Two weeks, four days, thirteen hours and twenty three minutes. The ticking clock on the wall reminded Alusan of each moment he spent in this living hell, a world at it's own throat. But for him, it didn't matter. For him, all that mattered was out. Twenty four minutes. His axe, quite possibly the only weapon of his race that bore no name, hung just past his cell's bars, in the low torchlight. The air was dank, never fresh unless someone stepped into the room. The heavy, wooden door locked out the fresh air, the sounds of the beaches seated just beyond the wall, even the light of day with a harsh oppression. Twenty five minutes.

It didn't matter though. None of it mattered. All that mattered was that solid oak stave, the crescent of steel that sat upon it, humming, beating in time with Alusan's own heart as is pulsated with energy from before even the thought of the Balt was in the minds of the Gods. It reverberated with the power of Karas, the first Sky Giant to fall in the war. His blood had blessed the weapon, even thousands of years beyond his death. And these Mayyssus jailer pigs had not but an inkling of what power it held. Twenty six minutes.

So Alusan waited. Waited for his moment. Waited for one of them to come and stand from their chair, come to take him away for another day of what they thought was torture. He waited for one of them to get - "Giant-Son. Feh. You look like a sorry bastard to me Giant-Son." The jailer picked the axe up off the hook on the wall and smacked the blade of it against the iron bars. Once. "Get up Balt." Twice. "I don't have all day." Thrice and the sound was muted as Alusan sprang to his feet, quicker than the dumbfounded guard could comprehend. Twenty eight minutes.

His hands clasped the handle that seemed so far away for so long, and twisted rapidly. The poor Mayyssus slave had no time to react as the axe twisted and with it, his arm until it snapped like a twig underfoot. Writhing in pain as he stepped away from the cage, the jailer screamed in a mixture of surprise and agony. However, Alusan could only smile. His weapon was his once again, and with it, he needn't worry about getting out of this Gods-forsaken city. Twenty nine minutes.

A quick thrust of the oak rod through the bars of his cell was all Alusan needed for this man. The blood of Karas surged through the Blueshine steel of the axe as it connected with the jailer's chest sending him reeling backwards and into the wall. The force was powerful enough, that when the man hit, he left a crater in the wall. No doubt the impact had killed him, and this was only confirmed as he slumped forward, landing face first on the floor.Thirty minutes.

Alusan turned, his eyes on the blank wall at the back of his cell , the wall that separated him from the outside world. The sound of the clock striking the hour on the wall behind him was drowned as he swung his axe, the steel striking stone and the following crack and explosion as the wall crumbled away. The chimes of the clock , twelve noon, was the last of this hell that Alusan would ever see or hear of, if he could help it. The salty sea air billowed through the opening in the wall, and sunlight poured like nectar into the chamber. "A hundred feet to the water, easily." Alusan muttered to himself. As the clock reached the final bell, he dove, out of an adventure and into a war.

Noon came in bright that day. The weather was one of rarities, for no clouds hung in the sky like bad news--none but the usual walls surrounding Icemoor in the sky, clouds that indicated snow fell rapidly during the night and so there was no escape, not that Aerithral minded by any means.
She was quite fond of the cold, in fact she found it rather suffocating when the cabins were too warm from roaring fires, but the sunlight was a welcome guest, especially since the recent events that had happened, events that had been shadowing the mood of Icemoor in a colder, more barren way than the area it was placed upon.

But there she sat, stuck indoors since the cursed injury that had since plagued her mind with remorse. In fact, sometimes she hardly felt the pain in her side at all, it was only the regret of carelessness on the battlefield that wounded her; pride, to be precise.
Chaeth had asked her what had happened a few days after Aerithra had been admitted to the emergency ward, but she could give no proper answer, for she had none. All that she could remember was that she was fighting a young, struggling Mayyssus who seemed to be far too inexperienced to be on the battlefield, and so she took her eyes off him for a moment, confident that he could not hit her by any means. She would've liked to have said she was distracted by seeing the king struggling greatly, but it was only when the Mayyssus boy had struck her in the side of her waist when she saw the king in his struggle. And that was it, she was out.
Of course, the kind cousin of Aerith's had consoled her: 'It was not your fault' and 'It was your first true battle'. But Aerithral know that she was far to cocky for her own good at times, especially with the ability to wield The Spear of Konan.

The injury had not seriously harmed her, but it did keep her in bed for quite some time and she was growing tired, the only saving grace being Chaeth's daily visits. She would of liked to have said her mothers, Esriline's, visits too, but they were filled with worry and coddling in which only made Aerithral grow more restless.

Chaeth told her not only moments ago that the defenses of Icemoor were planning a state of search and attack for the king, something in which the two girls saw as foolish. Spies had attempted to have been sent into Lorcliff, but the Mayyssus guards were on edge, so it made things incredibly difficult. Then, what was the only option? A plan of attack?
Honestly, she thought, there had to be a better and smarter way. Balt's were a strong, hearty race, but sometimes they made brash decisions. It only made sense, though, why Aerith was sometimes brash herself.

"Do you think," Chaeth began, shaking Aerithral out of her thoughts, "That maybe this was their plan all along? I mean, maybe they're ready to strike when our defenses are low."
Aerith considered, it was a possibility, "I don't think they want to cause that much grief. Aren't we supposed to be banding together against Quokim? Unless the foolishness of men has dramatically increased while Ive been stuck indoors."
The cousin laughed, and muttered out loud, "The foolishness of mankind has never changed."

The two smiled and sat in silence, surrounded by their thoughts while the bright sun crept in, until once again Chaeth spoke with another quizzical look about her.
"What if it's true what the Balt men are going on about? About there being followers of the Dragon within higher ranks, even leaders?" she spoke of this quietly, it was almost voodoo to speak of this, but Aerithral wondered it herself.
"Who knows," pausing, Aerithral wanted to escape the topic. It was too much to think about, "As long as I get better soon I don't really care."

They laughed, but curtly stopped when one of the medical staff approached them.
"You may just get that wish, Ms. N'vael. The doctor said you are allowed to go outside today, but only very quickly and to take it slow." the woman gave them a stern look and walked hurriedly to another patient.
"Quickly but slowly?" Chaeth giggled.

Aerith's spirits rose almost a mile. Turning to Chaeth and giving her the most positive look she had been able to muster since the incident, she stated happily:
"Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it."

Two weeks after the battle against the Balts is when Roland started started his expedition for Torun which lays in ruins as he walks. He couldn't help but to smile thinking of his families sword hidden somewhere within those ruins among with other forgotten treasures. The blade he was looking for has sat in Torun for so long its name has been forgotten by man and only his family texts gave prove of the swords location as well as his claim in searching for it. The confirmation wasn't hard to get it was making his opponent back down in also searching The Ruined Torun. Roland remembered the event's as if they happened yesterday but in fact the dual took place the day after the battle against the Balts.

(flashback)
Roland walked into the mans loft Victor was his name much older than Roland which made Victor dangerous among his own people. In the other races the older the weaker you become however among the Mayyssus the older a man becomes the more knowledge he contains and among his people knowledge was or leads to power. Roland knew this was foolish challenging an elder not only was it was against he peoples beliefs but a young man has never challenged an elder and live. Roland was still going to challenge him though Roland was the grand son of The Dragonslayer as his grandfather was so claimed to be but all that was found was a dead dragon and no sign of his grandfather. His grandfather was seen around the dragon but when he was searched for he was not found.

Victor was sitting there reading a book and when Roland walked to him he saw Victors eyes flash black "What do you want boy? I told I will not deal with you I am going to Torun and I will not share my glory with a pup." Roland stood tall his own eyes turn red and his face seemed to become darker as if a hood covered his face "We challenge Victor our souls are within agreement." Roland's eyes then turned sky-blue "May our knowledge guild us." Victor looked at the young boy and his eyes flashed two colors and he said in a voice that sounded like many "We accept."

Victor led Roland down the tunnels and deep into the cliff side and into a large arena that was underground like the lofts the arena was decorated with the rare minerals found within the mines. The arena however was the grandest of all. No loft as yet been created to be as wonderful as the arena. In the seats was the witnesses Gortun and some man Victor decided to watch the dual to confirm death and to see that the dual would be fair as in there is only one person dueling than the other. Victor and Roland knew the terms of the dual and what happens when one dies. Everything of the deceased would belong to the living. The family of the dead become slaves to the living such has been the way of the dual since the Arena was created. The bell above the arena ground rung the dual as begun.

Victor summoned lightning to his hands and in a powerful bolt hurled it towards Roland who put his hand out grabbed the magical energy and with enormous effort threw the lightning aside. His eyes turned blue unlike his opponent whose eyes were now pure black. Roland summoned fire to his hand and then by putting more energy into the fire it grew until the flame had to be held with two hands meanwhile Victor was casting a summoning spell to summon a spectral defender that would harm Roland as well as defend its summoner. Roland released his giant flame and a massive pillar of flame came at Victor the spectral defender charged at Roland and Victor attempted to block the full force of the flame pillar but then the magical shield Victor summoned broke and he was only able to keep half of the flame from harming him. The spectral defender rammed Roland to a wall mean while Victor was trying to put out the flame. Roland was still pinned to the wall when Victor recovered with a shout of a command Victors summoned creature took its hand and drove it into Roland. At the moment Roland felt his blood spill he felt his soul change his eyes turned red and grabbing the spectral being he removed the hand from his body and pushed the being away. Blow his feet Roland's blood moved it was not noticeable but has Roland stood there his was really moving his blood towards Victor the sudden pause from Roland confused Victor long enough for the blood to reach its goal then in a sudden hand movement up his blood sent solid spikes upward impaling Victor. When the spikes retreated Victors body laid over and using a healing spell Roland healed himself.
(end)

Roland looked at the vast plains seeing the parts that recovered and in the distance the part of the Plains that still remained hostile to men. Roland remember he didn't have any trouble with the second witnesses to the dual with a bribe of the deceased wife in exchange for silence. Later before Roland left the witness died poisoned from deceased wife and returning to Roland who out of kindness bought all of the belongings and assets of the witness and gave the mans family the loft as well as two mines. The murdering widow of Victor was put to death besides Roland's efforts to stop it. Now all he had to do was enter Torun and find the sword everything else didn't matter to him. Everything else would have to wait.

"Gods, I have stood here on this pedestal and watched as we have torn at one another's throats! Senseless bloodletting, infighting and childish bickering! Would you rather kneel and take your sword into your own chest, or stand and force it through the darkened heart that poisons our veins? This filth is running through our souls and killing us from within- a cancer! A malignancy! And we could very well remove it on our own, of our own damned accord! Oh, but if only we possessed the sense to do just that rather than bow our heads in everlasting stupidity!"

The corridors were quiet at first. Not a sound reached through the expansive halls of the Mayyssus' loft. The world holding its breath in a momentary repose. This silent eternity was just that: a scant second or two of time building up to a release. It unleashed ferociously, screaming with a suddenness- fire tongues rippling up from air, torrents of water, forked spears of lightning, and a confusing array of non-elemental magical eruptions all swirling together as the battle began. The fighting was to be a distraction, to keep She'oth's enemies from looking where they should not. Had the Balt attacked, then Alusan's cell would have been bolstered with excess guards and reinforcements to ensure none of the invaders reached their captive king. A war from within, however? An internal matter, She'oth hoped, would not merit such a reaction.

"I have seen an image before me! In my dreams, in my waking hours- it never ceases to be as clear as the sun hanging over our city on a cloudless day. Three towers. Three glorious constructs of mortal make, fashioned together through blood and sweat and time. The products of untold stretches of history compiling together, building firmer foundations and thicker walls the higher and higher they reach. Propelled up into the very heavens to challenge the bastard gods who forsook us all! Standing fast against assaults of rain, wind and, yes, even against Time: the greatest killer of them all! And! They! Stand!"

A heavy steel portcullis barred the entryway to the prison loft. It had been inscribed with protective charms and wards; even the steel of the grating had been forged with defensive magics in the metal to protect from mystical and physical blows. She'oth reached a hand around and brought out Mölaba from its sheathing, the crystal of the bow whispering with energy- waking at his touch. Static charges filled the air, sending tingling ripples of power up his fingertips and through his arms- his souls were charged by the well within. Haunting blue eyes observed the runic markings, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of these wards. They were extensive, the sorcerers had been thorough when they built this barrier. His lips began to move, muttering softly while raising up his weapon, fingers clasping around an arrow that was not there. Faintly, a form of golden light began to take shape, growing brighter and fuller as he drew back his arm. The air was abuzz with magic, resonating through from the bolt and seeping into the bodies of his followers- even into the walls around them. His voice grew louder and louder, his incantations evolving into bellowed proclamations; echoing from the stone, the bolt of white fire burning hotter and brighter, humming violently. Some of the She'oth-ana were forced to shield their eyes and clench their teeth. The final word crossed his tongue, and he let the bolt fly.

"Before my eyes, I see a dying planet. Captured souls, enslaved under blackened skies and breathing smoke-choked air. And these three towers, which had once been the bastions of civilization, and the hopes of all who had dwelt within and raised them up, have fallen. But not from forces without, but from within! I see them collapsing against one another in a hideous display, their ire alive as they smash together. Three forms, now one, but cascading down into rubble! Dashed apart by hubris, as they fall so does the future they had once held aloft. Now they die! Now we will die! A second road, here, is ahead! Take this path and we will come out stronger, these towers raised higher! If we stand apart then all of us- every last member of the races of Men will perish in flames!"

It exploded against the heavy grating, punching a ragged hole into the bars and scattering shrapnel back along the corridor. Bits of metal buried themselves into cracked and depressed formations forced into the stone. The She'oth-ana rushed ahead, their leader keeping to the center of the group as they made their way within the prison. The guards were not enough to slow them down. What few stood against She'oth and his men were quickly smote, offering no challenge or trial. Coming upon Alusan's cell, She'oth moved to the head of the pack. His image switched in an instant- blinking from one soul to another. His now golden eyes washed over the dead slave, and the impact crater in the wall. Smiling to himself, he blasted open the door and calmly approached the hole leading outside. He peered out at the sea below, chuckling softly, "I'm not sure if he's complicated matters, or made them easier. I'll be damned if this doesn't make our ordeal more interesting, nonetheless." He waved back to his men, "Send out an alert: Alusan's escaped. If he's seen, make no attempt to approach or aid him directly. Help him from afar, but do not let him be recaptured!" His order snapped into a bark as his darker aspect took hold again, blue eyes burning in their sockets- wisps of light trailing as he turned his head.

"I will not stand to see these towers come crashing down. By whatever means necessary, I will ensure their continued existence. The survival of the Mayyssus, the Balt and the Dravasha hinges on this! Stand with me or against me, I do not care either way. At my side, you will rise with the rest of us. Before me.. make no mistake, I will bury you- because I refuse to be buried, myself! And I have a feeling that there are still those elsewhere in this world who share my sentiment."

"We need Alusan Ilossa alive if there is to be any hope of defeating our adversary." His men saluted quickly and took their leave. She'oth Möl turned for one last look out into the water below, "By the wretched gods I hope you survived that jump, you son of a bitch," he murmured.