24th Breh

The keep of Gadros kept watch over the city of Gadros in the midlands of the Empire. The city had a fair population, but its importance lay in its role as a hub for overland trade. During the first conflict with the Coalition, it served as an initial line of defense against Coalition forces. It has since taken a leading role in Imperial politics given the affluence of the city.

Senator Averel Rahwin awoke in the middle of the night in his keep at the beckon of his guardsmen. A candle glinted off his senior guardsman's face, his ruddy complexion now coppered.

The stone faced senior guardsman spoke, "Your grace please enrobe yourself, there is an intruder on the premises that wishes to speak with you."

The Senator looked at his senior guardsman perturbed as he seemed in no hurry to speak to an intruder. He judged the gravity of the matter by the presence of multiple guards barring the door and watching his bedroom. All had their hands on the hilts of their swords or the shafts of their spears. Their eyes all seemed distant but vigilant.

The noble scrunched his brow, "Intruder?"

"Yes your lord, he says he bears thee a message."

-

Moments later, Rahwin stood at the parapet of an inner wall, eyes drawn to a an intruder.

The shadowy figure stood alone, flanked on all sides by Imperial guardsmen, spearheads aimed at him. The intruder basked in the light of the moon on the cobblestone path at the center of the inner courtyard where a few oak trees abetted his presence with their shadows overhanging. The rosebushes paled in the night, as he stood over them.

The intruder hid himself within black bandages and robes, but his voice as he spoke remained clear, "Within a few days time, you will receive ambassadors from Daellean seeking assistance from your people. Am I correct?"

"Quite," the Senator watched the stranger with leery eyes, "Who are you to have the audacity to test the mettle of my guards at this hour of the night? And what do you want?"

"Senator, I am a harbinger of things to come. I require that you refuse to offer aid. No good will come of it for you or your family if you do otherwise."

Rahwin seethed, "Are you threatening me, boy?"

The messenger continued with nonchalance and a hand gesture, "You're about as dull as you look," he murmured,

"But mark my words senator, lest you dare challenge forces that could lay waste to you with but a simple touch."

"As the castellan of this keep, I would be damned if I let you pass those gates alive for your insolence. Guards seize him!"

The soldiers moved in, and when the figure altered his posture into a defensive stance they locked their spears at him. The shadow chuckled, then his chuckle broke into outright cacchination.

"Tis a forewarning Senator," the shadow said, "One that would be wise to heed...because if you dont..."

"Take him!" Rahwin cried.

The soldiers extended their polearms, but their blades stabbed at nothingness.

The man began to morph and disfigure. His shape twisted, and his form wrenched apart in multiple directions until it became small black masses oozing in the sky. The masses coalesced and sailed through the cold air of the night leaving behind nothing.

A guttural voice seeped from the black entity, "You will be damned indeed."

His cackle haunted the crows.

Daellean.

The realm of the Elves, where the forests ruled and the elves served. The land was lush and verdant and green. Greener than any forest of Dessor or Skaerra for that matter.

Large and small trees weaved in and about through the gigantic forests that made up the realm. Vines wrapped around branches before dropping low, but not so low as to touch the shrubbery that surrounded the base of the wooden behemoths. The tall grass swayed with the gentle breezes of the inner world between the trees.

The canopies blotted out the sky with their leafage allowing only a few rays to pierce through. The land remained cool beneath the shadows cast by the larger tree trunks.

It began with Ciranthas, the lord of the forests and the demigod son of Aulliuth. The demigod walked among the Elves, but has since slept for years in his lone abode secluded far in the misty vales of the groves of Yhavann.

Surrounding Yhavann were the lands of the other Elven nations, such as Flyfendel, Alheras, and Kes. These realms had served as buffers to invaders for years.

It was at this time that a cadre of goblins wandered through the thick woods. Their race, though cursed with pointy features, were blessed with inventiveness and quick minds. At times, however, they could be reckless and irascible. The majority of them smelled of urine and grime, probably the result of living in crowded urban underbellies.

They wore scrapped together leather armor and every bit of them looked out of place in the forest except for their green skin. They wielded all sorts of machinations from maces to clubs to swords to crossbows to throwing daggers.

They followed behind by their fearless leader, Mzedi, who was taller than the rest of them by a head. Goblins often deferred leadership roles to the more physically imposing. Wandering bands of goblins were common.

However, a band of such numbers this far into Daellean was uncommon.

Mzedi sniffed ahead and he smelled a threat. He raised his palm to halt their advance. Their eyes shifted about until a noticeable white mist started to creep in around them.

Eerie shrieks perforated the stillness of the forest. Elves rushed from beyond the trees with swords drawn. Ranks in the rear, hidden by mist, loosed arrows. The goblins countered with their crossbow bolts, and those in the front charged at the elves.

These elves, however, were different. Their faces were marred with sickness.

The Red Wind.

It took on the form of red web-like growths on their faces, which appeared to leech the life from their bodies. Not so much as to prevent them from ambushing the goblins. Unlike the graceful and fluid motions expected of the Elves, they fought like dense and cumbersome savages.

They began to push the goblins back the way they came.

Until arrows flew in from just west of them and began to pin down their ranks down. The marred elves were taken aback but little could they do to stop it. The arrows pierced through their ranks as they tried to determine their assailants' positions.

However, as more and more of them fell, and the rain of arrows began to increase, one called for a retreat and the rest disappeared back into the forest.

A figure appeared from beyond the brush, hand on a lowered bow, adorned in golden glinted leafage armor.

Others followed in similarly ornate armor and armaments.

The leader turned to the others, "We must return and report this to Lord Oyenthius."

-

"The Red Wind grows increasingly powerful each day."

The Hall of the Ancients stood in the center of the city of Flyfendel, an architectural monument to the heydays of the old Sindrelei Kingdom. The white wood of the Kheln trees remained untouched as it had been built around them.

It was a singular remnant of the illustrious past among the many newer dwellings built around and above the trees. It was also the throne from which King Oyenthius ruled Flyfendel.

A gathering of attendant Sindrelei lords and ladies of the various Elven noble houses as well as their retainers made up the Council of Flyfendel. Diplomats to the Empire were also present. In addition to this, Lord Neminel of Nevreas, his guards, and some representatives from Kes had also made their way to attend. Though they were Tlamani, they were still descended from the First Elves like the Sindrelei. They were family, and the Red Wind threatened all of them.

King Oyenthius, a tall and pale elf with golden hair and diamond blue eyes, the signature Sindrelei appearance, sat on his throne as the council began. A wreath made of Kheln wood sat on his crown. Sentinels with long elven polearms flanked his throne seat. His first and third sons, the Prince Aeriand and Prince Tirinand stood off to the side decked in long flowing black capes that covered their armor.

Lord Ashoriel stood in the gulf between the Flyfendel royals and the rest of the Elvish nobles.

"It grows increasingly powerful," he spoke, "My daughter Melian has already succumbed," he said it not to garner pity but to illustrate the grim realities that everyone present could eventually face.

The face of Prince Tirinand fell, but only few could have perceived this. For only a few knew that he was betrothed to the beautiful maiden daughter of Ashoriel. Her fate troubled him.

Worry and murmurs broke among those present. The extinction of the elven race could not be more horrifying a thought to a people who inherited this world after the legendary warrior-prince Khaierion, who long ago fought off the Dark Ones as leader of the First Elves. Such a long and storied tradition ready to be sundered and grounded to dust was not a new reality.

King Oyenthius gestured to one of his captains, "Captain Ruindel, speak of what you witnessed today."

The soldier stepped forward and bowed before he addressed the others.

"Earlier this morning, we observed an advance party of goblins fall prey to an ambush by the taken ones. The taken ones routed the goblins and we intervened to drive them all back. They are hiding within the forests somewhere."

Oyenthius nonchalantly, "Tragic."

Captain Ruindel continued, "Our concerns are not with the taken, but with outsiders who perceive a weakness within our borders. They seek an opportunity to claim our sacred glades."

"Captain Ruindel, continue your vigilance on the borders should anything change."

The soldier nodded, bowed, and stepped back in line.

"I have sent a diplomat to the city of Gadros to speak with the Empire for aid," Oyenthius steepled his fingers, "However, if our apothecaries can not cure this disease, I am not sure what more the humans can do."

Lord Neminel, a dark haired and grey eyed lord of the Tlamani of Nevreas spoke, "These are indeed troubling times, moreso than in years past. Something is different now."

"Indeed," Lady Simrica added, "I see changes in the night sky, yet I can only tremble as the vision remains unclear and quiet to me."

Lady Simrica was a well-renowned seer of the Kalas forests, where those with an acuity for visions are sent to hone their talents in the sacred forests under the tutelage of Lady Simrica and other elders.

"Ciranthas has not awoken yet, which troubles me," she continued.

"Have you heard word from Anundhel?" Oyenthius turned to Ashoriel.

Ashoriel's brow creased, but he answered curtly, "No. No word."

The girl had departed of her own volition, seeking a cure through the alchemical arts, a path unnatural to elven-kind. It was a source of shame for Ashoriel, but he could only accept it. She was beyond the seas somewhere. Whether alive or dead, he knew not. He hoped she was alive, and hoped that she may find a cure where others have failed.

26th Breh

The great sands of the Hamyzadh Desert shifted with the turn of the wind. The wind started out gently until it began to tear quickly as though Faeroch herself had personally come to oversee and commandeer the reins of the steed-like winds that blew over the Hamyzadh Desert.

Among those great large dunes of dust and orange sand beneath the light of the three sister suns, a lone figure swaddled in tattered cloth trudged and marked his steps. Though the wind would slowly blow away any footprints he left, akin to the way lord time would erase all mortal memory.

Taelu Jin knew his purpose, but every so often he had to determine his progress. His long jet black hair streamed in the wind. However, he had a turban and cloth bandages that wrapped around his head to keep the sand out. A shadow lingered on his face as he was rarely one to shave.

He carried a pair of single edged swords, sharp and curved, sheathed in their scabbards, strapped around his waist. Whatever bits of tattered fabric that were not tied down to the rest of his form billowed at the mercy of the winds.

His yellow eyes remained dead set on the gigantic canyons ahead of him where his destination lay. He merely followed where his intuition led him. The Hamyzadh Desert like any other was rarely quiet, as merchants always said, the emptiness was there for the winds to cry and shriek. Despite their sound, he could hear her calling.

-

Within the safe confines of the quiet canyon, away from the winds' dancing out in the open dunes, the man opened up his turban where tiny granules of sand emptied into the pool below his feet. He sniffed the air. No stray scents to be gathered.

He un-bandaged the cloth around his arm. Black characters and markings lined his inner forearm like inkings or tattoos. As he uncovered them, they began to glow but only briefly then returning to their undisturbed form as before.

It was a sign. He continued.

A couple thousand footsteps later and he arrived at a cavernous entrance where a cool updraft welcomed him in. There was no light, only darkness, and a glow from within his chest. The dampness and coolness of the cavern pervaded and sheltered him from the sweltering heat and blustering wind that so characterized his journey.

He unwrapped the turban covering his head, letting his wild hair run loose. A single scar ran across his nose, almost dividing his face in half.

Taelu reached into the collar of his clothes and pulled out an amulet adorned with a sapphire crystal at the core. It had been glowing since the moment he stepped inside. Now he grasped it between thumb and forefinger and used it to light the way through the darkness.

The hollowed out cavern appeared to be an ancient altar. Gigantic rock columns flanked and surrounded the altar, perhaps built long ago by colossi of the rock. At the center stood a pedestal with a small hollowed out chamber the size of Taelu's sapphire. He approached it and he unclasped the sapphire from the amulet and slid it into the well-carved rock mold that it was meant for.

The sapphire's glow expanded tenfold to reveal and illuminate everything within the dark chamber. Taelu inhaled a breath, it was nothing new to him.

Then a plume of pale azure fire evolved from the crystal into an elegant human-like form. As the flames never ceased to coarse up and down, a spirit attempted to create itself from the fire. Eventually, the result was the imperfect melding of the formless tangible flame and formed ethereal being.

Taelu eyed the swirling flame.

A face appeared and its eyes opened seeming to lit the entire chamber more than the crystal had done before.

The voice, tender and rich and soft, spoke.

"Have you or Ishkar found any of the relics or the Mark of the Dragon?"

"No, he has hidden the ornerames far. The Mark is like finding a needle in a haystack," Taelu replied.

"Our time runs short."

"I'm aware, that's what you said last time. Trust me it's not helping."

"So what will?"

Taelu looked at the visage, "Can you tell me again why you need mortals to be looking for items and people? Gods and angels like you can travel a thousand leagues with a single step."

"Our movement must remain a secret to our enemies," she paused, "Thus we require the aid of agents such as yourself," the voice lingered, "Taelu Jin."

It was one of the few times she had ever called him by his actual name.

The swordsman waited before speaking again, "I managed to catch wind of a plague sweeping through Daellean. Of what nature is it and of what relation is it to the things I am seeking?"

The voice took a moment to contemplate that thought, "At present...we believe he is seeking to weaken the Elves. They represent one of the stronger bastions against his conquest."

Taelu gritted his teeth, frustrated.

"Seek them out as best you can."

Then the eyes blinked and froze.

Then she loosed a whisper, "They are here," she looked at him, "Continue on with your assignment, you'll know where to find me."

The blue flame evaporated into nothingness as the spirit disappeared, perhaps back into the crystal to the untrained eye. Taelu Jin unsheathed one of his swords. The cave darkened. Growls and ghoulish screams overtook the peace that surrounded his conversation with the spirit.

Taelu grabbed the sapphire and placed it back in the amulet, which he in turn tucked back under his clothes.

He spun around as soon three forms emerged from the sand. Their forms similar to the flame spirit, but instead of light, they were swirling faceless shadows. Hellbent spirits, servants of the darkness. Their blades drawn, they lunged at Taelu like the predators of the desert. He skillfully weaved to the side, blocking their strokes with his single blade.

Before he had time to recover onto a defensive stance, a shadow pounced on him, he brushed aside its blade. His wrist reversed and he plunged his sword into its side. It cried out in pain and swiped at him. He parried the blow and with two swift arc like motions, his sword cut the shadow apart at its midsection causing it to disintegrate. This move angered the other two shadows.

They quickly pursued as he made an escape through another tunnel. He knew the benevolent spirit always met him at a place with many passages. Despite this, the hungering shadows were still feet away.

He had no idea how many passages he had crossed through, but at some point he wondered whether or not he had lost himself within the endless maze.

Fortunately he spotted a shaft of sunlight ahead of him. He sheathed his sword and darted toward the opening. He grabbed at the rocks for gripping to pull himself out into some unknown canyons. He could hear the cries of the shadows coming after.

He was barely a few steps beyond the crevice from which he crawled out when he heard the ominous cries.

So he ran, unsure whether he could get away. He tripped and stumbled. The sand buffeted his face as he hurried to mask it. Then cries began to grow louder and more numerous like an accursed melody.

It sounded as though there were more foes than just the three that had attempted to ambush him in the underground chamber.

Just then he stumbled forward as a pair of shadow appendages reached out of the sand for him. Blades erupted from the creature's wrists and they lashed out at him. He tumbled to the side, but he was up on one leg just as another shadow dove at him. With a bit of flow, he forced his nodachi from its scabbard. His hand caught the tsuka midflight as the blade slid outward. He spun the sword and plunged it forward into what would have been the creature's head.

The blade shimmered and the shadow cried out before briefly before its existence quieted.

Taelu knew he had to escape, he resheathed the blade and clasped his hands together and whispered, "Kage e."

Another shadow cried out as it charged at him. The swordsman vanished with a blink. The shadows whipped their heads about in vain seeking him all while a raging sandstorm built up around them.

Departing from the meeting of the elvish leaders, a young-looking Tlamani walks intently down the large corridor from the chambers of The Hall of Ancients. Short, dark brown hair match his stern, brown eyes which seem to tell the story of a not-so-distant past softness about them, now stress-hardened into what they are now. Wrinkles seem to be making their first ever appearance on the forehead of his otherwise youthful, soft-looking face. As if in direct contrast to his overall appearance, a decorative coat of hardened leather armor scarcely hides beneath his forest green cloak, detailed with a pattern of brown.
Lord Farenir, a mere 72 years old, has only held his title for five of them, after the sudden heart attack and following death of his father. Though he has a long way to go, he has proven his resourcefulness and has certainly proven himself an effective leader, simply by listening and learning. Very rarely does he require the guidance of his advisers now-a-days, but this is a tough time to be getting the hang of management and times are certainly about to get much harder.

The young elf is flanked by someone of a seemingly heavier sternness about him, if not far surpassing the lord with it.

"His Grace is naive to have any faith in human physicians. The likes of them are dead before our practitioners are even considered experienced."

The man is obviously much older with his extensive number of wrinkles, certainly sharing the cause of their existence with his lord's. His straight ebony-black hair reaches down to the center of his back. His eyes, a dark green tint, seem to resemble that of an aggravated hawk. He is dressed similarly to Lord Farenir, but with less decoration; his armor certainly looking more appealing to wear for someone going into combat. It may be his seemingly flawless posture, but the man stands a full head taller than the lord and certainly above most military-age Tlamani males.

"We've no one left to turn to," Farenir replied, "unless you expect an orchish shaman or a dwarvish physician to understand what causes this...plague...who else do we have to turn to? Gnomes and their bio-engineers?"

The older man looks as if he already knew that there were no other real options but continues.

"It's worthless to ask a people who barely have the ability to understand their own biology, let alone something of this degree." The man sighs. Both whole-heatedly understand where either is coming from, yet vary in degree of hope from hopeless...to severe doubt.

"You may be my steward, but you will always be a stubborn captain," Farenir said, referencing his adviser's previous duty as a leader of warriors of the woodland. "No matter how hopeless the situation, we must exhaust every chance we have at helping us. That includes asking for help from anyone who would give it, regardless of their capabilities."

The steward remains silent.

"...Ashoriel's daughter has still yet to have been heard from. What of yours? Has she ever contacted you or hinted anything about her situation?" The lord turns to look at the older man. His expression has gone from stressed to one of curiosity.

"She never sent any messages and I've no way of knowing where she is but I just know she most certainly has put herself in an undesirable situation..."

"My father once told me you trained your daughter in the ways of combat. She may be a child but I'm certain she's doing completely fine."

-

"Ow. Ow. Ow..."

Danairia walks along the street, wincing with each time she puts weight on her right leg. Either the people she ran into were not agents of the colosseum or they were the most terrible trackers ever. There was an obvious...trail..being left by the wound all the way down the road. She could not afford to focus on anything but her destination...Well, she could have focused on the road a little more, as an uneven crack is all it takes to role Danairia's ankle, bringing further pain to her right leg and sending her crashing down with a surprisingly feminine yelp.

"...Oowwwww...."

She had not wanted to resort to the only way she could fix it for now, as it remains an unreliable method at her skill level, but there was no way she was going to receive medical attention until she could rest. Wincing, Danairia gets up in an almost half-crouch and makes her way to the side of the street before collapsing again and turning over to a rest upon her bottom.
The elf inspects her wound, getting a good look at it before placing her palm atop it. Energy seems to leave her body as a bit of light shines from her palm, directly into the open wound. A few seconds later and her hand is removed to reveal her injury, now closed, and certainly a long way from healed, but dry of any fluids that she would prefer to keep in her body. Danairia sighs. It still hurts but at least there is one less thing she needs to worry about.

Down deeper in the port is where the escaped slave heads for. Just beyond the docks and fish markets. A tavern, which sat upon a platform to hold it level next to the slanted street, headed down to the anchored ships. The Luckless Maiden, was founded as a place for sailors to spend some of their wages on drink and offer them a place to stay before their next trip to sea. Now it attracted more than just sailors. Regular citizens of the area frequented the place for its service and familiar atmosphere, as if the place was closely related to the inns of small towns, but in a port city. She had a friend there she could trust; a friend she could count on. She could not remember a time when she was not friends with the man known as Hans.
...Okay, maybe that was because she can't remember when exactly she met him-as just about every time she ended up staying in Opynonias she ended up only being able to recall but a blurred, combined mess of random events that may or may not have actually transpired-but she knew she knew him. And she knew she knew that he knew her and she knew him as trust worthy. She may not know how she knew but she knew.

The elf limps down the road and stops in front of the tavern, looking up at the metal sign of a filled mug above the doorway before taking a breath and pushing the obstacle out of her way, heading beneath the advertisement. The establishment is as busy as ever, despite the obvious suggestions of a pretty brutal, recent bar fight.

"Hehe. Good times," Danairia chuckles to herself.

Just then, a voice calls out from a table on the far side of the room from behind the bar.

"Ms. Feyn!"

Danairia tracks the voice, following it to its owner. The handsome young man known as Hans Holst. Anyone could pick out that messy brown hair of his and his uniquely gentle eyes are not one to help in hiding his identity. If that were not enough, he dresses in the obvious garb of a bar hand. Yes, this is definitely the man famous for his hospitality. This is the man Danairia is looking for.
At first, it looks as though he wants her to join him in with one of his customers but, oddly enough, his facial expression quickly fades from one of pleasant surprise to one of concern.

"E-..excuse me, sir. I thank you for your time but I-..I-...Excuse me."

Hans steps out from behind the bar and approaches the elf, visually inspecting her.

"By the creator, are you all right? You're a mess!"

Danairia squints.

"I'm fine? Thank you? Look, Hans, I need your help-"

"-Fine?" He interrupts. "You're not fine, look at you! You're dirty beyond belief,-" "I'm always dirty, though!" "-you look as though you haven't eaten a proper meal in months!-" "I haven't eaten a proper meal in years though..." "-Are those-..?" Hans hushes his tone. "Are those slave rags?-" "Yeah, funny story about that..." "-and, by all holy things, you're bleeding!"

Danairia looks puzzled at first but then looks down to find blood dripping from her calf once more.

"Aw, fuck me, I didn't even strain myself!-Why are you bleeding again?!"

Hans grabs Danairia by her arm and tugs her along.

"Hey," he calls out to the current bar tender. "I'm renting a room for a bit here, Jacob, I need you to cover me for a second, alright?"

After receiving confirmation that it was okay to take some time away from the bar, Hans leads Danairia upstairs to the second floor and into an empty room.

"Alright," he starts, "Lets start with that wound. Lay down."

Within minutes, the elf's leg is stitched up.

"You're going to need some bandages for when you move. I have some here but they wont last too long. Remember to let the cut air out as much as you can, though, and it should heal in a matter of time."

"Thank you, Hans. You certainly earn your reputation around here."

Danairia looks at the man to find his expression obviously wanting.

"...What?" She asks.

"What do you mean 'what'? Slave clothes? He is the one who turned you into a slave, isn't he? And I'll bet he made you into a gladiator too." Hans reaches in Danairia's bag of belongings and retrieves her old pair of trousers and blouse.

"You'd win that bet...By the way, about that..." The elf sheepishly grins.

"What is it?" Hans asks before lightly sniffing the blouse and then violently pulling away. "Yep, you're not the only thing that needs a bath..."

Danairia sighs.

"I kinda escaped a good hour-or-so previously.-"

"-Yeah, I figured. You picked one hell of a time to do so too. We had Imperial soldiers here earlier." Hans investigates the sack of Danairia's belongings for any more clothing that will need to be washed but only finds her armor and weapons. Danairia rolls over to face her friend.

"Yyyeeeeeaaaaaah, one could say I know them pretty well. Charming group of boys..."

...

"They're the ones who cut your leg, aren't they?-"
"-I chucked an orange at one of their throats."

Hans pinches the bridge of his nose.

"This day keeps getting better and better," he says, setting the clothes down. "I'll be right back."

The man leaves and, before long, returns with a large basin.

"I'll start heating some water for a bath. You can soak and I'll clean your clothes while you do that. We'll discuss where to go from here later."

Danairia smiles.

"Have I ever done anything to warrant this treatment from you before? I may have been too drunk to remember."

Hans pauses at the door and smirks.

"Not even a little."

...

Danairia stands, leaving the comforting warmth of the basin of bath water and grabbing a cloth left out for her to dry off. She cannot help but smile at the feeling of regular clothes upon her skin, let alone clean clothes. They are a little damp still but she is far from complaining. Anything beats the chafing rags issued to her by Kail.

There is a knock on the door.

"Danairia! Are you decent in there?"

Danairia brings her arms through the sleeves of her blouse.

"Yeah! Come in!"

She wasn't completely decent but she was decent enough to get away with turning to face opposite the room from the door and putting on the rest of the blouse from there. The door opens. "Okay, its nearing morning now and-Hey, you said you were decent!"
"Yeah, sorry. I suppose my enormous breasts would make it so easy for you to see even the slightest bit of anything while I finish up here." Danairia lowers the blouse down atop her almost completely flat chest.

"Sarcasm. Adorable. Anyway, the sun will be up soon and you need to get moving. Lucky for you, I know a guy and I got you passage to Khi'ir."

Danairia stops moving. Her eyes dart to Hans.

"H-...how did you-...?"

Hans smiles.

"Lets just say we get all kinds coming through the Maiden for a drink or two. There is a catch though, he didn't offer it to you but he DID say he would offer passage for thirty silvers..."

Danairia's expression drops to an aggravated frown.

"Okay, sure, let me just reach inside my asshole here and-I was a SLAVE. How the fuck do you think I would have already made thirty silver pieces?!"

Hans blinks and holds up a coin purse.

"...No," Danairia protests. "Okay-no, I don't steal from bar hands and I'm not about to start."

"Take the fare, Danairia," Hans commands. "Imperials are probably looking for you and you already know who else probably is. You need to get out of here before it's too late. If you don't, I doubt they'll let you off as easy as they did last time."

Danairia sighs. "Why are you even doing this? Seriously, I don't even want to know how long it takes you to save up that much just to spend on a trip across the sea. I want an actual answer too-not this, 'oooh just because you're in need' bullshit."

Hans smiles again before quickly sighing through his nose.

"Alright. Maybe I just feel like it's important. Maybe I just feel like you'll truly change the world someday and I want you to remain alive until you do."

...

Danairia just keeps staring at him.

...

"Yeah, sure, you can go ahead and laugh if you wa-"
"-BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Hans tilts his head, looking at the girl before him, waiting for her to calm down.

"Yeah, I suppose it is a bit ridiculous but don't ever underestimate your own potential."

Danairia simply keeps on laughing at the notion that someone like her, who is only famous for being forced to kill people and for simply showing a surprising amount of degeneracy for someone of her race, could or even would change the world for anywhere near the better.
That is what is going for her.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say!" Danairia finally takes the pouch of silver from Hans' waiting hands.

"Seriously though, Hans," she says, finally calming down. "...Thank you."

The bar hand smirks at his friend again.

"Don't mention it."

Danairia readied herself for the trip ahead, donning her armor and swords before putting on her cloak...but there was one final item in her bag...

The machete laid on the bottom, blade still in its sheathe...

The former slave fighter stares down the weapon, not budging from her position as she remembers all that has happened to her the past few months.

Softly closing her eyes, She claims the weapon, attaching the sheathe to her belt on the small of her back once more.

...

Day break. The sun rises on the horizon over the great salt water ocean. As one step crosses off of the deck of an old life, another plants itself firmly into a new chapter; the first step into legend. A legend which shall be told for generations to come...

ACT II

27th Breh

The three week journey across the Meroan sea proved idyllic and without much to see except sea. However, on one particular night, a giant bolt of lightning could be seen for leagues upon leagues away from the ship. It lasted for more than a few seconds. The sound was near defeaning when it struck.

Everyone had thought that the sky would begin to fall as grey clouds converged that night. They all tensed and watched what would eventually pass. However, the clouds began to dissipate only seconds after they formed.

No one spoke of that night.

The waters became warmer and the days became sunnier as they neared ever closer to the land of Syakh.

-

The being known as Galtros Penrimore awoke in his cabin, not too early nor too late. He craned his neck and made a few circular motions to hear it pop. Then he stretched, a couple of more pops. Then he clenched his left fist in front of him and willed a blue-grey flame to burst just as quickly as he dispersed the magic.

He took both of his hands and placed them around his jaw. Then he proceeded to dislocate it. A loud pop could be heard.

He looked in his mirror. Nothing but a skull.

After he tied up the last of his waist sashes and belts he looked in the mirror again, and the face of a handsome gent began to emerge. He was no longer Galtros Penrimore, for he had become Paecus Ixipas. One of his many alter egos and disguises.

He stepped out into the daylight and watched as the entire crew of the Flying Dwarf moved about getting things ready. Boxes and other crates were dumped with care onto available barges.

He faced the city's seaside facade, where a renovation project from years before had altered its old ramshackle houses and apartments. The many dwellings and key city centers such as the market district began to raise ever higher up the slopes of the city. The Sheikh Kartal's palace stood at the very far end of the city, and it stood highest on the crest of the hill. Ixipas recognized the domed structure even from aboard the ship. It represented elegance and splendor. At night, the street lanterns of the city all converged to the palace.

Ixipas waited to see if the old man was up and about. The magic was still strong and luring his thirst.

No sight of him, Ixipas decided to get on the next available barge to the city. If anything happened, he could still feel the magic from leagues away. Unless of course, a stronger source appeared.

-

"Alright ye dusty lot, get off me damned ship," Eiraendar piped from behind the helm.

The briny wind washed up against their faces like the salty blue against the aft of the Flying Dwarf.

The second mate Ravel dropped anchor. Light barges helmed by fishermen helped ferry people off the ship. The large fabric sails of the giant galleon folded up.

Huo stepped out onto the deck, he'd been put to work swabbing the decks and running errands for most of the journey. Considering that he was a fighter, the dwarf captain could not utilize his talents to their fullest extent. A mutiny would have been nice to put down, but a dwarf ship captain had his ways of maintaining order.

Huo made friends with a few of the crew besides the Captain and they drank on some nights. He had met a few others who escaped from the Colosseum. Two of them were gladiators, Antius Geminus, the self-styled Magus of the Gemini, and Danairia Feyn, the drunkard of Kes. He had seen them in the arena before, familiar faces.

The former brought a friend along as well, a red haired mage with burning cheeks and frozen eyes. They seemed to keep themselves as those of the magically adept were so inclined to do.

The latter proved to be a loquacious addition, but made no particular mention of her past life. Huo never bothered to ask either.

A young black smith named Caspian also complimented a few folks who had lived and worked near him. Caspian worked in the colosseum to finish his apprenticeship, and he completed it the night before they left. All of them managed to pay for their fares, Huo was the only one who worked for his.

He drank and ate with them, but they seemed to be quite distant.

Each driven by their own fate.

The fighter managed a nice bronze from hours working under the three suns. He looked at Eiraendar with a nod, their agreement complete. He earned his voyage without coin.

Moments later he sat on a barge with a couple of more blue foamy waves lapping between him and his destiny, the place from his dreams. He watched a school of threadfins glide alongside until they dispersed. He knew he sought answers, but to what questions?

They reached the city where he saw nothing familiar. The humans here, their complexions, were different from what he grew accustomed to back in Opynonias. These were Dhaxi's people, the D'homani. He watched the thawbs and kufis on men's heads bob up and down as they moved through sloping streets. Some women walked past him, faces covered by niqabs and shemaghs of various colors. Other women were barely covered at all. Niessen travelers and Sivyne merchants all met his face. He spotted a few people who had pointed ears, and he took them to be elves even though he was unsure.

He watched a felidin, Tumhathil's people, with long legs walk by. She gave a seductive glance at him with smizing eyes before walking off.

Not only were there felidins, but also lizardmen, of which he had only seen once back in Opynonias. They called them Tharonians because they hailed from the desert of Tharon.

Cows whipped their tails at the flies. Donkeys, mules, and other pack animals herded merchants' wares. A camel strutted by on its lazy legs, chewing on a twig, led by the hand of its owner. Shops sold a variety of goods such as swords from Dessor and silk linens supposedly from Jilel. Huo smelled the scent of various spices, sweet and sour mixing in the air from the spice bazaar. While herbalists beckoned him to their canopied tent for a look. Fresh baked bread made him hunger, but not so much as to wander from where he needed to be.

He wandered through the bazaars and markets an outsider. Many looked at his face where his Osu features were very distinct. He asked people whether they knew where the White Sphinx was, some shook their heads, others did not understand him, and others merely brushed past him.

After awhile of walking he finally found the place he sought, the White Sphinx. The creature adorned the establishment's storefront at the uppermost level over its third floor balcony. He stepped inside.

Caspian awoke to the low pitch keowing sound of seagulls among each other while the waters rolled outside. He felt relaxed and content for a moment, letting the ship rock and sway like a baby in a cradle.

Then his day started as a crew member wandered by with a stick knocking on each of the cabin doors yelling, "Land, ho! We've arrived in Khi'ir!"

The lad bucked out of his meager bed made of feathers covered inside cotton. He slid his hands into his blacksmith's gloves, which were black and roughened. It served as an obvious sign to anyone that he had completed all the necessary steps in his apprenticeship. He was a skilled tradesman in the art of smithing and could forge any blade needed.

However, it would be awhile before he forged any more blades. He wanted seek out and speak with the mage Antius and speak some more about their shared dream. The mage was never available. He had been waylaid in bed and kept to secrecy with his mage friend over most of the journey. Caspian found her to be beautiful and stoic like a rose with thorns.

He needed answers first, though, on their shared dream. He soon left his cabin bare with his belongings all tied up nicely inside a knapsack slung over his shoulder. With the Dragoneater's sword strapped to his back, he seemed more of a knight squire than a blacksmith.

You. The voice of a woman, maybe someone of his mother's age.

Caspian spun his head around as he thought someone addressed him.

No one.

Oh good, he can finally hear us. The voice repeated.

"Hello?" Caspain turned around again, nobody was there except for a heavy set Niessen crewman smoking from a pipe and tugging at some chains.

There was no woman there.

We're talking to you. The woman again.

"What?" Caspain whispered, was he losing his mind or hearing things.

Darling let me handle this. A new voice, this time a man of a refined and gentlemanly air said.

Caspian my boy, it is I.

"Who?" the young blacksmith's eyes widened was he hearing ghosts?

We are the spirits of the sword.

Caspian squinted, perplexed. The sword! He pulled the sword from his back after he dropped his knapsack. He had wrapped it in cloth because it was a very ornate blade. Such a decorated weapon attracted thieves and he had no intention of losing a gift from a great champion.

"Spirits of the sword..." Caspian had a self-conscious moment, wondering what people would think if they saw him talking to his sword.

He lived in a world of magic though, why was this a surprise? He ran back to his cabin and laid the sword on the bed.

Don't be frightful lad, we've been living in this sword for a long time. The man's voice again.

"Who...what...?"

The woman spoke, My name is Mara, and his is Kade.

"This is not real, I'm dreaming, time to wake up now," Caspian took off his gloves and pinched his bicep.

He did not wake up, but then there was nothing but silence from the sword. He could no longer hear the voices. He breathed a sigh of relief, unsure what had taken over him. As he gathered his things again a pair of laughs startled him and sent him falling backward.

Oh dear me that was precious, the woman said.

Quite, now my dear lad let's take this a bit slowly. I am Kade, she is Mara, this is all real. At least in this particular plane of existence, the man said.

"Wh- are you," he pointed to the sword, "Seriously talking to me?"

Yes. Yes we are. We've been living in this sword for some time now. Well...living is a bit of a pretentious term.

First the dream, now the sword, Caspian felt the urgency to speak with Antius. The mage could shed some light on his precarious situation.

-

The docks of Khi'ir bustled, the voices and languages of various cultures mingled. A main gate and portcullis separated the city from the port. Khi'ir had seen its shares of invaders from the sea with the Imperial crusades still recent in the books of history. The Sheikh had ordered masons to make the outer walls impenetrable to ship-based ballistae.

The half-orc mercenary Jolloc Varfu gnawed on a yellow apple as his brown hair bristled in the sea wind. He sat on a barrel by the docks watching incoming adventurers arrive on the fishermen boats. He had been told to keep an eye out for several "individuals." That in itself seemed like a lost cause. If this was all prophesied, then he was sure they would arrive at the point they were destined to arrive.

"We should probably head back, the Lady is waiting for us," a voice told him, "They'll probably find their way."

"That's what I was thinking. I hope this gig pays better than the last one," The orc responded to the voice, then he cracked his neck and tossed the apple core into the water.

He got up from the barrel and entered the city.

The Tlamani, known as 'The Drunkard of Kes' finds her way up from the cabin with nothing on her mind...

"..FfffFU~CK ME~do I need a drink!"

...but staying true to her title.
The ride was long and, for the most part, incredibly boring. For the first day, she hid herself from the ones mostly dressed in slave's attire, who seemed to exchange two of their number for a new face she had not yet seen. An Osu man. A tan skin with a blonde head of hair that lays aft, extending back, like a lion's mane. At first, she believed him to be their leader, on account of his gear, but he did not seem to stick together with his group as tightly as the other four so she changed her image of him to be either a separate operative or a slave fighter who earned his freedom. She would have to hide as best as she could to remain hidden from the perception of her persuers. It would be difficult but Danairia was confident.

'It's fine. I'm great at hiding! Good luck seeing a shadow, bitches!' She thought to herself.

After Danairia had been spotted, not 7 minutes later, and nearly drop kicked the chest of the tall one in the blacksmith's clothing before getting restrained by the Osu, she was finally able to get a better look upon the group of people who had followed her and learn more about them...like, that they actually were not following her and it was Danairia's imagination the entire time...
...Yeah, that was more than a little embarrassing...

The poor man who Danairia almost flattened was actually in fact a lad and, now that she was closer, it became quite obvious to her. He had clear, smooth skin and an overall young appearance, accented by his messy dark blonde hair and quite the attention-grabbing pair of deep green eyes. His muscle tone was the obvious result of the life of a blacksmith. The others called him Caspian.
He would become her main source of entertainment on the voyage, as it seemed he and the crew were the only others who really spoke and his personality reminded her of a much younger Hans...

A million times more surprising was the old man of their group, known by the name of Antius, who was ALSO only but a little older than a-fucking-lad somehow. Danairia could not help but feel uncomfortable around him, for his appearance reminded her of her dad, yet if she went by how old she was to humans, she could scold him like she was his mother...and, to be honest, that was a rather frightening thought to her.
He too had blonde hair and green eyes and the apparent over abundance of such traits had begun leaving Danairia self-conscious of her own regular brown-to-brown combo.

The young one with the funny looking head of red-who Danairia maintains is DEFINITELY an archer of some kind-seems to be fond of the physically-confused one and adept at magic, though it is difficult to gauge exactly how powerful she is. When revealed by her hair, her face expresses itself rather clearly with a handful of freckles scattered about its surface. A pair of lime-

Really?...You all wanna play this game?

-green eyes also seem to dart abound the cabin at the drop of a hat. Literally too! At one point Danairia tested the theory by slapping the cap off of a sailor's head and watching her as it hit the ground. As predicted, her eyes instantly checked to see what had happened! Everyone else-sailor included-had also looked at the elf but torch-head looked and that was all that mattered! Experiment successful!
She was called Lir.

Finally, there was the Osu man with the blonde mane from before. To Danairia's surprise, his eyes were brown and, unlike what would be expected of a former slave, seemed to exhibit a passion within them. She could not help but notice the Osu's gauntlets and boots, both a bright red, highly contrasting with his linen outfit. There had to be more underneath but it was not all that important. It was not as though she would have to fight any of them.
...Okay, maybe that depended on how much drink she would be allowed to partake in...
Regardless, the man was called Huo. It seemed he was earning his passage, as he worked during the day yet he did not interact with the others much, as he only seemed to drink with the others before heading off by himself the rest of the night.
Not that Danairia was TOO much better, as she typically kept to herself until drinks were involved, but at least she got along greatly with the crew!

"Hey, Short-Stout-and-Sturdy!"

The Captain of the ship seems to noticeably flinch at the sound of Danairia's voice before turning around to listen to whatever it is she has to say.

"If yarr evur i'need of an extrah swabee in teh forseeable moons," Danairia begins in the most terrible impression of a sea-dog Eiraendar has ever heard in his life. "I be adrift at sea in a dingy withou' oars! Y'arg?"

...

Eiraendar attempts to find the exact words he is looking for but seems to visibly have trouble with it, as it takes him about six seconds to even respond at all.
"Danairi-"
"-Y'arg?"

..."Danairia, ye have but two possible ways of getting off me ship: either ye climb down an' we ferry ye' the rest o' the way t' port er we throw y'overboard to drown yerself," the dwarvish captain says, completely serious.

Daniria frowns and crosses her arms for a moment before declairing to everyone on deck, "I be castin' off then!"

This would not be the first time The Drunkard of Kes has graced the port city of Khi'ir. Her work has brought her to the land of Syakh a handful of times previously, guarding shipments of furs, slaves and other goods of luxury before returning with the shipments of spices and silks. Merchant ships in the region were prime targets for piracy so business was always good for mercenaries but it was potentially some of the most dangerous work for one. It was best to take jobs guarding such mechandice sparingly.
Sailors often mixed well with the likes of mercenaries, even if there were a few that believed in bad luck being brought by hiring sell-swords to protect their cargo, they were equally hard and equally-mouthed men, just with different talents. Wherever you found large amounts of sailors, you found large amounts of mercenaries and, wherever you found large amounts of sailors and mercenaries, you found taverns. All Danairia had to do was walk into town and pick one. However, she did not want some random 'dirty-ass shack, sellin' a choice o' goat milk and piss-water.' What she wanted was quality, so she went looking for it. It took her a little beyond the docks but she felt it worth the effort.

The place had not looked the same as before. The streets seemed to be somewhat decorated. A conversation with one of the local mercenaries quickly taught Danairia that it indeed was no regular day. It was the local holiday known as 'Syel'Breh' but that is all the mercenary knew. She could have pressed someone else for an answer but she only really cared about the basic knowledge of 'today is not a regular day'.

Further into the city she walked, trying to find a proper place to drink-and now possibly eat-but nothing seemed to meet the standards which she craved, so she began to backtrack a little and try around the local bazaar but all that seemed to do was annoy her. Jewels, swords, linens-it mattered not. They were over-priced and Danairia was not stupid enough to buy such good so close to the port of a major trading hub. The search seemed hopeless until:

Whoa...déjà vu...

Danairia was quite unfamiliar with the area but it seemed as though she had previously visited a particular street she was approaching...so, doing as she always does when she is curious, the elf endulges the feeling and follows her memory down the street. It was the most odd feeling, as she knew she recognized the route she was on but had never once visited the place.
She had to follow her instinct. Her legs began to increase their pace. She took longer strides and quickly found herself darting through the crowd; faster and faster until...!

Danairia halted in her tracks. It suddenly became clear to her. Her dream, reality, it was all in tune with her memory and where she stood; what she looked at...

"...The White Sphinx..."

She would not dare keep herself from entering.

Sitting in a tavern surrounded by strangers seemed to be her life calling these days. She couldn't even remember how many days she had spent visiting inns and taverns and guesthouses meeting some of the shadiest characters on the planet. Past two years of her life seemed to revolve around entering one crooked building or another, lurking from the shadows and straining her ears to hear any news about anyone looking for a capable pair of hands. Or wings. To tell the truth her hands weren't all that capable, and yes she always demanded way too much compensation for her services, but how else was a girl supposed to survive alone in the whole wide world! As a counterweight, she never backed out of a job and didn't ask for any details once she decided the coin was enough. It was very possible that her list of jobs could lead her to acquiring a reputation of a smuggler, but she learned that the less you ask the likelier you are to get some work. And to think she started out with a wish to help people in need.

"Sanvi." A monotone voice whispered in her ear. She turned her head around to find an equally monotone face of a human man looking at her from a distance much too close for comfort. Instinctively she leaned backwards.
"Milo. Any news?" Sanvi asked studying the expression of her acquaintance. His face gave out no context. Milo was her contact in city of Khi'ir. She met him by chance while asking around the market and he recommended her to visit this suspicious place if she wanted some quick money.
"None whatsoever." Milo shrugged like it was no big deal and slumped on a chair opposite of her. "We'll try again tomorrow."
"You've said that yesterday!"
A shrug.
"And a day before that!"
A shrug.
"And another day before that and a couple of more days before! Milo, we've been coming here for a week and there's still no progress!" She slammed her small fist on the table, trying to look intimidating, bust sadly failing. "What kind of a shady contract broker are you?"
"I am not one at all. You keep insisting on that."
"You said you'd help!"
"I said I'll try." Milo shook his head in resignation. "It's not my fault nobody needs a transporter." He casually reached for his drink, but Sanvi caught his wrist.
"I'm not paying you for any more drinks!" She hissed. "You can buy your own." Then she let him go and stood up. "And I'm going to find my own employment." And with that she strode towards one corner where all tables were filled with people loudly arguing about something, while the tips of her wings dragged behind her.

Red streaks of mist over dying eyeless faces. Black lightning piercing clouded sunless skies. The hand of corruption befouling a pool of water. The last breaths before death extinguished into silence. Guttural screams of the twisted. The shadow of a dragon.

Lady Simrica snapped from her trance and opened her eyes to the faces of Oyenthius and Neminel. They rushed to her side and helped her balance as she nearly fell.

She looked more pale than the white wood Kheln trees. Her legs feeble.

The lords and lady secluded themselves in a dark private chamber while the council entertained a brief recess before reconvening in the main hall.

Glittering jewels hung in between alcoves. The room extended to exterior balconies overlooking a small tributary that ran from the Silver Lake. Beyond this were the giant tree trunks of the Immlon Forest. The thick canopies of verdant green leaves surrounded their view of the sky like webs upon webs resting upon each other and permitting only the most persistent shafts of the light of the three sisters in.

The two lords helped settle Lady Simrica in a seat. Neminel paced in the background.

Oyenthius raised a palm and a green aura began to form as he held it before her. It was a traditional elvish healing spell that could ward off bits of fatigue. It would have to do for their private session to continue.

"What did you see?" Neminel prodded.

Lady Simrica blinked, but her breaths slowed. She felt drained.

Her first words seemed to crawl from her throat, "Blood. Blood of our people."

Lord Oyenthius turned to Lord Neminel, he could see the wood elf turn grim. He knew that it mirrored his own expressions as they too darkened.

She continued, "A dark storm gathering, a hand serving in the name of pestilence. Two more, I could not interpret."

She took slow breaths as Oyenthius maintained his spell over her. He could see some sweat beads forming on her face, the first in a long time.

"The last, I saw a dragon," the two lords turned to her as she said this.

It had been a trying few days. The effects of Magi's Bane had him barely able to leave his room for extended periods of times. If it wasn't for Lir, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to function. His health had only returned to normal the day before and he still didn't trust his stomach to handle anything more than simple grains and vegetables. As he stepped aboard the deck of the ship, he eyed his traveling companions.

The captain didn't draw his attention too much. He seemed typical of his kind. He didn't care what your business was as long as your gold was good. Antius never thought he'd be so grateful to run into such an individual, but he was a lifesaver in Opynonias. Without him taking their coin, they would have been captured or dead. As for older-looking gentleman... Mace's very prescence made him feel odd. There was powerful magic at work with him and if Antius hadn't been sick, he'd have investigated further.

For now, he approached the captain and bowed his head.

"I thank you for your assistance. Your service was expensive, but you did everything we asked of you."

He looked out at the port. He had never been to Khi'ir before, but he knew of its wealth and subsequent danger. Still, he could not help but be excited. He shook his head as Danairia took off. How she survived so long, he had no idea. He spotted Caspian, who had a pensieve look on his face and then looked at Lir who stood beside him.

"We should follow her before she gets into trouble. I know her type. Caspian, you look troubled. If you wish, you can speak with me on the way.

With another nod at the captain, he stepped out into port.

"Now if I were the aptly named "Drunkard of Kes", where would I go?"

Jolloc and his friend entered the White Sphinx.

The half orc whistled at the barkeep, a rotund D'homani woman, "Two mugs of Chaas!"

"Two mugs of Chaas!" the barkeep yelled into the back.

The mildly sweet yogurt-based drink came from the desert. Its production came from yogurt and water and could be served with spices to alter its flavoring.

The orc sat atop a table in the manner he grew accustomed to display his apparent disdain for sitting in a chair. His dedication to appearing bold also made him look foolish before the patrons who dismissed the young upstart with snickering, tongue clicking, and spitting. Some even managed to do all three at once.

Jolloc noticed out of the corner of his eye a winged woman sitting alone. She was a Kaleth, he had seen a few of their kind before. They were a reclusive and distant folk, quite aloof.

There was an old saying, pride before fall, and on the streets the saying about the Kaleth was wings before pride. Although, they could be amiable if they wanted to. This woman was a local adventurer, for he had seen her around a few times doing a variety of jobs. He wondered how much those wings could haul.

"Hey, Bertholdt, tell me about the winged chick over there."

His friend Bertholdt was a two foot tall brown furred muscum, who was technically half naked. But by whose standards?

"Her? She's Sanvi, an errand girl, does odd jobs. I think she's a cleric or apothecary of some sort, eh what's it to yas?" the mouse said.

"Healer huh? Might be useful."

"Who got the two mugs of chaas?" a nimble tavern girl called out while wandering between the tables with her tray.

Jolloc half-raised his hand as if out of boredom. Then he watched a man approach Sanvi.

"Imma move a lil' closer to hear this."

"It's not my fault nobody needs a transporter," he said.

"I'm not paying you for any more drinks! You can buy your own. And I'm going to find my own employment."

Then the Kaleth stormed off to a more clamorous section of the tavern with her own drink in hand, leaving her friend behind to drink alone. Opportunity knocked. That was his cue to approach after he chugged dry his chaas.

He followed her, but only after glancing off into the one quiet corner of the tavern where he knew a hooded maiden sat expecting company. Bertholdt was by her side, on the lookout.

"Say, you must be...Sanvi right? Nice wings there by the way. So listen, I'm putting together a little expedition. I know your specialty is transport (whatever that is). Are you interested? Because you should be. It doesn't seem like you got a lot going on at the moment."

Check and mate.

"Oy, is this greenskin savage both'rin yah, Miss?" a brawny Niessen male approached, feeling as though he could be a white knight.

He was more like a brute in Jolloc's eyes. He had a braided beard and multiple tattoos that looked as though they belonged to the so called "barbarian" tribes north of Geld, a region north of the Empire and West of the Coalition. He popped his knuckles, a show of force.

Jolloc glared at him with his chin thrust forward, he never took lightly to being called 'greenskin' even if it were true. The derogatory history behind that made him want to lop the bastard's head off.

He looked at the feather winged girl, "Well, am I bothering you?"

Aetumnas, otherwise known as the Imperial City, rested on the foundations built around the Lakes of Devon. It became the capital after the so called "barbarians" of the north sacked and burned Odreth, the old capital, to the ground.

The Empire declared the human mountain clans north of Geld to be barbaric. Barbaric in the sense that they fought with brutality and, along with the Northern Coalition cities, blocked further northward expansion of the Empire. The only difference between the "barbarians" and the cities was that the barbarians dressed like savages, held customs like savages, prayed to gods like savages.

Ergo they should be addressed and labeled as savages. They were no different from orcs.

It was during this time that Imperial General Remen IV of the Eastern Marches commanded that the Ninth Legion, Legio Oprisae, under General Maximus VIII join him, the Fourth, and the Seventh Legions on the northern border. With a number of companies dispatched to various provinces to handle certain affairs, the Ninth stood nowhere near full fighting strength. The letter had been drawn for all companies to meet at the camp of the Eastern Marches as soon as possible.

Not that it would help.

The barbarian hordes had grown fiercer, it seemed, and in the past few weeks the Imperials had witnessed a rise in raids and skirmishes near the border. They had also saw a number of other factions from other races, including centaurs, minotaurs, trolls, and goblins, augmenting the barbarian clans. Three legions were no match for such, they were merely a stopgap.

The Empire itself was by no means perfect.

-

In the flowering Imperial gardens, a pair of noblemen walked with their stern visages recounting yesteryears while plotting to maintain their hold over a world they feared they would no longer know. They moved with silence and haste on their way to the Imperial Council Hall.

The first was Chancellor Renocles Isidore, the Emperor's most trusted advisor and head of his private council. He walked with a black cloak covering over his steel tunic. He had a rapier dangling from his hip. He kept his black hair short. At his temples, strands started to fade to gray. The man's face had deep lines and deep hollows through which his eyes regarded the world with suspicion. Although bearing a history that included a number of rebellious fools, Renocles had managed, through adroit political maneuvering, to secure his place among the Emperor's circle. It helped that barbarians seemed to threaten the north as it diverted his eyes away from the Chancellor, who had other things in mind.

The second was Archmage Lycurgus Taldere, an older fellow, and a senior wizard of the Academy of the Arcane Arts. He walked with a dark grey cape, his hair completely lost to the grey. He had big bushy brows that hung over his crow-like eyes. His lips were thin, almost like a line on his face. He saw many things, and partook in many things that would make the average man seek to rip own body inside out and bury his mind in an abyss.

"Chancellor Isidore, my agents tell me that you lost Artorius's son."

"Yes..." the Chancellor paused, taking the time to pull off his gloves and tuck them under his belt, "Well that little runt is cavorting with your slut of a student."

The chancellor then shook his head and began to massage his wrinkle-plagued hands, "I half expected that Captain Markath and agent Capet would succeed in capturing two individuals who proved themselves more resourceful than the combined intelligences of a number of my half-wit servants and colleagues, yourself not included."

The archmage chuckled, "Resourceful? The boy? Hardly. The Imperator was being merciful for keeping him alive, but also seeking to appease the Senate. They were horrified beyond their wits."

"And what of you Lycurgus? Were you being merciful for letting him live this long?"

"I stopped bothering for that ill-fated, talentless, son of a whore a long time ago. I must admit that I am surprised he survived this long in an arena."

Both of the old men chuckled.

"How goes our plans?"

"I'm sure you are aware that she was on her way back to the capital."

"A bright girl," Isidore stared off into the distance at an old oak tree, "Perhaps we'll have to kill her soon, she knows too much."

The tree seemed to be watching over a pond with its extending branches, but Isidore looked at the reflection in the pond and it looked as though the deep rooted tree was suffocating the little pool.

"Indeed," Taldere replied, he bundled his hands in a fist behind his back, "Galtros and I spoke."

"Oh?" The Chancellor shifted to his friend.

-

On the third night aboard the ship.

Galtros Penrimore removed his disguise with the dissolving away of the magick. He looked into a mirror to see his disfigured skull. A broken and mangled jaw. One eye socket smaller than the other. A number of crack lines.

He kept a hold of things.

A dark blue flame forever burned his skull. He stopped feeling the pain long ago.

Then the mirror began to blink and his reflection scattered. It was replaced by the visage of an old man with a gaunt face and grey hair.

"Galtros."

"Lycurgus."

"Speak. Where are you?"

"On a short journey across the Meroan Sea to the land of Syakh."

"Are you aware that they have sent agents to seek out the ornerames?"

"Yes."

"Indeed? How many ornerames have you recovered?

"One."

The old archmage nodded.

Galtros spoke, "I will reach them before they do."

He could see his promise assuaged the old man's fears.

"See to it that you do," the old man said before he disappeared.

"Yes, master."

Ishkar Tevan sat in a windless cave. His belongings set aside in a small crevice between some rocks. His wooden staff remained within arm's reach. The brown furred Ursa meditated with crossed legs.

The deserts outside represented the things that he considered to be life and the distractions of the outer world. Whereas the cave felt like his inner thoughts, his core, and his soul. Silence surrounded him.

Despite his efforts over the past several weeks, he failed to reclaim the peace that he had learned while he studied under his Tharonian Master Nui Shota.

Master Nui Shota studied at the Sundered Earth temple for many years until he became a master in his own right. His peers considered him wise and a being of great humility. Despite their differences, they learned from one another, Ishkar moreso than Nui Shota.

Ishkar realized that the peace he had learned was false. There was no peace in the inner soul, there was never one to begin with.

It had long been stolen from the hearts of mortals, so Master Nui Shota kept saying. Ishkar never knew what that meant until he understood that, at one point in the beginning of creation, peace flourished within the hearts of creatures and beings.

However, that had since disappeared as though the universe fell off balance. Before he could ponder any further, he heard the grunts of a man. He turned and spotted Taelu Jin.

The warrior expressed a tired breath and looked at the monk with dull eyes while he tucked his sword back into its sheathe.

-

"What did the Goddess say?"

"She's no 'Goddess,' she said so herself."

"Perhaps not in pure power, but her beauty and wisdom are far reaching enough for her to deserve such a title," Ishkar inhaled a breath.

The two of them sat by a low table on a rug, both cross legged, at a caravansary built around a small oasis. They watched as a merchant caravan led by camels set up shop outside while they awaited lunch. They appeared an odd couple, not that many of the vagrants dwelling the desert bothered to notice.

A waiter swung by and delivered a green pitcher full of araq and two small glasses.

Taelu gestured to the waiter, a teenager with a blue kufi, "Bring some tea for the bear."

The kid nodded and disappeared behind some drapes. Taelu poured himself a half a glass of the araq.

Taelu Jin lingered in thought and drink intertwined, "The shadows get closer every day."

"We must continue to seek the ornerames and prevent the dark wizard from reattaining his power," Taelu finished his first glass, "She also believes that the disease afflicting the elves is part of his design as well."

The Ursa remained silent the entire time, but arched his brow as he grew concerned about the territory that their quest would enter.

Taelu's face maintained an ever present scowl. As though he was unsatisfied with anything and everything. They watched as the merchants outside began to set up stalls and position their wares.

The boy returned with pitcher of water and left. The Ursa lifted his small glass with a single finger. He balanced it on the tip of his claw while his other hand grabbed the pitcher. He poured the glass half full, and never did it fall over. He put down the pitcher, but his eyes remained fully concentrated on the glass. Then he downed the warm tea.

"When do we set out?"

"Now," Taelu said.

"You fight when I tell you to fight. You eat when I tell you to eat. Or I lash you. Do you understand me boy?"

Huo said nothing, he just stared straight into his tormenter's eyes. He saw no love there. Dhaxi was not his father. He had no idea what his father looked like.

Dhaxi whipped him. One lash. Two lashes.

Twenty lashes.

"I asked you a question. You answer it or I lash you. Do you understand?"

Huo understood.

The twenty first lash. The twenty second lash.

Thirty lashes.

"What'll it be good sir?"

"Wh-" Huo snapped from his trance.

"I said eyes up here, you perv," a young Epori with ears long and hung behind her blonde hair stood in front of him.

Technically, in front of his face was the chasm called her cleavage. Her eyes alone looked unamused. Together with the ensemble of her face, though, she looked like relaxed grace. In another life, they could have been a couple.

"I'm sorry...I...blanked," Huo said, almost stumbling to find the damn words.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," the hare strutted off, certainly pissed.

The tables were full, and the glasses were empty. All the while chants of song and dance opened among the raucous patrons. Khi'ir proved to be more like the Colosseum with its mixed crowd from all sorts of creeds. Opynonias could call itself cosmopolitan, but it stood nowhere near the scale of Khi'ir.

The fighter found plenty of drunken and bashful dwarves. A few orcs joined the rowdy bunch to make an odd sort of merry. They had not broken into fight yet.

A mixed crowd of Tharonians, Epori, D'homani, and Felidins sat playing cards in another corner. One of the Tharonians looked tense until the opposing Felidin showed his cards. The Tharonian smiled and revealed his.

The result left a third cheering, a third laughing, and a third shaking their heads disappointed. They reshuffled the cards for another round while the coins flowed from one hand to the next.

He saw an orc conversing with a Kaleth girl.

Huo looked around and realized he could no longer distinguish the differences between the reality and the dream as parts of the latter already started erasing from his memory and merging with his reality.

He took a seat at an empty table.

Everyone else wore very decorative and ornate pieces of armor while well-crafted weaponry rested by their seats or hung from their waists. Were they gladiators as well? No, surely they were something else.

Sometimes he cursed himself for his ignorance, but then he thought of his years under Dhaxi. Did it make it more right and true to blame his slavemaster?

To have made it this far on his own, that must have counted for something.

In the ways of the world, he felt piss poor ignorant. He never knew that the faces and people he had met in his only home, the colosseum, had taught him much.

His years as a slave fighter taught him how to fight and acquire a desire to defeat a foe. A foe could be anything, a person or an obstacle. Perhaps it was the only lesson that really needed learning in life.

He glanced at an empty corner, destitute, perhaps a place for pillows. It seemed to be where poets or storyweavers may have sat to entertain. It seemed an old rug and an empty low table where patrons would later sit and smoke from hookah pipes replaced the elegance of oral poetry. Rather, the stage had shifted to another part of the tavern.

In through the door of the tavern, who would have thought, none other than the Drunkard of Kes. He was surprised and not surprised all the same. That she would be stuck with such a sobriquet and find her way to the tavern was no surprise.

While voices spoke low, he glanced around and his eyes fell upon locks of golden hair. A woman. Beside her stood a two foot tall mouse.

She was very much motivated and it showed in her stride as she closed the distance between herself and her target. She swore the suspicion pack in the corner was exchanging something under the table and she was damned if she were to miss that opportunity. She would just casually saunter over to them, lean on the table and open the conversation with something like:
'Nice package you got there, I would love handling it.'

Sanvi almost choked on her drink when she realized how awfully misunderstood that would be. She would need a better opening sentence. As a matter of fact now that she was established in the "transporting" business in the outside world where her people were sparse, she should think of a slogan for herself. Some kind of a catchy business motto. 'Your package will be safe under my wings.' Somehow everything including the word 'package' seemed wrong.

Her stride was abruptly cut off when a large Orc stepped in her way. She had barely enough time to stop in her tracks in order not to slam into his breastplate headfirst. She was forced to look up in order to meet his eyes and was just about to complain, when the orc spoke.

"Say, you must be...Sanvi right? Nice wings there by the way. So listen, I'm putting together a little expedition. I know your specialty is transport (whatever that is). Are you interested? Because you should be. It doesn't seem like you got a lot going on at the moment."

Sanvi opened and closed her mouth a couple of times in order to say anything, but the Orc kept talking over her making her look rather ridiculous. Or helpless, as another large man might have thought. He approached them with the attitude of a personal bodyguard, or a guard dog.

"Oy, is this greenskin savage both'rin yah, Miss?"

What's with her and tall men. Why she was never approached by someone her own height. She felt rather minuscule clenched there between two brutish looking males, feeling like a part of some kind of a mating ritual. Through all the noise of the tavern, she needed to speak up in order to be heard. When she spoke she absentmindedly moved her wings so they wouldn't drag on the floorboards. This caused her to stagger a bit, but then she got hold of her balance again, straightened and spoke, raising the hand she held her drink with.

"Yes, he is bothering me." She watched as the barbarian male stared menacingly at the Orc. "But no, I don't need saving." Then she turned towards the Orc. "How do you know my name and why do you think I'm doing poorly? As a matter of fact I'm just about to close a deal." Not waiting for an answer she shouldered between them, spreading her wings in order to push both away. "Excuse me."

"Yes, he is bothering me."

Well, shit. Though Jolloc had a half desire to slam the man's head into the table, his main interest concerned securing Sanvi's talents. Contrary to what many believed, clerics served an invaluable role in an expedition into any dangerous land. A flying one was a bonus.

For Jolloc, he knew he would have to guide some poor fools into the desert.

Few of Syakh had ever been traversed by any, least of which by the many horses of Sultan Mirza Qaffi's almost fearless armies. They dared not tread any farther beyond what had been marked off on a map.

For the land, according to legend and adventurers' tales, harbored dangers of various sorts.

"But no, I don't need saving," she replied to her so-called "defender."

Good. Now move along, shithead. Jolloc had a business proposition for the girl, whereas he knew the human wanted to simply proposition her. Something about wings turned men on, Jolloc thought.

"How do you know my name and why do you think I'm doing poorly? As a matter of fact I'm just about to close a deal."

Jolloc had expected the winged girl to fall for his boyish charms. He realized that she was actually a winged woman when she brushed him and the Niessen brute aside.

The Niessen shuffled off and perhaps rejoined his drinking buddies, somewhat defeated. Jolloc was not as smooth as he thought.

He chased after the Kaleth, "Whoa wait up."

He was about to tap her on the wing, but he wasn't sure if that would set her off. He once saw a Kaleth completely lose it when someone touched his wings without permission. The Kaleth proceeded to whack the guy aside with a broad sweep. Jolloc should know, he was the one who touched it.

But how did one get around to tapping them on the shoulder when their shoulders practically disappeared behind their wings?

Jolloc brushed aside the brown hair his human father had given him, "I'll admit, I probably could have left a better first impression. The name's Jolloc Varfu, and I don't have much time. My friend Bertholdt pointed me your way. This job I've got, pays well. Are you interested?"

Sanvi was once again forced to stop in her tracks. She turned around quickly at the mention of pay. Unfortunately, whenever she got excited about something her wings would spread out. This time she was able to partly control this action, but still managed to knock a couple of the drinks from one table in the process.

"Watch it!"
"What are you doing!"
"You owe me a drink now!"

Angry complaints rose up immediately from a group of humans around the table. She couldn't pinpoint which human race these rowdy people belong to. All humans looked the same to her and she was always curious as to how they identified each other, what with the lack of wings and everything. She was always terrible at remembering faces and that was true for most of the Kaleth. They knew each other by the color of their wings, or shape of their feathers and it was easy to remember someone by that. Faces were not as distinguishable.

"I apologize." Sanvi looked at the humans, fluttering her lashes and giving them the most innocent look she could master. "Please do order a round of drinks on me." Of course, they races each other to stop an Epori waitress and order new drinks. Sanvi managed to catch her as she passed by just for enough time to whisper in her ear. "Put it on the tab of that man over there." And she pointed towards Milo. That ought to teach him.

When the mess was sorted, Sanvi finally turned to face the tall orc in front of her. "You mentioned coin?"

The truth was, she needed the money. She needed a job, any job now. But there was something about the orc that made him look like a very untrustworthy character. It's not like she made business with many trustworthy people, especially in the last year or so. After all, she could handle herself, couldn't she?

As they disembarked from a little junk barge, Lir covered her curly red hair with a dark blue hooded shawl. She had no idea as to how far the Academy's reach was, but it seemed like her red hair always worked against her desire to hide.

Syakh called itself home to a number of elite sorcery academies headed by more than a decent number of talented and world class wizards and conjurers. Their talent laid in summoning abilities.

Rumor had it that Syakh wizards wielded the ability to conjure mana constructs and manipulate elemental spirits. While the Academy dismissed such rumors without hesitation, it made Lir beg the question as to why in the first place. Though, perhaps it would be here that she could seek some answers to her questions. She checked her little knapsack, which contained many of her basic necessities as well as a wrapped scroll.

She had taken pains to keep it wrapped until she was far enough away from the halls and columns of the Academy.

Lir turned to Antius, "We should find a place to eat before we continue."

"Mister Antius there's something I need t-to t-tell you!" Caspian said in a hurry while trying to stay on the same pace as the mage and his friend.

He had no idea that wizards could walk that fast. They were making their way through the city. Caspian smelled something sweet and his heart fell a flutter as his stomach growled.

He shook his head, "There's s-something about this sword, I don't know if you can.."

I'm not quite sure he will believe what you have to say regarding us. Kade said.

You are welcome to try, though, my dear. Mara finished.

"First I want to talk to you about the dream."

Dream? A dream? Mara seemed interested.

They eventually merged themselves with a crowd. It seemed a pretty festive day, and they learned that it was the holiday of Syel'Breh.

The D'homani tradition celebrated charity and generosity, but some considered it an excuse used to sell the overpriced goods that lined the avenues.

Khi'iri merchants were the worst at this, as Caspian saw.

"Twenty fucking silvers for this dress?" a noblewoman covered in a chadri felt insulted by a merchant.

She proceeded to utter a diatribe laced with profanities in her native language. None of which Caspian knew about nor cared.

"We should find a place to sit and talk. I need to ask you about this sword and the dream that we shared."

"There should be an inn somewhere with food and drink overpriced just for the festival," Antius returned. He frowned slightly. There were many cursed and enchanted swords in this world. Could Caspian possess one?

He and Lir said little as they eventually found an inn that wasn't filled to capacity with festival goers. He said nothing as he passed by a red-haired Kaleth, though he did feel a gaze rest on her longer than it needed to. He glanced back at Lir as he sat down. It seemed he had a thing for red haired women.

He turned to Caspian and asked curiously, "What do you need to know. Myself and Lir would be happy to answer any questions we can."

Caspian sat down and took a deep breath, "Important matters first, the..."

Then it hit him, as he glanced around to the familiar surroundings.

"This is...isn't this the place from the...dream? Do you recognize it as well, mage?"

Antius paused, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. Yes, it was the same place. His eyes instinctively scanned the area, searching for the woman from his dream.

"What has been willed must be..." he murmured at last, turning to his companions.

"It is best to let fate play out. What we need to see will find us. Now, tell me more about your impressions on the dream we shared or your sword."

Caspian nodded, "I remember the elf woman, beautiful, blonde haired. I know this place, it was the same tavern. I remember that she..."

Lir interrupted, for she had sat attentively and listened with interest about the shared dream, which seemed to take precedence over her own quest.

"Wait wait...are you both telling me you shared a dream?"

"We and a few other people. Mostly gladiators. I'm no further in deciphering its meaning than I was when we first got it. As far as I can tell, we are to find certain artifacts, but for what purpose, I cannot say."

Antius smiled slightly, "I knew your finding me was destiny, Lir."

Lir returned a half smile.

He turned to Caspian, "I am interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter."

"I think it's real," the blacksmith stared past them to a quiet corner of the tavern. There she was.

"Wait for her to come to us. If she doesn't then we can talk to her," Antius murmured.

A foot taps; a hand jitters against a table in one of the back corners of The Sphinx. A drink of some kind rests in front of the pale-skinned fingers, untouched. Another fair-skinned individual stands at the bar, no drink and nobody to accompany her. Her composure seems much better contained as she fidgets little more than a mossy stone...

The orc somewhat winced as Sanvi made one liability of her's very much apparent. He crossed his arms, waiting to see how the winged woman would go about fixing her own mess. He could see she relied on her charisma to get by and, while he could not hear what she said to the waitress she talked to, he could tell she worked with slight of hand as well.
...and that her partner was certainly going to leave somewhat less happy than he would have if he had chosen to but a moment prior.

Clumsy...but I can work with those wings of her's. Can't imagine she would be any worse in an open space and, well, I don't remember there being any construction projects in the middle of the desert. She'll do a'ight at least 'til we get there...

Jolloc, his arms still crossed, calmly smirked as the Kaleth stumbles back to him, asking about the payment.

"Yeah. Plenty. I've been tasked with recruiting manpower for a voyage and I hear that you aren't just a transporter. I'm in need of your other talents."

A patron sitting with his back to the orc, listening into their conversation, immediately spills his drink and is thrown into a coughing fit. His friend gets up to help him.
"'ey, you alright?" The man asks his companion. The other one simply coughs, doing his best to convey that he did not need help but the surprised look on his face seems to tell a much different story, as the friend gets up to take him outside regardless.

"You're a healer of some kind, right? My employer tells me we've yet to even potentially acquire any skilled healers and your addition would make my task much easier."

Meanwhile, another familiar face enters the establishment, leaning away from the coughing man as him and his friend pass by. Her features are unusually as curious as they are thirsty. That was rare for the Drunkard of Kes.
Immediately, she signals one of the service bartenders with an obviously experienced hand gesture-whistle combo.

"Need y' pointman, sweet 'eart! Tell'er I said to get me your hardest arak and keep 'em rolling. I'll be in the corner over there," Darnairia pointed, remembering where she sat in the dream. She was going to try and stay accurate to the course of her dream...at least, now that she ordered the wrong drink at a completely different time than she did in the dream but she would not wait to drink on account of some sleep vision and how could shenot order an arak after walking through the city of Khi'ir?
That probably did not matter, though. What DID matter was getting to that table in the-
"-Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

There was the table. There it was in all its glory, JUST like in the dream. It aligned PERFECTLY...except for one thing-or, rather, three: Kid-kid, old-kid, and explosion-head are all sitting there, looking as though they are trying to remain inconspicuous.

You all got eyes ranging from-fucking-green to fluorescent green, almost all blonde hair, ONE of you is an old-young-kid-man-monstrosity, and the other has the palest skin with the brightest hair I've ever seen. Like, bitch, you glow in the dark-put that shitty hood down! Trust me, that doesn't make you any harder to notice!

Frustrated that what she perceives as her seat has been taken, she marches over to the table and stands between the occupants and the object of Caspian's attention.

"Hey, guys! Long time no see!"

Caspian, his sight now blocked, squints at Danairia before speaking, "We've only been here a couple hours-?"
"-SO, I have a proposition for you guys and it's very important! You ready?-Okay!"

The Tlamani raises her hands in front of her to shoulder height, pointing at the ceiling with her index fingers while her thumbs and pinkies lazily hang out of the gesture. Her eyes are closed.

...

Her eyes open again.

"YOU guys...sit over there."

Her left hand's fingers fall down into a loose fist as her right extends out to the side and points at a nearby table occupied by a group of large and rowdy tribal-looking men.

Caspian, ever the skeptic, once again questions the elf.

"...That table's full..."

Danairia looks down at the lad and then to where she's pointing. Spotting her mistake, she adjusts the trajectory of her finger to point to an empty table NEAR the men.

"Yeah-no, I'm not about to put you next to a bunch of man-braids."

"It seems we have exhausted all proper options," Sindrelei Princess of Sidya, Fylena Ithirn, stood at the center of the hall.

Two large Kheln trunks flanked her as though they were columns supporting the Hall of the Ancients.

The Sidyan nobles stood gathered behind her, and a company of Sidyan guards, whose armor glinted silvery white as the Kheln trees with lines and curves remiscnent of leaves, stood behind them.

Her beauty was matched by her skill with the bow. Many knew her for her poise and calm as well as her amiable demeanor. The realm of Sidya considered her its beloved child, but only after they had accepted her as their own.

The last queen, Reyna, perished when her ship sank in the Western Bay. The city of Sidya near fell to the hordes of the Goblin King Grodnar had one of the lords not discover Fylena to be the bastard daughter of the queen and the only living heir.

The queen had no other heirs, legitimate or otherwise. Despite some hesitation, the nobles of Sidya legitimised her, but due to ancient Sindrelei customs Fylena would only remain a Princess. She rallied the Sidyan elves and repulsed the goblin invaders out of the forest.

Fylena at this point broached the subject with the same poise with which she handled any bow and arrow.

"With regrets, Sidya has elected to close its borders indefinitely until this sickness has been purged or cured from our forests."

"'Tis your decree, so let it be..." Lord Oyenthius inserted.

"Pray tell me, Fylena, Daughter of Reyna Ithirn and Princess of Sidya, as to what may be achieved of such folly? 'Tis only but the expiation of our peoples at greater haste," Lord Ashoriel voice seemed near to break into yelling.

Anger seemed apparent, yet no high born elf showed their emotions, much less the lord of a realm.

"It is not our people that are dying, but yours, Lord Ashoriel."

"My people? You speak as though we are different."

"My patience yields to my wonder as to whether your delegation from Alheras bears the plague itself upon us."

"How dare you lay such a claim against my lot? Lest you forget that we aided thee once when Grodnar, third of his name, and his minions set about burning your forests. The many sons of Alheras has shed blood enough to turn the rivers red for the freedom of thy peoples."

Princess Fylena remained unfazed at that particular memory.

"My regrets and condolences to Alheras, but Sidya can be of no help to your plight. We must look to our ourselves," the Princess concluded with much more reluctance, but without as much emotion.

"How can you sit by and observe so coolly and without reflection? Have you no love for thine own kind? Are we not one and of the same blood as Ariniuen, first born of our kind? What sort of bewitched creature art thou?"

"Watch your tongue milord, or here may be the last place that you speak."

"Enough!" King Oyenthius commanded.

The Princess indeed had had enough. As if on cue, her entire cadre of guards locked into formation. As she turned around and left with her train of attendants and nobles, the guards turned around and marched after her, their boots pattering at even intervals out of the hall, leaving much frustration and concern in their wake.

Ashoriel and a few of his nobles and attendants departed for another chamber.

Lord Oyenthius watched their unity fracture slightly. It worried him much that they could not realize the actual darkness soon to befall them.

"I think perhaps the forum today concludes, seek out nourishment and repose, we'll reconvene tomorrow."

The king of Flyfendel and Lord of the Council, in autumn gold cloak, flanked by the princes Aerinand and Tirinand, departed with much on his mind.

Sanvi eyed the orc suspiciously. She scanned him up and down, lingering a bit. Then she wrinkled her nose.

"How would you know that?" She asked suspiciously just before her gaze shifted past the orc towards a figure sitting at a table she had previously left.

That Epori waitress was just leaning over it, her monstrous cleavage almost serving as a duster. Milo's head was hooded, but judging by his stillness his eyes were probably fixed on the waitress and her... qualities. Then he shifted and stood up, gesturing with his arms like he was in the middle of an argument.

'Hah.' Sanvi smirked. 'That'll teach him.' And then the waitress pointed her finger at the Kaleth and she immediately ducked behind the orc as if to evade it. She must've been a fine view, with her wings jutting out and her head peaking over the orc's shoulder, which was a feat in itself.

"What did you do?" A hand grabbed her. She jerked backwards and stumbled, but Milo was holding her wrist so firmly that she managed to keep her balance. She could wait to get outside in the open again.
"Whatever do you mean?" She said as innocently as possible, but Milo saw right through her. He let her go and raised an arm to him temples with a sigh.
"When are you going to stop your sulking?"
"Sulking!" Sanvi exclaimed. "You are the one that's been driving me around for weeks with no profit! I am not sulking! I am properly angry!"
"Let's not discuss this here." Milo looked uncomfortably at the orc. "Just come with me. I might have something for you."
"No." Sanvi crossed her arms and stood her ground now looking at Jolloc who was caught in the middle of all this. "I've got myself a job, thank you."
"A job? For him?" Milo looked doubtful. "I wouldn't recommend it." He seemed like he was about to continue, but them just raised his arms in surrender and turned his back on them. "Don't come running to me when it doesn't work out."

Sanvi desperately wanted to say something in her defense. After all the she considered herself a pretty good judge of character. She would never let an orc con her now, would she? She looked Jolloc straight in the eyes and sighed. Somehow she wasn't so sure. She was pretty desperate now. Otherwise, Milo was a schmooze, he never did anything good for her and was surely jealous now that his money bag is gone. Surely.

"So, what would you need me to do?" Sanvi said, rejoining her previous conversation.

As they spoke with Caspian, Antius' mind drifted back home to the Empire. Were he and Lir truly safe? The Empire was not invincible, but it was relentless and the Academy held a great deal of wealth and power as did his family's enemies. He had heard rumors of troubles with barbarians and he prayed to the Creator that his people would triumph of course, but secretly, he hoped that they posed enough threat to be enough of a distraction to convince the Academy and what Senators were working with them to leave them be. With that though and the timely arrival of a familiar face, his attention returned to the moment. He had to laugh at Caspian and the brash elf's conversation.

"Yeah-no, I'm not about to put you next to a bunch of man-braids."

"Really, no? Caspian looked quite excited at the prospect of rubbing elbows with the fine salt on this particular earth," Antius quipped sarcastically. Inwardly, his mind was racing. Did Danairia truly share in their dream as well or was she being her usual unpredictable, unrefined self? With a shrug, he approached the table, content to ignore the rowdy bunch near them and be ignored in turn. They looked boisterous, but they didn't show any indication of any sort of desire to start trouble for no reason.

Yet.

He murmured a spell around himself. He still felt weak yet, but he could manage a small barrier around himself meant to take the first blow before fading away. When the other sat down with him, he made a show of gazing around and raising a hand, as if to order a drink. If the vision was meant to be, then there was a good change the woman from the vision would happen to see him if she was not observing them already.

"So, you have a proposition for us? I didn't peg you the type to miss us so," he noted with a slight grin, "I'll buy your drink if what your proposing is of significant interest to us..."

Remembering her infamous reputation, he raised a finger, "One drink, that is."

He gripped his staff and scanned the room from the corners of his eyes. Something had to happen. Right?

The silky, buttermilk hands at the table stops fidgeting. Something else has caught their owner's attention.

"Nope!" Danairia says, cheerfully satisfied at how easy it was to get Antius to give her one-third of what she needed to perfectly recreate this part of her dream. Caspian looks over at Antius and back up at Danairia before pausing, then looking between the two again and moving over to join Antius, for he shared far too many connections with the mage now to leave him. Remaining with him in the White Sphinx especially was important.
Lir however, looks up at the elf, still reluctant to give up her seat in the shady corner for what seems like no reason at all, other than it was the preferred spot in the bar of an alcoholic. Danairia looks back down at the brave girl.

..."Beat it."

Danairia points over to Antius and Caspian before making a sweeping motion with her fingers. Lyr simply leans forward, crossing her arms on the table.

"No..."

The elf glares down at the red-headed lass for a moment before raising her palms.

"Fine! Fine. Girl want's t'sit with me-I'll let her sit with me!-Not a problem at all.-No issues what-so-ever....Bitch."

Danairia sits down in Antius' previous spot at the table. She ponders in her head, trying to remember the dream from nearly a month before.

Two-thirds of the way clear. Whatever, it's better than nothing. Maybe I can look around from where I was sitting and try to remember exactly what came next.

Despite Lir and the others practically staring at her, Danairia looks around the room before she looks back strait and squints as if a realization came to her.

Wait a minute...

The elf, still paying no mind to everyone around her, noisily stands, causing the chair to generate a rather obnoxious sound against the floor, and moves over to where Caspian had sat before continuing to scan her surroundings.

Meanwhile, Caspian leans over, whispering to the mage beside him.

"You don't...You know...you don't think that she would have had-...?"

Just then, Danairia stops...her dream suddenly completely clear now as, from across the room, she spots who she had not remembered. She catches soft spoken lips, but hard emeralds-

I fucking hate all of you.

-meet her gaze. A lock of golden hair-

I mean it. I fucking hate you all.

-falls outward as she shifts. Her features were that of a young Sindrelei. Danairia's eyes widen as she stands and begins to approach the one whom it seemed destiny had prepared her to meet...

Caspian, at first curious, watched as Danairia's face had changed, then looked to see who she was watching, only to spot the one he had previously been looking at and seeing her face. Instantly realization sparked through his mind.

"UUUH...ANTIUS?..."

The blacksmith nudged the mage's arm before gesturing to the green-eyed figure in the corner. His look of bewilderment however, suddenly changed...into utter horror as Danairia began cracking her knuckles...

"...Antius? Why is she doing-..Oh-oh no..."

If Caspian's facial expression-that which he looked upon the mage with-did not say 'we are so screwed' to him, nobody could ever know what it possibly could have meant. The boy stands, immediately rushing to follow after the alcoholic elf who most definitely had to be completely out of her mind.
The hooded woman in the corner appeared somewhat confused as Danairia approached the table, for she clearly did not expect a Tlamani to storm up and angrily confront her this afternoon.

"Alright listen here, you pretty-little pompous-ass bitch, I got a bone to pick with you bad-mouthing me like that!"

The girl seemed to shrink a little bit in her seat as she pursed her lips at the attitude of the Tlamani. Stunned at the sheer gall of Danairia, it takes a moment for her to formulate a response.

...
"...What-...whatever do you mean?-"

"-Don't play dumb, priss-skin!" Danairia accuses. "You know exactly what you were doing, calling me out like that! Sitting in that spot right there, lookin' me dead in the eye and calling me 'bitch' and all that!"

The Sindrelei's eyes widen, horrified and obviously confused about what the Tlamani before her is accusing her of. Caspian arrives on scene doing his best to hold onto Danairia and keep her from moving.
Frustrated after not receiving more than confused stuttering for a response, Danairia brings her right arm around, freeing herself from Caspian and slamming her fists down on the table.

"Answer me, dammit!"

The familiar sound of a drawing blade spikes the heart rate of everyone around the corner. Danairia looks just in time to see a blade, clearly of Sindrelei origin, pointed at her face from the edge of the bar. Caspian slowly raises his hands and backs one step away from Danaira. Standing behind the weapon is a much more threatening-looking Sindrelei elf than the one sitting at the table.

"How about I give you an answer? I suppose you'd like someone to speak to you the way you speak to my lady too, hmm?"

Her voice is cold; harsh. Danairia, without skipping a beat, looks directly down the spine of the blade at its wielder, lifts her chin, and calmly says something in elvish before biting down her exposed teeth on each other with her teeth making an audible 'click'.

"Pure minua."

Jolloc watched as Sanvi's past employer, 'Milo,' walked by and settled a grip on her wrist. The orc felt ready to intervene, but he chose to observe the exchange between the two waiting for the violence to ensue before he struck a blow.

"You are the one that's been driving me around for weeks with no profit! I am not sulking! I am properly angry!"

"Let's not discuss this here," the man called 'Milo' cast a brief, but scornful, glance at him.

Jolloc could perceive the man's discomfort, so he flared his nostrils and snorted in a threatening manner before him.

"Just come with me. I might have something for you."

"No, I've got myself a job, thank you."

"A job? For him?" Milo dismissed the orc as an afterthought, "I wouldn't recommend it."

Jolloc clenched his fist ready to pound the man's face in if he heard the man utter any of the following, "savage," "greenskin," "barbarian," or any other derivative that described him as less than civilized. Sure, he was not above throwing a punch, but 'twas to defend his honor. Surely that was enough to remain civilized? Before the employer continued, he chose to give up, which surprised the orc and made him reconsider his anger just then.

"So, what would you need me to do?" Sanvi recalled Jolloc back to their conversation.

The orc looked at her and smiled as though he had forgotten he had underbite fangs.

"It's...complicated, but I think you're quite suited to it. I think my employer would be able to better explai-..."

The orc nodded in the direction of a far corner of the establishment. There sat a solemn hooded woman perhaps waiting for fate and destiny to converge. That such a convergence became strange and peculiar seemed lost on the hooded elf woman for a moment while Jolloc cocked a brow at a somewhat brute-of-a-Tlamani making her way toward his employer.

Jolloc smiled at Sanvi, "Just one sec, I think she needs my help right now..."

-

Huo stared at the mouse, he had never seen a gigantic rat before in his life. His attention, though, shifted to the woman, who gave him pause.

My name is...

He felt his mind break for a moment.

Like pieces of a puzzle, the fractured dream began to repiece itself from the thousand shards etched in the depths of his memory. Everything made sense. He seemed lost in the dream. The Osu exhaled after what seemed like eternity, just in time to catch up with things unfolding.

"Ladies! Easy! Ladies...please," Bertholdt the muscum begged, his tiny furry paws held up as he strove to defend the elf maid without fear.

Doubtful they could do anything other than be smothered for their adorableness and softness.

On one side stood an elf by the name of Danairia, who brought a sense of disaster wherever she went, defiant to all things worth and not worth defying it seemed. She looked near haggard and eager for a fight. Though slender of frame, she may have possessed an inner kind of strength perhaps the equal of any of the braided barbarians present, or the beard-heavy dwarves for that matter.

On the other stood another elf by the name of Maevra Rhassaira, who possessed no greater stake in belligerence other than out of necessity for the preservation of another life. She stood arrayed in a dull cloak, no doubt hiding the autumn green scales that layered the intricate breastplate passed down to her. Like Danairia, she too had been awhile away from a good fight, but whilst the former seemed juvenile, the latter considered herself controlled and disciplined. Maevra recognized the other woman to be an elf, Tlamani no less.

She spoke with her elven arc blade still pointed at Danairia, "Even with all the dragon teeth in the world, you're still not my type."

She cocked her head to the side and continued, "I see you are one of Thalasor's kind. What business have you with milady?"

Caspian watched them, the cheeriness of the room fell by a tinge, a noticeable tinge. They spoke in tongues he did not understand.

She's bat-shit crazy... Caspian dared not utter his thoughts about his friend?

The blacksmith's frenzied eyes darted between the hooded woman, Danairia, the other elf woman, back to Antius and Lir. Other thoughts entered the fray in his ear while his mind raced, but they now punctured the pregnant silence amidst the ale-stenched air.

"A rather interesting turn of events at an otherwise ordinary tavern, wouldn't you agree Kade?"

"Quite, milady. Let's have a look see as the plot thickens!"

The entire tavern seemed to settle into stillness as all eyes fell on this particular assortment of characters.

As if drawn by nature to break the ice, Jolloc sauntered in, "And whaddaweh have here?"

Both of his hands rested at the hilts of his swords buckled at his waist.

"Oh, Jolloc thank the gods, this bitch here went batshit crazy," Bertholdt cried out, he flinched when he looked at Danairia, afraid that the she-wolf of an elf woman would rip off his well-groomed whiskers.

"Beautiful lady elf one," Jolloc nodded at Maevra before he turned to Danairia, but averted her scowl, "And...not as beautiful...but still pretty decent lady elf two..."

"Ladies, please,"–the orc placed four fingers on Maevra's blade, pushed it down, and whispered in his most enticing voice to date– "Let's not start a scene..."

"Antius," Lir looked at her wizard friend with imploring eyes, concerned that the situation had done much more than silence the crowd, "I think we should do something..."

I guess it's my time... Caspian felt ready to be a hero, he reached to unravel the sword wrapped in cloth. Nevermind that he had to unwrap it first, or the fact that he never wielded it, or the fact that he never wielded any weapons for that matter.

Alas, the moment was not meant to be as he paused and watched Huo.

The Osu strode up to the soon to be brawl, for he had taken everything in and seemed to made sense of it. He walked past the others as though they were streams in a waterfall. He stared straight into the green eyes of the elf maiden who sat quiet the entire time, he measured her as he was sure that she measured him.

Then he turned to Danairia, "'Dana', right?" and he smirked, "I thought I was the hot-headed one."

Huo glanced at the other people he knew in the tavern, "Looks like...we all got a bit in common here, don't we?"

Pandemonium. That was what Danairia brought to any situation she was in. Antius had rubbed elbows with those types in the Coliseum. They rarely survived long, cut down as they were when charged whatever it was that pissed them off. He listened to the exchange in elvish and although he did not catch all of the exchange, he caught the gist of it. His companion was one wrong word away from starting an altercation. He nodded in concern at Caspian's growing distress. His friend merely voiced the distress he was now feeling. Things weren't supposed to be happening this way.

He was about to respond to Lir's plea that he intervene when Huo arrived and attempted to reign in the situation himself. He smiled slightly at his former classmate.

"It seems that not everyone we picked up on our journey is irrational."

He stepped forward, tapping his staff down to direct attention to himself.

"Indeed. It seems more and more people have had the same dream, nay, vision, as I. I am not a believer in coincidence and neither is Danairia, to her credit, though I do not, as a rule, respond with a blade and threat when confronted with said coincidence," he noted.

"I would very much prefer that we discuss our situation calmly like grown men or elves or what have you," he said with a wave of a hand before turning his attention to the woman whose face they had all seen in their dreams. He smiled.

"I have been waiting quite a long time to meet you."