Fall of Kingdoms [IC]

The Fall of Kingdoms, The Rise of Guilds

The OOC is where newcomers should check out first. DO NOT POST HEAR WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! Period. I am very strict when it comes to my RP, if you do not like strict play, then maybe this isn't the best place.

NOTE: You do not have to read all the races/kingdoms. They are a guide.

OOC: the-fall-kingdoms-the-rise-guilds-t10468.html

Rules: (Sept 21)
1) All rules of Roleplay Gateway are the same here. Do not break them.
2) I am the GM, I rule over this RP and I interact as a referee and a god. I can god mod. I can ask you to edit posts. Disobey and I will throw you out.
3) All rules that apply from the OOC, apply here. Read both of them.
4) I am watching for God mods, God modes, and Mary Sues. If your character is not skilled in something, then don't make them skilled at it. I will check characters sheets.
5) I have others watching this forum as well, they act as a guide for me, making sure I don't pull something that would be illogical. They have no charge here, I am always the one posting.
6) Small amount of OOC chat is allowed. Keep it minimum and to under a line or two. Do not post OOC only posts, save it for the other forum I have up.

Game style: *All new posters, read this! This is how I handle the game.* (Sept 21)

I am doing something called loose game mastering. What this means is I am doing major influences in storyline with a kind of god like appeal. What this means is I will control major NPCs that influence others. I will help explain situations to players. I will dictate if a player got a new power, a new magical item, or if a random effect happens. I can take control of random NPCs. I can control then as I will. If you request me to control a NPC, that is fine. I will do it. I am very good at playing random characters as I have done something like this before.

Players are allowed to create situations, they are allowed to make up NPCs, they are allowed to make up towns and other things. This is the spirit of the forums, I am not gonna restrict players here. Just act realistically. Don't pull major world changing maneuvers. (Well without my permission. ) Don't find like an arsenal of weapons in a wardrobe at an Inn, think! If a player makes an NPC they don't want me to control, tell me. Doesn't mean I am gonna just randomly control every NPC, but I may play around here.

I will give permissions of NPCs, say I create an NPC that will interact with your character. I will tell you if your allowed to kill it, control it, hurt it, or treat it like a player and not god mod it. Don't think that every NPC I play as is important, I like to mess with peoples heads. Expect it. And if I don't post anything about the NPC, don't just kill it, I may be warming up to something

Don't be afraid to ask me if you want to create your own story line that you want to follow. PM me! I am very good at mixing story lines. I actually love to do it. You guys make my world living, I simply made the body. Now the question the forms is, is there a major story line? No there are a couple. And if someone makes one and I love it, there will be more. They can interact, they can blend, they can fight. There is no limit here. Open world for play.

There is a major story arch however. We are in the age that guilds have recently been introduced and on the rise. With the healer's guild as the start and old kingdoms still trying to survive in this dying age. Will you fight along the guilds side? Will you fight as the kingdoms? Will you just not give a crap? My world is dynamic. Anybody can cause a major shift in my story. Just don't think I will let you do it easily.

Do not try to loophole me, I use dynamic rules. They can change.

***********

I will be posting my character named Ruhe. I posted an example template of her in the OOC, but do not assume they are the same. She is an NPC that I am controlling, consider her a player. She is NOT the main character. I do not want my NPCs to run the show, that is for you.

Ruhe looked at the message, her eye twitched in displeasure. The more she read the more she hated what was written. Eventually getting fed up, she crumpled the paper and thru it to the ground. In an unrecognizable language she shouts a few words. She was angry. Dammit, how does she find me and give the most ridiculous... She mentally knew why and knew how, it was just an annoyance.

The mage who handed her the note backed up a little. He was probably confused to where he was and he should be. The head mage's guild was right next to the healer's headquarters. And the head guild leader loves sending little gifts like this her way. Jobs that other healers could or would not do. Because the mages had a teleporter, a huge room that allowed people to go thru them and come out quite some distance away. It was rumored to be one of a kind, but Ruhe knew a bit better than that. She hated teleporters, despised them. Anything could go wrong and it generally did. And when one person accidentally teleports into a spot where another person was. Well it was generally her job to heal them while slowly ripping them apart.

The mage was a young man, looked new to this teleportion thing. Didn't quite look like his body agreed with the jump. But Ruhe did not have patience for him. "Name, rank, destination." She ordered. The mage stood at attention, "Marth Serrith, novice, following you!" He said with a seriousness in his voice, before slumping still from the temporary illness. He was most likely briefed about Ruhe. She could have a short fuse after being asked to do a favor and the mage knew to be polite. Marth had brown hair, green eyes, and fair skin. He wore the normal mages clothing, robes with a cloak. He was human with his age being in the late teens. Even if Ruhe looked half his age, she was still a high rank healer.

"Give me the wine bottle and lets go." Marth looked surprised a bit and then quickly stumbled into the pack he wore. Pulling out a very old wine bottle, year marked over 100 years ago. Ruhe was being bribed, but she got happier. Marth handed her the bottle. "Ah, a nice an old year, good year. You are lucky." She said with a small smile. She was in healer's guild robes and a high ranked healer's hat. Blue emblems on both of pieces of cloth, showing her rank to be under an arch bishops.

The boy again tightened up, showing a militaristic kind of mentality. "What did the others mess with you at the guild? I am not that bad. Loosen up, this will make a long trip if you don't." She smirked looking up at him. He was about 2 feet over her. It wasn't that he was tall, it was just that Ruhe was short. Very short. "Ah yes maam. Um... where are we by the way?"

Ruhe popped the bottle of wine open and began drinking straight from the bottle. "We are about half a days travel from the town of Corrbit, we are in north east of the Holy Roman Empires domain. Germany." And after that she would have to head for Gira to meet with the town leaders and paladins. Holy Roman Empire paladins. She hated them. They had considered people like her heretics, healers that is. People who used mixed magic with Light. Not to mention they were xenophobics and her race was not quite human.

'For Bromiere!' Saxious screamed, and swung his sword, slicing the throat of the Holy Roman Empire Soldier and the blood flew through the air, but it was all in vain, for as soon as the soldier fell to the ground another one came, swung his sword, and buried it in Saxious' left leg. Saxious smashed his shield against the soldier's head, and then he began to retreat. His village was under attack by the Empire because they were heretics.

'In the Name of Bromiere we shall bring justice to all heretics who roams this world,' the local priest yelled as he swung axe, and dug it deeply into a soldier's skull, but the priest was struck from behind by arrows, and died, and this made Saxious double his effort of escaping this madden village.

'Come on Saxious, we can't win this fight,' Nick, Saxious close friend, said, 'lets go before we all die, Bromiere wouldn't like to see all his faithful die meaninglessly.'

Saxious turned around and ran as fast as he could with his wounded leg with the few others who had been lucky to escape, and with every step more screams were silenced, but then his ears caught a scream that pierced through the air like an arrow, 'Help me!'. It was Saxious' mother.

Saxious stopped where he was and looked back at his home village, that would soon be nothing but ruins and ashes, 'i have to go back, my mother is there,' Saxious said.

'No Saxious, you'll get killed, and then neither your mother nor Bromiere will forgive you,' Nick said, but Saxious didn't move, If i go back, I'll die, if i run I'll live knowing my mom died, burned to the stake. What should I choose?, Saxious thought.

'Over there! Some of the Heretics are escaping,' and Roman Soldier yelled, and this made Saxious take a quick decision, and he turned and humped for his life.

*******************************

'No!' Saxious screamed hysterically, and almost jumped up from his sheet bed. It took him some time to realize that it had all been that terrible dream that had haunted him every since his family and friends were killed.

Saxious was in his tent, in the middle of a forest in the Kingdom of Denmark near a small river with fresh water. Saxious went out of his tent and over to the river to get some fresh water, and to wash himself.

after he had gotten his gear on and had packed his stuff together, he began to walk through the forest, in search of a town where he could earn some good hard coins, and possibly get some cheap beer. the thought made him happy, and he continued walking in a fine pace through the forest.

It had been about two weeks since Atellus had arrived in the Chaos of Hungary. Chaos was a good name for it. This place was havoc's incarnate if there could ever be such a thing. This place had no association and no sense of cohesion as a state. It was a barbarous amalgamation of everything that Atellus hated. There was hardly a civilized area for miles. If one was lucky, one might be able to find a group of people that were actually sociable and easy to talk to without the threat of having one's own skull bludgeoned in. Atellus was lucky to find a decent place to spend the night and enjoy a drink without worrying about being attacked by roaming animals or undead in the night.

This part of his adventure wasn't nearly as bad as traveling through The Plaguelands, though. There were more than a few close calls that could have easily resulted in death and then undeath. He was just extremely lucky that he had avoided being murdered or even devoured by the shambling dead. From what Atellus knew of them, they wouldn't pass up a warm meal if they got the chance. That rumor seemed to be more than a rumor as more than one impudent or fool-hearty person in their caravan had proven on the trip. As horrible as the Plaguelands was, though, he would more than likely be more welcome there than on the border or the Holy Roman Empire's territory. If anything was going to spell death for him, it would be traveling on the border of Roman territory as a Dhampire.

Just thinking back on his travel to this point made Atellus feel disgruntled. That was one of the more depressing times of his life. The only thing more depressing was that he still had a long way to go as far as he was aware. He still had to find an item that his nobles would find useful. It was part of the deal he made to his vampire baroness in exchange for traveling the world and experiencing what it had to offer.

He was starting to regret ever making the deal.

Now Atellus sat at an old warped table drinking a glass of questionable wine. He decided to stay the night at The Midpoint Tavern and Inn. The caravansary was placed in an exceptional place for making a good profit off of individuals as well as the many trading caravans that traveled through. As it's name implied, it stood on a road that lead out of a sizable city, the path leading to another smaller settlement. It was a typically traveled route, it seemed, judging on how many people where in this Inn. It smelled terrible; like the body odor of heavily sweating men. It had been a while since Atellus split with his group, and he had nobody to converse with or relate to. He only had himself if he wanted a decent conversation, since the natives and patrons of this Inn didn't seem to enjoy newcomers as was immediately obvious due to their disposition towards him when he walked through that door.

He sat in a mixing pot of people that knew each other. It seemed that all the seats in the building were taken but the ones around the table at which Atellus sat. All these disgusting and grimy people seemed to know one another and didn't hesitate to keep themselves distanced from strangers such as Atellus. He was here to listen in on rumors, but it seemed that they only thing they were talking about was, "The Dhampire dressed in priest robes." Surely there was a better topic of conversation that wasn't quite so rude.

All alone at his table, Atellus simply thought about how much better things could get rather than how much worse they could get. Although he was an expert at being pessimistic, it would probably not be a bad idea to try and be positive. The prospect made him sick. It wasn't hard to realize that if anybody else came into the inn, they'd probably have to sit at the table with Atellus unless the usual patrons made room for the newcomer. They'd better come with good news or a good rumor.

Moeru was breathing, well of course he was. If he wasn't he would have died. But that doesn't still mean i do not have to alert you of the fact he was. The fact is i am, and theres a reason. Moeru was breathing quite heavily. Trudging through a forest in Chaos Poland. He had been walking for many hours and was out of breath, but he couldn't stop. He had to carry on until dusk. Just as he had started at dawn. Of course 13 hours of straight walking isn't the cleverist thing to do, as it leaves you more vulnerable later in the hours.

Moeru stopped finally, his right hand placed on the trunk of a tree as he wheased in as much oxygen as he could take. Apart from the occasional bird or small animal, he was alone in the forest. Alone to walk for hours on end, atleast relieved that he wouldn't have to bother communicating with the foreigners. He was wearing his Kimono and Hakima, with his Katana fixed onto his belt on his lower left. His armor was in the large bag he carried on his back, with the helmet sitting comfortably on top of it. Of course he knew that this was the reason he was so out of breath. He had much to carry. And he also had no food or water, instead he took in as much as possible at every stream or small beast he could kill.

He also ate the nuts that inhabited Europes trees. He had some like them back home, but non like this. He had survived on these many times in his journey, for that atleast; he was thankfull to Marco Polo.

He finally caught his breath and he straightened his back, letting his bag pack slip to the floor as he rested. He left it there and tredged off into the forest. Returning 20 minutes later with a his money bag, now full of nuts aswell. He ate hurredly, not wanting to waste any time. The last he checked, he was heading west. But now he had no way of checking, so he would have to just go where he was heading before. He opened his large back, taking out the armor in turn and putting it on, until he was dressed in a full suit of dark armor, the helmet against his back, kept there by a string. He closed it again and swung it over his shoulder before making his way in the direction he was before. Relieved that the pressure was taken off his back and spread out all over his body. He felt lighter.

He walked again for ages, only the occasion tweet, or howl of a far away dog interrupted the sound of his boots crackling leaves and snapping twigs. Still he walked, and walked, and walked. He walked until at last, all at once, the forest ended. Opening out onto a sunny plane of grass, and the setting sun on the horizon.

Priscille feigned a loud yawn, making sure that the coach driver could hear. She was bored. Especially with gazing out the window at the same expanseless woods. She smirked. Woods, oh and more woods, and could it be? Yes, even more woods. Closing the curtain to the window in the carriage she road in, she stretched lazily and repositioned herself into a more comfortable position. It had been nearly two weeks now since she left home. Priscille was actually distressed by the fact that her backside had swollen somewhat, from all the sitting down, and from the sometimes bumpy rides, though she made sure that the driver knew she preferred the smoother more relaxing rides. She glanced at the back of the young driver. He couldn't have been much older than she looked, and she enjoyed watching him squirm. He obviously found her attractive, but it was fun to order him around, and know he had to do whatever she said. Being born with the status she was born with, required a certain ammount of responsibility. She was high class, even for a noble, and she knew how to wield her influence over people like an iron axe. It had been days since their last stop, and she was tired of sleeping on the soft pallet in her roomy tent. She wanted a nice room, with bath water and rich foods covered in rich sauces. Clearing her throat loudly, she waited til the young driver turned around.

"Err... yes miss?"

A smile twitched on her face at the man's nervousness. "Well", she said haughtily, glaring at him a bit, "When will we reach the next town? You know, it's been days, And I'd like to reach my father soon."

"Uh... I'm sorry miss, we... we're still quite a ways from your father, but we're coming up close on a small town called Corrbit. Only a few hours away actually."

The young man continued to face her til she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. As he turned back around, she cracked a smile. He was cute in his own way. But besides being lower than her in status, he was younger than her. He looked close to how old she looked, but Priscille was older than what she seemed to be. Maybe not much, but a fact was a fact. Frowning she turned her thoughts to that which had been plaguing her mind ever since she left home. Her father. The man she had never met before. The man who offered her protection. The man who was the proprieter of her curse. Granted without him she wouldn't even have been born, but still, she couldn't help but feel dismayed about what she really was. A half-elf. Shuddering at the thought of it, she thought on about her father. She wondered what he was like. All she knew was he was at the main quarters of the Fighter's Guild. And that to some extent he did care for her. He had, in fact, along with his letter, sent a few men to escort her back. They seemed like the unruly type, low class people. They claimed to be the friends of her father, and she knew they were lying. These men were uncouth and uncivilized. She could hear them at nights singing and drinking and laughing outside of her tent. When they had stayed at the inn's in the towns they passed through, the men would go arm in arm to the nearest tavern to drink. There was no way her father would keep such friends. He probably just made them think he was their friend, so they would listen to him without complaint.

Shaking her head in disgust, she was glad about one thing though. Everytime they passed through some poor backwater town, she would look out her window and watch the people stare in amazement as her beautiful carriage passed by with an escort of men. You would think they saw a queen. She would usually stare through the people, as if they were insignificant to her, but whenever they were out of sight, or she was alone, she couldn't help but laughing. Grinning at the prospect of passing through another small town, with the possibility of sleeping in a nice inn, Priscille pulled up her white pack and began digging through it. She pulled out a bit makeup and her mirror and began applying some of the makeup. She had to look her best when coming into a new town. She wanted to really pull back her hair and style it, but she knew that would be a bad idea, so instead, disgruntled, she left it to hang over her slightly pointed back ears.

As Priscille was applying her lipstick, the carriage lurched suddenly and stopped. The lipstick had dragged up her cheek and Priscille had been sent flying forward off the seat, and onto her knees. She stood up calmly, straightening the satin yellow dress she was wearing. She closed her eyes for but a moment before she opened them, and glared at the back of the driver. Angrily approaching him she started to yell.

"Do you not know how to drive you fool!"

She grabbed him by his shoulder and meant to turn him around, but his body only twisted and slumped awkwardly. She backed up horrified. The young man had an arrow sticking through his throat. He was dead. As Priscille backed away, she could hear the scuffle of boots on the ground and metal armor clanging against itself. Quickly bending over to retireve her belongings, she threw open the carriage door. Her father's "friends" were rushing forward, towards where the arrow most assuredly came from. One of the men stopped briefly only to grab her arm and drag her off the road towards the woods.

"What do you think you are doing you lout!", she shouted as she tried to wrench her arm free of his grip, "How dare you lay a hand on me!"

"I be saving you lass. There be men coming at us from behind, and there be men at us from the front.", the man nodded grimly, "It be best you get out of here while you still can. The be more of them than us."

With that, the man with the strange accent twirled her forward in the direction of the woods, and ran back to join his friends. As she hurried to the forest, she glanced back, watiching the eight men who served as her escort, charge towards an even larger group of men, with even more pouring in from the back. They had them outnumbered at least three to one. She could see some of the highwaymen starting towards the woods after her. Wasting no time, Priscille took off into the woods, heading in the same direction the road went, hoping that she might reach the town Corrbit, through the woods, in time.

She ran on and on, her breathing labored. She wasn't used to running this much. As she came to a small rocky outcropping, she slowed down. The highway men would have caught up to her by now, had they kept following, but the forest was dense enough, so she wasn't worried about them finding her anytime soon. Now she had to figure out how to get past this gap, there was no bridge or other way to cross. She looked down. It had to be about 40 feet deep. Shaking her head in distress, she fell upon her knees and began to cry. This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be running through the woods. She was supposed to be at a nice warm inn, with a nice warm bath, and eating foods covered in rich tasting sauces. It was unfair. Shaking her head angrily, she pulled out her mirror to view the damage done to her makeup. Wailing loudly at what she saw, Priscille angirly shoved her mirror back into her pack. Her lipstick ran up the side of her face, and her mascara was running with her tears. She looked around for something to wipe her face clean, but seeing nothing nearby, she promptly used the pale yellow frill running at the edge of her sleeves to clean her face. With a resigned look of determination, Priscille picked up her belongings and started to climb down the rocky outcropping.

Each foothold made her freeze in fear. She wasn't a climber, even though she was nimble and quick, she had no experience doing this. He hands and feet trambled as she slowly made her way down. She was about halfway down when she yelped in fear. Her feet had become tangled in her dress and she was unable to get a foothold. As Priscille fought to untangle her feet, she accidently kicked herself free of the wall. As she lost her balance and fell backwards, she twisted herself around. The ground was rushing at her face, and everything went black before she could even let out a scream.

Darkness had fallen, and with it the failures of the day left with the sun. Roman lay on the ground, holding the wound in his arm. Blood gushing from the open muscle sustained prior in the day, Isabelle had gone somewhere, she had left with the sun. He was alone, alone wit his thoughts and a pack of supplies they had barely minutes to group together before hell was unleashed upon the small village. Roman was sleeping in the streets when the attack occurred.


He was awoken in a daze, a axe swinging by his head to catch a standing guard square in the stomach and smashing him skyward, blood mixing with cloth as the mauled husk of a man fell to the ground. Weapon jutting from a wound underneath his ribcage. Roman was prepared in an instant, as the fight moved from the outskirts of the town into the center. Men hacking each other to shreds in attempt to gain victory for their respective alliance. Soldiers hold blades tightly as they dug their weapons into one another in fits of anger and remorse.
"For Liam!" A soldier yelled, driving his sword downward and into the chest of a man scattered along the ground; a spout of blood rushing along the blade as he withdrew it and successfully decapitated his defeated opponent. Through screams and yells, Roman found Arcadia. Who had also been sleeping somewhere in a tavern of all places. The group, a vampire and two Romans, was an awkward combination. Their formation was even more awkward; Roman and Arcadia successfully pestering the vampiress to join the two wayward outlaws in their attempts at riches and gold. She was skeptical at first, but after two or three days of travel, she had grown accustomed to the two of them.

Roman had taken little time in breaking the door down, it was empty, frozen in perfect tavern serenity as Roman barreled through the main drinking room. Rushing up a flight of stairs; he found his brother, Arcadia, already up. Clothes on and prepared to leave as he grabbed his pole arm from his room.
"Roman, what in the bloody hell is going on?" Arcadia barked, Roman shook his head to his younger sibling and cursed.
"Welcome to the Chaos, brother." He responded.

Roman and Arcadia would move briskly from the town, attempting to weave in between buildings to avoid the major fights that still spanned the entire village.
"Roman ... where is Bella?" Arcadia questioned, Roman stopped in a crouch and sent a small glance around. The two were situated between two rather small huts that flanked an open plain that lead to a forest. If they choose to do so now, the two could easily escape. Though they would have to leave their third member to the horde that was descending upon the village; looking directly toward Arcadia, he could tell that the latter would not be an option.
"The vampire?" Roman replied, grabbing the hilt of the gladius, feeling the calm response the hilt of the weapon gave him as he prepared to draw it.


"Bella!" Arcadia yelled angrily, rushing into a small building. The trio wasn't especially tight upon where they stayed at night, how the managed. They would normally just stick to themselves whenever they stayed in a town or somewhere of the likes. This proved to be an extreme disadvantage on this day. As Arcadia searched the small tavern on the south end of town, Roman was given a full view of the slaughter that was happening in the center of the town. Isabella was found in the street, standing beside a decapitated corpse and a horse that had been sufficiently gutted. The site was gruesome, blood adorned the woman's hands who seemed so frail.
"Bella, we need to leave!" Arcadia yelled through the street. Roman had little time to prepare for the next attack as a horseman came around the corner.





That was eight hours ago, to the dot. Arcadia was struck by a lance. Sent crashing to the ground as Roman moved to grab Bella by the arm and began to retreat, had the two decided to stay, they would be the next targets as a group of foot soldiers pushed down the street opposite.
"Dammit ... where are you." Roman gritted angrily, the fire had been dying for several hours; it began it's slow death once Bella had left. For somewhere, with sunset.
"Bella!" Roman yelled into the darkness; flanked to his left by a large tree, and an open field to the right that extended toward the horizon.
"Vampire -- Where are you!" He yelled angrily again, his hand clutching his wounded arm as blood pulsed through his clenching fingers. Giving a small grunt of pain, he attempted to redirect himself. Squirming quietly to rest himself against the tree as he watched the flames lick into the sky.
"Bella!" He yelled again, anger filling his voice rapidly as his head rested against the trunk of the tree. His voice fading from his own ears as he quietly slipped into sleep.

Lamina shook her head and gave a mighty snort after a deep inhalation as she trotted upon the beaten path, one hoof after the other, trotting solemnly ever deeper into the Holy Roman Empire, more specifically the lands of Germany. Keltain rocked back and forth from atop Lamina, his mighty charger, swaying to rhythm of her hoof's as her hips dictated the direction of his rocking body. Soon their mission would beacon into fruitation. Soon they would be free.

Keltain's index and middle fingers on his right hand idly felt the leather container of the ever important scroll strapped to his belt. It was hard to believe that this scroll, this meager piece of paper, so petty and replaceable, was so important. For inside of it lay the possible destiny of his kingdom, Leons. This message may or may not have any actual impact on the world, for that is something only the devine gods and the fates may dictate, but at the time, it seemed a beacon of hope for Keltain to save the ever shrinking borders of his noble kingdom from the might of the Califite empire, and restore their rightful rule over the country and borders of Spain.

Returning his hand to his reigns, he eyed his surroundings. The morning dew had now dried, relieving the grass from its gentle gloss, but giving a refreshment of green lush to the grass and bushes an leaves that lay in the distance. Keltain had just emerged from a thick forest, one of many that were a commonality in the land of Germany, and so the area he and his horse trod seemed particularly beautiful as the chirps of birds and rustling twigs of squirrels and other such animals gradually faded into the distance. This land was a beautiful one, tough in Keltain's mind it did not compare to the kingdom of his birth, his home; a home in which he missed, despite the relief of freedom.

The clear blue sky clashed in a somehow harmonious way with the purity of scattered clouds up above, and the sun shone its warmth and light down upon the barren road, the lush grass, and the beautiful forest. Today, not only looking like a good day, had the feel of warmth with its actual presence, creating a somewhat joyous atmosphere. A wonderful atmosphere to ride in; and despite Keltain's natural tendency to not be caught in any sort of emotions, he couldn't help but bask in today's presence.

In the distance ahead Keltain looked upon a rather large collection of differing shades of differing, mainly dark colours, creating a brownish blob, oddly forming the outline of a city, the City of Corrbit. That is what the distance revealed it to be, and Keltain couldn't wait to get there. If all went well he would be there by the end of the day, before the sun set. Unfortunately that wasn't fast enough for Keltain.

The wind whispered in Keltain's ears as he undid a skin of water from his belt, relinquishing the cap from the skin, and gluttonously relinquishing his parched mouth and stomach of their thirst as he took in large gulps of water, a trickle escaping his mouth and caressing his skin in a river down to his chin, ware it collected into a light drop. The last of the water was now gone, released from his skin and imprisoned in his stomach. Keltain retied the skin to his belt before wiping away the solitary drop from his chin on the cloth between his plate shoulder guard and plate gauntlet. Now slightly refreshed, he could hasten his journey.

Lightly kicking the sides of his charger's belly, Lamina darted from her trot into a light gallop, changing the wind bellowing in Keltain's ears from a whisper to a bellow, and forcing his bangs to either side oh his face, revealing the fullness of his forehead. His sleeping Knightly sword bounced on his hip as his sleeping lance and spear bounced with his backpack full of much needed supplies on either side of him between his legs and his charger, in the position he had strapped them for the journey. If Lamina could keep this pace they would arrive at the town much sooner that just before sunset, and Keltain could inquire further about his quest, his blessing for freedom. And who knows? If all went superbly then Keltain could locate the headquarters of the Fighter's Guild before the brake of dawn, and if all went perfectly his quest could be completed before the morrow, freeing his body eternally from its both unfair and unjust debt, one that the tides of fortune and fate so cruelly forced upon him. If all went perfectly he would return to Leons with one hundredfold his number, and save both the day and the kingdom. That was the plan, and that was exactly what Keltain Raesath intended to do.

The sun was finally sinking past the horizon, calling forth the end of a far-too-long day, the only thing betraying its existance a glowing orange tint to the sky near where it met the earth. Most people feared the leaving of the sun and the day, for it meant the return of the time of dark, of unknown, when beasts of evil and shadow got their chance to walk freely and take their pick from the lives they sought. Especially in these times, the darkness wasn't cherished.

However, in fact, for Isabelle it was rather the opposite. As the sun finally sank, a rush of relief and exhileration flooded her body and she stood from her position, body hunched in a crouch beneath a concave of earth in the forest, a welcome little spot providing much-needed shade while she waited for the light to disappear. Now with the darkness came comfort; without the burning rays of the sun, she could finally move freely.

As she left the little concave, the sparse light caught her, causing her eyes, black as pitch in her snow-white face, to burn and tingle slightly; the light was unpleasant, no matter how used to it she got. She supposed she should be grateful. Most vampires couldn't walk about in the day at all. Yes, she was lucky in that sense, but she still prefered the night, infinately so.

She waited silently for a moment, arms, skin like ice, crossed in front of a slender torso as she sniffed at the air. It took a moment for a breeze to pick up; that was what she'd been waiting for. She inhaled as the eddy of wind brushed her face, tugging at crimson hair slightly and carrying a pleasant scent. Not her favourite, but it would do, at least. Then again, no animal blood would ever smell especially good. This particular scent was of a small pack of wolves. They were about a kilometer away or so, she guessed, and weren't moving at the moment; they'd just fed. Running her tongue once swiftly across her pale lips, she turned and began running in that direction, her throat burning.

It was swift. They were animals; their insticts were sharp, at least, sharper than those of the humans, and they understood the danger before she even arrived. However, they had no hope of escape, and she killed two within the first half-minute of her finding the pack. She didn't have to think much about what she was doing; it was more reflex by now than anything else, and her mind wandered. Back to earlier today, in the town. Roman, and Arcadia, his brother, and herself, the one who'd saved them from an unpleasant future in prison. An unlikely trio, perhaps, at least on her part, but it had functioned. They hadn't been in the town for long, and as far as Bella had known, they had been planning on leaving soon as it was. However, it wasn't to be. Tribes, raiders, whatever it had been she didn't know. She paid no attention to the quirks of human society nowadays. All she'd known was that she'd found herself alone, away from her companions, surrounded by the bloodied corpses of humans as they fought and slaughtered each other, and attempted to do the same to her. Of course, it had been vainly; her wounds had been minimal, and whoever had attempted to harm her had ended up joining the ever-growing piles of bodies on the street. She'd just finished decapitating one such man when Roman had found her. Just in time to see Arcadia fall; she remembered having to flee to save themselves, and quite easily the fury she'd felt at not being able to rip the killer's heart out from between his ribs.

She stood silently, leaving the bloody corpse of the animal behind her. Normally she was quite neat when she fed, however... she'd been starving. It had been just nearly two weeks since she'd last fed, and the hunger had been driving her half-mad. It had taken all of her willpower not to feed right in the town, with all of the sweet, intoxicating human blood just being carelessly spilt, and the urge had eaten at her like fire. When Roman had come and made her leave with him, even the smell of his blood, which she'd grown more accustomed to by now, had been too much for her to handle. The fact that he was openly bleeding wasn't helpful. She'd had to leave him alone, to wait for the sun to set on her own so she could hunt without the chance of her deciding to attack him. Even aside from the hunger, though, the bitter rage she felt hadn't been satisfied in the town. The wolf pack had been her unlucky scapegoats; instead of neat tears in their throats, wrecked corpses, left in ripped pieces, scattered the forest floor from the three wolves she'd fed on. It was half and hour since she'd attacked them; she wasn't even sure now how long it had been since she'd left Roman in the clearing.

It wasn't until another half an hour afterwards that she finally got back to the place, the fire now nothing but a few pitiful embers. A tiny frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she glanced over to see why Roman hadn't kept it going. He was passed out, his expression unpleasant. She sighed quietly, and took a moment to grab some dry brush and the like and coax the fire back to life before placing some thin sticks on it, to build it up before she added anything bigger. She may not feel the cold, her body already like ice, but Roman was quite human, and humans needed warmth.

She sat down next to him and nudged him, attempting to wake him and placing a bag with some medical supplies on the ground. She'd headed back to the town after feeding; of course, she'd been considerably more careful than just waltzing in like she owned the place. The outlaw had forgotten all of their first-aid supplies when they'd fled. She'd had to get some more.

Saxious looked from the small hill that he stood on, down on a town where the sound of a hammer hitting iron could be heard clearly, and then he went through his pouch to see how much money he had.

'Bloody hell! 1 silver and 12 copper, damn it!' Even though it was enough to get some cheap food and drinks, but it wasn't enough to get a satisfying quality that Saxious really liked, and he didn't want to waste the precious silver on food and drinks.

'I'll have to steal the food, again,' Saxious said, not caring how it would affect whoever he stole it from, but he knew that the consequences would be severe. Saxious then began to change his clothes into something more suitable that wouldn't make all the villages scream and run for their lives. When Saxious was done changing he began to walk down to the town.

'Welcome to Smedby,' a sign said as Saxious came closer to the town, the town had quiet a lot of smiths, and Saxious couldn't help but to pick up the scent of fresh baked bread, that made his mouth water. He went over to a small shop, pretending as if he was looking at the fruits the owner sold, and while the owner was busy tending other costumers and no one was looking near him, he slipped two apples into his pocket, and walked calmly away.

When he had turned the corner, away from the shop, he got the apples up from his pocket and greedily began to eat them.

'Excuse me, madam, but is there a fountain, or well in this town?' Saxious asked a nearby woman who passed him. Firstly she looked at him with a frightened look, but since Saxious didn't seen to do her any harm she answered, 'Yes, there's one in the middle of the town, but those who own it charge 10 copper, or one tin, not that much.'

'Thank you madam,' Saxious said, and began to walk to where he thought the center was, 'Sir!' the woman called, and Saxious turned and looked at her.

'The Center is that way,' she said, pointing to her right, and Saxious laughed and walked the way the woman had been pointing.

Saxious was now at the center of the town, where the well was, guarded by some big men with daggers, he went over to them, told them that he need some water, gave them the one tin, 10 copper, and drank the water, and then he left the little town, on the road once again, but he had suddenly decided to head back to his home village, to pray for those faithful servants of Bromiere who sacrificed themselves in his name.

'So, The empire it is,' Saxious said grimly as he had laid the town behind him.

Moeru overlooked the plain, wich seemed to carry on for hours on end. He saw no end to it from where he stood, as night had fallen and he could only see a few metres ahead of him, even after he picked up a large stick, broke it, tied some grass around the top in a ball and finally rubbed it against stones until a fire leapt out of it. Like the birth of a new child.

He was hesitent to step further on the plain every time his feet moved. As the grass was up to his knees and he felt that he might be swallowed into the earth itself. Just as the night swallowed out all vision around him.

It was indeed past dusk, but he kept walking anyway. Knowing he could go the extra mile before complete exhaustion rendered his body useless for the night. He had lost track completely of where he was going. Just hoping to find some form of civilization he trecked onwards.

He moved onwards for atleast another mile, until he was too tired to go further. His armor now felt like he had a tiger on each limb and he could barely keep the torch up straight. He was stood infront of a large rock, wich seemed to tower over him, but he took no attention to it. Gathering some stones and sticks he found in the grass around it, he lay them into a circle and finally releaved his arm of the torch as it hit the pile. Starting a fire. He unstrapped his sword and lay down beside it and the fire. The warm flames heating his cold face as he dropped to sleep. Still un awares of what the rock actually was.

Anya sighed wearily as she pushed open the door to The Midpoint Tavern. She had hoped to make it back to the city before night began to fell, but it seems this was not to be. The healing she had been called for had taken far longer, and, unbeknown to the patient, much more blood, then she had originally anticipated. And now, the money she had just made would go to her lodgings for the night.

Shifting the nearly empty woven basket on her back, she kept her eyes low as she made her way to the bar to secure a room. Still, she feel the glances thrown at her as she entered and the whispers that soon began. She would have to move again soon. Too many people had witnessed the birth that took place near the city square only days before that Anya had aided in. Normally, she would never have performed such a healing in front of so many people without the proper premade medicines, but she had just sold the last of them to a midwife earlier that day, leaving her no time to prepare more. The woman had gone into premature labor not far from where Anya normally sold her medicines. A youth had informed her of what was going on, and, not expecting anything abnormal, went with only the usually midwife equipment. When she arrived, it was quickly evident that the birth was a breach, and without the right mixtures, both mother and child would die.

Too many people were present, but she had no choice. Trying her best to shield her mixtures from view seemed ineffective, for mere minutes after the incidents, whispers of the green blood that flowed into the mixtures began to circulate. Since then, her medicinal sales had tripled, and more requests for healing abilities were made. But, with so much talk, the hunters of all species would begin to arrive. Not to mention the local vampires would likely have already picked up on the rumour. No, she would have to leave, tomorrow likely. It was a shame, since she had begun to like the city.

Securing a small, but comfortable room, Anya made her way upstairs and relieved herself of her basket and tuck a small vile of holy water into her dress pocket before returning to the crowded tavern room. From the bottom stair, she could see that all tables were occupied. The only free seats she could see were at the same table as a darkly-clothed man with piercing red eyes.

Red eyes? A vampire? No, the local patrons would not have allowed a vampire in so easily. He must be a dhampire. Anya should be safe, since, unless he was extremely familiar with the legends about her people, he should only notice that she smelled much "sweeter" (as another dhampire had once told her) then regular humans, not that her blood was completely different.

Besides, she would only be sitting with him until she had something to eat, then she would quickly be returning to her quarters. She was on good terms with the owner of the tavern, having healed his daughter once, (that being how she procured a room in the first place) and knew if she requested some protection he would come up with something for her.

As quickly and silently as possible, Anya made her way over to the dhampire's table. She could feel some eyes following her and heard some of the conversations take a different turn as she walked by, but ignored it. Just some food, then some sleep behind a protected door.

Based on his dress, Anya assumed him to be of some manner of priesthood, a rank above her commoner, and thus addressed him as such, ensuring to not disrespect him by looking directly at him. "I beg your pardon Sir Priest, but may I share your table? I fear the others are all occupied."

Atellus looked up at the girl. His displeasure was immediate. He had been having a seriously bad day. He had been having a seriously bad two months, for that matter. He took a sip of his wine and looked back at her. Just a human. She was brave to try and sit with dhampire who was a priest no less. At least, she was brave considering she realized exactly what he was.

"Go ahead and sit."

Suddenly, Atellus' nostrils flared. He began sniffing the air like a bloodhound as all the sorrows and hardships of his weary journey were washed away by something that smelled very sweet. It smelled delicious, but it couldn't have been the food. No way on this green earth could the food here smell that delicious and sweet. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent.

It was almost like sex in fragrant form.

He felt like a cat being lured in with catnip as he opened his eyes again. The smell was coming from the girl. It couldn't be perfume. No perfume smelled like that. No perfume smelled so appetizing. It was not the purpose of perfume to arouse one's appetite and physical form. This girl was different from your average human. She was far different, and Atellus was intrigued.

"So, what's your name, my good lady?" He was being very polite, but doing so involuntarily. Suddenly, Atellus pinned the smell.

Blood.

Not any ordinary blood. It couldn't be. This was far too aromatic to be a normal blood. It smelled human, but it was in no way human as compared to the others in the room. It was as if comparing a serf to royalty. He wasn't sure how this human was different, but she was. She was very different indeed.

"Would you care for a drink, Mrs..."

He paused, waiting for a name.

At his words, Anya dipped in head in thanks and sat in the chair to his left. From what she could tell, it had the least amount of tables in the way in case she needed an escape route. Watching his mannerism closely from beneath lowered eyelids, Anya signaled one of the wenches to have her order taken. With her nerves on edge, she was watching the stranger, and her surroundings, with more caution then normal tonight. Paranoia had her on edge, especially with the looks and whispers that greeted her entry tonight.

Had it not already been dark, Anya would have simply tossed her basket into a crevice at the side of the road for the night and ran the rest of the way to the city. But, such was not the case. Instead, she was stuck in a tavern of locals, most of them drunkards, with dangerous rumours about her flying around. With all things considered, she felt her paranoia was well justified.

She noticed as he began sniffing the air and couldn't help but noticeably stiffen. No doubt he had noticed her unique blood scent; should she excuse herself and leave, or stay? Before she could make up her mind, his voice jarred her out of her thoughts. Caught off guard, she automatically answered before being able to think of an alias.

"Anya. And," a drink? Gods knew she wanted one right now, but the last thing she needed was to inhibit her senses right now. And, gods also knew how foul and perverted her mouth got when she drank. "I thank you, but hot lemon water is all."

"Anya then."

Atellus motioned for the wench to leave them. Hopefully she got the order simply enough. It wasn't hard to get a glass of hot lemon water. Just to make sure, he spoke aloud to the wench. "I'll have more wine, as well. Just one glass will do, I believe." Atellus' red eyes grew sinister in the bar maiden's direction, and he focused his attention back on the women. Anya, she called herself.

"I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I am Atellus, but you..." He took a deep whiff of air through his nose, taking in another intoxicating portion of this woman's scent. He blood smelled like all the good things in his life intertwined into one great thing, and it was flowing through her veins.

He snapped out of his trance again, starting his sentence where he left off. "You may call me anything you'd like." Atellus wondered if the woman was aware of her scent. He couldn't see how she could possibly still be alive. Surely a rogue vampire would have drained her of blood long ago. Atellus would never do such a thing. Even he had a code of honor.

Atellus, however, felt his honor waning as the moon at the smell of her blood. He wasn't sure if he could handle it without trying to take a bite eventually. Atellus' next statement came bluntly as his patience was wearing thin. He was about to go insane if he didn't do something. It was like waving a piece of succulent, juicy and tender stake in front of a starving beggar.

"I assume that you know what I if you've decided to sit with me. Are you aware..." Atellus paused again, trying to phrase his next sentence without scaring the poor girl.

"Are you aware that you smell delicious?"

Anya watched the wench leave, almost mournfully. She had wanted to order something to eat as well, but to interrupt would be rude and out of place once the dhampire priest had dismissed her. Oh well, it would not be the first time Anya went to bed hungry, and likely would not be the last. At least with the money she saved she could by a decent amount of dried goods at the market in the morning.

She watched Atellus closely. His mannerisms were becoming too suspicious. The look in his eye when he looked over at the wench sent a small tremor down her spine. Once her lemon water came, she would excuse herself to her room. Or, maybe she should have ordered some ale; it might have given her more courage in light of the less-than-intelligent decision to sit beside a dhampire.

His question caused her to wince. Trying to cover it with a chuckle, Anya looked around before looking back at him, twisting her fingers nervously on her lap. "I-I have been told that on occasion. Forgive me, this was the only seat available, but if my smell is distracting to you, I shall just retire." That being said, she made to stand.

'And maybe see if I can get a pint of ale or two sent up to my room. My nerves feel as though they are ready to shoot themselves.'

"Wait. I'm sorry to alarm you. Do not be dissuaded by my speak of your scent. I'm afraid I cannot help it." Atellus eyed the woman up and down. She looked normal at least. The only thing that was even questionable were the silver streaks in her hair, but that could be more or less explained. He'd seen stranger things in any case.

"Your scent is maddening, but I shall control myself. I have about myself a code of honor, and I would never do anything to harm a woman. Think of it as a priest's promise."

Atellus looked at her, praying that he would be able to do as he promised. He took in one large breath, breathing out with a sigh. He was trying to keep his actions inconspicuous as possible, though. He didn't need to scare the girl anymore than he already had.

"I simply beg that you do not judge me because of what I am. I believe one should not judge somebody based on their race or nationality. I mean you no harm and I am not trying to offend your sense of decency. The smell of your blood simply overwhelmed me. I was not prepared for it. I won't ask you any questions, however, out of respect for you."

Atellus gestured her back into her seat. It appeared as though she was about to get up and leave.

"Please, give me another chance, milady. Are you hungry?" Atellus questioned her as the wench made her rounds through the tavern again, checking the glasses and mugs of the many people that resided there. "You may order anything you'd like and I shall pay for you. Consider it penance for my rudeness."

Out of guilt more than anything else, Anya slowly sat back down. Though it was against her better judgment, she could not help but feel bad that her reaction may have been interpreted harshly. Besides, a priest's promise was one of the few things in this country one could believe with a fair amount of trust, or so her mother had once told her.

"No, please forgive me. I am slightly jumpy tonight, which is making me forget my manners." Taking a breath, she willed herself to calm down. "You have not offended me, though I apologize if I have offended you."

As the wench brought their drinks, Anya gratefully cradled the warm cup between her hands as she ordered a simple plate of bread and cheese, a small smile of relief on her lips at the thought of food. As she finished her order, her stomach seemed to attest to her hunger as it protested its emptiness rather loudly; she couldn't help as her cheeks reddened at the wench's chuckling.

Taking the opportunity to look over the wench's shoulder, she noticed the conversation around them had, for the most part, returned to normal tavern talk.

"First off, I just want to apologize again for alarming you. I never meant to do that. I just have to reiterate that you overwhelmed my senses in more ways than one. Atellus took a sip of his wine. It was dull and flavorless after the assault on Atellus' scent caused by Anya's blood. Granted, it wasn't the best to begin with, but Anya's scent definitely didn't help in making the wine taste any better.

Atellus decided that he had to know more about this woman. He didn't want to violate her privacy, but he had to know who she was and where she came from. Any scent like that was something that required investigation on his part. He was simply glad that he was only a dhampire. He could control his urges and he didn't need blood anyway. Any rogue vampire might try to go a few steps further than Atellus tried to go if they were to catch a good whiff of what he smelled.

"If you're hungry, you may order some more. I have plenty of money for an actual meal. Please feel free to order yourself anything you'd like. In the mean time, why don't you tell me about yourself? Surely you've got more interesting facts about yourself than simply your name. And please stop me if I intrude on your privacy, madam. I have no intention of going where I am not wanted nor needed."

Atellus took another sip of the wine. It might as well have been water considering how dull as it tasted.