Fear would have been the appropriate response. Fear and terror, either which would have made sense. To stand before such beings, such forces of nature as this any mortal creature, elf, dwarf, man or otherwise should fall to their knees in terror or flee in panic. Yet as Athos stood taken aback at the sight, releasing the elf in his grip as he did so, he witnessed bravery, strength, strategic thinking born of circumstance, even self sacrifice. The dwarf who risked his own body by injecting himself with a syringe that twisted and contorted his body into some sort of hulking brute form. The woman who rushed to the knights side after he abandoned her and everyone else only moments prior. The noble elf who berated the group with an impassioned speech before barking out sound orders like a battlefield general.

The fear that the assassin should have felt was absent, in it's place was something he had not felt in a very, very long time, hope. These few assembled could do this. They could best these false gods, these men and women who thought themselves divine. Initially that was where Athos drew his courage and self reliance from for this task. The idea of killing a god may seem daunting until you realize there is no such thing as gods. No, this is a truth Athos had known for years and years, fitting he had been hired for this task.

As the primary focus seemed to be on the more dangerous of the two, the fire wielder, Athos turned his attention to the music player. The innocent looking girl peacefully playing her death song on her flute as her ally brought fire and steel to bear. That song, the tune seemed to fill ones minds and fill it with dread. Inaction was easy when panic set in, yet to look upon the Crimson Man he seemed full of vigor and vitality. Perhaps it didn't affect him or worse, did the opposite and made him stronger, in which case...

Athos vanished from sight, stepping into the world of the unseen as only he could. The no where man began to move, silently teleporting across the battlefield somewhat erratically to ensure that by chance if these powerful magic users could somehow keep track of him they would not be able to focus on him for long. The assassin moved like a vengeful spirit, a ghost come for blood. Closer now he came, so near the white haired music player he could almost smell her sweet scent. The tiny woman, petite in stature seemed so innocent, so harmless to be contributing to the utter desolation around her. To see her standing in her pristine white dress in the charred ruins of the burnt city playing her sad song was almost beautiful.

Blade poised ready to strike, death loomed over the musician. The golden eyes of the killer fixed on her as her own eyes were closed and almost serene as she played away on her flute. The unseen hand reached out menacingly, fingers almost twitching with killer intent. The other hand gripped a razor sharp dagger, pulled back ready to burrow into it's victim like the fangs of a serpent. He would let her see him before it was done, he would let her see what death looked like. The hand reached its target and grabbed hold and as his fingers wrapped around the flute he allowed his cloak of invisibilty to melt away revealing for her the horrible truth of her circumstance.

Standing before her, shrouded in black with eyes of gold stood the killer of men, the assassin Athos Lorio. His left hand gripping the flute in the young woman's hands ceasing her playing. His other held his dagger poised to plunge it into her skull.

"Your song of death is beautiful, let me play you mine..."

With that he thrust forward.

As Karvilus had a knife against his throat with near to nil chance of escaping the assassin's grasp, the elf mercenary decided he should probably do as the masked man said, and lowered his bow, though not without holding his arrow backwards, pointing at the man's nether regions. If he was going to be killed, it would at least bring a smile to his face the fact he would leave the earthly plain by impaling the assassin's manhood with an arrow in hand. Before he could think of a way to bluff himself out of the situation, Kalson was aiming a pistol at the assassin's head, his construct guardian not far behind, to which he grinned in relief. which melted somewhat as he and the assassin began arguing, the man who had a knife against his throat pointing out the dwarf's 'flaws', to which the elf sighed before adding; "Just shoot this son of a b**ch tiny! I'll make it out of this alright, trust me, been in worse scrapes before and came out on top, just one of my multitude of examples of brilliance I suppose."

Before he could add anything to his comment however he met with the puzzling sight of the Triumivirate knight storming off, complaining he was sick of the present company, causing the nobleman, who upon closer inspection was a fellow elf, went into a furious rant against them all, berating them of their arrogance and foolish behaviour. He explained to them all that those behind the destruction of Kartolheim and Bergstadt were not of anything that was known, and everyone would need to cooperate to stand against this menace, to which Karv partly agreed, and then noted; "Wait, so you lot aren't hassling the poor lass who is a picture of perfect beauty here?"
His words fell on deaf ears as the sudden appearance of the two gods occurred right before their eyes, one with red hair and twin blades as described by the survivor, who just unleashed a fiery fury around the area, accompanied by a beautiful petite woman who played a flute, which oddly also made the heat much more unbearable.

Much to Karv's relief, the assassin decided to let go of him, causing him to be baffled for a few moments, especially at the sudden chaotic events, especially bewildered by the dwarfs sudden change, before quickly grabbing his bow and drawing it with three arrows at the same time, and rushing to atop a pile of debris which gave him somewhat a better vantage point and took aim at the red haired man. He then suddenly heard the firm order of the blonde elf, to which Karv hesitated for a few moments, frowning at the musical beauty, before giving himself a slap in the face and grumbling to himself; "You're a bloody mercenary for Yggdrasil's sake, now act like it! Pity I have to shoot at someone as lovely looking a sher but hey, she's a psychopath 'god'."
He then swerved and fired his three arrows at Mireene with a flinch, unaware at the appearance of Athos behind his target before deciding to bellow down at his new companions; "Just so you sorry bunch know, I am a former healer! I know how to treat a wound or two, anything serious needs fixing give a holler!"
Karv decided he best of let them know about it as soon as possible, a battle against gods was no place for lack of information.

This was impossible. Johannes stood as the heat suddenly surrounded him, wide eyed and confused. He had not yet dared look around be he could hear the chaos caused by the flames. He did not dare look. It was as if he had spoken of the foul dark one and it had appeared, as it so often did in the holy scriptures. He had his hand on the hilt of his sword and squeezed, but he could not bring himself to draw it. He was frozen, all he could do was slowly turn around and face the great evil from the inferno.

But what he saw was no such thing. What he saw was chaos, fire and anger, desperation and most of all, battle. Johannes knew battle and it knew him. The confusion faded from his mind and years of hard training and experience in war settled in its place. He could see clearly now. The elf, arrogantly shouting orders, but they were clearly accurate and well thought trough. Music suddenly reached his ears then, a beautiful song. For a moment, Johannes feared it, but that was soon replaced with a calm he had never felt. Someone was playing the song of war and death and Johannes knew it note for note.

The dwarf charged forward, suddenly much larger than Johannes remembered. Did his clan possess the secrets of the berserker rage? Johannes wondered, but found the dwarf did not draw his eyes. It was the woman and she was rushing towards him. Did she panic and simply run in a random direction? It did not seem like it to Johannes. He couldn't figure it out. All he knew was that he had a chance to redeem his earlier shameful and rash actions.

When she reached him he spoke to her, calmly, yet firmly. “Stand behind me and no harm shall befall you.” He had no time to check whether she followed his directions, the crimson demon was not the kind of opponent that warranted taking your eyes off him. Johannes nodded quietly to himself, before drawing his sword and holding it straight up in front of him, the tip reaching for the heavens and the blade vertically in front of his face. Johannes lowered his head slightly and he could feel the favour of the Triumvirate.

“With sword in hand, I shall cleanse the world of impurity.” Johannes said, his voice calm and of normal strength, even as a faint glow settled on his sword.
“I am the white sword that cuts away at the darkness.” He continued, his voice growing in strength, even as his sword began to glow a pure white.
“I am the black shield, which guards the innocent.” His voice slowly began to take on booming qualities, slowly spreading across the battlefield, even as his shield began to glow, the divine aura spreading beyond the size of the triangular heater shield.
“I am the black cross under which the faithful rest! I am Johannes de Witte and in Their names, I shall smite thee!” His final prayer, his final battlecry carried it with it all the strength that hid within Johannes. Even as his armour began to glow like his sword and shield, all now filled with divine magic. Johannes stood there for a moment, before glancing back at the woman.

“My name is Johannes and you will be safe behind me.” He said, adding an unseen smile from behind his helmet. He didn't know if this woman could protect herself. But if she couldn't, the best way to protect the weak was to slay the wicked. With that in mind Johannes charged, his massive body faster than one might expect, like a charging bull he raced for the crimson demon as both the elf and the dwarf engaged him.

When he came within range he lifted his glowing white sword, its divine magic whistling as he swung it through the air and brought it down upon the crimson demon, for once taking care not to cut down the dwarf along with him.

Valeria had reached the knight, and thankfully he was unharmed by the man in crimsons blow. Valeria sighed in relief, she was relieved to see the knight safe. But she does not know why, caused by some unknown feeling in the bottom of her heart? The knight looked at her and said firmly, “Stand behind me and no harm shall befall you.” She did as he asked quickly and stood behind him, she was suddenly calm hearing his voice. She stood just a few steps behind the knight, trying to pull her ears away from that terrible music, but still she kept her gaze on the knight. He pulled out his gleaming sword, and started to chant something religious. After the first verse his sword started to glow, then the shield and then his armour. He was like a divine light shining through an eternal darkness, he seemed like he was given power by some divine force.

He turned briefly only to say, “My name is Johannes and you will be safe behind me.” She could feel a tone of bravery on his voice, and then he began to charge off towards the crimson demon. Johannes... That is the name of the knight, it turns out that he is like the knights in the story books. Strong, Brave and Defenders of the weak...

She watched helplessly as Johannes was battle locked with the crimson man, she felt like she could do anything, if she would conjure up her magic it may hit one of her comrades. Comrades... thinking of it in that way feels strange, but it would of happened in the end, these people have come here to achieve a shared goal, to find out what is going on, to stop the flowing of the blood of innocents. She wanted to keep herself safe, but she wanted to keep run. Her comrades are going up against the thing that did this... She couldn't bring herself to look at his face, this will truly be something that will haunt her for the rest of her life, the face that inflicted so much horror and death into the minds of the people who called this city home...

Annikar's nose twitched at a new scent and she whirled about to face the new figures. They were even stranger then the others, the way they moved and spoke, brimming with the confidence that only came from sheer strength and power. And then the man with crimson hair swung his sword and the fire blazed up in an eyeblink. That was all the indication Annikar needed.

But she waited for a moment, in order to see how these gods would fight. The man already showed an incredible display of magic, but the girl was still a mystery. She played a flute, as if the battle was not at all important. But then Annikar began to feel the temperature rise, far above even the heat being given off by the flames. She grimaced and shifted about uncomfortably, she was unaccustomed enough to heat without her armor. This would have to be ended quickly. Especially before one of these fools could possibly have the stroke of luck needed to slay one of the god first and steal her glory.

After she saw the crusader distract the crimson man, Annikar unsheathed her sword in one swift motion, hoping that the scraping metal sound would be lost amidst the raucous and flames. She quickly made her way towards the girl with the flute, weaving between the wreckage of burned out homes. When one of the other strangers appeared in an eyeblink behind the girl, Annikar paid him no heed. It was the only distraction she needed as she jumped onto the top of a pile of ash and bricks, then leaped off with inhuman grace, her sword raised over her head to strike down at the mysterious girl as she landed beside her.

There was no thought, only rage.
There was no aim, only rage.
There was no goal, no objective, no end to be reached, only rage.

Some part of Kalson suspected that this unholy anger was more than just his own natural rage, or even fully the work of the alchemical serum he so foolishly and impulsively took into himself. For a split second, even as he was swinging madly at the red haired man with his vicious power tool, scoring glancing blows against the fiend while suffering occasional burns, he noticed that even while he'd shed most of his bags and removed his shirt and overcoat, the bag into which he'd absentmindedly stuffed his dead uncle's hand and pistol was still very securely tied around his waist. That wasn't where he'd put the bag, but he didn't ponder this any longer. The mere reminder of his uncle spurned him to strike at the red haired man with greater fury. By this point, he wasn't very conscious of where his blade was swinging so long as it went somewhere in the direction of the red haired man. He didn't even notice the gaping slash across Dyntan's chest plating, jagged edges the telltale signs of a Gerrigadrian Hull Opener. But...

There was no concern, only rage.

"Elf, shoot the other one!"

Shra glanced over at the one who issued the order. A loud sound interfered with his thoughts and as he was about to swing and cut through the woman, a short man with a wicked looking weapon attacked him. Shra glowered at the dwarf who was swinging the grinding weapon at him. Using both blades, he managed to get the weapon away from doing any serious damage. Even so, the blade cut against his side as he shifted it. This infuriated him. The flames around the blades burst, extending outwards as he shoved at the dwarf to knock him over.

The dwarf had been insane, attacking him in such a fashion. The small cut along his side burned slightly and gave him cause to be more than just a little angry. The insolent little thing had cut him. Then to add to it, the knight had returned to the battled and swung his brightened sword, slashing heavily. Shra twisted, slamming his weapon into the sword to knock it off to the side. He moved quickly, nearly a blur for his rage fueled him. He made to slam the other sword through the damned humans armor and cut him down in one single blow.

As he came close, shoving the sword at the knight there was a startling shout from behind him. Shra immediately disengaged from that fight and put enough space between himself and the others to assist his sister. Whirling around, he slashed the blades through the air, working his fire to cut off whoever it was that was attacking his sister. His fire would not hurt her, but anyone near her would certainly be burned. A wall of flame came up between Mireene and her attackers, protecting her and cutting them off from hurting her further.

"Mireene," he called knowing that she would know what he wanted then. The music that had been playing that turned the area into an inferno had stopped. However, once he'd freed her from those that attacked her, the music from her flute played once again. The tune was much different and his power grew immensely. He stood for a moment, drinking in her fueling magic and then faced the two who had attacked her. They were going to pay for that. Shra shifted his body just enough and then burst forward at them, dust and dirt kicking up as he moved via his own magic.

As he got closer, he swung at both of them, aiming for the hooded and cloaked mans' head and aiming for the woman's abdomen as he went. The fires leaped forward, licking outwards at them in a hungry attempt to burn them to nothing but ash.



A barrage of arrows assaulted her, but Mireene's eyes watched them come at her and she nimbly dodged each of them, continuing to play her flute as she did so.

"Your song of death is beautiful, let me play you mine..."

Her heart jumped as a hand clenched her flute and brought it down from her lips. The heat in the area faded away, aside from the already burning flames. Her rustic gaze widened slightly as the man appeared in front of her out of no where. It reminded her a lot of Kharun, except he always faded in and out of black darkness. His knife came at her, shoved right at her face. She twisted away, dodging as best she could from the sudden attack.

Even so, the weapon cut across her high cheek bone and she gave a shout, one of anger and surprise. Then from the side someone else jumped into the fight with her. They leapt down at her, swinging their blade. Mireene's hand tightened around her flute and she swiftly dodged out of the way, the weapon cutting her dress only as she moved. Shra must have heard her shout for a moment after she was wreathed in fire. Part of her hoped that the one who'd cut her face would be burned to nothing as she wrenched her flute free and replaced it to her lips.

Hearing her brothers call, she began to play again, fueling his strength. After several moments of playing to increase his magic and abilities, she added to the song and used the heat of the fires around her to begin heating the area once again. The mixture of notes played softly from her flute, echoing out towards the very edges of the destroyed town.

Barley with enough time to avoid the searing heat that surrounded the Crimson Man Athos fought to stay alive. As the blades of roaring flame came for him they scorched only air. The blades came for his head but in the last moment Athos vanished, reappearing a few paces away. Falling to his knee the super heated air had filled his lungs just before he vanished and he was still choking on the almost volcanic air in his lungs. Sweat beaded down his face as his eyes seemed to lose focus. His mind was struggling with the event as his body fought for cool air to return to him. Athos was replaying the last few seconds, which could have easily been his last few seconds, over again in his head as he quietly muttered to himself.

"Impossible... it's impossible, no one could have avoided that, no one..."

He was in shock. Complete and utter, terrifying shock at the what had just transpired. He had her, he had the woman dead to rights yet somehow she evaded his killing blow. How many times had he slain others in a similar fashion? How many lives had he taken with that same tactic? At that range no one should have been able to dodge that strike yet she had done so. Athos stared out into the dirt as time seemed to stand still for his mind to comprehend the impossible thing that had just transpired. He remembered lunging forward, blade poised to burrow itself in the pretty young womans face. He remembered the surprise in her eyes as she flicked them open. He remembered the rush of wind as his blade missed it's mark. The quiet, the crushing silence before she brought the flute to her lips once more. Then came the heat and the fury, fueled by concern and her other worldly music.

Athos slowly rose his gaze to the fire wielder with wide eyes of disbelief, the blades had swung wide sending torrents of flame arcing out from the epicenter to engulf anything nearby in flame. Such raw, unadulterated power the likes of which he had never witnessed. What could he do against such unbridled strength. What chance could he stand when he couldn't even land a single blow?!

His fist clenched around the dagger still in his hand and it was then he noticed the blood. Still dripping from the tip of his blade the crimson substance ran along the edge of the blade to the point before forming tiny droplets on the tip. A wicked, dark smile etched its way onto the assassin's face as his golden eyes refocused and looked up. The blood of a god stained his blade, a miraculous thing if these things were in fact gods at all. He could cut them, they could bleed after all, they were fallible and he just proved that to himself. They could die and they would, with luck they would go painfully.

Athos slowly rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on the Crimson Man. Ready to finish what he started with the girl he would first need to get some space from the warrior. He'd need to wound him or at least busy him fighting away from the girl so he could hack her damned arms off so she couldn't raise that flute again. Menacingly Athos' hand reached to his back and drew his sword, a rare thing for him to do for there were few that would live long enough that he'd actually have to engage but this was a special circumstance.

The assassin launched his hellish assault. Vanishing from sight only to reappear at the Crimson Man's side Athos slashed viscously before dissappearing in the next instant and reappearing on a different side of him to slash again and a again. Fighting beside this mysterious armored woman the assassin moved with such speed and erratic teleportations his movements could barley be tracked with the naked eye.

It appeared the blood of two gods would stain the assassin's blade this day.

The battlefield was chaos, plain and simple. Kain would have secured himself the role of the leader of this colorful group, but the gods' sudden arrival threw a wrench in that. More importantly, he hadn't had the time to establish some sort of order among his 'comrades', so everyone was off doing their own thing. While all of them were skilled in their own way, no doubt, they hadn't yet learned to work together at all. In fact, they were probably getting in each other's way more than anything.

The dwarf - whose sudden change in appearance was a different matter - jumped in front of him when he was ready to face the 'fire god', while the assassin chose to assault the female 'god' from the front even though he would certainly interfere with the archer's aim by doing so. Valeria had done even better: she ran and hid behind the knight, who was incidentally the only one of the group to actually threaten her so far. That girl had more than a few screws loose, but more importantly, she had no place in a fight. He could have guessed as much with a single glance at her - this was not the case of a misleading appearance. She didn't turn out to be the kind to pull through in a tight spot, either.

While Kain's initial idea to get the male god's attention didn't exactly work out, partly because of the group's uncoordinated actions, the same result was achieved thanks to the assassin and another person, the one who kept herself hidden earlier. The white-haired girl screamed, and the red-haired man came to her rescue. He fended off her two assailants and surrounded her with a wall of flame, probably for protection. The elf watched this rather closely; what may have looked like minor details or coincidences to others were all clear signs for him. He managed to deduce several things from his observation. Some of them could seem obvious, but he knew assumptions were a bad idea when dealing with the unknown.

For one, the 'gods' appeared inclined to help each other in trouble, even when it was likely more rational not to. They appeared not only to possess different abilities, but sharply different skill sets. No normal person could have dodged the assassin's strike, but the girl's response was retreat, not a counter-attack, where the man chose assault. More specifically, the girl had done nothing but use unusual spells with the medium of her flute, while her companion only used manipulation of fire and his twin swords. Both of them had already been harmed - if only lightly - and Kain didn't think either of them was faking their emotions, especially the man with his rage. That raised a question: why had these two, who called themselves gods, not used any different or greater powers against the group yet?

He couldn't be completely certain, but it seemed like they couldn't do anything else. They had certain powers and that was it. This simple fact could significantly tip the scales of this clash, and the whole affair with the gods for that matter. Once you knew the limits of your opponent, defeating them was only a matter of devising a way to exploit said limits. There were times when the difference in power was too great for any strategy to offset, of course, but their situation wasn't like that. The fact they weren't all dead - in fact, none of them were even seriously hurt yet - was proof enough. There was another thing he noticed, but it wasn't going to make a big difference at this point.

The course of action was clear: take out the weak link. What he needed now was a way to bypass the wall of flame. Going through himself was likely a bad idea, considering what happened to Bergstadt. Try to get her with a spell? The gods were arrogant, but he wasn't going to assume they were stupid; the barrier was meant to protect her well, and Kain had displayed use of magic before. He could hardly imagine a wall of fire doing that, but a lot of things about these beings defied what he knew to be true. It guarded her against direct assault and likely magic, but what about something different?

Kain broke into a run toward the two gods and two people. He grabbed a good boulder, about the size of his head, as he moved along. What he was about to do was going to betray his abnormal, especially for his 'wispy' - as the good knight described him - build, strength, but there were more important things at stake than keeping that hidden. Going around the three engaged in combat, he cast his 'weapon' at the white-haired female, aiming for her head. The stone didn't follow the 'lazy' path that one might expect, going up only to fall down later. Instead, it whizzed right towards its target, no slower than a throwing knife.

The flames around her protected her from just about anything, hot enough to turn a human to ash if they so much as touched it. Powerful enough to stop anything else that came at her. She was at ease in her silent sanctuary. All thanks to Shra. She could hear his rage just beyond her barrier of fire, could hear the blades slamming into one another as he fought furiously and her magic fueled him to be far more powerful than he was moments before. He was faster, his fire stronger and he own physical stamina much more than any persons.

She never would have noticed the rock that had been hurled at her, not if Layien hadn't suddenly popped up right in front of her from Drevair's body. His blade unsheathed and in a single flash of silver steel, he sliced the rock in two, the pieces falling away from them. She was slightly startled with his appearance, but she didn't stop playing her flute. At least not until her brother raised his hand and looked at her.

"Kharun calls for us," he ordered, then he looked to Shra, "Cease."

Shra turned a quick glare at him and disregarded his words completely. Layien sighed as he stood in front of Mireene, protecting her from anything else that wished to interfere.

"He's not going to be happy if he has to come get you," Layien muttered with a frown.



That bloody human was really starting to piss him off. Bouncing around as he was, it was making Shra crazy. His blades connected with the others several times, knocking the sword and dagger away from him as the man attempted to cut him. It reminded him so much of how Kharun fought. Pathetic, cowardly. Face him properly! A slash got past his whirling blades, just barely nicking his arm. He ground his teeth as his weapons whirled, seemingly nonstop in movement as he lit the very ground on fire. With a broad grin that steadily took over his angry features, Shra finally decided a different tactic was in need.

The fires from his swords licked up towards his arms and he soon was wreathed in the red hot flames. He moved then, shifting his body from one side to the other, never standing still. The blades slashed outwards in all directions as he twisted them around and around, the fire growing hotter as he went. He was intent on killing that damned human who kept disappearing on him, and he would have blood spill on the ground if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Come here, little human," he growled with pleasure as he whirled around, lighting the ground on fire with each step he took, "Lets see you fight me now."

Rage was a funny thing. Anyone who fancied themselves a skilled warrior found it easy to belittle it, to damn it as the actions of the foolish or careless. To see it as only a savage, wild, haze that blinded the warrior in combat yet this was only to see its faults. Rage, as all things, had its strengths. Rage made you fearless, it made you strong and unflinching. Rage turned a ordinary man into a beast that consumed all in its path. To stand before rage was terrifying and chaotic, fear crept into the hearts of those standing against rage.

Such strength rage provided that as his fiery transformation took hold the swirling blades of hell fire, slashing wildly in all directions ended Athos' lightning fast attacks. In the brief moment when he appeared beside the fire bearer one of the blades struck the assassin. The fire seemed to erupt on impact sending Athos flying backwards, to tumble through the ash of Bergstadt, his armor hissing from the heat. Fortunately for the assassin while the blow was savage it did not strike anything vital. The red hot blade of the Crimson Man, wreathed in flame, sliced cleanly through the assassin's black armor leaving a nasty gash along his chest. While a shallow wound the skin and flesh sizzled with heat. Athos gritted his teeth in pain as his body exploded with the pain that accompanied the wound.

That strength born of rage, while powerful, did blind one. It blinded the Crimson Man to two things. It blinded him to the separation he was putting between himself and his kin. Even as a third "god" appeared calling for an end to the duel the rage in the Crimson Man's heart muted the words and they went unheeded. The second thing it blinded him to was something much more subtle. It blinded him to the body language of the assassin as he rose from the dirt where he fell.

The Crimson Man coated his body in flame, like armor born of fire it covered his body from head to toe. The man on fire stepped forward, igniting the very earth with each step. Wicked glee poured fourth from the maw of the fire deity.

"Come here, little human, lets see you fight me now."

The words were dripping with malicious intent, as if some great predator was speaking to its wounded prey. Yet the predator seemed to not notice that the prey was not running any longer. His evasion had ceased, his erratic blinking had come to an end after the viscous blow. He stood staring down the fire god with eerie calm as his own blood dripped down his dark visage. Beneath that black mask of his Athos Lorio smiled. The grin rivaled the fire gods malice in full.

"As you wish."

Was all he said before he too coated his body in a protective aura of his own. Where the Crimson Man allowed his body to be consumed by flame the assassin's body was consumed by nothingness. His body vanished from the world of the visible and walked now among the unseen. Unlike before he did not reappear elsewhere but remained hidden. The Crimson Man for all his power and rage could burn cities to the ground, scorch the earth with a touch, hack young women in two but could not fight what he could not see.

The blade cut through the air, tip aimed for the base of the fire gods spine. The volcanic heat would no doubt melt the blade once it hits its mark but it mattered not. Once lodge firmly in the back of the Crimson Man's neck it would have served its purpose. Athos put all his strength and silent speed into the unseen thrust as he stood behind the man on fire, ready to kill a god.

Karvilus looked in bafflement as Mireene managed to dodge every single arrow he fired at her, and in greater befuddlement as he saw that not only the assassin, but also a grey skinned woman attacked the flute playing goddess, to which this all caused the elf to simply cry out; "What the flying f**k?", though his expression softened when Mireene gave him a compliment, though admittedly a rather confusing one.

Karv buckled back at the sudden increase of heat and flame, finding the rubble he stood upon had set alight once more due to stray fire. He dived off his vantage point landing on his feet with a thud and forcing himself into a forward role minimize impact, cursing as his arrows fell from his quiver, to which he clambered to reclaim. Once his arrows returned to his quiver, he watched then ongoing battle between his 'companions' and the gods, mesmerized at their staggering skill and ability in battle and quietly whispering to himself; "Looks like this job is going to be the death of me."
He pried his bow for another shot, aiming at Shra, but cursed under his breath when the monstrous swordsman was barely visible blur on the battlefield, and turned his attention at Mireene again firing an arrow only for it to be knocked asunder by a tossed boulder, which Karv reacted with a quick; "Now that is just bulls**t!"
His anger was quickly replaced yet again with surprise as a newcomer casually sliced the boulder in half with his sword! The elf stood stunned for a few moments before speaking out-loud, more to himself than anyone; "Ahhhh what the hell, let's see if the worlds best archer can kill a man with a over-sized butter knife.", and began rapidly firing arrow after arrow towards Layien's direction, applying his abnormal speed into practice has his hands became a flurry. "That stroppy red git of a swordsman and the enticingly beautiful musician there aren't the only one with speed better than the average warrior!" Karv called out with a mischievous grin, giving a wink towards Valeria and Annikar.

He shifted slightly, catching sight of the oncoming projectiles that were aimed at him. He waited for the arrows to get just close enough and then moved his weapon. The blade lifted, fell and moved from side to side. Only the flat of the weapon was used, redirecting the arrows as they came at him in a rush. Layien had to give the one who shot at him some respect. There were very few who were gifted with such speed.

The sound of steel arrow heads hitting his blade was almost a constant as he stood there, protecting Mireene who had raised her flute once more to fuel both men then.

"That stroppy red git of a swordsman and the enticingly beautiful musician there aren't the only one with speed better than the average warrior!"

To this, Layien raised an eyebrow as he continued to defend, never moving far and only moving his sword to deflect the attack, "Seems he likes you, Mireene. Pity we have to kill them."

"I don't like him," she responded shortly, taking the flute from her lips for that mere moment and then playing on again. Layien's lips pulled into a smirk at her response. His magic swirled around him, growing tired of the constant barrage of arrows. The air shifted and he flicked the fingers of his free hand opened over the edge of his blade. A burst of wind expelled from him, going through the arrows and straight for the archer who was attacking him.



He'd lost track of the man, a most annoying thing. However, he didn't really care because no matter what, his body was a burning inferno and the fool would be stupid to think of getting close to him without getting burned. As he stood there, the shadows from the fires all around began to grow quickly and in a near instant everything around Shra was pitch black. He felt rather than saw Kharun right behind him. The man's back just barely brushed his own. Right after Kharun appeared, cold steel cut along the back of his neck.

Startled, Shra shifted, moving off to the side even as the blade was moved. The wound was deep, but not life threatening. Even so, just the thought that the man had nearly killed him was enough to enrage him.

Kharun squeezed tightly around the wrist of the assassin who'd almost made his mark. His lips were pulled into a smile as he gripped the other tightly, having shifted the direction of the attack just in time. His darkness lingered there around them for a long while.

"Cannot attack what you cannot see," Kharun said slowly, "Seems you and I share the same thoughts."

Kharun pulled the assassin closer, just long enough to ask him, "But do your abilities rival mine? We shall see, Athos."

Releasing him, Kharun stepped back and the darkness disappeared along with him and the other three Gods. Once again it was like they'd never been there.

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.

Had Kain been a mortal, he would have followed the other elf's example and cursed out loud. But for the archer, the situation was highly stressful. He was placed in highly uncomfortable conditions and threatened by the gods' magic. Every failure to deal a blow to his enemies was a chance of survival he let slip through his fingers. The blond's existence was also threatened, but not quite so immediately, nor did the other spells his opponents used bring him harm. He had no reason to lose his calm just yet.

He wasn't happy that he was denied the chance at incapacitating and potentially killing one of these gods, and the fact he couldn't even measure the limits of the wall of flame was rather irritating. It felt a bit like nothing was going his way. But on the other hand, he was given the opportunity to learn something new. Two other gods appeared, and were actually foolish enough to make a display of their abilities. While their numbers were a cause for concern, the information he obtained was invaluable.

A part of Kain felt pretty useless, as he had done absolutely nothing of significance in the battle, but perhaps that was for the best. He never meant to sacrifice himself for this cause. The only reason he decided to protect the people of Drevair was because they were the prey he needed to continue his existence. His goal was to ensure his own survival, not save others. The less note the gods took of him, the better. It would only play into his hands if they thought him weak. He would use his 'friends' to weaken them and then deal the decisive blow himself.

For the moment, he considered analyzing the battle his top priority. And the first thing he noticed was that none of the 'heroes' were dead or even seriously hurt. Were they a match for the 'gods', after all? He discarded the idea in an instant: they had trouble dealing with two, and by the end, there were four. No, the fact of the matter was that they simply didn't consider the group a threat. At the very least, their leader - and it was obvious from the few words he heard that they actually did have a hierarchy of sorts - did not.

Kain smirked to himself; these beings who possessed godlike powers were not gods in the slightest. Their words and actions were as simple as those of young - and not particularly intelligent, to put it bluntly - mortals. Similarly, they felt pain; the 'flute girl' cried out when she was cut. Even better, while it wasn't easy to get past their defenses, they could be killed just as easily as any mortal. Otherwise, there would have been no need for the 'flame shield', or for the dark god to stop the assassin's attack.

"Is everyone alright?" He called out some seconds after the gods had disappeared, when it appeared like they weren't going to come right back. Taking a glance at his 'friends', he decided the group would need some time to recover before they could properly discuss the short battle. It was understandable after going head to head with such a powerful foe. He was also a little shaken, even though he knew what to expect after seeing the state of Kartolheim. These mortals were already commendable for not pissing themselves, never mind everything else.

***

It took hours before the group was finally ready to make progress. The dwarf collapsed after the battle, writhing in pain, and had to be carried. Some others were wounded, and the ruins of Bergstadt were no place to provide treatment of any kind. They needed to go someplace else, and the closest moderately fitting location was the tavern he stopped at earlier. Not many places would be willing to accomodate so many strange guests, but his attire wasn't the only thing that likened the elf to a noble. The innkeeper went wide-eyed at the sight of Triumvirate gold coins and was all smiles throughout the following evening. After everyone was more or less taken care of, the blond decided it was time to talk.

"Before we go on to other matters, how about we all introduce ourselves properly?" Kain started speaking after everyone who was willing to listen gathered. "My name is Kain. I am an able user of many kinds of weapons and magic. Unfortunately, while I'm good at many things, I don't think I possess any exceptional skills." He said; he wasn't about to reveal the whole truth about himself.

"I apologize for misleading you earlier. Despite my appearance, I am not an elf, and I merely acted in a way I deemed appropriate for the situation. Who I am is... not important." He shrugged. "However, you have my word that I wish to save every life these self-proclaimed gods intend on taking." He let everyone who would say their piece. It would be good for the group to know each other's names and abilities; their ability to work together needed improvement. Once the introductions were over, he would go on to the really important part.

"Now, I'd like everyone to share their observations of our encounter. Again, I'll go first." He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. "First of all, keep in mind these are mostly my assumptions. While I wouldn't bring them up unless I was fairly certain, I cannot guarantee they are true." He glanced around the group. "What we do know for a fact are three things: the 'gods' possess intelligence and emotions similar to our own, they feel pain and, most importantly, they can be killed." He raised his hand and bent his fingers one by one as he spoke, lowering his hand again a second later.

"First, all of the gods seem to have the ability to teleport, covering large distances in an instant and, somehow, without alerting all nearby mages to their arrival. Finding a way to neutralize this ability is the number one priority; if we can't, we will never be able to rest easy or keep them from escaping. Second, while the gods are powerful, all of them seem to possess a limited number of abilities that they are completely reliant on. You may have noticed that the one with the flute never stopped attempting to play it, even when threatened at point blank range. Pretty much the same goes for the man with two swords. That's it for general observations." He made a pause, but soon continued. There was no telling how much time they actually had to prepare.

"As for some specific things, I'll start with the red-haired male. He is obviously proficient with his weapons and able to manipulate fire. My impression of him is: arrogant, quick to anger, vengeful, possibly sadistic. This could be used against him. He is very straightforward and shouldn't be difficult to deal with, as long as we can put out his fire. Which brings me to the white-haired woman. Judging by the fact she couldn't fight back in melee and was later protected, she is probably incapable of direct combat. This means she plays a supportive role. At first she caused fires to pop up in the area, her partner was a wielder of flame, and her later magic didn't have any obvious effects. Considering this, it's possible she is able to borrow the power of other gods, using it differently, and it would only be logical to assume she can also add her own power to theirs."

"Concerning the other two, information is more scarce. The one wielding a sword appears to have power over the air, and is likely an able swordsman, if the red god is any indication. The blindfolded one remains a mystery. He does not appear to have a weapon, and the best description for his magic I could come up with is that of 'darkness'. Additionally, either one of the four - most likely not the fire or flute ones - or a fifth god is a user of earth magic." He made another pause. "If you're going to face any of them, keep in mind two things. One, even if my assumption about their limited abilities is correct, we can't know for sure if they showed us everything they're capable of. Two, their magic will not necessarily work the way you'd expect, as normal rules do not seem to apply to them. That's all I have at the moment."

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.

Bergstadt, Hours earlier

Karvilus, cocky grin diminished with each arrow that was deflected by Layien, a sight which dumbstruck the elf, never having seen such skill of the sword before, which admittedly gave him unease. As he continued his barrage of arrows at the 'god' his unease feeling was suddenly replaced with a a sudden strike of being insulted as Mireene casually knocked aside his sweet nothings about her to which he replied mockingly; "Alas, it was not to be nonetheless, fair maiden of musical prowess! For in case you hadn't realised, you and your friends are deeply in the s**t for the massacre of these villages!", but his grin disappeared altogether as saw the very arrows flying true towards Laiyen being sliced in thin air while the sword had not even glanced them. This made Karv pause for a few moments, lowering his bow as he squinted at Laiyen in confusion, before his eyes widened, his mouth forming into an 'O' as he was struck off his feet from the sudden attack of a scything wind, cutting his leather armour as if it was merely parchment, caught off-guard at the air based attack.

"I hate bloody wind magic.", the elf grumbled as he hastily clambered back upon his feet, before immediately sprinting for a better vantage point, atop yet another smouldering pile of rubble. He took the moment to peer round the current ensuing battle, deciding promptly that things weren't exactly favourable to him or the fellow combatants against the gods, but he'd be damned before he let a pair of scantily clad woman met her fate with death and not in his own arms gushing words of affection at him. Besides, i'd seem a bit of heartless move to abandon the decent seeming dwarf he met earlier, though the rest he admittedly had little qualms over their death. He planned on firing arrows in Valeria's defence before he saw that the 'gods' had vanished from sight, causing the mercenary to scratch his scalp in greater befuddlement. He had been through a rather puzzling day. He then noticed out of the corner of his eye there was someone gravely injured, to which he diverted his attention. It was Athos collapsed on the floor with severe wounds. Karv grinned to himself at the sight, chuckling out loud; "Ha, serves the sneaky son of a whore right! Save me the trouble of dealing with the poor wretch myself after this whole gods business!"
His smirk weakened as he kept staring, remembering that the assassin was actually pretty effective when he was combating Shra, to which he sighed to himself in frustration before complaining under his breath; "Why the f**k am I the only healer here?", as he leapt from his vantage point and sprinted towards Athos.

The Present
Now inside the inn along with the others that combated against the powerful beings behind the attack on Bergstadt, Karvilus Leafgrinder, downed his ale as he leaned back in his chair, his expression weary from the recent events, and listened to Kain's Introduction. Oddly, the name seemed familiar to Karv, perhaps he heard of an elven nobleman of the name before? The mercenary shrugged it off as mere case of deja vu, and placed his mug ungracefully atop the table.
"Though I doubt a marksman of my outstanding talent needs an introduction, I will humour our overly dressed friend here. I am Karvilus Leafgrinder, archer for hire who's aim has never faltered, and arrows have always struck true. Well until the run in with those monsters calling themselves gods that is.", the elf introduced himself, his eyes glowering for a few moments as he remembered the 'gods' before continuing.
"I am also a gift to women everywhere, though only awarded to the rare and beautiful few, hopefully with present company included.", to which as he directed his gaze to Valeria with a confident wink, adding a smile before turning his attention to Athos.
"Oh, and I also am able to use healing magic and herbology. Old profession of mine that I found rather dreary and dull. Though you, assassin, definitely owe your life to my emergency treatment. Despite my medical wonders, you will need proper treatment later, emergency treatment isn't exactly proper treatment to wounds after all. You're welcome, you little grim turd."

Karvilus then pestered the innkeeper for more ale, and wondered over to where Valeria was as he obtained it, listening to what Kain had to say about the gods. His interest was obviously lacking however, as he pondered on how to start at gaining the priestess' affection.

he red haired demon had gotten away from him… this day. Not that Johannes felt particularly pained because of it. The sudden appearance of two of his demonic kin on the battlefield had shocked Johannes slightly. To think the high priests of the Triumvirate were not only wrong about there being but one of them, they were wrong to the extent that they didn’t even notice the existence of three others, if not more. With a sigh Johannes released the power that enchanted his armour, the light slowly fading into nothingness and his weaponry slowly returning to their normal state. He then pulled of his helmet and ran a hand through his short hair. When Kain called for a meeting somewhere else, Johannes followed solemnly, saying little and only tending to his horse.

Johannes disliked inns, peddlers of debauchery and filth, hiding holes of the downtrodden and the unfaithful. There was no bliss to be found in drink, no matter how much of it you drank down. With a grunt Johannes sat down on a stool, which creaked under his weight. He conspicuously picked a spot further away from the elves and the dwarf, clearly not interested in fraternizing with them overmuch. His cold demeanour continued all the way even when Kain called for introductions and Johannes followed suit.

“My name is Johannes de Witte, knight of the Black Cross order of the Triumvirate Faith.” Curt and short, Johannes felt no need to add anything about what he could do. If they hadn’t realized that during the battle then there was no point trying to explain it to them.

“As for the figures we fought… I’d have to agree with Kain’s assessments. They clearly possess some form of magic not known to us and we shouldn’t make too many assumptions… however. The red haired one clearly relies on his speed and his fire. As Kain said, taking away his fire would weaken him considerably, but if we can take away his speed we can accomplish much the same. I’ve fought men like him before, men with great skill, speed and arrogance.”

“They rely of a constant barrage of attacks, using their superior speed to constantly pressure the opponent. If we can stop his constant stream of attacks, his own arrogance should quickly turn on him and before long his rage will make sure he errs, which is when we should strike.”

“As for the flute player… she’s quick and agile clearly, but I doubt she can fight. Next time we see her we should just pressure her with constant attacks and watch how she falls.”

Johannes nodded once to himself, somewhat pleased with his assessments, even if they did match Kain’s quite well. He left out any comments on the other two, Johannes had only seen the one from a distance and barely noticed the other one. He wouldn’t waste anyone’s time with guesses. For a moment he wondered when he had made the decision to team up with these strangers, but now that he said it out loud, it felt like the right thing to do. Perhaps it WAS the will of the triumvirate that brought them all together.

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."