The Kingdom of Ethia

Ozmorin and Little Eden slowly trailed their way along the cobblestone road, neither talking but with a thousand thoughts, as a light breeze would seemingly at random flicker past Ozmorin, and he took it as proof, as he had a thousand times before, that Kind was there. She obviously stayed hidden to avoid being seen, although there was a miniscule chance that anyone that they came upon could actually see her manifest, but occasionally she would concentrate enough to dab at Little Eden's nose, causing a wild and futile chase in which Little Eden would playfully dive at nothing, attempting to catch an invisible foe. However, it seemed the grim mood would seep back in and both would return to walking in an awkward silence. This pattern repeated itself for several minutes until Kind gave one last try at lifting their spirits. Suddenly, all to Ozmorin's surprise, a massive gust of wind gusted at his feet, causing him to lose his balance and being sent forward in a comical tumble, and Ozmorin, laying on the ground in a mess, with his outfit being thrown askew, gave an angered glare at no specific thing. He held his discontented face for a mere few seconds before boasting out in a bellowing laughter, and he quickly swept up Little Eden, peskily ruffling her hair in a kiddish and jolly way. When he finally sat her down again and their chuckling was done, they continued walking with a slight smile, for they had but almost, almost, completely forgotten about the carnage.

They walked lightly for only a few seconds before a clearly injured Aina came tumbling out of the brush, and Ozmorin could tell his wing was broken. Dashing over worriedly, Ozmorin decided to help, but he wanted to know he was not obliviously joining a fight and putting Little Eden in danger.

"Woah! Settle down. First, tell me how you obtained these wounds." Ozmorin was straight forward and authoritative.

The stranger rushed over to the ailing Herandyl, asking how he had gotten his wounds. Herandyl's eyes, bleary with pain, gazed at the stranger and studied him more closely. A strong face, this was man who radiated authority. He found himself telling the man his whole story. "I am Herandyl Riolus, of the Aina. I have broken contact with my people and fled, and I flew for two straight days. I fell asleep whilst in the air, and I believe my wing was broken on contact with a tree. That is how I was injured. Nothing more. Nothing less. Now I must ask, are you skilled in healing? For my injuries are beyond my skill." As he spoke he gulped with pain and his voice wavered. A fresh bolt of pain hit him as he shifted a bit while he told his tale, and an involuntary groan was torn from his throat. "Help me... there is no one else... please..."

Ozmorin listened carefully. To him, it seemed like a sound alibi, so he simply nodded and headed out into the woods, leaving Little Eden curiously looking at the stranger. When Ozmorin returned, he came back holding a queer assortment of herbs, ranging from dark purples to bright oranges, and he very casually handed them over to Little Eden. She quickly devoured them, and Ozmorin waited patiently with his hand out, expectantly.

"You may find this gross. Sorry." Ozmorin was soft and apologetic.

Little Eden hacked for a few seconds, but then regurgitated what used to be a gorgeous bouquet of flowers into a slimy pale mush, and the puke was promptly plopped into Ozmorin's hand.

"I know it must be rather putrid, but it came from a time before healing magic. It probably works better too." And with that Ozmorin smeared the disgusting chunky sludge on the wing, letting it seep into the pours and hopefully find its way down to the bloodstream.

"Your wing should be feeling better soon, and within a couple of days and a few more viles of, well, vile, you should be good to go. The pain should somewhat subside, so slow down and tell me exactly what you are doing, my dear fellow?" Little Eden stared ponderously.

Elterys's face broke into a quick smile at the arrival of Yveine and her Lumens, and he bounded forward, leaping onto the cart full of quivers, feet spread apart as he balanced, and raised his arms in greetings and to quiet everyone. "Alright everyone! The time has come! On this day, on this hour, we march to the frontier! We march, not for glory or self-preservation as some here in this very palace may claim, but for the good of our Nation! The glory of our people! Some may call us insane for proposing to take on entire tribes of orc! I say they are insane for not believing in us! What say you!"

The Grey Guard lifted their arms and yelled "Aye!" in a wall of sound.

Elterys lifted his spear, and yelled "March, March for me! March for your Land! March for your people! Know that every step you take brings you one step closer to the salvation of our race! Forwards!" his voice ringing like a trumpet, galvanizing every soul within earshot. The Guard formed into a column, armor shining in the sun, and began marching in perfect unison, foot after foot hitting the ground, raising little plumes of dust as they did so. Then they began to sing. They sang of war and of victory, of blood and death, and of their love for Eldanoore. This was their tribute. This was their time. This was the might of the Elda marching to war in all their brilliant power.

Herandyl's stomach flipped over in disgust as the pale sludge was slathered over his wound, but the searing pain in his right wing faded to a soothing coolness. His tortured muscles unclenched as the pain left, and he sagged in relief. He looked at the stranger with thankfulness in his eyes, and then a stream of words began flowing "How did you know how to do that? That was amazing! I wouldn't know how to do that. Who's the fox? I've never seen a fox, only in books. Can you actually shoot that bow, it looks powerful. Is that a bastard sword? I use a longsword myself, as you can see. Oh wow! Are you one of the rangers of Ethiafell? Even in my homeland we've heard stories of you!" His voice was slightly breathless, his wonderment obvious to see. What had seemed to be a terrible day was now looking up indeed. His wing was healed, he had someone new to talk to, and a very interesting person at that. Life was not all that bad after all. For the first time since his crash, Herandyl was glad he had run away.

Kant! Sanguinis Sagitta! The voice in his head yelled, the tone much more urgent than it had been before. All sarcasm had left it's words, and Kant knew what that meant. His body had been ruthlessly trained by that voice, and he didn't even need to consider acting on its words. His body merely did as it was told to.

"SANGUINIS SAGITTA!" Kant barked, the words of power forcing the blood flowing from his palm to shoot forward in the fashion of an arrow. The force he put into the spell stopped him in midair and even pushed him back a bit. He managed to land deftly on his feet, barely stopping himself before he collapsed. The arrow flew forward before shattering against an invisible wall, at which point Kant knew why the voice had warned him.

Still, his palm stung and his body felt a bit lighter from the blood that had been drained from him. He doubted he had much more blood magic usage in him, or any magic at all for that matter. He'd settle this solely with the sword if he could.

Ozmorin was struck with question after question, and all he did was give a confused look to Little Eden. He began speaking soft and slow, as if speaking to a child of five years, but he was sure the Aina would find it sincere. That already brought a smile to his face.

"That was simple archaic-medicine, when magic was only a whisper and no two-legged creature walked the earth, well maybe bears at times, and the regurgitation was just to mix it quickly and let it work faster, I had no time to act and had to treat quickly. Or so I thought. To answer your second question, yes, I have been trained to use a bow since I was four as to survive, but I digress, I am no ranger. Although I once was. Finally this is 'my pen'. Oh! I almost forgot your most important question throughout your rambling, for this is Little Eden, a fox which was born over ten-thousand years ago and come from a time, like most things I have been taught, when elementals ruled." He patted the top of the fox's head lovingly.

Ozmorin held out his hand and helped the boy to his feet. He looked off down the road and sighed, it was miles until the village where the families were and he could tell that the fancy to help had left him, and Ozmorin, being raised by the wood, is no man to fight intuition. Looking now to the woods to his right, he knew that if he trailed through the forest for miles, he could arrive in the town of Caintry within the day, and he preferred the lush green to the grey stone. Suddenly hearing the slight shuffle of his new companion, he sighed once more realizing he may not be able to tread the thick brush as well with those wings, and he obviously could not fly with such an injured wing. Sadly he could not follow, and Ozmorin looked down at Little Eden and, as he expected, she could see his decision making.

She simply and casually waved her head toward the wood, clearly saying Leave him, there is a village close and I want grub. He will be fine. Let us finally get of this road

Ozmorin nodded and turned to the winged boy. "Sorry, but the way we are going you cannot follow, and there is a village that way," he pointed down the road," where you can get medical supplies. This is farewell, my fellow." Ozmorin placed his hand on the Aina's shoulder in a sarcasticly empathetic way, and then sharply turned into the woods, Little Eden close behind.

Stephen Kane was running down the center of the street, people parting way for him, and he would hope that he could outrun The One-Eyed Crow due to having a smaller body. He probably would have too, if he weren't carrying the Whittler.
"Retusum." He heard Latter mumble. He recognized the word to be of the Ancient Tongue. So Latter was a mage! That explained the fire earlier. He looked down at the Tellem as he was running, but before he could open his mouth to say a word, the Tellem had fallen back out of consciousness, and he heard a loud crash behind him like the sound of broken glass. He looked over his shoulder as he was running, to see Kant collapse and shards of tiny red crystals in the air all around him, dropping like pellets of sand.
"Blood Mage!" Cried an onlooker.
"Heretic!" Shouted another.
Seph got the feeling that an angry mob would form around Kant, if they weren't afraid of his magic, so instead they kept their distance and hurled insults. Seph had not quit running, however, and kept his pace for many blocks.

Thirty minutes had passed since he'd last seen the Blood Mage, and Seph finally was able to rest. He'd made it to an inn where he could let the Tellem rest until he regained consciousness. After paying the innkeeper some gold, he laid Latter down on a bed, and he sat in a chair in the corner of the room, going completely still and silent. There he hung in the darkness of the dim room until the Tellem would awaken.

Kant roared at the people around him, unable to chase after Stephen through the mob. Not that he would be able to move that fast even without them, given his blood loss. A wicked idea formed in his head, however, only moments after Stephen moved out of sight. So many people around him. People rangers were dedicated to protect. He wanted to finish this with Stephen, and he had the perfect idea how to do so.

Seriously?

"You're coming with me," Kant said to a young lass who was near the front of the crowd, unsure of what was going on. His rough hand grasped her by the scruff of the neck before she could flee. The people gasp and seemed as if they were about to move forward to rescue her, but Kant quickly put that idea to rest. He snarled at them, flexing the muscles in his sword arm.

"Hmph," He grunted as they backed away, making a hasty retreat back the way he had came. He nimbly climbed over the broken wall before taking off, escaping before guards could arrive.

Not too long later, Kant was waiting in an abandoned house in one of the city's less savory neighborhoods, the young lass he kidnapped tied up so she wouldn't pose a problem when Stephen arrived. He took the time to rest and recuperate from earlier, the wound on his hand already closed.

Einar Ryland

Gerald's carriage rode up to the stone gates of Ethaland and was stopped by the guardsman who was slouching by the gate.

"Inventory?" He said, sounding as bored as he looked as he walked over to speak to Gerald.

As Gerald rattled off the list of items he had in the carriage, Einar thought about what he was going to do later. He was already getting old for this kind of work. In his clan there were few old warriors and even they'd usually had been trained in the safer side of warfare, like archery and the likes. Usually by the time they'd reach Einar's age they'd have sustained a few injuries that put them in no condition to fight, leaving them to train the new generation of warriors.

Then the carriage jerked as the Guardsman waved the pair through the gates as they opened. The streets were already starting to get busy, as shops started to open and small stalls being set up at the side of the road to sell items like jewelry and antiques at a cheaper price than the stores. There were of course the street magicians and the beggars also on the sides, performing their tricks to earn a measly coin or two. Gerald drove the carriage through the streets, eventually stopping in front of an inn that had a stable large enough to accommodate the horses. Einar brought Hylar out of the back of it, its muzzle still blood stained.

"I've got to clean you up Hylar, I don't think the city guard will take too kindly to you looking like this." he whispered to the wolf, who responded by nuzzling his face against Einar's. Gerald came out from behind the carriage, carrying a small pouch in his hand.

"Here is the rest of your payment Einar, five hundred Tybalts as promised. You may count them if you wish but you have my word that they're all in there. In fact, to repay for your excellent... work that you did, I'll pay for a night in this fine establishment."

Einar just nodded, not being one to turn down a gesture of kindness from this man who'd he'd known for the past few weeks. Gerald lead the way into the relatively quiet inn, with only a few people sitting around the front. This level of the inn was a small tavern, with a bar counter where the innkeeper served both roles of a barkeep and an innkeep. It was about fifteen steps in when Einar was stopped by one of the hired muscle that this particular inn employed.

"You can't bring the beast in here." The man pointed at Hylar.

"He stays."

The two stared at each other, even if Einar was a full head taller than the man. Then the innkeeper spoke.

"Let him have it. As long as he pays I don't mind if he brings it along. You may want to wash it though, I don't think the folks around here would take too kindly to a sight like that."

Einar nodded in response, and the rest of the process went easily enough. He stayed in his room for a while, cleaning his swords, armor and Hylar. He went to the main room and sat to eat his meal, a plain simple one, just a slab of meat and roasted potatoes with a mug of ale on the side. He watched the inn as he ate, taking note of the people who came and went.

Stephen Kane had sat in the room for another half hour. The blood mage had still not shown up, and the Tellem had still not awaken. Sighing, he left the room and went down the stairs into the main room to get a meal. He looked around the room, noting a middle aged man eating meat and potatoes. He sat in a nearby table and the innkeeper quickly hurried over to him nervously.
"What would you like to eat, my lord?" He asked Seph. As a Ranger, Seph was used to being called by "Sir" or "My lord" even though he was not of nobility. At first it had bothered him, but he had learned to ignore it. Seph ordered venison steak and a glass of goat milk. He waited for his mean then, the cowl of his green cloak pulled up, the shadows hiding his face, and bow strung across his back.

The sight of his warriors marching, singing, inspired by his words, it made his heart swell with pride, and love. Yes, love. Love for this nation that had birthed him, for this realm that he would bleed for, die for, and kill for. He merely watched them for a few seconds, watching as the Lumens integrated with the guard flawlessly, their skills evident. For the umpteenth time he was glad that Lady Yveine had joined his forces. Speaking of which, she came to him and said “Strong words my lord, you certainly know how to motivate them. Perhaps you could do something similar for Lord Nefarian, he approached me earlier claiming he was uncomfortable about sending his men to Ethia's border.”

Elterys bobbed his head at the compliment as he walked, looking up at Yveine on her horse, and then said "Nobles like he are much harder to inspire to do anything that doesn't directly help their self interests. My words would be lost on him I fear. But ah well, he is the King's problem, for today we go north! This is the day we begin to forge our glory on the anvil of destiny!" His voice, quiet at first, swelled into the ringing tones he had used earlier. Then, his voice quieted once again, and he said "Now to business. I like the way you have your Lumens arrayed around the column, but here is the plan I devised. I want two two man teams three miles out on both left and right sides of the column, to scout and warn us of obstacles. You know your agents better than I, so I will leave it to you to choose them." All this while, the singing had not ceased, and what a marvel it was to listen to. The Elda are the fair folk indeed! Their voices were a melodious blend of ringing tenors and dark baritones and rumbling basses, all blending into a wonderful harmony that would make an Elven heart swell at the sound.

Latter shot up from the bed with such force that he found himself on the floor, and he inspected his body all over, sighing relief and thanking any god he could come up with that he was not being sauteed over a skillet to be eaten by the freak. As he scanned his surroundings, he found he was not in a jail cell either, queer, and he found no ranger, and he thanked the gods even more feverishly for his luck, he could easily slip away. Finding his way to the door with a peppy swagger, he found the stairs and progressed down silently, and as he peeked his head around the corner he saw the ranger distracted, limiting his field of vision, making for an easy, almost juvenile, escape. What a fortuitous change, if I do say! However, with his next step, he felt himself lose control of his legs, no doubt an after-shock from completely draining his aura, and his knees buckled right from under him. In an awkward and comical fashion, he fell face first down right in front of where the ranger was ordering his breaking of fast, and Latter laid in a heap before him, looking up with a kind smile, almost embarrassed, as to play it off.

"I came to... uh... get your... Drink! I came to get your drink, um, master?" Latter tried his best to sound convincing, but that would be hard considering he still could not feel his legs.

The dingy tavern was nothing but dark and wet, droplets making annoying taps on the ground as they from the ceiling and into buckets, a slight gloom fogging throughout and touching the few sulking who sat in the last of the decrepit chairs that were still standing with the worn strain of overwork, and among these melancholy few was Mundy, slumping low in his seat with his head down in a drowsy manner, sighing noticeably heavy to aware people of his normal and typical surroundings. Bored to beyond any measurement, he found himself having the deep urge to start a fight with one of the common drunks to at least be doing something, anything, for he would not just sit around and wait ages for adventure just to walk in the door. Mundy had half a mind just to walk out of the door, staring at it longingly, with the zeal to walk all the way to Ethany, the grand city, instead of being bogged by the second fiddle city with much less beauty and copious amount of less things to do, but, as usual, Mundy just remained lounged with his feet staying ever still, in fact with the thought of not going, he slumped even farther down into his chair, his feet outstretching and his chin to his chest. So, deciding to just pass the time, Mundy slowly creaked his joints, rigid from his long rest, in the process of standing to fight one of the many thugs or gang member that would sit, attempting at ominous, in the dark corners while checking just as nervously for the guard as the lesser criminals, when suddenly a man walked the door, and not just a man but a man with a beast.

This man was a curious giant, tall as an elf but burly as one of the stout rangers or better, with the swagger of a person who could cleave the head off of all the thugs with on fair swing, and his beast, no doubt a wolf, even now had blood on his muzzle and the look of readiness to kill in his eye. What a queer life the life of that wolf must be, to wait most of your life for one word, a word to signify your battle where you could no doubt die, and once the quick and hellish slaughter and carnage have ended, you go back to waiting for that one word. How even stranger that words existence must be, but Mundy digressed to the situation at hand. Looking at the man again, he thought of the adventures this man has no doubt had, fighting drakons and slaughtering hydras for the same price as painting one of the corner shops, and he thought of the no doubt adventures he would have if he would just shadow the man. Mundy, thinking of adventures and wolves, slowly rose in his seat to sit with a slight lean forward of interest as he watched the man take powerful steps to make his way through the room. Mundy, now pensive, tried his best to come up with a conversation starter with the man, but when he drew blank, he slowly nudged his full mug to the edge until it came crashing down, brown liquid spilling every direction, with a loud clank with a bit of ale landing on the burly's leg.

Mundy shot up, standing straight, and approached the man with a kind but confident mood about him, and he did a short bow before realizing that was the elves he read about and adjusted himself.

"Terribly sorry about that," he said curiously still, all the while eyeing the beast, knowing that their battle would hang in the balance of a word.

"I am Ambadark, the best mage to ever live. And who might you be?"

Einar frowned as the man in front of him knocked over his own drink and some of its content splashing onto Einar's pants. He heard Hylar growl at the man, but it was disciplined enough to not tear the man's throat out. At least not until Einar gave him the command. Einar looked the man in the face, examining him. He looked young, at least younger than he was. His robes and staff gave him away as a mage, though Einar could not tell what type since he couldn't see auras anyway. He put down his fork and knife slowly. He took a swig from his own mug before answering the mage, Ambadark, as he called himself. He smiled in amusement at the man's arrogance. He'd put this man down a step.

"Well, Ambadark, first of all you don't look like the most powerful mage in existence. I can tell you the names of fifty other mages, both more experienced and more powerful than you. I've been friends with them, enemies with them, and in the cases I was paid to, killed them as well. So tell me, why would I even want to tell you my name?"

Mundy, seeing the man's smile, smiled back. Proof! He knew for sure now that this man was everything that he thought him to be, but his train of thought was interrupted by the another growl from the wolf. Mundy tried his hardest to hold back a jump, the wolf was rather terrifying, and he turned to the man, his smiling not fading, although the wolf did not help.

"Because, my kind... terrifying sir, none of them have this!"

Mundy looked politely at him and held out his hand as if handing something, and he whispered the words as if for no one to hear.

"Ignis de nocte nostras regni."

Suddenly, fire ignited from his hand, but this fire was no normal fire. It was completely black, it was more of a silhouette of fire, and it cast no shadows, strangely shadows seemed to go towards Grinning like a boy who just out played his father, he bounced the fire back and forth from hand to hand like a ball, and finally he snuffed it out.

"And if you are still not impressed..."

He quickly repeated the words, but this time he made a gesture towards the plate which exploded into black flame. He knew that there was no way for the man to put out the flame, so he grinned happily. He would have either impressed the man or angered him, so he thought of a way to quickly win the fight. His gazed shifted towards the wolf, who still looked just as mean, and he decided.

He would be impressed or he would roast the dog.

Elterys nodded at the swiftness that Yveine carried out his orders, and watched with a slight amount of amazement at the speed the Lumens moved to accomplish their task, noting their dedication to Yveine. They marched for a time, then Elterys decided to lend his voice to the Guard's. Thus an hour passed, marching and singing, and another hour, until it was mid-afternoon. Elterys called the column to a halt for a fifteen minute break for a luncheon. With precision everyone stopped marching and began getting out food. Within five minutes every warrior was eating a meal called teloren, or "Ever-Fresh" because it never goes bad. It consists of a piece of meat, wrapped in bread, enchanted with a spell to never go bad. Every single person who has ever had it agrees that it lacks any kind of flavor. Elterys wandered over to Yveine, clutching his own teloren, and said "So what do you think of the fare? Exciting eh?" A chuckle bubbled up from his throat at this, and then he asked "Do you have any ideas you would like to share to get this mission accomplished as quickly as possible? I'm open to any and all suggestions, so long as they make sense and save lives."

Herandyl stared in shock for a moment, then two as his savior walked off, and then he made a decision. "Hey, wait! I'm coming with you! I'm a good swordsman! And I can fly! Surely thats useful?" While saying that he charged into the underbrush, chasing the elusive ranger that was not a ranger and his companion. Branches tore at every inch of Herandyl but it did not deter him. For in him was the blood of the Aina, and he would not bend to some thistles. Forcing his way through, yelling the occasional "Hey! Wait!" he doggedly pursued Ozmorin. Then, it happened. Not being familiar with moving through the dense wood, he ran straight under a branch that was a little too low, and it scraped the top of his head in an extremely painful way. With a quick curse he unslung his sword and begin hacking his way through the wood in a fit of anger, the sharp sword slashing the bushes with ease, and thus he continued his hunt. He would not be left behind. No, no he would not.

Einar looked at the black fire burning on his plate, looking at it. He hadn't had too many encounters with dark magic, but he knew that he hadn't come across anything like this before. He didn't like it when the mage cast his gaze at Hylar. This is when he was pretty sure that his own speed, no matter how fast wouldn't be able to stop this mage casting his black fire at Hylar. So Einar, with little choice, muttered his own words of power, quietly so only Hylar and himself could hear it.

"Terra pugnus."

His aura poured itself into the air behind Ambadark, quickly forming into a small chunk of rock. If it didn't knock him out when it hit, then the distraction would give Einar ample time to draw his blade and finish the dark mage. He looked at the mage again, and spoke. His smile was no longer there, rather a more aggressive scowl.

"Interesting magic, but this seems like you're trying to intimidate me, and I don't like being intimidated. I suggest you go on your way now."

Stephen Kane raised an eyebrow as the Tellem tumbled down the stairs and landed promptly in a messy heap in front of him. He sighed, blowing air between his teeth, and shook his head at the Tellem's excuse.

"You don't need to try to escape from me, you should know." Seph said to him. "I'm not planning on turning you in. You stole something from me, and even though I noticed, that's commendable." He pondered on whether he should mention that he might have plans to take Latter on as his apprentice, even though the short elf was probably too old. He shrugged, if he could make a good Ranger, then age didn't matter as much. "Anyways, what would you like to eat? After break, you're coming with me t-"

Just then the door to the inn flew open. A city guard stood in the doorway, and behind him a line of guardsmen could be seen marching down the road. The guard barked at the inn's inhabitants; "Everyone! Be at the City Plaza in the next two hours! King Threllen Greyford II will be speaking to the crow-" He stopped yelling immediately upon spotting Seph, a Ranger. "M-m-my apologies, Sire." He stuttered. "I didn't realize you were in here, nor do I wish to issue orders to you, but all Rangers in the city limits are expected to be there to guard the king."

Seph sighed. "We'll be there. Go along." The guard left the inn and Seph turned to Latter. "Well? What do you want to eat? Let's make it quick, we should leave in the next thirty minutes."

As Vussrix accompanied Seadin out of the throne room, Seadin took in his work so far, and he realised that he was not proud but satisfied. Small torches casted light and shadows in the stone halls, making everything ominous and dark, and the occasional undead would be standing aimlessly to the side. He looked at his undead, some orcs and some elves, as the torch light reflected off the metal of their armor, and that itself proved their difference from zombies, a futile attempt to use corpses as soldiers by pathetic necromancers. Seadin’s undead were not hollow shells cursed to walk like zombies were, but were actual spirits able to come back into the living world. They could think like normal humans, however very sluggish and dull, and would fight with swords or any mundane weapon rather than the zombie’s using of only hands to try and kill your enemies. This formed the grunts, but his undead, while completely superior to zombies, were incapable of commanding or intelligent thought. So, to fill his officer needs, Seadin subjugated demons of various types to command his undead, finding how to do that after learning from his own befriended demon Vussrix, and do within months his legion had swept across civilizations far outreaches and built his numbers.

Finally, Seadin came to a heavy and decrepit wooden door that lead to the War Room, and by giving a nod, his giant friend went through to show another myriad of different demons. One was a tall and lanky demon with gray skin, red eyes, and clad in nothing but a loin-cloth, showing a body that seemed nothing but skin and bone, who went by the name of Guldor, and the other was a short and stout demon with a skin complexion no different than that of normal living beings but had purely purple eyes and a purple beard that went down to his ankles who was called Dunder. Both stood around a large black table with a massive and dirty map pinned to the table by four dagger on each corner, and Seadin and Vussrix found places on the remaining sides of the table to begin the conversation.

Dunder began to speak, speaking in a voice that resembled two boulder repeatedly thudding together.

“Dead Father,” he begun, Seadin still not used to the name his men had given him, “it seems to me that the preparations for another march are well in order, and it we did it like the last time, these dirty, dumb soldiers will tear through the orcs as we did the elves. I can hardly wait, to see their green guts spill from their heads! Or however they work, they need not a brain! Our here dumb dirties can probably do better functioning of the brain those sacks of shit! Ah, neither mind that, I tigress or whatever you say to go back, to answer you summonings in short, yes we may move.”

Dunder, finishing his loud chatter, plumptly smiled, and then he tuned to Guldor for his own statement. Guldor shifted awkwardly as he adjusted his long body to address Seadin, and he spoke with a voice that was almost identical to the rasping of a man who had just came from a burning building after inhaling the smoke for hours on end.

“Massster, my scouts show the orcs as disunited and squabbling as ever, but we do have a sssplendid surprise.” Seadin was tad annoyed with the random longevity of certain S’s seemingly at random, but he let the towering stick continue.

“The elves either have no idea of us slaughtering many of their frontier men, or they are more orc than we give them credit for. The only force we have seen leave the capital is a miniscule force, so I sssay we leave them be. They are no threat, we will extinct the elves soon enough. Oh, and one more thing. It seems an elf wishes to travel here and meet with you here, and he is rumored to be powerful. Ssshal we add him to the horde?”


Seadin did not think hard on the subject, and decided almost instinctively his course. Seadin spoke with a voice that seemed to be the sucking of life and all air. and it seemed his words were empty but powerful enough for authority.

“Let him come, and we will show strenght to impress him so he may either fear or fancy. Post one thousand of the undead in perfect columns in front of the gates and command them to stand perfectly still, not moving no matter what, and then order the rest to hide. He should see the hundred lined up, eerily still, and then find empty halls. I will be waiting on the throne. alone.”

With that, he now would wait and see the prowess of the elf.

Lómëar Lúhtalócë continued along the wide trading road, heading farther north. Soon enough he saw a dark spot on the horizon. As he neared, he could make out walls and towers, a castle, as it was far too large to be an ordinary fortress. About twenty minutes later, he noticed something... odd. A dark mass had gathered in front of the castle, and it was then that he could tell that they were soldiers. He raised an eyebrow. How could such a force be here without anyone knowing? Were the Elves? Men?

Undead.

Once he was a league away from the castle, he could tell. They had no auras, yet still possessed a spark. They were not hallows, they were possessed corpses. Friendly spirits didn't posses corpses, it went against their nature, no these spirits were made to be called upon by magic, and he was well versed in necromancy enough to know. The undead stood eerily still, as if a horde of statues guarded the castle. He smiled. Clever little display, but he would not walk in without a display of his own. He flared up his aura, which was so big that it was a globe meters out from his body, and glew a striking purple with raw energy so powerful that the air around him buzzed and hummed and shimmered. As he walked, the ground beneath him was scorched from his aura, and a trail of purple flames followed his wake. He walked in between the legion of unmoving undead, where they were parted at the gate, and entered the castle. He stalked the empty halls, unimpressed, while slowly shrinking his aura and letting it fade back into himself. When he reached the throne room, he pushed open the iron double doors that started with a squeak that echoed throughout the empty castle.

Lómëar walked three quarters of the way to the throne on which the Dead Father sat, placed an arm across his chest, and bowed deeply. After the bow, he placed his right hand across the metal mask covering his face and pulled it off, revealing the features below. He smirked , looking up at the Dead Father through strands of wispy white hair, and said, "I have arrived."

Latter sighed a breath of relief, he had played it off, although he saw through it, but his body tensed up at the site of the guard. He had hated town-guard; he hated them for every friend they beat to death, every time they foiled his plan and he went hungry, and for how they always did it with a smile. Now with a grimace in the inside but still a smile on the outside, he thought on what he wanted to eat, but in all honestly, he was not hungry. He knew he should be, having completely draining himself dealing with that creep, but he just was not and frankly did not feel like eating. No doubt it was all the times he had gone hungry, living on the streets, and surprisingly when he was used to being hungry is when he longed for his old life the most.

“Nothing, if that may please you master. I do not seem to be able to stomach a breaking of fast.” spoke Latter as politely as he could, but he still mixed in a bit of dissentful sarcasm at the end. He did not want to be a ranger’s servant, he had never been anyone’s servant for owning his own shop and all, but he figured square meals until he could slip or build up enough pay for a new shop could not hurt. An honest job could do for a while.

He just realized the actual words of the guard, his hatred temporarily blinding him, and he whipped his head around in shock. He began to speak in a gasp.

“Did you just say protect the king? As in he is under attack… in the capital… here?”

Latter turned to the ranger in shock with his jaw dropped, and thought that he was pretty nonchalant when the king was under attack. Latter stopped himself however, realizing that he did not even like the human king, for he did nothing as Latter watched his shop burn to the ground in great flames. Latter resisted the urge, like a gravitational pull, to fall into one of his terrible flashbacks, so he quickly took his master’s drink and took a sip to put his mind on other things. He looked up at the ranger and gave an awkward sorry smile, and spoke rather carefully this time.

“Shall we be going, we would not want harm to come to the king. First I have to pack… done!” He lifted his arms as in he was giving a finale to a long search, but he did notice he was unarmed while the ranger hopefully did not know he was a mage of sorts. He would try not to use magic in front of him, but he may have to like before.

“May I have a weapon master?” he said as he eyed the knife that had gotten him in the conversation. He knew that they were probably just guarding him from the crowds, but there was no reason to not make it dire, he may have a better chance at the knife.

Yveine listened to him as she stood up.
“Yes my lord.” She responded, indicating to Althea to spread that message around. Her eyes glanced around to the troops, mentally making note of their spread to see what the Lumens could do alongside them. She also didn’t want them in direct combat because that wasn’t what they were trained for, but that didn’t mean they would completely stay out of the way.
“Etoile!” Her face flicked over to the sight of Aino’s scout already running back towards them, stepping forward as he reached them and sank to his knee. “It’s the orcs Etoile! Eloen met me halfway to update me. They’ve attacked Menolyn, the entire village is on fire and we haven’t been able to locate any survivors.”
“Join the formation and follow them out Sudryl.” She said, touching his hand as he stood up before adding “We need to establish--” Yveine froze as Elterys’s voice suddenly rang out in a thunderous boom. And while it may have rallied the soldiers, her Lumens instantly became more guarded and alert. She voiced the thought that rang through all of her people’s minds. “I’m assuming they’re close enough to have heard that.”
“Without a doubt Etoile.”
“There goes the element of surprise.” She muttered, watching as her Lumens spread out in the given formation. While all out conflict was always certain, she had hoped to implement more advantage to their side. The orcs were brutish and slow, but with a big enough onslaught they could be a problem. Then a thought struck her. “Sudryl, send a message across the group tell them to have alternating bursts of bending light around them. It won’t be enough to shield the army completely, but it’ll keep their numbers confused.”
Sudryl bowed, turning to make his way back. The Lumens had already spread out into the net, disjointed in their lining but covering the radius. Aino stood at the centre, patiently waiting until everyone was arranged, then closing her eyes a moment before speaking out-loud “Flectere lux” Around her body, she bent the light making her entire form appear hazy, almost invisible unless you focused intensely. Those words were echoed by other Lumens, creating a fluxing wall of hazing spreading gently across the group until it was nearly impossible to be certain how many were there. As they covered the five miles needed, those that weren’t creating the haze eyeing the local plant-life and reaching for weapons.
Althea had returned by that point, helping Yveine back onto her horse before getting up behind her. Yveine clicked her tongue for Aranea to come back up before turning back to Elterys.
“They won’t break that magic until your soldiers make their move, so until that point the orcs won’t be able to see the full extent of the army. After that, we’ll keep things surrounded so they can’t try any sneak attacks.”
The Lumens all began to move forward, slipping between the trees and along the path at a quick pace. They soon made their way over to the scene, seeing the full state of the devastation and the quickly amassing orcs. Aino made a few motions and the group spread out wider, waiting on edge for the guard’s attack so they could stop holding the haze.