Gods of Drevair » Places

         Athos had to grit his teeth in frustration as the elf spoke. His overly opinionated words were enough to draw blood from stone but the bit about saving Athos' life was almost torture. The assassin had a mind to bury his dagger in the one eyed archer's throat and finish what he'd started in Bergstadt. Yet he breathed out a sigh of pure hatred and managed to exert self control and spare the elf's life. So sullenly he remained silent, the brooding assassin eying those around him with a cold gaze. He listened to the pomp and fare of those around him. The immortal man, the elven archer, the paladin. All liars and hypocrites, fools and cowards. It was almost enough to nauseate him then and there. They spoke and went over their speculations about their foes. For that's all it was, speculation. There were no facts to be found here. No truths, only what these here gathered believed to be true.

Athos shook his head slowly before getting to his feet, though not without a small tremor of pain from his freshly bandaged wounds. The eyes of those gathered turned to him ready for his own introduction.

"My name is Athos..."

He said darkly as his eyes flicked to each member of the group before he turned around.

"And I have work to do."

His final words as he walked out of the inn. Still clutching his ribs the assassin gingerly and with labored steps made his way out of the inn. He would not travel with the group. He had no place there. Among knights and nobles, wizards and geniuses. No his was the solitary road, his was a road of pain and loneliness as always. A part of him, deep down wanted to stay yet it was quickly locked away deep within his psyche. He would travel alone, it was better that way. Better for him and better for them. Let them sit and talk. Let them muse over their own strengths and feed into their own egos as he set to the task. These so called gods will die all the while a voice echoed within the assassin's mind. The voice born of shadow and untold strength.

"...do your abilities rival mine? We shall see, Athos."

         Bony feet shuffled through the halls of the burned out building. Timeless pits took in every detail, every sight. From the corpses, still looking fearful as they clutched their throats, to the sword marks and copious amounts of bloods on the walls. He didn’t need his timeless experience to tell him what had happened here. It was clear to his eyes. His robe slowly swept away the dust as he made his way forwards, a strangely skeletal man following him closely, carrying many different devices.

Bony feet slowly ascended the stairwell, even as the creature in ancient armour looked around, his face set in an eternal skeletal smile due to a lack of lips. Burn marks now, how intriguing. For a moment he stopped and moved one finger up to slowly tap on his chin, pieces of which were clearly missing. Upon deciding the burned painting held no great significance, the partially mummified figure made his way further up the stairs, skeletal servant in tow.

Somehow, the undead being without lips managed to smile even wider than before. His skeletal servant slowly came to stand beside him, carefully stroking a particularly stressed looking cat.

“Master?”

The servant spoke, but the man carrying a sword from the days before metal paid him no heed. He slowly made his way forward, his feet no longer making a sound, for they no longer touched the ground. Upon reaching the corpse in the centre of the room, the power that kept him levitated ceased and the mummified figure slowly descended back to stand on the floor. Once more tapping his chin with a single mummified finger, he walked circles around the corpse, burned to such an extent it would be impossible to know even the gender. All that was obvious were the pair of pits in its stomach and chest areas and the fact it was charred to pieces.

“Amazing, is it not? That she would stand so defiant of the creature that perpetrated this feat, despite her obvious inferiority.” The mummified being spoke, his voice as a whisper heard in a house you know is empty, his voice which has a slight creaking sound to it, like the rasping against the lid of a sealed coffin.

“Master?” Was the reply of the servant. The mummified being paid it no heed as he continued. “Truly a wonderful human being, this woman. Did you know I knew her great-great-great-great-great... Hmmm, how many generations was she removed from her again? Well, it matters not. Igre! Bring me the equipment. The experiment must not be delayed.” With a nod and a hurried shuffle the servant rushed towards its master, quickly setting up the numerous devices, clearly all for the purposes of chemical analysis.

“Bring me at least six of the corpses that were suffocated and another half a dozen of those that were cut down. Leave the burned ones.” The necromancer spoke, his voice eager in its voice from the mist qualities. Without delay he began cutting away parts of the charred corpse, nonchalantly dropping them in small flasks with different coloured fluids. Almost immediately smoke began to rise and the fluids to bubble and froth. “Most interesting.” The undead creature said, as he observed the reactions, all the while tapping his chin.

As the ancient necromancer continued his experiments, slowly using up the bits and pieces still left of the corpse in the centre of the room, Igre was busy dragging corpses from the hall way up. Clearly he was troubled, as halfway through one of Igre’s arms broke off and he was forced to drag the rest with but one arm. Meanwhile the stressed cat sat in the corner, hissing at the pair. Yet the Lich paid neither any attention, mumbling to himself as he used up the resources he could find on the woman’s corpse.

It was not until Igre was done that the Lich stopped defiling the dead and turned to him. “Are they prepared?” He said, his voice like the cold draft creeping up a spine on a hot summer’s day.
”Master?" Was Igre’s reply.
“Good, good. The experiment may continue then! So far, I have theorized that this woman was killed by the power of two, not one. I judge this based on her tissue’s reaction to liquefied rat innards. You agree, don’t you?” The lich spoke, with his damned voice like the last gust of air that escapes before a crypt is sealed.
”Master?" Was Igre’s reply.

“Yes, indeed, that may also be a possibility. I had not considered the possibility of the retrograde position of the constellation of Zabarof relative to the dwarf mountains. This throws all I have assumed into question. Now, let us begin the interrogations shall we?” The lich continued, seemingly unaware that Igre had not actually answered him, or perhaps he was speaking to another, unseen party? No one present knew. The lich finally stopped tapping his chin and raised that arm. From it a dark and chilling power streamed. As soon as it had arrived, the power left and the hand rose once more to tap a decomposed chin.

Then it started, the bodies began twitching and convulsing. But only for a few moments. After the spasms were complete the twelve corpses slowly raised their heads and looked around bewilderedly. Only after their eyes settled on the undead beings before them did they stop their inquisitive glances, only to replace them with fearful ones. The lich clapped his hands together, the bones scraping against one another creating a tear inducing and wholly unpleasant sound.

“Good, good! You have returned. Very well, how exciting. I have never met members of your society before. Something about golden bosoms or something? No matter, please tell me, in your own words, what had occurred here.” The twelve mages from the Society of the Golden stared at each other, confused and fearful. It wasn’t until one of them spoke up, clearly a senior member by her appearance.

”You brought us back from the dead only to ask us this? Begone and let us rest, foul sorcerer. This world ill needs you kind.” The woman spoke in a forceful and defiant matter. Quite a feat, Grym decided, considering her head was hanging at her side, only attached by a few strips of skin. A sigh escaped from his throat, or it would, were it capable of drawing breath. Instead, a horrible sound of decayed muscles scraping broken bones against one another emerged.

“Ah, how disappointing.” Grym said, before waving his hand even as more dark powers emerged from it. Suddenly, the recently revived members of the Society of the Golden began to twitch and spasm once more, considerably more violently. Once the twitching was done they spoke once more, all in unison, as they told Grym what had occurred within the halls of Castle Dawn. Once they were finished, Grym once more spoke in a horrific voice, like the whimpering of a man buried alive.

“As I thought, they have arrived here as well. Igre! Pack up my supplies and don’t forget the cat. Oh, and take samples will you.” Igre answered his masters commands immediately. ”Master?” The skeletal servant then moved to pack up the lich’s belongings, before spending some time capturing the frightened and increasingly stressed cat.

Once Grym left Castle Dawn he looked up at the full moon that had risen in his time spent inside. “Fascinating. I wonder where they might’ve have gone before arriving here? What think you Frederik?” There was no reply to Grym’s inquiry. “Of course, of course. The humans.” Upon saying that, seemingly to himself he boarded the carriage made of bones in front of him and signalled to the driver, who was merely a skeleton wearing a cloak. The driver responded immediately and whipped the clearly long dead horses in front of the carriage and they rode off. Igre left the castle, cat clutched in his remaining arm and his other arm stuffed in his backpack, before running after carriage. ”Master?” Was his only question in response to his master leaving him behind.

         The hand reached fourth from the darkness gripping tight the hand of the assassin. Salvation came for the fire god that day in the form of shadow stopping shadow, darkness standing against darkness. As the vice like grip of Kharun held Athos fast the golden eyes of the killer of men pierced the cloth where the shadow gods eyes should be. The two seemed to stare at each other, despite ones apparent lack of sight. The mortal man and the god, eerie reflections of one another. The only true difference between the two were their motivations.

Athos listened well to the shadow gods words as he held him, the assassin's blade still dripping the blood of the fire gods from the wound that could have so easily been the last wound Shra would ever suffer. Yet it was when he spoke his name that Kharun truly pierced the veil of Athos' psyche. Through the quagmire of darkness and ire that was the mind of the assassin this being seemingly knew him, or at the very least knew of him. To think that this being had seen something of a rival in him was an odd thing. Fear mixed with determination and the fire of a worthy challenge burned within the mortal man as the god vanished with his kin in tow.

Athos did not move, did not speak for several moments. Clutching his wrist that throbbed with pain from the iron grip of the god he seemed lost within his own minds contemplation. This latest god, above all others would be his test. The shadow god and the assassin had began a journey in that moment. A journey that could only end with blood in the darkness. From whom the blood would fall remained to be seen but for now the assassin was left with a promise of a challenge to come. A challenge he would meet with all his skill and the true master of shadow would be revealed. The question posed rang out in his mind until finally Athos spoke within the confines of his own thoughts his reply. Yes we shall...

Finally returning to the hear and now, Athos seemed to finally realized the pain he was in. He gritted his teeth, almost falling to his knees as his unwounded hand clutched his chest that was still bleeding. The fresh burns cauterized the wound for sure but the wound, while mostly been by the heat, still oozed red. His chest seemed to scream in pain yet he silently bore his agony as he inspected his hand. Fortunately the shadow walker did not break his wrist, which seemed like he could have done easily, yet the fragile bones within his wrist ached with soreness and fresh bruises. He would need to bind his wrist as well as his chest. The assassin needed a healer and relatively soon before he continued his journey to kill the so called gods.

         

Castle Dawn

Layien set crimson eyes upon the single structure before him. It was a large building, a castle from the looks. The only difference was that there were no other homes or towns near it. A curious thing, as Layien had seen a few castles that were surrounded by towns people. This one was far different. Even the feel of it, was different. He unsheathed his sword and slowly walked up to the double doors of the golden building.

It was easy getting in, a slash of his blade cut through the door and it fell inwards. Once inside what he saw was a strange sight indeed. Women, they were all women there. He arched an eyebrow as he set eyes upon them. A frown slowly pulled his lips down and he waved his sword in a slow, small circle before him, the tip curving through the air. As it went, it looked like a ripple started to expand from the tip of the blade. The women, startled by his sudden appearance looked to be unsure of what to do at first.

It took them a moment to gather their wits about them. He could feel the energy flowing between them as some started to weave magic. Layien tilted his head to the side, did they think that they were going to hurt him? Foolish. The air rippled one last time from the tip of his weapon and with a loud sound like the rushing of air, every last drop of oxygen left the room. Suddenly unable to breathe, the woman began to drop to their knees, clutching their throats and clawing at the air in front of them.

Layien watched for a moment before he moved. He was quick, using the wind to help amplify his movements just a bit. Soon, his sword was dripping in their blood as he cut through one after another. It would only take him a short while to get through the entire castle. As he started to rise up the stairs, going to the next level, a rush of hot air filled the entrance way where he had been. Layien didn't need to look to know that Shra had just ignited everything at the bottom of the staircase.

"I don't need your help, brother."

"Oh, I know that, but why let you have all the fun here," Shra commented lightly as he stepped into the room. His blades flipped in his hands as he ran his tongue across his lips, "I find that women like to run, and I do so like a chase."

Layien huffed lightly and continued upwards. As he went, he heard screams from another part of the castle. Shra had started his slaughter. Almost immediately after though, he heard music. The sound was Mireene's flute, her powerful spell came from her beautiful music. The rising notes gave him strength, more strength than usual. Switching tactics, Layien sent the air pulsing down the hall of the second floor of the castle. The women who had come to stop him were thrown backwards. It seemed the closer that he got to the far end of the hall, the more the women tried to stop him.

There was obviously someone, or something there that they didn't want him to get to. He moved through them easily enough though. His blade cut through each of them. He shifted between sending blasts of air to crush each against the wall or using his sword to run them through. By the time he'd made it to the far room, the hall behind him was nothing but a crimson mess with things broken or turned over from the fight.

The door exploded inwards as he pressed his hand against it. The wood shattered under his power and he stepped inside to see a single woman in the center of the room.

"Can I kill her?" Shra asked, suddenly at his side. The man's weapons were flaming and his frame was covered head to toe in splatters of blood. Mireene's music still came to them from her position right outside the double doors of the castle. She was safe, with no one threatening her there, Shra and Layien had nothing to worry about.

Layien sent his brother a lazy stare before he slowly stepped aside and sheathed his sword. Shra grinned broadly. He stalked into the room, the fires from his sword blazing outwards. Layien, with a wave of his hand, further fueled the weapons, making the fire grow even hotter and leap off the blade to catch random pieces of furniture on fire. Shra lifted the blades and in a single motion ran them both through the elder woman who had stood defiantly, glaring at both of them.

Together the brothers left the castle, having destroyed and killed everyone there. As they left the burning building to meet with Mireene outside, a dark shadow began to materialize near their younger sister. Mireene turned, her rustic gaze sparkling as she knew who it was that had come to see them. Kharun's body took solid shape as his magic faded away and he looked between the three of them.

"Seems we have some... heroes intent on finding us. Why don't you make it easier for them."

"With pleasure," Shra answered, sheathing his swords and putting their fire out at the same time. Mireene reached up and took his hand as she too smiled at her eldest brother.

"Shall I go with them?" Layien asked softly, the hood of his clothes tilting forward with his head as he bowed forward just slightly.

"It isn't necessary. It's only a greeting," Kharun's lips smirked ever so slightly before he disappeared once more into darkness. Shra grinned at his brother before Drevair took him into her body. Layien turned to look at the burning castle one last time before he too allowed his mother to take him to the next location.

         The darkness of the manor was befitting of his tastes. His body left the black mist of his power and he stood silently in the center of the room that was at the bottom of the large house. Slowly his head turned from one side to the other as he regarded the manor from behind the cloth covering his eyes.

Moving forward he stepped onto the old staircase and started upwards. He was silent as he went, nothing more than a shadow in an empty house. His destination was towards the study. He knew there was someone there. Kharun had been on his way to another destination but had stumbled upon the lonely manor. Everything had to be purged of Drevair's soil and this was no exception.

He approached the door, but did not reach to open it. Instead he disappeared into his dark magic again and simply shifted into the other room. Kharun stopped there, watching the other in for a long moment, not making his presence apparent, though he was fairly sure the old man could probably 'feel' that he was there. He waited.

It had been several days since his meeting with the golden eyed assassin and Carlyle was still unsettled. He always needed time to collect himself after meeting with Athos, it was just the feeling one got when being alone in a room with him. It was like having a meeting with death itself in all the absurdity that entailed. Every time they met Carlyle would do most of the talking, he would describe the mark or the specifics of the contract and Athos would listen. He would usually say something after a time, something dark and cold that only furthered the old mans nervousness. A part of Carlyle thought the bastard did it on purpose just to toy with him.

This last meeting was different however, this business of gods and god slaying seemed to pull at the assassin's already lacking good nature. The anger in his eyes, no, the rage when Carlyle had dared make the suggestion that the decision by Athos to accept the contract could possibly be the work of The Triumvirate's will seeking a way to deal with these false gods. Carlyle always assumed that Athos was no man of faith, the way he mocked and ridiculed him in the past for his prayers was a clear sign of that yet this was something else entirely. He half expected the killer to slay him right there.

Whether that act was mercy or not was yet to be seen as the old man moved about his home, unaware of the shadow that lurked, watching his every move like a great beast in the darkness. It's hungry eyes tracking the old man as he moved gingerly, the old man's movements were slow and weak, a sign of his age. Carlyle was moving through his library searching the shelves upon shelves of books in his possession when he paused to turn.

He stared into the shadow with wide, fear filled eyes. The darkness seemed alive this night, like it was looking back at him. It chilled his very soul. Reflexively he took a step back from the crushing blackness at the end of the room as his heart beat quickened.

"Athos?..."

"So, his name is Athos," Kharun whispered softly as he shifted to step into the light. The darkness around him seemed to slither off his shoulders, cascading almost like water. Even so, around his frame, along the very edges, the dark matter seemed to cling to him.

"You believe in... Gods, old man?" Kharun asked as he slowly approached the other. He titled his head slightly as he waited for the answer. His finger tips brushed the edge of the desk as he started to go around it.

Carlyle's voice was frozen in his throat with fear. Such indescribable dread gripped the old man's heart he may have just let his frail body fail him there and then. This being was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Raw power, godly for certain in it's scope poured fourth from him. This being spoke, his voice calm was without anger yet bore a malice the likes of which shook the old man's very soul. He seemed to born of darkness, molded by it and master to it. It emanated from him like a dark aura of shadow made tangible by his mere presence. Carlyle had never had a face to face discussion with a god before but if ever he had he'd imagine it would feel something like this.

The old man stumbled back, nearly falling in his terror as he reached out to steady himself on his desk.

"Yyou... y-you're one of them aren't you?"

He asked, his voice quivering with fear. The figure before him was blindfolded but it seemed obvious that only a fool would think the man without sight. He moved so effortlessly through his surroundings Carlyle expected that this being could no doubt see far better than he could. The old man's hand slowly rose to clutch the pendant of the Triumvirate in the hopes to find some form of solace in the holy sigil.

"Y-you ask if I believe in Gods? I tell you now that I do, I-I believe in the True Gods. The Holy Triumvirate. In Garganth whose strength consumes all. In Kain whose loyalty is a beacon to all mankind. In Abilmel on high, the purest of all."

Carlyle's voice found some measure of strength as he spoke about his devotion to the Gods to whom he worshiped. He set his jaw in fear induced determination and even a bit of anger as he steadied himself to meet death soon. It was a reality he'd been coming to terms with for a long time now, at the hand of this usurper god was merely the means of his destruction nothing more. Carlyle wanted to curse him, damn him and his ilk for his deeds. His tongue would give life to the words in his heart but when he spoke his voice shook like the old man he was...weak, feeble and terrified.

"Why are you doing this?"

He stopped his approach suddenly. His eyes that had been looking around, stared at the bookshelf before him, his fingers twitched ever so slightly as they were brushing against the bindings of the books. Kharun turned slightly, just enough to tilt his head to look over at the old man who held a pendant in his hands.

"True Gods?" his voice was darker than before. He stood there for a moment longer before he vanished from sight. Disappearing withing a wave of inky darkness, he resumed his appearance right before the old man. Stretching out his fingers, he touched the old man's neck.

"The land you live upon, lives and breathes. She is your Goddess, not... this," his fingers curled along the necklace as he yanked it free and threw it to the side.

"We do this because we're trying to save her, whilst you fools try to kill her," his voice shook and the room grew steadily darker as his power began to immerse the small study. Kharun's fingers curled under the old man's throat, tightening ever so slightly.

He stayed like that for a while before suddenly releasing the man and letting the candle light illuminate the room once more. Kharun took a step back away from him and ran a finger across his lips in thought. His head turned to look down at the pendant that lay glittering in the fire light.

"Tell him that I patiently await meeting him. Perhaps you will not be fool enough to believe in such things like this anymore, and start believing in something that is truth rather than lies," Kharun said softly, resuming his cool demeanor once more. Taking a single step back his body was wrapped in darkness and he left the mansion.

Carlyle coughed, his breathes ragged and full of pain racked his body as he struggled to fill his screaming lungs with life saving air. He lay in a heap on the floor of his library, his hands clutching his already bruised throat, gasping for air that could not come quick enough. His mind was full of the beings, the Gods, words.

The land you live upon, lives and breathes. She is your Goddess...

The voice reverberated within the confines of his mind echoing out until all he knew was the Gods words. Slowly but surely breath returned to him yet still he was unable to rise from the floor, his old broken body ached and moaned in protest of the attack.

We do this because we're trying to save her...

Carlyle's eyes began to well up with the tears of emotion, loss, fear and confusion. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up despite the pain in his body. Still unable to breathe easily every movement brought renewed pain to his ailing body. His eyes flicked up to the pendant that lay broken where the Shadow God had cast it down.

start believing in something that is truth rather than lies.

A single tear fell from the old man's eye. The crushing realization that he had been wrong, so wrong. He put his faith, his life, his soul in the service of gods that cared little for him or anyone else. Even when their faithful faced death at the hands of the one who would seek to end all life on their realm they rose not a hand to stop it. Their idols, could be cast down without a word from them. Perhaps they were not the gods worthy of praise after all. Perhaps it is Drevair's children that warrant the worship. Perhaps...

There are no gods

The rage filled words of Athos roared fourth in Carlyle's mind, chasing out the voice of the shadow deity. That single memory of those words spoken by the man with such ire for any being believing themselves above mortality sparked a fire within Carlyle. His eyes lit up with a soul of a species on the brink, of mankinds fight for survival that this war truly was. Not some death brawl between deities but mortalities battle for their right to endure, to live on. The old man, the orphan, slowly rose to his feet with his bony fists clenched. The tear had dripped to the ground and faded, fear being replaced by anger and this time when he spoke the weakness of age was all but gone, there now was but a man whose faith in the gods was gone but instead put his faith in man.

"You wait to meet him shadow god but when you do know that your death comes at the hands of no god but by man... the hands of Athos Lorio."

         The former village of Kartolheim greeted him with nothing but... actually, there was simply nothing at all at first glance. The dirt road that led to it from the paved tract just ended abruptly where the village was supposed to begin. Even from a close range it seemed like the village simply disappeared into nowhere, the place where it stood appearing almost untouched by man. However, the clearing was practically barren, with but a few blades of grass beginning to emerge from the ground.

An ordinary person, even an experienced mage, could search for days and find absolutely nothing. Besides the fact that a whole village simply disappeared here recently, nothing seemed or felt off about this place. It sort of looked like a field, one that was abandoned right before planting and rain and wind later evened out the soil. It was like the place was wiped clean and prepared for nature to reclaim it. The ground almost emanated fertility, prepared to give birth to countless plants.

Kain was circling the former village, searching for any signs of danger before heading in, when he realized that this feeling was more than an impression. It was obvious that something unnatural happened here simply from the fact that the barren land ended abruptly, and the areas around it remained completely untouched by whatever made the village vanish. It was like a patch that didn't match the color of a larger cloth, though comparing it to a hole was likely more fitting. The "lifeful" feeling came from the ground within the village borders, but not from without.

After concluding that he would be in no immediate danger from entering the barren area, Kain headed in to continue his investigation. He was certain the "living soil" was the key to this mystery, and it just so happened that he was properly equipped to open the metaphorical lock. Wasting no time, he headed to the center of the former settlement, where he sat down and entered a meditative state. He had already realized that it was his ability to sense living things that alerted him to the special qualities of this soil, but probing only the surface told him nothing. He needed to focus, to dig deeper with his mind.

For a while, the elf could discover nothing new. It was the same strange sensation, like the ground was full of life energy. And yet, it wasn't "normal" life, something about it felt off. This feeling was familiar somehow, as if he encountered a similar situation multiple times before. Feeling like he was on the right track, the young man focused his unique form of perception deeper underground. It was difficult to imagine, but he was beginning to suspect just what had happened to this village.

The discovery broke his meditation. Deep below the surface, there was Death. Dozens of people were buried under this strange soil, and all of them died within the span of minutes. It was like the ground simply opened up and swallowed the village whole. The lucky ones were crushed to death by the ground or collapsed buildings before they could really feel anything, the rest were left to suffocate in complete darkness. Their deaths were slow and terrifying, the best kind for sacrificial rituals.

Kain stood up on unsteady legs, his senses still overwhelmed. Not unlike himself, the ground absorbed the life energy of these people for itself. He wasn't even sure how that was possible. Any moderately educated person knew the seemingly lifeless ground was full of tiny organisms, but this was different. With a little effort, he could tell there were very few such creatures and plants within this strange soil. It was as if they only started populating the area very recently, as if all of them were somehow removed at some point.

He barely managed to fight back the sudden urge to throw up. The revelation filled him with disgust. One could argue that he was the same way as this soil, but it wasn't the case. He wasn't a living person in the common sense of the word, but he was sentient and had free will. The way he fed on people was not that different from the way any predator fed on their prey. But this place was nothing like that. It was the non-sentient feeding on the sentient, the non-living feeding on the living. It was against everything he considered natural.

It took him some minutes to regain his composure, at which point he decided to tackle another important issue, namely how the village disappeared. The option of the whole place being anomalous in some way was not even on the table - it would have been noticed long ago. It had to be a spell that caused this, but that raised another issue.

Who could have done this? While the elemental magic of earth wasn't his forte, his power was great. And yet it would have taken him days to prepare for such a spell. That or several hours and a good sacrifice. Needless to say, anyone walking around the village and leaving strange objects or drawing strange signs at seemingly random places would have been noticed and reported to proper authorities. In other words, the one who did this resorted to no such method. And while Kain couldn't be sure there was no sacrifice, he was certain that it wouldn't have been nearly enough to power such a spell; it would have left a distinct "smell" if there was.

His discoveries were unsettling to say the least. Kartolheim wasn't destroyed by the man wielding fire, but likely by another from the group he sensed. The elf only hoped that this one was the most powerful of them. Even then, the weakest of the group would be significantly more dangerous than he originally anticipated. He knew there were at least three of them, but there could be more. Their motives remained unclear, but both attacks were indiscriminate massacres. Perhaps both destroyed settlements being part of the Triumvirate meant something, but he couldn't tell either way.

In the end, Kain learned nothing that could be of use to him. He could get a better grasp on the extent of this group's power, but it wouldn't really change his approach: he always exercised maximum caution when dealing with something unknown. With an uneasy heart, the young man returned to the tract and headed in the direction of Bergstadt. He wasn't too hopeful about what he could find anymore, but it was still his best lead.