moved to correct location.

moved to correct location

moved to correct location

moved to correct location

It was dark. Aldor couldn't see anything around him. He was in a void with nothing around him but darkness and then there was a dim glowing red light in front of him. It began to glow brighter until Aldor's features could be seen in the dim light. The light was emanating from what looked like a heart floating in front him. It looked like it was cracked and chunks were gone from it.

"What's this? What's going on?" Aldor asked. He didn't expect an answer, but he suddenly felt a presence that he couldn't see. "Is someone there?"

"Do you not recognize your own heart?" A disembodied voice spoke.

"It's broken. There's pieces missing and it's chipped." Aldor spoke with a sad tone to his voice.

"And yet it still projects such light."

"It's falling apart." Aldor replied.

"But someone will come along to make it whole again. Just keep shining your light."


Suddenly Aldor woke up. He was lying in his bed staring up at the ceiling wondering who he was talking to in his dream and what they had meant. The reality of why his heart was broken and falling apart was all too clear to him now as he remembered what his now ex had done to him. He stayed there trying to fall back to sleep. It was the middle of the night, but he had this explainable feeling that something was about to happen.

The room was dark, light only by a single candle that spluttered and shimmered a thin orange light over the small chamber. It was sparse and cold within, only this small light there to light the lone figure who leaned over the large slab of marbles in the centre of the room. It wasn't the slab he was examining however, though it was certainly far from uninteresting, from the runes of warding and enchantment that had been carved within it to the thin blood channels that lead into small basins at the head and foot of the slab itself. No, what the figure was examining was in fact the body that lay upon the slab itself.

The body had once been a human male, young and no doubt in the swing of their prime before a knife had ended their life. The guards had claimed it to be a mugging gone wrong and given it over to the Necromancers Sect within the small town to do with as they pleased. It seemed to be the way of things out in this small community, those that died and had nobody to collect their bodies would find themselves heading deeper underground then they may have been expecting, to be experimented upon or to be raised to serve the town far above. Most found the undead workers unsettling at first, but after a while came to accept their presence as they worked to fell trees late into the night when all others would rather be at home.

This particular corpse however was in no fit state to be used for anything above ground, it had been sliced open and the blood and bile within drained so the figure could more closely examine it without being disturbed by the vile juices. A fixed expression was laced over his face as he peered deep within the closely packed internal organs of what was once a living breathing man. It fascinated him, how complex all this was and all it was there to do was to sustain its own existence, he supposed it was very much like the functions of the town above, with each part helping the other to survive.

Slowly, he reached out a hand as he straightened back up to his full height. His outstretched hand hovered only a few inches above the corpses still wet innards and with his mind he reached out. He did not have to wait long, though it was far far longer than he would have liked, before he could feel it. There was an innate spark, a warmth that seemed just as real as the warmth and light given off by the candlelight in the corner of the room. This warmth however came directly from the corpse itself, one that should not be there for something so long dead. With nothing but his sheer will alone he pulled at that warmth, commanded it to his hand.

He was rewarded with a deep purple mist that shone and glowed with its own light as it seeped up from the innards of the corpse and slowly trickled along his arm. It was barely even half the size of his forearm in thickness, painfully thin compared to what he had seen some be able to draw from the dead. The light shone far brighter than the orange light of the candle, turning his blue flesh a shade of deep regal purple in kind as he stared at it, studying it deeply with hungry fixed eyes. For a moment there he could feel the spark, the warmth fill his heart where there felt almost as though an empty pit sat in the centre of his chest.

"Ah, so this is where you have been hiding." Such was his concentration that he didn't even hear the door open until the voice had already echoed through. He jumped, the warmth slipping from his grasp as the glowing purple mist dropped back down into the body below. He spun around, painfully aware that his staff was sat against the wall by the door, too far out of reach against anything that sought to cause him harm. He didn't need to worry himself though it seemed.

Stood in the doorway, dressed in the robes of a mage, though in the green and black of their School, with the burning rose of their Sect embossed over the middle of his chest, was the master of the Sect himself. He seemed to be for all intents and purposes a simple and normal human of middle age, a thin beard clung tightly to his plain face and his hair was cut short and simple, brown in colour though greying at the temples. The thing that stood out in sharp contrast however was his eyes, where therein lay a pair of blazing blue orbs, mystical mist spilled from their edges as they bored into the High Orc before them. This was no simple Necromancer, this was a gravewalker, a being locked somewhere between the worlds of wraith and man.

"Master I..."
"Calm yourself, Bunthrozzunneth." The High Orc suppressed a grimace at hearing the master speak his name, most humans and indeed a good number of elves simply failed to be able to pronounce the hidden symbols within High Orcish to say his name correctly no matter how many times he told them. "I am not here to chide you child, I simply wish to know what it is that has been consuming your attention of late." The master stepped inside as he spoke, coming to stand next to Bunthrozzunneth as he too looked down at the corpse on the slab. "Hmmm, I sense you're experimenting with mana again."

"Yes, master. I am trying to discern where it is that mana resides within a corpse. I had thought at first that mana came from the soul... But..."
"If that was the case then why would the bones of the long dead still hold the same energy?" The gravewalker concluded, to which the High Orc could only nod. "It is a question many have wondered and yet no answer has been forthcoming yet. Though I'm sure if anyone will be able to do it, I'm sure it will be you. Out of all the students here you have certainly one of the more... Unique outlooks on the world. Come now, you have not rested in three weeks." As Bunthrozzunneth opened his mouth to protest the master simply silenced him before he had a chance to speak. "Yes, I'm sure you feel fine or that you are close to a breakthrough, however you are still mortal. It would not do to have anyone pass out from exaustion from pressing themselves too far. Go, rest."

He knew it wasn't a suggestion this time and that to disobey would cause him no small amount of grief. With an inclination of his head he turned and picked up his staff once more, heading back through the winding corridors of the Necromancers Sect back to his own private quarters.

Everyone who heard of Morelia, or the Dame of the Fallen House as some mockingly called her, thought of her punishment as a sort of dolled up enslavement. She had to serve her "Lord" and the Crown to repay the debt her family had amassed through crime but the life of a Knight/Dame was as enriching as it was perilous. Sure, if any trouble came to the fiefdom she served or should her Lord will it, she would be sent to deal with it but this was not a daily occurrence. Morelia spent most of her days in a rather dull but otherwise pleasant predictable cycle.

She would awaken as the sun rose and was free to do as she pleased until first Mass at Noon. After this session of worship and prayer (Morelia being the blasphemer she was, napped during her prayers and endured the nonsense that was the worship of these so called "Higher Powers" or Gods"), Morelia would practice her battle, study warfare and strategy, and or assist in the training of the Garrison's soldiers. After this her afternoon was open until sun down when she would be forced to partake in more courtly activities, putting to practice her chivalric code and her understanding of Courtship to entertain whatever important guests were present at the castle. Some might think her a fool to not enjoy dances and feasts but Morelia was not anti social. She did not enjoy these feasts and dances because she would rather be swinging her sword at practice dummies. She despised them because these were not done in her name. Morelia was ambitious. Perhaps too ambitious. Her goal for now was to revive the Lionharts but she could hope but envision more...Perhaps she would dare aim for the crown?

Such treasonous thoughts would have to be put to wait as the carriage came to a halt. "Dame and company!". The coachman spoke loudly enough to catch the attention of his targeted audience but not so loud as to grab the attention of others. The door was opened and a hand offered Morelia assistance, she ignored it and made her way out of the carriage. The dirt beneath her feet gave way beneath the weigh of Plate armor. Hugging her hip was an Arming Sword upon whom's hilt her left hand rested on. On the opposite end a dagger and a Mace. Two more gentlemen accompanied her, these two wore Gambeson under a layer of chainmail shirts. Their heads protected by metal kettle helms, they were experienced Men At Arms which was why they sported decent armor. Each had a wooden shield and studded leather with a Mace and Dagger at their hip. The last member of her company was a young boy who also sported a shirt of chainmail and a tunic with the Lord's heraldry. He did not have any weapons of his own but he did carry a sheathed Beidhänder one could only assume was the property of the Dame.

"Alright you lot, we are going to find a place to stay for the night that isn't flea ridden if there are any and tomorrow we will begin our inspection of the lands. If you spot any undead, don't fret it. According to our Lord, the Necromancer Sect here legally reanimates the corpses of criminals and other undesirables so they can serve the living. Don't doubt for a second we won't be inspecting them as well.".

With a groan and a grunt, the two older Men At Arms walked ahead of Morelia, who followed suit. The Boy was sticking close to the Dame, probably nervous and fearful due to the mention of the undead presence.

It was early in the morning when Aldor woke up. His dream still weighing heavily on his mind, he went about making himself some breakfast. Today was his day off from the medical center, so he decided that he would go out into the town and do some shopping at the marketplace. As he ate he looked at the seat across the table from his own. It pained him to think about what had happened, how Talon had left him because he found out about Aldor's ancestral heritage. Talon didn't want to be seen with a Dark Elf, even if he was only half Dark Elf.

After shedding a few tears and finishing his food, Aldor got dressed and went into town. The market was in the center of town so he had a long walk as he lived at the edge of town. He browsed around the various stands selling everything from food to clothing. A trading post was set up at one end of the market which was always getting new interesting items from people passing through from other places around the world. There was also a blacksmith at the other end of the market run by an elf, an orc and a human excelling in the armors and weapons of their races. As he walked through town he got the usual angry looks from those that were against magic users. It was strange to see those looks even from other elves, as not all elves possessed magical abilities regardless of the race. These non-magical elves were sadly not above turning on their own kind.

Aldor stopped at one of the stands and picked up a few bottles of Keloqian ale and blackberry brandy. He didn't want to be alone, but if he had to be, then he was going to make it as bearable as possible. He also bought some venison and lamb before going back to browsing the market. His senses were telling him that he should linger there a while longer before heading home. He felt as though something was trying to get his attention but he couldn't place what just yet.

By the time the sun risen and before the birds commenced to sing their morning songs, Morelia was awake and so was her Page. The arrangement was the same as it was last night except this time, he carried her sword over his head. His sword training had begun. Following after his instructor and his Dame, the Page carried that massive sword until they were outside of the town and a little ways into the wood. He was permitted to rest, briefly, and then she handed him her arming sword. The sword had been secured to the scabbard in a peace tie so even whilst swinging, the blade would remain sheathed.

"Ill purchase you a proper wooden practice sword later, until then make use of my sword." Morelia told him as she handed it over. the Page nervously traded the massive Zweihander for the much smaller blade, his arms shaking from strain. Without wasting time, she commenced to teach him some basic drills, making use of the trees as practice dummies. Whenever he failed to follow through, she struck him on the head and foretold his future death. Praise...was not something that she was accustomed to give but she force herself to do so, it was necessary. Though it was an obnoxious interaction, self confidence was important in a sword fight too. Plus this child was far too meek. At times, it was cute but if he remained shy and fearful, he would make a poor Squire and a dead Knight.

This went on for an hour or so until Morelia ended the session. "Return to the Inn. Clean yourselrest, and practice your writing. If either one of those armored serfs dares to disturb you, tell them you are following my instructions. If they do not acknowledge the weight of my word, I shall make them acknowledge the weight of my sabatons on their skull."

The boy nodded and slowly walked back to the town. For a time, Morelia trailed him until the time that their paths parted. If she was to start with her jest of a task to inpsect the town of Ithor, it would be best to do so promptly. The sooner her report was ready, the sooner she could leave. Her walk lead her to the center of Town and rather than continue aimlessly wondering, Morelia needed to get her bearings. Ithor was not a massive town but it was large enough for a new comer to get lost which almost occurred this morning (much to the dismay of the Page Boy who followed her). Now she just had to find a local who was willing.

An Elf caught her eye and...well he did not appear to be anything special aside from being an Elf. Eh. Might as well try starting with him.

"You!" She called out as she approached. He did not look to her. Is he deaf? She called out to him again but nothing. Perhaps this place is merely too crowded for her voice at this distance? Morelia closed in, now going into the midst of the crowd that was and moving. How did she spot this particular elf in such a flowing river of people? The crowd seemed to be of one mind for the instant that she stepped among them, they made way for her. It was the power of status and the power that was the sight of a fully armored (minus her helm) Dame with a massive two hander sword charging towards you. Without effort she moved through them and continued. "You... Do you know your way around this town, Elf?".

Aldor hadn't noticed the way the town seemed to be more crowded than usual. He had lived in the town all his life and this was nothing new to him. He heard shouting from across the square, but he couldn't hear exactly what was being said. Suddenly, he saw an armored figure running right at him with a huge sword.

"I paid for the wine, I swear!" He said as he made a shield appear out of nowhere. It was made of solid shadow and had an almost smoke-like appearance. He braced himself for an attack as the woman in armor ran close. Then she stopped.

"You... Do you know your way around this town, Elf?" She asked him.

Aldor paused and the shield seemed to evaporate as he realized what was going on. He stood up straight and laughed nervously.

"Sorry, I thought you wanted something else. Yes, I know the town really well. How can I help you?


_________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Reyleph was dangerously dehydrated. He was barely able to walk to when he saw Ithor in the distance. He managed to drag himself to the town. The farms along the outskirts of the town had a powerful aroma of livestock. Reyleph knew where there were animals there would be water available. He crossed a pasture with a herd of cattle in it and made his way to the barn where he found the water trough and stuck his head in and drank as much as he could without a care about how clean the water was.

After drinking his fill, Reyleph looked down. He could only imagine what anyone who saw him would think when they saw him, he was in nothing more than a loin cloth and had shackles on his wrists and ankles. He was still a little dizzy and he needed food. He didn't think that it would be a good idea to go anywhere with the shackles, so he searched the barn until he found a hack saw and he used it to cut the shackles off. As he walked into the shopping district he took the clothes off a scarecrow he saw out in the field and put them on so he would be less conspicuous. It was just a pair of overalls as the shirt didn't fit. He got to the market district and he suddenly felt dizzy and light-headed. He began to stagger and his vision went dark before he blacked out and fainted in the middle of the town square.