on the way there and back again."

The little girl's eyes glanced at each of the warriors gathered, her own mind barely understanding what was being asked of her. She had been explained that she would accompany them, but her young mind couldn't appreciate the importance of such a monumental task. Her eyes looked over each with confusion and fear, only a couple of them were anything similar to the people she was used to.

"Gather yourselves, your task will soon begin, follow my man," He gestured to a middle aged scholar who was walking into the room, "He will guide you to where we are getting ready." The King leaned down to hug his daughter, "Mylina, these warriors will guide you. Stay with them, listen to what you are told and try not to be afraid. I love you my child, I am sorry to ask you for so much."

The scholar gestured with a limp hand, "Right along this way," his voice was rasp and nasally with an unpleasant whine. He started walking towards a side courtyard where several attendants had bags in their hands to hand off and an armored man stood beside a small cashe of weapons and gear. A couple of younger ladies, hardly twenty, stood together holding several finely woven, and darkly colored cloaks, behind them remained the rest.

The Scholar spoke again, "Take what you will, if you need for anything else before you depart, simply let me know and I'll see if we can fetch it for you." His unpleasant voice did not seem to bother the attendants but one of the girls with the cloak seemed to cringe slightly as he spoke. His every word like fingernails on slate to her ears.

Minutes after the young princess was lead out by her father, held firmly by the hand. She was wearing a many layered dress of fine quality, and well crafted shoes for a woodland journey. She fussed over the rough wool cloak that covered her, the scratchy fibers were something she was unused to having to wear. Her father gave a stern look and she put her hands down, letting the cloak rest against her without further adjustment.

Marielle's ears pricked up when she saw the princess for the first time. She'd been expecting a girl more around the age of a physically developed elf at the youngest - about 15 or 16 years old. Even at that age, an elf - while still little more than a child - would be quite capable of taking care of herself. For humans, that age would be almost adulthood. But his princess should still be in the shelter of a nursery!

So young, and the fate of all of us rests on her. I hope she doesn't understand that. If I did when I was that age, I'd be terrified. Marielle tightened her ears and stood up straighter. For the sake of this child and her family, Marielle would take good care of her. Elves did have a soft spot for children of other species.

Marielle's ears drooped when the king's secretary appeared and spoke. It was a vain attempt to protect her hearing from the aweful sound. Marielle followed him out to the courtyard, and inspected the gear being offered her and the other adventurers. The first thing she did was cast off her bow and quiver. She'd never trained in ranged combat anyway, and if there'd be no time for hunting, they'd just take up unnessacary space. She accepted one of the packs, and dumped its contents into own pack. She took off her own cloak, and handed it to one of the attendants in exchange for one of thiers. Hers was made for the pine and fir forests of the high plateaus in her homeland. It was the wrong shade of green. When she was done, she looked around.

"My pack isn't that full," she offered. "I can carry more." She was already carrying a little more than her own body weight of 95 pounds, and with her elven strength, could carry at least three times that much more. Her size did not accurately represent her strength.

There came a child. Shurik wasn't surprised. A smaller detail would be expected should the princess be of age, if only because she could handle herself to some degree. No, this made sense. The assassin looked nonplussed. When the group was conducted towards the secondary courtyard, Shurik stepped forward. No guard moved to stop him, surprisingly enough, as his robed body moved with silent ease towards the queen. Once he arrived before her, the assassin, in a curious display of compassion, unheard of from the mostly cold and aloof man, he gripped the woman by the forearms and turned her to face him.

"On my blade, I swear that so long as I stand your daughter will not come to harm." Making a small gesture at his belt, he pricked his thumb with the sickle-shaped blade hanging naked at his waist, drawing a small amount of blood. He touched his thumb to his forehead, and then to the Queen's, drawing a thin line down the center of her forehead. "Dali hustur, i meela-sok shinai, milady. 'In blood, the life-bond is sworn'." His face remained unchanged as he delivered a single solemn nod, then swept back into the fold of the group. He sucked the last of the blood from his thumb and wiped it on the hem of his robe, approaching the armorer.

A fine sight greeted his eyes An assortment of blades, small and large, stood before him. From the pile, Shurik selected a brace of throwing knives with an integrated leather quiver of significantly better quality than the one he possessed. Shurik removed his old quiver and replaced the belt with this new one, then removed the old arrows from the original quiver and slid them carefully into their place. A shortbow in a waist-holster greeted his sight next, and Shurik, glad for the sight of a bow, looped it through his main belt over the sword, and then withdrew the bow and drew the string as a test of the draw. It was a bit light for his tastes, but it would do the job - and perhaps he could even manage a few overdraws out of it. It was taken from the royal armory, after all - nothing but the best for a king and his royal guard.

He moved to take a pack of dry food and water and threw it over his shoulder, accepting a spare cloak from one of the handmaidens - a brown hooded cloak with a green inner lining - rolled it, and tied it onto the pack with a handful of rawhide straps. As he stood, it was then that he noticed the king standing there with his daughter, Mylina.

The assassin did something strange then. First, he returned to the armorer and took an iron dagger from the counter. Then he removed his own dagger -- a much sharper, lighter affair -- and approached the princess. Holding the sheathed blade by the sharp bits, he nodded to the king and knelt before his daughter.

"Milady," he intoned in his strange, deep voice, "a princess must know how to defend herself. This is a knife of the Malud, one of the finest daggers in the world." He gave his attempt at a smile, which would only prove to be slightly disconcerting, so he quickly stowed it beneath his serious face again. "So long as you carry it, the shadow of the Malud will lay over you like a shroud; no harm will come to you so long as one of their number still stands." He turned the handle towards her, offering the blade and sheath.

"Be careful, it is sharp, and a blade such as this cuts both ways." It was his way of saying the knife was double-edged. He nodded slowly, waiting for Mylina to accept the blade.

Shurik didn't once question the fact that he was about to offer his favorite knife to a six-year-old girl.

For once, since being summoned and chosen for the quest, Rose felt something other than optimism. It was dread. Soldiers, men and women, were going to sacrifice themselves so that they may make it to begin the journey in earnest. She was taken aback by this revelation, she didn't know- or perhaps even wanted to know- how they were to break through the lines of the Legion. Now it dawned on her. They were to be given an opening by the sacrifice of soldiers, who believed that they, they would end this nightmare. Rose's eyes grew wide and for once since being called, looked distressed. How many of those being sacrificed had she known. It could be any of them. Lily, Adel, Caine, even her father. Rose bit her lip, tasting the copper on her tongue. Could they truly succeed, and make sure that this sacrifice would not be in vain? She didn't know... She just didn't know.

Rose was brought out of her dread by the appearance of a tear stained face. The queen. Rose bowed her head to the queen and looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of the little tyke hiding behind skirts. It almost brought a smile back to Rose's face, but her thoughts were still in turmoil. This would not be some grand adventure like she thought it would be. It wasn't going to fun, and the entire kingdom rest on their shoulders. Suddenly, she felt the entire weight upon hers, and no precious child would make her forget about it right now.

Mylina. Such a pretty name. And she looked so worried and confused. A hand went to Rose's forehead as her thoughts flew up into a flurry. Dammit, everything got some complicated in such a short amount of time. Not only was the kingdom in their hands, but this little child as well, no more than seven years old. Dammit. This wasn't her, this wasn't Rose. She wasn't some savior, she was just a loyal- if troublemaking- soldier, a proud member of the Valigart. Not some hero. Still though, she couldn't pull her eyes away from the child. The precious little thing in her daddy's arms, scared out of her mind. Her own thoughts went to her own father and he used to hold her like that. Finally, the tears began to roll down the conflicted archer's cheeks.

She was being selfish. This wasn't about her, how everything was complicated for her. It was about the kingdom, about her friends, and most importantly, about that little girl. "Dammit," She muttered under her breath in a cracked voice. She shouldn't be crying in front of this child like this. Rose was her protector, she couldn't seem weak in front of her. Rose pushed the tears back and put on her best smile and approached the king and his daughter. She nodded at the king with the same optimistic (if troubled) smile she appeared in. And although her eyes were red from tears, she tried her best to look brave.

She knelt to the Princess and ruffled the girl's hair, still smiling a wide and comforting smile. She placed a warm hand on the girl shoulder and spoke, "Hello there Mylina. My name is Rose," She said, "I'm one of your guardians. Don't be scared, and don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you- Ever," she said with full conviction, giving the girl her hand to take. "Let's go yeah? The faster we get done, the faster we can get you back home and to your mom and dad!" She said, optimism swinging back in full. Once again, she gave the girl the widest smile she could possible muster. Who would have thought Rose could be so... Sisterly. "Now go with your dad for the moment, I'll see you again in a minute, okay?"

With that, they were taken to a courtyard with provisions and gear. She had enough arrows and supplies to last a while, but she still took on extra provisions of rations and water- personally carrying the supplies that Mylina would need herself. Despite her not being the strongest of those assembled, she would bare the burden herself. Rose had decided to personally take up for the child, since she couldn't see a man like Shawn or the foreigner acting nice to the girl, and she would probably be frightened of the elf. It had to be her. She even managed to snag another quiver of arrows before picking out a dark blue cloak to wear over her armor.

Again, Mylina was lead out by her father in a wool cloak. It looked scratchy by the way she tugged at it before her father shot her a look- a look all fathers gave their daughters. Rose still got those looks from her own father. It made the archer giggle. She approached the child and knelt in front of her again, this time adjusting the cloak for her. "You'll get used to it eventually," she said with a wink. It was about this time the foreigner with the dark skin approached. Shurik was it? He did something Rose didn't expect the man to do. Comfort the child. He didn't seem like the one who would try to comfort a child, even if it was with a blade. It was a touching sentiment to be sure, one she couldn't help but smile at. She looked at Shurik with the same smile and spoke, "That's nice. But if she cuts herself with it, I'm cutting you," She said with a wink. Despite he was handing a dangerous weapon to the child, she kept her mouth closed (for once). Who was she to reject the sentiment on behalf of the child?

Then she chewed on the side of her cheek, thinking. "Huh... How about some some cookies for the trip?" Without waiting for the answer, she turned and barked at one of the star-gazers. "Hey! Someone fetch me a bag of cookies!" She called before standing and handing out her own hand out for the girl to take. She looked up to Albrect and nodded with a optimistic smile. "I'll look out for her, sire. She reminds me of myself," She said on reflection. Then she thought about it for a second...

"I don't know if that's a good thing though," She said, shooting another wink to the child.

Django listened to the explanation of the quest and his eyes widened sharply, his initial thoughts would be to reprimand the king but he realized the stargazers were also involved with this he knew he mustn't argue. He didn't like the fact that Albrect's child was involved. He sighed openly as his thoughts were turned from the possibility of fame for himself, to being devoted to protecting Mylina from anything.

He and the other heroes were brought into the armory and his eyes shot out of his sockets at the swords. Immediately he rushed to the swords inspecting each blade one by one looking for a specific make and type of sword. "Should be one here somewhere, IF one is lucky." he thought in his head as he looked at a sword that seemed to be made of straight up Silver with an iron heart metal. "I found one! Certaintly a pearl amongst the rough! This should help against some of the monsters on the way."

He pulled the sword out of the shelf and slung it across his back as he was offered a cloak and he took it and draped it around his shoulders. He watched as the Princess was brought in with a wool cloak and several of his newfound compatriots were trying to make initial contact with Mylina. He smirked as he thought up a dozen jokes to tell to them later on in the journey relating to the initial ice breaker.

"Oh boy, this'll be golden once I get down to it. Telling the jokes oughta be fun later on." he said to himself whilst thinking of one to tell right at the moment to lift everyone's spirits. "Why was the guardsman eat a quick meal? He was running late! Ahahahahaha not my best one." He hoped to get the Princess to laugh at least once along the journey. His only hope was he didn't make a mockery of himself.

"Well Im having a rough start at being Black XII master..." He thought to himself before sighing and taking a dagger and strapping it to his thigh.

The king did not acknowledge Shawn's request, but in honesty it wasn't one to begin with. Shawn was going to take it even if he had to kill the others to do so. He glared about at the others and the king as more spoke, and looked up as the girl was shown to them, revealing a small quivering figure that they had to defend from the Legion and all of its horrors. Shawn smiled and rolled his shoulders as though he were loosening up to prepare for a fight, a sign that he was anxious for battle. The challenge piled on with every moment, and surviving in of itself would bring his name glory, but Shawn was strong enough to shoulder all of it, and use that weight to crush his enemies. The woman who had stood beside him went to console the child, as did the whisperer from before, and Shawn watched in interest, as well as listening carefully to their words. Both used flowery speech to bring comfort, but talk never won battles, not amongst the clans at any rate. The giant of a man turned to face the King, slamming a fist to his chest and grunted.

"She is clan" He said simply as he turned and headed to view the weapons and armor provided by the King's men, casting aside his own battered blade for a hefty claymore, weighing as much as a small child, part of the weight focused at the tip of the dense blade to make swings faster, giving them more momentum and cutting power. It was a fine blade, and Shawn accepted it, holstering it as he looked around at the selection again, not seeing anything else that suited his eye, and so took a knife and called it a day for the shopping. He finished as the whisperer and woman finished speaking to the girl, and Shawn decided to approach her, crouching down to get closer to her eye level.

"Shawn strong, you no need be". It was simple, and to a fellow of the clan, it would be an insult, but Shawn meant it as comfort. She had the power to do what none in the clans could, which was destroy the Legion, so she obviously had strength elsewhere besides her arms. Shawn chose to respect it, or kill her if those marks were just that and nothing more. He stood and joined the others, settling beside the first to be chosen, one whose armor bore more funny symbols, and gave him a stern glare.

"King say Orlay fight so we start. Nine clan die so Shawn get into Orlay... Excited to see how many Orlay worth one Clan. They die with honor like Clan... die strong like Clan" He said, a tinge of sadness in his voice hinting at his missing his brethren, remembering as they slew other clans together, and eventually the Legion until numbers overcame them. The barbarian looked over at the King one last time and gave a nod as he headed out, grabbing a mud brown cloak on his way, snatching a slab of beef from a banquet table as he headed back outside. He lived his day to day outside... it felt wrong to not do so now at the start of his greatest conquest.

Kalad remained silent and unmoving as the King addressed the group as a whole once more after the questions had been asked. After having been around the king for a bit now, he was reminded much of his father. Kalold was near the same age as King Albrect, both were powerful men, both physically and in their own right, however both of them were getting older, and their age was catching up. There were little signs that gave it away, seemingly insignificant things that, if one didn't know what they were seeing wouldn't even see them at all. And like his own father, Kalad knew that should anything happen to the princess, Hell would rise up against the Black Legion, if only for a moment.

Looking from the king as he motions behind him the mage watches as a woman leaves them, then as the queen, her daughter, and one of her maidens arrive and stop near the king. He could only catch a glimpse of the girl, Mylina was her name, but that was all he needed to understand things more clearly. She was little more than a baby in his eyes, and though he clenches his fists at the thought of her having to travel strange lands with an even stranger group of people, he says nothing. Unlike most of the others, he also does not approach the royal family nor does he say anything to them.

From here on out, my actions must speak louder than my words. That child is precious to this kingdom, in more ways than one, and if it comes to it, I will give my life protecting her...I hope it doesn't though... Kalad thinks to himself, giving a nod to the royal family before turning and following the others outside.

When Kalad sees the armor he almost laughs a little. He would never trust the armor made by anyone other than himself or his father, but aside from that he had spent a week etching the runes into his particular set of armor, and there was no way he would give that up, even if the new set was good enough for the knights of Orlay. Moving on he looks at the weapons, sorting through them thoroughly even as the others come by and select their own items. Anyone who saw what he picked and did not know of his skills would think him a fool. Several small knives, more fit for the kitchen table than anywhere else, along with three hammers of various sizes. He also asks one of the servants to retrieve some small pieces of scrap metal from the closest forge. Once this has been gathered he takes two of the offered packs, empties the contents of one into the other, then stows the items he had just picked up. Moving over to the cloaks he selects two, one of them made of a rough black cloth, very large, which he uses to wrap around the two packs so make them easier to carry. The second one is a dark grey on the outside with a black inner lining. This he slips on over his armor before pulling the larger pack over one shoulder.

Standing there, watching the others as he got his equipment situated comfortably, he hears the large man, Shawn he thought to be his name, speaking to him. His words seemed a bit forced, and Kalad could tell this wasn't his native tongue. As the man talks he nods, frowning a little at his words, able to understand them as if he were having a conversation with anyone else. When Shawn has finished, he responds.

What the forgemage says cannot completely be translated into the English language. It comes out as a series of low growls, soft snarls and other such sounds. Normally it would more have been yelled than spoken, but Kalad had never actually used the language before, the language of the Holyfield, and he assumed several other clans, which was said to have come down through the ages as a way for man to communicate with dragons. What he says, basically, is We may not have the blood of dragons in our veins, my large friend, but we are a strong people, a strong clan. Give us a chance and you will see what I mean. I am honored to have you on my side of this conflict.